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otomes-world · 21 hours ago

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It always starts out typically

Yes, I got carried away by the genre of gothic horror. Don't know if I do it correctly, but I wanted to write something very atmospheric. The characters are those that appeared in the Halloween event last year, I used their image when writing. Enjoy 0/ ~3k words, slight yandere themes and horror elements

Your mother - or maybe your grandmother or another important figure, you couldn't remember exactly - liked to say that the time from three in the morning to five was the most dangerous. If the newspapers wrote about another murder, then with an above-average probability the killer attacked the victim at this time. Why? You could never get an answer to this question. As if mentioning it out loud once again was fraught with trouble.

However, the not-so-quiet whispers of neighbors and elderly old ladies calling on God at every opportunity had long ceased to seem unusual. The world was full of rumors, but, to be honest, you wanted your share of them to be a little less. Or that suspicious glances from people would feel more friendly. Or mysterious speculations and strange crimes would no longer be associated with your figure.

As an experiment, you spent the whole day and long night in the church, trying to be in everyone's sight. Did it save you from another portion of gossip for at least a day? Apparently not, because mages were able to cast curses and hexes from a distance.

Well, neighbors could have this right, as long as they kept a respectful distance and did not start plotting anything, people could think whatever they wanted. Perhaps that was why your mother, grandmother or anyone else never made acquaintances and friends outside of family. As far back as you could remember, as a child you were left to your own devices, playing exploration and seeking adventure in old yards and gardens. Completely overgrown with greenery and entwined with ivy, the buildings or what was left of them brought thoughts of a fairy tale, of a mysterious world existing somewhere nearby. Somewhere very close, living its life next to other people, but not able to influence them directly. Leaving riddles and hints scattered here and there, in the hope that someone equally curious would find and decipher the messages.

As a child, running among the ruins, avoiding sharp wrought-iron fences that were trying to catch and tear off a piece of your favorite clothes, was easier. For some reason, thoughts about the danger of such places did not enter the child's mind, about the fact that a more real threat than the ghosts of the past could lurk nearby.

As well as feeling someone else's gaze on you, but not finding confirmation or refutation, a person or another child, you was deciding that this was an echo of another world. Maybe 15 years ago you, true, dreamed of such a fairy tale: in anticipation of magic and hidden family secrets. However, at a conscious age, having learned to read other people's glances, "being different from everyone else" turned out to be not so fun.

As well as ignoring the cries of nosy crows that have fallen in love with the area around your family home. When your mother died of illness, and your father, whom you never knew, never showed up, you inherited the house filled with all sorts of memories. The neighbors continued to whisper about magic, about how you "stole" your parent's life force, becoming a full-fledged sorcerer. Naturally, the doctor's conclusion about pneumonia did not bother anyone.

You matured too early, figuring out the not-so-bright prospects of adult life and the difficulties that lay ahead. At sixteen, you decided that you would not have children, if only youth in a small town and nearby villages considered it their sacred duty to avoid you like plague. Just like caring old women enlightened every traveler and their parents about the possible danger of simply being nearby.

Finally, with your own twentieth birthday, you yourself put an end to the generation of men and women, having seen enough of their attitude towards yourself and others. You didn’t want to become one of the many, whose life revolves around children, and whose chores around the house are the main entertainment. The soul wanted a calling and a purpose in life, but the malicious cawing of crows promised only the title of a mage and a quiet, lonely existence. As well as that very look that you noticed, but always not adults. Perhaps this was one of the reasons for those rumors.

One of your consolations became walks, just like in childhood. Not too far from home, but not too close, so as not to cause an extra portion of gossip. The spruce forest was never generous or kind to a traveler who accidentally wandered in, but a local resident knew which paths you could walk and which ones you couldn’t. They knew that birds singing was a good sign, if only because complete silence was even worse. That soft moss and grass could hide a twisted root or even a hunter's trap.

Deciding to try a new path this time, you deviated from your usual route. August was coming to an end, and although it was still warm outside, the dampness of the coming autumn was already making itself known, with light fogs and humidity settling on the skin in small droplets and a sticky feeling. The grass yielded under each step, muffling the sounds of breaking twigs, sometimes interrupted by a light knock on the ground. That's how cones fell.

Cloudy weather was the most dangerous for walking, especially in the thickets. You can easily lose track of time and not have time to turn back before darkness comes. Just then, catching yourself in thought, you decided to stop and try to turn back, but your hearing caught a knocking. Stopping, you listened, not immediately noticing how the birds fell silent and the wind became the only source of white noise. Turning your head to the sides and closing your eyes, you tried to focus on your surroundings. A moment and again it was a knocking on… a glass? Nonsense. Where would glass or something similar come from in the forest.

However, this "something" could have been brought by a traveler and the knock was his way of attracting attention to themselves. Or maybe it was that very "murderer" that the newspapers loved to write about. After standing for another minute, thinking about all the pros and cons, you turned on your heels and began to return home. The voice of reason won.

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself in the same place, which was very strange. Although you looked into these places for the first time, your entire childhood was spent in the forest and simply turning the wrong way, making a circle, was, at the very least, unusual. Sighing heavily and ignoring the stubborn knocking, you tried to get out of the thicket again, but the road, no less stubbornly, led you back.

Okay, this was definitely not normal.

There should, must be, a logical explanation for what was happening. Thoughts about the supernatural were as absurd as the rumors about your magic craft. Blowing a strand of hair out of your eyes, you forced yourself to breathe. Panic had never helped anyone, and getting out of the forest in your right mind before dark was no simple necessity.

"You won't let me go until I check, right?" Asking a question into the void was dictated by creeping paranoia. It was unclear what exactly you were hoping to hear. However, the silence that hung was no less frightening. Even annoying crows would come in handy now.

Gritting your teeth and forcibly exhaling the air you had been holding in, you headed towards the place where the sound was coming from. Yes, it was definitely madness, but sometimes there was no choice. Fortunately, or maybe on the contrary, the landscape around you began to change and the path led to a clearing completely overgrown with moss, clover and something else - perhaps these were just weeds growing everywhere. What was surprising was not this, but a large round mirror standing in the middle.

From old age and time, its frame was overgrown with rust, you didn't know how it took root, and the gilding - that was it, you guessed - had darkened. The glass surface was cleaned and polished, sharply contrasting with the desolation everywhere. Taking a cautious step, you came closer, looking at the reflection inside. Cloudy sky, tops of dark green firs and pines, entwined in fog. A dark, almost black frame around your figure. After standing for a while and making sure that no one would jump out or attack from behind, you sat down next to it, barely touching the cold surface with your fingertips.

"Who left you here and why?.." Another question was asked, which no one would answer. As well as the reason why someone or something wanted to show you an ancient object.

Blinking away the relief that rolled in - although it did not become clearer, the thought that nothing else had happened began to calm you down - you looked up at the mirror for the last time, jumping back sharply, seeing the changed surface of the glass. The reflection itself darkened, as if someone inside had dimmed the light, and in the place that you touched with your fingers, there was already someone else's hand. Someone else's hand. Someone else's fingers were touching the glass on the other side of the mirror.

Blinking a few more times, you wanted to rub your eyes on one side, but the voice inside refused to take your eyes off the mirror, watching if something else appeared there. Looking more closely, you noticed that the hand was clearly larger than yours, perhaps a man's. You didn't know women with such large hands and long fingers.

A minute passed, maybe two, but nothing changed. Your mind called you stupid and told you to get up and run, but your body refused to move from fear or curiosity, you couldn't decide what exactly was the reason. Carefully, as if afraid that the glass had suddenly changed temperature and one touch would be enough to burn you, you stretched your trembling fingers forward. As soon as the tips touched the glass, a loud crack was heard and you, closing your eyes, abruptly pulled your hand back.

When everything died down, you opened one eye, then the other. The clearing had completely changed, as had the mirror, or rather its absence. Instead, dry branches were folded in the shape of a circle, using the trunks of two nearby trees as a support. This was definitely a dream. Too real for your comfort, but there was no doubt that it was all part of your imagination.

Standing up, you brushed the dirt and dust off your clothes as best you could, they still needed to be washed upon your return. Walking around and even through the "circle", you didn't notice any changes. The lack of information was also a result, but whether it was encouraging was another question.

Rubbing your cold forearms, you began to look around. This was definitely a different forest with different trees. The native one was spruce and dark, damp and cold. This one, although not distinguished by warmth, consisted of pines, allowing the same cloudy sky to illuminate the bottom. Thanks for that. Birds did not chirp either here or there, as if this forest was dead, or maybe just sleeping. There were no squirrels running along the branches, no overripe cones falling, no fox or hare rustling in the bushes.

You didn't want to spend the night in a familiar forest, and there was no talk of staying for one in a foreign one, so you chose the most pleasant, if you may call it so, direction and headed there. The silence that hung was still broken only by the sound of your steps, drowning in the dried foliage. It was unknown what else the consciousness had prepared, but you had no desire to check. You just wanted to wake up and return to the dull life in a small town.

After some time, the road became more refined, the soil was replaced by stones, still green from moss and old age, but it became much more comfortable to walk. After another five minutes, but no more than ten, it led you to a small alley, empty, like everything around. The bushes were now located on both sides of the road, motley with some flowers, the names of which you did not know. Something like roses, but very strange looking ones. A wilted blooms with a completely bare stem, covered with thorns. It was "sharp" just to look at them, let alone touch. Which you preferred not to do.

The dream was "fascinating" in some sense, but the longer it dragged on and the more details it acquired, the stronger the feeling of anxiety grew. After an eternity - at some point you stopped mentally counting the minutes, distraction was no longer helping - you saw an old, obviously abandoned house. Many small windows, stone walls on three floors and a small porch. Coming closer sounded absurd, but in order to finish faster and wake up, you ignored the whispers of reason and continued walking.

When you reached the building, you noticed how tall it was. It seemed small from afar, but up close it began to look much more impressive. Perhaps it was not the mansion of a nobleman from the newspapers or the castle of a prince from fairy tales, but it could well be the country estate of some wealthy merchant or small count. The door, surprisingly still strong, opened with a creak, inviting you inside.

Without crossing the threshold, you looked around the hallway. Contrary to expectations, you were met with grayness, torn gray-blue curtains and furniture covered with white bedspreads. An old carpet, somehow still intact. Books scattered around on the floor and paintings, fallen from the walls. And dust, dust everywhere. You saw how it flew in the air, and already imagined how thickly it lay on all possible surfaces. This was not how you imagined the home of your dreams.

Sighing once again, you gathered your strength and crossed the threshold, noticing out of the corner of your eye how the door slammed. Turning around, you tried to stop it, but didn’t have time. It closed and refused to move, cutting off the way back completely.

Once again, in your feelings, you hit the door with your fist, but not with all your strength, you already understood that it was useless, you thought that from now on and in the future you would stop reading all sorts of horror stories and tabloids at night. Too much scope for the imagination to play out on such fertile ground.

A draft swayed your hair and attracted attention. Moving away from the ill-fated door, you looked around with a sad look at the devastation around you and, not finding another way, headed for the stairs, presumably to the second floor. The steps creaked unpleasantly under your weight, but to their credit they held. Although, given how dilapidated everything was, you wouldn't have been surprised if the planks would have broken. Feeling movement nearby, you turned your head, but saw only a wall with a portrait of a man hanging on it.

Pausing, you began to examine the canvas. In the same muted tones as everything around, although perhaps the colors had lost their brightness over time. You couldn't say for sure. The young man was dressed in a jacket with an unusual style, as if it was sewn from different scraps of fabric, a white shirt and an equally strange vest. However, there was no accounting for taste. On his hands were gloves, and he himself resembled a gentleman from the last century. Perhaps he even was the owner of the estate. Focusing on the somehow familiar features of his face, no matter how much you strained your memory, you could not remember where or whether you had seen him. Maybe he was a character in some story or literally a historical figure. You decided one thing for sure, you couldn't see him in everyday life. Adjusting the frame so that it hung evenly this time, you went up further.

It didn't take long to walk around the entire building, considering that after looking into a couple of rooms, you didn't bother checking the rest. Ahead were only long monotonous corridors with many doors. None of the places awakened memories, and so you simply returned to where it all began: you went down to the first floor. Carefully stepping up the steps, you once again turned your gaze to the portrait, but to your surprise it was empty. Touching the frame and even removing the heavy canvas, turning it back and forth, you found no changes. Whoever was depicted on it, he was no longer there. These mind games was starting to get under your skin. Upset, you hung the "portrait" back up, but facing the wall. You didn't want to see the man from the painting return.

Without bothering with your manners, you sat down abruptly on the sofa, raising a cloud of dust. There had to be something else. After pinching yourself a couple of times and not feeling any change other than an unpleasant pain, you gave up trying. Why did this dream just not want to end? Putting your head on the armrest, you tried to mentally force yourself to wake up. Someone said that once you become aware of yourself in a dream, you immediately wake up, but for some reason in reality it did not work.

Straightening up and leaning back more comfortably, you noticed that the clock nearby showed 3 am, - it was getting late - and mirror on fireplace. An odd choice, but then again, you couldn't judge person for their tastes. The reflection in it seemed to be different from the interior around. Getting up, you came closer to check.

To the hundredth surprise of the day, it was not you yourself who looked at you through the glass. It was not a mirror, but a window and very strange one. It showed not the street, but another room. Rising on your toes, you tried to examine the "reflection" more closely, finding that it was the hallway of your house. From the realization, you almost lost your balance and stood on your feet with all your weight, taking a few steps back, trying to take in the entire surface behind the frame with your gaze. There were fewer and fewer doubts: in the distance near the door stood a coat rack; a little further away an old chest of drawers that you could not find time to replace; a rocking chair on which you loved to swing as a child.

You looked around the room again in search of something or someone who could explain the strange coincidences. Find the traitor who dared to steal or rather break into part of your life. Driven by a crazy guess, you rushed to the windows, pulling back the protesting curtains, through the glass a painfully familiar overgrown garden looked at you. Through the other you could see a tall tree with a swing tied to it.

"..it's a dream. It's all.. a dream," you repeated out loud, trying to convince yourself of it. Because it couldn't be true. If it were real.. you didn't want to think about it.

Creak. Holding your breath, you turned to its source. The same portrait you'd turned over was now askew again. Stupid. So stupid. Could a draft have done it? Perhaps. Standing up on wobbly legs, you ran to the door, but the stubborn wood, the only solid thing in the house, refused to budge. Your knuckles were raw, and you stared blankly at your hands. Why did it hurt? Why was it bleeding?

It was all too wrong.

Creak. With your nerves taut like strings, you turned to see that the painting was now hanging as it should. It still depicts the young man you saw passing by. Only now, instead of a neutral expression, his features were frozen in cunningly narrowed eyes. For some reason, you were sure that his gaze was directed straight at you.

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thevulturesquadron · 2 days ago

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Ok, here's how it goes. I will unblock just so there is a chance at a decent conversation. Saw you reblogged from a different account so it was weird to just leave it hanging. I don't block people here cause I have something personal against them or because I dislike a conversation - but neither of us were born yesterday and we know most times people don't actually want to have a conversation online, they just want to be right. I mostly block people on tumblr to curate my experience here, cause I am often times just tired of negativity. And you know what? Sometimes I may even agree with that negative feedback, but I don't want that to be what I surround myself with, especially if there's an undertone of aggravation to it. I didn't jump on the post randomly. It landed on my dash, and it wasn't about you specifically. It was about a nonstop horrendous attitude I keep seeing online. While your comment isn't by any means the absolute embodiment of that attitude, I do believe it contributes to that. Was my answer spicy? Yea, it was. Even a bit preachy I'd say. Was your reaction to that old-as-balls tweet also out of proportion? Yeah it was. It would be unfair if you'd pretend otherwise or say you weren't expecting your post to create reactions that are instigating something one way or another. On my part, I see no malicious meaning behind his old tweet. If anything, there is frustration BECAUSE of the limitations they had back in the day and because of years of fans complaining about the horrible hair options for qunari - hell, I hated those options myself. It's probably one of the reasons why I couldn't play a qunari Inquisitor. But I never went out there complaining to the devs, calling them names or lazy or incompetent. And maybe neither were you. But we both know that there were and still ARE walls of entitled answers or reactions directed at these people. So what the heck do we achieve if we continue to harass them or behave like we know better than them? You mentioned that he was a writer: he wasn't responsible for full character design as such. That doesn't mean he wasn't aware of the limitations the teams had. Every team and department in a game production has to work together to deliver the end product (regardless of how well or badly managed that production is). Of course he knew, especially as the lead writer of that project. It was his job to know in order to deliver the part his team was tasked with. And even in a worst case scenario, he still had a better grasp than anyone else outside the dev teams. You see how your own statements are far from being neutral or inviting to a proper conversation, right? I don't want a back and forth on this, and there is no malicious intent of stopping you from voicing an answer. I know people generally assume the worst online, that it's always a war about having the last word. Well, in this case it ain't. I just value my peace and I don't want to start a crusade of changing people's mind online. In the end it's ok if we see things differently and it's ok to block me in return. I'm aware that you yourself are more than just one random opinion online, but it's also ok if we don't vibe. I'll say one more thing (that's just tangentially related to the topic of this convo) and I really don't mean anything shitty by it: I wish that everyone who's so set on judging every little thing a creator says or does has the chance, at least ONCE in their lives, to be a creator of something big and well known, to pour their love into it, and be exposed to a wide audience for it. I feel like it might help people have more patience and understanding for one another.

also obsessed with how mad david gaider got because this fanartist drew a bunch of hairstyles they wish were available over the qunari cc

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imhalfplastic · 2 days ago

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some stories aren’t yours

⊹ overview - pairing: wonwoo x mingyu x f!reader | short fic genre: love triangle (but the love interests end up with each other) · fluff

themes: emotional detachment, mutual pining (just not for you), third-wheeling cw: implied past flirtation, gentle romantic rejection

summary: a love triangle where the girl doesn’t get the guy. or the other guy. instead, both fall for each other. slowly and awkwardly while she watches it all unfold like a plot twist she accidentally directed.

from kai: my first request! someone asked me to write something inspired by those reverse trope writing prompts with minwon and this one felt like it fit them the best. i really loved writing this silly little story! i had so much fun with it, even though i struggled to find a song that really matched the vibe (still not sure i chose the right one). any recs? i’m all ears.

now playing: can i call you tonight? - dayglow

so technically, you were supposed to be the main character.

it made sense.

mingyu was clearly into you.

he always texts you first. a random meme, followed by a “this reminded me of you” that makes you stare at your screen a little too long. he's all sunshine and chaos and way too much cologne. but he listens when you talk and remembers the tiniest things. he once showed up at your door with your favorite snack after a rough week, like it was no big deal. it kind of is.

you think: this could be something.

but then there's wonwoo. quieter. more subtle. he sends you playlists instead of memes, walks you home when it rains, doesn’t say much but always says the right thing. he remembers your cat’s name. asks how your mom is doing. texts like he means every word.

you think: oh. maybe it’s him.

and for a while, it’s both.

they’re also your friends. which complicates absolutely everything.

and so the joke becomes... not a joke. not really.

just something you all keep circling around. drinks on a friday night, someone goes “okay but if this were a rom-com...” and someone else immediately groans. mingyu buys you coffee. wonwoo texts you about that weird movie you said you liked. they both show up when you need help moving your couch.

you flirt. a little.

they flirt back. more than a little.

you’re not immune.

but you’re also not delusional.

so you’re in the middle, two equally attractive but emotionally unavailable men gravitating toward you like it’s netflix and you’re the plot device.

people ask. so, who’s it gonna be?

and you honestly didn’t know.

mingyu makes you laugh until your stomach hurt. wonwoo makes you think about things you didn’t know you cared about. both of them make you feel like something might be about to happen.

and you are happy. because it does feel a little like a love triangle.

you're the common denominator.

the center of gravity. you’re not leading anyone on.

you’re just… seeing where things go.

and they’re both going. toward you. clearly. until they’re not.

it’s not like it's obvious. you’re just… extremely observant.

and maybe a little too aware of patterns.

like how mingyu starts showing up in photos with wonwoo’s cat. like how wonwoo starts driving mingyu home without being asked. like how they start arguing about trivial things like what kind of soy milk is superior and it sounds suspiciously like foreplay.

you don’t say anything. you just watch.

you shift from romantic lead to honorary producer. this is your rom-com now, just not in the way you expected. you get front-row seats to whatever this slow-motion pining is.

and honestly? it’s hilarious. especially when neither of them seems to realize it’s happening.

so you start keeping mental score.

wonwoo shows up with coffee for mingyu like it’s instinct: +1

mingyu tells wonwoo he looks good in blue: +1

they argue over who gets the last dumpling and then split it like an old married couple: +4

mingyu calls wonwoo “darling” by accident (you think): +10

at some point, it just becomes entertaining. you’re just sitting with the audience with popcorn, waiting for the kiss scene.

and then there’s the hoodie situation. wonwoo wears one that looks suspiciously like mingyu's. oversized, dark gray, fraying a little at the cuffs. you say something about it, just to test the waters. and wonwoo freezes for half a second before going “uh. laundry day.”

“sure.” you say, sipping your drink.

“just make sure your boyfriend gets it back.”

wonwoo, without missing a beat says:

“it's not from a boyfriend. just from mingyu.”

mingyu just shrugs.

the best part is how natural it is after.

you thought it might sting. it doesn’t. you thought it might get awkward. it doesn’t.

if anything, it gets funnier. they’re still idiots. just idiots in love now.

they drag you to brunch like nothing’s changed. still text you memes at 2am. still call you when they’re fighting about whether or not a hotdog is a sandwich.

you get used to seeing them shoulder to shoulder. used to watching mingyu tug the hood of wonwoo’s sweatshirt up when the wind picks up, then keep talking like nothing happened. used to wonwoo smiling at his phone like he’s reading poetry when it’s just mingyu’s “u up?” text with eight typos.

you start making bets with yourself about how long until they go fully official. (you win when mingyu soft-launches a couple photo and captions it: i guess i’m the boyfriend now.)

months later, someone asks if you ever had feelings for them. if it was hard watching them fall for each other. you think about it for a second.

about mingyu’s terrible jokes. wonwoo’s deadpan delivery. the way they bicker like an old sitcom couple and still always end up sharing dessert. about how you never really wanted to be the center of the story, just close enough to see it unfold.

you smile. “nah...” you say. “it was honestly the best seat in the house.”

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liriostigre · 2 months ago

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💌

#all my recent catcher in the rye talk made me want to reread it and i cried ! just now! chapter 5 #'all the talk' i say and it was only 1 person who commented to ask of it was an easy read haha #but my reply was long so it feels like i've been talking about it a lot #anyway i really love it so much! i wish i could lend my brain to people who don't fw it so they would feel what i feel #i burst into tears reading that part in which holden starts talking about his brother allie #i hate that it's suddenly so hip to hate on this book #no no i bet it's always had its haters #so anyway since i had to pause because i started crying i was googling some things about it and came across a reddit post saying it is -#overrated and naturally i clicked the link and everyone there agrees and their main argument is #'you have to be a certain age to RELATE (there's that wretched word again!) to holden'#and 'if you read it when you're an adult you understand he's such an annoying edgy kid'#and other awful takes such as holden being a sigma male 😐🔫#you really have to be some sort of dumbass!!#i don't mean you're a dumbass if you don't like the book. i mean dumbass if you have a stupid reason to dislike it. like those #what's up with this obsession with 'relatable' characters or 'likeable' characters 😐#and the selective reading? so many people questioning holden's mental illness and saying he was just an annoying teenager #like? read a little between the lines pls! he says his brother is dead so casually!!! but it's so obvious he's not coping with that loss #or anything else #anyway. such a polarizing book 🧘🏻‍♀️ nobody is neutral about it. they either hate it or love it #@ people who don't like tcitr pls at least read franny and zooey by salinger #and if you also don't like that one then fuck off 🧘🏻‍♀️

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spamtoon · 1 year ago

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(Out of nowhere, you are approached by a familiar lightbulb-headed Cog.)

Ah, it's you, cat. Thinking you're oh-so-slick. Muttering and whispering under those raggedy whiskers of yours... Thinking I am unable to hear it all...

Well, you've simply underestimated my fantastic hearing. You probably want to know the reason why I'm here, taking a 'break' from my incredibly important scientific breakthroughs? It's quite simple, really!

(She gets close, and squints her eyes.)

I know what you are.

Farewell, now!

(She then leaves the way she came from.)

(Spam giggles immensely, covering her face... it always seems like she's giggling, isn't she? This lasts... at least thirty seconds. Longer than usual.)

And I know what I am too, Sparky! You broke through something, that's for sure. Really, broke through...

(She looks down, continuing to laugh nervously.)

You know, I find it odd you Havent tried to bulb blast me into the stratosphere by now. I mean knowing how you acted with Frostbite. Is there something peculiar about me that you perhaps can't quite track? Something about me that you... don't know what I am?

I know, I know, I'm talking to nobody again. But you were there when I had a moment today with the one the only Frostbite The Bravecog. You may be remaining. Lurking in the shadows. Knowing about these thoughts that I'm thinking.

(The giggling resumes, lasting far shorter this time.)

Your brother's a piece of fucking barp, by the way

(She braces for impact for a few seconds, wincing while smiling, before comically looking around to realize nobody's there. She sighs.)

Wow, okay maybe toony superhero show logic doesn't apply in this situation. Cool.

WAIT I JUST FUCKING REALIZED WHAT SHE MEANT but like. Dude if she meant that then what's the point I mean the whole ahh sellbot department barping knows unless you're Really low on the ladder. Heheh... maybe she did mean what I thought she meant.

Oh i'm so fucking screwed. What kind of bitch gets filament fever

#bright spark #<- for finding this again later. haha i called her sparky #the way she talks fucking tickles my brain so much im so . ohguohguohoghog SHE #SORRY THAT THIS TOOK SO LONG you see i was in the mindset that i would do this one little thing and then i would do my work which uh.#that leads to so so SO much procrastination. including on fun things! oh so fun things.#today was an event.#i also spent quite a bit of time ruminating i “would she really say that” is worse when shes literally you #to clarify. she is spam's aunt by like. building standards. not really in her found family. so its fucked up but as i said in discord this #is like. a “your mom's kinda hot” level crush. you know. also sorry i really wanted to say filament fever its been eating at me okay #nothing SERIOUS the way my f/os (and spam's f/os (plural now?? i guess?? if today was a canon event)) are #honestly mark still feels like the only real one with her to me but damn it. if spam's reflecting My Changes then she's Reflecting My Chang #spam in toontown unlike my other sonas is the most “its just you again” out of all of them and thats partially because her main #cog connection... is frostbite. they bounce off each other like we literally bounce off each other and damn it shes been so stagnant on her #own because of it. mark happened and she mirrored that because i kept fucking talking about him while we were in character and ideally #i should TRY to fix her. but also man because i'm not doing Serious lore stuff with her i dont. even know if i want to.#i kinda brushed it over the rug by saying that she relies on her constant entertainment so readily because she herself still doesnt feel #like she has a place outside of cogs only. sure she's in high roller backstage sure she's in allan's family now but shes not Doing anything #with herself the way that her friends are. mole's a ranger. frostbite cohosts. wishes... has chip. and something she doesn't have--#living and fully growing as a toon. rather than being haphazardly slapped into a world. and in some respects she's envious of frostbite #finding themselves so quickly because she distracts herself because she's still kinda struggling with it. despite everything. yes she lives #happy and carefree a lot of the time but she keeps buying those dumb phones because when she's truly alone... her mind starts to wander.#that's what mark is for. so that spam can dream of a world where she has a purpose. even if its fake and fragile and just nothing compared #to the great friends that she already has. where she feels like its worth it doing something when she doesn't have anyone. and in that #respect. with the goons ma allan parallels in sonboy the spam cathal parallels shine. seeking tv (and to a lesser extent games) as a #method of escapism. even when one's life is already pretty good. because there's nothing else worth doing without friends or family.#the internet isn't just cool. it gives her something to be when it seems like everyone is something but her. and maybe thats a lazy #excuse for why it seems like she doesnt HAVE anything to call her own but that but damn it i'm trying my best to twist it around.#spam has such a HISTORY yknow? even if it feels like i havent established her much.#spam is the hearts to frostbite's spades not just because they're the duo of all time but because spam's fake stupid love keeps her going #sorry i just started rambling in the tags of this post about spam it. happens. she loves her friends so much i need to reiterate that okay

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waitineedaname · 1 year ago

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inquiring minds want to know... where are u watching mzds

my propaganda is WORKING....

the live action drama is called The Untamed, and you can find it on Netflix but also free on YouTube! I'm sure there are other places to watch it, but those are the two that were easiest for me to access

fair warning: the first two episodes are. rather confusing. they kinda just throw you in the deep end. however, if your experience is anything like mine, it really picks up by episode three, which is the point at which this show gripped me by the brain stem and then didn't let go. if you need any help understanding the first couple episodes/the timeline/all the names of the characters, do not hesitate to hit me up!

#asks #puzzlehat #100% serious about offering help if anything is confusing #my friend julianna made me a name guide when I started it and it was SO helpful #because everyone has two and often three names #and the timeline is strange before you get used to it #but once you get settled into the setting it's SO GOOD #GOD I HOPE YOU LIKE IT #even if you don't need help clarifying things PLEASE dm me or send me asks or something #I love hearing people's thoughts as they get into something I like #and as soon as I finished this show I was like ''I need to get someone else into this NOW i need to see their reactions!!''#also it's based off of books (I'm currently like halfway through the first one)#and there's an animated series and a comic and audio dramas #I haven't watched any of those #but I feel like the live action drama is a good place to start #because it spends a lot more time in the flashback #while the books spend more time post-flashback #so the drama feels like it gives you more context for like. who these characters are. what happened to them. how did we get here #you get to watch the tragedy unfold #and then the books are like. what if the tragic hero got brought back from the dead and got involved in a supernatural mystery romcom #and personally I feel like it's more fun and satisfying to get the context and tragedy first #and then get the Everything Else later #the show ALSO covers the post-flashback stuff #but the two mediums dedicate different amounts of time to it if that makes sense #I'm rambling. I'm very excited by this ask

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kianamaiart · 3 months ago

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what was the process like for naming the pppidwtbamg characters?

Scrolling down various baby names dot com sites LOL

"Aika" was just a name that I liked that felt fit her after I designed her. Not that much thought went into her name since she was the first character I made and wasn't planning on doing anything with her after that. Everyone else's names are very on the nose so I was thinking about giving her a star related name later but also I kinda like that her name is the only one that doesn't line up (as she doesn't want to be a magical girl or "a star")

"Hoshi" literally means star in Japanese which was me being lazy and once again just attaching a name to them because I wasn't planning on doing more. But also it fits haha. I did seriously consider changing Hoshi's name before working on the pilot because "why would a space star have a Japanese name?" But it works out with the backstory in my head wherein Hoshi and Aika meet for the first time, and Aika just starts calling them "Hoshi" because she was small and Japanese was her first language (she is Black/Japanese for those unaware). Hoshi ended up just adopting the name.

Then "Zira" is a name of African origin meaning "moonlight" which I felt was really fitting since I knew I wanted to do a moon motif with her to contrast Aika's star. Was also intentionally looking for "Z" names to further push the idea that Aika and Zira are opposites.

"Eclipse" is Eclipse because it sounded like an edgy-ish name he'd give himself and also at this point I knew I was going for a space theme with all these characters (a good chunk of magical girl stuff does). I knew he was gonna be Aika's self proclaimed love interest, while Zira is her actual love interest so giving them both moon motifs and names but in different ways felt fitting. I've mentioned it here a couple times that his real name is Elio, which means "sun" so do with that what you will.

Lady DeVoid is based on voids/black holes so... yeah hahaha. Added the "Lady" since a lot of classic villainesses have that title and I was also inspired by Cruella DeVil's name.

Miss's real name is unknown but "Miss" as a name is based on my experience in school where most kids just call teachers "Miss" or "Mister", not really bothering to say the rest of their names. As I grew up I kinda found that to be sad and feel like it kinda takes away from teachers' identities a bit. But I did like how narratively it works for Miss, since she drowns herself in her work and has, over time, lost who she is. She is Miss. Just a school teacher and nothing more (for now). She is intended to have an Earth motif so maybe her real name's related to that...

#ask mai anything

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shortnspidey · 24 days ago

Text

CONTAINMENT BREACH

Bob Reynolds X female!reader || WC: 6.6K

SUMMARY: Ever since the day he accidentally voided all of New York City, Bob’s kept his circle tight, trust was a luxury he can’t afford. His teammates were the only ones who get close. That is, until Bucky’s cat sitter shows up. Charming, unshakable, completely unexpected, and completely slipping past Bob’s defenses with alarming ease. Now he’s questioning everything he thought he knew about trust, about himself, and maybe even about second chances.

WARNINGS: Slight Thunderbolts* spoilers! Talks of mental health, depression, self-depreciating thoughts, character death (not reader or Bob) platonic Bucky x reader, Alpine being a little menace and matchmaker, lots of time skips, angsty fic but fluffy ending!

A/N: Just like everyone else, Bob Reynolds has had such a hold on me ever since I watched Thunderbolts, which is how this came to be written! I love that Marvel gave us such a relatable and real character. Enjoy! Divider by @luxifrv <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ bob reynolds masterlist

It wasn’t often that the Watchtower had visitors. From time to time, Valentina or Mel would swing by, typically armed with sharp suits and sharper words, checking to make sure the New Avengers hadn’t shattered another city block or, God forbid, triggered another diplomatic incident. But personal guests? Those were rare. Especially for Bucky Barnes.

Lately, even Sam didn’t visit much, tensions still stretching between them. Which is why the silence in the Watchtower’s main floor was deafening when the elevator chimed and opened with a soft hiss�� and Bucky smiled. Not just the tight-lipped, guarded smirk that passed for a grin these days. A real smile. The kind that started in the eyes and softened his whole face, made him look like someone who’d once known peace.

He stepped forward before the doors had even fully opened and wrapped the woman inside in a firm, familiar embrace. She returned it just as easily, arms winding around his shoulders like this was far from the first time. “Thank you for doing this.” Bucky murmured. You pulled back slightly, but not before affectionately squeezing his forearm, flesh, not metal, and giving him a look full of warmth.

“Just add it to the tab of favors you owe me, Barnes.” You teased. The sound of someone clearing their throat behind you broke the moment. You turned, finding a semi-circle of curious, and clearly surprised faces staring back at you. These were the teammates Bucky had told you about over late-night calls. John with the cautious eyes, Ava standing slightly apart from the group, Yelena who assessed you from head to toe, Alexi wearing that unmistakable grin, and then—

Bob.

He stood a little off to the side, arms crossed. He didn’t say anything. Just watched. You gave a small, sheepish wave. “I’ve heard a lot about all of you.” There was a beat of silence. John and Ava exchanged a look that said we’ll be talking about this later. Alexi nodded approvingly, his grin widening like this was the most entertainment he'd had in weeks. And Bob… Bob tilted his head slightly, something unreadable passing through his expression.

You were pretty, he thought, objectively so, but more than that, you seemed to carry an energy that didn’t belong in a place like this. You radiated optimism like it was your default setting. No armor, no edge, no practiced emotional detachment like the rest of them had learned to wear like skin. It unsettled him and intrigued him at the same time. Because in a tower full of jaded heroes and haunted soldiers, you stood out like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

“Wish we could say the same,” Yelena drawled, her Russian accent curling around the words. She leaned casually against the edge of the table, eyes glinting with mischief as they flicked to Bucky. “But Bucky here hasn’t told us anything about you.” Alexi’s laugh followed a beat later, loud and delighted. “About time you brought your lady over and introduced her to us!” You and Bucky exchanged an immediate, mutual grimace.

“Oh, we’re not—” You said at the same time he blurted, “No, she’s—” You motioned vaguely between the two of you, stepping slightly away from Bucky’s side for emphasis. “We’re not together like that. He’s like the overprotective big brother I never had. Annoying, broody, and occasionally helpful.” Bucky rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. At your words, Bob felt something inside him unclench, something he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

His shoulders eased slightly, tension leaking out like air from a valve. But just as quickly, his own mind betrayed him. Stop it. She would never look at you like that. The thought hit like a sucker punch to the gut. A harsh voice, well-rehearsed and heavy with truth. His posture shifted again, the weight of it all settling across his shoulders. He ducked his head slightly, eyes lowering as he avoided looking in your direction altogether. Across the room, Ava’s sharp gaze never wavered.

She tilted her head, brows drawn together ever so slightly. “Then what are you doing here?” You met her scrutiny without flinching. “Cat-sitting,” You replied simply, lips curving upward into an easy smile. As if on cue, the cat in question trotted into the room. Her white fur gleamed under the overhead lights, tail held high and confident as she padded across the floor. A single approving meow escaped her as she reached you, rubbing against your leg with practiced affection.

“There she is!” Your voice softened immediately. “Hi sweet girl.” You crouched, scooping her into your arms and pressing her against your chest. She purred, loud and satisfied, immediately tucking her face into your neck like she'd missed you for days. Bob’s eyes lifted without permission, drawn to the scene despite himself. Something about it, the calm in your touch, the quiet joy you didn’t bother hiding.

It wasn’t the kind of thing he got anymore. But here you were, in a tower full of ghosts and ex-assassins, holding a damn cat like it was the most natural thing in the world. It made him want to look away. And also made it impossible to. “That monstrous feline is not sweet.” John Walker’s voice cut in like a sawblade, his words practically dripping with contempt as he stared Alpine down like she’d personally offended him. You gasped, clutching the cat closer.

Alpine blinked at John with the casual disdain of someone absolutely unbothered. “Monstrous?” You echoed his words with exaggerated disbelief, gently scratching her under the chin. “I think you’re talking about a different cat. Alpine wouldn’t hurt a fly.” She responded with a low, delighted purr that vibrated against your chest.“Alpine is selective,” Bucky clarified, dry as ever, stepping in like the overprotective big brother he was determined to be.

“Only likes very specific people. Don’t disrespect my cat just because she doesn’t like you.” John scoffed and crossed his arms, muttering something under his breath that you were pretty sure included “spawn of Satan.” Alpine simply blinked again completely unbothered. You bit back a grin and looked down at her. “She’s definitely a good judge of character.” Before John could retaliate, Bucky shifted the conversation. “We should be back in a few days,” He interjected, tone casual.

At those words, Bob, silent, still as ever in the background, tensed so subtly only someone who really knew how to look would have noticed. But it was there. That flicker of alarm. Of dread. Because if everyone was leaving… then it would be just you. And him. In this tower. Alone. “I even got you that god-awful grass drink you like,” Bucky added, smirking slightly. “It’s in the fridge.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, reaching out to smack his arm. Which, predictably, felt like smacking concrete wrapped in tactical gear. “Disrespect matcha one more time, Bucky,” You warned, faux-serious. “And you’ll see what happens.” The super-soldier simply laughed even when you narrowed your eyes. “This is so weird,” Yelena muttered, arms folded as she eyed the scene.

“You being soft. It’s unnatural.” She gestured vaguely to Bucky, making everyone else in the room nod in agreement. With one final check of their gear and Bucky thanking you for the tenth, or maybe hundredth time, and pulling you into one more hug, the team moved out. The elevator doors hadn’t even fully closed before you heard a chorus of muffled voices instantly bombarding him with a flurry of questions:

“Who is she, Barnes?”

“How long have you been hiding her?”

“Why did the demon cat cuddle her and hiss at me?”

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. Then the quiet settled. Just you, Alpine… and Bob. You cradled Alpine as she adjusted herself like a baby, utterly at peace. You crossed the room, shoes soft against the polished floor, and stopped a few feet in front of him. “Hi,” You offered, voice warm but not too pushy. “I’m Y/N.” Your hand extended between you. Bob glanced at your hand, then at your face, then down at his own sleeves, pale knuckles twisting the hem of his oversized hoodie.

His posture was withdrawn, hunched in a way that felt almost apologetic, like he was constantly trying to make himself smaller. “Bob,” He whispered back quietly, avoiding your eyes, your hand, and pretty much all signs of contact. Then, without another word, he turned and slipped out of the room like a shadow trying not to be noticed. You didn’t take it personally. Bucky had warned you he was quiet.

But still, your smile faltered as your hand dropped, a soft exhale slipping through your lips. You glanced down at Alpine, who pawed at your shirt and yawned dramatically, as if she were unimpressed by the exchange. “That went well." You muttered under your breath. But you didn’t give up. You never really had that in you. You turned the lights down low and settled on the plush couch with Alpine nestled into your side.

You flipped through the Watchtower’s extensive movie archive until you found something comforting, a favorite you’d seen a dozen times, familiar enough to be background noise, comforting enough to combat the eerie silence that blanketed the place once the others left. The quiet was different now. Less filled with activity. You curled up under the soft throw blanket Bucky had left out for you, Alpine’s warmth keeping your chest grounded even as your thoughts began to spiral.

Eventually, the low murmur of the film and the rhythmic rise and fall of the Alpine’s breathing lulled you toward sleep. But even as you drifted off, one image kept slipping into your mind: Doe eyes. A slouched frame in too-big sleeves. A boy trying to be invisible in a room full of larger-than-life heroes. And the ache behind his silence that you couldn’t quite stop thinking about for the rest of the foreseeable future.

The next morning, the Watchtower was nearly silent, save for the occasional soft thud of Alpine jumping from one surface to another. Sunlight poured through the expansive windows of the kitchen, casting long golden rays across the sleek countertops and polished floors. You moved through the space quietly, barefoot, hair tousled from sleep, wearing one of Bucky’s old henley's over your pajamas.

Alpine trailed behind you, tail flicking with approval. You hadn’t expected Bob to be awake yet, which is why you froze for just a second when you saw him. He was sitting on the far end of the kitchen island, hunched over a mug of tea like it might anchor him to the world. His hoodie was the same as yesterday, slightly too big, sleeves pulled down over his knuckles, hair a little mussed like he hadn’t slept much, if at all.

He looked up as you entered. For a brief moment, your eyes met. Then he quickly looked back down, as if the connection had startled him. “Morning.” You greeted gently, not wanting to startle him further. He gave the slightest nod. “Morning.” Progress. You moved with quiet purpose, grabbing a pan and a few things from the fridge. “I hope you don’t mind, I thought I’d make something.” No reply.

“Can’t live off matcha and croissants the whole time I’m here.” He didn’t respond, but he didn’t leave either. That had to count for something. You worked efficiently, the smell of browning butter and cinnamon soon filling the air as you began prepping a small stack of French toast, humming softly to yourself. You noticed the way Bob’s posture shifted slightly, still guarded, but curious.

Alpine perched herself on the windowsill nearby, watching like a supervisor. Occasionally, she meowed at Bob, almost like she was trying to coax him into joining the moment. “I don’t bite,” You smiled softly, keeping your tone light as you slid a plate across the island toward him. “Unless someone badmouths my emotional support drink.” That got a soft huff of air from him. Almost a laugh. He didn’t touch the plate yet, but he looked at it, and that was a start.

You grabbed your own plate and settled onto a stool nearby, not too close, just within conversation range. You didn’t push. Just let the silence stretch comfortably between you as you both started to eat. Eventually, you spoke again. "Do you like the quiet?" His fork paused. For a moment, you thought he might shut down again, but then, his voice, low and unsure whispered. "It's comforting," He paused swallowing the lump in his throat.

“But not always, I-I get too lost in thought, spiral." You looked up, heart catching on the simple truth in his voice. “That’s fair,” You murmured. “Sometimes quiet with the right person is… kind of perfect, makes the voices go away.” His fork didn’t move. You could feel it in the air, the shift, the wall going up behind his eyes even though he hadn’t physically moved a muscle. That one word, voices had tapped something deep, something raw. You didn’t need to ask to know where his mind had gone.

You saw it in the sudden tightness of his jaw. The way his gaze didn’t land on you, but somewhere around you, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for you to recoil. Waiting for the disgust or fear he was sure would come. He didn’t speak, but his body did, stiff, guarded, breath shallow. Then finally, with your voice quiet and even, you spoke again. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” His eyes flicked to yours, fast, searching. “I just know sometimes… the quiet can feel more like a trap than a comfort,”

“Especially when your thoughts won’t turn off.” His posture eased. Barely. But it was enough for you to notice. “I didn’t mean your voices,” You clarified, almost a whisper. “I meant mine.” You reached for your mug, sipping slowly to let the weight of your words land without pressure. You weren’t here to interrogate him. You weren’t here to fix him. You were just… here. He watched you. You could feel it, his gaze heavy and unmoving.

As if he was seeing you for the first time without the filter of assumptions. You were still radiating light, he thought, but it was softer now, not the blinding kind. A more human kind. Like sunlight after rain. Warm, but gentle. His brows drew together as if something inside him hurt a little. You watched his jaw twitch, the flicker of conflict in his features as your words processed. There was no way, he thought. No way that someone like you could carry shadows, too.

Yet there you were, cracks and light, both and you weren’t hiding either. He stared at you like he didn’t understand what he was seeing. How had this happened? How had someone like you, all open warmth and gentleness, who cooed at cats and smiled like it didn’t cost you anything, gotten in? His guard was steel-reinforced. Always had been. It had to be. That’s how he survived, how he kept others safe from him, and himself safe from the world. But somehow, without him even realizing it, you’d slipped right past it, in less than twenty’s four hours no less.

Not with force. But with kindness. With patience.

And now, there you were, sitting across from him with your mug and your quiet understanding, and the wall that had taken years to build suddenly had cracks in it wide enough for sunlight to bleed through. He hated how fast it had happened. And how natural it felt. And yet… he didn’t want to rebuild the wall again. Not right now at least. “I’m not afraid of you, Bob.” He blinked. Once. Twice. His eyes darted to yours, then away again, like the truth of that statement was too much to look at head-on.

You weren’t afraid of him. And that terrified him more than anything. Because if you weren’t afraid… that meant you saw him. Not the Void. Not the Sentry. Not the stories people whispered behind closed doors. Just Bob. Just the broken, stitched-together, half-repaired version of a person who wasn’t sure if he was worth caring for. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Something sharp and bitter lodged itself somewhere behind his sternum.

Why did his walls let her in?

Why her?

And why, for the first time in a long time… did he not want to push her back out? His fingers twitched on the table, restless, as though caught between the urge to retreat and the aching need to stay. You didn’t press. Didn’t push him to speak or to make some grand declaration. You just watched him, quiet, calm, like you were willing to wait. Like he was worth waiting for. And for the first time, maybe ever… he started to believe someone, most importantly you had meant it.

Later that night, you found yourself curled up on the couch once more, Alpine nestled along your side. The glow of your phone lit your face as you scrolled aimlessly through social media, half-reading posts, half-dozing off. Then you heard it. A soft, pained whimper, almost like a cry. Muffled, strangled, fragile. You sat up instantly, ears straining. Alpine’s head lifted too, eyes alert.

“Bob?” You called out gently, not loud enough to startle, just enough to be heard. No response. But the rustle of bedsheets and the creak of the floorboards told you enough. You didn’t hesitate. Padding barefoot down the hallway, you knocked once on his door. No answer. Another whimper. You slowly opened it. The room was dark save for the spill of moonlight across the floor. Bob was tangled in his sheets, face damp, brow twisted in agony, chest rising and falling like he was drowning in air.

“Bob,” You tried again, a little firmer now. He jolted awake with a gasp, eyes wide and wild, but unfocused. Disoriented. Still halfway in whatever nightmare he had just clawed his way out of. His breath came in sharp, panicked gulps. He shoved himself upright, fists clenched in the sheets like he was bracing for impact. “Hey, hey…” You coaxed, crossing the room slowly, palms lifted. “It’s okay. You’re safe.” He blinked rapidly, vision clearing.

When he saw it was you, just you, the panic didn’t vanish, but it changed. Turned inward. Like he was ashamed to have been caught so exposed. “I’m sorry,” He rasped. “I didn’t mean—” You shook your head. “You don’t need to apologize,” You interrupted softly, settling on the edge of the bed. “You had a nightmare. It happens.” He turned his head, jaw tight, avoiding your eyes. But you saw the way his hands trembled. The way his body practically vibrated with the need to pull away and collapse at the same time.

“You’re shaking,” You murmured, not accusing, just acknowledging. “Would it help if I got Alpine?” His head whipped around at that, confused. You offered a faint smile. “Animals help. They can bring your nervous system back down. Petting them, just being near them, it grounds you.” He looked at you then. Really looked. Eyes still wide and full of something raw. “…How do you know all this?” He whispered.

“I work at the VA,” You replied quietly. “That’s how I met Bucky.” Something in his face shifted, not a crack this time, but a softening. Like your words had just unlocked a door he didn’t even realize had been sealed shut. “I’ve seen people fight battles even after the war’s over,” You added. “And I’ve seen what helps, even if it’s momentarily. Let me help.” He didn’t answer. Not with words. But when Alpine padded into the room moments later, hopping gracefully onto the bed, he didn’t flinch.

Didn’t turn her away. His trembling hand hovered for a second before he hesitantly laid it on her back. She pushed into his palm instantly, as if she knew. Purring loud enough to fill the silence. You stayed still. Let the quiet do what it needed to. After a while, Bob’s shoulders sagged. The tension bled out of him slowly, like air leaking from a balloon. His breathing evened out. And though he wouldn’t meet your gaze, he didn’t ask you to leave either.

So you didn’t. Instead, you shifted closer, careful not to overwhelm, but near enough to offer warmth. “You don’t have to talk, just… let someone be here. Let yourself not be alone tonight.” Your voice was soft, softer than the darkness around you, yet it filled the space like a promise. Not loud, not forceful. Just steady. Just there. You didn’t reach for him, didn’t press closer. You waited.

Tentatively, you watched as his hand inched along the rumpled bedding, fingers twitching. He moved slowly, like he was afraid the act of reaching out might break him. His index finger brushed yours, barely a whisper of contact almost like he hadn’t meant to, or wasn’t sure he had the right. Your breath caught, but you didn’t move. Not yet. Then your fingers slid closer, bridging the gap. And this time, he didn’t pull away. It wasn’t a full grasp. Not a hand-hold. Just the side of your fingers against his, warm and unmoving.

A silent offering. A quiet, unwavering truth: you were here. His hand was cold. A little clammy. But he didn’t retract. He let the touch stay, as if testing the idea that maybe, just maybe, physical touch didn’t have to hurt. The fear hadn’t left him. Not entirely. But it had receded enough to let something else in. Peace, maybe. Or at the very least… permission to breathe. He just sat there, pale in the moonlight, shadows clinging to the hollow angles of his face.

With Alpine curled trustingly in his lap and you by his side, your fingers brushing his in quiet solidarity. You didn’t say anything else. You didn’t need to. And as the minutes passed and Alpine’s purring filled the air, you swore you saw something in Bob’s shoulders, not relax exactly, but release as his head lolled to the side, fighting sleep. Almost as if he wasn’t carrying the weight alone anymore. Not tonight.

It was safe to say that after that night, something had shifted between you and Bob. Nothing dramatic, nothing loud, but it was there. Real. He didn’t flinch when you entered a room anymore. He didn’t avoid eye contact or disappear without a word. His hoodie still swallowed him whole, but now he stood a little straighter. Walked a little closer. He didn’t speak often, not at first, but he stayed. And that meant more than any words could. You’d become something like a routine for him.

Mornings started with pancakes, a small victory you were still gloating over. He claimed he didn’t know how to cook, and yet, he took to it like muscle memory, flipping with quiet precision while you chattered beside him. Perks of the Sentry serum, he claimed. Sometimes, you caught him sneaking chocolate chips into your batch when he thought you weren’t looking. He never admitted it. You never called him out. Evenings belonged to the couch.

You and Bob, Alpine curled between you, and whatever movie series you’d decided to marathon. You weren’t sure when he started sitting closer, or when the silence between you stopped feeling awkward and started feeling like safety. But it had. And you weren’t about to question it. Tonight was no different. Blankets tangled around your legs, Alpine’s tail flicking lazily over Bob’s thigh, and the familiar glow of another Twilight movie painting the room in silver and shadow.

"Twilight is a cinematic masterpiece." You declared with mock-seriousness, eyes fixed on the screen as Edward Cullen and Bella Swan made their appearance. Bob’s brows furrowed, eyes narrowing in both confusion and disbelief. “I don’t know about that.” He muttered dryly, the corners of his mouth twitching in what might’ve been the very beginning of a smirk.

You turned your head sharply, gasping as if personally insulted, hand flying to your chest in dramatic offense. “Excuse me?” Your smile had dropped instantly, but only for show. He could tell. Still, there was an almost guilty flicker in his gaze as he looked at you, unsure if he’d crossed a line until you threw a kernel of popcorn at him. “Jacob just imprinted on a baby,” He added flatly, motioning to the screen. “You’re calling that a masterpiece?” You blinked.

“That’s Breaking Dawn, and that’s not the point, Bob.” You huffed, throwing a pillow into his lap. His laugh, quiet, breathy, but real slipped out before he could stop it. It was soft and short-lived, but it froze you in place all the same. You turned toward him slowly, smile creeping back in its full, delighted form. “Was that a laugh?” you asked, eyes shining. “Did I just hear you, Robert Reynolds laugh at Twilight?” His face flushed instantly, but he didn’t deny it.

He simply just rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, slumping back into the couch like it could absorb him. “Alpine, did you hear that?” You stage-whispered, petting her head. “History was made tonight.” Bob glanced down at the cat now lounging half on his lap, half on yours, and then to your surprise looked back at you with the faintest trace of warmth in his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.” He scoffed, but there was no bite to it. If anything, it sounded like affection.

You leaned your head against the cushion, close enough that your shoulders brushed. “Maybe. But I’m also right. Keep watching, it gets better trust me.” He didn’t argue. Instead, he let himself lean ever so slightly into your side, not enough to seem intentional, but not accidental either. Some time during the movie, right as Bella stared longingly at Edward for the hundredth time your fingers brushed his again, both of you reaching for more popcorn.

It should’ve been nothing, just another soft moment in the quiet rhythm you’d found together. But in an instant, everything shifted. The room vanished. Gone was the flickering TV light, the warmth of the blankets, the hum of Alpine’s purring. Instead you were back in that sterile, humming hospital. The air was too clean, too sharp, filled with the muted beeping of machines that had haunted your nightmares for years.

God, the sound. Steady. Constant. Mocking. In the corner of the room, your mother was laid out in the hospital bed like a stranger, tubes in her nose, bruises blooming along her collarbone from too many IVs. Her skin was dull. Her hair thinned. The woman who used to dance barefoot in the kitchen with you to 80s music was just… fading. And you stood frozen in the corner of the room, watching. Always watching. Too afraid to move.

Too afraid to touch her, as if you might cause the last thread holding her here to snap. The doctor had already given the odds. Words like “aggressive,” and “systemic,” and “prepare yourselves.” But you clung to hope the way a child clings to a blanket, desperate, naïve, and fraying at the edges. Then she turned her head just slightly and looked at you. Really looked at you. She smiled. And it was wrong. Too calm. Too peaceful. Like she knew something you didn’t.

Like she had already made peace with the fact she was leaving, and all that was left was to make you okay with it, too. Suddenly, the room went quiet. The memory ended. But the ache in your chest didn’t. And just as quickly as it came, it was gone. You were back on the couch, but breathless, your chest tight, your hand trembling where it still hovered above the popcorn bowl. The movie still played, but the world felt distant.

Bob had already pulled away, his entire frame hunched and tense like he was waiting for a blow. “I—I’m sorry,” He stammered, voice cracking under the weight of shame. “Shit, I’m so sorry, Y/N. I s-still don’t know how to control it, sometimes when I feel too much or get distracted it just… happens.” You blinked back the tears stinging your waterline, still trying to catch your breath as your reality settled again around you.

The last image of your mother still echoed in your mind, but it wasn’t jagged or cruel. It wasn’t weaponized. It was just… a part of you. A scar you’d kept covered. Your gaze snapped to him, to the way he had recoiled from you like your touch had burned him. His arms were wrapped tight around himself now, fingers clutching the sleeves of his hoodie as if he could shrink himself small enough to disappear. He couldn’t meet your eyes. He was braced for disgust. For fear.

But you didn’t feel either.

“Hey,” You whispered, the word breaking the silence like glass. Still, he wouldn’t look at you. You couldn’t handle it, not again. You shifted closer, slow and deliberate, reaching out to gently rest your hand on his knee, grounding both of you. “Bob, look at me.” He hesitated, eyes flickering to yours, filled with panic and self-loathing. “It wasn’t your fault.” You stated firmly, voice steady despite the slight shake in your hands.

“I’ve been carrying that moment for years. You didn’t force it out of me. It was… already there.” Yet he shook his head, mind spiraling right in front of you. “I didn’t mean to invade your thoughts,” He rasped. “I hate that I do that, just rip people into their worst—” You squeezed his knee, stopping him mid sentence. “You didn’t rip me into anything,” You cut in softly. “You touched my hand, and for a second, my mind gave in. That’s all. You didn’t show me something I didn’t already live through.”

He stared at you like you were speaking another language. Like kindness itself didn’t make sense coming from someone who had every reason to walk away. His eyes were glassy, wide, as if he was expecting you to scream, to flinch, to at him curse. Instead you didn’t move. You didn’t raise your voice or look away. “Bob,” You called his name softly, your voice full of a tenderness he’d only ever seen in other people’s lives, never his own.

“Sweetheart, come here.” The nickname hit him like a freight train. He blinked, stunned, like he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. Your arms were open, welcoming. No threat. No edge. He didn’t move. “I’m sorry,” He whimpered again, like it was all he had left. His voice cracked in the middle, fragile and full of every emotion he couldn’t name. “I didn’t mean to—” You shook your head gently, shushing him like, and then you reached.

Your fingers found his wrist, slowly, gently, and when he didn’t pull away, you guided him forward. The moment his body made contact with yours, he froze. Stiff. Breath held. He didn’t know what to do with it, your warmth, your hands in his hair, your chest rising and falling against his. But he didn’t stop it. Couldn’t. Your nails scratched delicately into his scalp like a grounding rhythm, the other hand running in soft, steady circles between his shoulder blades.

His breath hitched. It had been so long since someone touched him like that. Not out of obligation. Not for necessity. Just to comfort. And God, he hadn’t realized how much he needed it. His arms, wrapped around you tightly, too tightly, like if he loosened his grip even a fraction, you’d disappear. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, breath shaky and uneven. Every part of him trembled under your touch.

You held him tighter. “It’s okay,” You whispered into his hair. “You’re okay. You’re here. I’m here.” He made a sound then, a quiet, broken noise that wasn’t quite a sob, but close. Maybe it was relief. Or grief. Or both. You felt it in your own throat, that heavy lump of emotion neither of you could name yet. Minutes passed. Maybe more. Neither of you moved. And finally, in the low hush of the living room, Bob spoke.

So quietly you might’ve missed it if you weren’t already tuned to every fragile part of him. "I d-don't deserve you." It wasn’t just guilt in his voice, it was certainty. Like it was fact. Like someone, somewhere had etched it into his bones and he’d spent every day since then believing it was true. That sentence alone shattered something inside you. Because you had fallen, not in the surface way, not in some passing infatuation, but in a slow, aching unraveling for the man in front of you.

For his quiet strength, for the storm of self-hate he carried in silence and the flickers of hope he didn’t know he was allowed to hold. You’d fallen for all the versions of Bob, the terrified one, the broken one, the funny one who made dry little comments at the screen when he thought you weren’t listening. You saw every cracked piece of him and loved him more for it. And he thought he wasn’t worthy. Your hand gently cupped his cheek, guiding his gaze to yours.

“Don’t say that,” You whispered, voice barely audible, like you were afraid the moment might break if you spoke too loud. “Don’t ever say that again.” He flinched, eyes flickering between yours, and you saw it, the war behind them. That desperate need to believe you, battling a lifetime of voices that told him otherwise. You leaned in just a little, your forehead resting gently against his.

“You deserve everything, Bob,” You declared, eyes closing as the gravity of your words landed. “You deserve safety. And peace. And someone who sees all of you and stays.” You felt him exhale, a slow, shuddering breath that seemed to come from the deepest part of him. Your lips barely brushed his cheek when you spoke again, softer now. “And if you'll let me… I want to be that someone.” He didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

But his eyes searched yours like he was trying to memorize them, like they might be the one thing anchoring him to the present. And then, slowly, cautiously, his hand found the side of your neck, warm and trembling, thumb brushing just under your jaw. You tilted your head, giving him space, and that was all it took. His lips met yours with the hesitancy of someone who hadn’t kissed in a long time, or maybe had never kissed like this. It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t hurried.

It was a whisper of vulnerability. Your hand slid behind his neck, drawing him closer, and he exhaled into the kiss like it physically hurt to let go of the air between you. He tasted like warmth and fear and something unbearably tender, like he’d been waiting his whole life for someone to meet him in the quiet, in the ache. You tilted your head, deepening it just a fraction, your lips molding to his with a tenderness that made his shoulders sag.

Like the weight he’d carried for years had just been handed off, piece by piece, into your keeping. His breath hitched against your mouth, and your fingers slid into his curls, anchoring him to the moment. He melted under your touch, leaning into you like you were something breakable he wanted to protect but didn’t know how. When his other hand found your waist, it was clumsy and careful at once. He held you like you might vanish, like this might all be a dream, and kissed you again, slower this time, more certain.

When you finally pulled back, foreheads still touching, you whispered. “You’re not alone, Bob. Not anymore. I'm not going anywhere, I promise." He didn’t cry. Not exactly. But he closed his eyes, nodded, and exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for years. “C’mere, let me hold you.” You coxed, voice thick with tenderness and exhaustion as you tugged him gently down onto the couch with you.

There was no hesitation anymore. No flicker of doubt in his eyes. Bob let himself be pulled, let himself fall, not just onto the cushions, but into the warmth of you, into the safety net of this fragile, blooming thing between you. Your arms wrapped securely around his waist, hands smoothing over the soft cotton of his hoodie, anchoring him like a lifeline. Without needing to be asked, he folded himself around you, holding you like something precious.

One arm around your back, the other settling protectively along your waist. Your legs tangled together as if they’d been doing that for years, as if your bodies already knew how to fit together. He clutched you gently but firmly, like he still didn’t quite trust the world not to take you away. “You’re warm.” You sighed, nuzzling into the space beneath his collarbone. His scent, faint cedar, old cotton, a whisper of something herbal from the tea he always made, filled your senses.

“I—um, I run hot. S-sorry.” His voice was muffled by your hair, and his hand twitched nervously against your back. You shook your head where it rested against his chest. “Don’t you dare apologize,” You scolded playfully. “You’re perfect.” He didn’t say anything at first, but you felt it. The way his chest rose and fell differently, heart thumping under your ear, as if your words had hit something he didn’t know how to name.

And then, soft and uncertain, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His face flushed, visible even in the dim light of the television screen still flickering forgotten in front of you. He pressed one last chaste kiss to your forehead, lingering there. Then, finally, you both surrendered to sleep, curled up and wrapped around one another like if it were second nature. The elevator hummed to life hours later, the quiet of the Watchtower broken by the low clunk of boots on metal.

Bucky stepped out first, duffel slung over one shoulder, scanning the empty common space for any sign of Alpine’s prancing form or your cheerful presence. His brow furrowed. The lights were dimmed, the room untouched. Not even a half-drunk mug of matcha in sight. Then his gaze landed on the couch, and the corner of his mouth curled. There you were. Tucked into Bob’s chest like you belonged there, legs intertwined, his chin resting atop your head.

His arms were locked around your waist with the kind of protectiveness Bucky hadn’t seen in Bob since… well, ever. And the kicker? Bob’s lips were still pressed softly against your forehead in sleep, the image of peace incarnate. “Are they—?” Yelena’s whisper broke the stunned silence as the rest of the team piled in behind Bucky, slowing to take in the sight. “They are." Bucky nodded, unable to keep the grin off his face.

Ava blinked, completely stunned. “Wow.” Alexei gave a low whistle, while John looked vaguely like he wanted to protest before Yelena elbowed him in the ribs. Hard. Bucky raised a finger to his lips, motioning for them to be quiet. He stepped forward, carefully scooping Alpine into his arms from her perch at the foot of the couch. She purred instantly, tail flicking with smug satisfaction, as if to say I told you this would work.

Then without another word said, Bucky promptly ushered the entire team out of the room, leaving you and Bob undisturbed in the glow of something new, something fragile and hard-earned, something definitely worth holding on to. And as the door slid shut behind them, the only sound that remained was the steady rhythm of two heartbeats, finally at peace in each other’s arms.

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married-to-google-translater · 7 months ago

Note

Imagine accidenatlly calling the twist characters an endearment (ex, darling dear, my everything, baby, honey, etc.) because your too sleep deprived to notice it, but they did! How’d they react?

This is now for dorm leaders~

First years are here

Malleus would start planning marriage~ The words would have a deep meaning and Malleus would not believe that you would say such things if there was no truth in them... Poor dragon loves you a lot and only wants you as his own. You don't need to know about his plans yet. Malleus knows how to be patient when he wants to.

Azul would try his best not to show how much your simple words affect him. His success would be somewhat doubtful. Azul would blush but try to cover it up. Another boy who never got enough love. Azul would like to hear this more often... Maybe he should make a deal for that :3

^ I writed this one after Riddle lol. That's why I said "another".

Leona wouldn't pay much attention to this. He knows you only said that because you were too tired. His plan was to go back to sleep after this. However, he can't sleep. Leona has a warm feeling in his chest and can only think about that moment.

Riddle would turn completely red at your words. He would be a bit shocked how you could say something like that so lightly. This boy hasn't gotten enough love. He'd be a little disappointed when he realized you didn't really mean those words... but maybe sometimes you do.

Kalim would smile and say something nice back to you. He's already in a good mood but this makes his day better~ However, Kalim would also be worried. Why can't you sleep? If you need help, he would be happy to help. You can just come to Sacrabia dormitory and you don't have to worry about anything.

Vil would say something sweet to you back~ Probably a potato-related compliment. Now, however, he would be worried about how little you slept. This would not be a good thing. You get a lecture about how sleep is important for skin care, etc. He just doesn't want you saying things like that to someone else.

Idia would die of a sudden nosebleed. He'd be lucky you weren't there to see this. However, you might wonder why he leaved voice chat so quickly. It would take Idia a long time to gather herself and her thoughts. After that, he would come back as if nothing had happened and wish you would say those words again sometime.

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meowse · 7 months ago

Text

That AMA marks the end of Dragon Age.

In my opinion.

I'll start by saying that I have played all 3 of the previous games repeatedly, I've loved the series for 15 years, more than half my life. These games inspired me to become a writer and they've shaped a lot of my tastes and interests in shows and writing -- to say they were formative is kind of an understatement. Don't want to go on and on about how much I loved them, that's not the point here.

I didn't care for Veilguard for pretty much all of the reasons people have already discussed at length on Reddit and Tumblr. The writing is comprehensively bad, the romances are easily the worst Bioware has written by pure virtue of having the most cookie-cutter pacing and shallow characterization I've seen across their games, the lore has been shafted in every direction, and the nuanced storytelling and roleplay I came to expect from the series has been taken out back and shot in the head.

All, apparently, in the name of a "clean slate". It seems to me that, rather than familiarizing himself with the existing lore of the game he took the creative reins on, Epler clearly had a vision for Dragon Age (or perhaps a different IP entirely) in his head that he decided to transplant into the game (and possibly Trick? But they've said so little beyond defending their work that I can hardly theorize what direction they were coming from). That being a sanitized, wildly self-contradicting, morally absolute shitshow focused on distancing itself from the previous games as much as possible. Now, I know it's unrealistic to blame one person entirely, and I don't blame him entirely. Corinne was there. Trick was there.

But if it wasn't already evident from the numerous interviews Epler's given on the game as well as his participation in the Q&A's (while the actual lead writer of the game has been completely absent in not just the marketing, but in most fan-related interaction pre and post-launch outside of BSKY), this AMA seems to have confirmed, more than anything else, that Epler doesn't understand the game nor does he understand its audience. Neither does Corinne Busche, who despite being Game Director for only the last two years of development, has been answering lore questions a) like she has any fucking clue and b) like she thinks Dragon Age is a cozy-gamer IP, meant to appeal to people that want uplifting stories with uncontroversial characters, morally upright heroes, and unquestionably evil villains.

So as of today's AMA, I think I've finally had enough. We're just outright retconning the lore in Reddit AMA's now, I guess. Among other things. I'll provide a few examples, just so we're all on the same page.

This was part of Epler's response to why Solas didn't have his cult following in the game (insert "We Kind of Forgot" meme here):

Solas' experience leading the rebellion against the Evanuris turned him against the idea of being a leader. You see it in the memories - the entire experience of being in charge ate at him and, ultimately, convinced him he needed to do this on his own. And his own motivations were very different from the motivations of those who wanted to follow him - he had no real regard for their lives or their goals. So at some point between Trespasser and DATV, he severed that connection with his 'followers' and went back to being a lone wolf.

The fact that this (the not caring bit) directly contradicts the writing in the actual game is absolutely INSANE to me, moreso than the lack of Solas's spy network (which he apparently carried with him for 10 years only to conveniently drop right before the ritual? Because he clearly had them research Rook?). But in regards to the not caring -- here's a line from Solas's memory of killing Mythal in Veilguard, which. I'll get to Mythal in a minute:

Why should I not tear down the Veil, and bring back immortality to all the elven people? They deserve it!

Which is it? Does Solas care about the people he's saving (the venn diagram of people he's saving vs. the people following him is surely a circle, i.e. elves) or not? Does he even care about the spirits trapped behind the Veil anymore or is it just convenient to abandon them and have him only care about elves, now? What happened to saving The People? What happened to him not identifying as an elf in his conversations with a Dalish Inquisitor? And what the absolute fuck happened to him wanting to bring back the magical marvels (that the ancient elves did in fact achieve) that were greater than anything we see in Thedas today? Here's what Epler has to say about elven magic, now:

I do agree that the elves have had their place in the sun at this point. [...] The thing about the Evanuris is that, ultimately, they were able to take a very specific type of magic and shape it into doing what they wanted. But even their understanding of magic was only skin deep [...] Even the magic that Tevinter wields, the magic of the Southern mages, is different from what the Evanuris used. The magic of the Evanuris is powerful but it's sterile, and it's constrained. So while the Evanuris have made magic work in a way that's more predictable and understandable, it's not the only kind of magic out there, and even then, I'd say they understood it at a very surface level. People were confidently describing how the natural world worked back in the 16th century. Very few of them were right.

First of all, Tevinter has been stated in previous games to have clumsily adapted ancient elven magic for their own, but they did adapt it. To the point where even Solas is surprised that Corypheus achieved effective immortality -- by binding himself to a dragon the same way the Evanuris did. So, cool, more contradicting the lore here. "They understood it at a very surface level" you mean when all of the magic of the Fade wasn't locked behind the Veil? You mean when magic flowed freely through the world? What do you mean, Surface Fucking Level? The entire point of the Dalish elf culture is what they lost; this wasn't the ancient elves thinking the sun revolved around the earth, the Veil was their fucking Library of Alexandria burning. Oh my god. I still cannot believe he said this.

And how have the elves had their day in the sun? I'm sorry, was Arlathan not given to... the Veil Jumpers? Instead of the Dalish? What happened to all the Dalish clans in the south, who had no infrastructure when the world was apparently blighted to hell? I guess they're just gone now! They've had their day! The story of the Dalish and the Evanuris is over (also confirmed in this AMA), and it apparently ends with the final snuff of the candle that is their culture. Congratulations, Chantry, you've won! Only took two genocides and a double blight, but we're done with the Dalish now! We get your mind-numbingly superficial factions instead!

What happened to Mythal, by the way? What happened to "She was betrayed as I was betrayed, as the world was betrayed! Mythal clawed and crawled her way through the ages to me, and I will see her avenged!" What happened to the reckoning that will shake the very heavens? John's answer to this:

People grow and change over time. Mythal's essence - and in particular, the fragment of her spirit that Morrigan carries, that she got from Flemeth - is not the same Mythal who he knew millennia ago. Centuries of living in this world and being around the kinds of people Flemeth found herself around - the Hero of Ferelden, Hawke, the Inquisitor - changed her views, and made her realize her own culpability in turning Solas into the kind of person he is now.

Oh, right, okay. So she was pissed for like a thousand years, got her big speech about the impending "reckoning" out 10 years ago, and then she just chilled out because the last 3 heroes were neat people. What a fucking joke. And yes, here is the confirmation that the Evanuris story is over --

The story of the Evanuris is done - the gods are dead (or imprisoned) and Thedas is in a state of flux and uncertainty. I imagine that whatever happens next is going to be a surprise to everyone, including the people of Thedas."

So I guess Mythal's reckoning is never coming. One of the most fascinating characters in the series, shrouded in mystery for those first 3 games, PROMISING US a blaze of glory, only to fizzle out in this one. Again, and I can't emphasize this enough, for Epler's clean fucking slate. And we've not just tied up her story, but also the Veil and the Blight:

When Solas bound himself (or, depending on your ending, was forcibly bound) to the Veil, it severed the connection that the Blight had to the waking world. The reality is that the Veil has been leaking ever since the Magisters first entered the Black City, and the dreams of the Titans gave it its terrible and awesome power. Now that the Veil is fully repaired, the Blight lacks that motive force, and being so close to the epicenter of that change has stripped the Blight in Minrathous of its vitality. It's calcified now - dead - and Bellara/Neve no longer suffer its effects. If they'd been anywhere else, further from that epicenter, it would've likely been different and they still would be looking for a cure.

So the Veil is permanently fixed now because our half-dead Dread Wolf bound himself to it (a decision I still don't understand) and that somehow fixed every single hole ever poked in it. Fully repaired. No more holes, no more "Veil is thin here" because tons of people died in the same spot, nope, we're washing our hands and leaving it (and the spirits) behind us because we've wrapped up both the series-long Veil storyline and the blight storyline in a big red bow.

And Epler tells us Solas not only bound himself to the Veil but fixed it entirely in one fell swoop, no ritual required, just a little slice to the hand. Again, all in the name of a clean slate, so any future installments or media centered around Thedas can turn away from this story.

Then there's this. What we can expect from future installments, I freaking guess. The aforementioned roleplay getting taken out back and shot:

Q: "What lead you to the decision to step away from active conversations with the companions as in previous Bioware games, where you can initiate them at any moment and ask exhaustive questions?"

John: "For us, because of tech limitations, it became a choice between exhaustive investigate conversations, or letting the companions move more freely around the Lighthouse. With the kind of experience we were going for, one where seeing the team grow around you is paramount, we felt that seeing them interact in common spaces (and in each other's rooms) made more sense."

Literally confirmed that they chose companions moving freely about the cabin over ... interacting with them outside the handful of cutscenes we got. Who in their right mind would think this was a good call in a Dragon Age game? A series that quite literally prides itself on complex character interactions and storytelling? So they could... sit in different places? Are you kidding me?

They don't see an issue with the game's reception. They don't have any interest in addressing or responding to criticism. They're either happy with their choices or EA's got a gun pointed at their heads, I'm honestly not sure anymore. I used to believe the latter was true, but looking at both Epler's and Busche's responses today, I'm inclined to believe the former.

So I think that's it for the series. Not that I thought it was going to get another game after this, but on the absolute off chance it did, what would be the point? The best stories were ruined. Anything left they have to tell is going to read a lot like Veilguard -- superficial, morally absolute, flagrantly disrespectful to the lore, and delivered in a very poorly written package.

#bioware critical #dragon age critical #veilguard critical #veilguard spoilers #dragon age the veilguard critical #dragon age #dragon age the veilguard

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