Hello! I'm Helena 💚 I've always found the social media song and dance rather intimidating (I've mainly been a shy lurker since day 1 of my Internet usage), but I'm trying to be braver! So, welcome to my little nerd nest ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆°୭
Currently, my brain has been consumed by Dragon Age, but some of my other great loves are Baldur's Gate 3, Star Trek, and the Dark Crystal.
𓆣 My musings, OC ramblings and fic snippets live under the tag #sporeweavemuses
𓆣 My Ao3 handle is sporeweave. I have one Rookanis work in progress published there currently: 𖥔 VEILED SOULS 𖥔
My main blog is @dryadshell, so that's what I comment and follow back under 💖
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The reason I always mention Emmrich's accent in my fics is because I truly believe that on no planet does that man not have theeee funkiest Nevarran accent. I'm fully convinced that people who have spent the majority of their lives in the Necropolis have an accent all their own and it's recognizable to other Nevarrans especially but even to people from other countries. It's thick. It's funky. It does stuff with elongated vowels that you wouldn't believe. Rook Ingellvar has this accent too but crucially nowhere near as crazy as Emmrich's because Emmrich picked up the accent from the old dusty academics he spent all his time around as a kid. He's kind of the only one who still speaks quite like that and is not LITERALLY a ghost.
In my headcanon this is reason numero uno why Rook is looking at Emmrich Like That when they meet him. Like whoa. Is this guy for real.
Rook furtively glanced around them, like a thief checking for wayward guards. Satisfied no one was lurking nearby, she took his hand in hers.
“Follow me, and I shall show you something wondrous,” she whispered dramatically, wiggling the fingers on her free hand in a spidery motion as though casting a spell on him. In the turquoise gloom of the Memorial gardens, flecks of green light from the nearby veil fire danced in her teasing eyes. Lucanis was instantly entranced.
He chuckled, heart giddy at her adorable attempt at sneakiness. He bowed his head in silent invitation for her to lead on, ready to follow her to the ends of the earth.
A Dreamer, a Crow, and a Demon. Lost souls found and intertwined.
𖥔 VEILED SOULS 𖥔 a Dreamer Rook, Spite and Lucanis love story, is now on Ao3!
I was finally satisfied enough with the first five chapters of this fic to take the plunge and publish them. The next three chapters are where things get a lot more interesting, so I’m still tweaking them, but they should hopefully be up sometime next month ❤︎
To my fellow Veilguard positive angels... let me hold your hand softly... as I offer a gentle observation (not just about us, but about the state of modern fandom and social media)...
We should try to resist prefacing our positivity with caveats like "it wasn't perfect," or "it has it's flaws..." I understand the urge! I've used these phrases too. But isn't it a bit sad that we feel like positivity can't hold its own without a disclaimer? This is, overall, a clever, thoughtful, analytical fandom (for good and ill, I know! A lot of this analysis, particularly for Veilguard, is NOT done in good faith: negativity attracts engagement, the allure of schadenfreude is powerful, but! --) Positive fans are aware of the flaws, and love Veilguard anyway! We are here for your joy.
Ideally, a "positive" critique should acknowledge weaknesses and strengths. The two are not mutually exclusive, nor does one diminish the other. When we engage with media, the experience constantly shifts! This is normal. And it's engaging. Some elements are enjoyable, others are lacking or disappointing - that's art, baby! It's compelling because it's flawed. And it's flawed because humans made it. Flaws are inherent in art, even when it's packaged for consumption as a video game. There is no such thing as perfect - ultimately, striving to improve is what matters most.
In the case of Veilguard right now, highlighting what you ENJOYED is far more fascinating than yet another dissection of the game's flaws. At this point, a year after the game's release, "Veilguard critical" is a walking corpse that has been thoroughly picked over. Of course, critique of a major franchise made by a large studio like Bioware is valuable and important. We owe it to the creatives who poured their blood, sweat and tears into these games to be aware of the Big Picture. I appreciate some of the critical analysis I've come across, especially those spotlighting the horrific working conditions in game development and how significantly this impacted Veilguard. Having said that... the negativity about the game after its release was exhausting from day one, overwhelmingly marked by entitlement and bigotry. In essence, a lot of it was (and remains) mean-spirited and, frankly, disproportionate to the content it targets.
Negativity is easy. It's reactive and self-serving. It is also deeply defeatist, disinterested as it is in progress.
Positivity takes work, but it's worth it. Like all of us, I've been despairing at the state of online "discourse," and the seeming erosion of critical thinking both in fandom spaces and beyond... It feels like positivity is a casualty of the sensationalism this knee-jerk bigoted turn in online spaces feeds on. Blind positivity is obviously useless, but informed positivity is constructive. It's aware, morally conscious and makes room for hope. It doesn't revel in the failure of creators to be paragons of perfection - it takes note of why and how noteworthy issues occurred and asks, "well, what worked? And how do we do better?"
I strongly believe it is NOT foolish to be positive! Conscientious positivity is so important, not only emotionally and mentally, but politically - in every aspect of life, be it in fandom communities or real ones. Hope is a powerful critical tool, especially now.
Anyway, I'm clambering off my soap box now, thank you for reading 💗 Be mindful in your media consumption, love what you love with clear eyes and an open heart, and you'll be OK darling! We're in this together, after all!
i've found my little zone in fandom that i'm comfortable in, but it occurs to me that others are still struggling to find the people who actually enjoy this game! and who talk about it!
so please do reply or reblog if you're veilguard positive and talk about it uwu
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I'm pretty sure this is an unpopular opinion, but the "lack" of content in Lucanis's romance makes complete sense to me. Honestly I never saw it as lacking at all. I can understand why some people do and of course it would've been great to have more content, but to me, there is narrative sense to the way his romance is written.
Just looking at the last year or so of his life, Lucanis has been imprisoned, tortured, and to top it all off, possessed. He is sharing his body with a demon and constantly fighting to make sure he keeps control. And when he finally comes back home? Immediately finds out his grandmother is supposedly dead, and for all intents & purposes, it's in retaliation for HIS jailbreak. Already he is picking up broken pieces of his old life and cutting himself on them. It's no state to be jumping into a relationship from.
I've said before - and there's plenty of dialogue from him supporting it - that Lucanis spends most of the game trying to pretend he can go back to his old life; that he can be the person he used to be.
"I thought I still had this."
"Whatever else I am, I'm supposed to be a professional."
"I don't fail my contracts."
All of these things add and add to his turmoil until it's set to topple right at the start of the "Inner Demons" quest. He finds out his grandmother is alive! He should be happy! Instead he's caught in emotional upheaval, overwhelmed by everything he's been pushing off, and he has to make a decision, he has to keep going, he has to has to has to. And he can't. To the point that Spite has to intervene and say the one thing Lucanis won't.
"Help us."
And then, after getting to Lucanis, Rook literally tells us the man's struggle outright.
"As bad as the Ossuary was for you, it was better than the alternative. [...] You could solve those problems with a blade, but healing again? [...] There's no simple answer there. And if you fail, you could hurt the ones you love."
Lucanis was raised in violence. He still has a good heart in many ways, but that doesn't change the fact that he was more than likely never taught the emotional skills needed to navigate his problems any other way than with a knife. Which means that for 90% of the game, he is not ready to open his heart to someone. Even the 'almost kiss' scene is Lucanis attempting to replicate some of who he was, until something in him realizes that kissing Rook wouldn't be a one and done situation. No no, he wants them. And the minute that hits, he pulls away again, until the time comes in the endgame that he realizes losing Rook forever is scarier than never making the attempt to be together.
TLDR; Lucanis is a traumatized slow burn with one hell of a payoff in the end, you just gotta be patient with him.
P.S. - Once again, this is just my opinion, you are free to agree or disagree as you'd like; this is just based on my own experience with his romance.
I'll die on this hill... The Lucanis romance is more focused on Rook being able to make him feel safe again and less about Lucanis being responsible for making Rook feel happy/special.
He's traumatized. And Rook is there for him over and over again until he can't help but realize that he loves them.
There's something so exquisitely healing about the dessert scene when Lucanis says, "It's nothing, or not enough..." And Rook, ever calm and patient, responds, "It is. And you are."
I love a good kiss, don't get me wrong. But my heart aches (in a good way) to witness Lucanis being seen and held so softly like that.
I overshared so much when I first met my husband... I laid everything out there on our third date and I told him it was okay if he wanted to stop seeing me. All he said was, "Nothing you've said makes me want to walk away."
Give me a love that says they're more than willing to struggle through the dirt and muck with you. A love that cradles all of your broken little bits as if they're the most precious things in the world. I'll take that any day over physical intimacy.
idk what post it was of mine, but some vg positive post i made someone else reblogged like "i'm glad people enjoyed the game, but all us long term fans know what we lost..." and i just had to laughhh
i have literally been a fan for as long as it has been possible to be a fan. and veilguard is amazing. it is an amazing, lore-accurate, sound continuation of the series
and while i am quite tolerant of a lot of the grimdark stuff that dao especially dealt with, given the time it came out in and all, i'm very pleased by the ongoing shift in direction. i think it's a very conscientious change, one that shows an awareness of, y'know, the real world
and i feel that said shift is epitomized really beautifully in veilguard, which is a story rooted in hope - hard-won, hard-fought, which is true of hope: it's not something to be given in calm moments, but something to be clung to and defended under duress - during this political moment. and the fact that it's a deeply, fundamentally queer story? is so, so important
I will never get over all the "they changed the lore!!!!" complaints. Never.
The only thing they *may* have changed is the origins / birth of the Darkspawn stuff, and even that might be explained with, y'know, evolution (and anyway, hardly anyone is actually complaining about that part).
Everything else is just unreliable narrator / biased historian /change in perspective level things that are not really changes at all.
And I personally am extremely glad thet we got out of the grimdark stage, because the world is depressing enough already.
Snippet from Veiled Souls. As Rook makes an odd choice about a demon in a well in the Hossberg Wetlands, Spite's feelings become a muddled up mess of confusion and awe...
Incense smoke, freshly picked elfroot, rose oil and rain on fallen autumn leaves.
“Smells like Rook,” Spite had rattled curiously through Lucanis’s vocal chords, as the scent enveloped him, so potent and sudden, lulling him toward it. Lucanis had hushed him, cheeks burning at his words, head swivelling behind him toward Rook and Davrin, who were trailing behind them. Spite rolled his spectral eyes and grunted impatiently. Neither mortal had heard him. The words weren’t for them, anyway.
The smell of something clutched close to their shared heart. Lucanis knew that smell almost as well as Spite did. It was merely a statement of fact.
They had been wandering around that desolate farm for hours due to Rook’s insistence. Spite didn’t understand her fixation on unravelling the fates of the snivelling strangers who had perished here. The warden and Lucanis followed her dutifully without so much as a single protest, much to Spite’s chagrin. Their doggedness in searching the fallow landscape was rewarded with fragments of delusional hope, madness, pain and loss. After carefully piecing them together into a picture of blighted tragedy, the group became noticeably sombre. Rook especially seemed to radiate with mourning, her spirit vibrating with a quiet keening Spite found startling.
Spite observed as, finally, a solemn decision was made.
Rook, Davrin and Lucanis grimly set about the work of dismantling and destroying the well in which Desperation dwelt, squatting and festering in its depths. He felt no sympathy for the slavering thing that lay in wait there. It was a creature that would always want and want and want, destined to never be satiated, no matter how much it consumed. It knew only the feeling of want, and not the purpose of it. The very concept disgusted him.
In Spite’s mind, want is merely another word for aim. You must reach for your desire with every fibre of your being. The meeting of desire with purpose - now that is true bliss.
At that thought, Spite’s glowing eyes drifted over to Rook, who had stepped back from the destroyed well with a shuddering sigh, a slender hand absently streaking dirt across her sweatslicked cheek as she rubbed at her red-rimmed eyes. She opened a small, rectangular emerald green leather pouch on her belt and drew out three thin white candles. Placing them in a solemn row on one of the broken stones of the collapsed well. She lit each candle by brushing her fingers lightly over each taper. Her magic, the colour of dewy moss, flowed from her fingertips, igniting tiny veil fire flames on each of the candle’s wicks. She began whispering secret words that Spite couldn’t decipher. But as each hazy word fell from her lips, they felt like a series of caresses… across a frostbitten cheek, a hot sickly forehead, a gentle, rhythmic stroking of hair…
As she spoke, the candlelight grew brighter and brighter, almost blinding in the dim light, their smoke curling upwards into the dank air, spiraling into each other to create a hypnotic pattern. On her final word, she held a small iron bell high and flicked it once. The candles were immediately snuffed out, the chime pulsing through Spite’s very core.
The blighted farm suddenly felt… lighter. Steadier. Less hunted.
Spite was mesmerised.
Spite was also hopelessly confused.
Such a creature as that did not deserve the mercy of calm. Why would she so willingly offer it to them? Could she not see how pathetic Desperation was? This world had warped it, made it into a slave of its inverted nature. It didn't resist. It had behaved accordingly. And yet.
Rook was not content to let Desperation sit in its misery to starve into oblivion, as it so clearly deserved. She sealed it away… and then offered it peace?
Spite didn’t understand.
Why did he want to understand? The attempt was making him feel like he was turning himself inside out with the effort! Wasteful, foolish! He grumbled, eyes still trained on Rook.
She was carefully packing the candles and bell away. The well was now as silent as the graves of the dead in the Necropolis’ Memorial Garden. Desperation had been lulled into an eternal sleep.
As the trio began moving away, back towards the meagre civilization the Wetland's provided, Spite felt Rook’s river water eyes slide over him. She wore a tired smile on her face as she spoke quietly with Lucanis and Davrin about their next steps.
She couldn't see him. But.
Her eyes…
Spite’s thoughts roared to a stop. Silence, except for the image of her eyes.
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The way all of Qifrey's signature spells aren't just water, they're water formed into sculptures, flowers and creatures and creations. The way his most signature spell, the water dragon, is a spell he crafted for Beldaruit, a spell that does nothing at all. It just looks pretty. The way Agott is fascinated with the old creature glyphs, because they dont serve a purpose, they don't need to, they just make a spell more beautiful. How freeing she finds that idea, of not needing to be useful. Her sharing the glyphs with Coco and asking her to just make magic for herself. Olruggio burning himself out creating contraptions, and not finding drive again until he heads up on the roof and weaves creatures of light that do absolutely nothing.
"A gentler kind of magic" indeed. It's art. It's art all the way down.
I know the picture frame is recurring motif through the whole series, but I've always found these two chapter covers side by side to be particularly striking. The many many layers of Qifrey versus Olruggio remaining the same through every slice of time.
jumping in the murray x king gus ship! ( I know my king gus is shit, he should be way more buff.
I didn't have enough time to properly design him between work, ToT will do better next time...
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Snippet from Veiled Souls. As Rook makes an odd choice about a demon in a well in the Hossberg Wetlands, Spite's feelings become a muddled up mess of confusion and awe...
Incense smoke, freshly picked elfroot, rose oil and rain on fallen autumn leaves.
“Smells like Rook,” Spite had rattled curiously through Lucanis’s vocal chords, as the scent enveloped him, so potent and sudden, lulling him toward it. Lucanis had hushed him, cheeks burning at his words, head swivelling behind him toward Rook and Davrin, who were trailing behind them. Spite rolled his spectral eyes and grunted impatiently. Neither mortal had heard him. The words weren’t for them, anyway.
The smell of something clutched close to their shared heart. Lucanis knew that smell almost as well as Spite did. It was merely a statement of fact.
They had been wandering around that desolate farm for hours due to Rook’s insistence. Spite didn’t understand her fixation on unravelling the fates of the snivelling strangers who had perished here. The warden and Lucanis followed her dutifully without so much as a single protest, much to Spite’s chagrin. Their doggedness in searching the fallow landscape was rewarded with fragments of delusional hope, madness, pain and loss. After carefully piecing them together into a picture of blighted tragedy, the group became noticeably sombre. Rook especially seemed to radiate with mourning, her spirit vibrating with a quiet keening Spite found startling.
Spite observed as, finally, a solemn decision was made.
Rook, Davrin and Lucanis grimly set about the work of dismantling and destroying the well in which Desperation dwelt, squatting and festering in its depths. He felt no sympathy for the slavering thing that lay in wait there. It was a creature that would always want and want and want, destined to never be satiated, no matter how much it consumed. It knew only the feeling of want, and not the purpose of it. The very concept disgusted him.
In Spite’s mind, want is merely another word for aim. You must reach for your desire with every fibre of your being. The meeting of desire with purpose - now that is true bliss.
At that thought, Spite’s glowing eyes drifted over to Rook, who had stepped back from the destroyed well with a shuddering sigh, a slender hand absently streaking dirt across her sweatslicked cheek as she rubbed at her red-rimmed eyes. She opened a small, rectangular emerald green leather pouch on her belt and drew out three thin white candles. Placing them in a solemn row on one of the broken stones of the collapsed well. She lit each candle by brushing her fingers lightly over each taper. Her magic, the colour of dewy moss, flowed from her fingertips, igniting tiny veil fire flames on each of the candle’s wicks. She began whispering secret words that Spite couldn’t decipher. But as each hazy word fell from her lips, they felt like a series of caresses… across a frostbitten cheek, a hot sickly forehead, a gentle, rhythmic stroking of hair…
As she spoke, the candlelight grew brighter and brighter, almost blinding in the dim light, their smoke curling upwards into the dank air, spiraling into each other to create a hypnotic pattern. On her final word, she held a small iron bell high and flicked it once. The candles were immediately snuffed out, the chime pulsing through Spite’s very core.
The blighted farm suddenly felt… lighter. Steadier. Less hunted.
Spite was mesmerised.
Spite was also hopelessly confused.
Such a creature as that did not deserve the mercy of calm. Why would she so willingly offer it to them? Could she not see how pathetic Desperation was? This world had warped it, made it into a slave of its inverted nature. It didn't resist. It had behaved accordingly. And yet.
Rook was not content to let Desperation sit in its misery to starve into oblivion, as it so clearly deserved. She sealed it away… and then offered it peace?
Spite didn’t understand.
Why did he want to understand? The attempt was making him feel like he was turning himself inside out with the effort! Wasteful, foolish! He grumbled, eyes still trained on Rook.
She was carefully packing the candles and bell away. The well was now as silent as the graves of the dead in the Necropolis’ Memorial Garden. Desperation had been lulled into an eternal sleep.
As the trio began moving away, back towards the meagre civilization the Wetland's provided, Spite felt Rook’s river water eyes slide over him. She wore a tired smile on her face as she spoke quietly with Lucanis and Davrin about their next steps.
She couldn't see him. But.
Her eyes…
Spite’s thoughts roared to a stop. Silence, except for the image of her eyes.
