#i just ignore their content and their characters

[dorian-they-ao3]

yeeeep and also like. Other people shipping them has nothing to do with how you view the characters?? Like. They are still friends to you? And you can’t control how other people see characters. That’s not within your scope of influence. So the only thing to say is “eh I don’t see them that way but you do you” and then move on with your day. Maybe block people or filter tags if you really don’t like seeing shippy content about them. But dedicating time to complaining or “proving” why the people who do ship them are actually ignorant idiots will ultimately just make you and everyone else in the fandom miserable. Like I’ve been on both sides of this and yeah it’s fucking annoying when your nOTP becomes popular enough that you see it even when you don’t want to. And it feels really easy to be mad at the fans who create & share this content (god knows I’ve slipped a few times). But you’re responsible for curating your own experience and managing your own emotions. Other fans do not need to edit their enjoyment or cater to your interpretation of the media.

Why do the "let dudes be friends" ppl only ever say that about the gayest motherfuckers who have ever walked the earth??? So many good examples and good representation of dudes being pals, but you have to say this shit about the two men who stare at each other's lips for a living and clearly dream about each other at night???

[reignpage]

Hi, welcome back! I’m not sure if you consider hc for characters a question. I saw you’ve done favorite position for jjk men, but what about the readers?

I thought maybe some smutty thoughts might be fun to ease back into it, but if it’s not the vibe please ignore. Hope you’ll find back joy in posting here, I definitely missed the little escapism your blog provides. Thank you for all the content🙏🏻

goth!reader: g whiz is what google told me the position is called

basically having her legs over the guy’s shoulder, it’s really good for g-spot stimulation or something, she tried it once and found that it’s the best one for her cause she dislikes being on top or any position where she’s bent unnaturally cause lowkey she’s lazy and she doesn’t want to do any work

receptionist!reader: face-off

straddling the guy on a chair or sofa and facing each other. she likes or will learn to like the intimacy, the way she can touch and see what she she wants, especially having easy access to Geto’s hair. but she likes the other positions too, so it’s not really a big deal for her

art student!reader: pile driver

i’ve had this thought since her creative conception. she’s never tried this move on anyone but choso (or will try with choso) but she’s always been curious since she saw it in a porno once. she loves the power, the humiliation, the non-normativeness of the act and choso complains a lot but he tends to cum pretty hard with this one

gossiper!reader: doggy

she loves getting to make all the dumb faces her body is aching to do without being conscious that toji’ll find it funny or something. she doesn’t like doing the work either and she loves how deep he can get inside and how his balls slap her clit. she just doesn’t want him to know.

physics student!reader: cowgirl

likes having control generally speaking. she’s just had one or two experiences with guys where they’ve just taken what they wanted and left her high and dry (literally). so with cowgirl she can set the pace and grind until she cums and then they can do whatever. but with nanami, what she likes about the cowgirl positions is getting to reward nanami for all his hard work; he can just lay back and be spoiled

prez!reader: doesn’t have a favourite

her mood switches up often, and she rarely ever initiates the sex, it’s more like she gets the horny spark when Sukuna does. she’s always too stressed or busy to think about anything else. it’s more the mood that she’s interested in, is it in public? do they have to be quick? or quiet? are they doing it someplace they shouldn’t? etc etc

[happily-wretched]

Midnight Snack <33

wtf, I literally just wrote a story with the same characters (Mark & Vincent). I kinda just use them as “bases” in case idk what character to use, or what character to make. So they can be in many different scenarios, they really have no exact story. I guess u could call them my little mascots :))

Anyway, this one is a more laidback version than the last one (oh jeez the last one) and has a more… realistic vibe to it. I’m honestly more into these, where you can practically relate to the whole scenario, and almost pinpoint a memory of this occurring to you. Umm, there is still NSFW content on this, but not as bad…….! I promise

Btw, this is kinda late, but here is some basic description on the characters themselves:

Mark:

• Nationality: British/Englishman and American + mild British accent

• Hair: Brown and loose

•Eyes: Green

•Age: 27

•Basic personality traits: Bit awkward, adventurous, polite, friendly, intelligent, and respectful, brave when he needs to be

Vincent:

•Nationality: British/Englishman + stronger accent

•Hair: Black and fluffy yet neat

•Eyes: Blue

•Age: 28

•Basic personality traits: Considerate (bit too much), very polite, extremely loving (only for Mark), easily amused, severely intelligent, can simply be intimidating if he desires

(Maybe I’ll draw them for better explanation)

Anyhoo, back to the story

Caution, this includes: Hunger (is satiated), lack of eating, exhaustion from starvation, arousal from hunger, masterbating to hunger, sex while hungry, fingering, prolonged starvation, mild teasing

It was another long, grueling day at the office. Mark had been stuck at his desk well past 5pm, as was becoming a regular occurrence lately. His stomach had been growling incessantly for hours, but there was just so much work to do. Finally, at nearly 10pm, he was able to pack up and head home, utterly exhausted and famished. 

The drive home was torture, his empty belly churning and rumbling the entire way. By the time he pulled into his driveway, it felt like his stomach was eating itself. Mark dragged himself out of the car and trudged up to his front door. As soon as he stepped inside, the growls from his midsection amplified, as if relieved to finally be home after such a long, arduous day.

rrrmmmmmhggglll

"Alright, alright, I'm home," Mark grumbled at his riotous stomach. "Let's see what meager rations we can scrounge up at this hour."

He flipped on the light and peeked into the fridge and cabinets. A few sad leftovers and some stale crackers was the best he could find. Mark sighed, knowing it would have to do. His stomach gurgled its protests but he ignored it, too burnt out to care. 

After a quick, unsatisfying snack, Mark decided he was too tired to do anything but collapse into bed. As he stripped out of his clothes, his stomach let out an especially loud, high-pitched whine. Mark patted his belly. "I know, buddy. We'll get some real food in the morning. Just try to quiet down and let me sleep."

He climbed into bed and closed his eyes, feeling the rumbling vibrations of his famished gut. It was a weirdly pleasant sensation, like having a little angry beast trapped inside him. Brushing it off, he grabbed his phone and put on white noise, to help him sleep. Eventually, Mark drifted off to sleep, his stomach still grumbling softly.

A few hours later, a loud sound from his phone startled Mark awake. He groggily reached for it, realizing it was a video that had ended and launched into something else, something much more obnoxious. As he sat up and rubbed his eyes, his stomach let out a massive, groaning growl. 

RRRRMMGGGGGGOORRRrrrrllRrr—rrrrmmmrr..

"Fuck..." he muttered, feeling the ache in his hollow belly. He rubbed his taut abs, which clenched and released, rippling slightly. Another loud rumble emanated from his stomach, followed by an uncomfortable high-pitched squeal. It felt like his stomach was twisted into agonized knots.

RRRRRUUMMMGGLLLllllrrrr…fiiiittTTTTZZZZZZzzzz

"Yeah, yeah... You're so damn loud, I get it," Mark grumbled to his noisy gut as he climbed out of bed. He shuffled to the bathroom, feeling lightheaded, his stomach audibly growling with each step. 

Rrrmm…ggrrrmmm…rr..

After relieving himself, Mark caught his reflection in the mirror - haggard, skinny, eyes bloodshot. His stomach let out another deep, groaning whine as he poked at it curiously, marveling at how sunken in he seemed. Mark sighed heavily. There was no satiating food in the house, and it was far too late to go out. He'd have to tough it out until morning.

As he turned away from the mirror, Mark paused. His stomach had been giving him all these strange, conflicting sensations - the grumbling vibrations, the nauseous knots, the aching emptiness. It was an intense, almost erotic feeling. Mark felt a stirring in his groin.

"I shouldn't..." he murmured, but his hand drifted down to his crotch regardless. He rubbed himself slowly as he listened to his stomach's deep rumbles, feeling them reverberate through his body. It was wrong, it was weird, but God it felt good.

Just as Mark's breathing quickened, he suddenly heard a voice from the doorway.

"Rough night?"

Mark nearly jumped out of his skin, snatching his hand away guiltily. He whirled around to see his boyfriend Vincent lounging in the doorframe, looking at him with concern.

"Hey babe, sorry... I was just so hungry… my stomach.. it woke me up," Mark mumbled, flushing. "I didn't mean to disturb you..."

Vincent pushed off the doorframe and came over, wrapping his arms around Mark's waist. "Mmm, you did more than disturb me. C'mere..."

He captured Mark's lips in a deep, loving kiss. Mark groaned into it, draping his arms over Vincent's shoulders as he pulled him flush against his body. Vincent's hands roamed down to Mark's ass, grabbing and kneading. Vincent was always like this when Mark was gone for even a little too long. He’d touch and love like he’ll never see him again. Mark's cock hardened rapidly against his stomach, which let out another long, rumbling growl.

RRRRRMMMGGGRROOORRRrrrr….

Vincent pulled back slightly, a grin playing on his lips as he felt the vibrations against his body. "Someone's hungry," he teased, rubbing Mark's concave belly.

Mark flushed more deeply, embarrassed by how loud and desperate his stomach sounded. "I haven't had anything since lunch," he admitted sheepishly.

"Well then, let's get you back to bed, shall we? I'll make it up to you, I promise," Vincent purred, nuzzling into Mark's neck.

Mark shivered at the promise in his voice. He let Vincent guide him back to the bedroom, crawling under the covers with him. Vincent wrapped himself around Mark's back, spooning him tightly against his body. 

As Mark lay there, he could feel every rumble and gurgle of his stomach vibrate through his entire torso. Vincent's fingers played over the taut, concave surface, gently massaging.

"Poor baby, so empty," Vincent cooed, dotting soft kisses along Mark's bare shoulder. He could feel how his touch made Mark shiver, his cock twitching against his thigh. "Tell me how hungry you are."

Mark swallowed, his mouth dry. "I...I'm starving," he admitted quietly. "It feels like I'm being eaten alive from the inside out."

"Mmm, I can hear that," Vincent murmured, running his nose along the shell of Mark's ear. "Your belly is so loud and demanding. It's almost like it wants attention."

Mark's face burned with embarrassment but he couldn't deny the truth of Vincent's words. His stomach growled again and he whimpered.

GRRMMGGULLLllrr…

"I know, I know," Vincent soothed, rubbing his stomach in lazy circles. "We'll get you all stuffed and full in the morning. But for now..."

He rolled Mark over to face him, hitching one of Mark's thighs over his hip. Mark gasped as he felt Vincent's erection rubbing against his own, still half-hard. Vincent captured his lips again, kissing him deeply. His hands drifted down Mark's sides, mapping his ribs, his concave belly, his hipbones.

Mark moaned into the kiss, his stomach rumbling and gurgling between them. Vincent swallowed the sound, plundering Mark's mouth with his tongue. Mark could feel his cock hardening again, straining against his stomach.

Vincent broke the kiss, panting. "God, you're so sexy like this," he rasped, drinking in the sight of Mark's wanton, needy face. "All debauched and desperate..."

"I'm not desperate," Mark protested weakly, even as his stomach gave a loud, painful sounding groan.

WWWRRRUMMBBLLLLGGRRrrr…

"Oh yes you are," Vincent purred, trailing his fingers down Mark's chest and along the ridges of his stomach. He could feel it clenching and fluttering under his touch, the muscle tone drastically defined from Mark's emptiness. 

Mark shuddered, his cock throbbing achingly now. Vincent wrapped a hand around it, giving a few slow pumps. Mark's head fell back with a strangled moan.

"Please," he gasped out, grinding into Vincent's touch. "I need..."

"I know," Vincent breathed, his own voice rough with want. He turned Mark onto his back and settled between his splayed thighs. Mark's stomach let out a shrill, high-pitched gurgle, the sound waves making his entire torso vibrate.

Vincent leaned down and placed a tender kiss to the center of Mark's concave belly. Mark whimpered, his body arching off the bed. Vincent licked a slow stripe up his belly, over his ribs, and up his sternum. Mark's skin prickled with goosebumps, his nipples pebbling under Vincent's wandering mouth.

Vincent made his way up Mark's neck to his lips, kissing him languidly as they began to rut together. Mark's stomach gurgled and whined with each roll of their hips, the sensations only heightening his desperate arousal.

After long moments of slow, deep kissing and grinding, Vincent reached over to the nightstand and fumbled for the lube. He slicked his fingers and circled Mark's tight entrance, teasing, before slowly breaching him.

Mark keened, his back bowing as Vincent worked him open. His stomach fluttered and growled, almost as if it was feeding off his pleasure. Vincent paused, looking down at Mark with concern.

"You okay, baby?" he checked.

Mark nodded, too breathless to speak. His stomach let out a low, gurgling moan as if it was trying to communicate something. Vincent smirked and started to move, sliding carefully into Mark's tight heat.

Mark nearly screamed, his head tossing on the pillow. Vincent set a tempo that had them rocking together, Mark's empty stomach gurgling with each deep thrust. It was a little painful, his body not used to going this long without food, but the pleasure overrode it.

Vincent kissed him messily as he snapped his hips, occasionally trailing fingers over Mark's concave belly. He could feel it twist and contract around his touch, could hear the sounds of hunger emanating from deep within it. It was intoxicating.

"I can feel your stomach," Vincent panted against Mark's lips. "It's so loud. Like it's hungry for more..."

Mark whined, his hands scrabbling over Vincent's back. His stomach let out a massive, groaning growl of assent, his body shuddering with the force of it. Vincent groaned in response, thrusting harder.

GRRRRRROOORRRGLLLLLRRRRRMMMRRRrrrrr…

They rocked together, lost in the slick slide of their bodies and the sounds of Mark's desperate stomach. The world narrowed down to this dance of pleasure and pain, hunger and satisfaction. 

Mark's belly let out a high-pitched squeal along with a bellowing roar, choppy and frantic sounding. He could feel his orgasm building, coiling tight in his gut alongside the gnawing emptiness. His hands flew to his stomach, rubbing frantically as his thighs began to tremble.

"Ah! Ah! I'm gonna-" Mark gasped out, his words cut off by a strangled cry as he came. His stomach let out a massive, gurgling groan, the vibrations almost violent as his cock pulsed over his fingers.

GGRRUUUUGGLLLEEGGLLL…

Vincent followed him over the edge with a low moan, spilling himself deep inside Mark's fluttering heat. He collapsed against Mark's chest, both of them gasping for air. Mark's stomach let out a few last tired gurgles before falling silent.

gurgglll.. wmmm… Rrrr…

They lay there for long moments, sweat cooling on their skin, hearts gradually steadying. Finally, Vincent heaved himself up and took Mark's face in his hands.

"God, that was hot," he said, eyes roaming over Mark's face. "You okay? I didn't hurt you?"

Mark shook his head tiredly. "Nngh. I'm better than okay. That was..."

He trailed off, searching for words. Vincent leaned down and kissed him softly, tenderly.

"Shhh, I know. Sleep now, love. I'll take care of you in the morning," he murmured, carefully disentangling their bodies and rolling to the side. He pulled Mark's back against his chest, draping an arm over his waist.

Mark immediately started to doze, his stomach already quieter now that he'd been satisfied in other ways. He felt safe, cherished, as Vincent's arms encircled him.

As he drifted off, Mark's last thought was that as much as his body craved food, his heart craved this. Craved Vincent's comforting presence, his tender care. Everything else could wait. For now, he was content.

~~~~

The next morning, Mark cracked his eyes open groggily, disoriented. Then his stomach let out a massive, agonized growl and it all came rushing back - the events of the night before, the pleasure and the pain. He rolled over to find Vincent's side of the bed empty.

RRRRRRRMMMMGGULLLLLL

He stumbled out of bed, feeling dizzy and unsteady on his feet. In the kitchen, he found Vincent already up and cooking. The scent of bacon and eggs made Mark's stomach clench and whimper.

"Morning sleepyhead," Vincent greeted him cheerfully, turning to pull him into a hug. "Ready for some food, I bet?"

Mark could only groan in response, clutching at his stomach as it gurgled and whined. Vincent chuckled and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"I thought you might be. Sit, I've got you."

Mark collapsed into a chair, kneading his concave belly as he watched Vincent work. His stomach growled and rumbled audibly the entire time, as if impatient for the meal. Vincent shot him amused glances over his shoulder.

"Almost ready, baby. Just hold on a bit longer," he cooed.

Finally, Vincent set a heaping plate of food in front of Mark. The sight and smell made Mark's stomach lurch, a massive gurgle emanating from it. Vincent laughed and sat down across from him.

"Go on, dig in. I know you must be famished after last night," he said meaningfully, eyes twinkling.

Mark blushed but wasted no time scooping up a forkful of eggs. The first bite exploded across his tongue and he let out a low moan, his stomach letting out an answering groan of anticipation.

Ggrrrrmmmgulll

He ate ravenously, shoveling food in his mouth until his cheeks bulged. His stomach gurgled and rumbled constantly, the sounds mixing with the wet smacking of his eating. Vincent watched him with an indulgent smile, occasionally reaching over to press a tender kiss to his cheek.

Mark finished off the last bite and set his fork down with a satisfied sigh. His stomach let out a full, contented little burble and he rubbed it happily.

Bbburrrrrrggull

"Thanks babe," he said, leaning over to kiss Vincent cheekily. "You're a lifesaver."

"I know," Vincent said smugly, pulling Mark close. "Now, what else can I do for you? Anything else I can fill up?"

Mark shivered at the suggestive promise in his voice, feeling stirrings of renewed want. His stomach gurgled, as if in interest.

gurrgglll

"Oh I can think of a few things," Mark purred, already knowing they'd end up back in bed for round two.

But first, he wanted to savor this moment - him and Vincent, sated and happy, safe and together. Everything else could wait. For now, he was exactly where he needed to be.

UGHHHH, I suck at writing sounds. I know it’s ass, it’s my first time :(

[sillymercury]

In the first tags it says most movies/books are not meant to be torn apart but I disagree completely. In fact I think most books/movies are made to dissected and understood on a deeper level. Because whether you like it or not and whether the author meant to or not, books/movies have themes and messages and many people enjoy finding them.

I don’t think it smart to write something(esp things so popular) off as mindless entertainment bc your being fed a message even if you don’t know it. There is nothing wrong with enjoying a book despite whatever message is being sent but when you blatantly ignoring the fact that these things exist is how propaganda propagates. If you are being intentionally fed a narrative without knowing you are likely to internalize it on some level which can be particularly dangerous. The danger presents itself abundantly in this day and age especially when you see people who have such hard stances but cant tell you/explain where those stances originate. Sns thrives off of the want to ‘turn your mind off’ and just consume/enjoy, but that’s never what actually happens. Your subconscious is still processing information but since you’re not consciously dealing with it that leaves room for issues like anxiety, depression, and personality disorder. This seems off topic but ‘mindless consumption’ isn’t a thing, your brain keeps score even when you don’t.

Also a book can have multiple “messages” and you can like some and not the others while still enjoying the piece overall. When I truly love a piece of media I acknowledge is flaws and shortcomings and can see the issues with a story/message while still enjoying it thoroughly. An example for me is I enjoyed the book The Picture of Dorian Gray while recognizing and rejecting the way the characters/book discusses and depicts women.

Like in Nestas book specifically, the main themes are empowerment (specifically female) and growth. This book was my favorite in the series and yet I can still acknowledge all the things wrong with it. Main character were incredibly hypocritical throughout the book, verbal abuse was seemingly over looked/excused, Stockholm syndrome parallels, etc. I identify these things but that still doesn’t detract from my experience instead, adds to it.

Another thing I wanted to mention before bringing this to a close; authors. For the sake of not rambling due to personal feelings I’ll just say, there is nothing wrong with calling out behavior or publicly disagreeing with ideals when it come to public figures. How it’s handled, whether it works, or it’s longevity is a different conversation but there is nothing wrong with speaking out against people in the public eye/people who create mass consumed media.

I understand your take, and I agree people take things way to seriously, but I think your frustration may be displaced. I think the issue with ACOTAR fandom specifically is the same issue with most fandoms. People are delusional, mean, and spoiled. People identify to hard or personalize characters/celebs to the point it becomes an parasocial and problematic. People are also very spoiled in the sense that we feel entitled to the things we want, like we deserve them intrinsically and when there is the threat of not getting what you want (esp is fandoms when discussing this almost mob mentality) or someone challenges your belief/opinion people lash out and get nasty, even feeling personally wronged but a differing stance. When you bring all of these things together it can get nasty very quickly. I’ve been and am still in so many fandoms that I hardly interact with because so much content is toxic or rage bait or whatever. Platforms like Reddit or discord where you can have controlled conversation with a group of people just as dedicated to a topic as you, and you can discuss thoughts and opinions in (what should be) a safe space is an incredible experience but most platforms don’t have moderation that can harbor that so then your left with a mess of often times toxicity and division.

I rambled and diverged a little bit but I thought hard about what I had read and this is what I came up with. Also I feel I should say I’m not a lit major lol but I am educated and I work hard to form my own opinions while still listening to other people takes. And that this is not an attack on op this is pretty much my stream of consciousness after reading the post and I am open to discussion.

my hot take as to why the acotar fandom is a shit show is because too many people with english degrees infiltrated and cannot read a book simply to enjoy it, they must pick it apart and analyze it to the point of just tearing it, the characters and the author apart. and gullible people adopted that same mindset.

in simpler terms: too many people take it way, WAY too seriously lol. like this series is meant for entertainment. sarah didn’t write classic literature with underlying themes on morals and society that’s meant as think pieces. y’all do too much and can never just enjoy things. you’re like the cinephiles that cannot just watch a movie for entertainment purposes, you need citizen kane otherwise you’re shitting on everything because it’s not up to your snobbish standards

[deliciouscollectorcrusadestuff]

This is just me rambling, it's not a Ted talk are anything like that. It's just something I've been saying to myself after I open Twitter/ao3, Reddit and even here and see a lot of things that have been confusing me, it's just something I just want to get out the way. You can give your opinion I would highly appreciate it.

Something that I notice after seeing Jax fans on Twitter is that We exist in a timeline where fiction character who are well written terrible people like Jimmy from mouthwash, Griffith from berserk, AM from Ihamaim. Heck Micheal Myers from Halloween, William Afton from FNAF (there are evidence that I've seen that proves that William is not a broken character and I've seen it time and time again) and characters that are known to be pretty evil and have ignored the consequences of their actions being.

Having tons of fans that are against aus that a lot of terrible things that are happening to them even though in the original story, they deserve the things that are happening to them in a narrative bunch.

However when I go to check on these platform, I see a lot of people that hate the fact that these characters who know they did wrong are not suffering the consequences of their actions and prefer if they get of Scott free. Heck prefer if they seen a opposite/nice au of that said character.

However they are willing to draw the line with a character who is simply a middle school jerk. Ive pointed out aus where they treat Jax the opposite of how they treat these evil character, they are willing to lobotomize him, beat him up till he somehow dies, torture him until he does, heck find new creative ways to give him a fate worse then death because he was acting childish in the main show.

Is there something I'm not getting? Jax isn't the only one who is suffering a fate like this, there has been alot of characters who have suffered similar issues like Jax and use the same destructive outlet and to the surprise of no one has gotten that same taste from the fandom.

Here's another one, Jiji from dandandan has gotten recently a lot of hate... If you know the character and want to know why people hate him, it's because he's simply a corny teenager who happened to friends with one of the female protagonist as a child.

Thats it, thats why people hate him. It wasn't because he was a mass murder or anything evil. No he was being corny.

These are the same people that complain about not having a morally grey character over and over again on their fyp and when you present them with a morally grey character with a lot of nuisance and understandable reasoning, they get hated more than the characters that who have done evil and know the consequences of their actions and show no remorse.

And the curly situation with mouth washing... I'm not going to touch that yet with a 5 foot pole but

Why did you asked for it. Your asked for a character that you've shown to not be able to handle over and over again, I would recommend that you read other fictional novels to help understand morally grey character. Cause you know what's surprising? All typea of character archetypes, pure evil, morally questionable evil, morally grey character and saints of all kinds have been existing for over 60 years.

Getting on track.

You know. If you think about it, character like Jax, Jiji from dandandan and a lot of character that you can find similarities are all compatible to regular people. If you understand the full content of what your reading, the setting, the plot, the characters and why they are like that. They aren't saints, and they are not monsters, just people with insecurities who are trying to live their best life or make the most out of their situation.

If you ask me why people are like this? I would say that somewhere down the lines. Media litteracy is dwindling for fantasy that the author never intended. People who simply see the character desgin of Jax. Thinking that its a cute little humanized rubber hose rabbit, knowing full well that it's a human being trapped in a digital avatar with no way to go home and being surprised that he acts as a human being and not another helluva Boss/Hazbin hotel character.

(Personal note I do not associate Jax with one of those twinks you find there. His design/gimmick is based of a rubber hose/looney tune character you find in the golden age of animation. Heck he acts nearly one to one with daily duck, just a lot more nuisances and stuff)

Jiji got the same reputation for a lesser Miner degree of being a corny teenager. Season 2 isnt out yet and I don't feel like spoiling it for people who wanna watch it. I fear that it's going to get worse for Jiji. Which is why Im asking to please revive media litteracy and common sense when we talking about characters that are morally grey.

You are free to do what ever you want, I can't stop or change your choice. What I'm saying is something that I've been seeing time and time again and thinking about it, it makes no sense for it to be the case where theirs a lot of characters who do deserve that.

This is just me rambling

[tonguetiedraven]

You approve of Yukio even after he threatened to kill people and tried to kill Rin and Ryuji?

I have answered this question at least three times now, and I know you're just trying to bait me, but woooowwwwww I must have missed something in the manga. When did Yukio try to kill Ryuuji? If you're referring to the moment when Yukio points his gun at Ryuuji, that wasn't trying to kill Ryuuji. A dead Ryuuji would not have been a Ryuuji who could talk, and that was what Yukio wanted. Answers. Ryuuji wasn't threatened with death in that moment, and Ryuuji -- the only injured party in that scene -- has forgiven Yukio and worked with an armed and loaded Yukio since then, so I think they've both moved on. Ryuuji had also kind of helped lead to one of Yukio's sort of adoptive uncles dying a few days earlier, so I think Ryuuji mostly thinks that was earned. (It was a very messed up little while in that section of the manga.)

I feel like every couple of months everyone in aoex needs to remember that none of these characters are real and none of these situations are real and that they are story devices and plot devices and that they are young teenagers in the canon story and teenagers make stupid choices. Especially when they're tired, stressed, and being made feel like they're older/more mature than they are. (IE, when they're given jobs and responsibilities for others life's well beings.)

I could talk about Yukio being a mentally ill character who has been living in some form of fear since he was born. I could talk about him knowing he was Satan's bastard son for his entire life and knowing that his twin was a ticking time bomb of awakening into a possibly massively deadly demon, but likely no one will care and they'll already know that.

I could talk about Yukio being brilliant in pretty much every way but reading emotions, but people will still assume that any time a gun appears on screen that it is loaded with the most lethal of bullets and wielded entirely with the intent to murder. (And yet not make the same assumption about the flames of Satan that have killed vastly more people than we've seen shot on screen.) And they will assume that Yukio intended to kill instead of intended to interrogate or frighten or slow someone down.

Again, no one would really care about that and they would realize it if they read the manga because it talks over and over about the kind of bullets Yukio uses not being particularly harmful to Rin who seems to take Yukio's bullets like they're the kind in a nerf gun.

I could point out that no matter what Yukio does -- even when he unloads every Armumhael bullet in Rin that they have and he makes Rin entirely human for a few minutes -- that Rin is still the more powerful party. That Rin is the dangerous one in the situation. That one thing we should all be getting in this current arc is that Rin is a god next to these exwires. He got disintegration and disembowled and ripped apart and destroyed in a horrifyingly large number of ways and just kept on going like it was a big old nothing. He can go toe to toe with Satan so I feel like mortal Yukio and his little pistols probably can't do a damn thing against Rin even if Yukio wanted to.

I could talk about the fact that literally the most avid Yukio haters will never loathe Yukio as much as himself or the fact that Rin thinking he wasn't the most incredible person on the planet never even occurred to Yukio as a possibility despite the fact that Yukio thinks of himself as not worth being alive and can't see the way he's admired by a lot of people.

I could talk about the fact that the only person we've really seen Lewin comfort is Yukio, which means that even "I have no empathy for others" Lewin Light could tell that the boy was drowning under the weight of his own self-loathing and endless guilt, or that Shura has been watching him crack, or that Toudou, Lucifer, and Satan all picked him to be the one they tried to manipulate and crack and even pulled Renzou in on their drive to do that, and that Mephisto has also been manipulating and toying with him to try and push him to his own ends. Yukio just might be the most manipulated character in the entire damn manga.

But at the end of the day, the manga is there and people are capable of reading and looking at it themselves and I'd rather just read it and write my stories and draw my pictures and just. Be okay with a well written character who has acted pretty damn human in pretty much every scene he's been in. Who has fought with his super human brother and loved his super human brother and hated himself and is trying to make amends and still hates a lot about himself but is loved by his friends and is trying to save his world from his horrible extended family.

And once again, who is a fictional person that has committed fictional crimes and fictional acts of kindness. Drink something warm and soothing and touch some grass since Yukio and co are stuck in the frozen arctic and can't. (And fictional.)

[cosmicredcadet]

All this aroace character shipcourse has proven to me that a majority of people that interact in fandom cannot actually interact with characters and media outside of shipping and genuinely I believe you need to learn how to interact with media outside of shipping.

[alistair-blackwood]

Kabru × Mithrun is a perfectly lovely ship with a lot of fun in-story content to play around with. I was vaguely aware of the ship's popularity when reading dunmesh for the first time and thought "Oh yeah. I get this." and know a lot of people who were eager to engage in fan content themselves once they'd finished the series. I've found that most people's grievances are less anything inherent with the ship itself (who doesn't love a good caretaker fantasy?) and more with the very particular fandom that's sprung up around it, which I'll elucidate a bit here, if you'll indulge me

When it comes to Kabru x Mithrun fan content, I think what a lot of fans forget about Mithrun is that, outside of the very specific circumstance that the series presents, he requires very little aid to get through the day (of which his family provided the best caretakers possible for him before he no longer required them). He's probably the character in possession of the most agency of anyone in the series (wealthy noble military leader on his own revenge quest that he volunteered for with a squad who defers to and highly respects him—even the queen's presumed heir is his subordinate). He's confident, self-assured, clever, and is so brutally driven that he terrifies Marcille badly enough it drives her right into the arms of his worst enemy. And yet, it's incredibly common to see Mithrun's agency scrubbed away in order to make him so heavily reliant on Kabru that he's rendered incapable and completely helpless. Which is fine—who doesn't love a pathetic sopping wet kitten? But, to be perfectly candid, seeing Viktor from Arcane undergoing very similar treatment at this very moment, I personally find it kind of tiring how quick fandom defaults to that sort of characterization for disabled characters, especially when it veers so far away from how they're actually characterized in the source material.

Also, I think people are so eager to play with the caretaker fantasy with Mithrun as the person in need of care that it feels like they're quick to forget that Kabru is also disabled and also in need of care. He displays many textbook symptoms of PTSD and is constantly shown to be carrying a lot of grief and anxiety and trauma with him, on top of just having arguably the saddest and most gruesome backstory in the whole series. Rejected by his birth family, watched his mother killed and her corpse eaten, raised in a culture that infantalizes him and by a woman who only agreed to train him because she wanted to punish him for daring to exercise his independence, pushing himself to the breaking point and exposing himself to his trigger again and again because his survivor's guilt makes him feel responsible for saving the entire world and begs for someone to kill him when he feels that he's failed. Kabru is a smorgasbord of trauma, and yet an awful lot of Kabru x Mithrun content is near exclusively focused on Mithrun's trauma, with Kabru acting as a passive receptacle to his pain and completely devoted to him with barely a thought to his own pain or motivations. Ask yourself how much fanart do you see of Kabru fussing over Mithrun, dressing him, combing/washing his hair, fawning over him, as opposed to the other way around?

This of course does't apply to all Kabru x Mithrun shippers, and there's plenty to like about Kabru x Mithrun just as much as there's plenty to criticize about Laios x Kabru and it's own fandom (depicting Laios as a stupid idiot moron who's too autistic for sex and/or Kabru as a hyper aggressive liar who's always a hairsbreadths away from murdering him). It's also impossible to ignore how Kabru is treated by the fandom as a brown man and how that affects the way people interpret his character and actions (aggressive, sinister, manipulative, never depicted as wanting or in need of tenderness or affection (fandom will run around the world ten times in their rush to coddle a white character and their pain before making the same effort and consideration for a non-white character)). Considering his backstory and character archetype, I'm absolutely certain that if Kabru were white he'd be the fandom darling very much the way Mithrun is now. It's important for people to feel like they can talk about these things without fear of being shouted down or taken in the worst faith possible or just written off as "ship wars", so I appreciate you taking the time to make your post

A healthcare worker’s take on Dungeon Meshi shipping discourse

Hiya y’all! As someone who has become a fan of Dungeon Meshi (honestly one of my favorite franchises at this moment) I’d just like to give more of a nuanced take on a shipping discourse I’ve seen. I’d like to clarify this with I am an NA. I’ve literally been recognized by the country I live in through the sunshine awards system on my contributions to my patients lives. All this to say, I know a bit about healthcare. And I also think that. Personally, people should be allowed to ship whatever they please. They shouldn’t be made to feel guilty for what they enjoy, especially if it isn’t hurting anyone.

I’d like to clarify what I am speaking on, this being the controversy surrounding the ships Mithrun and Kabru, vs Laios and Kabru. Both of which are valid ships in my opinion! I think both are great! And whichever you like you should feel comfortable and happy to indulge in it.

I work mostly with geriatric and bariatric patients, as I work on a cardiac unit. So, by proxy, I witness a lot of disabled people come through. This to say that these people HAVE partners. And their partners care for them. Such as feeding their partners if they need help eating, helping their partners feel safe if they have dementia, I have even seen someone clean their spouse after they had soiled themself. All of which are examples of love and affection, as partners. Not as a provider doing their job.

The argument i see many a time against the ship of Mithrun and Kabru, is that it is unethical. As Kabru would be a “provider” in this case, and Mithrun would be a “patient” to this I say, is Kabru being paid in this hypothetical? Is he following training he has been given? Is he following a code of ethics given to healthcare workers when he helps Mithrun with his disability? Disabled people deserve love. And they deserve a partner that cares for them. So the argument that the ship is gross is kind of… weird. Isn’t it? Again. Mithrun and Kabru as partners do not have to be your cup of tea, but that doesn’t mean that anyone who DOES ship them is gross or immoral. Helping your partner because they are disabled is an act of love, and completely different from a provider helping their patient.

Statistically, everyone will either die able bodied or live to become disabled. It happens to everyone. Disabilities are almost as much of a fact of life as breathing is. I am new to the Dungeon Meshi fandom, but the insinuation that someone able bodied cannot have a disabled partner is kind of horrible to actual able bodied/disabled partnerships? The dynamic is so common, and so to say that it is gross, almost implies that the dynamic in a day to day is gross.

This post isn’t meant to be inflammatory, there are so many dungeon meshi ships I love with all my heart. Some that are rare pairs, some that are common within the fandom. I just think that people should be more friendly with each other. Kabru has two hands guys it’s okay /j /lh. Just please be more friendly guys. Both ships are valid. But the way the fandom gets so angry over it makes me scared. And I imagine it makes other people who are new to the manga/anime a little scared too.

[fisheito]

I started reading beastars so now HE's reading beastars .wait

THEY'RE reading beastars

[myimaginationplain]

I've come to the conclusion that being assigned the fandom-mandated "sunshine character" is the worst possible fate a character could face

[necrotic-nephilim]

If you want to be bothered. Maybe this for dick and Bruce???

i ALWAYS want to be bothered these are always the highlight of my day tbh you're a delight for letting me just yap <3

Dick. For the canon isn't real square I am Specifically talking about the Tom Taylor Nightwing run. Usually I ignore bad runs but given this one is ongoing (though about to end THANK GOD and get replaced by Dan Watters who i have high hopes for since i adored his Sword of Azrael (2022) run but i digress) so I counted it. Especially since it's so debated if that run is bad or not, for some reason. I'm a 90s Nightwing truther. I love Dick so dearly and tbh recently I've been more enamored with him the more I read his Discowing era, I didn't used to be as big of a Dick stan as I am these days.

Bruce. Honestly where do you even start with Bruce. I want to fist fight him and also patch him up. He got me into comics and superheroes as a whole but I roll my eyes whenever he shows up in a story. He's a bastard and usually not a good father but also complex and should be dissected under a magnifying glass. I love him dearly. He's also just the worst. I think that's why I love him. I'm always a fan of unabashedly Complicated Asshole Bruce who's generally not always the best person, particularly not to the Batfamily and that being the driving force of his relationships with them, especially in shipping.

And for bonus points, Tim. Because know above all else, I'm a Tim Drake kinnie /deg. He's been my number one for a decade and I've yet to uproot him from my brain. He's literally the Worst half the time and I love him for it. And the canon isn't real refers to Tim Drake: Robin because... that sure was a comic. And that's about all I can say about it. Pre-Flashpoint Tim I miss you so dearly. I think it's fun that I want to put him in a blender and drink the juice but also want Nothing Ever to happen to him.

[dabihawksluvr]

If it was 'healing' any trauma, it's only for the abusers that caused it to begin with. Because every single time I see Endeavor Apologists talk about the Todoroki Family Drama, they defend Endeavor SO hard I wonder if they're the shit inside his own ass.

And I do mean EVERY. Single. Time. That Endeavor is brought up. In any capacity. Or even if he isn't, some little fuck stain will bring him up and shit on others who have any view on the bastard that doesn't make him some radiant god who's shit is speckled gold and should be worshipped like it was holy ground for these gooners.

And I'm not talking about all Endeavor fans, obviously some are chill and very delusionaly sane about this madman. They just happen to like his story and 'character design', but do it in a way where it doesn't shit on other fans who dislike him. Those fans I can tolerate, and to be honest they often make the best Endeavor content (there is at least three creators on TikTok whom I follow that have a 'Good Endeavor' AU and it's heartwarmingly sad to see how his story could've been if it was written better).

But these Endeavor Apologists are the worst in the fandom that I have encountered thus far (though the homophobic IzuOcha shippers are giving them a run for their money). Because not only do they live and breathe Endeavor, they also excuse the abuse he inflicted onto his own wife and kids to the point where they 100% mischaracterize every single family member as the 'abusers' themselves. Which is wild to me, because each family member has their own trauma caused by this half-wit fuckface and it's obvious that people just want an excuse to 'forgive' the man-baby of all his crimes.

And the story agrees with that he should be 'forgiven', which is even WORSE.

Yes, he is a tragic character. I have actually come to enjoy his arc throughout the story, because some Endeavor fans helped me see past the Apologists and actually see the character for who he really is rather than what the gooners sniffing his ass say about him. And I do enjoy seeing these types of stories...but it falls apart when we see his victims never truly get what they deserve in the end, most specifically Shouto. It's not just Endavor's story, but the entire Todoroki Family's. And it just feels like they only focus on Endeavor, making it 'his' journey and everyone else has to pick up the pieces.

But I think the issue is, this is from the viewpoint of Japanese society and their focus on 'family' over the individual. Because every family member did have their own trauma, but in America they would've all 100% split up much sooner than after the 2nd war ended (good on Natsuo and Fuyumi for finally cutting ties but shame on the mom for staying). And though I understand the ultimate fight had to be between Dabi/Touya and the entire family, it just feels...I don't know the right words, it just feels so wrong to me.

Maybe it's my own trauma and experiences with my own mother that make he more sensitive to these topics. But either way, saying that the Todoroki Drama was 'good representation' for abuse victims is so wrong. It's only 'good' for the actual abusers, who will see that drama unfold and be like 'yeah people will forgive me if I hurt them I don't need to change at all' then go online and berate actual victims for not 'fixing' things that same abuser caused them to go through.

But hey, if you wanna fix your own family go ahead. To those of us that can't, maybe actually talk to abuse victims instead of being ignorant and believe in a fantasy resolution to the real problem going on.

My brain won't let me read articles but

Fuck off. MHA doesn't do justice for victims

[bi-dykes]

“What do you mean there’s still so much biphobia in fan spaces? Bisexuals are like some of the most popular characters!”

Yeah, and they either get treated like this:

Or like this:

“Biphobia isn’t real” neither are your braincells

[kanerallels]

In Saecula Saeculorum

My contribution for @inklings-challenge 2024! Content warning for death and injury

Playlist link (I HIGHLY recommend listening along I spent like four collective hours on this thing I'm super proud. I am, however, adding which songs are best listened to at which points. They will be the bold italicized captions at the beginning of different sections. All the songs mentioned can be found on the playlist! (also, when you finish Afraid Of Time, just listen to the rest of the playlist straight through. It should line up well enough!))

~Time~

When Stephen Reid was nineteen, he almost got hit by a truck while trying to cross the street. A young woman a few years older than him yanked him back onto the sidewalk as the massive garbage truck barreled past, seemingly unaware that it had almost caused his demise.

Stephen steadied his breathing, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat, then turned to thank the young woman who’d saved him. His mother had drilled good manners into him from a young age, and she’d have scolded him soundly for wandering into the street without looking first, let alone not thanking the person who’d saved him.

But she’d already started moving down the sidewalk, shoulders hunched in her green jacket, her hair (the tips of which were dyed an electric blue) brushing her shoulders as she moved. She was hunched over her cupped hands, whispering to something she was holding, and Stephen frowned. Strange way to hold your phone.

But there were more pressing things on Stephen’s mind. Namely, the fact that the world was tearing itself apart.

When he was little, things were so simple. It wasn’t just that he was a kid—Stephen remembered things had been happy, peaceful. He remembered summers spent digging holes in his backyard with his friends and raking leaves in the autumn. His mother and father had been happy, and life had been good.

As he got older, he saw the little ways things weren’t so good. The strain his father’s job put on him, the leaner times. But his family was still happy.

And then he turned eighteen. And things got really bad. Countries baying for each other’s blood, corrupt leaders turning their backs and doing nothing to help. Every day, the news showed more horrors. Every day, things got worse, and war was on the way. And Stephen knew he couldn’t just sit by and watch. His mother had taught him manners, common sense, and how to be fierce when it was needed. And his father had taught him that if you could help, you did help, and to care even when it was hard. 

So that was what Stephen planned to do. In every way possible.

He’d started out with volunteering as he started college classes. There were even more people living on the streets now than ever, and helping make meals at shelters was a step toward helping them.

But then things took an abrupt turn for the worse. And suddenly, they were at war. And Stephen found himself dropping out of school to enlist.

He was twenty when he saw his first dead body—a woman on the side of the road. Face pale, limbs at unnatural angles, blood still staining the front of her shirt. It was an image that didn’t leave his mind for a long, long time.

Two months later he killed someone for the first time. He tried not to remember that. But it wasn’t the last time. Every time he took a life, he found himself mourning, for what the world had come to, for the life that he’d ended.

Stephen may have known the reasons for what he was doing. But that didn’t make it hurt any less, or stop him from wondering if there was a better way he could help.

At twenty-two, he was shot in the line of duty.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been injured. But it was the first time it had been serious enough to warrant being sent to a hospital for a prolonged stay. And as it turned out, it was serious enough that he was discharged from the army. The bullet had shattered bones in his leg, leaving him with a serious limp and pain that never fully went away.

It was strange. One minute he was fighting for his life, the next he was home. Like nothing had changed, like he was supposed to pick up where he left off. Stephen found himself adrift, unsure of his next step. He went back to school, but his old major didn’t seem to fit anymore. Nothing did.

He was twenty-two and a half when one of his classmates dragged him to their local church. Howard was stubborn and usually said exactly what was on his mind, without thought toward how he’d affect others. It was an odd combination of refreshing and very irritating.

And yet, in that sanctuary, Stephen had never seen Howard light up the way he did when the singing started. And listening to the words, he started to understand why.

He’d gone to church growing up, and it had been fine. But this was different. This was something beautiful rediscovered, and he cherished it. Soaked in every word spoken from the front. It was like water after years in the desert, healing after pain for so long. It brought peace he hadn’t known could exist.

Stephen was twenty-three when he changed his major. Not to a pastor, though Howard joked that he might as well, with all the Bible reading and questions. But to a counselor. Someone who could guide others through what he’d gone through, and worse. Someone who could help.

It was a refreshing of his original purpose, a rewriting of his story. It was the right thing to do, and that was all he’d ever wanted.

When he was twenty-seven, he started on an internship. And that was where he met Marian.

She was an astrophysicist, and while Stephen admittedly didn’t understand a lot of what she did, he liked to listen to her talk about it anyway. He liked her smile, too, and her warm brown eyes that lit up like gold in the sunlight. They both loved music, and swapped favorite songs every time they saw each other. She loaned him her favorite book, and Stephen read it eagerly, looking for what she loved in every line.

It took him a while to gather the courage to ask Marian out. Howard—now graduated, running his own construction company, and happily engaged—teased him relentlessly about it. “She likes you, you clearly like her,” the young man would tell him. “What’s the problem?”

“I’m waiting for the right moment,” Stephen would respond, and Howard scoffed in response.

In the end, he didn’t ask her at the right moment. He simply asked her, one day when she was stopping by at his work to talk about the book she’d just finished, eyes bright with happiness. Her smile outshone the sun when she said yes.

One year and six months later, she said yes again when he went down on one knee on a date to one of the few functioning observatories left in the country. He would have given her every star in the sky if he could have, but Marian settled for a diamond ring and a small wedding at her brother’s farm. Stephen hadn’t known someone could hold this much joy within them without bursting.

Two years later, Stephen was thirty years old. And that was when things started to get strange.

~~~

~Prepping For Rescue~

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

She avoided his gaze as she strapped on her protective gear. While the technology they were using had come a long way since the beginning of its use, there were still dangers. Being pulled through time and space could cause serious injury or damage, and the cuffs she was locking into place would generate a field that could protect her from that. Strange, how they almost felt like shackles, weighing her down, when they were the only thing bringing her hope right now.

“You know I am,” she said. “We already tested it. We can go back now, not just forward. And if I have that chance—”

“You’re gonna take it. I know,” he said. “But we still don’t know everything about this. We don’t know how it could affect the timeline. You could start wars, cause innumerable deaths. You could prevent yourself from even being born.”

“I know the risks.” She finished with the cuffs and grabbed her jacket, pulling it on to hide the cuffs from sight. “I don’t care.”

He looked like he wanted to comment on that very much, but just sighed. “Okay. Do you have your location drone?”

“Her name is Penni,” she informed him, and he sighed again.

“It’s a robot. It doesn’t have a name.”

She couldn’t hold back a smile at the old argument. “She does now. And I have her here.” Slipping a hand into her pocket, she pulled out a flat, circular object about the size of her palm. The domed top flickered between different colors, trying to camouflage itself with its surroundings, and it zipped into the air, hovering right above her shoulder. She brushed a hand along Penni’s surface, taking a deep breath.

“Good. Keep her with you, and I’ll be able to bring you back,” he reminded her. “Otherwise…things could get ugly. Because this is all supposed to be theoretical.”

“Then I guess I’m a pioneer,” she said, mouth suddenly dry. Squaring her shoulders, she said, “Let’s do this thing.”

~~~

Exactly twenty-seven days before his thirty-first birthday, Stephen was on his way home from work. He stopped at a grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner—Marian was working later than usual, and he wanted to surprise her with a delicious home cooked meal when she got home.

When he stepped out of the store, a car drove by at top speed and shot him three times in the chest. Two other pedestrians were hit, but he was the only casualty.

Except he wasn’t.

He heard the car screech around the corner, and looked up in time to see the dark barrel of a gun pointing out a window—and then a girl slammed bodily into him, sending him crashing to the ground.

Glass from the store windows shattered upon the bullet’s impact, tinkling against the pavement. There were screams, and Stephen pushed himself into a sitting position with a groan, looking around as the car roared away.

Two other pedestrians lay on the ground—one hit in the shoulder, the other only grazed in the arm. Stephen automatically moved to help them, calling for someone to call the cops, his head spinning.

Because there had been a moment where he’d known, he’d been sure, that he was going to die. Not just fear. Utter confidence. He’d all but felt the bullets pass through his body.

But instead, a girl had saved his life.

The girl. Stephen glanced around—but there was no sign of her. And all he could remember, as he later recounted to the cops, then Marian, was a blur of green jacket and blue hair.

Something about the description itched at the back of his brain, but he wasn’t sure what. All he knew is that he was somehow, impossibly alive. And he was grateful for it.

Two days later they found out Marian was pregnant.

~~~

“It worked,” she gasped, stumbling away from the framework of the machine.

Her friend looked up, eyes widening. “It—it did? Are you okay?”

She nodded, then stumbled again, and he caught her by the arm, hauling her upward. “Whoa. Sit down, have something to drink. We should check you out—”

“I’m fine,” she said, waving away his worry. “It worked, Tad. He—he’s not dead. Is he? I can’t—I can’t think—”

Steering her into a chair, Tad said, “Disorientation is a common side effect after traveling. Let me look at the database—drink some water.”

Taking the water bottle he shoved into her hands before moving to the computer, she gulped down some of the contents, her head spinning. “Do you remember how it was before?” she asked. “You said that you might not—”

“I think being close to the temporal field distortion preserved my memory,” Tad said, typing rapidly. “It’s fascinating, and if we don’t get arrested for this, I’ll write a paper–oh.”

Her stomach dropped as his face fell. “What?”

“You…almost succeeded.” Reading from the screen, he said, “Stephen Reid, died age thirty-two, in the ‘65 train bombings.”

“What?” Rocketing out of her chair, she moved to his side, swaying a little. Tad put a hand out to steady her as she bent over the screen. “How?”

“Looks like he was injured, but didn’t let on because he was busy helping others to safety,” Tad read. Glancing at her, he said, “I know that’s not what you wanted to hear, but—”

She was already moving toward the machine. “We have to go again.”

“What? I don’t think that’s a good idea. You already somehow created a temporal loop when you first went in. Who knows what—”

Spinning around, she said, “We can’t save him from being murdered just to let him die in a freak accident. It’s not—no. We’re fixing this.”

“And you don’t think this has anything to do with—”

Fixing him with a fierce glare, she said, “We’re going. Again.”

~~~

~The Typewriter Theme~

If that was the only incident, Stephen would have accepted it and moved on. He wasn’t dead, and that was something he was fiercely grateful for. His wife was pregnant, and instead of being dead he was there. For the moment when their little girl came into the world, and he held her close for the first time.

They named her Zara Grace Reid, and Stephen’s heart was full. For two long years, they had peace.

Then, when he was thirty-two, things started getting bad again. The governments were all fighting, and groups of dissenters were getting angry at, well, everyone, no matter who they claimed to hold responsible for everything going badly. Danger of terror threats grew more and more present.

The day after Zara’s birthday, Stephen was taking the train to a meeting across town. But when he got to the door, his ticket was missing. Racking his brains, Stephen vaguely remembered slipping it into his jacket pocket—and a girl bumping into him as they crossed paths in the station.

Strange. Who would steal a train ticket? He considered buying another one, but it was a nice day and he was in no hurry. He decided to walk.

Two blocks later the world exploded. Four trains, all across the city, blew up at once, killing hundreds in a deadly attack.

Stephen not only saw it when it happened, he felt it. In his chest, like he was on the train when it happened. But no sooner had the feeling come then it was gone and he was running toward the rubble, hoping desperately that he could pull someone, anyone out.

He missed his meeting and saved twelve lives that day. All the while wondering at the phantom pain in his side, but there was too much to do for him to care.

Hours later, he made it home after Marian, cleaned up, and only by the time he fell into bed did he wonder—did the girl who took my ticket know?

~~~

“SIX MONTHS?”

Pacing back and forth, she glared into space. “I only bought him six months? What does he do that makes these people want him dead so badly?”

“It’s pretty fishy,” he agreed, typing rapidly. “Okay, the records are a little messy, but I think I know the exact date. Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine. Let’s go again.”

~~~

The thought didn’t really leave Stephen, as he racked his brain to remember what the girl looked like. He remembered dark hair with a splash of blue, and the girl had been holding something small. And those thoughts tugged at other memories—of a day almost twenty years ago, when someone had pulled him out of the way of a truck. Of the shooting before Zara was born.

He wasn’t able to really consider the idea, let alone voice it. Not until six months later, when there was a fire in his work building, and someone locked the door of his office, leaving him trapped inside while the flames grew and the smoke filled his lungs.

He’d been in tight spots before. He’d been trained, in the Army, not to panic, even when it was logical to do so. But as his oxygen seeped away and the door refused to budge, even as he bashed at it with a chair, Stephen found himself absolutely terrified.

No. No, this can’t be it. Images of Marian and Zara flickered through his head and he knew he had to fight, had to live at all costs. But if there was nothing he could do—

The door swung open, and someone pulled him forward.

~~~

~The Hornburg~

“I wonder what makes them choose the intervals they do,” Tad mused as he typed. “Is there someone else preventing them? Do we just do this for the rest of our lives? Are they experts or are they just trying everything and every year they can to kill him? Furthermore, what’s going to stop them from just going back to the same year and trying again—”

He stopped short when he saw her face. “Which…they definitely can’t do. Most likely. I think they can’t, anyway. It’s just that the science is so—I’m sorry. They haven’t done it yet, they probably won’t ever.”

“I hope not,” she said, checking her cuffs and scooping up Penni, who chirped a little greeting. “The last thing we need is more things to worry about.”

“Or to send you through more times.” His worry showed through the edges of his speech. “You don’t have to—”

“Let’s go again.”

“Okay.” 

~~~

Stephen made it out of the fire and he could have cried with gratitude. The firefighters who arrived on scene seemed very startled to see him stumble out of the building, coughing—they said that the last man to come out had sworn up and down that there was no one else inside.

And they swore with equal fervor that they hadn’t sent anyone else in. They claimed that he must have made it out under his own steam somehow—adrenaline, maybe?

Stephen knew better.

“There are two options,” he told Marian when he explained everything to her later that day. Her brow was furrowed like it always was when she tried to solve a problem. “Either I have a literal guardian angel, or somehow the exact same person is traveling through time and space to save me.”

“I’m not sure which is more improbable,” Marian said slowly. They were sitting at the table, and her fingers twitched against the surface like she wished she had something to write on. “Bending time and space isn’t…unheard of, per se, but we’re years away from being able to achieve it under our own steam. And if we assume they’re from the future, they’d be moving into the past, which is, theoretically, even harder.”

“But then there’s the guardian angel idea,” Stephen said, grinning at her expression. “Which you think is scientifically impossible?”

She let out a long sigh. “I’ve learned not to count anything out when it comes to our faith. So…I don’t know.”

Reaching across the table, Stephen caught her hand and gave it a squeeze. “We’ll just have to pray that whatever this is keeps ending up at the right place at the right time.”

Their prayers were answered when, two years later, someone tried to shoot Stephen again. And again, he was pulled out of the way just in time.

~~~

“So,” Tad said, staring at the screen.

“Yup,” she said.

“A sibling, huh?”

She rolled her eyes. “Let’s do it again.”

~~~

It started happening more frequently. A near knifing in an alleyway, a car barreling toward him as he crossed the street. Every time, it was thwarted. Sometimes, he didn’t even see it coming—the coffee knocked out of his hands that hissed alarmingly on contact with the concrete, leaving it pitted and worn, for instance.

But every time, the attackers failed. And eventually, Stephen started to wonder if they should stop prevention and start focusing on the attackers. The only problem? He had no idea how to do that.

So he decided to reach out to the person who did.

~~~

“How. Did he do that?” Tad asked, staring at the screen.

“He must have realized what we’re doing, somehow,” she whispered. “I mean, he’s married to an astrophysicist, he has to have picked something up.”

Shaking his head, Tad said, “Okay, then how do we respond?”

She stared at the screen for a moment longer, thinking as she reread the lines on the screen. More specifically, the email Tad had found during his usual archive wide search for anything pertaining to Stephen Reid.

He’d sent it to himself, apparently hoping that it would be good enough. And it had been.

To whoever is helping me:

Thank you. I don’t know who you are or if you’ll receive this, but I have faith it’ll end up in the right hands. 

Clearly someone wants me dead, for whatever reason. Instead of preventing it, why don’t we get rid of the attackers? Let me know how and when to help.

Stephen.

“What do we do?” Tad asked quietly

She studied it for a moment longer, then said, “We answer. I can slip him a message on my next trip. Have you located who it is and why yet?”

“I think so.” Opening a new screen, Tad tapped on the article he pulled up. “There’s a stabbing, two years from the next attempt, in an alley nearby his route to work. Exactly the kind of thing he’d get involved in and try to stop, right?”

Nodding slowly, she said, “Right. But why this person?”

“No idea. They’re dead in every timeline so far. They must do something that the attackers aren’t a fan of.”

Taking a deep breath, she said, “Then let’s hope we’re not actually on their side.”

~~~

~FREEPORT~

For a while, Stephen didn’t think his message had worked. Things were peaceful—no attacks, no poisonings. Marian found out she was pregnant again, and nine months somehow managed to fly and drag by until she gave birth to a healthy baby boy, who they named Isaiah.

And then three months after that, it happened again.

At exactly the right moment, he was pushed forward, just in time to avoid a bunch of tiles crashing to the ground from the roof. When he caught his balance and his breath, there was no one there. But when Stephen put his hands in his jacket pocket as he started onward again, he found a slip of paper.

10/11/71. Four in the afternoon on your way home from work. Watch the alleyway off Racine. Be ready.

This was it. This was the answer. A little under a year in future, he’d be able to fix this, for good. Whatever this was.

So he kept the paper tucked in his pocket until it grew worn, the folds flimsy. He kept going with life—worked and went to church and looked after his wife and children. He avoided two more attacks in that time, and every time, his mysterious helper was there just in time, only to disappear before he could get a good look at her.

Finally, the day came. Stephen usually carried a knife, out of habit, and this time he made sure he had it, just in case. The day passed in a haze of business as he worked with patients and did paperwork and wondered what exactly was going to happen.

And then work was over. It was 3:45, and he was walking home from work, hands tucked in his pockets, trying to pretend like his heart wasn’t thundering in his chest.

3:47. He passed the cart that sold churros. Oftentimes he stopped to buy one and chat with the owner, but for now Stephen just gave her a little wave and kept moving, pace brisk.

3:50. A couple of kids zipped by on bikes, laughing.

3:51. He heard footsteps behind him, and his heart lurched. Be ready, Stephen.

3:55. The sidewalk came to an end at an intersection, and he turned onto the sidewalk along Racine.

3:58. He wove through a group of teenagers and sped up a little. He could see the opening for the alleyway.

3:59. Heart pounding in his throat, Stephen came to a stop outside the alleyway.

4:00.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing. And then he heard a muffled scream from the alleyway.

Instinctively, Stephen started forward, concern rippling through him. It had been the voice of a girl—young, too young. Most likely not his helper, but that didn’t lower his concern.

He made it two steps forward before he was grabbed from behind. Stephen vaguely registered the cold press of steel against his throat for a heartbeat before he moved, driving an elbow backward into his attacker’s gut.

There was a grunt—a man’s voice, judging by the baritone—but the grip didn’t loosen. Until Stephen snapped his head backward , connecting solidly with the other man’s nose.

There was a crunch and a howl of pain, and Stephen felt the knife at his throat break skin—

And then the grip was gone, and he was stumbling forward, hand pressed against the shallow cut on his neck. Spinning around, Stephen registered a man in all black taking a swing at a young woman—green jacket, hair dyed blue at the tips, holding a weapon he didn’t recognize. What looked like a tiny flying saucer hovered next to her shoulder.

“Help her!” she shouted, dodging her opponent’s blow with ease.

For a moment, Stephen didn’t know what she meant. And then he remembered the scream from the alleyway, and turned. Pulling his knife from his pocket, he moved.

There were two men, both trying to subdue a struggling, terrified girl. One had a hand over her mouth, and the other held a wickedly curved knife. Stephen took a moment to wonder why these people insisted on using knives, and then he was on top of them.

Clearly, either of the men were expecting him. The one holding the blade went flying into the wall with a cry of pain, clutching his shoulder where Stephen’s knife had gone deep, tearing through muscle.

 The second tried to reel backward, avoiding Stephen as he clutched for his own weapon while clinging to his victim. But Stephen smashed his fist into the man’s face, catching hold of the girl’s arm and pulling her away at the same time, using the man’s momentum as he fell to tear her free.

He took a minute to glance at her—no sign of injuries, just bright red hair and freckles and shocked tears starting to escape—and then turned to face his opponents again.

Only to find them gone, a trace of blood on the ground the only sign that they’d been there in the first place.

What? Baffled, Stephen turned in a full circle, then glanced at the girl. “Are you okay?” he asked, and she nodded shakily. “Okay. Wait here a minute. Call if you need me.”

Moving quickly, he headed back to the mouth of the alleyway, to see if there was any sign of his mysterious helper, or her opponent. But there was nothing. Just the now oddly dusty sidewalk, passersby who seemed to have no idea what had happened, and—

A scrap of white paper. Stephen bent and picked it up, unfolding it, and read the now familiar lopsided script inside.

She’s safe. You both are, unless you see me again. Look after her. Don’t worry about the other attackers.

There was no signature, although Stephen hadn’t expected one. A wave of relief swept over him, and he breathed out a prayer of thanks.

He was safe. They were both safe. It was done.

~~~

~Afraid Of Time~

“It’s not done,” she said.

“What?” Tad stared at her, baffled. “How can it not be done? We saved the victims, including a victim we didn’t even know we had until now, helped catch time traveling murderers, and hopefully we’re not even getting arrested for using government property without permission. Your mom might not even yell at us. How is this not a win—”

He stopped short, looking at her. As she looked at the computer file in front of her, wishing the words were different.

Stephen Reid. Died 10/12/83

“Zee.” Tad’s voice was soft. “You can’t stop everything.”

“That’s kind of the point of this whole time travel thing, Tad. I can.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’m stopping this. I’m going in again.”

~~~

Stephen had always loved autumns. The crisp, cool air, the knowledge of the approaching season that heralded celebrations and wonder and joy and family time. How could he do anything but love it?

Sure, he’d almost died at this time of year a few times, but with his life, when was that not true? 

It had been 12 years since the last incident. He’d helped the girl—Jenny, a teenager who’d been alone and afraid and had no idea why those men had attacked her—to the hospital to get checked out. They repeated the same impossible story to the police over and over until they finally got tired of asking and declared the case closed. Stephen was fine with it. He’d been told they were safe, and he believed that.

Years had passed. Jenny became all but a member of the family, and he and Marian encouraged her and supported as she chose a career path and moved forward with her life. Stephen still wasn’t sure what the men wanted with her, but it didn’t matter. Her purpose was her own to discover.

His other two children were far too close to grown up for his taste, as well. Isaiah was thirteen, flirting with girls, and discovering a love for basketball paralleled only by his love for mischief. And Zara was in college, pursuing a degree in physics.

He held great hope and joy for both of them, that they would grow up to change the world in whatever small or big ways the Lord had planned for them. If Stephen was being honest, he held a very specific theory for one of them, as time passed and the similarity grew stronger and stronger.

And that was why, on his walk home from work, he wasn’t overly surprised to see a familiar figure at his bus stop.

She was sitting on the bench, knees pulled up against her chest. Her hair, dark like her mother’s where it wasn’t blue, covered her face in a curtain, and the tiny flying saucer hovered at her shoulder again. As Stephen drew closer, he heard it letting out soft little chirps, like it was trying to comfort her.

Sitting next to her with a grunt, Stephen set down his bag and leaned back. Glancing at her, he said, “Nice day, isn’t it?”

Her chin jerked up a little, like she was surprised to hear his voice, then lowered again. Stephen watched her for a moment, debating whether or not he should speak again, when she did, voice low and cautious.

“If you could know the day that you died, would you want to?”

Stephen considered for a moment, tapping a finger against his knee. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “My instinct would be no—why live in dread of something like that? But I can’t say I would be curious.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” the girl agreed, voice still quiet. “What if…what if you could stop it? If someone just told you the right things?”

A heavy feeling began to settle over Stepehn’s chest. “Can you?” he asked, abandoning all pretense.

She let out a choked sob, and Stephen felt a stab of sadness. “I tried,” she choked out. “I tried again and again, but no matter what I do—”

“It’s okay,” Stephen told her, gently reaching out to touch her shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

Letting her feet drop down, the girl scrubbed a hand across her face angrily. “You don’t understand.”

“I think I might,” Stephen said, his voice very soft.

She shook her head. “No, you don’t. For you, it’s been another twenty years, but for me…I thought I’d get to go home and—” she stopped short, staring across the street, eyes red.

“And I’d be there?”

She swiveled to face him, eyes going wide. “What—how did you—”

“You’re my daughter, Zara. How could I not recognize you?”

Her face crumpled, and Stephen slid across the bench to pull her into a hug as she burst into tears. She pressed her face against his shoulder and he ran his hand over her hair, the way he used to when she was a little girl.

Closing his eyes against tears of his, he whispered, “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she mumbled, voice muffled by his shirt. “I was supposed to get you back.”

“You did,” Stephen pointed out. “Just not for as long as you wanted. But you were the one who saved me, so many times. You’re the reason I got to watch you and Isaiah grow up, and I will never stop being grateful for that. You’re the reason Jenny’s alive.”

“It’s not enough,” she whispered. “This shouldn’t be the last time I see you.”

Stephen almost laughed, tears springing to his eyes. “It won’t be. If there’s one thing I hope your mother and I taught you, it’s that.”

Pressing a kiss against the top of her head, he pulled back a little, taking a look at her. Zara had his wife’s beauty and dark wavy hair, and he wondered when she would dye the tips blue. Her eyes were the same warm brown as Marian’s—oh, Marian—and right now, they were wet with tears.

“I don’t want to let you go,” she said, voice shaking.

“I know,” Stephen said, heart aching. All he wanted was to tell his daughter that it was going to be okay, that he was going to be able to come home. But it was becoming increasingly clear that he couldn’t make that promise.

Instead, he asked, “Tell me about what you do next. Tell me everything.”

So they sat on the bench, and Zara told him about her work and her best friend Tad—whom Stephen had already met, but the two hadn’t grown close yet—and how Isaiah was coaching at a local high school and Marian was still working, still looking out for Jenny, still going to church every day. “She still loves you so much,” Zara told him. “Even when I never knew you, she’d tell me about you and how important you were to her. I—I thought I could bring you home to her.”

“You did,” Stephen pointed out, remembering all the days he’d almost died, and all the days his daughter had saved his life. His daughter.

Eventually, the bus came around the corner, and the little flying saucer at Zara’s shoulder let out a chirp. Zara’s eyes widened, and she glanced up. “I—”

“You have to go,” Stephen guessed.

“I don’t want to,” she whispered.

“I know. But if this is it, I don’t want you to have to watch it.”

Shaking her head, Zara said, “You shouldn’t have to be alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Stephen told her, and he meant it. Though his heart was heavy with grief, it wasn’t for him. And he knew—he was sure of it—that his family would be alright. They were strong enough to look after each other without him.

Getting to his feet, he waited until Zara did the same, then pulled her into a fierce hug. “I love you,” he told her. “And I’m proud of you. You and Isaiah, you’re the best thing I’ve ever done.”

She was openly crying now, but nodded, holding him tightly for another minute. “I love you, too,” she said.

And then stepped back and the bus was there. Stephen took one last look at her, taking in every detail. At last, he turned and boarded the bus, taking a seat in the back.

It lurched into motion, and Stephen glanced out the window at the now empty bus stop. I’ll see you again, he thought. And he knew, in his heart, it was true.

Pulling out his phone, he opened up his text messages and began one to Marian.

I love you, Mari. I love the life we’ve lived together for the past twenty years. Thank you for being the best wife and friend I could have ever asked for. 

Looking up, Stephen took one last look around him, and wondered what would come next. He knew more than most sitting on the bus did, and yet found himself frightened. And yet, at the same time, excited.

Whatever else happened, he was ready, with no regrets.

He sent the text.

~~~

Zara was still crying when she stumbled back into her own time, bones aching fiercely. Most trips, she’d taken a break in between, but for the past five or so, she’d gone in without stopping, time after time. Trying desperately to stop what she knew was going to happen.

It hadn’t worked.

But somehow, despite the tears and the ache in her heart, it was okay.

“Zara?”

Tad had moved to stand in front of her, face twisted with concern. “Are you okay? Or—are you hurt?”

Shaking her head, Zara took a shaking breath. “I’m okay,” she said, and he gave her an unconvinced look. “Fine, I’m not hurt. And I…” she trailed off.

“It didn’t work,” Tad said quietly. “Zee, I know you want to do this, but so many trips in a row are hurting you. And if this is so hard to stop—”

“I know,” Zara said, taking a deep breath. “It’s okay. I’m…I’m not going in again.”

Tad’s eyes widened. “Really? I—I didn’t expect that to work.”

“It didn’t,” Zara said, and couldn’t hold back a laugh at his expression. “I…I talked to my dad. It’s okay.”

“You’re sure?” Tad said slowly. “Because five minutes ago you were very ready to keep doing this or die trying.”

Nodding, Zara swiped a hand over her face, ridding herself of the last traces of tears. “I am. I got to say goodbye, and…he’s right. I’m gonna see him again. Someday.”

Resting a gentle, if slightly awkward, hand on her shoulder, Tad nodded. “I’m glad. He’d be proud of you, Zee.”

“Thanks, Tad.” Zara took a deep breath. It was time to stop living in the past, and start looking at the new, and slightly changed present she had waiting for her.

And when the time came to see her father again, she would greet him with joy and the knowledge that she’d lived her life to the fullest, like he had. Until then, all she could do was take the first step toward doing that.

[king-candybug-backup]

I'm noticing an uptick in comments complaining that most of the current WIR fandom content is Turbo instead of the other characters and, like... you guys know you can search other characters by their specific tags, right??? Or exclude Turbo from search results by temporarily blacklisting him in your filtered tags?

Idk, it's just weird to me to be discouraging towards people making fandom content just because it's not the specific content you want to see, like, it's ok to want to see other content, but complaining about how other people aren't catering to your tastes enough instead of just making the content you want to see yourself is kinda bad vibes, y'know?? (And that's not to say that I think those comments are intended out of malice of course, I really don't think they are, I just wanted to point out that it can come off as a little entitled, as well as discouraging towards people who just want to draw Turbo, which is something that should be fine if that's what they want to do. Fandom should be fun for everybody, and there's lots of tools available to curate your experience with it!)

[chibichibisha]

Ok, since this reblog just gave their opinion, I should too, even if I don't usually do it.

I think OP is totally valid for expressing their disappointed and be allowed to be devastated about it. It is a personal opinion, yes, maybe some parts are more passional or exaggerated than others, but the entirety of their grieve is based on facts that you can observe within the game.

Let's gonna treat the game as you suggest, as a product. And since it's a product, I should review it for what is it, and for the popularity and quality of its brand. Here, the devs, are also part of the production chain, and so they are responsible for the bad product we ended with.

I don't think we should protect the devs like they are some type of poor "martyrs" that we should forgive everything to just because capitalism is bad, and industry sucks. Yes, that is completly true and you are totally right about it, and it shouldn't be that way, but they are still responsible for the quality of the product they ended delivering. We should understand they had it rough, absolutely, but we are consuming something here, and the reality is that this product is not good enough.

Did they wanted to add more to the product? Surely, I have no doubt at all about it, I fully believe they wanted to do an amazing game that all fans would love it (let's ignore the griffters here and their shitty views), but the fact, the reality of it, is that they didn't. They just didn't delivered. The barely art they were allowed to create, is just not good for a lot of people. High ups can cut content or demand a specific type of it (or censor it) but what we had here is a complete disregard of the previous work on the franchise, and holds very little respect for it, even if it wasn't intentional.

I am not talking here about shipping, character ending, or romances, or whatever, like OP did. I am talking about ignoring key moments in the universe, changing some aspects of the very essence of the Dragon Age universe, and general stuff that it was very much ignored in favor of their own creative visions, and (in my very humble opinion, but you can find a lot of people agreeing with it) it was not the right choice to do. The product didn't met the minimum qualities required, and even if Inquisition was very critiqued in its time for some similar things, the reason why it wins in the comparison against Veilguard is because it respected the essence as much as they could.

I don't think we should harrass anyone about this, you are right. We shouldn't go to anyone social media responsible of this game and call them stuff, or tell them "how dare you" because it's shitty and it's not gonna change anything, but we can say that the game is bad without appealing to "cultural wars" or "identity politics", because that is not the problem. The problem is that they promised us something (you can read that Busche interview where she says they were going back to the roots, and it is simply not true) that was not delivered at the end. They are responsible too, at least for the work they do, and we can acknowledge that without being assholes to them. The best they can do is to choose to learn from their decisions, like you know, we all do.

Dragon Age, as a series, deserved so much better than Veilguard.

Spoilers for Veilguard and maybe other DA stuff.

Obligatory 'I'm not an asshole' disclaimer. Feel free to jump to the cut if you've read it.

Something came to my attention. I need to make it crystal clear that I utterly love the diversity in DAV. It's fantastic. I'm also a heavily left leaning, non-binary, queer as fuck reviewer, editor, and author.

I was on media blackout while I played DAV. Please be safe and take care of yourselves. Arguing with incels and white supremacists is completely pointless. They sea lion worse than an actual sea lion. Your mental health is important.

Though, every single time the anti-queer brigade comes out for a new DA game, I sit there thinking 'have you bozos ever played any DA game, like, ever?' My guess is nope.

Note. None of my writing on DA, but especially DAV, is edited. This is just my off the cuff writing. I don't have the time, energy, or heart to edit them properly.

The Solavellan romance deserved a much better end than 'die and go to fade prison'. I agree that Inky would likely be happy to leave. She's as traumatized as Solas for having to lead when she didn't want to. But I needed more than a craptastic Romeo and Juliet ending.

I refuse to do the heavy lifting for the writers. If it wasn't shown in the game or in supplementary materials, it didn't happen. Showing us the story was the writers' and devs job, not mine.

I mourn what will never be, even as I work on a Solavellan fix it fic.

How could they betray the IP so badly?

How could they betray their fanbase so badly? The fanbase that kept hope for that game alive for 10 years. I've seen so many people saying they've lost their interest or passion for the entirety of Dragon age. That they're not even remotely interested in another game because absolutely none of the choices we made in previous games matters anymore. They've wiped everything clean... or blighted it anyway. (I have absolutely no interest in another DA game. Not with Epler/Busche/Weekes involved. And whoever designed that ridiculous fighting system.)

The only way I could possibly be interested in another game would be if they loudly decanonized DAV, gave us a DLC (they've already confirmed there will be no DLC) that showed us Solas and Inky happy and not in a horrible place. One that showed us that somehow, something changed for the elves.

But that's so unlikely it's laughable.

The elves deserved a better ending. Are the survivors still enslaved or living in alienages? What actually changed for the elves except the largest portion of the Dalish being dead from blight? (That’s a real elvish win, isn't it?)

I'm a stubborn person. I refuse to let Epler's 'hate-revenge on Solas fan fic' ruin something I've loved for years. I still have the first 3 games. I'll make an actual happy ending and a decent romance for Rook in my fic.

And by the fact they paid a fortune to big gaming magazines while denying game keys to bigger honest reviewers... they knew.

They knew gamers wouldn't like it and tried to blow so much smoke up our asses with the interviews and AMAs.

How do they even sleep at night?

I'm a creative too, I write, do graphic design, digital (learning) and traditional (good) art.

My stories are important to me. They deserve not only an ending, but an ending that respects the characters, lore, and world that I've created.

My readers deserve that, too.

I, as the creator of my stories, deserve a decent, respectful ending.

Dragon age deserved it, too. A good, well thought out, and well written ending to the story of the Dreadwolf storyline, which, if you're paying attention, is intertwined through all 3 games. It's not just in Inquisition. One that made sense to the collected Lore, his struggles and mistakes, his literary role as an anti-hero.

I would never be able to do what they've done to a beloved series. I could never knowingly mislead fans like they did.

It's just a really painful reminder that beloved stories can be utterly destroyed in the wrong hands. And a reminder that there's so much talent and skill in Fan fic.

Busche worked on the Sims. No wonder the companions often feel as interesting as wet cardboard. Most Sims NPCs do, too. (I actually enjoy the Sims, but the NPCs aren't why I like it.)

And she had the gall to blame 'culture wars' and 'identity politics' for why the game is tanking. Rather than take ownership of the incredibly bad calls made for DAV.

It's just gross. I wish I could stop thinking about it. But Dragon Age got me through some tough times. It means a lot to me.

And it just deserved better. So did we.