#formatting text

[midnight--sadness]

seong gihun in squid game textposts

+

(bonus: saebyeok)

[annabelle--cane]

[noirandchocolate]

‘Because she likes people,’ said the witch, striding ahead. 'She cares about 'em. Even the stupid, mean, drooling ones, the mothers with the runny babies and no sense, the feckless and the silly and the fools who treat her like some kind of a servant. Now THAT’S what I call magic–seein’ all that, dealin’ with all that, and still goin’ on. It’s sittin’ up all night with some poor old man who’s leavin’ the world, taking away such pain as you can, comfortin’ their terror, seein’ 'em safely on their way…and then cleanin’ 'em up, layin’ 'em out, making 'em neat for the funeral, and helpin’ the weeping widow strip the bed and wash the sheets–which is, let me tell you, no errand for the fainthearted–and stayin’ up the next night to watch over the coffin before the funeral, and then going home and sitting down for five minutes before some shouting angry man comes bangin’ on your door 'cuz his wife’s havin’ difficulty givin’ birth to their first child and the midwife’s at her wits’ end and then getting up and fetching your bag and going out again…. We all do that, in our own way, and she does it better'n me, if I was to put my hand on my heart. THAT is the root and heart and soul and center of witchcraft, that is. The soul and center!' Mistress Weatherwax smacked her fist into her hand hammering out her words. 'The…soul…and…CENTER!’ Echoes came back from the trees in the sudden silence. Even the grasshoppers by the side of the track had stopped sizzling. 'And Mrs Earwig,’ said Mistress Weatherwax, her voice sinking to a growl, 'Mrs. Earwig tells her girls it’s about cosmic balances and stars and circles and colors and wands and…and toys, nothing but TOYS!' She sniffed. 'Oh, I daresay they’re all very well as decoration, somethin’ nice to look at while you’re workin’, somethin’ for show, but the start and finish, THE START AND FINISH, is helpin’ people when life is on the edge. Even people you don’t like. Stars is easy, people is hard.’ She stopped talking. It was several seconds before birds began to sing again. 'Anyway, that’s what I think,’ she added in the tones of someone who suspects that she might have gone just a bit further than she meant to.

--Terry Pratchett, "A Hat Full of Sky"

[drag0nalias0]

[americachavez]

[aquanutart]

I was talking and I mentioned that I have my old Game Boy and original Pokemon cartridge. I said, "I think they still work."

I was told, "The internal batteries on the Game Boy cartridges have run out. They're all dead."

"Oh," I said, trying not to show how crestfallen I was. I felt like I was losing nerd cred for not knowing that, although I never kept up with that type of info anyway. I'm here for the fantasy and imaginative aspects of games, and tend not to follow the competitive or technical details.

I tried not to feel anything as I went home. If they were real animals, I reminded myself, I would have had to say goodbye long ago.

But like so many other people, Pokemon was my childhood. It was all I thought about and dreamed about, and the closest thing I could imagine to heartbreak was the knowledge that they weren't real. I spent nearly all my time writing longhand self-insert Pokemon fanfiction--far more than I spent actually playing the game. My Pokemon were with me in my imagination wherever I went. I started playing Pokemon Blue when I was 5, and the last time I had played it was probably when I was 9 or 10. I remembered I had turned it on again one more time after that, not to play it, but to look at my childhood Pokemon.

It was during high school, after a move overseas that completely upended my life, and I was struggling with the crushing blow of being taken away from everything I knew and trying to make sense of anything (least of all adolescence) in another language. All I wanted was to go back to childhood and have everything go back to how it was before.

Seeing my Pokemon, just as I'd left them, had comforted me. I had looked at their stats pages, taken photos of them with my digital camera (that I don't even know if I still have), and then turned it off without doing anything.

That was probably 9 or 10 years after the games came out. It had been a long time since then. I had long since taken the AA batteries out of my Game Boy Color and left it untouched. I didn't even have AA batteries anymore.

It had worked then. But now it had been 27 years... I thought about not trying to turn my cartridge back on. As long as I didn't turn it on, I could believe my Pokemon were still there, the way I remembered them.

On my day off, which happened to be Pokemon Day, I googled and read that some people on forums and Reddit were still able to play their original Pokemon games.

Then... it was possible. I went out to buy toothpaste. At the store, I asked where I could find AA batteries.

It was a big thing for me to be able to go to the store and buy things myself. When I moved at age 13, I felt like something went wrong with growing up. It was difficult to follow what people were saying, and people didn't always understand what I said either. I had been introverted even in English, but now I had enough negative experiences that I became afraid and stopped trying to talk to people altogether.

I threw myself into video games and reliving childhood memories. The internet was where I could communicate in my first language and understand. I lived online and didn't interact with the real world. On the internet I felt like I was understood and could find people who shared my interests the way I did, but in the real world it always felt like I could get hurt if anyone knew me.

I realize now that I could have had a better experience overseas if I'd known how to adapt and socialize, but this was not something I knew even in English, and trying to learn in another language made it ten times harder. I'm sorry now for missing out on interactions that I know I could have had, but I just didn't know how. I wouldn't know how until I learned, and it took me a long time to learn.

I grew up online, in the company of others who had trouble fitting in with the real world, even in their own language. Those experiences shaped me, and the friendships I've made and support I've received online are invaluable to me. The internet gave me a way to live, and through it I learned how to interact with others. But in many ways, for many years, it felt like my life was put on hold and I stopped growing up.

Several years ago I moved back, to not far from where I was born, and I was able to work for the first time. I began to interact with people and feel like I had a place in the real world.

After shutting myself away for so many years, every little step I made out in the world felt terrifying. But every little thing I did on my own made me feel like I was living for the first time.

Even something as little as going to the store and buying a pack of batteries.

I was directed to a shelf at the end of an aisle, and found myself looking at a rack of lithium AA batteries. Did they not sell the old kind anymore?

I walked around to the other side and was relieved to find the familiar black and brown Duracell batteries I'd known from my childhood. I felt more confident about putting in a battery that looked the same as I remembered. The smallest pack they sold was an 8-pack for $12.99. I really didn't need 8 batteries. I didn't have any other devices that used them.

I thought, what if I turn it on and it doesn't work and I'll have wasted $12.99?

I also thought we might already have batteries. I might be able to say, "Mom, do we have any batteries?" and she'd pull out two AAs from a drawer somewhere and I'd save my money.

But somehow I felt like part of what was important about this was being an adult and being able to buy my own batteries.

Yet... what if it just ended up making me sad? Was it better not to know?

I went to the checkout with just the toothpaste and stood hesitating at the edge of the checkout line.

If I didn't get the batteries now, and it turned out we didn't have any batteries, I wouldn't try it. I knew I would just put it off until even more time passed, and then... "Are you in line?" someone asked me.

"No," I said, and I turned around and went back to the shelf.

I bought the batteries.

At home, I took out my original Game Boy Color from the drawer where I left it, the one my dad had surprised me with when I was 5 years old and that I had brought overseas and back.

I put the batteries in and turned it on without a cartridge first to make sure the batteries were inserted correctly. The Game Boy logo scrolled across the screen and it made the familiar blinging Game Boy startup noise. I turned it off again, satisfied.

I took out my original Pokemon Blue cartridge, momentarily having to remember which way it went in, and slotted it in.

I turned it on, watched the whole Pokemon Blue intro out of nostalgia, and then pressed START.

My heart leaped for joy.

MY POKEMON!!!! MY POKEMON ARE ALIVE!!! 🥺🥺🥺

My original Pokemon, that were with me in 1998 when I was 5-6 years old, are still with me 27 years later. I want to cry!!! I love the old sprites, I'm SO happy to see them again 😭😭😭 the Pokemon look so little and cheerful at the same time, which I love 🥺🥺🥺 I know there are people with many more hours on their games, who have leveled all their Pokemon to 100. But these are my Pokemon who were with me through my childhood, and I spent many more hours making up stories about them than actually playing the game. I'm so happy to see them again 😭😭😭

All I want is to see my Pokemon. My other Pokemon are in boxes. Now, how do I get to the nearest PC? Where am I?

Oh... Oh. I have to confess something. When I was a kid, I was scared of the dark cave areas, and whenever I got to them, I stopped playing for a while. (I was stuck at Mt. Moon until I was like, 7.) So I never actually beat the game.

And here I am on Victory Road, with the team of Pokemon I was taking to the Elite Four, without an Escape Rope.

The only way for me to see my other Pokemon is... to finally make it through Victory Road, after 27 years?!

[boar-sjn]

oh, starlight.

[astronomodome]

>watching imp n skizz

>theyre talking about fanartists

>impulse says ”apple bee struda”

>that’s not it king

>go to bee’s blog to see if she’s noticed

>

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝘚𝘏𝘈𝘛𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘌𝘋 𝘈𝘍𝘍𝘌𝘊𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕𝘚 - 𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛 𝘖𝘕𝘌

Pairing: Mohawk!Mark x Reader | Sinister!Mark x Reader

Warnings: Alluding to sexual content

—Synopsis—

All surviving Variants have been brought to the Main Universe as a means to help defend and protect Earth.

It’s understood that if they try to indulge in any of their past, evil behaviors they will be promptly sent back to the wasteland universe.

The reader only ever developed a romantic relationship with Mohawk!Mark and Sinister!Mark in their respective universes, but died as a causality of battle in Mohawk!Mark’s timeline.

Being that Sinister!Mark is one of the strongest variants, the GDA obliged his condition of only cooperating with them if he was allowed to bring you to this universe, too.

To avoid using the same descriptive terms over and over again I'll be using "M.Mark" to refer to Mohawk Mark, and "S.Mark" for Sinister.

The rain was pouring outside in thick sheets, drenching everything in its path. Inside your house, however, the air felt colder than the storm. The dim lighting cast the room in an orange glow, illuminating where you sat on the couch as you fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve. You tried to muster up the courage to speak.

Mark sat on the opposite side of the room, his gaze distant, unfocused. His body language was closed off, rigid, as though he was physically there but mentally somewhere else. He hadn’t looked at you directly in what felt like days. Every attempt you made to break the silence seemed to fall flat, as though he was unwilling—or perhaps even incapable—of offering any kind of comfort.

“Mark…” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve been trying to talk to you. I just… I need something. Just a little reassurance.”

He didn’t react. Didn’t even glance your way. His gaze remained fixed somewhere outside the window, as though the storm outside was far more interesting than you.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the emptiness in the room pressing down on you. “I don’t understand. You used to be…” you trailed off, feeling the words die in your throat. What was the point in continuing? The man you once knew, the one who was obsessed with you (almost overwhelmingly so), the one who would hold you like you were the most precious resource in the world, the one who placed you on a pedestal—he was slipping further and further away. Now, all that remained was this cold, distant version of him.

Finally, he spoke, though it wasn’t to comfort you. His tone was flat, dismissive. “I don’t know what you want from me. To be honest, you’re being kind of unbearable right now…”

Your chest tightened, and the sting of those words cut deep. You had long since stopped expecting the tenderness you once shared, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. You couldn’t understand it—how could he treat you like this? You wanted to reach out, to get closer to him, but he kept you at arm's length. The affection you sought, the closeness, the connection—it was all gone.

“I’m not asking for a lot, Mark. I just need you to… to care,” you whispered, almost pleading, your voice cracking at the end.

Mark’s gaze flickered to you, but it was detached—like he was looking through you rather than at you. “I care.” The word came out choked in his throat, as if physically hard for him to say. “But I’m getting a little tired of this pity party you’re having. We’re fine.” His voice was as sharp as ever, the bite in his words unmistakable. The cruel indifference felt like a slap.

You fell silent, swallowing the lump in your throat as you stood up, unable to stay there in that house any longer. You couldn’t bear to watch him, to feel like you were begging for scraps of affection that never came. You turned and walked toward the door, the weight of your heart dragging with each step.

What had happened to the love you once shared? Was this the person he had become? The person he had always been inside, buried beneath the façade of warmth and charm?

The back of your eyes acted like a projector for all your dearest – and now must painful – memories. You could vividly see Mark coming home from the chaos, his body battered but triumphant, filled with the kind of energy only someone who’d just carved their name into the world through violence could have.

His eyes would burn with intensity, always wild, always searching for something. And when he found you—always so sure of himself, so sure of you—he would pull you close, like a soldier who’d just returned from battle, needing to feel grounded. His hands would roam over your skin, not tender, but with that fervor only he had. His lips would press against yours with an almost sense of praise—a deep, guttural, obsessive need to remind you that you were his. You are mine. You are perfect. You are an extension of me. he would breath against your skin like a mantra between kisses.

There were moments when his touch made you feel like you were his greatest victory, like all the destruction and bloodshed that had led him to you was worth it. His devotion was all-encompassing, his adoration warped, twisted into something you could never quite explain, but it made you feel important. Needed. He praised you in way that was strange, almost as if he were talking to himself, as if you were a reflection of all that he had conquered. You didn’t question it. This was your reality. This was all you knew.

He was the one who built everything around him with iron fists. And you—you—were right there with him, watching him burn his way through life, loving him with a devotion that matched his own distorted sense of self-worth. You couldn’t imagine anything different. You wouldn’t have even wanted to.

But now... now, everything just felt wrong.

Ever since Angstrom had torn you from your reality, and you – along with all the other variants of Mark – were forced to live in this universe, things had changed. You could see it happening—the subtle changes that had crept in over time, the way his eyes lost their spark when he looked at you, the way his voice started sounding distant, hollow, as if the weight of his own mind was too much for him to carry.

He didn’t come home in a frenzy of passion anymore. He didn’t need to be reminded that you were there, that you were his. He didn’t praise you like he once did. His words—once so filled with unyielding confidence—now felt like empty echoes. He didn’t need to – couldn’t – conquer the world anymore, and it was as if the absence of that fire had drained so much from him. As if the very air around him had turned cold, and with it, you felt the chill, creeping into the corners of your own heart.

He rarely got to fight anymore. Couldn’t carve a path through the world to show the power he held. He wasn’t allowed to in this universe, the threat of being sent back to the wastelands always looming overhead. And you know that was tearing him apart. It hollowed him out from the inside. The man who once stood at the center of every battle, the man who demanded the world kneel before him, could no longer reign supreme.

He couldn’t suppress the world anymore. He couldn’t conquer. And without that, there was a vacancy inside of him that no amount of praise or love from you could fill.

You wished you could fill that emptiness for him, but it wasn’t your place. And, maybe, it never was.

You knew it wasn’t your fault. Hell, you knew it wasn’t even his fault; not really, at least. But the fact remained: your relationship wasn’t the same. And as much as you tried to hold on to the echoes of what you’d had, every day you felt it all slipping through your fingers.

And it hurt. Some nights, like tonight, more than you could bear.

You wondered if when he looked at you now, he still saw the person he once admired—or if he just saw another casualty of the war he could no longer fight. You wondered if the love you gave him, the love you thought was unbreakable, was crumbling into dust.

And you wondered, in the silence, if it could ever be changed.

Unknown to you, one of Mark’s variants – the one that sported a mohawk – had been floating just above the house, seemingly unphased by the heavy rains. He had heard every word, felt the crushing weight of the emotional distance between you and his counterpart, and something inside him snapped. The heartbreak of seeing you treated that way when in his universe, you had been everything.

He watched as you stepped out into the downpour, clinging tightly to your red umbrella as you walked down the street. Mark, without thought, took this opportunity. His boots landed with a heavy thud on the front doorstep slowly pushing the door open. Inside his counterpart barely flinched, his eyes flickering over to the doorway before narrowing slightly. He didn’t need to ask who had come in. He already knew.

“You don’t deserve her,” M.Mark’s voice was low, filled with an intensity that was hard to ignore. He stepped forward, his fists clenched at his sides as he kicked the door shut behind himself. His eyes bore into S.Mark, filled with frustration, grief, and a deep, aching anger. “I don’t understand how you can just treat her like that. How can you not appreciate her? After everything? After all the time you’ve spent with her? How could you just shut her out like that?”

S.Mark didn’t move, his eyes locking onto M.Mark’s with the same cold indifference. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his posture relaxed, as though he wasn’t even fazed by the accusation. “You don’t know anything about me, or what I’ve been through,” he said in a flat tone, clearly unbothered by the confrontation. “She’s fine. She’ll get over it. You’ve got no claim on her, Mark. This one doesn’t belong to you.”

The words sent a surge of anger through M.Mark. His eyes blazed, chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. His voice cracked with frustration as he stepped closer. “You don’t know the first thing about love, or sacrifice. You don’t understand how lucky you are to even have her, and you’re throwing it all away because of whatever twisted, cold version of love you’ve convinced yourself is normal.” His fists clenched harder, the tension between them palpable, the air so thick with emotion it would suffocate the average man.

S.Mark’s expression remained unchanged, but there was a coldness in his eyes that betrayed a flicker of annoyance. He uncrossed his arms, standing up slowly, deliberately, his body language suddenly more menacing. “You think you have any right to lecture me? You think your pain means anything to me?” His voice dropped an octave, the words laced with venom. “You’re nothing but a ghost in this world. You’ve already lost. You’re just a sad version of a man who couldn’t even keep the woman he loved alive. And now you think you’re in a position to tell me how to treat her? How to live my life?”

The words were cruel, meant to provoke. But M.Mark didn’t flinch. He took another step forward, his chest heaving with every breath. His eyes narrowed into a cold fury that seemed to burn right through S.Mark. “I don’t give a fuck what you think. If you cross the line with her I will fucking kill you.”

The two of them stood there, face to face, inches away from each other, the weight of their anger and frustration practically radiating off them. There was a feeling that at any moment the calm veneer between them would shatter into a violent explosion. M.Mark was just a hair away from pushing S.Mark to the edge.

But then, the door opened.

You stepped back inside, eyes cast down at first as you shuddered from the cold rain, shaking off and closing your umbrella. You froze when you finally lifted your gaze, seeing the two of them standing inches from one another. You quickly became acutely aware of the silent, threatening tension, and although lost on the details, the look on their faces told you more than enough.

You felt your stomach churn, a sickening wave of confusion and dread washing over you. What the hell had happened? Why did it look like they were seconds away from coming to blows?

M.Mark’s gaze flickered to you, his face softening for a brief moment. But that softness quickly turned to something deeper—something more painful that you couldn’t understand.

For him though, it was a flash of a memory of you – the one that had made his world turn just with a flash of your smile – and the overwhelming longing he had to reach out and grab you. But you were not with him. Not in this life, here. You were not his.

With a single, almost imperceptible shake of his head, M.Mark stepped back, his eyes avoiding yours as if the weight of what he was feeling was too much to handle. “I can’t do this,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

Your body seemingly acting on its own accord you found yourself moving slightly closer to him, confusion and hurt rising in your chest at the sight of his pained expression. “Are you alright?” Your voice was soft, filled with a tenderness that could smother.

He didn’t look back, his shoulders tense as he walked toward the door. “You deserve more than this,” he muttered almost bitterly, his voice filled with something that was equal parts regret, sorrow, and anger.

With that final remark he stepped out into the storm, rocketing into the sky with unhidden frustration.

“What happened?” you asked quietly, the words stumbling out. “Why was he here?”

Your Mark barely looked at you, his face still cold. “It’s nothing,” he said dismissively, as if the whole confrontation had meant nothing at all. “It’s over. Don’t worry about him. The guy’s got issues.”

You wanted to say more, but before you could form the words Mark took a step closer, his eyes darkening with something you knew all too well—an edge of something physical, something he always used to silence the tension between you two.

“You done with your little hissy fit now?” His voice was low, almost predatory, and his words felt heavy in the space between you. “Because I’m ready to make you feel good again.”

You flushed at his words, a wave of embarrassment and heat sweeping over you. This was the only language he spoke anymore. It was the only thing that ever seemed to break the cold distance he had put between you. The reality of it hit you like a slap—this was what he had reduced your relationship to.

Your heart thudded heavily in your chest as he moved toward you, that same practiced smirk curling at the edge of his lips. He wasn’t asking, not really. His gaze said it all—he was in control, and you were meant to follow. And you, desperate for any semblance of affection from him, would trail him like a shadow.

He stepped past you, his hand brushing against your arm, leading you down the hall toward the bedroom, the tension from earlier still lingering between you like a heavy fog.

But there was nothing left to say. The door clicked shut behind you, and the world outside continued to storm. And ignorant to you, but of course not to Mark, his counterpart had never truly left. He still lingered in the sky above the house, his stare burning into the shingles of the roof as if it would collapse beneath the weight and give him a clear view of you. His fists were clenched at his sides, the muscles in his arms taut with tension. He shouldn't be there. He should be gone, away, anywhere but there. But his body was fixed in that point in space, the pull of something dark and twisted keeping him anchored.

Inside the room, he could hear it—the unmistakable sound of you and him. The other version of him. The version whose world was still illuminated by your light, the one who hadn’t been left in this world with nothing to remind him of his own identity. The one who still had you. Mark's breath hitched, his stomach twisting with something he couldn't quite name. It wasn’t anger, not at first. It was something deeper. Something visceral.

The sounds from inside the room flooded his ears. Your voice, soft and breathless, calling out in pleasure. That’s what did it. The way you sounded so free, so open with him. And then S.Mark’s low growl, his deep, commanding voice that was all confidence, all power. Mark’s jaw clenched, his throat going dry as he turned his head away, as if that would shut out the noises.

Every gasp, every sigh from you made his skin burn, his fingers twitching and reaching out slightly, as if he could feel you beneath his own hands.

That was supposed to be his praise, his obsession, his touch. The things he once gave you in his own twisted way. The things he once thought were proof of his love. But this? This was wrong.

His jaw clenched so hard it ached, and yet, he didn’t move. The sounds of you—his you—and him—the other him—seeped into his mind, poisoning his thoughts, grinding into his chest until he couldn’t breathe. His heart beat so loudly, so painfully, that he could barely hear the noises inside the room. But they were still there, like a hammer driving deep into his skull.

This isn’t right. This shouldn’t be happening.

But it was. And no matter how much he told himself to leave, to escape the twisted knot in his gut, his body betrayed him. He was completely frozen in place, listening. Listening wordlessly to you with him. The sound of you unraveling under the other Mark’s touch, under his control. And it sickened him, but he couldn’t make himself stop.

There was a rawness to it. A harshness in the way S.Mark’s voice filled the room. The way he demanded you. The way he didn’t ask, didn’t plead. He took. He had you, and you—you—were giving it to him, freely, openly. There was no hesitation. There was no fear. Only him.

Marks fingers curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms as if he could physically hold back the rush of emotions threatening to tear through him. It should be me, he thought, his mind a swirling mess of anger and confusion. It’s supposed to be me.

The sound of the bed creaking, the rush of breaths becoming more frantic, more urgent, rips him from his thoughts. His stomach lurches, the bile rising in his throat, but his body betrayed him again. He stayed. He listened. Every sound pulled him deeper into the dark, twisted pit of jealousy and rage that churned inside him. He hated this. Hated him. Hated the way he felt so small above that house, listening to what felt like the final unraveling of everything.

The weight of the silence between his breaths is deafening. He should’ve left. He should’ve stormed away, broke everything, anything to stop this feeling, to stop this moment from ever happening. But he didn’t.

Instead, Mark stayed motionless. The heat of your pleasure mixing with the sickening taste of his own jealousy, the taste of losing you but knowing this you had never been his to begin with.

And even as the noise inside the room escalated, even as the sounds of your pleasure rose higher, Mark still couldn’t force himself to leave. His fingers trembled, his chest tightened, but he stayed. Stayed until it was over, and every shred of sanity was torn from his mind.

→ 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙏𝙬𝙤 ←

[westywallowing]

my favorite scene redraw from S5E13: "Migration"

[fawcetttweets]

A Concerned Friend

I forgot I made this one!! You guys almost didn’t get to see it :0 I wonder how many of these I’ve made and forgotten about…

Masterlist // First // Previous // Next

[hattedhedgehog]

My (spoiler-free) thoughts on Dragon Age: The Veilguard

The review embargo has lifted and I can officially say that I've played through Dragon Age: The Veilguard early! 

Here are my spoiler-free thoughts and personal opinions on the overall gameplay experience: 

Narrative:

Rook's dialogue and decisions impact SO MUCH of the game, and come into play later on. From companions remembering your beverage preferences, to whether someone you spared shows up later to help or harm you, it feels like the game is paying attention and that you matter.

The stakes are unbelievably high. The Evanuris are utterly terrifying villains, in ways that Corypheus wasn’t. You really feel the magnitude of their power on a personal level as well as a worldwide level.

Whatever your thoughts on him, Solas is FUN as a character. He’s fun to talk to, fun to talk strategy with, fun to rile up and verbally spar with and fun to grudgingly ally with. Now that he can drop his former act and appear to you as the Dread Wolf, and you get to see his memories, you and he team get to decide how to utilise his knowledge and how far your trust extends.

The setup and payoff of the story beats are absolutely superb. The emotional turmoil as a player of being ensnared by things that was foreshadowed earlier in the game is utterly exquisite. Every thread of the larger tapestry has been woven with so much love by the writing team, and every character’s arc tie into the larger story in interesting ways.

The characters feel like they have full lives outside of the player character. You frequently go exploring their home turf and can meet their friends and family. They interact with each other on their own and move about the Lighthouse to spend time together, leave notes for each other, and talk about each other even when the other isn’t there. The team feels like they all really care about each other as well as you. 

You can tell what your approval rating is with characters, but if you want to romance them you have to put some thought into it. Interactions and world events besides the heart on the dialogue wheel influence their attraction to you.

Gameplay:

The combat is very engaging, and I enjoyed how unique all the enemies were.

Abilities in the skill tree can be refunded so you can redirect to a different specialization, which is really handy if you’re indecisive and overwhelmed at first (like I get when choosing abilities).  Most companions can get healing abilities no matter what class, so you don’t have to worry about balancing your rogues/mages/warriors (most of the time).

Climbing, balancing on ledges, using ziplines and sliding down slopes made environments feel more immersive. Additionally I like how each companion has unique abilities that let them interact with the world (fixing mechanisms, breathing fire, summoning bridges from the Fade, etc), and learning their abilities alongside them helps you grow closer.

The wayfinder light makes everything feel streamlined, so it's way harder to get lost while exploring an area. I hardly had to look at the mini map at all, and usually I’m glued to it! This meant I could actually look around at the beautiful environments and appreciate how lively they were, even without NPCs.

The upgrade system is far less overwhelming than in Inquisition; there are a finite amount of weapons/armour/accessories to be found, which are designed for each specific character like in DA:O and DA:2. There's also no longer crafting from scratch. If you loot an item you already have, it automatically upgrades the single item rather than giving you duplicates.

You know that frustration of coming across higher-level armour that just isn’t as flattering as your current one? Not to worry, you can collect “appearances” which you can toggle on as the visual for the armour while still retaining the benefits of the original.

I cannot stress enough how simple and easy to use the inventory is. It's heavenly. 

Using the shops of specific cities increases your reputation within those cities, which is a good incentive to explore and use the shops. I usually hate in-world shopping but here it was simple, and thinking about it tactically worked pretty well.

Quests sometimes reach a point where you can't continue at your current place in the story, and must return to in later acts. When re-exploring familiar areas, everything feeling big enough to be fresh with each visit, and new loot and codex entires appear.

Edit: something I forgot to mention. In character creator, you get to make your Inquisitor after you make Rook. The build menus are all the same, so manage your energy accordingly for doing it all again immediately after for your Inky. I spent an hour and a half building my Rook and wanted to get right to playing, and had to re-wire my brain a bit to be patient and keep going with the CC. (Seeing my Inquisitor with new graphics was awesome though).

A couple little things I appreciated:

The control sounds are very pleasing. From the whoosh of opening the combat wheel to the clinking of upgrades to the subtle whir of holding the decision button, they're a nice touch.

If companions are interrupted in conversation by combat, they resume it afterwards with a "what were you saying before?".

Photo mode is so fun to play with, and you can adjust blur/brightness/lens/depth within the scene. You can also toggle on and off the visibility of your Rook, your party, NPCs and enemies!

Assan learns new interaction tricks at the Lighthouse as the game goes on.

Nitpicks:

Overall I had an incredibly positive experience. The gripes I had were tiny things like:

I genuinely like the new art style of the game as a whole. However, the blurriness of some of the features in contrast with some elements being very crisp was distracting.

When trying to sell valuables for faction points without using Sell All, it takes quite a long time to count up all the individual sales, and it isn't a live counter. So it's kind of annoying if you get +3 points for each item you sell, need 150 points to get the next tier of items, and over 10K worth of valuables that you want to sell to other factions. 

If you do lots of quests without returning to the Lighthouse often, occasionally companions at the Lighthouse will have dialogue pertaining to the quests you've just finished as if you haven't done them.

You can pet the dogs and cats in the cities, but Rook turns their back to the camera to do it and it blocks most of the action unless you rotate quickly.

Gender stuff:

I was incredibly moved that not only can Rook be trans/nonbinary in the character creator if you so choose, but they get options to feel differently about their identity and journey, and it impacts their dialogue and how they relate to other characters! To access this make sure to interact with Varric's Mirror in your room in the Lighthouse. There are many conversation options throughout the game to discuss your identity with other characters, or relate your change of self to other situations. Crucially, it comes up when entering a romance and you have to communicate with your partner about it, which I never even THOUGHT of including in a game because it seemed impossible to even allow trans main characters to begin with.

There are also multiple trans and nonbinary characters throughout Thedas. What I found the most realistic was that just like in life, it is a consistent presence in any character's life, and comes up in conversation more than once. I have never seen a game this forthcoming and open about the topic of transitioning, and it was so validating. 

Final thoughts:

I adore the other games in the franchise. Something about The Veilguard affected me in a way no other game has. I cried multiple times while playing this game, both from joy and sadness. What struck me most is that the people who worked on this game REALLY listened to feedback from previous games, and were very set on making a piece of art that meant something to people. Even during the last few years of me testing the game, things have been adjusted and changed in direct response to our reactions and suggestions. It's surreal and quite touching.

Mileage will vary, but my playthrough was 70 hours on very low difficulty and I haven't done every side quest yet. I could easily have spent more than 100 hours in the game if I wasn't pressed for time.

I hope you enjoy this game as much as I have. See you in Thedas.

[fictitious-symbiosis]

SELF-SHIPPING TEMPLATES!

Greetings, fellow self-shippers and self-inserters! I come bearing templates!

Templates are fun, and I wanted to make templates that everybody and anybody can use. No DNI on these babies (though I ask you tag appropriately if mentioning darker topics, for the sake of filtering), and credit is appreciated but not required!

I've presented three colour schemes here in both stylised and legible fonts, but if you'd like a different colour, just pop it into your editing application and play around with the hue!

If you are unfamiliar with the terms or what I mean by them, "sharing" refers to whether you are comfortable with other people who self-ship with your F/O interacting, and "roleplay" refers to whether you're comfortable with people sending asks or interacting as your character, or anything else that involves roleplay. And, F/O means "fictional other," referring to whoever you are shipping yourself with! 😊

Fill these out and edit them however you like, and remember to have fun!!

[latelylately]

can't believe genly spent a meek 2 sentences on the subject

Alt text under break

GENLY's eye is frozen shut. It is encrusted in white crystals of ice. GENLY: Um. Harth? GENLY stops pulling the sled and turns around.

ESTRAVEN looks up from where they were pushing the sled.

ESTRAVEN: ? ESTRAVEN: Ai? Where are your goggles?

ESTRAVEN walks around to GENLY and puts their hands on his shoulders.

GENLY: I packed them away this morning. Stupid. ESTRAVEN: Yes. Stupid. Sit down, Ai.

ESTRAVEN is close enough to GENLY that GENLY can see his reflection in ESTRAVEN's goggles.

GENLY sits down, taking shelter from the wind behind the sled. His arms are crossed. ESTRAVEN sits next to him and removes the balaclava-like covering from their face.

ESTRAVEN is very close to GENLY now. They grab the back of GENLY's hood and pull it back.

ESTRAVEN: It's likely simply frozen shut. GENLY: Um. Harth?

A close up: ESTRAVEN leans in and breathes on GENLY's frozen eye, causing a little bit of it to melt. A bird's eye: ESTRAVEN straddling GENLY with both of their hands steadying their shoulders. A distant shot: GENLY and ESTRAVEN are two small figures in the icy landscape.

ESTRAVEN: Still frozen.

ESTRAVEN pulls back.

ESTRAVEN: Sorry about this.

GENLY (blushing, taken aback): Sorry? What for?

ESTRAVEN leans forward again and presses their tongue to GENLY's eye.

After a minute ESTRAVEN stops. GENLY's eye has melted.

ESTRAVEN: How is it?

GENLY: Uh - Blurry. Dark.

ESTRAVEN gets off of GENLY, leaning on the sled to push themself up. GENLY watches them.

ESTRAVEN: Good. You haven't lost it then. Do you feel like you can continue?

GENLY: Yes.

ESTRAVEN offers a hand to help GENLY up, and GENLY takes it.

ESTRAVEN then gives their goggles to GENLY.

ESTRAVEN: Take my goggles, Ai.

ESTRAVEN and GENLY continue in harness pushing and pulling the sled across the flat snow.

[thevioletcaptain]

today dean fucked up 😪