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felassan · 2 months ago

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Mass Effect: The Official Cocktail Book (Part 2 of 2)

[you can get the book here]

Drink, food, and other lore blurbs from this book. (The book also contains the associated real-world recipes and photography thereof. This post only contains the in-world lore segments).

this post is Part 2 of 2. Rest of post is under a cut due to length. [Link to Part 1]

If there’s a particular drink/food you’d like to see the recipe and or picture for, lmk.

SILVER COAST CASINO The Silversun Strip, with its glittering residences, combat-simulator complex, and electronic gaming arcade, is easily one of the most popular and iconic tourist destinations on the Citadel, and some might argue in the entire galaxy. The crown jewel of this exciting playground, of course, is the Silver Coast Casino, with three floors of Quasar, roulette tables, varren racing booths, and a bar that serves mild-to-wild cocktails, depending on your mood. Silver Coast is nothing if not lively, and I’ve included the following cocktails to help kick-start the excitement of your next big soirée – whether you’re attending a charity gala for galactic war refugees or breaking into Elijah Khan’s panic room, it’s hard not to get a buzz from being surrounded by dolled-up attendees drinking fashionable cocktails!

Weeping Heart

I simply love a flair for the dramatic: thieves leaving calling cards, villains monologuing, or devils bargaining. It elevates the stale and mundane, forcing you to reconsider traditional assumptions. And it doesn’t get any more traditional than the martini, but this! The Weeping Heart! How could you resist something so elemental? No doubt named for the Drell Skin Venom (page 16) typically used to whip this one up. Or perhaps because it conjures the complex emotions of a heartbroken drell recalling every detail of a love long-lost. This drink is crisp, cool, searing, and spirit-forward, with a tingly effect from the aforementioned venom. To live is to feel, let the Weeping Heart remind you.

The Mindfish

Don’t let their eminent politeness fool you. Hanar know how to party. They just don’t do it with alcohol, seeing as dehydration doesn’t exactly mix well with being mostly made of water. Their pick of poison is something called a mindfish, which has hallucinogenic skin oil that gets hanar buzzed up for the night. I should note that it would send a humanoid off on quite the weekend trip. Silver Coast Casino offers a more humanoid-friendly ode in cocktail form, The Mindfish, which can be made with alcohol, yerba matte, or a nootropic alcohol alternative like caffeine or L-theanine that supposedly boosts memory and focus in humans. This drink is typically garnished with nutmeg (not nearly enough for proper hallucinations, of course). And if you really want to party like the hanar, ditch your “face names” and give your party guests “soul names”. They tend to be more elaborate if you’ve already had a couple Mindfish to drink.

Volus Bina

An asari, quarian, and volus walk into a bar. The bartender asks, “What can I get you?” The quarian and volus motion to the asari, “Talk to her, we’re just here for the atmosphere.” A traditional Volus Bina is made with ammonia, but seeing as how that might not be the wisest thing for a non-Volus to consume, this recipe is more an homage to the original served up at Silver Coast Casino. It gets its flavor from foods with a high ammonia content – like chocolate, citrus, and almonds – that also happen to blend beautifully together. The aperol has a sort of strong and sour finish, smooth but potent, and the cocktail comes together with a chocolaty-orange flavor that is to die for (but not literally, so put down the ammonia).

Thessian Temple

The Thessian Temple is a classic drink that has withstood the tests of time and space. Instantly recognizable with its vivid blue-and-purple gradient hue, sweet and tangy lemon-lime flavor, and effervescent bubbles, it’s given to asari children (sans alcohol, of course) as a special treat – kids deserve to feel fancy, too. However, I have it on good authority that the Silver Coast Casino serves up a variation with a touch of maraschino liqueur and Blue Thessia for the grown-ups to enjoy. It’s perfect to sip on for those nights where you’d prefer to walk a straight line on your way back to the skycars.

Asari Gelatin Shots

If you’re lucky enough to attend one of the parties hosted by Silver Coast Casino owner Elijah Khan, you can be sure that Asari Gelatin Shots will be on the menu. And why not? These are perfect party fare – they go down easy and kick like a Disciple shotgun. Asari Gelatin Shots really bring me back to my Maiden days… The taste is like a strong gin and tonic with lime. They’re also very pretty to look at, with the purplish-pink color and sprinkles reminiscent of asari facial markings. Plus, the quinine in the tonic water will make them glow in the dark, so turn the lights low and get ready to embrace eternity!

Krogan Burukh

Before my commando days, I started running with a krogan merc group who were looking for a biotic. I didn’t have a lot of experience with krogan back then, and I admit they were an intimidating lot. Our first night together, the boys took me out drinking and I, wanting to seem just as tough as they were, did my best to keep up. Until they started ordering Krogan Burukh. It’s a drink you set on fire, with a warm and spicy orange flavor that. You. Set. On. Fire. It’ll pull your quads into your abdomen to see it done right. I’m not your mother, but I also don’t want to hear your house burned down, so for the love of the goddess, treat this one with respect, yeah? [note on recipe: “Garnish: Now, that just sounds like a fire hazard, doesn’t it?”]

NORMANDY CREW CONCOCTIONS As a former asari commando, I’ve certainly enjoyed my fair share of loud explosions, but I pride myself on having mastered the finer, more subtle arts of combat: espionage, assassination, and superior intel. On that last note, even someone who’s been living under a mineral deposit has heard of the great human Spectre, Commander Shepard, and the crew of the Normandy – zigzagging across the galaxy, chasing rumors of a looming existential threat. But who are they really and what makes them tick? I like to go deeper than an Emily Wong fluff piece, so I pulled a few strings to find out. You can learn a lot about someone from what they drink. Let’s just say I was not disappointed when my sources for all things aboard the Normandy were able to procure the following recipes for me to pore over. Did I also swipe a personnel file or ten? Yes, but this gives it context and color. And though the drinks are very telling, I’m not – so fix yourself a glass of these Normandy Crew Concoctions and draw your own conclusions.

Subject Zero

Yes, I’m a criminal. I’ve been a pirate and an insurgent, and my hands are far from clean. But Cerberus is on another level entirely. I’ve had run-ins with biotically enhanced “subjects” they’ve manipulated, and all of them have been pushed to the limit. Take Jack, for instance. Arguably one of the most powerful human biotics alive, existing on booze and caffeine, she’s not too fussy about how best to imbibe that combo for maximum effectiveness. The Subject Zero gets it done. I use green apple vodka and green apple energy drink to make it tasty. A toast to burning Cerberus to the ground. [note on recipe: “Garnish: None. Did you skip the “not-too-fussy” part? Are you trying to piss off Jack?”. Another note on recipe: “Glass: Highball or whatever you can find”]

Calibration Cooler

Turians may be imperialistic, inflexible, stringent, and bullheaded, but I appreciate that they rarely suffer nonsense. That’s why this recipe comes with a tip I picked up from a rather notable turian, Garrus Vakarian. If someone keeps pestering you to talk or asks you to take on some tedious chore, you can always put them off with the following magic phrase: “Can it wait a minute? I’m in the middle of some Calibration Coolers”. Maintain eye contact and repeat as often as necessary to get that nuisance off your back. Bonus: The drunker you get, the less you’ll care.

Quantum Entanglement

There’s something so romantic about the concept of quantum entanglement – that despite billions of light-years of distance, two subatomic particles can still somehow be… intimately linked to each other. If you’re looking to start something with Samantha Traynor (that’s not a fight), I hear a husky, sexy voice waxing poetic about esoteric physics will do it ten out of ten times. Even if that voice belongs to an Enhanced Defense Intelligence (EDI) operating a gynoid infiltration unit. Not here to judge, if you need a list of extranet sites involving romantic relationships between organics and synthetics, I can recommend a few that’ll really spin your hard drive. Serve up a couple of Quantum Entanglements while you’re at it. I love this recipe for the sensual play of the vanilla flavor in the vodka with the cognac and passionfruit. Perfect to sip as you ruminate on the unknowable with that special someone.

Joker’s Challenge

I’m as competitive as they come, babe, but drinking contests feel antithetical to me. I prefer my drinks celebratory (and let my sidearm handle any disputes). Not so for Jeff “Joker” Moreau and Steve Cortez. These two pilots escalated a “guns vs. brains” hypothetical into a drinking contest followed by a trip to the gun range. I do, however, appreciate the poetry of them going shot-for-shot and then… shot-for-shot. For the drinks portion of the contest, Joker’s Challenge is an homage that substitutes antiseptic mouthwash (yes, really) with crème de menthe, keeping the mint “spirit” of the original “recipe,” and I don’t think I need to explain how well that pairs with an espresso and chocolate-infused rum. This one is a party-pleaser and there’s no contesting that. [note on recipe: “Garnish: Garnishing just slows down the contest!”]

Emergency Induction Port

There are two things quarians do better than anyone else: curse (say it with me: bosh’tet!) and get drunk. There’s something indescribably charming about watching them start to slur words like “emergency induction port” until they become an unrecognizable mash of consonants and vowels. If you’ve never experienced it for yourself (hell, even if you have), then I recommend finding the nearest extranet terminal – I guarantee someone somewhere has uploaded such an interaction.

Anyway, my sources suggest this particular recipe is a favorite of a truly singular quarian, Tali’Zorah nar Rayya, especially when toasting to fallen friends. It is a simple, clean, and digestible drink that’s best enjoyed through your emergency induction port (or straw, for us non-quarians). [note on recipe: “Special Equipment: 1 emergency induction port (a straw)!”. Also, the final instruction in the recipe reads “Drink through an emergency induction port.”]

The N7 Shooter

N7 special forces, including those on the Normandy crew, are no joke. They’re some of the most elite units in the galaxy and could easily go toe-to-toe with any asari commando unit I’ve seen in action. The N7 Shooter is a drink to be had in their honor: a delicious, layered shot, both sweet and caffeinated. It evokes the distinct white-black-red color scheme you’ll find on their insignia. Seeing as November 7th is known on Earth as N7 Day, it’s the perfect excuse to whip up a batch of these with your fellow cocktail commanders to toast to current and future graduates. [note on recipe: “Garnish: None. Same as the room for error when an N7 graduate takes a shot.”]

MILKY WAY BAR SNACKS I find that after a close brawl or blue-skin-of-my-teeth escape from a job gone (almost) wrong, I need something to snack on as much as I need a good drink. And let’s be honest, no one likes a hangry drunk: they’re that much closer to sticking a knife in your gut for giving them the wrong look. And what kind of host throws a shindig with fancy drinks and nothing to eat? Even batarian mothers raise their kids with better manners than that. Plus, these recipes are fun. They’re meant to be easily shared and prepared, so you can skip the forks and (especially) knives - which makes it that much harder for some drunk, cranky krogan to shank you. Bon appétit!

EDI’s Curry Snacks

You take the behavioral blocks off a Quantum Blue Box-type AI and give it a body, the next thing you know it’s making snacks. Good thing, too, any decent watering hole needs snacks to munch on. This recipe (courtesy of Normandy’s EDI) has a little bite to it and goes especially well with ale-based cocktails. And while audio logs show shipmates Wrex, Samantha, and Kaidan are less on board with using curry powder, I’m with the fembot. Note that if you end up serving dextro nuts as well, you’ll want to be sure to put them in a separate, distinct bowl so your human guests don’t get cramps. Matriarch Aethyta likes to use red-colored ones, which gives humans that “STOP IT!” feeling.

Burgat: The Other Blue Meat

Regarding the burgat advertising campaign (we’ve all heard it: “Burgat! The other blue meat!”), I confess – I… don’t know what “other” blue meat it’s referring to. I hope it’s not asari, but I wouldn’t put anything past the batarians. Let’s end our speculation there, because burgat is tasty enough to render “other” unimportant. Zakera Cafe added Tummy-Tingling Tuchanka Sauce to their burgat skewers, and now I simply can’t have this dish without it. Either as a dip or slathered right on top of the grilled meat, this tummy-tingling topping is akin to human Thai peanut sauce.

Tastee Bites

If you’re looking for something cheesy, snacky, and crunchy to pair with your Batarian Ale Shandy (page 30), start with Tastee Bites. You can buy economy boxes of them in bulk from the Fishdog Food Factory (I’ve watched krogans go through several in one sitting), but the homemade version is a little more flavorful because you get to use real cheese instead of synthetic. Experiment with flavorful hard cheese based on your preference, and keep in mind the homemade version is even more addictive and snacky than store-bought.

Herbed Dextro Cheese

If you’ve got quarian and turian friends on your guest list, Herbed Dextro Cheese is the perfect party dip. Note that quarians don’t usually bother with herbs in their cheese, so triple-check before you trigger a toxin treatment program in someone’s enviro-suit. This dish tastes great with a variety of dippers, making it a versatile party option. Bonus: The loud crunching also drowns out awkward conversations!

Huevos Rancheros À La Vega

There’s something special about battle-tested recipes that have been handed down through generations. You could choose to follow them to a T or make adjustments to put your personal stamp on things. Or a mix of both! Alliance marine James Vega got this breakfast pleaser from his grandmother who insisted that he not adjust the ranchero sauce. Not. One. Tiny. Bit. But she didn’t say anything about the beans. So, to save time, James started using canned refried black beans instead of making them from scratch. I also picture him cracking the eggs with his biceps, but maybe that’s just me. Huevos Rancheros À La Vega – who wants some eggs?

Spicy Ramen Noodles

It’s easy to work up an appetite when you’re bouncing around the Silversun Strip. Whether you’ve spent your day gaming at the arcade, combat simulator, or roulette wheel at the Silver Coast Casino, some Spicy Ramen Noodles are the perfect dish to refuel before a night on the town. A derivation from traditional ramen, these are more akin to Dan Dan Noodles or Tantanmen, which I’ve found to be a more approachable, bar-friendly dish. I procured this recipe from the Noodle House on the strip, so you know it’s good.

Kaidan’s Steak Sandwich

We asari tend to take biotics for granted. So, I confess I was caught off guard when a tipsy young Alliance marine opened up to me about “brain camp”, a rather crude early training facility for biotics. On the anniversary of his graduation (which sounded more like a prison break), he liked to celebrate his freedom with “beef, bacon, and beer – the food of my people”. The next time I saw him, I let him know that I’d perfected this recipe and named it in his honor, a light and shareable open-faced sandwich with a delicious beer-bacon jam. And a side of Canadian whiskey, of course. [note: recipe calls for Canadian lager]

Ryuusei Roll Spéciale

I’m not one for lines, but when I tell you the wait at Ryuusei Sushi is worth it, I mean it. Serving “authentic French sushi,” their Ryuusei Roll Spéciale is a must-order. Assuming you get in, of course. Lucky for you, I’ve included a recipe for you here, but don’t let this one intimidate you: It’s upscale fusion cuisine designed for home cooks of all kinds. If anything ever happened to that place, I don’t know what I’d do… but it would be violent.

Chocolate Lava Bomb Cake

This lava cake is a misunderstood human dessert. But if you know, then you definitely know. It is not undercooked. It’s a unique combination of traditional chocolate cake and soufflé, which makes it cakey on the outside with an irresistible molten chocolaty inside. This particular Chocolate Lava Bomb Cake recipe includes a booze infusion of either Tuchanka Dry or bourbon. Alliance pilot Steve Cortez got it from his aunt, who claims the hooch gives it an almost biotic ability to Pull you in and hold you in Stasis after that first bite.

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Andromeda: Added in 2819 by Roa, Andromeda citizen and Nexus exchange volunteer Milky Way Year: 2819, addendum to the capable work of Ambree T’Sia Hello, my friend! When I was accepted to live among the aliens of the Jarevaon Imasaf (or Milky Way, as they call it) aboard their massive space station Nexus, I said isharay to my angara family and set out for adventure… but I did not know I would end up restoring and amending a book about it! Encouraged to familiarize myself with their culture, I came across the most interesting volume in the Andromeda Initiative’s archives – this one that you now hold. A truly lucky find, for how better to know someone than by ingesting their food and consuming their beverages? My thanks, dear Ambree T’Sia! But the particular (and if I’m honest, peculiar) way denizens of that galaxy have of speaking can be challenging to follow, so I took this book to a cantankerous-chemist-turned-brusque-bartender Dutch Smith and his affable co-manager Anan T’Mari at the Vortex for guidance and a good deal of translation. Dutch, with some prodding from Anan, thus began his tutelage. Each new recipe informed and expanded my endless curiosity for their home galaxy. It also gave me an idea… After Pathfinder Ryder successfully stabilized the Remnant vault on Havarl, I was eager to assist with our fledgling alliance. So, I proposed that I update this fabulous tome with recipes concocted and collected from across Andromeda, from colonists and indigenous alike, that we may further link our two galaxies in a gesture of friendship and cooperation. After all, as my wise tutor Anan tells it, what is a better way to break the ice between two species than with a good drink? - Andromeda citizen and Nexus exchange volunteer Roa of the angara

THE VORTEX I believe I endeared myself to Dutch (as much as one can) when I asked him to explain the concept of a vortex. Struggling to understand his words, I confessed to being more of a visual learner. Dutch grabbed a beer from a bar patron, silenced the mouthy one’s protestations, and began to vigorously stir said brew with a straw. “That,” he said, pointing to the mass of swirling liquid at the center of the glass. “Ah! How aptly named, our little improvised bar,” I replied, “Seeing as how it swirls together the inhabitants of the Nexus, an irresistible force drawing them in, as they twist and interact in complex and exciting ways!” He stared at me for quite some time. I began to fear I had spoken out of turn. But it was Anan who washed the glasses and mopped the floor that night while Dutch and I tended to the last stirrings of our evening’s customers. The following recipes are some of my favorites, and I take great pride in them. Seeing as how our Vortex originally began as a chemistry lab, these drinks have more of an experimental feel!

Tall Moose

Oh, Canada! This Earth nation is rich in culture, wildlife, and video game developers (I play Alliance Corsair on my omni-tool!). Its vast lands birthed frozen tundra to rival Voeld – filled with fierce, antlered creatures known as moose. To honor these fearsome beasts, Dutch created the Tall Moose, a cocktail that utilizes Canadian whiskey and something called “maple syrup,” the sweet blood of vanquished trees most often found atop panned cakes. Have one Moose, or several Mooses! Meese? Bah, sometimes I feel this confusing language was invented by purposefully spiteful vehshaanan as teroshe…

Dirty Squirrel

Have you heard of squirrels? They very much enjoy a diet of nuts! To that effect, Dutch has concocted what he calls a Dirty Squirrel, which employs a mixture of hazelnut, walnut, and almond liqueurs. The “dirty,” I have inferred, comes from the many infectious diseases these adorable rodents carry within their small furry bodies. I shall confirm with Anan on that last point…

Lucky Leprechaun

On Earth, a tiny race of wizened humanoids who live under rainbows, get drunk, start fights, make shoes (or breakfast cereal; there are variances in the telling), and, if caught, must surrender all their credits to the fortunate hunter. Truly! Angry little things that hail from a place called Ire Land. Sadly, I do not believe any came over to Andromeda on the arks. May a Lucky Leprechaun cocktail bring you equally good fortune – drinking enough of them has been known to bring on quite the jig. Who knew Pathfinder Ryder was so flexible?

Pink Marble

I have heard the humans refer to their ancestral planet of Earth as a “Blue Marble.” This term was coined from their early days of space exploration, whereupon viewing their home world, they collectively felt a sense of loneliness and fragility. When I gaze upward on Havarl, the mighty gas giant that hangs in the sky has a pinkish hue to it. Might I suggest a refreshing ode to finding allies in a place beyond the Blue Marble – a Pink Marble. And a toast to the life, however improbable, you are fortunate to share together with friends.

Rotten Scoundrel

I quite enjoy open mic night at the Vortex. What fun it is to bear your soul so nakedly to complete strangers! Dutch, decidedly, does not, and Anan has often warned him that the deep creases from scowling so fiercely at turian poetry are becoming quite permanent. The Rotten Scoundrel is his house special these nights (to pan the “rotten, bad apples” ruining his evening) and employs the use of apple cider vinegar to achieve a crisp, tart cocktail.

KRALLA'S SONG I once beheld a glorious bar brawl instigated by some ruffians who picked a fight with the human Pathfinder Ryder and the krogan mercenary Drack at Kralla’s Song. The Pathfinder’s grit and persistence overcame – proprietor Umi Henon even stepped into the fray with a percussive clash of bottle on face! Despite choosing to name her bar after the asari demon of misfortune – and there is much misfortune in Kadara Port – Umi has shown me that even when faced with insurmountable odds, small and courageous steps toward change are better than no step at all. Her drinks reflect an adventurous spirit and grit we angara can relate to and appreciate.

Combat Juice

Nakmor Drack was one of the first krogan I ever met. He was a fearsome example of a proud warrior people. I only saw him taken down once… by Umi! Or to tell it more true, by Umi’s Combat Juice. Much like the Milky Way’s Frozen Pyjak (page 42) I discovered in Ambree T’Sia’s writing, Umi’s cocktail takes an “everything-all-at-once” approach to drink-making. In this light and to thus tell it most true: Rather than a single foe, it can be said Drack was only able to be brought low by a veritable army of alcohol!

Umi’s Experiment

Umi and I were discussing the particulars of angaran wine, after Pathfinder Ryder deemed it safe for humans and asari. “I think I may have found the perfect pairing for this,” she told me, and thus I was introduced to something the krogan call ryncol. While that beverage tastes like it would be better suited to fueling a starship, I must agree that the combination of the two is surprisingly quite pleasant, effervescent even… for angara, asari, or krogan at least. When ingested by humans, it brings about a flurry of wild, uncontrolled gesticulation they claim is “dancing” but appears more akin to a violent seizure.

Hot Spiced Tavum

In the spirit of cultural exchange, I would be most honored to introduce you to the Angaran Word of the Day: Tavum! This delightful drink is a pleasant angaran intoxicant stirred into hot water or fruit juice. For our purposes here, let us prepare a Hot Spiced Tavum, which I understand from human friends tastes like a combination of rum and bourbon. Add to that a syrup to create a most enjoyable cocktail. This drink warms one from the inside and non-angara have found it to be a more pleasurable way of staying warm than relying on Voeld’s heat lamps. Taerve uni!

Tavum & Juice

In the spirit of cultural exchange, I would be most honored to introduce you to the Angaran Word of the Day: It is still Tavum! Instead of a Hot Spiced Tavum (page 136), let us this time prepare a Tavum & Juice, whose origins were said to arise from a (now forgotten) angara pirate, who would combine fruit from the kitchens with alcohol to boost morale when times were lean. Drack, Vetra, and Peebee insist it be served with tiny little umbrellas! Whoever would need such a thing? Unless… have I been misled about the existence of leprechauns (page 128)?

Akantha Fizz

Before the kett stole Kadara Port from the angara (we took no real joy to see it stolen in turn by Sloane Kelly and her Outcast warband), I am told the trading center there would outfit adventurers who wished to camp beneath the summit. Recounting this to Umi, my prickly friend and I set about concocting a cocktail in that spirit. She introduced a bottle of asari alcohol called Akantha, whose advertisements evoke much nostalgia for herself, as well as Dr. Lexi T’Perro. This is indeed a special item, known for its warm, smoky flavor and sweet aftertaste (in lieu of Akantha, mezcal offers similar notes and can be substituted). Umi finished the Akantha Fizz with a burning herb garnish – surprising for one who prides herself on a “no frills” approach to tending bar! Though upon further reflection, she does enjoy lighting things on fire.

TARTARUS Kian Dagher’s Tartarus is a dangerous nightclub in the center of the Kadara Slums. Though I would not wish to travel there myself, it does provide a decent distraction from the brutal living conditions in the area. If you are feeling particularly reckless (or sufficiently desperate), I’ve heard there are bootleggers beyond the slums, but I felt nothing would be lost by omitting their contributions from my collections. Kian’s offerings are some of the more exotic recipes I have collected, most likely because they contain alcohol that is hard for a non-smuggler to procure on Kadara. Off-worlders will have an easier go, but I trust any Kadarans reading this are capable enough to find a way or clever enough to make the appropriate substitution where necessary.

Marljeh

We angara have a phrase to explain outlandish behavior, usually uttered with a conspiratorial wink or an exasperated sigh – depending on who is doing the outlandish behaving relative to the observer, of course. We say: “Too much marljeh!” Juggling loaded Ushior? “Too much marljeh!” Gone off to join the Roekaar? “Too much marljeh!” Living with the humans? “Too much marljeh!” (Well, I suppose this one does have a ring of truth to it!) Have I convinced you to try Marljeh yet? Good! This version can be made with or without alcohol and includes some caffeine from the matcha to create a nice flavor buffer.

Kadara Sunrise

The Kadara Sunrise! Tartarus’s most popular cocktail, Kian Dagher insists it is also the Pathfinder’s favorite drink. How interesting that such a vibrant cocktail, with its beautiful gradient of colors designed to emulate the planet’s hazy sulfur sky, is the cocktail of choice in a place as desperate and miserable as the slums. Angara sometimes boast that the humans have much to learn from us. I feel differently… What strength, what power we would have, if we shared their resilience. Oh, to possess such human certainty that one day we shall see the sun rise free from violence, free from occupation, free from the kett. When that day comes, may Tartarus’s patrons, human and angara alike, toast that victory with a round of Kadara Sunrises.

Drossix Blue

For the purposes of transparent recordkeeping, I should confess my own bias in choosing to include this recipe. I cannot shake my fascination with Vetra Nyx. This cyclone of a turian is battle-tested, but also knows how to relax when the climate is less violent. In these quieter moments, she sometimes speaks of celebrating with the angara over a bottle of Drossix Blue once the kett have been properly dealt with. Provided our physiology can tolerate it, of course. Human stomachs have been shown to burst from consumption, so I suggested a modified Drossix Blue using champaign (for the bubbles!) and blue curaçao (for the, well, blue!) as a more compatible and decidedly less murder-y beverage.

Slumwater

Humans have developed a sort of mental protection against subjects considered serious and frightening. Rather than succumbing to their suffering… they laugh at it. “Gallows humor” is as abundant in the slums as the slum water. For instance, take Slumwater! A strong drink served to rowdy customers, its taste is strong, and its look is decidedly radioactive and formulated to glow under a blacklight. Hilarious, I think! Kian insists you could take a glass and collect water from Tartarus’s vicinity and not tell the difference from its namesake cocktail. While I have learned it is acceptable to laugh at his suggestion, it is a challenge I shall nevertheless continue to decline! [note: the final instruction on the recipe reads “Shine a blacklight to see the radioactive glow.”]

ANDROMEDA BAR SNACKS Angara families are very large, especially when compared to those coming from the Milky Way. Parents, siblings, and cousins all come together to form a close-knit community whose bonds are strengthened by many things – but mostly by food! We are taught that cooking for others is a tangible expression of love and thus have a deep bench of recipes to draw from. To be able to add to the collected recipes provided by Ambree T’Sia has been an exciting gift for the angara, so I hope that sharing the following recipes gathered from across Andromeda might return the favor – and help welcome our new friends as family. These dishes are some of my favorites and are perfect to share (and pair) with a drink.

“Gingerbread” Cookies

“Gingerbread” Cookies (the debate is still on as to whether these are human or asari in origin) are all the rage on New Tuchanka! After tasting a batch, I understand why – these odd little treats are sweet at first, then a spicy little kick of heat hits your mouth and the next thing you know, only crumbs remain. Nakmor Kesh provided a recipe that she secured prior to entering cryogenic slumber. I encourage you to make some immediately. (Double the recipe if you have a clan nearby who will smell them baking.) With such exotic ingredients, this must have been very hard to come by (unless you were a very wealthy individual) in the Milky Way! [note: some of the ingredients on the ingredients list are annotated: “2 tablespoons grated fresh ginger (I believe this is a plant), 1.5 teaspoons ground cinnamon (A shelled animal of some sort?), 0.25 teaspoon ground cloves (From a hoofed mammal, like a moose), 0.25 teaspoon ground nutmeg (Not a nut; also, a plant!)”]

Varren Steak Bites

This is a savory steak bite dish with a tangy, bright green herb dipping sauce. According to the archives, varren were creatures native to the krogan homeworld of Tuchanka. They were sought after for their cunning, ferocity, and even companionship! As well as their taste… Oh, and some were raised as beasts of war. But to Drack, they were most useful for eating, and Fishdog Food Shack was renowned for their recipe (“Fishdog,” apparently, was a nickname for a subgenus of varren with metallic silver scales). I have trouble equating friends as food, but seeing as all varren meat that exists in Andromeda is cloned, I can simply enjoy them with a side of Pyjak Sauce!

Movie Night! Tarvav, Popcorn & Graxen

Movie night here is a tradition that started as a way for the crew of the survey ship Tempest to relax during their downtime. Word quickly spread throughout the Nexus and now the entire space station offers regular movie nights to help build camaraderie. And it helps aliens such as myself further familiarize ourselves with Milky Way culture, where this custom has a storied history. The only thing to make movie night more enjoyable is a large, heaping bowl of popcorn… Andromeda style. Dr. Suvi Anwar enjoys hers with a crispy angaran Tarvav and Vetra mixes in graxen. Smother the entire thing with McSorley’s Cloaca Margarine for an extra-salty treat! So many ingredients for such a simple dish. But sometimes the quest for the perfect snack is its own worthy entertainment!

Yanjem’s Sweet Dumplings

Angaran Resistance operator Buxil gave her brother Niilj two things: his code name Shavod-Gaan or “Whisper” (a playful jest at his reputation for being a bit of a loudmouth as a child) and an insatiable sweet tooth. Buxil’s desserts, especially her Sweet Dumplings, are indeed a splendid thing. Niilj likes them with aged tavum (similar to spiced rum and bourbon) for “punch,” and when I made some for Dutch and Anan, the pair found them to resemble French-Canadian grand-pères with some extra-warm spices thrown in.

---

ABOUT THE AUTHOR*: Writing under the pen name Ambree T'Sia, this former asari huntress has posed as a bartender to both maintain the occasional alias as well as to gather intel. With several hundred years of experience in not being poisoned, and almost as many getting mercs to talk, T'Sia has a wealth of knowledge to share. A NOTE ON THIS EDITION: This edition of T'Sia's work has been restored and updated by Nexus exchange volunteer, Roa of the angara. Roa has spent time among the Andromeda Initiative's archives and is most passionate about extending a spirit of friendship and cooperation across galaxies.

---

Book blurb:

WHEN YOU NEED A SWIG OF SOMETHING STIFF TO GET YOU TO THE NEXT RELAY... Your friendly undercover bartender has got you covered. With signature cocktail recipes collected from the Afterlife Club, Chora's Den, the Silver Coast Casino, and beyond, the mixology of the Milky Way is at your fingertips - not to mention bar snacks that make use of everything from Tummy-Tingling Tuchanka Sauce to burgat ("the other blue meat"). Whether you regularly prepare your own drell skin venom mixer or are still working out the kinks with an emergency induction port, the step-by-step instructions will take your hosting game to the next level.

[you can get the book here]

#bioware #mass effect #alcohol cw #long post #longpost #video games #mass effect: andromeda #vetra nyx #spikywife #lul #garrus vakarian #best boy

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ltash · 11 days ago

Text

Dauntless

Ep-14 "Fear" simonghostrileyxfemalereader

It was Ghost's turn now, as he stepped forward, his usually unshakable composure now visibly strained. Four stood beside him, his face impassive, before nodding to Ghost. With a quiet, almost imperceptible motion, Four injected the serum into Ghost's neck.

The moment the needle pricked his skin, Ghost's body stiffened slightly, and then he closed his eyes. His jaw clench as if bracing himself for something.

The world around him seemed to fade as his body relaxed. The simulation had begun.

He was in Berlin again. The familiar, intense surroundings of the train tunnel engulfed him. He was back in the heart of that mission, the one where everything had gone wrong. His mind had transported him to that dark moment, and you could see it on his face.

In the simulation, the distant sounds of gunfire and the roar of the train engines filled the air, but it wasn't the chaos of the battle that had him frozen in place.

The air was thick with the stench of gunpowder and metal, the dim fluorescent lights overhead casting eerie, flickering shadows. The train tracks stretched into endless darkness, the silence pressing down on him like a heavy weight.

His boots scraped against the gravel as he took slow, deliberate steps forward, his breath steady but his gut twisted with unease. The station was abandoned, except for the faint, ghostly glow of light coming from the platform ahead.

Ghost climbed up onto the platform, scanning his surroundings with the precision of a soldier. His instincts screamed at him, something was wrong.

Then he saw it.

Soap.

Lying there, motionless.

A pool of blood seeped from beneath him, staining the cracked tiles in dark, spreading tendrils. Ghost's breath caught as his feet carried him forward on their own.

Then, he saw something that made his stomach drop.

Himself.

A second Ghost knelt beside Soap's lifeless body, his hands covered in blood, pressed against a wound that no longer bled. His mask was smeared with red, his shoulders shaking with a grief that couldn't be swallowed down.

Ghost stood frozen, staring at his other self as if looking into a warped reflection.

The kneeling Ghost raised his head, locking eyes with him.

"You let him die, Ghost."

The words came out flat, hollow, but they sliced through him like a blade.

Ghost took a step forward, his chest tightening. "No... I-"

"You let him die," his other self repeated, voice colder this time, dripping with quiet accusation.

Ghost barely noticed that he was stepping closer until his boots nearly touched the pool of blood. He wanted to reach out, to touch Soap, to prove to himself that this wasn't real.

But then-

Soap's eyes snapped open.

Ghost's breath stilled.

For a long second, the only sound was the faint buzzing of the station lights.

Then Soap inhaled sharply, a rattling, painful sound. His eyes, clouded with pain, flickered up to Ghost.

"You left me to die, Ghost."

Ghost took a step back. His heart slammed against his ribs.

"You left me to die," Soap rasped again, his voice strained, shaking with something between anger and despair. His fingers twitched against the cold tile as if trying to reach for him.

Ghost shook his head. "No, Johnny, I tried-"

"You let me die."

Soap's voice rose, filled with something raw, something broken.

"You let me die, Ghost."

"No." Ghost clenched his fists, his breathing turning shallow. "I didn't-"

"You let me die."

Soap's body convulsed. His voice echoed, multiplying, the words bouncing off the station walls in an overwhelming, deafening chorus.

"You let me die. You let me die. You let me die."

Ghost's vision blurred. The world around him tilted, the walls of the station closing in. His ears rang, drowning out all thought, all reason.

"No!" He clutched his head, his knees hitting the bloodstained floor.

But the whispers didn't stop.

Soap's lifeless eyes burned into him, his mouth still moving, repeating the same damning words over and over again, "You let me die."

"No, no, no!" Ghost muttered, his hands shaking, voice breaking under the weight of the fear. He felt helpless, powerless, and the weight of loss crushed him with every second.

The sounds of the fight around him seemed distant now, the only thing in focus was Soap slipping away. He could feel his own chest tightening, his breathing growing erratic. Losing Soap... was a fear so deep it felt like a wound in his very soul.

And just as quickly as it had started, everything went dark.

Ghost's eyes snapped open, and he gasped for air, his heart racing in his chest. He was back in the room, safe, the simulation fading into nothingness.

Four stood nearby, watching him closely. "You okay?" Four's voice was quieter now, understanding the toll the simulation had taken on Ghost.

Ghost took a long breath, swallowing hard as he regained his composure. "Yeah," he said, his voice low, but steady. "Just... too real for a second."

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake off the lingering feeling of dread. "I can't lose him," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. The fear was still there, gnawing at him, but now he knew he had to keep moving forward.

And somehow, he would.

Four's voice broke through the haze of Ghost's thoughts as he slowly stood up, his expression unreadable but tinged with understanding.

"You will learn to face your fear. You will have to," Four said, his words steady and firm, as if this was part of something bigger, something necessary.

Ghost's chest still heaved with the remnants of the simulation, the images of Soap's lifeless body flashing in his mind. It felt raw, too real, like a wound that wouldn't heal. But Four was right. This was part of it, part of training, part of survival.

The silence between them was thick. Ghost's fists clenched, his knuckles white from the tension that still radiated through him. He knew Four was right. The simulations didn't give mercy. They only gave opportunities to confront your darkest fears and push through them, or be swallowed whole by them.

Ghost nodded, though the weight of it settled deeper in his chest. There was no escaping it. Not anymore.

He would face it again.

And next time... he would make sure he didn't lose anyone.

Ghost came out of the simulation room, his steps heavy, his breath unsteady. His shoulders were tense, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. There was something different about him, something raw, something haunted.

You stood up from your seat as soon as you saw him. "Wha, what happened?" you asked, your voice cautious, laced with concern.

But he didn't answer.

He just walked past you, his gaze fixed straight ahead, as if he didn't even see you. His movements were stiff, mechanical, like he was trying to hold himself together by sheer force of will.

You frowned, worry gripping your chest as you hurried after him.

"Ghost?" you called again, but he kept walking.

The dormitory hall was dimly lit, the hum of the overhead lights buzzing faintly in the silence. He pushed open the door to his bunk and sat down on his bed, elbows resting on his knees, he took his mask off, his fingers tangled in his hair. He pulled his knees up to his chest, his head bowed, his body folding in on itself like he was trying to disappear.

You hesitated in the doorway before stepping inside, crossing the room carefully. You knelt in front of him, watching the way his chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths.

"Ghost... are you alright?" you asked softly.

He didn't look at you at first. His jaw was clenched so tightly you could see the muscles twitch beneath his skin. His eyes, when he finally lifted them, looked distant, lost in something you couldn't see.

"I lost him," he whispered, his voice rough, barely above a breath. "I lost Johnny all over again today."

You felt your heart sink.

Soap.

Ghost's best friend. His brother.

You swallowed, unsure what to say. The weight of his grief pressed into the space between you, thick and suffocating.

"Ghost..." you said his name softly, but he just shook his head.

"It was like watching him die all over again," he said, his voice raw, like he'd been trying to hold it in for too long. "He was right there, and I, I couldn't do anything. He looked at me, and he kept saying it... over and over again..."

You didn't have to ask what it was.

"You let me die."

The words probably echoed in his head even now.

You reached out, hesitating for only a moment before placing your hand over his. He was cold.

"You didn't let him die, Ghost," you said gently. "You know that, right?"

He exhaled shakily, his grip tightening around his own wrists. "Doesn't feel that way."

Silence stretched between you. You knew words alone wouldn't be enough to erase what he had seen, what he had felt.

But you weren't going to leave him to drown in it alone.

So you just stayed there, kneeling in front of him, your hand resting over his, grounding him, reminding him that he wasn't alone.

Ghost's fingers twitched beneath yours, but he didn't pull away. He just stared down at your hand over his, his breathing still uneven.

You squeezed his hand a little tighter, grounding him. "He's not gone forever, Ghost," you said softly. "He's watching over you. Everyone will remember him."

Ghost let out a slow, shuddering breath, his shoulders rising and falling as if he was trying to steady himself.

"He's still alive in your heart," you continued, your voice gentle but firm. "As a good memory."

His head tilted slightly, his gaze flickering up to meet yours. There was something vulnerable in his eyes, something you rarely got to see.

A muscle in his jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue, to push back against your words. But he didn't.

Instead, he exhaled through his nose and closed his eyes for a brief second, as if trying to hold onto what you said.

"Maybe," he muttered. His voice was quiet, but there was no anger in it, just exhaustion.

You offered him a small, reassuring squeeze, feeling the tension in his fingers slowly easing.

"You don't have to carry this alone," you whispered.

Ghost let out a low sigh, finally letting his grip loosen, his hand resting beneath yours. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to.

For now, it was enough.

You slowly lowered yourself onto your knees, positioning yourself between his legs, your hands resting gently on his thighs as you leaned in. His body was hunched forward, his arms wrapped around his knees, but you could see the way his fingers trembled slightly, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him.

Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a firm embrace. His body tensed against yours, muscles coiled tight as if resisting the comfort you were offering. But you didn't let go. You held him closer, your warmth pressing into him, your cheek resting against his chest as you whispered,

"I'm with you... You're not alone."

Ghost tensed at first, his body rigid under your touch. But you didn't let go. You held him tighter, resting your cheek against his chest, feeling the slow, uneven rise and fall of his breaths.

"I'm with you..." you whispered. "You're not alone."

For a moment, he didn't move, as if he didn't know what to do with the comfort you were offering. Then, slowly, you felt the tension in his shoulders ease. His arms hesitated before wrapping around you, his grip firm but uncertain, as if he wasn't used to this kind of closeness.

His breath was warm against the top of your head, and you felt his heartbeat, steady, strong, but guarded.

"You don't have to say anything," you murmured, your fingers gently pressing into his back. "Just let it be, for now."

Ghost exhaled, the sound low and heavy, and for the first time since leaving the simulation room, he allowed himself to just be.

And in that quiet moment, you knew he wasn't carrying his grief alone anymore.

The entire day, Ghost had barely spoken a word. His usual commanding presence had been replaced by a quiet, simmering storm beneath the surface. You could feel it-his silence wasn't calm. It was restraint.

You sat beside him at lunch, watching him pick at his food but never taking a bite. The tension clung to him like a second skin.

Then, out of nowhere, Eric bumped into your table, his ever-present smugness radiating off him like a stench.

"I've seen your simulation, Ghost..." he drawled, his lips curling into a sneer.

Ghost didn't move, but you saw his fingers tighten into a fist on the table.

"You're not as strong as you pretend to be," Eric continued, his voice thick with mockery. He tilted his head, studying Ghost like a predator playing with its prey. "Who was that, huh? Johnny...?" His smirk widened. "Your boyfriend that you lost?"

Ghost went rigid.

A deadly silence settled over the cafeteria. Every Dauntless initiate, every member sitting at the surrounding tables, turned their heads.

You barely had time to process what was happening before Ghost exploded.

With one swift motion, he grabbed Eric by the collar and slammed him onto the lunch table with a force that rattled trays and sent cups spilling over.

A roar tore from Ghost's throat, raw and primal, shaking the very air around you. His gloved hand clamped around Eric's throat, pinning him down as Eric choked, his smug expression twisting into one of panic.

"I'll kill you, you son of a-"

"Ghost! Enough!"

Four's voice rang out as he, along with several initiates, rushed forward. Strong hands clamped down on Ghost's shoulders, trying to pull him back, but Ghost was locked in, his grip unrelenting, his breathing ragged with fury.

Eric clawed at Ghost's wrist, his face turning red as he gasped for breath.

Four yanked at Ghost's arm, his voice firm. "Let. Go."

You shot up from your seat, heart pounding. "Ghost, stop!"

For a moment, he didn't hear anyone. His world had narrowed to the man beneath him, to the blinding rage consuming him.

But then, as Four and the others pried him away, Ghost's grip finally loosened. He shoved Eric back with one last push, sending him stumbling as he gasped and coughed, hands clutching at his throat.

The cafeteria remained deathly silent, everyone staring.

Ghost's chest heaved as he glared down at Eric, his fists still clenched, his body vibrating with barely contained wrath.

Four stepped between them, his voice low but sharp. "That's enough."

Eric coughed, his lips curling back into an almost deranged grin. "Touched a nerve, didn't I?" he rasped.

Ghost took a step forward again, but you grabbed his arm, holding him back. He was still breathing heavily, but at your touch, his muscles tensed... then slowly eased.

Four's gaze flicked between them before he turned to Ghost. "Walk away."

For a long moment, Ghost didn't move. Then, without another word, he yanked his arm from your grasp and stormed out of the cafeteria.

The moment he was gone, murmurs broke out all around.

Eric straightened, rubbing his throat, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he watched Ghost's retreating form.

You turned to follow Ghost without hesitation.

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bumpkinspice0 · 1 year ago

Text

Parallels Chapter 17: What Is Meant To Be?

Miguel O'Hara x Spider!FemReader

No use of y/n

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4.9k

Summary: You're going to die. It's written in the canon. The canon must always be obeyed... right?

Warnings: Angst O'clock, Talks of death, Near death experience???? Miguel loves so hard, SMUT (again finally) Oral (Fem receiving), Window sex??, sweet sweet desperation

A/N: I worked hard to get this out quickly because I felt bad about making everything so sad lately 😅 Though there still might be enough angsty to make it plenty sad, Idk. I'm sorry anyway

Previous. - Next

Series Masterlist

AO3

_______________

Chapter 17

What Is Meant To Be?

“Play it again.”

“Miguel, I don’t think–”

“Play it again.”

The simulation of the dingey warehouse restarts. Nothing more than a prediction. A vision of what's to come. A supposed hostage situation set up by the remnants of the Fisk family—a trap for you. It was so simple. He’d seen you dodge gunfire and fight practical monsters, but this is what does it? Trapped inside a warehouse rigged to explode. As indestructible as spiders seemed to be, no one could rightly survive a roof falling on them. A spider can’t dodge bullets forever.

They’d find your body 3 days later, likely a memorial erected in your honor as well as a day of citywide grieving. And two months later a certain captain’s daughter would take up the mantle— and you’d be replaced and slowly forgotten.

There was a 98.9% chance of likelihood for these events. It might as well be a hundred at that point.

You were going to die. This is how you were going to die.

It was predicted to happen within the hour and Miguel was just sitting here waiting for it to happen. How morbid, he scolds himself. He sits there helpless, a pitiful excuse for a hero.

“Mig, I’m so sorry,” Lyla’s small form comes to sit next to his hand, her own small hand mimicking stroking motions over his forearm.

“You weren’t going to tell me.” he mumbles, eyes still locked on the screen of a smoldering building where your body would be dug up from. Only a simulation. It hadn’t happened. Not yet.

“I didn’t know how to. I was… scared.”

“Scared,” He scoffs, “You?”

“You’re not the only one who cares about her, Miguel.'' The AI bites out harshley. It almost catches him off guard. He’s so used to seeing her so bubbly, so quirky and fun. As annoyed as he seemed by it, he always appreciated it. Gabe was smart in programming her to be so fun. He needed someone like that in his life. Someone to help cut through his bullshit. You played that role as well.

“We’ve lost a lot of friends in this job, haven’t we Lyla?”

“We have.”

Miguel expected to be ragging at this point, an inconsolable beast wreaking havoc on his lab. Angry, like he had been since you left. Instead, he’s just numb. Was your fate that easy to accept?

The spider-sense lulls in his head, finally quieting down after the month of torture. Did that mean it knew what was to come? Would he feel it? When you—

He finally buries his face in his hands, muffling a defeated sob. Ah, there’s the tears. After the self-inflicted torture he’d put you both through, this is how it ends? You die and he has to watch it happen like a helpless child on the sidelines. This is the burden he’d taken. He’d done this so many times before. He’d watched horrible things happen because it was the will of the canon— but with you it was… you were…

“Lyla, I’d like to see the probability diagnostics,” He swallows the sorrow, hoping the cold unfeeling numbers of an algorithm might put him at ease. If this was to happen, maybe looking at the ripple effects of it would help him cope. A sacrifice for the greater good of it all.

The equations and graphs illuminate around him, all of them infallible. This was going to happen. And what would your death bring to the multiverse? Nothing. A small blip in the grand scope of it all. A speck of dust in the cosmos, just like all of them.

But if your death was so small, then what could that mean if it didn’t happen?

The thoughts he’d been suppressing suddenly flood his mind. He’s not helpless here. The power to change your fate rested on his wrist, your life so easily saved by the simple push of a button. He’d risked something like this before, but it was different this time. Could saving a life have the same effect? He’d replaced a life, but saving a life…There’s no way to know. And he didn’t have time to run the numbers. He had to act—- now.

“Miguel?” Lyla’s voice chirps up behind him, “What are you doing?”

What is he doing? He looks down to see he’d already typed in the coordinates to your universe. Had he already decided and didn’t realize it? Was it that easy?

“I…” He looks down at the watch. A single push of a button. That’s all it would take. “I don’t know.”

“I know… this is hard,” She hovers at his wrist now, clearing the coordinates from the watch, “But we can’t interfere with—”

“All we’ve done is interfere,” He bites out in a voice he doesn’t recognize. “How is this different?”

Did he really believe that?

Hypocrite, he scolds himself.

Reasoning. He was trying to reason for it. Bargaining for your life to justify his own selfish actions.

He types in the coordinates again, and Lyla clears them before he finishes. He growls, clawing through her projection.

“You’re not thinking, Miguel!” She urges. “I know this is hard. But you can’t. You know you can’t.”

He knows she’s right, he’s not thinking. He doesn’t care. If he could pull this off, if he could save you, then he’d figure it out. He always did. There had to be limits he could push. Options he never considered. Whatever it would take, just to assure your safety.

“You have to understand what’s at stake here.” Lyla says again, her pixelated eyes pleading with him. Despite her seeming so human in every way, she was still just a program doing her job. She was his fail-safe, an assurance to make sure past mistakes weren’t repeated— and now she’s the only thing standing in his way.

“Yes, I do understand,” He says coldly, calmly walking across the lab— to Lyla’s control panel. “It’s time you remember who’s in charge.”

“Don’t even think about it!” She grows to full size. Projections explode behind her, raging fire, explosive blinding lights— all mere illusions. It does nothing to stop him. While she ran things, multiverse travel was still completely operable without her. He opens the panel and begins typing in the reboot code. It’s the one area of the tower she has no control over.

Arachni-bots scurry towards him before falling dead with another push of a button. She’s trying everything. He has to work quickly.

“I’ve called Gabe,” Lyla warns, “Emergency protocol is initiated. He’ll know.”

“Fine, I don’t care.” Miguel punches in the final sequence and all of Lyla’s projections begin to fade. Only her flicking form remains. It’ll take her at least an hour to reboot, that’s more than enough time.

A portal to earth-727 bursts to life in front of him.

“Think about it, Miguel!” Lyla tries to reason one last time as her projection starts to fade, “All of this— Everything— for one person? It’s not worth it.”

He pauses at the portal's entrance, the pull of the spider-sense urging him to step forward.

“Yes. She is.”

The sense crescendos as he shoots through reality, across time and space to save you. The anticipation builds, the anxiety of racing against the clock. He burst through the portal already swinging, taking a quick assessment of his surroundings. Without Lyla to guide his exact location he could've only ended up in a 3-mile radius of you. The sun had already set. He was in Brooklyn, the southside by the looks of it. The warehouse was in the center of Queens, not far but he had to hurry.

As he swings the rest of his emotions come flooding in. The guilt. The shame… the undeniable love for you. How could he have thought such things? How could have just sat by while he watched you die? Had this job really made him so callous? So cold to the world at large?

When did Spider-Man stop trying to save everyone?

You’d given yourself to him so freely and he’d meet your affections with so much disdain— yet you treated him with kindness anyway. You were patient with him like no one had been before, he didn’t deserve it. Yet he won’t give it up. Not anymore.

He’d make it up to you. He’d make it all up to you starting tonight.

The warehouse is in sight. You’d be swinging in from the east. He could easily stop you before you got anywhere near the building. He perches himself on the highest rooftop half a block east of the rigged warehouse and waits. Checking the time, you’d be swinging at any moment, give or take a few minutes.

He waits… and he waits.

He’s not sure how much time has passed before he starts pacing. Did he miss you? No, he has no doubt the spider-sense would have honed in on you.

The spider-sense… in his blind panic he hadn't paid it any mind. Surely being in your dimension would send the alarms blaring in his head. Instead, it was like it was…. Muted. Smothered under something he didn’t recognize. What did that mean?

What if it meant you were already dead?

Dread pushes him off the roof and swinging towards the harrowing warehouse. Crawling up to the closest window, he peers inside. Three armed men stand in the center of the massive room, barrels of explosives around them.

“Where the hell is she?” one of them grumbles, “Doesn’t she usually show up way before the cops? Did Tony call it in?”

“Of course he did,” the second one sighs.

“If she doesn’t come then this was all for nothin’.”

“She’ll come. She always comes.”

“Shut up, both of you,” the final one hisses, turning around to scold the other two. “Look.”

He gives a faint nod to his right… directly at Miguel.

The first bullets whiz past Miguel’s shoulder, one knicking his suit. He was spotted. Idiot. How could be so careless? He barely manages to swing out of sight.

“Christ, don’t shoot in here!” The leader of the three shouts, “Might as well light a fucking match!”

“Fuck you, I’m not letting that bitch get away!” They think Miguel is you? He could hear them arguing, perched safely on the roof. Well that confirms it, you weren’t here.

“She’s here. We got her and I’m not gonna let her pick us off one by one. I’m getting justice for the boys she locked up.” The threatening statement is followed by the unmistakable cock of a gun.

Oh no.

“Wait— WAIT—'' One of them pleads before a shot goes off, immediately followed by a domino fall of explosions.

Miguel just barely swings to safety, the flames licking at his heels.

“Holy shit. Holy shit.” He chants as he rounds the corner onto a rooftop. It happened. The explosion paints the night in harsh oranges, shattering windows and setting off car alarms for miles. He hears police sirens finally approaching. Your death had happened— and you weren’t there for it.

You weren’t there.

Relief overtakes him, dropping him to his knees. He’s not sure if he wants to cry or vomit. Quelling the boiling cauldron of emotions in his brain, he forces himself to focus. He hones in on the spider-sense— desperately humming in the forefront of his mind. It was trying to tell him something. Trying to tell him where you were.

With a wary step forward, he follows it.

________

An emergency distress call from some random universe you’d never heard of. You can’t remember the last time you answered one. Probably when the tower was attacked. They were never meant to be ignored either.

Jess called it in, and with her being so far along in her pregnancy you leaped immediately to help her, along with a good handful of all of your other spider-comrades. She’d just entered her third trimester and you’re truly amazed she’s still working this diligently.

“Gotta get it all out of my system now,” She’d scoffed to you when she’d first announced it, “That and I know you guys can’t do this without me, better help you out now.”

Jessica Drew, always so humble to the point she wouldn’t allow herself maternity leave. God, you loved her but you’d wished she would slow down.

Since she showed no signs of taking a break, offering a helping hand whenever she needed it was the best you could do.

Tonight she certainly needed it, being caught in a sudden gathering of symbiotes. You and about ten other spiders answered the call, just in time it seemed.

You hated symbiotes. It wasn’t as easy as punching them and knocking them out, you had to be clever. Play to their very specific weaknesses— Fire and loud noises. That and they were just nasty fuckers. It's a good chance for you to blow off some steam. You didn’t have to hold back when it came to symbiotes, and for once, that was a good thing.

An hour of messy fighting and a lot of loud noises and fire later, they were all contained. It admittedly felt good to be part of a team effort after your rather less-than-stellar month. These were still your people, they didn’t stop being your people just because Miguel wasn’t part of your circle anymore.

A massive portal opened back to HQ. You’re cue to leave for home.

“Hey,” Jess grabs your shoulder before you can hit the button home, “Come back to the tower with me.”

“I— why?” you’re aware of how cold it comes out.

Jess immediately furrows her brows, “Because I haven’t talked to you in forever and I wanna buy you a coffee so you can describe what it tastes like to me.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, “You miss coffee that much, huh?”

“And booze. And sushi. And hot tubs. And—” She drapes her arm around your shoulder as she continues, leading you over to her bike. Well, if she’s offering a fun ride, who are you to say no?

Yes, you’d been avoiding the tower like a plague just because he’s there. You feel him when you’re closer, the sense jumping at the proximity alone. Just because it was Miguel’s tower though, didn’t mean you weren’t welcome. Your friends were there. Your community. Spider Tower wasn’t just a monolith to Miguel, it was for all of you.

You wonder if you should tell Jess about it all. If anyone would understand it’d be her. You’d probably get a few good minutes of reprimanding you for being so stupid, but then she’d go full protective mode and be your human shield against the big bad Spider-Man 2099. That and the pregnancy hormones were making her more irritable. That’s what friends did, though— right? Made things easier for one another. That and you wanted another shoulder to cry on.

You will tell her, eventually. Not tonight but… soon.

You both burst into the tower, Jess skidding the bike to a spiraling stop.

“I hate it when you do that.” you sigh into her back.

“You spend all day swinging around a city and a little bike ride makes you dizzy?” She scoffs, flipping out the kickstand.

“Yes, shut up,” You groan, practically melting off the bike. Suddenly, You remember why you don’t always accept rides from her, “Why do you ride a bike anyway? Your webs seem perfectly fine.”

“Just to look cool,” She muses, bouncing her hard to the side. Well… you can’t deny that fact. She always did look pretty cool.

The spider-sense was revving in the back of your head. A few weeks ago it would have driven you insane, now it’s just another thing to ignore. Like a cast over a broken bone or an itchy rash. You’d trained yourself to live with advanced senses, you could train yourself to get used to this.

At least until you were ready to take the cure.

You’re halfway to the cafeteria when it’s too much, the sense jumping like a punch to the back of your head. You stumble forward, blindsided by the effects.

“Jeez, you okay?” Jess grabs your arm.

“Fine! Fine…. I think.” You assure her halfheartedly.

The sense calms down into a more annoying ringing, but still stronger than when you first entered the building. Why was it acting up now?

A familiar voice calling your name is your answer. You turn around and there he is, standing at the end of the hallway.

Miguel— and god, he looks awful.

Of course he had to show up when you were starting to feel like yourself again. The sense almost causes you to burst out in tears at the sight of him alone. It was a relief. It was a nightmare.

God, you really don’t want to do this right now.

He takes a few timid steps toward you, “I… I need to talk to you.”

“Why?” you immediately spit back.

“It’s important,” He simply says. This was a bad idea. You want to go with him so badly but you know if you do it’ll open up all of your wounds again.

“What’s going on, Mig?” Jess, bless her, tries to intervene.

“This is between me and her,” Miguel bites out coldly. Jess didn’t often tolerate his bitchy behavior, but she turns to you instead. Her eyes look to you to see if everything is okay— a silent communication only women seemed to possess the power of.

“It’s fine, Jess,” You pat her shoulder assuredly, “I’ll describe some coffee to you later.”

She doesn’t look convinced that it is, in fact, fine but carries on her way regardless. She knew you well enough to be sure that you could handle yourself. She’d suspected something probably since the beginning. Yeah, you really need to come clean to her eventually.

“What do you want?” You practically hiss at Miguel. He barely moves, simply pressing a button on his watch. A portal springs up on your right.

“Not here,” He gestures to the spinning portal. Of course, this all had to be cryptic for no reason. Just another thing to torture you right now. You groan and step through the portal.

It was like walking through a door, your feet landing on solid ground in less than a blink of an eye. A quick glance around and you see you’re in Miguel’s home. It’s dark, the only light coming from the glowing city outside.

You turn to him as he exits the portal behind you.

“We couldn’t have taken the sta—”

You don’t even finish the sentence before he pulls you into him, strong arms crushing you against his chest. You’re not sure what you expected… but it wasn’t this.

It’s embarrassing how good it makes you feel almost immediately. Like just his touch cured your countless sleepless nights. The familiar warmth of his arms seeping into your varying being as if he was holding your soul. Was a hug always this good? It’s certainly better than the last one you shared with him.

The realization jolts you out of his embrace. You weren’t supposed to be together anymore. You weren’t supposed to be doing this shit anymore— right?

“What the hell, Mig?” is all you manage to gasp out.

He stands there, unmoving, his arms still reaching out after you. You can’t read his face, his expression almost blank. Shocked, maybe?

“I… I don’t know—I had to—” he pulls his hands back, examining them as if he’s just killed someone, “Where were you?”

“Where was—” you balk out an annoyed laugh. Is that why he brought you up here, to check in on you? Toying with this all like some child, “On a mission with Jess, doing my job. Are you spying on me now? Do I have to report to you still?!”

He says nothing, letting your harsh yelling linger in the large space. He looks at you again, something you don’t recognize in his eyes. Suddenly all your anger is replaced with pity. What was happening?

“You’re—” He choked on his words, just for a moment, “You’re okay?”

“Am I o—” You take a step towards him, willing yourself not to reach out and touch him. Trying so desperately to hold up that wall. The resistance you’re not sure you had.

The spider-sense… is screaming.

“Miguel… you’re scaring me.”

He nods as if to say I’m scared too. Scared of what, though? You gulp as you break the barrier. You reach out and cradle his massive hands in yours. He sighs at your touch. Something horrible happened… or was going to happen—something to bring this warrior to his knees in a way you’d never seen before.

“I… I don’t know what to do,” he admits shakily. “Little spider, I think I—”

“What do you need?” you ask immediately.

You see the corners of his mouth twitch up just briefly. Cute, but not an answer.

“What happened?” You push.

His hands trail up your arms and come to cup your face. Your eyes flutter, almost instinctively. “Just… just tell me you're okay. Right now. In this moment.”

“Mig—”

You’re not sure who does it. If he pulls your lips to his or if you jump up to meet him. Does it really matter? He tasted like freedom. Like the relief you’d been searching for all these weeks. Had you forgotten so easily? The taste of him. The feel of him. Something so indescribable— like a drug. He was your drug.

It’s a handsy fury, ripping off your clothes as you seemingly try to will his to fade away. There was no time for pleasantries, not this time. There was only hunger— unsatiated, gnawing hunger.

Need. You needed him.

He backs you against the windows, their sudden coldness sending chills up your naked body.

“Miguel, please—” you urge, for what exactly, you’re not entirely sure. Whatever he was willing to give you.

“Te tengo. Te tengo…” He chants as his mouth glides down your body, from your neck, between your breasts, and finally to your waiting cunt.

He engulfs your heat greedily. You don’t recall ever screaming so loud. Sweet, perfect relief. He was perfect.

He brings both of your legs over his shoulders and holds you there, your bare back pressed against the glass for all the world to see— not that anyone likely would from this height. And not that you really cared right now anyway. There was only him. Him. Him!

God, you missed his skillful mouth. Hungerly lapping at you like it nourished his very soul. It did, you suppose in a way. The sinful hunger helped both of you in its own way. Kept you sane. Kept you alive. You can’t believe you’ve lasted as long as you did without him.

You come embarrassingly fast, but you’re not surprised with how much you had pent up over the last month. The orgasm rips you apart like an atom bomb, exposing your raw nerves underneath. Your vision goes white, your mouth goes dry. It was everything you were trying to give yourself all those lonely nights— Miguel gave it to you in two minutes.

His mouth still sloppily runs between your legs as you come down. You squirm in his grasp, your sensitivity now turned up to eleven.

“Miguel,” You plead, “I need you. I need you.”

A rumble emanates from his chest and up your legs as his mouth comes off you. He lowers your legs, holding you at his waist. He stands at his full height again, pinning you there. He trails his mouth back up your torso, pausing at your breasts to lull his tongue over each nipple before he finds your mouth again— his mouth and tongue coated with the taste of you.

“Lo siento, arañita. Lo siento mucho.” he whispers between breaths. You know those words. He’s saying sorry. He’s sorry— you’re sorry too. Sorry for it to have come to this.

He slides inside with a pained moan. Your walls clench around him with familiarity.

“Like you were made for me,” He murmurs as his mouth slides down your neck. Though it’s completely healed over, he knows the mark he left. He stops on it, his tongue tracing the ghost of what was left there. The brand he left on your soul.

He lifts you off his cock and slams back into you brutally. Your head falls back against the window with a defined thunk as he sets a ruthless pace. Bouncing you on his cock like you weighed nothing at all. That’s alright, he can use you.

Your lude erotic sounds fill the space. Wet skin slapping on wet skin. Desperate wordless moans for more. Always more.

“I missed you. I missed you,” You don’t didn’t even realize you were chanting it until your mouth went dry.

“Shhh,” He nips at your lower lip, “I know. God, I know. I missed you too. I— fuck.”

Even amidst the animalistic lust-fueled frenzy, you could feel him trembling under your touch. His body quivering with more than just desire. Your combined anxieties manifesting into something desperate and terrifying. A need that couldn’t just be quelled with just your hands.

Even in your bliss-fogged mind, you felt like a fool for ever letting something like this go. Something so rare and beautiful.

Ever since it appeared in your life you’d been trying to describe this impossible feeling. What was a shared spider-sense? A piece of you that you shared with someone else. How can you define what felt like pure instinct? Give a name to something that was indescribable?

The only thing you knew was that something felt right when you were together. The world made sense when this man was part of it, as infuriating as he could be at times. You were his, he was yours. Not yours in the sense that he belonged to you, but yours meaning he belonged with you. A pair, a set, forever intertwined.

What was the spider-sense to you?

It was home.

It felt like home. He felt like home.

His hips come to a staggering halt as your second orgasm overtakes you. He bites down on your shoulder as he paints your walls. He stands there just for a moment before lowering you both to the ground on trembling legs. Neither of you speaks, panting out the thinning air between each other. Both of you refuse to let go, afraid that this time would surely be the last time you’d ever touch him. Keep him here, now, forever. Nothing could take him away from you right now.

“Reboot complete.” An ambient voice rings through the room. It was certainly Lyla’s but it sounded… different. More robotic.

“Oh no,” Miguel grumbles, his grip on you tightening.

“What? What is it?” Why do you feel panicked? It’s just Lyla.

Miguel pulls away, worry crossing those burgundy eyes, “I… I have to tell you something.”

Before he can continue, a familiar golden glow springs up in the middle of the room. Pixels form together to make the familiar form of the infamous AI assistant. She turns to face you both. Miguel’s suit instantly appears back on his body. You’re suddenly very aware of your nakedness, despite her being a computer program. You grab for your abandoned suit crumbled on the floor, hurriedly shoving yourself back into it.

“Geez, knock first, Lyla,” You scold her.

“You’re—” the program's gaze darts back to Miguel in an instant, “Miguel, you didn’t.”

Miguel sits there shamefully, like a scolded dog.

“I know we’re not supposed to be doing this anymore,” You come to his defense, slipping your arm into the final sleeve, “It just kind of happened.”

Lyla cock’s her head at you. Was she… confused? Did Lyla get confused? Again, she turns back to Miguel.

“You didn’t tell her?”

An unknown fear pricks at the hairs on your neck, “Tell me what?”

Miguel stands, arms outstretched to console you. His mouth was open and ready with an explanation before he was interrupted again.

“Miguel!” Another voice echoes through the large room as it enters the apartment. Gabe. He pauses at the living room entrance. “Oh no. No no no, Miggy. What is she doing here? Estas loco?!”

“Excuse me?” You start before Miguel comes to your defense.

“She’s here because I chose for her to be here,” He steps in front of you, “She has a right to be here.”

“You’re not God, Miguel,” Gabe marches over, slapping his older brother in the chest. Miguel doesn’t react, “You don’t get to make these decisions. No one does.No puedo creer que estés cometiendo los mismos errores de nuevo. No puedo creer—”

“I’ve told you this is not the same. Ella es diferente,” Miguel bites out, looming over Gabe. The younger brother does not back down.

“Bullshit!”

“Hey!” You finally scream. All eyes in the room snap to you in an instant, some angrier than others. “Someone please… tell me what’s happening.”

You see Gabe’s defenses drop, pinching the bridge of his nose as he takes a step away.

“Jesucristo, Mig.” You hear him mumble into his hand.

Miguel looks back to you, some kind of horrifying desperation pulling at his features. You’re not sure why, but it scares you.

“Arañita… Sit down. I have something to tell you.”

_______

Translations:

Te tengo. Te tengo…: I’ve got you. I’ve got you...

Lo siento, arañita. Lo siento mucho: I’m sorry, little spider. I’m so sorry.

No puedo creer que estés cometiendo los mismos errores de nuevo. No puedo creer– : I can’t believe you’re making the same mistakes again. I can’t believe—

Ella es diferente: She’s different

Jesucristo, Mig: Jesus Christ, Mig

Please please please let me know if any of this is wrong

________

Taglist:

@ineedgarlicbread @pinkiemme @thesilenthill @bontensbabygirl @fallenangelsongwolf @raerorigel @littlefreakymunson @viriexo

@w33ni3 @del-ightfulling

Taglist post here!!!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x spiderwoman!reader #miguel o'hara x you #across the spiderverse #parallels fic #miguel o'hara smut

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truths33k3r4 · 10 months ago

Text

CHAPTER 27 - Specter

“ How long does it take for a security cam’s battery to die? “ Raph whispered to his brother as if the camera itself was trying to listen in on their conversation.

Maybe it was.

“ Six months give or take. Therefore the camera shouldn’t be our focus right now. “ Don whispered back, motioning his head to the box of tools on the bench. He tried to move his feet, gauging how far he would need to stretch in order to reach the tools. Unfortunately the metallic ring of chains sounded harshly in his ears, as his movements were halted by their iron grip on his ankles.

Ok.. that won’t work.

As Don ran simulations in his brain like a living calculator, Raph was attempting to escape with his own plan: PULL. REALLY. HARD. Don felt his brother’s shell twist and yank accompanied by the sounds of the chains being pulled taut. Raph let out a frustrated growl as his efforts proved to be in vain; No matter how much he yanked or tensed, the metal cuffs remained cemented to his wrists.

Ok, cross brute force off the list.

Don tried to search for more options.

Perhaps there’s a stray nail or screw on the floor. I could try picking my cuffs’ lock..

He winced his eyes forcing his sight to clear as much as it could, peering down to the cold ground below. He targeted his gaze on anything that reflected light. Normally most screws and nails are made of galvanized steel, which is somewhat of a reflective metal. Therefore the thin rays of light peeking through the windows of their cell would cause those particular metals to faintly glow. Unfortunately, after a minute or so of staring at the pixelated ground, and not seeing any reflections of steel, Don gave up on that plan.

Raph continued to struggle despite the obvious. His fists clenched tighter and tighter as he continued to pull. His shoulders rose with each tug and yank. His movements began as concentrated and calculated, but now they were unpredictable and panicked.

Don leaned back and rested the back of his head on his brother’s.

“ Ochitsuke, Raph. “ he whispered.

The horrible taunts of the ringing chains finally ceased as Raph nodded and dropped his arms to his sides.

“.. Don, I don’t.. I don’t know what to do.. How the shell are we going to get out of here? “

Don hated how his older brother’s voice teetered with insecurity. It didn’t help that he, too, was at a loss for words.. And PLANS apparently.

“ It’s fine.. As long as we are alive our brains can function. And as long as our brains can function, then we’ll think of a solution. “

Please believe me.

Don could feel his brother’s soft nod to his words as Raph let out a stress-filled sigh.

You’re the smart one. Think, Interi. THINK.

If Don could, he would be slamming his forehead into his palm, trying to force ideas into his less-than-efficient-under-stress brain. When given time to think things through, he would normally have an answer to a difficult problem rather quickly. But when stress and a time crunch are involved, his brain betrays him, leaving him scrambling to remember the simplest of knowledge. It was pathetic.

Don and Raph both yanked their heads up harshly at the sound of a door opening nearby. Thankfully, without Don’s vision being at full capacity, his hearing sensitivity heightened to make up for it.

Yay. I can at least HEAR the psycho who’s gonna kill me.

Now he could hear the haunting sound of those same heavy-duty boots coming closer and closer.

Don turned his face to Raph and whispered, “ NOT. A. WORD. “

A broad- shouldered man with rounded glasses and a tar-like coat entered quietly into Don and Raph’s cell carrying a briefcase. The light of the hallway behind him created a distorted silhouette bordering his form, making Don wince from the brightness. Both his and his brother’s body straightened like warriors preparing for battle.

The Man politely closed the door, closely followed by a subtle click of the lock behind him as he walked up to his captives. With the light of the hallway now closed off, shadows consumed the Man’s form as he strolled closer to the brothers. The slim rays weaseling through the windows reflected in his glasses, masking the Man’s eyes in a bright white. He pulled out a small stool hidden behind the bench, and calmly sat down, placing his briefcase at his side.

“ You must have many questions as to why my team apprehended you. After all, normally in this fair city, the street scraps are left to fend for themselves. Picked off.. one by one.. by the many gangs wandering the alleys. “

The Man began caressing his briefcase with long, bony fingers.

“.. So, what, you may ask yourselves, makes you.. so .. special? What gives you the opportunity to be in the presence of ones with such intelligence, such as myself? “

Don and Raph gave an unamused glance to each other. Both had a whole lineup of insults to throw at this narcissist, but their mouths remained shut.

The Man stands up with a thin growing smile and walks over to Don, covering the mutant in his towering shadow. Raph allowed a single low growl to escape his lips instead of the slew of crude nicknames piling up one by one in his head.

“ Oh come now, I won’t harm you..

.. yet. “

In one terrifyingly quick motion, the Man shot out his hand, gripping Don’s face with his skeleton-like fingers. Raph’s growl grew louder.

Don watched in silent horror as his face was studied by his captor like an organism under a microscope, lifting his chin painfully to scan over every corner and crevice. The chill of the Man’s fingers sent an involuntary shiver down his spine, like an evil spirit had phased through his body.

“ With such specimens as yourselves, it would be quite foolish to take you apart in a dusty garage without my.. tools. No, no, the real fun will begin once I take you to my laboratory. “

Don didn’t like the sound of that one bit. And judging by the ferocious crescendoing snarl of his brother, Raph felt the same.

The Man let go of Don’s face and eerily shifted towards Raph. The red-clad brother replaced his snarls with a glare so concentrated it would make milk curdle.

I wouldn’t do that if I were you.

“ Oooh, “ the Man taunted, pointing at the furious mutant, “ did I make the red one angry? “

Raph targeted all the rage and intimidation he could salvage into his piercing glare. Despite his attempts, the Man continued on as if nothing happened.

“ Well, going by your pitiful attempt at intimidating me, I will assume this must be someone you care about.” The Man gestured to Don, “ Perhaps your brother based on the ridiculous matching masks? ..Am I close? “

Raph and Don kept their mouths in a thin but planted line.

“ Hmm, “ the Man shrugged, “ Alright, not very talkative. Very well. “

The Man proceeded to return to his stool retrieving his briefcase, and placing it on his lap. With a few button clicks, it opened with a slight hiss, releasing a puff of cold air.

Don ran through all possibilities in his brain of items that would need to be kept in air tight containers and under cold temperatures.

..Sedatives..

Judging by the growing smile creeping up the Man’s face, Don knew he was right.

WE HAVE TO ACT NOW.

Now it was Don’s turn to begin pulling and yanking on his chains. He knew it wouldn’t do anything. He KNEW. But despite the logic trying to take control of his brain, his panicked heart remained in control.

The Man rose up off his stool and began walking towards Don. The purple clad turtle’s vision morphed the Man’s form into that of a faceless specter, slowly wrapping his towering shadow over the mutant’s body. The panicked sounds of pulled chains became louder, melding with the calculated footsteps drawing closer and closer.

WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE NOW!!

For the second time today, a gun was held to Don’s head.

“ This is just something to help you sleep.. Nothing more than a concentrated sedative, so no need to panic. “ The Man’s words whispered compassion, but his voice screeched with threat.

Don’s heart began to pummel at his chest as the gun-like contraption the Man was holding was pointed at the mutant’s thigh.

NO!

With a pull of the trigger, Don felt a horrible sting spread throughout his leg. The needle in the device penetrated his skin almost like his epipen back at home. But unlike his medication, the solution being forced into his body was unknown. That fear alone made the sting hurt so much worse. He hated himself for allowing the man to see him flinch under the discomfort.

As for Raph..

.. The word ‘ hate ’ wouldn’t even begin to explain the fury raging through his brother’s body. Raph was now baring his fangs in all their sharp glory, as the Man pulled away the device , leaving a small dot of blood on Don’s leg.

The freckled brother subtly began to sway, feeling whatever drugs running through his bloodstream beginning to activate. His head began to ring with a high pitched hum as it was becoming more and more difficult to keep his eyes open.

STAY AWAKE. DON’T GO TO SLEEP. STAY AWAKE.

The Man walked up to Raph as he waved the device tauntingly at the slowly-growing-feral mutant. Raph had given him plenty of warnings. And there’s always a point with Don’s fiery brother when his patience snaps like a thin twig under the crackles of a flame.

This is that point.

As the Man began positioning the device to Raph’s thigh, the flame consuming the mutant’s protective heart burst as he lunged his knee up, making the man’s hand jolt upward.

Right in front of Raph’s mouth.

With a harsh *SCRUNCH* Raph's fangs plunged deep into the Man’s hand that was holding the device. For once, their captor actually reacted, giving an annoyed grunt as he jolted from the pain burning his hand where Raph’s fangs remained planted. But despite the discomfort of the angry mutant’s teeth, the Man continued to stand tall, pushing aside Raph’s attack as a minor inconvenience.

“ Aww. It thinks it can escape. Well, what’s your plan then, mutant? Hold me down as your brother here goes for the keys that I don’t have? How much of a fool do you think I am? “

Despite the Man’s hand still being wedged into Raph’s teeth, the mutant began to smile menacingly.

“ Wrong answer, freak. “

Just like with Don, the man moved with quick and precise movements, trading off the device from the hand in Raph’s mouth to his other. He pulled the trigger. Raph was given more reason to bite down harder as the sharp sting penetrated his leg.

The Man removed the device from Raph’s thigh and threw it to the side, and then reached deep into his black, robe-like coat. He pulled out what was definitely an actual gun, pointing it at Don’s head.

“ This will cause far more harm than the injector, I assure you. “ The Man’s voice didn’t waver the slightest, staying calm and to the point, as Raph’s bite continued to sink deeper.

“ Now. Drop it, boy. Drop it like a good little dog. “

Raphael’s shoulders rose in hostility as his brain ran through the situation.

Does he WANT his hand to get bitten off???

With another growl, and a slight gag, Raphael released the Man’s bony fingers from his mouth. Don hazily watched as his brother proceeded to spit the Man’s own blood into his face.

Everything was becoming so slow.. The Man’s form continued to alter and blur as Don’s vision slowly faded into darkness.

NO. NOT NOW! WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!! STAY AWAKE!!

Don didn’t even realize his eyes were closed now. His body slowly slumped against his will. The ghostly voice of the Man began to echo in his brain as he fought with all his might to keep his eyes open. He could feel Raph’s body beginning to fade too..

STAY AWAKE!!!!!!!

Don continued to fight against the sedative as best he could, trying to keep his body constantly in motion. He yanked at his chains and turned his head to keep an eye on his fading brother, who was trying to do the same. But as the minutes ticked by, their movements grew more sluggish; their heads slowly lowered with their eyelids.

Stay……awakeee…

“ That’s it. Go to sleep. Dream of your family. Your friends, if you have any. Relive all those wonderful memories.. “ The Man whispered into Don’s ear as he finally lost his fight with the consuming shadows,

“.. For when you wake,

your true nightmare will begin. “

That's it for this chapter. :) MAN ALIVE- I have been EXCITED to show you guys this one!! This is the first time I've written for a chapter with the physical appearance of a villain.. And I think, ( and hope ) that you were left with a sense of dread for poor Don and Raph.. And- yeah, you'll be feeling that for a while with the chapters I have planned. ;)

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

MASTERPOST <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

#tmnt #my version of tmnt!!#the strength in weakness #SIW Don #SIW Raph #hurt/comfort #whump #angst #Beholdddd my main villain ;)#Blind without my glasses #Don is too #Raph's biteforce is the same as an alligator snapping turtle #so..ouch #tw blood #tw sedation #tw gun mention #the twins are fine #they'll be fine everything's hunky dory

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inksandpensblog · 1 year ago

Text

The Box

I'm finally watching the episode! These are my stream-of-consciousness thoughts through my initial viewing. This isn't thought-out refined analysis, these are just the thoughts as I have them the moment they appear in my head.

They're getting better at the 3d running/walking animation.

Green being the one to notice details, like in The Village.

Civilization!

Green only drew one but then he just has three more? Cartoon magic or stickfigure magic? Or just saving time on a meta level.

This looks like a nice little toh that's a white-filled head, they're ALL white-filled heads (all look like freehanded circles though)

For a given value of "white," I guess, but they're all very light colors. And they all have head accessories. Interesting...

Okay it's kinda funny that nobody would talk to them and the truck is right there. Did they think the color quartet were giving handouts or something? None of them stopped to listen long enough XD

Ooh, so these are some kind of simulation chambers? Looks like they've simulated a desktop art program.

Hmm, so Orange's ability to just have whatever he wants manifest into existence with the stroke of a pencil is unique to him; these guys try the same motions and all they get are regular lines. (Also if Orange can do all that outside then why are they doing these experiments in the simulation chamber? Is it just for safety or can they not do it outside? Shady could use his toolbar outside just fine...)

Orange's drawings were alive, almost from the first line it seems. Before they even took their shape. These ones aren't.

I don't like how coldly they're treating my boy :(

you.

and then they don't even interact?? okay, so...Victim is pretty single-mindedly focused on whatever is about to happen with Chosen, and whatever it is doesn't involve Orange so Orange is irrelevant to him rn. Why bind him then? Where's he going? :(

he went in. by himself. I'm...not sure how to feel about that. surprised? it's not like the thing had a door. though looking at that control-display, it does look like there's something within the chamber itself that's also containing Chosen. Or is that just the bounding box? I think it's a bounding box actually. So this is also a simulation chamber. (this is giving me all sorts of questions about how the artboard recognizes the toolbar icons as graphics while the tools still retain their functions as tools and I'm gonna stop before I spiral)

oh, it did have a door

WAITAMINUTE why is Victim's bounding box 2d and Chosen's 3d???

...oh. so...Chosen's fire registers as a separate graphic from him, then. good to know??

wait what the- just altering the visual is enough to affect his ability in producing that power??

why did we just cut to the hunter sharpening their spear? don't like that. not while you're stealing all my boy's natural defenses.

that one lingering second after Chosen's lasers die out but before he turns around to face Victim is haunting. Bro's been trapped and depowered again.

Okay nitpick but Victim's head isn't changing shape every frame and it's driving me up the wall. Did he have some work done between the last installment and this one?

I can't tell if I'm supposed to laugh or not at Chosen just standing there and tanking all of Victim's hits, and honestly I like that I can't tell, the dissonance is fun. But putting that aside...Chosen just let the dude have at him like it was no big deal. He didn't actually fight back until he decided he'd had enough. I suppose he could've just been confused about why this guy was attacking him...but he doesn't even block or dodge. He doesn't defend himself, his hands aren't even up, he's not even really in a fighting stance, and it takes him a bit to even retaliate. Even after the first one, his body language is just "bruh why." Which. Is an interesting attitude to have when he's trapped and depowered and being punched by a stranger.

Chosen finally counters, and it cuts to the control panel outside, looks like they're about to raise some setting. I've gotta take a break for a meeting, here's my thought: Victim never left the art program, in AvA1. In a very literal sense, he spent his whole life in it. It's where he found all the things that enabled him to fight back. In a weird way, it makes sense that this is where he's powerful, that this is where he's comfortable fighting. (and I know my personal headcanons are about to get blown outta the water but I'm really glad that I was on the right track in regard to this idea. though something I hadn't ever imagined was that he'd rely on other people to supply those advantages instead of obtaining them himself)

Meeting over, back to the episode! (I wonder if the title of this episode refers to the white chamber Chosen is in or the actual bounding box. Given that the mere appearance of a bounding box in Wanted was enough for many of us to clue in to Victim's involvement, even before he appeared in-person at the end of the episode, I'm leaning that direction. Amazing that it only happened once in the series before Wanted and it was already enough of a legacy to make him recognizable. I'm now realizing that in AvA2 the first thing Chosen did even before attacking the cursor was destroy the bounding box. Also realizing that the bounding boxes in this chamber aren't visible, unlike in the test-chambers in the previous scenes.)

interesting...each of Vicitm's limbs are separate graphics with their own bounding boxes, which is how they looked in the Bloop animation course that Alan made, but it isn't how he was in AvA1. Though he was recognized as a single graphic just a few scenes ago, so that might not mean anything.

why, stop, dude we get it you're strong now you've proved your point stop beating him up-

oh good Chosen's still got his own strength, he's fighting ba- what- okay what, can't take what you dish out??

Ooh, I don't think we've seen Chosen actually throw fire like that (instead of just blasting and halting blasts) since the early episodes.

okay, nice to know that Victim actually can dodge on his own

...don't like how little time it took Chosen to start feeling exhaustion...

...don't like how much trepidation the lasso is giving me. that feels like one of the crueler things to use against Chosen; not because we've seen it used against him before (only Victim and Orange have used it themselves, and only Victim has had it used against him, and good grief Orange and Chosen still don't know how Victim is connected to Alan-) but just because...I really don't want him bound and leashed again, he's been through enough of that. still, I had predicted that we'd see him using the lasso at some point in AvA6. I'm not happy I was right. (man, back before we knew Victim would make a proper return to the series I used to love the idea of him using it again. it's like the clearest example of him outwitting the animator and taking his tools for his own use.)

NOT THE NECK- they've never gone there, I don't like this-

oh what they actually- I was not expecting that. whips haven't appeared in the series before. oh I really don't like this.

God he's crawling back- why-

I had to pause. either the group outside just did something with the controls that Victim wasn't anticipating, or...Chosen felt threatened enough to turn his powers on himself and encase himself in ice as a defense. fuck. someone get him out of there. no flight, can't fight, man was pushed far enough he literally resorted to freeze. The Chosen One. I don't think that's ever happened before.

Fuck, that's just too much, I can't even bring myself to feel excited about seeing the duplicates again. though it is good to know that my headcanon about him needing to be in an art program in order to duplicate himself ended up being accurate. we'll see if my headcanon about it being one Victim with five bodies (as opposed to being five Victims) holds up. if they even have a way to show any difference.

[sighs, pulls AvA1 up in another tab] yep, they're all there. lasso, hammer, extended thumbtack (though it doesn't look like a thumbtack here, which is interesting), whatever that chain-accordion thing is, and the ninja star. why are you doing this? man literally froze himself immobile to get you to stop torturing him, just leave him be.

...haHAHAHA! Oh that felt good, that made me smile. Hopefully this means Chosen has recuperated a bit.

the animation of Victim on fire was so nice I completely missed Chosen breaking the ice XD going back to catch that made me realize that the other Victim duplicates literally just...stood and watched the one burning...

don't let yourself get backed into a corner-

OH he escaped the hold, nice-

I didn't realize until the lasso came back that he'd gotten rid of it when he broke the ice :( but before that he actually uses his fire-breath again, which is always nice to see. interesting to see it concentrated in a thin stream instead of just roaring out like usual.

oh yikes why- him on fire-

...don't do it, man...

OH HE OWNED THAT, LET'S GO!!! Great thinking, Chosen! (heh, nothing about this situation remotely resembles that time Chosen grabbed the cursor and forced it to click him free, but I was reminded of it nonetheless. something about the tool being turned against the user, but in such a different way than Victim does it.)

OH HE- ...oh...I was gonna say oh he learned, he adapted enough that he predicted them flipping his fire and he used that- but then they just nullified it immediately...

Victim don't snap the rope like that, we don't need any more implications we already know you're planning to put him in a world of hurt, why can't you just leave him alone now, what are you trying to prove

hh, back to Orange I guess...

MATH SPOTTED, MATH SPOTTED-

oh! they're bringing him to the- okay that makes sense, if it only works when he does it then obviously the next step to figuring it out is gonna involve him.

wait was he- could he not move when the bounding box was picked up?? (also neat that he immediately got worried once he realized he's in a bounding box, dunno if that's because of what happened in the last episode or if it's just because...he spends a lot of time in an art program so he'd naturally be familiar with what they can do and what it means to be inside one)

...well, nice that they at least get his attention before picking him up

oh now you're being friendly, sure. yeah Orange ain't having it.

okay, [picks up pencil] [instant notetaking] was funny XD

aaw, it's swimming around him

oh it knows what the eraser means

...wait it wasn't an electric eel in the last episode-

hexagons- and the power flickered

okay Orange stumbling around trying to stay out of its way makes it clear that he isn't controlling this thing once he's finished drawing it, it's acting on its own. it...it really feels distressed.

hah, they're all cowering. losers.

oh, back to this.

...did you have to make it so personal, Victim?

a chair

...okay not sure why that happened, could Chosen not just...lean forward? I rewound to watch it again and realized he's exhausted again after the slow-mo ends (is that from the slow-mo itself or just his exertion from the fight before the slow-mo?) and he...doesn't even struggle when Victim lifts him by hand with a lasso to the neck. is...is he just ragdolling now? is he at the point where that's his best option for minimizing conflict?

...he is. he's ragdolling. fuck. (damn you cc!Alan for introducing ragdolling in a comedic short-)

...no? no what?? no, he doesn't know anything about the animator? (which we know isn't true, but why would he deny that?) or no, he isn't going to answer?

don't tie him up, please...

oh now he starts struggling?

...back to ragdolling. good grief, the way they animate his legs just swinging even though they can still touch the floor...

...heh, I appreciate his spirit, especially at this point, but...Chosen you kinda just put yourself in a worse position.

...oh, what is that? I don't think we've seen anything like that before. It's got the floppy disk that's used as the "save" icon in many applications, but it looks kinda like a headset.

...a VR headset specifically, I guess.

OH WHAT- okay rad animation, but WHAT

...oh fuck, I've always wondered if there was a way to see the data that would be a stick's memory. FUCK what are they gonna use this for

wait they're bring Orange here?! Or are they just passing on their way back to the cell? but why are they going back to the cell, was the eel too much for them??

...wait, what? signal lost, I assume because Chosen dislodged it enough to disconnect, and then...instead of picking up where it left off it jumps all the way back to Showdown?? was...was Showdown just on Chosen's mind? or is this the memory of him recalling it right before flying to alanspc to entreat Orange's aid? ...or...are memories from beyond the sky-barrier not compatible? that doesn't make sense...

what's with everyone's reactions to Second's powers?

...I forgot Orange's cell is in here. whoops.

oh this is how he finds out??

hands first ("I did that??") and then his eyes ("Chosen was right??")

...and of course. I expected they'd lock him down with extra security as soon as they realized, but. poor guy.

(dammit I purposefully refrained from making a "dark mode" joke, you didn't have to go and put it on the damn control screen)

...and even after that (which, judging by Victim's reaction, even he hadn't known about Second's powers), the animator is still Victim's priority.

oh, this isn't just any clip of the cursor's involvement in Showdown, this is specifically while Yellow was rendering the cursor in.

and then they immediately pan to Yellow which means that observation is actually gonna be relevant, FUCK-

OH FUCK THE WANTED POSTERS

("earnings growth," so they actually do have a business element to them)

aaand the security cameras caught them peeking out of the truck, they literally just started printing the posters and they've already located Yellow-

that fight is mesmerizing. we haven't seen one like this before, as far as direction and setting. plus it's really interesting to see how the four respond. I might look deeper into that later. also that was a cool transition.

and Yellow is dragged off. The story has never had one of the quartet singled out in-universe by the plot like this before. they aren't even apprehending the others.

...of all the sticks to have a lighter, I never thought it would be Victim.

to be continued. good grief.

I have to eat before work so I'll think on all this and say more later.

#animator vs animation #ava the box #animator vs animation spoilers #ava6 spoilers #ava 6 spoilers

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chaotictempleknight · 2 months ago

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- - Spoilers for Warframe for 1999, probably... I have no idea - -

Where in the blue blazes did the dating sim aspect of the 1999 update come from?

Random player: Hey, Chaotic! Who are you romancing?

Me: Pardon?

Random Player: The KIM Messenger, who are you romancing?

Me: You have to romance the hex?

Random Player: I mean, you really should. It's fun!

Me: Why though? Why would I start a relationship with a group strife stricken soldiers who are trying to fight back against an oppressive government when I'm an anomaly from a future in which we're fighting a bunch of psychotic, blood-thirsty, mutant humans who think they're the next Roman empire when in reality they are all of the worst aspects of Rome that have set the destruction of reality into motion? I think I have bigger things to worry about then going on a date with one of The Hex.

Random Player: But it's fun!

Me: None of the Hex are the one for me, nor do I want to date any of them. It's nothing against them, I just find the idea incredibly awkward given everything we've all gone through. Plus do you not understand the amount of Grineer and Corpus I've killed? I do not regret fighting back against Parvos Granum and the Grineer Queens, but I don't think my body count would be something to discuss during a dinner at a fancy restaurant. That's not to say I wouldn't be cordial with the Hex, it's just that it feels incredibly awkward. Plus I'm an outsider here and they already have relationships, be they close or not. It feels so weird considering what they've gone through and that I'm from a different timeline.

Random Player: But you're not a video game character...

Me: Alright, let's pull apart the meta aspect of this then. I'm not into dating simulators and I never will be. I have nothing against them, they're just not for me. Yes, I am single, but I am going to save my romantic energy for the woman for me. If that never happens, oh well. I will accept being single for the rest of my life and hope my art and literary works leave a mark on the world. It probably won't, but I'm going to try no matter what. And let's be real, I'm not fit to be in a relationship. I'm autistic, almost 30, and have no job prospects outside of my author career that is unlikely to take off unless a miracle happens. Truth be told I'm either doomed to minimum wage or to die do to life collapsing around me. Either way, I will face this bullshit head on, look death right in the face, and say "you can't fault me for trying." And no, a dating sim will not help me in any form or fashion. They are not real and they never will be. I'm not going to bury my lack of a relationship in delusions just because it's relevant to Warframe's lore!

Random Player: YOU'RE WEIRD, GET AWAY FROM ME!!! (runs away)

Me: Whatever... WOULD THIS STUPID GAME JUST GIVE ME XAKU PRIME'S BP ALREADY!?!

- - - - -

All this to say I don't understand the hype behind the dating sim in Warframe. It's not for me. That's nothing against the devs, I just don't get the inclusion of it. Becoming friends with The Hex? Obviously. Dating one of them? What?! Why?

I'm getting each of them up to "liked" so I can unlock the rest of the quest and that's it. I'm praying this game doesn't force my hand to max out one of them for the syndicate because I'd rather not. I can see myself being friends with The Hex, but not in a relationship with one of them.

Again, this is nothing against the devs, it's just not something I would have implemented. I'm different when it comes to game design, what else can I say? I greatly appreciate DE experimenting like this, even if it's not for me. And don't worry, Random Player is not real. That's just something I made up to explore this idea that you HAVE to romance one of The Hex (again, hoping this isn't required for maxing out the syndicate).

Mid post update: I looked it up. No, you don't need any KIM progress to get to rank 5. It does unlock something relating to the KIM messenger though.

And who knows, maybe the Hex will wow me and I'll change my mind and max out a relationship with one of them. It's not impossible. Again, the whole idea of a "dating sim" in Warframe is strange to me given the lore and direction of the story.

Also if you are angered over my stance towards being single, please stop. I have nothing against anyone you're thinking of, I've just had time to think about it and have accepted my lot in life. If I find the one for me, awesome. If I don't, oh well. Not everybody is meant to be in a relationship and I'm going to focus on living my life. I wanted to start a family and have children, but that is not what I am supposed to do in life. Honestly writing heartfelt stories about good versus evil is my calling in life and I am going to do that no matter what happens.

Also I swear to God if life invalidates my brooding by having me find the one for me tomorrow, I am going to be very annoyed...

Despite my mood, I hope your day goes well, you have fun in Warframe, and the rest of your days are fantastic.

#vent post #venting frustration #brooding #warframe #spoilers #please have fun regardless of my mood #I've got a lot of thoughts on my mind #Warframe will never cease to be weird #seriously I'm not into dating simulators

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retphienix · 1 year ago

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*CHEERING AND SCREAMING AND HOOTING AND HOLLERING*

NOW THAT'S THE KIND OF VIBE I'M TALKING ABOUT!

When the Atlas is confronted with something unknowable to it- a corruption that somehow birthed life in the face of destruction- something that destroys the Atlas' "world view" by breaking all the rules it believed to be law-

The Autophage should not exist- Atlantideum should not exist.

They are both echos of the most pure form of destruction in this reality- deletion.

And just like how echoes and remnants of files can persist despite attempting to delete something-

(For the sake of discussion it's worth bringing up the ongoing corruption of the Atlas that very well could be weakening its ability to thoroughly delete things- much like a novice trash-binning a word document etc->)

-A form of life has persisted, has born itself will and found a way to secret itself away despite being destroyed, deleted, and wiped from all recognized form by the Atlas.

On its own, I fucking love this stuff. Facing god and saying "You saw to their death, and yet they lived because they willed themselves to continue" is sick as hell.

But the parallel to the Atlas' "life"; The Autophage as a personification of hope in the face of destruction that could be seen as the underlying 'sub-conscious' of the Atlas confronting their upcoming death- or, as this is a form of corruption brought on by the various failing aspects of the Atlas that fuels the Autophage- rather than a sub-conscious this could be seen as an entirely new consciousness within the Atlas birthed from the decay and corruption.

An entirely new mind that, like the autophage, was born from death- and by that logic shouldn't exist. "Her".

The Atlantideum is tied to the Void and the Void is referred to much differently than the Atlas.

"Her".

A portion of the Atlas' mind has corrupted to the point of gaining independence- and that independence has created her own views- her own beliefs- her own Hope- something the Atlas on its own has thus far been entirely incapable of.

The Atlas is raw logic; A computer made God as one would expect them to be- cold- "unfeeling"- simply running routines rapidly in a self preservation cycle.

The Atlas knows it will die and has made no motion against it because it knows there's no point- it merely watches, catalogues, runs diagnostics, attempts to maintain itself the same way a monitor will continue displaying until it finally loses power. It Will Die, and that's all that matters to it.

But this corruption has twisted the grand potential of the Atlas' mind to experience something akin to the life it grants those in the simulation- and that birthed Hope- AND NOW WE GET TO SHOW THE ATLAS. WE GET TO SEE THE FEAR THE ATLAS FEELS TOWARDS CHANGE, TOWARDS THIS MIND SO SIMILAR AND DIFFERENT FROM ITS OWN, TOWARDS THINGS THAT DEFY THE LAWS OF *GOD*- AND WE GET TO TELL IT "THIS IS HOPE."

And then we leave.

Simple as that.

Prove to "God" that hope exists in the face of certain death; That hope can allow one to persist, not unchanged, but to live anew 'despite it all'- and we get to leave the Atlas with that thought rattling around in its cold, calculating mind.

Fucking SICK, man.

#no man's sky #nms #RetPlays #Spoilers

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thekamukuraproject · 8 months ago

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literally why do so many people hate izuru hes just a kitty cat. you're hating on a kitten. you're sick

YES!! you fucking get it!!!!

Not that Izuru didn’t let a lot of awful shit happen and then DID awful shit. Like just letting Junko start an apocalypse because you find the world boring and letting her blackmail a room of teens to get them to kill eachother while literally STAYING IN THE BUILDING with the teens killing eachother... that's bad :( Not a good thing.

That and Izuru fixing and putting together the Junko AI to mess up a simulation designed by multiple Ultimates to rehabilitate people and act as like the best therapy ever...

But like that is the extent we ever hear about Izuru is canon! or noncanon if we look at some of the weird novels like Danganronpa Kirigiri or Danganropa Togami (I have read neither in their entirety) but Izuru isn't brought up in either! (that I am aware of)

Yet Izuru in many fics I read is a manipulative asshole who wants people in pain, or I've seen people say that Izuru manipulated Junko into doing the tragedy! Like this dude was kept in a basement thinking they knew everything and having no competition or reason to grow in ability or talk with people, because they knew what they'd say, they knew what reactions they'd envoke, they believed they knew everything and what measure of joy they'd feel or what measure of hate they'd feel.

Even in canon we see in Sdr2 ch0 that they're clearly WRONG about that! They like the unpredictable motions to the waves but assume they will get used to it so no point in getting excited. In UTDP they aren't purposely mean to people. They just find little point in having an elaborate discussion with someone, likely for the exact same reason shown in sdr2 ch0. They'll get used to the person or figure them out (assuming the person just wants to use them for their talents) and get bored of the person.

Izuru is just a hyper depressed super teen who finds things boring or is so pessimistic that they assume even things they like in the moment will be boring... Like I suffer from what I like to call "Understimulated Depression" where if I'm not being given enough mental stimulation, I grow severely depressed. As a result, I'm a dopamine junkie, I need new fun things to do or I wither, and that's SUCH an easy thing to project onto Izuru. Not to say to pity me, but like this fucker had their brain scrambled and body altered through non-legal means and then gets shoved into a room with nothing but a bed. I'd *die* of boredom and so would probably everyone else!

I went on an insane tangent here but like Look at this guy! Insane surgies that suppressed a whole identity to make room for more talent and then evidence of extreme depression and then also left in a dark concrete room :/ You let that fucker OUT and give them proper love and attention? Insane, but maybe they wouldn't have sided with the villain if they'd been given enrichment in their enclosure and a warm sun spot to lay in. Maybe your cat wouldn't be so evil and scratch you if you thought about how a kitty may view you not interacting with it and getting to know it before just going in for the touching and poking and prodding with sinky human hands

#izuru kamukura #sdr2 #the they the them #kitty #Izuru is just so kitty I have so many thoughts on this #my text

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koishikomeijiofficial · 3 months ago

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like let me put it all out there

until dawn is a shit excuse for a game and if you’re a fan i don’t like. hate you or anything. but i certainly don’t trust your taste in media.

i’ll start immediately with the racism. the use of native american folklore as a spooky scary plot line is already annoying as fuck, but to do it in the way supermassive does is just irresponsible. for one, just saying the creature’s name out loud MULTIPLE times despite one of the most important things being that even uttering its name invites some Real Bad Shit, yet you’re telling me this old man with a flamethrower that is supposedly native himself and an expert on these creatures would just??? carelessly say it over and over and over again? again, he’s supposed to be an expert and also native. he should KNOW to keep his mouth shut when it comes to just saying the creature’s name. and on top of that, you’re really telling me This Expert Man would die THAT easily by running after he’s just finished telling another character that the creatures can’t see you if you stand still. now let me state ahead of time that i’m white, so i do not have the experience of native people having their folklore yoinked and mishandled like this, and people who are you are free to correct me on anything i get wrong. i just feel like the handling of the creature and its lore and just kind of…. making up things (like the motion based movement) is so shitty and irresponsible. when you’re handling something like this that has significant meaning to people, you need to handle it with the utmost care and respect. there is no respect in until dawn. also worth mentioning is that the existence of the creatures feels like a half-assed secondary plot line; josh’s dumb bullshit couldn’t make a long enough game apparently, so they had to stretch it out by putting in some random Spooky Scary Monster. they’re two completely different stories that are barely connected, and the connection in the first place is flimsy as fuck

also your choices Don’t Matter. the game wants you to believe sooooo bad that choices matter, but the story doesn’t change no matter who lives or dies. the only change you experience is the interviews at the end. the story itself doesn’t change. any character who is able to be killed just stops being important or even relevant to the story at the first instance of them possibly dying because idk these devs couldn’t be bothered to properly branch anything. every scene is the same no matter who’s there. the choices get you the same reactions from the characters no matter what you do.

also. the fact that a completely innocuous choice can change whether matt wastes the flare gun on his own or not???? that’s complete bullshit. just say you hate your players.

until dawn as a game also just makes me sick. the constant jumpscares aren’t scary, they’re just fucking annoying and badly done, and the sickness doesn’t come solely from the gore, but the way it’s handled; every death except one or two is via head trauma. decapitation is all over the place, head squashing, face smashing, eye stabbing, etc etc there is just WAY too much for me to see it as scary deaths. it feels more like the devs have a massive decapitation fetish. it’s just torture porn. if i wanted torture porn i’d go read a mid rated hentai. the obsession w heads also carries over into their other games, but it’s at its most egregious here in UD. the drawn out heads getting ripped off, the lingering camera on the heads dropping to the floor with the expressions changing, its past the point of horror and firmly in the camp of Devs Obviously Jerking It To This Shit.

also if you praise anything about the gameplay i want to study you under a microscope. WHAT fucking gameplay? you just walk around, pick things up very slowly, and press buttons sometimes. yes there are good games that are just walking simulators, but my issue with UD is that it’s being advertised as this great “butterfly effect” horror adventure where choices matter and that it was exciting and fun. it is None of those things. “butterfly effect” is just a fancy way to say “we made a bunch of choices that didn’t actually matter but we want you to fall for it anyway”. there is nothing exciting about it. you don’t run from things, you don’t chase anything, you just slowly walk and sometimes hit a QTE. a walking sim indie game that tells me it’s a walking sim with a story is always going to rate higher in my books than a “game” whose advertising is a complete and utter lie.

this series of videos hits on a lot of these points and i recommend them wholeheartedly

tl;dr until dawn is a bad game and if you enjoy it you’re not terrible but you’re also ignoring a lot of passive problems and also racism. the racism is pretty bad. and so is the egregious decapitation fetish

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whatliesbeneath-ao3 · 10 months ago

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MANAGERIAL NOTE

What a mess. The papers are scattered everywhere... they're all out of order. You pick up another file.

CW: MENTIONED SUICIDE ATTEMPTS, SELF-HARM, SLIGHT GORE

A prick of the finger, and Valerian stares blankly down at the blooming blood, and then the attempt at making a friend. It sets down its creation, a needle felted Frankenstein, and sighs, leaning back in its chair, eyes traveling across the length of its shelves, felt soldiers all lined up to fight the battle to die.

A knock sounds, and Valerian turns its head. “Come in,” It says, spinning the chair around to face the door. Its mother enters the room, holding a tray and wearing a concerned expression.

“How are you feeling, Riri?” She asks, and sets the tray down. A protein shake, pills, a washcloth and fresh gauze. She makes the familiar motion, and it pulls its hoodie off, arms wrapped in seeping scarlet stains. Valerian’s mother sits in front of it, on her knees as she unwraps the bandages and cleans its wounds. It doesn’t flinch despite the pain as if she was tearing off a new layer of skin.

“I made another,” It says, gesturing to the rows of audience members, taking its medication as its mother watches. Her eyes soften, and she picks up one. “Which ones today?” It takes a sip of the protein shake.

“...simulated happiness, courtesy of N Corporation’s canned experiences,” She says, quietly, like she’s ashamed. Valerian doesn’t mind it; actually, it doesn’t think about it at all, the implications or the snake shed skin tomorrows.

“I see,” It replies.

“How does it taste?” She asks.

Valerian contemplates, while turning back around, scanning the open tabs. It finds one it returns to like a long-lost-lover, the religion of Ē̵̝̝̳̬̣̇̐͋̃͑͊́̒͝͝█̴̭͍̮̘̱̪͙͗́̀̈́̃̋͝█̵̢̹̮̲͕̤̟̘̝̹̲̂̉̍̾̾̏͆̕̕͝█̷̧̟̞̰̘͉̻͛̌̇e̵͈͔̣͑̓͒͝█̴̡̨̧̧̜̻̝̟͙͉̿█̷̧̡͈̯͉͈͔͚̠̤̄͐̌̀̔ȩ̶̳̺̜̘̯̄̿̈́͘͘… and their leader, their God, Forge. Valerian’s mother comes up from behind it, lips pressed to its hair, hands on its shoulders, soothing, comforting.

“I sent an application letter to Lobotomy Corporation,” It says, finally. Its mother’s hands still, but for the merest moments; everything stops as it considers what it must be like to watch a bird with self-clipped wings leap from the nest; it feels nothing at the sorry imagined flight. “Apparently it’s under review. I’ve never gotten such a quick reply before.”

“Hmm,” Its mother hums.

“I think it might be fate,” It says, looking up into her eyes. She kisses Valerian’s forehead.

“If it’s what you think might help you, anything, Riri,” She says. “Just say the word. Let us help you.”

It says nothing, words left behind somewhere in a shoebox of scattered suicide notes, If you want to help me, kill me. If you love me, kill me. If you want me to belong, kill me. If you want me to be happy—

“Thank you.” It says instead.

...

You put the file away, and take a long break before continuing, staring up at the ceiling and watching the black and white swirl every which way, around, further, and then back again at the beginning.

#Managerial Note #The First Day Event #Valerian

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mellowwhumps · 7 months ago

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Whumperless Whump Event Day 13: Stuck in the mountains

OCs: Ida, Yuuto (by @/qiuthewhumps) (AU)

CW: blood, war-typical scenery (undetailed), near-death experience

@whumperless-whump-event

Shouts permeated the crisp winter air, gunshots ringing left and right around him as he ran, darting between trees and bushes alike, weapon in unsteady hand. It was clear as day that they were on the losing side, stuck in unfamiliar mountainous terrain and in less than desirable conditions.

He thought it would have been a temporary ceasefire, at least until the snow stopped falling heavily upon all of them, drenching his clothes and boots.

He thought wrong.

Gods, he helped in planning the attack, it shouldn’t have ended like this. He ran through numerous simulations in his mind. It was meant to work, if not for so many unseen variables. The plan wasn’t bad. He was just unlucky.

Hope was a terrible, terrible thing. Yet, it remained the only thing keeping him on his feet. Around him, bodies were scattered in a cacophony of chokes and cries. He could imagine them, still alive, grasping onto every part of his body and pleading for help he could not give, because if he ever stopped then he would have turned out exactly like them.

Like another nameless soul of the masses, nothing but a tag to identify them against all the blood and grime. If anyone was even here to check. Hastily, he shakes stray thoughts of home out of his mind.

No.

He wanted to simply scream out his location and be done with it, wanted to pray that someone would find him. That would have meant alerting the opponent too. Small price to pay, wasn’t it? Between dying by the opponent or to frostbite, it was still death. An end, no difference.

There had to be a way out of this damned place, he thought, stumbling up a particularly steep section of cliff and nearly slipping from the wetness of the rocks, heart nearly pumping out of his chest. He heard footsteps trailing behind him, making a quick left to try and evade their sights.

A bullet hit the tree beside him, covering him in a small blanket of snow he hastily shook off, much too close for comfort. With the only source of light being the dim moonlight above, he could only see their silhouette, ever getting closer.

The second shot missed.

The world almost seemed to fall silent. Not that it already wasn’t before, the few moments when the creatures residing in such a place sensed danger and fled, caught right in the middle of some conflict they could not possibly ever understand.

He remembered finding a village with his platoon, razed to the ground, not quite abandoned. It was clear that the villagers had been rushed out, having just so happened to be there. Some hadn’t even been able to escape. Or hadn’t wanted to, he suspected.

So what? So they had to sleep in the freezing outdoors, no shelter in sight? Destroying other people’s livelihoods just to get the tiniest bit of an advantage was something worse than foul play. But war was war.

The next two shots struck true. One to his arm. The other, right through his chest. The world blurred, his legs giving way beneath him as he fell in almost slow-motion.

No life flashed past his eyes. Instead, all he could think of was the silhouette, trembling, slowly approaching his body and entering his view. The stranger wore the same uniform as him.

He wanted to laugh, then, but all that came out was blood. Useless. All of that running was useless. His vision faulted again and the next time he managed to focus, the stranger had already turned tail and escaped.

He was going to die alone. He was going to die. Cadaver, forever unable to find the way out of such a place, lost, wandering. It was always going to end like this, wasn’t it? He wasn’t a hero, brought down by friendly fire, no less.

He wasn’t alone.

People were coming towards him, armed in strange attire, holding lights and weapons. He’d have cursed if he had enough time to, but dying, anything was better than being captured as a prisoner; he had to at least try and end it before…before. His gun wasn’t in his hands, dropped somewhere he couldn’t see.

The man, likely their leader, stood over him, studying him like his seniors would have. Analyzing his use. Still, he reached for his side, feeling for the pocket knife at his side, glaring daggers at the man. It wasn’t a battle he could win, but then again, none of them ever were.

He spluttered. His whole chest hurt, and he couldn’t even move his arm, let alone feel it. The blood in his windpipe wanted a way out, and without the strength to turn himself over, he was left choking on vermillion, his body trying to expel the unwanted fluid through coughs that made his whole body jerk and spasm, taking hurried gasps for air that could not enter.

It was like a competition, the way his gaze hung on to the stranger’s, desperate like any other human would be, even for an enemy. The stranger let go of it first, turning back to say what he could recognize as a foreign language he understood, but having thoughts too incoherent and oxygen-deprived to even begin to translate it.

He hung on to the last shred of his consciousness before a cloth was put to his nose, and he suffered no more.

#yet another prime example of me not knowing how to fill the prompt sdfhskdfhks #betcha weren’t expecting this (i wasn’t either)#want to rewrite this ngl but writers’ block has me shot too #whump #mellowwhumps #whump writing #whumpblr #writing challenge #prompt fill #whumperless whump event #whumperless whump event day 13 #mello breakdances on the floor #accidentally claimed yuuto as mine and forgot to tag… got too silly…

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pistonhyundai · 1 year ago

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Skate 2 at 15: Viva San Vanelona

Skate 2 turned 15 years old this week, and I never stopped playing it. Even when the servers slowly went to hell and made it harder (eventually impossible) for you to skate with other people or watch their clips, I'd still feel the urge to boot it up and screw around. In that eight year stretch where it wasn't backwards compatible with modern Xboxes, I kept a 360 hooked up just so I could always have a way to play it, and even afterwards only felt comfortable unplugging it after buying a digital copy on the 360 marketplace so I wouldn't even need to put the disc in my Series X.

Not many games have this sort of power over me. More recent indie efforts like Session and Skater XL don't capture that same feeling, and even Skate 3, a game with a fair share of features you could only view as improvements to the series, can't quite be as absorbing. So what is it about Skate 2 that's made it a constant for nearly half my life? I guess you can start with the obvious: how it feels to play.

When I think about a lot of my absolute favorite video games—shooters like Quake, platformers like Mario and Sonic, or even a strategy game like Worms Armageddon—the through-line between them is clear: there's a simple joy to the fundamental movement of the game. It goes without saying that platformers live and die by their running and jumping, but Quake is similarly defined by its breakneck speed and movement tech, and even with Worms (where the standard ground movement is deliberately sluggish), the high-risk-high-reward flinging granted by the Ninja Rope item is so ubiquitous to the series that a lot of fans outright ignore entries that don't get its physics right. When something as fundamental as simply getting around in a video game is its own fun, it makes it very easy to play something just for the sake of it, and the Skate series embodies that quality.

Skate's analog stick-driven Flickit trick system is a contentious one depending on who you ask, and when you think about the skateboarding games that came before it, that's understandable. The immediacy of Tony Hawk's Pro Skater's "direction + button = trick" formula came to define the genre in the series' heyday thanks to its approachable, pick-up-and-play nature (even Hawk-era games striving to be more grounded and technical like Thrasher: Skate and Destroy still rely on similar button combinations for its tricks), so of course Skate's idiosyncratic control scheme and the nuance it provides isn't going to be for everybody. Should you overcome the comparatively steep learning curve, however, Flickit becomes immensely rewarding to work with. Getting around feels incredibly natural, and you're given an unparalleled degree of control over things like the speed of your flip tricks, the height of your jumps, and the motion of your grabs—all with movements of the right analog stick. It delivers a level of finesse and a connection between you and the board that feels like nothing else in the genre.

This depth the Flickit system provides (along with the generally higher risk of outright bailing) puts a greater emphasis on landing single tricks than your average skateboarding game. A rail, ramp, or gap is usually a means to an end as part of a larger combo in other games, but like how simulation racers in the vein of Forza and Gran Turismo contrast arcade racers by finding simpler joys in hitting a corner's apex just perfectly, Skate relishes the smaller moments, treating them as setpieces unto themselves. That perfectly smooth grind down a slanted staircase railing. The clean landing of a half-pipe transfer you put that extra bit of spin to. A miraculous rooftop drop onto a nearby incline. Having any one of these things go off without a hitch after throwing yourself at them repeatedly brings a sense of accomplishment that rivals any million-point Pro Skater combo (while the ragdoll physics and crunchy sound work ensure that failure is its own entertainment without getting too graphic), and it's something that makes you look at the world with a different eye compared to other extreme sports games; one that feels a little closer to an actual skateboarder's.

Instead of thinking about how you can link your surroundings together for huge combos, you think about what looks and feels good, approaching individual landmarks from all angles to pick them apart, eventually getting off your board to drag nearby props over to either mutate the spot or slot the object in as the missing piece that makes something skatable with flair. Maybe you'll even want to edit the replay and upload it to the game's Skate Reel gallery of user-made photos and replays—or in these days of dead servers, save it manually with the Xbox's built-in recording. Each Skate game has scoring mechanics and career modes, all with the unique objectives and trappings you'd expect from them, but it's these naturally occurring, self-imposed "I wonder if I can do that?" moments that end up being the best challenges in the series.

And this is where Skate 2 really stands out from the other games in the trilogy as something special: its setting is perhaps as perfect a canvas for its gameplay as you can ask. New San Vanelona, a renovated take on the original game's city (the result of an earthquake that occurred in the Wii and DS-exclusive spinoff, Skate It), is a sprawling skate wonderland full of diverse environments, each brimming with unique opportunities to capitalize on. Every region has its own makeup that feels catered to a specific style of skateboarding: Cougar Mountain's hillside roads are made for careening down, the dilapidated buildings and rooftops of the Boneyard are begging for prop improvisation, and there are multiple skate parks and mega complexes that grant intoxicatingly big air. Proceed for a few seconds in any direction and you'll find an interesting spot to skate, an object to drag around for use in a setup, or some insane drop or steep road you can use to either set up a huge jump or simply eat shit after building up speed. Each location gracefully the flows into the next, with smaller skate spots peppered in along the way, making it incredibly easy to lose hours just mindlessly roving around the city, seeing what corners of the world speak to you at a given moment. The first game's take on the city is decent, but feels a little barren by comparison (it doesn't help that it lacks the moveable props or the ability to get off your skateboard, making it harder to set things up), and the third game's Port Carverton is segregated into three disconnected biomes that can't quite inspire the same creativity as New San Vanelona.

Skate 2's level design is so engrossing that some of its most memorable spots exist entirely by accident, never intended to actually be used. The series is no stranger to glitches, as I'm sure you've seen on YouTube, but it can be used for more than just funny highlights and bails. While they can end up spoiling the competitive aspect of the wipeout-based objectives, certain exploits can be used to bend the rules and get a little extra help in making something happen. Depending on the glitch you use, you can build up speed quickly in a tight location or launch yourself dozens (sometimes hundreds) of feet into the air, and more enterprising skaters can use this to reach new heights that give their surroundings a whole new complexion. One such spot is found by Slappy's skate park, an early-game location that's introduced to you via a roll-in drop that leads into the first major air you catch in the game. It's fun enough to mess around in on its own, but if you exploit a glitch to work your way to its adjacent rooftops, you can make it to the top of nearby hangar that just so happens to line up with the roll-in jump's landing. The result is an enormous leap that dwarfs that original roll-in gap, with a landing that grants you the kind of speed that lets you approach the nearby quarter-pipes and jumps in new ways, clearing huge spine transfers and even letting you jump from the ground to another nearby roof. It adds an extra dimension to what was already one of my favorite stomping grounds in the game, taking what was once well-worn territory over the top. Skate 2 has its own themes of anti-authority sprinkled in (an evil corporation controls the Financial District of the city and has capped rails and hired security to make places unskatable, something you deal with in the course of the career mode), but it's this kind of glitch-induced trespassing through half-finished outskirts of the game that really nails urban skateboarding's spirit of rebellious expression in a way that only video games could. That it was never intended in the first place only makes it that much sweeter.

The beauty of it all is that Slappy's is just a microcosm of what it's like to play Skate 2. It feels like every inch of New San Vanelona is littered with opportunities for all sorts of unique stunts and slams, and the result is one of the most gratifying emergent gameplay experiences I've ever had. For all the possibilities Skate 3 grants with its user-created skate parks and the ability to drop props into the world at-will, it just can't match the magic of Skate 2's four-wheeling wanderlust, and even with an upcoming new entry that has a promising focus on communal creativity (almost like some sort of skateboarding Minecraft), I wouldn't be surprised if I stuck with this game for another 15 years.

#Skate #gaming #video games #Skate 2

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