#that’s called wanting to be organized???

[the-pen-pot]

"As written, it would allow the Secretary of the Treasury to revoke the tax-exempt status of "terrorist supporting organizations"—no evidence or explanation is required. Notably, status can be revoked even if the "support" is not intentional or connected to violence. If the tax-exempt organization couldn't prove its case to the Treasury, it would have to go to court, essentially flipping the script on the current scheme."

If HR9495 passes, charitable organizations that are involved in issues around women’s reproductive rights, serving immigrants and refugees, working on issues related to wars and victims of wars, and even issues around equity, could potentially be deemed as terrorists or domestic terrorists.

It's already passed in the house. You need to call your senator and let them know your concerns and that you do not want this to go further.

Readers, make sure you have all your favourite Ao3 fics downloaded.

Writers, make sure you have copies of all the fics you have posted on Ao3.

I don’t want to be alarming, but things could get really bad really fast. OTW shared this today on Twitter, and I'm a bit worried about it 😅

Ao3 is a non-profit organisation. If they have to start paying taxes, I have no idea what will happen.

[imsobadatnicknames2]

ok but i need the evrart claire essay

Okay just be warned that this is gonna be less of an "essay" and more of a loose collection of thoughts, and I don't know how fresh or novel any of these ideas are going to be when it pertains to popular Disco Elysium fan discourse because I don't really do fandom, you know?

Anyway, I think the most obvious factet of Evrart's character is how he very intentionally calls to mind a caricature of corrupt union leaders, the image of a sleazy mobster who only cares about his own personal gain but pays lip service to leftist politics and pretends to care about the interests of workers as a way to obtain and maintain his power. And I think a lot of people straightforwardly read him as such, because that's the way he carries himself and the type of character the game is riffing on. There's also the question of how much of Evrart's manipulative, duplicitous attitude is just how he normally acts and how much of it is him specifically acting that way towards Harry and Kim specifically, it's important to have in mind that your main character is a cop and that would definitely play a role in making Evrart go out of his way to be a bit more of a bastard and toy with you a bit before he decides to actually do anything helpful.

However, once you dig a little deeper into his characterization, it becomes clear that he's pulling a very interesting double bluff, because it becomes apparent that the shady mobster who only cares about his personal gain is an act he's putting on. He's very self-aware about the fact that he's playing the villain, he seems to actively revel in it, but ultimately, it seems like he does it because playing the villain is the way he gets shit done.

This is not to say he's not actually corrupt, or that he's not ALSO involved in all sorts of shady stuff and taking advantage of his position of power, but the game does make it apparent that on some level he DOES have the interests of the people of Martinaise at heart.

For example, it is textually stated that the harbor doesn't need a night watchman, and Evrart created the position specifically to provide a source of income for René. He knows the pension Rene gets is not enough for him to live on, but he's also aware that René is the sort of right-wing guy who would rather starve to death than take a handout (especially from those dirty union commies), so Evrart created a job position which pretty much involves doing nothing for a few hours every night so he could help him with his economic troubles in a way he wouldn't refuse out of principle. René hates his guts, ideologically stands against everything his organization represents, and is generally an unlikeable asshole and a fascist prick, but he's also a disadvantaged member of the community and that seems to matter more.

Even when he asks you to get the signatures to build the community center, which is definitely one of the most morally questionable things he does during the events of the game (as it will improve the community, but at the same time displace the people from the fishing village), his intentions seem to be ultimately good. Due to the very nature of his character and the act he puts on, it's purposefully hard to tell when he's being sincere and when he's being manipulative. However, if Harry's drama and empathy skills are high enough when he's confronted about it, you'll be able to tell that he's not lying about his motives for wanting to build a community center or about the fact that he intends to provide better housing for the people displaced by the project, and that he feels genuine rage about their current living conditions. It can still be said that he's ignoring their self-determination and essentially forcing these people out of their current homes, but he does seem to have good intentions and think he's doing a good thing for them in the long run, even if his methods are morally questionable at best.

In that way, the Union is an extension of him in this regard too. They're pretty unapologetic about the fact that they're openly operating as a crime syndicate, but the game doesn't give you any reasons to believe they're lying when they say they're doing it as a way to muslce out all the more dangerous gangs and crime organizations out of Martinaise, or that their involvement in the drug trade is at least partially motivated by a desire to make sure it's not controlled by more dangerous and violent crime organizations. Again, they're playing the villain as a way to fill that power vacuum and make sure more dangerous people don't fill that role (but of course, that doesn't erase the fact that, noble as their intentions may be, they're still involved in all these shady activities and turning a pretty substantial profit from them too)

Of course, on the other hand, just because the game seems to hint at the fact that Evrart and the Union are, deep down, a force for good, doesn't erase the fact that he's done plenty of bad shit to further his interests, and the game doesn't shy away from this. He's still extremely corrupt, his long-term plan to wrestle control of the harbor away from the company and turn it into a worker-owned operation (which *would* massively improve the material conditions of the dockworkers if succesful) involves endangering the lives of a lot of his own workers, he and his brother Edgar pass the position of union foreman back and forth between each other to circumvent the term limit and keep themselves in power indefinitely, and if you explore all dialogue options with the Deserter it's all but explicitly stated that they rose to power by getting him to assassinate the previous Union forewoman.

These are things that Evrart himself would probably rationalize as sacrifices that need to be made for the greater good. After all, it is implied that the previous union forewoman was also corrupt, except in favor of the company's interests, and might have even been a company plant. However, this doesn't make those things morally right. Good intentions nonwithstanding, it's clear that the Claire brothers are very "the ends justify the means" kind of people, they probably see getting the previous Union leader killed or endangering the lives of the dockworkers to overthrow the company that exploits them as "pulling the lever" in the trolley problem, which is extremely callous at best.

Here's where we get a little more into "disjointed thoughts" territory, but Evrart can also be seen as a critique of the limits of trade unionism and social democrat politics. Something that I completely missed in my first playthrough but was able to catch on during my second is that the people of the fishing village refuse to unionize, and as a result they don't get the same level of support and protection that the union provides to the people of the more urban section of Martinaise. This is apparently widely known enough for characters other than Evrart to comment on (I forget what character I learned this from, but it was definitely not Evrart). So it's clear that Evrart and the Union put their interests of the members of their own organization over those of other working class people, which is one criticism that can be leveraged against the way a lot of leftists seem to treat unions as the ultimate tool for worker class liberation.

Similarly, when Evrart tells you his long-term plans, it's clear that his ultimate goals don't involve complete worker liberation. As far as the game shows, he's a socdem who's still looking to work within the confines of capitalism. There are more radically left wing characters in Disco Elysium, but Evrart is the only one with any actual power to affect change, which kinda speaks to the lack of presence of more hardline leftist positions in mainstream politics. As someone living in Latin America, I kinda ended up seeing a bit of a lot of our currrent socdem politicians in him in that respect, I guess, but i'd need more time to articulate this thought properly, I guess.

Ultimately, I think Evrart is an amazingly crafted character. He evokes a well-known archetype of a shady, corrupt, power-hungry union leader, but he adds a lot of depth, self-awareness, and nuance to it and subverts that characterization in several ways. I think he atually serves an important role of ideologically challenging players who share the developers' and writers' political leanings. I think it would have been very self-congratulatory and autocomplacent to make the most influential leftist character in the game an unambiguously good paragon of workers' rights and working class liberation. By instead giving us someone who's an absolute callous bastard who definitely has a bit of blood on his hands, who's a socdem at best and a self-serving mob boss at worst, but can ultimately be interpreted as a force for good, and asking the players to decide what they think of him I think it brings interesting questions to the table of our commitment to material gains, what sorts of people we're willing to work with, and the sort of acts we're willing to tolerate, and makes the game a lot more thematically rich.

I also think a good analysis of Evrart is incomplete without an analysis of the ways in which he serves a a charater foil for Joyce, but I don't feel like getting into that rn.

[prttyndolllike]

my tips for f4st!ng <3

1. distract yourself! if you're at home i'll admit this is a little hard, but it IS very helpful :)) clean your room! do your makeup! do your nails! listen to music! make playlists! call your friends! make your bed! organize!

2. try on clothes that are too small for you! this one gets me the most, it's rlly triggering knowing that you aren't there yet (at least for me)

3. look at th!!!nsp000! i prefer looking it up on here or pinterest!

4. make lists of clothing you want to buy at your gw, if you f4st maybe you'll actually be able to fit into them one day

5. sleep!!! this one is the hardest for me lolz :p but you can't feel hungry if you're asleep :)

6. go on a walk! go walk around your neighborhood! or walk up and down your stairs! walk in circles in your room! it burns c4l0r!3s & distracts you :))

7. drink water!!! when you first wake up drink water, when you feel hungry drink water, when you feel tired drink water, when you want to quit drink water

8. stay away from the kitchen! the food in there is gross anyways & you don't need it! if you're not around food you won't want it as much!

9. dye your hair! this is usually very time consuming & will most likely take your mind off food

10. paint your nails! i know i included this earlier but i feel like it includes its own section :)) if your nails are wet you can't really eat food.

11. keep a reminder of your w3!ght! if you have a mirror in your room write your w3!ght on it, constantly remind yourself that's how much you w3!gh.

12. write your w3!ght on your hand! any time you go to grab food you'll see it and remember why you're doing this, how far you've come and how much farther you have to go.

there's def more but this is all i can think of rn! if you have any helpful tips share them in the comments <3

[ellecdc]

Hi Elle! I'm here to hibernate, and I was thinking maybe a poly!rosekiller (you've got me hooked on Barty and Evan) or whatever pairing you think works best, love all our boys, with either:

“they’ve slept for like twelve straight hours. should i be worried?"

Or

“hey, i think it’s time to go to bed.”

Because I am both. Chronically.

If you don't respond it's totally cool, you're such an amazing writer and so many people love your stuff I totally understand not being able to respond, lovely girl!

P.S remember to drink water :)

thanks so much for the prompt, doll!! and thanks for being here with me; I'm happy to be celebrating with you <3

the winter games

poly!rosekiller x fem!reader who's asleep and Barty's afraid of [702 words]

CW: immature boyfriends, muggle/modern au, Barty hit someone with his car but it was chill and also not pictured, mentions of dicks but not described

Evan swore his eyes were beginning to cross when his paperwork was interrupted by the sound of a hastily whispered “Rosie!” 

Evan looked up to see Barty standing in the doorway to his office. Well, it was more like to see Barty’s shoulders and head floating about halfway up the door frame as he leaned around it without actually stepping in. 

“What is it, bee?” He drawled as he turned back towards his work.

“I need help.”

“With what?” 

“Hiding a body.” Barty deadpanned. 

Evan let out a tired sigh and looked up at him. “Again, Barty?” 

“With Y/N, Rosie! And for the last time, that cyclist I hit was fine; he bounced right back up and smacked the hood of my car. He certainly wasn’t too hurt to cuss at me.” 

“What’s wrong with your Treasure?” Evan asked - diverting yet another grumbling at how inconvenient hitting another man with his car was for Barty - as he organized his sheets into a neat stack. He may have called you Barty’s Treasure, but you were his sugar, and Barty seemed to think you needed his help so Evan was inclined to help you. 

“She’s asleep.” Barty said simply - troublesome cyclists forgotten - causing Evan to pause.

“I hardly see what the problem with that is, Barty.”

Barty stomped his foot and rolled his eyes as if it were Evan who was being rather meddlesome and vague. “She’s asleep in the kitchen.”

Oh…that was the problem. 

Sure enough, covered in an array of flour, sprinkles, and icing, you were resting your head on one folded arm with a piping bag sitting dejectedly in your opposite hand; a small stream of red icing pooling out the bottom. Sound asleep. 

You’d refused Barty’s help earlier in the evening, stating that he wouldn’t do as good a job and you wanted your holiday cookies to be perfect. Evan didn’t particularly blame you for that, but he did feel rather guilty that you couldn’t trust your boyfriend to not pipe dicks on all of your sugar cookies when your back was turned. 

“You didn’t want to wake her up?” Evan surmised as he gently took the piping bag from your hand. 

“Listen, I love her with my entire being, but I’m kind of afraid of her.”

Evan couldn’t help but huff a laugh at that. “Fine, can you clean this up then?” He asked, gesturing vaguely to the state of the kitchen as he came up behind you and leaned over your frame. 

“Sugar.” He murmured as he gently rubbed at your shoulders. “Come on, doll.”

An incoherent sound of discontent escaped your lips as you tried to rise; Evan’s weight above you kept you from sitting up too quickly. 

“Hey, I think it’s time for bed.”

“But, th’cookies-”

“Will be here in the morning.” Evan argued as he allowed you to sit up slowly. “Barty’ll even help you with them.”

“No he can’t, Ev. He’ll ruin them.”

“He will not because whilst he’s helping you, I will be supervising Barty.”

He felt something warm in his chest as he watched you struggle to wake up; brain working overtime to make sense of your surroundings and to make sense of what Evan was trying to tell you. 

“We’ll get it done in the morning, yeah? Together.” He offered gently.

“Yeah…” You let out with a sigh after a beat, Barty letting out a sigh of relief of his own from behind him. 

“Go get in your pyjamas, pretty girl.” Evan instructed as he helped you stand, pressing a kiss to your hair and patting your hip in dismissal before watching you plod off in the direction of the bedroom.

“Ev, can’t I just-”

“No.”

“Just one.”

“I said no, Bee.” Evan pressed more forcefully. 

“I hardly see what the issue with one festive dick is.” Barty grumbled as the two of them followed you towards the bedroom. “What if I save that one and then we give it to Reg?” 

That gave Evan pause. 

“One.”

“Thank you!”

“What’s happening?” Your voice sounded from somewhere in the washroom, causing both boys to freeze outside of it.

“Nothing.” They chorused; one of them in the form of a question and the other in the form of a delighted cheer.

[bippiti]

the first time you saw viktors new skin, well, if you could call it that, you were mesmerized. the metal, hextech, and him together formed an organism that you had never seen, but it was the most viktor thing you thought. to be so foreign, yet so familiar.

the first time you met him was awkward. you knew he meant no harm, but he clearly didn't want you there. you had heard whispers of his previous assistant, about her untimely end. you gave him space, choosing to observe and make notes rather than speak to him at first. overtime, the scribbles in your notebook turned into questions, and then those questions into discussions.

it seemed like you had finally gotten to know him, to truly understand him.

and then that missile hit

you thought that you were going to lose him, so when you saw jayce pick him up and run to the hexcore, you weren't far behind.

as the days passed, your belief that he would return waned. and by the time you had seemingly given up all hope, you stared longingly at him, and the cocoon that he was wrapped around.

he winced, you thought you were imagining it. as you stepped closer his eyes opened, they weren't the soft hazel you were expecting though, instead a mix of many. rainbow

as he tore through the strands that bound him jayce awoke, your shoulders brushed as you stared at the man in front of you.

"what am i?"

"you're alive"

lmk if you guys like this! it's just an idea but i might expand on it more if yall want

[drdemonprince]

ok fine cis men aren't the bad gender it's all men and we're all exactly like that anon who admitted to having abused women even if we don't know it. are you fucking happy now? is this the solidarity you want us to feel with cis men, that we're all just as mich rapists and murderers of women as they are? you have some fucking nerve to be throwing vague jabs while calling an admitted abuser "brave"

Normally I don't platform asks like these, but I'm moved by the genuineness of your emotional reaction here. I think you're hurting, and you've been hurt, and that the belief that abuse and violence are located within one gendered group (to which you don't belong) has felt like a way of organizing your world that has helped you make sense of things, and given you guidelines for how to act and whom to trust that have helped keep you safe. I think a lot of assault survivors feel that way when they're not cis men and their attackers were cis men.

As someone who has experienced a ton of sexual predation at the hands of cis women, cis men, and even other trans people, I don't feel the same way. There is no "bad gender" I can chalk up my abuse to. I find there are no easy means of categorizing entire people as abuser or as victim either -- I have known so, so many people who have occupied both roles depending upon the power they wielded and the social context of the moment. Hell, one cis lesbian that I knew who was infamous in her community for raping trans men would always tell her victims that her acts were those of "trauma recovery," of her "reclaiming" her power after men had stolen it away.

Even she, I don't think, is irredeemable or ontologically evil.

I'm an abolitionist. That's a core value through which a lot of my political action and beliefs flow. If you're not on board with the project of abolitionism, you'll find much to object to here, and most of your objections are things I will refuse to entertain, because I do not believe human beings are disposable no matter what they do, and I don't believe that anyone should have the authority to deem another human being as disposable.

An abolitionist politics is incompatible with the idea that some people or some groups are inherently bad. It's incompatible with the belief that abuse and violence comes from evil. It's a worldview that holds that people do harm because of social structures and networks of power that must be destroyed -- systems like the patriarchy, cissexism, anti-Blackness, ableism, capitalism, and more. And I think one of the ways that we conquer such oppressive systems is by raising the consciousness of all the people trapped under it -- so that we can topple it together. I want trans men and cis men alike to realize they have some skin in the game.

You don't have to associate with the men you don't want to associate with. If, because of repeated abuses at the hands of men, you can't ever trust them, well, those are your feelings, that's your life, that is your business. But when your personal feelings of safety are used as a justification for developing and promoting a worldview with transphobic, transmisogynistic implications, I'm gonna talk shit about that on my stupid little blog. And I'm gonna continue conducting my life in the way I feel I should.

And for me, that means forging common ground between trans men and cis men, and pushing both groups to take women's concerns seriously (especially trans women's concerns) and to stop centering themselves in feminist dialogue. There's a place for both trans men and cis men in the gender revolution, but we gotta do a lot of work on ourselves to stop getting in the way. It's work I'm emotionally equipped to do and find rewarding, and it's fine if you don't. There are lots of other people who need support that you can focus your energies on -- other survivors of abuse and assault that you perhaps find it easier to relate to. That's important work too, and I wish you well in doing it. Just make sure you're not excluding trans women in that work or I'll continue to be annoying about it on my stupid little blog.

[chaosspelledwrong]

I’m gonna call them Cola as a nickname

cuz Yknow…. Coca Cola…. Cocaine…..

Thank you @rainworld-name-verifier for the silly name idea lmao

(Okay I know they made meth in Breaking Bad and not Coke but like I didn't want it to be fully white and I thought blue was a nice complimentary color so I ran with it) (Purposed organism Methcat coming soon lmao)

[caseuoiseau]

In my youth, I was involved with several theater groups, which is an extremely Know A Guy hobby (and, it seems, profession), and there were several circumstances that made me believe I understood the power of Knowing A Guy: The season it turned out half of our new members in our college group were art majors and our sets looked incredible. The seasonal list of clothes and props for cast & crew to see if they own and will let us borrow. The season that same group let me direct a show with a fencing scene and I legitimately Knew A Guy (the brother of one of my high school best friends) who fenced competitively and did SCA and was in all sorts of ways itching to have the opportunity to choreograph a fight scene.

But I was a child. I was a fool. I didn't know shit about the power of Knowing A Guy. Not until I went to watch my mom's tennis team one Friday night.

One of my mom's teammates (I don't remember her name, let's call her Chris) showed up around a half hour in to the match just to watch. Mom had given me a heads-up that Chris might also shiw up, and told me she hadn't been in the lineup for a while, so everyone was hoping to see her. Naturally, being the more socially awkward half of this conversation, and thrilled to have something to say, I mentioned this to Chris, who offered that she hadn't been able to play because her husband had been in the hospital. Now, me being me, I didn't pry any further than that--we barely know each other, and I'm sure she just wanted to eat some wings and cheer for her team. But you'd better believe I blocked anyone else from taking up my Mom's time when she came off the court. Because my mother will always assume that if I know something, I will blurt it out in a conversation at the least opportune time (whoch...okay, fair, but it's closer to 60/40) so if Mom hadn't told me that Chris's husband had been in the hospital, it's because she--improbably--didn't know. She made an immediate beeline to Chris, and about two minutes in to talking to my mom, Chris was near tears.

Her husband had been riding his motorcycle back home from a couple states over and made it as far as a neighboring state when pickup truck knocked him clear off his bike on the highway. He had been recuperating in a hospital 4 hours away, he'd broken an absurd amount of bones and fucked up an absurd amount of organs, and the hospital was out of market and the bills were piling up and she needed to figure out some way to get him to a hospital closer to home and she was considering taking the back rows out of the mini van, putting down a mattress, and driving VERY CAREFULLY and although his employer was being very reasonable now, who knew how long that would last.

Now, a few important things to know about my mother: she has two graduate degrees and several certifications relating to business, public administration, and/or human resources, and had been working in HR for about 20 years. And at the time of this story, she'd been captaining tennis teams at her local club for a good six years. So she:

was incredibly accustomed to talking to people who are trying to hold their shit together when their personal life is in absolute shambles,

had an extensive network of professional acquaintances,

often used that network to help fill in her teams, and

knew about 85% of the people on any given opposing team.

So that Shortcut? That Guy Who Knows Other Guys? That's my mom.

So the first person she called over was one of her teammates. A nursing professor at a nearby university and former managing nurse at the world-class hospital up the street. Then another teammate, an ER nurse at a well-known Boston hospital, overheard the conversation and joined in. Then Mom waved over the female half of the line three mixed doubles, who worked for Harvard-Pilgrim and had some ridiculous number of decades working on the business side of health insurance. And then she gently herded this group to the club bar where we ordered about eight appetizers while this impromptu team spent the next hour of their lives creating a plan forward for this woman. These are his rights as an employee, this is the paperwork you need to fill out with his office. By the way, you know that you have your own rights with your own employer, yeah? Here's what you need to fill out there to protect your own job whole you're managing this. Please wait until he's less broken to schlep him 4 hours, unmoored, on a mattress in your minivan. This is what you need to do with the insurance to get them to cover this even tho its out of state, here's how you request it, here's my number in case that doesn't work. No kidding: an hour of this, and she left at 11pm full of wings she didn't buy, a bullet-ppinted list, and the phone numbers of four people she could talk to if anything came up. I've never seen anything like it since.

So, yeah. Network professionally and personally. Find out what your professional contacts do for fun (because the State Central League might need a couple of substitute players to cover holidays) and what your hobby friends do professionally. Generally? Just let people talk about themselves. It comes in very handy.

Networking/Knowing A Guy: A Guide

This is the autism website. Now, as an extension of the power of love and friendship, there are few things more useful than Knowing A Guy. Knowing A Guy means you have a support network. Knowing a plumber, or a tax accountant, or just that one dude that's really fucking good at finding the information you need when you're really overwhelmed, can be the difference between being able to pay rent and having a fun party with friends to fix your shit.

How does one end up Knowing A Guy? It's a skill you can develop called Networking and it is one of the foundations of society. Unfortunately making those connections with people is fucking hard and nobody makes a tutorial for it. So, here you go:

The golden rule is you scratch my back and I scratch yours

It is necessary for survival to seek out useful people

Great news! Everyone is useful in some form or fashion - including you! When given the opportunity to learn about someone, do it! Extroversion does not come naturally to some people and that's okay. Just take whatever falls in your lap.

Types of usefulness: trade skills, connections of their own, personality you jive with, pleasant to talk to, niche interest in shared hobby, security - the list is pretty much endless. I know a guy that lives in the metro area - no job, no major hobbies, inoffensively annoying to me personally, kinda ignorant, not attractive to me, but you know what? He knows how the fuck to get around the city by foot. My rural-raised ass APPRECIATES the guide.

Remember important information: general personality, background, skillset, likes and dislikes. You can find this information by making smalltalk about their life. There is no such thing as pointless conversation. (Yes, even the annoying smalltalk)

The more people you know, the higher the likelihood that one of them will be useful in a given situation - or will know someone who is.

It is overwhelming. In a given clique/community/workspace/whatever, there is A Guy Who Knows The Other Guys. This Guy is a shortcut. Find them. They're often elderly, extroverted, a little bit annoying, a secretary or in some otherwise forward-facing position. Look for people that are gossipy/talk about other people a lot but not in negative ways. If they constantly talk shit, they'll talk shit about you too. They're still useful but be careful with the information you share

You do not have to like someone for them to be useful.

You do not have to like someone for them to be useful.*

If you have low self esteem, you're going to feel like you're using people. You're not. That's the devil talking. People like feeling valued and the connections you are making are the threads holding community together. Recognize people for their talents. It's only a problem when you're taking advantage of people

So: don't feel scummy about it. You're an animal. You have to claw out your right to survive and people will respect you more for it.

Luckily mutualism is the name of the game in the animal kingdom. Offer something back. The foundation of a Know A Guy relationship is Mutual Benefit

Sometimes that Mutual Benefit is just spreading news of the The Guy far and wide. My plumber friend is my actual friend and I love her to death, but I'm maintaining our backscratch relationship by pimping out her plumbing business to anyone that'll listen

Food is a good Mutual Benefit. People across cultures for all of human history have bonded over food. I have good success asking people for a favor and then offering to buy them lunch in return **

General compensation is also good. Offer a service in return and always do your best to offer financial compensation as appropriate. Having your plumber friend take a look at your drain: doable with a case of beer. Having your plumber friend redo the pipes in your entire house? You need to pay for that.

Being transactional is not necessarily a bad thing. I would advise against keeping an itemized list of things owed, but fish don't seek out cleaner shrimp just because they enjoy their company. Everyone gets something

Unfortunately being extroverted and generally personable is a huge benefit here, but that's the value of the Guy That Knows A Guy. There's someone out there that has consolidated All The Guys so you don't have to be the local expert. Always remember nobody can do everything and you don't need to master every skill

* This is the foundation of a functioning community. I have many acquaintances that I find incredibly annoying. They include doctors, welders, artists, social workers, lawyers, construction crew and random fuckers at the grocery store. I do not hang out with them. I do not have to in order to maintain a civil Know A Guy relationship. I can drop them useful tidbits and fuck right off so I don't have to spend any more time than necessary with them

** People may assume romantic intent. Be prepared for that. I generally denote that it's a friendly/work lunch by calling them bro at some point if they're my age. Otherwise my general demeanor is sufficient to show that I do this with everyone

Source: personal experience, mother's teachings of crime, booth vending and poverty

[kaynanarie]

Eyes of Gold (Part 2)

(A WukongxReader story inspired by Beauty and the Beast and Lutung Kasarung.) (Part 1)

            While staying in a cave did offered protection, the same could not be said for a good night’s sleep. You tossed and turned on the stone floor, kept awake by the noises of the forest and the constant itching of your skin. When dawn broke, you were still tired but happy to have survived your first night on the mountain.

            With the morning light came your new monkey friend, Shihou. He appeared at the cave entrance carrying various fruits for breakfast.

            “Good morning!” he greeted, tail swaying cheerfully despite the early hour. You grumbled in reply, picking out a peach to munch on. Shihou grabbed a fruit for himself and sat by your knee. “So, I spoke with the King about you.”

            Anxiety woke you like a cold plunge, your appetite suddenly gone. “He’s not going to kill and eat me, is he?” you asked cautiously.

            “Eat you?!” Shihou burst into high pitched, chittering laughter. “Of course not! On the contrary, he officially welcomes you as his honored guest. The King also gave me some good news about your so-called ‘curse’.”

            It was the first positive thing you had heard relating to the Monkey King. “What did he say? Does he know a cure?”

            “Well, you see…” When Shihou held out his paw, you could see a similar rash across his palm. Knowing he now shared your affliction filled your heart with guilt and shame.

            “I’m so sorry!” you cried, backing away. “I didn’t think it was contagious.”

            Shihou waved his hands, trying to calm you down. “It’s okay, I’m fine. You’re not contagious. This is where I grabbed your sleeve yesterday,” he said, pointing to your robes. “It’s not a disease; it’s poison ivy. Someone must have ground up some dried leaves and put the powder in your clothes. That’s what’s causing your rash.”

            You tugged at your robes curiously, noticing that everywhere they touched was where the rash had spread. Instantly, you knew who was responsible. “This seems like something my sister would pull.”

            “Perhaps,” Shihou shrugged. “But it’s nothing that can’t be cured. Hurry up and eat, I have something to show you.”

            With a flick of his tail, the monkey scampered out of the cave. You quickly finished your breakfast and stepped outside, finding Shihou waiting in one of the trees. Seeing you, he leapt to another branch, waving for you to follow. “Come on, peach friend! You’re wasting the sun’s time!”

            “Peach friend?” you asked with a giggle, keeping pace with his swings and jumps.

            “Yep! You shared a peach with me so now we’re peach friends!”

            As you walked, the distant sound of rushing water grew louder until the forest gave way. Beyond the trees, a waterfall tumbled from the peak of the mountain, cascading into a crystal blue river below. All the surrounding trees were green and laden with colorful flowers and fruits despite the wintery season back in the village.

            “Over here, peach friend!” Shihou called from the riverbank. Next to him was a folded bundle of clothes and plants organized into piles. “These herbs should help with your rash. If you bathe and wash your robes out, you’ll be healed in no time.”

             “You want me to wash here? In the river? Out in the open?” you asked, glancing around. “What if someone sees me?”

            Shihou just laughed. “You’re the only human on the mountain.”

            “What about demons? I don’t want them spying on me, either.”

            “Only Monkey King’s subjects come this close to the waterfall,” Shihou said. When he noticed you still weren’t convinced, he sighed and patted your knee in reassurance. “I’ll keep watch if you want but this place is pretty private.”

            You gave him a skeptical look. “And you aren’t going to peek?”

            He waved your concerns away with a scoff. “I’m going to be too busy making your medicine over here. Now hurry up, your rash will only get worse at this rate.”

            Shihou turned away and started mixing leafy fronds and purple flowers together before smashing them with a stone. With your given privacy, you shimmied out of your robes and slipped into the pool at the base of the waterfall.

            The water was cool but not cold, immediately soothing the itch and burn of your rash. You gently scrubbed your skin and rinsed away the dirt from your night in the woods. By the time you swam back to shore, you felt clean and refreshed.

            You found Shihou lounging on a tree branch above the water. His ears perked as you splashed closer but his eyes remained respectfully closed. “Rub the paste on your skin; it’ll stop the itch and speed up the healing process. There are some clean clothes over there as well.”

            The plants had been mashed into a green poultice and left waiting on a stone. You rubbed the medicine over the worst of your rash, already feeling the soothing tingle as it started to work. Once you and the paste were dry, you unfolded the waiting clothes and quickly dressed.

            “Where did you get these robes?” you asked, feeling the silky material under your curious hands. It was smooth and light as a breeze against your sensitive skin. Delicately embroidered clouds decorated the hem while ornate swirls flowed down the sleeves. Despite being from a noble family, you had never worn anything so extravagant before.

            One of Shihou’s golden eyes peeked open before he sat up, looking quite pleased to see you in his fancy clothes.

            “The King sent them,” he answered, a smug satisfaction in his cheeky smile. “Consider them a welcome gift.”

            The robes suddenly feel much heavier draped over you. “These are much too precious, I can’t except such royal clothes. They’ll be ruined in the forest.”

            “Don’t you know it’s rude to reject a King’s gift?” Shihou’s mood suddenly grew annoyed. The gold of his staring eyes seemed to faintly glow, a frown pulled at his lips, and his tail dangling from the tree swished in irritated lashes. “Besides,” he continued, gesturing to the pile of discarded clothing. “What else do you have to wear while your old robes still need washing?”

            It was strange to be chastised by a monkey but his logic was sound. Even if wearing gifted robes from the Monkey King himself seemed strange, you had few other options. Even worse, you had offended your new friend by insulting his King.

            “I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect,” you finally amended. “Would you be willing to pass on my thanks for your King’s generosity?”

            Shihou’s bristling softened at your acceptance. “You can thank him yourself. He’s invited you to stay at his palace in the mountain once you’ve healed up.”

            “His palace?!” you gasped, careful not to reject the offer as you fought down your growing alarm. “Why?”

            “You’re his honored guest, remember? I’ll lead you up the mountain myself once preparations are ready.” A sly smile lit up Shihou’s face. “Unless you’d rather stay in your cozy little cave down here?”

            Your answering grimace sent him into peals of howling laughter.

            “Fine,” you sighed, crossing your arms in defeat. “As long as the preparations don’t involve me being dinner.”

            He shook his head with a chuckle. “I swear, no one will put you on the menu no matter how tasty you look. I already promised I wouldn’t let anything happen to you and I plan to keep my word.” Despite his teasing words, Shihou’s tone was surprisingly serious.

            “I trust you to keep me safe,” you said, grateful for whatever protection he could provide.

            “I’m honored to do so. Now that that’s settled!” Dropping from his perch, Shihou landed on your shoulder, throwing you off balanced as he clung to the fabric of your robe. On instinct, your hand reached up to steady him as you found your footing. His golden-brown fur was surprisingly soft, almost as silky as your new robe. Instead of shying away from your touch, he leaned into it, chirruping at your tentative pets. Once he was satisfied, Shihou shook himself to focus and pointed at the tampered clothes. “Laundry time. Let’s get rid of this poison ivy mess, peach friend!”

[machveil]

okay pookies!! I’m in a writers slump so I’m going to pop off some mini blurbs with Instagram links<3 because the words are not being written correctly for my wips [cries]🎀✨

Simon “Ghost” Riley

playing with his cat

admittedly, Simon is up at odd hours from bouts of insomnia. it doesn’t really bother him when his cat is up too, sitting in bed and flipping him around. it’s cute, more so funny when he flips his cat off and gets pounced on, not taking it seriously - one of the rare times he’ll let chuckle and crack a smile to himself

John Price:

pranking Price by telling him your tampon is stuck

John comes as soon as you call for him - what he wasn’t expecting was you telling him your tampons stuck. but John’s smart, he sees your phone in his peripheral and doesn’t say anything about it. he knows your pranking him, if it wasn’t obvious from your phone recording him and the way you giggle, well, “I know you’re cycle, love.”

driving around to see Christmas lights

John loves his dog, just a sweetheart. one thing his dog loves is seeing Christmas lights - John doesn’t really know why, but he’s more than happy to drive around so his puppy can see them all. it makes him chuckle seeing their tail wag, heater keeping the car nice and warm as they drive down a couple blocks

John “Soap” MacTavish:

bear hugging Johnny

you didn’t really know what Johnny was doing, you just knew you wanted to hug him. it’s out of the blue, catches him off guard in a way that has him asking if you’re okay - and you are. he doesn’t waste time, moving to scoop you up, hold you close and goof around. he had been organizing your books, just a little surprise

asking Recruiter!Johnny questions

Johnny didn’t want to be stuck recruiting people, but he somehow got picked to do it. what he wasn’t expecting was your question, “Are you hot?”. he wants to sputter out, try to be slick - respond with a, “Well, you can come find out.”, but he stops himself. he knows he’ll be telling the 141 about this, chest puffed up and a lopsided smile as he brags

showing off for the neighbors

Johnny is springy and flexible, his ass can dance. if you catch him while he’s on a jog he’ll flag you down and start flipping around. he’s a show off, it goes to his head how the neighborhood moms watch him. his show is for you, but he won’t turn down the ego boost he gets from others eyeing him up

“you know where the matter daddy is?”

Johnny’s a menace when it comes to the 141, calling Gaz for ‘help’. he can barely get the opener out without laughing, hitting the punchline takes a hot minute. Gaz can hear him sputtering on the other side, little bursts of laughter leaving him. it’s amazing that Gaz falls for the joke at all, Johnny laughing harder as he grips his phone

König:

playing with his cat

does König talk to his pretty kitty in German? of course he does, and he’ll goof around with them too. his favorite thing is pretend dialing on his cat’s toe beans. he’ll pretend to meow for his cat and voice the person ‘on the line’. totally straight faced, he takes business calls with his kitty very seriously

parenting his cat

sometimes being a parent is having human children, other times it’s cradling your baby kitty in your shirt while you make lunch. König is the latter, and he’ll always say how easy it is to be a parent. “Ja, she is a little thing. Here, I have photos—”, he carries printed photos of her in his wallet to show off, his favorite is of her swaddled in bed with her favorite blankie

walking his cat

König likes getting out, it’s natural for him. it gets a little lonely sometimes though… and boy is excited when he learns cat harnesses exist. weather permitting, he enjoys going on walks with his cat. sure, his kitty might wander into a bush here and there, but König will get them out before trailing down the block

[nimrochan]

I wouldn’t call myself an expert, but I’m more knowledgeable as someone who has lived in the Middle East and had family in the IDF vs people who couldn’t spot Gaza on the map before 10/07 🤷🏻‍♀️ and I’m also a medical expert, hence the x-ray read (which was also debunked by other medical experts - but the damage is done and now people think the IDF randomly snipes kids).

Yes, antisemitism is rooted deep into mainstream western media. Even among “good” organizations. Welcome to the Jewish struggle!

Again, it was started by Hitler’s friend Mufta Al Husseini and a group of other people who hated Jews and started spreading propaganda the moment Israel came into existence. They specifically target intellectual progressive leftists. That’s how all Israel’s “crimes” are such common knowledge. Even today, Hamas has a professional PR department. They’ve even been caught censoring Gazans for criticizing Hamas.

They do this so that other countries send Gaza aid to help them - and then Hamas leaders (who are worth billions - at least when they were all alive before the war) pocket most of the money and use the rest to build tunnels and weapons. They push a narrative so far and deep that you hear about 45,000 Gazan deaths and struggles but you don’t hear anything about 375,000 killed Yemenis or an equal number of killed Syrians in recent civil wars. You see a formula there? Why do you hear more about Gaza on social media than any other conflict? Because money

You can accuse a country of genocide all you like, but at the end of the day, genocide is a widespread and deliberately violent act that doesn’t discriminate between combatants and civilians. Again, by Hamas’s own admission, 45,000 were killed by the IDF and half of those were Hamas militants. That shows targeted attacks and an unusually low civilian mortality. Also, the IDF warning and gathering civilians out of areas they want to strike (because Hamas had built tunnels/rockets under them) is not consistent with a country that’s trying to eradicate people for the sake of it.

I don’t mean at all to dismiss real death and suffering in Gaza. But you’re not helping them by spreading misinformation. If you want to help them, be more pissed at Hamas. They dress up as civilians and recruit kids - two things the IDF does not do. And they keep sending rockets from densely populated areas.

You sent me a screen shot of an article accusing the IDF of using human shields - you know there’s mountains of evidence showing HAMAS using human shields, right?

Here they are literally firing a rocket from a refugee camp;

You know what happens when you fire a hostile rocket across a border to another country? They’re going to fire back. You know what happens when you cross a border and kill/rape/kidnap 1200 people? That military is going to respond. Israel isn’t especially more evil than other countries for putting its own citizens above foreign citizens. That’s international relations 101.

I’m truly sorry for Gazans suffering. But it’s Hamas’s fault 1000%.

And a note about calling Israel an apartheid - you know there’s 2 million Israeli-Arab citizens (20% of the population) living in Israel with equal rights and opportunities, right? You know they accepted 1000-2000 Palestinian citizens every year right? That’s not an apartheid. And you wouldn’t find 2 million Jews in any of the 57 or so Arabic countries COMBINED.

Oh and they don’t allow anyone into Gaza because there’s active warfare and security risks?? That’s a given.

A BRIEF LESSON IN COLONIALISM

SINCE IT IS SUDDENLY A TOPIC OF GREAT INTEREST.

BRITISH COLONIALISM;

SPANISH COLONIALISM;

PORTUGUESE COLONIALISM;

ITALIAN COLONIALISM;

FRENCH COLONIALISM;

JAPANESE COLONIALISM;

ARABIC COLONIALISM;

AMERICAN COLONIALISM;

ISRAEL;

WOW. SUCH COLONY. VERY SETTLE.

WORDS HAVE MEANINGS. CAN WE STOP PRETENDING THIS WAS EVER ABOUT COLONIALISM?

THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK.

[buttercuparry]

the genocide has not only destroyed lives, but it has also denied the right to oneself. i can't imagine how many gazans out there have had to share personal details that they never wanted to divulge. it is so tiring to day in and day out come online and reach out to all these unknown people on the internet and make an effort to hold a conversation, so that someone might agree to boost the campaign. It is tiring to be stuck in a death zone and continuosly request people to care for Gaza. i really don't want my friend Mohammad Ayesh ( @ayeshjourney ) to go through this, anymore than he already has. So please boost and donate to his fundraiser. He works tiringly in the hospital, and has to see his friends, his family, his own people getting hurt by the occupation forces. he has to live under the violence of zionism- so please don't disrespect him anymore as a person and do whatever it is you have to do to help Mohammad. Send his fundraiser to group chats, call up your friends, pester your family do whatever it is you can but please, please make sure that Mohammad gets donations that will help him and his family survive!

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 4 part 2

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2])

THE LITTLE FLOWER POPPIN. THE M'LADY

seems like agatha is having An Emotion

but look! look! rio is once again being super special extra on purpose!! because if she just strolled in agatha would be overwhelmed and run away again. so what does rio do??? she corners her with a grand zombie entrance!!! the more over the top she acts, the more agatha is in her element and comfortable interacting. and in this case, angry is a better start than sad. all part of rio's Brilliant 66-Steps-Plan To Win Her Wife Back™ (or was it 666?)

her face omg

oooh are you mad??? are you big mad at little ol' me???????

agatha is like nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope

imagine being aubrey plaza and being born so effortlessly cool. she's cool even when she's awkward dear lord

jen and alice: kinda stunned by both her hotness and her weirdness

lilia: VADE RETRO SATAN (lilia's spider senses are already tingling)

will I ever be over the fact that Death is just one particularly powerful green witch?? that she's a gentle if odd girl who grows plants and flowers and mushrooms and is called the River of Life??? that she is the embodiment of life in all her forms? that decay and regrowth are all part of the same natural cycle? that the hardest and most inexplicable thing a living being can go through is also the most reassuringly organic and normal???

have I already said "i love you patti lupone" today?

we're off to see the wizarrrrd. her cute peter pan outfit!

what do we think, billy? does she want to talk about it, or does she have the emotional maturity of a baby ostrich?

same girls, same

whoa there ladies, calm down. I'm already taken

lilia is also having an Emotion. it must be pretty weird to realize that your mortal foe is this hot

alice going NOPE when she sees her mom's house. the leaves are red alice, honey. it's your turn.

(does the back of rio's jacket look like a ribcage?)

it's going to be fine baby. your friends are all here. you can do this. deep breaths.

fire moon! fire moon! fire moon! oh this is my favorite trial

*grabs the mike* WOULD

from right to left: would, would, would, would, would, oh hi joe

rio: BITCH I AM?!?!?!?!?!?!? (everyone say thank you costume department)

the Road isn't subtle, BILLY.

sure, there wasn't enough sexual tension already, let's add side boobs, shall we? and rio being like hey agatha, hey agatha, hey. guess what. I'm here again agatha. you're not gonna get rid of me this time agatha.

I keep thinking that every reflection agatha comes across is a "te veo". and even when rio isn't there she is watching from mirrors and from puddles.

OH MY GAWD AGATHA how can you expect me to cope when you look around to make sure nobody is watching and then you lean in so so so sclose and then you say no with such a deep soulful voice and so much intimacy and such quiet anger and not one lil hint of clownery. I AM ABOUT TO GO FERAL

agatha around rio is like, mind screaming in anguish and body screaming in horny. lethal combination

lilia who's been trying and failing for centuries and centuries to come to terms with the violence human beings inflict on whoever is different

if there is one thing a broadway pro is trained to do is making people cry while wearing increasingly stupid wigs

JEN SEEING MASKS BECAUSE SHE DOESN'T KNOW WHO HIDES BEHIND THE MONSTER THAT BOUND HER

fletwood mac?!?!!?!?!?!?!? in this economy?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? I cannot handle much more of this, my emotions are raw and fragile and tender as it is already!!!!!!!!

oh, alice.

well this episode is making me feel like agatha: sad and horny. weird vibe but okay.

[sweetieviktor]

"salvation", feat. viktor.

summary: you come to his temple and ask the herald to heal you.

word count: 540.

content warning: season 2, arc 2 spoilers!!! please, don't read if you haven't seen the series yet! some descriptions might sound even a bit sexual but this is a sfw work! i just got a bit carried away while writing sensations lol. also, viktor may be a little ooc since im still getting used to him on the new season.

author notes: i rushed this one hehe but its finally complete! i really wanted to write something based on season 2 and the insane amount of people saying things as such "i would join his church wtvr" or "i may believe in god now" made me think why not write this kind of thing happening? so here it is :))))

you heard the rumors spreading through the lanes, there was someone, a “savior”, helping the ones in need – the shimmer addicts, the sick and the dying. and you thought that maybe the herald, as they called him, could save you.

so you walked down the busy streets, passing by empty shops and crowded brothels, finally descending in the dark alleys until light reached your eyes again, revealing a bright environment, made with metal, all with different colors and textures, molded into organic shapes, like it was meant to be like this all along. contorted yet so beautiful. outside the arch separating the commune and the commoners, there were people just like you, asking for help and hoping for his salvation.

a man walked towards you, the white clothing draped around him accentuating the swirly metallic patterns engraved on his body. “if you have something that could possibly harm someone, i must ask you to leave those here. this is a place of peace”, you discarded everything you could think of, emptying all pockets you had and he looked at you with empathy on his eyes, while you left behind everything that you used during your worst times, letting go of a part of your story, letting go of your past self. “now, you shall come. he is expecting you.”

the man walked in front of you, guiding your path between tents full of people, healthy people, all dressed in white. some adults were working while the kids were playing and you were in pure awe, it all seemed so... perfect. a miracle that happened on the underground.

“the herald is waiting, you must go”, he gestured towards a round temple-like structure, tilting his head and leaving you alone shortly after, moving to the arch again.

you followed his words, walking till you reached where the herald was, in fact, waiting for you. flowing hair and royal blue fabric covering his glowing purple skin, all adorned with golden accents. he looked ethereal, almost inhuman, a god-like figure, a saint. the kind of saint that could fix the broken. fix you.

you came closer and he extended his hand in your direction without saying a word – it was not needed, actually –, you could sense his intentions, it was kind of a vibration, radiating off his fingers. he wanted to save you. so, when he touched your forehead, the whole world seemed to fade with a burst of light and all you could do was to feel. feel his cold fingers pressing further in your skin, feel the jolts it sended through your body, the way it ignited something deep inside of you, how you couldn't breathe, the way your veins burned and your heart rate increased, but it didn't hurt at all, instead, you felt alive. the metal fusing with your body, the magic circling both of you, how you could feel him inside of you, changing, morphing and purifying your flesh. it felt like you ascended to heaven and came back different, new, evolved. gloriously evolved.

he pulled back his arm, allowing your body to fall to its knees, and he knelt too, leaning on his staff, looking at you with his emotionless iridescent eyes, “now, you need not suffer anymore.”

[angrykittybarbarian]

Things that bother me about Dragon Age: The Veilguard part 3 (final thoughts)

I have finally finished the playthrough. I endured because I wanted to give this game a fair chance. I wanted to see it from start to finish in the hopes it would deliver something, anything capable of redeeming it. But it just didn't. Or more precisely, not in a way sufficient to make its flaws easy to overlook. These are my closing impressions on the game. I have already done two posts about this in which I documented my observations and comments as I progressed. I will link the posts here: Part 1, Part 2.

Let's finish this ride for now.

!Spoilers below the cut!

The music

I don't know what the direction of the music was meant to take. When it was announced Hans Zimmer would compose the OST I had high hopes. Hans Zimmer is a houshold name in Hollywood and skilled at what he does. I listened to a number of movie OSTs of his making and they were all excellent. So what happened here?

The music sounds generic most of the time without a clear theme or a unique piece that got me searching for it on youtube.

The main theme has sort of a recognizable composition but isn't anything outstanding. Emmrich's theme sounds like a halloween piece written for Wednesdsy Adams and the rest of the OST seems to mimic Trevor Morris' work for DA:I, namely the Lost Temple and In Hushed Whispers themes, but without the emotional impact the original pieces created.

It's as someone has already pointed out and I agree: Bioware has bought the name Hans Zimmer but not his quality. It sounds like he didn't even seriously create something but half heartedly whipped something out of his sleeve and called it a day.

The facial animations

The main problem with these is they often don't fit the emotions the VAs are communicating.

The VAs actually did a fantastic job. The scene that touched me the most was the one Rook confronts Solas in after they escape the regret prison in the fade. That was the first time Rook felt involved, raw and real.

But what broke the atmosphere in an otherwise flawless scene was how unmoving their facial expression was. There was the VA shouting their lung out and the animation couldn't even give half a fuck about it.

I don't even see an excuse for this lack of facial animation. It was possible to do since DA:O, hell, even since the first Mass Effect back in '07. Why is it not possible in the year of our Lord 2024, when technology is presumably better?

The handholding of the player

The plot is tightly paced. This is not necessarily a bad thing as I didn't really like the Open World approach of DA:I since it stretched the main plot too thinly and the maps created weren't filled with interesting side content but boring and pointless fetch quests.

But Veilguard went into the opposide extreme as it leaves only little room for the player when and how to do things. The quests are activated and must be completed in a specific order. They have also only one outcome without room to make different decisions.

Rook can never be truly ruthless. They can never disagree and butt heads with their companions.

And I hate how on the side of the screen the game exactly tells you what you have done and how it affects your companions' behaviour. It doesn't bake it into the interaction organically. Instead it has yet again, explained to me what I did and why it has this very specific effect without any of the characters discussing it. But the beauty of consequential decisions lies in the very unpredictability of its outcome. That's what creates the emotional impact. It doesn't work if I am being warned and explained to like a small child.

It's this lack of trust the game puts into the intelligence of its players that is so experience breaking, insulting even. It doesn't trust its players to figure stuff out themselves. It assumes we are too stupid to get any of the things it tries to tell us.

The ting is though, dear Bioware writers, if you think you have to overexplain your story because you think your audience won't get it then that's a telltale sign of the story being actually badly written.

Another area where this becomes appearant are the "puzzles". I used the quotation marks because there isn't really anything to solve. The solutions are obvious and at times your companions go out of their way to tell you.

The romances

Romances have always been a nice bonus on top of the otherweise amazing game content. They added some enjoyable extra fluff purely for enjoyment and some cases even deepened the main storyline.

In Veilguard they don't do that. In almost all of them the flirting is so meaningless that your cutscene with them just proceeds as if nothing happened.

There is no shift or change to their tone towards Rook. You don't build up the relationship with them. There is no last goodbye kiss before the last mission or passionate affirmations of love and trust. It just leaves you cold.

The only romance that seems to have that old depth is Emmrich's. The rest however, they don't add anything significant. There virtually is no difference to the game without the romances.

Companion relationships

Let's begin here with the simple fact that all deeper interactions Rook has with the companions are strictly scripted which ties back into the handholding part of this criticism. Rook cannot initiate a conversation and ask them some general questions about their histories and opinions on certain matters.

Rook only gets to interact with them when they happen to want something from them. Otherwise they cannot be bothered to acknowledge Rook with more than a one sided oneliner.

And then there are the relationships between the companions themselves. They either get along swimmingly or the game feels the need to stage some immature conflict between them without any deeper purpose.

Like Harding not understanding why Emmrich brings so many books on the road despite it literally not being any of her damn business bevause it doesn't personally affect her in any way.

Or Taash not understanding his profession as a Mournwatcher as they call him names so Rook has to point out Taash in turn likes dragons which is an interest he doesn't share only to culminate the discussion with a "We need to respect our differences" sort of statement.

These are not conflicts, these are squabbles of children and like children Roik talks to them which is brought ad absurdum with Emmrich because he is literally old enough to be Rook's father.

Why bother at all with writing conflict if it is only to be something as inconsequential as this?

Varric's death

This one is a .... choice.

I won't go into why the decision to let him die or not is good or bad because I feel like this is highly subjective.

However the impact of the reveal of this fact is only partly executed well.

Why?

Because it only hits hard when the player has known and cared about Varric at least since DA:I if not DA 2. The execution of this plotpoint thus relies too heavily on nostalgia instead of building the tension up within its own setting.

When thinking about Bioware also wanting to be newcomer friendly with this game I am left to wonder then why they didn't introduce Varric properly and didn't give the players time to build up the relationship? Why would a new player care about Varric? They don't know him.

Bioware cannot in good conscience claim they designed the game to be new player friendly while simultaniously heavily relying on knowledge from previous games, dlcs, comics, novels and other spin-off media. They cannot claim this and have anything but DATV do the heavy lifting when it comes to executing their plot.

The final mission

For my final point I also want to lose some positive feedback about this game.

The ending was actually well written.

In relation to Solas it comes full circle. You can actually feel what's at stake and the decisions Rook makes actually matter.

The final questline roughly follows a Mass Effect 2 approach where it is classified as nothing short of a suicide mission.

Companion quests essentially function as loyalty missions and Rook gets to assign various posts in battle. Just like in Mass Effect 2 assigning a companion a post completely outside of their expertise may get them killed.

The dialogue is actually written well at this point in the game. There isn't really much to complain about.

But even this part is not entirely without faults.

For one I don't like the non negotiable sacrifice that has either to be made by Harding or Davrin. Rook doesn't even get a chance to save any of them. But again these non negotiable companion deaths where you only make the choice who's it's going to be isn't anything new (i.e. Hawke and whatever Warden you happen to get, Kaidan/Ashley in ME 1). So maybe a bit if a bummer but nothing experience breaking.

A stronger point however is that Rook will always keep the Veil intact in the end.

I suppose this outcome already is part of the game title itself but was it necessary to take it so literally?

With everything the elves have lost and the discrimination they faced it should absolutely have been an option to agree with Solas and tear the Veil down.

But since we don't talk about racism and slavery I guess Rook doesn't reflect on these points either. So I guess keeping the Veil intact is in line with the game's general sanitization of the world.

So in conclusion?

The game is far from great, not gonna lie. It feels like the devs actually wanted a new IP but were too afraid of the risks that come with such an endeavor and thought gutting an existing franchise that already did the heavy lifting of building a fanbase and using it as a package would save their ideas from flopping. Surely no one will notice it is actually something else if we market it as Dragon Age, right?

But we are not that stupid. This behaviour is insulting to put it plain and simple and I am heartbroken, angry and said that this was done to Dragon Age. I wanted to love this game. I was optimistic before the release. Everything looked fine, nothing in particular to worry about.

But I cannot continue to defend this without breaking my basic brain function.

The most frustrating part is that with the ending the devs showed they can write a story and meaningful dialogues. It left me wondering why it couldn't be done like this for the rest of the game and living with the reality that I will never get what this game could have been.

All in all this is not a good Dragon Age game. It is a massive disappointment and does not live up to the promises made by the devs.

I am sorry for everyone who preordered.

I am sorry for everyone who paid the full release price.

Nominating it for Game of the Year is not justified no mattee how you look at it.

If you are genuinely enjoying the game, I hope you continue to do so and all power to you.

For the rest: let's stop excusing Bioware's disrespect towards the fans and enabling them by paying them too much money for it.

Don't buy at release. Don't buy spin off media. Wait for sales. These people only understand the problem when you give them a good run for their money.

[iamleesi]

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐓 ☠︎

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝟑𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟, 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟. 18+

𝐀/𝐍: 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 '𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄' 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧. 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬... 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝. 𝐓𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐭. 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝟏𝟎𝟎% 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!

-> [ 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ] [ 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝟮 ]

𝐶𝑂𝑅𝐴𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐸: "𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑑𝑜 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑤𝑎𝑦, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡'𝑠 𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒."

𓃠

She swears she can still hear his laugh sometimes. It's faint, just a shadow of sound in the back of her mind, but it's there. Fucked up, maybe, but that's how things were going. And more often than not, when she picks up her phone, her first instinct is still to call him. Just to hear his voice. Just to make sure he's okay. But he isn't okay. He isn't anything anymore.

Bucky is dead.

She remembers that last day as if it were yesterday, even though four months have passed. She woke up in his arms like she had every morning for the last three years, his warmth surrounding her in a way that made her feel like nothing in the world could touch them. After everything he had been through, after all the years of pain and fighting, he had finally retired. He was done trying to save the world, done putting his life at risk for someone else's battles. And he was happy with that choice.

They'd bought a little house far from the Avengers Compound, tucked away from the chaos. Not that they didn't love their friends - because they did - but the distance gave them peace. A chance to breathe, to live, to just be themselves, without the constant shadow of war hanging over their heads.

Alpine had come into their lives one afternoon when Bucky was walking home from therapy. A scrawny little white cat, mewling from the edge of a dumpster, had caught his attention. He didn't hesitate, scooping her up and bringing her home like it was the most natural thing in the world. He'd been so proud of that, of finding her, of giving her a safe place to heal. She loved that cat almost as much as she loved him and he loved calling himself a 'cat dad'. Because he always loved having the 'cat mom' by his side - just a thought that made him happy.

He'd been doing so well. Going to therapy not because someone told him to, but because he wanted to. Because he wanted to heal. And he was healing. He smiled more, he laughed more. He even let himself dream about the future - their future. He was starting to open up to the idea of having kids.

But then the call came.

Steve.

It was always Steve.

An emergency, he said. Something about a Russian organization - one that had picked up where Hydra had left off. They had created a group of genetically modified soldiers. Monsters, Steve called them, failed experiments with claws and fangs and things Steve hadn't even been able to describe over the phone.

Bucky didn't want to go. She didn't want him to go. But it was Steve. His best friend. The man who had fought for his freedom as fiercely as he could, and both her and Bucky knew that he would still be with Hydra if it wasn't for Captain America. He was the man Bucky trusted with his life, even now. Steve wouldn't have called if it wasn't absolutely necessary. And so, reluctantly, Bucky packed his things and left that morning, kissing her on the forehead as he promised to come back.

He didn't come back.

Not really. Surely not alive.

By the end of the night, he came back in a coffin.

Steve had been the one to tell her. He showed up at the house, his face pale and his shoulders heavy with a grief that almost matched her own. Almost. But when he started to speak, she couldn't hear him. She felt as though part of her soul had already been ripped out, and the words he said barely registered. The details of the mission, the sacrifice Bucky made to save Steve's life - it all blurred into a hollow roar in her ears.

What she couldn't ignore, though, was the ring.

Steve had handed it to her, his voice cracking as he explained what Bucky had planned. He'd been going to propose. That Sunday, just a few days after the mission, he'd planned the whole day. It was supposed to be the start of something new for them - a new chapter, a new promise.

Instead, it was the day of his funeral.

She didn't cry. She couldn't. The weight of it all was too much, pressing down on her chest until she couldn't even stand. Couldn't breathe. As the casket was lowered into the ground, all she could think about was crawling in there with him. Laying beside him, just one last time. Letting the earth close around them so they could be together forever - exactly as they planned, right? So there was nothing wrong with it.

Steve apologized, over and over, his voice cracking with guilt. "It should have been me." He said, again and again. And of course it should have been him, because Bucky had died to save him. But she couldn't bring herself to say it wasn't his fault. The words wouldn't come. Because deep down, some part of her - a small, bitter, angry part - blamed him.

What if Steve hadn't called? What if he had called someone else? What if Bucky had stayed home where he belonged? If it was selfish to think it, she didn't care. Her mind was full of what ifs - a constant, unrelenting loop of the life they could have had if only things had gone differently.

The condolences came after that. The pity.

Natasha showed up at the house, trying to get her to eat, to move, to live. Wanda also came often, trying to help with her grief, but she couldn't even bear to listen. Sam invited her to the boat, said it might be good to be around people, to get out of the house. But none of it mattered. She didn't want their help. She didn't want their understanding.

She wanted Bucky.

But Bucky was gone. Forever.

So she packed her things, took Alpine and left without telling anyone. She didn't know where she was going, and she didn't care. She just needed to be somewhere else. Somewhere far away.

That's how she ended up at the Pink Palace.

The landlord had called it that with a strange sort of pride, even though it was immediately followed by: "the last family who lived here moved away." He said. "Their kid disappeared. She was never found."

She hadn't cared about the story. It wasn't fancy, it wasn't welcoming, and it wasn't home. But it was cheap, isolated, and far, far away.

That was all she needed.

It was almost the end of November when she finally moved. She hadn't packed much - just the bare minimum. A few clothes shoved haphazardly into a bag, Alpine's golden carrier that took up most of the car's backseat, and a couple of books she wasn't even sure she wanted to read. Everything else she left behind, like she was shedding a life she didn't want to live anymore. She told herself it was enough. It had to be. For now, at the very least.

The inside of the house didn't make her feel any better. The previous owners had left everything: the scuffed furniture, the old kitchen with its peeling cabinets, the faint smell of something sour that no amount of scrubbing could erase. She didn't bring much to make it feel like hers, either, so it just sat there, hollow and untouched, as if waiting for the family that had abandoned it to return. Or their kid. Poor soul.

She thought maybe that was why she hated it so much—the emptiness. Every room felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for her to do something, and she couldn't. All she could do was drag herself out of bed when Alpine meowed for food or when her stomach twisted painfully enough to force her into the kitchen.

Alpine, at least, was always there. She never left her side, trailing her through the house like a small, silent shadow. She'd curl up beside her on the bed at night, or perch on the armrest of the couch when she finally managed to sit down. The little cat had always been attached to her, but now it felt different - like she was waiting for someone, too. She'd catch Alpine sitting by the front door sometimes, staring at it as if she expected Bucky to walk through it at any moment.

It made her chest ache. She'd lean down, scratch behind Alpine's ears, and whisper, "I miss him too." The cat would purr softly, pressing her head into her hand, and for a moment, she'd feel like someone understood. It wasn't much, but it was all she had left.

She told herself the move was a good idea. That leaving was the only way she'd ever get out from under the weight of her grief. Back home, everything reminded her of Bucky: the friends who couldn't look at her without apologizing, the apartment they'd picked out together, the diner down the street where they used to go to all the time. Here, no one knew her. No one looked at her with pity in their eyes or offered their sympathy with awkward smiles. She thought that would help.

It didn't.

Every day felt worse than the last. Maybe it was because she hadn't spoken to another person since she got here - her phone was constantly buzzing, full of texts and calls she wouldn't answer. She ignored all of it. Talking felt impossible, like a mountain she didn't have the strength to climb. Alpine was the only one who heard her voice anymore, and even then, it was barely more than a whisper.

Or, maybe, it was the house itself. The Pink Palace was old, worn-down in a way that no fresh coat of paint could hide. The windows rattled when the wind picked up, and the floorboards creaked no matter how carefully she walked. At night, the noises were worse: the faint scratching of rats in the walls, the groan of the pipes settling. Sometimes, she thought she heard whispers - soft, almost imperceptible - but she always told herself it was just her imagination.

The landlord had warned her about the neighbors, but she hadn't thought much of it at the time. There was the old man upstairs, a veteran who talked to rats like they were his comrades, and two old women who lived down the hall. She hadn't met any of them, and she didn't plan to. Their voices filtered through the thin walls often enough, though - his low muttering at night, their loud bursts of laughter and show tunes during the day. They annoyed her in a way she couldn't quite put into words. It wasn't just their presence; it was the reminder that life was still going on around her, that the world hadn't stopped just because hers had.

She told herself it was fine. That she just needed time. Time to grieve, to heal, to figure out how to keep going without Bucky. But the truth was, she didn't know how to move forward. She didn't even know if she wanted to. Every breath felt like a betrayal, every day another reminder that he was gone and she wasn't.

Now, she was in the kitchen and it was cold. Not unbearably so, but just enough that she rubbed her arms absentmindedly as she poured herself a bowl of chocolate cereal. It was one of the only things she could stomach these days, simple and sweet. The carton of milk was already sweating from how long she'd left it out, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The house was quiet except for the clink of her spoon against the bowl, the kind of silence that wasn't peaceful but heavy, like it had weight to it.

Alpine's eyes were on her back. She could feel them, even without turning around. "Baby, you already ate." She said, glancing over her shoulder at the little cat perched primly on the counter. "Don't look at me like that. You know I might give in."

Alpine tilted her head, her expression perfectly calculated to elicit guilt. Little fucker, she thought, even as the corner of her mouth twitched into something close to a smile. She knew exactly what she was doing - always did. But it was winter, and cats ate more around this time, so maybe she couldn't entirely blame her.

"Fine." She muttered, reaching up to scratch under Alpine's chin. "But not now. Later. Your dad spoiled you too much, I fear."

Alpine blinked, and the look she gave her felt suspiciously like victory.

She leaned against the counter, eating her cereal slowly. Her outfit didn't help with the cold - just an old pair of sweatpants that might have been Bucky's once, back when things were new and stealing his clothes was her favorite habit, and a faded One Direction t-shirt that clung a little awkwardly now. She'd run out of clean clothes two days ago and hadn't yet worked up the energy to deal with it. The laundry, like everything else, could wait.

She was vaguely aware she should care more about the mess she'd already made of the house. The sink was piling up with dishes, and the laundry basket was overflowing in the corner of the bedroom. She hadn't even checked if the washing machine worked - hell, she hadn't gone near the basement where it was only supposed to be. Every time she passed the stairs that led down there, her eyes would catch on the picture hanging on the wall above it: an old, ugly framed photo of a boy holding an ice cream cone. It wasn't creepy in a traditional sense, but there was something about it that unnerved her. She kept telling herself to take it down, but every time she tried, her hands faltered halfway there. Overreacting? Probably. But it didn't stop her.

She was halfway through the bowl - her last clean one, naturally - when she heard it.

The scratching was faint at first, just a tiny noise against the wall or maybe the floor, but it was enough to make her freeze. Alpine noticed it, too; her head jerked toward the sound, ears twitching. For a long moment, they both stayed perfectly still, listening.

When it came again, louder this time, she tossed her spoon onto the table with a little too much force. The clang it made was sharp, startling in the quiet room. Alpine shot her a look, her wide green eyes unimpressed but resigned, used to her mood swings by now. It had been four months and she still had a lifetime to go.

Her immediate thought was rats. It had to be. The man upstairs with his weird rat obsession was starting to drive her insane. She'd kept her mouth shut because, honestly, what was the point? If they stayed outside, she could deal. But clearly, they weren't staying outside anymore.

Her frustration mounted as she stalked toward the living room, bare feet cold against the hardwood. It was a mess of unused furniture, the kind that looked like it had been here forever, all draped in white sheets that made the room look like a graveyard. She flipped the light switch, and the old bulb overhead flickered a couple of times before settling into a dull, yellow glow.

She scanned the room, her eyes darting to every shadow and corner, but there was nothing. The scratching had stopped the moment she stepped in.

"Great, am I going crazy?" She muttered, crossing her arms. Alpine padded into the room behind her, her little white paws silent against the floor. The cat stopped a few feet away, head tilted up, watching her with an expression that bordered on curiosity - maybe even concern, if cats could feel that. After a moment, Alpine glanced around the room herself, eyes scanning the corners like she was also checking for intruders.

"Unless there's a secret door around here..." She said, her voice dry. "We have no rats. Maybe we both are going crazy, Al. We need friends. I saw a black cat outside earlier - maybe you'd like him? But then again, you don't like anyone, do you?"

Alpine blinked at her, slow and deliberate, as if to say, I tolerate you, don't I?

"Right. You do." She said, sighing as she gave the room one last look. "You could do your cat things, you know? Go find the rat or the squirrel or... whatever was making that noise. Isn't that, like, your job?"

Alpine, ever the queen of unbothered, blinked slowly at her before leaping onto one of the covered chairs. She circled once, twice, and plopped down in the dead center like she owned the place.

"Oh, I see how it is." She said, gesturing vaguely toward the corner of the room. "I'll just go check it out myself, then. You stay there, Your Majesty. Don't strain yourself."

There were no rats around, no weird animals sneaking through the house - just the occasional spider in the corner. Sure, they were unsettling (spiders were spiders, after all), but they didn't scratch walls or skitter across floors loud enough to wake her up. She was still absolutely convinced one of her neighbor's stupid rats had managed to crawl into her house, but those little guys knew how to hide. She didn't have any traps, didn't feel like running to the hardware store to get some, and frankly, she couldn't bring herself to care enough to chase them down.

So, she went to bed. Or rather, she tried to.

Her body felt heavy with exhaustion, but her mind refused to shut up. It was like that most nights - crying herself into something halfway between sleep and pure misery. She wasn't sure what time it was when her eyes shot open. 2 a.m.? 3 a.m.? It didn't matter. The house was silent except for the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

And then, there it was again. The scratching.

She tried to ignore it, rolling onto her side and pulling the blanket up to her neck. But now it sounded like two sets of paws scratching. Or maybe three. A chorus of little claws, just loud enough to make her want to scream into her pillow.

That was it. She threw the blanket off and got out of bed, Alpine letting out a disgruntled mrrp from her spot at the foot of the mattress. The cat yawned and stretched like she was coming off a twelve-hour shift and had no intention of working overtime, then promptly curled up again.

"Thanks for the backup, Al." She muttered under her breath, her steps loud against the creaking floor as she headed for the stairs.

The house was mostly in the darkness, the moonlight spilling through the windows just enough to see by. She didn't bother flipping on the lights - she didn't need to. Her legs carried her straight to the living room, and her hand reached out for the switch before she even had to think about it.

And there they were.

Two rats, scratching at the wall right behind the couch, their little bodies half-hidden by one of the white sheets still draped over the furniture. She stared at them, her lips pressing into a tight line.

"I knew I wasn't crazy. Not yet, anyway."

The rats didn't even flinch at her voice, too busy clawing at the wall. She frowned. Clearly, she hadn't thought this through: no traps, no plan, just righteous indignation and a pair of rats that didn't seem to give a single damn about her existence.

"Okay." She mumbled, taking a step back. "Fine. Stay there, little guys, don't move. I'm going for Plan B."

The kitchen. Maybe there was something useful there. She left the rats to their scratching and marched down the hall, pulling open cabinets and drawers with a single-minded focus. She wasn't entirely sure what she was looking for - maybe some old traps left behind by the previous owners. The smell of mold hit her first, making her wrinkle her nose as she dug through the shit that had been left behind.

Nothing. Nothing but useless, stupid junk.

She opened another drawer, and that's when she saw them: keys.

Dozens of them.

She stared down at them, her hand hovering over the strange collection. They were all different sizes and colors, most looking as old as the house itself. Some were rusted beyond repair, others shiny and new, but none of them made sense. There weren't enough doors in this house to justify half of these keys, let alone all of them.

One caught her eye, standing out from the rest.

It was different - heavier, more ornate, with a handle that curved into an odd shape. The other side of the key wasn't jagged like the rest but smooth, and there was something unusual about the tip of the handle. It was round, like a small button.

"Particular. Particularly ugly." She muttered, turning it over in her hand. Maybe it was a toy? Some part of a playset the previous owner's kid had lost and forgotten. It wouldn't have surprised her; the house was practically a time capsule of neglected junk. Herself included.

She felt Alpine brush past her leg, but before she could think more about the strange key, the sound of scratching came again. This time louder, more insistent. The rats.

"Stay here, Alpine. Mama has work to do." She mumbled to herself, shoving the key absentmindedly into her sweatpants pocket and leaving the drawer open behind her. She followed the noise back to the living room, muttering under her breath about how tired she was of this nonsense.

The two culprits were still there, busy clawing away at the wall behind the couch. She stopped in the doorway and folded her arms, glaring at them like they might actually respond.

"I'm not even sure I have edible food anymore." She said aloud, her voice as dry as ever. "So if you're looking for that, you're in the wrong house. Go annoy someone else."

The rats didn't flinch, still focused on whatever had their attention. She tilted her head, studying them. They weren't looking for food, not really. They weren't sniffing the air or scurrying around. They seemed fixated on something - like they were trying to get to it.

She took a cautious step forward. "Alright, Ratatouille." She said, her tone edged with exasperation. "Move. Let me see what's so important to you. But then you have to leave, this is not some hotel for wild animals."

The moment she approached, the rats scattered, darting away with tiny squeaks and disappearing into the shadows. Typical. She sighed, shaking her head, and turned her attention to the wall.

The couch was pressed tightly against it, but there wasn't anything unusual about the spot - at least, not at first glance. She stepped closer, gripping the edges of the sheet-covered furniture and giving it a hard tug to drag it out of the way. Dust puffed into the air, and she coughed, waving a hand in front of her face.

And then she saw it.

At first, she thought it was just another patch of peeling wallpaper, but the more she looked, the clearer it became. There was a faint outline in the wall - small and rectangular, no bigger than a cupboard door. It blended into the faded wallpaper almost perfectly, as if it wasn't meant to be noticed.

"What the-." She whispered, her brow furrowing as she crouched down. She reached out, her fingers brushing over the edges. It felt solid beneath her touch, though her nails caught on the subtle grooves around the frame. A door.

The realization sent a chill down her spine, though she didn't know why. It was just a door, wasn't it? Probably a storage compartment or something for the plumbing. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But if it was nothing out of the ordinary, then why did her heart rate accelerate? She knelt there, staring at the faint outline, her fingers brushing over it again as if to prove it was real. It was small - just enough for a child to walk through without ducking.

The edges of her mind filled with half-formed theories she didn't want to entertain. What if this door had been here all along, hidden under layers of wallpaper? What if that kid had found it first? Stop it, she told herself firmly, shaking her head. The story didn't matter. What mattered was that it was here, and now so was she.

Her hand drifted to her pocket, fingers brushing against the cool metal of the key she'd shoved in earlier. She frowned, her chest tightening. What if it works?

The thought made her hesitate. Opening the door felt like crossing a line she couldn't uncross, but curiosity stirred inside her anyway. That curiosity - it was something she'd always had, even when it got her in trouble. Bucky used to tease her about it all the time, it was something he loved about her.

And so, before she even knew it, she pressed the key into the faint hole at its center. Her heart thudded in her chest as she twisted. It caught for a moment, then turned smoothly, like it had been waiting for her all along.

The faintest click echoed in the silence. It worked.

She didn't exactly know what to expect. Her mind cycled through possibilities, each one more ridiculous than the last: a family of rats scurrying around like they paid rent, a skeleton tucked away like some dark secret, or maybe just bricks sealing off the passage altogether. A tunnel? That wasn't even on her radar.

But there it was. A tunnel, impossibly strange and bathed in shifting lights - purple, blue, magenta - all swirling together like something out of a dream. She blinked hard, then again, just to make sure her exhausted brain wasn't playing tricks on her. The colors didn't fade. They seemed to ripple against the walls, smooth and alive in a way that made her skin prickle.

She looked over her shoulder at the living room. It sat there, ordinary and lifeless, the same sad space it had been since she'd arrived one week ago. She glanced back at the tunnel. The air inside seemed thicker somehow, shimmering faintly like heat rising off asphalt. She squinted, trying to see where it led, but the light bent strangely, making it impossible to tell.

She should've closed it. She knew she should've closed it. Slam the door shut, throw the key into the nearest lake, and maybe burn the whole house down for good measure. Whatever was inside that tunnel didn't belong in any version of the real world she understood.

But then again, what part of her life ever had?

Her chest tightened as she thought of her friends - if she could even call them that anymore. A witch, a talking raccoon, the god of thunder, and a billionaire with a good heart. Her world had been full of strange, impossible things for years. Magic wasn't just real; she'd seen it firsthand. Aliens existed. Some Guardians of the Galaxy also existed. People flew and moved mountains and bent reality to their will.

Strange doesn't always mean bad, she thought, swallowing hard.

That reasoning didn't stop her palms from sweating as she reached out, fingers brushing the edges of the opening. Crawling into it felt ridiculous and dangerous all at once, but the longer she stood there, the more her curiosity pulled at her - fuck it. It surely couldn't be worse that the grief she was feeling.

She winced as she leaned forward, testing the space, her shoulders brushing the sides. It was tighter than she liked, but manageable if she stayed low. The tunnel smelled faintly of damp stone and something else she couldn't place.

She couldn't stop now, not with how close she felt to... something. What, she didn't know. Crawling forward, her knees and palms scraped against the hard surface, her muscles starting to ache. The tunnel felt endless, and the air was so still it made her ears ring. She had no idea how far she'd gone, and when she tried to glance over her shoulder, the tight space made it impossible to look back.

She groaned under her breath, cursing herself for crawling into a place she didn't understand, but just as the panic started to creep in, her head bumped into something solid.

Her hand shot forward, feeling the cool, grainy surface of wood. She froze, her heart thundering in her chest as her fingers fumbled until they found the faint outline of a handle. For a moment, she just knelt there. Did she really want to know what was on the other side? Probably not. But she was here now, so what else could she do?

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open.

The smell hit her first - warm and familiar, like cinnamon. She blinked, stunned, as she crawled out and stood, brushing off her pants. For a second, all she could do was stare.

She was in the living room again.

But it wasn't her living room. At least, not the one she remembered crawling away from. The place looked new, like it belonged in a magazine. The furniture wasn't covered in old sheets anymore, the floors gleamed like it had just been polished, and the walls (painted in colors she loved but never had the energy to pick out herself) looked clean and bright. The TV was on, playing a cooking show she didn't recognize, and the whole room felt warm, like someone had been living there all along.

Her chest tightened as she took it all in. This had to be some kind of dream, right? It was too perfect. She rubbed her arm hard, trying to snap herself out of it, but nothing changed. She pinched her skin next, just to be sure. Still nothing.

She drifted toward the kitchen, her legs shaky beneath her. And that's when she saw him.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was Bucky.

His back was to her, but she'd know him anywhere, in any shape or form or lifetime. His shoulders were broad, his hair tied back in a low bun like he used to wear it when they stayed in together. He was at the stove, cooking something - probably whatever smelled so good - and he was humming. She could hear him clearly, the tune instantly recognizable: It's Been a Long, Long Time. Her hands clutched at the doorframe as her heart hammered in her chest.

It didn't make sense.

It couldn't make sense.

But he was there. Breathing and alive.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but no sound came out. She just stared, watching him as he moved like he belonged there, like he hadn't been gone for months. Like nothing had ever happened.

He spoke without turning around, his voice warm and familiar, the sound of it wrapping around her like a hug. "Took you long enough to find me, doll."

Her legs almost gave out.

"Bucky?" She whispered, barely able to get the word out.

He chuckled softly, turning to face her. "Who else?"

Her heart lurched in her chest - then stopped entirely.

Because when he turned, it wasn't his warm blue eyes staring back at her.

It was two shiny black buttons.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing ragged as her hand flew up to cover her mouth. She didn't know if it was to stop herself from screaming or from throwing up, but the nausea hit her in waves. Those buttons were sewn into his eyes: thick, uneven stitches held them in place, and the skin around them was raw and red, like it hurt just to exist.

Her entire body shook as she backed up a step, then froze when he took one toward her.

"Hey, hey." He murmured softly, his voice like velvet, so familiar it made her chest ache. His hand reached out, brushing against hers. His touch was light, gentle, and for a second she softened.

Her lips trembled as she avoided looking at him, tears pooling under her lashes. This was him, wasn't it? The man she loved. The man she'd lost. The way his fingers slid against her skin, the way he leaned in like he wanted to shield her from the world -  it was all so painfully familiar.

"I know what you must be thinking." He said, his other hand brushing against her chin, tilting her face up toward him. His thumb traced her jaw, soft and deliberate, the way it always had when he wanted to comfort her. "I'm dead, technically. In the other world. Here, now, I'm here, baby. And here I am meant to stay, with you. Open your pretty eyes for me."

Her breath hitched, and she dared to open her eyes again.

And he was there. He looked just the same, apart from the obvious absence of the blue eyes she'd fallen in love with. The messy stubble on his jaw, the faint scar on his cheek, the way his lips curved into the softest smile - it was all him.

"I..." Her voice cracked, and she had to swallow hard before trying again. "How is this possible?"

"Does it matter?" His smile widened, but it didn't reach those dark, empty... well, buttons. "Touch me. Feel me. This is real, I'm real, my love. Doesn't matter how, we can have our second chance."

Her knees felt weak, like her body was fighting against her own disbelief. She wanted to collapse, to wake up from this nightmare, but instead, she found herself reaching for his face. Her hand trembled as she hovered just short of his cheek, afraid to touch him, afraid to feel if he was real.

He leaned into her hand anyway, guiding her fingers against his skin. It was warm. Soft. Real.

"It's okay." He whispered, his voice dripping with reassurance. "I know it's weird, I know it's painful, but you'll get used to it if you wish to stay. With me, forever. As we planned, do you remember?"

Her throat felt tight, like she was swallowing glass. "I... I do, but your eyes-"

He cut her off gently, his hand moving to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Shh. Don't worry about that. You don't have to think about anything now. You're home, sweetheart. That's all that matters."

He took her hand in his, brushing his lips softly against her knuckles the way he always had. It was such a simple gesture, yet her lower lip trembled despite herself. She was stupid, she knew that. Stupid for letting her guard down, for leaning toward him like this. It was fucked up - completely, utterly fucked up.

Four months. Four agonizing months of endless crying, of sleepless nights consumed by thoughts of him. She'd wanted him back so desperately that she'd prayed to gods she didn't even believe in, hoping for one of them - if they existed - to bring him home. They didn't need him, she did. And when that didn't work, she had begged Death herself, tempting fate one reckless night after another, daring her to take her too.

But no one answered.

And yet, here he was.

It wasn't her Bucky, not really. She knew that. Deep down, she knew. But it was something. And the broken, yearning part of her - by far the loudest - shoved aside every concern, every alarm, and clung to the scraps he offered. She followed him as he led her to the table, where all her favorite foods waited, the centerpiece being those cinnamon rolls only he could make.

Because despite everything, Bucky Barnes had always been an incredible cook.

"I've been waiting for you for a long time." He said, his voice warm but edged with something she couldn't quite place. "In this... other world." He paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "I took my time to make everything perfect for you. For us. So we could keep living our life the way we always wanted. Before... you know. The mission."

She swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the table. Her heart clenched painfully at the memory, but she forced herself to look at him. And his plate, which was empty.

Not his eyes - she couldn't. Those black, unblinking buttons unsettled her in a way she couldn't articulate. Instead, her focus drifted to his lips, to the familiar curve of his smile, trying to anchor herself to the parts of him that still felt like him.

"How... how does this even work?" She asked, her voice unsteady. "Is this a parallel universe? Doctor Strange said something about a multiverse once but I didn’t pay attention.”

He tilted his head slightly, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "No, not a multiverse. But call it a parallel universe if that's what makes sense to you." He said, his tone light, like they were discussing the weather. Then his smile widened, his expression softening. "I call it the Other World. I'm the Other Bucky."

Her chest tightened at his words. Other Bucky? The phrase sounded so wrong. She bit her lip, her hands curling into fists in her lap as she tried to process it.

"You're... not my Bucky?" She whispered, her voice trembling.

“Not quite.” His smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he leaned closer, reaching out to take her hand in his again. His touch was so familiar, so gentle, it sent a shiver down her spine. "I'm still your Bucky, sweetheart." He said, his voice dripping with sincerity. "Maybe not the one you lost. But I love you just the same. Isn't that enough?"

Her throat felt tight, and tears blurred her vision. She wanted to scream that no, it wasn't enough. That nothing could ever replace the Bucky she'd lost, the one she'd loved more than anything in the world. But when she looked at him again, at the way he held her hand so tenderly, the way he spoke with so much conviction, the fight drained out of her.

"Do you... do you remember our first Christmas together?" She asked, her voice hesitant, almost fragile. Her thumb traced the back of his hand, an old habit she had when she felt nervous. "When I told you I wanted a Christmas tree, and you got one by the end of the day?"

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, the sound so achingly familiar that it sent a pang through her chest. "How could I forget? You were so determined to make it perfect. I stole it, by the way. From Tony's personal collection at the Compound."

She smiled. "I know. Tony told me a couple of days later."

"Yeah, well..." He raised an eyebrow with a sly grin. "He caught me hauling it out and almost blasted me. I think he only let me keep it because he knew it was for you. Though he made me suffer for weeks after."

She couldn't help the small, genuine smile that crept onto her face. It sounded so much like the man she'd loved - his mischief, his stubbornness. "That sounds exactly like something he would do." She said softly.

Encouraged, she pushed forward, testing him. "And... do you remember when you brought Alpine home? You got her that little blanket. Do you remember which one?"

His button eyes seemed to glint with something she couldn't name, if that was even possible, but the smile on his lips didn't waver. "The Captain America one." He said without hesitation. "She hated it at first, but you swore it made her look cozy. I remember everything, doll. Every little detail."

She felt her throat tighten again, nodding. He was telling the truth.

"You're testing me, aren't you?" He asked, tilting his head, his voice carrying no edge of offense, only understanding.

"I... yes. I'm sorry." She whispered, dropping her gaze.

"No, baby, it's perfectly fine." He reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers lightly, sandwiching her hand between both of his. She flinched, but only slightly. His touch still felt so warm, so human. "I understand. I'd do the same if I were in your shoes."

She risked a glance at him, and his smile softened, becoming something almost unbearably tender. "I don't blame you for doubting this." He said, his voice low. "For doubting me. You've been through hell. You've lost more than anyone should ever have to. And yet, here you are, strong enough to sit across from me and look for the truth."

Her hand trembled slightly beneath his. "Bucky-"

"I'm not just saying this because I want you to believe me." He interrupted gently. "I'm saying this because I need you and I love you. I loved you then, I love you now, and I'll keep loving you, no matter what world we're in of what choice you made. No matter what it takes. I didn't wait all this time just to lose you again."

His words hit her like a blow to the chest, raw and piercing. Tears stung her eyes, and for a moment, she let herself lean into the illusion, into the hope that maybe this was real, that maybe she'd been given another chance in that weird way. Maybe that was the answer from the Gods she was waiting for.

"Bucky." She whispered again, her voice breaking. "I've missed you so much."

"I know, doll." He said, leaning closer, pressing his forehead against hers. "But I'm here now. That's all that matters. You don't have to carry the pain anymore. Let me do that for you."

Tears pricked her eyes again as he talked, his voice like a balm she hadn't realized she'd missed so much. He told her how long he'd been waiting for her, how lonely he'd been in this perfect world he claimed to have created just for her. His words wrapped around her like a warm blanket, even as a sliver of unease twisted deep in her chest.

She could only squeeze his hand tighter. She sat with him, eating as he poured her wine, laughing softly at his jokes even though she barely heard them. It was so easy to fall into this rhythm, to let herself believe him.

But that small, stubborn voice in the back of her mind was screaming at her. Begging her. Pleading with her to see. To crawl back through that door to the real world, to grieve, to heal, to move on. Because whatever this was, it wasn't normal. It wasn't right. It was dark and twisted, and somewhere deep inside, she knew that.

But then he smiled at her again.

And just like that, she smiled back.