I hate it how some games these days, even after choosing your sex, they still use "they."
Like, if you're not gonna use the damn pronouns, then why ask to begin with???
At that point, there might as well be no option to begin with! We're all just androgynous blobs now. I mean, what even is the point???
I mean, I get that Sandrock has a lot of voiceacting, but Portia actually allowed the main character to speak rather than have information transmitted telepathically & despite allowing you to choose your voice! (Which, is actually something I wish they'd brought back.)
If they can do that, then why can't they have the voice actors repeat a few lines with the 2 original pronouns?
And seriously! Why no change to certain dialogue based on this? Or the way people behave in small or subtle, almost unnoticeable ways?
Like, for instance, if a game has a confirmed straight guy who's a lady's man & my character is female, he should react to that!
Or if there's a down home country boy, he calls me "ma'am" or "miss" or "mrs" & is an utter gentleman to me & very respectful.
Or if some dude is a misogynist, he should initially underestimate me & become not just impressed, but shocked when my character proves him wrong!
Or, if there's a lesbian chick in town, have her subtly flirt until I'm given the option to choose from "interested in girls" or "not interested in girls."
Or when an elder talks to me, why don't they refer to me as a young lady?
Or, when danger comes, something subtle like guys instinctively moving between me & that danger. And if a threat shows themself, dude squares up & stares them down. (Cause, that's just sort of hardwired into a lot of guys. Especially very masculine men with good hearts. ♡) Like, obviously, it's a game where the player is likely to actually be fully capable of protecting herself despite, biologically, being at a disadvantage. However, those sorts of little details are amazing & bring life to characters.
In fact, whenever danger comes around, I love that subtle instinctive movement to protect women & children.
Just little ways to make these games feel more alive. More organic.
The reason being that there are obviously instinctive reactions that we have to the sexes. I know a lot of people are galled by such a thing these days, but honestly, when games don't have those little bits in there, for the sake of "inclusivity" or "equality," it feels sterile. Because these things give it a very human element, that by not having them, it sort of takes me out of the game just a bit.
Because, without those interactions, it tends to feel more like the player character isn't actually part of the world that you're exploring.
Either way, at this point, it feels like being able to choose between male & female is little more than cosmetics.
In the end, men, women, & even many trans individuals are included only superficially.
The only ones who are really, genuinely acknowledged vocally, are nb individuals.
Which feels... excluding...
Random Stuff Masterlist
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pride, envy, wrath, sloth, gluttony, greed, ao3
Seven Deadly Sins Series (NSFW 18+)
lust (noun) - a shortcut to sexual fulfillment, but it doesn’t actually get you there. When you lust after someone, you are objectifying that person for your own selfish pleasure.
The summer heat beats down with a strength that must rival that straight out of Hell, Eddie thinks.
The thermometer Wayne keeps on the porch outside reading somewhere between ninety degrees and the devil’s asscrack and Eddie can feel all of it.
Sweat rolling down his spine even where he’s sat in the shade, sunglasses and baseball cap on and a glass of ice water pressed to the back of his neck.
You couldn’t pay him enough money to set foot in the grass, to feel the sun hit his skin and start burning it instantly.
The only thing keeping him even outside is Steve.
Steve who is washing his car like it's the most important job he’ll ever have. He’s paying attention to details that Eddie’s never even noticed, let alone noticed were clean.
But that’s not what Eddie’s paying attention to anyway is it?
No. There might be one thing in the steamy July air that is hotter than the sun, and it's the thoughts running through Eddie’s head. There’s nothing cool about those.
See, Eddie’s covered in a layer of grime and his hair has gone frizzy and he’s sprawled across the couch in a way he knows makes him look less like a man and more like a deflated balloon.
But despite the heat, Steve looks like a vision.
He’s got on a tight little pair of cut-off shorts that do absolute wonders for his thighs.
He’s ripped the sleeves off and cropped one of Eddie’s old band shirts, a white one at that, and Eddie’s eyes can trail all the way from his shoulder to his happy trail, view unobstructed.
He’s got his hair pushed back with a pair of sunglasses that started on his eyes but were apparently hindering his vision too much. Whatever. Eddie’s not complaining. He looks sexy with his hair pushed back.
It started out innocent enough. With Eddie mentally making a note to tell him he looks cute the next time he’s close enough to the porch.
But that was before he took a break from scrubbing to douse himself under the hose.
Because now Eddie’s old, white band shirt is stuck to his skin like glue. Like it was painted on just for him. Eddie loves Steve’s strong arms, he does. But he’s never going to pass up an opportunity to watch the way the muscles in his back ripple under his skin. The “Metallica” stretched across his shoulders is just icing on the cake.
When faced with the wrath of the sun, Eddie’s skin turns pink and tender. But Steve goes a beautiful warm golden and his freckles seem to multiply.
Right now Eddie’s eyes are glued to Steve’s legs. The way his muscles go taut when he squats down to scrub at his hubcaps. If he squints hard enough against the harsh afternoon light, Eddie can almost make out the indentions of his own teeth on the underside of his thigh. The fading purple bruise he’d sucked into soft skin, sweaty for an entirely different reason.
He thinks of the way he’s made those strong legs tremble and shake. The way he’s had them wrapped around his waist, his head.
Steve shifts and sits on the grass, leans back on both of his hands and throws his head back with a sigh. Eddie’s gaze gets redirected to the shirt clinging to his chest, his soft, but still strong tummy.
He wants to lick his collarbones and leave bruises on his neck. More bruises, that is. There’s already a few mottled across his skin because Eddie just can’t help himself. How could he? How could anybody help themselves with Steve in their lap whimpering their name like a prayer? Eddie gave up trying to hold back a long time ago.
When his eyes come back into focus Steve is stretching to reach across his windshield, back muscles stretched long and strong. If Eddie closes his eyes he can imagine the feeling of the welts he’d left across his skin. Claw marks drug all the way down his back. Can almost imagine the feeling that elicited them. The groan he’d pulled out of his boy in turn.
Eddie snaps his eyes open and is met with Steve’s lazy smile looking his way and he really can’t be blamed for the heat it sends dipping into his stomach and the strained huff he grits out.
The way Steve throws his head back again, this time in a laugh at Eddie’s distress, doesn’t help his case.
It gets the worst though, when Steve sets to detailing the hood.
Now he’s got his back directly facing Eddie. He’s bent over at the waist, hips popped back and his spine dipped low and Eddie’s not a praying man, he’s not.
But he’s about to send up one of gratitude because sometimes he can hardly believe Steve’s his.
And Eddie’s not stupid. He knows Steve’s onto him. He knows because he’d laughed. Because he’s peeking over his shoulder every few seconds to see if Eddie’s eyes are still on him. He knows because he’s tugged his little shorts up enough that the crease of his ass and his thighs sits right below the frayed denim hem.
There might’ve been a time where Eddie would’ve tried valiantly to redirect his train of thought. To stop himself from making a fool of himself. But now Steve’s his boyfriend. And Steve knows Eddie’s thinking about getting him naked more often than he’s not these days. He’s just as bad.
So Eddie lets himself sink into it. Into the visions of the bounce of Steve’s cheeks when Eddie smacks him. Of the tiny freckle just shy of his hole and how he loves to sink his teeth around it. The tiny heart tattoo on the back of his right hip that Steve totally should not have let Eddie give him, but they both love nonetheless.
He thinks about the way his normally strong voice, breaks and goes soft when Eddie fucks him. The way he squirms when he rides Eddie’s face.
The goosebumps that break out across his skin on the comedown and his glassy eyes and soft smile.
His eyes are wide open but he’s so lost in the memory of his boy’s ass pulled against his hips that he misses when Steve stops washing his car and climbs the steps of the porch. Doesn’t see him until he feels his weight drop down across his lap and hears Steve ask what he’s thinking about in a sultry whisper.
So Eddie really doesn’t feel all that bad about his thoughts burning hotter than the summer sun when he says, “Nothing, baby. Just you.”
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so lately i’ve been obsessed with a 141 dancer au
gaz runs classes, has a youtube channel and quickly becomes one of the most sought after choreographers in the music video scene. soap is his dance partner for his classes, he helps run them and does demonstrations with him
ghost is also a choreographer and he’s gaz’s Arch Nemesis
he's famous for never performing his routines, never doing public appearances without his skull mask and being highly exclusive with who he allows to perform his choreo which earns him his name (since he’s a ghost creator). gaz however is a social media darling, his classes and videos regularly doing huge numbers
they both popped up around the same time and are neck and neck in terms of popularity and skill and they immediately rub each other the wrong way
gaz accuses ghost of not actually choreographing his routines himself bc no one has ever seen him dance and ghost thinks gaz is a clout chaser who's just in it for the fame instead of passion
he became a dancer as a way to channel his rage after years of being an underground fighter, the discipline and physicality helping him more than fights ever did. he hates the thought of someone just using it just to get famous when it literally saved his life
deep down they know their accusations are wrong and they have a grudging appreciation for the other's talent but they'd both rather die than admit it
price is a famous dancer turned director they both work with frequently and they always fight over him; trying to get their routines picked for his music videos. he's also the only one in the industry who's ever seen the ghost perform (before he got famous and before the Incident™)
he finally gets fed up with them constantly being at each other's throats and hires them both to work together and choreograph a joint routine. they're both famous in their own right but this video is for a huge artist so neither of them can refuse no matter how much they hate the other
gaz has a gymnastics background but also a ballet background which lends him to a more fluid style whereas ghost’s style is stronger, more masculine with sharper movements so they naturally end up butting heads
then there's soap who has a completely different style altogether, focusing on a more modern, breakdancer style which makes him see everything completely differently
but it also adds to his self-doubt bc he didn't have a formal dance education, he built his entire repertoire by himself. people see him as inferior to gaz who has that very formal, highly disciplined style. his insecurities about only ever being seen as gaz's demonstration partner and that he can only do gaz’s routines so all his skill is just an extension of him instead of being seen as a dancer in his own right forces him to adopt a rigid - destructive - perfectionism in himself and his body
soap meets ghost before the first rehearsal. he gets to the studio early to practice when sees this beautiful man dancing
he has no idea who he is but he moves so seamlessly, almost better than gaz, and he immediately falls a little in love. the man catches him watching in the mirror and he flusters, getting worse as the man just smirks at him and flawlessly completes the routine
soap tries to save face and asks him to teach him the routine he's doing
the man agrees, introducing himself as simon. the style of the routine is familiar to soap but he can't focus on it when simon's hands are on his waist, guiding him through the steps; his chest pressed up against his back. they work together beautifully, picking up each other's body language and dancing together easier and better than they've ever danced with anyone
then gaz arrives and the vibe in the studio immediately changes
simon's easy confidence becomes hostility, pulling up the skull gaiter he'd let hang around his neck as he practically pushes soap behind him to square up to gaz
soap’s shocked when gaz hits back with the same energy until he realises it's the same way he acts whenever he talks about ghost and his stomach drops
he steps out from behind ghost to side with gaz and the betrayal in simon's eyes hurts more than anything he's ever felt
from there it's romeo and juliet; camp gaz versus camp ghost as they fight over every step of the choreo and soap is the poor bastard stuck in the middle
soap tries to channel that “you’re my best friend’s rival, i have to hate you,” mindset but he can’t forget the way it felt to dance with simon
and how much he wants to do it again
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