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perkeleen-lavellan · 2 months ago

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I feel like with any sincere discussion of Veilguard we should start off by establishing that there are multiple forms of 'fun' as it were, to be had from video games. The main purpose of a video game is, after all, to be fun. To entertain us.

So. With Veilguard I feel the problem is this; Veilguard succeeds at being fun. It succeeds at the kind of actionable fun. Veilguard is fun to actively play for most people. The combat is fun, the level design is fun, the main storyline is fun whenever we get to it. Veilguard offers fun that is quick and instant. I think it was no small feat that BioWare has finally managed to design levels and combat for a Dragon Age game that feels complete. Although I will go to my grave defending the tactical combat of DAO, it is a different more gripping kind of fun that Veilguard's mobility and systems can offer.

But there is another form a fun. The kind of fun you might be more used to associating with a good book. The fun of a story you can't wait to see the end of. The fun of fantasy world building, of seeing the marvel that is an author, or a collection of authors, who know what their vision is, and who are subtle enough to communicate that vision through fiction. The joy of seeing the result of experts building their craft. Environmental clues, implications in dialogue, tone in atmosohere. Seeing a good story unfold is fun, and with video games, which are an interactive audio visual medium how much moreso?

A book is just words, a show on tv is always linear and restricted to what the camera shows us. A video game has a whole three dimensional world that you can move inside of, witnessing the story and world building both passively and actively. A video game has dialogue and characters, who can both drive and narrate the plot for you. A video game can put you inside the world the story is happening in and immerse you in it.

And I feel that Veilguard fails to take advantage of the full breadth of the vast collection of storytelling tools a video game has. The fact that the companion quests and companion writing seems to have been left incomplete, pieces wilting on the cutting room floor when the companions are meant to be the emotional core of this story? The fact that all the factions are presented as unambiguous good guys which leaves them with no depth, their stories woefully superficial and unwilling to engage in any deeper ideas? The fact that vast amounts of world building and lore have been essentially discarded? That is all severely unfun.

So I think it's fair to say that Veilguard is fun and disappointing and not fun. The fun that I had while playing this game was always followed by a collection of things that were not fun. And the most annoying part is the parts about Veilguard which are fun are the parts that are fleeting. That I can find combat in a video game entertaining, extremely entertaining sometimes, is nothing when compared to the staying power of a gripping story with not just good set up and pay-off, but also an immaculate structure supporting that all the way throug.

When I am 80 years old I will not remember fondly the fact that Veilguard was the first Dragon Age game to finally have an actual dodge mechanic. There are always going to be games with fun combat mechanics, Veilguard isn't special for that. But I will remember Solas turning into a dragon sized wolf in a desperate bid to fight a dragon ten times his size, to help the hero he became a villain to. I will remember what it felt like to have a protagonist start off by treating Solas with suspicion, knowing there was no reason to trust Solas but choosing to give Solas a chance to prove himself trustworthy anyway, and Solas breaking that trust. And I'll remember what it felt like to have that protagonist then face Solas again, and make a choice to either be kind or to be just like Solas.

You will sometimes see gamers who say they don't really care about the writing in their games that much, but then their favourite games are things like The Witcher 3, God of War, The Last of Us. The reason they say that is because the writing is so integrally a part of the gameplay experience they don't even realise how much work it's doing. Fun gameplay doesn't matter if there is no reason to continue it.

Do you know what I remember about Dragon Age Veilguard? I remember dreading opening the game and seeing the list of companion quests in my journal that I had no interest in doing, because I had already realised how nothing a lot of them were. And I'm not talking about the gameplay of those quests, I think we've established I enjoyed smacking the bad guys and moving through the levels quite a bit. Oh no. I'm not even talking about the dialogue, not really. It was the stakes. Why were these characters doing these things, and why should I care? There was so little emotional conflict in those early to mid game companion quests.

Do you know how plot structure works when you really boil it down? Conflict is set up -> tension rises -> conflict comes to a head -> tension releases. This is why you need conflict and this is why you need characters to have flaws that they will not self psychoanalyze to a resolution within the first 5 minutes of the story. The realisation of those flaws is the plot! The character overcoming those flaws is the plot. You can't have a story without plot! What are we doing here????

That's how those quests felt. They felt like all the actually meaningful things the writers of these sub-plots had to say got crammed into their final quests. With a couple exceptions. And that's why doing most of the companion quests felt like a chore.

So, anyway, in summary. Remember that a video game contains within itself multiple forms of fun. As many forms of fun as there are ways of interacting with a game.

#i am coping i am coping i am coping I AM COPING #veilguard spoilers #datv critical #veilguard critical #le sigh #at this point i am just stream of conscioussing my disappointment out there

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meiguicha · 11 months ago

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Kept Dove - Purgatorio

Yan!Sunday x Reader

Even if a bird with clipped wings can only fly so far, it is a freedom nonetheless

TW: pseudo-incest, suicidal behaviour, stalking, general manipulative and toxic behaviour

//Characters may be OOC, please go easy on my glass heart. Spoilers for the 2.0 story quest but also I may not remember things correctly so- Not at all accurate to future patches/lore. Excerpts from the Song of Songs.

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Through veiled curtains and under warm lights, you tug your socks up with a careful hand, your eyes tracking the movement through the large mirror across you. The soft sheer fabric ascends your leg, trailing up and up until it reaches exactly above your knee. Just the slightest askew, you check once more, turning your leg and watching how the edge on your inner leg dips down, sneaking your finger under the garter to readjust its height. When deemed satisfactory, you reach for your sock garters, clipping the metal fasteners onto the ends as the upper ends hang limply by the side of your leg. You do the same meticulous routine for your right leg, putting your legs together to ensure that they are perfectly even.

Hung on a hanger was a blouse, with no evidence of wrinkles or lint. Gingerly, you slip it off and let the cool fabric caress your bare skin, once again peering into the mirror to straighten the ends only to carefully push every little fabric-covered button through equally miniscule openings. It hugs your form perfectly when finished, tailor made to adhere to your body like a second skin, with bishop sleeves to be held together with custom cufflinks. You do so, deft fingers piercing the fabric with the golden optics before clipping the ends of the shirt with the once hanging garters.

Your skirt comes next, prudent and pure. You step into it and bend ever so slightly, bringing it up to your waist to fasten the button that would keep it closed. It is only now that you pad across soft carpet towards your lineup of shoes, from sensible flats to respectable high heels, of shined leather to patent, fit for any occasion. You hook the backs of a pair of heels with your fingers, making your way back to your vanity to slip them on. It is now that you turn your attention to the perfumes decorating the front of the gilded mirror, each of them gifts handpicked by your siblings, bottles easily distinguished by your sister’s fondness for winsome designs and your brother’s partiality for elegance. You uncap a lacquered white glass bottle, the airy and floral aroma that comes from the nozzle is one of their favourites.

There is a light knock at your door, a gentle rap of knuckles against hardwood. It is merely a courtesy, he has no real need to announce his presence when you have long known he would come. Your eyes do not even have to glance at the ticking clock, the knowledge of the minute hand’s exact position of twenty minutes to eight a matter you have grown familiar with over the years.

“Come in.”

Familiar, practised steps barely sound through your room, a few strides until a silhouette appears behind you. Letting out a soft breath, your eyelids flutter close as you turn your head away from the mirror. “I’m afraid you have little to help with today.”

“I merely wanted to check on you,” Your brother’s voice is delicate, even in your mind there is a kindness to his lilting rise.

A sigh escapes your lips. ‘Check on you’ can mean all matters of things, whether it truly does entail merely checking on you is a test only known to him. Your eyes open upon the slightest hint of movement, watching through the mirror as gloved hands pull your hair back, reaching for a tie to bundle it up into a half-bun. The action in itself is practised and skilled, moreso a reminder of how many times he has performed such on the women of his life, it sends an inexplicable grief aching in your heart.

He lowers himself to your level, and as the warm lights cast an intimate gleam upon his features, you get the day’s first look of your brother. Golden eyes softened in gentle fondness, or perhaps some amalgamation of it, cool steel locks lay in perfect formation as his soft wings unfurl to reveal his stately countenance. There is a soft smile pulled across his lips, yet for some reason you must wonder why that tightness in your chest exists so.

“Happy?” You manage to croak out, still fraught with his full attention on you.

Sunday tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, clearly admiring his work as he hums, “Very much so, you look quite comely like this.”

You glance at yourself in the very mirror that has aided your preparation, the small wings at the back of your ears hang downward in some odd shame, the sharp tips of your halo glinting with a keen shine. The dark wings flutter lightly, and that recurring shame seems to bubble back to the top of your mind everytime you are reminded of their existence. A corvid among songbird and dove, a stain in their otherwise blemishless perfection. A pathetic excuse for a halovian, you had little sway, little influence, little image. Your very existence was a means to uphold their depiction.

You were just the child taken pity upon, the mutt picked up from the side of the road to house and feed. Thus, you are an extension of them, whatever you do, however you look, it all went back to them. You sometimes wonder whether they know how much you pale in comparison to their light.

All too quick to shove such a treacherous thought to the back of your head, it would be a cold day in hell before someone pries that thought from your brain. He casts you an inquisitive gaze, one you wave off with your ascent from the chair. Your steps, three steps slower, accompany his longer strides, padding out from soft carpet to thudding wood.

Leaving the mansion is always some arduous task, and you suppose that there is no one to blame but your brother for all the fuss that needs to be sorted out. Twisting hallways, confounding rooms, even the little sandpit of the Golden Hour, it made it so that leaving required his notice, lest you end up arbitrarily lost. Of course, this also meant that you were severely limited in the times you got to leave the mansion, since he always had so much to attend to in the day. And it is not like you refuse to learn, but rather that you cannot learn its ways that you remain unaware. Furthermore, it is exactly because that he does so much that you find it hard to even bring up your grievances about such a matter, how could you? So even if you yearn to see the world far beyond what he has allowed you to see, you very often keep your mouth shut and play at content.

As you emerge from those familiar depths, a wing raises itself to shield your eyes from the sudden influx of bright lights. Penacony, the city of dreams they call it, but to you, it has been nothing more than an incandescent lie. Why else would your sister leave?

It is then you see her, with her flowing light blue hair and her familiar visage. Her attire remains the same as all the advertisements you see with her face plastered on them, her halo tilted to the right and the gems under her left eye in flawless position. Yet, in your heart, your most sincerest of affections borne from years of companionship, you know that it is not her. There is nothing that would infer this thought, the locum in front of you a perfect copy in all matters, but you cannot help but deny the image in front of you.

Turning to Sunday, a slip of your true thoughts revealed through the furrow of your brow, “Who is this?”

“A fool, nothing more,” He spares you a glance, but says nothing else.

“Will she listen?”

It is only then you manage to meet his gaze, not a second more and not a second less, his voice is placid, revealing nothing even now, “You trust me, no?”

“Of course, but I just worry…” Your plea seems to go unheard, and you wonder whether you were even meant to come along if it meant you would only receive this kind of treatment.

“Shall we depart?” He offers to the ‘Robin’ in front of you, dignified courtesy and trained care. You remain behind, watching on. His voice rings in your head, the only part of him you get, “Fret not, dear sister, all will be well.”

In your heart, something twinges with an acrid twist. Though this ‘Robin’ is clearly some cheat, he still treats her the same, still has that leak of affection. You have always known that he never took to you the same way she did, he could try to play at siblingly affection, could try to interact with you the same way he did her, but you knew that he never meant it. The daily check-ups, the gifts, the occasional contact, it all means nothing to him, and in the end, is that not what he does best? Lying with a sweet smile on his face, tempting you with a delusion all the while he wishes for nothing but your descent. The only one he could never perform such deeds to was his own sister.

Yet even in front of a fool, with the face of your sister, you could feel no hatred towards her. Because she has never done anything to warrant such, not when this dream of theirs is one you have done everything to uphold, not when she might have been the only light in your life. So even if what stands before you is a fake, even if you do not know what your brother has planned, you will keep your mouth and play at content.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

In the end, he had never even told you where the day’s itinerary would take you, so when you had found yourself in reality’s Reverie Hotel and met with an interesting situation, you had much to restrain from expressing. A group of four people you have never truly seen before and a man from the IPC, seemingly engaged in a difficult matter. They do not seem to notice your approaching footfalls, neither does Alley.

“Alley, just a moment,” Sunday speaks up, gentle yet assertive

“The Family cannot allow guests to enter a dream while bearing burdens.”

The crowd, now aware of your presence, shifts their attention. The grey-haired youth catches your attention, so clearly out of place yet seemingly intertwined, you can only ponder why. Still, it is not as if their gazes remain on you, rather it would be more accurate to say that they were never on you in the first place, positively enraptured by the natural radiance

“Speak of the devil, look who's here! It's Sunday, the most handsome man in Penacony! Along with the singer renowned across the universe: Robin!” The blond, who you vaguely recognise as hailing from the IPC introduces the two of them with a flair, clearly playing up the flattery.

‘Robin’ turns to face him, an amused smile playing at her lips as her eyes crinkle in mirth, “He said you were the most dashing person in Penacony, how interesting.”

An older man and a red-haired woman stand before you, their expressions shifting to alert, yet they are paid no mind.

“I’ve kept you waiting, Mr. Aventurine. This way please, let us speak in private,” Your brother offers, a request that is taken with a courteous quirk of the blond’s lips.

Your ‘sister’ instead takes charge of caring for the rest of the guests, “Astral Express guests, please come this way and rest your feet.”

It is by now that you have completely mentally checked out of the situation, your presence clearly not noticed nor ignored. Though you yearned to return and perhaps sleep the rest of the day away, your feet automatically flanked the guests of the Astral Express so as to guide them, your eyes following after the grey-haired youth who seemed to yearn to run after Aventurine. Oddly, they do not do so, obediently following after the pink-haired woman.

You keep your posture perfect and your expression pleasant, not quite hearing but watching, eyes tracking lips so as to turn your perceived attention to whomever was speaking at present. Your ‘sister’ still enraptures, no matter the truth of her nature. Your ears pick up the vague mention of an apology, her hand held to her chest in polite regret. It is only when the redhead’s lips, a woman you believe is called Himeko, move in a manner that seems to be directed to you that you tune back in, a pleasant smile still painted as you meet her gaze.

“And who’s this? I don’t suppose we’ve met before, have we? Ms..?” She offers, playing at cordiality though it is clear she may be a little on guard.

Your lips move to answer far faster than your mind, practically instinctual. The response you get is kindly, one you are not sure is genuine but it makes your head rush.

The older man, Welt, calls your name, a sound that feels like it should belong on his tongue. There is a familiarity to it, the kind you would hear from an older relative. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The rest of them start with their pleasantries, and for some odd reason, your chest tightens with a yearning. You had watched them band together earlier, seen the way they interacted with one another and even through your haze, could all but feel the amity between them. These were people who were bound together by chance, people who have simply decided to become this family and not only played the roles, but might as well be actual family.

“Thank you, it's a pleasure to meet all of you as well.”

‘Robin’ seems to fade into the background, a sight you are not used to, but this fool’s interest in you is not a matter you are too worried about. Rather, the new-found attention you found yourself under was now almost overwhelming, too much yet not entirely unwelcome.

“If we’re not overstepping, may I ask how you’re affiliated with Mr. Sunday and Ms. Robin?” Himeko’s voice is sweet in your ears, a soothing sound.

“They’re my siblings, my older brother and younger sister to be exact.”

The pink-haired youth you believe is called March 13th, is almost all too excited at that answer, yet it dies to wonder, “That’s cool! But why haven’t we heard about you before?”

“Ah, I’m afraid I’m merely not as noteworthy as them….” Your play at humility is almost entirely accepted, a notion you are at least glad for. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice your brother’s approach, a signal to return back into the background. With a hand to your chest, you bid your exit, “If you’ll excuse me.”

It is another haze that clouds over you when your brother arrives to slot himself into the conversation, one that once again seems to block out the words spoken.

“I apologise for taking up everyone's precious time, and we shan't keep you any longer. If you need anything else while in Penacony, The Family stands ready to serve,” He hums, genteel and ever flawless.

‘Robin’ follows suit, her hand to her chest as she continues the courtesy, “May your dreams be beautiful and pleasant.”

Your eyes fall upon the Astral Express, and though your heart knows what can only be imagined can never be brought to reality, you could not help but wish that you had never been brought in to your siblings. Perhaps in another life, perhaps in a dream far more beautiful and pleasant than this one.

“May your dreams be beautiful and pleasant.”

You were tired, so very tired. If Penacony truly was the world of dreams, yours must be some sick joke for your life to turn out this way. Given this glimpse of what could have been, how could you even bear to keep living in this illusion?

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The marble railing is cold against your bare feet, one wrong step and you’ll be sent careening off the side of the building, falling into a never-ending abyss. In the distance, playing on the record player, was the vague lilt of your sister’s voice. You could barely hear it through the wind, yet the very fact that she was there, truly or not, was more than enough. You have all but memorised her every song, humming along as though she was with you.

In a thin nightgown, you have long been free from the confines of your strict dress, hair let loose and face bare. Any matter that once adorned your form has been stripped, left exactly where they belonged in your room as your legs danced along to the melody. Chasse, a whisk and a natural turn, your arms wrapped around some imaginary partner, it all came to you without little thought, merely letting the music guide your form. You have never danced before, never thought yourself fit to, only read about the basics in a book a time forgotten, but you think you enjoy it. Perhaps in your next life you will be a dancer, no matter the fame, it would be something you could do without fear of tarnishing another’s image.

Caught in your reverie, you are scarce to hear the knock on your door, the heave of heavy wood and the quick steps to the open balcony. Through the flowing curtains and under the starry night, your brother still looked nothing more than empyrean, regardless of the unnerved furrow of his brow and the dilation of his pupils. You do not stop from your actions, continuing to let your body move along the wind.

“What are you doing?” He manages to utter, not as gentle yet cautious.

Humming, you return his question with another, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Your dearest brother, the man who allows himself only the most minute interaction with you, the man who would not even meet your eyes beyond the confines of your home, though his words sounded as though they came from a more composed man, the slight tremble to his voice told you more than enough.

“Dear sister, you won’t die even if you take such drastic actions.”

“You’re right, but at the very least I’d be soporose, no?”

There is a pained edge to his voice, visage finally broken out of that placid facade, “I don’t enjoy these words you’re saying.”

“When have you ever?” You laugh, eyes crinkled in levity as a smile pulled across your lips. Bare feet halt from their untethered sway, leaning to meet your brother’s gaze. Your words crawl out from your throat, hoarse from use yet elated nonetheless, “I’m sure that if I were to even look into that head of yours, those few thoughts you dedicate to me would be nothing but pure odium.”

Perhaps you would have been less inclined to disparage your brother once upon a time, more desirous of his attention for once, yet it is now you could care less. His focus means nothing to you now, not when he could not even bother to do so when it mattered most. Even if he threw himself at your feet and begged you to come down, you find it hard to believe you would listen in this state.

Sunday’s voice is soft, yet simultaneously it is the loudest you have ever heard it, “You seem so convinced that I do not care for you, have you ever read beyond what your eyes tell?”

“Would you let me?” The air in your lungs feels faint, turning your voice breathy as tears strangely dew at your lower lashes.

Would he even let you witness such? Let himself become vulnerable and open his tempestuous mind for you to pick and pry? You do not even believe he has allowed any other to come so close. Yet perhaps this is what you need to quell that storm in your chest, the last nail in your coffin, your last reason confirmed.

He nods.

Through dark veils and cloudy bubbles, you see it. The truth of his neglect, the reality behind his constant avoidance, his performed favouritism, all of it some cruel and horrific attempt to distance himself from emotions deemed iniquitous. All those times the clock would read seven forty, all those times you believed him to arrive on some schedule, that damned bird had been in your room all the while. Tucked away in some corner too high for you to notice, it stood watch at all hours of the day, keenly broadcasting your most natural state to him as if it were nothing more than the daily news.

What a monster love can be, its dark shadow following you everywhere, in your most private and public moments, you have never been alone. Longing to embrace, alabaster hands ghosting over skin and breath fanning across bare chest, desiring to possess, to keep that object of yearning within a gilded cage and to tuck the key away. Twisting yet ever rigid, covetous and desirous, it is no wonder that your very existence should always be tied to him. There is no you without Sunday, no crow without dove, for what is a pious man without his conflict of sin?

“I love you,” He pleads, finally raw and true, finally directed to you. His face twisted in pure desperation as he approaches you, with his arms outstretched as though to compel you from your perch, your brother practically begs, “So please, stay with me.”

Beneath your gaze, beneath you, he is but a wretched thing. You never thought him stupid, yet for him to think that this was enough to wipe the slate anew, you must have overestimated him.

You bark out a harsh bite of laughter, void of mirth and filled with scorn, “Do you expect me to just forgive you just like that? A measly ‘I love you’ and years of indifference can just be forgotten?”

“Sunday, you’re nothing but the last etching on my grave.”

Your feet leave the cold marble, tipping off into the unknown abyss below as a breeze flies through your wings.

Your sister’s face flashes before you as your eyes flutter shut, her soft smile the one thing keeping your head clear and your limbs limp. You hear her sing, even past the rushing wind. Your dear sister, the one person who had been keeping you looking forward to another day, her crooning voice that played from the record player in your room, it is now you hear her clearer than ever.

A bird that has never flown can only fall when thrown down, wings unable to catch the wind and soar from its cage, yet it is because it has never flown that this feeling is still a kind of freedom. And as your skin pebbles from the chill and your hair flows along your descent, you have never felt any freer, even if it is only for a brief moment.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Through lace curtains and under warm light, a hand caresses your leg as it tugs white socks ever higher. Soft fabric clinging to your skin as he raises it to your thigh, far too intimate, far too familiar. He does the same for the other leg, knelt at your feet with his head bowed, the socks are nothing but perfectly aligned as per his preference. The garters hung around your waist, silken material his own hands placed upon you, he grasps the clips as he attaches it to the socks, ensuring he does not blemish your skin beneath.

Your arm raises when he brings the blouse, silky and smooth. Sunday lets the cool fabric kiss your arms as he buttons each clasp, meticulously pushing them through each miniscule opening. Another piece he had ensured would fit you without fault, it followed the natural lines of your form without fail. He smooths the shoulders down and presses a kiss to the top of your head, moving to pin the sleeves with optic shaped cufflinks. Coaxing you from your seat, he has you step into your skirt, brought up to your waist and clasped neatly. Your shoes, perfectly shined heels tailor made for only you, are slipped on and buckled. Even the sweet florals of your perfume, another white lacquered glass bottle he gifted all those years ago, is applied by his hand.

His dear sister, someone he has tried so hard to keep at an arm’s length, someone he has done nothing but debase in that torturous head of his, now stands before him, obedient and adoring. Far too tempting to keep away, his arms move to embrace you, resting at your waist.

Instinctively, your arms raise to wrap around his neck, weight leaning against his hands as he bows his head to press a kiss against your lips. You accept him languidly, your eyes fluttering close as he brings your bodies to but a fingertip’s distance. It almost seems meant to be, how they move against each other in a rhythm known only to the two of you.

“I love you,” He murmurs against your lips, the words leaving him so naturally that if one were to tell him that he could finally utter these heavy words to you, that him of the past would have merely waved it off. “More than you could ever know.”

“.....love…”

“..you….”

Your wings flutter shyly around your two faces, as though to hide away from the rest of the world, even your halo trembles ever so slightly, an endearing act as you try your best to convey your affection to him. Still, that does not discourage you from attempting to cling onto him.

He smiles, pressing another, more chaste, kiss to your lips to tide you over. Recovery has been hard for you but he finds he quite enjoys having you so feeble for him. Barely able to even form full sentences through telepathy, it meant that he would be able to hear your sweet voice much more often. You were no songstress, but it is your humming that truly provides him with succour. Furthermore, having you so dependent, so keen for his help, it only serves to soften his heart.

To reintroduce you to the rest of Penacony not as his sister, but as his dearest lover has been easy, and he can only thank his foresight for keeping your very existence so negligible. You would finally get what you have always yearned for, no matter what lies you told yourself, his full and utter adoration, demonstrable and undisguised. Lest you try to leave him once more. So he will keep you in this cage with him, care for you and love you so that beyond reasonable doubt, you shall have no desire to spread your wings once more.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #sunday x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere sunday #hsr sunday #yandere #yandere x reader

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shnowyfox · 1 month ago

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Okay so u ppl like the horseformers it seems heres some more designs :D

swindle isn't even rlly in the story tbh but here he is. he should NOT have an insignia because this is moreso a civilian swindle. he's a strong and resiliant little feller but really probably shouldn't carry all that shit around on a battlefield. i just dont feel like going back and fixing it. also! combiner teams uhhh they exist! but i think maybe instead of combining they're just in a herd together like soulmates but its besties u know what im sayin. heavily taking from his wfc design (why he has cloven hooves... i love his silly pedes) since we don't get any CONFIRMED visuals on him in tfone..

considering changing jet wings to "feather" wings? and making megatronus prime a griffin because the seekers are griffins.. The two chains across the chestplate btw are like a motif in his court. Megatron, Ironhide, and the high guard all fall under his court

and a d-16 :) dont mind why he looks so judgmental.. this was supposed to be a comic. giving arcee the side eye... glad i focused on the designs first i fucking love his shin guards he's so pretty

griffin seeker! specifically starscream here :) there is lore reason why they get a mane and organic wings btw

hound! under liege maximo's court, and like megatronus' chains, liege's court has a motif in the horns. again, no cogged form so i had to kinda blend his cogless one design with his idw and foc designs? i really like his funny chestplate in g1. forgot his insignia but he is a decepticon in this one he was one of the first teehee

still going between horse and lion for optimus. heres pax though with victory leo's body as his lower half :) he was born under alpha trion's court and also all the lions in the japanese continuity?? forgot his insignia but maybe this is also civilian era (drops my head on the table and screams) also theres no reason for him to have a halberd he doesn't use one i just.. put it in his hands.

and alpha trion these last two admittedly arent great because i drew them just now when i woke up. way too top heavy but i'll fix it later when i start finalizing everyone's refs (this fool thinks he'll be interested long enough to finalize designs).. forgot hsi fucking autobot insignia too </3 also might give those under his court a cape which would mean i could give orion pax a cape too teehee.

ty everyone for encouraging me btw i was straight up about to redesign them to not be centaurs (cringe) but i kept them as centaurs and i'm figuring out how to make it work in the story (based)

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ego-osbourne · 2 months ago

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Erandur (Revamp)

Happy Holidays… it’s Pa!

Gave him a whole new look and vibe. Really wanted to work towards a softer, fatherly, huggable presence. Had a lot of trial and error with his beard shape but I eventually found a design that I liked. I put a little more chub on him since it’s cold in Skyrim and he needs it. Gave him more muted colors so he might not stand out so harshly, and along with that made his clothes resemble a priest’s moreso than his previous iterations.

I have some thoughts on Mara worship below if you’d like to read! It explains his bracelets and his makeup

(This is pretty much all headcanon)

The brightest colors on his person are for sure the blue beads of the Mara amulet and his prayer bracelets. They’re meant to resemble teardrops, as a common symbol for worshiping Mara is weeping. As a priest, he’s always wearing an amulet of Mara, but it’s been modified with the teardrops to signify that he is a clergyman, not that he’s open for marriage.

As for his bracelets, they act as in-lore rosaries; the beads act as tabs marking a cycle of liturgical prayers. The metal bands signify the start and end of the cycle, and are associated with an introduction and conclusion prayer. The teardrop beads signify a weeping prayer, which is a longer prayer that involves weeping as you wish for the well-being of others (like orphans, parents who have lost children, those who have been disowned by their families, etc. Each teardrop would resemble a different people group to pray for). The brown beads signify regular liturgical prayers and are rest periods between weeping prayers, hence five being in a row for optimal rest time.

So, one cycle of prayer could look like this: 1) introductory prayer, 2) weeping prayer for orphans, 3) a liturgical prayer aimed toward orphans repeated five times, 4) weeping prayer for widows, 5) a different liturgical prayer aimed toward widows repeated five times, 6) a weeping prayer overviewing the previous two weeping prayers, for orphans and widows, 6) a conclusion prayer.

This cycle is done four times (hence the four bracelets), with each weeping prayer focusing on a different people group relating to familial loss (or gain! Weeping prayers can also celebrate joyous occasions). Depending on the priest and their ideals for devotion, these cycles can be completed daily, weekly, monthly, on holidays, or whenever the priest is able.

Along with weeping prayers, Mara priests partake in ritualistic eye smudge. This smudge (essentially eyeliner) is applied so that, when the priest cries, their tears will stain their cheeks, showing that they performed their practice even long after they concluded their prayers.

With all the crying that Mara priests do, hydration is very key to Mara worship, too!

And, I’ve mentioned this before, but as an aside about Erandur’s long hair: Mara priests are very often seen with very long hair. Though it isn’t a mandatory requirement, it is based in a long-standing tradition that Mara priests grow their hair long. This practice comes from the idea that good parents will know how to care for their children’s hair; so, to practice, these parents would grow their hair long just to maintain it and prove that they could do the same for a child. Mara priests follow in this fashion to an extreme, usually—Erandur being one of these priests!

Thanks for listening to my ramblings :]

#erandur #tes #tesblr #tes art #Skyrim #tesv #Dunmer #mara #the dez illusion #my art

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loregoddess · 1 year ago

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well, despite the wiki's utter lack of useful info, my love of wildly underdeveloped dead moms with little to no info won out, and I now have an updated design for Ikona

for whatever it's worth, I spent several hours comparing key facial features of the Hoshido siblings and Sumeragi to try and reverse-design what Ikona might have looked like, and came up with the shittiest Punnett squares to figure out eye/hair color (eye/hair color aren't Mendelian traits, Punnett squares for calculating eye/hair color are actually BS). I don't...actually think Kozaki spent the time to try and draw familial similarities, not the way Nuri does at least, but damn if I didn't try to find similarities/differences to work out my design for Ikona

#based on what I remember from when I did do some general research into hair and eye color genetics #the Hoshido siblings all having Very Different Hair Colors is actually plausible #(pretending pink and tomato-red are like...natural hair colors and there's just some fantasy biology going on to allow that)#same goes for their eye colors (I could have sworn Sakura shared her eye color w/ Hinoka and Takumi but she doesn't?)#(fun fact Hinoka and Takumi are the only ones to share an eye color)#(also fun fact every sibling has a bit of Sumeragi's wild fluffy hair--Ryouma and Hinoka moreso than the other two but still)#(everyone has some floof--although Takumi and Sakura's less floofy hair makes me think Ikona didn't have floof)#no but I do now have a comparison chart that is the digital equivalent to the crazy theory corkboard with strings all over it #all this so I can draw a dead mom...#(designing absent and usually dead moms from games is a thing I've done...several times now though so uh...yeah!)#(yes I have headcanons for what dead moms might have looked like based on their children this is not a one-off occurrence)#(it will happen again)#(this is a promise and a warning)#oracle of lore

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theballaqueer · 4 months ago

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okay I am so curious who these ‘family friends’ are that watch over baby bill in this au???? also just have to say I love your design of him and I am shaking him in a jar with some twigs and leaves and also baby ford too

'Family friends' is a strong choice of words, more like singular friend!

This is Jeremy. I don't take criticism on his name.

He's just a calm guy with no rush to do anything and a general love for quietness.

More lore rambles below the cut

Edit : I didn't even intend to add the floating hat, it was on instinct LMAO-

I imagine the way the mansion ep plays out is that they less so refuse to let the poor in because they're poor and moreso refuse because the rich are much more orderly and quiet.

(It wouldn't play out nearly as bad as canon GF in this case.)

With all that, this leads to a new question; why is Bill so... judge-y, for lack of better words, if he isn't being influenced by his guardian? Well, that's simple:

He was bullied as a kid for being weird. Having one eye, having four fingers- he's just generally a freak. He only stopped being bullied because he'd get his parents to pay the school to expell them.

Yatta yatta he's just trying to keep people away from him because he thinks being rich is his only good quality :3

#art #gravity falls #bill cipher #gravity falls axolotl #relativity au #relativity falls #doodle

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jupiterswasphouse · 7 months ago

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WASP REVIEW - THE HIVE (and more) (HOLLOW KNIGHT)

[Image ID: The official artwork for the Hiveling, Hive Soldier, and Hive Knight, followed by a second image for the Hive Guardian, from Hollow Knight /End ID.]

Now this is one of my favorite bug games! I'm sure almost all of you are familiar with it, being the lore-heavy indie hit and highly prevalent, much deserved bugblr fan art fodder that Hollow Knight was. This is a very good one, and takes inspiration from many different species of terrestrial arthropods as well as other invertebrates and fungi. However, many of them are much, much different from their real world counterparts, in part due to their design style as well as the infection which has taken hold in Hallownest, which certainly calls into question how The Hive and its honey bee inhabitants fare.

First, as always, let's take a look at them visually! All the bees that you fight generally seem to share many of the same features. Black and yellow stripes, a generally darker upper half, and fuzzy bodies, as found in real honey bees (although you tend to be able to see more of the exoskeleton through the setae of a real bee), but they also are all missing the middle pair of legs (Which I've noticed is shockingly common in fictionalized depictions of bugs). Most of them also have somewhat accurate antennae that bend forward with an 'elbow' (the pedicel, which sits between the flagellum and scape, allowing greater movement control of the antennae) in the middle, the antennae not present in the Hiveling, and a pair of wings, as opposed to a real bee, which has two pairs, the wings not present in Hive Knight. Another thing I find notable about these guys is, they all have a fairly round body, fatter than the average honey bee, with no discernable waist nor separating point between the head and mesosoma.

[Image Sources: Jupiter's Wasp House, ie Myself, and Wikimedia Commons, Tanner Smida | Image IDs: Two photos of different, black and yellow honey bees, one on a light-skinned human hand and the other on a wooden surface /End IDs.]

Another two things that these bees lack, which real bees have, are ocelli (the three simple eyes on top of their heads), and a pair of mandibles (and seemingly other typical mouthparts). It is, at the very least, shown that the Hive Soldiers and Hive Knight do have mouths, although they're more like mammalian mouths but with a sort of sharp, angular outer edge. Also, strangely, the Hive Knight is also shown to be capable of spitting out Hivelings, which raises a few questions.

[Image IDs: Two in-game screenshots that show both the Hive Soldier and Hive Knight opening their mouths, the Hive Knight spitting out Hivelings rapidly /End IDs.]

The Hive Soldier specifically also has one big difference, as its metasoma splits apart into seven stingers. One in the middle, and six that spread out radially, seemingly partially retractable into the mesosoma. Whether or not the others have stingers is entirely unclear, as the Hivelings and Hive Guardians attack with their bodies, and Hive Knight (Already predisposed to lacking a stinger, being a male honey bee) attacks using some form of blade or lance.

[Image ID: An attack sprite of the Hive Soldier /End IDs.]

There is one more bee in this kingdom, which you have already seen in a previous screenshot, that being the Hive Queen, Vespa. She looks very different from the rest of the bees, having a more realistically (although far from perfect) segmented body, which sort of resembles that of a paper wasp's body moreso than that of a honey bee queen, although she maintains the fuzz, specifically around her neck in a way that is reminiscent of a fur coat or a rabbit's dewlap. She also has a teardrop-shaped head, an extra pair of (presumably compound, although they could be simple) eyes, and a notable lack of wings.

[Image Source: Wikimedia Commons, Scott Bauer, USDA Agricultural Research Service | Image ID: The artwork of Hive Queen Vespa as viewed as a spirit, followed by a honey bee queen, artificially marked with pink paint, surrounded by other honey bees /End IDs.]

When she appears as a spirit, she's not too much taller than the Hive Knight, however, her carcass lays just in the background of the room in which you fight her dear protector, who does not yet seem to realize she's gone. In this form, her final physical self, she had grown too large to leave the hive, easily 5 times her original size or more. Again, honey bees do not get this big in real life, but it is true that queens are generally larger than their "subjects" by way of their longer abdomen.

[Image Source: Carolina Honeybees | Image IDs: An in-game screenshot of Hive Queen Vespa in the background of the room in which you fight the Hive Knight, followed by an illustration that shows the difference between a drone, queen, and worker honey bee /End IDs.]

Now, I've posted about this before, so I won't go on about it for too long, but I do have to call into question, out of curiosity, the naming of Vespa, given her name is not one that is entomologically associated with honey bees, but instead, their distantly eusocial relatives of the family Vespidae, genus Vespa, the hornets. Something tells me I have an idea as to why she was named this way, but we'll get to that later! It certainly doesn't make the species discrepancy any less confusing.

Finally, there is one more resident of The Hive, although this one is not a bee, but instead, a Hive-specific variation of an enemy that reoccurs all throughout the game. The Husk Hive shambles through the halls of The Hive, surrounded by and/or fused with a structure that is, itself, a miniature hive. The Hunter's Journal describes this enemy as follows: "Cowardly husk, its body colonised by hivelings | Did the hivelings build their nest around this sorry bug, or did the bug squeeze its body into their nest? Either way, they seem happy enough together."

The relationship between the Husk Hive and the Hivelings seems less parasitic and more symbiotic, as the Hivelings protect the Husk Hive and the Husk Hive flees from danger, attempting to remove the Hiveling's living space from locations which may prove to be dangerous.

[Image ID: The artwork of the Husk Hive /End IDs.]

With all the residents of The Hive out of the way, let's discuss The Hive itself.

Now, of course, being part of Hallownest, The Hive resembles something that's less like an actual hive and more like a human community, or, perhaps more accurately, a town or village built of one continuous building, containing mostly wide open areas, but also including areas of rest, with tables and chairs, and a locale or two that resemble the shelved rooms of a library.

[Image ID: An in-game screenshot of an area of The Hive which contains a table, chairs, lights, and shelves that contain tablets /End IDs.]

One thing you'll notice, passing through, however, is that the hexagonal structure that makes up The Hive, outside of the shelves pictured above, doesn't seem to resemble the cells of the prototypical honey bee hive. Not only are they elongated in a way that resembles the Rupees of The Legend Of Zelda series, they appear filled in and crystalline. Some of this unusual material glows, which appears to be what the lights of The Hive are filled with, as opposed to the lumaflies used in other areas of Hallownest.

It's possible that a lot of this is built of crystalized honey, as it is shown that the honey of The Hive can become very hard, very quickly. This is perhaps showcased best in the room, in which you find a bench encased inside of a large, already cracked glob of honey, hanging from the ceiling, which The Knight has to smash open as if it were made of glass. Several other objects in The Hive act the same way.

[Image ID: An in-game screenshot of the bench room of The Hive, in which the bench hangs up /End IDs.]

One thing that's completely unclear, is how brood spawning occurs in The Hive, with seemingly no cells that contain eggs or larvae. Furthermore, it's unclear how long it has been since the queen died, so depending on the time past, it may be implied that it's not just Vespa who held sole responsibility over populating the hive.

Perhaps, as is the case with a few Hollow Knight characters species as they mature in this universe, they don't follow the same lifecycle as a real honey bee, emerging as something close to their final form and molting into later stages should the hive need Soldiers, Guardians, or Knights. It can also be inferred that, maybe, the cells in which the young live in their initial stages are themselves living creatures, such as the Husk Hives and the Hive Knight.

Finally, I find it interesting that The Hive is walled off the way it is, in a similar way to how the nest of a colony of hornets would be, as opposed to the open, tree-hanging slab nests of real world honey bees, seemingly with multiple entrances apart from the ones entered in the game, and also partially subterranean, as evidenced by one of the lower entrances of The Hive.

[Image Sources: Wikimedia Commons, Michael Apel, and wildalongtheway | Image IDs: A photo of an empty paper European hornet, Vespa crabro, nest on the inner part of a human-built structure of some sort, another photo of an empty honey bee hive hanging from a tree branch, and two in-game screenshots showing the upper and lower entrances of The Hive /End IDs.]

With all that said, it's safe to say that Team Cherry really respects their bees, but doesn't mind making them too inaccurate in the name of cool lore! It also provides a lot to think about. I know I've gone on a bit long, though, so I'll get to the point and give these g-

HERE COMES A NEW CHALLENGER! - MANTIS YOUTH

[Image ID: The artwork for the Mantis Youth /End IDs.]

Ok, this one's outside The Hive, and by its name, not even a wasp, but I wanted to give these guys a quick mention. I always found these guys confusing, but it wasn't until it was brought up in conversation by Rev that I truly thought to question what they had going on.

For one, Mantis Youth? Mantises rarely fly in the first place, but their young don't even have wings in the real world. On top of that, they have a stinger, being literally described in the Hunter's Journal as delivering "stinging attacks", a stinger being a modified reproductive organ only found in wasps (if you haven't gotten the memo by the rest of this post, bees and ants are included in that). Plus, they don't have the same almost scythe-shaped forelimbs as the adult mantises, as well as all stages of real mantises, do.

If anything, minus the specialized forelimbs, with that sort of neck, they moreso resemble Neuropteran mantidflies. But otherwise, I'd say they're the closest thing to non-bee wasps we have in Hollow Knight!

[Image Source: Michigan Nature Guy | Image ID: A photo of a wasp mantidfly, Climaciella brunnea, on a green leaf /End ID.]

My only guess for why this happened, considering the mantises are unaffected by the infection, would be interspecies mating, but the mantises are, in lore, known to detest outsiders, as evidenced by the fact they completely disapproved of the love between the Traitor Lord's daughter and the Grey Mourner for the very reason of the Grey Mourner being an outsider.

But maybe this happened a long, long time ago, before they became their own long-standing and wholely independent tribe. I mean, having interspecies children with varied features isn't unheard of in Hallownest, the Pale King and Herrah The Beast had a child together, that being-

HERE COMES A NEW CHALLENGER! (... AGAIN) - HORNET

[Image ID: The artwork for Hornet /End ID.]

Yeah, remember when I said earlier that the whole weird naming thing would come up again? This is it. The sibling of all the vessels, the half-Wyrm half-Spider, the gendered child (The White Lady's words, not mine), and the probably-still-canon-but-it's-unclear trainee of Vespa after she was thrown by the wayside by the Pale King in his neverending quest to win a Worst Father Ever Award.

Now does this explain why Vespa is called that? Honestly, not really? It's still confusing as to why they decided to name the bee hive queen after a very distant relative and our dear hopefully eventual Silksong protagonist after an insect genus that isn't on either side of her family. But one, certainly, at least, explains the other, as stated by a Team Cherry member here, Hornet and Vespa share a related name on purpose! So one of the two was named first, and they gave a related name to the other.

Now that THAT'S out of the way, though, it's safe to say I can't give either Hornet or Mantis Youth a proper rating due to the fact neither are true wasps, but I can absolutely give a rating to those this review was about in the first place, the bees of The Hive!

... Also please let there be actual non-bee wasps in Silksong.

Overall: 5.5/10

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Next week's wasp has not been chosen yet!

#Wasp House Review #WHR: Wasp Review #Bugblr #Wasps #hollow knight #hive queen vespa #hive knight

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