#all I've seen so far is mini painting

[flamebearrel]

Sooo since niche media combos have once again filled my head today... what if the NKotR and friends had builds as Zombicide survivors?

To explain as survivors kill zombies they build Adrenaline Points (AP) that let them unlock more skills. These are split into 4 colors: blue is their starting skill, yellow always gives +1 action, and orange and red which you can only pick one each of at a time (example below)

Neil

+1 free Search Action

+1 Action

Lucky - Can reroll for any failed action

+1 to dice roll: Combat

Tactician - Can take turn at any order within the player phase

+1 die: Ranged

2 cocktails are better than 1 - After using up a Molotov (strongest weapon), can reroll for a chance at another one

Kevin

Sprint - Can move 2-3 zones with one move action

+1 Action

Search: 2 cards

Tough - Ignores the first wound received and friendly fire

Brother in Arms: +1 free Combat Action - When standing in the same zone as another survivor, both receive this effect

+1 to dice roll: Melee

Ambidextrous - Can dual-wield any weapon

Ryan

Steady hand - Ignore survivors of your choice when missing a ranged attack (friendly fire)

+1 Action

+1 die: Melee

+1 die: Ranged

Medic - At end of each turn, all survivors within the same zone heal one wound

+1 free Combat Action

Reaper: Combat - One successful attack per turn can take out two identical zombies

Mitch

Born leader - Can give another survivor an extra turn

+1 Action

+1 Damage: Ranged

Sidestep - Can move to an adjacent zone if a zombie spawns in close range

+1 free Move Action

Sniper - Freely chooses targets of each attack

+1 die: Ranged

Max

Starts with a Kukri

+1 Action

Break-in - Can open doors without equipment or making noise

+1 Damage: Melee

Escalation: Melee - More dice given for consecutive attacks

Is That All You’ve Got? - Discard an equipment to negate a wound

+1 free Combat Action

Wendy

Slippery - Can slip past a zombie-occupied zone without using extra move actions

+1 Action

+1 max Range

+1 free Search Action

+1 to dice roll: Ranged

Field medic - Can move up to a zone with a survivor and heal one wound (including self)

Low profile - Avoids all friendly fire

Spencer

Point-blank - Can perform ranged combat from within the same zone

+1 Action

Destiny - Can ignore a received equipment and redraw for another

+1 free Move Action

+1 to dice roll: Combat

Hold your nose - Free equipment draw after the first zombie in zone is killed

Matching set - Automatically receive both pieces of dual equipment together

Daxter

Starts with 2 AP

+1 Action

Free reload - No ammo needed for reloadable weapons

+1 free Combat Action

Webbing - All equipment can be held in hand, even those in the inventory

Regeneration - Fully restore own health after every turn

+1 Damage: Melee

Mitch's and Wendy's builds focus on ranged combat while Max is all melee, and the others fall somewhere in between. Ryan is set up so you can take him in either direction. Wendy and Kevin might also be good at covering a lot of ground to act as support

[celestiababie]

Heyyy! If you’re open for requests, there’s this TikTok that I saw where a pregnant lady had her husband lift her heavy belly for a few minutes and it gave her some relief. I somehow could see Mingyu do that. His wife having a hard time getting used to her growth and him trying his best to help her 🫠🫠🫠

Heavy On Your Love- KMG

Pairings: Stay at home husband! Mingyu x fem! reader

Genre: fluff, hint of suggestiveness but very innocent overall, domestic au!, established relationship!

Warnings: Pregnant reader, emotional reader, cursing, mentions of pain and body insecurities, mentions of sex but nothing too bad I promise (still my account is 18+) let me know if I missed anything

Word Count: 811

Summary: Being pregnant was stressful at times...a lot of the time and all Mingyu wanted was to take the weight off of your shoulders.

A/N: I have seen this!!!! Thank you so much for this request. As soon as I read this I wanted to write for it....ig househusband Mingyu really is my biggest muse... Again this can serve as a mini prequel but you don't have to read any of the other parts. Feedback is appreciated!

Series Masterlist

With a heavy sigh, you leaned up against the doorframe of the master bathroom, a grimace on your face as tears started to form in the corner of your eyes.

You tried to control your tears as best as you could. You did not want to get emotional over such a trivial thing, but between the body aches, the hormones, and the fact you felt so heavy and round...yeah, it was understandably hard to keep emotions balanced.

For the past twenty minutes or so, you had been trying to bend down and look for the small hair scrunchy you had somehow managed to drop and couldn't find. The last thing you wanted was to call out for your husband to bother him with such a pathetic task, but lately, even putting on underwear tested your abilities.

You silently gnaw on your bottom lip, weighing out your options before setting your ego aside, calling out for your husband who was currently in the midst of cooking the two (technically three at this point) of you dinner.

Without hesitation, Mingyu rushes up the stairs to check on you but quickly goes back down to turn off the stove before finally making it to your shared bedroom, where he examines your distressed state.

He was expecting you to ask for water or something, but you looked far too tired and sweaty for a woman who he told should get some rest.

"Baby, are you okay?! Did your water break early? Should I get the bag?" Your husband rushes out, stumbling over his words as he uses his long legs to make large strides toward you.

You shake your head, looking at him with a slightly apologetic expression painted across your face.

"No, this baby is not coming out yet, unfortunately. I just—um, I needed, uh—," you stammer out, more embarrassed with your request with the way Mingyu was eagerly waiting for your response with the most caring eyes in the world.

"Okay, so, I was resting like you told me, but then I wanted to read, but my hair kept bothering me, and I got up to get a scrunchy to get my hair out of my face, but I dropped it, and I have no idea where it is, and I know I could have just used a different one, but I tried to look for it myself, and I've just been bent down on the floor for twenty minutes looking for this stupid thing, and now I'm tired and feel disgusting and heavy, and everything hurts like crazy."

You finish off your rant with a heavy sigh, not fully aware of the tears that escaped your eyes until your husband's warm hands cup your face and brush the tears away with the pads of his thumbs.

"Okay, baby, I'll help you. It's okay. But please call me earlier if you need help. I don't want my beautiful, gorgeous wife to be in any extra pain," he softly replies, kissing your forehead before moving past you to look for this treacherous scrunchy that dared to make you upset.

He lets out a low hum as his eyes dart around everywhere in the bathroom, his eyes catching something in his peripheral after a few seconds. There sat the scrunchy in your bathtub. How it landed there? Mingyu didn't care.

He turns back to look at you, frowning at the pained look on your face, his mind scrambling for any way he could help. You feel his arms pull you away from the doorframe so he can stand behind you, gathering your hair into his hands before tying it back with the scrunchy for you.

You try to turn around to thank him face to face, but Mingyu uses his strong hands to steady you by your shoulders, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"Can I try something I saw online?"

"Oh no, that question always leads to your most questionable moments or something sex-related and I know I've been hormonal and all but—oh. Oh...Mingyu," you let out a satisfied sigh as you feel light, Mingyu's hands underneath your stomach and lifting all that pressure right off your back.

The two of you stay like that for a few minutes in silence, with Mingyu occasionally pressing kisses to your cheek. After a while, he slowly drops your stomach, not wanting to put all the weight back onto you too quickly and accidentally cause more pain.

He finally lets you turn around, giggling at the look of bliss on your face.

With a kiss on your nose, then your lips, he's the first one to speak.

"I'll do that for you as much as you want, okay? Now, go lay back down, and I'll bring dinner to you, and we can watch whatever you want in bed."

Caring and loves to cook, yeah, you sure were lucky.

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: pony club (mini-series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, angst no comfort, previous abuse, domestic violence, curses and hexes, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, possession, mediums, ghosts, hauntings, horror, smoking, brothels, pubs, gambling, alcohol, cults, death/violence/torture, bucky barnes has issues, bucky barnes is a dick, police brutality, vaguely british setting??, sexism, classism, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 10.1k!!! oh my god someone help

A/N: god this has been on the go for awhile. it got so long but i have a worm in my brain that told me this had to happen before i can get onto the juicy stuff. next part will be a lot more bucky heavy im so sorry this didn't have much of him, needed to build up that loreeee. anyway i actually hate my writing in this, if i have to reread this one more time im gonna go crazy so i'm just gonna post it and go to bed lol!! sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

taglist: @nash-dara

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To be lulled into the false security that you would never see Bucky Barnes again was a foolish thought. 

Two months passed rather uneventfully. The handsome payment Bucky left you after your favour to him was far beyond your normal rates. A mixture of the gangster having deep pockets and, you suspected, an indication that all that had unfolded was to be kept quiet. 

So you had done just that. Your mouth had been sown shut, an invisible thread keeping your lips bound. There were so few people left in your life anyway that you didn’t feel like spilling details of a sex-based ritual with the limited relatives you had left. You weren’t particularly fond of them regardless; most you had not seen in years. 

You embraced the winter months as they settled across the city of Blackstone. The fog would roll in thick and dense, the clouds lingering over the port as Sootstone was cast into days of hoarfrosts. Icicles as long as your forearm hung from buildings and lamp-posts and was salt scattered across the wooden docks, where slippage was the worst. The homeless gathered in crowds around the Smokestack district, leeching off the warmth the factories produced. The ice and frosts were never white, unlike the country estates or wealthy garden districts. Smoke and ash continued to pour into the skies, tainting everything with a layer of black grit. 

You would see the Smog Boys in the streets often. Teams of the lower-ranking, younger lads would roam in packs, dipping in and out of the alleys. Even dressed in black, you could not make them out through the fog when they intended to disappear. Maybe it had been your brush with Bucky, but you began to notice them everywhere. Lurking in the markets, smoking by the docks, or sauntering by the smokestack factories. A small, stiff, knowing nod would be bestowed upon you if your gaze locked with theirs or if you lingered too long. As if they knew who you were. As if they had been instructed to keep an eye out for you. 

You could never leave the Smog Boys once you were inside. Whether you liked it or not, your fates were inextricably linked. You never knew when you might be needed. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to find one in your home. It is what you ought to have expected by now. It was only a matter of time before they came calling. 

You could only find one word to describe the woman in your kitchen. Beautiful. Beautiful in a hauntingly, terrifying way. She was stylish, with a blouse tucked into tailored, high-waisted suit pants. A lavish fur coat was draped over her shoulders, and her red hair was in a fashionable, blunt bob. Her lips, painted a deep red, were curved into a disgusted sneer as she assessed your residence. 

She had to be with Bucky because only a Smog Boy could illicit such an aura. 

“You should invest in better locks.” The redhead comments with a sniff. You haven’t even had a chance to process her presence; instead, you are standing with your lips parted in shock. “It wouldn’t be hard to rob you… or worse.”

You’re unsure if that was a thinly veiled threat or genuine advice. 

“Most don’t make habit of breakin’ into witches' homes.” You mutter, regaining your composure. You whip your headscarf off, abandoning it on your dining table. “They’re scared of being cursed.”

Your fingers unknot the woollen scarf around your neck now, tugging it free with a flutter of ash. The woman arches a well-manicured brow at you, looking you up and down. She doesn’t try to hide her judgement. She didn’t seem the type of woman to shy away from stating her opinion. Your clothing was noticeably different from hers, which was made of luxurious fabrics. The Smog Boys were well known for their finer suits—just because they lived and worked in the slums didn’t mean they dressed for it. Bucky seemed to like to keep certain appearances and had the funds to do so. You, however, were dressed for practicality. Heavy, cheap textiles that kept in the warmth. 

“Cursed.” The woman states, tone sharp. “You don’t seem the type to throw curses. You’re too… sweet.”

You don’t miss the condescending nature of how her sharp lips curve into a smile. You shoulder the insult. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Natasha. Romanoff.” The name was vaguely familiar to you. She was definitely one of Bucky’s inner circle. Possibly she worked closer to the shadows—a brain rather than brawn like Steve and Sam. “Barne is in need of your particular set of skills again.”

You pause, your fingers frozen over the pin in your mantle. Again? You knew to expect this, but still, you felt your heart uptick a beat. So soon? The question of which skills hung heavy in the air. Your abnormal skill to summon and banish spirits? To break curses and sense the otherworldly? Or to get your brains fucked out by Sootstone’s most notorious gangster? 

From the way Natasha was eyeing you, it seemed she knew all about your little sex ritual. 

“What if I’m unavailable?” You test hesitantly. 

The redhead isn’t amused. “It wasn’t a request.”

You nod slowly, hands falling to your sides. One should know when not to test Bucky Barnes or his men; it always ended rather unfavourably. Plus, you didn’t want to wake up tomorrow to find your kitchen filled with any more gangsters. 

Maybe Natasha was right about the locks.

—

Bucky and a pack of his dogs congregated in the streets outside the pub known as The Anchor. The establishment sat across from the docks, with tinted, lattice windows facing the port. On a clear day, one who sat in the window booths might be able to see the ocean. Though, throughout your life, you could recall about as many clear days as the fingers on your right hand. The Anchor had been in the Barnes family for years, originally bought by Bucky’s father when the Smog Boys first rose to infamy. 

The building was well cared for, a luxury not many of the surrounding establishments were familiar with. The building was decorated in a nautical style, with netting and flags adorning the walls and rafters. Fish and ships were painted onto the siding, with gold and blue accenting the furniture inside. Even the sign out front was a small, steel anchor engraved with the pub's name. 

The Anchor was mainly stocked with whiskey, which the Smog Boys ran an underground distillery for. They offered other spirits, wines, and ales, but the main vice of The Warrens was whiskey. Bucky had several underground or even legal businesses dotted throughout Sootstone, including gambling dens and brothels. You knew he made his office in a gambling den not too far from The Anchor—the dock-side streets were prime spots for high traffic from the sailors and dockworkers coming and going like the tide. 

As you and Natasha approached, the pack of adolescent gangsters surrounding Bucky scattered, disappearing into the thick fog and alleyways like wraiths. 

“Your witch, as requested,” Natasha announces with a sigh, her brows arched. Bucky glances at you, acknowledging you with little more than a grunt. He takes the last drag from his cigarette before crunching it beneath his shoe. 

“Thank you, Nat.” Bucky replies, smoke escaping his lips as he speaks. “Sam’s lookin’ for you inside.” 

Natasha doesn’t offer you a farewell as she pulls her coat tighter around her lean body and ducks inside the pub with a tsk. You and Bucky are left in an odd silence, with only the faint call of seagulls and the lapping of waves joining you. You had never seen the dockside street so quiet, but you could confidently assume his presence was responsible. 

“I trust Nat didn’t scare you too bad.” The gangster breaks the silence. His dark eyes wander across your frame, seemingly disappointed that you were thoroughly covered to prevent the cold from seeping in. “Would’ve come to get you myself, but I had some business to attend to.”

In retrospect, the thought of encountering Natasha in your kitchen again seemed more daunting than Bucky. You weren’t too sure how to interpret her malice and cool charm. She did give off the impression that she would kill you if you even breathed in her direction. As for Bucky, maybe he would kill you, but given his reputation, he was far more likely to fuck you up against the nearest available surface. 

“She said you've a job for me?” You ask, watching as the gangster tucks his large, bruised hands into his pockets. 

He cocks his head to the side. “Walk with me.”

You obey wordlessly.

Bucky navigates the streets with ease, ducking through alleys and blindly striding into the fog with unquestionable confidence. The few people you encounter in the winding streets dart out of the way, mumbling apologies and casting their gazes down as they stumble over their own feet. Your breath comes in clouds as you exhale, salt and ice crunching beneath your feet as you keep pace with him. 

“There’s an establishment I own, it’s been losin’ business these past months. The girls reckon it’s cursed. Or haunted.” He elaborates, and you frown. 

“You think a spirit’s attached?” You ask, and the gangster huffs out a short, bitter laugh. 

“I don’t fuckin’ know. I don’t have a sense for that stuff.” His lips are set in a line as he casts his sight down at you. “That’s your job, spirit-raiser.”

You can’t help but gulp and hope that his issue was indeed a spirit. One did not want to disappoint the gangster out of fear of the consequences. Your mind drifted back to months ago, to when he sat in your kitchen with that cursed necklace. He hadn’t noticed that curse—not until his sister apparently spelt it out for him. You couldn’t imagine carrying that thing around when it had reeked so badly that you tasted rot. 

“What about your sister?” You suddenly interrupt.

Bucky gives you an incredulous look. “Becca? What about her?” 

“You said she has a sense—”

“You think I’m lettin’ my sister near a brothel?” He snaps over you. His body turns to face you as you are both left motionless in the empty, ashy street. 

“Oh— I didn’t realise it was… You just said— I just assumed—” Your cheeks grow pink—this time not from the cold—as you stumble over your words. Flakes of ash slowly amble down from the sky, twirling in your mingled breath as the gangster looms over you. Several emotions flicker over his face—insult, disbelief—before finally settling on an eerie amusement. 

“Shy ‘bout a brothel? You’re not far off bein’ a whore yourself, doll. You certainly let me fuck you like one.” He leans closer to you, the scent of tobacco fanning across your skin. You clamp your jaw shut, your cheeks growing hotter by the second. The gangster smirks at you with a wickedness that rivals the devil. 

—

The Pony Club was not creatively named, like most things in Sootstone. You were sure there was an innuendo about riding or mounting buried in its origin. The brothel was buried deep in the busy streets of the Smokestack District. The crowd of workers parted with hushed whispers as you, Bucky, and Steve approached the establishment. You had bumped into the other gangster during your walk, and he had thankfully filled the tense silence hanging between you and Bucky. 

The Pony Club was neatly tucked between two stores. Ice covered the tiled roof, and grey-stained icicles dripped melted water from the front balcony. The ash falling from the sky was thick in these parts. Street sweepers patrolled the roads like small armies, brooms in tow, ensuring the roads were clear for carriages, waggons, and those on foot. 

The three of you paused before the building. Your eyes swept over the painted sign, an illustration of a pony alongside the cursive lettering. The building looks well up-kept like many of the Smog Boy establishments; it put its neighbours to shame. You couldn’t help but notice how, despite its busy location, the building was eerily empty. It was as if its walls stood outside of time, cursed to live an existence outside of perceivable reality. 

There was a twinge in your gut, a knowing. 

Steve grimaces beside you, the gangster scowling as he tucks his hands deep into his pockets. At first, you think he is simply cold from the frigid fog sitting over the city, but only as he speaks do you realise he senses something more. “I hate this place.” He utters.

Bucky hasn’t reacted. He truly didn’t seem to have a sense for anything otherworldly. 

“How does it make you feel?” You pry. Steve blinks at you in surprise, as if he hadn’t realised he spoke aloud. It would be useful for you to know how a non-magical person might feel; it could also give you insight as to what haunted the halls of the brothel. 

“Doesn’t encourage me to put my cock in some bird, that’s for sure. Bad for business, ‘cause that’s the whole point.” Steve grumbles, and you swear Bucky rolls his eyes. “How does it make you feel?”

The two men look at you with curiosity as you consider your words. Terrible? Awful? Yes, you felt unnerved, but you were accustomed to spirits and hauntings. Most places in this city had ghosts, whether they were malevolent or just lost. You had become unnervingly comfortable with the creeping sensation that you were not alone. It was an entirely different feeling to curses—no, curses, they twisted your gut in wicked ways—hauntings you were at ease with. There was an odd familiarity to them, it sparked a warmth in your soul. 

“Best I not say.” You land on. It would be better not to mess with the egos of gangsters, especially if they were afraid of a little ghost. 

The two men follow you as you step into the building. The inside is lavish, with a large, grand set of stairs that lead up to the mezzanine. Draperies hung from the balcony railings, and plush furniture, and decorations were artfully placed around the foyer. Despite its luxuriant appearance, there was an isolation that clung to the bones of the building. It was as if dust hung in the air, floating undisturbed. Not a breeze could get through the thick walls, nor could a breath of life. A place that was supposed to be rowdy, a den of sin and pleasure… silenced. As if it were a mausoleum. 

The building and those inside were lost in time, caught between a past that did not exist and a future that had not yet come. 

The peace is interrupted by a thundering noise, then shrieking. “Mr. Barnes! Oh, Mr. Barnes! So nice of you to come visit us!”

A few curious observers watch from over the bannisters. Beautiful women with tired eyes, hair swept up and curled into coiffures, and revealing dresses that clung to their curves. You suddenly felt rather overdressed in your winter clothes. 

An older woman descended the stairs in a frenzy, grinning from ear to ear. Her eyes were lined heavily with kohl, a bright pink blush across her cheeks, and lipstick to match. Her blonde curls bounced around her smooth face, a few longer strands following the dip of her dress. The madame of the brothel. 

Your lips purse together, and Bucky lets out a quiet sigh. “Madame Voss.”

“I trust you are here about the ghost?” The madame asks. She is rather excitable, like a puppy or a young child. Even Steve has grown uncharacteristically quiet, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and dread. “I told my girls you would be back to help! I said you were a busy man, but not to worry. We’ve lost a few since you were last here, Rose, Amorie, and Vivinne… but that is nothin’ to worry about. They were traitorous at heart—”

“Yes, I quite understand.” Bucky snaps over Madame Voss. Steve tries to hide a snort, and the madame is left momentarily speechless. “I’ve brought a witch.”

You feel the madame’s gaze rip from Bucky to you. She looks you up and down in one exaggerated sweep, then offers you a somewhat forced smile. She looks as if she is gritting her teeth as she drinks you in. You were left wondering if the madame had some type of unrequited infatuation with Bucky. Many of the women of Sootstone seemed to share such an attitude, especially if they did not have the wit to sense the danger attached to the handsome gangster. 

“She’s a bit too pretty for this business, don’t you think? I suppose all those witch women are a bit pretty. It’s usually glamours though, isn’t it?” There is an underlying spite to her tone as she assesses you, arms coming to fold over her chest. Her bosom is exaggerated, and her waistline is pulled pencil-thin by her corset. You are surprised the woman can breathe. “Well, are you wearin’ a glamour, girl?”

You hadn’t realised the madame was questioning you; actually, you found yourself rather overwhelmed by the whole display. Your lips part as you struggle to find your tongue and eventually stagger out a confused reply. “What?”

Madame Voss murmurs in annoyance, her arms uncrossed and hands coming to move in spirited gestures as she speaks. Bucky is staring at the ceiling as if bored out of his mind. “A glamour? You can’t tell me you normally look like that, all wide-fuckme-eyed?”

Steve makes a choking noise somewhere beside you while you gape at the madame. “No?”

“Huh.” 

“I work with spirits, not—” You cut yourself off, clearing your throat, and decide it was not worth the argument. “I’ll need some time to walk around ‘n get a feel for things. Maybe talk to some of the girls, if that is alright?”

“Fine by me.” Madame Voss waves you off, attention hastily pulled away as she turns to Bucky. “In the meantime, Mr Barnes, can I get you anythin’? Tea, biscuits… something else? You know my girls will always give you a discount—”

“Somethin’ to drink, perhaps. Somethin’ strong.” Bucky cuts off the Madame and claps Steve on the back. “What do you say, Steve?”

You got the impression that neither Bucky nor Steve liked this Voss woman. 

—

It did not take you long to explore the brothel in its entirety.

The establishment was compact and efficient. Downstairs was made up of the main foyer room, which was extended into a room similar to a drawing room. Tables made up the majority of the space, with playing cards and strong Smog Boys branded liquor decorated around the room. Comfortable furniture and suggestive art lined the walls. Out of view was a kitchen, a washroom, and madame’s office space, which Bucky would occasionally take residence in if dealing with business for the Pony Club. 

Upstairs was dedicated to private spaces, where the girls lived and worked. They were hesitant to speak with you, guarded and quiet. You did not get the sense that they were being abused or held against their will, but rather haunted by whatever spirit clung to the brothel. 

As the Pony Club slowly spiralled due to the haunting, many girls left. Business had grown to a standstill. The girls were plagued with nightmares and anxieties. The few that spoke to you recalled dreams of a dark figure who prowled through the halls, standing at the edges of their vision. At night, they would see the figure in the corners of their room, sitting on the edge of their bed. One girl even claimed the spirit sat upon her chest, that the mass had no face but two sets of shining white teeth that grinned down at her as she struggled to breathe. 

When the girls were not targeted by this mysterious figure, they were afflicted with memories of their past. Dark images would replay before them every time they closed their eyes until they awoke sweating and screaming. 

You bid farewell to an exhausted working girl by the name of Hanna. She sat on the bed, a woven blanket pulled over her shoulders. There was a distant look in her eyes as you quietly pulled the door shut, forcing yourself to inhale a deep breath as you stood on the empty mezzanine. There was an oppressive energy to the building, one that weighed down your chest as if someone were purposely crushing your ribcage. You knew your feelings were exaggerated due to your knowing, but there was certainly something potent enough here that even those with little to no sense could feel it. 

You slowly rotated around the mezzanine in thought, unsure where to begin. Most spirits had an anchor—an item, person, or space—that they bound themselves to. They used it to draw energy, recuperate, and recharge. In rare cases, a spirit might bind to an entire house, causing lesions and pus to drip from the walls. But in your experience, those houses had sat abandoned for years, decades, or even more. The house itself would become sentient, dripping with malice and blinded by rage for those who created it, only to leave it abandoned. That was a festering type of haunting, one of anguish and loneliness, but this… this brothel was active. There had once been clients, and multiple women still lived within its walls. So, where was the anchor? Nothing had screamed out to you; nothing had made bile churn in your stomach or your hair stand up on end—

You froze.

You were a few paces away from the staircase, your mind swimming in thought, and—

A dark mass stood on the top step. 

It watched you.

You couldn't make out the eyes or the shape of any humanoid body part. It just stood there, a black cloud over the staircase. But still, you could feel it watching.

And then it smiled. 

It smiled wide, yet it did not seem to have a jaw. There was no skull, nothing solid within its mass. Several pearly white teeth smiled at you, spiralling into a gaping hole. The pungent smell of decaying meat filled the air as the mist contorted and pulsated in a sickening rhythm while observing you.

Before you could even consider speaking or moving, the mass had swept down the staircase, disappearing from your view. You raced to the bannisters, leaning over as far as you could without launching yourself over the edge. Loose strands of hair danced around your face as you darted your head. You could still not make out the spirit. 

By the time you gathered your skirts and descended the staircase, you found the foyer empty. You could hear the distant trill of Madame Voss's voice deeper within the building, near the kitchen.

There was still that lingering oppression, an uneasiness that squeezed your chest. Regardless of how many times you whirled around, blindly scanning the foyer, you were unable to find a trail where the sensation intensified. 

Clenching your teeth together, you let out a sharp sigh and balled your hands into fists. You paused in one of the corners of the foyer, allowing the blood pumping in your ears to calm and your muscles to relax. You blocked out the distant voices, instead focusing on the hum of the environment. You were frustrated, yes, and maybe a little scared. Not of the spirit, but rather how Bucky might react if you told him that you couldn’t banish this ghost. Not because you were too weak or unaware of how to handle it—you were very much prepared in both areas—but because you couldn’t find it?

You were skilled at finding hidden anchors, but it was difficult to focus when you felt immense pressure on your shoulders alone. You closed your eyes and listened intently. You could feel each speck of dust swirling through the air and hear every small sound the walls and floors made as the wood settled. You could hear each fibre of the rug rustle as you gently tip-toed across the room, following an invisible line.

The string was knotted in a complex pattern, similar to a spiderweb. You could feel it brushing over your skin as you moved, growing taut as it tangled around your body. You pushed through the sensation as if wading into a pool of water, stepping deeper and deeper into its strands as they layered over your skin and clothes.

Then, a tug.

A slight tremor, a warbling as a single line was set alight in your mind. The spider—your ghost—was circling you like prey.

You grasped the string, following its current blindly through the foyer. You stumbled around furniture, tripping over the edge of a rug and—

The floorboard creaked beneath you.

It wasn’t a typical creak—not one of an old building or a settling house. No. The creak resonated through your mind, deafening you. Your hands rose to your ears, the shrieking growing louder and louder as you fell to your knees, wincing. The fibres of the rug bit into your skin, sending a rush of electricity coursing through your veins. Under the rug, the floorboard made a hollow thud, loud enough that your ears were ringing from the volume. 

You gasped in a breath, violently ripping yourself from your secondary state until you crashed back to reality. Panting, you found yourself crouched over the rug, fingernails dug into the fabric as you wheezed and panted. A cold sweat covered your body, your head aching as you tried to roll the discomfort from your shoulders. 

“I think there’s somethin’ wrong with your witch, Mr Barnes.” Madame Voss spoke in a sing-song fashion as she entered the foyer, a condescending look in her eyes as she stared down at you. You wiped the sweat from your brow, forcing your wobbling legs to rise. 

“It’s underneath,” was all you were able to reply, your voice raspy as you stalked to the corner of the rug.

"Ominous," the madame retorted, her brows arched. Her gaze cast back to the two gangsters who watched from the entrance to the room. There was a curiosity in their stare, hands tucked in their pockets as you worked. You gripped the corner of the rug, peeling it away from the floor. Underneath, everything looked perfectly in order, with well-polished hardwood panels lined up in unison. Carefully, you walked the length, tapping your shoe on each floorboard.

“Well, you do know what they say… with magic comes madness!” Voss announced with a sly grin, her hands moving to flourish her words. Bucky cocked his head to the side, emitting a sharp exhale through his flared nostrils. 

"Let her work," he spoke up, and the tension in the room mounted. The madame's disapproving scowl only added to the oppressive atmosphere. The room fell into an almost palpable silence, broken only by the sound of your tapping as you methodically sought out the hollow board once more. You could sense the growing impatience of the group as you painstakingly worked, with each floorboard sounding as solid as the next. 

Just as Bucky appeared poised to call off your efforts, the floorboard beneath you emitted a hollow thud that reverberated through the space below. You tapped again, feeling the same hollow thudding from the adjacent boards. Looking up at Bucky, you gestured toward the floor, affirming, “It’s underneath.” 

Madame Voss gaped in astonishment at you and then turned her incredulous gaze towards the two gangsters. “Underneath? Underneath! This must be some kind of magical trick—in all my years working in this establishment, I have never heard of a basement or cellar!”

As Bucky waved at the woman, he made a disdainful noise in dismissal. The madame fluffed up, muttering under her breath in flustered embarrassment, and then stalked away a few paces. Bucky and Steve soon joined you, watching intently as you blindly felt around the edges of the wooden panels. As you investigated, your fingertips discovered finely carved grooves hidden within the wood—imperceptible to the casual observer but discernible to those who sought them out. The edges of the indents provided a perfect grip for you to dig your nails into the wood, allowing you to pry the board from the floor with little effort.

The three of you peered into the space below through the thin gap. It was pitch black, but you could make out some rickety stairs descending into the inky dark. A thick layer of dust sat upon the steps, a musty smell hitting your nose. 

You sat back on your haunches, peering closely at the board you had just managed to pry up. The wood was marred with deep gouges as if some kind of wild animal had relentlessly scratched and clawed at the panel. As you tentatively ran your finger across the rough and battered surface, a sense of unease settled in the pit of your stomach, sending a sickly shudder up your spine.

“Did you know this was here?” Steve mutters to Bucky from somewhere above you. 

You continued peeling up each of the loose boards, using the indents to grip the wood with your nails. The disgusting, nauseating feeling intensified as it became apparent that every panel had identical deep gouges carved into the wood.

“No,” Bucky replies, his voice hushed. 

When the hole is completely visible, you sink onto your knees. Now that light was flowing in, you could see more clearly. The dusty, ancient stairs descend to a stone floor. The stone appeared dry but extremely dusty. What appeared to be large, old wooden barrels and the beginnings of shelving against the walls were visible in the beam of light. You peer up at Bucky and Steve, who tower over you, and resist the urge to squirm as Bucky meets your gaze. 

“This is the anchor.” You explain, and Steve’s face twists, perplexed. 

“The pub—?”

“No. Spirits they… they bind themselves to something. An object, a person, a room. This is where the haunting originates.” You clarify and gradually rise to your feet, taking care not to collide with either of the men. 

You take a hesitant step down, the stair beneath groaning under your weight. You swallow hard, then spin in place to look back up at the gangsters who watch you expectantly. “I might need a candle.”

Without glancing back, Bucky clicks his finger at Madame Voss, who is attempting to peer into the mysterious room from her perch. “Voss. Candle.”

The madam, clearly exasperated, lets out a loud huff before turning on her heel and disappearing into one of the adjacent rooms. There is still a distinct taste of tension in the air.

“Looks like your old man's been a naughty boy.” Steve teases, a boyish smile emerging. Bucky remains silent, choosing not to dignify the gangster's comment with a reply. Their dynamic left you contemplating the depth of their relationship, especially since you had heard that Barnes was not particularly kind to those who mentioned his father. While Bucky's gaze remained blank and unmoving, you couldn't help but notice a subtle twitch in his jaw, betraying a suppressed reaction.

The Smog Boys were infamous for their cruelty towards their enemies, anyone who crossed them, and those who betrayed their trust. Bucky, in particular, was known for his ruthless approach to dealing with anyone who stood in his way. He carried out his actions silently and brutally, and by the next morning, everyone in The Warrens knew that Barnes had spilt blood. Despite the fear he instilled in others, Bucky remained calm and collected. He was a strategic thinker and planner, and he took pleasure in the sadistic ways his plans unfolded. Despite his fearsome reputation, he was still not as notorious as his father. 

His father exhibited a striking lack of cunning, care, or thoughtfulness in his approach. The Warrens endured a dreadful existence as George Barnes succumbed to alcohol-induced rampages. He embodied sheer strength, a fierce warrior whose white-hot rage could melt the most hardened of hoarfrosts. He instilled fear without cause, displaying psychopathic tendencies and craving notoriety through any means necessary. He bolstered the Smog Boys fostering terror through street attacks, gang wars, or burning entire buildings down as a message. Upon Bucky's ascension, the business adopted a quieter and more devious approach. Bucky was all about making money in a quick, quiet, and dirty way. His enemies didn't fear him because they knew what he was capable of, but rather because they never knew, and Bucky knew how to up the ante each time.

Around seven years ago, George had been arrested. He had been too loud and confident in his approach, and the coppers had snagged him. Bucky ran the business for his father, and the Smog Boys boomed with success. His father was set to go on trial, and it wasn’t an unknown fact that the judge had paid off. George Barnes was set to walk free and take over the business again. 

Two days before the trial, he was discovered dead in his cell, his body bearing the marks of a brutal, mysterious beating. There was no trace of evidence to scrutinise, and the guards remained silent, neither admitting guilt nor pointing fingers. The law turned a blind eye to the demise of a notorious criminal under their watch, and the incident was quickly swept under the rug, forgotten within hours. Bucky vehemently denied any involvement. He put on a public display of mourning, cursing the authorities and vowing vengeance, though his threats never materialized. It's also worth noting that Bucky shared a particularly close bond with his mother, Winnifred, who herself was not spared from the brutality of her husband. It was common knowledge that, behind closed doors, Winnifred, Bucky, and his younger sister Becca endured all manner of cruelty at the fists of George Barnes.

Years had passed since those fateful events, and Bucky's ascension to power remained unquestioned. No one dared challenge his authority, fearing both the brutal consequences and because The Warrens had silently celebrated in the wake of Senior Barnes' untimely demise.

The sound of Madame Voss' heels clicking against the hardwood floor signalled her return. You took the candle gratefully, eager to escape the awkward tension, and descended into the gloom.

The old wood stairs protest with every step, emitting squeaks and groans under your weight. Your sweeping skirts brush a fine layer of dust into the air, shimmering in the weak candlelight that struggles to pierce the shadows of the small, dimly lit room. You could only describe the space as a cellar, with its stone walls and floors exuding an eerie, uncomfortable atmosphere. Thick metal bolts secure wooden shelves laden with countless large glass bottles, while large barrels, shrouded in heavy blankets of dust, crowd the square room. In the dim corners, dense cobwebs collect. A place long forgotten.

Bucky and Steve carefully made their way down the creaky stairs as you delicately balanced the flickering candle on the edge of one of the dusty barrels. As you wipe away the accumulated grime, you uncover a label imprinted on the lid:  Property of SMOG BOYS—George Barnes. You squinted at the words in the low light, moving to the next as you tried to understand what was in these barrels. 

Behind you, Steve had grabbed hold of one of the large glass bottles and uncorked it with a sharp pop! He raised it to his nose, took a sniff, and then emitted a loud holler. "Shit, Buck. This is moonshine."

Bucky let out a grumbling noise of recognition, inspecting one of the barrels. “It must’ve been a storage space from the distillery. These barrels look like whiskey.” 

The two gangsters gathered near the barrels, muttering between themselves. 

“You sure he never mentioned this to you?”

“I’m sure. Don’t know why he was so determined to hide a bit of liquor. We have plenty of warehouses for this—”

You rounded the barrels, venturing deeper into the room. A row of shelves faced the centre of the room, with a narrow space between them that you could slip through. The candlelight barely reached the other side, obscured by the layers of barrels and bottles. You blindly stumbled into the empty space, feeling a familiar, thrumming sensation.

Invisible strings tangled at your ankles as you pushed deeper into the darkness, the warm flicker of candlelight barely illuminating what lay within. There, in the centre of the room, stood a solitary chair—a simple wooden chair. The thrumming grew louder, your heart pulsating as you gaped down at it. Thick sailor ropes coiled tightly around each arm and leg, faded remnants of blood splattered across the cold stone floor beneath. The oppressive atmosphere seemed to close in around you, the air heavy with a sense of foreboding—

You jumped out of your skin as a hand rested on your shoulder. Bucky had followed you through the shelves. His eyes mirrored the unease that churned in your stomach, his face etched with a deep, troubled frown. You felt urged to speak up and console the man but you knew better than to fall into that trap. His presence was disturbingly comforting as if the dangerous gangster were not the apex predator in the room. All you could do was gape, tearing your vision away from the chair as you stumbled back a few paces. 

As quickly as you had found solace in the man, it was torn away. He stalked toward you, finger pointed as he jabbed it into your sternum. His eyes had glazed over, a thunderous rage taking shape. You sensed it was a defence mechanism, a way to intimidate you because you had seen something you weren’t supposed to—something that shocked even him.

“Not a word. You understand?” he hissed, his large, sculpted frame towering over you. You shrank back, your spine meeting the shelving, causing the moonshine bottles to clink together.

You knew what this place was. A hidden place. A forgotten place. A place where torture and death had been carried out. An echo from the past. A whisper on the wind that spoke the name George Barnes.

This was the kind of business Bucky kept meticulously hidden—a necessary evil shrouded in secrecy. Bodies were found only if he wanted to send a message. You were certain there were countless other hidden, unmarked graves. Bucky was too clever to be undone by a rogue body or misplaced trust. Every action he took was calculated to ensure it could never be traced back to the Smog Boys. Of course, everyone knew it was them, but legally proving their involvement was another matter. Despite the gang's reputation for being untouchable, the coppers constantly searched for any loophole to bring them down. Bucky's entire operation could unravel if the wrong person discovered incriminating evidence.

For all your understanding, The Pony Club was one of the few legitimate businesses under the Barnes name. If an enemy of the Smog Boys discovered a way to link this grim scene to the underground crime network Bucky managed? It could spell disaster. 

“Do you understand?” Bucky repeated, his voice dripping with venom. This was a side of him you had heard rumours of but had never witnessed yourself. This was the leader of the Smog Boys. This was the Bucky that made Sootstone cower.

You swallowed hard, nodding as you huddled against the shelves.

The gangster ran a hand through his hair in frustration. You could sense the conflict in his eyes as they darted between you and the chair. After rubbing his chin and jaw, he finally settled on resting a hand on your shoulder again, an oddly tender touch. His head dipped, and he muttered in your ear, “I need this ghost gone. Now, doll. I think it's best no one else sees my father’s handiwork.”

“I can—I can do that,” you stammered. The gangster gave you a slow nod, exhaled sharply, and then turned on his heels.

In the sudden emptiness, the thrumming in your ears became deafening, a relentless pulse that drowned out all other sounds. Your ears rang with a piercing intensity, and your breath quickened, coming in short, ragged gasps. The room seemed to close in around you, now suffocatingly tight. The walls pressed inward, and the air grew thick and heavy as if it were pushing against your chest. You felt an overwhelming sense of dread creeping into your bones, a cold, insidious fear that wrapped itself around your heart. Somewhere in the background of it all, Steve yelped. 

At first, you could not hear his distress, not over the noise in your head. It was only as Bucky paused by the narrow opening between the shelves, his eyes snapping to yours, that you heard Steve again—frantic shouts piercing through the deafening roar of a fire, overwhelming even the clamour in your head.

You move quicker than Bucky, darting through the shelves back into the candlelight.

Except it wasn’t the candlelight that lit the room in a blinding glow, but instead a figure engulfed in flame. You could make out bludged eyes and an agape mouth through the tendrils, which licked up the figure in a violent blaze. Steve was pinned with his back against one of the barrels as the figure, screaming and writhing, hurtled towards him.  

You hurry forward, positioning yourself between Steve and the burning figure. Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you closer as he shouted, "What the fuck?!"

The fiery figure hesitates, its swollen, bloodshot eyes flitting between Steve and you in confusion. Bucky had pulled what appeared to be a knife from his pocket and was circling the scene. Your brows furrow as you give him a puzzled look and free yourself from Steve's grip. 

“Put it away!” You bark over the roar. Bucky cocks his head to one side, both of you mutually surprised that you had found your voice. As you approach the figure, it retreats, the flames quickly extinguishing. Your ears ring as silence falls. The spirit has transformed into a black mass again, its shape twisting and jittering as it swings its gaze between the three of you. 

“It can read your memories. It feeds off fear and pain.” You explain to the two gangsters, hesitantly stepping forward once more. The spirit centres its eyes solely on you. “It shows you your darkest memories, the ones you've buried. It’s tryna scare you.” 

You do not dwell on whatever memory Steve was plagued by.

The spirit shifted once more, the dark mass disappearing into the shadows. You shallow your breath, quickly scanning the room before turning to Barnes. “The chair is the anchor. The spirit needs to be unbound.”

“And how do you do that?” He asks in reply, nostrils flaring. You step into the centre of the room, peering through the shelves into the dark space. Dread curled in your stomach as your eyes roamed the chair.

“I could destroy it or cleanse it—”

“Where's your mother, girl?” A familiar, slurred voice reverberated through the dimly lit room, sending shivers down your spine. Your entire body tensed, and your heart seemed to clench in your chest as a surge of fear momentarily halted you in your tracks. The acrid scent of alcohol mixed with the pungent odour of sweat hung heavy in the air. The heavy, unsteady footsteps of a large man reverberated over the stone floors.

“She’s sick.” A child's voice replied. Your voice. 

In front of you appeared a vivid scene. Your father, in a state of intoxication, stood before you. His body was angled in such a way that only the profile of his face was visible. His clothing was tattered, and the floors bore marks of mud and filth from his worn boots. His hair was dishevelled and sprinkled with ash, and his flushed face glistened with sweat. Facing him was a much younger version of yourself. You estimated her to be around eight years old, judging by the length of her hair and the ragged dress clinging to her emaciated frame. The child cowered against a door, her limbs trembling in fear.

“Sick? That damn woman is always sick. Get out of the way, girl, I need to speak with my wife.” Your father slurs, lurching forward. The child held steady, her back pressed defiantly against the door. 

“You can’t, she’s sleeping—”

A resounding crack echoed through the room as your father’s palm connected forcefully with her cheek. The impact sent her sprawling to the floor, a soft whimper escaping her lips as she fell. Tears shimmered in her wide, frightened eyes, reflecting the harsh light as they welled up and spilt over her cheeks. The room seems to hold its breath in the aftermath, the sharp sound of the slap lingering. 

“What’s this? Who’s that?” Steve spoke up from beside you. You had almost entirely forgotten that the two men were still in the cellar with you. Bucky watches on with morbid curiosity, but you do notice how the muscles in his jaw tighten. 

“A memory.” You mutter back. You urge your feet to move, but you feel as though you are wading through waist-deep water. 

“Some gall you have to be telling me what I can and can’t do in my own home, girl!” Your father charges through the door, his eyes wild and unseeing as he drunkenly stumbles over your younger self's frail body. Ignoring your cries, he leaves her sprawled on the floor, the door slamming shut with a jarring finality before she can react. Muffled shouting and screaming rise from beyond, chaos that drowns out her sobs. The child curls into a ball on the cold floor, trembling and sobbing as the shrieking grows louder. The walls thud and shake with the force of his rage, each violent sound echoing through the small room, amplifying the terror that grips her small frame.

“You’re not welcome here, spirit,” your voice cuts through the unfolding nightmare with unwavering authority. You can feel Bucky’s gaze burning into you, but you tilt your head defiantly. Momentarily sucked into the horror of it all, but now you stand unshaken. The scene pauses, and the child freezes in place as the shouting and banging abruptly stop. The spirit seems to contemplate your words, its image flickering before dissolving into a dark fog that settles in a dense layer across the stone floors. 

“I think destroying it would be easiest.” You mumble to the gangsters. Bucky’s lips were set in a fine line, his jaw still clenched, while Steve eyed you warily. “Burning it would be the best way.”

As if in response to your comment, the room burst to life once more. The two men stand on either side of you as if their curiosity is too much to dismiss as they realise it is another of your memories. 

This time, the version of you was older. A teenager. She perched on the edge of the docks, her legs dangling into the waters below. Next to her sits a boy roughly the same age. The two of them laugh and indulge in a shared bag of colourful, sugary treats.

“My dad keeps askin’ after you.” The boy says. Michael. Your gut twists. You knew what was to come. 

“I’m not joinin’ your dad’s weird cult.” She giggles, popping a boiled sweet into her mouth with a lopsided grin. Her hair was loose, uncaring as the breeze tangled it and ash fell from the skies. 

“He keeps goin’ on about how you’re some saviour—”

“Ew.” She replies, nose scrunching. The teen leans back on her palms with a sigh, looking across the docks. “You know me and my mum aren’t interested in that stuff. I’m not desperate like those other witches he tricks into joining. Frankly, I’m surprised you’ve held on this long, you’re what? Seventeen? Why don’t you just get a job in one of the factories and get the hell out of there?”

Michael appears displeased by her response. You had never previously noticed, despite replaying the memory in your mind numerous times. In the past, you believed you were being helpful, perhaps even clever. You could see the wrinkle of discomfort in the boy’s face now. You knew all too well that breaking free from his father's control was never as easy as moving out. You had been naive to believe that. Michael had not called you a fool, which was probably a small act of kindness on his part.  

“How’s your mum?” He asks, gaze cast to the side to look at the teen’s profile. She shrugs, sucking on the sweet in thought. 

“Still sick. We saw that healer in the Smokestacks, said he might be able to do somethin’ about it.”

“You know my family could help—”

The teen gives him an irritated look. “You know my mum doesn’t want your help. She doesn’t even want me hangin’ out with you.”

The tranquillity of the scene had captivated you to the point where you lost awareness of your surroundings. It was only the looming sense of dread for what was about to unfold, the feeling of Bucky's sleeve brushing against your arm, and the audible, sharp intake of breath from Steve that jolted you back to reality.

“Oi! Lookie here! It’s—” The shout of a copper was warbled as you strode forward, the memory rippling like a pool of water. 

You had to prevent what was about to happen. You couldn't let Bucky see how everything truly unfolded. You knew you should have stopped it before it went this far. You shouldn't have allowed yourself to get pulled into this memory. Yet, there was a bittersweet comfort in seeing him again, remembering him as he was before everything went so wrong.

“Probably shouldn’t burn it down here. Those barrels catch and this place will explode.” You mutter under your breath, trying to ignore the sickness churning in your stomach as you approach the chair. As you draw closer, your eyes catch the gruesome details etched into the wood. Dark, crusted blood is splattered across the seat, each fleck and smear a silent testament. Streaks of crimson have seeped into the grain, staining the wood in a macabre pattern. The iron tang of old blood hangs in the air, mixing with the musty dampness of the room. Your hair stands on end and your nerves tingle as a shiver runs down your spine. The closer you stand, the more uneasy energy pulses through you. Summoning your courage, you grip one of the chair's arms and yank with all your strength—only to find it bolted firmly to the floor. 

Your stomach drops. 

You needed to get the two men out of this cellar and defeat this spirit yourself. You couldn’t stand their gazes upon you, waiting expectantly. You roll your shoulders, twisting your neck as a tight, itching sensation settles over your skin. You weren’t afraid of the memories, but rather the reaction to them. You didn’t want sympathy. Most of all, you didn’t want to be feared—to be viewed as a weapon. 

You knew that was what the Smog Boys truly desired—a tool to complete their dirty work. 

The memory came to life around you once more, stronger and more vivid. Michael was sprawled on the floor, beaten and bloodied, his face a mess of bruises and cuts. The coppers, young and full of arrogance, stood above him, their laughter echoing in the confined space. They were eager to prove themselves, and they relished every moment of his suffering, laying blow after blow into his broken body. Their cackles filled the room, mingling with the sickening thuds of their fists and boots against his flesh. 

“Let me go!” Your head swivels as you look to the other side of the room. There, the teenage version of you is held back by two men with bruising grips, their hands digging painfully into her arms. Tears streamed down her face, carving glistening tracks through the grime and dust. Her eyes are wide with terror and helpless rage as she struggles and screams, her voice raw and desperate. The men restraining her exchange smirks, their expressions cold and indifferent to her anguish. The room seems to close in around you now, the walls reverberating with the echoes of her cries and the relentless thudding of blows landing on Michael. You were powerless, trapped in a living nightmare.

You needed to stop this—

There was a loud crunch, the agonising sound of bone snapping and shattering under a steel-toe boot. Michael has grown still, his body is no longer convulsing with pain. His face was unrecognisable—a grotesque mask of bruises and blood, the features obliterated by the relentless assault. His skull is misshapen, cracked open against the stone curb, a dark pool of blood is spreading beneath him.

Somewhere in the distance, the past version of you wails, a heart-wrenching sound that seems to come from the depths of her soul.

She was scrambling on her knees over the filthy streets, her body shaking with sobs as she gripped Michael’s lifeless form. Her fingers, trembling and desperate, searched for any sign of life, but you knew now that it was pointless. Michael was dead. He had died the moment they cracked his skull open. Blood smears her hands and clothes as she clings to him, her tears mixing with the grime on the ground.

She shakes his body, begging him to wake up. The coppers continue to snicker amongst themselves. They are unphased by the blood and flesh painted across their boots, their faces twisted in smug satisfaction. 

“That’s enough now.” You spoke up in the present, tone low and warning. The spirit hesitates, and the teen pauses, her body relaxing as the sobbing stops. Her head twists around, her eyes a milky white as she looks directly through you. 

“I know what you are.” The spirit spoke through the memory of you. Her gaze shifted to look at the coppers. Their figures are silent, but their shoulders shake with laughter, an amused indifference as they watch the suffering before them. “Spirit-raiser…diviner…light-bringer.”

Her eyes start to glow, a bright white that blinds the room. You know what is to come. You know what happens next. The shelves and barrels begin to rattle around you, and dust is stirred up into clouds. You could hear Steve swearing somewhere behind. Her sights move to the coppers, a knowing smirk fading into a cruel frown. Her hand raises into the air, fingers moving to snap—

Your hand has subconsciously raised. The ground trembles beneath you. It isn’t from the past; it is present. It was you at this exact moment, touching your fingers together. The ceiling above you groans, bottles of moonshine shattering across the floors as they fall. Behind you, Bucky and Steve yell over the commotion, calling to you. You can feel the crackle of electricity in the air and map every particle that flutters in the air. The chaos rises in your chest as you summon it forward. The crackle of energy grows higher and higher until the tingling sensation meets your fingertips. 

You snap your fingers, and a deafening crack echoes through the cellar. For a moment, everything grows still. Your body begins to glow, emitting a bright white light that fills the room, even stronger than the spirit's light. The intensity of it is blinding, obliterating every detail with a searing brilliance.

The room explodes around you. 

Bits of wood splinter, torn from their fixtures and launched through the air. Barrels explode with a thunderous roar, whiskey gushing out in torrents that splash and pool around your ankles, the potent scent of alcohol overwhelming your senses. The entire room shudders and rocks from the impact, the walls groaning under the strain. You were momentarily assaulted by the barrage of debris—sharp shards of shelving and glass raining down around you. Until Bucky grips you. Amid the chaos, he seizes your waist, pulling you into the shelter of his chest to shield you from the storm. 

Steve has vanished up the stairs, the floorboards above rattling with each of his hurried steps as the earth finally settles. The room falls into an eerie silence, the only sound being the gentle sloshing of liquor around your feet.

There is a large crack in the stone floor where the chair used to be. 

You pull yourself from Bucky’s grip rather unceremoniously, frowning as you pull shredded wood from your hair. The gangster eyes you cautiously, clearing his throat as he retreats backwards. “Are you gonna explain what that was?”

You were unsure what he was specifically referring to—whether it was the haunting memories or the raw power you had just unleashed. Regardless, you didn’t feel up to explaining either. A deep weariness had settled into your bones, your muscles aching from the exertion of channelling such immense energy. A thin trail of blood had begun to leak from your nose, the metallic taste of copper lingering as you absentmindedly licked your bottom lip in thought. 

You should not have done that. But they would have found out either way. 

Your fingers instinctively came up to rub your temple as you let out a sharp sigh of annoyance. With magic weariness came a tinge of irritation and snarkiness—it was a familiar companion after such displays of power. At that moment, you couldn't summon the will to care about how dangerous Bucky was or how he could ruin your life. All you craved was the simple comfort of lying down and perhaps indulging in a strong drink or two to ease the embarrassment of the situation.

Above, Madame Voss's shrill shrieks pierce through the ceiling, amplifying the headache pounding behind your skull. You knew the entire row of buildings would have felt the surge of energy you had just unleashed. One could only hope that the coppers wouldn’t investigate too closely into the disturbance.

Ignoring his previous question, you speak up. “You should invest in gettin’ your buildings properly cleansed.” 

Maybe that would make him and his men shut up about your faulty locks.

You go to walk away, but Bucky's firm grip on your forearm halts your movement, holding you back. His head cocks as he looks you up and down, his eyes sharp and calculating. “I don’t know much about magic, but I know witches don’t just summon shit like that out of thin air.”

If you were one of his dogs, your hackles would have raised, teeth bared. You look him down defiantly with a scowl. “Respectfully, Barnes, you don’t know shit about magic. I keep your secrets; you keep mine. That’s the deal, isn’t it?”

His lips curl into an astonished smirk, pleased as equally as he was stunned by your tone. His head dips down, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, his voice a low murmur. “You know, doll, if you weren’t growing on me, I would have you killed for speaking to me like that.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath tickling against your skin, his proximity stirring a mix of emotions within you—wariness, curiosity, and a hint of something deeper that you couldn't quite define. You knew better than to let the boundaries between you blur. You give him a mocking pout, wrenching your arm from his grip. “I know you won’t kill me, if you wanted to kill me, I would be dead already. You’ve decided I’m valuable, haven’t you? Who would break your curses and scare away the skeletons in your closet? You must know that I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I don’t want to help you, we’re not friends.” 

His jaw tenses slightly as he processes your words, and his voice is flat as he speaks. “The most valuable thing a woman like you can offer is what’s between your legs. And you gave that up pretty easily.” 

His lips curl into a sneer. “I suppose the magic is a bonus. But I know you’re little more than a whore beneath it all.”

Several emotions flicker through your chest. Pain, frustration, disillusionment. You should have known better. You knew better. You don’t dignify the gangster with a response, instead turning on your heel to march out of the cellar. 

“I’ll have someone come fetch you when you’re next needed, spirit-raiser,” he calls after you, his tone mocking. 

You ascend the stairs without looking back.

PART THREE

[im-ovulating]

Hello!! I'm fairly new to the twilight fandom and your blog is one of the bests i've ever seen so far! So, if you're comfortable/not buzy, could you please do the volturi kings (separated or poly, both are fine!!) reacting to the reader being a goth, i imagined since they're ancient beings, the goths that invaded the Roman Empire would be the first thing coming to mind lol

Once again, your blog is definitely a favorite now, so i might just give myself a name for future requests, i think 🦇 would be fine if no one's using it :)

Have a good morning, afternoon or/and evening!

-🦇

(A/n: Stawppppp you're makin me blushhh🙈 I definitely recommend @kiiwiigii (her kinktober is 🥵 and her fluff fics will literally rot your teeth) and (she doesn't write often, but she has an AMAZING NSFW mini series called Uses of a Secretarial Desk👀:) @alecvolturi)

(A/n: I went with headcanons. I hope that's okay with you!)

(A/n: Also- It's a bit difficult for me to write the kings since I personally don't vibe w/ em, so I hope you like it😭😅)

Word Count: -

Summary: Request above

Warnings: None

Age Rating: None

Volturi Kings x Gothic! GN! Reader

-----------------------

General:

Firstly, the Volturi are known art lovers so while the Visigoth sacking Rome might be what the word is acquitted to off the top of their heads, they would probably attune it moreso to the gothic art style of the mid 12th - 16th centuries

This being said, gothic makeup is VASTLY different from the painted arches and quatrelobes of the art period

You'll definitely have some explaining to do

You'll have to excuse them. They're not invested in human fads and expressionistic styles

Now on to the individual reactions/thoughts:

Aro:

He definitely finds your style interesting

Not in a judgmental aunt "interesting...😒" but an intrigued interest

He likes to watch you do your makeup, letting out the occasional amused "hm" when you do something unconventional with your look (grey contour, painting your neck black, extreme eyeliner, thin angled brows, etc.)

As for the music?

Doesn't really get it but at the same time does? Idk how to explain my thought process

He basically vibes with the lyrics and meaning but sometimes the instrumentals are hit or miss

He really enjoys the instrumentals that are more spooky/calm to the ones that go harder

Overall, if you're happy, who's he to say anything?

Caius:

Do you want fanon or accurate?😅

Fanon:

He might give you a strange look or cock an eyebrow when you go all out with your look but he silently appreciates how much effort it takes to perfect it

If he doesn't like the song playing, he'll either grab your phone and skip it or just leave the room

Canon:

This man is throwing shade left, right, and center lol

It /is/ all in good fun though

He's a bitch, you knew that from your first meeting

"Are you sure that's how you want to go out today?"

"Interesting attire, dear... *side eye*"

He doesnt hate it, don't get him wrong

He just finds it... odd

Out of all the kings, he's probably the most art geek of them all and is stuck on the name of your style

"Goth? That is not gothic, pet... *cue middle ages art speech*"

Openly criticizes the music

Either bans it from being played around him or loudly complains about it

Marcus:

Is the most vocal about your appearance

Constantly praising how you look that day

He got a second chance at his life partner. He's gonna be damned if he doesn't appreciate everything about you even down to the barely-different-who-is-he-kidding-they're-the-same-as-the-ones-you-already-own shoes that you just bought and are excited about

It's not even him lying either

He GENUINELY loves your look, simoyl for the fact that 1) he has seen you get ready... that takes skill and 2) you clearly enjoy the style and seeing you confident and secure in yourself is enough for him

He can take or leave the music, but he will keep that to himself until he dies (get it? Bc he's immortal?)

[holybatgirlz]

Had to do another response to bridgertonbabe’s spouses groupchat

(All credit goes to @bridgertonbabe)

—

🐝 The Children Group Chat 🐝

Eloise sent a picture.

Eloise: I think we should submit this to Merriam-Webster to put in the dictionary next to the word ‘heavenly’ because holy shit what happened last night was the closest I have ever had to a religious experience.

Eloise: And yes, I already created and bought matching sweatshirts with this image on it for everyone. They say ‘I survived the Pictionary Incident of ‘16’ on them.

Hyacinth: I swear to god if you two idiots scared Sophie off I’m going to finish what she started.

Anthony: Do I have to remind everyone that both Colin and myself were assaulted last night?? Or did you not see the photo Eloise just sent??

Violet: Do I need to remind you both that you purposefully dropped a keg on your brother’s hand?!?

Colin: Mini. It was a mini keg.

Colin: We’re not stupid enough to drop an actual keg on Benedict.

Violet: Well, you could have fooled me.

Violet: The doctor told me your poor brother broke two fingers and was a millimeter away from needing to have surgery on his hand. And in his dominant hand no less.

Violet: Do you have any idea how this is going to impact your brother? His painting? His upcoming gallery showing? He still has three paintings he needs to finish before next month and I have no idea how he’s going to complete them now that you two have gone and done this to him.

Colin: Yes, yes mother. We know. Benedict’s your precious little baby. Heaven forbid he do anything wrong. Like yelling at his girlfriend because she nearly made him lose Pictionary.

Colin: A girlfriend who, I would like the record to reflect, slapped me.

Anthony: Sophie also gave me a black eye. Kate has spent all of this morning laughing at me every time I walk into a room and she sees it so I think we’re even.

Violet sent a picture.

Violet sent a picture.

Violet: What did you not understand about almost needing surgery? You practically shattered his hand!! You nearly destroyed your brother’s art career!

Hyacinth: If Sophie stops talking to me because of the shit you two bozos pulled omg I’m going to end you both.

Colin: I’m surprised the coke can you nearly hit her with didn’t already do that.

Daphne: Hey. We may have a situation happening.

Francesca: What’s wrong?

Violet: Is everything alright?

Daphne: Simon’s panic pacing in our living room right now and I heard him say something about Sophie. I’m trying to figure out what happened. Give me a second.

Daphne: Hold on.

Daphne: SOPHIE’S PLANNING TO BREAK UP WITH BEN!!

Francesca: What??

Eloise: Say sike Daphne. Say sike right now.

Gregory: Seriously??

Colin: Oh shit. For real?

Francesca: How do you know?

Daphne: Simon and Kate are texting with her right now. I only figured it out because Simon’s stutter comes back when he’s stressed and mutters to himself to stay calm.

Daphne: But Sophie’s said she’s going to break up with Ben when he wakes up because she thinks we all hate her!!

Violet: I need to get back to the hospital right now.

Hyacinth: YOU IDIOTS!!!

Hyacinth: I’M GOING TO KILL YOU BOTH!!

Colin: Gregory. Since I know u r with her. Scale of 1-10 how pissed is Hy right now?

Gregory: Hy right now:

Gregory sent a photo

Gregory sent a photo

Colin: Ah. 100 then.

Gregory: Yeah

Colin: Well it was nice knowing everyone

Anthony: Why on earth would she think we hate her?? You were all cheering her on when she was assaulting us.

Eloise: By far the hottest thing I've ever seen. I think watching her throw that punch rewired my brain chemistry. Watered my crops. Cleared my skin. Ended my depression. And helped me finish my graduate applications. I’ve never felt so alive.

Eloise: Fuck Wollstonecraft. Fuck Steinem. Fuck Atwood. Their works do not even compare to the straight prose Sophie was shooting last night while she was yelling at you two.

Eloise: And if we lose her now because you two idiots made her think we despise her I am going to HELP HYACINTH BURY YOUR BODIES!!!

Francesca: Mum, how close are you?

Violet: 30 minutes out. John is driving as fast as he legally can to get me back there.

Violet: I knew I shouldn’t have left her there alone. I knew something was off. She was far too quiet to have been okay with all of this.

Daphne: Do you need us to come meet you there?

Violet: No. The last thing we need to do is overwhelm her.

Violet: This is all my fault. I should never have picked Pictionary. I shouldn’t have even allowed a Game Night to begin with!

Violet: I forgot that I have wolves for children. That you all were swapped with changelings as babies.

Hyacinth: Why didn’t anyone stay with Sophie???

Eloise: Because she’s a grown woman who knows how to handle herself. She seemed fine last night.

Francesca: She seemed pretty overwhelmed to me. I found her crying in the bathroom after Benedict yelled at her.

Violet: She was crying?!!!

Francesca: I think she was just taken by surprise and she told me Danbury had called her earlier about the lawsuit with her stepmother so I thought she was probably already stressed before she arrived at the house last night. I told her Benedict didn’t mean any of it. And after the beat down she gave Colin and Anthony I thought she would be okay.

Hyacinth: Mum you need to get there!!

Violet: Sweetheart, I’m trying to get there as fast as I can.

Hyacinth: Omg Mum hurry up 😩😩😩 My sanity is on the line here.

Gregory: Anthony and Colin’s asses are literally on the line right now. Hyacinth might actually commit to killing them.

Hyacinth: I swear to God I’m going to actually lose it if Sophie leaves. We finally were about to have a cool in-law in the family and now you IDIOTS RUINED IT!!!

Gregory: We were almost able to say we had a felon in the family 😖😖😖

Daphne: Gregory. Sophie nearly going to jail is not something to strive for.

Francesca: She also isn’t a felon. She would have had to have been convicted for that to be true.

Hyacinth: Firstly, she was falsely accused and this has been a known fact for weeks now. Keep up. Secondly, and according to the police report, Sophie almost outran the cops and got away. Like they chased her seven blocks before they caught her. Full sprint the entire time. And then she elbowed one of them while they were arresting her so they nearly hit her with an assaulting police officer charge because of it.

Hyacinth: Thirdly, Ben said Sophie completely decked her stepmother once it was revealed that Armabitch lied about her stealing from her (which honestly should have been a heads up for tweedle dumb and tweedle dumbest not to FUCK with her)

Hyacinth: And FOURTHLY, she literally got broken out of jail by Mum and Ben because yours truly was smart enough to make sure her location sharing was on.

Hyacinth: She’s a literal icon of icons 😍😍😍

Daphne: Hyacinth, you never answered this the last time we asked. But did you hack Sophie’s phone?

Hyacinth: No

Hyacinth: I just made sure she was sharing her location with me while I was putting my number in her phone. That’s all.

Violet: Alright I’m back at the hospital.

Hyacinth: Mum you need to find Sophie! You need to stop her!

Violet: Oh I plan to. Not going to allow all my hard work to go to waste. I’ll text you once I’ve spoken to her.

Eloise: Are you two idiots happy with yourselves now??

Eloise: Was this worth dropping a keg on Benedict??

Colin: Again

Colin: Mini keg.

Colin: And right now, since I am currently praying to every God in existence to make sure Sophie and Benedict don’t break up, the answer is no.

Anthony: If she was bold enough to hit me in the face, then she was a perfect fit for this family.

Anthony: Mum, if you don’t stop her, tell me. I’ll come out there and speak to her myself.

Hyacinth: Anything?

Daphne: Oh my god this wait is killing me.

Francesca: Mum any updates yet?

Benedict sent a picture

Benedict: I lived.

Daphne: Benedict! Where’s Sophie? Is she with you?

Hyacinth: DO NOT LET HER LEAVE US!!!

Benedict: She here ❤️

Benedict: she finance

Eloise: ????

Benedict: Soap finance

Daphne: Benedict what are you trying to say

Eloise: What the hell does this mean???

Benedict: Soap

Benedict: Finance

Benedict: SOAP MY FINANCE

Benedict: soap finance

Benedict: Duck

Francesca: Benedict are you still high??

Benedict: No. Typing 1 hand. Hard

Eloise: I think we should all take that as he’s still high.

Benedict: Soap Bucket my finance

Gregory: This is some fucking DaVinci code level shit.

Francesca: Are you talking about Sophie??

Benedict: Yes

Benedict: Finance

Benedict: She finance

Francesca: She’s fine?

Eloise: What about Sophie’s finances??

Violet: Fiancée. He means fiancée.

Violet: Sophie and Benedict are engaged!! Well, technically, engaged. Sophie told him he has to propose again once the drugs wear off but I got here just in time to see Benedict asking her to marry him after he woke up and hearing Sophie tell him yes. We’ve all been celebrating. It was quite lovely 🥰🥰

Benedict: Mum cryin rite now.

Eloise: No doubt ecstatic she no longer needs to worry about you dying alone.

Colin: Oh thank Christ.

Gregory:

Francesca: 🥳🥳 Congratulations Benedict

Daphne: Congratulations!!

Hyacinth: This is literally the best news I could receive 😭😭😭

Benedict: Thank you ☺️

Benedict: V happy rite now.

Eloise: V high 2

Benedict sent a photo

Benedict: High on life 😌😌😌 On love 😍☺️🥰

Eloise: Omg 🤢🤮

Eloise: Freak

Eloise: No one asked to see your kissing selfies.

Violet: Benedict. Sweetheart. Since I apparently have to text you this as well. Put the phone down and go back to sleep.

Benedict: NO

Benedict: Engaged!

Benedict: Every1 celebrate me b engaged

Anthony: Congratulations brother.

Benedict: Asshole. Hat u. U no celebrate.

Benedict: Hate other asshole 2. Were Colin?

Colin: Hey Benedict. How’s your hand?

Benedict: Duck u

Benedict: Fuck u

Benedict: Hate u both so much rite now.

Colin: Listen. Ben. I’m really sorry for almost crushing your hand.

Benedict: Hand no long matter. U hurt Soap. I kill u.

Colin: She slapped me!

Benedict: Deserved. U deserved. Drop keg on me n face Soap wrath.

Benedict: God she was so hot 4 that.

Eloise: So hot

Benedict: So hot. My gf is so hot.

Benedict: Finance! She finance now.

Anthony: Benedict. Please tell Sophie how sorry we are for last night and that we are all incredibly happy for her. For both of you.

Anthony: You can also tell her she has an impressive right hook.

Anthony: …

Anthony: Benedict?

Anthony: Benedict are you there?

Violet: He’s not going to answer. Sophie finally took his phone away. But I’ll tell her.

Daphne: Everyone say thank you to Kate and Simon. They spent almost an hour trying to talk Sophie out of leaving Benedict while we were all freaking out.

Francesca: Do they know?

Daphne: I told Simon

Anthony: Kate knows

Gregory: Kate and Simon right now probably

Eloise: Anthony. How much did you just drop on ‘thank you for saving my ass’ jewelry for Kate?

Anthony: Fuck off.

Francesca: I texted Kate. She’s checking the bank account.

Francesca: About 5k by the looks of it. And he’s taking her to Paris.

Anthony: I hate all of you.

[sleepanonymous]

Hi, I was wondering if you knew when Vessel started 'dancing' on stage? I'm pretty sure he started doing in in the late Sundowning-ish era/ TPWBYT era but I thought you'd probably be the best person to ask about finding videos from when he started dancing.

Oooh this is an interesting rabbit hole, thanks for asking Anon 🖤

So... I guess it depends on what you mean by dancing, because Vessel has always sort of moved on stage, you know? But what he did back then and what he's doing now is completely different. Like... maybe a better word for what he used to do is "writhing." The earliest video of a ritual I've seen of Sleep Token's was their third ritual in (what I'm assuming is) late 2017, and "writhing" is probably the best word for what Vessel was doing on stage (and I say that affectionately/respectfully).

TLDR; Conclusively I would say Vessel started dancing, as we see him dance on stage today, in the summer of 2022. He's always moved on stage, and even acted unhinged during Sleep Token's earlier rituals. Below the cut, I go through rituals on YouTube from 2018-2023 to try and pinpoint exactly when Vessel started dancing like we see currently in 2023. (I went through quite a few videos, most not even mentioned in this monster of a post, so I made a YouTube playlist here).

A great example of Vessel's early "writhing" dancing is this YouTube video of Nazareth from the 2018 Leeds Festival (he's also an absolute menace here!! He steps on III, he didn't paint his waist or his back, and he strangles and spits on the original OG IV. Like... the man had demons and I am here for them). The dancing that's most similar to current times starts around 2:37 and 3:40.

2019 is impossible to find good videos for lol, since they did most of their rituals for the Beautiful Oblivion tour as an opener and, apparently, nobody films openers. But there are some with decent audio quality from ArcTanGent (my favorite being The Offering). Interestingly, he's less animated, still writhing, but not a menace to the rest of the band while doing so. If anyone is even slightly photosensitive please don't watch these ArcTanGent videos, the lighting effects really didn't agree with the camera's shutter speed.

This is a video of Higher from December 2019. The sound is not as crisp, and the videographer is quite a bit further from the stage, but Vessel is still moving, especially towards the end. The breakdown starts around 2:15, and while III and OG IV are definitely more animated than Vessel, he's still dancing with them. He even jumps down to scream the end of the song at the barrier (and has a mini-wardrobe malfunction) at 2:39. That crowd was really feeling it and so was Vessel.

Because of the plague in 2020, all of Sleep Token's shows were in January. Vessel's behaviour was very similar to the video posted above (just with less crowd interaction). The first show they played in 2021 was the Download Pilot. This is the best audio quality of that show, and Vessel also moves/dances the most in this video, though it's toward the end around 2:31, where the videographer forgot they were filming and just started vibing, so it's really hard to see, lol. I don't blame them, but it's also shakycam to the max. (Also, a quick fun fact, this is the first show the band played with our current IV as far as I can tell.)

This is another video from 2021, but from Sleep Token's TPWBYT rituals tour. It's Hypnosis, and in the very beginning, we see some Floor Vessel, which is neat and reminiscent of the most recent NA rituals, before he does some of his usual writing, though quite a bit more animated. Around 4:06 you can see the writing again, but after 4:19 it morphs into what we've seen from more recent rituals. (Also, if anyone wants a full 70-minute video of this show, filmed from the center of the balcony looking down on the stage, you can watch it here. Some parts have major flashing, so just be careful).

Here's another video of Hypnosis, this time from September 2022. Here, finally, we see Vessel's current version of dancing, hops and arm flails included. It starts right when the song kicks in at 0:13, and he does it again at the end, around 4:29. Technically they did a UK tour with the Architects in May (see this video of The Offering at 3:50) and an Australian tour in June 2022 with Northlane (again, see this video of The Offering at 0:20, 1:37), with similar behaviour from Vessel, but that BRRF Hypnosis video is the first video I ever watched of Sleep Token live so it's very dear to me and it's also better sound quality than anything I could find from earlier in the year.

I went way overboard with answering this question, Anon, but it was super fun, so thank you again for asking 🖤🙏 Again, I made a playlist of all the videos + several others. If anyone has any recommendations for me to add to the playlist, send the links my way (especially if they aren't The Offering or Hypnosis lol) and I'll add them in chronological order.

[ntls-24722]

music man cave art

The big music man one on the right here is inaccurate, i feel, since as i've seen, humans in paleolithic art are very simplistic and undetailed for some reason??? Even when One is the main focus they are faceless, which i find interesting since by comparison, the animals are VERY detailed. But i wanted to include a good one of Music Man, so i did

Also, this is the part where i realized i didn't draw enough murder. So I fixed that!! caveman murder!!!! murder time!!!!

dj is the most cattleish, so he's a prime murder target. Sorry, he's really murderable

That being said though, I think the both of them are sapient, but I don't think they know that the other one is sapient. These are all from the Music Man perspective.

Also, the dead music man at the top. I couldn't find anything for any memorial art in paleolithic art, but that is a little... memorial. Not much writing were made yet, so those who died are represented individually by the animals on top. There are far less dead people than there should be for paleolithic times but we're gonna roll with it.

I think they would have a fascination with the glowing mouth that DJ has???? Like, "Hey, that guy has our face, we're similar, but they're big and strong. maybe that mouth is like divine power or something" so they draw their dead with that as they are being taken from this world to the next, and they draw their shamans with that, too.

speaking of the glowing mouth thing, I made a whole seperate thing for the litttle shadow DJMMs, since if these were like in the context of paleolithic art where they are drawing whatever they see - because of the glowing mouth, I feel like there would be a focus on how he looks like at night, where all you can see is the outline of their mouth

I think the DJs would be fascinated by the fact the Music Men can throw shit. The Music man are very human-shape, and we are very good at throwing shit. DJMM, however, is not human shape, and he cannot ball like the Music Men can so I think DJMM art would have a sacred focus on stripes and spears. Specifically, striped spears, to distinguish Cool Sacred spears from their regular dumb spears that're only good for stabbing

They'd both find the minis to be a symbol of unity peace, which i think is extremely funny because the minis are by far the most bloodthirsty and scary ones out of the both of them. but the reason I say they'd find them peaceful is that minis have NO beef with eachother. They are coordinated and while scary its also very admirable.

DJMM was partially inspired by the zebu, i like the dewlap and the hump is very speaker-y.

bonus: the ms paint doodle that inspired me to make this

[connan-l]

Now that Season 7's first trailer is out, it slightly validated some of my theories about which chapters is going to be adapted — so I decided to make a prediction of what Seasons 7 & 8 could looks like (I mean, we still don't have any confirmation for Season 8, but there's no way we don't get it, right?) I'm probably going to be very wrong but it was fun to try and think about!

I'm going to make the assumption that we'll get 13 episode instead of 11 because of something fun I found out: so far there's been 74 episodes of NatsuYuu (OVAs notwithstanding), which means that if we add two seasons of 13 episodes we'll reach the 100 :) So I hope we actually do get 13 episodes this time (I've also seen some people wondering if we'll exceptionnally get a 22 or 26 episodes season because of the 15th/20th years anniversary, which could be fun but I doubt they'll do that sadly).

Season 7:

Episode 1: Chapter 84 (Mini-Nyanko) Episode 2: Chapter 80 (Yorishima intro) Episode 3: Chapter 77 (Hakozaki 2) Episode 4: Chapter 83 (Kitamoto bookstore) Episode 5: Special 17/84.5 (Teen Matonato 2) Episode 6: Chapters 95 & 96 (Isamu arc) Episode 7: Chapter 81 (Flower bed) Episode 8: Chapters 92-94 (Miharu arc) Episode 9: Chapters 92-94 (Miharu arc) Episode 10: Chapter 87 (Nishimura) Episode 11: Special 8/31.5 (Chobi special) Episode 12: Chapters 88 & 89 (Souko arc) Episode 13: Chapters 88 & 89 (Souko arc)

Season 8:

Episode 1: Chapter 71 (Ake & Shiro) Episode 2: Special 14/67.5 (Birds & Reiko) Episode 3: Chapters 106 & 107 (Yorishima arc 2) Episode 4: Chapters 90 & 91 (Tenjou-san/painting arc) Episode 5: Special 19/89.5 (Matoba station) Episode 6: Chapters 85 & 86 (Tanatsutaki inn arc) Episode 7: Chapters 85 & 86 (Tanatsutaki inn arc) Episode 8: Chapter 99 (Origami) Episode 9: Chapter 108 (Chobi) Episode 10: Chapters 100-104 Homura arc Episode 11: Chapters 100-104 Homura arc Episode 12: Chapters 100-104 Homura arc Episode 13: Chapter 105 (Post-Homura)

For Season 7: I know some people wish the season could start with the exorcist chapters, but I think it makes more sense we begin with a ‘normal’ slice-of-life Natsuyuu episode rather than the more heavy stuff. It’s been seven years, after all; they need to reestablish the series’ characters and world properly, and I think chapter 84 with the clay mini-nyanko is th best one for that. I mean, in this chapter we have: Natsume returning a name, mentions of Reiko & the book, cameos of Tanuma and the Fujiwaras (the anime could probably briefly add Kitanishi, Taki & Sasada too), and a bittersweet story about a yokai Natsume befriends — so I think it’s perfect for a new start to a new season. Then it makes sense to follow this up with the exorcist stuffs in episodes 2 & 3. I'm hesitating which one would go first though; if we follow the manga chronologically then it would be the Hakozaki one, but I think they'll likely choose to reintroduce Natori first... I do believe it's important to introduce Yorishima early on too so that they can later adapt the second Yorishima arc in Season 8, to really establishes him as this new important recurrent character. (Though I wonder if 2 exorcist episodes side-by-side would be too much, so maybe they'll adapt Yorishima intro for ep2, then have another slice-of-life episode, then have the Hakozaki chapter.... who knows)

After that I’m no sure on the order, but there must also be the Taki brother arc for a Taki-focused episode, then the Kitamoto & Nishimura chapters. I think it’d makes sense to adapt both of the Kitanishi chapters in season 7 so that then in season 8 they could adapt the Tenjou-san/painting arc in order to make it feel balanced (or they could do the reverse and adapt Tenjou-san arc before in season 7, but I think it's better if it comes after). And then have the flower bed chapter as another slice-of-life episode (which I think is important to have before the Souko arc thematically). Not gonna lie it really frustrates me that they decided to adapt the Tanuma & Misuzu chapters in a movie, because now Tanuma doesn’t have his own arc like Taki has :( At least he still appears more than her in other arcs, but they’re not focused on him so it’s not the same.

So the Chobi special from Volume 8 might seems weird to be in season 7, and admittedly I doubt it'll ever be adapted (maybe in an OAV?? But who knows) - but I thought about it because of Chapter 108 which is also centered on Chobi. Having the Chobi special before Chapter 108 seemed logical to me, though there's more chance we'll get another special like Special 14 or 18. (UNLESS they manage to adapt the Chobi special with Chapter 108 in a single episode... I dunno).

And there's no way they don't adapt the second teen Natori special, which has to be before Miharu arc. I think the Miharu arc will happens either in the middle or towards the end of the season, but I believe having Souko's arc as the final would be pretty emotionally impactful, with ideally 2 episodes. It’s the origin of the Book of Friends after all, so it’s important to really highlight it (though I doubt they'll do that unfortunately, I think they'll likely try to cram everything into a single episode as usual with the 2 chapters arcs -_-).

For Season 8: I think it makes sense to start with slice-of-life chapters with this season too, but admittedly I wasn't really sure which one. The Ake & Shiro or the origami chapters seems the more likely. Then there's still Special 14, which could also make a fun slife-of-life episode.

The Tenjou-san/painting arc and then the Noren inn arc in this season was more fitting than the last in order to balance the focus on Natsume's school friends - and like I said earlier, even though chronologically it happens later in the manga I think they will adapt the second Yorishima arc as well here. I think it’d make sense they decide to adapt the special with Matoba here too (It could be in Season 7 I suppose? But then it would a wayyy too exorcist-focused season).

What I’m the most confident in is that they’ll decide to end Season 8 with the Homura arc, and that it’ll take 3 episodes. This is such a long, important arc, and if they don’t mess it up it would make an amazing final; especially if after that we don’t get another new season until at least a few years.

(Hopefully we won’t have to wait 6 years for Season 9 afterwards… There was 2 years between Season 2 and Season 3, and then 4 years between Season 4 and Season 5, so if Season 8 is released in 2025 then I hope we’ll get Season 9 in like. 2028-2029. please.)

Anyway, just for fun I tried to imagine what a Season 9 could look like too:

Season 9:

Episode 1: Chapters 109 & 110 (Kaka arc) Episode 2: Chapters 117 & 118 (Occult salon arc) Episode 3: Chapter 112 (Taki Matoba tea party) Episode 4: Chapters 113-116 (Younger Cousin arc) Episode 5: Chapters 113-116 (Younger Cousin arc) Episode 6: Chapters 113-116 (Younger Cousin arc) Episode 7: Chapter 111 (Tanatsukitanishi beach) Episode 8: Chapter 120 (Hakozaki 3) Episode 9: Chapters 121-126 (Portrait of a Girl arc) Episode 10: Chapters 121-126 (Portrait of a Girl arc) Episode 11: Chapters 121-126 (Portrait of a Girl arc) Episode 12: Chapters 121-126 (Portrait of a Girl arc) Episode 13: Chapters 127 (Homura cats returns)

This would make for a super plot-heavy season, but well all the recent arcs ARE very plot-focused lol. I initially thought that maybe the Portrait of a Girl arc could make it more to a potential Season 10 while the younger cousin arc could the final for Season 9, but ending the season on such a personal, Natori-focused arc like that would be a bit... strange. So! If we have Portrait of a Girl as a final, I think it makes sense for the occult salon arc to be at the very start of the season to introduce Shinobu and Clara (I vaguely thought it would be fun if they introduced them in Season 8, but the idea of a whole season where we start with the looming threat of Matoba's mysterious sister only to have her identity revealed at the very end is really cool too). I think the beach chapter too could be nice after the Natori arc as a sort of break before we got back into the heavy plot stuff with the 3rd Hakozaki chapter. I gave Portrait of a Girl 4 episodes here because I think it's what it wolud need to be properly adapted (it IS the longest arc to date after all, with 6 chapters!) but because of that I had to scrap the Hinoe chapter (which could then be adapted into Season 10). However I think it's more likely they adapt it into a three-episodes arc sadly (same thing with the Younger Cousin arc, they'll probably cram it into 2 episodes rather than three...)

And here it is haha. Can't wait to see how completely false my predictions will be lol.

Following this, the still unadapted chapters would include: Chapter 119 (Hinoe/Natsume crossdressing), Chapter 128 (current arc) that would fit into Season 10, then Special 18 (Nyanko meets little boy), Special 20 (movie special), Special 21 (little traveling yokai), Special 22 (Ribbon Nyanko & Mana Kitamoto), all of which could either fit in Season 10 or in an OAV.

[bekaterrier]

Happy Audio Drama Sunday! I listened to a few things this week (gushing and spoilers ahead):

@woodenovercoats S4: You know it's going to be a good season when it's already got me tearing up in the third episode! Madeline and her family!! 😭 Madeline and Rudyard besties! 🥰 I absolutely loved seeing Antigone continue to grow this season. She just wanted to be seen, to know she was strong enough to be seen, and she was!! We also got to hear Rudyard give more time to his life outside the funeral home, particularly his special interest in history! We finally got Chapman's backstory! Heartbreaking though. 💔 Holy shit that sound design when Chapman and Rudyard go over the falls was *chef's kiss*. My first thought re: the Funns running Chapman's was "Oh lord, how is Rudyard going to F this up?" It was really nice to hear them actually properly put on a funeral like we knew they could. Throughout the season, we heard Eric and Antigone grow closer and some feelings start to develop there. Then hearing Eric calling out for Antigone in his dream was...whew. "Sorry about the chloroform." 😂 Georgie's cycle of grief is so real. It hits you at the most unexpected moments. They're a town!!!! And of course he came back, he's home!!!!! This ending is so perfect, so absolutely satisfying. This show was incredible ♥️

@midstpodcast S1: I've been seeing so much about this show in my feed lately as its third and final season released, so I just had to jump into it. And wow am I hooked! The way the narrators share the story and the character voices between them is fascinating. The world building is absolutely incredible - the visual they painted of the fold sweeping through is just chilling. Combine that with the actual visual elements created by the podcast, seen in the YouTube videos...so so cool. Side note - I hate the Trust; the way that its systems ensure that those at the bottom are kept down, rewarding those already at the top...kudos to another podcast where one of the villains is capitalism. In any case, I was so absorbed in the stories of each of the three protagonists, trying to see ahead to how their lives would intersect, I almost forgot about the very first scene! The moon falls out of the sky!! Absolutely wild!! I'm very much looking forward to learning more about the consequences of this and the impact on Midst.

@midnightburgr Welcome to the Horizon Part 3 - The Wayfaring Stranger: God I love this town and these people. I laughed out loud so many times this episode! Frank and June's reactions to Verge's background are hilarious. I'm so glad we have Verge in this mini-series. It's also so fun to hear them flirting with Deirdre, especially after hearing their VAs as not so friendly in Moonbase Theta, Out (love you Cat and Tina). The news that we get from Trinkett about the comet is verrry interesting and concerning, so looking forward to seeing where that goes.

@tellnotalespod S1 & S2 (to date) re-listen: TNT is currently on their mid season break, so I re-listened to everything that's been released so far. I said earlier this season that it was going to be tough listening to all the S2 episodes in a row since many of them made me cry individually...and I was right! 😭 I am so looking forward to the rest of S2, and I really hope Leo, Riley and Julia all get the hugs they need, preferably from each other.

@storiesfromylelmore Winter Solstice crowdfunding episode: I love hearing the kids out and up to their shenanigans! It was also really sweet to get a glimpse of the parents doing their thing, but also loving all the kids (even though Elas can sometimes be puce). I also loved hearing more about their world's Winter Solstice story! The worldbuilding is so fantastic.

@hinaypod Episode 41 - Danny Boy (Pride Episode 2024): I'm glad I listened to this one during the day because I definitely would have gotten creeped out by some of the curse's descriptions if I'd listened at 2AM, as I sometimes do. We got quite lore dump on our favourite horrible old man, but I still have so many questions!!

[magistralucis]

Miniature Painting Retrospective (2023)

2023 has been a hell of a year, but it had one upside to it, namely that this was the year I got into miniature painting. The downsides are money spent on plastics and paints and my ever-increasing piles of shame, but what mini lover doesn't deal with that 🤣

I'm a relatively new painter. I began painting in the second quarter of this year, and I haven't exactly done it every day or even every week, though I think I've improved greatly nonetheless. This is a retrospective post with some examples I've painted this year, what I learned, what I'd do better, and goals for the future.

-----------------

April 2023

Despite the many pages of ramblings on my blog, I did not actually get into miniatures because of Warhammer 40K, it was Dark Souls that got me to pull the trigger 😂 I love, love, love Dark Souls, when I realized there was a boardgame and people painted the plastic figures that came with them I had to get me some of that. I've actually posted these before on my DS sideblog, so if you've seen them around somewhere else 'twas I who was responsible, but these are the very first minis I've ever painted.

Siegward of Catarina was painted almost entirely with contrasts and metallics. I wanted to give him the really rusted look like Catarina Armour has in DS3. Solaire was painted similarly, except I didn't really get how to 'paint white' or 'paint yellow' or to use ink to fill in the sunface, so his chest is woefully incomplete. I thought of stripping him to start over, but have since decided against it; what I'll likely do is to get another Solaire and do the better job with that one. It's good to see where you began. Gives perspective.

-----

May 2023

I began properly looking up painting tutorials around this time. Coincidentally, this was the first time I began to really feel like I knew what I was doing 🤣

Eygon of Carim was painted almost entirely with drybrushing, save for the brown cloth, which was my first attempt at wet blending + adding wear and tear and scratches to simulate realism. He was drybrushed with a gunmetal grey then tinted with Black Templar for the majority of his dark armour, then drybrushed with silver to highlight the edges. His shield and mace followed the same procedure, except they were sponged with bronze later.

All of the models so far remain unbased to this day... I am not very good at remembering to base my models

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June 2023

Got into 6mm historicals (Anglo-Saxon/Vikings) during this period, which I don't have a picture of as those are currently in a storage box we stashed away for the Christmas holidays (guests staying over 😖).

Had another go at painting an Onion Knight, however, this time of Catarina Armour than Siegward specifically. Siegward has a longer Zweihander and a more detailed look. I wanted to give this version a clean look, and he was painted in a much more traditional style, following the base + shading + highlights + edge highlights method. No contrasts nor drybrushing, though the shield was mildly sponged with black. I'm proud of this one.

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July 2023

Got into Warhammer during this period. Had a break from painting as I tried to read and digest WH40K necron lores/novels, then became attracted to some of the full-size models, as well as building an army for Epic Armageddon. Shown above are some 6mm necron warriors, Immortals, Flayed Ones, and pariahs I painted as an example at this time. They are very, very small and very delicate and I love them your honour

I'm especially happy with the Flayed Ones. I'm actually using those to make a small Twice-Dead King diorama atm, I'll get some more made for the actual army. The pariah models have that warscythe design with a hole (?) in the middle but I... don't??? like the hole??? so I just filled them in with milliput and painted them up similarly to glaives instead

I also obtained a larger Dancer of the Boreal Valley model. She is in the pile of shame. I am afraid to begin painting her now that I've been staring at her for so long 😖😖😖

-----

August - September 2023

I............. ghghgghgghggg

The pile grows. At least I gave Orikan his green marble interior design???

Started doing 28mm historicals in early Sep. When it comes to the actual gaming aspect of this hobby, I have played way more historicals than I've ever played Warhammer or the Dark Souls Boardgame; I play SAGA with my sig. other, and he got me into Chain of Command, though I'm playing solely with the models he painted for that one (since he has been in this hobby for many, many more years than I). Here's a berserkr I painted and based up. NMM chainmail and glazed fur detail, the rock/ground based with cork.

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September 2023

Still doing historicals. My Viking warlord, rock based with foam, need to add some grass on there or something. Otherwise very very happy with how he turned out. I keep going back and forth between giving him a shield, since I love painting shields, but I also don't want to obscure the main details of his body. All metallic details are NMM.

Note the scabbard and the glint of his sword. I'm not super good at NMM yet, but I can do tiny glints and details like these.

An example of general warriors, huscarls, etc. I have about 50 men in varying states of completion. These are all Victrix models. Every one of those shields are freehanded. They make for very good practice because they're a nice, well-defined flat surface. I'm really proud of those.

-----

October - November 2023

My beloved Tea Space Marine brothers 😂☕ I've posted about those before (x, x, x) - the Arizona Tea dude is not yet done because I actually need to give him a banner and paint up his base, and during December I was too occupied with other creative activities to work on him. They are the first Space Marines I've ever painted and tbh I don't find them the easiest to paint (???) but they're some of the best fun I've had so far!

I want to make a whole series of those, not just of Space Marines or even the Imperium. I might do more porcelain, they're really fun to pose next to tea-things. The teacup Marine was painted a gloss white (after being primed not-white 😨) then freehanded with royal blue, with Retributor Armour being the gold. The Arizona Tea Marine was painted emerald with pink edges, tinted in places with Magos Purple, then freehanded with various shades of plum blossom-esque colours. Still wondering what design his banner ought to be.

-----

That's it for 2023. Next year I want to do the following things.

Finish up the Epic Armageddon necron army, complete with vehicles (300-400 points).

Finish the Dancer of the Boreal Valley statuette (because that's what she is at that scale, she's the biggest model I have, it's part of why I got intimidated lmao).

Get better at NMM.

Apply aforementioned NMM techniques to necrons on the pile of shame that are not painted.

Learn how to airbrush.

Obtain at least 6 points' worth of guys for a SAGA Viking army, then paint them up and base them properly.

Base my minis properly, full stop 🥴

Looking forward to some fun painting sessions next year!!! 💖

[lore-of-the-mushroom-kingdom]

Isle Delfino Yoshis Are Fake And What Happened To The Original Yoshies

So I've noticed recently many people don't understand what the nature of the Yoshies from Super Mario Sunshine is. Many people think they some kind of species of Yoshi, and some people have even gone as far as to claim the migrated from Dinosaur Land and that Dinosaur Land is close to Isle Delfino. So I'm going to explain what is up with the Yoshies of Isle Delfino.

So if you notice these Yoshies are weird, if you drop them in water they becoming blobby and return back to their egg. This is a detail even mentioned in the manual, and makes them different from the Yoshies we usually see. We know Yoshies can stand water and swim as seen in SMB4SMW, YS, M&W, NSMBW, etc. We also can see these Yoshies can hatch as different colors all from a single green egg, only triggered by a fruit. Not a single one is actually green in color and they all spit juice, and they need to eat fruit constantly lest they return to their egg. We know Yoshies hatch from eggs corresponding with their colors with the only exception being the Mini Yoshies which hatch from a multi color egg. Yoshies also don't need fruit to hatch them nor spit juice and need to constantly eat fruit.

So what's up with them? Well if you remember you get the egg from Bowser Junior. In other words these Yoshies are fake, paint creations of the real deal like Petey Piranha's fake. This is why they have these odd behaviors like not being able to survive in water. Bowser Junior also probably based their colors off the ones from the Yoshi Carousel, and the egg of the eggs on it as well. This would explain the oddness in color.

With that being said there used to be Yoshies living on Isle Delfino at one point. When talking to a Noki they say "They used to roam this island freely, but now, they've gone..." This means Yoshies once lived on Isle Delfino once but left for some reason. So what might that reason be? Well after defeating the Snooza Koopas the Big Sunflower says, "Thanks for helping me! Now, maybe the Yoshis will come back, too!" This implies the Snooza Koopas are the reason for the Yoshi's disappearance.

So given the appearance of the Snooza Koopa's shells being similar to that of a Green Yoshi's Egg, could imply they are predator of the Yoshies using a form of aggressive mimicry. This would imply the Yoshies either fled the Island or went extinct due to the Snooza Koopas. This also falls in line with the Cascade Kingdom's claim that it's one of the few places dinosaurs still live.

[beevean]

Give each NFCV and Nocturne character ratings, as in scores :P

Why must you hurt me in this way.

Trevor: 7/10. A cliché personality, but enjoyable enough, and with a nice mini arc in S1. Too bad he was turned from protagonist to silly comic relief by S2.

Sypha: 5/10. She's supposed to be the plucky innocent girl, but she's just too rude and insensitive, and not even by design.

Alucard: 1/10. A cunt with a bad boob job.

Dracula: 9/10 in S1, 5/10 in S2. He started out so well in the first episode, being actually the grief-stricken monster he was supposed to be... and then he became a Stupid Old Depressed Man for the sake of propping up Carmilla. bruh.

Lisa: 4/10. Way less likeable than she appears. She's condescending towards the peasants she supposedly wants to help and she doesn't give a single shit about her only son, even preferring to let him grieve the death of his parents.

Hector: 8/10 in S2, 5/10 in S3, 2/10 in S4. Started out as a promising character with an unique worldview and genuinely morally grey. Became nothing more than a punching bag for Ellis, losing his personality and dignity in one fell swoop. Will always be remembered as the dude who fell for vampire pussy. The way he was written in S4, which was supposed to "fix" him, makes me want to destroy a house by punching it.

Isaac: 2/10. He gains some points by being the only character with a coherent character arc, even if rushed like hell. But he's still a pretentious prick who got unfairly sucked off by the story and nowhere near as "deep" as his fans tout - he was just lucky to be the only character written with respect in the shitstorm that was S3.

Carmilla: 3/10. She's like Mephiles and Starline all rolled into one unlikable OC villain who only exists to paint Dracula in a bad light. She seems like a mastermind manipulator only because everyone around her lost IQ points exponentially. She became utterly irrelevant after S2 and had a grandiose death for nothing. She could have been much more, but this is what happens when a sexist pig writes a radfem villain.

Lenore: 1/10. That one point is because she had the potential to be an interesting, fleshed out antagonist with again an intriguing grey morality. But she had the misfortune of being written by a hack who can't give his characters a consistent personality and a sex pest with a clear dommy mommy fetish, so she became rape apologism bait and now she pisses me off at sight :D

The Lesbians: who?/10. Waste of good character designs. At least Striga was used for Berserk bait.

The Japanese not-twins: 0/10. Completely pointess torture porn fodder.

St. Germain: 8/10 in S3, 5/10 in S4. Pretty enjoyable in his first appearance, and surprisingly faithful to the game counterpart in spirit. I didn't even mind his descent into villainy, in theory. But let's just say that his motivation is... lacking. and hilarious.

Death: fuck/10. He's the ShTH of NFCV.

Richter: 6/10. Not too bad? I don't understand the hatred for him. He's perfectly inoffensive, if not bland. The only line that made me go "bruh" was him correcting the girls about the meaning of "fraternity" lol

Maria: 4/10. This is not a character. This is a parody of a communist teen on Twitter.

Annette: 1/10. As I said multiple times, she doesn't feel like a character, but as carefully engineered rage bait.

Tera: don't care/10.

Abbot: 4/10. I would care about his conflict more if he wasn't the stupidest man alive. Also his Devil Forging machine sucks ass.

Cecile: 3/10. Maybe don't teach your student that she is perfectly in the right in looking down her white French friends...?

Edouard: WHEN I'M LAID/10.

Olrox: 7/10. As for now, he's fairly interesting, mainly because of his intrigue. A bit too try hard, though.

Bara Agent Stone: bro really was shocked at the abbot having a child when he was happily sticking his dick in a male vampire/10

Sun Thundercat: 0/10. By far the worst villain I've ever seen in any kind of story.

Tiddied Isaac: 4/10. I would like her more for her unapologetic style (calling it "personality" is a stretch) if she didn't expose the sheer hypocrisy in the fandom :^)

[katiesautisms]

Ever hate something so much you develop a mini hyperfixation related to it?

Anyways heres a Minecraft fan fic I wrote :]

The air settles. The heat cools down to a frigid breeze after the spectacular battle. Purple eyes from the land's natives point to the now empty throne once belonging to a beautiful creature.

The man, wiping blood from dented armor, felt remorseful of the animal. Not because of her death nor her blood on his hands. No, but because he could tell she was in pain. Somewhere in this dark, cold dimension, the animal's soul moves on, free from the shackles once afflicted upon it.

The man takes notice of a newly opened portal where the dragon once stood. What lies beyond there? Is it home, or something else entirely? Something far beyond what his mind could comprehend? When entering this dimension, he knew very quickly there was no way out. Even before entering that dark, horrifying portal, the man knew that once he was in the abyss, it was his final stop, it would be the word right before the period.

With nothing else to lose or gain, the man closes his eyes and leaps into the newly opened gateway.

He opens his eyes to see himself in a dark, yet comforting plane. Pixels far and near float carelessly in the space, colored with teals and blues. Two massive celestial beings materialize in front of his eyes. They seem so far away, but they still take up the man's entire field of vision. One is the same blue of a beautiful summer day, the other a green akin to the leaves of a thriving tree. One of them speaks.

"Welcome. We are happy to see you here."

It's voice was paradoxically horrifying, striking fear into his heart, but also disarming. The man's instincts told him these beings were safe, they can be trusted. The man listens, and the other one speaks.

"I am the god of creation, I was the one who created every color and soul you've seen. And you...you were created for a purpose. You've freed a tormented being from eternal imprisonment and gifted her with internal and external peace for the first time in her conscious being. But you are beyond all of that, are you not? You have blood, eyes, skin. You felt pain and you felt joy. You are alive, and you are more precious than a shining gem."

Its grateful and somewhat gloomy tone matched the stunning green that painted its body.

"And I am the god of dictation, I control what she created, I instruct it to do what it is supposed to do."

"It goes without saying you've done well. You've completed your purpose and then some. Well done."

Flat and emotionless, its voice was powerful. When this being spoke, it made it easy to fully understand every little word it said. The deep, seemingly endless blue that is her color, it matched as well. The god of creation spoke once more

"We are the gods that formed this world, we've seen its past and you are its present. Please do forgive us for bringing you here, but we wanted to see you up close, you're a result of so many beautiful lights and darks of this world."

"Perhaps there is something we can do for you. A question perhaps?"

The man thought to himself, trying hard to keep his comprehension of where he is in tact, he tried to think of a question to ask the two gods. Then it came to him, something he wanted to know ever since he suddenly blipped into existence. The man spoke up.

"I've wandered this world to hell and back, I've seen corpses that look like me rise to attack me, I've seen men in their villages live and trade peacefully. But I've also seen buildings long abandoned, traps made to keep others out. Please, please tell me, what happened to my people. Have I truly been alone this whole time?"

The man started to choke up, small tear formed in his eyes.

The gods' faces formed a somber expression.

The god of creation spoke apologetically, "Oh, dear, your people were a beautiful civilization. They've conquered the land you've set foot on..."

The god of dictation interrupts, "One day, a tragedy happened. And they were wiped clean off the surface of this world."

"What happened to them then? What took them all out? What could have possibly killed an entire civilization?" the man desperately screamed.

And they answered, their words striking ungodly fear into his soul, and into theirs as well. Their voice in unison echos in his mind, it doesn't make sense. It can't be true, an answer that should not even be in the realm of plausibility. The space around them turns into a monochromatic hue, greys and blacks emit a foreboding field as the gods repeat their answer:

"We don't know."

[luxmoogle]

ALRIGHT WASSUP I love your art style and am an art student so I know a little bit bout what makes art recognizable, (not an expert and definitely not good at remembering terms so don't act like this is some art bible) lemme tell you what I think makes your art recognizable and "lux".

First, you got your shape language. That would be what the other person was referring to as proportions. (Since we're talking about Sora, proportions is absolutely not a wrong word to use, but I'm going to talk about shapes specifically.) The cheek? Always the exact same little curve, same spot, the forehead is the same, which creates a head shape that is incredibly recognizable as you. The hair is also always the same, which may seem weird considering your drawing hair that's pre established but you have a very unique way of doing it. The shape of his lower hair on the back of his head especially stands out to me. His body is always the same type of lanky, you draw his arms and hands a very particular type of way. Overall, very recognizable and consistent.

The colors you use. Honestly, I don't even know how to describe this, and I literally took a class on colors. The only word I can think of is "surreal". They're usually very vibrant, but destaturated at the same time? Like you're taking vibrant colors and putting desaturated ones on top? Genuinely hard to describe. It is one of the most beautiful color jobs I've ever seen tho, and I'm not exaggerating. If you could explain I'd honestly love to try (read: steal) whatever technique you use. Also very consistent, even in the black and white photos. I think it's partially lighting but I digress.

The other person brought up your eyes, and that's probably one of THE most consistent parts of your art I notice. I'm not rly gonna go into detail, cause you said you worked on eyes a lot so I'm gonna just leave you to that honestly cause the eyes you draw are iconic imo. Beautiful. Stunning. Breathtaking. No notes just keep it up 🫡

Your lines (and the texture of the drawing) are specifically sketchy, like a very specific type of sketchy. I'm guessing it's the texture of the brushes you use, and it also makes it consistent and recognizable. This is probably one of the things that makes the black and white photos more recognizable as well, since they don't technically have colors to with with and, imo, that's one of the most recognizable parts of your art. The very specific shapes you use are about on par with the colors, with everything else gradually moving down the list.

So yeah. My mini essay on your art. I hope this helps you understand cause honestly? Your art is iconic. Gorgeous. Magnificent. I dream of drawing like you. Pls keep it up cause on god it brightens my day every time I see you post, art or no

I appreciate you taking the time to write out such a long and thoughtful post~! ❤️ This was a very interesting and fun read! I am in many ways completely blind to my own work. Unlike looking at someone else's work, it's very hard to distance myself far enough from my own to see it's prominent features.

For color I can I say I am aware of color theory and mostly follow a sensible routine of cool shadows and warm light points, things that are further away seem more blue etc. etc... But at some point while drawing/painting I do usually fall into adding and prodding the colors into a more impressionistic vibe and away from realism, mostly favoring cool toned colors and adding tones to places that they realistically shouldn't be, but they aesthetically please me, so.

Thank you for all the compliments, I've re-read this quite a few times now, but don't really know what to say besides a boring thank you~! This has left me a lot to ponder, and I'm very glad for your writing..!

Hope you have a wonderful rest of your day, take care~!❤️

[novamariestark]

Echoes, Fragments & Puzzle Pieces [B.B] [1/?]

Summary: You are a young woman, trying to live your life after captivity. You live in the shadows after escaping from an organisation known as The Syndicate, desperate to copy Hydra's work. You were to be their Winter Soldier but with added "bonuses". But, when opportunity knocks, will you answer it?

Warnings: none (I don't think), maybe indication of abuse. (Instead of Y/N I've put Lia, simply just to make it flow a bit better, but of course you can replace it with your name.)

Word count: 3256 (This one is longer than I intended so it'll be a mini-series)

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: eventual Bucky x reader

Part 2, Part 3,

The city's museum was usually a chill place to kill an afternoon—lots of old stuff, quiet corners, and enough space that nobody paid you much mind. You liked it that way. You were just another face in the crowd, easy to miss, easier to forget.

Wandering through an exhibit on ancient Greece, you stopped in front of a vase that showed a bunch of tiny warriors doing their battle thing. There was something about it that felt... loud. Like it was yelling at you through a megaphone, begging to be noticed.

Without thinking, you reached out and touched it. Bad idea.

Suddenly, the air fizzled like someone had cranked up the voltage, and the room got all twisty. The vase’s scene went high-def, the warriors popping out and doing their fighting dance right there in the middle of the museum. People around you gasped, their phones out, probably thinking this was some kind of flash mob deal.

But then, as quick as it started, the show stopped. The warriors went back to being boring old paint on pottery. Everyone was buzzing, looking around, trying to figure out what had just happened and who’d flipped the switch.

That's when your weird gift—or curse—kicked in and suddenly, you were about as noticeable as a piece of gum stuck under a park bench. You slipped through the crowd, who were too busy arguing about what they’d seen to remember the girl who’d started it all.

You were out in the cold air before the guards even made it to the empty spot where you had been standing a second ago. Your heart was doing the samba in your chest, and your head was full of questions with no answers. What the hell did I just do? I can’t believe it happened again.

After ducking out of the museum, your quick steps turned into a jog, then a full-blown sprint the moment your feet hit the pavement. The city was a living beast around you, and you melted into it, just another face in the late afternoon rush.

You didn’t stop until you reached your current hideout—a tiny, forgotten storage room above an old laundromat. The place smelt like fabric softener and rotten wood, but it was perfect.

You fumbled with the keys, your fingers still trembling. Inside, the room was just as you left it: small, cluttered with thrift store finds, and walls covered with a collage of drawings and photos—none of which were yours. You had hoped they’d trigger something, anything, about who you were. Who you used to be. So far, no luck.

You slumped onto the bed and let out a breath you didn't realize you’d been holding. The room was quiet, but your mind was loud.

Just as you were about to chalk up the day's craziness to yet another episode you’d rather forget, a knock came at the door. Three sharp taps, like the punchline to a joke you weren’t in on.

You froze. Nobody knocked in this place, mostly because nobody knew you were here. Slowly, you crept to the door and peered through the peephole.

On the other side stood a guy in a sharp suit with a face that screamed government agent or maybe vacuum cleaner salesman. Next to him, a woman with red hair and a look that said she could dropkick you without breaking a sweat. Definitely not salespeople.

You opened the door a crack, enough to be heard, not enough to be grabbed. "Can I help you?"

The man smiled, and it was a practiced thing, like he’d done it in front of a mirror. "Lia?" he asked, his voice smooth like a radio host's. "We need to talk."

The woman chimed in, her voice just as calm but carrying a weight that made you listen. "It's about what happened at the museum today. And it's about you."

Everything in you told you to slam the door, to run and never stop running. But something else, something tired of running and hiding, wanted to stay. Maybe they had answers. Maybe they could tell you who you really were.

So, you opened the door wider, stepped back, and let them walk in.

You moved towards the window; your body tensed for flight if it turned out these people were here to hurt you. As the quiet of your room settled back in around you, you studied your unexpected guests. Agent Coulson was giving you a kind of half-smile that seemed meant to reassure you, while Natasha looked like someone who didn't do much without a reason.

Natasha took a step forward, her eyes not just seeing you, but reading you, "We've been tracking incidents like the one at the museum for a while now," she said. "Unexplained phenomena. Memories made real. They've happened in cities across the globe—Paris, Cairo, Bangkok,”

Your heart skipped. You’d never thought much about how you ended up in those places. You just... went where you felt you needed to be, slipping onto planes and boats, always just out of sight, never questioned. No tickets, no passport, no problem. It was as if the world itself had forgotten you needed those things.

Coulson chimed in, "Your... talent, it's quite extraordinary. And it's brought you to our attention for a reason. We think you can be more than just a ghost moving through the crowds."

The words hit you harder than expected. A ghost—that's exactly what you’d felt like. A nobody. A nothing. Just someone on the run. Someone who didn’t have a home or a family at least not one you could remember. But these people—these Avengers? They were offering you a chance to be something more. What should you do?

Go or stay?

"We can help you," Natasha said, and it wasn't a question. "Help you control it, use it. You've been surviving, but you could be living. With us."

You looked between them, the offer hanging heavy in the air. You had spent so long hiding in plain sight, a part of you was screaming to keep it that way. Safe. Invisible. But another part—a part you’d buried deep long ago—wanted to step into the light, to be seen, to be somebody. To be loved.

Finally, you nodded. "I want... I want to understand," you said, the words a whisper but clear. "I want to remember."

Coulson’s smile turned genuine this time, and Natasha’s posture relaxed just a fraction. "Good," Natasha replied. "Because we start tomorrow. We'll teach you, train you. And maybe along the way, we'll find out where you've really come from."

Coulson reached out his hand, a card tucked between his fingers and you immediately recoiled. Natasha took the card from his hand and placed it on the table.

“It has the address on it,” she told you, keeping her distance from you, “Time too. Don’t be late,” she added walking out, Coulson following behind. He shot you a small, apologetic smile as he left.

***

After a night of tossing and turning, the dawn finally broke free and it was time to head out. Was this the start of your new life? Should you get your hopes up? Probably not. If you don’t, at least you won’t be disappointed.

After navigating the busy sidewalks and dodging psychotic cab drivers, you found yourself gazing up at the Avengers Tower, its glass facade reflecting the bustling city life below. It was massive, stretching up into the clouds like Jack’s beanstalk.

Taking a shaky breath, you stepped through the sliding doors. Your sneakers scuffed the gleaming floor of the Avengers Tower as you entered, your eyes darting up to the dizzying heights of the lobby's ceiling. The place was like a slice of the future, dropped right in the middle of New York City, all shiny metal and cool blue light.

You stood there for a second, feeling small and insignificant in the buzz of the place. People were everywhere, striding by, talking into earpieces, and tapping on tablets. Your heart thumped a nervous rhythm, but you squared your shoulders and took a step forward. No more hiding.

A man with a badge and a tie approached you with a business-like smile. "Lia?" His voice was smooth, practiced. He gestured toward the elevators with a sweep of his hand. "Right this way."

You rode up in silence, focusing on the numbers on the elevator panel climbing trying to distract yourself from the proximity of the stranger and the fact there was no escape. You felt the weight of the building above you, full of heroes and stories and now, maybe, a place for you too.

No. don’t get your hopes up. You told yourself.

The training floor was like stepping onto another planet. You hadn’t seen this much technology in an electronic store. It was all open space and moving parts, with areas marked out for fighting, climbing, and things you couldn't even hazard a guess at. High above, screens showed maps and data flickering past too fast for you to read.

Soon your gaze fell on Natasha, looking every inch the hero, you had seen on TV, but realer, somehow. "Glad you could make it," she said, and there was a thread of something like pride in her voice. You just nodded, forcing a small polite smile, “We’re gonna do some hand-to-hand combat, see what you can do. You okay with that?”

Not really, you thought, the last time you fought was for survival. Kill or be killed. You’d rather not have taken another life, but he left you no choice. But at least he deserved to die. There were others that didn’t. Others that died at your hand.

“Okay,” she murmured, the word barely making it out before being swallowed by the expanse of the room. It was a lie wrapped in a whisper.

Natasha nodded, sensing the tremor in your voice, the shadow of understanding passed over her eyes. "We'll take it slow," she assured, though you both knew that in combat, there's no such thing.

As you squared off, you could feel the ghosts of your past rising up, specters waiting to see if you’d fall back into your old patterns. But this was a new day, a new place, with rules you were still trying to understand. Here, you weren’t a weapon, but a lost soul seeking redemption—one carefully controlled move at a time.

Your practice session was in full swing when the heavy thud of boots drew your attention to the entrance, where you found the Avengers.

A tall blonde man led the pack, his presence commanding yet genial. He approached you with an easy stride, a congenial smile playing on his lips. "Hi, Lia. I'm Steve Rogers," he said, extending his hand in greeting.

The gesture, meant to be friendly, was a trigger. Your instincts, honed by too many betrayals and battles, kicked in. Your muscles tensed, your stance shifted, ready to move, to defend. You didn't see Captain America, the symbol of trust and bravery; you saw a potential threat, another combatant in the long line you had faced.

You recoiled sharply, stepping back and away from the offered hand. Steve's hand hung in the air. His smile faltered into a look of concern, and he slowly lowered his arm, taking a step back to respect your space. The reaction reminded him of what Bucky was like when he first arrived. The room filled with a tense silence, each Avenger processing the scene, recalibrating their approach.

"I... I'm sorry," You stammered, the words escaping you in a rush, "I didn't mean—"

Steve shook his head gently, cutting you off. "No need to apologize," he reassured you.

The other Avengers exchanged glances, their initial assessments of you now tinged with a new understanding. They saw not just a potential ally with valuable skills, but a person still grappling with the shadows of their past, still fighting a war within yourself that hadn't yet ended.

With the tension still hanging in the air like a thick fog. They didn't advance any further, but they continued their introductions, each mindful of your space.

Tony Stark, with his hands safely tucked away, gave a little wave from a distance. "Tony," he said simply, opting for a nod instead of his usual flamboyant welcome.

Bruce Banner offered a warm, empathetic smile, his hands clasped in front of him. "Bruce here. I know a thing or two about keeping a lid on it," he said with a gentle chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.

Clint Barton remained where he was, leaning against the wall with a friendly grin. "Clint."

Thor’s voice, always filled with a regal boom, softened slightly out of respect for you, "Thor of Asgard," he introduced himself with a small bow of his head rather than his usual enthusiastic handshake.

Bucky Barnes watched you with an understanding that came from shared experiences. He simply nodded, his introduction a quiet murmur. "Bucky."

As the Avengers took their places along the edge of the training area, Natasha turned back to you, her expression both understanding and focused. "Ready to keep going?" she asked, her tone suggesting you could stop at any moment if you felt uncomfortable.

You nodded, your breath steadying as you found your footing again. The session resumed with Natasha guiding you through a series of defensive moves, demonstrating and then watching as you mimicked them. Your movements were precise, almost too perfect, each one carried out with a fluidity that spoke of muscle memory ingrained from countless battles.

After the session, they gathered to discuss privately, leaving you to reflect on your performance and your past. Each member had an opinion about you, Steve voiced his impression first, noting your skill and potential. Natasha spoke of your control and focus. Tony, ever the skeptic, remained quiet, observing and calculating. Bruce empathized with your struggle for control, and Clint expressed his belief in your abilities. Thor saw a warrior's spirit, and Bucky, he saw a reflection of his own path to redemption.Top of Form

"I know what it's like to be on the outside, to not know if you can control what you've become. She needs this. We might be the only ones who can help her." Bucky added, his voice steady and sure.

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I get it. She's special, mysterious, but we're not a charity. We can't keep picking up strays." He added, he looked over to Bucky, “No offence, Robo-Cop,”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “I think we should give her a chance,” There were nods and a few "hmms" of agreement.

Tony was still on the fence and Nat rolled her eyes, “You can afford it,”

Tony shot her a mock glare, but the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. "I suppose the Tower can house one more," he conceded, a begrudging warmth seeping into his voice, “There’s a spare room beside Wanda,”

Natasha found you where they'd left you, still on the training mat, now sitting you’re your knees pulled up to your chest, lost in thought. You looked up as Natasha approached, your guard visibly rising again.

Natasha didn't waste time with pleasantries. "You're in," she said, her voice carrying a firmness that left no room for doubt. "Welcome to the Avengers."

The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy with promise and uncertainty. Your face remained guarded, but a flicker of something—relief, perhaps, or cautious hope—passed over your features, "Thank you," you said, your voice almost a whisper.

Natasha gestured for you to follow. "Come on. I'll show you to your room."

You walked in silence as she led you to a room not far from the main living area. "This will be your space," she said, opening the door to a room that was simple and clean, with a bed, a desk, and a window that looked out over the city, “I know it’s bare but you can decorate it how you want,”

You stepped inside tentatively, your eyes taking in every detail of the room. It was more than you’d expected, a place of your own within this fortress of heroes. "It's perfect," you said, allowing yourself a small smile as you ran your fingers over the smooth fabric of the bedspread.

Natasha leaned against the doorframe as your eyes floated around the room, she spoke up softly as not to startle you, “Dinner is in an hour, it’s pizza night, any preference?”

“Cheese is okay,” you replied, not wanting to be awkward and order something too extra.

“Okay, we usually eat all together but I can bring it up and you can eat in here if you prefer,” she offered, you nodded, but something in her face showed that she already knew what your decision would be. She gave you a nod and a smile before closing the door to give you privacy.

Your eyes left the closed door and started scanning the room again. The walls were a soft shade of cream, bare and waiting for a personal touch. You weren’t sure you had. It had a bed, neatly made with crisp white linens and a sturdy desk sat patiently against one wall.

But the big window was what really caught her eye. It was huge, like a giant TV screen showing the live bustle of the city below. She could see the tiny cars and people moving down there, all busy and rushing around, unaware of the girl who watched from above.

You went up to the window and pressed your hands against it. It felt cool and a little bit thrilling to see everything from up so high.

This room was a new start, a blank page. But even with the excitement, you couldn't shake off the jitters in your belly. You were scared of getting hurt again, scared of someone turning on you. Scared of turning into the thing you hated most. The killer that was planted within you. This place was safe, they said, but you’d heard that before.

Hugging yourself, you tried to imagine being part of all that life below. The room felt like a cozy nest, but you were like a bird that wasn't sure how to fly yet. One who had forgotten how to.

As the sun started to set, the sky turned all kinds of pretty colors, and lights began twinkling on in the buildings and streets. Maybe one day, you thought, one of those lights would feel like home to you.

For tonight, you were just a girl with a new room, looking out at the city and feeling a mix of hope and worry. Tomorrow you’d start figuring out how to fit into this new life. But right now, you were okay just watching and waiting, high above the quiet city that was slowly going to sleep.

An hour later, there was a soft knock on your door. You opened it to see Natasha, who remained on the other side of the threshold, a respectful distance away, holding a pizza box. The aroma of melted cheese hinted at the contents, “Here's your cheese pizza,”

You took the box, feeling the warmth from the bottom seep into your hands. “Thanks,” she replied, her stomach rumbling in response.

Natasha gave you a quick nod. “Enjoy,” she said, and then she was gone, leaving you alone with your pizza and the view of the city lights below.

[A/N] the song I listened to writing this 😂

[divineerdrick]

Warhammer 40,000 Reveals from the Dallas Open

So I actually did watch this "live" but I was too wiped to do anything with it. I swear there's something going on in this house! Everyone is sick again! Either way, as I mentioned, I was just planning on doing the WarCom articles. Still, another one for the "Not So Live Blog" file.

Without further ado, let's look at some miniatures, including some mini miniatures! Anyone want to guess what I'm most excited about?

Adepta Sororitas

Canoness with Jump Pack

So, I could go on for a bit about how graceless the legs in the pose look for the angelic figure this Canoness is supposed to cut. I could talk about how the face sculpt just doesn't get to the intense focus I think they were going for. I could talk about how there's something up with how she's holding that flamer.

But, here's the thing. While this is the miniature they feature in the trailer, this kit has options. And, well . . .

Seriously, GW. Just because the 'Eavy Metal team decided to paint that first one up as Our Martyred Lady, doesn't mean you couldn't have gone with the far superior piece. And it doesn't stop here!

Like I said, options. My initial impression may have been a bit let down, but all and all this is a great kit. Even on the first model, I still love the posing on the power sword. So you can definitely make an awesome character with this.

Army of Faith

I've already seen some grumblings about this, and I honestly understand them. This launch box feels pretty underwhelming with a total of 17 miniatures, 15 from the same split kit. It's an oddball one for sure. About the only good thing I can say is that if you've only been collecting discount boxes, you could probably use these models. That and the Exorcist is pretty awesome. Still, I'm hoping they won't be selling this for the same price as the other launch boxes.

The Codex

I actually really like this cover, though I wish it showed more of an army. The Sororitas are badass warrior nuns, and that's what this cover says they are. Probably my favorite of the 10th Edition covers so far.

However, here's another Codex where GW appears to have struggled to come up with viable playstyles for the army. Like T'au Empire, this Codex will only include four detachments.

The Combat Patrol

With exception of Leviathan, the Ultimate Starter Set, and the regular Starter Set . . .

Seriously! Never buy Combat Patrol: Space Marines or Combat Patrol: Tyranids! It costs less to buy a Starter Set and the missing unit, and that's before you include all the other miniatures that come in the box!

. . . the only Combat Patrol that has been a comparable deal to those in the past is Combat Patrol: Adeptus Custodes. But as far as a small force of miniatures to paint up and put on the table, I really like this one. I do wish it had a centerpiece miniature beyond the Canoness, but it's still a great little box. It's just too expensive for what it offers.

I know Sisters players were probably hoping for more, their army could legitimately use some fleshing out. But this seems to be the edition of new character sculpts.

And speaking of armies that could use more actual units . . .

Genestealer Cults

GSC relies extremely heavily on only a handful of actual unit Datasheets, while we try to juggle all the character options available to us. So of course we're getting another character to try to fit into our army.

Broodmind

I'm not gonna lie. I unabashedly love this. I love when the 40K team goes over the top with these sculpts. I was absolutely smitten by the AdMech Stilt Man. And I'm falling over myself to get one of these. Apparently they're going to be the GSC equivalent of a Zoanthrope. Well if it's properly stat'd we could definitely use the anti-armour.

Again, I just would have really appreciated it if they gave us another useful unit or vehicle. Why couldn't our new anti-armour piece have been like a big portable mining unit or something?

The Codex

And we go from a win to a fail. All this cover says is that the army consists of alien hybrids. There's nothing about this cover that speaks to the character of the army or how they actually fight.

We are getting five detachments though, putting us on par with Necrons. This honestly makes more sense to me. We just don't have the unit variety to support a large number of playstyles. I just hope our version of the Outrider detachment is good, so I can get my Mad Max themed army started.

Biosantic Broosurge

This just feels like the meatier of the two announced Battleforces. It's not actually that many more models, but the fact it includes 10 Neophytes, 10 of the new Genestealers, a second character, and two vehicles puts a lot more actual value in the box. Though I think this is still pretty wimpy when compared to past Battleforces.

Combat Patrol

If the previous Combat Patrol hadn't been such a great resource for starting the faction, this would be a complete win for me. I like the flavor of the force presented. The miniatures included are some of my favorites. And I'm pretty sure the potential value of this kit is one of the higher of the new Combat Patrols . . . or it would be if these kits weren't so overpriced. This also isn't a very substantial force as far as starting an army goes. According to Auspex Tactics its 395 pts.

Again, I love the new character! But we need more units! I know there are other armies that are in desperate need of either refreshes or just more units (I see you Votann and World Eaters). But seriously, we already have more characters than we have actual units.

Horus Heresy - Mechanicum

Speaking of new units and models!

I am all about this!

Thrallax

I love me my big stompy robots, and the forces of the Mechanicum are absolutely filled with them!

Adsecularis Tech-thralls

I'm not as much into these guys, but that's not because they're bad sculpts. They fit the theme absolutely perfectly! A Dark Mechanicum force fielding a mass of these as high-tech zombies would be wicked! That just not the kind of force I want to play. Again, I'm all about character in my villains.

Triaros Armoured Conveyor

And this has character! It's like someone took a fancy steam punk depiction of a locomotive engine and turned it into a tank. This just oozes style!

Castellax Battle-automata

Then we get two more, even bigger, stompy robots! Again, I just love everything about these. I love how they blend retro-futuristic with the AdMech aesthetic we all know and love. I love that they're armed with functional tools in addition to big guns. I love that they have that skull just sitting there in the center of their torso.

Thanatar-Cavas Siege-Automata

Then we get our biggest and stompiest robot! Well, at least until you start fielding Knights . . . Everything I said about the Castellax applies to this bad boy. But man! Look at that gun! Look at how beautifully realized that sci-fi cannon is! You could easily see something like that in a summer blockbuster.

Archmagos Prime

Finally we have our Archmagos. And while I don't like this as much as the robots and the Triaros, it's still a win. I especially love how all the overwrought craftmanship of the Crusade Era Imperium is on full display here. The only miss is maybe the stave. It feels a bit more Necron than Mechanicum to me. But if you're using this miniature as part of a Dark Mechanicum force, including some forbidden Xenos tech definitely works.

All the disappointment of the 40K reveals is gone! This box and these new miniatures look awesome! It makes me wish I had the money and time to add another tabletop game into my collection.

Legions Imperialis

It felt like they really breezed through this in the reveal show, the bulk dedicated to the 40K reveals and the pleasant surprise waiting at the end. But Legions is marching through its campaign books like all the Heresy Era stuff tends to. We're leaving Beta-Garmon behind and we're on to Tallarn.

The Devastation of Tallarn

Considering the intended scale of these battles, I wish the cover was a bit further away from the action and showing just the scope of these forces.

Wow! This article kind of breezes by a bit too! They really don't put as much love here as they did in Heresy. I know these are mostly miniaturized versions of some of our favorite Heresy models, but these artists really have done some great work. It feels a bit wrong to not let it breathe a bit.

Sabre Strike Tank and Sicaran Arcus and Punisher

Between these two chassis we have the two competing armoured ideologies of the Legions. Put more guns on it verses put a bigger gun on it! I especially love how in the Sabre chassis we can see some of the heritage of the Land Raider. I really enjoy it when the team keeps those throughlines.

Leman Russ Variants

I really like just how solid these older Leman Russ look. It gives that whole vibe of "They don't make 'em like they used to!" that plays so well into the respective themes of each setting.

With that over too quick segment, we're returning to the 41st Millennium and our final reveal.

Necromunda

Necromunda: Hive Secundus

We're getting an new box for a new setting! We're leaving behind Hive Primus to explore the bombed out ruins of Hive Secundus for wealth and glory!

Orrus Spyre Hunters

After catching us up on the current narrative, we're introduced first to these glory seeking young elites. I love how the Spyre suits have such a Xenos feel to them, both demonstrating what is needed to infiltrate Hive Secondus while also showing how little the elites of Necromunda care for the taboos of the Imperium. They've got some really cool design to them, giving me some almost Sentai vibes.

Van Saar Tek Hunters

The Van Saar gangers also have a very Xenotech vibe too them, in keeping with their mercenary attitude. But this is all about money for them. They're going to use whatever means are necessary to secure the valuable tech left behind in those ruins. And they're going to need it . . .

Malstrain Genestealers

Just look at them! I don't care that the Malstrains aren't supposed to be the same efficient infiltrators and predators Purestrains are. You would not want to meet any of these in the daylight, let alone the twisted corridors of an underhive.

Malstrain Genestealers gets you some Malstrain Cultists too.

I just love everything about this box. It feels like Necromunda meets Space Hulk. And I'm so here for it!

Final Thoughts

In all honestly, I'm not actually that upset about the lack of 40K reveals. Yes, GSC and Sisters really do both need some new units and tech, and the changes to GWs pricing and boxsets does not bode well. Wherever possible make your voice constructively heard. And if you can live without these weaker boxsets or new models, definitely vote with your dollar.

But there's still exciting things happening in other ranges, and I'm glad GW is no longer so focused on 40K that its not willing to slow the releases down so it can get us new miniatures, games, and campaigns for their other settings. I'm not sure if I'm going to buy the new GSC Battleforce. I'll probably pick up the Combat Patrol . . . eventually. Like I said, if I can get a little more headway on my mountain of projects, I want to make a Mad Max themed GSC force. And I'll need the Jackals, Trucks, and Ridgerunners. But I'm not expecting that Combat Patrol to go anywhere until 11th Edition. So for now, I might be content not adding to my pile of shame.

Except I need that Necromunda set! I will totally rush out and grab that one. It's fun, it's creative, and I'm here for it!