#it’s these elitist fuckers I can’t stand

[justporo]

Scenes from a bathtub

A Night of Fake Smiles and Hidden Lies: Part 1

Author's Note: Here we are, I'm so excited to share the first chapter for this story. The part in which Tav and Astarion start getting ready, enjoying a nice soak in the tub - and some other stuff. Let me know what you think!

Song: Royals - Lorde

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav Rating: Explicit Warnings: Some light smut at the very end of the chapter

CHAPTER LIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

~~~

A few weeks had passed. The night of the ball had finally arrived.

Astarion had actually been excited ever since the invitation had been delivered. He really seemed eager to make it a night to remember for the both of you: so you had actually spent some more evenings waltzing around your space (also trying other dances) and Astarion had very cryptically promised you he’d take care of ‘wardrobe and grooming’. You dearly hoped he’d remember his promise about corsets and wouldn’t turn you into someone you wouldn’t recognise if you passed by a mirror.

It was still hours from then until the event started but Astarion had insisted on starting to get ready. You had looked at the clock and back to the vampire and back at the clock. Had it been only you, you’d probably only have run a bath half an hour before, then quickly dressed and done some basic makeup before arriving a little late. But as you told Astarion that he’d cocked an eyebrow and looked you up and down in such a judgmental way you’d first felt like a young girl getting scolded. And when he hadn’t stopped you’d gotten pissed at his pretentious behaviour. “My sweet sweet love, if you can’t even stand passive-aggressive stares for more than a few moments it’s going to be a very short evening. These people live off judging others and elevating their pitiful selves over you. And the trick is to just always be twice the bastard they are.” “Great, sounds like such a fun evening, Astarion.”

You had crossed your arms over your chest and had felt anxiety creeping up inside you. Already you had worried that you’d be awfully out of place at this event. But Astarion had grabbed your hands that you had firmly tugged away under your arms and placed them on your cheeks, covering yours with his own long fingers. “Don’t worry, my love, you’re fortunate enough to have a master of the art at your side to show you how it’s done”, he had said with a big smirk and given you a quick kiss. “And if that still doesn’t help just step on someone’s skirts or elbow them so they splash their drinks on somebody around and watch the chaos unfold. You wouldn’t believe how quickly these elitist people get physical if they feel their ‘honour’” – he dramatically air-quoted and rolled his eyes – “is at stake”, he had continued with an even bigger almost feral smirk when he’d noticed you were still tense. This – a good old brawl? You had seen and partaken in a fair share of those in your time as a Baldur’s Gate lowlife. You slowly had grinned back at your soulmate then: “No promises, I won’t do that anyway if these rich fuckers annoy me too much.” Astarion had thrown his head back and laughed: “Oh my lovely little anarchist.”

So now you were sitting in your big tub that was lowered in the stone floor of your bathroom.

The two of you loved spending almost whole nights just enjoying the warmth and comfort of a hot bath – talking, drinking wine, taking in the scents of exotic oils Astarion picked up from specialty stores, caressing and massaging each other; often times resulting in more passionate actions. This time the vampire had brought some ‘special’ stuff to really doll yourselves up for this big ball.

Currently, Astarion was sitting in between your legs, leaning back against your naked chest while you washed and detangled his curls and just enjoyed your care while breathing softly. Before, he had put some mud all over his face he claimed would “make his complexion glow even more”. The stuff indeed smelled nicely as it drifted into your nose while you massaged Astarion’s scalp carefully, but he still looked kind of ridiculous. Also you weren’t entirely convinced that this was how it worked for vampires.

Seldomly was the pale elf this relaxed. And this fact alone filled your heart with joy. You let your fingers move through his hair and softly massaged his neck and his ears as well which resulted in a soft, relaxed moan from him from time to time.

Astarion’s chest lifted in a particular deep breath, causing droplets of bathwater to run down his toned chest and the light from the candles you’d lit all over the room danced over his smooth skin. He really almost caused you to forget to breathe sometimes just by existing.

“This is heaven, my love. If this is what the afterlife is like I’ll happily perish right on the spot”, he sighed and let out a long breath. You smiled happily and really buried your fingertips in his curls once more causing the vampire to groan in pleasure and making his head loll from side to side.

With his eyes still closed he reached one arm slowly behind himself – obviously with the intention to reach your face. “Only thing missing now is a kiss from you, my sweet honey pie.”

“Sweet honey pie? What’s gotten into you?”

“Hmhm, can you blame me? Your fingers caressed me into oblivion, cherry muffin.” You scrunched up your nose and pinched the back of his neck. It seemed you really had worked common sense out of the man; he was talking mad.

“You know the implication it makes when you call me food related pet names, don’t you?”, you asked him, leaning close to one of his pointy ears. “Oh, very much so, even though I must inform you, that you taste neither off honey pie nor cherry muffins.”

Astarion started to stretch while speaking, tensing his muscles, reaching his arms even beyond you and yawning. The comparison to a cat was more than imminent. On their way back his hands found your head and stroked your hair despite the awkward angle.

“Aha, so what do I taste like to you, hm? Indulge me”, you requested and wrapped your arms around Astarion’s chest as he sidled up against you again. Your hands rested on each other on his stomach now, you leaned your chin on his shoulder. His arms were still stretched around his back to let his fingers wander through your hair.

“Well, when I first compared it to a good wine that was a very accurate description. But now, with some more, shall I say, expertise in your bouquet, I’d describe it like this: sometimes it’s like a wonderful red wine, full-bodied but with soft floral notes. But sometimes it’s more like delicious fruit covered in dark chocolate. It just… varies slightly: depending on what you eat, how you’ve been feeling, what time of month it is…” The last part surprised you: “You can taste… my cycle?” “Oh, not only that, but I can also smell it as well – I mean besides the obvious. You’d be surprised at what I can find out about you from taking a single nose full of your exquisite scent alone, my love.” You felt dumbfounded, he’d never mentioned that before. And you also didn’t need to see the smirk when he said that to know that it was there.

“Like?”, you simply asked, a bit embarrassed but also very much intrigued about this particular skill of his. Astarion didn’t like talking about the specifics of his condition very much so whenever he opened up about it you grasped the opportunity to learn more about it and him.

“Oh, for example, I can definitely always tell when you want me. And, if I dare say so, the intensity and frequency surprised even me, my wicked little siren”, Astarion explained, his tone deep and full of seduction. Your cheeks were burning, your whole neck and face actually. You softly slid down Astarion’s back and into the bathwater, desperately hoping for a sudden hole at the bottom of the tub that would hopefully swallow you whole.

The vampire had to grip the rim of the tub and straighten himself when you slithered down into the depths of the bathwater. You heard him laugh: “I can also most certainly tell whenever you get one of those full body blushes, my sweet.” He slowly moved to turn around to you, while you had sunk into the water, only your eyes and the top of your head still showing above the water level. Bubbles rose up while the last of your air left your nose and you looked at the vampire in embarrassment who simply looked back at you with a smile – face still covered in mud and only his red eyes contrasting with it; what a ridiculous scene.

Astarion softly grabbed you by the shoulders to prevent you from your attempt to drown yourself. You could see his signature smirk on his face. “Now, now, no need to feel ashamed, my lecherous little nymph. I couldn’t blame you, could I?” His grin split his face and his teeth glinted at you – most prominently his fangs. “Also, I can assure you that the feeling is very much mutual, beautiful. Now give me a kiss!”, he demanded while he had dragged you up from the water successfully.

With his hands still on your shoulders he pulled you towards him, lips already pursed in expectation.

“Not while you have dirt on your face”, you replied in disgust and placed your flat hand against his face to hold him off.

“It’s not dirt!”, Astarion exclaimed, voice rising in annoyance and grabbed your hand from his face. You still looked at him in disgust. “Ugh, fine!” He rolled his eyes and splashed water on his face and rubbed himself clean with his hands.

“Better?”, he asked after a few moments, tone still a bit annoyed. “No wait, there’s still a little bit”, you said and leaned close to him as if wanting to clean a speckle off his perfect face, brows furrowed in concentration. But with a lightning quick move you pinched his nose, making him growl back at you. He grabbed you by the shoulders once more and pulled you close until you were nose to nose while he stared angrily at you. “No poking the vampire!”, he said sombrely. “Or I’ll eat you!”

You giggled and closed the last bit of space to finally kiss him. And that seemed to calm down the beast. Letting go of your shoulders, one of his hands wandered to the front of your neck, softly resting on your collarbone. The other cupped your cheek while his tongue entered your mouth – tasting you, tangling with yours, exploring. Then he broke the kiss, leaving you to gasp, and trailing little pecks from the corner of your mouth over your cheek up to your ear.

You softly arched yourself to him, offering up your neck. “If you want to find out if today’s more of a wine or chocolate day.” The vampire laughed. Promise rang in it. “Deeply appreciated, my sweet, but maybe later. Can’t have you running around tonight with two fresh puncture wounds on your neck, can we?”, he whispered and let his lips wander lightly over your quickening pulse. His hand on your neck applying just the tiniest bit of pressure on your throat.

You could only gulp. “Also, I fear that if I would get lost in your neck now, we are never making it to this event”, Astarion added while lifting his face from your neck. Ah yes, you’d almost forgotten.

The pale elf smirked again at you: “And we still have some work to do on you, my sweet.” “Excuse you?” Whatever had heated your blood was immediately gone – this prick.

“You heard me, now turn around and let me take care of you in return, my love”, he insisted. You sighed and complied because you knew there was no point in denying him. And also, you wouldn’t say no to getting pampered by your vampire.

You let yourself be seated in the same position Astarion had been in at first: between his legs, your back to his chest. He put some of the goo on your face despite your protest (“It’s only going to bring out your beauty some more, my love.” “This face is as good as it gets as is, Astarion, no need to try.” “Hush and shut your nasty mouth or I can’t promise to keep the dirt out of it!”). Then he softly scrubbed you all clean and massaged your whole body, pouring some heavenly smelling oils in his hands from time to time.

The night before he had gone out to run some errands – and returned with bags and bags of stuff. It had been clothes and apparently lots of toiletry. One of the things had been large and very heavy. But about that and some other stuff he’d brought he had wiggled his finger at you to not take a peek.

Everything for your bath time he had neatly lined up next to the tub. You barely had a clue what all the small jars, flasks and crucibles were for but if it made him happy to indulge in it you were the last person to stop him from it.

Then he’d carefully run the bath you were now sitting in. And you couldn’t complain: the bath water smelled heavenly of lavender and cedar. Whatever he was massaging you with smelled of oranges and other delicious fruits and he himself deliciously of bergamot.

You sighed deeply and were aware that you must’ve been the perfect mirror image of what Astarion had looked like some minutes ago.

“Enjoying yourself, my love?”, Astarion asked gently while his hands worked your neck. You only hummed in response. “We should do this more often, darling. You’re allowed to indulge in luxury sometimes, you know?”, he said softly while starting to work on your hair.

“Speaking of – mind telling me how much exactly everything was you brought home yesterday?”, you asked while letting your head fall back into his touch, eyes closed. “Yes, I do mind. Part of indulgence is not looking at the price tag, my sweet”, Astarion scolded you sweetly. “And you deserve to take better care of yourself”, he continued while trying to get out a serious knot from your braids.

You felt your body tense a little and sighed: “You know I’m not good with either of those things, Astarion.” “I know”, he replied simply and shortly lifted one of your hands out of the water to press a kiss to it. “That’s why I’m going to teach you. I’ll have you be a high-maintenance lady ready to splurge at every opportunity in no time, dearest.” You laughed and readjusted your sitting position to lean back against the elf’s chest more. “I don’t think that would be a good look on me.” Astarion sighed dramatically: “Oh well, a shame. I guess I’m going to have to fill this role then.” You softly chuckled at that and thought to yourself that he was already well en route for that.

“I guess I could take up some of your suggestions though – I’m tired of feeling like a gutter rat standing next to you in all your luscious, white-curly glory.” Astarion snickered: “I’ll have you remember you chose the description ‘gutter rat’ for yourself. Also, I think you’re the most beautiful creature the Gods have ever created but to each their own I guess.” You blushed again and sank down a little further between his legs while he grabbed another one of the flasks.

Sometimes he just made you so casually swoon you couldn’t believe it – and never did you know how to reply to his genuine and sweet flattery.

“So, lesson one: you have really beautiful hair, my love, and I know you love your braids, but it all turns into a tangled mess easily. But fortunately,” – he poured something from the flask onto your prepared and detangled hair; it smelled deliciously flowery – “some clever soul came up with conditioner. You use it after you’ve washed your hair. Use only a little and work it into your hair like this.” He worked the thick liquid specifically into the lengths of your hair, combing through them with his fingers and then softly scrunching the strands in his hands. “Then you let it sit a little and only then rinse it out. It helps with tangles and also will make your hair deliciously soft.” Astarion basically purred the last words. Oh, good thing to know this was something he delighted in.

He did as he had instructed you while you patiently sat there and let him work his magic. Afterwards he proceeded to comb your hair through.

You both sat in silence. You enjoyed being taken care of and thought of the evening to come. You couldn’t help but feel some anxiety again creep into you at the thought of having to deal with the society of the Upper City. You’d probably take a good old-fashioned tavern brawl or a heist every day over having to make small talk with people who’d probably also choose the description “gutter rat” for you.

“Now”, Astarion said after a while “for tonight’s event I would like to propose to you to put your hair in some waves. Nothing major, just pinning them, letting them dry and then putting some strands up later.”

You were still way inside your head to fully understand what he was getting up: “Oh uhm, go ahead. Just don’t make me look like a coiffed poodle please.” Astarion scoffed at that and started to pin your hair up carefully.

“What’s troubling you, my love?”, he asked casually because of course he had noticed how you were absent-minded and your body had tensed. By what he had earlier revealed he’d probably smelled it too.

For a second you wondered if you ever could hide something from this man. But then again – why would you have to?

You sighed deeply while you grabbed your one hand with the other and started to press your thumb into the palm of the other – a nervous habit. “I guess, I’m still a bit scared of how the evening will play out”, you confessed and let your head fall down. Astarion wasn’t having it: “Ah ah, my sweet, head up or I can’t work. But also, head up because you don’t need to be worried. If push comes to shove, we can always leave.” You sighed again and relaxed a little. You shortly lifted your hand to grab one of his to squeeze it in thanks.

“Aren’t you scared at all? I mean, like of meeting someone… from before… or from before before?”, you asked silently and looked down at your hands still kneading each other in the water.

The vampire didn’t respond immediately. “You don’t have to answer-“, you started but then Astarion replied. “Not really. Cazador sometimes had us spawn ‘entertain’ his guests during his events but seeing as he either altered their memory or killed them off in the end… No one will recognise me albeit I may know some of the attending guests”, he explained pretty matter-of-fact while his hands kept working on putting up strand for strand of your hair.

Another silence followed.

“As from before that…” Astarion’s words trailed off. You grabbed his hand once more and almost already wanted to say again that he didn’t have to tell you but you kind of felt he wanted to let it out. “I haven’t seen or heard a shred from anyone I knew or was related to since I’ve been turned. Never. And my surname is pretty common among elves – there probably are at least five other Lord Ancuníns running about the city. I guess we might meet our lovely elder neighbour and that’s about it.”

His hands had stopped their task. Your hand was still grabbing one of his and you squeezed it again to try and provide some comfort. “I’m sorry, Astarion”, you whispered quietly and leaned your head back. It connected with his forehead as he leaned forward a little.

“Don’t be”, he whispered back while his fingers started to move again. “You’re my family now”, he said and at that your heart swelled with warmth and love.

“I love you, Astarion.” “Love you too, my little gutter rat.”

You tried to splash him with water.

How could he go from genuine, sincere and melancholy to unbelievable bastard in point two seconds. He was a handful at the best of times.

The vampire just laughed at your petty attempt of getting back at him. Shortly after he proclaimed being done with his work.

“There you go, now wash off your face, my dear”, he instructed. You did as told, then turned around to him: “Are we done now? I feel like I might’ve already grown some fins!”

Astarion smirked at you. “Oh no, there’s one more thing we need to take care of, my sweet”, he said slowly and threw you a glance that immediately made your blood boil. “And what might that be?”, you asked, already barely trusting your mouth to form words with the way he kept staring at you with his crimson gaze.

“Well, I can’t let you go to this event all tense and anxious, can I?”, he asked and moved closer to you, his gaze almost predatory. You gulped and moved back until your back hit the rim of the tub and there was no more space to escape from the prowling vampire. You felt heat form inside of you.

He moved in even closer, putting his arms around you as he leaned in to kiss your cheek.

“Luckily, I know just the right treatment for this kind of ailment”, he whispered and let his lips wander to your neck where your pulse had started hammering. He grabbed you then and lifted you up, so you sat on the floor just in front of the tub that was lowered into the ground. “That’s lesson two my love: always grasp onto the pleasures life offers you”, he whispered sinfully as he moved your legs, so your thighs were placed on his shoulders. You were already shuddering in expectation. You let one of your hands enter his soft curls as he made you lean back.

Astarion lowered his mouth to the space between your legs, letting his devilish silver tongue work its magic and devoured you as if you were a feast and he a starved man.

When lightning had struck the first time with your back arched impossibly at the way he had made you feel and your hand buried in his curls, he rose out of the tub. You watched him as trails of water ran down his perfect body, already yearning for more. To feel him, to love him.

You looked at him expectantly, seeing the love and the desire you felt mirrored in his ruby eyes. He lowered himself onto you on the edge of the tub, moving you back a little and made sure the second lightning struck both of you.

Tags: @aurasyn @margoteve @usuallyunlikelyfox @hollowmasque

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #a night of fake smiles and hidden lies

[clownsnake]

youtubers who give art advice are so obnoxious lmao they’ll be like “can you take REAL constructive criticism??” & then spend 20 minutes just insulting someone’s artwork with no intention of helping them improve, & not even critically engaging with the good parts of their work. 

#‘ROASTING your art’ shut up ❤️ #going post #the point of Constructive criticism is to uplift artists talents & tell them where they canimprove. i guess a youtuber wouldnt get that tho #when negativity is their whole selling point. #edit: by ‘youtubers who give art advice’ i DONT mean the people behind drawfee I will listen to their advice whenever <3 #it’s these elitist fuckers I can’t stand

[deathbecomesnerds]

"Imposter" Raymond/Astrid + Jax Teller

I was going to write some smut, and then lost my nerve so here's 1.7K words of nonsense!

He didn’t like this fucker--not one bit, but as he sat across from said fucker and his boss, the Kingpin of the London Bush game, he bit his tongue as they stared each other down while Michael Pearson droned on and on about logistics of moving a shit ton of supply from London to Charming, CA.

Jax’s eyes shifted back to Mickey, listening intently on what he was saying before Mickey sat back in his chair with a smile.

“So, what do you think?” the Texan asked.

Jax smirked “I think it’s a good deal, when do we draw up the paperwork?” he asked.

“In the morning, but tonight--lets celebrate!” Mickey chuckled, glancing over at Raymond who remained firmly in his place.

Jax chuckled “Sure, lets party!” he proclaimed before standing up and extending his hand to Mickey, who took it and gave a firm handshake before turning to leave the table.

Mickey glanced at Ray and smirked “You’re sure you’re an only child?” he asked.

Ray nodded his head firmly.

“Just checking,” Mickey said before walking away from the table to catch up with Jax.

Meanwhile, Ray grabbed up all the paperwork before grabbing his phone out of his jacket pocket to text Astrid that he was going to be late--that work was running overtime. She understood, said she wouldn’t wait up, and Ray thought to himself Well, that’s that then.

As the night droned on, Ray had left early to drop off the paperwork at Mickey’s home office--but not before Jax pocketed his wallet and checked it out for his address. Who the fuck was this guy? They were practically identical, but their personalities clashed like Toothpaste and Orange Juice--and Jax wanted to see how his elitist twin lived as he noted his address and excused himself from the party as well, knowing full well that the house would be empty, or so he thought.

Jax broke in through the backdoor, quiet as a mouse and closed the door gently behind him only to run into the couch in the dark that pushed into the coffee table that then knocked over a lamp--it wasn’t his most graceful moment, when he saw the lights flicker on from the hallway and attempted to hide, but whoever was coming down those steps was quicker, and they turned on the lights to the living and dining rooms to expose the Biker King.

“Raymond?” Astrid called out.

Jax blinked his eyes to see a tiny brunette in front of him, gun now pointing down at his feet as she sighed heavily while glaring at him.

“You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack!” she continued, now looking him over as she approached him slowly “What the hell are you wearing? Raymond--where are your glasses!?” she asked him.

She reminded him of Tara, may she rest in peace, but he knew he had to think quickly as he stood in front of her, and she had a gun, much to his surprise. “I’m sorry...love.” he managed out a quick English accent.

Astrid tilted her head at him “What’s wrong with your voice?” she asked him.

Jax cleared his throat, still trying to find words when the woman in front of his sighed heavily “Ray, is this one of your experimental sex things? Cause if it is, I’m not in the mood. Tonight has been...a fucking nightmare!” she approached him closer before taking his hand “Just come to bed.” she muttered while guiding him upstairs.

He looked around the house as she held his hand with the gun still being held in her other, he needed to get the fuck out of here--how the hell was he supposed to know that Billy Tight Ass had a life outside of work? A woman who...he wouldn’t mind showing her a good time if he had the chance, but Tight Ass would be home soon, and he needed to get out of there ASAP!

“Love,” he finally said, almost perfecting the accent while Astrid stopped and turned to look at him.

“What, Ray?” she asked, looking his outfit over yet again.

Do it. He’s not here. Just a kiss.

“I have to...finish up some paperwork real quick.” he said.

Astrid huffed “It can wait until morning.” she insisted, dragging him into the bedroom.

She was so strong, gripping his hand tight and pulling him into the bedroom before letting him go and walking back over to her side of the bed, putting the gun back in her night table and crawling back into bed. Jax just continued to stare at her.

Astrid stared back, crossing her arms while sitting up in bed--something was off. His posture, his voice, his smell...clothes...all of it! His touch even seemed unfamiliar to her! But it’s Raymond. It’s my Ray.

“Come to bed, I won’t tell you again.” she muttered.

Jax nodded, taking off his kute as he walked towards the bathroom--hoping that this swanky home would have a window in the bathroom so he could jump out and escape but he could tell from just looking into the room there wasn’t one. He groaned before sighing heavily--he had to get the fuck out of there now.

“I forgot something downstairs. I’ll be right back!” Jax said with the accent, insistent as he turned to leave the bedroom, his kute in his hands.

As he stomped down the hall and hurried down the steps, he tried quickly to leave the home only to be somehow turned around and ended up in the kitchen.

“Fuck,” Jax muttered to himself.

He heard a voice clear his throat and he turned to see her behind him with her arms crossed still.

“Raymond, what is going on with you?” she asked him softly “Did something happen?” She asked him.

Jax looked her over again, the American woman who stood in front of him was so appealing to him and his cock kept aching to touch her even though he knew he had no time.

“No, everything’s fine.” He said, trying to assure her as he approached her and touched her arms “It’s just been a long night.” He said.

Astrid swallowed hard, reaching up to touch his face “Ray, it’s okay. Whatever happened tonight, you can fix it. You always know how.” She assured him before leaning in to kiss him.

Her lips were the softest thing he had ever felt, of the hundreds of sluts he’d managed to bag, Jax Teller could not stop himself from kissing her back and wrapped his arms around her tightly.

“I love you, Ray” she whispered in between kisses.

“I love you too.” Jax muttered out like it was nothing.

“What the fuck are you doing?” they both heard, as Jax looked up to see Ray fuming as he stood in the doorway into the kitchen. Astrid swiftly turned to face her husband with a look of pure shock on her face as she glanced back at Jax, then back at Ray.

Astrid jerked away from Jax as she looked at Ray “Ray?” she asked, so much confusion in her voice as Ray grabbed her arms and pulled her further away from the imposter.

“Go upstairs,” Ray demanded.

Jax scuffed “Just like at work, you bark orders at your old lady? It’s been a rough day for her, Raymond, maybe ease off the commands.”

Ray clenched his jaw, not saying anything while Astrid narrowed her brows at Jax as she pushed Ray aside while stomping towards Jax to throat punch him. Jax’s cocky smile ceased as he fell to his knees all before Ray grabbed the back of his neck and dragged him to the front door where Astrid opened it, and Ray promptly threw Jax out of their house.

Neither of them said anything as Ray slammed the door shut and locked it before glancing at Astrid who was still processing what had just occurred.

Ray placed a gentle hand on her cheek “Did he hurt you?” he asked.

She slithered away from his touch “Please don’t touch me,” she muttered as she walked away from Ray “Who the fuck was that guy?!” she asked, stopping at the staircase in the hall.

Ray sighed “...the new client.”

Astrid swallowed the lump in her throat while her eyes formed tears as she looked away from Ray “I thought he was you,” she said, “...I thought he was you, but something was wrong,” she choked on tears.

Ray went up to her “It’s alright,” he comforted her.

She shook her head “Everything felt wrong, how did I not know!? The way he touched me, the way he moved--his clothes should have been an obvious giveaway! I…I cheated on you!” she began to cry.

He shook his head, gently grabbing her and holding her close as she cried into his chest “You did not cheat on me, how were you supposed to know? I could have just been having a mental breakdown.” he assured her, before pulling away from Astrid “Look at me,” he insisted “Look at me, you did nothing wrong! That piece of shit broke into our home and then tried to take advantage of you! That is all!” he told her.

Astrid brushed away tears “What’s gonna happen to the deal?” she asked.

Ray couldn’t help but let a small smile out, even after what had just occurred--she was still more concerned with him and Mickey, he shrugged his shoulders “...I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Are you gonna tell Mickey?” Astrid asked.

Ray nodded “Absolutely. Nobody puts a hand on you, ever. You or Ros, you understand me?”

Astrid nodded.

“It’s late, my Star.” he whispered to her “Why don’t you go to bed, I’ll be up in a second.” he told her.

Astrid glared at him “Work can wait,” she told him.

“I’m gonna make sure everything’s locked, so that cunt can’t weasel his way back in.” Ray told her.

She nodded “Okay,” she muttered, leaning in to kiss Ray and felt the normalcy of it--the returning calm of familiarity after what Astrid could only deem a cautious moment. Ray watched as she slowly climbed up the stairs and Ray waited a few moments before he pulled out his cell phone and dialed for Mickey.

“Raymond,” Mickey greeted.

“Boss,” Ray sighed “There was an incident…”

Mickey was silent for a moment “What kind of an incident?”

#Raymond smith #ray smith #jax teller #Charlie hunnam #the gentlemen #sons of anarchy #what the hell have I just done!?

[youreacowgirllikeme]

Objection

Note: I’m a sucker for AUs, so here is a Lawyer!Chris fic nobody asked for, the plot (or whatever) is veery loosely inspired by this book I’m reading atm (The Hating Game) and by the the fact that Chris talking about lawyer stuff is incredibly hot to me

Warning: swearing (a lot), smut, Chris bashing (for the story line, pls don’t take this seriously, I adore this man to death), NSFW, slight exhibitionism

Plus another warning, I am not a lawyer or trained in any other legal profession, so if there are inaccuracies in the way I used certain terms I am sorry

„Objection, your honor, this is hearsay!” you shouted, shooting a furious glance over to the defense table, and to the absolute menace standing in front of it.

Chris Cuomo. The most obnoxious, arrogant, loud-mouthed asshole you ever had the misfortune to meet in court. He was a senior partner at one of New York’s most prestigious law firms, specialized on getting their wealthy clients out of everything from tax fraud to outright corruption.

This man stood for everything that, in your opinion, was wrong with the justice system and this country in general. Everything about him screamed elitist, boarding school, frat boy, preppy rich guy that had everything handed to him on a silver platter. He flaunted his famous last name around whenever he had the chance and it got him right to the top of the business.

You, on the opposite, went to law school on a scholarship, worked your ass of and now practiced law working for the district attorney to prosecute and convict the very people Cuomo tried to kept out of jail to afford the ridiculous Upper East Side Penthouse he probably had. You tried to push the fact that he was one of the most brilliant lawyers you knew aside, because you just hated him. No respect, no admiration for his legal genius, he was the bane of your existence fair and square.

You clashed heads in court more than once, and by now he knew exactly how to rile you up, smug bastard. His current client was accused of tax and investment fraud of incredible extent, and there he was, trying to discredit your main witness in front of the jury with some ridiculous accusations about them having a personal vendetta against the defendant. You saw your case crumbling in front of you as the witness got tangled up in Cuomo’s relentless questioning, stumbling over their own words, their credibility shrinking with each minute.

He did what he did best, lulling in people with his charm and striking when they least expected it. And he always did it with his disgusting smile on his disgustingly handsome face. Yes, of course he had to be a hot, fit, well-built asshole, making your professional life miserable at every chance he got.

Sometimes, he even had the audacity to wink at you. In court. During a trial. You wanted to punch him in his perfect face more than anything else.

The judge disrupted your thoughts.

“Dismissed, Ms. Y/L/N, and mind your tone in my courtroom. And Mr. Cuomo, please keep your questions professional or this interrogation will be over.” The judge said, shooting the both of you a warning glance.

“No more questions anyway, your honor, I think the jury heard it all.” Cuomo said, and almost strutted back to the defense table. And with a look over to the jury, you knew he was probably right. They eyed your witness suspiciously, and you almost wanted to stomp down out of pure rage. The fucker just destroyed your chance for a swift conviction right in front of your eyes. You needed more time to gather new evidence, or this would be over.

“Your honor, the prosecution is asking the court for adjournment.” You said, trying your best to not let your frustration show.

“Granted, the trial will be continued tomorrow. Court is dismissed.”

You put the case files into your bag and practically stormed out of the court room, passing the defense table without as much as a sideward glance.

But he caught up with you in the parking deck of the building.

“You’re aware you can’t win this one, right, Y/L/N? It’s all circumstantial, even you should see that.” His smug voice suddenly said from behind you as you were just about to get into your car.

You whirled around, pulse hammering in your chest out of pure anger.

“This is unprofessional even by your standards, Cuomo, I’m not discussing this case with you in a parking lot. Now why don’t you get into this environmental nightmare you call a car and leave me the hell alone.” You hissed, pointing over to where his obnoxiously big SUV was standing.

“Don’t talk to me like that, Y/L/N, just because you can’t handle yourself in court.” He said, smirk still firmly in place. His hands were playing with the car keys, and you were mesmerized for a second by how large his hands were. They looked like shovels.

“Whatever you’re plotting in that weird little brain of yours, stop staring at me.” Cuomo said, actually sounding a bit unsettled. You snapped out of it and went right back into anger mode.

“Staring at you? God, you’re so fucking full of yourself, aren’t you, you condescending prick? Not everything revolves around you and your spoiled ass, Cuomo.”

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, girl?” he snapped, raising his voice now. You clearly got to him, and seeing a crack in his arrogant façade gave you a satisfying sense of triumph. You couldn’t stop now, even if his angry face was screaming danger.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, your highness, are you used to people worshipping the ground you walk on because you had the dumb luck to be born with the Cuomo name? Fun fact, nobody cares, you’re still an asshole, just with a fancy suit.” You really threw all caution away, and one look at Cuomo told you that you’ve definitely gone too far.

Because he was livid. There was a vein on his temple that was literally pulsating, his hands were balled to fists at his side and his blue eyes were so full of fury that you were scared to look directly at him.

He took two giant steps in your direction, backing you up against your car. You were caught, Cuomo’s giant frame in front of you with no way to escape his wrath.

You looked up at him, daring to meet his eyes directly. He looked at you like he was about to kill you. You tried to recall your fury from some seconds ago, but the heat radiating from his body and the way his huge arms had you trapped on both sides of your head were making it impossible for you to focus. Damn him for being so attractive. You wanted to fight him, but you also wanted to press yourself against his body and feel what was underneath that suit.

“You presumptuous little…” he spat, stopping himself before saying something truly insulting. He took a deep breath, and looked at you again. And then he saw it.

The way you were biting your lip, the way your pupils were dilated.

And he smiled, a cruel smirk that send shivers down your spine. He brought his face even closer to yours and dropped his voice.

“You know, I got really good at reading people, comes with the job, I guess. But you are making it so easy for me, Y/L/N, look at you?” His mouth was at your ear now, his hot breath tickling your neck.

“Do you really want me to leave you alone? Doesn’t seem like it to me.”

You could barely think straight anymore, you wanted to tell him to fuck off, but it just came out as an embarrassing, needy whimper.

He chuckled darkly, and goosebumps broke out all over your body. Why did this man, that you hated more than almost anyone else, reduce to a state of arousal you had never experienced before just by whispering in your ear? Your panties were already soaked, and he didn’t even touch you. With your last few functioning brain cells, you cursed your needy, weak body, before you tiled your head to the side, baring your neck to Chris mouth.

He breathed over your skin, teasing you without actually touching. You felt like you were going insane.

“Please.” You whispered.

“What? Use your words, darling.”

“Kiss my neck, touch me, anything, just do it, asshole.” You hissed, glad you were able to form a coherent sentence.

“So impolite.” He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the side of your neck before starting to suck lightly. You moaned softly and pressed your pelvis into his. You could feel his hardness through his slacks, his unaffected behavior was clearly an act, he was just as aroused as you were.

One of his hands went down to squeeze your ass hard, bringing another surge of wetness to your panties.

Seeing him getting into this gave you some of your courage back, and you started to grind against him, making him growl against your neck.

“Is that everything you got, Cuomo.” You asked, trying to rile him up a bit. You really enjoyed the way he was manhandling you, as much as it pained you to admit it. But his hands were wandering under your skirt now, so you might as well just go with it.

Your provocative behavior clearly had the desired effect on him, because he grabbed your waist in a bruising grip, spun you around and pinned you against your car, his erection pressing against your ass. He yanked up your skirt and tore off your panties, leaving your lower body completely bare.

By now, you were glad that you picked the parking spot on the top floor, because your two cars were the only ones left and no one would come up here at this hour to catch you, about to be railed against your vehicle by Chris Cuomo.

“My, my, Y/L/N, this really turns you on, doesn’t it?” You could hear his breathy voice from behind you, and then felt a thick finger slowly being pressed into your aching pussy, followed by a sharp intake of breath. “Fuck, you already are so wet for me.” Chris growled.

“Are you going to fuck me soon, or do I have to take care of it myself?” You asked, teasingly.

He swore under his breath and gave your ass a sharp slap, making you welp.

You heard the sound of his zipper, and the rustle of foil.

“You really brought a condom to court, Cuomo? Wow, you are even more shameless than I imagined.”

“Shut up.” He growled, and you did, because he lined up his cock and slowly started pressing into you. He was big, and you had to bury your face into your arm to muffle the obscene sounds coming out of your mouth at the feeling of being stretched like this. He bottomed out with a low moan, and immediately started a fast, hard pace, pushing you against your car with every move of his hips.

You turned your head around to look at him. His face was flushed, and his eyes were fixed on the sight of his cock sliding in and out of you.

The friction was delicious, and he was hitting a perfect spot deep inside you with every thrust. Your moans became louder and louder, and he pressed one of his large hands over your mouth.

“Be quiet, you don’t want someone to catch little Miss Righteous being screwed in the parking lot by big, bad Cuomo, don’t you?” he whispered in your ear between husky breaths, and you could only cry out against his palm as he was speeding up his thrusts. The idea of someone catching you here was as arousing as it was terrifying.

Suddenly, Chris other hand sneaked around you to press on your clit, hard, and you screamed into his hand as your orgasm hit you like a punch to the gut, your walls gripping his cock like a vice while he was still fucking you through your climax.

“That’s it, darling, come for me. Fuck.” He groaned, before suddenly going tense as he reached his peak as well, cock buried deep inside you.

You slumped against your car with a huff, and the brief glimpse you caught of your reflection in the window made you question what you just did even more. Not only did you have (amazing, mind-blowing) sex with the opposing lawyer, he also absolutely wrecked you, you looked like you just had the roughest night ever with your hair undone, your makeup smudged and your panties in shreds on the floor of the parking lot. You hastily pulled down your skit again and tried to fix your hair as much as possible to get a minimum of decorum back.

Chris was just disposing the condom into a nearby bin, already looking calm and composed again. You hated him for that, and for the broad, self-satisfied grin that was all over his face again. And still, your heart gave a little flip as he approached you.

“That was fun.” He smirked, “We should definitely do that again. But not today, I’m busy. See you in court.”

He started to make his way to his car, and there was definitely a spring in his step.

“In your dreams, Cuomo.” You mumbled after him but couldn’t suppress a smile. That was, until you looked into the side mirror of your car to check your makeup and saw the giant, purple bruise on the side of your neck.

“Cuomo!” you screamed. “Come back here right now, you imbecile, you gave me a fucking hickey!”

“Better wear a scarf then tomorrow!” he called, entering his car. “And don’t make plans for after the trial, I’m taking you to dinner to celebrate my victory. And I mean that.”

And with that, he drove off. And as much as you hated yourself to admit it, you were really looking forward to having dinner with this idiot. After you destroyed him in court, of course.

#chris cuomo #chris cuomo fanfiction #chris cuomo x reader #smut #cnn #cnn anchors #fanfiction #chris cuomo fic

[angryhausfrau-writes]

I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 15 - Meditations Two! Electric Boogaloo

There's something to be said for having a home to come back to at the end of the day. Especially when Charles is coming home battered and bloody and with his blood singing in his veins, “You're still alive, motherfucker. You're still alive.”

Because against all odds, he is still alive. And it's starting to feel like he's going to stay that way for a while. Like he isn't just dancing on a knife's edge where a single misstep gets him dead. And the steps more and more complex everyday, til he's jigging for his life to the devil's tune, too caught up in the steps to ever stop cuz if he stops he's dead. And he ain't quite ready to end it all – not just yet, not without a good reason.

So he'd smoked up – from a bong, from a crack pipe – and tried to forget for just a little while that he is where he is (the boneyard) and that he's living how he's living. Just a tiny misstep from dying.

And it's fine. He's got a crew, to help catch and steady him, just as he's there to catch and steady them. Make sure there's at least a little margin of error in the dance. Make sure there's a guy rope tying them together. Keeping them all balanced on that blade – or all falling together.

But the thing about living that way is that it ain't really living. Charles had never known anything else but this, so it feels like a life. But all it is is being dead and not realizing it yet.

Or maybe he had realized, just a little. Been able to catch tiny glimpses of another way of living through the cracked and dirty glass separating him from the living. Able to see out into the real world, with its real people. People who were safe and clean and happy and free.

And Charles had hated them.

Hated them for having what he could never have. Hated them for living when he was just dying slow. Hated them for being free – for having the ability to make choices about what kind of life they lived when he can't choose, not even between living and dying, not really.

And Charles got bitter. Spiteful. Angry. He'd fought back the only way he could. Telling himself that they were weak. That he was strong.

Look at how coddled they are. How loved. He'd never needed any of that shit to survive. He'd toughened up, and they could stand to do the same, the fucking pansies.

So it had become a kind of mantra. Rules to live by, in a world where he's half dead already.

Loving things makes you weak. Loving things makes you vulnerable. And out on the streets, vulnerable means dead. Better to love nothing and be free than to chain yourself to worthless comforts. Better to love nothing than to chain yourself to vulnerabilities.

So Charles had loved nothing. Not even his crew. His crew who'd feared and respected him as he'd respected and occasionally feared them. But there's no place for love – not there on the streets and not with the kind of people he'd invited into his crew – into himself. Strong people. Fierce people. Fighters.

And then Charles had fallen in love with Eleanor Guthry. Or he'd though the had, anyway. Eleanor might not actually be capable of that emotion. And even if she is, she certainly wasn't in love with Charles, making the whole relationship just a touch one-sided. And that was before she got him sent away for that two-stretch. The bitch.

Because that's the thing about Eleanor, the thing that had originally attracted Charles to her. She's a monumental bitch. Ruthless and callous and cold. Just like him.

Equals.

And she'd played the part of fellow gang boss well. Acting tough. Acting like she could understand the life of someone like him. Like she could care about street trash like him.

But it had all been a not-particularly-well-constructed facade.

She'd only put up with Charles for what he could get her – money and thrills and respect from the street. As soon as his usefulness was gone, he'd been disposable.

And Eleanor herself. Well...

She was no gang boss. She was not strong, not in the ways that mattered on the streets and not in the ways Charles has learned are strong in the world of elitist fucks he lives in now. No. Eleanor had been coddled. She'd been safe and spoiled and pampered by everyone she'd ever come in contact with. Completely divorced from the consequences of her actions – at least until Max had taken a go at her.

Max who's another lover scorned and tossed aside when Eleanor grew bored. Which means the justice is just fucking poetic really. And Charles is so fucking glad he'd gotten to be part of Max's revenge. Gotten to see Eleanor toppled from her marble pedestal. Gotten to be the one to send her crashing down to shatter on the streets with all the other gutter trash.

But he's also glad he got to be part of Max's revenge cuz it means he's part of the con she's running now. The con that involves a fancy house and fancy clothes. And safety – real safety.

When he'd gone away for that two-stretch, Charles had chafed under the pointless rules, the petty tyranny of the guards. The lack of humanity – from the guards and from the other prisoners.

But he'd had three hots and a cot and nobody'd fucked with him, not even the most sadistic guards, not after he'd threatened – and committed – enough violence to make his point. His point that he was the toughest motherfucker around and they'd better take that into account going forward.

And, since he didn't know any better – hadn't ever experienced anything else – he'd thought that was safety. He'd thought that was freedom from fear. And it had just confirmed his belief that you couldn't have safety without giving up the freedoms that made life – even a half-life on the streets – worth living.

And then he'd gotten out, gotten back to the streets. Back to Jack running the crew and Max planning the cons. Just in time for the rug to be pulled out from under him – for him to get shoved into the kind of life he'd always derided, always sneered at. The life of soft, safe, spoiled fucks with no drive in them to ever achieve anything. So used to the gilded cage that they'd never walk out, even if the door was left open for them.

He'd chafed at the idea at first. Remnants of his mantra echoing in his head. Love nothing. Care for nothing. Cuz then it can't be taken away. Only then are you free.

Plus, he'd been pissed as hell at Jack for manipulating him into this shit. Cuz he knew – he knew – Charles'd fight it tooth and nail if he'd approached it honestly, democratically. But Jack's always been a slippery fucker. Charles can't honestly say he'd expected any different from him – though Anne's easy acquiescence to the plan had surprised him, Jack's machinations or no.

But Charles is man enough to admit when he's been beaten. So he'd gone along with the plan. Dolled himself up in designer togs. Submitted to Mary's ridiculous social media campaign. Insinuated himself into a circle of shallow, self-obsessed, backstabbing aristocrats. And all for a plan he hadn't really believed in.

But Jack's the captain of their little crew. His word is law. So now Charles is living like one of those rich fuckers. And as it turns out, the half-life he'd been living out on the streets wasn't even close to the real thing. Jail just a pale imitation of what safety could mean.

Cuz it turns out that when you're rich, you can have the food and clothes and safety. But you also have the freedom to do whatever the fuck you want. The freedom to live.

That's the big fucking secret. The thing they don't want you to know, cuz you'd burn the whole fucking city down if you knew about the caviar at breakfast eaten off of an ivory spoon. About the champagne filling the Jacuzzi of a penthouse hotel suite with enough gilt to make the Church green with envy. About the blood and spend and filth on your hands – just what it takes to get you that multi-million dollar view, that corner office.

When you're that kind of rich, you can do whatever the fuck you want. No rules, no laws affect you. The little people – the normal people - don't matter at all. They're worth about as much consideration as a bug on the sidewalk – noticed, reviled, and then immediately forgotten.

Charles and Max and Anne and Jack, they're all rich enough they can live like that. No regard for anyone's rules but their own. No concern for anyone but themselves. Content to live cut off from all consequences, surrounded by splendor. Never having to face the grit and the grime of the streets again if they don't want to.

But that's the thing. It ain't about having fancy cars or fancy clothes or a fancy house.

Sure, it's fun to ride around in a limo. Fun to wear ridiculous outfits that cost more than most people make in a fortnight, hideous and tacky and camp, because you can afford to. Fun to live in a mansion with more rooms than they know what to do with.

But that's not the thing that makes him free. That's not the thing that makes this living.

It's the smaller things. The quieter things.

Things like having a place to return to at the end of a long day. A place to rest. A place where he can rest, without worrying someone'll try for him. Without having to put up a facade of power, of ruthlessness.

Charles had mocked Flint for his domesticity once. For his desire for the finer things – well, finer for them, anyway.

But there is something comforting in having a favorite mug in the cabinet of your kitchen. Of having tea to drink out of it, breakfast to eat along side it. To have people around you who you can dare to care about because you're not just clinging to survival – you're living.

People you can do things like sitting out in the garden with, having a tea party like some kind of posh fucker. And people you can trust to patch you up after a night at the underground boxing ring, instead of licking your wounds all alone in the dark.

Because Charles has never felt stronger than the morning he stood in the bathroom with Jack wiping the blood away from his face with a posh hand towel. Berating him for coming home in this state. Begrudging in his ministrations. But his hands were gentle. And worry lurked behind his eyes.

And Charles had realized that Jack cares for him. Anne cares for him. His crew care for him. Care rather than fear.

And Charles cares for them in turn. Can care for them. And that is safety. That is strength that can never be taken away.

Even if they were to lose everything tomorrow, all the money and the house and the whole con going up in fucking smoke, that can't be taken away. Charles knows now what it is to be strong. Strong in a way that even the rich fuckers who they're conning can never be. He knows what it means to be free.

Because the rich aren't free.

They might look free. They might act free. But they've chained themselves inside a new kind of prison, one they made for themselves. Because the thing holding them back, the thing keeping them weak, keeping them civilized, is shame.

The idle gossip of their neighbors. The scandal that can ruin them as easily as it had ruined Eleanor and Woodes Rogers. The fear of offending the wrong other rich fuck and ending up “penniless” and on the streets – or, shudder, a lower-middle-class neighborhood.

That fear, that shame, is what keeps the rich from being free.

But Charles has been penniless on the streets, and he survived. Charles has been low and nearly dead and he'd lived. He isn't tied to the money and the disgusting excess and the whole fucking pretend pageantry of nobility.

And the thing about Charles - about Jack and Anne and Max and Mary - is that they don't really feel shame.

#black sails #i travel troubled oceans #chapter 15

[generalpirategentlemen]

I am fucked if Johnson stays PM. He'll sell the NHS to big fucking pharma in the US. I have type one diabetes and can't fucking afford prescriptions at the normal fucking rate (thank you medical exemption). I will fucking kill myself if I have to pay US prices for insulin.

I hope every fucker who voted conservative knows that they voted for death, austerity, destruction of lives, increased homelessness and all because they couldn't stand a vegan socialist over an elitist racist homophobe who I hope has a fucking heart attack on live TV.

[artistic-writer]

DO ALL OF THEM, DAMMIT, ALLL OF THEEEM

 You are a monster.

What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?*I want to make it known that i respect all ships but with the exception of a few, I find it difficult to ship anything other than canon pairings.  Fandom made pairings are sweet, and I use some all the time in my writing.

Are there any popular fandom OTPs you only BroTP?*Probably Hooked Utensil mainly.

Have you ever unfollowed someone over a fandom opinion?No - I unfollow people because they are dicks.

Do you have a NoTP in your fandom? Are they a popular OTP?*No comment.

Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?*Nope.

Has fandom ever made you enjoy a pairing you previously hated?*Yeah - fandom created art is fantastic and if we all took a step back and looked at it as ART rather than the subject matter, we would love other pairings too.

Is there anything you used to like but can’t stand now?*Not really. Oh wait, yeah.  CS having a child in canon had a pretty big impact on my ability to continue with loving their future in canon.  I’m glad they were not in S7.  Kids make me salty AF.

Have you received anon hate? What about?*Yeah, sadly. They called me a pervert for a fic idea I had and told me I should give up writing because no one liked it anyway and i must think i am something really special if i think people would read it.  Blocked, mother fucker.

Most disliked character(s)? Why?I’m easy to most characters really, but I didn’t enjoy S7 Sabine/Tiana.  Maybe it’s just because I couldn’t get past her awesome acting in Chicago Med, but I didn’t think the character gave the actress the chance to show her ability.

Most disliked arc? Why?I answered this in another ask, but the whole 5b Jekyll/Hyde storyline was bullshit.  Not relevant, took away the ability to expand on the Dark Swan verse and THEY ARE NOT DISNEY!!! rage.

Is there an unpopular character you like that the fandom doesn’t? Why?I like Milah and Neal.  They are both hot and I am shallow.  No, seriously, both have given the fandom the characters and background needed to create some of my favourite stories.  Without these characters, we wouldn’t have characters we could kill off in fics ;)

Is there an unpopular arc that you like that the fandom doesn’t? Why?I LOVE FROZEN.  Like, so hard.

Unpopular opinion about XXX character?Ahh @killian-whump I am going to replace all ‘XXX’ henceforth with ‘Killian’.  Unpopular opinion about Killian?  He wears far too much leather.  Yeah, it’s nice to gaze upon, and would look splendid on my bedroom floor, but by the time he gets out of it, i’m bored or asleep.

Unpopular opinion about your fandom?It can be toxic and elitist, especially when it comes to the different ships.  So you like something different to me, boo hoo, no reason we can’t be friends.  You opinion matters, just like mine does, and i respect what you like as just that - what you like.  It doesn’t define you as a person, so if you are a crazy fangirl, it doesn’t necessarily mean you are a crazy friend ;)

Unpopular opinion about the manga/show?My answer for this one will get my lynched, so i decline to answer.

If you could change anything in the show, what would you change?No CS kid.

Instead of XYZ happening, I would have made ABC happen…Instead of 5b I would have continued the Dark Swan arc a bit more, maybe with a bit more Dark Hook and Dark Emma running amock in Storybrooke.

Does not shipping something ‘popular’ mean you’re in denial and/or biased?No, it means I have my own mind.

What is the one thing you hate most about your fandom?Lot of hate related questions here…what about what I love?

What is the purest ship in the fandom?Snowing.  Its all fluff and smiles and loved up sighs.  it makes me sick but i love them...like when you eat too much chocolate in one sitting.

What are your thoughts on crack ships?Love them!  Can’t get enough of Captain Floor!

Popular character you hate?Geez, with the hate.  Um…Regina?  I don’t hate her per say, but she is my least favourite character.

Unpopular character you love?James

Would you recommend XXX to a friend? Why or why not?Hmm, would I recommend Killian to a friend?  Absolutely!  Why?  Good for whumping! ;)

How would you end XXX/Would you change the ending of XXX?How would I end Killian?!  Oh so many ways - I think I am one of the few authors not afraid to kill a major character.  If its important to plot, they gotta go.

Most shippable character?Killian Jones - With Emma, With Milah, With Dave, With himself, with torture devices.  Killian Jones.  

Least shippable character?Rumple.  I’m sorry, but I can’t get over the fact that I have seen Robert Carlyle’s butt in The Full Monty.

#killian-whump #ask games #you monster

[lauraexplorer]

How does one become punk?

To answer this question you first need to know what punk is. Before I go into detail, may I say that I am no expert and that defining punk and what is or isn’t punk can be hard. I don’t want to be biased either. Also there are different sub cultures of punk too, the way these act kinds of punks look and act vary.

Punk is a way of thinking. Being independant/ unique, not being conformative, taking no shit, standing up for what you believe in and not taking no for an answer are the kind of things being punk is about. Punk has also always been associated with rebellion and anti-establishment. Anti-establishment as in not supporting large co-orperations and mindlessly doing what the government wants you to do. This can be achieved by some in ways such as buying clothes from charity shops, adapting them into something new or making your own clothes alltogether. Growing or making your own food is another example as these don’t support large co-orporations. This kind of idea is why punk has a very DIY attitude/ feel about it. The punk movement really kicked off in the 70s, generally by the frustrated youth of the time - frustrated at the government, their life and lack of control over it.

Punk music too also is very DIY. There has been a lot of controversy over what makes a band punk or not and a lot of elitist punks refuse to listen to bands such as Green Day because they have signed to a major record label - a large money making co-orporation. (Green Day are punk and elitist punks are annoying fuckers, but that’s another argument for another day.) Punk music generally is supposed to be underground and away from the mainstream, the bands are an independant able to do whatever they want kinda thing.

Nowadays punk has been changed (dissapointingly by large co-orporations) into a fashion statement. People who have no idea what punk is are going out and buying punk clothing and punk band shirts from large shops chains who don’t give a fuck about punk, only about making money and suddenly everyone thinks punk is a cool fashion trend and that if you buy punk looking stuff then you are a punk. That is not true. A post on tumblr said something along the lines of ‘I don’t care if you have Joey Ramones actual jacket but if you are a nazi then you aren’t punk.’ Which is true Nazisim, homophobia, racism e.c.t are pretty un-punk. Y'know it’s totally fine if you dress punk just because it makes you happy or listen to punk bands because you just love how they look and sound and don’t see yourself as being a punk, music is there to be enjoyed and fuck anyone who tells you what you can or can’t do. However punk… is not a fashion statement but a kind of political movement and people shouldn’t forget what punk means and where it came from.

If you want to have a more punk way of thinking you could try some of these things:

- find out what shit your governments up to and if you don’t like it then get off your arse and protest about it. You don’t even have to physically get out of your house to openly be against what your goverment is saying.- don’t believe everything. Governments lie. Fake news exists. People lie to get you on their side. Find out the truth.- Watching interviews and reading books of punks such as members of The Clash is interesting as you hear how they view the world and what their philosophies of life are. Which can change your view on things too.- talk to people! Talk to other punks there are some lovely punks out there, ask them advice e.c.t.- be creative and try to broaden your way of thinking.- find out if there are any cool local punk bands in your area- look up on cool DIY punk things.- find out about the history of punk and punk bands. There are so many cool books to read!- - There have been so many awesome punk bands over the last 40 + years waiting to be discovered, you should give some of them a them a try.

Again I am really no expert and I hope that my answer helped in some way. Also thank you for the ask. 😊

[nickireadstfc]

The Foxhole Court, Chapter 14 – Ohana Means Family (And Family Means No One Gets Left Behind Or Murd– Oh).

In which we are treated to part 2 of Fun Suspicious Club Times, Andreil has Important Moments™, Nicky has thoughts on family, and I have all the feels. Guest starring: Murder!

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read – and finish – The Foxhole Court.

This is it, you guys. We’ve reached the last chapter of The Foxhole Court – or, as I like to call it by now, The Exposition Court. Lots of things have been shown, explained and introduced, and while that has been very fun and all, not much has actually happened. Now, however, exposition is done, and with this chapter I can practically smell the plot lingering just around the corner.

Let’s finish this, shall we?

We’re kicking things off with yet another #iconic Andreil bit:

           “Oh, he made it,” Andrew said. “That’s interesting.”

           He pressed two fingers to Neil’s throat, checking his pulse. When Neil tried to bat him away, Andrew caught his wrist with his free hand. His smile was small and fierce as he leaned forward into Neil’s space.

           “Remember this feeling. This is the moment you stop being the rabbit.”

GOOD SHIT.

If I had a euro for every time I saw this quote on a pastel/b&w grunge edit I’d have enough money to buy those two a honeymoon vacation.

Honorary mention, because I feel like this is a detail that usually gets left out of those edits:

           Neil was too startled to answer (…).

I love me some Neil ‘Andrew Is Not Being Horrible To Me, What Is This Feeling, Send Help’ Josten.

           Movement two doors down gave Neil a reason to look away from Andrew again. Five strangers were knocking on his suite door. She stepped out to greet them, slapping back and high-fiving as he moved into their ranks. Allison wasn’t far behind them. She pressed against Seth’s back and slid her hands down his sides to his pants. Neil watched as she systematically dug through all of his pockets.

She’s searching him for drugs, that much I got when reading it first. I didn’t think much of it then.

Oh boy. I’ll regret not thinking about this detail in 9 pages’ time.

           “Renee should be back with drinks any second. She said she’ll get something non-alcoholic for the two of you.”

           “Oh, what a waste,” Andrew said. “I’m buying Neil’s drinks tonight.”

           It took them a couple second to catch on. When they did, Dan lurched out of the doorway with a hard, “You’re joking.”

Oh, yeah, by the way, did I forget to mention that? They’re fucking going back to Columbia for yet another night of Suspicious And Problematic Debauchery.

WHY. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING. DID YOU NOT LEARN FROM LAST TIME.

Thankfully, Dan and Matt share my concerns:

           “He is not going out with you again. He’ll probably wind up dead this time.”

           “Jesus, Dan,” Nicky said. “When you say things like that it makes me think you don’t trust us.”

           “No one trusts you,” Matt said.

Oh shit, Tall Billie Joe, where did you get your sass from?? I like.

In response to that, Andrew speaks German to Neil, which a) Neil is Totally Not On Board With, and b) triggers yet another Andreil Moment™ because this chapter is just dishing those out left and right.

           Andrew was daring him to cross a line, to give up a little more of the lie that was Neil Josten. It went against everything Neil knew to give in, but he’d chose his path. He’d chosen Andrew. He buried his fear as deep as he could and answered in German.

Lasst mich hier zum Sterben, bitte.

We don’t have much time to ponder on the feels, though, as everyone’s favourite comic relief swoops in again, providing us with one of my favourite exchanges of this chapter:

           “Oh shit,” Nicky said, switching languages in a heartbeat. “Since when do you speak German? Andrew, you knew about this? Why didn’t you tell us?”

           “Boring,” Andrew said. “Figure things out for yourself once in a while.”

Bhahahaha. Andrew has zero time for anyone’s shit and I am loving it.

           Nicky waggled a hand at Aaron. “Quick. Have we said anything totally incriminating these past few months?”

           “Aside from your endless inappropriate comments about what you’d like to do to him, I don’t think so. Looks like you’ve managed to completely embarrass yourself in both languages.”

Ahahapfpfhfggdhfhdf ME. Seriously, print that last sentence on the coffin my akward bilingual ass will one day be buried in.

           Aaron looked at Neil. “When were you going to tell us?”

           “I wasn’t,” Neil said. “After everything I’ve put up with from you this year I figured I didn’t owe you any favours.”

Sassmaster Josten strikes again. <3 Also, he’s got a point.

The others are, understandably, a bit stunned at that exchange. And they didn’t even get the whole sass fest that went down. Pity.

           Matt was the first to get his tongue back, but the best he came up with was, “I thought you spoke French. That was French this morning, right? At Kathy’s?”

Precious Cinnamon Roll Discovers That Some People May Speak More Than Two Languages, Too Good For This World, Too Pure.

They leave, they drive to Columbia, bla bla bla.

As the monster squad (feat. Neil) arrives in their favourite ice cream-and-drugs joint, Neil is once again presented with his mortal enemy: New clothes.

           “This is new,” Neil said.

           “It’d be tacky to let your wear the same thing twice, wouldn’t it?” Nicky asked.

Uhm, no, it fucking wouldn’t? If an outfit’s cute I’ll wear it more than once, thank you very fucking much. And from what I’ve gathered, Neil’s outfit from last time was on point.

What kind of capitalist elitist bullshit is this, Hemmick.

           “How to say this?” Nicky thought it over for a second, then gave up on tact. “You could obviously use the money more than he could right now. Let Andrew give you things if he wants to. He’s not normally the gifting type, so it’s kind of fun.”

Just………… Andrew……… who never gives gifts………. buying his boyfriend clothes…….. t w i c e………… I’m fine :’)))))

           “I have my own money,” Neil said. “I don’t need handouts.”

           “Really?” Nicky asked, sending Neil’s clothes a meaningful look.

           Neil stared at him. He knew Andrew hadn’t told the others about his fluency in German, but he hadn’t realized Andrew kept quiet about his money, too. (…) But Andrew had found Neil’s money before their truce in Wymack’s living room. He hadn’t had a reason to protect Neil then, so why had he stayed quiet?

LISTEN……….. I’M…………. FINE…………. :’))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

I thought we were going to be done here. Clothes handed out, banter shared, fun times, now let Neil change and get on with your dumb drug night.

I was wrong.

Nicky and Neil settle down for some Real Talk that makes up for like, so many things that the monsters fucked up in the past.

            “You do know what you’re doing out with us tonight, right? Andrew squeezed some sort of explanation in to his usual crazy nonsense?”

           “Sort of,” Neil said. “He said he’d have answers for me later.”

           “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Nicky looked pained. “This means Andrew is keeping you, same as he kept Kevin. It means you’re part of the family now.”

ASGKLKGJDGNLNFGFFFHFHGG.

FAMILY.

I AM YELLING. I CANNOT STOP YELLING. HOW IS THIS HAPPENING.

This is huge, you guys. From all we’re told later, this is not a word Andrew throws around easily.

FAMILY.

Leave me here to DIE.

           Nicky made air quotes with his fingers. As soon as he spoke Neil knew whose words he was echoing, but Neil doubted Andrew sounded so tired when he first said it: “Being related doesn’t make us family.

(…) I know why Andrew feels that way, and I understand why he and Aaron can’t stand each other, but I’m not willing to give up on them yet. I want to fix this and show them they’re wrong.”

Shit, dude. That’s... unexpectedly serious and deep coming from you?

You know something’s important when even the comic relief is serious about it.

           “Family means something different with us because it has to. It’s not about blood. It’s not even about who we like. It’s about who Andrew is willing to protect.”

Give me the Minyard-Hemmick’s backstory, and give it to me now.

           Neil’s stomach twisted with another chilly what-if. “And he’s including me because of this morning?”

           “Partly,” Nicky said. “But partly because you’re the reason Kevin’s going to stay on our team. Andrew’s got Kevin’s back, but you’ve got Kevin’s attention.”

Meaning Kevin is stuck in a beautiful Andrew and Neil sandwich. <3

Also “a chilly what-if” is such a great expression, what the fuck, 10/10.

Before this Real Talk can end, Nicky has one last thing to say, which is specifically something I am very happy about:

           “Look, I know we screwed up last time. Please believe me when I say Andrew was just looking out for the rest of us. He didn’t want to take any chances. But things are different now. You’re one of us, which means we’ll never push you further than you’re willing to go. Okay?”

You go, Nicky, for realizing you fucked up and wanting to put things right between you and Neil.

But also, you go, Neil, for not immediately accepting his excuse, because shit, that crap was still not okay and you gotta apologize a bit more than that.

Plus, it would be kind of nice to have someone other than Nicky come apologize some time – lookin’ @ you, Twinyards and Big Deal Day.

Also, consent only matters with people you like, is that what you’re telling me? Deep sigh.

Ah, remember how I was “fine :’)))))” earlier?

           Neil pulled out his contacts and flicked them into the trash. When he looked up at the mirror, bright blue eyes stared back. Neil couldn’t be himself, but maybe he could be the Neil he’d given Andrew in Wymack’s living room.

:’)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))) fine.

They leave Sweetie’s and they go to the club, where I experience some heavy déjà-vu, and not the funny kind – more the ‘Oh hey this is the place where you got date-drugged, date-kiss-raped and date-interrogated, haha fun times amirite’ kind.

There is one bit of interesting information that stuck out to me in the midst of Andrew and Neil’s usual ‘Hey welcome to the club, hey fucker did you know that drugs are bad’ dialogue:

            “We got into dust for Aaron’s sake. He needed something safe to get on when he was coming off everything his mother gave him.”

His mother gave him drugs?? The hell?? These could be either actual drugs – like, cocaine and shit – or we could be going down the old ‘medication you’re not taking voluntarily is bad for you’ trip and she’s given him antidepressants or something similar.

I’m not loving either option, although – if the latter thing is true – it would be interesting to find out whether Aaron has the same mental health problems as Andrew does, with them being identical twins and all.

Did you have enough Andreil Moments™ today?

           “Here’s some honesty,” Neil said. “I don’t like you, and I don’t trust you.”

           “It’s mutual,” Andrew said.

Honestly, when will they stop being the literal embodiment of the enemies to lovers trope.

Time for the indisputably most #iconic bit of this entire chapter:

           A group of people shouldered their way up to the bar counter at Neil’s back, pushing him into Andrew. Andrew didn’t budge beneath his weight. He was something solid to lean against, something violent and fierce and unmoving. Neil couldn’t remember what it felt like to have someone hold him up. It was terrifying and liberating all at once. His life was out of his control now; he was giving it to Andrew and hoping Andrew would keep it safe.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHH

Neil, bby, if this is your way of showing how much you don’t like and don’t trust him, you’re doing a pretty, pretty shit job of it.

Sadly, the gay comes to an end and they return to the rest, who are enjoying one of their favourite pastimes: Getting the fuck wasted.

And just as I was beginning to wonder whether that was going to be it or whether the book was going to go out with a bang, and if so what exactly that bang would entail and when it was finally gonna appear – this shit happens.

           “What do you want?” Andrew asked, and listened as Wymack explained it all over again. “Overdosed like how?”

           “Again?” Nicky said incredulously. “That stupid bastard.”

           “Never again,” Andrew said over his shoulder. “He’s dead.”

WHAT.

WHAT.

WHAT.

           “Seth.” Andrew hung up and tapped the phone against his thigh. “Someone found him face-down in the bathroom at Bacchus where he drowned in his own puke. It’s exactly how I warned him he was going to clock out, not that he ever listened to me.”

Are you SHITTING me.

I like to joke about murder and death and shit, but this is ACTUAL DEATH happening, and WITHIN THE FIRST BOOK.

WHAT THE SHIT.

           Neil looked at him, surprised at how hard Nicky and Aaron were taking it. He wondered if he was supposed to feel something besides shock, but a mental health check came back clean. He’d grown up around death. It was nothing to him now but ice in his veins and a reminder to keep moving. Seth should have been an exception, since Neil had been living with him for months, but Neil had never liked him.

Stone Cold Bitch Neil Jostens strikes again. <3

And his BF isn’t much better, either:

           “What about the line-up?” Kevin asked.

           Nicky winced. “Kevin, the man is dead. Like, permanently.”

           “It’s not a major loss,” Kevin said.

WHY IS THIS SUCH A KEVIN MOVE. A dude dies and all you can think about is the impact on Exy.

Although, having thought about it for a bit, I have to say: I’m not super sad Seth is dead, either. I view his death as an important plot element (as it triggers future events and is important to demonstrate the cruelty of the Moriyamas) and I feel sad because characters I like will feel sad, but nothing more.

I didn’t like him when he was alive, and I’m not going to start pretending to like him now. I think it’s hypocritical to pretend to mourn the death of a person you disliked just because it is socially expected of you to be sad.

This does not invalidate the pain felt by others who mourn this person, of course. But I myself will not pretend to be sad if I am not, I feel like it would dishonour their memory if I would.

(Do come talk to me about this in my ask box if you’ve got something to add or if you disagree. I think this is an interesting subject and I’d love to hear different opinions.)

           “Is that why you drink?” Neil asked. “You don’t want to feel?”

           Andrew turned to face him. Neil wasn’t expecting it and almost ran into him. Andrew dugs his fingertip into the hollow of Neil’s throat in warning. This close Neil could smell the alcohol and cigarettes on him. It made him think of his mother burning to ashes on the beach.

I’m sorry, I know it’s supposed to be all dramatic and angsty here, but I can never take the phrase “X reminded them of their mother” seriously, or any variations of it. Even when it’s fitting, it just sounds so pretentious.

           He reached out without thinking and took Andrew’s cigarette away. For some reason Andrew let him keep it.

           “I don’t feel for anyone or anything,” Andrew said. “Don’t forget that.”

           “So Kevin’s just a hobby for you?”

I would like to point out here that Andrew immediately changes subjects after that, after Neil confronted him with the possibility that he could maybe, maybe feel something more than absolute indifference to Kevin. I’m just……….. putting that out there.

           “If [Seth] didn’t have his pills on him, how did he overdose?”

           “Not by choice,” Andrew said. “My theory says Riko won this round.”

WHAT. Are you telling me this is not only actual death happening, but ACTUAL MURDER??????

           Neil stared at him. “You don’t really think Riko did this.”

           “I think the timing’s too convenient for it to be an accident,” Andrew said. “Riko broke Kevin’s hand for being better. He crossed districts because Kevin picked up a racquet and got back on the court. What do you think he’s willing to do to you for calling him useless on national TV?”

Y E L L I N G.

WHAT THE SHITS.

Oh boy. Oh boy. This is shaping up to be a great next book. Did I complain about there being little plot so far? Well, shit. HERE’S YA FECKIN PLOT.

Fancy a dash of Feelings™ before we leave this show?

           Andrew hooked his fingers in the collar of Neil’s shirt and tugged just enough for Neil to feel it. “I know what I’m doing. I knew what I was agreeing to when I took Kevin’s side. I knew what it could cost us and how far I’d have to go. Understand? You aren’t going anywhere. You’re staying here.”

:’))))))))))))))))))))))))))))) andrewiloveyoupleaseneverleavepleaseprotectus

           Neil looked down at the key in his hand. “Home,” he whispered, needing to hear it aloud. It was a foreign concept to him, an impossible dream. It was frightening and wonderful all at once, and it set his heart racing so fast he thought it’d drum out of his chest. “Welcome home, Neil.”

………………………………………………. I’m dead.

Goodbye, The Foxhole Court.

Hello, The Raven King.

((Side note: But Nicki, What’s Happening Now??

I’ll be reading the other two books as well, obviously. As if I could stop now.

I won’t continue straight this Sunday, instead I’ll be doing something else, a bit of an experiment: I’m doing a review of the whole first book, hopefully with a bit more thought and depth than what I’ve rambled so far. Think of it as both an interlude and a summary. If I like it (and you do as well), I’ll do one of those after every book.

I’ll skip the Wednesday upload to take a bit of a breather and I will continue reading The Raven King the Sunday after that, that’s the 30th of April. More sportsball! More feels! More murder! Yay!

Also, I won’t rename this blog. I know TFC is just the first book and the whole thing is called All For The Game, so it should be ‘nickireadsaftg’, but I also don’t give a shit. I’ve gotten used to this now and y’all will just have to suck it up and deal with it. I put a lil note in my bio saying what book I’m on, that should be enough.

Lastly: Thank you all for sticking with me so far. Your endless messages, comments and funny tags mean the world to me, and you all are the reason my motivation stuck around till this point. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I’ll see you Sunday. Lots of love.))

#tfc #the foxhole court #aftg #all for the game #nora sakavic #nicki reads tfc #yall........................ im proper emotional okay come freak out with me #I CANT BELIEVE ITS FINISHED WHATTTTTTTTTTTT #this went so quickly

[fentonizer]

Achievement from the comfort of your pyjamas

Horizon Zero Dawn is a “good game.”

Strap in, folks.

Horizon Zero Dawn is peak “video games.” It is all things to all people. It is an open-world, action-adventure-rpg with resource gathering, crafting and stealth mechanics.

If you were to send one game into space so that if an alien civilisation found it they would know what human beings thought video games were all about, then Horizon Zero Dawn would be it.

None of this is praise, by the way. Not really. If you asked me to give it a score I would say that the game gets seven points out of ten points. Or I would say that it gets three and a half stars out of five stars. Or I would say that it gets sixty-eight percent (because the number sixty-nine is a meme and should be avoided in these circumstances).

Let’s take a step back. Let’s talk about open world games in general.

Open world games are a genre of video game that are as popular as they are maligned. Like most genres (of any medium), it’s kind of hard to pin down key facets that a game has to have to be open world, but I’ll try- if instead of walking the circuitous ground level path to your objective, you awkwardly try to jump up steep hills, trying to catch a piece of geometry your character can stand on, there’s a good chance you’re playing an open world game.

OK, let’s take another step back. Video games are an interactive medium. the most popular games are about either sports or shooting people with weapons. Conflict, basically. Conflict is inherently the easiest thing to make a game about as you can lose, so it’s easy to give the player a lose-condition and therefore motivation.

There are other ways to motivate the player, of course. You can tell them that there are one-hundred of a thing and they have to find a lot of them, if not all of them. This is a pretty base motivation. You could put something really difficult in the game, something that takes study and mastery to succeed at. The problem with this is that it’s much harder to make a system like that than it is to put one-hundred of a thing in a space.

Open world games often rely a lot on finding lots of a thing. I don’t know how I can say this without being rude, but open world games are generally a time sink. Without a well crafted world that you want to see, there’s no more depth in finding one-hundred of a thing in a hedge maze, or block of flats. Moreover, the only difference between an open-world game like this, and a linear story based game (something like The Last Of Us, which is more similar than you’d think) is the extracurricular padding.

Experience points is another good one to motivate people. Start at level 1, kill an enemy, get 10 experience points. Get 100 experience points and you can get to level 2, and then you’ll be strong enough to fight the thing that gives you 12exp. Get to level 5 and you'll have enough points to learn a new skill! Pretty great, huh?

Crafting is good as well. There’s a very popular game called Minecraft that, as well as lots of mining, had lots of crafting. You get some wood and that makes sticks and planks, and with some sticks and planks you can make a shitty pickaxe that can get you a few stone. Some stone gets you a better pickaxe and then you can mine coal and turn enough stone into a furnace, put the coal in it and smelt copper, and so on. The player is enticed by a branching tree of options as they find more and more things, and they are encouraged to explore and forage to build up supplies of these items.

Horizon Zero Dawn has all of this, which is why people like it. Problem is, it never gets out of the kiddie end of the pool with it. It’s the base level amount of a system, and it’s obvious how shallow it is after an hour (that’s why I said “kiddie end of the pool” because that’s the shallow end. Please fund more of this writing on Patreon).

Crafting is just some of a thing to get more space to carry stuff. That’s it. Then you can stop crafting. Levelling up gives you 10 more hit points, and 1 skill point to spend on a skill tree that is basically useless beyond 5 incredible skills that make the game a cake-walk (Double arrows/triple arrows/sneak attack/better stealth/more resources). There’s no weapon customisation beyond some modifications, but there’s no strategy here, just find the best ones (purple, because fucking obviously) and slot them in.

The story is the usual “chosen-one” power fantasy that gets bonus points for at least being about a woman. Robots threaten the world, oh no. Try to stop them ok? Second act (hugely telegraphed) plot revelation, third act triumph, post credits sequel bait. Knocked that shit out in a weekend, mate. It doesn't successfully say anything or mean anything to anyone, despite trying very hard to send a message about the dangers of hubris, or trees being super. If anything, the takeaway message is that humanity is a collection of bumbling savages and should have been consigned to extinction at the first opportunity.

To be fair, games are about systems. At least, all the games people play, are about systems. Maybe, if you want a good story, then do something like read a book, you fucker. A good story in a game is hard to come by, mostly because it’s very difficult to mesh an interactive medium with linear story telling (and even harder to do non-linear story telling).

Systems and mechanics are what keep people hooked, and differentiate the medium. But a game where the systems and mechanics can ultimately be “solved” are boring. This is the best weapon combo, this is the best armour, these are the best mods for the best weapons and best armour.

There’s some good time to be had with the gameplay, as you learn the combat. You can scan enemies and see their components, and you have you actually learn how to fight things. They’re not simply big bubbles of hit points, with a red spot on them that does double damage. There’s fuel tanks you can rupture, or you can shoot off their weapons, or tie them down, or lure them into traps, or apply statuses. And that’s fun! it really is. At least three of the aforementioned three and a half stars I would give this game come from fighting things.

The combat is good because you have to learn how to be good at it. You have to have a plan and an approach. You can’t waltz in with you spear and start whacking shit as you will lose, and personally I think that’s great. Well, fighting the machines anyway. Fighting humans is a clumsy mess, as they are actually blobs of HP with a head that takes lots of damage.

The rest of the game makes me super sad though, because it’s full of all these gamer-contrivances. It’s full of real menial shit that is only in there because most gamers (at least the most vocal ones) are time-rich kids who need something to do. So give them exp to grind, give them a map full of shit to tick off a list, none of which does anything.

Give them main story quests, side story quests, AND THEN errand type quests. Make them walk to a place, start a quest, walk to another place to talk to a person, click the now mandatory button that highlights the things you need to interact with before going to a third place to kill some dudes, before finally going back to the first person who tells you “thanks” and then to fuck off as dispassionately as the whole affair started.

Make every ledge the player character can climb obvious so when you need to scale something vertically, you’re just doing a dot-to-dot that is impossible to fail. And then make other waist-high walls insurmountable because whoever was meant to come around and paint this edge in worn white paint didn’t get here yet.

The world is large but ultimately uninteresting. There’s no sense of place or sufficient landmarks to encourage you to learn where you’re going. You rely entirely on fast travel and the numerous on-screen arrows to get around, never once did I feel lost or small, I felt the opposite. I felt like the centre of the universe, I felt like the whole place was built just for me. Which, again, comes down to the bizarre decision to make climbable objects so obvious, it breaks my immersion, because “a creator” has clearly done something.

It makes me sad, genuinely sad, because this is a “good video game.” People like it because of these things, not in spite of them. They like it because they can sit down for 3 or 4 hours and they will feel like they've achieved something... All I see, for the most part, is the total waste of time that video games are. They are the illusion of progression and achievement. They are the chips of the cultural world; objectively better than nothing at all, but ultimately of no value. No amount of “Triple-Cooked” BS is going to stop them from just being chips (triple cooked = triple-A, support me on Patreon).

If this is the height of games, if this is a masterpiece, then we truly are doomed. We don’t need to strive for better, for more meaning in our games, what we need is a dozen shallow systems that a player can indulge themselves in between school, work and masturbation breaks. That’s what gets the big bucks after all, a psychological trick-room where you’re lauded for “achievement” from the comfort of your pyjamas. You did it! Who’s good player?! It’s you! Yes it is!

And I know, I am being hugely elitist, this is a personal attack on you and the thing you like, and that makes me reprehensible. Maybe I’m just doing this to be contrarian or to be noticed. If this game had gotten bad reviews, I’d say I loved it.

A lot of people put a lot of hard work into this game and I respect that. It frequently looks stunning and... well, I don’t want to delve into consumer advice as a deflection here. It’s fine. The game is fine. It’s a fine game. Did I feel tested or challenged, did I feel I had to improve myself to overcome? Rarely. Do I feel like I learned something, anything, about the world, myself, my fellow man, or even anything about “video games?” No.

7/10. 3.5 Stars. 68%.