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#mesa writes
rickfucker · 1 year
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SFW Rick Headcanons (GN!)
BC why not. This season is literally so good so I’m celebrating with this nonsense >:)
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I am of the belief that Rick is huge on PDA. If you asked him, though, he’d deny it vehemently.
Arm around your shoulder on the couch, around your waist out in public, hand on your thigh when he’s driving. If there’s the chance to make someone else uncomfortable for his own personal enjoyment, he will take it. He doesn’t like it when people so much as look at you wrong. He will let them know you’re taken in the most obnoxious way possible.
He also loves PDA for the sake of embarrassing you. Getting to see his SO blush/get flustered makes life worth living.
He’s tall as all hell so: resting his chin on top of your head and top of the head kisses!!
Comparing hand sizes because yes.
Obviously, he’s a hard man to get close to. I imagine he does a good job at making you feel like you know him/relate to him one moment, but when he realizes he’s shown any vulnerability, he locks back up and gets pissy about it for a few days. Absolute King of mixed signals.
When he picks up on things that interest you, he finds things on his adventures to bring you, whether it's snowglobes of alien planets or potions or geodes or whatever. He’ll never directly give you a gift, though, he’ll just leave it somewhere inconspicuous like next to where you keep your other trinkets in your home.
(The first time you try to thank him for a gift, he acts like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. It’s never brought up again, but your collection mysteriously keeps growing.)
If you’re significantly shorter than him (or just shorter than him at all), he will tease you for it. If you’re stubborn about reaching all the shit on high shelves yourself, he’ll just stand there watching you amusedly instead of helping. Glaring at him will only entertain him further.
I do imagine he does best with a SO equally as insufferable as him. Nice people will never break past his hard exterior. But someone just as stubborn? Someone he can intellectually spar with? Someone with just as much baggage to be bitter about? That, he can work with.
He loves introducing you to new alien drugs, honestly. If not just for the fun of it, he probably already finds you fascinating, so he’d be studying your reactions when not partaking in it himself.
Rick talks during movies. Shocker; the man never shuts up. You have weekly movie nights with the family, but Rick just mercilessly makes fun of whatever you’re watching for its entirety. It could literally be Shawshank Redemption, he doesn’t care. Every Earth-made movie can and will be mocked in his household.
I’m not under the impression he wouldn’t say The Love Word. Give him enough time and he will get there. He gets so annoyed with his own hubris that he makes a point of saying it first. He knows what love feels like and he knows he’s in love with you, and being in love pisses him off just as much as denying it to protect his pride does.
He barely sleeps, and when he does it’s only for a few hours. When he wakes in the early hours of the morning, he’ll watch you sleep for a while before tucking you in and heading to his work space.
He loves just making out; it makes him feel young.
Learns how you like your coffee (or tea!), and it’s always sitting there when you get up for the day, regardless of if you’re at his house or not.
Seeing you get along with the kids makes his self-proclaimed frozen heart melt a little. His only way of showing this is vague annoyance, mostly because they’re taking your attention away from him. 
What can I say? He’s the biggest baby in the universe.
Bonus: 
He dresses up as Slutty Santa to disturb his family. Makes you sit on his lap and tell him what you want for Christmas later that night.
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I had dreamed of the galaxy. Dreamed of its darkest caves and brightest suns, dreamed of the flourishing ponds of Naboo, dreamed of Coruscant and its city lights, Umbara and its glowing plants; dreamed of an horizon made of water and rain, of sand and sun.
I had dreamed, it is true, of a galaxy far, far away.
At night, I would sneak out through the window and reach the roof - a small effort to climb closer to the stars. Thousands... Millions of stars, faint yet omnipresent, as a reminder of what was out there, just out of reach.
As I would gaze upon them, I would try to get a feel of their warmth. I would remember the words spoken by my father - promises of vast and rich worlds. I would remember my mother's eyes, glowing with delight as we would listen to stories of adventures and discoveries. Images would fill my head, and hope, my heart.
Hope, to one day get close enough to the stars. To one day be able to reach them. To see beyond the limits of my own land, to go further than the end of our garden, further than the neighboring forests, deeper than the nearby river. I dreamed of feelings.
The feeling of cold snow resting on my cheeks, of shivers running down my spine and warm smoke coming out of my mouth.
The feeling of eternal warmth as the sun would kiss my skin and burn my eyes, of the rough sensation of sand slipping in my shoes and under my clothes.
The feeling of restlessness from strolling endlessly through the capital city, a place where lights never goes off, where heartbeats join in unison to keep the planet alive.
I would bury myself in dreams and expectations for a galaxy far, far away from me.
I would never pay attention to my sister's words, dipped in too much wisdom for such a young age.
"Even the brightest star must fade and die," she would say to me, "It has always been, and will always be."
To me, the stars were eternal. Glitter peppered accross the galaxy, a reflection of our hopes and dreams, captured in all their bright glory. Nothing could cause them to fade and die, not even the words of a child.
Until that day, where a new star appeared in our sky. It was closer than any other star, so close I could almost reach it. I tried, with my fingertips, to get a touch of it, a texture, an impression. I could guess, from the shape of it, a cold surface. It did not look like anything I had ever imagined.
It did not glow. Not until it was too late.
All I could see was a green bolt of light, brighter than anything I had ever seen before.
I knew, somehow, that I would never feel the coldness of a snowflake on my cheek, nor the eternal warmth of two suns kissing my bare skin; and I would never feel the heartbeat of a city that never sleeps.
The roof collapsed under my feet. My heart fell, as did my body.
Farther and farther grew the galaxy I had spent countless nights dreaming of, and as the glowing light turned blood red, as the stars faded away behind a thick veil of smoke and ashes, I understood my sister's words.
More than a reminder... a prophecy.
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panther-os · 1 month
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beating my head against the walls in Latine
here's eight things that atp will have me immediately closing out of any fic, AleRudy edition:
1.
❌ "the los vaqueros"
ah yes the famed and feared las almas battalion of Mexican special forces. the the cowboys
✅ "los vaqueros"
✅ "the vaqueros"
2.
❌ "the los vaqueros base"
✅ "los vaqueros' base"
✅ "the vaqueros' base"
3.
❌ "corporal alejandro vargas and sergeant rodolfo parra/major rodolfo parra"
look, fuck the military as an institution and also fuck the devs for using American rank structure for members of the Mexican army but
it takes roughly 2 years in the army to advance to Corporal. the equivalent in the Mexican army is Cabo, and Google will not give me the requirements for it no matter how I ask
it takes 3-6 years to advance to Sergeant. From what I can tell, the Mexican equivalent is also Cabo (where Sargento Segundo is closer to Staff Sergeant)
it takes 10-12 years to advance to Major, the equivalent is Mayor (not the English word mayor like of a city, don't be like those white people)
it takes 22-24 years, a bachelor's degree, and officer school to become a Colonel and it takes 18-20 years and a whole mess of leadership courses nearly equivalent to a degree to become a Sergeant Major
put some goddamn respect on their names
✅ Colonel Alejandro Vargas and Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra
✅ Coronel Alejandro Vargas and Sargento Primero Rodolfo Parra
4.
❌ Fuerza Especiales
❌ Fuerzas Especiale
this is just not understanding Spanish grammar
✅ Fuerzas Especiales ("Special Forces")
❎ Fuerza Especial ("special force")
5.
❌ Sin Nombre ("without name")
Alejandro literally corrects Soap on this one in the game
✅ El Sin Nombre ("The Nameless")
6.
❌ "Alejandro Vargas, leader of Mexican Special Forces"
the leader of Mexican Special Forces is the Secretaría de la Defensa Nacional - the Secretary of Defense - and Fuerzas Especiales is composed of three brigades, 74 independent battalions (like Los Vaqueros), 36 amphibious special operations groups. Colonels command single brigades at most.
Alejandro is capable of leading Mexican Special Forces, but it would require him to retire from the field and get more of a desk job, with far more politics than I think he'd have patience for
✅ "Alejandro Vargas, leader of Los Vaqueros - a battalion of Fuerzas Especiales stationed in Las Almas"
7.
❎ "our ancestors, the Aztecs"
look, indigenous identity is weird sometimes and I don't know enough specifics about the culture around it in Mexico to have a solid opinion, but I'm also very fucking tired of people thinking the only indigenous groups in Mexico are the Nahua (Aztecs) and Maya. if they're on the Texas border and their families have always lived there, their heritage is most likely seven different Apache nations/language groups in a trench coat with some Spanish conquistador on the side. they're most likely not related to any famous indigenous chiefs or other figures, but it's very possible they can trace their Spanish ancestry back directly to nobility
for example, I am related to absolutely none well-known Tsalagi or Kwikipa people as far as I'm aware, but I am a direct descendant of the brother of King Ferdinand the Catholic, which also means I'm a direct descendant of the guy who started the Inquisition (and now I'm Jewish (and pro-Palestine for those who want to know) so take that, colonizer)
also while Bayardo is Mexicano, Alain is Cubano, please be respectful when talking about the actors or when in their instagram lives and just. don't make assumptions y'all
8.
❎ "Los Vaqueros" is a nickname from the people of Las Almas, the battalion's actual name that is on all the paperwork and dog tags is more likely numerical or describing their role/location - like "11th Battalion" or "The Borderline Battalion" or something like that. maybe even both, like "The 11th Border Battalion"
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“Pix? What are you digging around in MY empire for?” Jimmy asked, hand hovering over his sword.
“Oh, hey Jimmy! Look, I can explain. My peers told me there was evidence of there being remains of an ancient civilisation, just below-”
“Jimmy?” Statue-Joel hadn't managed to successfully exit the hole in the ground, but he peeked over the edge the second he heard Jimmy's voice. Jimmy looked over, and caught his eye.
There was dead silence for a few seconds as the two stared at each other. Oh great, Pixl thought. Arguing with Joel is not going to make him less mad at me-
Then Jimmy burst out laughing.
“What- what's happened here? Why are you so small? Pix, did you do this?” Smiling, Jimmy walked towards the hole Joel was still stuck in, and broke some surrounding sandstone to help Joel get out. Sure enough, standing on level height, Jimmy was a good several inches taller than the statue.
“Who's a small toy now, huh? HUH?”
Strangely enough, Joel didn't seem at all inclined to mock Jimmy back; he just looked at him, as if he was seeing a ghost. “Where did you run off to, Jimmy?”
“Huh? I was just stopping by the Eversea to get some more gunpowder. Why do you care about that?” Jimmy asked, then shrugged. “Whatever. I don't care. The point is, little man, that...” Jimmy continued his tirade against statue-Joel, who still seemed too stunned to retort. This would be the perfect time for Pixl to bail out of this situation, he realised. He turned around, preparing to leave...
Only to walk directly into the real Joel.
“Did someone mention a little toy man? Are you talking about yourself again, Jimmy?” real-Joel asked, with a mean grin. Jimmy spun around immediately, then looked between real-Joel and statue-Joel.
“No... I thought- Pix, what did you do? Why are there two of them!?”
“Oh, did you make a statue of me? That's nice.” Real-Joel crouched down and tapped against statue-Joel's cheek. Strangely enough, the latter didn't react at all- he just turned to Jimmy. “Two of what?”
“Two of- of you, Joel. You're here, but so is the dumb giant-” Jimmy hesitated for a moment, disgust visible on his face- “the god over there.”
An expression flashed across statue-Joel's face for a moment. “God? What are you talking about? Don't be ridiculous, Jimmy. Gods aren't real.”
“EXCUSE ME?” Joel's voice boomed, accompanied by the sound of thunder in the distance. “That is VERY offensive, I'll have you know! You'll pay for that!”
Statue-Joel still didn't react. This just made real-Joel even angrier; he pulled back his foot and prepared to kick the statue. “No, wait!” Pixl shouted, but it was too late; Joel's foot hit the statue square in the stomach-
And bounced backwards, not moving him even an inch. Real-Joel yelped in pain and grabbed his foot; Jimmy bent over laughing, and statue-Joel just looked at Pixl in confusion.
“Forget this! I'm going to Stratos, where real gods live! Goodbye, toys!” Joel took off flying, leaving the three of them in various states of confusion.
“Oh my gosh. That was amazing. 'gods arent real'- I've gotta use that one sometime,” Jimmy said, wiping tears of laughter from the corner of his eye. “You're much better than the other Joel.”
“...What just happened? Are you two okay?”
“We're fine! I should be asking you, you're the one who just got kicked...” Jimmy trailed off. “Wait... could you actually not see him?” Statue-Joel just minimally shook his head in response. He seemed overwhelmed.
Jimmy stammered for a few seconds, then shook his head and said: “You know what? Don't even worry about it. I've decided, that guy is fake, you're the real Joel in my eyes.” He walked over to the statue and hit him on the shoulder affectionately-
and Joel suddenly wrapped his arms around him in a hug. He pushed his head into Jimmy's shoulder, and- started to cry? Jimmy hesitated, but after a second hugged him back, and patted Joel reassuringly on the back as his shoulders began to shake.
“Well... i'll leave you two to it. Goodbye!” Pix said, gathered up his supplies, and flew off. Well this was quite the afternoon... He'd have to go back and talk to the new Joel later. For now, he was just happy to get out of this mess unharmed.
(ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 4)
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autolenaphilia · 5 months
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I finally finished Black Mesa, the 2020 remake of the original Half-life from 1998.
It really is an impressive achievement. It started as a fan-lead project to remake the original Half-Life in the Source engine used in Half-life 2. Valve had their own source engine port of the game in 2004, but it was a basic port that didn’t take advantage of the engine and pretty much made the game worse, due to adding bugs. So fans decided that year to do what Valve did not, and do a proper remake. The result was Black Mesa. The first release was as a free mod in 2012, which contained a remake of all the chapters actually set in Black Mesa. The developers Crowbar Collective got official blessing from to release it on Steam as a commercial product, which happened in 2015, still without the Xen chapters of the original, so it was an early access title. But after several years of development, the Xen chapters was added as a beta in 2019, and the game finally fully released in 2020, after about 16 years of development. It’s an incredible story alone.
It also got a native linux version, which is nice.
And the end result is a very slick, professional product. It’s far more than a graphical update, but often redesigns both the story and the level design.
It’s remarkably faithful at times, the game plays pretty much the same as the original, there are no modern fps mechanics. And I was surprised at the first-person platforming, a controversial part of the original game, is not only there in Black Mesa, but expanded upon. There is a lot of silly platforming design in Half-Life, like the crates hanging over a bottomless pit, the rivers of radioactive green goo, the ridiculous waste processing plant in the chapter Residue Processing, that is still there in Black Mesa. Xen was a platforming extravaganza in the original, and it is in Black Mesa too, and it’s even longer and more involved. And honestly I kinda liked the platforming more than the original. There are some quality of life changes, like simplified long jump controls and automated crouch jumping as an option, and some solid redesign to make it less frustrating.
Still there are major changes, and I was most impressed by the changes in how the story is conveyed. There is so much added to the story to make it more detailed and vivid. So many details are added, big and small. There is lots more npc dialogue, often specific to various situations. There is an incentive to keep guards and scientists alive, they will reward you with special dialogue for doing so. You can catch emergency radio broadcasts on radios that give you a picture of how the invasion is proceeding outside the Black Mesa research facility, something the original doesn’t give you a picture of. And in Xen, the situation of the vortigaunts being enslaved and forced to fight, hinted at in the original and explained in the sequel, is expanded upon and shown more vividly. There is even a new combat mechanic, where the alien controllers from the original now literally control the vortigaunts forcing them to attack you. Human intrusion into Xen is expanded upon as well, including hev suit-wearing headcrab zombies.
I really like the story changes, and I do think they meaningfully add to the story without making it a different one. The general idea is to make Half-life’s story more in-tune with Half-life 2 and its episodes, and it succeeds at that.
The level design varies in fidelity to the original. Sometimes it’s remarkably faithful, recreating large parts of the original levels, sometimes it’s radically different, bearing only similarity to the original at certain points. It’s most obvious in “On a Rail” which has been cut down and rearranged, and in the Xen chapters of the game. Xen has been much expanded upon, and radically redesigned. It’s the length of a full game, and took me about six hours to beat. It’s probably a bit over-long, the three levels seem to meander forever sometimes, but it’s good.
The revamped level design often takes inspiration from HL2 and its episodes, which makes it feel more coherent with the franchise. There are cable puzzles inspired by the episodes, for example.
The graphical update honestly was the bit that least impressed me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s impressive as a technical achivement, and Black Mesa can often be a very pretty game. It pushes the Source engine farther than its creators ever did. It does however demand more of the hardware than Valve’s Source games do, the system requirements are way higher than for Half-life 2 or the Portal games. And due to the game it is remaking it has to spend most of all that graphical firepower on rendering rather plain corridors, tunnels and offices. In the original Half-life, Black Mesa the facility is deliberately a drab place, with lots of quotidian details like coffee cups and office chairs to convey a sense of realism in spite of the graphical limitations and the sometimes outlandish level design.
And now Black Mesa can render its namesake facility in realistic detail, you can pick up the chairs and coffee cups now and throw them, because we now have physics. But that’s the problem with “more realistic” graphics, what is realistic is often not very visually interesting. It’s the story and level design changes that justify Black Mesa more so than the graphical update.
It’s illustrative that Black Mesa gets most visually interesting, can most justify its graphical hardware requirements, is when it abandons realism and the art design of the original game for the “Xen” chapter. Xen in Half-life was a very drab place as well, barren rocks floating in space. In Black Mesa, Xen is reimagined as this lush, surreal Roger-Deaneque Alien world, teeming with vegetation, water and wildlife. It has great art design and it is beautiful to look at. It is a welcome break from both the sterile human-made artificial environment that precedes it and the H.R Gigeresque alien factory environments that follow.
I have to talk about the music too, because Black Mesa’s composer follows a different philosophy from the original. Kelly Bailey’s music for the original game is very low-key, it’s quiet and ambient. In fact, any kind of conventional music is mostly absent for long stretches, replaced by quiet or sound ambience. The stretches of silence are still there in Black Mesa, but composer Joel Nielsen’s music is not quiet at all. In fact it’s outright bombastic at times, setting big firefight setpieces to rock guitar to convey how badass things are. Xen has Nielsen conveying the eerie beauty of the place with wailing woman vocals similar to Lisa Gerrard’s work on the Gladiator (2000) soundtrack. It’s well-done, but it establishes a very different musical idiom for Black Mesa than the original. It's more in tune with Bailey's more bombastic musical moments from later HL games like the hospital fight from HL2: EP1.
So while Black Mesa often remains remarkably faithful to its source material, I don’t think it replaces it. It’s a different game, a remake than a remaster. The differences do often help it rather than hinder it, and justify its existence when we already have Half-life.
But it’s no drop-in replacement for the original classic. The system requirements alone make it less accessible than the original Half-life. And Half-life is an objectively important game for its influence on other games, that Black Mesa can’t hope to replicate, and it’s a classic that you can still play with full enjoyment even today. Still Black Mesa does keep the core of what made Half-life so good to begin with. Intelligent, immersive and subtle storytelling mixed with engaging action and intuitive level design. Black Mesa is in that regard an excellent remake.
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prozac-shaped-urn · 7 days
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I’m goddamn serious when I say I socked that Leocadia audio away and used it for hot tub on the mesa because lemme tell you what just happened.
Breathy grunts n shit allow me to hypothesize sex positions, which then allows me to hypothesize sex scene dialogue, which then allows me to hypothesize specific motives for both characters, which then allows me to apply motive to other places in the story, which then gives me a better insight into what these characters want and need.
I just unlocked Stella’s place in this puzzle. She’s Beth’s daughter, 25, a recovering addict and a fashion photographer. She’s the undercurrent of logic in this story and it’s ironic that it’s her who’s the “brains” so to speak. Beth comes to her when she’s getting really self-conscious about her body, and Stella’s the one who reminds her “it’s called self-worth for a reason. Only you can determine your self-worth because it comes from you and you alone.” Which is like……. SO wise.
But also!!! There’s a thing I do where I find something that’s mine and nobody else’s on my body. Like my stretch marks. They’re mine. They’re a tattoo in my skin and cannot be replicated on anyone else. They’re my calligraphy fingerprints and no one else has them. My only child ass LOVES doing this. So that’ll be going in the script.
A third thing!!!! I’ve been playing around with the whole idea of sexuality in women 50+ and how it would no doubt be difficult for a woman of that age to go full steam ahead and throw caution to the wind and whatnot, on film and IRL. So hearing a 30-something Donna be… idk I guess open is the right word here… in delivering a performance with a sexual aspect in it gives me something to point to and go “OKAY! So obviously she was younger then but that woman is still alive inside her right now. Is there something I can gain from this? Can I translate this into a language which would play well on film? Can I headcanon my way into a 3D character with all the qualities needed for a full backstory, arc, motive, lesson to learn, etc? And if I can’t, then at least I tried.”
And ya know what? It helped. It helped so much. Because now I’m looking at Felicity going “…honey child, you’re about to carry all of my insecurities about my stomach and you’ll carry them better than I ever will.” And that’s a beautiful discovery.
(No I didn’t mix the names up. Liss has the body insecurities and Beth is self-conscious about literally everything thanks to social media. Body image issues are only a small % of Beth’s insecurities. Liss p much worked thru her shit except for her belly. Which like,,, same sis.)
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chirimichi · 2 years
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Dragging his wagon through the mesa was not fun. His arms ache and it feels like they’ll fall off any second and his legs feel like they’re slowly getting swallowed by sand. This is the moment he’s starting to regret the fact that he didn’t look for a horse before going to the mesa. He is also starting to regret choosing the mesa as his empire. 
But just as he was about to continue to complain to no one about wagons, horses and red sand, something catches the wheel of the wagon and the abrupt stop trips Jimmy, face falling first into the sand. Great. Just what he needed. 
Grumbling as he clumsily pushes himself to his feet, he bites his tongue to stop himself from cursing, and goes to check whatever made his day a tad worse.
There’s something jutting out underneath the first wheel to the right- the color blends well with the sand, just a little lighter, like terracotta. If it wasn’t for the odd shape of it, he would’ve passed it for a block of terracotta and ignored it. But his curiosity’s now piqued, his annoyance was shoved to the side as he pushed his wagon backwards to kneel down. Hands on the ground and sand already getting caught in his nails, he parts away the sand. 
About a third of the way deep in the sand, he can make out what seems to be a statue, or at least, a part of a statue. With more enthusiasm, he digs faster and when he's sure he can finally pull the thing out easily without it gettinf broken, he gently lifts it up and examines it.
It’s an unfinished bust of a woman- her face delicately detailed with a gentle smile, her eyes looking warm despite it just being a sculpture, and her hair’s long and wavy and looks halfway finished. On top of her head is a crown, an odd one with what seems to look like corals but it still works nonetheless. It just looks like a normal statue of a woman, of a queen… if you ignore the fins where the ears should be. 
Jimmy stared at it for a while, curious and intrigued.
Huh, she kinda looks like Lizzie.
… 
Jimmy smiles, scoffing as he stands up and carefully places the bust in his wagon. 
“What a silly thought.”
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lunarw0rks · 5 months
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https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8S6GgXY/
Oof they’re soo hot
*cod mobile announcer voice* switching sides
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twilit-tragedy · 5 months
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Speaking of elitist European fuckers' opinions of variants of Portuguese, I just remembered my highschool Portuguese teacher fucking STAPLED a little note to my test telling me that gerúndio should be avoided in formal settings cuz it's Brazilian Portuguese. The audacity. I wonder if I still have that around here somewhere.
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lucyisdoingfine · 6 months
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--COD Actors other- ------characters------
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Bayardo de murguia
❥︎ Ramon Costa Dating HC
Detailed dating and smut headcannons for Ramon Costa (18+)
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mushlandsandbeyond · 10 months
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Daily Routine
A glimpse into Marisa's unorthodox training methods. [Warning for some descriptions of violence.]
Just Paste It version: [LINK]
Written by Mod Huskies and Dorian.
= = =
Samson’s sensor detected a flash of heat, a stir in the air- just a moment later, bright magenta burned on the edge of his vision. He whirled around, leaping to the side, the magical bullet whistling by inches from his ear. 
“Close one there, Marisa!” Samson called out, scanning for the young witch on the horizon. There she was, silhouette shimmering behind the disturbed sand. She was riding her broom sideways, a look of consternation on her face as she processed the miss. Her pistol, an enchanted desert bush stick vaguely gesturing at being a gun, gave off faintly rainbow smoke.
“How’d ya dodge that! Had it trained on ya n’ everything…” She yelled after him, then sighed, hopping back on her broom the right way. With a slap on the handle, it flared to life, and Marisa came flying down to him- though, she maintained her distance. 
“Sure, yer magic is powerful, but it ain’t subtle.” He shrugged, a smile on his face.
“Subtle ain’t my style, and you know it!” She crowed back, sticking out her tongue childishly. A sparkle fell off her tongue, twinkling before disappearing into the sand.
“I sure do…” he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It was a wonder Maristela could stand being around the gal, considering she had all the reckless energy of a stick of dynamite. Looking back at her, he fixed her with a serious gaze: “So, what d'ya want from me today? Same as the usual?”
“Mm… first, I’ve got a question fer ya. Then, same as.” She explained, tossing her pistol aside. Her magic faded from it, and it rooted back into the ground as a scrawny bush.
“Shoot,” Samson prompted her, “-and no, that is not literal.” He cracked a smile.
She giggled. “Aw, c’mon, that only happened one time…” she said, a little bashful. “But, uh…” She quickly composed herself, face becoming serious. “Why?”
Samson stopped short. “Why… what?” Marisa wasn’t exactly the kinda gal to be asking such vague and confusing questions. Hence why Samson crossed his arms, his green poncho draped over his arms as he did so. His head tilted to one side as he stared down at the witch.
“Well, y’know. Why ain’tcha eatin’ my friend already?” Her eyebrows furrowed as she fixed him with a glare, leveling that question in the same way she’d level a gun. 
That determined exterior cracked a little when Samson snickered, reaching a hand up to steady his hat as he laughed. “Marisa, do you eat your food raw?” He countered with a question of his own, meeting her gaze with a subtle smirk. Confusion turned to understanding, then sublimated into anger as her eyes widened and her broom burst into prismatic flames. 
“You…!” She cried out, blazing towards him on a burning comet. “You’re irredeemable!”
He sidestepped the charge at the last moment, poncho waving in the wind like a toreador’s cape. “Most of us are, darlin’-” he replied, and as she turned to double back on him again, he gripped the handle of his revolver. “-granted, some of us more than others.” In a single smooth motion, he drew and fired, Marisa tumbling out of the way in a tight spin.
That spin dipped her inches away from the sand, and the dust cloud she kicked up was another weapon at her fingertips- quite literally, as each grain that brushed by her hand was transmuted into a homing magical bolt. The barrage of bullets came screaming out of the dust, a rainbow volley. 
Samson, paradoxically, dashed towards the salvo. Allowing himself to tap into his monstrous strength, his legs shifted, and he vaulted over the attack with moments to spare. The bullets were moving so fast they could not turn sharp enough to follow him, arcing out uselessly in all directions as they attempted to home in once more. Some crashed into one another, detonating in sparks of light before falling back down as grains of sand. 
As he landed, sculk flew up into the air, droplets which scattered out behind him like shrapnel. This was his second line of defense: the homing bullets were trained on his body, but not necessarily his avatar. Her magic did not discriminate between vital and non-vital. Therefore, a majority of the bullets homed in on the tiny targets behind him, detonating what was essentially a pile of clipped fingernails or shed hair. Those explosions triggered more bullets, which caused more explosions, harsh light cutting through the midnight dark.
Samson was thrown forwards, something which momentarily delighted him- Marisa was controlling her magic so much better these days! Compared to her formerly harmless attacks, style over substance, she was finally living up to the vigilante status she gave herself. 
Tumbling head-first into the sand snuffed out that ember of pride. Marisa charged forwards one final time, face red with anger and grief. How could he do this to Maristela? Did he not know how this ate at her best friend- did he not care? With tears in her eyes, she concentrated her magic, colors gathering around her as she prepared to smash into him directly-
And then a pillar of sculk erupted from the ground beneath her, knocking her off her broom. She gasped as the wind was knocked from her lungs, her magic sputtering into uselessness as she tumbled uncontrollably through the air. The broom flew off into the unknown, maybe one of the craters she'd made in past battles or off towards the riverbend, she wouldn't know.
Her body skidded against sand and terracotta as new bruises and cuts bloomed on uncovered skin. Luckily, this was ample time to gather more sand, which shifted in her palms into potential energy. She got back up, ignoring her pain for a moment, and hurled more magic towards her adversary. Each grain flew at a speed not unlike a firework- bursting with life as they shifted colours and lit up the night as they flew towards Samson once again.
That wouldn't work this time.
Samson fell onto the ground and dodged the bullets as he shifted fully, his body becoming an indefinable mass of sculk that rolled towards Marisa. Some of the bullets stung his being, but it was nothing. He was still fine as he shifted back into his avatar, leaping into the air before he kicked Marisa down.
She was knocked down once more, the pain more unbearable than before. Samson made sure that Marisa stayed down as he pinned her down with his boot on her chest before he kneeled, drawing his revolver once more and pointing it at her head.
The young witch stared at Samson for what seemed like an eternity. This couldn't be the end, could it? Samson had her down, barrel pressed to her forehead. Her heart pounded, tears welling in her eyes, frozen. His eyes were cold, merciless as they pierced through her. Silently, she prayed to Maristela that she'll guide him from the afterlife, if there was an afterlife, or if she could pass her power onto her friend. Marisa closed her eyes to get it over with.
"Bang." He murmured tonelessly. Samson’s expression changed, bloodthirst replaced with calm amusement.
The witch opened her eyes, tears flowing freely off her face as she saw Samson pull the revolver away and holster it. The pressure on her chest released and Samson stepped back, clapping his hands.
"Well done," He said, wiping the grime off his hands, "that was yer best fight yet. Meet me tomorrow and we’ll go again.”
With that, he began to walk away, but not without Marisa wiping her tears away and calling out for him.
"Wha- The hell was that, Samson?!" She yelled before she winced in pain. 
Samson stopped and turned. "What was what?"
"Ya had me," Marisa furrowed her brows, "Ya could've killed me right there 'n then. And yer just leavin' like that?!”
"Mhm..?" He regarded her strangely, as if she was observing something patently obvious and unimportant.
"Why?" She got up slowly, managing to kneel without getting any more sand on her.
“Haven't ya asked this one already..?” came Samson’s reply, annoyed. He turned and walked away- Marisa attempted to get on her feet to follow him, but her body wouldn’t co-operate, her limbs weak. He came back holding her broom, a bit worse for wear, but nothing she couldn’t fix. Holding her hand up, she caught it as he tossed it to her underhand.
There was a little glint in his eye, something between smugness and contentment. “C’mon, let’s get ya cleaned up.” He reached a hand out to help her up, and she glared, smacking it away. Stepping back, he nodded, turning and walking in the direction of his house.
She followed him with her eyes for a moment, still trying to puzzle him out in her head. But it was useless, especially with her wounds gnawing at her concentration.
Hopping on her broom, she floated quietly behind him, and they disappeared into the nighttime dark.
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rickfucker · 2 months
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can u please just infodump about ricks autism?like his stims,his “icky sensations” etc?thank you! <3
Please forgive the informal nature of this; I obviously have not been writing a lot lately, but I'm back on my Adderall and thinking about Rick as much as I think about Astarion from Baldur’s Gate.
First of all, Rick’s love of Birdperson is because he’s so unlike anyone Rick’s ever met. He’s totally straight forward, no guessing games on his intentions. Given a theory that I just reblogged a day ago, he’s probably got familial trauma similar enough to Rick, in their distrust of love, and possibly marriage. Birdperson is serious and goal-oriented, but lets loose around Rick’s influence BECAUSE they’re both autistic as fuck LMAO.
Rick is hella stimmy. He’s big on echolalia. Always whistling, humming or singing, repeating brand new alien phrases (wubba lubba dub dub, duhh) that have a good mouth feel. Writing songs with his favorite words. Also totally makes fun of people who can’t whistle.
I’ve talked before about his food & texture sensitivities. He’s totally fine eating spaghetti made out of people, but lo mein noodles? Absolutely not; too slimy. He can rip the head off a snake with his bare teeth, yes. He's just so specific with the things he dislikes. Take a chicken breast for example - that's fine. Breaded? Fine. Gravy on chicken breast? Fine. Gravy on breaded chicken breast? Bin it. Anything attached to a bone? No, thank you. Anything that still looks like the animal (whole fish filet, for example), no, thank you. Soup? Better be vegetable and no solids except croutons only. That way, nothing gets too soggy.
He inspects every chip/crisp/french fry before eating for black or green parts. If they have any blemishes like that, they’re getting chucked. He tried once to eat one once, just to challenge himself, and nearly got sick. The texture was simply ungodly.
Some one-off thoughts:
He hates a lot of different clothing textures, which is why he’s always wearing the same outfits. He cut off those clothing tags and cloned the result so he doesn’t have to deal anymore. 
Usually wears shoes around the house. Doesn’t like walking around the house without socks on.
Clumsy when he’s not on high-alert, like on adventures. Got hella bruises on his legs from running into the living room furniture & his work areas in the garage.
Definitely particular about temperature. He keeps his room a toasty 71 degrees, but never 72.
that's all I got for now. Hope you enjoy, anon.
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What If...?
Okay but I still have this post in mind and I can't help but imagine like 3 scenarios which are: what if Keed died? What if Bones died? What if Gift died?
and honestly. It gets worse each time.
tags: @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s @chaoticvampirejedi @emperor-palpaminty idk who else to tag for my oc stuff so here i am NOT sorry i lied
Keed would die on duty. He would die the heroic death, trying to save a brother, or to save his general again. It would be unfair, but it would be expected.
Gift would cry, but only in private. He would keep his head high in front of everyone, and would do everything to make sure Bones doesn't feel lonely and doesn't just chew on his own emotions.
Bones would feel numb at first, because he just lost his younger brother. They both did. Everyone was so used to Keed acting like the "grown-up", being an ARC and all serious and wise all the time... And his death would just brutally remind them that he was - had always been - their little brother. And none of them could protect him.
It would definitely create tensions, but because they both feel responsible and both think they could - should - have done more. IT leads to a sort of weird argument where Gift tries to talk but can't, and Bones on the contrary starts blurting out everything he ever thought about Keed and their relation and the Jedis and their role in that war and and and...
And it goes on and on until he runs out of breath, out of words, out of rage. And Gift remains silent, but he gives him a little smile, and it's terribly sad. Gift's sadness is genuine and Bones can see it. It breaks them. But they hold on.
Keed still live through them, through their values, and they want to honour their little brother the best they can. SO they promise to keep an eye on each other, to always be there, ready to protect, ready to defend.
They still have each other.
Bones would die during a rescue mission. He had a bad feeling about this one, he told Keed, and it's the last thing he says before he dies. Keed has to break the news to Gift and it's.
No one ever saw Gift crying. No one ever heard Gift screaming. But that day, everyone around froze as Gift cried for his fallen brother.
The next day, Gift seems "normal". He talks - though his voice is softer - he checks on everyone; he even tries to crack a few jokes. But his eyes are empty, his words devoid of any emotion. He feels nothing. It is as if the life has been sucked out of him, and all that is left is a vessel, a pale copy of who he used to be.
He cries every night, and Keed cries with him, because he doesn't know how to comfort him. They try to talk but every time it ends up with them crying until Gift falls asleep.
Gift has nightmares. He never did before, that was "Bones' thing". But ever since he died, he sleeps terribly and keeps on waking up to there horrific images of his dead brother. He's haunted by all the thoughts, all the possibilities, he cannot sleep because of that.
Keed feels his brother slipping away, waking up a bit more shallow everyday, a bit less...alive. He's still here, but that spark that something that made Gift Gift...
It died with Bones.
And now it's gone. And Gift knows it, and he wants to hate himself for it, but he can't help but think that Bones took a part of his soul with him, so no matter what they would always be together. They would always have that balance, until they meet again.
Keed realises that he lost his two brothers that day, and it's killing him from the inside. That's the most powerless he has ever felt.
Gift would die in the middle of a joke, caught in an embush. His death is almost instantaneous. Clean shot, no time to breath out, no time for a punchline.
No time for goodbyes and tears, either.
Bones stares as Gift's body collapses on the ground, and a minute later everything is chaos and dust, soldiers scream all around, calling for backups, warning about the shots, ordering everyone to hide and stay low.
Bones has to watch his brother's body from afar, unable to even hold him, to bring him back. They evacuate the zone and he can't even bring his brother back with him. He doesn't remember a lot when he wakes up in the medbay, but Keed tells him he had to be stunned because he almost broke another clone's arm trying to get back to Gift's body.
Bones doesn't talk for two weeks. Not even to Keed. He's kept in the medbay for a week, then in custory for another week. Keed negociates his release with the jedis, and offers to keep an eye on him until things get better.
When Bones learns about this,he fights with Keed. He is devastated and bottles up so much, and he doesn't understand how Keed can act - and be - so detached from what happened to Gift. Keed tells him that he feels sad too, but that they are, sadly, replaceable. Keed doesn't say it as in "it doesn't matter", he says it as in "i knew it could happen. To him, to you, to me. To any of us. Because to them, we're nothing more." Keed is... resigned. He saw so many brothers fall, so many bodies left behind...he honestly feels disconnected, he can't quite process the whole thing. It feels like a fever dream.
But Bones feels so angry, tensions keep growing between them until another huge argument here Bones cut ties with Keed and decides to desert.
They don't speak to each other for years. Until Order 66 happens. Bones hears about it and decides to try and find Keed to save him, but it's too late. He's caught in an ambush, and the last thing he sees is Keed's helmet dropping on the floor.
Keed knows it's Bones, he could never forget. No matter how hard the chip works, Keed could never forget. He lost Gift, and a few weeks later he lost Bones. And ever since, he has never felt so lonely. So powerless.
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harrenhalyuri · 2 months
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"no trans subtext this time 👍" I say to myself when my character has an unhatched (dragon) egg which is a piece of the heritage that she despises yet absolutely cannot let go of so she just lugs it around the narrative like a ball and chain. The frequent thoughts about (literally) merging skin with her (male) sibling so they won't be separated/will be the same person. Lying to others that they are twins when he's one year older ~as a joke~. Wearing the clothes she borrowed from him years ago and never returned despite the full destruction of their relationship. Slowly adopting his posture and mannerisms over time without realizing. The colors he wore slowly bleeding into her wardrobe until all she wears are the same colors as his
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King Joel of Mezalea had died of a broken heart.
That's the conclusion he came to, at least.
He had felt rage, at first, at the destruction of his palace. Months of work, ruined in a few minutes; he'd have to start all over again. He had stormed off to find Lizzie, or Jimmy, or anyone, really, willing to listen to him complain for a bit. But they had both vanished. Citizens of the codlands had mentioned seeing Jimmy run off into the distance, seemingly crying and refusing to speak with anyone; and the Ocean Empire had no citizens left, the shoreline having receded so far it left the aquatic city completely dry. No one had seen Lizzie anywhere, but he didn't give up on her. She has been able to live on land before, surely she would be alright...?
He did find her, days later, among a ragtag group of refugees; but she wasn't the same. She had become shorter than him again, there was no trace of her aquatic origin, and worst of all, she had no memory of him or anybody else. Joel had tried getting to know her again, but to no avail; she wasn't his Ocean Queen anymore, and eventually she simply faded into the crowds of foreigners flowing into Mezalea. After all, the mesa kingdom had fared far better than most others; although the matral palace was still in ruins. Joel knew he should have rebuilt it; but what was the point, with no wife to show it to, no best friend to visit and look around in awe?
And so King Joel stopped building; he stopped visiting other empires (what was the point? Everything has fallen into ruin), he stopped speaking with the populace, and eventually he stopped paying any attention to the world around him at all. The Mother Tree withered, smothered by the unchecked crowds, and one by one the Mezaleans born from it lost their life force. Mezalea became a place of broken towers and silent statues, slowly getting covered in sand by the winds.
There King Joel laid. His clay body needed no air; eventually his world was reduced to nothing but the sand covering his body and his own thoughts. He had never experienced death for long; there was always respawning, always another Mezalean body for his soul to enter. But now, laying immobile in the dunes of his former glory, his mind stayed, alone.
This must be what death is.
…..
….........
A bout of sharp pain struck his arm.
Joel felt as if he was waking up from a deep sleep. He hadn't felt anything but the sand against his body and the subtle vibrations of the earth for... years? Decades? He thought it must have been at least a decade. But now something had hit his arm, and the sand was shifting around him, and... did he hear muffled voices?
Suddenly the sand was removed from his face. He was blinded by sunlight, but when his eyes adjusted, the first thing he saw was a familiar face. He was getting excavated by none other than King Pixlriffs, who looked less like a king and more like a guy who explores ruins for fun. He was frantically writing notes in a book, muttering to himself while doing so;
“This is an incredible discovery. Seems like the god Joel was around even when ancient peoples lived here, and had enough influence to have statues made in his honor...”
So Pix still remembered his name, although he was talking about things that made no sense to Joel. He also didn't seem to realise Joel could hear him. He tried to sit up, but failed miserably; his lower body was still covered with sand, not to mention he hadn't moved in a century. Baby steps; maybe try talking first.
“...Pix?”
(part 2 | AO3)
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sadsackssss · 3 days
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The amount times I've watched an Alain Mesa Tiktok edit will be the death of me.
This man can flirt and make me angry at the same time.
The word "babe" should NOT be coming out of his mouth.
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