#they're always different depending on the sound
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izumiphoenix · 3 days ago
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I loved reading this so much!‹It sounds like you had a strong sense of your character from the start, and I admire that. In my case, she came to life gradually as I played and only later I realized how much the choices I made for her intuitively actually made sense and everything eventually fell into place.
My Tav is cautious and pragmatic too. She helps others when she can, but doesn’t stick her neck out unless there’s a reason. In quests, she’ll often avoid the responsibility for saving someone and making empty promises, but since the party usually heads that way anyway, they often end up helping regardless.
As a half-elf, she’s no stranger to the judgmental stares so it makes sense she’d stay on guard. My second Tav is a wild magic sorcerer and a drow, and the contrast is wild: Minthara was so sweet to her, but with my half-elf, she said something like “Oh, the Absolute is so kind, accepting even someone like you.” 😅 The hag also took jabs at her and Shadowheart for being of mixed blood. But since she grew up in a loving home in multicultural Baldur’s Gate, her outlook stayed open and curious.
Looking back, I think it was a bit out of character for her to accept Astarion’s invitation during the celebration but I was afraid it might lock me out of his route (and with where his approval was, that felt very likely). Besides, all other companions also seek Tav’s company that night, so it can be blamed on the overall euphoric atmosphere of the celebration.
I also get what you said about not connecting with a romance choice right away. My second Tav is trying to get to know Gale and while they have good chemistry, I don’t feel the same emotional roller coaster as I did with Astarion.
And yes, Astarion hardly ever talks about being a vampire - only in context of his condition as a vampire spawn, and always with bitterness. He clearly draws a line:
When you find the boar, he speaks about vampires like they're terrifying monsters, and his eyes say: “Is that how you’ll look at me too?”
When he talks about true vampires, there's no admiration - just revulsion for the “power-hungry beasts”
And when he rejects the idea of becoming a mind flayer, it’s always in terms of not wanting to turn into a monster again. Vampires are monsters to him. He didn’t want to become one and he doesn’t want to go through that again.
That’s why I don’t believe he ever truly wanted to ascend.
And that bear conversation? I only just found it this week while replaying to catch missed scenes, and this conversation is so meaningful and tells so much about Astarion it deserves its own post! You’re so right - he lays out his reasoning for seeking power in black and white: this is the world he knows, the world he has been living in. Either you dominate or be dominated. So in order to survive he has to become so strong that no one can even hurt him again. It’s only sensible.
I had no idea there are differences in the scenes after party depending on if you decided to protector destroy the Grove! Wow! For me it just proves once again that even if he approves some cruel actions on the surface, something doesn’t sit right with him underneath. He doesn’t just want a powerful or “ruthless” ally, he wants safety and a sense of control over his fate. A Tav who casually sides with those who dominate the weak may subconsciously remind him of the one who abused him - and he often compares such characters in the game to Cazador (like the Surgeon or Raphael). And the observation you shared just deepens my belief that he never really thrived on cruelty - he just thought he had to.
So even if approval points are important I also believe that it’s not necessary to follow the “approval point roadmap” exactly - it’s okay if Astarion disapproves when you decide to help someone out. He’ll notice kindness and feel real connection and that’s what matters the most. It also makes him so real too.
Starting from friendship is beautiful and probably exactly what he needs most. It feels closer to real life, too. It definitely felt too early for a romance to start in Act 1 but
 I think what we have there is only an illusion of it, and the actual romance starts in Act 2 after Astarion’s confession. Then it becomes real.
Thanks again for your insights! I’ll definitely check out your posts. Glad we could connect! ✹
The Truth Behind the Mask
(1/? part of “Astarion: In Search of True Self” — [masterpost here])
Even before I played, I kept stumbling upon Astarion fanart and memes that made me assume he was just some overrated character who was only popular because of his flirty, sassy attitude (I’m so sorry Q^Q). That’s why I didn’t have the best first impression even before I started.
And even in-game, when you first meet him, Astarion seems like a shallow, selfish and flirty guy - someone who doesn’t really care what others think and just follows his whims.
Couldn’t be further from the truth!
From what I’ve seen in some discussions on social media, though, a lot of players still hold that first impression - even after completing his route. I’ve even seen people call him a red flag, label him evil or say they were disappointed in general.
Also, I feel like most guides (at least the ones I’ve come across) simplify his character too much - mainly focusing on which choices will gain his approval or disapproval. Maybe that’s to avoid spoilers, but still. There are definitely other players who see the deeper layers too - so this is just my way of sharing my personal journey of discovering the real Astarion.
So, how did that first impression start to unravel? When checking with the guide and watching his reactions and body language, I started thinking about why the approval/disapproval tips work.
How Approval Looks on the Surface
Let’s look at some general tips for gaining Astarion’s approval points: 
choosing evil replies/actions 
seeking power 
siding with evil characters 
deceiving your opponents  
supporting his desires  
being understanding and accepting towards him 
(bonus one, haven’t seen guides mention this) sarcastic replies  
And disapproval points: 
making pompous heroic statements (like “Worry not! I shall save everyone!”) 
helping the weak 
being open about your party's situation (tadpoles)
being judgmental or unsupportive towards him  
naive/goodie-two-shoes responses  
In most cases, it is explained by his natural inclination towards evil forces and power, making Astarion seem like a self-centred and power-hungry vampire who might, with Tav’s influence, turn to become a bit of a better person. Or not. 
But while it’s technically true that those actions affect his approval, there’s much more nuance to why Astarion reacts the way he does - especially in the early stages.
So what's really going on?
The first contradiction that made me feel confused about the reasons for Astarion’s reactions was how nice Tav is being to him (of course, if you chose good replies during their interactions) – a person who is mean to everyone else would be just as mean to Astarion. It didn’t make sense to me; a kind and understanding Tav would fit much better in the story.  
So what is going on there? Why does Astarion need a kind and gentle Tav who is cold and dismissive to the rest of the world?
Because he is terrified.  
When we first meet our pale elf, he has just escaped (as in been kidnapped) from 200 years of slavery, humiliation and torture where his wellbeing completely depended on Cazador’s whims and every mistake meant punishment. Of course he’s paranoid. Of course he’s always calculating risk. 
It’s not about Tav’s choices being good or evil, it’s about their possible consequences for Astarion. He doesn’t want Tav to be evil, he just wants to feel safe. That’s all.  
Let’s Look at That List Again
So let’s look at his approval/disapproval list again: 
refusing to help someone - approve! we don’t want to risk 
seeking power - yes, please! power means safety!
siding up with evil characters - they are strong, so why not use this to our benefit? 
deceiving your opponents - we didn’t even have to fight and got want we wanted? don’t see a problem  
supporting his desires - maybe this time, I won’t have to fight for what I want
being understanding and accepting towards him - finally someone doesn't treat me as a monster
sarcasm - humor is our everything, especially when there’s nothing else left 
On the other hand:
making pompous heroic statements - you are saying these cringe things with a straight face AND putting us in danger? hard nope! 
helping the weak - no one helped me, why should we bother 
disclosing truth about their situation - have you heard about caution?!  
being judgmental or unsupportive towards him - no thanks, had enough of that
naive/goodie-two-shoes responses - are we going to be fine with a leader like that?..  
What Kind of Tav Does He Need?
Astarion isn’t looking for an "evil" Tav - he’s looking for safety. Well, technically, he isn’t looking for anyone at all. But the kind of Tav he opens up to tends to be:
pragmatic, cautious and clever
emotionally intelligent
non-judgmental
strong enough to lead and survive
That’s why he feels comfortable with a Tav who might choose to be distant toward strangers but treats him with consistent care. In this context it’s not suspicious, it’s sensible. He doesn’t expect help from the world, and he respects those who understand that reality. In a hostile world, survival is more likely in a group, so he clings to the party and tries to secure his place using the only tools he knows: charm, wit and usefulness. And a part of that strategy, making sure the leader favors him and he won’t be cast aside, leads to his initial approaches for Tav. But we’ll get into that more in another post.
So if Tav shows kindness to him? That’s exactly what he’s aiming for. And it doesn’t even matter that much if they still go out of their way to help others - because if the care they show him feels real, that already shifts something deep inside. That already gives him a reason to start hoping that this might be real.
The Mask
So there’s the charm, the flirtation, the flair for drama. Some players may read that as shallow or even foolish. But it’s not. It’s a mask - one he’s worn so well and for so long that it feels real. It’s what kept him alive under Cazador for the last 200 years.
But if you keep going, if you give him time and space to feel safe, you start to see it slip. The closer Tav gets to him, the more glimpses we get of his real self - thoughtful and warm, wary and sharp, sometimes silly and awkward, and, beneath it all, deeply hurt. And if you stay with him through to the end, when he finally feels safe enough to stop performing, his whole demeanor changes. He’s calmer. More grounded. Still witty - but in a different way.
Still Astarion. Just more himself.
<next part>
<back to masterpost>
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arrgh-whatever · 1 year ago
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asked my friends none of them had this but i surely can't be the only one so
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has any of you ever seen these.. tv static kinda pictures whenever you're almost asleep and then a sudden sound wakes you up
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feralnumberfive · 1 month ago
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Happy 90th Birthday to the (A)T-6 Texan/SNJ/Harvard. It's one of my favorite kinds of plane and is one of the best and most iconic sounding aircraft ever to exist. Whether you know it or not, you've definitely heard a T-6 in a movie, tv show, or even real life. Here's to the hundreds that are still flying today đŸ»
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huntershowl-moving · 10 months ago
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verse drop: bnha !!
general info.
name: persephone aisa alias (villain): hellhound allegiance: the unseen (organized crime) quirk: voidsmoke. persephone's hair dissolves into plumes of inky black smoke that she can directly manipulate. the smoke darkens any patch of shadow that it enters, allowing her to obscure her body in dim light and darkness. additionally, as their quirk evolves, they become able to manipulate its solidity, size and shape, which allows her to temporarily create small objects from the smoke (bullets, knives) & spread it outwards to fill an entire space with pitch-darkness. all created objects must eventually return to shadow; she can only make/maintain a few at a time before they start disintegrating. additionally, there is an upper limit to how large of a space she can turn pitch-black. (this limit can be trained, though, as can the amount/size/complexity of existing objects!) additionally, it is much more taxing to create darkness in a brightly-lit area than a dimly-lit one. enhancements: advanced prosthetic arms, upper-body skeletal reinforcement preferred gear: sniper rifle, several knives, brass knuckles, climbing shoes, grappling-hook arm attachment, reinforced clothing
two versions of this verse are described under the cut:
main ( villain, age/timeline-agnostic ) — inside your head the sound of glass.
UA ( student, early seasons ) — snake in the garden.
main ( villain, age/timeline-agnostic ) — inside your head the sound of glass.
the villain HELLHOUND has only been terrorizing the world for one year. for the first several months of that year, they only plagued the U.S. with their murders. japan was unfortunate enough to become their next target one month ago, but even in that short time they have already made quite the stir.
the strange thing about her — well. one of many, lol. — is that not only does she go after civilians and heroes, but other villains as well. it seems hellhound is indiscriminate in the moral alignment of those she eviscerates in the streets. additionally, sources are inconsistent and conflicting about what her quirk actually is. most are in agreement that it has to do with their hair, which melts into shadowy smoke at the ends, but those in the U.S. who endured her presence longer insist that it is some kind of lycanthropic transformation quirk. a beast-form, a giant wolf made of shadow and rage. as time goes on, more and more of japan's populace have begun to subscribe to this belief as well.
this verse can take place after the UA student verse or independent of it, depending on how sad we want to be. if it takes place afterwards, seph was pulled out of japan at some point in the timeline and sent to the US by her employer in THE UNSEEN. she completely vanishes, going zero-contact with everyone (including her brother), and comes back two years later as a villain — a monstrous shell of her former self.
UA ( student, early seasons ) — snake in the garden.
in this verse, persephone is sent by the unseen to infiltrate class 1-A and feed back information about the next wave of pro heroes. she has not yet experienced the events that lead to her becoming hellhound, but regrettably, that doesn't make her THAT much less aggressive. sorry to add to the angy energy bakugou brings to the class, but. whooops.
as a student, persephone is a little punk. she struggles to work with others and reacts to even the smallest provocation with anger. she doesn’t go out of her way to bully anyone, unless they do it to her first, but she is known for being prickly and very solitary. they are incredibly easy to rile and often get into fights. the only person they treat with kindness is their twin brother orion, who is in the support class.
that being said, she is still much easier to get along with — and importantly, quite a bit more trusting — than she is in hellhound verses. there are certainly things she likes, for instance (wild i know): being a delinquent, alternative metal music, raspberry sweets, cool knives!
unlike the other alleged UA mole, persephone's operation as a spy does not directly threaten the other students in any way. the unseen is a criminal organization that operates primarily for profit. its leader ( amari fletch, an ex-pro hero ) is perfectly fine letting the world run the way it runs, so long as the global leaders in their pocket continue to turn a blind eye to their highly illegal operations around the world. if someone goes against them, they are violently made an example of.
all of that being said, persephone is still a trained killer. she slips away from school often, as does orion, without any explanation to where she's gone — occasionally for days at a time. she is always diligent with make-up training and assignments, however, and her grades are solid despite the distractions.
when the war starts, the unseen's allegiance is to no one. (though this is subject to change, of course. an attractive enough offer could sway them.) this allows one of two branches to take place:
either the unseen allies with all for one and sends persephone to work with him & the league,
or they remain neutral and allow her to work with her peers against all for one.
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thankskenpenders · 4 months ago
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Thoughts on two specific areas of the writing in Sonic X Shadow Generations
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The best new 3D Sonic game in over a decade (or even two, depending on who you ask) dropped late last year. And I didn't write anything about it! Sometimes life happens. Well, I've finally sat down to finish Shadow Generations, and by now everyone has already been singing its praises for three months. This is the rare instance where the entire Sonic fandom, and even mainstream reviewers, are in agreement on something. The level design is the best it's been in a long, long time and the cool factor is off the charts, embracing Sonic's peak cringe era in an incredibly confident way. It's great. If you're even reading this post, you probably don't need me to tell you that. So I won't!
No, what I'm really interested in here is the writing. Because this is me we're talking about. But I actually don't want to talk about the main narrative of Shadow Generations, which is really solid little story about Black Doom trying to mold Shadow into his perfect soldier. No, I'd like to zero in on two other aspects of the writing here: the revisions made to Sonic Generations, and Gerald Robotnik's unlockable journal.
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The updated Sonic Generations script
The new package mostly presents Sonic Generations how you remember it. There are some tweaks, but it's not a major overhaul. Graphically, I don't think the game has been touched much, if at all. I certainly can't notice any difference without a side-by-side comparison, despite playing it on a PS5. The most notable update is that the game's script has been rewritten by Ian Flynn.
Naturally, this caught my attention. Generations always had a nothingburger story, so with Ian rewriting Pontac and Graff's lame dialogue there was nowhere to go but up. (I don't like to pin the blame for those games' stories entirely on them, as a ton of it was dictated to them by Sonic Team, but, well, I don't think they're very good dialogue writers.) But it's less a complete rewrite and more like Ian was brought on as a script doctor for some minor touch ups here and there. Many lines of dialogue are completely identical to how they were originally written in 2011, and many others only have slight wording changes. Ian was clearly not allowed to request additional scenes or extend the ones that already existed. He has to match the original beat for beat so that they can reuse 99% of the cutscene animations. Don't expect it to be a whole new experience compared to the original.
Still, I think the new script is an improvement, albeit a minor one. Various things have been tweaked to maintain characterization consistency. Cream calls Sonic "Mr. Sonic" instead of just "Sonic." Instead of calling Sonic "buddy," Rouge uses the pet name "Blue," like she tends to do in things like the IDW comics. Espio doesn't have to remind you in the dialogue that he's a ninja, and he no longer has a line making it sound like he has some kind of soul reading power. I also like that Modern Sonic now actually has responses to what his friends say when he rescues them, rather than being silent like Classic Sonic. They won't blow you away, but they make Sonic feel a little more engaged with everything.
In general, the altered dialogue just seems tighter to me, and some of the more childish or trite wording of Pontac and Graff's script has been altered. Here, let's actually make a direct comparison, just because this stuff is interesting to me as a writer. Here's a couple lines from after the Egg Dragoon fight late in the game, in the original script:
Modern Eggman: Ooooh... I can't believe this! I was supposed to beat you this time. Modern Sonic: Aw, I'm sorry! I didn't get that memo. I beat you every time! [Turns to Classic Sonic] No, seriously, we beat this guy every time. It's like it's our job or something!
This is a simple exchange. Eggman is mad that he lost. Sonic is unflappably confident because he always beats Eggman, and he explains this to his younger self. But the wording here isn't particularly good. Eggman's simple and direct wording makes him come off like a little kid who's mad because his older brother beat him at Mario Kart, rather than a mad scientist who just had his plans foiled. It's making light of the situation.
And I've never liked Sonic saying "It's like it's our job or something!" That doesn't feel like a thing Sonic would say, it feels like a thing an outside observer would say about Sonic. This is a frequent problem with so-called "MCU dialogue," where quips meant to echo the commentary of a casual, somewhat disinterested audience are inserted into the story itself so that the writers can be like "See? We get it. We're genre-savvy, too!" It also just reminds me of bad Sonic Boom: Rise of Lyric lines like "Rings! It's like they're made for me!"
And then here's Ian's rewrite:
Modern Eggman: I recalibrated everything! This was supposed to be my time! Modern Sonic: Oh, please, keep dreamin', Egg-head. I beat you every time. [Turns to Classic Sonic] No, seriously, we beat him every time. Our score card's flawless.
Eggman's still mad about his defeat, but the line "I recalibrated everything!" makes it more specific. He put all this work into the engineering side of his latest scheme and got tunnel vision, thinking if he got his creations just right there'd be no way he could lose. "This was supposed to be my time!" also turns it into a time travel pun, which is a bonus. He's still pitching a fit over losing, but it feels more like Eggman pitching a fit, rather than sounding childish.
And then instead of saying that beating Eggman is "like his job or something," Sonic says he's got a flawless score card against Eggman. He doesn't take Eggman seriously as a threat—at least, not to his face. He acts like it's all a game. But he conveys this in a way that feels truer to the character, rather than feeling like the words of a real world observer poking fun at the tropes of the Sonic series.
Is this amazing, A+ dialogue that blows me away? No. Again, it's not a completely different scene from the one we already had. Ian had to fit the beats of what was already there. He couldn't go all out and write an all new story confirming his longstanding headcanon that the Time Eater is a remnant of Solaris or whatever. But the wording here makes the existing story land a little better and feel truer to the characters in subtle ways.
But to me, the main change is that the Sonics and Tailses seem to have a more solid understanding of what's going on with the timeline and the Time Eater, compared to how idiotic they sometimes seemed in the original game. Which is good! No more standing outside Green Hill and wondering why it seems so familiar. Thank god. As part of this, yes, there are a few more references to past games in the dialogue, like Sonic briefly being confused about the fact that they're time traveling without the Time Stones, or South Island and Westside Island being acknowledged as the normal locations of Green Hill and Chemical Plant. Yes, ha ha, insert joke about how Ian loves references here. Look, it's Sonic fucking Generations. It's a game built entirely out of nostalgic references. Just own it! And, again, in this instance Sonic and Tails come off as less stupid when they make it clear that they do, in fact, remember their adventures from presumably less than a year ago in-universe.
Eggman, too, seems to have a better understanding of the powers he's toying with. Where in the original vesion his focus was simply on going back in time to undo his previous defeats and he seemed kind of oblivious to how much the Time Eater was actually fucking up the universe, here Eggman says he wants to use the Time Eater to give himself complete control over the entire timeline. Eggman also makes way fewer references to his own failures and shortcomings. Of course he won't admit that Sonic has defeated him time and time again. To him, he's never truly lost—Sonic just keeps delaying the inevitable total victory for the Eggman Empire.
So, yes. The new Sonic Generations script is better. It won't blow anyone away, but it's better than it was. It's been elevated from "kinda lame" to "fine." No, if you really wanna see Ian flex his ability to breathe new life into old Sonic stories, look no further than...
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Gerald Robotnik's Journal
Hoo boy.
The story of what happened aboard the ARK has always been... a bit confusing, to say the least. Fans with encyclopedic knowledge of the script for every route of Shadow '05 may disagree, but it's the truth. We've had all the pieces to understand the story for a long time now, but that info was given to us out of order by a pair of unreliable narrators—Gerald, who became a vengeful lunatic shortly before his death, and Shadow, who was subjected to multiple rounds of amnesia and altered memories. Some of the ambiguity left by Sonic Adventure 2 was cleared up in Shadow '05, but that game also retconned in a bunch of new elements to Shadow's backstory (aliens!) that lead to further confusion. Not to mention the fact that that game had multiple routes and only revealed the truth about Shadow if you sat on the ultimate final boss battle for WAY longer than the fight would normally last. Or the fact that Sonic X made its own tweaks in its telling of the story. Or the fact that none of these things ever had the best English translations. I can't blame anyone who hasn't played those games in two decades for not remembering the truth about these characters and getting some details mixed up.
What we needed was something to piece together all of the info we have into one coherent backstory, told in chronological order. And thanks to Shadow Generations, we have that, in the form of an official journal tying together what we knew from Sonic Adventure 2, Shadow '05, and Sonic Battle into the tragic tale of Gerald's rise and fall.
Ian Flynn was the perfect man for the job here as the guy who started his career by tidying up the mess that was the first 159 issues if Archie Sonic. This is what he excels at: taking disparate bits of weird Sonic lore from multiple different sources, boiling them down to their most interesting elements, and connecting it together in a way that will make the audience see the dramatic potential he's always known was there. Rather than feeling like a cynical exercise in franchise building, going back and explaining things that never needed explaining so that people can add more bullet points to the wiki, he puts a new spin on things that retroactively enriches those past stories. The story here means something to the characters involved and gives us a better understanding of them as people, rather than as plot devices to motivate Shadow.
(And, of course, Ian didn't do this journal alone. He wrote the story, but I also have to give a huge shout out to Evan Stanley, who made the final product. All of her handwritten journal entries, sketches, and "photos" included throughout. The physical damage done to the journal over the course of 50 tumultuous years, passing from Gerald to Eggman to a certain special someone at GUN. The way Gerald's handwriting gets less and less legible as his mental state declines. So much love was put into what could have been a mere text dump in a menu, and it really elevates it to the next level. Congrats on officially getting hired by Sega, Evan, you've sure as hell earned it!)
The main idea the journal conveys is that Gerald was under a lot of pressure from a lot of different parties—GUN, the President, his colleagues aboard the ARK, Black Doom, even his own family—and boy did it get to him. The known incidents aboard the ARK mentioned in previous games are put together here to form a story where everything slowly spirals out of control as Gerald keeps compromising his morals to further his research, thinking he'll eventually find some way out of all this because he's a genius. I won't recap that whole story here (if you haven't already played the game and read the journal entries, I would highly recommend at least reading it on the Sonic wiki), but I'd like to highlight my favorite elements of the story, as Ian tells it here.
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1) The Eclipse Cannon
Here's something that never quite made sense in Sonic Adventure 2: why does the ARK have a laser that can blow up the Earth built into it? It was supposed to be a peaceful research colony. Sure, Gerald went crazy and swore revenge on the Earth, but, like... when did he have an opportunity to go back up to the ARK and modify it? Did he have someone else do it? How? The ARK was raided by GUN and shut down! And then they arrested him, held him in prison for an unclear period of time, and executed him by firing squad when he was no longer useful! It doesn't add up. Shadow 'the Hedgehog '05 would give its own answer by introducing the Black Arms and saying that the Eclipse Cannon was always supposed to be a secret trump card against the Black Comet. But, like... we know that's kind of a bullshit answer, right? You don't need enough power to blow up a whole planet just to destroy a comet.
Well, the new journal retains what we already knew, but it paints a much more complete picture.
See, long before Gerald ever made a Faustian bargain with Black Doom, he had already made one with an even greater evil: the military. GUN gave Gerald much of the funding for the ARK, Gerald's personal utopian research station in space, but it didn't take long for GUN to start pressuring him to design them weapons. Gerald tried to get GUN off his back by personally contacting the President of the United Federation, and the President gave him an alternative: how about, instead, you just use your genius brain to figure out the secret to immortality for us, so our soldiers can be immortal? Gerald was initially sickened by the notion and found it completely absurd, like chasing a shadow... but given no other option, the sarcastically named Project Shadow soon began in earnest. (Maria would later put a more positive spin on the name after Shadow's awakening, pointing out that a Shadow can show us the direction of the light, like she says in the game itself.)
Of course, this search for the ultimate life form didn't go very well, and without any results on that front GUN kept hounding him for weapons. Gerald would throw them a bone here and there to get them off his back. His research on Chaos resulted in the Artifical Chaos prototypes, which he worried would be used for warfare but could at least theoretically be used for search and rescue missions in floods, in his mind. But that wasn't enough. So he gave them Chaos Drives to power their mechs. And that still wasn't enough. He's got Emerl. He'll give them Emerl. They're not impressed by Emerl. They'll shut the whole ARK down if Gerald doesn't give them something big.
Fine! GUN wants something big? Gerald builds a huge fucking laser cannon into the ARK. However, as a middle finger to GUN, Gerald makes it so powerful that it would destroy the Earth if it was ever fired at any target on its surface. In other words, GUN now has their ultimate weapon of mass destruction, fulfilling his contract, but they can never actually use it. Oh, the delicious irony. (And also Shadow will blow up the Black Comet with it in 50 years yada yada yada.) Is this perhaps extremely shortsighted and naive of Gerald, to believe that such a weapon would never actually be used just because of the risk? Of course. But hey, that's Gerald for you. And I love this as an answer.
(Also, this, uh, kinda echoes something from real life! Remember the bit in Oppenheimer where he says all nuclear war will become unthinkable, and Edward Teller responds "until somebody builds a bigger bomb"? Yeah, Teller went on to conceptualize a superweapon codenamed Project Sundial that would have been able to kill all life on the planet, as the ultimate deterrent for war. This was never made for obvious reasons, but hey, there's a basis for this sort of thinking outside of heightened sci-fi! There's a whole Kurzgesagt video about this if you're interested.)
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2) The Biolizard
The Biolizard is, of course, brought up as the initial failed prototype of the ultimate life form, from before Gerald met Black Doom. We don't really learn all that much about it that we didn't already know, but I just love the way it's framed in the story.
As you can see above, we actually get to see a picture of Maria holding up the cute little salamander that would end up mutating into the Biolizard through Gerald's experiments. (Researchers want to figure out how to replicate salamanders' regenerative abilities for humans in real life, too, so this was a natural starting point for the project.) And then, after it grows to a monstrous size and goes out of control, Gerald has to lock it away in an unused sector of the ARK. He needs to keep the poor thing alive for his research into harnessing Chaos Energy, building life support systems directly into it, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Maria what happened. So it just becomes this first dark secret weighing on his conscience. The Biolizard becomes Gerald's Tell-Tale Heart beating beneath the floorboards of the ARK. I love that.
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3) Lost Impact was the breaking point for the ARK
Remember the level Lost Impact in Shadow '05? The flashback level on the hero path where Shadow is running around fighting Artificial Chaos enemies on the ARK 50 years ago? Yeah, that wasn't just a random incident. That was important, as we now know due to its placement on the timeline.
See, Emerl's rampage aboard the ARK that was chronicled in Sonic Battle and Dark Beginnings set off a domino effect. Emerl riled up the Artificial Chaos, causing Gerald to lose control of them. They became violent, and so Shadow had to stop them, as depicted in Lost Impact. The thing is, that incident sent an SOS signal to GUN telling them that shit was going down on the ARK. Gerald didsn't fully understand the trouble he was in and assumed that he'd simply be reprimanded by the higher ups, or maybe face legal action. But, well... the next time he heard from GUN, armed troopers were raiding the ARK.
So Lost Impact was the straw that broke the camel's back. I just really like that detail.
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4) Maria
And, of course, there's Maria herself. Maria has often been more of a symbol than a character, this perfect embodiment of everything that's good and pure in this world who gets killed to motivate Shadow and Gerald's revenge plots. But I really like the wrinkles this journal adds to her and Gerald's story, and their relationship. This is the most fleshed out they've ever felt.
For one, the journal leans into the idea of Maria's intellectual potential. The rest of the Robotnik family is all geniuses, after all, and she was proving to be a really bright kid. She excelled in her studies on the ARK, and she even helped design Shadow's jet skates and inhibitor rings. When Maria died, the world didn't just lose a symbolic personification of purity. She genuinely could have been a hugely influential scientist who did so much good for the world. That's what Gerald wanted for her. But we'll never know, because GUN killed her.
Speaking of her family, their presence isn't just mentioned for the sake of fleshing out the Robotnik family tree. It's mentioned that as Gerald struggled to find a cure for Maria's illness through his genetic research, he faced mounting pressure from his family. They didn't want Maria to be up on the ARK forever. They wanted Gerald to hurry up and find a damn cure, or otherwise just send her back home to Earth so she could be with her family again. She'd been up on the ARK for so long that Gerald's coworkers started thinking that she had been born up there. Eventually she gains a baby sister on Earth who she's never met. A rift forms between Gerald's two sons, and he's unable to really deal with it because he's so consumed by his work. There's this sense that the family is falling apart, and that everyone is dreading the possibility that Gerald will never find a cure and that Maria will just spend her final years up in space and die far away from her family, because Gerald just couldn't let go. If that happens, it'll break the whole family. But he can't stop now. So he just keeps working. Curing Maria is the only way to win his family back, in his eyes. It can't all be for nothing.
But my favorite detail regarding Maria is this one paragraph:
Maria is growing into a lovely young woman. It breaks my heart that someone as bright and energetic as her is diminished by disease. There are no visible effects, and I've caught my fellow researchers muttering to each other, doubting her illness. It is infuriating. I find all my reason and restraint vanishes when she's slighted.
This is SUCH a great addition to the story! It's always been true that Maria doesn't really seem all that ill, just looking at her in cutscenes. With this one little comment, Ian flips that issue on its head and turns it into a story about invisible disability. She doesn't act like she's in chronic pain, so she must not be, everyone thinks. And this really, really gets to Gerald, as does the pressure from his family. He's dedicating his whole LIFE to saving her, and they think she's faking it?! It's such a small addition, never referenced elsewhere in the journal, but it adds so much flavor to the story, as does the implied family drama. It grounds Gerald and Maria and makes them feel more like real human beings, rather than being pure archetypes. It's just enough info to let my imagination run wild filling in the blanks.
You also get the feeling that Maria being such a walking ray of sunshine was the only real source of joy Gerald had left in his life before Shadow was awakened, and the only thing keeping him from snapping under pressure sooner. All this stuff just keeps piling on, everything's spiraling out of control, but at least Maria is keeping her chin up, right? It makes so much sense that losing her would make him go off the deep end when it's framed like this.
It's just... man, I never thought I'd care so much about Gerald and Maria. But that's the Ian Flynn touch. After years of less than stellar Sonic writing that seemed to be embarrassed of itself, I'm so happy to have new games coming out that fully embrace the history of the series like this, making its world feel so rich and real instead of just serving as an excuse for a string of platforming levels. I don't even like Shadow '05, but I'll be damned if Ian and the rest of Sonic Team didn't make something amazing by "yes, and"-ing Shadow's cringe past here. Sonic has truly reached levels of "we're so back" never thought possible.
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madebycloud · 4 months ago
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pt 1 | Not Even at All
jinx/powder x female reader — đŹđžđ«đąđžđŹâ €đŠđšđŹđ­đžđ«đ„đąđŹđ­
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summary: vi is off limits until her sister gets a date that doesn't end within the first ten minutes. eager to date vi, a certain girl approaches you with a proposal. date jinx. win her over. and for your efforts, she's willing to be generous. (10 Things I Hate About You AU) warnings/themes: fluff, kinda enemies to what, one sided fake dating, highschool, modern au, smoking (reader), kat!jinx, patrick!reader words: 5.8k notes: because of the age difference, caitlyn is in college that's why she's always on calls.. — ✩ part one, part two, part three, part four, part five
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You pick up at the third ring, hearing a deep sigh of relief. “Oh, good, you picked up.”
It's Caitlyn.
You put the phone down for a few seconds to eat your sandwich, before picking the phone back up. “What now?” you ask through a mouthful of sandwich. “I just woke up, y'know.”
The line is silent for a minute.
Then, you hear Caitlyn clear her throat. “Are you busy right now?”
It's 9am on Sunday, of course you're not busy. “Kinda busy eating my breakfast,” you reply, taking another bite. “Why?”
You hear some shuffling on the other end, some muttering, and another pause before Caitlyn speaks again. “I have
 a proposition.”
A proposition already, and so early in the morning? you put your sandwich down, sitting up and making sure you heard that right. “I'm listening.”
Caitlyn clears her throat again, and there's sounds of footsteps and whispers in the background, as if she's moving somewhere more secluded. “
Do you know Jinx?”
It's a strange question. Pretty much everyone knows Jinx. “Yeah,” you reply. “Why?”
The shuffling resumes, a few footsteps, and the murmur of voices. “I'll cut to the chase. I'm asking for your help. I need you to do me a favor.”
You pause, raising an eyebrow. What does she want? “Depends on what it is.” You shrug. “And what I'd get in return.” You take a sip from your glass.
The murmuring on Caitlyn's end of the line stops, and you hear the sound of a door clicking shut. “I want you to take Jinx on a date.”
You nearly choke on your drink. “You want me to what?” you manage to ask between coughs.
“It'll be a fake date!” she says quickly. “If you can make this date go smoothly and
 make her like you, even a little bit, I'll pay you a hundred dollars.”
Your eyes nearly pop out of your head. “100 dollars?!” You cough again. “You can't just throw me under the bus like that. You've lost your damn mind.”
“Please just hear me out,” Caitlyn pleads. “It's not like you have to ask her to marry you. Just think of it as a challenge. You get 100 dollars if you can get her to enjoy a date with you. Come on, you're good with girls, aren't you?”
What does she think you are, some suave James Bond-esque ladykilling playgirl? while you've kissed a couple girls, you can't call yourself super suave. 
“Caitlyn, Jinx hates me.” It's common knowledge. Jinx hates nearly everyone, especially people she was in class with. “She's gonna kill me if I ask her out on a date.” You shudder.
“That's why I chose you for this,” she says. “I figured you were the type to face any challenge head-on.”
“This isn't just a ‘challenge’, it's a mission for the suicidal,” you retort. “You're setting me up to embarrass myself and get ridiculed in the process.”
You hear her scoff. “So you can flirt and tease the whole damn school, but a date with Jinx is the line you draw, is that it?”
You scowl at her comment. You've been known to flirt and joke around with a few people at school, but that's all it is—meaningless flirting with no strings attached. This is completely different—this is Jinx we're talking about. “You're comparing apples and oranges here,” you protest. “They're not the same, Cait.”
“Maybe,” she replies. “But I've seen how you've charmed your way out of trouble. You're good at talking your way out of things. And that's exactly what I need right now.”
That's true, but that's with a teacher, or a TA, or a store manager who's trying to bust you for shoplifting. Not with Jinx, of all people.
“Caitlyn, c'mon. She's either gonna punch me in the face, or call me a dumbass, or both.”
“Just listen,” she cuts in. “All you have to do is go on a fake date with her. You don't have to actually like her.”
“No, no, no.” You shake your head, gripping the phone in your hand. “No way, no how.”
“150 dollars.”
“You really, really want me to go on a fake date with Jinx?” you murmur. “Are you that desperate?”
“I'm very desperate.”
You groan, rubbing your temples. “Why are you so fixated on me doing this?”
You hear movement on the other line, like Caitlyn's pacing back and forth. “Okay, look,” she begins. “I
 really like her sister. Like really like her. Like
”
This wasn't just a fake date. It was a way to get closer to who she liked. “Oh. Ohh.”
“Yeah...”
Wow. This was a lot more desperate than you initially thought.
“But why don't you just ask her sister out?” you ask.
“I did.” She sighs again. “I asked Vi out last week, and she said she can't go on a date with me until her sister finds someone. Jinx has to be happy before Vi can go on dates, according to her.”
What the hell kind of ridiculous rule is that? “So let me get this straight,” you start. “You want me to go on a fake date with Jinx.”
“Yes.”
“Until she becomes my... girlfriend?”
“Yes.”
“And then you can date Vi.”
“Yes.”
It sounds crazy, ridiculous, batshit insane. “Holy shit, Caitlyn.” You run your fingers over your eyes, shaking your head to yourself. “All of this just so you can get laid?”
A huff comes from the other end of the line. “Are we making a deal or not?”
“Hey, wait a minuteïżœïżœïżœI'm gonna need the money first,” you say, drumming your fingers against the table.
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah,” you explain. “You know, the whole dating thing. Dates, food, gas, that kinda stuff. You can't expect me to pay for all of that with my own money.”
Caitlyn doesn't respond immediately. You can hear some shuffling, and you can imagine her biting her lower lip anxiously, maybe staring out the wall.
“There's a high probability I won't even get a Harley after all this,” you add. 
Silence.
“So I'm gonna need the money...”
There's a pause, then an annoyed hiss. “Don't you trust me?”
“Oh hell no. Give me the money first and then I'll consider the deal.”
She sighs. “Fine. Whatever, I'll give you the money.”
“All of it?”
“
Yes. All of it. All 150. For your shitty, awful fake date.” She huffs. “Deal?”
“Deal.”
—
You step into the office, finding Caitlyn's mother already hunched over her laptop, staring over the rim of her glasses. You hated coming into this office. It always felt like you were in the principal's office.
“I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual,” Mrs. Kiramman says, staring at you over her laptop. 
“Only so we can have these moments together,” you reply, your mouth already curving into a grin. “Should I, uh, get the lights?”
Mrs. Kiramman sighs, her eyes scanning over the paper in front of her. “Exposed yourself... in the cafeteria,” she mutters. “I seriously don't understand why my daughter associates herself with you.”
“It was for a good reason, I swear.”
“Oh, really?” She raises her eyebrow. “And what reason is that?”
“I was joking with the lunch lady,” you explain, spreading your hands out. “She was being snippy with me, so I started unbuttoning my shirt, it's not like I was actually going to flash anyone.”
Mrs. Kiramman takes off her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose, her other hand coming to rest on her forehead.
“But I suppose if we've already looked through all my wrongdoings, you can release me back into the wild, eh?” you continue.
“Just... make it more than a week before coming back here, alright? I don't want to see you in my office every week—you're a walking headache.”
“Sure thing, Mrs. K.”
“And stop calling me Mrs. K.”
—
Jinx kicks the ball here and there, back and forth, side to side. She's taking all of her frustrations out on this ball, dribbling it down the field, passing it to her teammates, dodging opponents.
Her moment of peace is interrupted when a player tries to intercept her pass. She grins, dribbling out of the way and kicking the ball hard into the player's face. 
The coach blows the whistle. “Great practice, everybody!”
Practice over. Jinx tosses the ball aside. She rubs her eyes with the heel of her hands, a headache thudding against her skull. She bends forward to grab her water bottle from the edge of the field, taking generous swigs from the bottle.
Jinx is the captain of her high school's soccer team. She's good—really good. She has quick feet and a mean kick, and she's scored a lot of points for the team. In games, however
 Jinx is aggressive. She kicks hard. She kicks fast. She kicks a lot. She does not pull her punches when it comes to her opponents.
She's halfway done guzzling water when a voice interrupts her.
“Hey there, girlie.”
Jinx pauses, swallowing the last of the water in her bottle. She glances up at you, watching you approach her as you shove your hands into your pockets.
“How ya doin'?” 
“Sweating like a pig actually,” she replies, pulling out a small towel and wiping her face. “And yourself?”
You hum, rocking back and forth on your feet. “I'm good. Just thought I'd come and chat with our wonderful captain.”
Jinx grumbles as she slings the towel over her shoulder.
“That was quite a performance out there,” you continue, raising a hand to give her a slow clap. “You were brutal today. Worse than usual, not-gonna-lie.”
Gathering her stuff, Jinx zips up her bag, slings it across one shoulder, then strides past you.
“Hey,” you say, quickly catching up to her. “Where are you going?”
“Where do you think, genius? I'm leaving.”
You huff, following her as she marches out of the soccer field. “Pick you up on Friday, then.”
Jinx makes a face at that. “Oh, right, Friday,” she mimics. “Uh-huh.”
You cock a smirk. “Well, the night I take you places you've never been before.”
“Like where? The 7-Eleven on Broadway?”
“Ha, very funny.” You shake your head. “And actually, no, smartass.”
“Do you even know me?” she asks, not slowing her pace.
You hurry to keep up and shrug. “Yeah, we have the same class on science.”
She stops in her tracks and turns to look at you, eyes flitting up and down, up and down. Once, twice, three times. “You're the one that never shows up in Mr. Viktor's class?”
“Hey, to be fair,” you say, putting your hands up. “That's an 8 a.m. class. No one shows up for an 8 a.m. class at ass o'clock in the morning.”
Her expression remains unamused as she shifts her bag's backpack strap further off her shoulder. “Except you're the only one who never shows up. You have the same attendance rate as Mr. Blitzcrank,” she tells you, turning back around to start walking. “Which is absolutely none.”
“What can I say?” You chuckle, jogging to catch up to her again. “I'm very talented. Gifted, even.”
She mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like “Talented at being an idiot, more like.”
“Hey, I heard that.”
“Good,” she says over her shoulder. “Maybe don't try to impress me with your shitty grades and your non-existent attendance record next time, then.” Without a second glance, she continues walking, leaving you behind.
“Ouch!” you exclaim. “Rude, by the way!” you shout at her, and you see a flash of a smile over her features.
—
Jinx stands at her locker, gathering her books—a variety of books with names like Introduction to Rocketry, Engineering and Architecture, Chemistry Vol. 3: Chemical Reactions, Organic and Inorganic Compounds and Mixtures, and a few other engineering books, all with worn spines and yellow pages.
“Hey,” you greet.
She doesn't even glance at you as she continues sorting through her books, shoving what she doesn't need aside with a flick of her wrist.
“You hate me, don't you?” you ask, leaning against the locker beside her.
She gives you a side glance but doesn't fully look away from her locker. “What are you, five?” she asks. “I don't really care enough about you to hate you.”
“Rude.”
“It's the truth. As far as I'm concerned, you're better than a mosquito,” she says, continuing with sorting through her locker. “Annoying, but not something worth paying attention to.”
“Mosquito, really?”
She slams her locker shut and locks it. She turns to look at you, adjusting her backpack straps on her shoulders—a backpack that is covered in various patches and colorful pins. “What exactly do you want?”
“Spend Dollar Night at the track with me.”
She arches one eyebrow. “And why the hell would I do that?”
“Come on, the ponies, the flat beer... you with money in your eyes, me with my hand on your ass
”
“You covered in my vomit,” she cuts you off. “That's what's going to happen. If I go within ten feet of whatever greasy-ass food joint and cheap liquor you're going to take me to.”
“Damn, you're feisty. I kinda like that.”
She scowls at your words. “And you're annoying. I kinda despise that.”
“Ouch,” you mock. “And you're a bit more than feisty. You're like... feisty on steroids. Are you always like this?”
Her scowl deepens, and in one second, she suddenly has one of your arms twisted behind your back and pinned to your torso.
She leans forward, her face so close to yours. “Maybe, if you stopped annoying me,” she hisses. “I'd stop acting like this.”
You flinch, letting out a low hiss. “Ow, ow-” You try to pull away from her grip, but she only tightens it. “Ow, okay, I get it—let go, let go!” 
She holds you still for a moment longer before roughly releasing her grip. You stagger forward, rubbing the spot where her hand had been. “What-” you gasp “-the hell was that for?”
“Consider it a learning experience, dipshit,”  she snaps, before stalking off, her long blue braid swinging behind her.
“You can't just-” you start to call after her, but she's already halfway down the hall. You huff rubbing your sore arm. 
Yep. Jinx is as prickly as a cactus. This is gonna be harder than you thought.
—
“She's a freaking Ronda Rousey,” you mutter into the phone, massaging your throbbing arm. “She damn near twisted my arm off!”
“Jinx? Did she hurt you?”
“Just my dignity.”
You hear Cait chuckle faintly. “I'll take that to mean it didn't go very well?”
“You could say that,” you grumble. “She's difficult.” You watch your clothes spin around in the washing machine. “I think this may take longer than you think, Cait. Waaay longer.”
“I can't just flirt my way through this,” you go on, moving to grab one of the nearby magazines to distract yourself. “She's smart, witty, and sassy—the whole package. Very pretty, too. But she's rude.” You shift your phone to fit between your shoulder and ear.
“Rude,” you stress again, flipping to a magazine page with random trivia questions on it. “Who the hell is rude these days? It's all sugarcoating, bullshit, and fake smiles.” You glance idly at the question titled 'How Compatible Are You with Your Ideal Partner?'. You scoff, turning the page. “She's downright ruthless.”
“Have you even tried asking her out?”
“Hell yes I have. I even tried asking her to go to Dollar Night at the track.”
“You tried asking her to go to the race track?”
“You don't think she's a fan of ponies and alcohol?” you reply, grinning.
“I think she's a fan of punching you in the face.”
“Yeah, she did not like that idea.”
There's a pause on the line.
“Okay, I'll admit that wasn't the smoothest plan.”
“Or smartest,” Cait interjects. “Anyway, are you reading a magazine right now?”
“I'm at the laundromat.”
“And you're reading a magazine.”
“To pass the time,” you justify.
“Mhm.”
“I'm boooored.” You set the magazine down on a nearby chair, turning back to watch your clothes spin around. “And I'm tired of watching my clothes spin around. It's boring. I haven't had a good date in ages.” You move to rest your head against the glass. “I need something interesting. Someone interesting.”
Your eyes move across the storefronts and streets outside of the laundromat.
Wait
 It can't be...
But, yes.
Yes it is. It's Jinx's car.
Your gaze focuses on the shiny blue vehicle before shifting to Jinx, who gets out of the car and walks over to a nearby music store just down the road.
You hear Caitlyn's muffled voice. “Did you hear anything I just said?”
“Yeah, Cait, I heard you,” you lie, taking your eyes off her car to turn your attention back to the washing machine and your phone. “Uh, I'll call you back. I think I just saw Jinx.”
—
Jinx pushes the entrance door open, juggling a small bag of CDs in one hand and rifling through her purse in the other. Her lips form a small 'o' when she finally pulls her keys out...
...and looks up to see you sitting on the hood of her car. She groans to herself.
“Nice ride. Vintage fenders.” You turn around to face her, leaning back against the hood.
Jinx stops a few feet away from you, shifting the bag of CDs to the other hand. “Are you following me?”
“Nah,” you shrug. “I was at the laundromat,” you pause, gesturing to the building in front of the store she just walked out of. “Saw your car. Thought I'd say hi.”
“Hi,” she grumbles.
Jinx walks over to her car, but you quickly stand ahead of her, placing yourself between her and her vehicle. “You're not afraid of me, are you?”
“Why would I be afraid of you?” she retorts, her nose wrinkling.
“Some people are,” you reply. 
“I'm not.” “Maybe you're not afraid of me
 but I bet you've thought about me naked.” You smirk, taking the time to wink at her.
“Am I that transparent?” she mutters. “I want you... I need you... Oh, baby, oh baby.” Jinx rolls her eyes dramatically as she tries to step around you, but you shift your body to block her path again.
“Now, don't ignore me,” you tease.
“Let me pass, I have places to be,” Jinx says irritably, trying to step around you for the third time, only for you to once again move and block her.
“Come on now,” you urge. “Just a few minutes of your time.”
“You're being a pest,” she complains. “What do you want?”
“Just a little bit of your time, that's all,” you answer, holding your hands up in surrender before resting them back on the car. “C'mon. You don't have anything better to do anyway, right?”
“Piss off,” Jinx snaps, reaching out and grabbing the handle. The door swings open, throwing you off balance and causing you to topple forward.
Jinx throws the bag into the passenger seat, slams the door shut, and starts the car. She doesn't hesitate to throw the car in reverse, and you have to lunge out of the way to avoid being hit.
RUDE! You scowl in Jinx's direction, watching her drive away. With a sigh, you reach into your pocket and grab your phone, heading back into the laundromat. You begin to dial Caitlyn's number.
The phone only rings once before it's picked up immediately. “Well? what happened?” she starts without any sort of introduction.
“I just upped my price,” you declare.
“What?”
“200 dollars a date.” You stand your ground. “In advance.”
“And why are you increasing the price?”
You sigh heavily, rubbing your forehead. “I told you she's difficult,” you remind her. “She's prickly, short-tempered, and violent,” you explain. “I'm increasing my price because I'm taking a hell of a lot more risk dealing with her.”
“Forget it.”
“Forget her sister, then.”
Silence falls for a heartbeat. Then, reluctantly, she grunts. “Fine. 200 dollars a date. But I want results.”
“No promises,” you warn her. “And first things first, we need to find some way to make Jinx actually want to go on a date with me. How well do you know her?”
Caitlyn hums. “She's Vi's sister, so we have some, ah
” She searches for the correct word. “History,” she finishes awkwardly. “But I'm not an expert on Jinx's inner workings, if that's what you're asking.”
“Great.” That really wasn't the answer you were hoping for. How was it that Caitlyn was apparently able to make this plan without knowing anything about Jinx? “Do you think Vi would have anything?”
“...Maybe,” she responds slowly. “I could probably ask Vi.” She pauses. “Actually,” Caitlyn continues. “I might know someone who... might know Jinx pretty well.”
“Who?”
“Ever heard of a kid named Ekko?”
—
He glances over his shoulder at you, a paintbrush in hand. “What do you want?”
After a bit of searching, you're able to find Ekko at his usual spot—painting the empty space on the school wall. Some of your friends mentioned that he usually hung out here during free periods.
“I want to know about your friend... Jinx.”
Ekko rolls his eyes, resuming his painting. “Yeah, sure, stranger I don't even know.”
You huff in annoyance. “Alright, listen,” you begin. “I'm not here to cause trouble, or gossip, or any of that. I
” you pause, shifting uncomfortably. “I'm trying to ask Jinx out on a date,” you explain. “So I thought you might be able to help me.”
That makes Ekko pause. He blinks slowly, slowly glancing back over his shoulder at you. “
You're shitting me, right?”
“I'm not,” you insist. “I'm being serious, alright? and I'm not getting into some of the details, but I
” you pause awkwardly. “I kind of need this date to happen.”
“You need this date?” Ekko echoes, staring at you. “The hell does that mean?”
“I mean,” you reply, avoiding direct eye contact. “I just need it to happen, and for reasons I'm not going to disclose,” you add. “I need it to go really well. You get me?”
Ekko scoffs but nods his head. “Sounds like you're desperate or something.” He sets his brush down, turning around to face you. “Why Jinx, anyway?”
“I
” you start, not really sure how to explain this to Ekko without spilling every detail. “Let's just say my reasons are my own.”
“Hm.” He studies you up and down. “First off, who the hell even are you? how do I know you're not some creep trying to take advantage of Jinx?”
You open your mouth to defend yourself, but then close it and sigh. “Okay, you have a point,” you admit. “But listen,” you soothe. “I'm not a creep. I'm a senior student, like you and Jinx. I want to ask Jinx on a date, and no one really knows her all that well, so I thought you could help me because she's your friend-”
Ekko shakes his head, picking up the brush once again. “Nah we're not that close anymore.” He gives you a sidelong glance. “Jinx and I used to be close friends a few years ago,” he explains, returning his attention to the painting. “But things between us
 got complicated.”
Juicy. But that's none of your business, and definitely not Ekko's place to share. So you move on, clearing your throat. “Right. Um
 Okay, so back to Jinx,” you begin. “You still know her better than most, right? you must have some good insight on her.”
“I don't know,” he replies slowly. “Yeah, I know a bunch of things about Jinx. But
 honestly, there's just as much that I don’t know.” He starts painting again. “She changes her mind like
 every five seconds. She's unpredictable. Reckless. Wild. Dangerous.”
“I'm not here to psychoanalyze Jinx,” you clarify. “I just need to know
 how the hell to even talk to her one-on-one, without her throwing a pencil at me or something.”
Ekko snorts. “Oh, that's easy.” He glances at you through his eyelashes. “Good luck.”
—
“Of all the places you want to meet up, you chose here?”
You straighten up and glance over at Caitlyn, who's standing off to the side, looking around the place. She looks rather out of place here, especially compared to the other customers in the pub—greasy-looking old men, rough-looking teenagers dressed in leather and denim, and drunken bums hanging around the slots.
Caitlyn grimaces as another patron spits tobacco juice to the floor. “Gross
” she mutters, wrinkling her nose.
You shrug, taking a puff from your cigarette. “You're never late,” you reply. “And this place is never busy. Figured it would give us privacy.”
“Right.” Caitlyn takes a seat on a nearby stool, folding her legs neatly. “So
 how's Ekko?”
You line up the cue ball to the 8, taking one last look down the table before glancing at Caitlyn. “Um
 he's good,” you reply. “A bit unhelpful, but that's alright.”
You aim the cue ball at the 8 again and give it a good hard smack, watching it glide across the table. It hits the 8 ball, which rolls a few inches before stopping. Damn. You're just off.
“What about you, how's Vi?” you ask, taking a drag from your cigarette and exhaling a billowing cloud of smoke. You set the pool stick down.
Caitlyn coughs, fanning her hand in front of her face to try and clear the smoke away from her lungs. It doesn't work very well. “First thing you should know...” She snatches the cigarette from your hand and drops it to the floor. “She hates smokers.” She stomps on the butt to snuff it out.
“So, you're telling me that I'm a-” You make air quotations with your fingers. “-non-smoker.”
“For now, yes.”
“Alright, alright. No smoking, got it.” You lean your pool cue on the wall. “Happy?”
“Another thing
” She purses her lips, eyes flicking over your features. “Vi mentioned that Jinx
 likes pretty girls.”
Silence.
“Are you telling me I'm not pretty?”
Caitlyn jumps as soon as the words leave your mouth. “N-no!” She gestures at you. “You're pretty. Definitely pretty.”
“Well, that's reassuring.”
Caitlyn reaches into her pocket, pulling out a thick sheet of paper with a few bullet points written on it. “Anyways
 there's more.” She glances over the list, then looks back up at you. “Jinx likes: 
art, drawing, bombs, explosions, tinkering, sweets, plushies, dogs, punk music...” She continues reading down the list. “Dislikes: teachers, school, rules, authority figures, boredom, being told what to do, being ignored
” 
She shoves the list into your hands, and you stare down at the words written in neat, orderly rows. “That's everything that I could get out of Vi.”
A few likes and a bunch of dislikes—what an absolute nutcase.
You look back up at Caitlyn. “So what does that give me? am I supposed to
 bribe her with art supplies, draw her a picture, give her some sweets, then blow up a building?”
“Have you ever been to The Last Drop?”
You respond with a nod. You've been there a few times... it's usually filled with shady people, but the alcohol is reasonably priced.
“Letters to Cleo will be playing there tomorrow night.” 
“No.”
“Come on, it's just one night-” Caitlyn coaxes.
“No.”
She gives you a nudge. “Just assail your ears for one night. It's her favorite band, after all.”
It's a stupid idea. Spending your free time in a bar, listening to some god-awful music? It's the perfect recipe for a terrible night.
But if it's what Jinx likes...  “Fine.”
“Atta girl,” Caitlyn grins, clearly satisfied. She pulls out her phone, glancing down at the time as her fingers dance over the screen. “Oh
 and I'm throwing a party on Friday night,” she says, looking back up at you. “It's the perfect opportunity.”
You blink. “Opportunity for what?”
“For you to ask out Jinx, of course.”
“...I'll think about it.”
—
Your car pulls up to a stop out front, the engine making a low noise. You step out of the car and start walking towards the entrance when you notice Sevika standing outside.
Sevika looks up, and her lips stretch into a smirk as she sees you. “Ah, my friend,” she greets. “It's been a while.”
You shake her hand. “It's good to see you again, Sev.”
Sevika eyes you up, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Didn't have you pegged for a fan,” she says. “Aren't they a bit too pre-teen belly-button ring for you?”
“Just a fan of a fan,” you reply. 
The door is slightly ajar, and you can faintly make out the music coming from inside.
“Did a blue-haired girl come in by chance?”
Sevika nods towards the door. “Just sent her through. She's with some other gal.”
You nod and head towards the entrance when Sevika calls out to you. “What happened to that girl you brought in last time?”
Ah, right. It has been a few months. “I dunno,” you reply with a shrug. “I just never called her again.”
Sevika chuckles and shakes her head. “That figures.”
You squeeze through the crowded floor and eventually find an open spot at the bar. The music from the stage is so loud you can feel the floor vibrating under your feet.
You flag down the bartender and place an order, then start idly scanning the crowd. You can make out a flash of blue hair, and your gaze lands on Jinx singing along to the chorus of the song.
You rest against the counter and watch Jinx dancing along to the music. She's happy, and surprisingly, no “attitude” is present—not the usual scowls, or frowns, or cold looks.
Seeing her like this
 giddy, with a wide smile and flushed face, makes you find yourself
 smiling.
Huh. That’s... something.
—
Jinx, who is thisclose to having her eardrums explode, yells at the top of her lungs, “I NEED AGUA!”
“Sorry, what?” Lux yells over the music.
“I need agua!” Jinx yells again.
“Agua?”
Jinx nods and points to the bar.
“Alright!” Lux yells, but Jinx is already pushing past her through the crowd.
Jinx manages to reach the bar and signals for the bartender. She glances around as she waits, her eyes landing on you a few feet away. 
Shiiit.
Before she can catch your eyes, you look at a random patron nearby, pretending to be looking at something else.
The bartender walks up to Jinx, shouting over the music. “What can I get for you?”
“Two waters,” she responds, casting a glance back in your direction only to find you completely focused on the stage.
The bartender brings out a pair of water bottles from the cooler and sets them on the counter. Jinx fishes out some change and pays, then grabs the water bottles.
She approaches from behind and raps a knuckle on your shoulder. “If you're planning on asking me out again, you might as well do it already.”
Playing dumb, you gesture back at the stage. “Do you mind? you're kind of ruining it for me.”
Jinx seethes, but stays where she is. “You're not surrounded by your usual cloud of smoke.”
The music dies down for a while to give the band a rest, so you no longer have to yell over the music. You turn to face her. “I know. I quit.”
“You... did?” Jinx gives you a weird look, trying to figure out your angle here. “Are you feeling alright?”
That's a pretty fair question, to be honest, because for once in your life, you're actively not trying to flirt with someone.
What's even more weird is that Jinx is actually engaging with the conversation. Jinx moves closer to the stool, standing beside you. “Since when?”
You clear your throat, avoiding her gaze. “Since
 yesterday.”
“Yesterday? you quit smoking just yesterday?”
“Just yesterday.”
Jinx looks you up and down. “Why?”
You look over at the band, who are currently changing out their gear. “Because... apparently they're bad for you,” you mumble. With a shrug, you gesture back towards the stage. “They're no Bikini Kill or the Raincoats,” you reply. “But they're alright.”
You step into the crowd, and Jinx is surprised enough to be momentarily stupefied. “Wait-” she sputters before following you. “You know who the Raincoats are?”
You stop in the middle of the crowd, spinning to face her. “Why? don't you?” you ask. “I saw how you were dancing out there. I've never seen you look like that...”
“I.. well, I-” she stutters, before clearing her throat and collecting herself. “Yeah, I do,” she replies. “I'm into grunge and punk and stuff. Ever heard of Nirvana?”
You scoff. “Of course. Who hasn't?”
Jinx laughs, and you resist the urge to smile when you hear it. “Yeah, fair point. What about... Siouxsie and the Banshees?”
“Love them. But you can't tell me you don't know The Damned?”
Jinx's eyes light up at the mention of The Damned. “Hell yeah, they're awesome,” she exclaims, before frowning. “Wait, how do you know The Damned?”
You give yourself a pat on the back. Nailed it. “Excuse you, I have excellent taste in music,” you reply. “How do you know The Damned?”
“I'll have you know, I'm very into music,” she retorts. “I've got a collection of 1300 CDs. Mostly punk and grunge, but some 70s rock and other stuff.”
Her response is a pleasant surprise to you
 and maybe attractive. But you squash that thought down because she's Jinx, and no way are you going to feel your heart flutter at anything this woman does.
You whistle. “Only 1,300? That's cute. I have almost 2,000.” 
“No way.” She shakes her head. “No WAY you have 2,000 CDs. You're bluffing.”
“I'm not,” you insist. “I've got 2,000 pieces of music in my home.”
“Damn. You got me beat, then.” She looks around the club, then looks back at you. “Anyway, I gotta-”
“Come to Caitlyn's party with me. Friday night,” you cut her off.
“-Why should I?” 
“-Because I guarantee you'll have a fantastic time.” 
She laughs at your persistence. “You never give up, do you?” she mutters before walking away through the large crowd.
“Was that a yes?” you yell after her.
Her only response is a middle finger held high in the air.
You cup your hands around your mouth. “I'll see you at 9:30 then!”
This is good. Not great, maybe, but not awful either. You didn't get kicked in the face for asking, so you're taking that as a win.
—
“How did it go?”
You tap your fingers on the steering wheel. “Hey, Cait
” you hesitate, glancing around at the empty street. “How much money does it take to buy 2,000 CDs?”
The line goes dead.


After a few minutes of silence, it rings again.
“You've got to be kidding me.”
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incorrectbatfam · 4 months ago
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One thing I rarely see in injury and chronic pain fics is the grief that comes with missing out on stuff you love because you can no longer do them without hurting yourself. Writers who have been disabled their whole lives (or at least a long time) tend to forget that not all disabled people are used to being disabled. For able-bodied characters, especially athletic ones like vigilantes, a serious injury could mean a jarring change that includes giving up the things that mean the most to them.
I was physically fine until I was 18. Back then, my sense of self was entwined with interests that required a lot of movement and dexterity. I started doing MMA in middle school for self-defense. I loved parkour and even had a few hundred subscribers on my old YouTube channel. I learned to shoot and was gifted my first gun when I was 16. I took up multiple instruments. You get the idea.
My motorcycle accident fucked up the joints on my left side—my knee and shoulder especially, but also wrist to an extent. When it first happened, I thought I'd be on crutches for a bit but things would eventually get back to normal. The pain didn't go away even after I got rid of the crutches but I figured it was just residual and I should do what I'd been doing before. It's why I turned to substances—to block the pain and do what I love, but that's another topic. I didn't recognize my injury as a disabling thing until the end of the pandemic, when I put my parkour channel on an indefinite hiatus because it was seriously wearing my body down. It might sound silly to you but I was devastated. It's like if Spider-Man wasn't allowed to swing from buildings. It took me a long time to make peace with losing that part of me.
Another piece of that grief is even when you can do stuff, it's not the same because you have to exclude certain aspects of it for your own health. It's like the Robin that died and came back wrong. I can't use certain gym equipment and I have to tell my sparring partners what to avoid. I don't go to the shooting range much now because I can't extend my arm and hold a rifle for the amount of time it takes to aim without it starting to hurt. I'm a drummer, but I need breaks throughout the setlist and I can't do anything too fast or complex with the pedals, which means I can't play some of my favorite songs and my band is limited in what we write and perform. I can't take my motorcycle on road trips without frequent rest stops. Making accommodations helps physically, but emotionally, they're not always easy to accept because that means accepting the pain as a long-term disability rather than a temporary setback.
This got super long because I think it's unexplored in fics so some tips for creators:
First, learn how the body works and how stupidly fast and easy it is to get hurt. Mine was on a residential road because I didn't pay attention for 0.2 seconds
Learn the difference between internalized ableism and being upset over becoming disabled. I think a lot of writers skip over the feelings someone would naturally experience because it can be construed as ableism. Let them be in denial, sad, angry, etc. upon finding out because acceptance almost never happens right away. That's different from being a dick to themselves or others based on disability
Also, not everyone uses the same labels or has the same vocabulary to describe themselves. Different characters will have different ways of describing depending on their personality, level of knowledge, where they come from, and their relationship with their disability. I still don't really call myself disabled since I don't have it as bad as others so I tell people what happened instead (anyone who says "differently abled" will receive a different ability from me in the Denny's parking lot)
Think about how they cope with their new disability. Do they realize it's a disability right away? Do they talk to someone? Search desperately for a cure? Numb the pain? Turn to alternative methods? Do they worry about something else first, like money? Do they develop something else because of it, like a mental illness? Again, coping poorly is not ableism
What stays the same and what changes? I think about the difference between Forrest Gump and Lieutenant Dan after they were both wounded in battle
If they have a passion they can no longer pursue, it doesn't make much sense for them drop it so readily. Maybe they find a way to continue with accommodations (a good place to get creative!). Maybe they try and push through anyway. If they do ultimately resign, include the thought process and internal conflict behind it
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syoddeye · 2 months ago
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Meeting. Price x Reader.
cw: aa meeting, addiction, abrupt ending a/n: this takes place in my perfect world where aa/na/etc. meetings aren't religious/militant/awkward. while this is technically price x reader, you can read it as completely platonic.
You don't want to go. Simple as that.
A dozen reasons locked and loaded as to why:
You're tired. You have work early tomorrow. The dog’s asleep on your lap. You don't need to, you're doing well.  Nobody will notice if you miss one meeting. 
(But that last one’s a lie. Someone always notices. They’ll ask questions. Gentle and well-meaning, but harder to answer than the outright accusations you’re used to.)
So, you shoulder on your coat and head out. It's a cold, drizzly evening, damp and gray, breath clouding in front of you. The church is only a short bus ride and walk away.
Inside, it smells like cheap coffee and mildew, wet carpet and old perfume. No one complains, though. The group is secular, but the church lends its basement free of charge. Beggars can’t be choosers or something.
The fluorescent lights hum overhead. The umbrella stand’s packed. When you hang up your coat, the metal hangers screech against the rack. A few people are already setting up—arranging chairs into a circle, setting out cups and the same tired selection of box teas next to the coffee thermos. You nod at the familiar faces but keep your head down.
Even after six months, you prefer to stand off to the side until the meeting starts. Blend into the background. Especially on nights like this.
Naturally, then, that’s when you see him.
Lingering near the door, coat still on, holding a cup of coffee, and staring at the chairs like they're about to spring to life and jump him. He's taller than most of the men here, with dark hair graying at the temples. Squared, broad shoulders and thick arms. The back of his hands dusted in hair, the one paling around his cup, threatening to crush it.
There’s something very lonely about the look of him. Not entirely unique, given where you are and who you’re with, but there’s a different quality to it. An exhaustion, despite his posture. Faint dark circles under his eyes, the pallor of his skin. He’s upright and moving, but you can practically see the heavens resting on his back.
Then his focus shifts, his grip eases. His gaze flicks up, hesitant, scanning the room. You know that face. He’s trying to convince himself he's in the right place, considering retreat—
Aaand eye contact.
You swallow, give an awkward smile, and before you know it, something propels you forward. An understanding, most likely. Muscle memory from when you were in his shoes.
"First time?" you ask before you can stop yourself. 
A fine, fine line to tread.
It’s not prison. It’s not against the rules. Slightly taboo at best—what’re you in for? Not everyone is here voluntarily. Some people are mandated. Some were given ultimatums. But he doesn’t look like the type to be compelled into anything let alone speech.
“Yeah,” he gives you a cursory once over, speaking then immediately sipping. “That obvious?”
“A little,” you admit, and he huffs, a short, nervous sound.
Introductions are short, to the point. He gives his name—John. You supply yours in return, but you see he's on his way to forgetting it, distracted by whatever brought him here. You don't mind. It’s never malicious in your experience.
The first time is
Hm.
You nearly vomited, and you didn’t even speak. The very act of being present, exposing yourself, the very problem called your continued existence—the shame ran so hot, seized you completely, it was as if the gates of hell had opened under the church. Like your chair was sinking into the pit. You bolted home that night, swore you’d never go back.
Three days later, you returned.
So yeah, you understand why John is crushing his cup and not completely present.
He asks if the crowd is always this small. You tell him it depends on the night. Sometimes it’s a handful of people. Other times, it feels like half the city shows up. Holidays are the worst.
For whatever reason, you admit that you almost didn’t come tonight. That you had to talk yourself into it. His eyes flick to you over the rim of his coffee cup. 
You tamp down the embarrassment and remind yourself you’re here. That’s an accomplishment.
Then he asks how long you’ve been coming.
“Six months.”
That question always feels like a confession, like peeling back a layer you’d rather keep covered. You’re not an old-timer, but you’re not completely new, either. A strange in-between space.
John just nods. “That’s good,” he says. “That’s really good.”
The thought of asking what pushed him through the door tonight floats through your skull again, but you swallow it with a sip of tea. If he wants to tell you, he will. Or he’ll save it for the circle. He may not ever. Plenty of folks only listen and absorb. Simply sit in community, and never say a word.
You learned to be okay with not knowing everything. Kind of a major tenet. Letting go is always easier said than done.
And you’re certainly no expert in that.
A sigh rattles out as you gesture toward the chairs, where people begin to congregate.
“Let’s sit.”
You pick chairs on the side where the vent doesn't blow directly on you, and give him the less beat-up chair. He hesitates before sinking into it. The tension radiates off him in near-palpable waves. He crosses and uncrosses his arms, flicks open the top button of his coat, rubs the back of his neck.
The meeting starts. You sneak a glance at him, or try to, but John is already looking at you.
He gives a small, almost imperceptible smile. You return it without thinking.
In the end, neither of you speak. 
His body language never once loosens up, rigid from the moment he sat down. His empty cup is crushed into pulp. Wild guess, he’s not ready to share.
You, on the other hand, could have. There were moments—pauses that invited words, glances from familiar faces that gave you the space. The regulars know your story, at least the broad strokes, but tonight, your tongue stays glued to the roof of your mouth. No clue why.
The meeting winds down with a request for a sponsor on behalf of a younger woman. You watch as Dori, the same woman who once gently asked if you needed a sponsor, volunteers. Three months ago, you told her no. If she asked again today, your answer wouldn’t change.
You could use one. You know that. It would help. But—
John coughs quietly beside you, and the thought dissipates. You curl your bleeding thumb into a fist, pressing it against your palm. There are milestones you’re not ready for. 
You don’t want to burden someone else with your mess. Not again.
Everyone helps pack up. Chairs scrape against the floor, the table is wiped down, the last of the lukewarm coffee dumped. As the last group of the night, cleanup is your collective responsibility.
Numbers are exchanged. Another crucial point. Friends tend to disappear when you start showing up to places like this. The ones you meet—the ones who get it—become the new constants.
John lingers as the others move toward the door. You’re shrugging into your coat when he clears his throat.
“Can I get your number?”
For an abundance of reasons, but no real rules, men and women don’t usually swap. It’s a boundary thing. A safety thing. A let’s-get-ourselves-sorted-out-first-thing. 
Yet you hesitate only briefly before pulling out your phone. You type it in, read it back to him, watch as he saves it.
“Thanks,” he tucks his phone away, an uncertainty in his eyes that doesn’t match how he’s holding his face.
“No pressure,” you offer. “I mean, you don’t have to use it. I have maybe five or six numbers from here that are all more for...emergencies.”
His mouth twitches. “Understood.”
The two of you stand a beat longer, the basement steadily emptying around you.
John shifts his gaze to the door, then back to you. “You coming next week?”
You exhale softly, rubbing your sore thumb against the seam of your coat pocket. “I should.”
He nods like he understands. Should. Not will. Not won’t. Should.
“Yeah. I should, too.”
John waits for you to slip on your coat and fetch your umbrella, flipping up a hood and revealing a set of keys in his fist. 
“Need a lift somewhere?”
Mm, with all the lines you’ve tapped danced on tonight, that one’s a no-go.
“I’m set, thanks.” You step outside, popping open your umbrella, the fabric snapping taut above you. “Well done on making it through the door, by the way. First time’s the trickiest.”
That pries another grin out of him. Eyes crinkling, tired but genuine.
“I’ve heard.”
You nod, stepping back, “It gets easier. See you.” 
With that, you turn, marching into the rain without another glance, boots splashing through shallow puddles as you make your way toward the bus stop. Head buzzing.
He doesn’t text or call. Which is a good thing, you tell yourself.
You’re not equipped to talk a newbie through anything, emergency or not. You’re barely keeping yourself afloat. Put on your own oxygen mask before assisting others, and all that.
Still. 
When you return to the hall a week later and spot him already there, a worn jacket draped over the chair beside him, you feel something settle in your chest.
Relief.
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coffee-mage-sans-caffeine · 3 months ago
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Antivaxxers are not responsible* for the current pertussis outbreak. In fact, rich countries are! Here's how:
Whooping Cough, also called pertussis is back in a big way in the US right now. Other nations are also seeing outbreaks, particularly 'rich' or 'first world' or 'developed' nations. Wait what? Rich countries are having a bigger increase in whooping cough than countries with limited healthcare infrastructure? You're probably thinking 'ah, it's the antivaxxers, isn't it?' While they're contributing to the problem, but no, they're not in fact THE PROBLEM. In fact, even fully vaccinated people in rich countries are at risk for pertussis. The first thing to understand is that there are two 'generations' of pertussis vaccine available at present. Both are given in combination with tetanus and diphtheria vaccines. As far as I know, tetanus, diphtheria and pertussis are given together in every mainstream formulation of pertussis vaccine globally. The OG (first gen) pertussis vaccine was the DTP vaccine which contains a whole cell inactivated pertussis bacteria so when it is given, the body develops a robust immune response to every antigen (the thing your body can learn to make antibodies to recognise) on the surface of the pertussis bacteria. It is still used in countries where money is tight because it's cheaper to make and the immune response is robust and long-lasting--5-10 years depending on your source. Unfortunately, side effects were higher with the OG. Some children spike high fevers causing febrile seizures (which are terrifying even though they're benign), arm pain is more intense, and people feel worse after getting it. A miniscule number of children given the OG suffer encephalitis and more serious neurological effects, though most cases self-resolve. In rich countries, as the incidence of pertussis (and diphtheria and tetanus) fell with robust vaccination programs, people became more and more afraid of the side effects of the DTP vaccine. Those side effects sound scarier when there's lower risk of pertussis. There were also ever-growing antivaccine movements because since there has been inoculation (a precursor medical practice to vaccination that goes back all the way to ancient China) there have been opponents inoculation and vaccination. Antivaxxers are not new and modern. They have always been there and they were PISSED about the encephalitis. So both antivaxxers and provaxxers who were starting to forget how scary it is to watch a baby with pertussis said 'we need a better option'. This brings us to 2nd gen vaccines, the acellular pertussis vaccines DTaP and Tdap. The little a stands for 'acellular', meaning that there is no longer a whole dead bacteria cell as our antigen. We use specific cut-up antigens instead. Most formulations use 3-5 different antigens. This results in much lower side effects! Immunity without side effects is the goal! The problem is that this vaccine doesn't last as long. In fact, for 0-10 year old children, 98% are immune at 1 year after vaccination while 81% are immune at 5 years after vaccination. For 11-20 year olds, those numbers drop to 72% at one year and 42% at 5 years after vaccination. For people who are older, those numbers drop even faster. And the acellular vaccines aren't as good at preventing infection--they're more like the covid vaccines in that rather than stopping infection, they make the symptoms less bad. And those 3-5 antigens in the acellular vaccine are becoming less common on the surface of the bordatella pertussis bacteria. Yup. It's out-evolving the vaccine. So where does this leave us? 1) Make sure your pertussis vaccine is up to date. This protects you against the effects of a very serious illness. 2) If you have been exposed to pertussis TALK TO YOUR DOCTOR ABOUT PROPHYLACTIC ANTIBIOTICS. After an hour in a room with someone who has pertussis, if your body doesn't have sufficient immunity there's up to a 90% chance of you getting it and you will be sick for months. This is one of the ONLY CASES EVER where you should be getting prophylactic antibiotics. Usually, I would say do not get prophylactic antibiotics. This is a special case.
3) If a third gen vaccine comes out (many are in development), update your pertussis shot! 4) IF YOU FEEL SICK AND HAVE A COUGH, STAY HOME. If you cannot stay home, then you should wear a well-fitted disposable n95, kn95, or surgical mask (in order of preference) at all times around other people. 5) Mask in crowded public spaces and on airplanes even if you feel well.
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aurumacadicus · 2 months ago
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Lol. Lmao even.
--
"So, what does a typical Avengers meals look like?" the interviewer asks, smile wide and mean.
Steve hates these types of questions. Everyone knows he and Thor eat like horses. There are pictures of them with their own table laden with food after really strenuous battles while the rest of the team sit at a different one floating all over the internet. Sometimes Bruce joins them, if he'd been Hulked out for a long time.
It's a question to shame Natasha and Tony. It always is, no matter how sincerely the interviewer smiles or insists it's just to see that they're real people. No one gives Steve side-eye when he talks about eating three bagels smothered in lox and cream cheese, but if Natasha mentions ice cream, there are half a dozen articles about how that ice cream goes straight to her thighs. Tony gets pitying looks for trying to keep up with a literal god and the peak of human perfection as he's told he's looking great--for a man his age.
Clint seemed to fly under the radar. He used to gloat, until Bruce had snapped that it was probably because there was a webpage dedicated to pictures of him crawling out of dumpsters during battle after a particularly vicious interviewer had asked Tony if he worried about getting too fat for his suit, and left Natasha visibly rattled when asked if she was taking steroids to stay in shape. He'd apologized immediately after, but Clint had stopped taking joy in being the disaster Avenger when Natasha and Tony started glancing at watches with smiles growing more plastic by the second.
Steve has half a mind to tell the interviewer they all eat protein-filled gruel designed by SHIELD just to get her attention away from them, but Natasha had scowled at him the last time he'd tried to stage a rescue in front of cameras, and he'd taken it as the warning to back off that it was.
"I've gotten real into smoothies," Tony answers, and he actually sounds enthused. "And Natasha's my willing guinea pig. These heathens," he adds, waving at the rest of them. "Wouldn't know a good flavor profile if their lives depend on it."
"He's figured out a chocolate and almond butter recipe with coconut water that tastes just like an Almond Joy," Natasha adds approvingly.
Steve watches the interviewer's face twist with fake sympathy as she winces and hisses through her teeth, hand clenching into a fist on his thigh. He just has to let this happen, he reminds himself. Then they can go home and he can remind Tony and Natasha that they are probably the healthiest normal people in all of SHIELD. Maybe Tony will make that protein-packed smoothie that tastes just like caramel apple pie for him that is probably supposed to embarrass him but he actually really likes.
"Ooh," the interviewer says with another wince. "But aren't smoothies just full of sugar? Wouldn't it be better to eat whole fruit?"
Natasha raises an eyebrow. She opens her mouth, but closes it again when she notices that Tony is openly gawking at the woman like she's personally reached over and slapped him. She leans back in her seat, brows furrowing together as she clearly tries to puzzle out why he looks so shocked.
Tony blinks, once, hard, before he says, "I used to do cocaine, Christine. I think a little sugar from fruit juice is fine."
There's a brief pause as the words sink in, and then Clint spews the water he'd been nervously gulping, and Bruce starts howling with laughter, and it pretty effectively ends the interview there, because no one has heard Bruce laugh that hard outside of the tower and Natasha looks seconds away from guffawing as well.
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yawnderu · 11 months ago
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CW: mentions of kidnapping and stolen body autonomy.
Find a way in, kill the enemy, retrieve the hostages, leave. A routine of sorts that gave his life some sense of purpose to avoid going insane for the past two decades. Simon liked to believe he got over what happened in his past... truly, he did; and yet Manuel Roba’s horrors seem to haunt him no matter where how many years pass.
“C’mere.” Simon’s voice held no hostility, he made sure of it, yet your stiff position never changed. Legs angled to the right, hands folded on your lap, and eyes looking forward, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze even if it’s been hours since your rescue. Garrick, Price and Johnny have already tried to get you to talk multiple times, all of them with different approaches. 
Garrick was friendly, trying his best to seem approachable, a bright smile on his lips that you didn’t seem to notice, too busy staring at a wall no matter how much he tried to hold a conversation.
Price seemed fatherly, never once laying a hand on you even if it was itching to comfort you, and so he settled with telling you you’re safe now, how no one will ever get you again now that they're here. His words didn’t seem to do much, either. 
Johnny was
 something else. His first attempt was a shitty pick up line, getting a reaction out of you for the first time— a nose scrunched up in disgust, but a reaction nonetheless.  
And Simon
 Simon’s approach was different. The man was used to barking out orders and obeying them himself, not to deal with an unresponsive hostage. His behemoth frame was nestled next to you, putting a tray on the table and observing your reactions. From the way you swallowed thickly the moment the meal was presented to you, to the sound of your stomach growling. 
“Go on, then.” Your gaze follows his movements for the first time, the feeling of your stomach rumbling makes you more aware of your hunger, so many years being fed nothing but what was necessary to keep you alive by Manuel and his associates, so many years of being trained like a dog to obey to their very order. 
Simon can see the hesitation in your body language, too tense to allow yourself to dig in the way you wanted, yet no longer as stiff as before. There was a sense of relief at the fact that they didn’t seem to want to hurt you —unlike Roba—, yet years of non-stop brutal training can’t be erased within hours.
Roba’s training was engraved into your brain, and while the sense of security the SAS blokes gave you is something you’re thankful for, nothing guarantees they’re not working for him. You’ve seen other military men come and go throughout the years, always Roba’s friends, and always sharing the same disgusting, sadistic desires.
“Eat up.” The rest of the men watch the way you move, curiosity and amusement mixing at how strange your movements seem, almost robotic. Your forearms rest on the table, elbows away from the cheap wood as you attempt to hold your own cutlery— attempt, because it looks fully foreign to you, trying out different angles to make it work, and yet it's the first time in years you've been allowed to try and feed yourself.
Simon is the first one to catch on, having lived under Roba’s rules for long enough to know he enjoys taking people’s autonomy, to reduce them to nothing but a pathetic mess that depends on him. His gloved fingers are gentle as he takes the spoon from your hand, scooping up some food before holding it up to your lips. His full attention is on you, relief starting to make its way into his body as sees your rather soft lips wrap around the spoon, eating whatever he was feeding you. Lucky for you, this time it wasn’t an MRE
 or beans on toast.
His gloved thumb wipes the corners of your lips every time you’re done chewing, and he’s quick to pick up more food from the plate, nothing but patience and kindness shown in his actions, so unlike the brooding soldier he's known to be.
“... two goldfish are in a tank
?” Johnny’s loud groan gets your attention for a second, yet you quickly glance back at Simon, curious eyes looking up at him, almost as if asking him to go on. 
“One turns to the other and says
 ‘you know how to drive this thing?’” You can see the corners of his eyes crinkle before he even finishes his joke, clearly trying his best not to laugh at just how awful it was. A small smile hides in the corners of your lips, and Simon takes that as a victory, ignoring the questioning looks he’s getting from his team, for now.
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shanastoryteller · 7 months ago
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i know spn hates good writing and also sam, but the dumpster fire of s4 really could have been salvaged if they'd just played ruby and castiel straight
by which i mean
ruby should have been one of the good guys (honestly it feels like the writers changed their minds last second regarding her anyway)
castiel should have been the villain (which, let's be clear, he totally was)
the point of this is that it would force dean to confront his own bullshit and maybe figure himself out, which not only would have been good television but would have been satisfying to me, personally
sam's problem is that he wants there to be a good equal to every evil. that he believes goodness exists even where it doesn't, that he always wants to give things a chance, that he always has hope. they sound like good traits, up until they're used against him. they reach the station of angels are bad eventually, but it should have been more immediate and visceral, that there is no greater good here. sam should have had this knocked out of him, which would have shattered him in way, to lose this thing he's depended on his whole life, but it really would have hammered home that it's choices that really do matter, not circumstances
dean's problem is always that he sees monsters as monsters with no grey area, that sam always has to play his moral center the second anything becomes complicated. then he goes to hell, breaks, tortures innocents, and an angel yanks him out and tells him that he's a righteous man
dean desperately desperately wants this to be true
because it's sam who they had to look out for, sam who was destined to go darkside, sam with the demon blood
dean doesn't have that excuse
he's just a human man with a hunger for violence who never learned to curb his appetite. who was instead pushed to gorging himself on it, who is left broken and desperate and angry by what he did to save himself. his whole life, his whole self perception for thirty years, was about protecting innocents. then he betrays that in hell. do you think he kept count? how many innocents he destroyed against how many he saved? the day it equaled out, do you think he wished he could weep?
dean is so unbelievably messed up by hell. not the torture he endured, that's barely a blip, but the torture he inflicted is what haunts him
so he needs for sam to be the bad guy
he's using his powers, he's hanging out with demons, he's drinking demon blood. he's the monster. he's inhuman
(he's using his powers and hanging out with demons and drinking demon blood and still he's doing less harm than dean, still he's trying to save people. dean can't accept this, because he can't be the rotten one. he'll forgive sam anything, but never himself, so it has to be sam. because he can fix sam, he'll always love his brother, so if he's evil there's stil a path forward there. but if it's dean? if he's the one going evil? sam's left him before. why would he stay now? if dean is the one going darkside then he loses everything. himself. his brother. it has to be sam)
dean is projecting all his own shit onto sam because he can't deal with any of it, which is why he treats sam like shit, why he treats him in a way that he's never treated him before. it's how he treats himself. and sam has no idea what to do with this, is left reeling and hurt and broken himself by dean doing this to him. sam never thought dean would leave him to die in the panic room, because dean wouldn't, not the dean he's known his whole life, not the dean that loves him. not alone.
but dean would do that to himself. and since sam is his proxy for himself, it's what he does to sam, but sam doesn't know that so all he feels is the weight of betrayal and grief and rage
isn't it funny, almost? the demons brought sam back just as he was, exactly the same. the angels bring back dean but he's not the same. dean comes back wrong, comes back different. but no one wants to say that. to deal with it
having ruby be evil and castiel venerated justifies all of dean's spiraling, all of his punishment. he was right all along, sam was the problem, don't you see?
boring
ruby stays loyal to sam, a demon who chooses something different, who chooses the boy with the demon blood because there's something compelling about sam winchester, as tempting as the apple before eve, and ruby didn't get where she is by knowing better
(remember when sam pulled all the psychic kids together, acted as leader, and resisted azazel? there is a leader in sam, a compassion in him, that azazel had to cheat in order to beat. and if ruby can show him how to win against demons then-)
castiel let sam out of the panic room. he's following orders, because that's his job, and damn the consequences. this should have been seen as the act of betrayal and evil that it was, castiel proving he was never really on their side at all, never on the side of preventing harm. it also would have made his redemption arc mean something, it would have given castiel a lot more to work with if they'd had to really bring him back over
ruby realizes too late what killing lilith means. tries to stop sam, but now that she's here it's too late, kill or be killed. sam accepts that, is willing to die rather than start the apocalypse. but then dean is there, and he can't watch his brother die again, he just can't. so he kills lilith to save dean, when he would have been willing to die himself
ruby gets them out of there. they discover what castiel did, that he pushed forward the apocalypse rather than prevented it
this breaks dean. he finally snaps, but it's good, because everything he'd used to shore himself up before had been terrible and rotted and corrosive
a righteous man is not a good man. dean is forced to confront everything he's done in hell, and after he'd gotten back, everything he put sam through, how he left him in that panic room and almost killed him, how he's treated him for the past year. how it was a demon who tried to help in the end and an angel that damned them
and how sam saved him anyway, damn the consequences
we should have returned to what the show had been building up to from the beginning - that sam loves his brother enough to do terrible things and dean has no idea how to deal with that
so we've got sam and dean on the run with ruby, castiel's slower and much juicier redemption arc, and dean having to pick up the pieces of himself while sam tries to figure out how he gets them out this mess. and sam's guilt is justified here, his aching sense of responsibility, because this time he kills lilith knowing it'll free lucifer. he makes that choice, for dean. and he's determined to fix it
just. demon blood tainted sam and turncoat ruby trying to save the world. the angels trying to end it. all while dean finally accepts the crushing guilt of what he's done and starts to work through it, starts to work on becoming the brother sam lost, on once more being the steady thing sam can hold onto no matter what it takes, because sam choosing him reminds him of something he'd told himself he forgot
he doesn't want to be a righteous man, a torturer, a demon, a victim, a martyr
he just wants to be sam's brother. the one he looks up to, depends on, loves
he wants what he's always wanted
to feel worthy of his little brother's affection
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captain-huggy-bear · 1 month ago
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Dependable
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Pairing: Clayton Keller x Fem!Reader
Warnings: N/A
Summary: Whenever you're on your period Clayton is dependable, someone who knows what you need before you do. Aka a series of things Clayton does for you when you're on your period.
Notes: If you never had the joys of pingu growing up, go watch it on youtube. Pingu is an icon. A legend.
Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)
Writing Masterlist
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"Clay?" You stop short when you enter the bedroom after getting back from running a few necessary errands that you'd kept putting off. Despite how you felt, stomach cramping, body bloated, you'd gone anyway. What stops you short is the fresh bedding that hadn't been there before. Different sheets, pillows plumped, even some of your blankets pulled out of the back of the wardrobe and laid on the end of the bed.
"Mm, yeah, baby?" Clayton pops his head out of the adjoining bathroom, making his way to you as he dries his hands on a towel.
"Did you change the sheets?"
"Yeah, while you were out." The smile he gives you is simple, matter of fact. There's no seeking praise or expecting a thank you. He's almost quiet in his admission like he'd be content for you to not notice, to simply have done it without recognition.
"Why?" You only ask because it's simply not the time you would usually change the sheets, you're both quite regimented in that way. A schedule for bins, a schedule for sheets, for cleaning the shower and bath. You live your life by routine in order to make it work around hockey and your own career.
The look he gives you says it all, humouring you almost, like the fact you have to ask is amusing to him. Clayton huffs out a light laugh at your question as he closes the space between the two of you, tugging on the hem of his shirt, the one you'd thrown on that morning because you wanted to be comfy. Because his shirts always made you feel better when you were on your period.
"Because you always like having fresh sheets when you're on your period, it makes you feel better, baby" The smile he gives you is so utterly sweet, that little dimple on his right cheek peeking out, eyes crinkling at the corners as his hand reaches for yours, twists your fingers together till they're locked together.
"Clay..." Blame it on the hormones, blame it on the cramps, blame it on whatever you want, but you can't help but feel tears start to well in yours eyes, lip wobbling. It's just...it's so sweet. He's right, you love having fresh bed sheets when you're on your period, it makes you feel less gross and more like yourself and not some creature in it's lair.
"Hey, hey, don't cry!" Big hands cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing across the plushness there as he smiles at you. Clay knows your moods by now, he knows you get emotional on your period, that the silliest little thing sets you off.
"But, that's the sweetest thing ever!" You sound like a burbling brook, wetness in your voice, tears slipping out as you smile at him wetly. It's cute the way something so simple has you so appreciative as he wipes away the tracks of wetness that started to make their way down your cheeks.
"If I say I put your favourite ice cream in the freezer last night on my way home from the game are you going to cry harder, sweet girl?"
"Yeah!" Clayton just tugs you tight to his chest, pressing your cheek against his pectorals and running his fingers through the ends of your hair in soothing passes.
He just wants to make your life a little easier. Especially when you're feeling like shit.
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You're holed up in bed, doing what almost looks like yoga or pilates, except with more pain involved. You're bent in half, face down on the bed, hips high in the air as if that will relieve the cramping in your stomach, the ache in your lower back, the feeling of nausea at the pain.
You groan into the bedding, shifting further until your almost on tiptoes when Clayton finds you, ass high in the air which under other circumstances would be a delight to see...not so much when you're clearly in a shit ton of pain.
The bed shifts as he sits down next to you, warm hand finding your lower back, fingers digging in, pressing soothing little circles into the muscle there. Your lower back is so tight it feels like a rock, but his movements help, a sigh of relief falling from your lips even while you still clutch at your tummy.
"You want a hot water bottle, baby?"
You can barely even say yes, just groaning out in the affirmative until Clay's grabbing your silly little ghost shaped hot water bottle. The one you'd made him buy you for Halloween because it was 'cute'. The loss of his hands is felt keenly, your lower back reminding you that it does in fact hurt.
He tries to be quick about it, but the kettle takes forever to boil, each minute dragging as he can hear you shifting back and forth in the bedroom. The way you try to find a position that doesn't hurt. Usually you only have one day a month that's this bad, but it doesn't make it any easier to watch, knowing he can't take it away, can't really fix the problem.
When he comes back into the bedroom, you've shifted to lying in a foetal position, curled up into a little ball, arms tight around your stomach, face pressed into his pillow. His pillow because it smells like him. Because it provides a modicum of comfort and reassurance.
"Here you go, baby..." He shifts your arms out of the way, pressing the hot water bottle to your stomach where you clutch it there tight. The moan you let out is pure relief.
"Thank you, Clay..." Your voice is so small, quiet in the way you only get when you're sick or in pain. Too quiet for his girl.
"You want cuddles?" You're not even looking at him, face still pressed into his pillow, eyes shut out of discomfort. The way you breathe is laboured, trying to keep it even against the pain.
"Yes, please..."
Clayton folds himself around your back, tugging you until you're flush to his chest, one arm wrapping tight around you, the other pressing against your hip, rubbing circles to soothe you. His face nuzzles into the bend where your neck meets your shoulder, pressing light kisses there.
At first you're still tense, body taut, but bit by bit you start to relax against him. Clay's warmth eases some of the pain in your back, the hot water bottles helps with the stomach cramps and the smell of his cologne brings you to a place where you almost feel content...if not for the stabbing, aching pains.
"I'll hold you for as long as you want, baby...you're being so brave...I'm sorry."
He just keeps whispering apologies, sweet nothings, as if he feels guilty for something nature has done to you. Like he wishes he could take your period from you, go through the pain on your behalf.
He lets you twist in his arms, face planting into his chest, legs twisting with his own. Clay doesn't complain about the boiling hot water bottle squished between the two of you or the way you burrow closer, just presses his fingers into your lower back, massaging the muscles there bit by bit until they loosen.
He doesn't let go. Not after 10 minutes. Not after 30. Not after an hour when you've finally fallen asleep against him. He just tightens his hold and presses a kiss to the top of your head like that might be the thing that takes all the pain away.
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"Here, baby, fresh pajamas." They're warm from the dryer, fresh out because he knew they'd be nicer warm after your shower, knew you needed it after waking up having bled through your sweatpants.
He watches you like a hawk, assessing as you try to get changed, the way you move is slow, stunted, muscles tight and he doesn't watch for long before Clay is kneeling on the floor, helping ease your underwear up your legs, pad firmly in place. He helps you step into your new sweatpants and helps ease one of his t-shirts over your head. Everything is done gently, with care, guiding you until you're warm and cosy. Until he's leading you back to bed, and tucking you into his side as he reaches for the remote to the far too large television he had placed on the wall across from the bed.
"You wanna watch Pingu?" It's your comfort show, a childhood favourite that you put on whenever you feel like shit and the fact he knows that, the fact Clay remembers means a lot. It has your chest aching in a good way, affection filling you as you watch him navigate to youtube and find the compilation videos that you've watched a hundred times.
The little claymation penguin waddles onto the screen and you lean into Clay as far as you can. He's wrapped around you, chest to your back, as his hands find your tummy. His palms rub circles into the skin of your stomach, warmth from his hands easing some of the discomfort you feel, the cramps that have been plaguing you particularly hard this month, the bloating that's made you feel self-conscious and horrible.
"Who's your favourite? Pingu or Pinga?" He asks you as Pingu's little sister waddles into frame, following after her big brother on their next big misadventure.
"Pingu...you?" You're both whispering, like talking too loudly might ruin this. This quiet. This calming sort of atmosphere, cosy and soft as the early morning sunrise streams in through the windows. Clay's fingers dig a little more into your stomach, not painful but firm enough to give you a little bit of relieving pressure. Your own hands grip at his forearms, wanting to be as close as possible, to be in contact with him.
"The seal."
"The seal? Really?" You look over your shoulder at him brow furrowing because the seal might be one of your least favourite recurring characters. Not quite as bad as the nightmare fuel walrus but still...
"Yeah, 's funny."
The two of you fall into comfortable silence, watching the claymation figures across the screen, cuddling close. You love this about Clay. How dependable he is. How reliable. He knows you better than you know yourself, knows what you need and when you need it and never seems to find it a chore to provide it either.
"...thank you for always taking care of me."
He presses a kiss to your temple, firm and sure, "I love taking care of you, wanna take care of you for the rest of my life, sweet girl."
"You promise?"
"Pinkie promise." He finds your pinkie with his own, locking them together in the sort of promise that feels tangible, physical, unbreakable. You know he means it, know that he intends to be there for you, for as long as he has time on this earth. It's the sort of dependability, the sort of stability that reminds you of why you can relax so much around him, why your brain can shut off...because Clay is safety, he's home, he's security. He's the one that will always be there. No matter what.
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cyberl6ve · 10 months ago
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𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐑! 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 ─ 𝐅 𝐄 ! 𝐍
CHECK 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 FOR MORE!! (NSFW!!)
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𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
── .✩ : Y/N, in need of more weed, recalls her best friend Matt Sturniolo once mentioning that his brother, Chris, could help her restock. With Chris's number saved in her phone but never having met him, Y/N decides to reach out, stepping into an unexpected world linked to her friend’s mysterious brother.
· · ─ ·𖄞· ─ · · 𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 !! · · ─ ·𖄞· ─ · ·
⋆˙⟡ STORY CONTAINS MATURE CONTENT !! ⋆˙⟡
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
⊱ Û« Ś… ✧ : 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 đ›đžđ„đąđžđŻđž 𝐈’𝐩 𝐝𝐹𝐱𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐱𝐬, but I need more weed. I take out my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find the number for Chris Sturniolo, my best friend Matt's brother. I've never met Chris in person before, but I've heard enough stories from Matt to know he's trouble. Despite this, I send him a text message asking if he could sell me some weed.
“Hey, is this Chris?”
A few minutes later, I get a reply from him.
“Depends. Who's asking?”
I roll my eyes at his response, but I type back anyway.
“I’m one of Matt's friend. Y/N. I need to restock my supply, and I heard you could help me out.”
There’s a bit of a pause before he replies.
“Ah, Matt’s girl. Yeah, I can hook you up. Come by my place in an hour.”
An hour later, I find myself standing outside of Chris’s house, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. I take a deep breath and ring the doorbell. A few moments later, the door swings open and I find myself face-to-face with Chris.
“Hey there,” he says, leaning against the doorway. “You must be Y/N.”
I nod, eyeing him up and down. He's wearing a plain black hoodie and a pair of jeans, his hair tousled in that carefree way that makes girls swoon. But I'm not about to let him see that I find him attractive.
As I look at him, it's impossible to ignore the similarities between him and Matt. They share the same colored hair, the same sharp features, the same easy smile. Matt had told me once that he was an identical triplet, and seeing Chris for the first time, I could believe it.
But the differences between them are obvious too. While Matt was always friendly and approachable, Chris exudes a confident charisma that's hard to ignore. It's like he knows he can get anything he wants, and he's not afraid to use it to his advantage.
He steps aside to let me in, and I walk past him into the house. “Make yourself at home,” he says, shutting the door behind us. “Can I get you anything to drink?” I shake my head, still trying to play it cool. “I'm good,” I say.
He looks at me for a moment, his eyes roaming over my body in a way that makes me feel both self-conscious and flattered at the same time.
“So, how much do you need?” he asks. “An eighth, a quarter, a whole ounce?” I shrug, trying to act like I don't care. “Whatever you've got,” I say.
He seems amused by my nonchalance. “You don't mess around, do you? I like that.” He grins and moves closer to me, leaning against the wall.
“How about an ounce? Does that sound alright?” he asks, his voice low and silky. Despite myself, I feel a flutter in my stomach at his proximity. “Yeah, an ounce is great,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “How much will that cost me?”
He smirks and crosses his arms across his chest. “Normally it would cost you $50, but since you're a first-time buyer it's on the house.”
I shake my head, trying to keep up the nonchalant act. “No, no, I can't let you give me a free ounce,” I say. “Let me pay you something at least.”
He grins and hands me the ounce, his fingers brushing against mine as he does. “Well, you can pay me in another way, if you're willing,” he says, his voice low and sultry.
I raise an eyebrow at his words, trying not to show how much they're affecting me. “And what way would that be?” I ask, playing along.
Without warning, he takes a step forward, closing the distance between us. His gaze locks with mine as he leans in, his lips hovering just inches from my own. “Maybe I can show you,” he says, his voice a low murmur.
He closes the gap between us, his lips meeting mine in a soft, but firm kiss. I find myself melting into him, my hands moving up to wrap around his neck as we kiss. He pulls me closer to him, his arms wrapping around my waist tightly.
He deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping into my mouth. I moan softly, pressing myself against him, feeling the heat of his body against mine. For a moment, all thoughts of being nonchalant fly out of my head as I lose myself in his embrace.
As the kiss deepens, I can't help but notice how different it is from any other kiss I've had before. His lips are firm and confident, yet tinged with a hint of gentleness that I can't quite place. It's like he knows exactly what he's doing, and he's using it to his advantage. He's a far better kisser than any of the guys I've dated in the past, and I find myself getting lost in the sensation of his mouth on mine.
He breaks the kiss, but only to move his attention to my neck. His lips trail down my jawline, his teeth nipping at my skin as he sucks lightly at my pulse point. I tilt my head back, exposing more of my neck to him, unable to stop myself from letting out a soft moan.
He grins against my skin, his hands moving to my hips as he continues his assault on my neck. He kisses and sucks at the sensitive skin, his tongue darting out every now and then to tease me. His fingers dig into my hips, pressing me against him tightly, and I can feel the heat of his body through our clothes.
He pulls back from my neck for a moment, looking up at me with a sly smile. “Jump,” he says, his voice a low command. Before I can protest, he taps my thighs, signaling me to jump.
Without thinking, I obey, jumping up and wrapping my legs around his waist. He catches me easily, his hands moving to support me under my thighs, holding me tightly against him.
He moves quickly toward the stairs, carrying me with ease. His hands grip my thighs tightly as he ascends the stairs, his strides purposeful and assured. I wrap my arms around his neck, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves.
We reach the top of the stairs and he turns down the hallway, stopping in front of a door at the end. Without breaking stride, he pushes the door open and carries me inside, kicking it shut behind us.
The room is dimly lit, with a king-size bed in the center. He walks over to it, still holding me in his arms, and lowers me down onto the bed. I sink into the soft comforter, my heart racing as he hovers over me, his eyes roaming over my body.
He leans down, his body pressing against mine, his weight pinning me to the bed. He kisses me hungrily, his hands roaming over my body, tracing the curves of my hips and sides. I kiss him back just as eagerly, my fingers tangling in his hair as I arch up against him.
He breaks the kiss, his lips moving down to my neck again. His hands reach up to the hem of my shirt, pulling it up over my head, exposing my bare skin to him. I shiver as his fingers trace patterns on my stomach, his touch sending jolts of electricity racing through me.
He moves down, kissing and nipping at my collarbone, his hands moving to unclasp my bra. I arch into his touch, my breath coming in short gasps as he worships my body with his mouth. He lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine as he pulls the bra off and throws it aside.
His gaze wanders down, taking in the sight of my bare chest, his pupils dilating as he takes in the sight of me. He licks his lips, his hands roaming over me once again. He touches me like he owns me, like he has the right to, and I find myself craving more of his touch.
He kisses his way down my body, his lips moving over my breasts, his tongue swirling over my nipples, making me gasp and arch up against him.
Chris's lips continue to trail downwards, his hands moving to my waistband. With a gentle tug, he slowly pulls my pants down, revealing my underwear. His breath hitches as he takes in the sight, his desire growing stronger.
With my fingers grazing the hem of his black hoodie, I slowly help him take it off, revealing his toned chest beneath. I can't help but run my hands over his bare skin, my touch sending sparks through his body.
As the hoodie comes off, I take a moment to appreciate the sight before me. His muscles tense under my touch, and I can feel his breath hitch as I trace my fingers over his chest.
I get up from the bed, my eyes locked on his. Using all my strength, I pull him up, and we stand there for a moment before I reach for his pants. Slowly, I begin to undo them, the sound of the zipper filling the room.
His pants fall to the floor, leaving him in just his boxers. I push him gently onto the bed, making sure he lands with a soft thud. As he lies there, I kneel in front of him, my hands moving to the waistband of his Calvin Klein boxers.
With a gentle tug, I pull down his boxers, revealing his erection. My eyes widen at the sight, and I can't help but let out a soft moan. His cock is hard and pulsing, begging for attention.
“Mmm, look at you,” I whisper, my hot breath caressing his sensitive skin. “So hard and ready for me. Do you want my mouth on you, baby? Do you need me to suck that big, thick cock?”
“Fuck, yes,” he groans, his hips bucking up towards me involuntarily. “I need your mouth, baby. Suck my dick, make me cum on your tongue.” His words are dripping with lust, and I can feel his desire radiating off him in waves.
I waste no time, leaning in closer and taking his throbbing head into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it as I suck. He moans loudly, his hands moving to tangle in my hair as he thrusts his hips up, trying to get more of his cock into my mouth.
“Oh, shit, yeah...just like that,” he grunts, his breathing heavy and labored. His fingers tighten in my hair, pulling slightly as he rocks his hips against my face. “Oh fuck,” he whimpers, his legs shaking as I continue to suck him off. I can feel him getting closer and closer to the edge.
I pull back just enough to tease him, then sink back down, taking him all the way to the root. He cries out in pleasure, his hips bucking wildly. “Holy fuck, Ma,” he groans, starting to fuck my mouth, unable to control himself any longer.
He starts to thrust into me harder and faster, using my mouth like a personal fuck toy. I gag and choke as he plows into me, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful stroke. “Ah, fuck yeah, take it all!” he growls, his eyes blazing with raw animal lust.
With a roar of primal pleasure, he slams into me one final time, his cock erupting deep in my throat as he unleashes a torrent of hot, sticky cum. I feel it pulsing and spilling over my tongue, the salty taste of him filling my mouth.
As he finishes, he slowly pulls out, his softening cock slipping from my lips with a wet pop. Gasping for air, a string of saliva and his cum connecting my mouth to his spent erection. His chest heaves as he looks at me, his eyes still glazed with lust.
He picks me up effortlessly, his strength still present and impressive, and lays me onto the bed. He then kneels between my legs, spreading them open with ease. Without a word, he yanks off the last piece of my clothing, throwing it aside carelessly with a flick of his wrist.
He smirks at me from his dominant position, admiring the view before he leans in and takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking it hard and tugging at it with his teeth. He watches my reaction, gauging how rough or gentle he should be.
Encouraged by my reactions, he moves lower, kissing and nipping his way down my body. He settles between my legs, his hot breath tickling my sensitive flesh. Without further hesitation, he dives in, his tongue lapping at my pussy, eager to taste my arousal.
“Oh no you don't, Ma,” Chris murmurs, shaking his head when he sees me closing my legs instinctively. He gently pushes them open again, keeping them spread apart. “You're going to take it,” he commands, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Like this,” he says, before he dives back in, his tongue delving deep into my core. He laps at my pussy, sucking and flicking my clit with expert precision. I gasp and writhing under his ministrations, the pleasure building inside me with each passing second.
Chris continues to feast on me, his tongue never leaving my pussy. He eats me out with reckless abandon, making sure to hit all my sweet spots. My moans fill the room as I lose myself to the pleasure, my hips bucking against his face.
His tongue continues to work its magic, his fingers joining the fray. He slides one finger inside me, then two, stretching me open as he curls them upwards, finding the rough patch on the front wall of my pussy.
Once he finds that sensitive spot, Chris focuses his attention on it, rubbing and stroking it with his fingers. He sucks my clit between his lips, drawing it into his mouth and flicking the tip of his tongue against it. The pressure builds inside me, my orgasm just out of reach.
He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, smirking at me. He stands up, pulling my legs up with him until my knees are by my chest.
“Oh my god...” I breathe, my eyes widening as I take in the sight before me. Chris stands tall, his erection jutting out proudly, thick and long. It's clear it's not going to fit, not without some serious effort on his part. “Look at me,” he growls, positioning his cock at the entrance of my pussy. I look down, taking in his length and girth. “It's not going to fit,”
“It'll fit,” Chris grins, seeing the look of apprehension on my face. “Just relax.” He uses his thumb to rub in circles on my clit, trying to distract me as he slowly starts to push in.
“Good girl,” Chris praises, feeling me start to relax around him. He takes it slow, inch by inch. “You're doing so well, baby. Just keep breathing, and when it hurts too much just tell me to stop.”
“That's it,” he says, his voice a low rumble as he sinks deeper inside me. “You're so tight, I can barely move.” He pauses, letting me adjust to his size. “Breathe through it. It'll get easier.”
“Atta girl,” Chris coos, his voice soothing. “Just like that. You're doing so good for me.” He slowly starts to fuck me again, inch by inch, watching my face as he does so. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”
Chris' thrusts start to get deeper and faster as he gets more into it. “You like that, baby? You like the way I feel inside you?” He starts to pound me harder, using one hand to grab at my breast and tweak my nipple.
Chris smirks at the look of pleasure on my face. “You like it when I fuck you like this, don't you, Ma?” He starts really pounding me then, hard and fast. His other hand grabs at my thigh, pulling it up so he can go even deeper.
I moan his name, unable to help myself as I feel pleasure building up inside me. “Chris,” I gasp, my voice breathy. He grins at the sound, loving the way it sounds coming from my lips. “You're so fucking hot when you say my name like that.”
I reach up and grab onto Chris' bicep, holding on for dear life as he continues to fuck me hard and fast. He grunts in approval, loving the way it feels having me hold onto him like that. “That's it, baby,” he growls. “Hold onto me.”
Chris pulls out of me, grabbing onto my hips as he turns me around. He positions me on all fours before thrusting back into me from behind. “Oh fuck,” I moan, feeling him fill me up once again. Chris starts to fuck me harder than before, using my hips for leverage.
Chris grabs my wrists, pushing my hands behind my back as he arches my back. I feel his cock throbbing deep inside me as he starts to pound into me harder. “Look at that ass,” he groans, his voice low and gravelly with lust. “So perfect for me.”
Chris takes advantage of my moan, thrusting harder and deeper into me. He knows he's found a weak spot and decides to milk it. “You like that, baby?” he taunts, smacking my ass hard. The combination of pleasure and a little pain sends me reeling.
Chris chuckles darkly at my breathy moan. “That's it, baby. Take it.” He continues to pound into me relentlessly, the bed creaking beneath us. I can feel his balls slapping against my clit with every thrust, sending jolts of pleasure through my body.
Chris smirks, enjoying the power he has over me. He picks up the pace even more, the bed shaking as he fucks me harder. “You're such a good little slut for me,” he growls, reaching around to rub my clit. “You love getting fucked like this, don't you?”
Chris leans over me, his breath hot against my ear. “Tell me what you want, baby. I'll give it to you.” I gasp, my hips bucking back against him. “You want my cock deeper? You want me to make you cum?”
“Yes, please,” I whimper, my voice strained with pleasure. “I need it... need you deeper.” Chris grunts, his hips snapping forward to oblige. He's so deep now, I can feel him touching my cervix with every thrust.
Chris's thrusts become erratic, the bed shaking beneath us. I can feel his cock swelling inside me, his balls drawing up as he prepares to cum. “Fuck, Ma,” he groans, driving into me one last time and stilling.
Chris pulls out with a wet pop, cum spilling out of me and onto his black sheets. He looks down at the mess with a satisfied smirk before leaning over me again. “Ride me,” he whispers, his voice husky with desire.
I straddle Chris's hips as he lies back, his cock hard and ready beneath me. I lift myself up and sink back down, grinding against him roughly. “Mmm, fuck yes,” he moans, grabbing my hips to meet my movements.
I line myself up with his cock, slowly lowering down onto him with a loud moan. He's so big, filling me up completely and stretching me deliciously. “Oh fuck,” I gasp as he reaches up to squeeze my breasts.
I start riding him, my hips moving in a slow, steady rhythm. Chris's hands are all over me, touching and caressing every inch of my skin. “That's it, baby,” he murmurs, his eyes dark with desire. “Ride my cock like a good girl.”
Chris's hands grip my hips tightly as I bounce on top of him, his cock hitting deep inside me with each thrust. “Oh fuck, you're so tight,” he groans, his eyes locked on mine. “Take it all, Ma, milk my cock dry.”
“Mmmm, yes... so deep,” I moan, my head thrown back as Chris's cock fills me up. He's hitting all the right spots, making me whimper with pleasure. “Harder, Chris, please... I need it harder.”
Chris's hands grip my hips even tighter, pulling me down onto his cock over and over again. I can feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge, my moans growing louder and more desperate. “Fuck, yes... you're gonna make me cum,”
I lean forward, my breasts pressing against Chris's chest as I ride him harder and faster. My nails dig into his skin as I hold on for support, my body trembling with the force of my movements. “Don't stop, please... I'm so close,” I pant, my voice ragged with need.
Chris's hips slam up into me, meeting my own thrusts as we race towards the finish line together. His hands are all over me, touching and caressing every inch of my skin. “Cum for me, baby... cum all over my cock,”
Still buried deep inside me, Chris suddenly flips us over, pinning me beneath him as he continues to thrust into me relentlessly. “C’mon I know you can keep going, baby... don't even think about catching your breath,” he growls, his eyes dark with lust.
Chris reaches down, grabbing hold of my wrists and pinning them firmly above my head as he pounds into me relentlessly. The feeling of being completely at his mercy only adds to the intensity of my pleasure, and I moan loudly, arching my back as he fucks me hard and fast.
“Please, Chris, don't stop... I need this, need you,” I plead, my voice desperate and breathless. I'm completely at his mercy, unable to move my hands or break free from his grip as he continues to take me with a force that's almost brutal. “More, harder...”
The chain around Chris's neck keeps hitting against his chest as he pounds into me, adding an extra layer of stimulation that has me begging and moaning loud enough to wake the dead. “Fuck me, baby, fuck me harder!”
With a primal snarl, Chris redoubles his efforts, slamming into me with a force that makes the bed creak and the headboard hit the wall. The chain around his neck clanks rhythmically against his skin as he takes me with a raw, animal intensity. “You like that, slut?”
The filthy words only spur him on, and Chris fucks me with reckless abandon, the chain hitting a staccato beat against his chest. I'm completely lost in the sensations, my mind fogged with pleasure as I scream his name over and over again.
With a sudden surge of power, Chris releases my wrist and pushes down on my stomach, forcing me to arch my back even more as he continues to thrust into me with wild abandon. The added pressure has me seeing stars, my orgasm building to a crescendo. “Yes, yes, yes... just like that!”
As I feel my climax approaching, I reach up and grab the chain around Chris's neck, pulling him down into a searing kiss. Our tongues dance wildly together as he continues to pound into me, the chain clanking against my breasts with each powerful thrust.
As our kiss deepens, I moan into Chris's mouth, the sheer intensity of our joining overwhelming me. “This is crazy... we just met and now I'm fucking you,” I pant against his lips, the words barely coherent in my lust-fogged brain.
Chris pulls back, his eyes blazing with a feral intensity as he gazes down at me. “You're mine now, Y/N,” he growls, his voice rough with desire. “I'm going to fuck you every way I can, whenever I want.”
“You're going to be my personal plaything, Ma,” Chris continues, his words dripping with dark promise. “I'll use your tight little cunt whenever I please, make you scream my name until your throat is raw. You'll be addicted to my cock, craving it morning, noon, and night.”
I can feel my orgasm building once again as Chris talks dirty to me, his words fueling the fire burning inside of me. “Do you like that, baby?” he asks, his tone taunting and dominant. “Do you like the thought of being my personal fucktoy?”
“Yes, Chris,” I cry out, arching my back as he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside of me. “I'm your fucktoy, your slut, your dirty little secret. Do whatever you want with me, I'm yours.”
“I bet Matt hasn't even gotten to fuck this tight cunt,” Chris taunts, a smirk on his face as he thrusts into me, hitting me deeper and harder. “Tell me, Y/N, have you ever let him fuck you like this?”
I moan loudly, my voice high and needy, “No, just you. Nobody else has been inside me like this.” Chris chuckles darkly, the sound vibrating against my skin. “I guess I'm the luckiest person then, getting to claim this sweet little cunt all to myself.”
“Yes, Chris, yes!” I moan, my voice breathless with pleasure. Chris smirks, thrusting deeper into me. “Look at you letting me fuck the shit out of you for payment for an ounce of weed. You're such a dirty little slut.”
Chris leans down, whispering in my ear as he continues to thrust into me. “You like that, Ma? You like the way I fuck you hard and slow, making you take every inch? Fuck, you're so sexy, so perfect.”
Chris lets out a deep, guttural groan as my nails dig into his back. As if unable to resist, he leans down and starts leaving bite marks along the sensitive skin of my neck. I gasp at the sudden flash of pain, followed by an even more intense wave of pleasure.
Chris' thrusts become erratic, and I can feel him tensing up as he reaches his climax. “Fuck, I'm gonna cum,” he growls in my ear.
I moan out his name, “Chris!”, as the intense pleasure overtakes me, my vision blurring and stars exploding behind my eyelids. Chris' thrusts become frantic, his cock pulsing inside me as he fills me with his hot cum.
Chris collapses on top of me, both of us gasping for air as the aftershocks of our orgasms ripple through our bodies. He nuzzles into my neck, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine. “That was incredible, baby,” he murmurs, his voice husky with satisfaction.
“I bet you do that with every girl who comes here to buy from you,” I say, trying to catch my breath. Chris chuckles, a low, intimate sound. “You're the first, actually,” he admits, his fingers trailing down my side. “Let's keep it that way” I said, looking down at him.
Chris smirks, leaning in to capture my lips in a searing kiss. His tongue dances with mine, the taste of sweat and sex filling my mouth. As we break apart, he whispers, “I'll make sure of it.”
Chris slowly pulls out of me, a satisfied smile on his face as he admires the sight of my naked body, covered in the marks of our passionate encounter. He reaches over to his nightstand, grabbing his phone and angling it to capture the perfect shot. “Damn, you're beautiful like this,”
“Chris!” I protest, cover my chest with my arms as he snaps a photo. He chuckles, setting the phone down and hovering over me, his eyes full of desire. He pulls me into a kiss, his hand sliding down to rest on my thigh possessively.
Chris trails his lips down my neck, pressing kisses to the bite marks he left earlier. I arch my back, a moan escaping my lips as he touches me again. “I won't show anyone, I promise,” he murmurs against my skin. “Just a little reminder of this moment.”
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Authors Note: Sorry this took so long, literally fell asleep twice typing this but thank you for 100 followers!! Hope you all are having a good day/night <3 (might turn this into a book who knowsđŸ€·)
© CYBERL6VE
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trulycertain · 4 months ago
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On Dragon Age & Accents
(My unhelpful tuppence, as an English player.)
One small thing I wish had come up in Veilguard from previous games: the accent worldbuilding. It wasn't always consistent - DA:O only seemed to care about country or race, anyone non-human being generically North American and anyone human being mostly RP English unless they were Antivan; for regional accents, they seemed to purely use them for effect or go with VAs' natural ones. (There are about two bandit NPCs who seem to have badly-done Midlands English accents purely because they're not meant to be very bright; thanks, love Canadians reinforcing that stereotype. Anders being Lancashire seems to be pure coincidence because of his voice actor - you rarely ever hear the accent in any consistent way in other NPCs, and it's completely ignored in his very Southern DA2 recast.)
But by DA2, there seemed to be definite trends: Free Marches could be RP English or North American depending where you came from; dwarves tended to sound North American but there were exceptions for some people raised on the surface; elves tended to be either Welsh or Irish, which matches the "very old culture with a linguistically completely different root from Trade/English". Starkhaven is most definitely Scots.
And then DAI! DAI, my love.
DAI kept DA2's trends, while finally giving us more complexity and regional accents, albeit limitedly (and still with some inconsistencies). Finally, we have a (vaguely Germanic) Nevarran accent! And Miranda Raison did such careful work constructing it! The Avvar, Ferelden's mountain folk, sound Northern English. I'd hazard a guess that several sound Yorkshire, actually - this matches the whole "the Orlesians got up there less" lore in real terms; Northern England and Scotland, particularly Yorkshire, was under Viking rule longer than the South, which became Norman-conquered earlier, and there are subtle dialectal differences to this day. (Similar thing happened with the Celts and Romans, and the Avvar are blatantly Celtic and Pictish). There's a reason that RP ("neutral posh") English is Southern, from the seats of power. Cullen's from Honnleath, somewhere smaller and less Orlesianified, and while it's softened by the character's travel and the VA's own posher bents, there are moments the Northern English accent gets leaned into, a little similarity with the Avvar. It's a coincidence but it works so well, lore-wise. Sera's VA sounds... Derbyshire? I think? which is Midlands/Northern border and sounds more than Northern enough to keep a consistent Fereldan sound. And in terms of NPCs? A lot of Fereldan NPCs suddenly start turning up Northern, albeit less broad in their accents! Have a listen round the Crossroads. I remember Gaider mentioning Dorian wasn't originally meant to be Indian, they sealed it for sure when they cast Ramon Tikaram, at which point everyone went, "Yup, let's run with it", cast his dad accordingly, and Gaider figured that Dorian was either part of a pretty big migrant population (which, other than the Dorian Gray reference, the fact his name roughly means "from across the sea" also makes sense), or quite a lot of Tevene folk natively were. Considering Tevinter started as essentially "mage Rome" and morphed into, even according to the writers themselves, "mage Byzantium" and it's very close to Seheron, which I feel is North Africa/Middle East influenced - Tevene folk being akin to folk of Turkish, Middle Eastern, Indian, Pakistani, Bangladeshi, Sri Lankan and Bengali backgrounds makes a ton of sense.
It is... exceedingly rare to hear working-class British accents in fantasy series at all (unless Brits make them, and then we're still often peasants or generic NPC #2, a la Origins). It is even rarer to have a fantasy series bother to keep immigrant accents and show the moulding of them through the generations. And I can only think of one other video game that has consciously cast British Asian actors, that's how rare it is even in games that supposedly care about representation - despite the fact that Asian folk make up something like 30% of our population.
Now: would I like some more background on why some accents in the Marches sound British and some don't? Yup! Would I have liked to have more regions in the elves' Irish accents and the dwarves' NA? Yup! But do those really matter? Nope! They would have been lovely icing on the cake, but the underlying cake was great. The plot didn't need it. It didn't have to be perfect, and the filtering of British culture through Canadians, and strategic anachronism? Those are things I love about Dragon Age. I loved how much they seemed to be trying and how much they were thinking about the lore. And I loved hearing a "British accent" that finally made sense to me, not played into the long attempts by toffs to stamp out everything North of London or outside England.
And then Veilguard sort of... forgot about it most of it? Adored that we could play as a Geordie! I really, really love them continuing pointed casting of folk with British Asian ancestry for several Tevinters (*waves lovingly at elek and neve*). But then... uh... look! Working-class Tevene people with generic Mancunian accents! To show they're working-class! That's fantastic progress... for Origins. But lore-wise, by DATV we've already shown that Manchester and Northern English accents live... *points at Ferelden* somewhere over there. We're back to "Tevinters mostly sound like generically evil English folk", as in DAO and bits of 2, which, sure, Dorian doesn't contradict - but then why not have everyone sound Southern, like him? Or add a different tint to it? And no, I am not saying everyone should put on bad "ethnic" accents, and I do appreciate the number of American, English and Mediterranean accents in Tevinter showing a very Roman "you're a citizen of the Imperium but you might have been born in one of its several countries" - but

Gideon Emery's slight Afrikaans tint made a ton of sense with Fenris and what part of Tevinter he was meant to be from, even if it was unintentional; Jennifer Hale's take on Krem was going for English but came out more Aussie to my ear. Something like those could have been really interesting. But that also means that, including Fenris, we've now had several slaves with an accent that reads... quite posh, to English ears. Same with Neve, who is supposedly proudly from the shithole part of Minrathous, but she and several others have very RP "posh" accents (while others like Tarquin and Elek are Mancunian). Now, not everyone picks up their local accent! I am one of those people! I ended up cursedly plummy for a long time! But... we had hints through the series that Tevinter class markers would be very different from Fereldans', but they're now the same, for some reason?
Add that to the fact that they didn't want to make even one VA suffer through doing the Nevarran accent... See, it makes total sense for Emmrich, who's a posh professor who's done a lot of international study and would probably have learned Common as a second language with a very generic, "neutral" accent; he also was very concerned about appearances with his class background and trained himself not to give much away. And I'm sure the Mourn Watch has international students. But no Nevarran NPCs sound pointedly Nevarran? Not a one? Kal Sharok has hints of something interesting going on but it's rare, and the Anderfels is just... full of sad English and American-sounding people. Rivain is supposedly Caribbean and there are a bunch of actors of Caribbean descent they could've cast, but we only have one NPC sound even slightly so? That's when it stops being "Trade is taught with a neutral accent and there are a lot of Fereldan immigrants and slaves in Tevinter" and starts feeling handwavey.
Basically: I wouldn't mind if we'd gone with most fantasy games' "Eh, we cast broadly based on sound, stereotype or none of the above"; I'm very happy to just go with it. However, DAI told me to pay vague attention because the accents meant something. Then DATV has heel-turned and is telling me "Nah, go with it" the way Origins did. My ears are... confused, to say the least. And we're back to "'working-class' has one accent, and characters with something to say who aren't cast as stereotypically plucky underdogs are all Southern and posh", which just... makes me really sad. I don't hear people who sound like me, my family, or my friends growing up, in Dragon Age anymore. I did hear they had a different voice director in DATV, so maybe it's that?
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darqx · 2 months ago
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Well i talk about it talk about it talk about it
The beginning of FUNKY TOWN is still stuck in my head.
❗For commonly asked qs please see my BTD FAQ
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Thanks, I'm glad my art improvement is noticeable :D I have actually KIND OF redrawn scenes before such as
and a bunch of frames from
so who knows i might do some more at some point lol!
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YOU GUYS STILL SEND THEM TO ME :d
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I don't actually get that many, i just tend to answer months worth all at once so it looks like a lot haha. I also don't answer a bunch of them if I've already answered something similar before or the answer is in my FAQ. Though I'm going to be honest some of the asks that get sent to me I don't think anyone expects me to actually answer, because they're just weird enough that if i turned off anon i'm pretty sure no one would be asking them.
My free time (...when I'm not procrastinating |D ) is trying to be spent on BP so I currently dont have any plans beyond the fun little doodles and animatics and stuff that I usually do. Gato is working on YKMET so if you guys like Strade then you have that to look forward to :)
(Why thank you!)
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The armour follows his usual colour scheme which is gold on black.
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You can tell this ask is from January lol.
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Thanks haha my colouring style layers colour over colour so colour over grayscale always just looks oddly muddy in my POV |D ESPECIALLY LIGHT COLOURS LIKE YELLOW.
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Demons can traditionally reproduce within the same species or with a compatible species.
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Psychology, Law or Politics. I think these are the top normal majors you could take where the info you learn from them could be really useful in not getting fucked over and/or fucking someone else over.
I haven't been asked to make chibis for Gato this time around so you'll probably be getting something different for your finished runs!
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Demon Commons.
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All demons have some sort of specific mark that they are born with (anywhere on their body). The exact reason why has been lost to time, but it often gets used for identification. Here are some of the rest of my demon characs:
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Hm, if I have to consider real life anatomy (nooooooo XD) the yellow is probably his iris.
Man i've answered so many asks i sometimes only remember saying something when another asks sounds familiar lmao đŸ€” Ok; Rire, as a demon of station, has been captured in the background of some historical paintings and photographs, sometimes without his knowledge but always to his amusement later when he finds out. Like just imagine you are intensely studying art history and in those paintings of events with lots of people in it, suddenly your eye happens to catch upon a tall dark haired figure wearing sunglasses from that time period somehow blending in amongst everyone else there.
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He has no particular preference in this regard.
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Rire doesn't have like đŸ€”...a set criteria as it depends entirely on certain whims; like whether he is looking for business or pleasure, what he's feeling like at the time etc. If it's purely business then there are types of people he would approach that he wouldn't otherwise if it was for mainly entertainment.
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They probably average out at about room temperature - they tend to reflect environment temp a bit and the main part that's closest to his back will always be a bit warmer than the rest of the ichor.
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Probably not
They are evenly matched
Thanks very much! :D
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Rire has been around for a while so yes he would have witnessed a bunch of things in human history. Who he met and who he made deals with is up for debate.
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He is "polite" so he would thank you, at the very least. And yes they are his signature flower lol. It wouldnt be any special..er than receiving any other flowers though to him - we are the ones ascribing the meaning to it.
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Two for the price of one đŸ€ŒđŸ» Also this is an insanely old ask but yes you have permission to do fancomics or whatever with him |D
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Anon, considering most people know him from a weird "dating sim", I dont think this is as startling an ask as you might think haha.
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if it makes you happy.
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Pick a nice smell that you particularly jive with and it would be that. This is individual specific so if a whole bunch of people are around Rire they may each perceive something different.
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I get asked this question a lot |D I'm gonna be real with you guys - i haven't actively thought about a canon design for his parents because i'm kind of lazy to (since right now i dont need to know what they look like). Until that happens you guys will just have to go off the vague text descriptions i've given before :p
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