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8bitscarlet · 3 years

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Summary: You didn't have a plan after telling Wanda the truth. You didn't know how to handle the aftermath of it and with each hate fueled fight with Wanda, you wish you knew.

Genre/Warnings: Angst (Angry Wanda) [This is an 18+ series so, 18+ ONLY!!!//MINORS DNI!!]

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Part 3 of I Hear a Symphony! It's been some PWP these last two chapters but this one's just plot. Try and sue me, haha.

Italics are memories. Happy Reading!

*please do not repost or translate my material or claim as yours. reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated!*

____________________

You had always wanted to know what it was like to fly through the air. Wondering if it was as peaceful as it looked from the ground, with the wind against your face and feeling practically weightless.

But when you flew through that window, your curiosity was certainly sated when you felt the impact of the landing. The moment you said Pietro’s name and the fact you had a trained reticle on his head, you’re surprised you weren’t disintegrated into atoms.

You had never ran faster in your life than when you saw those red projectiles flying towards you and how the grass burned around you.

Wanda’s terrifying form as she floated out of the window, chilled the blood in your veins. You sprinted back inside the Compound, looking for anyone that could help try and save your life. Skidding around a corner, you found your safe haven. The last place you would have thought of but you didn’t complain when you saw the red glow behind you, and slid behind Vision. His words were calm as he held out his hands, trying to calm her.

Her screams were incoherent as they merged together with her sobs. She cried for Pietro. For her family. Trying to understand how you could never tell her. How Hydra feared them so much that they sent a babysitter with them wherever they went and that it was you. And the moment they changed their loyalties, you weren’t a babysitter anymore, you were an executioner.

As her anger and sobs melted into tormenting anguish, Wanda’s broken voice nearly knocked you to your knees. Her final words were a pleading question, why did you leave? Vision gently wrapped his arms around her and guided her exhausted body towards the stairs. She turned though, face tightly contorted with pain as she spoke through her raw throat.

In all of your time together, you had held back from saying those three special words to her. You were worried that it would make things harder for her when she learned the truth. But now that she learned it, Wanda didn’t hold back from using her own three words. They had plunged into you like a stake to the heart.

I hate you.

The next weeks were filled with constant fear and guilt every time you saw that auburn head from across the room or rounding a corner. You avoided her as much as you could because the minute you locked eyes with each other, you were at each other’s throats. Wanda was angry for obvious reasons. You were yelling back though, angered at her constant outbursts and furious at yourself for being a coward.

The team had had enough of the tension throughout the Compound, everyone constantly on edge and waiting for the hour's argument. They sent you two to a day long session that forced you two to talk through things. The only problem was neither of you talked about anything important.

You both just silently agreed to keep arguments to a minimum for the therapist and continue to release your anger out a different way. That appeased the team for the time and you both went back to ignoring the obviously toxic problem between the two of you.

Somedays, that toxicity boiled over that even having mindless sex couldn’t help stop an argument from forming.

“Maybe ask if anyone wants coffee instead of leaving an empty pot!”

You walk down the stairs as you shake your head, “It is four in the afternoon, Wanda! Make your own damn coffee!”

Wanda stands at the bottom of the stairs with the empty pot, glaring at you as you tie your gym shorts tighter. Her feet are planted in your path and she isn’t going to move out of your way as you get closer. With a groan, you grip Wanda's arms tightly and lift her up and toss her to the side of you. She lands on her feet as she yells after you, you yelling back at her that you’re going to make the damn coffee.

“Hey! We’re trying to-.” Carol’s voice from the living room is cut off by you slamming the pantry door so hard the glasses in the cabinet nearly break.

“Guys, the movie?” Thor tries to get through to you two, you yelling about how she just leaves her sitcom dvds scattered all over the place.

The screaming match continues and neither of you notice the movie being paused and the pair of Avengers stand from the couch. As you whip the pot from Wanda’s hands, the fury inside of you is crashing over the edge as you tell her to shut up through your teeth.

“Alright, that’s it!” Thor snatches you mid-spin back to Wanda as you’re about to dare her to call you her derogatory Sokovian word in your face.

Carol grabs Wanda who tries to fight out of her arms and drags her towards the library. Thor has his arms wrapped around you as he whips you onto the training mats. The library door slams as you can hear Carol yelling at Wanda to chill. Thor steps in front of you, clenching his jaw and crossing his arms as his voice bellows out,

“That is enough! What is the issue now?”

You’re panting, heart pounding in you chest as your temples are starting to throb from all of the yelling. You climb to your knees slowly, slamming your anger into the mats with your fists. Leaning your forehead onto the mats, you suck in a breath as you feel the tightness in your chest. This was tiring.

You sit yourself up, resting your palms on the mats as you hang your head in guilt,

“She found out.”

Thor sighs as he reaches for the ground, sitting crossed legged next to you. His hands pat his knees, “Found out what?”

“That I was in Sokovia.”

He hums, “I thought she knew?”

You look at him, knowing he’s been gone for some time. Some important ceremony in Asgard had him missing out on all of this fun. You shake your head,

“She didn’t know I was with Hydra. And that I could’ve saved Pietro. But,” you chuckle slightly, “I just followed orders like a perfect little soldier.”

Thor nods quietly, brushing his hand against his beard thoughtfully, “I suppose she can be mad.” He pats your cheek at your frustrated noise, resting his hand on your shoulder, “You must speak with her, civilly.”

“She won’t listen,” You tell him, glancing over into his sincere blue eyes. He gives you a little grin, raising his brows.

“Because you do not either.” His hand slaps against your shoulder as climbs to one knee, a grimace on your face, “You decide that yelling is the right course, so you both do not become vulnerable. You’re children.”

You avoid his eyes, playing with the calluses on your hands. Thor gives you a shake and you glance up at him, “See? I am right. As always.”

He clears his throat with a chuckle as he stands and cracks his neck. Creaking fills the air as the library door opens. You watch Wanda walk out with Carol as they speak quietly, Carol’s eyes glancing at you and effectively blocking Wanda’s view of you.

“For now, let her calm herself.” Thor begins, both of you quietly watching her walk up the stairs, “Try and do something nice. And I do not mean the empty sex you two have.”

Your eyes widen as you glance at his smile, “Thor!” you hiss out quietly.

His laughter echoes against the walls, you know he’ll break and tell Carol what the two of you just privately shared. He points to her,

“Danvers! Continue the digital play!”

______________________

You glance over at the ingredients as Wanda starts to pull out a pot behind you. Garlic, chicken, and then you see those disgusting orange and yellow peppers sitting in a bowl. You point towards them with disgust,

“I hate bell peppers.”

Wanda rolls her eyes as she slides a cutting board onto the counter and begins to expertly dice them, “You’re a child. I’ll cut them so small you won’t even know they’re there. Happy?”

Carefully, you wrap your arms around her waist. Guiding your lips softly across the back of her neck to not interrupt her cutting, “And that’s why I’m dating you.”

She chuckles quietly, placing the blade down so she can properly press her lips against yours, “One of these days, I’ll make something you like with whole veggies.”

“You’ll be waiting a long time with me then.” You grin, distracting her from cooking just a moment longer.

You roll the pepper around the palm of your hand, staring at it’s waxy skin. You still hate them. With a burning passion, in fact. Still, you carefully dice them as small as you can. They’re not orderly or similar but they’re small enough that they’ll disintegrate in the heat.

Turning, you start to brown the vegetables and releasing all of their flavors. You made this recipe with Wanda enough times that you have it memorized, remembering the way you watched her prepare everything like a professional chef. You sigh, breathing in the aromatics as you dump in the chicken broth and cover the chicken you tried to trim neatly.

Staring at the liquid, you nod to yourself now that the easy part is done and over with. You check that the other pot is boiling its water before turning to the egg mixture behind you. Slowly, you add in flour as you turn the mixture with your hand around and around the bowl and form it together.

“And what vegetable did you hide in these?” You ask, removing the finished dumplings from the pot and giving them their cold bath, searching for any tell tale sign of vegetables in the dough.

Wanda rolls her eyes, rolling more into the boiling water, “The only things in these are dough and love.”

You grin, plucking out a finished dumpling, carefully eyeing it in the light. Wanda watches you with a smile, her green eyes twinkling with warmth. Tapping the soft dough with your finger, you glance at her, “I think this one needs a little more love.”

Wanda grips your shirt gently, pulling you to her and pressing a small peck onto your lips. You can taste the sauce she’d been cooking on her lips as she pulls away, “Try it now.”

Biting into the noodle like dumpling, you let out a quiet hum, “Oh yeah, that’s what was missing. I think it’s still just a little underseasoned.”

You lean forward for another kiss on her awaiting lips.

You stare into the pot, tapping your foot at your mediocre attempt. The dumplings aren’t perfect or very pretty, but they are staying together. For the next hour or so, you watch over these two burners, not daring to risk messing anything up by getting distracted.

Every set of footsteps makes your heart race as you glance up, making sure it isn’t Wanda coming down the hallways. The smell alone would tip her off to what’s going on in the kitchen, luckily she hasn’t left her room.

The first footsteps belonged to Nat. She glanced in curiosity at the wafting smells, Wanda hadn’t cooked a meal for the team since you left. When she sees it's you though, you catch a sad glaze covering her eyes and she leaves with nothing more than a nod. Thor was more than happy to chit chat with you, glancing in the pot and asking if there’d be some for him and trying to get his finger into the sauce. Alpine made his quiet rounds and meowed in frustration as you warned him that he’d stain his white coat if he tried to dip his paw in.

You hold up your hands in fear, “Okay, now time out. How do you put the cream in and not get lumps?”

Wanda smiles, handing you the whisk and the small bowl of the cream mixture. She stands just next to you, watching as you slowly start to tip the bowl towards the pot filled with the maroon liquid, your eyes staring at her calm, green irises. Her cold hands lower the whisk into the pot and starts to move your hand.

“You add it slowly,” she tells you, “while working hard on the whisking end. If you dump it all in, it’ll mess it up. Put in a lot of work and it’ll slowly come together.”

You feel her lips press against your shoulder. With furrowed brows and a clenched jaw, you whisk away as she guides your hand to keep pouring the mixture. Eventually it all goes in and you finally have a sauce without nasty white lumps. You let out a quiet chuckle, glancing at Wanda’s proud glow.

As you ladle the sauce over the tender chicken and dumplings, you continually mutter to yourself, ‘A lot of work and it’ll come together.’

Looking down at the steaming dish, you let out a quiet sigh as you squeeze the bridge of your nose. If only you had listened to her. Worked a little harder instead of just giving up when things looked like they were going to get rough.

You put one of the dishes on a silver tray you found in the back of the cabinets, grabbing a few other items to put on top. Placing a small bowl of sauce with some chicken chunks on the floor for Alpine, you climb up the stairs as you balance the tray in one arm and your food in the other.

Carefully, you place the tray on the floor without so much as a sound and let go of the breath you had been holding in. Putting a folded note next to the bowl, you leave it there and head towards the roof stairs. With phone in hand you send a single text that reads, <Door>.

The air is crisp this evening, sending a small shiver through your body but you eye the blankets left on the chairs. Quietly, you set your food down and start a fire. The sparks catch on quickly as you slowly build the teepee of firewood around the flame. You watch it grow and grow, feeling its warmth around you before you gather yourself up and sit down in a chair. In the empty silence, you chew on a dumpling, raising your brows at its taste when you hear a low creak. You glance behind you and see Wanda hold up her bowl,

“It needs salt.”

You let out a hum as you ladle the sauce in your bowl around, “You always liked things a little salty.” Glancing up, you watch her sit down across from you with an arched brow, “You always wanted to visit the Dead Sea remember?”

“What?” she asks, stopping midway from putting a spoonful up to her mouth.

You clear your throat carefully, “You’d talk about visiting it. Every once in a while, I remember you’d call me that.” With a chuckle you stuff your mouth as you continue, “usually when you thought I was asleep.”

As you glance up at her, you watch the flames amplify the wrinkles in her face as her brows furrow. Her eyes focus on the burning wood as she shakes her head, “I don’t call you that anymore. So does it matter?”

Clenching your jaw, you tilt your head softly to the side, “I suppose not.”

The two of you sit in the silence, broken up by the cracking of firewood and the clanging of spoons against bowls. It’s heavy on you, constantly glancing up at her to see if you can catch her eyes. She either has no interest in looking at you or times it to look away at just the right moment. Placing your bowl down, you lean back as you rub your hands over your face.

Blowing out air to try and release the stress inside your chest, you stare at Wanda as she continues to avoid you, huddling beneath a blanket.

“Wanda,”

She closes her eyes as her head falls back onto the chair, “Please don’t.”

You sigh, “We need to talk about this. I’m not leaving this time.”

Her eyes flash to yours as her lip trembles, “Maybe you should.”

Standing, she mimics you. The blanket drops to the floor as she steps away from the fire, watching you hold up your hands. The wounds are still raw, there is no scab over them. Every word you say to her is just salt on the wound. Every touch is agony.

“Wanda, please.” You beg, trying to step closer to her, “Just talk to me!”

Wanda shakes her head, “Get away from me. I know what you’re- don’t touch me. Don’t!”

She tries to slip past you, but your hand grips her arm lightly. The tears sting your eyes as you try to get her stop, to just listen.

“Stop!” Wanda screams, releasing everything she’s been holding in.

The red explosion sends you hurtling across the room, unaware of what’s around you. Thankfully, you slam into one of the air conditioning units instead of careening straight off the roof. You groan as you feel the explosion of pain in your back. Pushing your hand against the dented metal, you climb to your knees with sputtering breaths. Clenching your side tightly, you look upwards.

Wanda has crumbled to her knees, holding herself so tightly you wonder if she’ll ever let go. Her sobs are loud against the quiet night and the sharp pain is overcome with the dull pain inside your stomach and weight in your chest. Gritting your teeth, you slowly try to get yourself to her.

“If I could have him here instead of me,” you groan out as you rest your forehead on the concrete for a moment, “Wanda, I’d make that trade no question. I failed. I hadn’t even met you and I failed you. I’m so sorry.”

You remember. His grey streaked hair and cocky smile lined up inside of your reticle as your thumb itched at the safety. You saw those Ultron Sentries flying around and then the air fighter screamed across the sky. It caught your attention and you pointed your rifle at it, the reticle circling on that stupid robot’s head. You heard the hail of bullets, you knew where they were headed. Your thumb flicked the safety too late.

A bright light catches your attention from the corner of your eye, slowly climbing up to one knee. Glancing over, you see Carol floating up just above the roof. She points to you and then shows a thumbs up. You flash your thumb at her, waving for her to go back down. This was between you and Wanda, there was no reason to overwhelm her more. There’s a deep voice and you see Carol shush someone below as she floats down.

Pushing up on your knee with a grimace, you breath out carefully. Wanda’s stopped rocking herself and now just stares at the concrete roof. Her auburn hair falls in front of her, skimming over where her tears have fallen.

“He was all I had,” she croaks out, “My only family and he’s gone.”

You hang your head as she looks at you. You can’t look into those green irises, the weight behind them, your failure glows within them.

“Then you came.” her words shake from her lips as you clench your eyes shut tightly, “You brought me back from… And now you just come back expecting everything to be fine?! You think we can just talk about this over coffee and it’s fine?”

“Wanda,” you stop feeling sorry for yourself and glance up at her, not hiding the mist in your eyes.

She holds up a shaking hand at you, she doesn’t want to hear you right now.

“I don’t blame you for his death. He died a hero.” Her words are filled with venom as she climbs to her feet. Quietly, she walks over to you with a dark shadow on her face, her eyes red from tears.

“But you,” she slams her hands into your chest and knocks you back, “You chose to leave! You brought up the mission once and you were gone! You didn’t even care what I thought, Y/N. I let you in and,” her fists hit your chest and you breathe in the throbbing pain as you watch the tears stream down her face, “Damn you.”

“I’m sorry. What I did to you, it makes me feel horrible. I hate myself for what I did, Wanda.”

Wanda’s face contorts into disbelief. Her hands wipe at her eyes as she laughs viciously, “You don’t get to make this about you. This is about me! Me, Y/N! The one you left. The one you forgot about!”

Your brows furrow, mouth falling open in shock at her words. Forgot her? She was all you could think about every second you were away. She was the one thing that kept you going, the possibility that you could mend your cowardly mistake. Or even then, at least know she was better off. You couldn’t let this happen. Let her continue to believe that you didn’t have an ounce of care for her. Let her truly believe that you only kept her around to use her.

“Forgot about you?” you breath out, “You think I spent those two years trying to forget you?”

Wanda slaps her hands against her thighs, there’s no other explanation for your lack of letters. She only has the view of her side of everything, she doesn’t know how you, Carol and Bucky were cut from all communication. Practically cut off from the outside world as you tried to infiltrate into the gang. You shake your head as you stomp towards the edge of the roof. Wanda calls your name in a panic but you stop and lean over the edge. The conference room window is open, you know they’re there.

“Danvers! Get me my fucking box.”

Kneeling on the roof, you wait in silence. A short moment later, a glowing hand shows up out of the window and you see the steel box resting in it. No one wants to get involved in this and Carol is going to stay as far away as she can, granted she can still hear.

Stomping back to where Wanda still stands, you fall to your knees with a heavy thud, ignoring the pain that shoots through your knees. Ripping off the lid, you frisbee it off the roof with disregard for anyone out on a midnight walk.

“Forgot about you,” you mumble to yourself as you slam down the wallet you used on the mission.

Every one of the picture sleeves inside the wallet is filled with pictures of Wanda. You throw it at her feet, watching her glance down at it. You yank out your sweat stained hat and pull out the laminated photo of Wanda you stuffed inside of it for luck. Slamming it on the ground as the tightness in your throat grows. Finally, you wrap your hand around a tied stack of envelopes and slam them on the ground as your whole face furrows in pain.

With a breath, you shake your head and let go of the death grip you have on the box. You grab the papers, gently smooth out the bent corners and clean them of the dust. Standing, you take a step to Wanda who’s eyes are still locked on the pictures in the wallet. You hold the letters out to her as you stare, watching her face fall in complete shock as she sees her name on the outside of those envelopes.

“I told you I was done lying,” gently, she takes them from your hands and you walk away before you can look into her eyes, “I wrote you. I was undercover and I could never get them to you. But, damn it Wanda, I wrote you every day.”

You grab her empty bowl, stacking it on top of yours as you glance at the dying fire, “I burned some when we picked up and moved because I… too many details in them. But it’s all in there. I never forgot you. Never.”

Wanda silently fingers through them, counting the stack in her head with widening eyes before she looks to you. You wipe your nose as you finally look into her eyes,

“I don’t care what you do with them. Read them, tear them up and burn them.” You glance towards the final flames of the fire with a heavy sigh, “I fucked up. I messed us up. I own that, Wanda. But you need to get it out of your head that I didn’t care about you.”

You see her exhale a held breath as she looks back down at everything, kneeling down and flipping through the photos in your old wallet. Without another word, you walk towards the door and down the stairs to leave her with her thoughts.

Dropping the dishes in the sink with a loud groan, you grip the counter as your knuckles turn white. You’d rip it right off if you could but all you can do is slap the top of it with a yell. You saw Danvers when you walked down, sitting at the kitchen counter as she ate her peanut butter toast. She doesn’t say a word, just watches you with a worried glance.

Placing your elbows on the counter, you lean your chin on your fists and look at her. You raise your brows, watching her chew slowly. Swallowing the dry toast, she takes a sip of milk before speaking.

“So, is training still on?”

You turn and glance at the clock behind you. It’s just past midnight and Nat had wanted to train with both of you at five at the latest. WIth a sigh, you close your eyes tightly and try to breath through your clogged nose.

“Let me sleep a bit and then we can meet with Nat,” you say and start to walk towards the stairs.

Carol stands quickly, squeezing your arm with quiet support, “Don’t give up on her, yeah?”

You chuckle at her statement, glancing back to the stairs, “She’s given up on me, Danvers.”

Her dark brows raise with disbelief, “Come on. I know you don’t believe that. I certainly don’t.”

With a scoff, you both walk towards your rooms, “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen victim to those perfect love stories Thor rambles on about with those dreamy eyes.”

You hold your hands beneath your chin as you flutter your lashes. Carol laughs but knows that it isn’t much of an exaggeration when you watch him tell those stories.

“A girl can dream,” Carol responds as you stop at your door, “You two would be the most interesting love story he could tell.”

_______________________Part 4

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added!):

@diaryoflife @iliketozoneout @lostandsearching @rooskaya-yelena @yeeterthekeeper @aos22 @sxfwap @women-am-i-right @marie45019 @lucydiibi @raincloudtoyoursunshine @olsensnpm @cristin-rjd @idkbubs @yeetus-thyself @hello-mtf @royalityofmultifandom @nfatale05 @onceattwice @cyberbonesworld @madamevirgo @thewandaromanoff1 @333hhm @when-wolves-howl @blinkmuch @ethanwoods1 @evilcr0ne @007giu @uno-x-uno @nuianced-tck-girl @pnsteblnme

#wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda marvel #wanda x reader #wanda angst #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda fanfic #wanda x you #wanda imagine #wanda mcu #marvel fan fiction #wanda x y/n #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader

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leam1983 · 2 years

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Halo Infinite - Quickie

I'm playing on PC, and I'm one of the weirdoes who thinks the game would be a smidgen better if everything south of pistols had an Aim-Down-Sights toggle. There's an awkward diegetic "visor zoom" if you hold your right click and it does come with a reticle, so it's not completely useless, but it also doesn't really reconcile Master Chief as seen in the cinematics with Master Chief as you play him.

In-game, most rifle-type weapons are sort of held at a level with your pecs, with MC being a dominant righty and using his left hand for stabilization. With his left arm handling compensation, any aiming motions basically amount to his tilting the weapon as needed, with the butt serving as the pivot point.

It's sort of a quaint holdover, almost - très GoldenEye 64, if I might. I say that knowing that Halo as a franchise is something of a golden idol in gaming and that for a certain stripe of shooter players, anything related to ADS feels more like a gimmick than a form of assistance. Unfortunately, I'm not one of those. I'm always glad whenever a gun's design includes faint little lines in contrasting colors or dots in reflective paint designed to help you track your targets. IRL, they'd also help in keeping your weapon levelled out

Contrast with the cinematics, where MC clearly hugs his rifles and shotguns in closer by just so when taking aim, and acts like anyone who's so much as hunted game knows to do when checking for targets.

On the flipside, the mere presence of a "front-end menu" makes it obvious that 99.9% of players won't give a shit about the presence or absence or replacement of Cortana, that 343 Industries basically spending a few hours going "Blah blah blah Covenant, rah rah rah Humans, nyuck nyuck nyuck Banished - who gives a fuck if Cortana turned heel two games ago, Halo's the newest Skyrim with Guns, now!" is effectively of no interest to the core fandom. It's a bit sad, seeing as what's there is fairly competent, if a little bare-bones. Halo Zeta is absolutely gorgeous, with the ring's battered and fractured condition allowing for stunning design language combinations and transitions. I've had a lot of fun just ignoring objectives and not-Cortana for four hours straight, just driving around to see whatever it is I might find. Add to that a stunning day-night cycle, and you're practically discouraged from using Fast Travel.

In fact, I'm sure most players clicked on Multiplayer and never looked back. The Single-Player campaign unlocks cosmetic items for your online Spartan, but the cash shop is painfully hard to miss. The customization options are plentiful, sure - most of 'em just so happen to be locked behind microtransactions - and that's as egregious as AAA cash shop offerings go. Didja spit 80$ for this thing? Well fuck you, you should've shelled out zero for the Free-to-Play edition and then horked down Cash Shop prizes with your Microsoft account - or so seems to be Redmond's overall thinking...

Like I said, though - I'm one of those old nerdlingers who'll probably show up on Multi once or twice only to get wrecked sixteen times in a row by preteens high off of Diet Coke and Adderall that use their pre-diabetes levels of energy to unlock their pineal gland and gain effective prescience of all the possible actions a scrub like myself is likely to undertake at any given moment during a match. My eighty bucks probably covers what Microsoft really wanted out of me, which likely was a similar sum used to shell out for a shader and a few rando cosmetic items.

At least there aren't any NFTs in there, thank fuck.

#halo infinite #not a review #343 industries #master chief #cortana #weapon #covenant #banished #review

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sazafraz · 3 years

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Solace

Requested by: @solari-writes-things

Fandom: Cyberpunk 2077

Pairing: Viktor Vector x OC: Talia Song

Prompt: From Dialogues with Emotional Connotation; “Pain is not an easy thing to ignore/There are an endless number of things I wish to forget.”

Warning: Possible Spoilers

Requests: OPEN

HERE WE GOOOOOO, ALL ABOARD THE PAIN TRAIN CHOO-CHOO!

Victor chuckled as he sat in front of his old friend. Ripperdocs usually had a large network where each one knew the other. It was beneficial, when one needed help or materials, it only made sense to help each other if they needed it and were reliable enough. Not to mention, Talia Song was a complete legend.

One of the most famous ripperdocs, she was aggressive in her work. She single-handedly fought against Arasaka to steal their cyberware. High quality gear led to anyone and everyone wanting her to upgrade their chrome, sometimes at a high price, sometimes at a lower price for less fortunate individuals. Her power, skill, and charity for deserving people led to the name Xuanwu becoming a Night City staple.

“You never cease to put a smile on my face, Talia.” Viktor smirked and relaxed in his seat. The room was dim, but he could see her face clear as day, smiling back at him.

“I’d be real worried if I couldn’t Vik.” Talia chuckled. They had met a long while ago, when V had needed both their services for a job they were going to embark on. One thing led to another, and Viktor got to see firsthand how Talia happily bashed into Maelstrom heads with her efficacious hammer. There was something to her fervor that didn’t exist in Viktor, that interested him.

She was fiery, determined, headstrong, and rather powerful. She was also very gladly open to her attraction in the older, more easygoing man. Don’t get him wrong, Viktor has a very piquant side to him, but it was usually reserved to those who sent emails saying he was dead. Sure he was, that’s why his cabinets were filled with countless Undisputed Champion trophies. Try him, motherfuckers.

That first encounter led to more relaxed hangouts, where Viktor got to know the person behind the frenzy. Avenging a wronged father, caring for a sweet (and lazy as all fuck) viper, and healing from a scarring cyberpsycho encounter helped him connect with her on a more intimate level. It was often they’d sit on her couch, eat shitty takeout and watch old flicks while they exposed the more reinforced aspects of their being.

Today wasn’t much different. He held a sad smile on his visage, listening to her recount to her latest escapade. She had stolen back supplies from a nearby vendor who was begging his neighbors for help. “Talia Song, a charitable contributor of Night City.” Viktor chuckled.

“Hey man, I know you do nice favors for the needy. Guess we can start a volunteer service.” She snickered and leaned back in her seat. “Nah...I do it cuz I want to. After all these years, people suffering just makes my blood boil. Innocent people, too.”

Viktor nodded and twiddled with his thumbs, taking her features in. They were ones he loved feeling under his calloused hands. “Well...pain’s not an easy thing to ignore. Hurts, seeing so many people fucked over by the city. Not like any of the rest of the country is better...” he shook his head, scratching the back of his head. He subconsciously mused over his bald spot.

He let out a shaky breath, and gulped, putting his hand back down. “Sorry it’s uh...just been a while since we talked, yknow?” He watched her lean forward to extend her hand, but he adjusted herself, clearing his throat. She watched her slowly sit back to where she was.

“Yeah, it has been. What’s up with that?” She chuckled a bit, to try and lighten the mood.

“I’ve been real busy.” He nodded. V comin’ in and out, Misty needing my help, lots of patients...yknow, just a big surge.” He offered a smile, noting how she gently fiddled with her hands.

They were the softest hands imaginable. Her entire body was soft. He thought back on how he loved placing gentle kisses on the crook of her neck, right below her ear, on her navel, and more...as he slid down to give her the most pleasure he could. Then, when he’d be buried deep within, all he could think about is how to be closer. Closer to her body, her mind, her soul. Everything about her melded perfectly against him, and every time he’d think back to it, he’d lose himself in the memories. It almost brought him momentary peace.

“Yeah, it kinda feels like you’re not telling me everything. Look at you, you’re like a sitting brick, all stressed. What’s going on?” Talia sounded more concerned now. Her voice was gentler, her eyes understanding with worry.

Viktor took a moment to look at her face again. It took everything in his power to fight back tears. “So...much has happened, Talia. A whole bunch of hurt...there’s an endless number of things I wish I could forget from the past few weeks. One in...one in particular.” He nodded.

Talia leaned forward. She was incredibly fond of Viktor. loved him, even. The way he would hold her, kiss her, love her. His eyes were always soft and gentle, his actions tender and considerate. If she had to choose anyone in Night City to spend the rest of her life with, it would be Viktor. To hear him on the verge of breaking down hurt her. “Like...like what?”

Taking a deep breath, Viktor took off his glasses and looked straight at her, his eyes watering. “We lost someone...I lost someone...important.” He nodded slowly. “And, I’ve lost a ton of people in my day but...I don’t know if I can get through this particular loss.” He cleared his throat, trying not to let his voice break. He saw a message from V pop up in his reticle.

“Holy shit Vik...who?” Talia was no stranger to loss. Her mother, her father, countless friends...nearly even lost Jackie and V. “Viktor, who fucking died?” She watched him get up.

We gotta go, the message read. On my way, was Viktor’s reply. He sniffed and quickly placed his glasses back on. “I’ll see you around, Talia.”

“Vik, hold on...Vik!” She got up herself and tried going for him, but the moment she reached the glass window separating the two, she phased back. “Vik?” He turned around with his kind, but saddened smile. “Love you Talia.” As he walked out, he listened to her questioning voice fade away. Only when he got in V’s car, slamming the door shut, did he let out a shaky breath. He stared at his shuddering hands, droplets of tears on them. While V pulled away, Viktor took one last look at the large building, black and tall in its mourning.

Never again would Viktor visit Mikoshi.

Tag list: @angelaiswriting @jackjawcaptain @tsumethedrifter @kind-wolf

If you’d like to be tagged, please send a polite dm or ask

#cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #my writing #Viktor Vector #Viktor Vektor

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a-lil-perspective · 4 years

Text

Handle With Care

A/N: Okay I know y’all are probably sick of the repetitive Crosshair X Reader works lately. But I promise it will all make sense soon. First and foremost, I’m working to dig deep in establishing some key points while the narratives move forward. Aiming for the full effect here. (Also, keep in mind that I’m reviving ‘Verd’ika’). The fic takes place sometime after ‘Reticle’, for reference. Sick Crosshair. Soft Crosshair. (I know, basically all of my works are that way) I will defend that moody sniper because in actuality, he is a very soft boi who not-so-secretly just wants to be loved and coddled, and that is the hill I’m dying on. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. [Warnings: None] @shadow-hyder @starflyer-104 @thegoodbatch @obiorbenkenobi @kriffingunlucky @karpasia @halzore @everyonehasanindividuality (Tag List is open:))

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Have you ever sneezed while your face is sealed airtight inside a bucket of plastoid?

News flash: It’s nearly as annoying as having a Yalbec male try to eat you alive—well, mate with you. Same difference, the sniper of Clone Force 99 will eventually come to find out.

The sneezing makes the air stagnant and it’s obnoxious, yet Crosshair is uncontrollably going on his fourteenth one in the short span of five minutes.

That’s completely normal.

The forebode of a creeping illness intensifies as the day progresses, and Crosshair finds himself growing more perturbed, fluctuating between hot and cold like an oscillating pendulum, and ticking like a time bomb waiting to go off, because of it. Tech’s face, scrunched with concern after having come at Crosshair with a thermal scanner, informs the sniper of a budding fever. But he’s not sick. Not at all.

He’s not sick, until your irresistible amiability convinces him that it’s okay to be, and that promptly earns him a spot snuggled in your lap, his stiff neck resting atop your thighs with only a slight begrudge to follow. His breaths are somewhat labored at the tightness seizing his chest. There’s a sharp pain running behind his eyes, and the feeling of suffocation is palpable—there’s so much pressure along his facial structure, his sinuses are burning. Yet he still manages to enjoy the way you’re running your fingers through the short fibers of his hair, nails scratching lightly along his temples and eliciting a stuffy hum of contentment from the miserable sniper.

Despite his unfortunate state, you’re having a rather lovely time. There’s no denying; you experience the swell of your already nurturing heart and an exhilarating thrill at the prospect of taking care of others—of Crosshair, specifically; ever the complex individual. You’ve long since established your solicit of such assistance, to which Crosshair slowly found himself relenting to the idea of as time paved the way. But the actual application of moments were rare.

It made the sniper slightly uncomfortable; the way his initial sneeze earlier that day had you immediately zeroing in on him with an intensity he believed only his sniper eyes were capable of. “I’m onto you”, your archly tone had soon informed, while a smile displaying nothing but affection immediately followed. Your height of perception rivaled his own, and extensive time spent with you reminded Crosshair that it was foolhardy to even attempt a facade, at this point. All it took was a beckoning of your index finger for the sniper to succumb to your care.

It’s every Clone’s most inward desire, really: to want, to crave the extended offer of a wholesome company that’s found beyond fellow Clone brethren. It’s but a dream. To take a beautiful soul by the hand and lead them past the doors of mass duplication—and in turn be lead—before traveling a ways until they each ascend the staircase of individuality; a spiraled one, snaking around itself yet still managing to differentiate. A Clone wants to usher you onto the same ship as them, wishes you to travel along the exact journey they’re on. It’s a never ending one, until it’s a short lived one. It surpasses beyond the surface level, transcending the artifacts of scars littering the planes of their battle-worn skin. It grants you a passage through the ancient cave of their emotions, where each broken piece you find along the way presents another opportunity for restitution, however minuscule. To say it’s a journey is only half of the intel.

Only half, but it’s progress for the sniper Crosshair. The thought worms it’s way past his sickly haze and warms him more than the herbal tea you steeped and promptly ordered him to indulge. He can’t exactly pay the same type of homage to the taste however, as he finds himself reflexively wrinkling his nose in disgust with each sip. The muted liquid didn’t taste near as good as one of his oldest companions that is Corellian Whiskey, in which he’s certain one long swig of will immediately restore his health to optimum performance.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way,” you let him down with pragmatism and a chuckle. “You need something that’s going to help you get better, not get you tipsy.”

You ignore his rising justifications, taking the empty mug that he downed through a swirl of complaints and placing it on the small stand beside the cot before opening the drawer to sift through the contents in search of the standby supply of anti-inflammatories. A sound of disappointment elicits as you turn up empty, and you gingerly begin to shift Crosshair off your lap in order to exit the room in continuing the search.

“I’ll be right back,” you promise gently, however, his fervent resistance halts any further movement.

“So this is it... you’re just gonna leave me here, sick and dying?”

The sight of Crosshair’s perceived indignation is beyond amusing to you. His voice is faint and the words are drawn out in attempt at gaining sympathy over your apparent ‘inhumane’ treatment to the frail sniper. You’re in the middle of convincing him of his long life ahead and encouraging him to drop the theatrics when goggled eyes peer in from the doorway.

“Need anything in here?” Tech’s oh-so-helpful self inquires. You note that there’s a thinly veiled mischievous ring to his question. Realizing there’s no negotiating with the over-exaggerating sniper, you’re thankful for Tech’s intercession, unbeknownst to him.

“Yes, actually; anti-inflammatories and some antihistamines, if you’ve got them? I’ve got a clingy, feverish assassin in my lap who I’m trying to convince isn’t dying from a cold.”

“I’m not clingy!” The sniper’s hoarse whine permeated, eliciting a snort from you that failed to overpower another round of his sneezing fit.

Tech’s eyes sparkled with mirth in mirroring yours, and he beamed knowingly. Words seemed to play at the tip of his tongue but he appeared to think better of it, instead responding with a succinct nod of his head before promptly making a retrieval.

It took seventeen seconds and approximately ten sneezes before Tech returned to the scene of Crosshair’s frustrated state now manifested as various obscenities. The engineer handed you the bottles of medication, and the whimsical glint returned once again. He backed out of the room slowly and with deliberation while keeping his eyes trained on the sniper, before addressing his older brother.

“Oh, by the way Crosshair: I’ve recorded the sound of your rather undignified whining; prepare for blackmail—” the pillow suddenly and aggressively sailing over your head towards the fleeing engineer had you ducking and trying not to develop your own state of wheezing from the laughter that ensued.

“TECH! I’m gonna kick your ass!” The raspy threat fell on deaf ears, for the cheeky youngest brother was long gone. Crosshair was left in the company of both your quietude and incessant coughing once again.

“If you don’t cough up a lung, first,” you address him in concern.

Crosshair’s eyes met the frown tugging your features. The cool pads of your fingers absently traced the line-work of reticle surrounding his right eye. The gesture bestowed a sense of comfort, and Crosshair allowed his contentment to echo in the space between. He reached up to capture your fingers in his own. The radiating heat from his increasingly flushed face was a stark contrast against your mild body temperature.

“...I feel terrible,” he allows himself the admission. It’s a work in progress: Crosshair’s understanding that he can truly be authentically honest in such company—a good kind of honest. Vulnerable, even. More communicative. You’re constantly testing his mettle and his ability to emote, and you manage to bring the sniper to his knees each time; though not out of defeat, not at all. You stroke his hair and that smile, it burns right through him. In all honesty, Crosshair would find a way to malinger nearly every day if it meant getting to be taken care of like... this. He confesses that it’s... different. It’s... nice—very nice. A rarity, but one Crosshair found himself to be enjoying a little bit more with each budding opportunity.

“I know,” you soothe. “Rest, ner cyare ram’ser.”

His fond expression at your doting soon donns a coat of revelation; an afterthought. “Actually, I think just a good smooch will do the trick for me, Doctor—best medicine there is,” he convinces, however weakly.

You snort incredulously. “You’d know this from experience? And for the last time, I’m no Doctor—you go around saying that and I’ll have some of the best Clone medics in the GAR greeting me with trivia, or something.” You briefly acknowledge the way Crosshair has conferred upon you the title of ‘Doctor’ ever since you patched up a nasty gash of his some time ago, and you find sudden hilarity in the picturesque scenario of having Clone Trooper Kix, profound medic of the 501st whom you’ve met a handful of times, suddenly taking a predilection to you because he thinks you’re some prestigious civvie medic capable of wrangling in even the Bad Batch.

Oh how that couldn’t be farther from the truth—the quartet of super soldiers hardly adhere to your advice or sound reason on a good day. You’ll be the first to admit: you have no control over those rowdy men.

The sniper shrugs, rolling his shoulders before tentatively returning to the comfort of your lap and sprawling out. He inhales deeply, and smoothly continues. “In theory, it’s the best medicine there is. So maybe we should, you know, test that out—”

Crosshair melted against the spontaneous velvet of hungry lips. In that moment, neither of you actually paid any mind to his sniffles or the adenoidal lilt of his voice that was now resonating. He tastes exactly as you remember; you’ve had a few previous engagements. Though few and far between, they leave you certainly not forgetful, and Crosshair is a man to relish in the sight of you imprinting your affection on him. The flight to blissful paradise is over before you know it as you retract and consider it a victory over the way Crosshair nearly whines at your absence.

“That’s all you get, ram’ser—just a taste for now to get you to shut your yap and rest.”

Crosshair regards you with as much indignation as he can muster. “You’re a cruel woman.”

You deflect with a smirk and assertion. “Yet here you are, coming back for more.”

“Because I can never get enough,” he defends.

“But you feel somewhat better at least, don’t you? Best medicine there is,” you smugly remind the ill sniper.

Crosshair’s eyelids grew heavy laden as he focused on the hot smolder benevolently spreading through his veins like a blessing; an antidote that is your delicious affection and strong medication. It’s beyond welcoming, and Crosshair can’t decipher whether the rising heat was from the fever, or your intoxicating taste, or both. While the sniper wasn’t absolute, he came to the fierce deduction that it definitely had something to do with you, and suddenly his head was spinning.

“Yeah... Verd... you taste way better than the Whiskey,” Crosshair slurred with realization while in his delirious state, barely above a murmur as he nestled his head further into your lap and Maker, drowsiness was forcefully threatening to claim him already and the medications had barely begun to take effect. Your serene embrace deserved utmost commending for rivaling Wrecker’s, who’s only other arms Crosshair ever felt secure within—prior to you.

Your brows arch as a playful smile materializes. “Verd?” You questioningly test the syllable on your tongue.

Crosshair manages a conspiratorial smirk through his thickening fog of exhaustion. “Yeah... ‘Verd’. You know... Verd’ika? It’s a... new nickname for you—the shortened version,” he struggles to explain—well, ramble is more like it—he’s uncharacteristically rambling at this point, and you absently wonder if Tech and his impish tendencies are just around the corner still recording the latest developments for future leverage.

“You’re adorable when you’re like this,” you endearingly point out. Slightly goading though, you realize, as Crosshair’s head abruptly twists to better regard you with nothing short of perceived offense. His pride appears to have momentarily overpowered his cold in favor of salvaging his dignity.

“I’m a sniper,” he fiercely explains. “I’m not adorable.”

“No, of course not,” you smoothly placate after smothering a laugh. His newfound nickname for you once again surfaces from your sea of thoughts. You pursue your lips in contemplation. “Verd... I like it.”

Crosshair smirks approvingly. “Can’t wait to hear all the nicknames you have for me, Darlin.”

Of course he would say that. Crosshair’s not dying from a cold, but he is dying to hear the mellifluous vocalization of all the different names you’ve stored up for him while finally in the midst of love making.

Good thing patience is his strong suit.

A textured palm lovingly rests against the expanse of his forehead while his fatigued fingers card through your hair before coming to a standstill. In the production of quietude, sniffles, and unspoken devotion, your eyes flutter shut as you lean down to gently bond your forehead with his own as his exhaustion finally establishes itself in the form of light snoring.

“Another time,” you hum assuredly.

#star wars #The Bad Batch #Crosshair #Crosshair X Reader #okay but I love the nickname ‘Verd’#my writing #it’s all disorderly organization #but we’re getting there folks #just bear with me #please trust the process #or don’t #I don’t even trust it myself aha #it’s a Lil thing

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nitewrighter · 3 years

Note

For the Kiss Prompts! 75. Jaime and Samir, please?

(yes i’m still doing these, lol)

75. Kisses Meant To Distract The Other Person From Whatever They Were Intently Doing

Samir Amari really said “I am a bastardsexual. I am attracted to bastards and bastards only.”

-----

Samir stood at a hard-light worktable in the open air on the roof of the watchpoint. The parts of the hard-light rifle, or rather, the intangible grids forming their shapes, hovered in space around him as he plucked the scope piece out of the air and let it solidify in his hand before peering through it. He brought it away from his eye and flicked his fingers over it, shifting the design of the crosshairs from a simple rangefinder alignment to an SVD reticle, holding it to his eye again for a few seconds. He scanned the bodies moving about the watchpoint below through the scope, mentally calculating the range ballistics on Bastion as it shambled along on a perimeter check, Ganymede flittering around it. Account for wind. Account for movement. Trying to find the bridge between the capabilities of hard light and his grandmother’s lessons on sniping was an all-consuming puzzle. He had fiddled around with rounds with a delayed materialization coming out of the barrel-unimpeded by air molecules or friction--but he could never get them to properly solidify before they hit their target--and why the hell shouldn’t they? It was light--it wasn’t exactly as if he could make the bullet just materialize inside the person... or could he? No, that was sick. Then again...

“Y’know, it would probably freak people out... knowing you’re mentally sniping them.”

Samir jolted with surprise and swung his head around to see Jaime standing a few feet behind him, hands pocketed in cuffed cargo pants and an unsold Lúcio tour merch tee hanging loosely on his shoulders.

“I’m not mentally sniping them,” muttered Samir, looking back through the hard-light scope, “Just... most targets tend to be moving so I’m...focusing... on...movers.”

“To mentally snipe them,” said Jaime.

“Well they aren’t them in the sniping scenario!” snapped Samir.

Jaime tilted his head with an insufferable grin and Samir’s brow furrowed.

“...which sounds a little sociopathic,” muttered Samir.

“A little,” said Jaime with a shrug.

“I didn’t even put the rifle together,” said Samir, gesturing at the other parts hovering frozen in the air.

“You know, I always wondered about that,” said Jaime, “If it’s all hard-light, why do you have to make all the little parts? Couldn’t you just like... tell the light to... make it go boom or something?”

One corner of Samir’s mouth pulled up in confusion.

“Is that... not how hard-light works?” Jaime said, his face scrunching up.

“I mean... in theory?” Samir shrugged, “But like... Grandma had me take apart and put together a rifle like... a million times before she ever let me shoot it. I guess I just... think of it as the components,” as he spoke, he gestured with his arm and the grid-frames of the rest of the rifle solidified and clicked together, piece by piece in the air, “And if it gets damaged, it’s easier to fix it component by component rather than hope my hard-light projector has enough charge to make a whole new one.” Samir reached a hand forward and grabbed the newly formed pristine white rifle, checking it over to make sure all the pieces had come together just so.

“Ashe had me do something like that,” said Jaime with a shrug, “Not that many times though, just to like... clean it if it felt off or something.”

“Yeah Grandma and Mom were definitely harder to convince about it,” said Samir, materializing a glowing blue shoulder strap for the newly formed rifle and slinging it over his shoulder, “Not all of us can run off to a motorcycle gang if we get elbowed away from the adults’ table.”

“I didn’t run off, I was sent off, and I just have a penchant for meeting the right people,” said Jaime, putting one hand on his hip, “And... you missed me.”

“I didn’t miss being snuck up on,” huffed Samir with an eye roll.

“I can’t help it. I’m a ninja,” said Jaime, striking a bastardized approximation of a crane kick pose.

“You got only a few months of training compared to Rei,” said Samir, flatly as Jaime flailed back down to two feet.

“But Rei didn’t get 5 years of experience of breaking out of a Vishkar orphanage,” said Jaime, pointing, “And that’s what makes me the wildcard.”

Samir gave a short snort through his nostrils. “You are not the wildcard.”

“I’m definitely the wildcard,” said Jaime, sidling up next to him, “Who else would be the wildcard?”

“Rajeev.”

“Wrong, Rajeev’s the muscle. You’re the brains. Marti’s the leader. Rei’s the... heart? Yeah Rei’s the heart. And Aedan’s the token spooky guy who used to be evil. Which makes me the wildcard.”

“...what... what team template are you working off of?” Samir’s brow crinkled.

Jaime shrugged and made an ‘I dunno’ sound and Samir scoffed before slinging the rifle off of his shoulder, pointing it out over the sea cliffs of Gibraltar, and looking down its scope.

“...soooo you figure out which one works better?” said Jaime. Samir tried to ignore how close his voice was to his ear. Jaime ran warm, Samir was aware of that much.

“Maybe I would have if I didn’t have someone talking my ear off,” said Samir, a wry grin tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“Tell me to go, then,” said Jaime.

Samir didn’t respond to that, just kept scanning the horizon, lazily trailing his crosshairs after the freighters that glided over the glittering sea.

“Thought so,” Jaime’s voice was somehow home and infuriating all at once.

Samir heard Jaime’s footsteps, light, far more deft than his personality indicated, repositioning Jaime behind him. Samir felt a gentle kiss at the back of his neck and his shoulders bunched up before he looked sharply over his shoulder at Jaime.

“Wildcard,” said Jaime.

“...Wildcard,” Samir conceded.

#mchanzo kid #symmarah kids #jaimir

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bnha-scenarios · 4 years

Text

Okay, so, first thing first. The second half of September and the whole October has been a wild ride.

Apparently this game blew up on TikTok (and probably some other platform or something?), and now I could see that there are tons of you who downloaded the game. That's just... so... unreal, at least to me. I didn't think this project would get so much attention. Even now, I’m still waiting to wake up from this dream 🙃

Anyway, if you’re new here: welcome! Sit back and relax, ‘cause this is gonna be a long ride!

I want to take this opportunity to say that due to the amount of comments, especially on itch.io page and my Tumblr, I won’t be always replying personally one by one to everyone anymore. I'll still try my best to answer questions and all, but I think by now everyone's common questions should already be answered in the FAQ page. So, moving forward, questions I have already answered inside that page will be ignored.

Still, I want you to know that I do read and treasure every single one of your comments. Thank you so much for your encouraging words, support, and suggestions! I'm sorry I can’t reply to those writing in languages other than English and Indonesian. While I can throw simple comments into Google Translate, every now and then the translator butchers long sentences and gives me garbled translation which I can't understand 😥

☕️ Special Thanks ☕️

I'd like to also take this chance to say, many, many thanks for the coffee, you all amazing, generous people:

M.L. | Dominique | Genki | Sara | 1 Anon

Even in this hard time, you’re all so kind. Again, I can’t really do much, but as my way of thanking you, your names will be put under Special Thanks in the game ♡

Alright, now, to the real essence of this post: progress update.

My work had been pretty demanding nearing the end of this month, and it made me get really sick of doing coding in general. Still, there is some progress on the game, and that’s good enough for me!

More details below ↓

Character Sheet: You / Player / Main Character

Before I get to anything else, let’s talk about ‘you’ first, shall we?

Although the main character's name is changeable, if you don’t wish to pick a name for them, ‘Suzuki Kaede’ is set as the default name.

Why Suzuki? I figured I would just take from one of the most common Japanese surnames.

Why Kaede? I chose it because I wanted a common Japanese unisex name, because the main character themselves is supposed to be gender neutral. So, the name came up as one of the results in Google, it has a somewhat nice and neutral meaning (maple), and I find that it sounds pretty nice, I decided to use it.

To reiterate, throughout the game, I try my best to not mention any physical characteristics and avoid elements which leans heavily to a specific gender in the story. All the characters in the game will also call you with your last name, and only neutral suffix (-san) is used at first. But you could get an event where you would be able to pick how the love interest will call the player, starting from that point in the story (on top of neutral options, there will be choices with gender-specific suffixes which you could pick if you want to). Other than that, all characters will always refer to the MC as ‘they/them’.

Now, moving on to the thing which people has asked about -- the player's Quirk. Here's a text version in case you couldn't see it in the image above for some reason:

What happens when a woman with Enhanced Learning quirk and a man with Camera Vision procreates? A child with exemplary learning ability and a pair of exceptionally observant eyes, apparently! The hereditary Vision you got from your father enables you to focus or scan an object or landscapes. With all the cues and information from your eyes, it seems that you're able to analyze and 'see' particular details of your object of interest in the form of numerical data. Due to the mainly passive nature of your quirk, you have to rely on the traditional weapons for offense, which might not be useful at all depending on your opponent's quirk. It's a plain and nonoffensive ability which isn’t so suited for a hero according to most people, but whatever - you’ll show those noobs the power of a gamer!

In other words, the information in 'Stats', ' Weapon Proficiency', 'Special Moves', and even the 'Affection' meter, are actually part of the MC's Quirk. This also means, the more you hone your Quirk, the more it could affect your gameplay. I'll talk about that on the Gameplay section below.

There is one thing that’s kind of related to the MC's Quirk and I wanted to clarify. Bakugou did call you this in the demo, and yep, you might have guessed it: “crosshair eyes”. Reticle, crosshair, whatever you want to call it -- it’s that symbol you usually see in the center of your screen whenever you play FPS games. This is the only physical feature of the player's character that I specified (and yes, canonically, Hatsume has a pair of similar looking eyes in the original work). In relation to this, the icon for ‘activating’ your Quirk matches the same symbol.

Gameplay

Introducing: Stats, Special Moves, and Video Games!

Stats

There are 5 basic Stats for all of the characters in the game (brownie points if you recognize where they're taken from!): Speed, Technique, Power, Intelligence, Cooperativeness.

Your own Stats start off low, but you will be able to increase it by doing various activities, such as studying, playing games, winning on Heroics lessons, going to certain places, etc. Different activities raises different Stat, and you're free to choose which particular Stat you want to develop.

What are Stats being used for?

Certain Stat will increase a certain character’s affection, though it won’t be as much as if you hang out with that character.

There are certain places which you can only unlock when a specific Stat reaches a certain point. I’ll talk about hang out places and characters’ schedules in another post.

Weekly one-on-one training matches in Heroics lessons will test a specific Stat or Special Moves each time. Depending on who you chose to become your opponent, that specific Stat will determine the outcome of that match. On one hand, winning these matches can increase your Stat, but on the other hand, there are also special events you could possibly unlock when you lose. Again, I’ll probably talk more in detail about this in another post, since I still don't have the coding part down, so things might change.

Special Moves

Every hero has a Special Move in this universe, and so does the player’s character! While they might not be as flashy as All Might’s iconic United States of Smash, some of your Special Moves will have a direct effect on the gameplay. For example, a certain Special Move could unlock more answer choices for certain scenarios. Another Special Move could be activated to give you hints on how many affection points will be added to a character for the available choices.

You have a total of 5 unlockable Special Moves, and it will be up to you to use this feature: do you spend your time trying to unlock all of it in hope to make your gameplay easier, or ignore them completely in favor of balancing your Stats while pursuing the affection of your chosen love interest? It’s your choice!

(More brownie points for you if you got the reference in that picture lol)

Another use for Special Moves would be in the Heroics lessons, seeing as it might test how your Special Move fares against the opponent you picked.

Video Games

I would say that this particular element plays quite a big role in this game, since the MC learns and develops themselves by playing games. While you do have a set of games which you’ve owned, you’re able to purchase new games from the Video Game store. I would recommend doing this, as there are some neat ones which will help you greatly in your playthrough. But if you're not interested to explore them, that's fine too!

Each video game has a different effect, and it’s up to you to discover them! Or, perhaps, you could unlock a Special Move that allows you to know what effect each of the game has? 😉

What are Video Games being used for?

Most games will only increase specific Stat(s), but there are also others that can unlock Special Moves.

There is one game which helps you to unlock Stats or Special Moves of your classmates, which you can use in the Heroics lesson to pick a suitable opponent based on your current Stats.

In addition to all that, there are 2P games which require more than one person to play, and you could play them with your romance target when they’re available. On top of building your Cooperativeness, choosing the right answers during the gaming session will increase that character's affection.

Others

The basic functions behind some activities like studying, buying video games, and playing video games are done. I will probably move on to code the functions handling the Heroics lesson’s battles and the behind-the-scenes of when the player chooses to go to certain places.

I've also finished the two main custom screens, which is the Quirk and Games page. If I have time and the motivation, I'm guessing I'll be adding the two other additional screens I had thought of doing. We'll see.

Assets

This part is my nightmare, because I’m a perfectionist who’s far too picky when gathering resources…

But no assets = no game, so I did find several assets which I did like. This includes backgrounds, audios, background musics, and some sprites I was planning to use for developing the phone call function. I’m not going to list down all the things I found here, because I don’t think any of you would be interested in a long-ass list, but here’s an amazing background picture which I stumbled upon searching the dark abyss that is the internet:

Full credits to the artist: https://arsenixc.artstation.com/

Writing

I would have to say there isn't too much progress on this side yet, but I did decide on some story elements I want to insert into the game and scripted in a few scenes for the first day. I also managed to code in the dialogs for some common activities / places, like the video game store and a small part of school lunch time.

Honestly, I should probably create a sheet to identify how many scenes I would have to write? So all of us know the progress for this part of the development? ..... Let's see how it goes when my OCD flares up...

Disclaimers

All assets included in the devlogs are not mine, and credits to the asset owners / websites will be included in the game! My Hero Academia / Boku no Hero Academia ⓒ Horikoshi Kouhei

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha #heroaka #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #todoroki shouto #wnha #devlog

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sunflowerstache · 5 years

Note

9-12

9. Truth: How did you meet your best friend?

Well I have a couple people I consider my best friends. But the one I’ll talk about is my roommate lol I met him my second year of uni. I was working the front desk in my residence hall and he would walk by all the time with my other friend at the time (she is not spoken of any long and kindly referred to as the she-devil now) and I used to have a fake septum ring, so he stopped one day and asked about it, but then I just ripped it out and held it up and said it was fake and we’ve been best friends ever since lmao pretty boring

10. Truth: What was your favorite band five years ago?

okay I’m ignoring 5sos and 1D, but I’m gonna have to say Sleeping with Sirens

11. Truth: Where did you get sachs reticle of clothing you’re wearing right now?

My sweats are from Adidas, my socks are Puma, and my shirt is an oversized work shirt😂

12. Dare: Copy and past the 14th line of text from the last document you worked on in Word or Google Drive.

“Graduated top of her class at the University of Oxford Medical Program with a major in Obstetrics as well as a focus in Labor and Delivery”

Send me a True or Dare!

#harryspeony #answered

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connordaugherty · 5 years

Text

Do You Envy What You See?

A large, cement room. Its walls are covered

with thick, black wires attached to large screens,

all blinking and blaring flashes of random rainbow

lights across the dark space. Music plays from some,

some produce the sound of people shouting, some

have explosions and gunshots coming from them.

There is a large recliner chair in the middle of the room.

Bathing in the light of the hundreds of screens is a very

thin man. Aspectu. His eyes are wide and unblinking, with

charcoal circles around each eyeball. His skin is thin and

well-worn. At his right side is a large cup with a long, twisted

straw sprouting from it. It takes some effort for him, but

he eventually reaches to the straw and manages to guide it into

his gaping mouth- all while keeping his eyes glancing frenetically

back and forth between the screens. He looks towards the audience.

His voice is soft and ambles about at different tones and frequencies.

ASPECTU: I was touched with the blessing of sight as a child. Evolution has brought us to this point where we must see to progress. See. Sight. Stars. I can see them shining through the walls, through the ceiling. They’re so beautiful out tonight. I must admire them. (Pauses) All possible moments are slipping. The frequency of light is traveling too fast for us to comprehend and it is pulling- no, it is tearing- no, it is taking us apart. Piece by piece. We cannot tell it, but it is happening. Any moment wasted is a moment you’re giving away to the light. Sleeping is the only method of escaping the light- but this time is wasted. Like water rushing down a well. It’s no good for anyone anymore. And now we must see. Yes. See. And we must not forget. No. Never. That is why we must keep ourselves diligent. We must stay busy. We must keep looking. Watching. Yes. Seeing. The eye is an almost perfect device to see. Its only fault is the one thing that connects it to our brains. The optic nerve. Cut it and all will be darkness. You will have escaped the light. But you cannot escape from wasting time. No. And there it is. Gone again. More and more time slipping… slipping… (Pauses) And we must not forget. Not once. A perfect reticle isn’t even a reticle. It is a pure sphere, capable of seeing in every direction. Some nights I dream that my skull can no longer impair my vision. I can see everything at once. But I look and see my body is lost. I would cry, but one must have tear ducts to do so. Ha ha ha. Spheres are the only perfect structures in the universe. That’s why they don’t exist. We’ve attempted. We keep attempting, but we cannot make the impossible perfection behind our eyes. No never. And we must not forget. That is what keeps us moving. Forget even for a little and you will fall. More time lost. More distance to travel. Will you make it to your end before you die? Some days I miss the sun. But I remember that it makes me forget. Never. No. Never. A small boy was lost for three days. His mother found him hiding on a subway. Everyone smiled. Then the next day came. A news reporter went to a warzone and was killed by an IED. A few people cried. Some tried to ignore it. And then the next day came. A house burnt down. What else could there be done? More tragedy to tip our lives one way. A little comedy to set it all even. But, through it all, we must never forget. And that is what will help us see. Yes. It is what will grant us clarity. And then, and only then, might we begin to see with new eyes.

Aspectu flicks his eyes back to the screens. He leans

over and sucks more of the mysterious liquid from his

cup. His mouth hangs agape as he beholds the splendor

before his eyes.

Truly, he was touched with the blessing of sight.

#short play #play #monologue #short fiction #flash fiction #my writing #writing #text #lit #art #science fiction #existentialism

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anononiagent · 6 years

Text

A reasonable guy’s reasonable opinion on why stronger gun control in the US would be silly and solve nothing

Like it or not, we are living in an unprecedented age of escalating gun violence in the US. Regardless of where you lie on the political spectrum, this much is undeniable. And with this rise in gun violence comes a debate on what to do about it.

I don’t consider myself right-wing. Granted, I don’t exactly consider myself left-wing either; I’d say I’m a centrist. But I do tend to lean left, and I was raised liberal. I used to be on the other side of the fence when it came to gun control, but as I got older and my views changed and as I became interested in firearms and learned more about them, my position on this issue eventually flipped.

So, without further ado, here’s my reasonable opinion on why stronger control in the US would be silly and solve nothing.

Point 1: What exactly is an assault weapon? The hell if I know.

The image above isn’t lying to you. The rifle on top in the image above is above is of course an AR-15, likely a Colt LE-6920 specifically. It is a semi-automatic only rifle chambered in 5.56x45mm NATO, and it’s pictured here with a 20 round magazine. For those of you who aren’t very familiar with guns, the important thing to take away from that is that it’s a rifle and that it will fire one bullet (and only one bullet) every time you pull the trigger until it runs out of ammo. In order to fire another bullet, the trigger must be released and then pulled again. This is as opposed to what are referred to as automatic or fully automatic guns, which will continue to fire as long as the trigger is held down, burst-fire guns, which work almost identically to semi-automatic guns except that they fire more than one bullet every time the trigger is pulled, bolt action, pump-action, or lever-action guns, which after firing a bullet must have a handle, lever, or pump mechanism manipulated in some way in order to load the next round before the trigger can be pulled to fire another bullet, or select-fire guns, which combine two or more of the previously mentioned modes of fire.

The bottom gun is a Ruger Mini-14 Ranch, pictured here in the 5 round variety, though 20 round varieties are available. Like the AR-15 above it, it is a semi-automatic only rifle chambered in 5.56x45mm NATO. For those who don’t know, a gun’s ability to induce severe trauma in targets (known as “stopping power”) is primarily reliant upon the cartridge it is chambered in. Since these guns both use the same cartridge, their stopping power and in essence their lethality is the same. If anything, the Mini-14 has a slight advantage over the AR-15 as it has a two-and-a-half inch longer barrel, and thus the expanding gasses produced by burning off the cartridge’s propellant have more time to push the bullet up to greater speed before it leaves the barrel.

Yet the AR-15 is an assault weapon, and the Mini-14 is not. Why is this?

This is because the term “assault weapon” doesn’t really refer to anything particularly specific. It’s a vague, nebulous term used to scare people who don’t know any better into being afraid of something that they don’t understand in order to push an agenda. Thus when it comes to codifying what exactly an exactly an assault weapon constitutes in regards to the law, things get very murky and very, very messy very, very fast.

(As a quick aside, the term “assault weapon” is not the same as “assault rifle”. “Assault rifle” is a technical term that applies specifically to rifles while “assault weapon” is an incredibly vague term that applies to any category of weapon. Specifically, an assault rifle is a selective-fire rifle chambered in an intermediate caliber, meant to provide the advantage of greater range, accuracy, penetration, and stopping power of a rifle over a submachine gun, while being more compact and controllable in full automatic fire than a full-length, full-power rifle. As such, the term “assault rifle” is generally unused outside of military applications.)

In law, assault weapons tend to end up being classified based on secondary features rather than on anything having directly to do with their actual killing potential. Things like pistol grips, collapsible and/or folding stocks, “high-capacity” detachable magazines, heat-protective handguards, and accessory rails, that don’t increase a weapon’s lethality in any way. What these features are actually meant to do is improve the weapon’s ease of use, and make it so that the operator can operate the weapon and acquire targets faster while under extreme stress (meaning when someone is shooting back at them). In the case of a mass shooter using this kind of weapon, when it comes to shooting at a bunch of unarmed civilians who aren’t shooting back at you, these features don’t make any difference at all. It doesn’t matter if the stock is fixed or collapsible; as long as you have a deadly weapon and they don’t, that’s all that matters. And in the situations where these features do make a difference, i.e. dealing with law enforcement, these fancy-schmancy tactical features are no replacement for shooter skill, as any shooting course worth its salt will drill into you. These features will not make you a better shooter; they can only augment what skill is already there. And a skilled shooter does not need these features in order to pose a threat, either; they will be able to put up a good fight using a weapon without any “assault weapon”-type features at all. Sure, it’s nice to have a stock that you can adjust exactly to your preferred length of pull and it’s nice to have a red dot sight that lets you acquire targets faster than with irons or a scope with a fancy reticle that makes it easier to estimate how far away your target is, but none of that is necessary. Throughout the history of warfare there are boundless examples of people with inferior equipment prevailing through the use of superior skill, tactics, and strategy. And if you think that a civilian shooter can’t outperform a police office or soldier, you’re sorely mistaken; the vast, overwhelming majority of police departments and military units, including in the United States, only have enough funding to provide officers and soldiers with the absolute bare minimum amount of training required in order for them to be considered duty-ready or combat effective, requirements which are not particularly high. The only officers and troops who receive intense, quality training with weapons handling are some SWAT officers and most special operations forces. Most civilian gun enthusiasts train a lot harder than your average soldier or police officer, so it’s fortunate that the majority of mass shooters (with some exceptions) have turned out to be rather gun-dumb.

What all of this amounts to is the term “assault weapon” being nothing more than a media buzzword made up to scare people. They’re trying to convince you that if it looks like a military gun then its sole purpose must be to kill people, when the truth is much more complex than that.

Point 2: Banning firearms cannot and will not prevent dangerous people from owning guns.

Yes, I know. The whole “criminals don’t play by the rules” argument is tired one. But that doesn’t make it any less true. And furthermore, I don’t think people realize just how big a deal it truly is.

There is a large and well-developed black market for firearms in the United States, as well as in other countries. These guns are already in the hands of criminals, who are selling to other criminals, and thus these guns exist completely outside of the federal system of background checks currently in place. All one has to do is know somebody who’s selling or know where to go on the dark web, as well as of course have the money to pay for the product.

And beyond that, we have homemade guns. Yes, you heard me, homemade guns. People seem to have forgotten those 3D printed guns that made the news just a few years ago. And that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Functional weapons can be produced in a variety of ways from a variety of items. All it takes are some household items, maybe a tool or two, and a basic understanding of the principles involved.

^One of these was used to kill a police officer in South Korea in 2016.

^A handheld, single-shot .410 shotgun made out of a paintball marker.

^A 12 gauge shotgun made out of a couple pipes and some duct tape.

With the digital age in full swing, such weapons are only going to get easier for the average Joe Everyman to construct as 3D printable designs show up on torrenting websites, and instructions for more conventional designs that can be made out of a few dollars worth of hardware store goods are easily available for anyone to find.

The ultimate result is going to be that the only people with guns are going to be the police, the military, and violent criminals, leaving you more or less completely defenseless during the time it will take for help to get to you in the event you get attacked by someone with a firearm.

Point 3: Guns were around long before any of this was a major issue.

This is a big one that often gets ignored by people on both sides of the issue, but it’s an important point to bring up: this epidemic of gun violence in the US is a new thing, but the presence of guns, even of scary, tactical, “military-style” weapons like the AR-15, is not. Something changed to cause this outbreak of violence, and it wasn’t anything like there being more guns or more dangerous guns becoming available to the public. If anything, the presence of guns in the US has slowly shrunk over the decades. Prior to 1986, any and all American-made fully-automatic machine guns were perfectly legal for anyone to own, in the Sixties you could mail-order surplus anti-tank guns from WW2 for forty bucks or so, and before 1934 there were basically no restrictions whatsoever on what kinds of weapons a civilian could privately own. Yet in spite of this slow decrease in the average American’s access to various firearms, gun violence has skyrocketed.

Something cultural is at the root of our gun violence epidemic. Banning firearms or banning specific firearms or otherwise further restricting access to firearms is nothing but a band-aid solution. If violent and unstable people lose legal access to guns, they will not stop being violent and unstable and wanting to kill people. These people will simply transition to using other forms of weaponry to carry out their attacks, and those more savvy psychopaths will still find ways to acquire or construct firearms outside the bounds of the law. The only people who truly lose are responsible gun owners who wish to legally own these devices for the legitimate purposes of self-defense and sporting use.

Statistically speaking, gun violence causes far less death in the United States each year than, say, alcohol. According to the CDC, in 2013, 33,636 deaths in the United States were the result of “injury by firearm”. Of those deaths, 11,208 were homicides, 21,175 were suicides, 505 were accidental or caused by negligent discharge, and 281 were due to the use of firearms with “undetermined intent” (i.e. possible legitimate self-defense and other stuff). Meanwhile, there are approximately 88,000 alcohol-related deaths per year in the US (again according to the CDC), ranging from drunk driving to alcohol poisoning to any number of the stupid things that drunk people tend to get themselves involved in. Over twice as much death can be attributed to alcohol than guns per year, yet there are no thunderous cries to greatly restrict the availability of alcohol. And this is when guns are supposed to be a constitutionally protected right and alcohol is not.

Now I can already hear people starting to correct me about “a well-organized militia” and what not. But the fact is that the right to bear arms is still constitutionally protected regardless of what the original intent was stated to be. And a “well-organized militia” was also intended to mean a lot more than the face value that people take it for nowadays. When the founding fathers wrote the constitution, they had just led a successful revolution against a government which sought to oppress them. Without a reasonably well-equipped militia acting in the interests of the American people, that would never have been possible. Now, while the founding fathers were doing their best to devise a system of government that would be by the people and for the people, they did not have the hubris to believe that their system was foolproof or that it was impossible something unforeseen could happen many, many, many years down the line that could see the American government also becoming an abusive, oppressive regime. For this reason, they wanted to do their best to ensure that citizens would have a means to fight back if the system they created ever turned sour. Now on the surface that may seem a bit ridiculous in some people’s minds in a modern context, but when you start to consider all the concerns about the corruption of the Trump administration, the federal government not being representative of the will of the people, and the fear of the country turning into a militarized police state, it suddenly stops seeming so ridiculous. That’s not to say that your first option for protesting the government’s actions should ever be to go shoot people, not by a long shot; but it may be wise to have something tucked away just in case everything happens to go tits up someday, because it may be sooner than you might expect.

Just some food for thought.

#guns #firearms #gun control #gun controversy #2ndamendment #florida shooting #florida school shooting

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thessalian · 7 years

Text

Thess vs Hiding from the Market

I’ve been getting more into video game news lately. Most of the current trends lead me to one conclusion: I should not in any way feel bad about my very ... particular purchasing habits.

I’m picky about my media for a lot of different reasons. Particularly for anything along the video spectrum - TV, movies and video games - a big part of the problem is my chronic migraine issue. There’s a lot of things that are either shut off to me entirely, that I can only watch on DVD, or that I love the idea of enough to survive a three-day migraine for.

...Yes, I said ‘survive’, not ‘risk’. There is no ‘risk’ anymore. I’ve been watching older movies and comparing them to today’s, because I didn’t used to have this problem. Thing is, technology’s become so advanced now that everyone just loves fitting in as many camera tricks, artistic lighting moments and/or explosions, particularly in the movies that fit my favoured genres. I can’t get away from it anymore. So between that and the cost of cinema tickets (seriously, I can either pay upwards of £15 or I can go to a really ratty cinema with health-hazard bathrooms; there is no in-between), I’m not going to see anything on the big screen unless I really want to support it. Which is becoming more and more rare these days because even Star Wars: The Last Jedi is causing me some side-eyeing. Largely because that trailer was clickbait and I don’t trust clickbait, particularly when it was so very obviously edited in such a way as to attract internet controversy and discord.

(I’m also pissed that Finn barely appeared in it when he’s basically the male lead, so there’s that.)

As to video games ... same thing. First person perspective gives me migraines if I play for too long, which also means that reticle targeting is not an option. That shuts off a huge number of games for me, unless I really think they’re worth it. If the camera motion is smooth enough, I can probably last about ten minutes before I need a screen break. If it’s not, I can’t get through the first tutorial without wishing for death. So there’s that as a barrier.

Then there’s not throwing good money after bad. I’m trying to be a lot better at that. I loved Dragon Age: Origins. I liked Dragon Age 2. Dragon Age: Inquisition ... well, there were good bits but as I’ve said before, and will say again, Bioware’s tight narrative focus does not mesh well with an open-world sandbox environment. I also loved Mass Effect, and Mass Effect 2 ... and even Mass Effect 3 if I ignore the last ten minutes, the fact that they had to do an extended cut to even begin to explain what the fuck was going on and the fact that even then they needed a paid DLC to give the appropriate background to what the fuck was going on (see also: the Trespasser DLC for Inquisition). Mass Effect Andromeda ... had its moments, but it’s suffering from all too many of the game industry sins: relying too heavily on “we can patch it later” rather than delaying a product for a relatively bug-free release, focusing more on the skyboxes than the facial animations in a game that relies on story and character interaction as much as combat (and yes, they did - the Frostbite engine is great for the big stuff but it takes a pretty deft touch to make it work for making sure your companions aren’t half-smirking when they tell you that your father gave up his life so you could live), hype uber alles to the point where we got to release day and still had no real idea what it was going to be about because the focus was on ‘look how pretty our environments are!’...

The last game I got really excited about was Middle Earth: Shadow of War. I haven’t played Shadow of Mordor, mostly because I’ve got this thing about playing games where you’re forced to play Yagwood (YAGWD - Yet Another Grizzled White Dude), but ... okay, this is Critical Role’s fault. I mean, basically the entire fucking cast of Critical Role’s in Shadow of War - Laura as Shelob, Matt and Travis and Sam as orcs, Liam as Gollum again. So I wanted this thing: I don’t know whether voice actors get residuals but even if they don’t, I know they’ve got the chops to sell the parts they’re playing.

...Then I heard about the loot box thing.

Look, I get that people are going to say, “It’s no big deal; you can beat the base game fine without them!” and justify it away and buy and play the game anyway. I just feel really weird about it. It’s ... not even just the microtransactions, although it’s a factor given the asking price for the game. It’s the ‘loot box’. It’s the gambling element. It’s happening too often and I’m really starting to get worried about this trend.

The first time it really affected me was Overwatch, and even then it wasn’t a big deal. I’d drop some money for some loot boxes occasionally, but you have to play, what, 10-12 matches for a loot box? Whoopee. I can do that in a couple of hours, and that’s even with regular breaks every couple of matches. Plus it really is just cosmetic. I still don’t entirely like the fact that you only get a chance of getting what you want when you put your money down, but I can live with it ... partly because sometimes you get a skin for a character you didn’t think you could play but you like the skin so maybe you practice and maybe you find you really enjoy that character and that opens whole new avenues of ways to play the game.

Then it started turning up in Star Wars: The Old Republic with their Galactic Command thing. At that point, not only could you not get better gear or participate in endgame content unless you were a subscriber, but your gear drops were by lottery. I understand they made some changes to a point later on, but even that ... look, first they said “we’re removing all the currency, including the PVP stuff, because it’s too confusing” ... and then they added other currency to make their new system seem like less of a cash grab. Because frankly, on top of making it necessary to subscribe, they kept crippling the Galactic Command XP so that people would have to grind all the more for it, then put Galactic Command XP boosters on the Cartel Market. Which is about the only thing on there anymore that doesn’t come in a fucking lottery. That’s right - you pay for Cartel Coins, and you buy crates for the chance of the decor / armor skin / weapon skin / crystal / whatever you want. No guarantees. Just keep plugging money into the item store and maybe you’ll get lucky, or you’ll get enough halfway decent shit to sell to buy the platinum-grade item you wanted ... which is probably going to a goldseller ... because they’re now prospering because the auction house equivalent is basically the only way of guaranteeing you get what you want anymore, and that’s if someone isn’t massively overcharging.

THEN it started happening in Secret World: Legends. I can’t play it anyway because of the reticle targeting, but it doesn’t sound as if I’m missing much. Not only are they giving away basically all the gear by lottery or assembly-by-ubergrind, but even being a subscriber only alleviates the grind a little bit if you’re not spending money. And even spending money, even as a subscriber, only alleviates the grind a little more. You’re still dealing with a lottery, you’re still not guaranteed of getting what you want, you’re still not even guaranteed of getting a chance at gear, and it sounds like it’s microtransacting people half to death and still subjecting them to undue amounts of grind.

Now it’s happening in single-player games and I’m trying to figure out what the fuck to do. You know EA / Bioware is going to get in on this in Dragon Age 4, and Laidlaw leaving Bioware mid-development of Dragon Age 4 is not a good sign. The last time we had writers just up and leave mid-development, we got the Mass Effect 3 ending and ... well, frankly Andromeda. I has a concern.

To summarise - I sometimes feel bad about not investing more in the games I enjoy, or buying new ones to expand my horizons. The issue is that a lot of the horizons are places I don’t want to expand to. Game developers in particular are exploiting the urge in people that leads to gambling addiction, there’s scummy shit going on involving getting way too far into people’s personal preferences to figure out how much they can get away with charging them, and it’s all just feeling really scuzzy. I worry for the industry and I’m going to continue being picky, because I can’t think what else to do. The problem is that I’m seeing a ‘damned if I do, damned if I don’t’ situation. The way the world is going right now, if people don’t ‘appropriately support’ this course of action (read: give them all our money, all the time, forever), odds are good that they’re going to come up with something even scuzzier.

#Thess plays video games #Thess has opinions

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