#protagonist swap game

[lottiesnotebook]

Here Lottie:

Oh no! Your pro tags have been given a new role! How would they fare?

Warden-> Hawke

Hawke-> Inquisitor

Inquisitor-> Rook

Rook-> Warden

Ooh hello Anon! This is very reminiscent of my Protagonist Swap Game that's gotten me through a truly hideous week (so if you want more details on these swaps, or alternates, feel free to play that too, if you hadn't already seen it!)

Without further ado, let's swap my girlies, though I will be making appropriate alterations to the canonical backstories to keep them consistent with their personalities, so with that in mind:

Luna Tabris in Dragon Age 2

Given how central being a City Elf is to Luna's identity (and the fact we have an alienage in Kirkwall), let's make the whole Tabris family refugees in the Hawke family's place. Maybe Luna loses her newlywed husband on the road to Gwaren when they face the darkspawn. She's not going to have a noble title or Hightown manor to reclaim, but let's say she ploughs her earnings from the Deep Roads into her new home in the alienage, making it a better place to live, protecting it from humans who'd take advantage of her people, maybe giving a glowing white-haired elf a few reasons to live and flirting with a pretty pirate along the way...

And then she hears a guard raped one of her people and Aveline, who was meant to be fixing the corruption within the system, didn't even investigate? Maybe Luna's the one burning Kirkwall down at the end of Act 2, never mind the Arishok. XD I could genuinely see her allying with him, at least until the issues of what to do with Isabela and the mages came up, at which point she's always going to pick her loved ones over ridiculous concepts like 'honour' and 'single combat'. I don't see a way she survives leading the Kirkwall Elven Revolution but who knows, maybe she escapes with Isabela and Fenris and lives like a pirate queen?

Rhiannon Hawke in Inquisition

So I usually say Rhiannon should have been at the club or possibly a popstar instead of in Dragon Age 2, but I actually think she'd be a pretty good Inquisitor. She's smart, charismatic, and would make a terrifyingly good cult leader, even if she'd be a little bewildered by it. She'd certainly have a better time there than she did in her own game, or than my canonical Inquisitor did. I do think she'd be a little too trusting, though, and that would get her in a lot of trouble come Trespasser...

Rheyah Adaar in Veilguard

I genuinely think Rheyah would have a much better time in Veilguard than in Inquisition. Sticking to her canonical age, she'd be about 30 when the game starts, which is a little more grownup than Rook reads to me, but that's all to the good - being the baby of the gang at 19 in Inquisition was rough for her, and being one of the grownups along with Neve, Lucanis and Emmrich would be a lot easier for her. I also think she'd probably know Taash as a fellow Vashoth mercenary, and they might even have played with her younger siblings as kids, so she'd definitely be WAY less isolated than she is in Southern Thedas.

I also think she'd be much more likely to attempt to redeem Solas as Rook than as the Inquisitor - in my head, she never quite moves on from him being one of the first people in the Inquisition to show her kindness and treat her like a person only to turn around and say that actually he'd never seen her as a person at all and now only did so unwillingly, but when she's Rook, they've never had that conversation, and she is a strong believer in second chances and forgiveness otherwise.

Cara Hawke Laidir in Origins

Oh no if ever there were a character who should not have been sent to deal with the Fifth Blight... XD Cara's defining character traits are Spoilt Princess with a (Very Well-Hidden) Heart of Gold, so I don't think she'd necessarily be a GREAT leader in this particular hour of need, or deal well with the privations of being on the run.

I do however think that Alistair would immediately be lost to her confidence and force of personality, so at the end of the game Ferelden might end up with Mage Queen Cara ruling at his side (yes I know that's not possible canonically but the canon of Origins never had a Cara to deal with). Would she be good at being Queen? Probably not, but I don't think that would stop her.

Thank you for the ask, anon! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did thinking about it!

[championofthefadeocs]

Thanks for playing the Protagonist Swap Game! What would your Ingellvar get up to for 1 and 5 in Origins?

Hi, thanks for the ask!!

Backstory: She would go into a Circle Mage background, because she is a mage herself. If there was ever someone should would have brought with her when getting out of the Circle, it would have been Jowan, even after learning he was a blood mage.

5. Choice: This one is tough. The choice that would impact Ethiriel the most would be the choice of siding with Branka or Cairidin. Because of Branka's ambitions and Cairdin's wishes of the Anvil, Ethiriel would side with Cairdin just for the sake of letting the man rest. I think the biggest change to the worldstate if Ethiriel had be the Warden would probably how she would approach Morrigan's ritual. She would refuse to ask anyone to take part in it, would leave Alistair at the gate, and kill the Archdemon herself.

[palalife]

Joker POV

“Welcome to the Velvet Room, Goro Akechi”

Swap AU/NG+/Velvet room AU

Reading direction from right to left

Yes I just had to combine all the AUs and fandom troupes into one bc I am indecisive

Basically Ren made another bet of reviving Akechi and play the game again in his place bc he believes he will win, surely given right chance Akechi would do better, right? Right??? 😬

[tropicalcontinental]

Stilll ttrying to think about Swap!AU Zander and AwesomeG... At this point they're just, well, swapped, but I still think there needs to be a bit more of a twist to them

In the mean time though, art

[drfirsnogayny]

Sprites version for @kindergartenswapau

[sparingiscaring]

Melancholy is Increasing…

You are walking down Wolfstack Docks, and you’re not sure why. You’ve outgrown this place, and the Zee beyond - so why did your feet lead you here? And why are you so compelled to linger even now?

Featuring: Zee Beasts, Memory Issues, and the Melancholy of the Endgame

Word Count: 2385 Words

Content Warnings: Game-typical descriptions of Violence (specifically monster-hunting)

@fallenlondonficswap

Happy Ficswap, everyone! @existentialcrisisetcetera, I had the honor of writing for your Secret Swap. I had a lot of fun with this one - when the inspiration hits, it hits, y'know? I hope it resonates with you, too!

You’re not quite sure what you’re doing here.

Wolfstack Docks is a place you used to be familiar with. Heavy faces on broad-shouldered frames pass, faces scored with the deep lines of wrinkles worn in well before their time. As one man passes close by, a bundle of rope wrapped around his arm, you catch the stench of alcohol on his breath - acrid, and following him in a miasma as he walks not away from, but towards the ships that crowd every inch of this place. 

It’s impossible to blame the man for enjoying every second of his shore leave. You’d have done the same, if you were in his shoes. You spare him a second glance - and catch the unmistakable color of bone, hanging from the end of his rope. If you still wore his shoes.

Maybe that is why you were here.

Even now, you can see Watchmaker’s Hill, just over the Stolen River, the Observatory standing tall and proud at its peak. Maybe you’d come to visit the old stomping grounds. Visit the Medusa’s head, and listen to it’s sorry lot tell tales about the Vake, or head to the Department just a short walk away. For old time’s sake?

Sure, most of the faces will different, but you know the types at the Medusa’s Head - those at the bar, a little too eager to bend your ear and spin a story about what they’ve seen in the Marshes just beyond the civilization of London and how they scared it away at the last possible moment, while those at the tables listen in with a sceptical twist to their frowns, and the man in the corner who laughs too loud, and a glass and rag in hand behind the bar, twisting and polishing. It’ll be caught in time. It’ll be just like you left it. 

It’ll be just like you left it.

You turn around, and let your eyes fall into an unfocused haze, scanning. A sign - a pub sign. Without a second thought, you step towards the threshold. Not the Blind Helmsman - God only knows how that place will be the same as you left it, maybe even worse than Medusa’s. No, you’d never been inside this place, never outgrown it. 

It’s a bad time to be at the pub, if you’d have wanted to meet the regulars. If this place even had regulars. The bar itself was empty, with banged-up stools all wasting away without some drunk to fill the space or a fight to be weaponry for, and glasses sitting on their lips, unpolished and collecting a heavy layer of particulate in the absence of the barkeep. Even the shadows on the wall look hollow and empty, without someone to fill them in anticipation of some secret meeting. Even the walls look hollow, covered with trinkets and trophies of names and faces you’d never seen and coated in a thick layer of dust. It is, in your humble opinion, perhaps the least interesting place in all of London. It's only novelty, if you can call it that, is not even the fact that it is new. It’s the fact that it's new to you.

And you sit down at the bar. After all, new was better, even if it was as nothing a place as this.

Nothing has been new to you in a long time. 

You didn’t notice when it happened - there was no instant, no realization that you’d done it all, no sigils lighting up the cavern ceiling in Correspondence that translated to “You can go die forever now!” It was a creeping, dawning thing, as far as your pitiful memory can conjure up to tell you. Not so far back as to when you descended into London - no, you had bright eyes then, bright eyes and a sound (enough?) mind, and you looked at the curiosities of this city with wonder. Still can remember your first cat-catch, can’t you? Even if the secret you earned is long forgotten?

You felt something even more special when you first found your way to Watchmaker’s. You felt something alive when it was Wolfstack.

Ah, that you do remember, and you remember it well. Blood on your knuckles, and a ribbon clenched tight in your fist. You remember duels, you remember Unions and Strikebreakers, you remember the overwhelming smell of the salt of the Zee clinging to the sides of ships being pulling into port, and you remember the groan of wood and fiber and metal as you witnessed the miracle of a ship, suspended for just a moment, to suffer the curse of being landbound as forms with rough hands and rougher laughs set about fixing whatever was wrong with the old girl.

You remember the woman with a body like a waterlogged corpse staring up at you from the edge of the water that night, and you remember the drunken zailor you’d never seen before, stumbling out of a bar and telling you to jam your fingers in your ear before “that thing” starts singing. You hadn’t even known what a Drownie was, then. You knew nothing the Zee had to offer up to you, except for whatever half-true tales managed to be popular enough to escape the pubs and bars and disseminate into the wider London.

Nowadays, Drownies don’t scare you.

You’re sure one could, if they were particularly stealthy and then particularly loud, but… you knew Drownies. You’d seen a lobster fisherman with a twinkle in his eye become one just a few years ago - witnessed every part of his transformation, spoke to him afterwards. You’d satiated a being with a mind far beyond your own, with his help. It was hard to feel that twinkle in your own eye when you had to appease it a second time. Harder to fear what he’d become, when you knew all the ways one could (and could not) ward off their songs. Harder still to fear becoming them, when the Fathom King refused to keep you.

The chill of the glass between your palms breaks you from your recollection for a moment. How many times have you died at Zee?

… you remember the first time. The Fathom King’s Court. The offering you gave, hoping to surface a little better off than you entered, as he weighed your worth, your influence on the scale of London, and deemed you worth returning. What killed you? It’d been a…

Right. Teeth, scales, water. You remember now. And you remember what followed.

Mutiny. Madness. Drowned. One you preferred not to speak about in polite company. Once, many unfortunate things happened all at once. Almost comical, really.

Glim-Fall was the worst. Glim-Fall had nearly broken you for a time. You… even if you wanted to go to Zee this instant, to ride the dark waves once more, you would still refuse to sail under the flag of a Corsair for all the bad luck it has brought you before. At least you knew what you did wrong when your crew ate you.

The deaths were worth it, though, impossible as it would sound to someone still able to walk the Surface. Still worth it, because where else could someone feel what you felt, standing on the deck of a ship that barely managed to float for the first time, one hand on the rough hewn of rope, and the other wrapped around the perfectly-weighted harpoon in your hand. Nothing felt right like that did. Nothing excites you like watching the impossibly dark Zee, with that harpoon in your hand, your harpoon in your hand, waiting for the thing stalking you to rear its head to devour you all, all so you can strike. 

Nothing is like it. 

You remember great things, terrible things, hulking things with bodies darker than night, bodies as dark as the water. Dark as your eyes. Dark blood, pooling on the deck of your ship, dark blood pouring around the stark-white of your harpoon. You remember the chase, the hunt, the moment of calm before the strike, and you remember the final blow. That glorious, final blow, fought over what felt like lifetimes. The thrill. The triumph of it all, crescendoing into a blaring victory. You remember it. You remember it all.

You almost feel excited remembering it, until your brain catches up to your racing heart.

You also remember the feeling of knowing everything in the Zee that could harm you. Everything you could hunt. Of hunting them all, and knowing every trick in their milky, unseeing eyes. Sure, every so often the Angler Crabs would act up on their journey to spawning, but… you could only hunt so many of the bastards before even that excitement began to fade, before even the Hunt could barely be worth a single sentence in your letters to an inconveniencing aunt who insisted she must know everything about your life. 

There’s a ship out on the dock, with your crew of seasoned zailors aboard. It used to join the raids, slaughtering Angler Crabs racing towards London, threatening to overpopulate the waters and capsize ships as they sit at harbor. You never join them anymore, because you know what can happen. You know everything that can happen. Even something new will become something old, will become something routine, will become meaningless, will become something worthless in the end. It’s all meaningless in the end.

Feet stomping on the cobble outside this nothing-bar. A commotion out on the dock, the sound of meaningless talk. You should have expected the meaninglessness, really, entering a bar right off of Wolfstacks. You should know better when it comes to this place. You roll the empty glass between your palms, and tune out the noise, the dust in the air drying your mouth as you set your jaw. Is this what the Tomb Colonist’s feel like? Dry and creaky and old and bored? Is this why they fight? You’re already so tired of fighting. Fighting is old. You feel old. 

How are you more of a walking corpse than a Tomb Colonist?

You crawl over the bar, and pop the cork on a bottle of mushroom wine. You almost laugh at the year - funny coincidence, that is. That’s your year. You polish your dusty glass with a bit of your shirt, and pour yourself a drink.

Is this why you came here? To sulk, and nurse your wounds with a stolen Greyfields vintage, and think about the glory days? 

You toss a wad of Echos behind you - it should cover it, if this place ever sees the light of anyone’s eyes again. 

You feel more pathetic than the liars at the Medusa’s head - at least they told their stories, fake as they were, instead of drowning them in a bottle like you were. You feel more pathetic than the Monster Hunter you’d seen a half-hour ago, harpoon and rope around his shoulder and that stench still on his breath. Even if you wouldn’t go about such work drunk, at least he was doing it. He was still going out, and doing what brought him joy. 

Hopefully.

Hopefully he hadn’t taken to the bottle to make it feel new, like you apparently were past the point of.

The sound outside is getting louder. Your head hurts. Your memory is throbbing, again - tricky business, always. It’s why you preferred hunting at Zee - maybe it was just the madness of an old zailor, but it felt easier to remember out there. Like… like the memories you’d lost your grip on were lurking in the reflection of milky fish-eyes, and all you had to do was throw your harpoon and reel in the line, and there they’d be. It worked better than your journal, in all honesty. 

You miss it. Damn, you miss it. You can feel the salt on your tongue, overpowering acrid wine.

Outside, a man yells.  You can’t help but overhear. 

You can’t help but drop your glass, splintering into shards and dust, when you hear what the man is yelling. Decreeing. It’s childish, but… when you run outside, alcohol on your breath, you shove your way through the crowd to the tight circle surrounding the man, like a pickpocketing Urchin would. 

There’s been a Midnight Whale spotted off the shores of Port Carnelian, and she intends to die. She is old, and she sings, and she intended to die where and how she was meant to die. 

At the Gant Pole.

The man is an old zailor, with deep wrinkles on his face, and alcohol on his breath, and a bone-harpoon on a rope tossed around his shoulder. He knows Midnight Whales. He knows what will follow her on her journey - beasts, and monsters, and men befitting those classifications as they try to take her before her time is up and her destination is reached. He’s seen it before. He’ll see it again.

The Old Zailor intends to help her to her peace, but one ship can only do so much. And so, he’s asking for the help of London.

You’ve never seen a Midnight Whale up close.

Never heard one sing.

Your ship is as you left it. Crew is, too -  and the layer of dust on your bunk is as thick as that at the pub you might never see again. 

You run a thumb along the tip of your harpoon, feeling the texture of bone sharpened away to a wicked point, and you can taste the zalt of the Zee-air on your tongue. It tastes like home.

You’ll see the Midnight Whale home.

Maybe yourself, one day, when the Zee decides to see you off. If it does - the Fathom King refuses to keep you, after all, and the Boatman rows too slowly, and the Mirror-Marsh withers at the color tainting your memories. 

Maybe once you’ve seen all the Zee has to show you, those dark waters will decide to keep you.

You set a course for Port Carnelian, for the last sighting of the Midnight Whale, and lean over the railing to gaze down into the dark, dark waters. You see your face, reflected in its depth. You see its infinite vastness reflected into your eyes.

The Zee has an eternity to show you, still

You have a lifetime to chase it.

[cultivating-wildflowers]

life with an aging herding dog: she wakes up from a doze to find me gone and works her methodical search pattern of the house (bedroom, couch, back room, kitchen, bathroom, mud room) while I walk just behind her, giving a full commentary, waiting for her to turn around

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

Thou art sufficient. Thou wilt be chosen.

He tried to open his mouth to speak, but—since none of this was truly real, or truly words—no sound came through.

Something raised into the air above him, which was the first time he was able to conceptualize his position—the object itself was indistinct, white and gold– 

–and then it slammed down, cutting straight through his chest, and if he could move, he would have gasped and seized. It wasn’t pain exactly—or, it wasn’t just physical pain—it was something knifing through his heart and mind, tearing it open, a wave of screaming, howling emotion– 

The spear of white and gold removed itself, somehow, but it left something behind. A golden spike, still impaling him, the area around it rapidly soaking through with crimson.

What was not needed hast been removed. It would only have serve to upset thee.

What… was he… he fought to claw back the shreds of whatever-it-was being taken from him, but it was like grabbing at smoke. He’d been… trying to say something… he was… what was… going on…? He couldn’t recall… how had he gotten here? Why was he here?

This must be… what was meant to happen. If… he couldn’t remember being anywhere else… this must be where he was supposed to be.

He ceased fighting.

—

YOU: What does it think it’s doing! Look at what a mess it’s made, here! This is why you leave these things to the experts—and look at this! These edges are so ragged, it’s a wonder anything’s still there—

US: Well, leave it. There is something there. Mess around with it more and you’re just going to make it worse.

ME: No, no, you can’t just leave it like that… he’s going to be so miserable.

YOU: Let’s tidy up what’s left, at least.

More piercing stabs, these almost surgical in nature, cleaning the ragged edges of the wound, sewing it closed to stop the bleeding—

ME: Hey, don’t just throw that out—

–adding a certain finality to the missing piece.

ME: I don’t think this is a good idea… I think you might do more harm than…

US: Well, it’s done now. You should stop fussing and let him go.

YOU: The Creator better have a very good reason for doing all this. Or else, we, you and I will have words with it.

[practicedvmm13fullofpotatoes]

I have no idea why but I made a Swap!AU for Kindergarten and it is not a normal one where like Ted is swapped with Felix or something. No no no, Ted and Felix are swapped with Penny and Cindy which btw makes zero sense to both me and you guys too. But here’s a list on who’s swapped with who

Alice - Ron

Buggs - Lily

Carla - Madison

Kidd - Billy

Cindy - Felix

Jerome - Nugget

Monty - Ozzy

Penny - Ted

Might draw them or make them in a random picrew because gawdamit yes

Also not only are their personalities swapped, their colour pallets are also swapped!

(And their relationships are also swapped meaning those who were siblings aren’t siblings and vice versa because of my dumb logic)

[mxdotpng]

trying to figure out the best way to intricately mold a graces roleswap au just for me

[lottiesnotebook]

Has anyone asked about Rheyah in DA2 yet for the Protagonist Swap Game? Bc if not--- 1 and 5?

Woo more Protagonist Swap Game!!! Thank you for the ask! In my heart, of course, Rheyah is born in the Kirkwall Qunari Enclave shortly before the start of Dragon Age II, but if we're making her the protagonist... oof, much like putting Luna Tabris in Kirkwall, making Rheyah Adaar the protagonist of Dragon Age II completely changes the whole game in a lot of fun ways.

Backstory - Does your character fit into one of the potential backstories for the game they are now in? If not, how do they end up in the situation? Do they bring any key characters with them?

So, let's start at the beginning - one of the ships in the stranded Qunari fleet is lost with all hands, except for a lone saarebas who is presumed dead. She's picked up by a refugee ship from Gwaren, though she's frightened, alone, and doesn't yet speak a word of Trade Tongue, or very much at all. Bethany and Carver Hawke, perhaps, mourning the loss of their eldest sibling and seeing in her a fellow refugee in need of shelter? Leandra, seeing a child close in age to the one she lost in chains and deciding to take her in? Either way, Rheyah Adaar becomes Rheyah Hawke, and the family vouch for her when they go to work for Meeran's mercenaries. It's lucky that Rheyah has a talent for languages, because in a year, she's going to need to learn a lot about the world outside the Qun...

5. Choice - What in-game decision would have the most impact on your character? What would be the most dramatic change they would bring to the worldstate?

While Rheyah's a mage, I feel like, if she were the protagonist of DA2, the story becomes a lot less about Kirkwall's politics and a lot more about her relationship with the Qun and the Arishok. A Qunari saarebas returning from the dead to defeat the Arishok in single combat and enforce peace between the Qunari and the people of Kirkwall? That's got all the makings of a heretical offshoot of the Qun taking root, and a very different situation in which Rheyah becomes a semi-Messianic figure to the role she has in Inquisition, not to mention the impact it would have on the Chantry, the Templars, and her fellow saarebas... Yeah that puts a whole different spin on Act 3 of the game that I could definitely do Interesting Things with, but I don't know that any of it ends well for Rheyah...

[jontheredrc]

happy Reala Day <3

[elitheaceofalltrades]

Spirit Swap - Game Demo

So I'm going to be completely honest. I demoed this for the art

I don't even LIKE swap 3 games (burnt out on them in my childhood & teens i think, bejewelled, candy crush, etc). But the art was so pretty I had to demo it.

The Pros:

THE ART - in case you didn't hear me the first two times, the art was GORGEOUS. We only saw 4 charactes in the demo and they were ALL so pretty, drawn and coloured so well. The familiars are also very cute in this game, coloured in this like, eretheral pastelly shades. It's stunning.

The music - the game cover said "Lofi Beats" and they delivered. The music was so nice and I hope they make the soundtrack available for sale cause it was amazing.

The plot - now tell me why I picked up this game for the art and music and ended up invested in the story??? It was actually so interesting and I genuinely want to know what happens next😂😂

Cons:

I couldn't use my mouse and I didn't like that at all. Maybe it's because of the aforementioned bejewelled, but I feel like match 3 games are mouse games ya know?

The options for controller were the keys from the keyboard or the controller. I chose to use my controller and I found that the controls were a bit janky. The movement of the selection box, using the joycon, was not smooth at all and at some points I had to hit buttons multiple times for cubes to swap.

Overall, since the only cons I had were like, gameplay mechanics based, and this is the demo an upcoming game (release TBD but this year), I feel like they have time to fix it. Therefore I would recommend this game to others, something I never saw myself doing in the 2020s for a match 3 game.

~Eli

Ace of All Trades, Pro at None😆

[demilypyro]

What video game would benefit the most from swapping the gender of the protagonist from a boy to a girl (don’t say all of them that’s cheating)

Master Chief and Cortana would be infinitely more compelling if it was yuri

[drfirsnogayny]

I tried to make kids in my Swap AU

But I'm not sure I like the result

I also decided to give the girls' dresses to match each other's style. Which version do you like best? I like Lily and Alice's.

Bonus:

I had to keep it

[solarsteam]

◇I got the very silly idea of a Monster Hunter Stories/ HoB crossover.◇

◇Anyway, Hob will have a mizutsune and Lorelei will have a Valstrax, or more specifically, a Crimson Glow Valstrax.◇