pre generated

9

This comic is ridiculous as hell, but might as well finish the things I start! Click the panels to read, since the text is awfully small, otherwise. :V

I wrote everyone a bit more typical than I’d like, but this takes place around episode three or so and is generally pre-everything, haha.

Many indigenous peoples have been indoctrinated by the pseudo-linguist, fervorous christian and Tupinist Eduardo Navarro, one of the mosts eurocentric academics in Brazil. Tupinism is a national biased ideology taught in schools, that wishes to generalize all pre-columbian diversity in Brazil. Some famous tupinists were Darcy Ribeiro, Jose de Alencar, Gilberto Freire and Oswaldo de Andrade.
Tupinists only highlight the Tupinambá in their biased and racist books because the tupinamba was the only tribe allied with the putuguese invaders

8

Pre-generated Characters for an upcoming game of Titansgrave. PDF version available here. 

EDIT 28/01/16: Added a reference for Stunts.

The art for the new ones, Spritle and Ragna, is from Overwatch (Mei and Hanzo, respectively).

I whipped up this new template in about 20 minutes and banged out these quick pre-gens. They’re not perfect, and some of the math/spelling might be a little suspect, but they’ll do for the game tomorrow. Why Green Ronin Publishing hasn’t done something similar yet is beyond me. 

Being Alone (It's a Last Resort)

-jason, on the other hand, will still do everything he normally does even if he is very, very ill. one time early patrol bruce was just going over protocol and plans and jason just passed the fuck out. just a big -thump- and he was on the ground in a gross, sweaty pile once someone managed to take his helmet off and see how awful he looked. – @tumdrake


The loud thud takes Bruce by surprise. Pre-patrol briefings are generally short and to-the-point, detailing recent crimes, areas in need of heavier coverage, and recently-escaped criminals. Since there was usually little involving their multitude of forbidden topics, the briefings were often the most peaceful part of the night.

So Bruce feels no guilt for the way his head snaps up, immediately scanning the room. Nothing on the outside edges of the Cave; Dick, Tim, and Damian are all in the same places they were when the briefing started…except now, all of them are staring at the floor. And that’s when Bruce suddenly remembers that all four of his sons were here tonight.

He leans forward, half over the table. Jason is crumpled on his side on the floor, his limbs curled awkwardly beneath himself and his head dangling, the top of his helmet barely touching the ground.

A million thoughts run through his mind at once. Was Jason injured? He hadn’t spoken to him at all today; he’d been silent when he arrived, and the helmet had been on the entire time. He had looked a little unsteady, but nothing too alarming. Had he slept recently? Was he bleeding out? Drugged? Drunk? Had his Lazarus resurrection failed suddenly? Fear suddenly claws at him, his throat constricting. He’s been so afraid of that idea, ever since he found out Jason was back. He can’t even remember when he last spoke to his son, or what he said. He would  never forgive himself if…

He’s distracted from his rapidly-descending panic when Tim drops down on the floor next to Jason–who still hasn’t moved. Tim unfastens Jason’s glove, presumably to check his pulse, but quickly draws his hand back with a hiss once Jason’s skin is exposed–Bruce can’t help but focus on the way Jason’s hand falls limply to the floor, bounces with a thud.

“Damn,” Tim hisses, “he’s hot.”

Damian snorts, and Tim shoots him an impressive combination of a disgusted glare and an eyeroll. “Shut up, Damian, you know what I mean,” Tim growls. He quickly scrambles back to his feet and backs away from Jason, and Bruce remembers with a sudden jolt that his third son has a compromised immune system. Great. More worry is churning in his gut.

Dick drops to one knee beside Jason, reaching out and gently touching his un-gloved wrist. “Jay?” He asks carefully. No response, not even a twitch or a groan. Dick frowns, brows furrowing in concern. “Tim’s right. He feels really hot.” He raises his head and looks at Bruce–and Damian on his other side. “When was the last time anyone talked to him?”

Tim shakes his head. “I talked to him last week. He seemed fine.”

“I haven’t spoken to the imbecile since the last time he was in the Cave,” Damian says, the words harsh but the tone less so.

Dick turns expectant eyes towards Bruce, and all he can do is shake his head. “I don’t know,” he manages, hating the way his voice wavers.

Dick keeps his gaze on him for a few more seconds, as if to say, “I know what you’re thinking,” before he glances back at Jason’s prone form. “I talked to him a few days ago when I invited him to this meeting. He sounded a little funny, but I chalked it up to too much smoking.”

There’s a beat of uncomfortable silence. Tim finally asks hesitantly, “Should we…?”

Dick is already reaching out, carefully pressing the release on Jason’s helmet and easing it off. He has to act quickly to catch his brother’s head as it lolls and almost hits the floor. Dick sets the helmet on the floor and brings his other hand up to cradle Jason’s head more securely. Now that the helmet is off, Bruce can see his face, and he can’t suppress a cringe. He looks awful. His face is white as a sheet, the hollows beneath his eyes dark. His lips are chapped and slightly parted, and his breathing is noticeably rattling–the mask must have filtered most of the sound out. Above all, he’s drenched in a thick sheen of sweat, and his face is completely slack.

Damian makes a sound of disgust, and Dick flinches, carefully freeing one hand to lay on Jason’s forehead. He draws back with a hiss after a moment, attempting to wipe his hand on his uniform shirt. “This is at least a hundred degree fever. I have no idea how long he’s had it. Regardless, he’s in no shape to go anywhere–tonight, and probably for a good week.”

Bruce swallows. Dick is looking at him expectantly, as are Tim and Damian. He’s not entirely comfortable with sending them out without him–but then again, they had managed to stay alive while he was gone and presumed-dead. “You three go ahead and start patrol. I’ll meet you in an hour.”

The three boys exchange glances, and an unspoken agreement passes between them. Tim and Damian turn to grab their weapons, and Dick very gently eases Jason onto his back and places his head on the floor. He runs his fingers through the sweaty bangs at the crown of Jason’s head, an affectionate gesture that reminds Bruce so much of their younger selves that it restricts his breath for a moment. Then his oldest gets up and grabs his escrima sticks off the table. He lifts his chin and addresses Bruce. “Sure you don’t need any help?”

“I’ll be fine, Dick. Thank you.” His oldest looks mildly surprised at the tone, but he nods and turns around, climbing into the driver’s seat of the larger batmobile. Tim and Damian are already loaded into the back. The car roars off into the night, and Bruce heaves a sigh. He steps around the table and gazes down at his second son. Crumpled and still as he is, he looks smaller than normal. He always holds his larger frame so rigidly whenever he’s around them–or maybe it’s just in general. Maybe it’s left-overs from being vulnerable as a kid. Maybe he does it to everyone.

(Maybe Bruce hasn’t messed up that badly.)

He leans down and slides an arm beneath Jason’s shoulders and another beneath his knees, slowly lifting him off the floor. He gets a soft groan in response, but when he checks Jason’s face, he’s still out. He must have been feeling truly terrible; he forgot to put on a domino mask beneath the helmet, like he usually does. He guides Jason’s head in to rest on his shoulder as he heads for the med bay. Normally he would take him upstairs, but between Tim’s immune system and how sick Jason is, he thinks the med bay is probably the better choice. He’s glad they installed an automatic door.

He picks one of the gurneys and props Jason against the headboard, then sets to work easing him out of his leather jacket. His sweaty skin is sticking to the jacket, so it takes a minute or two before Bruce can set the jacket across a nearby chair. He also takes Jason’s heavy boots off–no need for them while he’s in bed. Beneath it Jason’s wearing a faded t-shirt and worn jeans, probably his most comfortable street clothing. Bruce decides not to change his clothes right away; it’s chilly in the Cave, and Jason’s shivering already. He pulls a blanket from the rack in the middle of the room and tucks it around Jason’s shoulders.

Now that Jason’s somewhat settled, he moves on to assessing his illness. A thermometer shows a temp of 102. Bruce frowns at the read-out. They have fever medicine, but he knows it’s better to let a fever run for a while so it can do its work killing bacteria. Since he doesn’t know how long Jason’s been sick, it seems like it would be better to hold off for a while.

He moves on to Jason’s lungs, and he flinches when he listens to him breathe. There’s definitely some fluid there, and that’s not good. He starts Jason on an antibiotic drip, and decides to hook him up to oxygen for good measure, making a note to call Leslie as soon as he’s done.

Jason shifts slightly while he’s setting up one of the tanks of oxygen, and he flinches away when Bruce tries to place the mask on his face. He mumbles something incoherent, tossing his head. His brows have drawn together, an expression of pain on his features.

“Jay?” Bruce says quietly. Jason’s thick black lashes almost look like they’re stuck to his cheeks. The boy cringes, letting out a raspy breath. His eyes finally open to slits, and his gaze is cloudy from fever and exhaustion, but he still glances at Bruce. Bruce doesn’t try to smile, but he does his best to appear non-threatening; Jason hasn’t been working with them for long, and he only agreed to compromise for his brother’s sakes. They haven’t been fighting or anything, they just…haven’t spoken to each other. In months.

At least he’s not wearing the cowl. That would be awkward.

Jason eyes him for a moment, then lets his eyes roll shut with a quiet groan. Bruce swallows hard. He’s not sure whether that was an expression of disgust with his own presence, or of the sickness, or…anything really. He’s not entirely sure what to say.

Thankfully, Jason–as is fairly typical of a Robin–picks up the slack where he can’t. “Hey, B,” he whisper-croaks, eyes still closed, and Bruce presses his lips together at the rush of warmth he feels. For a moment, he can forget that Jason is an adult who willingly kills, that most of the time he hates him, that he ever died to begin with. This is familiar, and this he can handle. With all of his kids, but maybe especially with Jason. Maybe it’s that knowledge that makes him brave enough to reach out and gently lay his hand on the side of Jason’s head. “Hello, Jason.”

Jason leans his head into Bruce’s touch, a faint sigh escaping him. “Yu’re cool,” he breathes. “S'nice.”

Bruce chuckles. “I’m not surprised it feels nice. You have a 102 fever.”

“Is that all.” Jason sounds completely unconcerned.

“That’s not good. Jason, how long have you been sick?” Bruce asks.

Jason’s brow furrows and his nose scrunches up as if he’s thinking, his eyes still closed. “Th’ chest and head for…a week? I think?” He shrugs one shoulder vaguely, and grunts, his expression turning to a cringe.

“Head hurt?” Bruce asks. Jason doesn’t nod, mumbles an “uh huh,” instead. Bruce leaves his side for a moment to grab a washcloth and go to wet it in the sink. He comes back and sits down on the bed beside Jason, pressing the cloth to his forehead. Jason almost moans with relief and curls as close as he can. “Cold is the best,” he gasps, and Bruce can’t help but laugh a bit. “Do you have any idea what you have? The flu? RSV?”

“Nope,” Jason mutters dismissively.  "Ev'rthing hurts and is too hot and I alm'st wish I was dead again.“

Bruce has to stop himself from clenching down on the cloth he’s holding on Jason’s forehead. He fists his hands in the sheet, instead. Jason’s half-delirious, he knows he didn’t mean it, and he’s always been kind of tongue-in-cheek about the subject…

“S'rry,” Jason startles him with the quiet, subdued word. “Th’t was stupid.”

So Bruce forces himself to take a breath. “It’s alright, Jason.” He says, almost in a level tone. “I get it.”

Jason gives a breathless giggle that makes Bruce raise his eyebrow. He hasn’t heard that sound in years. He shakes his head and asks another question. “Why did you come out if you were this sick?”

Jason shrugs delicately, rubbing his forehead against the cloth. “Told Dick I’d come. I’m f'ne.”

“Yes, dropping like a rock in the middle of the briefing and passing out cold is completely fine,” Bruce deadpans.

“Huh.” Jason mumbles. “So that’s why yu’re here.”

Bruce sighs. At any other time he might have called Jason out on insinuating that something had to go wrong before he acted like he cared, but he doesn’t have the heart to do so when Jason’s barely coherent.

Besides, every once in a while when he’s alone, he admits to himself that Jason’s right.

“Dick wouldn’t have been mad at you, he just would have worried. I wouldn’t be mad at you either. I think Tim would have appreciated some warning.”

At that Jason’s eyes fly open, an expression of startled realization and remorse in them. “Shit. I forg’t bout his…thing.”

“It’s okay,” Bruce reassures him, combing through his sweaty bangs with his free hand. “I’ll keep a close eye on him.”

Jason grunts. “Kid needs t’ take c’re of h'mself more.”

Bruce snorts fondly. “You’re one to talk.”

The edges of Jason’s lips curve up slightly. “I can g’t away with it.”

Bruce sighs. “Yes, you always could.” He glances up at the clock, and blinks in surprise to see that it’s already been two hours since Jason had passed out. He glances back down at the boy. “Jason, I’m going to call Leslie and get her to come look you over soon, see if you need anything special, okay?”

Jason nods. “Kay,” he mumbles.
Bruce starts to pull away, but Jason’s right hand reaches up and clasps his wrist with more force than he’d expect. He doesn’t say anything, but his expression looks almost scared in a way that breaks Bruce’s heart. With his free hand, Bruce clicks his comm on. “Nightwing, do you copy?”

A buzz of static, and then Dick’s voice comes in clearly. “Here, what’s up? How’s Hood?”

“Sick, but stable,” Bruce says, and he listens to Dick’s relieved sigh before speaking again. “How’s it going out there?”

“Actually pretty quiet, all things considered,” Dick says. “We were thinking we might come back early?” He feels a twinge of guilt at the hesitance in Dick’s voice. He nods, even though Dick can’t see him. “Affirmative.” He glances at Jason’s pale face. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

He can practically hear Dick smiling when he says, “Got it. See you then.”

Something in Jason’s face eases as Bruce closes the channel. He pulls a chair over next to the bed and sits down, taking Jason’s hand and enveloping it with his own. “It’s okay to take a night off every once in a while, after all,” he says wryly.

Jason gives a slight smile with his eyes closed. His expression is quickly smoothing out, though, as he falls back asleep. Bruce reaches out with his free hand and strokes back his hair. “Go to sleep, Jason. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Jason breathes as his lashes flutter closed.

Bruce grips his hand tightly before leaning over and pressing his lips to Jason’s forehead. It’s hot and sweaty, but he doesn’t care. “You’re welcome, Jay.” he whispers when he pulls back.

It’s not quite an “I love you,” but it kind of is.


(AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7331395)

anonymous asked:

Most AAA titles these days go the preorder route. The loud minority speak out against them surely, but I understand and I don't mind paying for games I like or supporting devs and studios I like. The one issue I have is the growing gap that used to be filled by the game demo. With preorders, I can't rely on game reviews since those come out on release day. What happened to the game demo and why hasn't the game industry found a way to fill that hole that it left?

Honestly, it’s because playable game demos released pre-launch are generally accepted as having an overall negative effect on the sales of games. A few years ago, a couple of market research firms (EEDAR and NPD) conducted market research on multiple game launches. They collected data on the games that launched with a demo and a trailer, a demo only, a trailer only, and neither of the two. Most notably, the games with only a trailer but no demo actually sold more copies than the games with a demo, or games without either. And not just a few more copies - the number was more than double. An X360 game that was released with only a trailer sold 525,000 units on average. A game that was released with a trailer and a demo only sold 250,000 units. A game without either would only average 100,000 units sold. So… in answer to your question, the “hole” that was left was actually really bad for our earnings. We don’t want it back, because it would mean we would do a bunch of work to build a demo pre-launch and sell fewer games as a result. 

This isn’t to say we don’t build playable demos anymore. It’s just that we don’t release them pre-launch anymore to avoid cannibalizing our own potential sales. Most game demos are now released around a month or so post-launch.

Guys I’m really nervous about these screencaps of the crossover episode that got released. 

We know from the preview clip that the turtles go with their 1987 counterparts to New York in the past… like, the pre-black hole generator past that they’re in right now. Look at their faces. Look at Mikey tugging on Donnie’s arm, and Donnie and Leo’s smiles. We can’t totally see what’s going through Raph’s mind at this exact moment, but I bet he’s one blink away from making a face that will make us go “Dawwwww, Raphie-kins!”

But also, look at this one:

I’ll just refer to the ‘87 turtles with their whole first names, and the ‘12 turtles with their nicknames. Cuz, ya know. 

I’m assuming Donnie and Donatello are in the lab, and Donatello’s probably having a full-on geek explosion. 

Raphael is checking out the pinball machine as Raph looks on. 

Mikey is doing a headstand on his skateboard and Michelangelo looks like he just wiped out after a bit of skateboarding himself. 

Leonardo is watching TV. 

But Leo IS HEADING TO THE DOJO. 

I could be wrong. He could be going to the kitchen. Maybe he’s hungry. Maybe he misses the way Icecream Kitty used to hiss at him as she hoarded her Pokemon-ish cards. But… I really think he’s going to the dojo. What if Splinter is there? What if he isn’t? Both possibilities seem heart-wrenching.

I guess we’ll have to wait and find out what happens. TT.TT

So I’m really bad at waking up in the morning, and usually I have alarms going on about an hour or so before I need to wake up in order to actually wake up–sometimes people kind of act skeptical about that, like really I’d be better off just waking up quickly, but my brain just doesn’t do that. It just doesn’t bridge the sleep/wake threshold in any way that makes sense. An interesting example is this morning, for about a half hour prior to Full Consciousness, I had this convincing thought that I was actually very awake due to a system devised by tumblr user toastyhat involving some sort of weird, scientific splintering and then re-assembly of yourself, and it was all very infomercial-esque…then I woke up and was like “wait a second…”