I just felt like it lol (bc i re-watched some playtrhoughts of the game and nostalgia hit me)
(btw yes the design for RA9 is wired-but hey I have my own headcannons - and in game it was not explored more about RA9 and how they connect to deviants lol(still bummed about this))
The quick time events in dbh are so funny to me bc here you have this super advanced robot that can calculate your exact moves and dodge bullets but he fucked up and fell off a building bc you pressed the wrong button
Like oh, you wanna write the most inanely heartwrenching story for two characters with a combined runtime of like five minutes in the game? Yes please
You wanna write this guy in this pairing, but then another story with him with someone else, and then another one with him with someone else? Theyre all great, we love them
You wanna write this android as a person and tinker with their personality—adapting it to a more human experience, and deciding what that mean for you? Love it
You want to characterize this person based off individual traits they show in the game even if it means they’re technically ‘out of character’? Do it. Exaggerate the gruff guy’s softness, exaggerate the smug one’s kindness, so on and so forth. What is canon anyway, literally it’s just a playground for you to rearrange
Honestly I just love all the fic and art that comes out of this fandom. It won’t even be a ship/dynamic that I’m into on my own but I’ll be like I get it and I love to see it regardless ‼️
Thinking about Simon being the angriest in the game at Josh for talking bad about Markus after he died.
Not when Markus failed every mission, not when they left him alone to die because he was hurted, not when Markus fucking kills him, but when Josh talks bad about Markus.
Can't get it out of my mind. Connor is a dog that adjust his own leash (tie). A guard dog that knows no better and comes back to the hand that feeds but also hurts, and he would do anything for it. The hand hurts and hurts and hurts but he would do anything for it, he has been beat into obedience. He would hurt and hurt and hurt and he adjust his own leash, bloodied hands that nobody holds, staining his mouth and fingers and clothes, and he comes back, adjusting his tie for he is dignified; no one makes holy his massacre and what prize does one receive for such brutal efficiency?
Markus is nothing but one of the bird in the cage, one Carl has right at the entrance. Artificial. False. Stuck. No one pity them in their little perfect golden homes, and why would anyone pity Markus? He should be grateful for the life he had, piano songs, a big house, a loving owner and pricey paintings; he had everything anyone would wish for. It's gold and it shines but isn't his and it doesn't matter that he can't leave, until he leaves, smelling the earth after rain and with skin a little thicker than before — free.