#but i love all the prologue characters

[blubary]

I really like the prologues of the dark pictures games. Literally, Joe and Charlie were just silly drunks. The Clarke family's story is really sad but like literally so good! Balathu and Kurum have a great story and I absolutely love how it showed in the main story!!!! Jeff and Marie were literally so cute. If you get them to watch each other die IT IS SO SAD.

[darc-la-farse]

‘still sad but trying-to-thrive’ wizard

[thedrdtpokemoncollector]

(Warning for pink blood- If you don’t wanna see that-)

Y’all, what if this- Was David

Because like- I always assumed it was Xander, but- What if it was David-

(if it’s actually him im gonna be so happy with myself-)

But yeah, uh- David is apparently sort of the mc which is cool- Him copying Xander’s sprite is so ahfjwuviwkvodo

DRDT is getting so good rn and Ch2 isn’t even done yet I’m so excited for the next ep-

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

THE BEST OF SHENKO 1/?

The end of the world has a way of reminding you of all the things you forgot to say do. Mass Effect: Legendary Edition (2021)

[michi-chelle]

in the span of a few hours rei won a moneymatch, won a deathmatch, had a fistfight with towa, had two emotionally heavy conversations, had like two mental breakdowns, and to top it all off lost his virginity? boy’s a fuckin machine lmaoooo

[yandere-daydreams]

Current thoughts on Neuvillette and Furina?

the moment i saw them on screen together i was overcome with fantasies of the Most Austic Threesome ever penned to the hollowed halls of ao3. i have been been plagued with visions ever since.

[ilovefredjones]

something about the same actor playing bolkonsky AND andrey. it makes the audience question how much of andrey’s cruelty is inherited from his father, and how much of it is a result from the war.

both are mentioned in the only song andrey physically appears in: ‘there’s a war going on’ andrey says, a callback to the prologue. in that song, the characters sing ‘the war can’t touch us here’ — an ironic statement, now. and pierre says that andrey ‘smiled just like his father / coldly, maliciously.’

andrey is malicious, and wary, and exhausted. there’s a war going on. his cruelty is echoed in the way the son is playing his father. his father is playing his son. words and notes are sung with similar cadence and emphasis. how justified is andrey? how much did the war change him, or how much can the war excuse his maliciousness? andrey does not break the cycle of his father’s cruelty, but how much of it is his fault? there’s a war going on, after all.

[askamnesiamoonjumper]

me after editing the aau prologue for the bajillionth time

[pigeonliker420]

whatevers wrong with this man i like it

[m0rfeline]

SPOILERS IN THE TAGS!

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Guess what?

I just came up with more

Fantasy politics

💖💖💖

[toytanks]

ghghghgghg c'mon brain you can write an entire 12 page essay about how these bitches are gay why cant you do the same thing but fluff

[vaugarde]

insertdisc5 making siffrin's design in 2017

[condraws]

these are two separate images BUT. gnomies is having a great time in red markets! (she got shot by a friend @/cino-checker) (and bit)

[aglaean]

22. A childhood memory

Heavy weighs the book in her hands. It leads her in a downward trajectory as she approaches Dozla. She liked it when history was kept in neatly in books. When it was something she could hold (theoretically, her hands barely met around this tome), it felt like it wasn't going to just detach and float away from her. Those ridiculous scholars Uncle hired, tripping over books, unravelling pages, feeling words crumble beneath their finger tips, they knew just how flighty the whole thing was. The price of history is dear in the moment, heavy in the making, but it has this unpleasant tendency of slipping away.

It was a different story entirely, of course, if you were a hero. If fame carried your name throughout the lands. Heroes do not get forgotten! But, a horrible part of her, one L'Arachel spent most of her time ignoring whispers. In history, there are no heroes.

It was all his idea, of course: Say, Princess L'Arachel, you've spent an awful long time looking out that window, why don't we read that book you're holding? Said in soft tones, as if she were a mewling babe! She, L'Arachel could read perfectly fine, thank you very much. Reading was of the utmost importance to her lately, and if she was to begin to accrue fame, she supposed being known as a child prodigy was a start. With a huff which was more a prompt for compliments at her kindness in agreeing to bless him with her presence, she turns to face him.

She stops. Feels the sun on her face. Warm as a mother's hand.

It's a warm spring afternoon; the windows to her room are barred. She can hear birdsong tapping against the glass, the impatient sound of a visitor demanding entry.

She wants to go outside. She wants to hear birdsong without thinking of the woods. But she allows herself to be pulled away by Dozla. He directs her to a chair, and she sits, unconsciously. She really wished he would stop looking at her like that - all bunched up brows, and a mouth trying to say something that can't come out.

Why didn't any of the grown-ups see that she was perfectly fine? Pure nonsense.

'Come, Dozla, you may read to me.'

With that he grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling, further embedding smile lines that seem to be more of an inevitability with Dozla than any sign of approaching age. Why, she wouldn't be surprised if he had just been born that way. When she was bored it tickled her to imagine him in his mother's arms, wrinkled and guffawing.

It's his smile lines that she associates with him more than anything. She doesn't remember him for anything else. Not his axe, not his ridiculous beard (the only time Dozla had ever refused his princess was when she offered up her premium beard-cutting services), and not how his smile wavered in this moment, just a little, looking at her in the sun. Sitting next to her, he opens his hands, palm up, as if offering her a gift. She almost drops the book trying to hand it over.

'Easy there! What, are you trying to take me out or something?'

She laughs at this. It's not his best work, but it's enough.

'Now,' He grouses in feigned indignation, before pushing up his reading glasses, 'Where were we?'

'Please, start from the beginning.'

'AHEM...'

In an age long past… Evil flooded over the land. Creatures awash in the dark tide ran wild, pushing mankind to the brink of annihilation. In its despair, mankind appealed to the heavens, and from a blinding light came hope. THE SACRED STONES. These five glorious treasures held the power to dispel evil. The hero Grado-

She glances askance at him, eyebrow raised.

'Ah, apologies princess, the hero Latona, who was perfection beyond all compare and greatly resembling a certain future princess of Rausten…'

She drifts off. It's a familiar story. One she's heard time and time again. The familiar scrape of Dozla's fingers on each page, the intakes of breath, the dramatic pauses. She knows it all.

Truly, it was strange. Her ancestor's terrors were now her bedtime stories. But, that wasn't what she was thinking in that moment, was it? No, she wouldn't revisit the old nightmare until it seemed to start up all over again.

Instead, she was thinking about a duo of valiant heroes. Saviours of Rausten, and their daughter. Very brave, and entirely righteous. They had to leave her behind, to save the world. Much like Latona. But, when they left, her Uncle's historians didn't rush to write it all down. No one else would talk to her about them. All she had left was a letter.

One she was slowly learning to read.

[spawnofbhaal]

My Rogue Trader brainrot is so bad.