#But also makes them want just to throw their ton weighting armors away for a change and just wear simple clothes

[meangreennunseen]

My favorite thing about drawing Primarchs is that I draw Sanguinius' casuals in a way it makes him look like suburban mom, tho I long time ago developed headcanon that once he was found by Emperor, Sanguinius showed up on Terra in his full armored regalia and Fulgrim took one look at him with "You are not wearing this while off duty" and proceeded to help Sanguinius pick some ordinary outfit he liked the look of.

So this is story why this man dresses as suburban mom. He just liked the outfit, it worked with his wings and was comfy enough. Good for him.

[pangtasias-atelier]

Hello! I see that you’re open for requests again. If you don’t mind too much, would you write some Claude Von Riegan from 3Houses weight gain? Like him starting to gain tons after becoming king since he’s all about feasting (but he tries to deny it).

So doing this request really made me wanna play the game again lol. Cause I do love me some Claude. Also really enjoyed this request even though it made me feel worried cause like I wanted to add more characters but it wasn't called for so I just added one ajndbhsjn

Warning: This is a fetish story!

"Please, more food for our guests! And some extra wine from our reserves while you're at it," Claude lifts up his own wine glass; the last few remnants of his wine swirl around the bottom of his crystal clear cup. The plates in front of Claude are the same as his emptied out glass. Each plate is nearly cleaned out. Only crumbs litter each dish that was once full of food.

Contrary to Claude's claims, his guests still have food. Nowhere near the amount that they started with —both men almost as eager to enjoy the time of merriment as their host— but the two dignitaries are near the tail end of managing to eat all the food offered to them by such a hospitable host.

A host whose hospitality is matched by his girth.

Claude had begun implementing his own methods upon taking the Almyrian throne. His time spent in Fodlan and with its people’s customs gave him a different mindset compared to his people in Almyra. But Claude couldn’t forgo Almyra’s own customs and principles, especially while trying to foster better relations between Almyra and Fodlan, specifically with its bordering country the Leicester Alliance first. Feasts heavily involved with Almyrian culture, feasts that were meant to celebrate and honor the dead after battles and skirmishes that Claude wished to avoid, the new king had begun to spin some tale over his new ideas. So, Claude began to throw feasts with every new treaty, council, or decision he made, claiming that such important decisions should be accompanied to honor the deceased while creating a country the deceased could be proud of. Which had surprisingly worked in his favor as the months of his reign began to grow, the cheerful environment even better for making deals in Almyra’s favor.

And because of Claude’s often thrown feasts, his own figure has softened. Considerably so. His face no longer carries the same sharp features it once did. Instead, his doughy cheeks puff out from his lovingly soft and round visage. The bit of well kept facial hair outlines the slight curvature of his face, highlighting his puffy, bloated self. Claude already has a double chin, adding to his softened appearance like his plush neck. Claude no longer wears any of his armor or adornments on his tan outfit. His coat is no longer completely closed like before; the pristine white undershirt that matches his cravat peeking out from the portions of his attire that can’t wrap around his pudge. His coat struggles to cover him up the most in the lower portion of Claude’s torso from his gut. His stomach sits comfortably in Claude’s lap. His newish gut is a large recipient of his recent weight. The soft, plush belly that can be cradled by two sets of hands stretches out his shirt but is completely covered up by the taut fabric. Claude’s chest is obstructed by two layers of clothing; his coat still strains against the width of his new, larger chest. The two soft breasts don’t quite rest on his stomach due to Claude’s posture, but they do sag down from their own size, close enough to be permanently touching his gut after some more weight. Claude’s sleeves and pants fare much better than his coat and shirt. The material sturdy as it is poofy, the fabric would be able to hide his blubbery 300 pound body if not for the rest of his outfit giving it away —or Claude’s new habits that came along with the constant feasts. The fabric of Claude’s sleeves and pants still retain their usual large look but now his limbs fill out most of the space where before there used to be breathing room. His round thighs don’t fill up the expanse of his seat, Claude’s seat always much larger and wider to match its ornamentation as his title of king. Claude has his legs spread out to give them some breathing room. And some breathing room to his gut with a lower roll of flab that rests on his thighs. Claude’s sleeves betray none of his added poundage but the shoulders are tight on his figure, the fabric straining and giving him some resistance whenever he reaches forward for another bite or sip of his drink. Claude’s coat once reaching all the way down to just below his ass, the fabric is pushed further up by both his gut and ass. Claude’s rear still holds definition to it, the two flabby yet shapely cheeks covered up by his hardworking pants. But his coat does show off the outline of the upper curve of his ass as the lower flaps of fabric rest and drape over the upper half of his butt.

Claude still eating away, his attention goes towards the servants returning with food and drinks in hand. More wine is poured into his empty glass first before they serve the half full glasses of his visitors; the plates of fried pheasant and bourgeois pike are placed onto the table similarly, Claude’s portions also larger.

Both the dignitaries dig into their sample sized platters despite already feeling quite stuffed. Both of them from western Almyra, the two’s constant visits relating to issues on the border have left both of them with the trace of a starter belly, both of their muscular figures now sporting a small layer of pudge.

Claude waits until after he finishes half of both of his plates before speaking, but more importantly, he waits until both of the other men’s minds start to focus on coaxing and easing their stuffed stomachs, the wine helping loosen their thought process as well.

“So, I take it that we’re at an agreement then.” Claude declares, suddenly standing up —pushing his chair an extra foot back first to give his gut enough room. He hides his smile as he sees his guests glad to be free from the formalities of their king, both still doing their best to nurse their aching stomachs as discreetly as possible. “As long as you keep an eye on stopping fights from breaking out on the border, then I’ll give more of our profits from exporting minerals to your territories. I already spoke yesterday with the lords from the easter territories, so exports should be even more lucrative for Almyra,”

“Of course your majesty,” Both men agree to the beneficial terms.

Calling some servants to show them their quarters, Claude smiles to himself when he finally gets a moment alone. He glances down at the table. Not allowing such good food to go to waste, he takes his two half finished plates of food to his room, quietly humming along the walk.

"Here you are, your majesty," Claude's accountant —a thin, wiry man who's served him for a year now— hands Claude an entire set of documents he's been working on for the past few days. The multiple pages are filled with all of the invoices regarding the weekend's festivities. A banquet being held in honor of all the staff's hard work, Claude had hired numerous people to fill in and cover the jobs of those being honored.

Claude rifles through the paperwork, pudgy fingers leafing every corner of the parchment. His other hand delicately picks at the charcuterie board. He drops zero crumbs; Claude absentmindedly brings the assortments of meats and cheeses to his mouth while glancing at each invoice. A large empty bottle of champagne sits on his desk, the last bits of the drink in Claude’s glass with him having drinken the rest of it.

"Looks like everything is in order. Make sure they all receive fair compensation," Claude leans back in his chair as he sends his accountant on his way.

All alone for a brief moment, Claude takes the time to catch a breather. In a private secluded off room, the expansive area is built with him in mind with Claude being its main user. There is a distinct lack of furniture, the main seat set off to the side to accommodate such a bulky user.

The constant feasts have done a number on Claude's waistline. An extra couple hundred pounds on his figure, Claude still maintains his appearance. His clothes hug his shapely figure. Claude's current weight makes even his fat self from months back seem small with all the extra pounds packed onto his body. Claude's stomach lurches all the way down onto his thick lap. His massive gut well accustomed to exorbitant feasts, the pile of flab is nearly always filled to the brim. His gut takes up almost all of his lap. His thighs are large in their own respect; the two thick legs are spread out to give his large thighs some breathing room. His stomach takes advantage of the extra space though. Claude’s massive gut oozes in between the two large thighs, his lowest fold of belly fat hanging over his chair like a canopy of flab. Claude’s fat pad is squished in between all his adipose.

Claude rests a large, flabby hand on his dome of a gut. He rubs his belly while still picking at his overloaded board. His stomach rises and falls with each labored breath he takes. Claude’s large chest also rises and falls. His breasts have filled out with enough flab to where the sides of his moobs sag enough to always be touching the upper rolls of his stomach fat when sitting. His bicep presses up against his breasts while he rubs his aching gut, flab squished together. Claude slowly puts away the entire assortment of food despite the complaints coming from his overtaxed gut and the complaints coming from the cramped chair. The chair is as stuffed as his own gut, the chair crammed full of Claude’s own bulk. His ass and thighs practically spill out of the furniture, Claude’s ass filling out his tight pants with them being as wide as a chair specifically meant for him.

Claude continues to eat at his now almost emptied out charcuterie board, a small dusting of crumbs from the crackers on his plump lips and cheeks. Glancing down at his corpulence while cramming the last bit of food in his mouth, Claude continues to rub his stomach. He sits in silence for a few minutes, the only sound accompanying him being the churning of his belly. He basks in his own enormity before getting up. The simple movement is much more of a process nowadays. Especially when he had zero trouble back in his slim days. Now, Claude slowly rises up with a groan building up in the back of his throat, arms growing warmer with a slight strain to them as he does his best to not disturb his stomach. Standing up, his stomach sags even further down without a cushion for a lap for it to nestle in between. With a great big stretch —Claude’s bones cracking as he raises two meaty sized arms as high into the air he can, his soft face squished in between two positively fat arms— Claude’s tucked in shirt strains. The fabric pulls out from between his pants and flab, the very lowest curve of his tanned and fuzzy belly poking out from underneath.

He ignores the outfit malfunction in favor of waddling back to the festivities. His engorged figure wobbles just from the slight exertion alone, Claude heading back to enjoy the assortment of delicacies awaiting him.

Lorenze is wide eyed at the spectacle in front of him. “This has to be a joke,” He mutters under his breath, still aware of his surroundings.

Not ever having expected a complete peace between Almyra and the Leicester Alliance, even knowing that Almyra now had Claude’s capable mind and hands to guide it, Lorenz had been shocked into silence for several minutes when he had received news of an official peace treaty between the two countries.

His current shock almost mirrors his shock from before. Almost, Lorenz having enough decorum to subdue his expression.

“Thank you. I believe I know the rest,” Excusing himself, Lorenz silently thanks Claude for having the foresight to explain the two’s friendly relationship to his staff. Especially since the two’s continued back and forth letters were meant to be kept a secret as friends.

The entire room is a jumbled mess. The banquet hall is filled to the brim with countless others mingling about the area. Today a celebration in honor of tomorrow’s peace signing, the party going company outdoes anything Lorenz has ever seen. His petite arms ache as others bump into him. But he eventually makes his way to Claude, a secluded table meant for just the two of them as friends but also as representatives for their countries. At the end of the table is a large cutout, said cutout created to allow better room for the absolute behemoth of a man who eats away.

“Everyone got worried when you and your entourage didn’t show up on time but I knew you’d make it,” Claude makes no attempt to stand up and greet his guest. Lorenz wonders if he even could get up without taking an eternity to do so, so much of Claude to go around now. Claude already has a selection of plates in front of him; some of his plates are emptied out.

Seated in his spot is Claude. His years as king have clearly done wonders for his body just as it has done for Almyra. Claude is now an enormously fat man; clearly on his last vestiges of mobility, his body is absolutely bloated from his countless meals and abundant indulgence. Claude is at least five times the man he used to be. So excessively fat, he needs everything custom sized to withstand him now. And he clearly struggles with even those accommodations. His clothes are a strained mess; multiple yards of fabric wrinkled and bundled together from stretching over so much volume and surface area. The few remaining buttons that haven’t already torn off on Claude’s top try their very best to cover up their obese king. The upper buttons gone, Claude’s ample chest sags out of his forcibly made low neckline shirt.The shirt barely covers his midsection, three buttons left. Claude’s breasts —which are now larger than his own face and are even comparable to his stomach when he first started gaining weight— seep over the fabric. His chest free, Claude even uses it as his own personal table by resting whichever plate he currently eats on them. He pretty much needs to with how much his arms struggle with even the most minimal and sluggish of movement. Like his own breasts, Claude’s girthy arms are wider than even his own head; the two impressively sized arms resemble pudgy thighs from how swollen in fat they are, the two encumbered limbs sagging in fat each time Claude lifts a fat hand to grab even more food.

The bottom couple of buttons of Claude’s shirt also popped off, the culprit had been Claude’s enormous gut. The large, blubbery gut has free reign to take up as much space as it wants. His titanic gut does exactly that. The blanketing mass of fat covers his entire lap, the sides of his own chair, and surprisingly even manages to seep onto the table custom made for Claude. Claude’s gut large enough to cover a person, the massive stomach looks proportional on Claude. While Claude’s thighs are hidden under a pile of fat for a stomach, the two thick legs are cramped in his seat. The arm rests surprisingly manage to withstand the onslaught of flab, only slightly bulging outwards from Claude’s meaty thighs. Not that anyone can see it but Claude’s pants are unbuttoned, his bulging fat pad comfortable buried under his gut. The elastic waistband of his pants seem to have no more give to them; Claude’s blubber is squished and pinched by the fabric. Claude’s thighs fare a little better, surprisingly so considering each thigh is wide enough to need its own chair — a chair for normal sized people, Claude’s tremendous weight and size anything but normal. His pants have the beginning of a few tears running down the side seams. Claude’s ass smushed between the chair and a few couple hundred pounds of the rest of his body, his large posterior still forces Claude to sit a bit forward in his chair, his jutting ass already cramped as it is even with the extra room he gives it. Like the rest of his pants, a small tear runs down the back of his pants. Though Claude thankfully has underclothes to cover up his ass, not that he hasn’t already shown more than enough of himself already after a few of his more infamous feasts.

Upon seeing the state of Claude, Lorenz simply keeps quiet. He bites his tongue, silvery lips of honey laced words unable to save him when he can barely process the sight of a man who seems able to eat through an entire night —of which Claude has definitely indulged in multiple times.

“Take a seat,” Claude covers the upcoming belch with his hand, still not too far into partaking in all the festivities to not be wasted. Though his tolerance has shot up from how much he drinks and eats.

Lorenz does as told. He never breaks eye contact with Claude’s pudgy face as he descends into his chair that’s a third of Claude’s width. He glances down at his own food, the rich delicacies somehow still fresh and warm despite his tardiness, before looking back at Claude. “So,” Is all Lorenz musters.

“Hmm?” Claude diverts his attention from his food. His distended jowls wobble as he chews. His chins do the same, all of Claude in a perpetual state of motion from even the slightest of actions. Still chewing, Claude waits for Lorenz to speak. He does his best to look at the still silent Lorenz, but break eye contact every so often to cram more food into his mouth.

“I see,,,” Lorenz glances down at the table. “I see than you’ve been throwing a lot of feasts,”

“Oh this? No, not really. This is a special celebration for tomorrow,”

Lorenz’s fingers drum at his thighs, thighs that are thinner than Claude’s own arms. “Is that so? I asked around and everyone made it seem like such a common occurrence,”

“People love to talk about how great others are,” Claude reaches forward to put a now empty plate back. Leaning forward, his gut smothers more of the table. His movement is sluggish, Claude’s face growing flushed.

Lorenz doesn’t bring up the weight of Claude’s pudgy court. Or how Claude eyes him with a grin while struggling to grab a plate. “Well, you deserve it. Who could have expected peace between our countries would be possible? Besides us at least,”

“You made it clear in your letters, yes,” Plate secured, Claude lets out huge huffs, his monumental gut rising and falling. With one hand feeding himself, Claude rubs at his gut with the other.

“Yes,” Lorenz’s hands clench the table.

Claude keeps eating in silence. Eventually, his rubs turn into full on groping, each bloated roll of flab grabbed and shaked while he delightfully stuffs himself, a few breathy moans accidentally escaping his lips. “You can eat too,” Claude politefully adds. But only after licking the remnants of his plate off his sausages for fingers, Lorenz staring back at Claude’s half lidded eyes.

“Well,” Lorenz stands up. “It seems you might need the food more than I,” His entire face is red; redder than even after embarrassing himself by giving wrong answers in classes many years ago, redder than even Claude imagined after the two’s multiple exchanged letters. Walking around the table Lorenz pushes his hair out of the way to keep looking at Claude.

“I am still rather hungry,” Claude does his best to lean back in his chair. He doesn’t say much else, Lorenz already upon him with a plate in hand.

Uncaring, or perhaps spurred on by Claude, Lorenz takes a seat on Claude’s lap —but not without having to lift up the mass of fat and letting himself be pressed up against it as he takes a seat.

“Rather forward, no?” Claude teases. He opens up his mouth nonetheless as Lorenz brings him a forkful of food.

Lorenz ignores him. He uses Claude’s chest as a table as well to free up his other hand to rub at Claude’s immensely obese body. Lorenz has to drape himself against Claude, sinking into so much plush fat. “Your subjects seem to not mind such a pig for a king, so let’s make sure they get an eyeful of you at the summit tomorrow,”

Claude simply smiles and allows himself to be fed. His gut exposed, his navel barely covered up by the too small shirt, he obediently allows Lorenz to feed him, ready to show himself and his accomplishments to Almyra.

[heyheydidjaknow]

Hiya! I have a request for an x reader songfic. Snap out of it by the Arctic monkeys gives me so many 2012 Donnie vibes. Maybe one where the reader is in love with Donnie but he likes April and the reader wants Donnie to, you know, "snap out of it" and notice that maybe April isn't the best person towards him. It can end in unrequited love or with a happy ending, that's for you to decide but I just really want to see this concept. Thanks! :>

(feel free to ignore this request if you want 👁️👁️)

Oh, I’m not about to turn away a chance to be pushed out into foreign territory. I admittedly hadn’t known what a songfic was until wikipedia and @kunimikat saved my ass, so this was fun-- and a bit scary-- to write. I hope you like it, even if it might not have been exactly what you were expecting.

April was your friend. She had been for a while, now, since she had moved to NYC. The two of you had come even closer after her kidnapping and initiation into the “Hamato Clusterfuck” as you had affectionately called it at first—you had wisely made a conscious effort to only get involved with them as far as you could throw them, sticking solidly to offering emotional support and half-decent food. At the beginning, you had, on multiple occasions, even begged her to stay out of it, trying to reason with her that getting herself killed by a psychotic armored man with an axe to grind for the crime of hanging out with four teenage shut-ins was an incredibly bad idea. When your logical arguments fell on deaf ears—her owing them apparently being her ball and chain—you had designated yourself as her supervisor to make sure she did not do something overly impulsive. She was reckless, overly trusting, immature, but you loved her like a sister. You balanced each other out.

One of the benefits of knowing someone for so long is that you learn things about them that they do not know about themselves. In April’s case, it had been that she was terrible at making up her mind

 What's been happenin' in your world?

You had borne witness to the love triangle transpiring between Donatello Hamato, Casey Jones and her for the better part of a year now. You were relieved that the two boys had backed off each other’s throats somewhat over the period, but it was as infuriating as it was fascinating to watch them fight over her like a chew toy. Of course, April had her preference between the two, favoring the hockey player mainly for his general normalcy, which was a decision you could approve of, but she had hesitated until recently to make that obvious to the other point because, in her words, “The last thing I want is to deal with is all of that awkwardness.” You could hardly blame her for her hesitation, but you thought it almost cruel not to make her feelings apparent to her lovestruck puppy.

 What have you been up to?

Donnie was the most tolerable of the five, the most normal in your opinion. He was an infatuated, insecure teenage boy with more an affinity towards machines and, best of all, seemed concerned for your friend, all things that you could get on board with. In your opinion, overbearingness is preferable to negligence in this case, and you were just happy that someone physically capable had her back. As such, when you were stuck at the lair for hours waiting for her lessons with Splinter to be over—you were her ride—you found yourself spending the most time around him, and as time went on, you started going out of your way to do so.

Seeing as April and Casey were your only other friends, it was natural you would get romantically attached. They—a couple by high school standards—approved of your crush, and all you told your guardian(s) was that they were smart, fit, and financially responsible, so they asked few questions.

You knew, logically, this was not a competition and that April had little interest in him.

But something about the way he gazed at her made you burn green with envy.

 I heard that you fell in love, or near enough.

His eyes were just so… wistfully longing. He watched as the redhead and her boyfriend played against Michelangelo and Raphael in a game of charades. His expression was just so soft, lips pursing and popping silently as he grieved from his seat in his lab.

It had been a downhill spiral on your end from there, and as your own attachment grew for him, his own depression worsened. Your eyes drifted from your friend as you tried to make him see that, no, the world was not ending because his first crush did not like him back. You would make subtle comments about how happy his brothers were, how happy she and Casey were together, how smart he was and how many people would die for a kind, loving, smart guy to come around and sweep them off their feet. This, again, fell on deaf ears; he would always comment on how, if he were such a catch, April would not have chosen Casey, like It is his fault for her having more of a taste in cocky, fun-loving guys than intelligent ones. Half of it was probably your lack of experience in subtlety, but no matter what you would try to say, whenever romance came up in conversation, his words turned sharp and bitter.

On that day, you just cracked.

 I gotta tell you the truth.

You walked over to the lab door, closing it in a single fluid motion. ‘I’m better at being blunt, anyways.’

He blinked; his trance was interrupted by the small slam.

“She’s not into you.”

“Huh?”

You crossed the room and placed your hand on the desk, expression stern and stone cold. “April,” you repeat. “She’s not interested.”

He did not meet your gaze. “You don’t know that.”

“I do, actually.” You leaned down to look him in the eye. “You aren’t her type. You’re supposed to be smart.” You placed the other on the back of his chair, arms cagging him in, almost. “ She has a boyfriend,” you continued, softer. “You know that, right?”

“I do.” He tapped the side of his thumb against the table absently, throat tight. “But what else do you suppose I do? Submit to the fact that I’ll be alone forever?” He looked up at you. “I know this may be hard for you to believe,” he continued, easily slipping out from under your arms, “but I don’t exactly have a ton of options. She’s the only person who’s ever looked at me like that; how am I supposed to move on from the only person who’s ever even given me a chance?”

 I wanna grab both your shoulders and shake, baby.

 You rolled your eyes, turning to watch him as he crossed to the other side of the room. “That is some blatant bullshit,” you glared curtly.

“Is it, though?” His back was to you as he crouched down in front of his centrifuge, fiddling with it. “As someone who’s never—”

“So help me, if you go off about me not understanding being rejected and feeling like they’d die alone, I’ll rip your tongue out.” You stood back up properly.

“What would you know about it?” He followed suit, eyes locking on yours. “You have other people to choose from.”

“And you don’t?” You crossed your arms, smiling incredulously. “How do we differ, exactly?”

“Besides the obvious?”

You scoffed. “You’ve seen your brothers. Never stopped them.”

“And I’m happy for them, that they’re so charismatic as to be able to find partners so easily.” You could taste the bitterness in his words. “But I’m not them, in case you didn’t notice. That girl out there?” He pointed to the door. “She’s the first and only person in the universe who’s ever given me a second glance.”

“So you’re just fucking blind, now?” You heard your voice rise without your input.

“What’re you talking about?” His voice grew with yours.

“You’re lovesick,” you spat. “Snap out of it.”

 Snap out of it.

You ran your fingers through your hair. “Or maybe you’re just dense.” You felt a laugh rise in your throat. “I mean,” you gestured, “clearly picking up on verbal subtext isn’t your forte.”

You gave him five seconds. “What,” you continued, rubbing your face with your hands, “Are you—” You stopped. “You are, aren’t you?”

Nothing.

You took a slow breath, hearing your heartbeat in your ears. “Let me put it in simple, plain English for you.”

 I get the feelin' I left it too late, but baby—

 “As her friend? You’re a fucking creep.” You crossed your arms across your chest. “Following her the way you did—wait your turn—” A finger interrupted his defense. “Following her the way you did? Objectively creepy. Staring at her all the time? Also fucking creepy.” You felt your nails dig into your skin. “Any person would call it as it is.”

He opened his mouth again to argue. You did not interrupt him this time, but he did not argue, the silence falling like a weighted blanket over the two of you.

“As your friend,” you continued, voice lowered, “as someone who cares about you, I know April, and she can’t give you what you want. It’s not her; she needs to be free, and I love her, but you’re looking for something that’s just not there.” Your voice was certain. “You’re looking for someone to spend your life with. I’m right, aren’t I?”

 Snap out of it.

 He was still for a moment, looking off into the ether. He nodded, face melancholy.

You walked over, resting a hand on his shoulder tentatively. “I’m not saying it’s stupid of you to not be over her. Again, I love her to bits, so I see the appeal.” You broke eye contact, trying to articulate exactly what you meant. “But I’m worried,” you explained slowly, “you’re only hung up on her because you’re scared of being alone. That’s not fair to her or yourself.”

“Do you know that?”

“No,” you admitted easily, “but you and I are the same way, and trust me, I’ve been around the heartbreak block.” You smiled, trying to relieve the tension.

That earned a chuckle. A small one, but a chuckle none the less.

You reached up, cupping his cheek in your hand. “There are seven billion people on this planet. Any one of them—myself included—would be lucky to have a life with you.”

 If that watch don’t continue to swing—

 A pause.

“Do you honestly believe that?”

You nodded, your thumb running along the line of his eye socket. “I do.”

 —or the fat lady fancies havin' a sing—

 You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his cheek gently.

 —I'll be here, waitin' ever so patiently—

 “Y/N!” You pulled back as you heard April calling your name. “We need a moderator!”

You started back towards the door, waving gently. “I wish you good tidings, Donatello.” You smiled quietly, serenity itself standing in the doorway. “May whoever is fortunate enough to call you their own bring you happiness. You deserve it.” You slipped out of his lab, running over to break them up.

Donatello rested his fingers on where your mouth had lit his skin. He felt a bittersweet smile fade onto his face.

—for you to snap out of it.

And that was when it began.

List of Works

[lordabovehelpme]

Hey Lordy I hope you’re enjoying your vacation!❤️ I was wondering if in the future you’ll write a flashback in your Days Filled with Love series to their wedding day? Knowing you, it would be the most adorable wedding ever and I’d LOVE to see that😘 Have a fantastic day! I send u tons of hugs!!!💖

Day of Remembrance - Din Djarin x Reader

Moodboard by the amazing @jedi-jesi

A/n: JESIIIIII!!!! NOOO THIS IS TOO CUTE. I LOVE THIS IDEA. I SAW YOU SENT THIS IN AND SQUEALED. HOPEFULLY THIS LIVES UP TO YOUR EXPECTATIONS!!! LOVE YA DARLING.

So this is the next chapter to my days with love series so I would highly recommend reading the other chapters first.

You can find the first part here :)

Also, I have no idea what actual mandalorian weddings are like, so please don’t comment “that’s incorrect” mostly becuase you would be right. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay all five are down and asleep.” Walking into the living room, you brush your hands on your skirt. Your husband sits on the couch, cleaning one of his blasters.

At the sound of your voice his helmet lifts to meet your gaze. When he sets the weapon down, you smile and rush to sit on his thighs.

“Well hello to you too.” Instantly, his hands latch to your sides and give you a playful squeeze.

Frowning, you tap the beskar helmet. “Why are you still wearing this?”

“I was waiting for you to come take it off me.”

Biting your lip, you grab both sides of his helmet and reveal his face to your home. When it reaches his forehead you stop and admire him. Big brown eyes stare at you with so much love it makes you dizzy. A small smile makes his lips slightly upturn and his cheeks are a little prickly.

Not being able to stop yourself, you press your lips to his own. “You’re so handsome.”

“Mmh.” Pulling away from you his eyes sparkle with lust. “You say that everytime.”

Scoffing, you playfully bat his shoulder. “No I don't! And even if I do, it is the truth.”

He chuckles and grabs his helmet, quietly setting it down besides you two. “You remember how that was the first thing you said to me on our wedding night?”

Placing a finger on your chin, you recall the eventful day, and night, of your wedding. “Wait, you’re right! Maker, I could have said anything else.” Shaking your head you bashfully tuck your head into his chest.

Two arms wrap around your back and rub circles into your sore muscles. “I wouldn’t have had it any different.”

***

A shiver runs down his spine as your fingers grasp the sides of his helmet. His hands rise to cover your own, neither pushing you away nor helping you. Uneasy, yet more excited than he’d ever been before.

Slowly, painfully slow, you start to lift his helmet from his head. Will you like him? WIll you think he’s ugly? Will this change how you see him?

As his helmet is fully pulled off he scans your face, searching for disgust and revoltance.

“Din…” Your voice is soft and gentle, wavering under the intense emotion of the moment. Letting the helmet drop to the ground, one of your hands moves to cup his cheek.

He releases a breath he didn't know he was holding and leans into your touch, a gesture that happens frequently. However, usually the extra weight of his helmet falls into your hand, but now… now it’s just him.

“You’re so handsome.” A large smile breaks onto your face and your eyes become watery. His stomach erupts in sparks, relieved that you haven’t rejected him. Your other hand rises to grasp the other side of his head, fingers tracing his features.

A smile of his own brightens his features and his chest swells with adoration.

His wife finds him handsome.

His wife.

Leaning down, he presses his forehead against your own. Slowly, he kisses each of your palms, as if trying to memorize every single inch of them.

“Kiss me?” He nearly melts at your request. Meeting your gaze he finds that words no longer form on his tongue. All he can do is close his eyes and press his lips upon your own.

Neither of you move, lips held against each other, perfectly content in the moment. He can’t even form a thought right now, not a single word pops into his head. It’s like he's become sedated with your touch.

One of his hands rests on your hip and the other grabs your cheek. You lean into him and start moving your lips against his. Groaning, he squeezes your side and starts to mirror your actions.

He can feel your smile as you grab his bottom lip, carefully biting it. His brain short circuits and he freezes. One of your hands trails around his neck and up into his hair. Fingers weave through the curls at the back of his head and slightly pull.

What once was a tender moment has turned into a hot passionate haze.

Breaking from your mouth, he attacks your neck. Latching onto your skin he groans at your taste. So sweet, he wants to tell you. However, it seems you’ve taken his speech when you put him under your spell.

“Din.” Your voice is hushed and breathy. He smiles himself when you lean your head, giving him more access to your addicting flesh.

Deciding that he needs air, he reluctantly pulls away from you. Both your chests move up and down as you suck in breaths.

Finally, he seems to have regained enough composure to form thoughts. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Eagerly, his fingertips trail across your covered thigh.

“Never been more sure in my entire life.”

Smirking, he grabs your hips and lifts you up, only to throw you on the bed. Throwing his armor off as fast as he can, he crawls on top of you. “Good.” He whispers before mashing his lips upon your own.

***

The fireplace crackles and pops as it emits heat into your living room. Your head rests on his chest while his fingers rub away your stress.

Giggling you look up at him, “You wanna know my favorite part of our wedding?”

A hum of approval rumbles through his body to your own.

Laughing now, you shake your head. He looks down at you and smiles, finding your laugh contagious.

“What?”

“Remember how… how bad your hands were shaking?” You barely get the question out through your giggles.

Throwing his head back he groans, “I thought you didn’t notice.”

Now you really laugh hard.

***

Cara smiles at you from the small crowd facing you and Din. In her arms you can see Grogu squirm and point at you two.

The armorer nods at Din and he is presented with a ring. Not just any ring though. A ring made to perfectly fit your finger. Smiling you look at the missing piece of his armor. He had melted down one of his shoulder pieces to forge you a ring.

This is one of the things you love most about mandalorian culture, how these violent warriors hold so much sentimental value in things. He had insisted on not buying you a ring like other poor excuses of men and making you one, just as other mandalorians do.

He had spent hours and days on your ring, not settling until it was perfect. The worst of it though was how he wouldn't let you even peek at it.

You watch as he grabs the ring before lifting your hand. It’s a simple band of beskar, but the fact that he wore that beskar for so many years, then melted it down for you, makes your heart swell and your eyes watery.

His helmet tilts to look at you. A crack comes from his vocoder that you recognize as his breath. A hushed “I love you” quietly travels to your ears, and only your ears. Smiling, you softly utter the words back to him.

Looking down, you watch as he brings the ring to your finger. However, his hands shake and fumble. Slowly, he shakily slides the ring down your finger, letting it rest on the base. But his hand remains clutching your own, not wanting to let go.

People cry out with glee and clap as the armourer announces your names. Albeit, your eyes can’t leave your conjoined hands, even as he leans down and presses your foreheads together.

***

“Oh come on, it was cute!” Grabbing his cheeks you bring him to face you.

“It was embarrassing.”

Giggling you pepper his face with kisses. “Who knew I could make the strong mandalorian shake?”

His eyes stare at you with a haze you know too well. “I’ll make you shake.”

A small yelp escapes your lips as he twists you under him, encompassing your body beneath his own. He dives in and latches onto your neck, sucking and biting on already formed bruises. You giggle as his scruff tickles your skin.

“Don’t laugh, this is serious.” The words mean nothing as he chuckles himself.

“I can’t help it! I love you too much.”

He smiles and trails kisses all the way to your mouth. However, he just hovers over your own, millimeters apart. “Why did you stop?”

Opening his eyes, he looks at you with a soft gaze. “I’m so happy you married me.”

Your own face lights up with a megawatt smile and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into your kiss. “I’m happy I married you too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Part: Family Day 

Well there it is. Again, please don’t comment saying how I wrote the wedding wrong. Becuase I really have no idea what they usually are like. The only weddings I have been in are my southern cousisns. So I’m pretty sure there won’t be any bbq at their weddings. Haha.

Anyway, feedback is always appreciated! 

Love you guys, Lordy :) 

Masterlist

Taglist: @ficthots @along-the-lines-of-space @jedi-jesi

If you want to be added/ removed from my taglist, please just give me a holler :) 

[medeafive]

Blood and Stone - 31

Masterpost

"I mean, I have over 200 bones in my body," Natasha remarks. "So I only really broke a small fraction of them."

"Being funny is not going to help your injuries," Tony returns. "Though I appreciate you trying."

"I'll give you more vampire blood," Bruce announces, putting the bandages down. "But it's not going to heal fast, I can tell you that."

"Worked pretty well on her ovaries," Tony remarks. "If I may say so. From none to very pregnant."

Bruce blushes, as always. "That wasn't fast. And how can you compare regrowing a whole organ with something as simple as mending a few fractures?"

"See, it's just a few fractures," Natasha remarks. "Told you it's not a big deal."

"Shut up," Tony returns. "You're really high on painkillers, because of your numerous fractures."

"We're almost out of vampire blood, by the way," Bruce remarks, filling a syringe. "Where's your friend?"

"Upstairs," she replies. "Needs a lot of sleep."

"Yeah, he better be well-rested tonight," Tony comments. "Oh hey, there's the man. Oh, we're doing the conference down here?"

"Can she fight?" Fury asks bruskly.

"She has a broken femur," Bruce replies, fiddling with his glasses nervously. "Plus two fractured ribs, one partially fractured rib-"

"Means no," Tony interrupts. "No way."

"She'll be down for at least a week," Bruce adds. "Several weeks."

She wasn't even down for a week after giving birth. All of this is time they don't have, not if the Viper is lurking out there. "What if you put her in one of Stark's suits?" Fury asks. "Pepper's suit?"

"First of all, rude to Pepper," Tony returns. "Secondly, that's not like a crutch or a padded pillow to stuff her in. Thirdly, she can't put weight on her leg, it's not like the armor holds itself up. In conclusion, terrible idea."

"Have you given her vampire blood?" Fury insists. "We need her out there. I can't wait a bloody week."

"She's not fit to fight," Bruce cuts in, sinking the needle into her arm. "She's not going to be fit to fight tonight, no matter what we do. Bones don't work that way."

"She's the only one who stabbed a black cloak," Fury reminds them. "She's the only one who killed a black cloak."

"Yeah, she's also the only one who fucked a black cloak," Tony throws back. "Or so I hope. But none of this matters, because she's not fit to fight, even if you turn on your head."

"You still need me as bait, though," Natasha remarks.

Bruce groans loudly. "Nat! No."

"She's looking for me," Natasha returns. "She won't kill me either. Didn't you have that plan with the soccer stadium and the UV lights? Sam's plan?"

"Don't listen to her," Tony advises. "She's high as a kite."

"Fuck off," Natasha returns. "Seriously. You need to lure her there somehow, so you need bait."

"Well, yeah," Fury admits. "But I'm not sure that's a good idea if you can't-"

"It's a horrible idea!" Bruce interrupts furiously. "You have multiple fractures, just from last night, you can't even walk, you still have open wounds that every fucking vampire in the whole city can smell-"

"Brucey, we get it, you're worried," Tony remarks. "No reason to start cursing."

"You're not going out," Bruce states, voice shaky. You can see everything in his eyes slipping away. "No. It's too dangerous."

"He may have a point," Fury allows. "I'm sure we can make the plan work without you."

Natasha groans, head dropping back. "Why? It's not that much more dangerous than yesterday. Why change plans on a whim?"

"Nat," Tony interrupts. "You've done enough. Really."

"Agreed," Fury adds. "I'll find some other bait."

Natasha sighs. "Yeah, I might have another solution for that."

 "Let me make this clear," Tony repeats. "He smells good? To vampires?"

Natasha sighs. "It's hard to-"

"Let's use him then," Bruce cuts in. "And you stay the fuck in bed."

"Come on," Tony remarks. "If that guy smells like a fucking buffet, he's in a lot of trouble."

"It's not a food smell," Natasha replies. "It's hard to- I don't think they'll want to eat him. It's different."

"Yeah?" Tony asks sarcastically. "What's he smell like, roses and salvation?"

Natasha groans. "I don't know. Not human but not vampire either- he smells a little like the baby."

The baby is an absolute conversation killer, it turns out. Even Fury clears his throat. "Well, okay. Let's try this guy as bait, then."

"Hold on," Tony interrupts with amusement. "And you know that because he smells good to you, too? Sharon's not going to like that. Wow, that explains why you and your friend are so weird about him."

"I'm not weird about him," Natasha defends.

"I thought that's for vampires," Bruce remarks with worry. "Why do you even smell that?"

"Come to think of it," Tony remarks. "The vampires on the street did react rather strangely to him."

"Shut up, all of you," Fury returns. "We're going to work this out. Meeting in five, and get her upstairs somehow, I don't care about her broken whatever."

Heartwarming. The door shuts. Tony snorts. "Oh, now he's pretending he doesn't care about her getting hurt? Seriously?"

Bruce rolls his eyes, putting on his glasses. "Well, I'm not going to help her get out of bed."

"I can walk," Natasha returns. "Walked all the way here, with just a little help from Sharon."

"Your friend dropped you off," Tony corrects. "And you better get him down here because I'm certainly not carrying you."

 Neither Tony nor Bruce want to go wake her friend , so she's left to wait until he shows up on his own while Bruce punishes her with reproachful silence and ignoring her. Tony just fucked off, as he does. She's not even really in pain but that might just be the medication.

James shows up soon enough and- he looks tired, yes, as if he hadn't slept at all, but even the way he moves is off, too quick, too sudden, too predatory. "You look like shit."

He snorts, sitting down at her bedside. "Bet I still look better than you."

"But you-" She lowers her voice. "You're hungry, aren't you?"

Bruce looks up with alarm. "Don't worry about it," James hurries to say. "I won't hurt you. I won't hurt anyone."

She knows those contracted eyes, the blown pupils, though. "But you are."

James sighs, breathing in the smell of her blood whether he wants to or not. "It's- jumping around like last night is exhausting. I could have slept through the entire day."

"You need to feed," she whispers insistently. "Really. This is dangerous and you need to be as strong as possible tonight-"

"I can't take blood from you," James interrupts. "And I can't take blood from anyone else here, either. It's fine, really, it's not that bad. I'll get through tonight."

She worries about him, though. So much that could go wrong. "They're meeting upstairs. We should go."

"Are you sure you're fine?" Bruce questions quietly. "That sounds dangerous."

"I have it under control," James repeats, not turning all the way. "Really. You can't spare a blood bag you might need later tonight."

"No," Bruce agrees begrudgingly.

"Then we have nothing to discuss," James replies, getting up. "I'll be careful with her leg."

 "Does nobody know what day it is?" Tony asks. "Seriously? No one?"

"The day we all die?" Clint suggests unenthusiastically.

"It's December 31st," Tony explains slowly, stressing every syllable. "1999. Yeah, this is not how I imagined greeting the new millennium."

"Oh no," Fury states tonelessly. "Should I call Schmidt and ask him to reschedule?"

"Just saying, I've had party plans for years ," Tony remarks, completely unconcerned. "And none of them involved vampires."

"Well, how do we make the most of the old millennium?" Natasha asks impatiently. "What's the plan?"

"Oh, you're staying exactly here," Tony returns. "If you haven't noticed, you're in no shape to fight."

"She's not staying here," James interrupts. "The Viper knows this place and she destroyed your security system, too. Here is the least safe place in the entire city."

"But she knows her smell, too," Sharon remarks quietly. "She'll find her everywhere."

"I'll stay with her," James says. "No offense but none of you can keep her safe."

Sam sighs. "So we need to calculate without you."

"I wish none of you harm," James replies. "And I'll do what I can. But if it's between you and Natalia, I know my choice."

"Thought so," Fury remarks.

"I'm not just sitting around," Natasha throws in.

"You literally can't walk," Clint reminds her. "And you can't fix that with more vampire blood."

"You're the bait," Sam replies. "All you need to do is sit around."

"Hey," Tony objects. "I thought the star-spangled man is our bait."

"Me?" Steve asks, surprised. "Why me?"

James groans, rubbing over his brow bone with his knuckles. "You told them?"

"Yeah, of course I told them," Natasha returns. "But we really don't need him, I can bait them just fine."

"What's so special about Steve?" Sharon asks tensely.

James sighs. "He smells- it's probably because you pumped him full of vampire blood. He smells good. But only vampires pick up on that."

"And Natasha," Tony adds helpfully.

She can't stand their worried looks. "None of that matters. I'll be your bait, I'm already bleeding so I don't even need to cut myself."

"We should keep him as a trick up our sleeves," Fury says. "The stadium is prepared?"

Sam sighs. "Yeah. But there are still a few hangups."

"Like?" Fury pressures.

"The mind control thing," Sam says reluctantly. "You and Bruce never made progress on that, did you?"

"To be fair," Tony replies sarcastically. "Something came in between."

"I think it wouldn't work anymore anyway," Natasha remarks defensively.

Tony snorts. "Yeah, you didn't think you'd get pregnant either."

"Could you build something that kills me?" James asks. "Instantly?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Tony asks back. "Just like that? For tonight?"

"I hope it doesn't work," James repeats. "But if it does, she should just be able to press a button and then you don't need to worry about me anymore."

"Her?" Clint repeats. "You want Nat to do that? Cause she's not gonna."

"Of course I would," she throws back venomously. "If it's necessary."

"Hell no, you wouldn't," Clint returns. "You couldn't even kill the fangy little parasite he gave you and that one was literally sucking the life out of you."

"Shut the fuck up," Natasha hisses. "You think I'm that bloody keen on watching him turn into a mindless drone and do the same to me?"

"I think she's going to do it," James says quietly.

"Well, this seems like a good opportunity to tell you I built an electric shocker into your metal arm," Tony adds. "That's not going to kill you but it would definitely give her enough time to do her Black Widow thing and pull the trigger. At least if she doesn't hesitate for too long."

"Oh," James remarks. "That's what that was."

"You just put a kill switch in his arm?" Steve asks incredulously. "Without telling him?"

"It's not a kill switch," Tony returns. "I don't even know what I could build that would kill him instantly. Maybe if you gave me two weeks, or at least a couple of nights, but that's just how good it's going to get right now."

"And you're going to do it," Fury states, not a question. "Pull the trigger."

"Of course I'm going to do it," Natasha repeats. "If it's necessary."

Clint snorts. "You won't decide it's necessary until it's too late, Tasha."

"I ripped Alexei's fucking head off," Natasha returns coldly. "You don't fucking tell me what I will do."

"Other than that," Sam continues carefully. "The city is swarming with vampires, so if we put Natasha out there as bait, with all her cuts, we'll be swamped in no time. And we shouldn't spring the trap before however many black cloaks show up."

"So something that will stop the normal vampires but not the black cloaks?" Tony asks. "That's a wall. A tall brick wall."

"But we can't build a brick wall overnight," Steve remarks. "We don't even have the bricks, do we?"

"The Castle gates," Pepper suggests quietly. "They should be high and spiky enough."

"Rip them out and build a cage," Fury orders. "Can you do that, Stark?"

"I mean, I'm going to need a few helping hands, but yeah," Tony agrees. "It's not that hard. Will really ruin the lawn, though."

"The lawn is the least of our concerns," Fury returns. "Anything else, Wilson?"

Sam sighs. "Oh yeah. A few more things."

 She's literally sitting inside a cage, and as soon as the sun goes down, this place will be swarming with vampires. She smells her own blood, and James smells it, too, maybe not as appealing as when she's not injecting vampire blood but still. It'll be enough. He's in the full get-up, cloak and hood and mask and goggles. She wishes she saw some of his face, at least his eyes. He looks machine-like.

His murmur is hard to understand, muffled. "You're really going to do it?"

"Yeah, of course," she returns. She's sitting on a chair, two rifles, an insane amount of ammo, inside this cage inside the soccer stadium, and she's feeling ridiculous. "Of course I will do it."

"Promise me," he asks.

She hesitates. "James-"

"I don't want to hurt you," he interrupts, in his muffled, inhuman voice. "I really don't want to hurt you. And I know you're shrewd but if Schmidt makes me, I'll find you anywhere."

This world has no fucking idea how hardened she is. "I'll kill you before it comes to that. I promise."

He breathes out shakily. "Okay."

"Did you mean it?" she asks. "That you'd sacrifice everyone else to save me?"

He snorts, or something like it. "Of course I meant it."

She's not something that can be saved, much less something worth it. "I don't want that. Everyone dying because of me."

"Fury said we can't let Schmidt have what he wants," James replies. "And what he wants is to turn you. So we can't let him do that or the consequences will be dire for all of us."

"That's not why you're doing it, though," she remarks.

He sighs. "Does that matter?"

"If you're letting all of my friends die for it-" She stops, checking her watch. "The sun just went down."

James straightens, grabbing the back of her chair. She feels his claws against her back, though that might be her imagination, through the suit. "You think we wouldn't be here if I had run?" she whispers.

He snorts. "I mean, you were in no shape to run. And if you had run before that, you'd be dead right now."

Right. But maybe she could have saved everyone else then. Except for the baby. The walkie talkie crackles. "Everything okay down there?" Sam asks. "The sun is down now."

It's still not entirely dark but the city is already eerily quiet. "All clear," James replies. "It'll take a few more minutes until they crawl out of their holes and catch the scent."

Her scent. The walkie talkie crackles again. "I shouldn't be here," Pepper whispers.

"Pep, you can handle this," Tony's voice says. "I know I doubted you but you can't start listening to me now -"

"It's not about that," Pepper interrupts. "It's- I'm pregnant."

"You're what," Tony returns. "Cupcake, you're on the pill."

"I was," Pepper insists. "But I stopped taking it."

Oh, this is great timing when the vampires can show up any moment. James doesn't budge but who knows what face he's making behind the mask. "You- Jesus fucking Christ," Tony complains. "You can't just stop taking the pill without even telling me -"

"We're all going to die anyway!" Pepper shouts. "And you promised if we made it out that we'd stop , and yes, I want a fucking kid and yes, I didn't tell you because you'd just tell me no again because you have no intention of actually stopping -"

"Do you have to do your soap opera now?" Fury hisses.

"Pep, calm down," Sharon interjects. "You didn't do a pregnancy test, right? When was your period due?"

James rolls his head slightly. Probably smells something. "No, I didn't," Pepper says. "A week or so. Six days."

"Six days is nothing," Sharon replies. "It's been really stressful lately, I get it. My last one was late, too. But that doesn't mean you're pregnant."

"Doesn't mean you can stop taking the pill without telling me," Tony remarks sourly.

"Stark, shut the fuck up," Sam interrupts. "Everyone good now? Can you do the rest later?"

"If we make it to that," Clint mutters.

"They're coming," James says.

She smells them, too, and soon she hears them, steps and doors. She grabs her rifle harder as if it would fly away otherwise. "Romanoff," Fury says. "Are you ready?"

She snorts. As if she would fall asleep when a horde of vampires is on her trail. "Locked and loaded. I hope your fucking fence holds at least."

"You know what," Tony returns, just as the first vampire appears on the stairs. "Fuck you, too."

[obeymeluv]

Can you do a belphie fanfic where the mc has a anxiety/panic attack and just freaks out and can’t clam down so belphie using the pact to find them and since they can’t relax use the thing you talked abt in the kidnapping hc where he ends up forcing them to sleep in order to calm down

How dead am I, huh? (very)

School is absolutely killer. I’ve made it through the rough(er) spot--probably the roughest spot of the semester?--so I’m going to answer this and snoop around to figure out if I’ve got anything that needs updating. 

I may just do the baby post today, by George :o

ALSO, CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW I PLAYED RELIGIOUSLY FOR TWO WEEKS AND MADE IT TO THE NEXT LEVEL BECAUSE I GOT A ONE-STAR PASS?! WHY?! I WORKED SO HARD AND RAISED MY CARDS A BUTT-TON!

This probably won’t be very long, but anyways...

Belphegor wasn’t incredibly accustomed to the idea of panic. It’s hard to think back thousands of years, but he’s sure the only time he ever really felt it was when he saw Lilith plummeting somewhere out of reach.

No armor, no medic, no help, just helpless...

Wounded and maybe unconscious. Maybe she was dead before she finished falling. 

The memory is fuzzy. About as fuzzy as his eyes and focus feels now. There’s a sense of urgency in his chest, like he swallowed a little bird whole and it’s trying to find its way out. It’s pecking at the muscles in his chest; the panic twangs through him like a plucked string. It reverberates, a cascade of full-body tingles zapping his brain into alertness.

Not here, no, there! Go that way! Belphegor almost thinks he’s sleepwalking because there’s a disconnect between his brain and his body. Something that can’t process. Maybe he’s dreaming again and he’s subconscious seeking out a better napping spot. The youngest twin pushes open his eyes, a slice of blue violet and pink, and he realizes he’s in the foyer of the House of Lamentation.

Head outside! Keep going, keep going! the fluttering feeling starts to buzz in his chest, a pointed insistence demanding he walk outside. He knows he’s not dreaming now, and that he’s being directed to something. There’s something important in...whatever direction his feet are going. The crisp Devildom air never changes and never fails to wake him up when he goes for his rare walks. As he walks, he runs through the very small list of people who could pull on him like this.

Beelzebub would do it without thinking, and he never gives off such distress. Indigestion or upset stomach, maybe. Never panic. Belphegor has never known him to panic; in fact, Beelzebub has always been his rock, his protector. The other brothers would give off The Call, which could wake even him from a dead sleep.

So that left you, and the thought exhausted him. Or maybe pity felt just like exhaustion to this body. Under this sin he still wasn’t used to embodying. Being tugged on by a human would certainly explain the squirrelly, flitting sensation dancing throughout his chest. He confirmed the beseeching pull by wandering away from the general direction of the pulse.

It thrummed a little higher. A little stronger, like a silent plea. An urge to turn around, a compulsion to walk forward. Although the site of RAD caused a growl to bubble up in his throat, Belphegor fought the urge to shrink away. Instead, he allowed his demon form to take over, tail swishing angrily at the sight of the stupid school with stupid Diavolo’s name on it. 

He crossed the threshold of RAD and inhaled quietly. Deeply. Your scent was very faint, masked by the passage of times and countless demons who came and went for class. It didn’t help that the Conjuring and Conjugation class smelled like smoke, and that smell seemed baked into the walls. 

Where are you?  Belphegor’s brows furrowed as he tried to see past the white tips of his hair. The panic wasn’t as strong now...perhaps your adrenaline was starting to fade. He was always careful when using the bond; when using it you were very susceptible to getting sleepy or falling asleep. If he wasn’t there, who knows where you’d land or what trouble you’d get in?!

Let me in, let me see. Show me. Belphegor took a stuttering step as his vision darkened dramatically. He was looking through your eyes now. Humans didn’t have the eyesight of a demon but even he could make out a shelf above your head--wooden with an iron gilded edge. It was topped with too many shapes to discern; he stretched your arms to feel stone walls scrape under his fingertips.

There was enough space to turn around one, two, three times. Whatever was behind you had a finite end. Nothing bulky in the way, but a cluster of something that rattled and jangled in the adjacent corner. He had you walk forward until you bumped into old, hard wood of a door. Feel the door, check for a handle--there were no splinters but he could feel cracks under his fingernails.

No light or faint glow from corridor torches. You weren’t near any windows. 

The panic flared up all over again and it was strong enough to shake Belphie’s concentration. His heart cantered and he lost his grip on the connection. Human emotions could be so disgusting and yet, he was all too pleased to get the good ones from you. Ones that felt better than the warmest, coziest blanket.

There was the distinct feeling of a trapped animal ramming the sides of its cage. The fear of being closed in on and somewhere far too small. It was a feeling he knew all too well, being up in that attic as long as he was. The sensation of bruising his shoulders pulsed like the faint echoes of banging he was able to hear somewhere in the distance. Belphegor initiated the push again, forcing you to walk towards the door and put your hands on it.

Make noise, Belphegor demanded. You were shaking too much to do so. Your arms felt locked, and your brain felt too frazzled, too jumpy, to tell your arm and hand what to do. So he helped you, beating his fist on the wall as gently as he could. Humans were only so strong, but the dull noise was enough to make him take a right.

He stood before a wooden door that had been jammed shut by a wall torch. No doubt by some gutless demons playing a joke on the exchange student. Your newness had likely charmed too many and spurned a few. Surely upset some who used to wear the crown of popularity. Belphegor choked down the angry noises, the rage that burned blinding white-hot in his veins, and ripped the torch out with enough force to take half the wrought-iron lock.

You came spilling out with babbling sobs and gasping breaths that made his chest burn. He sort of felt like throwing up. His tail swished angrily at your situation and the unpleasant idea of you emptying your stomach on his hoodie. Careful not to grab your cheeks with his long nails, afraid you’d accidentally cut yourself on them as you tried to bury your face against them, Belphegor held your face in his palms.

Squished that cute, dumb human face of yours. He bent down until you were forehead-to-forehead, issuing a quiet demon coo that roughly translated to comfort. A wish for calm. Key emotions in the demon language would translate in the human subconscious, they’d come to learn, and that effect was enhanced when pulling on the bond. It helped a little bit but to save your shaking and the nauseating feeling brewing in your stomach, he burrowed into the bond and sent a wash of sleepiness over you.

It was a command, really. It didn’t technically count as charming you, so Lucifer could suck it. It was just a...very potent side effect of the bond that he happened to use for a good reason. You slumped awkwardly against him, going limp as a doll, and Belphie underestimated how graceless that made you.

How heavy, too! You were BEYOND easy to hold and handle by demon standards, but humans were awkward to hold when they weren’t positioned right. He pinned you between the wall and one shoulder as he texted Beel, wondering if gravity could put you in a piggy-back position. So far your chin was on his shoulder...that was about it. He debated moving into a slow crouch but was worried you’d tumble straight over his shoulder or flop out of his reach (to the left or the right).

He tried slowly wrapping his arms around you, putting your arms on his neck, but your legs wouldn’t stay on his waist. Belphegor got the bright idea to wrap his tail around your legs once he secured them in place, but now your head was lolling in a way that humans’ bodies probably shouldn’t.

This position wasn’t good, either, and it made him feel very tangled. Just when he was considering stuffing you under one arm and toting you like his pillow, Beel shuffled around the corner with a bit of training equipment and a cooked Devilbird leg that he’d nicked from the cafeteria prep. By the smile on his face, he’d done it without getting caught, too.

Beel’s eyes glittered with interest as he looked at his little brother and the human. There was surely a story here, but if Belphie wanted to share it, he would. The bit of training equipment was very similar to a human world baby-carrier, something they used to practice training under added weight. He shouldered it on and tried to stabilize you as best he could, reaching blindly over his shoulder to hold you as Belphie buckled you in.

The twins started back towards the House of Lamentation, Belphie lagging behind not only because he was tired, but to keep an eye on you. “You think they’d wake up for food?” Beel turned to look at him. Your feet swung out and your head rolled a little. Belphie flicked him in the back of the calf with his tail and turned him forward gently.   

“Maybe,” Belphie laughed. “But I owe you for bringing the sling, so let’s grab a bite at AkuDonald’s.” he offered. Beel agreed, humming with excitement. After Beel ate his fill, they went back to the House of Lamentation. You slept the whole way, but Belphie wasn’t surprised. His sleepy aura was always potent; the brothers hadn’t pinned down the average nap time for you yet.

All he knew is that you’d wake up with him, safe and sound, like you always did.

---

Hope you liked it :)      

[pip-n-flinx]

Big Surprise!

I’m mad about the Disney Live Action Remake of Mulan. No one is surprised by this. But I as a musician, I am horribly offended by what Disney has done with their musical IP in their reboots lately. Mulan and Star Wars are great examples, and while I know fucking NO ONE followed me for musical analysis or critique this is my blog so you’re gonna have to put up with it I promise I’ll keep the mumbo-jumbo to a minimum.

OKAY so Disney scrapped the idea of Mulan as a musical. The whole secret to the Disney renaissance in the 80-90s was adapting what works about musical theater and letting their animators go to town on it. But there’s already a ton of content about that on Sideway’s channel, I highly recommend you go check him out. In fact, he’s already done a breakdown on Mulan and why their use of Reflection is jarring. I’ll try and lay out the groundwork so you don’t have to watch the video:

By referencing the musical numbers in a score for a non musical, at least for an audience that remembers the lyrics, you’re bringing these hollow lifeless reminders of the plot and personality of the original into unrelated scenes in the remake. There’s more to the video, but this is specifically what I want to talk about here.

It’s not just that these throw-away musical soundbites mean nothing, its that depriving of them of the lyrics, of their weight in the original film ruins them. Context and timing is key, more perhaps in music than anywhere else. In the original film, Reflection is how the audience gets into Mulan’s head. She sings all her plot relevant thoughts right at you, and your heart breaks for her. The struggle between being a ‘perfect bride/daughter’ and being herself is the singular most important part of the movie.

So when you take away those lyrics, that drives a wedge between the audience and Mulan. But what Disney did is worse than that. They placed Reflection in the places where Mulan casts off her armor, lets down her hair, allows herself to lay down the facade of army soldier. They reference Reflection in places implying Mulan is true to her reflection when she allows herself to cast aside the masculine tools/mannerisms that she adopts in the army. BUT THAT IS THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT THE ORIGINAL REFLECTIONS IS TRYING TO TELL US. They reinforce this with talk of Qi (Chi) and the sorceress telling her not to hide herself, it’s turning her Qi/Chi ‘rancid.’ It’s also curious that in addition to using Reflection to reinforce gender rather than question it, they use this song reinforcing feminine gender roles almost exclusively in and around battle sequences. It’s a bizarre and utterly meaningless pattern, more motific devolvement rather than development

One of the greatest things about the oringal Mulan was that it called on us to question gender, to question the building pressures of society. It allows its main character to experiment with different identities, pronouns, and settle only finally when they feel understood and loved.

The remake offers no such advice, instead making Mulan’s soldiering days an act of violence against herself, instead of the brilliant journey of self discovery in the animated classic. They seem blind to the moral tale of the original. To motific development in music. The hero’s journey. To character development. They stripped a movie of all its emotionally charged moments, made an overbudget action flick, and robbed it of all its depth, meaning, and comfort.

And I hate it for that.

[dokoni-mo]

Back Again, Together || Darth Vader x Reader (Chapter 3)

(A/N: I didn’t expect to get this out so quickly, but I started it this morning and it just wrote itself!! It also has become one of my fav pieces of writing that i’ve done :)) as always, tags open, asks open, and important links below. Enjoy!)

Masterlist Link (Link to first part of this story) : [x]

Chapter One: [x] 

Chapter Two: [x]

WARNINGS: cursing, a tiny amount of violence, some angst, a tiny mention of death, otherwise none!

Key: (F/N) = first name 

Word Count: ~4300 (i think)

~~~

The feeling that crept across your skin was both fiery hot and icy cold at the same time. 

You were absolutely speechless. All you could do was stare dumbly at Rey as you processed her words. 

Emperor Palpatine has returned. 

You finally made a move, dropping your gaze down to the hand that was intertwined with your love’s. The crown of your head started to ache as your mind started to spiral. It felt as if the rest of the galaxy around you was fading away into nothing, and your body weight was dissolving into nothing. 

You could hear your heartbeat in your ears. 

You could hear your breath become heavier and heavier. 

All other noises faded away into a dull white noise. 

How could it be possible? 

How could the universe be so cruel? 

After everything you had been through. 

After all those years of slavery, you-

Your thoughts were interrupted by a familiar, deep voice that came from nowhere but everywhere at once. 

“Darling.” 

Who was that? 

Everything was so confusing. 

You were lost. 

Your eyes were searching the fuzzy view of the floor below you for something, anything to make sense of it all. 

You felt a pang of surprise when that anything came not from your eyes, but from your hand. It came in the form of a tight, firm squeeze, and made your gaze snap over to it. 

The reminder of where you were came at you like a metric ton of bricks. 

Your soft, small hand was intertwined with a much larger and stronger one. 

His hand.

Your lips parted at this revelation. 

Him. 

How were you so cruel as to forget about him?

Your eyes shooting up, you were quickly met with the gaze of his mask, the sound of his steady breath slowly bringing you back to reality. Even though his real face was obscured, you could feel his concern. Concern for you. 

You felt so selfish. 

How could you? How could you be so selfish as to fade away by yourself just then and forget about him?

He was the one who suffered the most. 

He was the one who was a slave to that man for so many years. 

He was the one who lost everything. 

He was the one who killed him. 

How could he be back?

It couldn’t be possible...

You felt tears threaten to brim your eyes, but you resisted them. 

No. 

You couldn’t waste any time on yourself. 

You had to be strong. 

For him. 

He must be in far more disbelief and shock than you. You didn’t need him to display it for you to know You could feel it in your bones. He thought it was over. He thought he would never have to relive any of the nightmares he had. Never in a million years did you nor him think that Palpatine could still be alive. It had to be a lie. 

It just had to be. 

A filthy, rotten, lie. 

Gazing into the eyes of your love’s mask, you felt another wash come over you, one you hadn’t felt in so long, and wasn’t sure that you even had in you anymore. 

Pure, unbridled, anger. 

You turned your head to Rey without even commanding it to. She looked troubled, nervous even. 

This only added to the flames that were building inside of you. 

How dare she. 

How dare she come into your home and tell him these awful things. 

You felt your blood begin to boil as you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“Get out.” 

A flash of confusion went over Rey’s face. 

You clenched your jaw, your fingers beginning to twitch. 

“I’m… I’m sorry?” Rey said, her voice breathy. 

That was fucking it. 

Unwrapping your hand from Vader’s, you stood up so fast that your chair was knocked over, the sound of the wood hitting the floor making Rey jump. 

“I said GET OUT!” you almost screamed, pointing your arm strongly over to the door. 

Rey looked up at you with stiff shoulders, her eyes wide and her voice raised to better match your own. 

“P-Please! Just let me explain, i-” 

“I don’t  give a FUCK what you have to say!” You yelled, cutting her off. Your vision filling with red, you reached down to the table below you, picking up one of your tools. Your body going into autopilot, you lurched your arm backwards, getting ready to throw it at the brunette intruder. You didn’t care about the way she lifted her arms to shield herself. 

“Get the FUCK out-” you continued on. You were ready to throw the tool, but were quickly stopped before you could. You were quite frustrated at first, but it soon faded away as you recognized the touch.

Your love. 

Your gaze moving from Rey up to the figure next to you, your eyes confirmed your suspicions. Vader had stood up from his chair and held onto your arm, preventing you from throwing the tool at Rey. Feeling no metal against her arms, Rey lowered her limbs, looking up at you and your love with parted lips. 

Gazing into the mask of your lover, you felt your anger and frustration slowly start to dissipate. Your chest rose and fell in heavy breaths as Vee helped your arms to lower into a resting position, and continued to do so as he took the tool out of your hand and placed it back on the table. Your head was hung, but was slowly lifted up by the feeling of one of his large, gloved hands on your face. Lifting up your hand to rest on his, the two of you gazed at one another for a short moment before he spoke. 

“Let us hear what she has to say, dear.” he said. 

You felt a sense of calm wash over you at his words. Your cheeks dusting a light pink, you realized that you may have embarrassed yourself a little. 

But, you were quite grateful that he was there to bring you back to reality. 

You loved him so much… 

Nodding your head in agreement, Rey watched in silence and disbelief as Vader leaned down to pick up your chair for you, pushing you back to the table when you sat down. He soon followed suit and took your hand again, leaving Rey temporarily speechless. 

Was this the same Darth Vader that she had heard so many stories about?

He was so…

Gentle. 

Rey couldn’t believe it. 

Realizing she had to say something, Rey cleared her throat before speaking, her tone soothing and calm. 

“I, umm… I’m sorry. I should have broken the news more gently.” she said. 

Your lips tightened into a line at her words as you dropped your gaze briefly. It was you who should be sorry. 

“No, it’s okay.” you said, your voice much more quiet than before, “I’m the one who should apologize. I-I just…” 

You were grateful that Vee was able to finish your sentence for you as you trailed off. 

“We do not care for being reminded of that time.” 

Shooting a glance up at your love, you felt his thumb rub the back of your knuckles as you squeezed his hand. 

You had to stay strong for him. 

No more messing up. 

“I understand, it’s okay.” Rey said in response, a small, sympathetic smile painting her face. 

“Would you care to explain yourself now, Miss..?” Vee continued, tilting his armored head to the side. 

Rey’s smile faded as her eyes widened slightly. She realized she never introduced herself to Lord Vader.

“Rey, umm, sir.” she said, not knowing how else to address your love, “My name’s Rey.” 

The silence she got from Vader told her that she need to start explaining. Searching her mind for a moment, she decided on where to begin. 

From the beginning. 

Shifting in her chair, Rey leaned her elbows on the table as she begun. 

“After the fall of the Empire, there were still many people who were loyal to it and wanted it to still be in place. Eventually, these people came together and formed the First Order. They’re basically a repeat of the Empire… although this time more dead-set on galactic domination.” 

“I’m assuming the Resistance or whatever are the people trying to stop them?” you asked in the break of her words. 

“Yes, they are.” she said, “And we’ve been trying to for years now. We’ve had many victories, but we’re at sort of a stand-still right now. About a week ago, the entire Resistance was trapped, and we were looking death in the face. Kylo Ren… he was about to slaughter us all. But, Luke saved us. He saved us all. He sacrificed himself to save our lives…” 

Rey looked to Vader as she continued. 

“He trained me, made me who I am today… He was a good man, sir. You should be very proud.” 

Vader gave her a nod in response, and only you could feel how he squeezed your hand. 

“You mentioned someone,” you responded, “Kylo Ren… who is he?” 

“He’s the current Supreme Leader of the First Order…” Rey said before she trailed off, her gaze dropping as she searched for the right words. 

“Leia… Kylo Ren is her son.” 

Your lips parted in shock. You were…

Grandparents? 

You wanted to be angry again, but you couldn’t. You looked to Vee, and he met your gaze. 

You could tell he felt the same way as you. 

Happy. 

Grandparents…

You never thought you would see the day. 

“Looks like we’re older than we thought, Vee.” you breathed out, a smile enveloping your features as a rumble of approval escaped his chest. 

Rey licked her lips before continuing, “But that’s why I’m here. Luke, Leia, Me, Han Solo, all of us have tried to bring Kylo Ren home… but we’ve all failed. He’s far too blind for his own good.” 

“What makes you think we’re the ones to do it?” you asked, “And how does this relate to the Emperor?”

“We’ve recently gained intel from one of our spies that the Emperor has been pulling the strings this whole time. He’s  the one that has muddled with Kylo’s mind. Leia, she… she needs you. Both of you. She’s the one who sent me. You both know what it’s like to be controlled like that. You both know how to stop the Emperor… And she needs you.” 

Rey paused for a moment as she looked from you to your love over and over again. 

“The two of you are our only hope.” 

~~~

“There’s no way we can do this.” 

You felt bad for being so blunt, but knew it was the only way you were going to get the message across to Vee. 

You had dragged him into your shared bedroom for a moment of privacy as the two of you talked, leaving Rey by herself in the room next over. You were stood by the end of the bed, your arms folded across your chest as you looked up at your love. 

You knew you were firm on your position, and you knew he would be just as stubborn. 

“What do you mean?” He asked you, tilting his head to the side. 

“Did you hear what she said, Vee?” you responded, “Facing the Emperor again? You’re in no condition to do that type of fighting again, and if you’re not going then I’m sure as hell not.” 

“I am more than prepared for the task at hand.” he said flatly, his gaze locked on you. 

You sighed, “No, you’re not, Vee. I still haven’t completed all the upgrades to your suit, and you’re still injured from your first encounter. We can’t-” 

“I am in a good enough state to press on, darling. I have done this before without your upgrades. I am confident we can do this together.” 

“Anakin, do you really want to go back there?” you asked softly, the usage of his real name signaling that you meant business, “To all of that.” 

“Yes, I am sure.” 

“How? Ani, we both suffered because of that man, you so more than me. We have a good life here. Our fight is over. We did so much… we can choose to rest. We can choose to just live out the rest of our days. Don’t you want that? With me?” 

Vader reached down and took your hands in his as he spoke. 

You felt like crying.

“More than anything, darling.” 

“Then let’s stay.” You pleaded with him, “Forget the First Organization or whatever, forget the Rebellion. We’ve done all we could.” 

“(F/N),” he said, “I can not ignore a cry for help from Leia. She needs me. We told her long ago that we will be here if she does. We can not back out now.” 

“Vee…” 

“(F/N), this may be the only chance I get to be there for her. I do not want the last memory she has of me to be… to be Alderaan.” 

You bit your lip and glanced down. 

He was right, but…

“Ani, it’s so dangerous to go off of this planet. We’ve been hidden for years and he might sense our movement. What if we just cause more trouble? I don’t want Leia or anyone to die because of us.” 

“More people will die if we do nothing, darling…” 

Ani moved his hands from around your own up to your face, cradling it in his gloved palms as he continued. 

“This is our only chance to be the parents we never were for them. You are just as much as their mother as I am their father, even if you did not birth them. Leia needs us there. And by doing this… We will carry out Luke’s dream. We could bring real peace to the galaxy. I wish for Leia to live in such a place. I wish for our grandson to do the same…” 

His thumb caressed your cheek. 

“And I wish for the same for you.”  

You could feel the tears well up in your eyes as you searched the face of his mask, lifting up your hands to rest atop his own. 

Your voice came out strained from the lump forming in your throat. 

“I-I just…” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“I just wanted you to be able to rest…” 

You couldn’t stop the flow of tears as he responded. 

“I will not be able to unless he is destroyed, darling. And I know you shall be the same.” 

Throwing yourself into his arms, you did your best to hide your cries in his armored shoulder as you hugged him tight, your small arms unable to wrap fully around his large frame. His arms, however, were able to wrap around yours with ease, his large hand rubbing small, comforting circles into your back. 

You loved him. 

You loved him so very much. 

You loved him more than the air you breathed. 

You loved him more than life itself. 

So, if this is what he truly wanted…

You would follow him. 

Without question. 

Pulling away from him once your tears had dissipated, you reached up your hands as you stood on your tip-toes, pulling his head down to touch your forehead to his armored one. His hands placed on your sides, you placed your own on the expanse of his broad shoulders, holding him there for a moment of silence, your breathing slowing to match is own. 

“How are you so sure we can beat him?” you whispered. 

You felt his thumbs rub circles on your hip bones. 

“When I am with you, my dear, I can do anything.” 

~~~

Rey shot her gaze up to the pair of you as soon as she heard the bedroom door click open, her eyes wide and hopeful. Her gaze followed the pair of you step closer to her, making her rise out of her seat. She could feel the anticipation bubble in her diaphragm. 

Your hand firmly intertwined with your love’s, you took a deep breath before you spoke. 

“We’ll do it.” 

Rey couldn’t hold back the smile she breathed out. 

Leia was right. 

They would join. 

“I have something for you then.” she said, dropping her gaze to the bag around her shoulder. 

After a brief moment of digging through it’s contents, she brought out something that looked oddly familiar to you. 

It was a cylinder of metal, with a hole in the top and many black rectangles around it’s base. 

It looked an awful lot like Vee’s saber, yet different…

You heard your love’s respirator hitch as Rey held out the metal to him. 

“I believe this belongs to you, sir.” she said. 

After a brief pause of no movement whatsoever, you watched as your love took the metal out of Rey’s hand. He turned the thing over in his hand many times, inspecting every curve and edge to the object. Your curiosity taking over, you dropped your gaze upon the thing, watching at how carefully Vee held it in his gloved hands. 

“What is it, Vee?” you asked. 

Getting no response from him, you watched as he held onto the object, igniting it in his grasp. A long streak of deep blue came out of the metal, as well as a familiar humm. 

It was beautiful. 

“It is my lightsaber, darling.” Ani eventually responded, his mask trained on the light. 

Blue, huh? 

You smiled up at him. 

He had told you long ago of his time as a jedi…

You were glad he was finally reunited with a little piece of his past. 

“Does this mean I can have your old one?” you asked half-jokingly. 

“Yes, dear.” 

~~~

He slept in the bed with you that night instead of in his meditation pod. You wanted him to sleep in there, since it was more comfortable for him. 

He wouldn't have any of it. He insisted on being next to you that night. 

It was the first night in a long, long time that both you and him got a full night’s rest. It was quite soothing to feel his weight next to you and feel his arms around you, and you were sure it was comforting to him as well. 

In the morning, you woke up before him just as normal. You thought about waking him up, but decided to let him rest instead. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you padded your feet over to the kitchen. 

You decided to cook him his favorite for breakfast. 

You knew it would be the last one for quite a while. 

Waking him up and helping him into his meditation pod, you smiled as you placed the plate of food next to him, pressing a kiss to the crown of his helmet before closing the pod behind you. 

You figured that now was the perfect time to start packing. 

In the middle of preparing your bags, you heard his meditation pod open and close, as well as the sound of his footsteps drawing closer to you. A moment later, you felt his large arms wrap around your frame, pulling you close to his chest as you breathed out a smile. Closing your eyes, you slid your arms over his own, rubbing circles lovingly into his leather-bound forearms. 

“I have to pack for us, Vee.” you said, your tone loving. 

“I know.” 

“You’re not gonna let me go for a while, aren’t you?” 

“No, I am not.” 

You let out a giggle. 

“I love you, Vee.” 

“I love you too, (F/N). More than anything.” 

~~~

It took a long while for you to take your eyes off of your home. 

Your bags slung over your shoulder, your eyes were fixated on the front door of the house you had built, a few strands of your hair fluttering in the breeze. 

You didn’t want to say goodbye. 

You really didn’t.

“Darling.” 

His voice made you finally take your eyes off of that place. Your gaze now on him, your lips parted as you took the sight of him in. 

He was so handsome. 

So large. 

You loved him so, so much. 

He held his hand out to you. 

“It is time to go.”

Blinking at his outstretched hand, you swiveled your head back to your home, feeling your heart ache faintly in your chest.

“I know,” you said, “It’s just… I don’t want this to be goodbye.” 

Continuing to gaze at your house, you felt your love walk up to you, wrapping his big, strong arm around your shoulder. After looking at your face briefly, he joined you in looking at the home the two of you had built together. 

It was beautiful. 

Absolutely breathtaking. 

“It will not be.” was all he said. 

~~~

Rey’s ship was just as shitty as you remembered it being. 

It was complete garbage. 

But you were surprised that Vee recognized it. 

The Millennium Falcon, he said it was. 

He also said how ironic it was he was about to board one of the main ships he tried to destroy all those years ago. 

You told him everything was gonna be a blast from the past for the foreseeable future. 

You were really scared to fly in that bucket of bolts. The only thing that made it worth getting on was Rey’s driod.

“That’s BB-8.” Rey said as she helped you load your bags in the ship, “He’s been really excited to meet you.” 

Pausing from your work, you smiled and knealed down near the circular droid, placing a hand upon his front. 

“Hey there, BB-8.” you giggled, making him beep excitedly. 

You laughed as you stood up, packing in the last bag. 

“He’s quite the cutie.” you said. 

This made the droid beep out seemingly bashful beeps. 

Rey chuckled, “He says you’re not so bad yourself.” 

You laughed again as you looked down at the tiny white and orange droid. 

“Sorry, BB-8. I’m taken.” 

BB-8 beeped questionably, but soon found his answer as he saw Darth Vader step on board. Watching as you took the dark lord’s hand into your own, BB-8 beeped in surprise and rolled away, making you giggle again. 

“Was that droid pestering you, darling?” your love asked. 

“No, Vee.” you responded, “It’s fine. 

Rey came around the hallway before either of you could say anything else. 

“We’re about to take off. Get ready.” 

Giving her a nod, you watched as she left to the cockpit of the ship, feeling your love’s hand squeeze your own. 

Looking up into his mask, a small smile painted your lips. 

“Are you ready, love?” you asked.

The ramp to the ship closed in front of the two of you. 

“No.” 

You let out another giggle as you felt the ship take off.

“Good. I’m not either.” 

~~~

TAGS: @spaghetti-666 , @soullesstaco , @arsonistvoyager , @robin-obsessed , @glitter-rian , @captainrexstan , @easterncryptid , @deviatedwinter , @roseangel013bf , @danicalifxrnia , @dartheldur , @finest-trashbag , @yeah-boiiiiiiiiiii , @elongatedmusk-rat , @shads121 , @muffinbeliever , @sakuramadae , @padme-parker , @khapikat222 , @the-official-memester , @rens-angel , @obiwankenobiness , @yvette1703 , @missmannequin​ , @breakfastpizzagalaxy​ , @scarletsinsandsnowwithetragedies​ , @clearnostolgia , @ahs0ka-skywalker 

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #84: Arjuna

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re making the Hero of the Endowed and one of the leading players in the Mahabharata, Arjuna! Arjuna is, of course, the perfect hero, so he’s a great pick if you want to be good at just about everything except dealing with your crippling impostor syndrome.

Check out his build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

Next up: The hero we need right now.

Race and Background

Arjuna’s human, but he’s also the son of the lightning god Indra, so it’s a pretty good excuse to make him an Air Genasi. This gives him +1 Dexterity and +2 Constitution. He also gets Unending Breath, because you can’t prove Arjuna can’t hold his breath indefinitely while conscious, and Mingle with the Wind, which lets him levitate when it’s time to use his NP. You can only cast this spell once per long rest, and it uses constitution as its casting modifier.

The Indian caste system probably doesn’t map 1:1 with D&D backgrounds that well, but it’s pretty safe to say Arjuna’s a Noble, giving him History and Persuasion proficiency.

Ability Scores

Your highest score should be Dexterity, archers tend to be pretty good with a bow. Well, Archers don’t, but you do. Second is your Charisma, you’re the most popular sibling in a family with two kids who are exclusively called “the beautiful”, and you somehow convinced everyone that the upstanding Krishna keeps telling you to do bad things. Third is Intelligence, you have to be pretty smart to keep your book straight, it’s dense reading. Your Constitution’s a little low, but it got bumped up by racial bonuses. We don’t need Strength, but we’re dumping Wisdom- you’re not known for your ability to resist temptation.

Class Levels

1. Fighter 1: First level fighters come pre-packaged with proficiency in Strength and Constitution saves, as well as two fighter skills. I’d go with Intimidation and Perception, just make sure you don’t pick any physical skills, we’ll get those later.

At first level, you get to pick a Fighting Style, and the obvious pick here is Archery for an extra +2 to all ranged attack rolls. You also get a Second Wind (ha ha, air puns), letting you heal up as a bonus action once per short rest. Sadly, this doesn’t charge your NP like Hero of the Endowed, but we’ll work on it.

2. Fighter 2: Your Action Surge lets you add an extra action to your turn once per short rest. If you try again before the turn’s over and you succeed, it’s like you never failed in the first place, right?

3. Fighter 3: I know a lot of people are probably expecting arcane archer, but Arjuna has tons of magic items, not magic skill. We’ll make our weapon fancy in a minute, but first we have to get a solid foundation with the Champion subclass. When you take this option, you get an Improved Critical, letting you score critical hits on 19s and 20s. 

4. Fighter 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to become a Sharpshooter, letting you fire at long range without disadvantage and take a -5 penalty to a ranged attack to gain a +10 bonus to that attack’s damage. You can also ignore all but full cover.

5. Fighter 5: Fifth level fighters get an Extra Attack with each attack action, letting you make two attacks per turn, or four with your Action Surge. Now that your basic attacks are covered, let’s have a chat with Agni about getting a worthy bow.

6. Warlock 1: Continuing this build’s metaphor of Genasi = elemental demigod, elemental gods would be Genies, which just became official warlock patrons in Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything. Agni would be an Efreeti, and striking up a deal with him gives you a Genie’s Vessel, a tiny object that you can use as a spellcasting focus, and has an AC equal to your spell save DC (8 + proficiency + charisma modifier), HP equal to your warlock level + proficiency bonus, and is immune to poison and psychic damage. You can spend an hour while resting to replace a lost or missing vessel, and you’ll want to keep it with you because it comes with plenty of benefits. While touching the vessel, you have access to a Bottled Respite, spending an action to enter the vessel, with an interior space that you can store items in. You can enter the vessel once per long rest, and stay in there a number of hours equal to twice your proficiency bonus. You can also invoke the Genie’s Wrath once per turn, adding  an amount of Fire damage equal to your proficiency bonus to anything that involves an attack roll. This means you can add it to your arrows or spells. Versatile!

Speaking of Spells, you get pact magic from your patron that uses Charisma to cast, and your spell slots recharge on short rests. For cantrips, Eldritch Blast gives you some magical arrows before you even get your magic bow, and True Strike helps you aim better but not really. For spells, Detect Evil and Good will let you know when the Kurus are up to something (they always are), and Charm Person will keep your ridiculous disguises from failing.

7. Warlock 2: Second level warlocks get Eldritch Invocations. Spend one on Armor of Shadows, because you’re clearly not wearing plate mail, and save the other for next level. Also pick up Cause Fear, because who wouldn’t be afraid of you?

8. Warlock 3: The Pact of the Blade gives you a magical melee weapon that you can summon as an action, and the invocation Improved Pact Weapon lets you pick a longbow as your pact weapon, gives it a +1 to attacks and damage, and makes it a spellcasting focus to boot!

Now that you have Gandiva by your side, grab Scorching Ray for more fiery arrows.

9. Warlock 4: Use this ASI to improve your Dexterity for better AC and accuracy. Also pick up Friends and Suggestion as your spells this level. A fun thing about the Mahabharata is that if someone of sufficient power says something will happen, it happens. We can’t make it so you’ll definitely win against your brother, but you should be able to apply this to smaller scale events.

10. Bard 1: If you want to be good at everything, you have to become a bard sometime. At first level, you get another set of Spells that use your Charisma to cast. Unlike most casting classes, multiclassing in warlock doesn’t mess with your spell slots, so just use whatever the books says at each level. You also get Bardic Inspiration, a number of d6 equal to your charisma modifier that you can hand out to allies to improve their attack rolls, checks, and saves. Finally, you get proficiency in any one skill. I think it’s safe to assume that living in The Forest for over a decade would help anyone’s Survival skills.

For your spells, Light and Message help you put on a light show and communicate on the battlefield. Animal Friendship will help you get that cute monkey friend of yours. Command continues the Speak and It Shall Happen effect from last level, and there’s enough talking animals in the Mahabharata that Speak with Animals should be a given. Also, you disguised yourself as a eunuch named Big Dick for a full year and no one called you on it, so I assume Disguise Self was in effect somehow.

11. Bard 2: Second level bards become a Jack of All Trades, adding half your proficiency to all checks you’re not proficient in. It’s not Anime Protagonist levels, but it’s still pretty good. You also learn a Song of Rest, adding a d6 to healing done over the course of a short rest.

For more of a healing factor, pick up Cure Wounds.

12. Bard 3: For your first and only round of Expertise, double your proficiency in Perception and Survival. You’re a pretty good archer, and you didn’t die in those twelve years. I think. Please don’t spoil it for me, I just got to their exile. You also get to pick a college, and the college of Swords lets you add some extra effects to your arrows to make them even more magical. When you take the attack action, you can add 10′ to your movement speed for the turn. When you hit with an attack, you can expend an inspiration die once per turn to add a Blade Flourish to that attack. Add the inspiration die’s roll to your damage, and then pick one of the following: a Defensive Flourish adds the roll to your AC until the start of your next turn, a Slashing Flourish deals the same amount of damage to another creature within 5′ of you, and a Mobile Flourish pushes the creature away, and you can react to move up to your walking speed closer to the creature. Amazingly, despite being called Blade Flourishes, none of these require a melee weapon, so have fun with them.

You also get another Fighting Style. You probably won’t use it, but Two-weapon Fighting will let people know you’re ambidextrous.

For your last bard spell, Enhance Ability will make your skill checks even better, giving you advantage on one kind of skill check for up to an hour. There’s also a couple extra bonuses for choosing physical checks, but this level’s already dragging on.

13. Fighter 6: Back in the fighter levels, use this ASI for higher Charisma. This gives you better spell saves and more flourishes per long rest.

14. Warlock 5: Bounce back to one last level of warlock for the third level spell Fear as well as the invocation Eldritch Smite, which adds 4d8 Force damage to a weapon attack by eating up one of your very limited warlock slots.

15. Fighter 7: Okay, back in fighter for real this time. At seventh level, you’re a Remarkable Athlete, adding half your proficiency bonus to physical skill checks you’re not proficient in, and adding your strength modifier to the length of running long jumps. By combining this and Jack of All Trades, you’re now pseudoproficient in every physical skill, plus initiative, without any of the effort.

16. Fighter 8: Use this ASI to finally max out your Dexterity for the strongest AC, arrows, and initiative.

17. Fighter 9: Ninth level fighters are Indomitable, letting you reroll a failed saving throw once per long rest. Failure is for people without the weight of the world on their shoulders.

18. Fighter 10: Tenth level Champions get an Additional Fighting Style, and the new Superior Technique option from Tasha’s lets us grab a battle master maneuver and pick up a d6 superiority die at the same time. The precision attack lets you add that d6 to an attack roll, for when you really can’t afford to miss your shot. You regain the die on short rests.

19. Fighter 11: At eleventh level, you get another Extra Attack, letting you nock a third arrow in a single action.

20. Fighter 12: Use your final ASI to strengthen your Charisma even further for better skill checks, stronger spells, and more flourishes.

Pros:

You’re good at ranged combat, with the ability to attack from afar with your longbow or medium range with spells like Eldritch Blast and Scorching Ray. Being able to use flourishes from 600 feet away also opens up opportunities for messing with enemy placement from a safe distance.

Thanks to Jack of all Trades and your plethora of social spells, you’re very good at dealing with problems outside of combat as well, opening up new opportunities for your party.

By having flourishes and smites on standby, you can deal a lot of burst damage when you deal a critical hit, which should happen often thanks to your increased chances and extra attacks.

Cons:

Your damage types mostly focus on normal arrows and fire, which tends to be resisted by a lot of enemies. Considering most of the Kurus are technically part demon, this could be an issue for you.

You have a few spell slots per rest, so you have to make your spells count. This is a similar problem for your flourishes, but you’re still better off than arcane archers.

Your low wisdom means you’ll fall for temptation pretty easily. Keep a good friend on standby to help you through the hard times.

[beeblackburn]

Ghosts for the fandom ask as well! 👀

The first character I ever fell in love with: Thomas Thorne. “Ah, she’s gone” remains one hell of a delightful line delivery. And his following melodrama was just amazing to sit through. I love dramatic™ bitches.

A character that I used to love/like, but now do not: I... honestly don’t know? Like, I generally like every character in this series and that’s not particularly a small feat. I suppose if I had to choose... the Captain or Mike, and only because I’ve come to realize their later more self-centered/forcible moments were there from the get-go, from the Captain’s complaining about Fanny’s screaming and Mike taking out a loan without talking about it with Alison while she was in a coma, not necessarily because I dislike them.

A ship that I used to love/like, but now do not: Ummm, none! I generally agree with the ships in this series. 

My ultimate favorite character™: Thomas Thorne, he usually guarantees a laugh with any line reading, he looks good, he usually holds back before his crush on Alison gets too creepy, The Thomas Thorne Affair and Free Pass helps explain his more romantic tendencies and the former genuinely floored me with some of its twists and that last revelation broke my damn heart. Poor Isabelle and Thomas. They lost so much because the first Lord Button was a selfish arse. And I adore that Thomas was the first one who sung along In the Bleak Midwinter with Alison. I hope all the best for him.

Prettiest character: Kitty or Thomas. Kitty’s more my type, and I love her dress, but Thomas has those floofy locks to die for.

My most hated character: FUCK LORD BUTTON THE FIRST WITH A MUSKET BALL. That being said, I don’t come out of the Christmas Special respecting Mike’s sisters. And, depending on how Kitty’s backstory goes, her sister’s set to replace Lord Button the First. Honestly, I feel like I come out of this series hating cousins and sisters.

My OTP: Mike/Alison. Aside from some hiccups, Mike’s genuinely supportive and follows Alison’s lead and Alison grounds Mike’s eccentrics or flights of fear. They’re not friction-less, but they feel lived-in, have little jokes with each other, and are a couple who love each other and work through their problems.

My NOTP: Yeah, still none.

Favorite episode: Man, there’s a spoil of riches in Season 2 alone, but I keep revisiting Happy Death Day, Getting Out, About Last Night, Redding Weddy, The Thomas Thorne Affair, and Bump in the Night. If I had to narrow it down... The Thomas Thorne Affair, Bump in the Night or The Ghost of Christmas all vie for favorite.

The Thomas Thorne Affair is the best flashback episode Ghosts got, given it’s got a ton of narrative room to breathe around the death in question (I love Redding Weddy, but I wanted more scenes between the Captain and Lieutenant Havers), allowing for multiple perspectives to see the death, and I love how many holes get plugged up by POVs like Kitty’s or get misdirected off-track like Robin’s or get made into a more interesting imaginary scenario like the Captain’s (real talk, his take never fails to make me laugh, bless you, Captain). It’s all hilarious (that bird getting shot by Thomas’ gun as he falls is my second-guiltiest laugh of the series) but it also speaks to a very real idea of our memories: that we edit, we revise, we look back with nostalgia or clean up the messier bits. Add in the twists and the Mike subplot and it all adds up to a tragic tale whose theme is about how another man’s utter selfishness is capable of destroying a relationship between two lovers through violence, either directly or by proxy. It’s delightfully hilarious, but it hits so hard and Thomas’ words about the truth making it all worse twists my heart.

I feel Bump in the Night is the funniest episode Ghosts’ got. It’s not particularly serious, there are no real stakes, given one of the burglars is terrible at theft, it’s just a bunch of total morons fumbling through a breaking-and-entering and it’s amazing. Fanny complaining that the burglars are terrible at theft, the Ghosts calling for 999, only to not think through how to communicate, them trying to communicate with Mike via a creepy doll’s eyelids, Alison immediately realizing Mike’s in the wardrobe, Julian writing “2 of them” instead of 2 like a non-dumbass, MIKE IN THE SUIT OF ARMOR, it’s all amazingly funny, but at the same time, it’s all underlined by the emotional truth that Alison, Mike, and the Ghosts have come far enough that the Ghosts are willing to help them out because they like them, instead of scaring them off or causing problems like in Season 1. Alison verbalizes it, but the more touching scene is how she thanks Robin, the Ghost that first scared her because he had nothing better to do, for getting Barclay to help them and he just nods humbly back. This episode is full of idiots, but it’s got a decent amount of heart in it that gives it weight beyond the laughs.

The Ghost of Christmas probably has one of my favorite theses on why we endure the holidays with our families, despite it never being as magical as can be. There’s stuff to nitpick like how I don’t like how Mike’s sisters delight in Mike throwing a fit, going so far to film it, and some of Julian’s scenes with the baby run a bit long for my taste, but I really do like Julian’s summation of Christmas: that it’s perfect because it’s not perfect and that we should be grateful of any time we spend with family, because it will all go away someday, as the ghosts can testify. We take the good with the bad. There are some delightful humor bits like the Ghosts needling the Captain and Thomas to join in on Twister, Fanny looking up at the tall tree from the seeds they planted, Mike’s dad having a chainsaw, and Julian waving off his daughter being a MP of the Green Party (screw you, Julian, she rules because of that), but there’s also the theme of family in the emotional scene. When Mike’s dad tells him they’re overbearing because someday they won’t get to do things for him, there’s a heartwarming irony that, even past death, the Ghosts are there for Alison, their newest family member. This episode made me realize just how... barren Alison’s biological family connections are from the first episode’s mentioning that there were no other direct relatives. And In the Bleak Midwinter is a gorgeous song that cuts as a certain truth: just because others can’t see your family doesn’t make them any less real to you. 

Saddest death: Thomas dying all alone at the tree, no one living by his side, feeling the sting of being rejected one final time at the end because his cousin was a selfish arse who capitalized on a woman he didn’t love for her estate? God, this bears repeating, but fuck Lord Button the First.

Favorite season: Oh, definitely Season 2. I love Season 1, but I’m not a huge fan of second-hand embarrassment and seeing Alison get embarrassed by her reacting to ghosts that others can’t see made me wince quite a few times. I much prefer Season 2′s handling of Alison and the Ghosts and how they work.

Least favorite season: Season 1. I don’t take to the more second-hand embarrassment humor of that season, but I do love every episode except Free Pass. It’s still a great season with episodes like Happy Death Day, Moonah Ston, and Getting Out. Special mention to Happy Death Day, which was the first time I realized Ghosts could balance the comedy and the darkness with sincere emotion without them undercutting each other at the wrong time.

Character that everyone else in the fandom loves, but i hate: Now? Not really. In the first season though, I sometimes found Kitty a little too grating, possessive, and intrusive. Not that I don’t get where she’s coming from, her childhood sounds lonely and painful in ways she doesn’t fully comprehend and ghosthood hasn’t exactly made her any less lonely in some ways, most times I understand, but sometimes, like at the start of Getting Out where I feel she really should pump the brakes. 

That being said, her backstory’s gonna break me. I just know it.

My ‘you’re piece of trash, but you’re still a fave’ fave: Fanny or the Captain. They really can be abrasive or domineering in that first season, the Captain steamrolling over Pat from time to time and Lady Fanny’s nitpicking and homophobia, but I do get why they are that way and they do get better.

My ‘beautiful cinnamon roll who deserves better than this’ fave: Kitty, who deserves all the blankets for that childhood. Mary, who likely has a mental illness and got burnt because of that. Humphrey, who doesn’t deserve being ignored by the Ghosts.

My ‘this ship is wrong, nasty, and makes me want to cleanse my soul, but i still love it’ ship: Thomas/Alison. Thomas, sometimes, your behavior can get a little too much regarding Alison. That first (thankfully only) peep at her in the shower, I know you’ve been frustrated for years as a Ghost, but noooooooo. That being said, when Thomas respects her boundaries and is a supportive friend (have I mentioned how touching In the Bleak Midwinter is?), I dig them.

My ‘they’re kind of cute, and i lowkey ship them, but i’m not too invested’ ship: Pat/Cap. Not that I don’t get it, and it promises heartwarming feels and heartbreak (Pat moving on after they hook up and Captain having to watch another leave him again, but this time, Captain got to admit his feelings before the leaving) and they are rather adorable together, but I’m more waiting for the narrative to acknowledge the possibility before launching myself into the ship full-time.

[gerbiloftriumph]

Captive Crown

(also on ao3)

Someone wanted the newly crowned King of Daventry and all his friends dead. Someone got close, once.

(warnings for the whole thing: kidnapping, bruising, starvation, nightmares, healthy dosage of angsty musing, sicfic, story-coherent vehicle for all my favorite ch2 headcanons)

~*~*~

3/7

(1: to steal)(2: to hide)(3: to seek)(4: to find)(5: to break)(6: to mend)(7: to heal, and to end)

~*~*~

“Your Majesty, we’re sorry about earlier,” Royal Guard Number Three called through the door. The others stood clustered behind her, looking apprehensive.

(“He’s going to throw something at us.”)

(“He isn’t.”)

(“You didn’t see the look on his face. He absolutely will.”)

“We brought hot chocolate,” she persisted, knocking again. “After walking in the rain, we thought you might need to warm up.” Still no response. “King Graham, are you in there?” She shifted the tray from one hand to both hands and bumped the door open with her hip. Everyone huddled around her, peeking through the gap.

“He’s not there,” No4 sighed, relieved.

No3 pushed the door open all the way. The throne room was littered with socks and acorns, as they’d left it. “But it’s getting dark.” She thought about the monsoon gray sky and amended, “Late. Shouldn’t he be back by now?”

“Maybe he’s staying in town. He used to do that a lot.”

“Yes, but that was before we crowned him.” No2 hesitated. “Is that allowed now?”

“It’s not like he’s a proper king, is it? I expect he can do whatever he likes.” No1 made some dismissive hand flapping gesture. “I suppose we should get this cleaned up or something. Hardly looks civilized. Doesn’t keep a very neat throne room, does he.”

“Does that mean we can drink the hot cocoa?” No2 asked hopefully.

No3 tapped her finger against the tray, not sure at all if she should—or even could—make a suggestion. She was the newest rank and file, just hired by the king. But he’d given her a job when she’d desperately wanted it, and…well, she felt wrong about all this. Like an unpleasant itch beneath her armor. Graham had looked so miserable when he’d left (fair enough—she’d heard the shouting even from the entrance hall), and he hadn’t come back hours later, and….

“What if I go to town and make sure?” she offered.

“Sure about what?” No1 said distractedly. He picked up one of the abandoned socks, but he didn’t seem to know what to do with it once he had it, and he let it drop again.

“That he’s safe?”

“Safe? We’re in Daventry. It’s no Serenia or Llewdor. We haven’t had anything worse than a wedzel around for years.”

And that dragon that killed that knight, she thought, a touch rebelliously. And leprechauns and goblins and giants and…oh, never mind. “Still, sir, I think a spot of rust on the helmet will do me good. Get some practice marching in.”

“Ah, go on then. We’ll keep some cocoa warm for you.” He took the tray from her and wandered back toward the kitchens, trying to bat No2 away with his elbow without spilling anything. “Later, later. Let’s reheat it and get the rest of the lads in, make it fair.”

She looked at the empty room, remembered how distressed Graham had seemed when he pushed off into the rain alone, and she spun on her heel. She’d go to town. He’d mentioned Wente earlier; may as well start there.

No3 meandered along the road, that eternal Daventry monsoon rain drumming on her umbrella. She practiced what she might say to him, what would convince him to come back, to not give up on them, on her and her beginning career. If she could get Wente or Amaya or Muriel (not Chester) on her side, surely combined they could whip up an argument as solid as Wente’s brownie frosting.

But when she got to the town, and when she found half a broken flute, and empty houses, and a ton of churned mud, and shards of glass and splintered wood, and broken pies and cracked alchemical vials, and a complete lack of any king or villagers whatsoever, she flung the umbrella into the shattered bakery, sprinted back to the castle, and managed to completely ruin hot cocoa night in three words: “King Graham’s gone!”

*~*~*

Someone tapped on his hand, gently. “No, go ‘way,” he mumbled. “Ten more minutes.” The tapping persisted. He withdrew his hand and pulled it close under the blankets. “Five minutes,” he said, keeping his eyes firmly shut, though to his disappointment he could feel himself waking up. Something licked his nose, and he sat bolt upright. “Triumph?”

The glowing salamander on his pillow flicked its tail. Graham gaped at it for a split second before the pain hit in a horrible wave and he huddled forward, clutching the back of his head. The blanket (no, his own cloak) bunched around his waist. His probing fingers found the aching lump on the back of his head from where he’d hit it on the cobblestones yesterday. Yesterday?

Oh. Right.

He was sure he’d dreamed it. Prayed he’d dreamed it. But in the cold light of salamander glow it was undeniable. No point in pinching himself to make sure—everything already hurt.

Graham shifted, leaning against the stone wall behind him. It felt like he’d rolled down the side of a mountain (ha, again). His leg was uncomfortably stiff. Cautiously, he rolled back the fabric and found a horrible bruise on his hip, mottled purple and black and ugly in the gloomy light. The slightest pressure made him hiss. Sore, finger shaped bruises also marked the back of his legs and calves and even his arms from where they—the goblins, right—had gripped and pulled and thrown him into this cell. Stars.

Gingerly, he eased himself off the mattress, putting weight on his good leg before equalizing himself. His stiff leg shuddered, and he staggered forward, catching himself on the stone block that suited for a table. Newton chirped at him, and Graham breathed deep before pushing himself upright. Every bone seemed to creak and groan and pop as he did.  

For the next undeterminable amount of time, he limped in agonized circles around the room, half hunched over for most of it, stretching out aching muscles and trying to focus, to think. His steps sloshed—much of the water from the night (or whenever—how much time had passed, anyway?) had drained away, but the lower stones puddled. He guessed it was rainwater collecting in the caves. As long as it was raining on the surface, his little prison would be damp.

The worst part about this, he decided (other than the sharp bite in his hip every few steps), was the not knowing. Not knowing why they’d taken him, and not knowing what they wanted to do with him. The goblins’ faces (masks?) revealed nothing. He couldn’t ask without an interpreter—not that there was anyone around to ask, anyway.

It wasn’t like the kingdom had enemies, at least none that he could definitively name. Or, to be fairer, there were some, but he wasn’t certain who, or if there even was a who, to blame, and guesses were just guesses. But it felt so…drastic. Unnecessary.

Sure, he’d only just been crowned and perhaps someone was upset about not being chosen (fair enough; who crowns a royal knight with no proper training or, truly, all that much warning), but so what? He upheld an open court. They could have walked in and laid out their frustration, maybe even made a claim to the crown. Stars, after that debacle in the castle earlier, he might have simply given them the throne had they asked politely enough.

It could be a ransom demand, he supposed, but the kingdom was dealing with rotten budget problems brought on by Edward’s illnesses and badly implemented addendums in his final months, and neither Graham nor any of the guards had sorted out how the unlimited treasure chest worked yet. (If, indeed, it even was unlimited. It had the mark of the Merchant of Miracles printed on the bottom, so, not much hope there.) If someone planned on getting a ransom for him, they were going to be sorely disappointed.

Hopefully send-him-home disappointed, not cut-his-throat disappointed.

Oh, shining stars. He ran his hands through his tangled hair.

To avoid losing Graham to the knife, the royal guards would have to strike up deals with the neighboring kingdoms. They’d have to relinquish the lavender fields to the highest bidder. Trade their goats and livestock. Open the King’s Forests for hunting. Daventry would be ruined economically and politically, just to scrape together a pitiful ransom for their stupid king.

It might just be best to forget the ransom, crown someone new (a King’s Tournament instead of a Knight’s Tournament? A tournament of speed could be the first to sign a ream of addendums) and forget Graham had ever existed. They hadn’t even had more than two sessions for the new royal portrait to be added to the Hall of Faces. It would be easy enough to hide him, a pathetic little footnote in the history books.

Which would make for a happy, thriving Daventry, but a not so happy pack of goblins, and, consequently, a less than thriving Graham.

He pressed his face against the barred window. No one was around. He looked down, trying to see what sort of lock held the door—a very large padlock, by the look of it. He wriggled a hand through the bars and twisted his arm until he had it in his grasp. Sturdy. Heavy. He tried to angle it to see the lock itself, but he couldn’t quite manage from here.

With a flash of delighted inspiration, he unpinned his brooch from his cowl. He flipped it over and studied it, but he felt his burst of excitement drain away again. The metal pin was far too small for the weighty lock. He’d just break the brooch off, and then the goblins would have to break down the door to let him out or just not bother to open it again.

He wandered toward the cracked mirror, to reaffix the pin straight against his chest, and stared at himself. With the dark rings under his eyes, he looked like he’d been punched in the face. Twice.

“Ahh.” Graham sank onto the mattress, the only properly dry thing in the whole cell, and wrapped his cloak tight. An opportunity would come, surely. He just had to be ready for it. Whenever it came. Whatever it looked like. He curled on his side, favoring his bruised hip, and tried to think of sunshine.

*~*~*

Graham fell into a sort of routine as time crept past on soft salamander feet. He couldn’t know how much time was passing, and he was reluctant to make a guess at it for fear of making the situation feel all the more helpless. Hopeless.

He took to reciting what addenda he could remember—he thought he might be mixing up some of the numbers (was it Addendum 78934 that was about pasta in royal guard diets, or 86752, or maybe he’d forgotten a decimal point), but he knew he had the content right. He’d been memorizing facts and sheets for weeks. It helped keep him grounded after he’d counted all Newton’s spots and every facet of every rock dozens of times over.

Every now and again, when his nauseous hunger felt overwhelming, he stumbled toward the pipes and gathered up a small amount of porridge. Stringy to the eyes, slimy to the touch, and rubbery to the teeth, he bit back on his gag reflex and swallowed handfuls of it as quick as he could with his eyes screwed shut. It didn’t seem to have much of a smell to it, but that was most likely because he’d gotten used to the wet-dog reek of his damp, lizard-infested cell.

But one day (the third day, had he been able to accurately number the hours—a proper fairy tale amount of time, which might have given him a hint as to who had done this), the horrible porridge stopped coming. Nothing oozed out of the pipes at all. Graham almost laughed. No more porridge! Ha! No more…oh, hang on. No more porridge means no more food means…his stomach snarled. Or was it the goblins outside his door snarling at each other?

Then, because the goblins didn’t want to do their own chores, he was freed. Or, at least, he wasn’t locked in his cell constantly. Every evening they unlocked the door and let him out to do their literal dirty work. This first night, they thrust an oily rag in his face and ordered him to clear spiderwebs. Well, fine. Chores would break up the monotony of his own thoughts, and anyway, it was a great excuse to explore every corner of this prison without getting tackled.

But his cleaning came to a screeching halt when he discovered, to his utter horror, that he wasn’t alone. All his friends were trapped in the shadows and the slime, too. Wente and his new wife, Bramble. Amaya. The Hobblepots. The Merchant. Even, bafflingly, Mr. Fancycakes. They were starving, bedraggled, as pathetic as he was. Worse than he was. And they were depending on him for survival.

He straightened his crown.

It’s a puzzle, Graham. Find a way out.

[elusive-lamb]

Yang is Stronk (I did the math)

Okay, we all know Yang is strong, but do we talk about it enough? I decided the answer is NO and so I did a bunch of back of the envelope calculations to figure out exactly how ridiculously powerful she is.

tl;dr: Yang can lift 180-270 kg/400-600 lbs over the shoulder, so maximum lifting weight is 450 kg/1000 lbs or more. Yang can endure at least 3.5-5.2 MN of force on her body, get right back up, and punch a mech. Oh, and when she punches said mech, she throws out 17-20 MN with a single punch. That’s 4 THOUSAND times more force than a professional boxer.

Calculations, math/science, and awesome pictures of Yang are below the cut, take with multiple tablespoons of salt bc I had to estimate on a lot of things.

Point 1: How much can Yang lift? Let’s talk about that ridiculous scene with the speaker

you know the one

Based on really quick graphic analysis and Yang’s height (5 ft, 8 inches), that speaker is around 57 inches long and 38 inches wide. Depth is hard to determine because of the angle, but I’m guesstimating it at 25 inches. This gives a total volume of 54,150 cubic inches.

So how heavy is that? Well I spent some time browsing Best Buy (I wonder what my facebook ads are gonna look like after this...) and a 17,827 in^3 speaker weighs 116 lbs. Judging by that ratio, the speaker Yang is holding is around 350 lbs. 

BUT WAIT. The Best Buy speaker had two 15″ subwoofers whereas this speaker has two 23″ woofers. I don’t know much about speaker systems, but after looking up a few subwoofers it seems like they’re the heavy part of the speaker (rest of the speaker is more lightweight structural components and air). Using a volume to weight ratio of a subwoofer, the Yang speaker becomes around 740 lbs. Realistically, it’s not fully a subwoofer, so I’m estimating the actual weight in the neighborhood of 400-600 lbs.

Keep in mind that this is casual over-the-shoulder lifting. So I’d wager that her maximum lifting weight is at least double that (so 800-1200lbs, around 1 ton -- ~450 kg if you don’t use the filthy imperial system. Sorry for using imperial, it was easier given the specs on Best Buy). Btw if any of you lift weights regularly, feel free to chime in on this. Idk how shoulder lifting compares to maximum weight, so if you have a better estimate let me know!

Regardless though, Yang is able to just casually sling around 180-270 kg/400-600 lbs, which is uhhhh pretty hot very impressive. No wonder she makes this face afterwards:

Point 2: What is Yang’s durability? Remember that time she got punched into a concrete pillar and fucking BROKE THE PILLAR ?!

That��s right, she didn’t just crack it or dent it. It didn’t even split in half or anything. No, that column of solid concrete literally SHATTERED from the force of that mech punch.

So...that’s a lot of force, all of which was also imparted on Yang’s body. What’s the force required to break a concrete column? This fun video shows an axial compression test for a 6″ diameter concrete cylinder, which withstood 10,000 psi (pounds per square inch). That’s 700 kgf/cm^2 (kilograms of force per cm^2) or about 70 MPa (mega pascals). We’re going to use real people units for this bit fyi.

70 MPa to “pop” a column with a radius of 7.62 cm. The area that the force is being applied to is just the area of the circle -- 182.4 cm^2. Multiply that by the 70 MPa of pressure and we get over 1 million newtons as the force applied (approx. 1.25 mega newtons (MN) if you want a more exact number).

Cool, now let’s do it for Yang’s body smashing into a column. One important thing to note is that she’s hitting the column from the side. This is testing the tensile/flexural strength of the concrete, NOT the compressive strength. Since these columns are built to support a bunch of weight from above, they are weaker when hit from the side. This website says that tensile strength of concrete is 10-15% of its compressive strength, we’ll go with that as an estimate.

So we need something around 7-10.5 MPa to shatter a column of concrete from the side. The force exerted on the column is all from Yang’s body, and I’m going to estimate the contact area of that at around 0.5 m^2. That’s 3.5-5.2 MN, or 350,000-525,000 kgf (770,000-1,157,000 lbf). And given the strain rate at which the pillar shattered, the actually force imparted was probably significantly more than that, but it’s already pretty ridiculous.

And as a side note, if we assume that the mech punches are fairly consistent, then she also was able to catch around that same amount of force with her hands and not move an inch. 

Point 3: How much force can Yang dish back out? Let’s not forget that she completely DESTROYED a giant mechanical battlesuit in a single goddamn punch

Wow I’m...gay.

Okay this one is a bit of a challenge since we don’t know what the Atlesian Paladin is made out of. Who even knows what sort of cool metals and alloys they have going on in Remnant. I’m going to use mechanical properties for composite armor, which is what is used for modern tanks (the Paladin is sort of like a really mobile tank, right?). 

Quick history, tank armor used to be made primarily from hot-rolled steel, because steel is awesome (really strong, durable, fails in a forgiving way). But unfortunately it wasn’t that great at stopping ballistics, especially as weapons got more sophisticated. Meanwhile the strongest class of materials (ceramics) weren’t used because they’re too brittle and thus prone to shattering, unlike metals which are more ductile and will usually dent or bend upon failure. But with the magic of composites, more modern tank armors like Chobham armor let you take advantage of the super high strength of ceramic materials without having to deal with brittleness and multiple hit capability problems.

That was a tangent, but basically composite armors consist of ultra-strong ceramics enclosed in a metal matrix of some sort (like a sandwich). It seems like the metals used are usually some combination of steel, titanium, aluminum, and alloys of those. We want to know what force it takes to annihilate one of these composites. When Yang punches the mech, it flies away and shatters upon landing. However, she also shatters one of it’s arms directly -- right after she catches the punch. So it’s safe to say that the number we’re looking for is the ultimate tensile strength. UTS is defined as the maximum stress that a material can withstand before fracture, conveniently labeled below.

We have a bit of a problem here, which is that a lot of these composite armors are very new in development, and unfortunately most military groups don’t want to share the details of their defense materials and the resultant mechanical properties (very rude of them tbh). I checked out some general ceramic metal composite materials though, and got a fairly massive range of UTS values (like, 600-1900 MPa). We’ll take a relatively high value, since Remnant/Atlas is technologically advanced (giant mecha battle suits, ridiculously good prosthetics, etc.) Assuming UTS between, say, 1700-2000 MPa, then Yang would have to hit the mech with a corresponding amount of force concentrated just on her fist.

Surface area of her fist + Ember Celica we can estimate at 100 cm^2 (0.01 m^2). So that’s 17-20 MN of force in a single punch. Let me write that another way. Yang punches with 20,000,000 Newtons of force. This article says that most boxers punch with a maximum of 5,000 Newtons of force. Yang is 4,000 times stronger than a professional boxer.

I...did not expect THIS crazy of a result going into this, let me tell ya. I think I need to lie down...

Anyway, this was a lot of fun lol. Again, take with a heaping serving of salt since I’m not a professional in any of these areas (my only credential is 3/4 of an undergraduate Materials Science degree). 

[thedistantstorm]

Sleep Deprivation

Continues from Drowning. Steelponcho. I know I promised smut in this one, but it’s squeaky clean. I didn’t want to force it. Just some good ole hurt comfort here to make your teeth rot.

As in all things, he is also an incredibly polite sleeper. She is used to holding still when she sleeps - at one point she had to sleep in a tree for a few months because doing so on the ground would have put her way too at risk of discovery by bears. But that's a different story for a different time.

Back to the man sleeping next to her in this tiny bed. He rarely moves, and always waits for her to get comfortable before he settles in beside her, on the rare nights he graces her little bed in the farmhouse. She never thought she would see the day he truly slept. She means that. He is out. His arm is over her side, dead weight, his breathing is perfectly even, and the spectral patterns under his skin hum something soothing - like ocean waves. Not that she's seen the ocean recently, the Farm is a little landlocked.

Honestly, she should be sleeping, too, but she can't bring herself away from staring at this picture of perfection that has crawled into bed with her. What with his sooty lashes ghosting against his cheek and those expressive eyebrows calm and smooth be for a change… His face looks so much younger.

She forces herself to focus. Sleep. She should sleep. If she doesn’t, she’ll fidget. And that will wake him up. She would hate herself if she kept him from a good night’s - morning's, actually, that’s the light of dawn coming in the window - sleep.

For the love of pearl, Suraya, she chastises herself silently. No more distractions. Sleep. This isn't a common luxury.

He moves just as she begins to get comfortable, with a sudden burst of restless energy. His brows are a bit more furrowed. His fingers twitch against her back. She’s got no clue how to - what to do. Should she wake him up? His lips are moving, saying foreign words in no language that she’s ever heard.

“Zavala,” She whispers.

The strange language tumbling from his lips becomes louder. She brings the arm that’s crossed under his to his face. Presses her thumb against the worry lines of his forehead, smoothing them down across this temple. His legs jerk and he kicks her in the shin, hard. She knows he’s strong, but he’s also asleep. Also, this is not anything like the other dozen times he's slept here with her.

And: It absolutely hurts, but she bites back the yelp.

“Hey,” She whispers. “Zavala. You’re dreaming. It’s okay.”

He twists, laying on his back, and in the pale light she can see the movement of his eyes under his eyelids, which are practically twitching, much like his hands right now. The swirling of his skin becomes almost violent in agitation. She props herself up, putting a hand on his chest and jostling him.

“Zavala, wake up.”

The only thing he registers is her hand on his chest, and the next thing she knows, she’s pinned to the bed, and he’s above her, eyes wild.

“Whoa! Hey. It’s me. Look at me.” He has one hand braced beside her head to hold him up, and the other is primed to bar her throat. His legs have her pinned from the waist down. She reaches up and cups both of his cheeks. He is seeing something, but it isn't her. “Zavala. Breathe. Look at me.”

He blinks, and she feels more than sees awareness hit him as his body slingshots to fully awake with a jerk. He looks absolutely mortified, terror sparking in his eyes. She sits up when he rears back and gets up without a word, trembling in something that is a cross of fear and anger, but is not directed at her. She hears the sound of the rusty sink in the bathroom screeching on, and the slam of something that definitely wasn’t broken but is now. She slips into her clothes silently, and hops back under the covers to wait out the inevitable.

He slips back into the room as silently as a Titan can - she doesn’t have the heart to tell him she can hear him from a mile away - and she hears more than sees him pulling on his clothes and armor. She can tell from his breathing that he’s still agitated. She wonders if he really buys that she’s asleep, or if he’s just hoping she’s polite.

Not that it matters, because he absolutely gets all of his gear on and clunks out of the room without a word, and he keeps to the walls like the bed is a bomb that might explode at him if he gets too close.

“You have got to be kidding me,” She grouses to herself, when the door closes behind her in a ‘don’t follow me’ gesture that screams brooding child. She throws the blankets off, sinks her feet into her boots, grabs her poncho from the trunk in front of her, opens the warped window beside the bed, and slips outside.  

-/

“You’re a lot of things,” She says, rounding the dilapidated house with light footsteps trying to catch him off guard. “But you’re not a coward. Did you really think I went back to sleep?”

The tense of his shoulders is the only indication she gets that he’s heard. She had hoped the surprise would make him face her. It does not.

“Zavala.”

He keeps walking.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” She stalks after him, heading to the barn.

When she gets there, he’s picking up reports, reorganizing them. There really isn’t a ton of light to read by in the dark barn, but apparently it’s enough for his eyes since they glow like twin stars. When he ignores her, even when she puts her hand over the report that he’s about to pick up, she rolls her eyes and withdraws.

Suraya whistles low. Louis drops from the rafters quietly, if not a bit indignant at being disturbed at such an hour. He lands on the table in-between the stables, directly in front of her. She realizes she’s not wearing her gauntlet, and there’s no treat bag on her belt. He’ll have to settle for touch.

“He’s being an idiot,” She tells Louis, when the raptor chirps quietly, looking at the Commander who is ignoring them both as if encouraging him to explain. “Acts like he’s the only one who’s ever had nightmares.”

The bird cocks his head, makes a low cry, and hops forward, toward her, nipping her fingers.

“I know, it’s stupid right? I’m totally not mad.” She leans in close, and he nips her nose affectionately. She grins at him, whispering conversationally, “Between you and me, I don’t think he knows I could have taken him. Mmm, especially when he’s not wearing armor.”

There’s a firmer cheep, and Suraya shrugs at the rustle of wings.

“What? He’s good looking. I regret nothing, bird. You need a lady friend to spice things up. Then you’ll see what I mean.”

She notices that the rustling of papers has stopped, but doesn’t dare take the chance to see if he’s looking at her, instead setting her focus on stroking the downy feathers of her partner’s breast. The bird settles with an adjustment of tucked wings.

His handler sighs. “It’s kind of nice,” She says softly, dropping onto one of the stools beside the old table, not stopping her attentions on Louis. “I’m not used to making a good team with somebody. I’d like to think we get each other.”

Louis cries sharply and looks over Suraya’s shoulder.

She smiles. “Easy,” She croons softly to the falcon. “I know you and me make a good team. I meant people teams. I mean, he’s insufferable, but it works, y’know? In that prince falls for the bandit kind of way. Maybe Snow White, but instead of the seven dwarves, I have - okay, definitely more than seven scouts. Not the point. You get the idea. I think I’d like to skip the cursed apple bit, though. Not really down for the parts where I require saving.”

“Do you always talk to Louis about people who are in the same room as you?” Timid isn’t a word she would use to describe the Commander, but there are definitely undertones of hesitancy in his voice.

Louis receives a two finger smooth-down of the feathers on the crest of his head. “Do we do this often?” She pauses, and he tips his head back, seeking her touch. Suraya answers herself. “I don’t think so. Mostly we talk about the weather, the Guardians looking at you funny, and how you better not lead me to any bears.” A serious note of confirmation from Louis punctuates her words and she nods to the falcon, who kicks off and returns to his nesting place.

Her lips pull into a sad little smile when his hands rest on her waist. This is all still very new for them both, if she’s to be honest with herself.  He rests his head on her shoulder. “I do not know what I was dreaming about, what I was saying. It… happens, sometimes.”

She does not move, except to cover his hands with hers. She can feel his breath through her hood when he exhales.

“I could have hurt you.”

“Maybe,” She concedes, “But you didn’t. I’ll wake you quicker, if it ever happens again.”

The part of his brain that processes her still being willing to share a bed with her stalls. It takes a moment to restart. “This - it does not frighten you?”

She tilts her head to look at him. “Reckon it scared you more than me,” She whispers. “Besides, I don’t think I could imagine some of the things you’ve seen. If you didn’t have some baggage, I’d be a little concerned.”

He scoffs at that. “Baggage. I’ve lived centuries more than you. There is no suitcase big enough.”

She cracks a smile at that, and knows it makes him feel a little better when he rests his head against her cheek. “I’m aware. The Titans joke that you have the biggest pauldrons for a reason. I know just how much rests on those shoulders of yours.” She looks back toward the Farmhouse, diagonal from the barn’s yawning entryway. “I also know that if you slept like you were supposed to those night terrors wouldn’t be so bad.”

More sighing. He does that a lot, she thinks. “There is no time, Suraya. We’re at war.”

“I know, I know. But hear me out. We’re not actually due back at war for another six hours.” She leans back against him, her head falling back against his shoulder. “You can’t tell me you don’t want to curl back up in bed with me.”

There is silence for a long while. “And if there is a repeat of my previous actions?”

Suraya laughs, turning her head to kiss his cheek. She's never done it before, and she's not adverse to potentially doing it again. “Have a little faith, Commander. You won’t.”

[ethantuozzoreviews]

God of War Review

God of War is a name that, over the years, has grown to be one of the names that is synonymous with the PlayStation. Ever since the original game released back in 2005, it’s been one of Sony’s marquee franchises. After releasing so many games so quickly and the poor performance of 2013’s God of War Acension, the future of the series was in question. After 5 years and the return of God of War II director Corey Barlog, God of War has returned.

God of War 2018 is one of the most drastic departures I’ve seen in a franchise. The story is the most dramatic change and the first point I wanted to get out. The game is not a reboot but a direct sequel that takes place after the events of God of War III. Kratos now finds himself enveloped in the world of Norse mythology rather than the Greek mythology he comes from. The story never describes his journey there, but it never really had to. Kratos now has a wife and child in his new world, but as the game opens you discover that the wife has passed away leaving Kratos to care for his son Atreus alone. After an emotional opening, some back and forth father and son moments and one of the best boss fights of the past 10 years, the path is clear. The two decide to carry their loved one’s ashes to the highest point to fulfil her wish. While the journey and premise are simple, I’d say God of War is more about the journey and less about the destination. Over the 30 hours of time I invested, I can honestly say that the set piece moments and story/narrative beats are some of my favorite in quite some time. I didn’t think I would ever care about Kratos from a character perspective or feel sorry for him, but this game opens him up and makes him feel worthy of caring about. Atreus comes into his own over the course of the journey as well. He starts off a little annoying and unlikable, but slowly evolves. Their are also key story moments were more secrets are revealed to him and it’s amazing to see his reactions to the revelations. The side characters are also incrediclble to. From Freya to the two dwarf smith brothers. Mimir is the character that steals the show though. He is extremely charming and tells a huge array of fascinating tales. Whenever he would start to tell a story, I would stop the boat just so I wouldn’t miss any of the details.

God of War’s main focus has always been in its combat. The other games were extremely button mashy and didn’t really have much nuisance like other character action games like Devil May Cry or Bayonetta. God of War 2018 put the combat system back in the drawing board and cane out with something that feels truly unique. The camera is no longer zoomed out but is now behind the shoulder ala Resudent Evil 4. You are given a completely new weapon named the Leviathan Axe. This weapon and some bare handed combat are your two main ways of fighting. The axe has a ton of weight to it and every swing feels brutal and merciless. As you fight you gain experience to learn more moves for the axe like area of effect attacks and stance changes to change combos or even juggle enemies. The bare hand attacks are useful for stunning enemies so brutal instant kill attacks can be performed on them. Their is even another weapon that you gain halfway through the game that adds even more possibilities to your arsenal. For only having 2 weapons and your hands, the combat can be insanely challenging and deeply satisfying. Atreus can also be used and leveled up in combat as well. All of his attacks can be executed with a simple press or hold of one button and all of his moves are great for setting up juggles and combos. Depending on what armor he’s wearing, he can also heal Kratos mud combat or gives passive abilities as well. He is another layer that gets added to the combat that’s easy to use and execute. One top of all of this, you can throw the fucking axe and bring it back to you like Thor and that literally never gets old.

The new God of War also has a ton of small changes and new systems that keep it fresh and different from its predecessors. The game has a ton of RPG systems and stats that you can use to level up and min/max Kratos to fit your play style. Do you want high health and defense or would you rather have armor that reduces the cooldown of all of your combat abilities. These are all choices that weren’t available in other God of War games, and for a first attempt in the series, a lot of the systems are easy to get used to. Most of the systems and numbers can be avoided for casual players that are just looking to play through the story, but if your looking to take on some of the end game, then your going to need some of the best equipment around. The game is also a semi-open world game which is new for the series. Early on you get to a location that serves as a sort of hub world and from their more paths and side quests become available. Their is a ton of optional content to be found such as side quests and difficult combat challenges.

I was looking forward to God of War, yes, but this is not what I was expecting to fall in love. This game has some of the best combat, visual set pieces and boss encounters of the last decade. On top of that, it has some of the best characterizations of family and fatherhood that I have ever seen. The combat feels fresh and isn’t like anything that I’ve ever played in a video game before. Their was so much working against God of War, but somehow it has come out a blown a lot of people away. God of War isn’t just a fun game, but an important one. It shows that going back to the drawing board on a franchise that has fallen from grace can really do wonders. I hope that more games and companies can look at God of War as an example of change and see that old, tired franchise can completely change and still be successful.

Score: 10/10

[ikesenlemonadestandstories]

Unnerving Stillness

I’m not really sure what to say other than here is Part 7 of  ‘Retrograde Spell’ The back half of this just sort of happened...so yea...it’s excessively angsty and there are tons of triggers here i’m sure. For your own safety and reading experience please be advised of the following WARNING: Gore -Graphic Content in the form of Violence, Serious bodily harm occurs below, elements of horror included, a handful of characters have more than a rough time. I am placing this under the cut (except probably not because tumblr never listens to me) Feel free to check out the Master List for my other things here. The rest of this series can be searched under the tag ‘Retrograde Spell Series’. For those who continue I hope you enjoy :)

Admin T~

Tagging @little-mini-me-world

[Yn]

You arrived at the field set as the meeting point the exact same moment your sister did. Kanna jumped off her horse and the two of you tied the reins to your tachi then secured it deep into the earth.

“You’re certain Sasuke knows how to activate this barrier?”

“I have no doubt. I trust him like I trust you.”

“That’s all I needed to know.”

“Awfully careful when it comes to these boys aren’t we sis?”

“What of it.” You knew she was trying to ruffle your feathers, make the mood more casual before it got potentially deadly.

“Nothing.” A soft smile “let me see your stomach.”

“It’s no big deal” lifting your shirt high enough so Kanna could take a look “You’re right.” Her fist connected with your side, knocking the wind out of you.

“What the hell was that for?” you screeched, doubling over.

“For making me worry. Now, what way do you want to go? East or West?”

You had gone off to the west and were waiting, hoping the sky didn’t open up. You and Kanna had synced watches and had a general idea of when everyone should be arriving, which was anytime now, hopefully. Now you just needed to kill time, hopefully this was all for nothing.

You were squatting low, plucking at the single blades of grass when the air grew thick with the smell of electricity. A portal would open. Damn. That’s bad, very bad. Drawing your blade as space time ripped a hole in the sky you took off into the newly developing fray.

You were swinging like mad...because you were mad. There was a spy, someone was using you to fulfill their own needs and that sat terribly with you, lodging itself deep in your stomach. You didn’t stop, blowing through your opponents one by one as you got closer and closer to the group. The outline of the barrier could be seen peeking over the hillside and your body was buzzing, Kanna was close. Increasing your speed and the strength of your swing you pushed forward.

The two of you made eye contact and after two steps broke into a sprint towards the barrier, where a particularly large creature was trying to chip away at the protective bubble surrounding your friends. There was no hesitation, gripping your hilt you swung forward pushing all of your weight and momentum into the swing meeting with Kanna. Your blades crossed in dramatic fashion gliding effortlessly past the other as you halved the creature. Bursting into a fit of smoke, while always intriguing you didn’t have time to stand around and look. Spinning so you were back to back, you continued on.

The fight only last a few minutes once you joined with Kanna. You knew by the quick glance you had taken of the warlords that you looked as lethal as you felt. There were no words, a silent dance, one you and your sister had memorized to the height of its efficiency.  The last enemy met your sword, disappearing in a violent eruption of smoke. This was a problem, a very big problem.

[Mitsunari]

We rode back to Azuchi in tense silence, it was clear this was a serious situation. They looked ever the leaders they had claimed to be, sitting proudly atop their steeds clad in dark armor. The atmosphere was unsettling, mild uncomfortableness creeping in, their mannerisms so far removed from the daily personality we, moreover I, had gotten to know at the castle. Not that I minded. (YN) lead our caravan back towards Azuchi, while her sister took the rear, sure that with all of the attacks as of late it was mostly precautionary, until Kanna bellowed.

“Your seven!”

In an instant, (YN) pivoted her horse positioning herself directly between an assailant and Nobunaga. Sparks flew from the clash of steel, the blow was powerful enough to knock her back out of her saddle, in the moment it took to reset it’s swing, Kanna rushed the creature knocking it’s head clear off it’s shoulders. I hurried over out of concern and was stopped by a sharp look, and a motion I recognized quite well, though usually it came from Hideyoshi, telling me to pause take stock of the situation. I looked up.

Our company had been surrounded by a handful of hoodlums. When had that happened, looking towards the sky I could make out the faintest of purple vortexes closing. This was an ambush. The twins circled us, tightening our ranks, fighting off what they could until (YN) threw up another barrier and took off running in the direction of a  now opened orange and black portal in the sky. Four steps and she was gone, jumping up dissolving into the sky. As if trading places, Yuuto was dumped out in her stead. Clothes a mess, blood running down his arms and face, panic etched in his features.

Breaking into the bubble he pulled his sister with him.

“We were ambushed…(YN) responded to a mayday call. I don’t-” he swallowed hard “I don’t know if everyone’s going to make it.” He shared a look with his sister before planting himself in the grass and in a motion that looked similar to throwing, he moved a screen into view on the barrier wall. 

“It’s a live feed, I use it to monitor all of our officers while they fight. I’m not there but I should be able to tell how it’s going based off of everyone’s vitals.” He explained, finishing by pointing out his Aunt Yui and Aoi, His father Haruto, and (YN) on the different screens, helping us differentiate them from the first through  fourth units. Adjusting the controls on his wrist voices could now be heard crystal clear within the bubble.

The distinct sound of battle echoed off the malleable walls of the barrier, you could hear shouts ringing out from each of the officers, all commands to update positions and re-work the battle formations. I closed my eyes, attempting to envision their positions based on the descriptions alone, trying to calm my mind, wishing I wasn’t just a bystander in all of this. Calculation after calculation to help perceive (YN)’s position, it all seemed alright and they sounded like they had made strides when a sharp cry rang out.

“HARUTO” “DAD” an unknown female and (YN) screamed simultaneously.

There was audible turmoil and his screen flashed, the lines jumping rapidly before it flat-lined and went black. Next to Yukimura, Kanna whimpered as Yuuto gripped the edge of his shirt harder. As his knuckles turned white another shrill cry ripped through the bubble as Aoi’s monitor shuddered and went black. Tears were now visible, welling in Kanna’s eyes, as Yukimura gripped her hard around the waist trying to offer some semblance of comfort. There was a grunt in a familiar voice...and breathing became haggard. My heart rate picked up matching the monitor on (YN). As it seemed to be losing control the familiar orange glow lit up the sky and a several bodies tumbled out of the sky, landing hard in the grass. Shutting with a powerful gust of wind that ravaged the treeline in the immediate area as all the monitors on the screen went black, all but Yui’s and the third and fourth regiments.

[Yukimura]

Kanna grew visibly more distressed by the minute as more and more screen blinked out into oblivion. She jerked in my arms as the bodies tumbled from the sky and a wail ripped through her chest, collapsing against me as everything went black but the screen for Yui. No...that couldn’t be good, I know Yuuto said people wouldn’t make it, it was par for the course when it came to war...but could they have been completely obliterated like that? (YN) had just been standing here minutes ago, participating in one of the most lethal of dances I had ever seen. Would they have succeeded if Kanna had gone or would she have succumbed to the same fate?

“Yuuto…” her voice quivered “someone has to go get them”

He gave a half-hearten nod, but something didn’t feel right. Everyone was on edge, and as he made to break through to collect his Aunt and fellow soldiers, Mitsunari stopped him.

“I wouldn’t.” bewilderment swirled about the enclosed space as he looked right at Kanna, the pain of potential loss clear in his eyes.

“Something isn’t adding up. I ran countless scenarios and only one resulted in the loss of (YN). All of which meant the demise of all others in the area, that includes Yui and your ranking officers.”

“Mitsunari, man, I know it hurts, and you’re scenarios are good in theory but in practice life is way more messy. You have no idea what went wrong up there. We can’t just let them lay half mangled in the field surrounded by enemies.” Masamune made a valid point

“No. he’s right.” red streaks prominent on Kanna’s face. Pain shot through my chest as I looked at her. “Something doesn’t fit. Why would everyone else go black at the same time, and why haven’t they started attacking? Also, (YN)’s barrier is still up. There’s no way that would be possible if she was dead right?” she looked at Yuuto for clarification “Right?”

“She put this up?” His eyes widened “Mitsunari. You may be on to something.”

“I think if we plan to go get them, we should be cautious. Did you ever figure out who the spy was?”

“I had it narrowed down...but all signs are pointing in one direction and that..doesn’t look good.” Gesturing to the members of the third and fourth regimen standing backs towards one another, circling Yui menacingly while keeping an eye on the growing army of QA soldiers.

That’s right, there was a spy wasn’t there. It’s why this entire meeting had happened like this in the first place. Giving Kanna a quick peck on the cheek, tasting the salt from her tears, she leaned into me before stepping forward towards Yuuto.

“I’ve got a plan.”

[YN]

You never got calls to your personal line. Ever. But in the moment the monster had been beheaded you received two, one from your Aunt Yui requesting back up and another from your Aunt Aoi pleading with you to keep you and your sister away. Something was wrong, you knew it was impulsive, but Yui had always been the planner, assuming your aunt’s pride as you mentor was getting in the way you sprinted off to respond to the may-day call. As it stood Yui’s order came first, and she had more authority over you than Aoi as the armies tactician. 

The familiar rush of traveling through time hit you and you were spit out to your home on fire, every person embroiled in battle with the Q.A. Oh gods. Mizuko came running up to you, a wild rush of blonde hair and green eyes.

“What are you doing here? Aoi-sama explicitly stated she didn’t want you to come.”

You felt a chill run down your spine as you broke out into a nervous sweat, “Yui-sama called me, her orders for a may-day override Aoi’s”

“What?” her eye’s went as wide as saucers as she parried a blow from an encroaching QA soldier. Lifting her wrist to her mouth she spoke “Aoi-sama, it would appear that Yui is the traitor.”

You blood ran like ice in your veins. There was no way, but logically it made sense, she had known all your plans, every position, exactly how many soldiers you had at your disposal and where they were being sent. The only real question that remained unansered was why? Why had she done it?

“(YN) is here, she got a private mayday from Yui, after your call went out.” a pause “I understand” turning to me as she lowered her arm, eyes burning like the fire raging behind us. “Aoi has given you command of the second regiment as well. Yoshiyuki is headed our way. We randevu with the rest of the team to circle back and hold the line.”

You met up off in the forest just beyond the citadel walls, everyone gathered up. At your disposal you had four archers Hisame and Mari from the first regiment who would pair up with Koharu and Yumi from the second to give ground coverage from different vantage points throughout the citadel. Always making sure Aoi, Haruto, and yourself were in someone's sight. Four tachi, Tsubaki and Shiro from the first and Ohta and Tora from the second would be heading off with the Naginata wielders Hinata and Tatsuya; the first regiment going north and the second going west to hold the line. Mizuko your general and Yoshiyuki the leader of the second division would be coming with you entering through the middle of the fight to subdue Yui and the QA.

--

If you weren’t sure Yui was the traitor you were now. She stood on the crushed monument to the previous clan leaders, shouting orders to the QA, as she rushed forward. In the blink of an eye she had a sword through the stomach of your father. You couldn’t control it, your scream ricocheted off the tattered building in front of you. She smirked, as he fell from her blade with a sickening thud. Aoi looked up, eyes pleading with you as she engaged her own sister. You advanced in a blind white rage the only things holding you to reality was the swift metallic clang of Mizuko’s blade in tandem with your own and Yosiyuki’s revolver firing off at the enemy between deep swings of his uchigatana.

Everything was a cluster of noise and chaos, people were everywhere, fighting, running, hiding, the citadel was aflame, and now both your father and your Aunt Aoi were mortally wounded, lying side by side near the port crystal at your aunt Yui’s feet. You knew, instinctively, your father had passed already, the one sparring thing your traitorous aunt had done was grant him a swift passing, but Aoi lay in the dirt and blood groaning and gasping for air.

“Yoshiyuki, cover Aoi. Mizuko go find Ryoko and bring her here…I’ll take care of Yui.”

“But…”

“That’s an order” and they were off.

There were no words to be had, you collected your thoughts, centering yourself. No battle could be won off adrenaline alone, and you knew that. She smirked as she turned from her sister “I’m so glad you could make it to the party dearest niece. Shall I send you off the same way I did your loving father and teacher?”

Be calm. Stay calm. She was trying to goad you, she had a sharp tongue, and every mock battle with your sister had prepared you for something like this. You ignored her, as you both danced a dangerous dance. Sparks flying where steel met, you had to be guarded, pace this out, otherwise she could, and would take you. You were wearing her down, making headway, or so you thought, as if struck by lightning a searing heat ripped through your left arm. You followed her blade with your eyes noticing that it had pierced clean through your shoulder, she changed her grip and striking true once more pulled up cleaving your arm from its socket. You took two more swings, filled with the rest of your will, landing a glancing blow across her face, nothing deadly, but it would scar, a permanent reminder of what she had done today. The world around you tunneled, you heard a menacing laugh, and several shouts, many of which were your name. Your weight shifted and you fell to the ground, landing hard in the dirt just beyond your already fallen family members.

The ringing was getting louder and the deep black abyss you had been slowly growing comfortable with began to glow white. As it did you felt your sides prickle and you found yourself nauseous as you were rolled over, now looking at Mizuko and Yoshiyuki, no longer able to make out what they were saying. They looked worried. I wished the didn’t, I wanted to tell them that I felt wonderful. That there wasn’t anymore pain, that it was going to be okay. As I felt myself slipping I thought of my brother and sister stuck completely unaware of what had just transpired and I thought of Mitsunari, his sweet smile, his clumsy nature, his warmth - oh how I wanted to feel that warmth. My eyes burned as they closed. I’m sorry. Everyone I’m so sorry.

[atomicgm]

Doomsday Dawn: In Pale Mountain’s Shadow Char Gen Part 2 and a Rant on Healing

So I’ve made a second pregen for my players for session 2 of the playtest.  This was a specific request from a friend of mine for a Human Alchemist.  It went pretty well actually, much better than the last character.  I will now summarize my thoughts on character creation in general.

DnD 5e character creation is boring.  Seriously. There is almost no choice in the affair. Assign some abilities, pick a race, background, class, archetype, and you’re done. Maybe we get a little crazy and introduce ability boosts, feats, or multiclassing.  Now here’s the thing.  P2 doesn’t expand upon this.  There is no additional mechanical complexity in play, like fighters using maneuvers to pierce armor, shatter stone walls, or provide leadership to their party.  The characters are about the same mechanically speaking.  They have 6 ability scores, an ancestry, a background, a class, and some feats. They hit things or cast a spell, with roughly one class feature per level to mix things up.  The thing is, getting there requires a lot more choices to be made.  A LOT more.

To make a character’s ability scores in P2 you don’t roll or use point buy.  You choose ability boosts which add a +2 or -2 to a score of 10. Feats are also divided up into categories, with general and skill feats being available to all characters and class feats being available only to specific classes.  Class feats function a bit like broken up archetype paths with mix and match features.

So at 4th level you pick an ancestry, a background, and a class, getting 4 ancestry ability boosts, 2 background ability boosts, 4 general ability boosts, 1 class ability boost, 3 class feats, 1 background skill feats, 2 normal skill feats, 1 general feat, your actual class features, weapon and armor proficiencies, between 2 and 10 skill proficiencies, 1 expert skill proficiency, and some combination of familiars, animal companions, spells, powers, and crafting formulas.  Plus there’s gear.  You need one or several weapons with tons of distinct tags useful in different situations, armors that involve a very real tradeoff between protection and high armor check penalties, miscellaneous adventuring gear, and then fighting with the stingy encumbrance system to fit it all on your character without having them collapse under their own weight.

And then there’s magic items!  You get one 3rd, two 2nd, and one 1st level items. Those are all nearly worthless, with the only standout pick being +1 armor in your 3rd level slot. There are some other items I’m overlooking, especially some consumable oils and wands, but the one that really burns me are the potions of healing.  I think those actually are worthless now.  Adventuring parties are experiencing massive hit point inflation because everyone gets max hit points now, for every level.  My 4th level human alchemist with a 12 con has 44 HP, up from 26 last edition.  Pretty close to double.

While I think it might be a good thing in that it reduces the value of your con score from “mandatory for all classes” to “nice to have”, it devalues a lot of choices.  Toughness and boosting your con score now give relatively modest differences in hit points. Consider that a 4th level fighter with a 10 con might be at 50 hit points, and at 70 with an 18 con, a 40% boost. Last edition you’d be looking at 27 base hit points and 47 with that high constitution, a 75% boost.  Healing, toughness, constitution, it all seems less valuable now with that big buffer of hit points added on.

You should almost never have maximum hit points either.  Healing up will take tons of resources, and despite 1st level spells being buffed a la 5e DnD (y’know, the old “Magic missile shoots 3 missiles instead of 1 to make it look worthwhile compared to your cantrip which is basically a bow” thing), despite that buff, Heal (Cure Light/Moderate/etc. is just “Heal” this edition) still does a measly 1d8.  They pretend to throw us a bone by letting you add your ability modifier to that, as if that makes up for losing your caster level added on to it.  What was regularly regarded as the worst possible strategy to take in combat, healing, has gotten beaten with the nerf bat. And besides that, there is less of it going around.  You have Resonance Points limiting the amount of magic items you can use in one day, spells healing less than they used to, fewer spells being available with the elimination of bonus spell slots, healing being proportionately weaker due to hit point inflation, and wands now only carrying 10 charges.

This is an immense and radical shift in how hit points and healing works.  Out of combat healing never bothered me.  Your spell casters would still run out of spells and the martials would still run out of hit points once combat started.  I worry this will just encourage more 15 minute adventuring days as parties will be desperate to return to their full hit point totals. I am open to the idea of keeping on the pressure by slowly whittling down a larger hit point total with less healing available, but boy that is an uncomfortable shift.

Well.  That got away from me.  End rant.

I should probably actually talk about the Alchemist at some point, huh?  He’s fine.  Alchemical formula are neat.  Tons of neat potions and effect are available. Bombs look much cooler than spells and with my 10 resonance points I have up to 20 of them per day before I spend a single copper. The use of resonance points as ammo and doubling your exchange rate by prepping potions at the beginning of the day was interesting, though I worry Remarkable Resonance is a mandatory feat for Alchemists (maybe it should be a bonus feat instead of Studied Resonance?).  Class and skill feats were mostly unremarkable but felt good to choose.  Skill proficiencies seem more impactful when you aren’t hampered by armor check penalties. Weapons seemed relatively worthless when you’re packing bombs, and the lack of Dex-to-damage for non-rogues made it hard to get excited by a d8 damage crossbow at this level.

To summarize, I didn’t hate making this character like I did the ranger.  The Alchemist is almost a wizard lite, with tons of different abilities including damage, concealment, disguise, poison, darkvision, and more. Their skills didn’t fight with the prohibitive armor system because the alchemist wasn’t dependent on strength for damage and put those points into dexterity and light armor. And at least Alchemists gets to take advantage of the formula system without spending hundreds of silver pieces.  At least the alchemy items are worth using, unlike the traps that have a half dozen hoops to jump through in order to deal a d8 damage. (Please just buff the snares or something!)

Next time, we continue prepping for In Pale Mountain’s Shadow.  My wife wants to build a character, so we’ll see how someone who doesn’t focus on system mastery deals with dozens of choices in character creation. I’m hopeful that a little advice from someone with experience will make things a lot smoother for her.  Wish us luck!