#apologies for lack of rat content recently -- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mybg3notebook · 3 years

Text

Gratitude and care in Astarion

Disclaimer Game Version: All these analyses were made up to the game version v4.1.101.4425. As long as new content is added, and as long as I have free time for that, I will try to keep updating this information.

It’s hard to say if Astarion has a level of gratitude, which can be understandable since, as he said explicitly during the bite scene, it takes some time for him to trust in another person due to the torment that Cazador made him pass through (but like everything with Astarion’s words, it may be a plain lie to excuse himself in front of Tav ). The main reason for this lack of gratitude, or a twisted version of it—if there is any—, comes from the possibility of “Dark Desires” working on him (check post about Vampirism).

Astarion has two situations in which he seems to show, ever so slightly, a thread of gratitude.

The first one is during the bite scene. The acceptance of his vampire nature is not exactly what he is grateful for, but for the willing offering of blood. This is—if we believe in what Astarion told us—the first time he has ever tasted blood from a thinking creature. This may be, like all words from Astarion’s mouth, a lie/half truth. We need to remember that Astarion considers a broad group of humanoids who are thinking creatures as animals (check Astarion Analysis). So he may or may not have drunk blood from a, let’s say, goblin or a gnome before. It’s also true that the only images we saw in his head by using the Tadpole were rats in his master's crypt; we don't see anything about his recent feedings (we know it was a boar). From Astarion’s perspective, killing a nearby goblin would count as feeding on animals, but technically it is not and therefore, Tav is not his first.

In any case, putting aside this consideration, Astarion explicitly says that this offering of blood is a “gift” that he will not forget (if your rolls succeeded in stopping him). We still need to see how this apparent “gratitude” will manifest—if it ever does—.

If we got the bad luck of failing those checks, in which Tav asked Astarion to stop twice, but he did not, Astarion would end up killing Tav. In the next morning, he is not even guilty or ashamed for his excess (an excess that one could understand a bit since the vampiric bloodthirst is too intense in general), but his careless attitude and his dismiss of the gravity of the situation, giving an apology more concerned about his permanence in this group than being honest with Tav, shows that Astarion cares little for Tav. If he does, it’s always around the fact of guaranteeing his permanence in this group of powerful members that gives him safety and potential solutions in controlling the tadpole. When Astarion kills Tav there is no scene of “gift”, so Tav is completely unaware of how important this event was for Astarion…. if it truly was such (why would Astarion not say anything about it later since it has been such a “gift”? I’m deeply distrustful about his gratitude). Later, in datamined content, we will see Astarion subtly asking for permission to feed on the companions (Check post Astarion's Standards and Manipulation)

The second time he shows a minimal hint of something remotely similar to gratitude is in datamined material, related to a pair of videos that pjenn has shown about the scars on his back [1] [2]. He needs help to read it since he can’t see his body in reflective surfaces due to his vampire nature. We get from the narrator:

* He might be sneering, but you can see pain in his eyes. He needs help, but doesn’t know how to ask. *

Helping him to decipher the infernal message on his back (if Tav is a tiefling) or at least attempting to (if Tav can’t decipher it at all), Astarion will add “thank you by the way, this is… well, it’s something.”

And that’s all. That’s all the content in EA where you can see a hint of “gratitude” in Astarion, if you squint your eyes, scratching content from a single phrase in two scenes. There is also no meta-knowledge information to add to this, or any explicit reaction from Astarion that could imply more gratitude than this. As a character who represents a “bad behaved victim” probably makes sense. He has only focused on himself and on his own needs for survival. There is little room for gratitude there.

Should we expect any gratitude? Personally I don’t think so. Although he follows the troupe of the bad-behaved victim, he is also a power-focused character that manipulates constantly every situation in order to guarantee his survival or simply to have fun (bloodshed or sex). Those small details of apparent gratitude may have perfectly been part of the games he plays.

Could he eventually be grateful? Hard to say in EA. If he is, it seems to me that he will be in the evil way. When I say this I keep in mind what Swen said in several talks/videos about how they were not considering alignment change in characters but only in the main char. Which is a curious change from bg1 or bg2, or simply the true reason to work with more generalised alignments: good, neutral, and evil alone.

It is clear that we cannot trust in Astarion’s gratitude, only shown in two single lines that will not always be seen. Astarion is a great manipulative char and that small hint of gratitude he shows may be one of the many tricks he uses to survive and gather power.

Does Astarion care for someone?

Since we are talking about gratitude, we can also talk about care. If Astarion has shown something clearly during all EA, it is his lack of honest interest for the well-being of any creature beside himself. This includes the members of the group. There is never meta-knowledge information displaying that “deep down, in a silent way” he cares about his companions.

The only opportunity in which he apparently seems to care about some companions, is when he is reading the book of Thay, which apparently is asking him to kill the group, to which Astarion answers with a “No, I won’t kill them. Maybe *insert scripted companion’s name*”.

We know at this point that he would enjoy seeing his companions suffer and die, because bloodshed is always “fun”, but he is prioritising how this group protects him. This concept can be seen pretty clearly when we are witnesses of Lae’Zel’s death at the hands of the githyanki patrol. Astarion will say something along the lines “what a pity, she was a powerful specimen”. Another proof of this aspect is when he approves of sacrificing one of the companions to the fish-people who worship Booal. Astarion doesn’t truly care about anyone of the group (not even the main char, to whom he may kill in a bite dismissing the gravity of the situation) but he needs them as protection and also as the only way to find a way to control his tadpole. It’s always about his needs.

After all, we should not forget that iconic phrase during the stargaze scene:

“You think I’d kill you, just like that? Darling, I would never. I still need you.”

And this had been stated in every opportunity: The most important thing at any moment is survival. Astarion doesn’t care about killing or betraying. He enjoys it, “it’s fun”. He is not turning against the group basically because, by now, it’s the only safe and promising means to guarantee his survival. He needs this group so badly that he won’t abandon it even if a good aligned Tav mistreats him and disrespects him at every opportunity they have. Tav is the one who has to insist for Astarion to abandon the group, and even then, he will try to convince them of the contrary. That speaks volumes about what this group (and Tav) truly means to him. Like everything with his character: just a means for survival.

This post was written on April 2021.

→ For more Astarion: Analysis Series Index

#astarion #bg3 early access #bg3 meta

46 notes · View notes

toadygoblin · 3 years

Text

TW: racism, antisemitism, transphobia, ableism

Okay, it's been a really long week, but I figured I might as well put my two cents in about the Schlatt situation. Sorry if this post is all over the place, and I use WAY too many parentheses, (just apologizing in advance). Also, sorry if my spelling is off, trying to type on mobile is horrible.

Okay, here goes.

First, I wanna talk about my relationship with Schlatt's content overall. I first found out about Schlatt through Soothouse, and then CallmeCarson (who I'm not a fan of anymore, for obvious reasons), and back when quarantine started here in the US, I started watching Lunch Club videos. From there I started watching Schlatt's main channel content, and I really enjoyed it for the most part (his Wii videos were always my favorites), and the stuff he posted on Theweeklyslap always made me feel better when I was feeling really sad about life. His iconic video about his mutton chops made me hate my appearance a little less, and his Weeklyslap video about parasocial relationships brings up very important points that every content creator and fan should listen to and learn from.

I will say, though, I was still pretty on the fence about Schlatt as a person, because I always heard about how frequently he was cancelled for stuff he did in the past that he hadn't apologized for. But at the time I just thought it was just Twitter being a hellscape and cancelling content creators for stupid reasons (for example, Quackity , for speaking Spanish, which is HIS FIRST LANGUAGE). And, to be fair, I didn't particularly hate the Jackbox content he's made in the past (though recently, Iv'e gotten kinda tired of getting a notification and it's ANOTHER Jackbox video), but when first saw the original thumbnail... I literally had no words.

I really should have not clicked on the video in the first place, but I did anyway, because part of me was hoping that it was going to be making fun of racist people who do blackface and stuff, but that's not what I saw. Instead, I saw "jokes" about h*tler and the holocaust, making fun of people who put their pronouns in thier bios( which was a slap in the face for me), and all sorts of other horrible shit. I went on Tik Tok afterwards and saw SO MANY people that were upset about the video as well, and then I checked Twitter and Tumblr to see what people had to say, and the general consensus seems to be that everyone was upset with Schlatt for one reason or another.

I'm POC, but I'm not black,so I won't speak on behalf of the the black community, but the video's old thumbnail (yes, he changed it), was really the cherry on top of the rat poison sundae that was this video. I'm also not Jewish, but I think everyone can agree that it is NEVER okay to joke about the genocide of millions of Jews. Niether is it okay to use ableist slurs like the R word, or condone and defend people who do.

I think the fact that a few of Schlatts friends (Justaminx, Iamty, Connoreatspants) were upset with him speaks volumes. In Iamty's recent stream, he explained why he was personally hurt by the video. I recently reblogged a post that includes the part of the stream where he talks about it, if you wanna check it out. Fitz and Swaggersouls, of course, brushed it off, which is super frustrating. I swear, it's like trying to explain to middle school boys why saying slurs is wrong, and them just ignoring you because they don't care. I never really liked either of them, but this seals the deal for me.

Because I lack good judgment when I'm curious about something, I went back to the video to check the comments, and I was disgusted by the stuff I saw. And, of course, there were commentary channels run by 16 year old white boys defending Schlatt, using the classic excuse "ItS JUst A jOke!" and "iTs daRk HumOr!". But I saw a few channels (that usually defend Schlatt when he gets cancelled), weren't covering the situation, and I even saw one video where the commentator mentioned that they were a fan of his content, but that they were extremely disappointed in schlatts recent video. It was kind of refreshing to see, tbh. But also a little sad.

Another thing, I REALLY hate the fact that he's profiting off of the video, complete with a sponsor and everything. He also HAD to have known what kind of trouble he would land in when he A: edited the video, and B: posted it with the original thumbnail. I have heard, though, that he doesn't edit his own videos (please correct me if I'm wrong).

Closing thoughts and statements:

First of all, to the person/people that are doxxing Schlatt: what the actual hell is wrong with you? I have family members that are horrible people, and are racist and stuff, but I would never, in a million years think of doxxing them as a form of revenge. Also, DO NOT attack his innocent fans that still enjoy his content. Obviously the fans that are defending him in this entire mess are not innocent, but still don't attack them. DO NOT send death threats to Schlatt, his friends, or his fans, because that's generally a messed up thing to do.

My thoughts about this whole dumpster fire is that since this video upset me, Schlatt's fans, and his friends, he should apologize for the things that were said and done. I understand that he was probably trying to distance himself from the Dreamsmp stans, but in doing so he lost a lot of long-term fans of his content, which is actually super heartbreaking. Iv'e already unsubscribed from his main channel, but I'm still subscribed to Theweeklyslap, just to see if he'll post an apology and address the problem as a whole, but with his track record, that probably won't happen.

And if that's the case, then I'm done with his content for good.

#jschlatt #schlatt #cancel culture

17 notes · View notes

itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years

Text

Walk Me Home - Ch 5

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension.

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 3777

Author’s Note: Eternal thanks to @mskathywriteswords , @fangirlxwritesx67, and @cracksinthewalls for editing, revision, flailing, and generally knocking sense into me when I’m being stubborn. Decided to give Wednesday posting a try and also get a chapter up a little earlier to make up for lack of posting. Be prepared to brush your teeth after this one. The fluff morphed into cotton candy when I wasn’t looking. Also, be prepared, the next chapter is short, but...intense? Yes. Let’s say intense.

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY.

In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 5

Kimber drifts gradually back to consciousness, feeling warmer and safer than she has in decades. She draws in a deep breath, stretching luxuriously, and then stilling suddenly. This bed is not her bed. This blanket is not her blanket. She has a brief moment of panic before she opens her eyes to find Dean’s face inches from hers, smooth and relaxed with sleep.

She’d only been able to let him go last night long enough for him to grab his own quick shower and change into sleep clothes. Then, in wordless agreement, they’d settled under the covers of her bed. They’d woven limbs together, pressed close without a word of discussion or thought of awkwardness.

Just as she was falling asleep, she felt his cheek press against the top of her head, and he’d murmured a single question. She nodded her consent, and his lips met her forehead, just as soft and warm as she remembered. Then sleep asserted its claim.

Kimber lies still in Dean’s arms now, afraid to move and wake him. She’s never seen him this peaceful and relaxed, even back before life took more of a toll on him. With his guard down, she can finally see all the fine lines etched by a hard life spread over his features, adding depth and detail to his face.

In the early morning light filtering through the threadbare curtains, she can just make out a sparse sprinkling of gray in his hair, and she smiles. Time may be catching up with Dean Winchester, but he is definitely not worse for wear.

She shifts a little, freeing a hand, and he grumbles in his sleep, his arms tightening for a second before relaxing again. She strokes his hair back gently, combing her nails lightly across his scalp, and he shivers against her.

She’s never seen him this vulnerable, this soft, even when they were younger. She has to strangle down the urge to trace his facial features with her fingertips. Whatever this is between them is strained by absence and misunderstanding but has somehow managed to survive the years. Touching him so intimately without his knowledge or consent…

No, she thinks. I want to ask him, I want him to hear him say yes. I want him to ask me to touch him.

Instead, she snuggles closer, closing her eyes and resting her face on his chest again, basking in the safety and warmth of his embrace for as long as she can. She is mortified when, five minutes later, her stomach lets out a growl so loud that it actually rouses Dean from his sleep. His arms tense as he stretches and frowns, eyebrows lowering with concern.

“You hungry or just really happy to see me?” he rumbles, his eyes closing again. She giggles, embarrassment abated. Then she becomes acutely aware of the rat’s nest that is her hair and what tastes like a truly horrific case of morning breath. She disentagles herself from his legs and rolls from his grasp, smiling to herself at his muttered protests. Snatching her previous day’s clothes, Kimber slips into the bathroom to perform whatever damage control she can manage under the circumstances.

Thirty minutes later finds them at the diner across the parking lot, downing coffee with mutual, silent appreciation. Dean’s brother Sam is expected imminently, and Kimber has no classes or office hours today, so they are mostly ready to begin the investigation.

“We need to sweep your office and house for hex bags,” Dean says, between sips of his second cup of coffee. “Your house will take a while, so why don’t we start with your office to get it out of the way?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kimber agrees, frowning. “I’ll know if anything is missing, out of place, or new. Maybe you and Sam could check out the spots of the other accidents?”

Dean opens his mouth to answer, then his eyes focus on something over her shoulder, and he nods a greeting. She turns to see a ridiculously tall man in a suit headed in their direction. It takes her longer than she’s proud to admit to reconcile this giant stranger with the slumped, defeated boy she last saw in the backseat of the Winchester’s car.

“Sam?”

His smile is warm, if a little hesitant, and she stands. They fumble between a hug and a handshake, finally settling on the former before seating themselves. A waitress drops off another mug for Sam, along with coffee refills all around, and they waste no time filling Sam in on the little they know and what they have planned.

“Actually, Sam,” Dean adds, glancing askance at the egg white omelette the waitress places in front of his brother, “I was thinking you could interview the victims at the hospital, see if they noticed anyone out of the ordinary or had contact with anyone that sounds like our stalker.”

Sam nods, his mouth full, and turns questioning eyes on Kimber. She closes her eyes, pushing as much distraction from her mind as possible.

“He was...on the shorter side. I’d say I probably have an inch or so on him. Younger than me, but I don’t know by how much. I’m really bad at judging age, I’m sorry. Unshaven but not a full beard, kind of rough-looking. Really pale. He never looked me in the eyes, so I didn’t see his eye color. Dark, shaggy hair.”

She shrugs, spreading her hands in apology. “I don’t remember much else. Dark blue windbreaker? It’s been a few weeks, and I didn’t think I’d have to point him out in a line-up or anything.”

Sam shakes his head quickly, swallowing. “No, Kimber, it’s fine. That’s more to go on than we usually have. I’ll talk to the victims, see if anyone stands out in their minds. You two have a solid plan. I’ll give you a call after I visit the hospital, see what I can find out.”

He hesitates, his eyebrows knitted together. “Kimber, I know you’re under a lot of strain, but could you go over the incidents one more time so I have the basics before I go talk to them? I wouldn’t ask, but I need to know what to expect.”

She can’t repress the shudder than runs through her stomach, but she shakes it off and rolls her shoulders. This is just an information exchange. She can handle that. She may need a drink or two afterwards, but she can get through it one more time.

Sam listens attentively, his forehead wrinkled, mouth set in a thin-lipped frown as she recounts the series of accidents plaguing her department. He exchanges some sort of troubled, wordless communication with Dean before glancing down at his folded hands. After considering for a long moment, he speaks, his words measured and careful.

“It definitely sounds like someone has a grudge against your department, at least, if not you specifically. All the victims are friends or work closely with you. We don’t know if any of the other victims got a doll like yours. That’s something for my list. You sure you can’t think of any reason, anything at all, that might make someone target all of you?”

She shoves down her mounting frustration, feeling impotent and slow. If she could think of anything at all helpful, she would have shared it by now.

“I really can’t, I’m sorry. I just don’t interact with that many people outside of the department, and we all get along fine, as far as I know. No special treatment, no recent honors anyone could be jealous of. I checked in with my hunter contacts that I’d helped out with witch cases in the last few years, even a few non-witch cases that were still open, and I got nowhere with that. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Sam sighs, nodding before finishing the last of his coffee. “Figured it was worth asking. Okay, I’m heading out. Dean, I’ll give you a call in a few hours.”

Dean nods to Sam, and the younger Winchester excuses himself, crossing the crowded restaurant with a few long strides before disappearing out the door.

Kimber turns back to Dean, her eyes wide with shock she’s barely managed to suppress until just now. He frowns, taking in her expression, looks down to inspect his shirt, then back up, his face comically confused.

“What? Do I have food on my face?”

“What did you feed him after you left town?!” Kimber keeps her volume low but can’t keep the wonder from her voice. “Growth hormones? Steroids? Jesus, he’s over a foot taller than the last time I saw you both, and he was already thirteen then!”

Dean barks out a loud, sharp laugh that earns him a reproving glance from a passing waitress. He bites his lip, covering his mouth with his hand, only partially successful at smothering his snort. She can’t help but smile, a little embarrassed at her outburst, but still…

“No, just lots of fast food. Good, healthy, all-American diet. Almost had to get a full-time job, just keepin’ him fed and clothed. Kid grew out of shoes and jeans like nothin’ I’ve ever seen.”

There’s no mistaking the fondness in Dean’s voice, almost more paternal than brotherly. And the off-hand comment about keeping Sam clothed and fed...Kimber’s heart twinges, but she carefully keeps her face as relaxed and amused as she can.

“Ready to go?” she asks. He nods and stands, lifting the check from the table to take up to the register. He offers her a hand, an inviting smile curling one corner of his mouth, and she does her best to smother the butterflies in her stomach as her fingers slide into his.

…

“I promised Sam I’d go to opening night,” Dean said, something like an apology in his voice. “He’s only working tech, but he’s really excited. It’s been a while since we’ve stayed anywhere long enough that he could get involved like this.”

Kimber squeezed his fingers, pulling her coat closed with her other hand. The temperature had dropped over the last few days, and the evening was brisk as they walked hand-in-hand to the high school.

“Dean, are you kidding? You’re taking me to a play, dinner, and meeting your family all at once. Three birds with one date!” She skipped a little, swinging his hand with hers, flashing him her most exaggerated grin as she let her eyes go wide and kooky. He snorted, glancing away to hide his smile.

He stopped suddenly, tugging gently until she stepped closer, her expression relaxing. His knuckles slid gently down her cheekbone and under her jaw, lifting her chin. He kissed her, a sweet, chaste brush of his lips over hers that sent her pulse dancing. Her cheeks warmed under his attention, and he pressed his lips a fraction more firmly against hers before straightening.

His eyes sparkled in the light from the streetlamp overhead. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

She popped up on her tiptoes to kiss him again, marveling at her own bravery as her hands clasped the sides of his face, locking him in place. Before he could recover, she grabbed his hand, tugging him into a run down the sidewalk, and they arrived at the school, breathless and laughing.

The performance of Oklahoma! was pretty standard for high school. Simple dance sequences, fair to decent singing (for the most part), and about forty minutes longer than Kimber preferred. They waited afterwards for Sam to make his way from the lighting board, and he shyly offered his hand to Kimber, who accepted, smiling and squeezing his fingers just a little.

The three of them arrived at the diner, relieved to see most families were celebrating at the more expensive restaurants across town. Sam looked over the menu, his eyes as hungry as the growl that escaped his stomach. Kimber didn’t miss the sad look he shot Dean before closing the menu and setting it down.

When he ordered an ice water and peanut butter sandwich, Kimber’s heart cracked.

“Sam, it’s my treat tonight. You did a great job; Mrs. Hasker never lets eighth graders work the soundboard, so go nuts. Order whatever you want. It’s your night.”

Sam, eyes wide with hope, glanced at Dean, who looked torn between shame and relief. Dean cleared his throat, shot a grateful smile at Kimber, then nodded at Sam.

“You did good, kid. Go for it.”

Sam’s face brightened, and Kimber couldn’t help but mirror his expression as he ordered a strawberry milkshake, double cheeseburger, and cheese fries. Kimber discreetly jabbed Dean in his ribs, and he side-glared at her, suppressing what was very definitely not a manly squeak of surprise.

“You, too, big brother,” she said, her eyes narrowing pointedly. His lips thinned, his expression pinched. She knew she was hitting a nerve for him; it was fine to accept dinner invitations at home, and fine for her to treat his little brother, but paying for him on a date was an entirely different matter. He visibly wrestled with the simple decision, frustration and pride warring with want.

She softened her expression, placing her hand over his clenched fist. “Please?” She mouthed. “It’s okay.” He glanced at Sam, who was happily chatting with the smiling waitress about the performance, and a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Dean’s face.

“Double-bacon cheeseburger, and chili fries, please.”

Dinner with the Winchester boys was a delight that Kimber never forgot. Though Dean teased his younger brother mercilessly, liberally sprinkling descriptors like “geek” and “nerd” in his comments, she saw the way his eyes would linger on Sam as the younger boy inhaled his meal between answering questions about his classes and the performance.

“Are you going to take AP classes, Sam?” Kimber asked. He seemed so keen and motivated, she couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t want to.

“I want to, but we move so much, I don’t think I could keep up with the curriculum,” he admitted, his expression falling.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Kimber lowered her voice conspiratorially. Sam leaned a little closer, intrigued, and she smiled at his eagerness. It was like looking at a mirror of herself just a few years ago.

“Most AP classes follow the same guidelines across the country, almost week by week. Mr. Schaeffer is the AP coordinator at our school, and he’s pretty cool for a teacher. If you talk to him, explain your situation, I’ll bet he could get you copies of most of the AP curriculum, maybe even some spare textbooks, so you could keep up with it as you guys move around.”

Sam’s eyes widened, and he glanced at Dean for confirmation. Dean shrugged, affecting disinterest as he leaned back to drape an arm around Kimber’s shoulder.

“I dunno, Sammy,” Dean drawled, “but Kimber’s the top of our class, so she’s probably got some idea what she’s talking about.” He let out an exaggerated huff of air as Kimber’s elbow connected with his side, doubling over as he pretended to fall out of the booth.

Sam peppered Kimber and Dean with questions about their classes for the rest of the night and didn’t even have to be convinced to have an extra large slice of celebratory pie to finish the meal off.

The three of them stayed late enough at the diner that Kimber was obliged to call her parents on the pay phone in the corner to assure them that she had not, in fact, been kidnapped and left in a ditch on the side of the road. The temperature had dropped considerably, so when Kimber’s mother offered to give all three of them a ride home, Kimber accepted without thinking.

“My mom will be here in about ten minutes,” she announced as she slid back into the booth. “She’s going to give you two a lift back to the motel on our way home.”

Dean’s expression fell sharply, and Kimber’s heart sank.

“You didn’t-”

“Thanks!” Sam said, unintentionally speaking over Dean. “It got so cold out all of a sudden. Say, do you think I should talk to Mr. Schaeffer tomorrow?”

“The sooner the better,” she said, shrugging on her coat. Sam nodded, slurping down the last of his drink and loping off to the bathroom. She glanced over at Dean, who was sitting stone-faced, a muscle twinging above his jaw.

“I didn’t mean to...I mean, I should have asked, Dean. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s eyes closed, his jaw clenching as his lips pinched tight. Kimber waited, feeling the sting of tears prick at the back of her eyes. She’d crossed some unspoken line between them, and she didn’t know what to do to fix the moment. It had been such a good night, up til then.

“I...I’m not mad...at you,” Dean finally ground out. “Just...just gimme a second.”

He scrubbed his face with both hands, then glanced back towards the bathroom before speaking. He kept his eyes on the table-top, his hands clenching and unclenching on the cheap formica.

“I’m not...used to accepting hand-outs. I can take care of Sam, Kimber, I don’t need...you didn’t...you didn’t have to.”

She opened her mouth, fully ready to defend herself, but he held up a hand.

“I know. I know what you’re going to say. I get that it’s not a hand-out. I know you don’t...I know you aren’t lookin’ down at us. I’m not used to…”

He cleared his throat, then reached out to her, his eyes still firmly on the table-top. When he spoke, his voice was low and thick, his words measured.

“I promise, I’m not mad at you. Can we leave it at that for now?” He turned pleading eyes in her direction, his hand palm-up on the table. Her fingers were in his before she realized she’d moved. Mouth too dry to speak, she nodded and allowed herself to be pulled up from the booth.

Sam came barreling back from the restroom then, saving them from further awkward conversation, and they bundled up against the chill. By the time Kimber’s mother arrived, Dean had relaxed enough to greet Mrs. Harper pleasantly, and when they reached the motel, he leaned up to kiss Kimber’s cheek before climbing out of the backseat with Sam in tow.

The next day at school, Dean was a little distracted, almost distant. He walked her home that afternoon in almost complete silence. They were a block from her house when she couldn’t take the tension anymore. She stopped short, biting her lip as tears stung her eyes. To her shame, her throat started to clench, choking any attempt at words.

Dean looked back at her, concern and confusion clear on his face at her sudden stop.

She swiped the heel of her hand across her cheeks, avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry about last night,” she managed, less coherently than she would have liked. “I didn’t mean to...I didn’t...I’m sorry I ruined the evening.”

Dean was in front of her in an instant, thumbs wiping the tears from her face, lips pressed fiercely against her forehead.

“No, sweetheart.” His tone was rough and resolute. “I told you I’m not mad at you. Last night was...Last night was wonderful. I haven't seen Sam that happy in a long time. It’s been a rough few months. Sam and Dad have started fighting. Dad expects a lot from him, but not the usual good grades kind of ‘a lot.’ And when Dad pushes, Sam pushes back, and I…”

He dropped his forehead to hers, and Kimber pulled in a shaking breath.

“I didn’t want to drag you into our mess. You are perfect, and Sam and I both had a great time last night. Thank you. For dinner. For making Sam so happy. For everything.” He pulled back a few inches, catching her gaze. “Please don’t apologize again.”

She nodded, unable to answer aloud. He searched her eyes until he was satisfied, then nodded.

“ ‘M gonna kiss you now, so Imma need you to hold back on the tears for a minute. People will think I’m a terrible kisser if you cry through the whole thing.”

She laughed, and he caught her off guard, pressing his lips to hers before deepening the kiss. His fingers slid into her hair, tilting her head until he found an angle to please them both. His tongue swept, feather-light, across her lower lip, and she melted.

They came back to Earth a few moments later, jolted from their universe by enthusiastic honking and shouting from a passing car full of guys from one of their classes. Kimber hid her blazing face against Dean’s neck as he nodded, grinning and waving at the other boys.

Instead of pulling away, Kimber linked her arms around his neck, shivering against a biting breeze that swept past. Dean’s arms constricted, pulling her close enough that she felt his heartbeat against her chest.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Dean whispered, his words nearly lost in the breeze. Then he pulled away, linked his fingers through hers, and walked her home. He kissed her once more on her doorstep, holding her face between his warm, calloused palms, eyes closed.

He rested his forehead against hers briefly before stepping back. He tried to deliver that smooth, carefree grin from their first study session and failed miserably.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said. Then he turned, flipping up the collar of his jacket, and stuffed his hands into his pockets as he headed down the walkway. She watched him go, wanting nothing more than to run after him. The set of his shoulders, the tense bend of his neck, told her to hold her ground, though.

Something else was eating at Dean, and she knew him well enough to know that needling him wouldn’t get him to open up. He needed space and understanding, and she would just have to sit on her frustration. He asked for so very little, the least she could do was give him some time to work through whatever was going on. She just hoped it wouldn’t take too much time for him to open up. She hated seeing him so distant and miserable.

When Dean finally turned up that evening, he was thirty minutes late for dinner. His father glowered at the pair of them from the driver’s seat of a sleek, black muscle car, while Sam slumped, miserable, in the back. Kimber realized with cold, painful clarity that they had, in fact, no time left at all.

…

Chapter 6

49 notes · View notes

gummybuddha · 5 years

Text

Perennial Quest

Recently, there was an article on Polygon by Patricia Hernandez about the idea that the 60 dollar price tag for video games is outdated.

Spending $60 on a video game doesn’t make sense anymoreThe Netflix model is herePOLYGON

It’s an interesting concept for sure, because there is definitely a desire from many gamers that the industry should embrace subscription-based services because it would be an economic boon to consumers.

And I must admit, I would be eager myself to have a financial reprieve from the unending shenanigans that video games as services have wrecked on my wallet. So many Triple A Studios expect players to poor money into their digital skinner boxes for the smallest chance of finding a classic game experience. For many older gamers, this most likely has become analogous to chasing the high of our youth. And the cost keeps going up each year. So if I could personally avoid having to drop 60 bucks each and every time a major game studio wants to goad me into playing their road map baby, hell the temptation might be too strong.

But however beneficial it would be to have subscription models for games, I can’t help but think how the heads of major game publishers are most likely looking at that particular money trough like the version of Templeton the rat that had Charlotte killed in her sleep and who convinced Zuckerman to sell Wilbur for meat parts.

You see, what really bothers me about Patricia Hernandez’s article is that she just magically glossed over the fact that the last decade has been a never-ending waterfall of shit spewing from the anus of the triple-A studios. A fact so obvious to gamers and online personalities, that I have a hard time believing any journalist would be willing to overlook the efficacy of cutting up game content; no matter how needy for clicks and eyeballs their publishers are. Because any sane individual would have to concede that developers and publishers in the modern era have turned DLC, microtransactions, and loot boxes into a digital hellscape where you are expected to pay more and more, for less and less content. Yet none of these facts seem to bother some people, so great is their desire to become early adopters.

And I am not even adding the mobile market to the conversation, which has remained a five-ring circus for some time. One of the largest stories of this week was the newest Mario Kart mobile experience demanding players subscribe monthly for the privilege of getting access to the fastest racing mode. A chilling reminder that companies don’t give a fuck, they are ready to nickel and dime you at any time.

So I apologize if I seem to lack the enthusiasm for a video game streaming service. Such a thing would undoubtedly be corrupted by the greed that is widespread in the industry. Besides, Netflix, Spotify, Amazon, Hulu, and Google are some great examples of how bullshit these services are anyway.

If you thought people made a shit show over the Epic Games store, imagine how much bitching is gonna be thrown around the internet because game studios are constantly rotating their games from service to service. People are going to have to track their favorite games like they do their shows; an unending game of musical chairs that will have you subbing and unsubbing.

And what’s there to stop any individual company from hosting their own streaming service? Trick question; nothing. Nothing stops the corporate beasts insatiable thirst for your money. Only consumer fatigue could probably stop such an onslaught. Your own personal desire to opt out.

Oh, but don’t relax. You will have to stay awake during all this, because we have already heard of consumer accounts of grown adults feeding hundreds of dollars to services they forgot to cancel. It happens a lot. I even have a close personal friend who has had an active World of Warcraft account for years despite not playing because he never remembers to cancel it. That’s at least 15$ a month here in the US. That’s 180 bucks a year. The fuck? And you know what? Companies factor this in. Ever tried to cancel a sub on one of the many digital store fronts? In some cases it’s annoying as fucking hell. And that is by design. Everything done by the company is designed to keep you stuck with the service, from horrible site navigation, to redirects to pages that ask what the problem is, and counters with discounts and package options.

Combine that with the game industry’s ability to have absolutely piss poor customer support, and I can easily see myself wasting both my time and my money. So yeah. Fuck that. Fuck anything like that.

Patricia Hernandez might be excited for the future. But I just want to keep my games and my library as much as I can. But if I am gonna be honest, I expect all my digital libraries to go down the tube anyway. Fuck I miss physical copies.

#Polygon #Partricia Hernandez #Game Streaming #Streaming Services #Video Games

5 notes · View notes

the-gedonelune-times · 5 years

Text

Memories -Chapter 1: Found.

I uh....wow haha...I have not really been very active here and I apologize for that. There have been some things happen which I won’t go into detail with, but it’s the main reason for my lack of motivation to sit down and actually begin to write. But, I think I’ve finally broken the curse and have come to present a new project of mine, which has to do with a character that I believe to be the next to get a route.

This will most likely be at least a three-part story (possibly four) and I’ll try to have it all uploaded soon, While I have decided to take on a new project, please know that I have not forgotten about the requests and asks in my ask box, all of which, I’ll answer soon, (UmU) Also, as a warning, there will be spoilers from both Nox and Rex’s route in this. So if you haven’t read either of the routes and want to without having spoilers, then please skip over this story. Also, a big shoutout to @explosiveglitterqueen for giving me the awesome idea, leading to a fateful meeting.

“Liz, hey Liz, are you listening?”

I could hear a voice faintly calling out to me. It was one I was unfamiliar with, but the owner of the voice seemed to know who I was...

“Liz, come find me. You’re the only one who can…”

Find you? But….I don’t even know who this person is….

“Hurry!”

I gasped as my eyes shot wide open. I had, at some point, broken into a cold sweat and when I lifted my head, I noticed that I had been resting on a stack of unfinished paperwork. I smoothed back my now messy hair and tried to recollect myself from the recent dream. I wasn’t sure if it was a nightmare or not, but I do know I felt a great sense of Dejavu coming from it. The voice I heard was both unrecognizable and yet….it felt like I knew it from somewhere, I just couldn’t pinpoint where though.

A knock suddenly came from the door to the prefect’s office, followed by Elias’s voice as he slowly opened the door, before stepping in.

“Sorry to bother you at a busy time of the day, but I’d like a word with you.”

“Huh? Oh, sure.”

“Right.” Closing the door behind him, Elias made his way over to the desk, glancing at the unfinished work. “Don’t tell me you were sleeping on the job again.”

“I...don’t even remember falling asleep this time…”

Elias let out a sigh before taking out an envelope from his pocket. The seal on the envelope was the house of Goldstein crest and the writing on the front was none other than Klaus’s.

“What is this?”

“Just open it and find out for yourself.”

I did as he said and opened it up before beginning to read the contents, what I read...surprised me.

“They’re putting me on a solo case?”

“Well, not completely solo. A few of us have also received a letter and we’ve been given instructions to help aid in this new case.”

“I see. So you’re helping out as well, Elias?”

“Of course. My brother said my aid in this was important. In other words…”

“He knew he could count on you.” I smiled and watched Elias smile back.

“It would appear so.”

“I’m happy that I’ll be working with you again, Elias. But…”

“But what?”

“I kind of wish there was a break in between all of these missions. I mean, we really haven’t had a lot of time to teach and focus on our studies.”

“Yes, I know what you mean and it appears that these missions are not only becoming more frequent but also a bit more challenging.”

“I know…”

I looked down and began to play around with a nearby pen for a few seconds before dropping it completely and pushing out my chair, allowing myself to get up.

“I suppose we should go meet up with the others who got the letter too and discuss what our next moves are.”

“That would be the best course of action, but perhaps finishing these papers should be the first task to complete before beginning another.”

I let out a small groan and plopped back down in the chair, Elias could see my distaste for it and chuckled.

“Your magic had improved greatly, but your distaste for doing work hasn’t changed.”

“Hey!”

I began to laugh with him before starting on the stack of papers in front of me. It didn’t take long to do, in fact, halfway through, Elias pitched in so we could get done quickly and meet up with the others to begin the discussion. We had sent out magic notes to each person and decided to meet up in the Archives, however, just when it was about to hit around the meeting time, Elias and I had received a magic note from Schuyler, telling us to hurry to the headmaster’s office for an important meeting.

“Sorry, we’re a little late.”

I quickly apologized as I entered the room with Elias in tow. When we arrived, I noticed that everyone on the mission was here as well, including Klaus.

“Klaus? What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m the one who requested everyone’s presence. Of course, Schuyler was the one who wrote the note, but planning this meeting was on me.”

“So what’s this about?”

Elias took a step forward before speaking up.

“I’m sure you can guess, can’t you? You four have been given the task of aiding me in a special mission.”

“Just us?”

“Yes, I would have asked Hiro and Lucious to come, but…”

“They have their own tasks to deal with.”

“Precisely.”

“By task, you mean Zeus?” Elias asked

“Yes. Although, this does not mean they are exempt from this mission.”

“So why us then?”

“I think it’s about time that you three.” Klaus gestured to Elias, Yukiya and I. “and your deputy prefects take on this mission. Each of you possesses skills needed for this and I know how hardworking you all are, so this shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Right. So then why is Luca here?”

“Oh, ouch, right in the feels Prince.” Luca chuckled before slinging an arm around Elias’s shoulder. Only for Elias to promptly shake him off with a glare.

“Luca is actually the one who provided us with some intel regarding the matter at hand. Despite his lack of effort, he does prove useful in many ways. Thus, making him a valuable member of the team.” Klaus then cleared his throat. “Now then. About the mission which I’m sure you’re wondering about. There have been more pranks happening around the Academy.”

“Again?!”

“Yes. But something is off this time. People are saying that they can feel an oddity to the magic being used to pull the pranks. I’ve investigated into the matter a little bit and my findings have come out as this; the magic used for the pranks has the same properties as the magic used in the Tower of Memories.”

“Wait...you’re saying that someone has the same kind of magic used in the tower?”

“That, or…”

“Or?”

“Well, it could be that someone inside the tower is casting the spells from there.”

“Is that even possible though?”

“That’s exactly why we’ve put you on this case, so that we can get the answers we need.”

“So that’s it? You just need us to investigate?”

“Yes and record your findings and send them to the Ministry so that we may close this case as soon as possible.”

We all glanced at one another before we each gave a slight nod.

“We’ll get right on it, brother.”

“I knew I could count on you. Now, I’ll be taking my leave here and head back to the Ministry.”

Saying that, Klaus spun on his heel and promptly left the headmaster’s office, leaving only us and Schuyler remaining.

“Due to the circumstances, I’m giving you all the permission to access the Tower of Memories, however, if I hear about any goofing around, then I’ll report that to Klaus personally.”

“Running to the Emperor to rat on us? Tsk tsk, I thought you were more professional.”

Luca chuckled but was immediately silenced by the bone-chilling glare that Schuyler was giving.

“Uh...haha, so um, we’ll be going now!”

I quickly grabbed Luca by the arm and pulled him out of the headmaster’s office, where we all gathered up in the hallway.

“Luca, what the hell was that about?!”

Elias was the first to speak after leaving.

“What do you mean?”

“That little outburst in there.”

“Yeah, Luca, we need to take this seriously.”

“Is serious even in that guy's vocabulary?” Joel asked

“As a matter of fact-”

“Let’s drop it. We were given a task, so let’s get it done before bickering...please…”

Yukiya, who had been quiet for the most part, had now spoken up.

“Yukiya’s right guys. Now is not the time for bickering. Klaus and the Ministry have put their trust in us to carry out this mission.”

It was a bit of rough start already and we hadn’t even begun the investigation, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen as time progressed, but by the time we headed to the rooftop, everything seemed to be going smoothly, there wasn’t even a sign of any bickering whatsoever.

Opening the entrance was going to be easy, but timing everything correctly, including our exit, was going to be the challenging part. A staircase ascending upwards appeared before us, it was a sight I was rather familiar with, so I wasted no time in taking the lead inside.

“There’s something you guys need to know before we continue any further.”

I stopped in my tracks and turned around to face the rest of the group.

“There’s a beast, well rather, a guardian who resides here. It’s gone berserk before and I fear that once it knows that we’re in its presence, it’ll go berserk again. So I want everyone on guard and ready to fight should the need arise.”

After finishing my statement, I reached into a pocket in my cloak and brought out my wand, holding it tightly against my chest.

“Look at you. You sure have grown a lot these last couple of years.”

“I had to. I wanted to show my true potential. But this isn’t the time for this. Let’s keep moving.”

I had an unsettling feeling wash over me as we continued progressing through the tower. For some reason, we had yet to encounter the Guardian that guarded the memory vials. Elias seemed to notice that something was off and leaned over to whisper in my ear.

“I was sure we’d see him by now.”

“I know...I don’t understand why.”

“Do you think something has happened?”

“I’m...not sure. What I do know though, is that we can’t let our guard down, despite not having encountered him yet.”

“Precisely. He could be watching our every move, waiting for the perfect opportunity to come in strike.”

I nodded and continued, but no matter how much we travelled or looked around, there was no sign of anyone. Hours must have gone by because I found myself leaning up against the wall for some support. I was certain that if I took another step, I would collapse from exhaustion, however, I knew that I would have to get back to moving soon, I was sure it was getting late by now. We were close to the exit, but even so, if we didn’t time it correctly, then we would be forced to be locked in the tower until it turned night again.

“Hey, Elias? What time is it?”

Elias took out his pocket watch and stared at it with widened eyes.

“It’s just about to be sunrise.”

“Wait s-seriously?!”

I quickly mustered up the strength to walk over and look at the pocket watch. Elias was right, we were running out of time.

“Guys! We have to hurry up and get out of here or we’ll be trapped!”

All of us began sprinting towards where the exit was, by the time we got there, the exit was already becoming smaller and smaller, I failed to realize just how small the exit was until it was my turn to leave. But…

It was no use, I couldn’t even fit my hand through the exit, all I could do was bang my fists against the door, while listening to the frantic voices of the others on the outside. I heard Elias call out to me, telling me not to worry and that he’d be back for me, but I knew that there was no way of getting out any sooner. I would just have to wait for it to become night once more.

But, I’d be lying to myself if I said that I wasn’t even a little bit scared, especially when I could feel the presence of someone behind me. I gulped before slowly turning around, preparing myself for the worst outcome; the Guardian. But what met my eyes, was something completely different.

It was a silver-colored short-haired man, clad in a Night-Class uniform. His yellow eyes were sparked with curiosity and he had a hand placed on his hip as he stared at me. I found myself breathless to the point where I was unable to speak, but when I did….

“Memorio…”

The name fell from my lips and I watched as the man’s lips curved into a smile.

“It’s about time you found me.”

#wizardess heart #spoilers #memorio #elias #yukiya #luca #joel #klaus #mc

9 notes · View notes

imagine-this-overwatch-blog · 5 years

Text

Adoptable requests

If any other writing blogs would like to fill some of these, I’m sure the requesters would appreciate it! Thank you!

You can probably write this later something but, I have acne scars and get zits on my butt, boobs and thighs, I’m thiccc fam, and I get so scared of someone seeing it and like ugh. This has came to my head before of like hanzo having the most flawless skin and then you have me with pimples and scars on my butt like I’d be so scared for him to see em

Hi! Could I have Jesse Mccree and a younger so (nothing crazy everyone’s legal) and they both have feelings for each other but both are too scared to act because the s/o feels like he would never be into her and Jesse feels like she would never be into him and feels like he would be taking advantage of him

Hi!!!! May I have okami!Hanzo (the werewolf not just the white haired old man lol) who’s in a rut, with a sweet thicc™️ s/o who’s more than willing to be bread by him?????? Thanks~

May I request a doe!reader w/ human!Hanzo? Possibly human!McCree if you do more than one character in a request! If not, thanks anyway!

For the skin thing, could you write something with Mystery Man McCree where him and his S/O are partners like Tonto and the Lone Ranger? Sorry I’m just a huge western show nerd 😂😂

My friend, may I request some sub!Reinhardt? Both nsfw and sfw. I feel we lack content with a submissive buff german boy <3

What headcanons do you have for oni genji :D one of my headcanons for him is that (after he's "killed") he wonders around the forest he lives in and searches for lost children (the forest often have many since theres a small village nearby) he guides them out of the forest so they don't get taken by the mean witch mercy who will turns them into frogs or ingredients for her spells (she doesn't but the villagers believe she does)

Headcannons for islander roadhog? Like, who is he? Where did he come f r o m

Young!Hanzo, Okami!Hanzo, and/or Scion!Hanzo! Pretty please!

Can I request some headcanons around getting Blackwatch!Moira's attention?

Camgirl (or boy) adopts hybrid of your choice, hybrid of your choice gets introduced on screen (after consenting of course), hybrid of your choice immediately becomes a fan favorite, hybrid of your choice has just stolen your show and donations.

Hey! Can I please request some shower sex with McCree and a fem!S/O? Gotta get dirty while getting clean, am I right?

All these hybrid AU makes me happy ❤❤ but what if we have kitty!Reader hybrid instead?? Which ow boys gonna love it? And which boys likes kitty!reader with brave and naughty, and which gonna likes it with timid and obidient??

Can you please do a nsfw scenario of junkrat sleeping with a virgin reader? Thank you!

Can I request Jesse or Hanzo with a hybrid panther s/o? Sfw or nsfw, it's up to you

Can I have an order of Genji with a fem!kitty!hybrid reader? I need some kitten play in my life honestly. Whatever you wanna do is fine (but bonus points for collaring and leashing)! NSFW is preferred! :')

Maybe some gentle fisting with McCree, with him being extremely vocal, dirty talking his small trans woman s/o

(NSFW) Poly McCree and Reinhardt with a shy and timid trans woman s/o who is nervous about telling them about her kinks (Mainly musk, feet/socks, size difference, daddy kink) as she's never had a loving partner before, let alone 2. The boys are happy to make her feel nice and loved, while also being naughty and kinky themselves

Hello!! I saw up top it said you were open, but I apologize if not just in case. How about some Hanzo with a housewife kink?? Maybe she can cook exceptional well too? Thank you so much for being so open! Have a great day!!

Can you please do a HC of Jesse, Jamie, and Mako getting jealous? Thanks!

Can I request platonic!Hammond and reader? Like she is a resident of Junkertown that lives near the outskirts of Junkertown and found out about Wrecking Ball’s identity? She’s practically giddy about him being a hamster and gives him a place to stay and work on his mech and Hammond is very grateful. I think it would be fun to be best friends with an adorable hamster!!

How would Genji, Hanzo, Mcree, Mercy, 76, and Reaper feel about an s/o that’s younger than them? Like someone in their twenties while they’re in their thirties or older?

JABDOCIDBWBDKDKS I'm a recent follower and I'm screaming some of your hcs are just so GOOD???? Pls hit me with all that Good Shit©. If it's by any chance okay, could I maybe request Hanzo with fem!s/o that is initially headstrong, but secretly has an omega/housewife kink?? (I'm not sure if I'm using the AU right so sorry in advance.) Thank you so much for always being so open and kind!!! ❤❤

Maybe some headcanons for Brigitte and a hybrid Lion!Hybrid S/O? Fem or gender neutral is okay! Idrc if they're sfw or nsfw I just enjoy your hybrid AU. Do as you please with request! 💕

How about McCree with a puppy hybrid fem!so whose going through a particularly rough heat. Perhaps she's getting false pregnancy vibes, collecting his things behind his back and making a nice nest of it to comfort herself during these trying times. :')

If it’s okay may I please have a scenario where Genji’s been gone for a couple days on a mission and when he gets home he walks in on his girlfriend masturbating and whimpering his name and he just watches for a few minutes before pinning her to the bed and eating her out? Thanks in advance and I hope you’re having a great day :)

Could a hybrid s / o rabbit with a kitty! Genji / kitty! Hanzo?

Could you do Brigette with a chubby fem! So? Like, her gf sees cute couples doing piggybacks all the time and is a little sad bc she thinks she’s way to heavy for Brigette to handle?

Junkrat with a hybrid tiger!reader who growls and hisses at people they dont like and are generally moody except with Junkrat? Like, they'll usually avoid most people but when they see Rat their ears perk up and they stick close to him and just enjoy his company.

Can you please do a HC of Jesse, Jamie, and Mako trying to flirt with a crush? Thanks!

reader is on the enemy team, but our heroes have taken a romantic liking to them (and vice versa). during the middle of their ultimate in-battle, reader pulls them in for a kiss ('stunning' them, thus cancelling their ult) in order to save their own team. by the time the kiss is over, the heroes' ultimate timed out, and reader scrambles back to their team for safety. how would Reaper, McCree and Genji react?

Some NSFW for a nice shiba!Genji? Perhaps he's hit a rut and his fem!so wants to be able to help him out a bit.

#mun text

26 notes · View notes

princevolker2788 · 6 years

Text

(Vermintide Fanfic Chapter 1) Life for Life, Death for Death, Love for Love

@xavirne

Hello everyone, this is my first post in over a year, and I apologize for that. I'm pleased to say that I just recently graduated from college.

Besides that though, I've had this story running around in my head for a few months.

If it wasn't obvious, I've fallen into the Warhammer hole, specifically concerning the Sisters of Battle in Warhammer 40K and the Wood Elves in Warhammer Fantasy, or as its known now: Warhammer: Age of Sigmar.

A little terminology for the uninitiated:

Slaanesh is the deamon lord of gluttony, excess, and pleasure in the world of Warhammer Fantasy. His primary desire is to consume as many elven souls as possible. Which is pretty much guaranteed unless an elf dies near a magical gem known as a waystone.

Upon death, an elf’s soul will enter the gem and act as a barrier against deamon intrusion into their cities.

This story focuses around two characters in the video game Warhammer: Vermintide II: that of the Human Mercenary Markus Kruber and the Wood Elf Waystalker Kerillian. I hope you all enjoy my little indulgent fic about my two favorite rat slayers bonding... and maybe something more.

Kerillian tapped her fingers against the wood of her bow in anticipation. Lorner had promised a horde of ratmen en route to a convoy of food supplies. The problem was that they’d been waiting for an hour in torrential rain that would make the citizens of Stromdorf gawp, and the ratmen hadn’t arrived.

“Can barely feel my toes…” muttered Kruber.

“Then maybe you should have brought better boots,” snapped Kerillian.

Though she would never admit it, she could feel the cold seep into her bones, along with the lack of feeling spreading to her fingertips.

“No need to be snippy, elf.”

She rolled her eyes and inspected a single arrow, wouldn’t do to miss a kill due to sub par equipment.

“Stop complaining, food comes to the quickest!”

The elf snapped her fingers and pointed to the edge of the trail. Kruber, Saltzpyre and Bardin nodded as they prepped their weapons. She prayed this wouldn’t take long, a good fire and a long nap would be much appreciated at this point.

Kerillian drew the string to her cheek and steadied her breath. Wouldn’t be long now, their foul stench wafted through the air like a globadiers poisons.

A furry muzzle poked its way into view and she released. She smirked under her mask as it struck home and pinned another rat to a tree trunk.

With this complete she unslung the glaive from her shoulder and leapt off the fallen tree she’d been balancing on, arching the blade high in the sky as she brought it down on a stormvermin’s skull with a satisfying chunk. Surprised squeaks and yelps filled the air as her compatriots followed suit, Kruber and Bardin swept the front ranks with crushing blows, while Kerillian and Saltzpyre tore through the center ranks, slipping under the arms of the lesser vermin with brutal efficiency.

She heard a familiar hiss and a pop as a blaze of warpfire tore the left flank of the Skaven apart. The elf dove behind a nearby tree, wincing as one of the warp infused bullets scraped her side.

“Gunners targeting me!” She shouted.

“Got our own problems wutelgi!”

Kerillian swore under her breath as her cover was bisected by a stormvermin great sword. They were learning, adapting to their particular method of fighting. Well, she didn’t become a waystalker to be taken out by a simple grunt.

The elf spun around the trunk and brought the glaive into the ratman’s side. As it reeled, she took a single step back and cleaved its head from its shoulders. Foul brackish blood splattered against the forest floor. Satisfied, Kerillian dove into the underbrush as the ratling gunner adjusted its fire. Thankfully its reactions were slower than the mayflies or she’d have been torn apart long ago.

Skaven bodies littered the ground around her, making it much easier for her to creep up on the unsuspecting beast. It kept firing at her last known position, ignoring her compatriots with a fervor she hadn’t expected.

Does it hate me I wonder?

The thing barely had time to contemplate its next move before she dug her blade deep into its spine. It let out a shriek of fury as it swung around, tearing the polearm from her grasp. Kerillian growled as she drew two arrows back and let them fly. Only one struck its intended target, but it was enough to make the rat beast pause.

“Burn in hell!”

Just as she drew a third arrow to finish the job, a spear impacted the ground by her feet, forcing her to step aside as a veritable wave of Skaven swarmed up the hill on her right.

“Pull back!” Shouted Bardin, “Its not worth the trouble!”

Kerillian scoffed as she made her way to the rest of the group, firing at any rat that got too close for comfort.

As the vermin fell, so too did she into her familiar battle trance, like in Ubersreik when it had just been the five of them in the streets, each member of their little group working in tandem.

But they had failed, and now the Reikland burned.

“No more,” she muttered.

She let one more arrow loose and scuttled up the rock outcropping they had agreed on as their final stand. Kruber’s gauntleted hand clasped her wrist and tugged, giving her enough momentum to flip onto the rockface and resume firing. He took up position behind her, swinging out at the horde that roiled and fumed with fury beneath them.

“Still cold mayfly?”

“No, pissed off more like.”

Kerillian snorted and spun around to cut down an Eshin assassin before it could leap onto the mercenary.

“Keep your eyes open.”

Kruber grunted as he drove his Zweihander deep into the neck of a stormvermin stupid enough to expose itself. Bardin let out a triumphant shout of glee as the rats started to break, each looking to the other for support as Saltzpyre’s flintlocks blew the brains out of their last squad leader.

She cast her gaze over the retreating force and spotted the rat gunner, lumbering away with the glaive still embedded in its side. She drew back her bow with a confident chuckle.

“Got you now…”

The arrow flew in an arc, descending on the hapless gunner in perfect silence. The rain still fell in sheets, but the satisfaction of a day’s work complete gave the waystalker enough energy to make her way through the dead, collecting as many arrows as she could on the way to her fallen weapon.

The rest of her compatriots were about ten meters behind her, save for Kruber, the man seemed to be watching over her, more so than when they were in Ubersreik. She was content to let him, after being captured by the enemy she welcomed someone by her side. Even if that person was a Lumberfoot.

Rainwater hissed as it impacted with the glowing metal of the ratling gun, creating a small cloud of condensation that hung in the air. As she inspected her kill, a grim sense of satisfaction came over her. There was nothing quite like taking down worthy prey from such a distance.

“You got what you needed?”

Kruber hovered behind her, no doubt curious as she yanked the glaive free. She marveled at the blade’s resilience, any human made weapon would have chipped at such abuse, but not this.

“Oh yes.”

She hefted the pole arm on her shoulder and nodded towards their allies, still making their way across the battlefield.

“Not bad mercenary, another decade and we might make a proper soldier of you.”

Kruber shook his head as he hefted his own blade.

“I don’t think I’m getting any better, much less younger.”

“Oh I dunno, your form seems to have improved significantly since Ubersreik. Or else I’m misremembering. Which could be true…”

Her dreams had quieted as of late, but when they came, they wracked her with visions of terror, elven souls consumed by The Prince of Pleasure, Slaanesh, grown fat in his gluttony. Skaven multiplying unchecked, spreading their foul corruption with the chaos warriors of the north. She’d wake in a cold sweat, silent tears streaming down her face as she struggled to reign in her terrified breaths.

She thanked Lileath that no one seemed disturbed by her thrashing, but there were days she wished someone would ask about it, just so she could have an excuse. But then again, what would it sound like to the likes of Kruber, Bardin, or Saltzpyre? The ravings of a lunatic?

Sienna was the only possible option, but the woman seemed subdued as of late, consumed in her devotion to Sigmar. Even Saltzpyre remarked on her reverence of their god with an almost respectful tone.

So she fought and fought, praying that exhaustion would be enough to hold back the nightmares, to little success.

Kruber quirked a brow at her silence. She met his gaze, nodding to the Witch Hunter as her approached.

“I’m going to check on the convoy, they should be arriving soon. Make sure we don’t have any unwanted guests hiding in the underbrush.”

Kerillian said nothing, leveling a scowl at the man as Kruber made his way down the path and onto the road.

“You presume much mayfly.”

“And you’ve yet to earn my trust.”

The elf scoffed.

“I would think the months spent in Ubersreik would be enough.”

She didn’t give him time to respond as she followed Kruber’s path, lightly stepping around the corpses while he merely stepped on them.

“He’s trying his best I think,” he said as she finished her approach.

“To what end? Being less of a pompous ass?”

Kruber chuckled.

“I think he’s trying to make it work. He’s not so bad ya know.”

“When he’s not insulting my people, he can be tolerable,” she admitted, though with the taste of bile in the back of her throat.

“Well you do make it enticing from time to time, the way the bridge of your nose crinkles when you’re angry can be quite amusing if I’m honest.”

She scowled.

“See? Like that.”

Kerillian shouldered her blade and drew her bow, looking in every direction except Kruber’s.

“What he does is of no concern of mine as long as he ducks when I tell him to.”

Kruber said nothing as he checked the nearby bodies for signs of life. A few had slid down the hill; most bearing broke arrow shafts embedded in their necks or chests.

“Well? Are we done here?”

“We will be if you’d let me have a decent look.”

She opened her mouth to snap at him and froze as she became aware of a titan sized figure staring at them just behind a cluster of trees.

“Kruber…” she whispered.

“Not now.”

Kerillian let her hand reach out for the sergeant’s shoulder. He tensed under her grip, but only for a fraction of a second.

“Markus, we have a shadow. No sudden moves. Run for the others when I say,” she hissed, attempting to look as casual as she could with a white knuckled grip on her companion’s shoulder.

“Where is it?”

She shook her head.

“It's not worth it mayfly, just go when I say.”

“I’m not leaving you behind.”

Kerillian bit back a groan. Most of the time the man’s loyalty was admirable in its own way, but now it was bordering on infuriating.

“I’ll be right behind you ya idiot!” she snarled, “Just go!”

With this, she drew a single trueflight arrow from her quiver, one of three she’d managed to scavenge.

But the figure was no longer there.

“I don’t see it!”

Kruber was only halfway up the hill.

“Keep moving!”

A deafening roar split the air, forcing Kerillian’s gaze to her right as a mass of muscle tore through the trees, barreling for Kruber’s exposed position. She fired without thinking, striking the beast she recognized as a bile troll in the arm. She cupped her mouth one handed.

“Hey, over here!”

It didn’t turn from its prize. Kruber, to his credit, turned to face the beast, blade in hand. She switched to her glaive and charged, roaring at the top of her lungs. Arrows could do little with this thing’s reach.

The glaive dug into its shin cleanly, taking a good chunk out of its flesh. It’s arm swatted at her ineffectually, giving Kruber enough time to drive his sword into its chest.

Heavy bile gushed out of the wound, cutting through Kruber’s gauntlets at a sickening speed. He gritted his teeth, dragging the blade out and striking once more. Kerillian followed his lead, dancing behind the crouching troll to strike at the tendons connecting its feet to its legs.

She didn’t have time to duck as its hand clamped around her waist. It squeezed its prize, forcing the air from her lungs as it brought her up to its gurgling maw. Everything in her chest hurt, her lungs refused to bring in blessed air as bile made its way to the top of its throat.

“No you don’t!”

A familiar Zweihander struck the troll in its throat, not enough to pierce, but enough for it to loosen its grip.

She fell to the ground in a pained heap, sucking in greedy lungfuls of air as Kruber dragged her away. Damn him, she tried to explain, but no the man just wouldn’t listen.

Kerillian cast about for her glaive, finding it a good three meters behind the troll. She tried to stand, only to be forced to the ground by the mercenary.

“No, stay back, I’ve got this.”

“I had it! If you’d just—”

The beast roared again, charging Kruber at a frightening speed. She resigned herself and drew her bow, grateful that the wood still retained its shape.

Kruber halted the beast’s progress with a slice at its legs, where she had struck before. He stepped out of its grasp, drawing it away from her and closer to a nearby bridge. Now she understood.

Her fingers traced the ridged fletching of a hagbane arrow and drew it from the quiver. Just pulling it back was a trial in of itself; lances of fire ran up her sides. The foul beast had done more damage than she thought.

C’mon Kruber, just a bit more…

The Bile Troll took one lumbering step onto the bridge, and she let it loose.

Satisfaction took her as the beast stumbled, soon replaced with concern as it continued to move. The poison should have downed it in seconds!

Despite her body’s protests she rushed forward, scooping up her fallen glaive and driving it deep into the monster’s flesh. It groaned, swatting at her pathetically. So the poison had done its work, just slower than she anticipated.

“Kruber! Are you alright?”

The lack of a response drove her to strike again, this time at the back of its knee, which she took clean off. This time it couldn’t just shrug it off.

“Kruber!?”

She ran to the front, to find the mercenary struggling in the grip of the troll, armor being crushed like cheap metal. Kerillian didn’t need any further prompting, she hacked away at its fingers, each the width of her arm and twice as strong. Kruber struggling ceased midway through her work.

“No.”

She hacked at its ring finger.

“No!”

Its pinky.

“Not today!”

Finally she severed the thumb from the rest of it, releasing the mercenary in a heap. She dropped the glaive, shaky hands reaching for the healing draught she kept on her person.

His eyes looked to the sky, vacant, but with a small sliver of life.

“You aren’t gonna die on me here.”

The elf cupped his head and forced the glass in between his lips. She massaged his throat at a hurried pace, the quicker she was, the sooner she could berate him for his foolishness.

He coughed, shuddering in her arms as breathed deep.

“You bloody idiot…” she sat back with a relieved sigh.

“Did we win?”

She coughed out a laugh.

“Yeah we won mercenary, now lets—”

The beast’s remaining hand lashed out at lightning speed, striking both her and Kruber in the ribs and over the bridge. It soon followed, blotting out the meager light as all three tumbled into the raging rapids below.

The entire world turned on its head as she struck the bone chilling water. It took all her willpower to remain calm and focus on finding Kruber amidst the deluge. The troll’s corpse, at least she hoped it was a corpse, floated behind her, while Kruber’s limp form lay just ahead.

Kerillian kicked forward, ignoring the thumping pain in her side. She had to get the armor off him; otherwise she’d never get them both to land safety.

As her fingers found the clasps, a disturbing through hit her: what was keeping her from simply leaving him here? Why was she so dead set on sparing the life of a single mayfly when thousands died every day?

She didn’t have time to ponder this as the heavy chest plate fell to the bottom of the river. Now she had to get them both to the surface. The Waystalker wrapped her arms around his chest and kicked the bottom of the river. They made it about a meter off the silt before they started to sink. She kicked harder, praying it would be enough, only to find herself falling once again.

This is not how it ends! Not here!

Her lungs were starting to burn, her legs as well. Her question from before made itself known once more.

Why spare him?

Because I care.

Kruber stirred in her grasp, flailing his legs in tandem with hers. This time they rose swiftly, breaking the surface in seconds and gifting the two of them lovely air.

“The shore!” she screamed, “Find the shore!”

Whatever strength she had fled her then. It was all she could do to keep herself treading water as Kruber’s powerful arm brought them closer and closer to a sandbank.

The concept of being truly chilled to the bone hadn’t been adequately understood until they scrambled into a small outcropping out of the rain. Her ribs screamed in protest as she shivered, teeth chattering beyond her control.

Strong hands rubbed her arms, a familiar mustached face coming into view as she attempted to do the same. Her numb fingers clutched his gambeson tunic, attempting to impart some semblance of warmth into the soaked material.

“W-we need to strip down,” she whispered.

“What?”

He sounded embarrassed, and if he wasn’t as cold as her she was sure he’d be blushing. Nevertheless she forced her hand to cup the back of his neck.

“Body heat Lumberfoot, no fire, so body heat.”

Kruber still looked unconvinced, but nodded and turned his back as he started to remove his tunic. Kerillian turned to her own clothes, shaking fingers just managing to remove the tassels on her armor, but when it got to the series of knots on her tunic it became much more difficult.

“D-damn piece of—”

“Let me…”

She stilled. Kruber took up position in front of her and worked away at them with deft speed. Soon he had her shirt completely unfastened, all that remained was her breast wrapping. That she decided to keep, along with her cloak and facemask.

“No dawdling then…” she said, rubbing her arms and torso as quick as she could.

“Right.”

Neither of them moved.

“For Isha’s sake!”

She leaned into him, one hand rubbing at his shoulder while the other continued to massage her torso, careful to avoid her bruised ribs. Under normal circumstances she might have taken note of how toned his arms were, but no, not here, not now.

Kruber, to his credit, took to his task quick, rubbing her back as quickly as he dared, obviously scandalized by the whole thing. Humans could be so prudish. Even simple displays of affection were looked down upon. Among her people this would be considered an act of survival nothing more.

So why was she trying to hide the burning in her cheeks and praying to whatever gods that would listen he didn’t notice the accompanying redness on the tips of her ears?

In an attempt to remedy this, she buried her head into his shoulder. Though this only made it worse, for now she could hear his heartbeat. A steady thump-thump that reverberated through his chest in a comforting way.

She realized why she didn’t mind him keeping an eye on her, why the constant worrying after her health, or how her attitude wasn’t irritating, but endearing.

He felt safe.

Kerillian let out a shudder. Kruber brought her closer, which only highlighted the issue for her as her cheek brushed against his chest, now warm from their proximity. Well, his proximity, she didn’t know how much heat she was giving off.

As if to reassure her, he rubbed harder, transferring as much warmth as he could.

“K-Kruber.”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Thank you.”

He stopped rubbing.

“For what?”

She shifted in his grasp.

“For staying by my side. I don’t know how long I would have last against that… thing.”

Kruber visibly relaxed.

“Ah, well, likewise. Thanks I mean, f-for saving my arse back there. Twice.”

“Thrice,” she corrected, eyes drooping.

When did she get so tired? All she wanted to do now was sleep, sleep for years if she could.

“Kerillian.”

Her eyelids fluttered open, had she fallen asleep?

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to sleep somewhere else? You’re not shivering, and I-I wanted to make sure you were—”

“Shh mayfly…” she slurred, “sleep now, talk later.”

Her ear fell against his chest once more, though this time without a sense of trepidation. Why forego warmth and safety when it was right here?

His grip tightened ever so slightly as he adjusted his position, this time to the sandy floor of their little cavern. She became vaguely aware of the sensation of a familiar cloak being draped over their shoulders.

“Sleep than…” he said, uncertainty still lacing his words.

“Sleep,” she commanded.

She closed her eyes, letting the sound of the man’s heart and breathing ease her into a pleasant rest. Or at least what she hoped would be a pleasant sleep. Goddess knew she needed it.

***

Cold enveloped her, a cold she felt beyond the icy rainwater numbing her fingers and bones. She struggled against it, trying to burrow into something warm. But when she opened her eyes all she saw was darkness, darkness her eyes couldn’t pierce.

Suddenly, there came a flash of light so vivid it forced her back, craving the darkness more than she previously had. With the light came the howling of a thousand voices crying out in terror, or madness, or whatever fever gripped them. The light seemed to reach out as one, clawing at her body with increasing intensity. She felt their fingers, could almost see them as they stretched forward to touch her.

Kerillian could do nothing as a single cold finger brushed against her arm, and a wave crashed over her.

Millions of voices were chanting in her ears, warning her of things to come, or of things that may come. Goddess she couldn’t tell through all the noise. She saw Athel Loren burning, then swallowed by the weave. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her Ulthuani cousins followed, then the dwarves, and even parts of the reikland. Her gods failed, the dwarven gods, all save for Sigmar.

They were all consumed. The world would fall to darkness, a plaything for the dark powers of foul Gods.

Just as the light began to overwhelm her, it vanished, leaving her in darkness once more.

Tears still streamed down her face, falling into the nothing around her. She clutched at her shuddering frame in a halfhearted attempt at warming her core. It didn’t help.

“Why?” She whispered. “Why would you forsake us?”

“Who?”

#Vermintide #Vermintide II #Warhammer: Vermintide II #Kerillian #Markus Kruber #Fanfic

17 notes · View notes

brendancorris · 6 years

Text

The Rise of the TMNT First Thoughts

Being that Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles has always been, what I consider, my biggest fandom, I feel it’s only natural I leave my two cents on what we know so far of their upcoming 4th animated series, Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and what everybody’s been saying about it recently.

So the official designs were finally release, and of course, everybody’s mad, freaking out, and acting as if all hope for humanity is gone. I’ll be honest, the character designs are not immediately appealing to me, but something needs to be clarified first...

The most common complaint I see is “the art style sucks”. Now, it’s fair to say that the style doesn’t appeal to you personally, but discrediting these obviously talented artists and their extremely expressive and lively style is just a lie and/or lack of any real knowledge of artistic skill. Is it an appropriate style for the TMNT? That’s up to you to decide for yourself, but saying it is bad artwork is just ignorant.

Now, just to make things clear, I myself am not super into these designs, and feel the style isn’t the best representation of what TMNT is, but I’ll never say it’s bad, and will continue to stay optimistic. Let’s not forget that most of us, myself included, were hating on the 2012 series hardcore after its initial debut. While I still don’t find the art style choice or designs to be the most appealing in the 2012 series, there’s no denying it is an amazing series - arguably the best writing the franchise has ever had. While it isn’t MY Turtles, which will always be the 87 Turtles, it’s a damn good version, and one I’m proud to see younger generations grow up with.

But when we heard April and Casey were teens, saw the Turtle designs, saw how huge Splinter was, we all wrote off the 2012 series with having never see it. Once we saw it, then we had to eat our words. Let’s not walk into the same trap over and over again. In this day and age everybody’s so quick to give a severe black and white, night and day opinion on something before even knowing much about it. You’d think we’d get sick of constantly having to apologizing for judging something based on a picture reveal when it comes out. Not saying this in particular will turn out to be great. It might suck. But we can’t possibly know that yet, so let’s stay optimistic and at least happy that our favorite franchises are being kept alive and given consistent love through the generations. The age of the self-entitled, crabby, whiny man-baby/woman-baby nerds has to end.

As for those concerned about the story changes, I get your concern. But, again, it isn’t the first time the team was completely re-worked. April and Casey Jones as teenage kids was already a crazy enough change in the 2012 series, but then take into account April was also part mutant which gave her psychic powers, and she discovered a gem she wore around her neck that brought out evil in her and strengthened her powers to be Thanos-level is a REALLY huge departure from the prior iterations, and a seemingly stupid as hell direction on paper. Hell, Irma was a teenager revealed to be a robot body for a Krang spy. They REALLY took their liberties in the 2012 series. Even one of the most popular additions, Don’s crush on April, was completely new for that series.

My inner TMNT-fanchild does get a bit ticked when he hears that now Raph will be the leader and Leo will be cool and narcissistic, but we gotta remember what this is. Not only a new retelling for a new generation, but a retelling of a franchise that has been retold and severely altered dozens of times. No two Turtles stories add up. Also, this is being targeted strongly at little kids. Raph has always been the most marketable Turtle, the most iconic and widely referenced/recognized, and most popular among children, so making him the leader isn’t too shocking too me. Hell, even Partners in Kryme didn’t know Raph was’t the leader back in 1990 in the official film.

One thing I’ve heard a lot of hate for is the fact that April O’Neil is African American in the new series. It’s a difficult topic to touch upon, but I feel there’s good and bad points to it. The good is obviously getting more diverse representation in lovable, iconic roles in media, especially those for younger audiences. The bad, however, is like Stan Lee once said in regards to race-bending characters. Getting diversity in media is wonderful, but changing a pre-existing, well-established and celebrated character’s ethnicity simply to meet the quota is sort of a cheap shot. April, in all animated forms, has been a red-headed Irish girl I(hence the last name). It’s just as iconic to her as the fact that Leonardo wears blue and wields katana. Ethnicity, while a touchy subject, is a part of somebody. If they want diversity, they should add new characters of diverse backgrounds, or at least change lesser supporting roles, or at least that’s how I feel. Again, it’s a touchy subject, so I can totally understand somebody disagreeing, and that’s fine to do so.

Ultimately I feel everybody just needs to cool their jets on this. We see this happen SO often with franchises these days. The internet has sadly contributed towards heightening the selfishness of fandoms, and exaggerated opinions on everything. Every fan likes to think that their version is the definitive version, and that they are superior for liking the version they do. Everybody’s free to like what they like, and even if something you don’t care for comes out, it doesn’t take your version away from you. Each TMNT series ran for years. Whichever version you prefer, there is more than enough to watch to feed your hunger.

So how do I feel? Hard to say. I never regularly watched episodes of any TMNT animated series outside of the 87 series, but I always give each show many viewings before judging it. While this is surely not my TMNT, nor do I predict it become a fandom of mine, I’m still hyped for it, staying optimistic, and impressed by the artwork, for the most part. This art style looks like it could really make way for some great action scenes. There are some changes I’m not sold on, like some of the altered weapons and personalities, but, again, there’s 30 years worth of TMNT content with the old weapons and personalities, and I’m still giving this show the benefit of the doubt before really seeing it. I’m actually really curious to see the villain designs. Shredder could look awesome in this style. And if they bring in Bebop and Rocksteady I’ll be pretty darrn happy. At the very least, this series is once again making me excited to see which of my childhood characters will return. Mondo Gecko? Rat King? Wyrm? Mona Lisa? Slash? The Neutrinos? I’d love to see how this unique re-imagining could put a new spin on old favorites, and breathe new life into my favorite cast of mutants since 1987.

Here’s staying positive, and let’s not make the pre-release Sonic Boom mistake twice. That cartoon turned out to be comedy GOLD (and actually my favorite Sonic cartoon to date).

And PLEASE, let’s remember there are far greater wrongs being done in the world than cartoon characters being redesigned.

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #Brendan Corris #BrendanCorris

131 notes · View notes

glitchinthesystemspiderbyte · 6 years

Text

[48] Glitch in the System - If Only We Could Sleep Tonight

Hi all! Sorry we missed yesterday’s story. We had a busy day and accidentally got two new pet rats (we named them Brigitte and Amelie) to join our existing colony of Overwatch pets. You can see them on E’s blog if you’re curious! They are really, really cute. Really cute.

Anyway, here’s a new fic!

By K.

A bedtime story happens.

Rare were the evenings where sleep evaded Widowmaker - a few times a year at most, often less. Only recently did she notice a change, which she reasonably attributed to the revelations tendered her that fall. Thankfully, the uptick in frequency was a mild one, relegated to the occasional evening where rest came either more slowly or fitfully than usual. Only one - the first - was truly terrible; the rest less and less as she forged by trial and error a sort of revised normalcy. To most of Talon, nothing had changed, the broadened understanding of her own reconditioning kept furiously secret. Only she and Sombra knew, nursing that burdensome truth with care in the fragile moments they grew overwhelming. Beyond that, the sniper’s day to day simply bore an asterisk and a footnote indicating the existence of that remarkable derivation from the pre-programmed norm.

She was grateful someone else recognized the addendum; moreso that someone cared to learn its terms and conditions. Not that she couldn’t have handled it alone; nearly a decade of relative interpersonal solitude spoke to that. Even her and Gabriel’s sporadic encounters with the threat of kinship were three steps removed from anything like sincerity, limited to passing acknowledgements and nothing more. It would certainly have been harder without Sombra, her attempts at coping even clumsier and arguably less healthy. Still, Widowmaker harbored no doubt she would have managed.

All things considered, she attained - with the hacker’s assistance - the best possible outcome. Messy as it was, she it afforded her a greater understanding of herself - a necessary agony, forged into armor only knowledge could provide. She attributed her success in major part to the other woman’s surprisingly unflappable patience, its stark contrast to every other aspect of her personality. In their line of work, it was as easy as it was common to drop intel and disappear - especially for manipulators of Sombra’s caliber. She could have disappeared at any time, could have stayed uninvolved, could have leveraged that information as blackmail.

But she didn’t. More poignantly, she chose not to.

Widowmaker acknowledged that was not the norm, expressing her gratitude it in the stolen, soft quiet that bookended their days and in the spaces between breaths where found a semblance of warmth she thought dead and buried. She felt alive then, in a way she associated more closely with the snarl of gunfire than with any other human.

Some evenings, the minutes preceding sleep stretching ever longer before her, Widowmaker would tuck herself against the curve of Sombra’s back and listen contentedly to the natural syncopation of her heartbeat and breathing. This was an inversion of their standard routine, where rest greeted the sniper effortlessly but sometimes evaded her partner for minutes, an hour more. Widowmaker didn’t mind, embracing the closeness they repaired carefully over a handful of weeks. Despite the timidity with which they approached that daunting task, she felt their commitment to rebuilding had been rewarded in new and vital understandings neither knew they had lacked.

More often than not, Widowmaker eventually managed at least a few hours’ sleep. Others, she accepted with no small amount of chagrin it would be one of those unfortunate evenings where it refused a timely arrival. She attributed those nights to an aimless hamster-wheel of memories and the shadows of feelings they caused which she still lacked the capacity to parse:

Gérard, his hair tousled boyishly as he pulled her into the shower.

Searing, white-hot electricity and the smell of ozonic residue; locked muscles and clenched teeth.

Moira and Gabriel, their voices clear even beyond the med bay doors.

The biting scent of antiseptic. Blood - dark, venous blood carving canyons along the lines of her palms.

Sombra. The softness of her hands against the curve of her jaw.

She never understood the process by which her mind selected these memories. Once, they were merely confusing. They bothered her now, itched something fierce at the back of her mind and base of her skull; yet she was almost grateful that was the case — that they bothered her at all was an essential function of her finally understanding the circumstances which made them so.

It was a circuitous mess: and endless relay with neither start nor end, its checkpoints marked by substantial gaps of missing time and context.

What she did know was that wine and a bit of Balzac would probably do the trick.

Tucking a kiss beneath the hacker’s ear, Widowmaker scooted toward the edge of the bed, careful to avoid any extraneous movement that might wake the other woman. Grabbing her robe from the adjacent chaise, she shrugged it on, lazily secured its waist tie, and headed toward the door, stopping only to snag a copy of Illusions perdues from her otherwise spartan desk as she passed.

Unlike the rest of its modernized interior, there was little light throughout the western halls of Talon’s Venetian headquarters. Guided exclusively by memory and the intermittent, electric sconces along the walls, the assassin picked her way toward the kitchen, occupied solely by Gabriel and his usual late-night junk food craving.

“I did not have Kinder Happy Hippos delivered with the week’s groceries,” she observed dryly, leveling a pointed glance to the small, bulk box of chocolate-hazelnut biscuits on the counter beside him.

“Yeah, well,” he grunted in retort, though no further elaboration followed. Shaking her head, she brushed past, bumping him aside with one hip when he refused to surrender the few inches that made attaining a glass from the overhead cabinet possible. Gabriel watched quietly as she moved from cabinet to fridge, dark eyes dimmed by the exhausting cyclicality of life and death.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

Widowmaker peered over one shoulder as she plucked the re-corked bottle of red from atop the fridge. “Clearly,” she replied, flippant as ever until it occurred to her his inquiry may be sincere. “…Et vous?”

Reaper’s sole reply was a bemused smirk — as if she even had to ask. In all the years she knew him, Gabriel barely knew more than a few hours’ rest, if it ever came to him at all. She remembered their first deployments together, the slow realization his not sleeping was borne of a mix of pain, paranoia, and the same restlessness she knew yet somehow handled better than a decades-long veteran.

“What’s eating you?” he asked with marked trepidation, bristling at but not moving away from her as she returned to his side to pour the wine.

Tilting the glass just so, Widowmaker watched the steady flow of red into the bulb of the glass, its legs eking faint lines along the otherwise pristine surface. In nearly a decade, it was the first time either of them had ever overtly asked a question commonly relegated to exchanges of pithy remarks.

A year ago, she might have found it odd, even off-putting - not only in that the question was asked, but in that she would have never been able to answer it truthfully. Now, it felt strangely like something that should have been happening all along.

“Nothing surprising” she murmured, inclining her wrist to prevent any spillage as she righted the bottle. “We have had a month, is all,” she added with a nod toward the medical bay and the ever-locked door just ahead of it.

Before she could move to return the bottle to the fridge, Gabriel intercepted it, stealing it from her hand with a deftness she knew he possessed yet always found surprising. The contrast between them was always most marked in these casual interactions, yet Widowmaker observed a suppressed gentility beneath the harshness of his actions: it was there, in his handling the bottle with care even as he lifted to his mouth as much as it was in the softness of his late night wanderings so as to avoid waking anyone else.

Heaving a sigh, he peered into the bottle and watched its contents settle, weighing his response before lifting his eyes to meet hers. “She’s not going anywhere,” he said at last. It almost sounded like an apology. “And before you get smart - I’m not happy about it, either.”

Widowmaker nodded her understanding. “Then I suppose we shall be unhappy together.”

They watched each other a long moment, the silence succeeding her reply weighed by their implicit sympathy and unpracticed attempts at accepting it. There was something far away in his face, a piece of a man she only ever met in passing — a Gabriel Reyes known for quiet compassion as much as he was for martial brilliance.

Widowmaker hardly entertained that that version of him still lived, but in moments such as these - just the two of them, his searching glance giving way to a sad shake of the head as he clinked the mouth of the bottle against the rim of her glass - she almost thought she saw his ghost.

“Sounds like a plan,” he huffed, taking a second and final swig from the bottle before stepping aside, their closeness upended with the bottle before it. Gabriel didn’t wish her good night, nor did he say goodbye; he was there, and then, simply, wasn’t, fading wraithlike into the shadows beyond the kitchen. Widowmaker couldn’t tell if the hissing, fading lines of his shoulders giving way to the night around him was a trick of the light or his own body.

She almost said something: that he didn’t have to disappear, didn’t have to be alone. That the thought occurred to her at all reminded her she shouldn’t.

Instead, she retired to their haphazard living room, wine in one hand, Illusions perdues in the other. Only the faint creak of the couch frame beneath her acknowledged the sniper’s presence as she propped herself up against one armrest and set the book in her lap.

How much time passed before a new, softer set of footsteps crept forth from the hall was uncertain, immeasurable only in an empty glass and the warmly-welcomed silence of her own mind.

Lifting amber eyes to the yawning archway before her, she blinked, meeting Sombra’s own, tired violet.

“You are awake,” she observed, closing the book over the skull-printed bookmark given her a few weeks back.

“No shit,” the hacker replied, a bleary grin sliding across her lips and into the shadows on either side of her. “One of those nights?” she asked, tapping one temple.

Widowmaker offered the other woman a small shrug, its delivery almost sheepish. “Unfortunately.”

“You wanna’ read to me?” Sombra asked, as if the suggestion were a natural part of their routine. It wasn’t.

Widowmaker rolled her eyes. “Balzac is not bedtime reading.”

“That’s not a no, Lacroix.”

Shaking her head, the sniper unfolded long legs and slid off the couch, stooping to pick up the empty glass in her free hand. “I am not an orator,” she huffed dismissively, retiring to the kitchen to deposit it in the sink.

Sombra followed, coming to a stop just behind her. Before Widowmaker could turn or respond, she felt the creep of arms around her waist, the press of one cheek to her back.

“I’m trying to help you, here,” she half-mumbled, half-yawned, the sentence muffled against her robe.

The assassin sighed. It wasn’t as if there were any reason not to, and she could still feel the tendrils of restlessness coiling just beneath the surface of her thoughts.

“Go to my room and grab the book by de Saint-Exupéry. It is old,” she said, patting the back of one of the other woman’s hands as she loosened her grip about her middle. Sombra was off, carried away by a patter far faster than the one that initially led her to the living room. Widowmaker returned to the couch, scooting herself back against the arm rest again and dangling one leg over the cushions’ edge to allow her partner room.

Sombra returned a few minutes later, a worn and faded little book proffered before her. “This the one?”

“Oui. Come. Sit.”

Sombra obliged, settling neatly against the sniper.

“Why this one?” she asked, running a hand over the faded fibre cover of Le Petit Prince.

“First: it is a proper bedtime story,” Widowmaker replied, opening its cover to the opening pages. To her surprise, the vibrancy of the illustrations within was still somehow intact despite the passage of time and multiple cross-continental moves. It felt, in a way, like a little miracle. “Second, it was my favorite.”

Sombra leaned back, turning her gaze upward to meet the sniper’s. “Was?”

“I am a little old for bedtime stories,” she replied with a thin smile. “But, this one contains lessons which change over the course of one’s life. Ideas and images that last forever.”

“Like what?” the other woman asked, equally intrigued and incredulous.

Though answer came to her immediately, Widowmaker hesitated.

It was a soft lesson, precious and fragile and more tender than she could ever be. That she could apply it to anyone, let alone someone who lived in the shadows as she did, was at odds with the truth it conveyed. It carried with it a flutter of some warm something she associated exclusively with Sombra, with the compassion they fostered in the spaces between missions that left her feeling human in ways she thought impossible.

“Yoo-hoo, Spider. You in there?” the hacker asked, waving a hand in front of her face.

Widowmaker smiled - broad and genuine, the kind that always made Sombra smile in turn, though she never knew why.

“L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux,” she replied at last, the grin lingering at the corner of her mouth. “What is essential is invisible to the eye.”

*Read from the beginning or check out our intro post! All stories tagged under #glitchfic. Table of contents located here.

#spiderbyte #sombramaker #widowsombra #amélie lacroix #amelie lacroix #widowmaker #sombra #olivia colomar #reaper #gabriel reyes #sombra x widowmaker #widowmaker x sombra #overwatch #overwatch fanfic #overwatch fandom #overwatch fic #glitch in the system #glitchfic

25 notes · View notes

checkeredcat · 4 years

Text

Cancel Culture: Is it fair?

Project description:

Being in quarantine has definitely increased the amount of time I personally spend on social media. I tried to read, try to exercise, but ultimately I end up on Instagram or TikTok. I’ve also been posting more for the sake of it, but I realised this comes with its’ problems. The more content you put out, the more you are sharing about yourself and your opinions, which everyone might not agree with. This got me thinking about celebrities and influencers. Their every post and opinion is being scrutinised by thousands and sometimes millions of people. Alongside this, came the development of ‘Cancel Culture’. The best definition I could find for this comes from an article by Aja Romano (2019). She writes, “Cancel culture, describes a form of boycott in which someone (usually a celebrity) who has shared a questionable or unpopular opinion, or has had behaviour that is perceived to be problematic, is called out on social media”. My project will look to understand this ‘cancel culture’ more deeply whilst uncovering the dangers of the internet due to regulations, or a lack of.

Method:

The most useful method I could use to investigate ‘cancel culture’ would be a visual discourse analysis. A discourse analysis is a qualitative research method that examines the organisation of language and images. As discussed by Van Dijk (1997), any type of discourse analysis must seek to explain who, why, how and where language is being used. What I understood from this is that there is much more behind a picture or caption which is left for the audience to interpret. To conduct a successful visual discourse analysis, one would have to interpret a deeper meaning beyond the surface of a post. A caption alongside a photo is also something to break down and analyse because it is usually used to add more meaning to a photograph. Daymon and Holloway (2002) suggest that researchers who use a discourse analysis must look at three things in specific. One is the form and content of the language used, essentially what the caption means. Another is the way people use language to communicate ideas and beliefs, meaning what they want their audience to think after seeing their post. Finally, the third one is any institutional or organisational factors which may affect the way language is being used. Therefore, in order to thoroughly conduct a discourse analysis you must make sure those three stems are accounted for. I will conduct my qualitative research by collecting data from Instagram and TikToks of five celebrities who have been ‘cancelled’ for something in the last three years. I will be screenshooting information on their posts (pictures, captions and comments) and then create a coding system of similarities across the three scenarios. This will ensure that I can pick out patterns and reoccurring themes across the three events.

Discussion:

Social networking sites can be said to alter the sense of what it means to be an individual. I believe that on social media, people usually present versions of themselves that are different or ‘better’ in their eyes to their actual self. This means people may occasionally fall into the trap of posting things they do not actually believe, in order to keep a certain image of themselves alive. With controversial posts, inevitably comes controversial backlash and hate. Nakamura and Chow-White (2013) also note that this hate is propagated via different platforms. For example, Nessa Barrett is a seventeen year old TikTok star who was recently ‘cancelled’ because she posted a video dancing inappropriately to a Quran recitation. People are understandably disgusted by what she had done and went from her TikTok to her Instagram to comment their thoughts. This is an example of what Nakamura and Chow-White were explaining. However, this so called ‘cancelled culture’ may just be more apparent to us in today’s society because there are platforms to easily share your views on. It is not necessarily that society has become more sensitive, it is purely that there is now an easy way to share your view/hate on something. This is supported by Murthy and Sharma (2018). There is a problem when it comes to theorising online antagonisms. They identify that although online hate does seem to be increasing dramatically, this may reflect a change in the way we are communicating rather than an increase in the amount of hate taking place.

Over 90 million instagram posts are made in one day. Out of this unfathomable number, can you imagine how many people experience online hate because it is so easy? The internet is clearly being regulated and watched. Situations such as Cambridge Analytica where Facebook was wrongly using peoples data exposes social networking sites as trackers of our data. If they have ultimate control over social media, why do they allow such hate to continue? If they know a post is bound to bring general upset and cause offence then they should also not allow the post to be uploaded in the first place. In addition, after an offensive post is uploaded, they should be able to limit the amount of hateful comments said to someone. After reading a revised edition of Foucualt’s (1977) work, it is clear that he warns of the ‘hierarchal observation’ we are under as humans. As societies have grown and changed, the ways in which we are ‘observed’ has changed. We are now being observed by our activities online and our digital footprints. The surveillance we are under seems to only be used at the benefit of the government rather than for the protection of our mental healths. Nessa Barrett is a seventeen year old girl. Although I do not agree with what she did, the hundreds of death threats she received would be too much for anyone to handle. In this situation, I do believe that Instagram and TikTok should have at least temporarily disabled or limited her account to people. If our content is being surveilled, it makes no sense to why posts like this are able to be uploaded in the first place. I argue that the regulation of social media is weak and this leads to an inevitable cancelling culture.

Contribution:

As mentioned earlier, I undertook a visual discourse analysis of five celebrity instances which demonstrate ‘cancel culture’. The first one was of Nessa Barrett’s comment section after dancing to the Quran and then making a public apology saying she did not know what she was dancing to. The post was obviously deleted but people still commented on all of her other content to express themselves. One comment that stood out in particular was “Filthy rat. You should not be on this earth.” It would be almost impossible for Nessa to block every person who left a hate comment and there were many more like these. Another celebrity who was cancelled in 2018 was Logan Paul. Whilst visiting a Japanese suicide forest, Logan Paul filmed a dead body whilst vlogging for his Youtube channel. This also caused outrage on Instagram and Twitter as it was trending for 3 days. Most of his comments read “That should be you lying there dead.” I accumulated some of the worst comments I saw across five situations like these, and identified the pattern that usually when a group of people like a religion or culture feel attacked by a post, the ‘cancel culture’ is heightened. Death threats are entirely too common on these posts which worries me because influencers are usually young and impressionable. This is dangerous and the internet should do a better job at regulating these comments. I think it is fair for people to stop watching your content if you have offended them, but I argue that trolls who send death threats are just as bad. Online culture has become so hateful nowadays simply due to the fact that we do not see the consequences of our actions. My findings of the visual analysis were shocking because seeing the amount of people so comfortable telling someone to “kill yourself” online was disturbing. Cancel culture is definitely concerning for society because it exists to drive hate against one person at a time until someone else makes a mistake.

Whilst I do not agree with cancel culture, I do not think it has a direct impact for long. For example, both Nessa Barrett and Logan Paul still have over one million followers online. If people were really ‘boycotting’ their content, their following would have dramatically decreased. The fact that people still follow them after supposedly being disgusted by them emphasises how ‘cancel culture’ does not actually lead to people being “cancelled” completely, but rather “cancelled” until there is someone else to hate on. Then again, once something is on the internet, it is very difficult to have it fully erased forever, so your mistakes might come back to haunt you again one day. This is also unfair, because people may drag up your past after you have grown and changed. Do we deserved to be cancelled over something we immaturely posted 10 years ago?

#cancelled

0 notes

arlo-venn · 3 years

Text

I’m about to take a bunch of photos of the baby rats from my final two litters for some interested clients, so when I am done I will post the gems here! I apologize for the shameful lack of rat content I’ve offered in recent months.

#ratblr

5 notes · View notes

imagine-this-overwatch-blog · 6 years

Note

Sorry is this is a bother, but is there any way you could start posting your to do list/queue every once and a while? I just find it interesting to see what people request :p

I may need to be reminded to post the list. I never really know when it’s a good time to do it. But hey it’s no problem here’s what I have rn.

For the skin thing, could you write something with Mystery Man McCree where him and his S/O are partners like Tonto and the Lone Ranger? Sorry I’m just a huge western show nerd 😂😂

How about nsfw oni Genji headcanons?

As part of military discipline, Hybrid Pharah keeps her wings in absolute pristine condition. She makes it seem effortless. Hybrid Angela is an absolute wreck. She just stuffs her wings in her armor and goes. You have to preen her while she's working sometimes.

Headcanons for White hat or maybe Royal McCree both look like sugar daddies imo 😂

Since you did the Genji one, how one about super saiyan blue tracer

Some Forest Spirit Orisa headcannons would be super cool! I imagine her being the guardian of an ancient forest or something. She also gets along with all the little critters. ;0;

My friend, may I request some sub!Reinhardt? Both nsfw and sfw. I feel we lack content with a submissive buff german boy

Hcs for cricket junkrat? Im a sucker for dumbass jocks tbh

Headcannons for islander roadhog? Like, who is he? Where did he come f r o m

Young!Hanzo, Okami!Hanzo, and/or Scion!Hanzo! Pretty please!

Halloween is coming up, so how about some Junkenstien and Junkenstien's monster headcannons?

Can I request some headcanons around getting Blackwatch!Moira's attention?

Requesting something wholesome but with bewbers. Preferably reader's face being shoved between them. And kisses.

Something wholesome please: Reader comes off the anesthetic and starts flirting with an endeared Angela, not remembering quite yet (because of the anesthetic) that this super-hot bombshell he's flirting with is not an angel nor a supermodel. She is, in fact, his girlfriend. When he comes fully off the anesthetic, he still stands by the marriage proposal he asked in the recovery room.

I'm the anon who sent in the crotch obsessed puppy!Cree ask, I would absolutely LOVE to see some headcanons of all the guys if your up to it~

Hey! Can I please request some shower sex with McCree and a fem!S/O? Gotta get dirty while getting clean, am I right?

Can I please request some breeding with puppy!Jack?

Can you please do a nsfw scenario of junkrat sleeping with a virgin reader? Thank you!

Can I request Jesse or Hanzo with a hybrid panther s/o? Sfw or nsfw, it's up to you

Can you please do a HC of Jesse, Jamie, and Mako getting jealous? Thanks!

How would Genji, Hanzo, Mcree, Mercy, 76, and Reaper feel about an s/o that’s younger than them? Like someone in their twenties while they’re in their thirties or older?

Maybe some headcanons for Brigitte and a hybrid Lion!Hybrid S/O? Fem or gender neutral is okay! Idrc if they're sfw or nsfw I just enjoy your hybrid AU. Do as you please with request! 💕

Pharah will at times stare off into space making horrified expressions when nothing is happening. This is a sign she's having a flashback and you just calmly talk to her and tell her exactly where she is until fades away, and ask if it's okay to hug her afterwards.

Could a hybrid s / o rabbit with a kitty! Genji / kitty! Hanzo?

Could you do Brigette with a chubby fem! So? Like, her gf sees cute couples doing piggybacks all the time and is a little sad bc she thinks she’s way to heavy for Brigette to handle?

Can you please do a HC of Jesse, Jamie, and Mako trying to flirt with a crush? Thanks!

Some NSFW for a nice shiba!Genji? Perhaps he's hit a rut and his fem!so wants to be able to help him out a bit.

Pregnant horny Vampire Mercy is eventually going to fuck you to death or eat you alive. You wouldn't change a damned thing.

#mun text #Anonymous ;#asks

7 notes · View notes