#he just gets a rock and get some metal and just modify it to become a dagger or a blade

[hauntingmiser]

MERMAY DAY XIX

MERMAN PIRANHA ELECTRIC EEL INCOMING!

Fun fact : ever since he moved to freshwater Inaba he has been babysitting nanako so she won't be alone anymore but when he was swimming around somewhere near the bottom of the freshwater sea he noticed a dead mermaid corpse reaking of radiation near crystals and it smelled bad

like really bad.

disgusted, he swam back home because the smell was unbearable and told dojima about this and he was kind of shocked because he saw another corpse at the near bottom of a freshwater trench and as the months go by the fog grew and grew and many corpses were increasing to have radiation in their system and mutating at a rapid state

yosuke told him about saki being missing before her corpse was found by yu so he created the investigation team to make sure to find out who the mf is contaminating his side of the ocean for everyone's sake

but he fears that the fog will contaminate the saltwater side of the sea next and all of the oceans will be contaminated with foggy radiation

He hopes that his group can put an end to the fog and keep the population of merfolks safe

[helix-enterprises117]

Halo Reloaded: Master Chief & more about Spartans

Born and raised on Eridanus-II, John Downes was the son of bioengineers and gardeners, who wanted to genetically modify Earth-plants to be sustainable on other planets (everyone, up until this point, had just been using the indigenous plants from the alien worlds they colonized); up until he was taken into the Spartan Program, John attended a school known as "The Reach For Life Foundation," a prestigious upper-class school (that was created on Reach before expanding out to the rest of the galaxy) designed to turn all of it's students into the next generation of pioneers, colonizers and explorers who will bring life into the uncharted reaches of space. Humanity came in contact with The Covenant in the year 2511. The Spartan Program saw production in 2517; most of the Spartans were born in the year 2528, while John Downes was born in the year 2530. That two year gap may as well have been a chasm between him and his brothers-&-sisters-in-arms. But, like in canon, the main reason why John was chosen despite being everyone's junior was because he still exhibited the exact same unique genetic-markers that all of the others do. With John being the youngest, he's needed to prove himself to the others by working and training thrice as hard as everyone else; his angst comes from the fact that, because he's the youngest, he's the most generic one of the group. He's not the fastest (that's Kelly), not the strongest (that's Samuel), not the biggest (that's Jorge), the best combatant (Fred), the best at weaponry (Vannak), the best at demolitions (James), the best shot (both Linda & Kai, who are rivals to each other, beat John out), the smartest (Riz), the best pilot (Daisy), the best at technology (Joshua), the one with the best intuition (Kurt), or the most charismatic leader (Jerome); he's only really impressive in comparison to the standard marine, this angst he faces is something he later comes to accept as he gets older. He eventually embraces his status as 'The Generic One' and becomes the Jack-of-all-trades, the one everyone can lean on for just about anything; the "Swiss-Army Spartan," if you will. They all got augmented, and the rest is history; but it wasn't until Operation SILENT STORM, the Spartans' FIRST mission as Spartans, where John was given the rank of "Master Chief Petty Officer," the highest rank a non-commissioned serviceman in the Navy can attain; he even got his first metal, "The Purple Heart," after he got shot on the line of duty (and survived, obviously). When he was a kid, before being inducted, John had discovered an ancient Forerunner rock (not that anyone knew what it was) that had almost possessed him; his obssession over it resulted in his father forcing John to bury the drawings he made of it in the backyard. The training and conditioning of the Spartan Progran, while not designed to brainwash anyone, did result in John repressing any memory of the rock. In the present (2552), John had discovered a similar rock during an extraction mission on Biko, which brought a terrifying wave of memories back to him; this drives him to rediscover the rock he found as a kid back on Eridanus-II, in cave beneath the abandoned ruins of his father's old Solar-Paneled Garden Field. After some back and forth battles between The UNSC and The Covenant, John is quick to deduce that the rock he found on Biko is a keystone to the artifact that he found as a kid; with two rocks joined together, they create a starmap that leads to the one thing The Covenant had been after this entire time: Halo.

Spartans are much younger here than in canon, being in their early 20s as opposed to being in their 50s like in the show and the games. Their youth, combined with their less traumatizing upbringing, makes them more colorful in their personalities (still professional and their canon personalities are about the same, but they're less sociopathically brusque and terse like in-canon). Super-Soldiers in media are usually portrayed with two major qualities: Extreme Aggression and Complete Obedience. They're designed to be ruthless killers, desensitized to violence, who are more aggressive than the average soldier, as they are more than willing to make the hard-choices and will not stop until their opponents are dead ("They [Spartans] just... keep killing. Until there's nothing. Left. To kill... You in or out?" - Angus; Halo, Season 1 - Episode 1) and the battle is won. As for complete obedience? Well, that's self-explanatory; they are happiest when given an order and only do what's asked of them ("Good soldiers follow orders." - Crosshairs; The Bad-Batch). The Spartans as seen in Halo Reloaded are the opposite. They're trained in: Lateral Thinking, Improvisation and Freestyling. They're very creative, on and off the field, people who are capable of salvaging a busted plan and thinking on their feet in the midst of high-stress situations; which is precisely why they're so good at their jobs, BECAUSE they're not dependant on the word of their superiors. They're less an army of Robocops and moreso an army of Captain Americas. John himself, particularly in his later years at 22, is a more "Commander Shepard' type of person: Swashbuckling, noble, still emotionally guarded but far less traumatized, charismatic (again not as much as Jerome) and often goes with the flow. He's still much more brusque and aggressive in comparison to the other more lively Spartans (the others often call him "the mean one"), but he's still as nice and compassionate as he's always been.

@ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask

@mrtobenamedlater

@killer-orca-cosplay

@biomecharnotaurus

@authortobenamedlater

[boomclowntown]

Havik Head canons from someone who hasn't played MK1 yet.

When Havik gives kisses, he's just nipping whatever part of your face he's *kissing* with this teeth.

Prefers an autumn color pallet, takes a lot of comfort in warm tones.

Prefers silvers, learned it's a metal that tends to represent working and lower class citizens on earth and liked that symbolism.

Trophies luxuries he's found from the oppressors he's killed/conquered, sometimes gifts those same luxuries to his own people after modifying them, so that they aren't caught with those goods and falsely accused.

He approached the concept of Anarchy and non-hierarchical governments with sincerity at some point but became desperate as his protests continuously failed under Seido's oppression and ruthless militaristic responses to it. At the expense of many protestors lives and his own experiences, any concept of government began to prove untrustworthy.

Some of the reason he clings to chaos has more to do with being berated by the oppressors, trying to incite division within his protest by falsely titling him as a zealot. Havik became disillusioned with his effort to persevere over the oppressors cruelty, and just decided to become the thing he was always painted to be in the media. Leaning into chaos as a method of combat incited the fear in his oppressor that he needed to make them buckle and made his protest methods ruthlessly unpredictable. it very quickly became more difficult for Seido's Leaders to take advantage of what arguable few followers he has left because of this change, Seido's Leaders could no longer bank on Havik's empathy for his own people or whatever sympathy he had for those unknowingly benefitting from the oppressive system...

Johnny tried to be buddies with Havik at some point and sent him an earth realm, punk playlist on cassette w/ a walkman. Granted, as a celebrity, Johnny only really understands punk at a surface level, so the punk rock he sends Havik tends to be old school and quite popular, with titles like Iggy pop, stooges and rancid. One could even say some artists he shared weren't technically punk, regardless, Havik loves listening to it. Johnny chose to send Havik a cassette player for aesthetic reasons, but also bc he's introducing outworld Kombatants to earth realm technology in little bits at a time.

Havik has broken, picked at, ripped and shredded pieces of himself off and re-healed it over again to get certain scars to look more aesthetically pleasing to himself. He sees his self mutilation as a form of expression, in the same way some one might dye their hair or pierce their nose.

Loves grunge punk and denim jeans.

He breaks his bones at the joints alot trying to crack them bc he always has the feeling of needing to crack his joints but they just won't.

Breath smells bad bc he doesn't brush his tongue when he cleans his teeth. Also just heals his cavities.

Prefers candle light and sunlight to overheads.

[the-firebird69]

It's good to hear from you he says but I need to go outside and stuff I get that but we have a problem it is that there are two rambunctious no these people need out and when he has he has to show you but that's OK. Now I get it but still I have a business ideas and their recession proof ones. Need necessities and we need companies opened we need to take them over and we should focus on them like we are supposedly sewer and water we need to do it.

Hera

We do have those projects coming up and we are starting them and it's very big and we go through a bunch of stuff to make sure everything's right you're right we need to get it going and necessity companies are great idea we really don't have a choice we're going to launch a major project in that ave and we will call it necessity products and it's part of the rejuvenation program you know salvation and that would be like number two number one is food and water and healthy living and housing well actually it's up there with number one so we're gonna make that program bigger and combine it and have big meetings and that will get it going it will be part of the steering committee and we need action today on a lot of it we need people to show initiative too and we need testing on all of it including automobiles. Idea for kiit is approved cars It's a kit car idea and it's in the Midwest the original owner has abandoned it there's not a ton of equipment there but there's the facilities and the molds and all the engineering and instructions and we'll simplify some of it one of them works OK. When is the company is there and we use it. and it is Factory Five and thier main production plant. the hq is in waltham and not for long are leaving.we tak it and have psuedo emire foot the bill. inhabit it then.

The Built, Not Bought Company - Factory Five Racing

This company makes a lot of frames it's a waste of time the frames are not good we're going to immediately start making kits using new chassis and full fully built and we're going to open a branch for making kit cars. Then we will make vehicles that make sense doesn't make sense to make a pickup truck maybe an international harvester and out of metal and on a 4 wheel drive small truck chassis.. Have a lot of ideas like that but there are several companies

CAROLINA VAYDOR

The above company Carolina Vader has become ours they're manufacturing was in the Midwest we have the factory they can sit there and order stuff from us that's fine and we'll trace it I will go out and take it from them. They like it that's what we do anyways. They haven't found any of us and this song about the G6 is about that and they're saying that they rock and they can do stuff and we'll think they're Chinese and we'll back off. But now we're mixed race here and they know how to identify pretty quick. There are some things about this company they only build one car but that's true but we're going to use many chassis not just 11 of the chassis will be the G6 because it's fast. With this particular body it would be one inch shorter no it just modify it and have a separate mold and all different parts yes. As a drop on it is really fast and our son wants to build one and wants these people out of the way so he can and we wanted to build a Vader it's a concept. It's really us it's really you it's wonderful. Smooth just like Jaegermeister. It's true too it makes your gut feel funny but that's what we need. and we're going to also make a Vader for the Mustang and the Camaro it's too small for the other vehicles. And there's a few more

GT-R — Superlite Cars

RCR 40 (Mk I & Mk II) — Race Car Replicas (race-car-replicas.com)

We are in the possession of these companies and If they want stuff they should order it and we're waiting and we haven't gotten any orders they'll probably call like mad and we're not answering. We don't want them to because they screw around with everything and nothing happens at all it's a waste of time doing with these people at the end of a three day process we end up killing them all and he says well why don't we start the process then we're going to do that so call up and try and order and fake it and all this other crap you don't send the money or not going to get them. We're going to build these kick cars with the way they build them is with a frame and we're not going to do that we build them with a roll cage in the chassis from a donor car because we have so many cars and it takes so less time we're going to pump out trillions of these to anybody who's smart enough to figure it out daniel I think and his is Michael too I think and Justin and Ken he wants to Ford and she says go for it and he knows how and he ends up devastating them and taking it over and he gets them and our son wants to build one and just wind that car for a long time. And says why don't you build it with me so I'm gonna bring home my little helper from Comic Con is there a spindex playing card suit on and she's smiling and saying that's probably how and you get to lift the engine that's good it has to be moved and I have a cherry picker rental that's great. So we are going to go ahead and she and he want to build one and he says if it's too fast and it's illegal for me I can sell it for a lot of money. A lot of people want the car to do stupid things with and it's programmic. She says that's good I hope it's a new word. I better stop that they're getting angry. True to the getting angry at me too. It's exciting these cars are exciting this is an exciting time but we will build them differently and they'll be built a lot faster and they'll have reinforcing kids to come with them although the frames they build now are terrible and they don't build any. So it's up to them if they want to lose the business.

There are several more kit car companies that we are acquiring

Home - Saleen

The above is an awesome automobile there are kick car is fair and we wanna make one on the Camaro and the firebird that are longer there's a ton of them out there no they're old there is the Corvette and people will do it for this car if the kit is accepted but we'll start with a 400 horsepower higher quality sedan and add in suspension package. And we have started out and so have the guys. Other people of other countries have kit cars they want. They actually might be easier to do if you send them here to California and people like that idea some of them are quite famous some of them are Chinese replicas of other cars like Ferrari and they make a lot of them no they could they're acquiring kit car companies over there. That's another approach. But we wanna get our chassis out here and they wanna get their chassis out of there so they made hang on to their replicas of their own cars that they make and keep making them. This is a great idea this project is gonna go ahead sometime this week we're getting it organized. We have the factories we are according them off cleaning them up getting out of contamination and devices and things that they put in there out and we are testing everywhere and repairing construction items broken walls and concrete and by the time we're done that it will be time to start putting the tools and equipment in and materials and start production. And we're gonna make a lot of them and we're gonna start now. And the reason is that these are in city areas there are people there and they're fighting these morons and they will make them for their people and send them out and that's what's happening in The Sopranos they're trying to intercept in this big fight all the time. They're also fighting chassis and bodies that are sent out for assembly. Tons of them will be sent shortly and the fight will be rocked it's part of the Revolutionary War issue and it was happening because out of Springfield there was sending arms to their own and the Pseudo Empire was fighting them on it.

Thor Freya

Olympus

Zues Hera

[tisthenightofthewitch]

The story behind the song: Dance Macabre by Ghost

"What I’ve tried to do is make Ghost a little more Queen than AC/DC,” Tobias Forge says, of the ambitious menagerie of sounds of his band’s 2018 album Prequelle. “I don’t mind a good rock banger at all, but with Ghost every song has to have its own clear idea and structure.

"What I expanded on in Infestissumam and Meliora was that a Ghost song is not necessarily something that just starts with a big guitar intro. With Ghost you can do pretty much anything.”

He pauses, before adding with a smile: “I’m a little rock opera with my music.”

By this point the hitherto ‘secret’ (but not really) identity of frontman Papa Emeritus (reborn as Cardinal Copia, but more on that in a moment) was officially out. A lawsuit involving former bandmates accelerated Forge’s decision to ‘unmask’. Come 2018 and the release of fourth Ghost album Prequelle – with a new band – and the spotlight moved to the songs themselves.

They didn’t disappoint, least of all Dance Macabre. Classic Rock’s album review said it was “a pure 80s rock-club banger that’s as audacious as it is glorious”. If Europe revisited The Final Countdown, with Satan, and swapped some (but not all) of the synths for guitars, this could have been the result.

Warmly embraced by the metal world, despite being about as un-metal as ABBA, Dance Macabre defied heavy music conventions and nailed one of the most irresistible choruses of the century. Like Iron Maiden, Marilyn Manson and Slipknot before them, Ghost have become one of those rare bands for whom a new album is so much more than a new album. It’s an event, a chance for fans who’ve waited with baited breath to see what new imagery, storytelling and feats of showmanship await them.

In the way only the best bands manage, it seemed that just as we were starting to get used to the Ghost formula, Tobias had fucked with it spectacularly.

“I’ve always tried to make things hard for myself,” he says with a sly grin. “Instead of just doing big, blunt commercial statements, I’m trying to do things in a more cinematic way. If we just continued with Papa to Papa to Papa to Papa, that would grow very boring.”

If this talk of Papas and secret identities has thrown you, here’s a brief explanation. Pre-Prequelle, Ghost’s frontman had always taken the form of Papa Emeritus, a corpse-painted, Pope-like figure delivering sermonic odes to life, love, death, sex and Satan on behalf of the mysterious Clergy, backed on stage by hooded, anonymous musicians known as the Nameless Ghouls. Each new album meant a ‘new Papa��� with a modified new look.

Then, just in time for Prequelle, things changed with the arrival of the more youthful, agile Cardinal Copia. Dressed in a black cassock, his sunken, haunted eyes peeking out from under his biretta, and sporting the kind of villainous ’tache that would have Dick Dastardly twiddling with glee, Cardinal Copia is part Monty Python, part medieval nightmare; the kind of character who perfectly occupies the murky space between camp showmanship and gothic horror that Ghost have inhabited since day one.

In short, he’s the personification of Prequelle, of which Dance Macabre is the ultimate drug that metalheads, rockers and pop fans alike just can’t resist. In the run-up to the album’s release, its gleaming, musical theatre-rivalling refrain of ‘Just wanna be, wanna bewitch you!’ was the one that everyone in the Louder offices sang at some point.

For Forge, being recognised as a shadowy, face-painted lothario, rather than his actual trendy Swedish 30-something self, feels comfortable for the time being. “I will never be able to outshine my characters,” he says. “And I’m fine with that. I am quite happy not being the main visual aspect of the creation. I would like to take credit, in as much as I’m responsible for it happening, but I don’t have to be the focal point.”

CLASSIC ROCK 

[mizgnomer]

Excerpts from the SyFy Wire & Film School Rejects interviews with Claire Anderson, the Emmy-nominated costume designer for Good Omens:

[ Film School Rejects - by Ciara Wardlow]  “I worked through it with gut reaction images. So, two guys. Two guys, kind of close, nearly in love, if you like,” she said. “I just went in and we had a really big, very open conversation about how you related to these people in the script and how we would make them real and plausible, but give them a fantasy element. Give them something otherworldly.”

While Anderson says that she ultimately took this approach with more or less all of the characters, mixing period and modern elements to give characters somewhat timeless, yet also somewhat fantastical “out of time” looks, in the early discussion stages it was all about Aziraphale and Crowley. For one thing, Sheen and Tennant were already cast, which was a major help in determining their looks. It took some time to settle on the duo’s main, contemporary looks, but once these were locked in they played a significant role in determining everything else they wore.

[...] Aziraphale maintains a look with significant nods to the late Victorian era. Crowley too, although he manages to put an edgier twist on things than his angelic contemporary. “We re-appropriate bits of period stuff so that it echoes. [Aziraphale and Crowley] echo one another in their visual identity with pieces from their past—where they’ve touched each other in the past perhaps, or bumped into each other.” Regarding how Crowley manages to keep more of a modern, cool vibe, Anderson gives David Tennant’s performance the lion’s share of the credit. “He’s a very nice man, but he’s very sexy. He brought all of that swagger, that rock star, snake-hipped sexiness, and we built on that.”

[ SyFy Wire - by Jennifer Vineyard] GARDEN OF EDEN, 4004 B.C. -  Anderson looked at everything from Pre-Raphaelite paintings to Al Pacino’s hippie clothes in Serpico to determine just the right flow for Aziraphale’s rough-hewn robe, which has gold embroidery on the shoulders and side. Aziraphale is also wearing a golden ring, which later becomes a signet ring stamped with wings in the Victorian era.

NOAH'S ARK, MESOPOTAMIA, 3004 B.C. - “As aged as I am, I wasn’t there,” Anderson says, laughing. “And there wasn’t any painting or documentation from this era. But what we do know is that tunics remained pretty simple, and the earlier shape would have served them well for many years.” Aziraphale’s robe becomes more streamlined, and he wears gold beads at the neck.

THE CRUCIFIXION, GOLGOTHA, 33 - By this time, both Aziraphale and Crawley — now Crowley — are wearing turbans and head wraps, which Anderson attributes to “a bit of vanity.” Plus the wrap helps Crowley conceal his snake-like eyes (it’s too soon for glasses). Aziraphale dons a soft leather coat over his tunic, while Crowley wears female attire of the region — an abaya.

ROME, 41 -  Switching from tunics to togas was difficult, since togas contain 6 to 12 meters of fabric, which is a lot to carry around on camera. Anderson reduced the size by cutting the togas to fit for the character’s movements, and she gave each actor a thematic decorative pin to hold their togas together — Crowley a serpent and staff, Aziraphale a pair of wings (both courtesy of George Easton at Danegeld Historic Jewellery). Although history might argue that it’s too soon for sunglasses, Crowley starts to shield his eyes with a very small, eye-shaped lens. “It’s suggestive, rather than historically accurate,” Anderson says. And as a sign that Crowley is adapting to the humans around him, he also wears a silver laurel wreath.

ARTHURIAN ENGLAND, THE KINGDOM OF WESSEX, 537 - Anderson sent character descriptions and visuals for Aziraphale and Crowley to armor specialist FBFX, which sent a van to London full of pieces that could work for angelic and demonic armor. Instead of focusing on historical accuracy, Anderson looked for shapes and fit that suggested an ethereal — or snakelike — quality, once the pieces had been painted black or silver. For Crowley, she found a helmet that had a smaller face that could suggest a snakehead, and for Aziraphale, shoulder pieces that were slightly wing-like. To add to the wing effect, Anderson added a white fur caplet to Aziraphale’s armor. “It was terribly grand, but not very practical,” she says. “And the poor guys, it was murderously uncomfortable to stand around in that armor.”

GLOBE THEATRE, LONDON, 1601 - Crowley and Aziraphale catch an early version of Hamlet, looking more period-appropriate than ever thanks to the Globe’s vast archive of costumes. Aziraphale’s wardrobe, which includes a neck ruff edged with gold thread, has a metallic look with a hint of iridescent blue, which opens up his color palette. Crowley, meanwhile, wears a cleaner neckline and leather on his doublet, as well as fabrics that provide sheen and luster to suggest his snaky origins.

REVOLUTIONARY FRANCE, PARIS, 1793 - This is not a period to be dressed like an aristocrat, but Aziraphale couldn’t resist a lace collar, gold brocade and fitted jacket — which explains why he’s stuck in a prison cell (at least until Crowley intervenes). Crowley, more mindful of what revolutionaries would wear, dons a dark red jacket that’s almost as dark as his usual black. When Aziraphale miracle-changes his clothes, he wears the red cap of liberty. “It’s a soft beret that falls somewhere between a modern French beret and a pirate headdress,” Anderson notes.

ST. JAMES' PARK, LONDON, 1862 - This is the time period with which Aziraphale gets most comfortable, fashion-wise, and settles into a Victorian look with tartan flair. Anderson also bestowed some heavenly nods to his angelic nature — a feathery velvet top hat, a stopwatch with angel’s wings on the chain, and the signet ring. Crowley, meanwhile, wears a pair of long, elegantly cut trousers that we will see again in the 1960s. “The trousers repeat, which is basically what fashion does anyway,” Anderson says. “And it’s what the story does. There are notes backward and forwards.”

THE BLITZ, LONDON, 1941 - Aziraphale’s tartan necktie becomes a bow tie, and his penchant for wide lapels, a nod to his wings, continues, this time with a spear-point collar. Crowley, who comes to save Aziraphale once again, is dressed more formally, in a full double-breasted wool suit that must have been hard for David Tennant to wear in the South African heat. “The rest of the crew were in flip-flops and T-shirts, and David was in the suit, hat, and those big boots,” Anderson says, recalling the shoot.  “He had to be very physically active in that scene, and yet David didn’t complain about the heat or anything. He’s amazing.”

SOHO, LONDON, 1967 - Crowley, as noted, continues to wear his Victorian trousers, which are right up to date, and which he pairs with a black paisley velvet jacket with contrasting lapels. His sunglasses now have more of a John Lennon vibe. Aziraphale, perhaps inadvertently, is also looking stylish with his Victorian topcoat, spear-point collar, and cravat (modified from his scarf in Victorian England). “You can’t avoid being affected by changing trends,” Anderson says. “However bookish you are, you still notice other people. And you would have had Rolling Stones and Beatles fans wearing that kind of thing. That was our argument for Aziraphale wearing his Victorian topcoat all the way through, and Michael Sheen loved it. He said it inspired him. And the cravat rang in the changes and helped us with the passage of time, rather than always having him wear a bow tie.

[fangirl-creates]

2 Weeks - An MvA One Shot

(Wrote this back in October but I figured I’d post it since I don’t have any problems with it—Likes and Reblogs are appreciated!!)

She thought the whole thing had been just a bad dream, but when she woke up back in that cold dark cell, she realized it was still reality. She couldn’t understand how all of this had happened so fast—one minute she was about to get married to the love of her life, the next minute she was growing 50 feet tall, tranquilized, and sent to a Government Facility without her consent. But that wasn’t the worst part...there were monsters here. And she was considered one of them. There was no way she would be put in the same category as those...things. She wouldn’t stand for it.

About 2 more hours past and the front wall of her cell opened up, making her eyes squint to the bright fluorescent lights. A booming voice came from outside—“Rise and Shine, little lady! Time for you to go socialize with your prison mates!”

Susan recognized that voice all too well; The General. She stood up and finally saw him more clearly, a pleading look in her eyes. “Do I have to..?”

Monger let out a sigh. “If you’re gonna stay here, you should at least get to know your fellow monsters. Might be good for you all...”

“But I’m not a M—”

Monger put a hand up. “I don’t want to hear it. Now let’s get a move on..”

****

Susan was brought back into that same room, the one with the ‘open space’ and bright lights on the ceiling. The Monsters weren’t there, thankfully, so she had some time to relax. But when they eventually did show up, she wouldn’t have that feeling anymore. She slowly walked over to her table—the one that had been modified so it was the same size as her. She sat at the chair, closing her eyes as she took a moment to breathe.

The sound of a metal door opening made her flinch, but she kept her eyes closed regardless. She heard footsteps on the ground—their footsteps. She heard their voices, which ironically was the only thing ‘human’ about them.

“Ah there she is,” The Cockroach was heard, his British voice was still polite as ever, but that didn’t mean she didn’t mind his gross cockroach head and bulging bug eyes.

“Is she trying to mediate or something?” The fish man was next. He was the one she didn’t like that much. His tone wasn’t very...nice.

“Maybe she’s sleeping!” Next was the blob. He didn’t seem to know what was going on. Or maybe he did? She didn’t want to ask.

“Well, we should give her some space. This is her second day after all.” The Cockroach told them.

Susan quietly sighed with relief. She wanted them to stay away from her...or her fear would kick in again.

She heard them move to the table that was a few feet away from her rather large one. They were playing cards, their voices slowly faded into muffled whispers as she zoned out.

After a while, Susan fell asleep, one of her arms supporting her head while the other dangled from the table. B.O.B watched with curiosity as he slowly made his way up one of the table legs.

“I wouldn’t do that, buddy.” Link whispered.

“I just wanna say hello!” B.O.B replied as he got up to the top. He and Susan were only a few feet apart now. He slowly made his way to her face and gently tapped her cheek. “Helloooo?”

Susan stirred, fatigue quickly kicking in as she slowly opened her eyes. When she saw who was in front of her, she jolted awake, her entire body flinching as the chair moved a bit. She quickly made sure there wasn’t eye contact between the two. But this made B.O.B a little upset.

“It’s ok!” He smiled. “I don’t bite.”

“You could at least look at him, jeez…” Link scoffed. Susan’s behavior towards them all was expected, but that didn’t make him any less offended by it.

Susan took a deep breath and slowly turned her head to face B.O.B. She realized he was like a pile of silly puddy compared to her. So if she wasn’t this size, it would have been a lot more terrifying. But she realized quickly that she was a bit more intimidating in this state. She looked down at him, not bothering to force a smile just yet. “Hi…”

This made B.O.B smile, his face beaming. “So you said your name was Susan, right? No Monster name yet?”

“That’s right.” Maybe the General hadn’t told them about her ‘Mandatory name change’ yet. Perhaps that was a good thing.

“Huh. What’s your story, Susan?” He asked.

“My...Story?”

“Like how did you become a Monster?”

“O-Oh...right.” What else did she have left to lose? They’d probably be the only ones who would understand anyway. “Well, I was at my wedding. And I went out to get some air, then my fiancé came out to see me~”

“Gross.” Link rolled his eyes, earning an elbow nudge from Dr. Cockroach.

Susan ignored him. “And then I was alone for a bit...then...a meteor came down and...crashed onto me.”

Dr. Cockroach suddenly sat up, looking up at her. “Did you say a meteor? As in...from space?” He sounded surprised.

“Yeah…I guess something inside it did this to me…”

“Fascinating.” He took out a little notepad and wrote that down. “It’s a miracle that you even survived such a thing!”

“Pfff—big deal. I bet if a meteor hit me, I’d survive too.” Link put his feet on the table, leaning back.

Dr. Cockroach raised a brow. “I don’t think you understand the pain a gigantic space rock hurtling towards Earth would cause you, my friend.”

“Well she survived!” He gestured towards Susan. “I bet I would.”

“Mhmm..”

“Hey, Doc don’t underestimate me!”

“I never said I did.”

Susan just stared at them. They clearly had some history together, not that she bothered to ask.

A giant roar suddenly made Susan stand up in fear, her giant seat falling down.

“Not this again…” Link scoffed, yelling up to her. “It’s just Insecto! He’s not gonna hurt you, lady!”

Susan wasn’t convinced. Insectosaurus was the only one that was bigger than her—and she was 50 feet tall now! But when she noticed how annoyed Link was by her action, she managed to relax just a little. They had feelings, they weren’t human, but they had feelings.

Link leaped from his chair and made his way to the giant bug, soothing him with a voice a parent would use for a child. This seemed to calm the bug down, and Susan as well.

****

Normally Susan was asleep in her nice soft bed, but not today—not anymore. The Bed that would flip out of the wall was not very comfortable. Susan hugged her arms, sniffling as her cheeks were stained with tears. She didn’t know how many times she was going to cry herself to sleep, but no one she knew was with her. Her parents and Derek probably thought she was dead...or going to die. And even though that wasn’t the case, she was still miserable without them.

Dr. Cockroach could hear her sobs, his sympathetic side kicked in, and he pressed a little key pad, calling Monger to his cell.

Monger eventually made his way there. “Yes, Dr.?”

“Sir, would it be alright if I checked on Susan? She doesn’t seem so good.”

“That’s what I’m for.”

“Please..? I know what it’s like for her…”

Monger pondered at that for a second. “No tricks? No escape plans you need her for?”

“Honest.”

Monger gave him a stare for a second, then a nod as he led him to Susan’s cell, closing the door behind them.

Susan wiped her eyes, not turning around, her back to whoever was there.

“Are you alright, my dear?” He asked gently.

Susan didn’t respond, hugging her legs close to her.

Doc scurried up the wall and onto the bed, settling on the pillow. Her face—or rather, the top of her head was right across from him. He sat criss-crossed on the pillow, his hands together in his lap. He took a deep breath before speaking, his antennas going down. “Listen, I understand how hard all of this is for you. You’re completely cut off from the outside world, you have to stay in this prison and you’re unable to go out and see the ones you love.”

Muffled sobs were heard in response to that.

“B-But!! If you learn to appreciate what you do have—A Bed, Food, Shelter, Frie—” He cut himself off. “You’ll come to understand that...this place isn’t so terrible.”

Susan sniffled, turning to face him as she laid on her stomach. Her big watery eyes were fixated on the Doctor. It was at this moment she didn’t feel disgusted by his presence.

“Oh, my dear...look at you.” He frowned. “Here here, dry those tears.” He took off his lab coat, handing it to her. “It’s clean, I promise.” He reassured her.

She sniffed, taking the coat which was very tiny between her fingers. “T-Thanks…” She smiled, wiping her eyes with it. “Oh...I got it all wet..” She frowned, putting it down next to him. “Sorry…”

“Not to worry! I might as well go casual today.” He gestured to his dark grey turtleneck, making Susan chuckle lightly.

“Hey…” She frowned a bit. “I’m sorry if I’ve been...a little rude to you all. Behind all the looks, you’re all just people to and not just—”

“Monsters?”

Susan bit her lip. “I know I know...I feel like a horrible person…”

“It’s alright, my dear.” He placed a hand on her finger. “It makes complete sense knowing where you came from. Just make sure you tell Link how you feel. He might have been a tad offended by your words.” He cringed.

“Yeahhhh...I’ll do what I can.”

He smiled. “Well, I should let you get your rest now.” He began to leave.

“Wait! You’re a...scientist, right??”

“Yes…?”

“Do you think...you could help me? Maybe you could find a way to shrink me back to normal!”

“Oh dear...that is a tall order…”

“Oh…” Susan frowned.

“But that doesn't mean I won’t TRY!!” A maniacal laugh followed that statement. “I’d love to help you out! If Monger doesn’t try to put an end to our plan.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. And, Doc..?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks...for the talk…” She smiled at him.

“Anytime, Susan.” He nodded, leaving.

Susan laid back on the bed, now on her back. Sure, she wanted her old life more than anything. But if it didn’t work out, maybe she could learn to like this place.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

i want to ask for help. but i cant tell when would be a good time. because u've said before that therapy doesnt work unless YOU want it to, and i dont know WHEN i will want to. i just know that ive been feeling like this for as long as i can remember and that if i dont do SOMETHING about it, i might not even live.

i feel like im scared to ask for help because what if? what if i actually do better? i cant imagine living without thinking about dying every second. there is a scary sense of comfort in it, but its familiar and its me but its ME and i dont want it like that.

i,,, i dont know why this is going to you, but i do know i admire your opinions and i guess i just want to know. when. when does it get better.

When... hmm, as Yoongi has said before, these kinds of feelings are like seasons. I don't personally think they ever "go away" - you have good times and bad times, sometimes with reason, sometimes for no reason at all. At least, that's how it is with me. Going to put the rest under a break.

"Get better" is a vague term. You can argue you're already "getting better" because you recognize something needs to change, but that doesn't really feel statisfying because you're still in the same mental state, right? Then, is "getting better" a generalized state of more happiness? Could be. But, if you've always been in the darkness, well, shit, how are you supposed to know the light is the light? You've never seen it before. Then, does "getting better" mean... being like everyone else around me that seems like they're "good"?

That's the greatest lie of all.

I've said therapy doesn't work unless you want it to, not because you need to feel a certain measure of desire to change, but because you can't walk in there thinking the therapist is going to change you. If you have the means to try, you should to to therapy and just try it, because knowing you need to do something indicates that you already want to change. Reaching out to someone, stranger or not, already indicates you don't want to be like this forever. It might work, it might not. Therapy really depends on the therapist and finding a good fit is very difficult.

I'm going to tell you a bit about my journey. I have no idea if it will help you, but maybe you're interested.

I grew up not knowing love. My parents had an arranged marriage and, in their case, they did not love each other. Probably still don't. They're still married. I guess they tolerate each other, I don't know. In any case, it was very dysfunctional. I didn't know anything about maintaining healthy relationships, showing affection, or the value of people. I was seen as a means to an end, not really as their child. It was mostly my mom, but my dad was neglectful and wasn't really part of my life even though he was there the entire time. Because of this, I didn't value myself. I became very depressed and, if you've read my work, there's hints of what I've done to myself. I thought about dying. A lot. All the time. Planned it, dreamed it, wished for it.

Then, I moved out and entered the next phase of my life. Made a shit ton of mistakes. Destroyed friendships, had a ton of questionable relationships, chased love that was never there, fell apart. I was an "adult" but I was still the same - still wanted off this fucking Earth. But there was a difference. This time, I finally realized something.

These had be been my desicions.

My choices put me in that position. Nobody made me do anything. I was being self-destructive because I wanted to. And just like how I put myself there, I could take myself out.

So I did.

Not easily, mind you, but I did. I switched my surroundings again, put myself among people who had my best interests in mind, found my close friends, had a great time. Did shit everyone else did, went on cute dates, hung out with friends, traveled a lot, took pictures of delicious food, had an Instagram life.

Hated it.

I wasn't myself. I had pushed down my past and pretended like that shit wasn't real. I had a good life, so I'm good, right? I'm cured! I have what everyone else wants - I do what I want, have a good job and loving people around me. Yeah, no. I was "better", but I wasn't better. Far from it. I used to draw, write, create. In this phase I did none of that. I felt empty. But I was happy! Shit, what else can I do?

And then I discovered BTS.

Music does a lot of things. In my life, they defined the phases of my life. Rock and metal saved me from ending it when I was stuck in the darkness. In the time of empty happiness, I listened to music, but nothing stuck. I did, however, broaden my horizons and listen to everything, finally learning that all music has its merits and that I could find something I liked in nearly every genre.

However, I wasn't committing to anything, and that was because I couldn't commit to myself.

At first when I listened to BTS, I thought they were really cool. I went from era to era, mostly listening to title songs. Then I was bored and listened to their other stuff. I was curious about the lyrics I liked. They were usually rapped by this one guy, and I learned to recognize his voice and wait for his parts, because they always ended up being my favorite.

Yeah, just guess who it is. :)

I thought, well shit, I have no idea what he's saying. I should look it up. Went to look up the lyric translations of their songs, finding SUGA's parts and yet another epiphany.

Why am I pretending?

I'm reading these lyrics and I'm like, shit. This is it. This is me. These are all thoughts I've thought and they're here. They're real. Someone else thought them in the same way I have. And I am, indeed, still feeling these things, but pretending I'm not. Pretending it's impossible to acknowledge the person I am, that teenager wondering why I have to live when I could just fucking not, and who I've become, an adult with no sense of self but happy, and how they somehow can't coexist even though they already do. They're all me.

It wasn't very fun facing those feelings again, but I did it because I needed it. I needed to work through them and stop pretending so I could be myself. And now I am, because I can see it. You can see it. I create, not for anyone, but because this is me.

Maybe a little hypersexual. Kind of insane. Borderline cocky (but I am hot though, I'm just saying). I write, I draw, I create, I have fun, I cry, fuck, I do it all (swallow dick real fucking well too!). I do everything I want to and live how I want to.

This is just one way, one life among billions. You might not go though this (technically, you're already on the BTS phase, you know) and most likely your journey will be different. Because "getting better" is a personal thing. It is what you want in life, who you want to be, and I didn't know who I wanted to be until I lived though all kinds of shit, learning about other people's lives, and found someone who let me know, hey, you can brush past or you can soak into a heart. Change will always happen. You can live however you like. In some ways, you grow up and become an adult. In some ways, you stay the same, always young, always learning, always growing up. Sometimes people give up their young self because they think they have to. And maybe they do. You don't really have to though. You only have to be open to the idea there is also comfort in other things, that the you that you've known all your life is not the only you that will be.

To live a full life is to have many things, not physically, but mentally - memories, thoughts, past, present, whatever you want to hold on to, hold on to. No one can take them away from you. You will become more than just that. Every day, you will wake up to a new self that encompasses all your other selves before that. If you're impatient and want it now, run. Read up on things, surround yourself with all kinds of people, try activities you've always wanted to try, experience shit and find out what you like, what you hate, what you can modify to suit you better.

Find out what it means for you to get better and you'll discover, hey.

You're already there.

[undiscovered-horror-icon]

SlipKnot Members [Part Two]

[All of this info was copied form the archive of this blog on Skyrock.com circa 2009 -2010: User: maggot777 on Skyrock. com ]

[I’m just sharing it and take no credit]

[This post will include the current members, circa 2010]

Name: Sidney George Wilson Position: DJ N ° 0 Nickname: Monkeyboy or Ratboy Born March 15, 1978, Sid is the youngest of the group and by far the craziest. His scenic escapades helped to build the reputation of SlipKnoT in its early days. Since the European tour where he accidentally injured a fan during the concert in London, he has calmed down somewhat. Although with British origins, Sid is American and was born in Des Moines. Passionate about music, he creates a posse of Djs called Sound Proof Coalition. It is thanks to this posse that he will meet the group during Dotfest in 1998. “I don't know why, but this skinny dude with his red T-shirt and green shorts caught my eye that day. And then it must be said that a guy who listens to punk while scratching on hip-hop is not common, ”Shawn declared. Six months later, Sid will go to the Hairy Mary Club to see the band in concert. That night Shawn jumps into the audience and comes face to face with Sid. From this impromptu meeting was born the friendly rivalry between them, the goal being to knock out the other during the concert. For the record, this is the only time Sid has beaten Shawn. After this concert, Sid will meet SlipKnoT and tell them that he wants to be part of the group. The legend says that Shawn will not think more than ten seconds before saying yes, estimating the man enough barjo to join the group. Since then, Sid has been a mainstay of the band, justifying his presence with samples and scratches on many tracks, he's also working on a more personal project for which he took over his DJ name Starscream and released a solo album called Full Metal Scratch It in reference to the movie Full Metal Jacket. The album announced for 2001 did not actually see the light of day until 2004 following a number of problems with the label that was to release the CD. In the end, it was N2O that played the role of distributing the CD containing most of the samples that Sid uses in SlipKnoT as well as in various other projects. He also collaborates with Ampt, a band from New Jersey that he joined as a DJ.

Name: Nathan Jonas '' Joey '' Jordison Position: Drums N ° 1 Nickname: Speedball Born April 26, 1975 at the Mercy Hospital in Des Moines, Joey spent all his childhood and adolescence in the small town of Yankee, located fifteen kilometers from Des Moines. Very introverted because of his small size (1.60 m), Joey has often served as a pain reliever for his classmates, but he knew deep down that one day he would prove to them that he was better. than them. Arrived in high school, he is deeply into Kiss and Black Sabbath and decides to start a group; he held the position of guitarist there. The guitar has always been his passion and he plays it whenever he can. However, the pitiful level of the drummer in his group pushes him to get behind the barrels. He finished his studies in high school and decided to get into music. One of his groups (Modifious, of which Paul and Craig were part) has had some success but not enough to make a living from it. There is a job at a gas station. Working at night, he occupies his days rehearsing with the group. One evening, his best friend comes to see him with a certain Corey Taylor. Corey doesn't make a good impression on him and the evening ends with a sentence to his friend about Corey (who is red-haired and had long hair at the time): "Bring Dave Mustaine (singer-guitarist of Megadeath) to to treat, it is too serious this guy. " Some time later, he will be contacted by Paul to join an even more obscure called SlipKnoT group. Outside of the group, Joey is involved in various side projects, the most successful of which is Murderdolls, a punk / glam band in which he is a guitarist and with whom he released an album. one owes the magnificent tribal S and as well as the logo of the group. SlipKnoT's capital K is due to the fact that at the time he drew it Joey was a mega-fan of Korn.

Name: Paul Dedrick Gray Position: bass, vocal backing N ° 2 Nickname: Porky or Balls Born April 8, 1972, Paul is the only member of SlipKnoT who is not originally from Des Moines. Born in Los Angeles, he followed his family when they moved to Iowa. Paul is one of the creators of the group along with Shawn. Very discreet and yet very influential, he played with Joey in Anal Of Blast and in various other groups before creating SlipKnoT. He had moved back to Los Angeles when Shawn asked him to come back one evening because he had an extra project he couldn't miss. He died at the age of 38 on May 24, 2010 of an overdose.

Name: Chris Fhen Position: percussion, vocal backing N ° 3 Nickname: Pornochio or Mr Piklenose Born February 24, 1972 in Des Moines, Chris is the little comic of the group. Always playing the puppet, he does everything to be noticed and is happy to go on stage. Chris is one of the last to join SlipKnoT. He joined the group after Brandon left and his integration was not without difficulty ... for him. Shawn called him in for a rehearsal in which he had to prove himself. After two hours of playing, the group reunites in the garden while Chris, alone at the other end, paces. After letting him run around in circles for thirty minutes, Shawn finally waved him over and said, "Sorry man, you're not up to par." Annoyed, Chris lowered his nose and said, "Okay, it's okay guys," turning on his heels. This is the moment that Joey chooses to say to him, “We're kidding, man! », Before bursting out laughing with the rest of the group. But that was just a little taste of what to expect. He's the one we hear vomiting on the hidden SlipKnoT track while Paul laughs beside him. This memorable streak was actually Chris' initiation into the "SlipKnoT spirit", the others having forced him to watch a hardcore movie. Chris played an important role in the recording and mixing of SlipKnoT. He helped Ross Robinson and Joey with the post-production work. Ross Robinson says of him, “Chris is a great guy. He really has his heart set on his feet. "

Name: James Root Position: guitar N ° 4 Nickname: The Peach Born October 2, 1971, James (or Jim) is the giant of the group, dominating the situation of his 1.90 m. He joined the group at the end of the recording of SlipKnoT as a starting point for the previous guitarist, Josh. Prior to being a part of SlipKnoT, James was playing in Atomic Opera and Deadfront with which he released an album and was about to record another when Joey called on him. The latter explains: “James was one of the best guitarists in Des Moines. With Atomic Opera, they were by far the leaders of the Iowa metal scene. And then I knew the guy, he had the job profile. He also stars in Stone Sour.

Name: Craig Jones Position: sample N ° 5 Nickname: 133 mhz (we nickname him like that because he's crazy about machines and 133 times 5 plus 1 equals 666) Born February 11, 1973, “This guy is definitely the most crossed out of the nine. He never says anything and that's what gives me the fuck. It is there and yet we forget it. Having said that, it's better if he doesn't say anything. The only time he opened it we had nothing but shit. This is how Craig is described by Ross Robinson. This is hardly flattering but nevertheless very true: Craig is the “ghost” of the group, always the last to arrive on stage and the first to leave. He joined SlipKnoT as a guitarist to replace Donnie Steele. He will prove himself during the recording of Mate.Feed.Kill.Repeat .. He also contributed to the ambiences with his samples, which really impressed Shawn in addition to his performance on the guitar. Seeing his mad passion for machines and computers, Joey and Shawn decided to promote him and integrate him full time into SlipKnoT. In three weeks, Craig went from replacement guitarist to official sampler of the band.

Name: Shawn Michael Crahan Position: percussion, vocal backing N ° 6 Nickname: Clown or Kong Born September 24, 1969, Shawn is at the same time the leader, the pillar and the dean of the group. SlipKnoT is her baby. It was he who chose who would be part of the adventure and that from the start. Before joining SlipKnoT, he set up various groups which were only successful with critics. Unable to live on his music, he then manages with the means on board. He was first hired as a welder (this experience would later be used for the creation of drum-kits). The savings he made enabled him to buy the Hairy Mary Club, a bar in Des Moines called to become the SlipKnoT's lair for a few years. As a wise businessman, he will regularly organize metal evenings in his club and the Saturday night concerts will quickly become an institution in Des Moines for any metal and rock fan. It is during this period that SlipKnoT is formed. The future members of the group all hanging out regularly in the club, convincing them to play together will not be very difficult. Next is the recording of Mate.Feed.Kill.Repeat. Which costs Shawn all his savings and pushes him into heavy debt. He sells the Hairy Mary Club to repay his debts, before the scale gained by SlipKnoT allows him little by little to live on music. The Hairy Mary Club having been sold, the group had no room to rehearse, and it was only natural that Shawn put his family to contribution: SlipKnoT invests in his parents' cellar. They spent almost two years there, Ross Robinson came to see them rehearse before signing them on his label. It was also in his parents' garage that the photo was taken that served as the cover for SlipKnoT (album). Married with four children, Shawn is a very cultured person; he adores Cézanne and Picasso, which contrasts quite a bit with the image of the slightly psychotic Clown that we see at concerts (I confirm). He also likes to philosophize about life around a bottle of wine, which makes tell Corey, “Shawn is a very smart guy, even if you don't always understand what he's saying. "

Name: Michael Thompson Position: guitar No. 7 Nickname: Log Born November 3, 1973, Mick spent his childhood in Des Moines. Big fan of music, his tastes range from Jimi Hendrix to the Beatles through Morbid Angel and Deicide. He joined a group for the first time at the age of sixteen. Subsequently, he is part of various formations with the future members of SlipKnoT, but seeing that it is hard to make a living, he decides to give guitar lessons. It was then that one evening, taking advantage of Donnie's departure, Paul called him and asked him to join SlipKnoT. “I was really pissed off at that time. When Paul called me I jumped at the chance, ”says Mick to explain his arrival in the group. Outside the group, Mick is a very discreet person; he describes himself as a person who likes to live at night.

Name: Corey Taylor Position: Vocals N ° 8 Nickname: Faith or The Sickness Born December 8, 1973, Corey is in a way the guru of the maggots. His singing, his tone of voice and his charisma (I also confirm) make him a unique singer in the metal scene. Corey initially wanted to be a drummer but decided to write songs after listening to Screaming Life by Soundgarden and Bleach by Nirvana. Born of an unknown father, (but now we know who he is) he lived for a long time with his mother and his sister, traveling the North-East of the USA and sometimes (even often) finding himself homeless to sleep. Completely addicted to cocaine from the age of fifteen, he overdoses twice. The second made him realize the fragility of life and he went to settle in Ohio with his grandmother, to be far from his bad company. It was there that he developed a taste for music thanks to his grandmother's record who listened to rock 'n' roll and in particular Elvis Presley, of whom he became a very big fan. At eighteen, he chose to take his independence and return to the roads to finally return to his hometown of Des Moines. There, he assembles the group Stone Sour, with which he begins to record some titles. On several occasions, his path crosses the path of the members of SlipKnoT. And it is finally after a Stone Sour concert that Corey sees Joey, Mick and Shawn unload in the sex shop where he works. Corey sums it up in a few words: “Basically, they told me that if I didn't join their group they would give me my birthday. I admit I hesitated a little but finally I said to myself that it was the right choice for me. " Corey is very involved in songwriting; his difficult childhood is a source of inspiration for him. However, he refuses to talk too much about it. In early 2004, he married Scarlet, his long-time fiancée, with whom he had a son, eighteen months earlier.

[Might do a part three on new guys, maybe] 

[feel free to leave corrections in the replies]

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Five

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

It was supposed to be simple. Clear out Weston Water Treatment. Start a new settlement at Oberland Station. Backhand wrinkled her nose. Partially in irritation, and partially to ward off the foul smell of super mutant.

  “If I'd known the place was infested I wouldn't have agreed to this shit.” She grumbled to the paladin in power armor beside her. “Rob could have been a little more generous with his count, I feel.”

  Danse chuckled, “Don't try to act tough, Knight Vega. You're still here, right? It's only a couple of super mutants.”

  “A couple, he says.”

  A bullet whizzed over her head, interrupting the easy back and forth between the two of them. Danse gritted his teeth and readied his laser rifle. “For the Brotherhood!”

  They easily picked off five mutants and two hounds, and Backhand pumped her fist in victory when a sixth mutant fell to Righteous Authority . However, then she heard something that sent her into a panic. Her whole upper body jutted heedlessly out from behind cover, stealth mods deactivated from her motion while she searched frantically for the source of the beeping. “Wait, Paladin wait! ” She yelled, grabbing hold of his arm as he thundered by and barely missing getting her fingers crushed in his elbow joint. His momentum dragged her along with him and she hurriedly dug her boots into the dirt. “There's a fucking-!”

  Danse’s huge gauntlet clamped onto one of the many straps on her combat armor and without so much as a look out , he hurled her up over the road and into the deep pond beside the treatment plant. The super mutant suicider screamed in triumph, “ Die, metal man! ”

  Backhand landed in the pond with an undignified splash, brown water pouring into her nose and mouth as she sank like a rock to the bottom. The following explosion sent shockwaves through the water and Backhand struggled to hold her breath.

  Danse, oh God Danse, please be alright!

  She finally broke the surface, eyes stinging from the acrid water. “Paladin Danse!” She coughed, hauling herself back up the banking. Smoking chunks of super mutant were scattered everywhere , green flesh burned brown and black. The suit of power armor was toppled over on its front. “ Danse! ” Backhand almost fell in her haste to get to the paladin, skidding to her knees beside the power armor.

  Her Geiger counter started to click loudly.

  “Shit, Paladin, c'mon! You've dealt with worse than this, you got cooked by a fucking rocket! Don't do this to me!” She pleaded, fighting with the manual release on the back of the suit. The fusion core was shattered, otherwise she could have just half-twisted the handle and popped him out easy. Backhand was stuck doing this the hard way. “Fucking answer me Paladin, please! ”

  “That's not...soldier-appropriate language, Knight.” A choked cough came from the half-crushed helmet. “Can you get the back open? I can't really...it's very heavy in this thing.” He rose onto his knees with one hand propping him up, leaving Backhand more than a little impressed. “A Brotherhood soldier's conditioning requirements are somewhat rigorous, Knight. Now please. The back.” Despite his reassurances he sounded strained.

  Backhand tore the plate metal over her knuckles on the rivets around the manual release wheel in her haste to get it undone, breathing a sigh of relief when she finally swung the back plate up out of the way. Danse pulled his head out of his helmet, got to his feet, and promptly collapsed.

  Backhand swore again, rolling him over. It seemed like his armor had taken the brunt of the impact but he got rattled around inside it like an old world pinball. She'd griped about the lack of padding in their undersuits the very first time she’d seen them, ‘ stupid military branches, always cutting corners. ’

  “Paladin, you still with me?” Backhand Vega, shittiest knight the Brotherhood has to offer. “Why the fuck are all your jumpsuits dark orange and brown , I can't tell whether you're bleeding or not!” She yelled in frustration, mostly to herself. At least that suicider had been the last of the mutants to deal with. “Alright, okay. You're out. Oberland it is.” She sighed when he didn't reply, slinging Righteous Authority across her chest and heaving Danse onto her back. Thank God for all that conditioning work so she'd been able to move her own armor frame back in the day. She may be in shape but Danse was by no means a small man.

  Getting over the damn hill to Oberland left Backhand almost spent. Half-carrying, half-dragging him up the station stairs at the end was torment, her calves screaming bloody murder. She dropped him on the bed and left her supply satchel on the ground, rummaging through it for her Stims. Some Rad-X probably wouldn't hurt either, it had been a mini-nuke that exploded next to him.

  “Knight Vega...” Danse mumbled blearily a few minutes after she inserted the Stim needle into one of the ports in his jumpsuit, the paladin obviously coming back around.

  Backhand couldn’t stop the way she snapped at him. Now that the terror for her companion had faded somewhat, she was left feeling exhausted and irritated. “What the hell were you thinking? You could have been obliterated by that asshole!”

  “Where are we?” Danse muttered instead, trying to sit up.

  “Oberland. Lay the hell back down, stupid idiots don’t get to sit up.” She pushed his shoulder and Danse’s back hit the mattress with a wheeze of rusty springs. “Don’t move.” She growled, using one of her shoelaces to hang the bag of Rad-X from the rafters and then hitching the end of the tubing to the needle still in his arm. Danse grunted, the dazed look on his face making Backhand extremely nervous. “Paladin, stay conscious.” She waved her fingers in front of his eyes and Danse jerked to attention. “Stay with me.”

  “I am, Knight Vega.” He retorted while his eyes drifted shut. “Right here.”

  “Ah ah, no napping.” She tapped his cheek and his eyes rolled open again. “Stay with me, Danse.” Backhand repeated, a little softer this time.

  “I am , Knight Vega.” Danse murmured. “Endured worse than this, remember?”

  “Doesn't mean I'm not going to worry.”

  Danse closed his eyes just enough to squint at her. “About me? You’re the one with no power armor. I’m supposed to be managing you , Vega.”

  …

  “Yeah, frickin’ bang-up job there ked.” Backhand retorted. “Coulda’ lost a hand in your elbow joint when you whipped past me like a bat outta’ hell.”

  Danse noted with a faint flash of amusement that apparently her accent thickened when she was wound up. “My hearing is not in peak condition. Specifically, telling where the sound is coming from can be an issue in my helmet. Proctor Ingram can only tweak it so much.”

  “That would have been good to know beforehand, Paladin.” Backhand said icily, her motions sharp and angry as she shed her combat armor breastplate. Her gauntlets followed suit, discarded in a pile on the floor. She was soaked to the skin, Danse noticed hazily.

  His head was pounding again, vision slowly becoming more and more unfocused. “Tell me about what it was like, Knight. Before the…before the war.” Danse slurred, trying his hardest to change the subject and stay awake.

  Backhand bit her lip, pulling the bedroll up a little higher until it was underneath Danse’s chin. He wasn’t sure whether she intended to simply ignore his question.

  “It was green.” She said softly, putting his wondering to rest. “There was always someone in your business. People were on top of each other most of the time. I mean, I was in the military so cramped quarters were normal for me, but for civilians…it was pretty hellish. In the mornings once we’d had breakfast, I would take Shaun outside to the front lawn and he would roll around on his little blanket. The neighbors were walking their dogs or mowing the lawn or something, we would all make small talk about the weather.” Backhand stopped talking and sighed heavily, tapping at the bag of Rad-X to keep it flowing.

  “What is it, Knight?” Danse hated the cold sweat that always broke out when he took Rad-X, but right now it was a necessary evil.

  “I think a lot of folks were a little intimidated by me.” She theorized. “I mean I was a young veteran, and pretty quickly became a single mother. Unheard of. For a while after I moved in I still had the eyepatch from my discharge incident, then a pair of super dark sunglasses, which definitely didn’t defang my appearance.” Her smile was melancholy and she brought her fingers up to her eye, tapping the area beneath it.

  The silence stretched on. Danse knew he needed to be patient. It’s not as if he could go anywhere, and it was fascinating to hear about pre-war from someone who had actually been there.

  “I told the neighborhood kids that I was a pirate and showed them all how to make newspaper boats and hats so they could be pirates too.” Backhand smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I modified one of my old MLCE packs so I could carry Shaun around the cul-de-sac with me when I jogged. Didn’t have the money for one of those baby carriers or even for a stroller after the divorce, so the pack had to do. He would put his little head down on my chest and sleep. Wasn’t bothered by all the motion or anything, just like his mommy.”

  Her pain was still clearly raw, even after however much time had passed. Danse didn’t know what to do, so he wiggled a heavy arm free of the sleeping bag and rested his hand on her own. She squeezed it back wordlessly, her jaw working.

  When she spoke again, she sounded more steady. “I can’t say that it was bad . The environment was safe and quiet. Everyone in Sanctuary Hills looked out for one another. Even if it was more motivated by curiosity and nosiness than an actual desire to help.” Backhand mused dryly. “The milkman couldn’t leave an extra bottle on your doorstep without six other people knowing. So exactly like the military.”

  “Sounds similar to the Prydwen.” Danse remarked, sick to his stomach a second after he said it. How many people must know about Maxson and I? He realized, swallowing hard to fight the sudden rush of nausea. He hadn’t thought about it at all, more than content with the illusion of privacy one usually maintained in the Brotherhood. The most obvious evidence of their dalliances was the busted mouth Danse always seemed to end up with, and those instances happened far too often for everyone to write it off as Danse just being clumsy or careless when he shaved.

  I bumped it. He grimaced as he recalled his weak explanation back on the Prydwen, the way Backhand had narrowed her eyes at him.

  Besides, he knew that he’d worn his excuses thin at this point. Trying to explain away the teeth marks Arthur left on his upper arm that one time was more than enough of a chore. He had looked like he’d been savaged by a feral, so at least he could understand the concern to an extent.

  “Hey, you alright? All the color just dropped out of your face.” Backhand noticed, her brows drawn in worry.

  Danse nodded, fixing his attention on the guttering lantern beside the bed instead of the wrinkles on her forehead. “Tell me more?” He asked eventually.

  “I miss the convenience of food. Even with the shortages, there used to be a grocery store on practically every corner.” She sounded wistful. “Shaun hadn’t really started solid foods yet, he was only just beginning to leave the twenty-four-seven nursing program. Not a minute too soon, the little bugger would suck me dry.”

  “You breastfed your child? Isn’t that-” Danse stopped himself, feeling uncomfortable. Normally breastfeeding was considered incredibly dangerous, for the baby and the parent. But before, when the radiation wasn’t so prevalent…things must have been different. “It’s none of my business, I suppose.”

  “No no, I get it. I know that nowadays trying to raise a child is tough enough without the added dangers of the irradiated environment. It was simpler back then. Could just unbutton your shirt and go to town, instead of having to unbelt all your armor and find a safe spot so that Junior can get lunch in.” Backhand grinned.

  Danse flushed a little at her frank speech, sternly telling himself not to dwell on the idea of her with an infant on her knee like some housewife from the pre-war mags. He had no recollection of his own parents, or siblings if he had them. Familial musing was not familiar territory, but it never failed to leave him with a sad ache in his throat. The same ache that assaulted him when he thought of Cutler-

  Backhand hissed in pain and Danse snapped out of his slide into melancholy, watching with horror while she peeled off her other glove. “Shit, I didn’t even feel that.” She grimaced, spreading her fingers. The sheet metal on her gloves was ripped through in some areas, and it had apparently taken a few healthy chunks out of her knuckles and the backs of her hands. Blood dribbled over her palm and Danse felt… odd .

  “Knight Vega, what happened?” Danse asked in confusion.

  “I was in such a hellfire hurry to get you out of your gear and the fusion core in your suit was busted. I uh...I don’t really know.” Backhand admitted. “I went panic mode and muscled the manual release as fast as I could, basically.”

  “The manual…” Danse trailed off as she wiped some dried blood away with the hem of her undershirt. “You need to bind that. Your knuckles-”

  “Nah, I’ll be fine.” She flapped a bloodied hand at him. “I’ve had worse.”

  “It’s irrelevant whether you’ve had worse, the fact of the matter is that right now, you’re the one who needs to protect us.” Danse shot back, a little annoyed with her carelessness. “Who knows what could be lurking out there? Everything in the neighborhood must have heard the suicider explosion.”

  “Ah, okay. Sorry, I’ll…you think a Stim would put this back together? Or should I save those for later?” She asked hesitantly.

  “Did you take any Stims from the Prydwen?”

  “No, I didn't want to take any resources from you guys.” Backhand shuffled through her pack, carefully counting out everything that she had. “I only have three Stims left. Wasn't expecting this detour.”

  Danse cursed under his breath, pushing to sit up by propping his back against the wall. The Stim that she had given him was doing its job, of course, but it would be several hours before he was fit for duty again. Anything could happen in that time. “Come here.” He ordered, disliking the sideways look she gave him. “Let me see your hands.”

  “H-Hey, I'll probably be fine. It's no biggie.” She protested, putting her left hand into his own all the same and then wincing. Danse, his brain jerkily reminding him that he was probably being a little too rough, nearly dropped her hand when he tried to casually loosen his grip. Alright, maybe he did spend more time than necessary in his armor. The truth of the matter is that Danse felt like a raw nerve without the comforting weight of plate metal on his body, exposed and too… soft .

  “I'll wrap this.” He decided aloud after several moments of careful manipulation to make sure her fingers weren't broken. Danse flipped open the small pouch by his hip, tugging out a tiny roll of bandaging and a nonstick gauze to dress her knuckles. “What? A Brotherhood soldier is always prepared.” He huffed when he noticed Backhand staring at him.

  “I gotta' get one of those.” She said, gesturing at the pouch. “Is that included in the suit? Or do they come separate from the requisitions officer?”

  “I can put in a supply order for you, if you'd really like one. It has...look, there's loops here. You could hitch it to your combat armor.” Danse loosened the bag and showed her the plethora of MOLLE straps on the back, chuckling a little when she made a clumsy attempt to snatch it out of his hands. “Mm, nice try. I've been around Haylen and Rhys. You've got nothing on either of them when it comes to pilfering my supplies, Vega.”

  “Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She grinned ruefully. “I really ought to be nice to you. After all, you saved me from pretty certain death.”

  “I did?” Danse thought back momentarily and then remembered gauntlet slamming shut on the strap, whichever strap, doesn’t matter, shoulder-ribs, just be enough to hold her weight --He felt his face go hot recalling the unwarranted contact between them. “It was a…reaction. Sometimes I think I move too quickly for my mind to keep up.”

  “Lucky for me, I guess! Maybe the Sarge's bandanna is rubbing off on you.” Backhand got to her feet, stretching her arms over her head. She had peeled her Vault suit down and tied the sleeves around her hips again, the fabric pulled tight from her motions.

  Danse forced his eyes elsewhere, the sweat on his forehead having nothing to do with the Rad-X. What the hell is the matter with you? He scolded himself. Since when do you ogle women like this?

  “Do you think we should stay here tonight, and try to get to your armor tomorrow?” Backhand asked.

  “We have to. I’m not leaving it there indefinitely.” Danse cringed as he thought of the state his armor would be in. “I would like to go after it tonight, but I am…not in peak condition.” God , that stung to say. Whether he liked it or not, it was the truth.

  “ Hell no, not tonight. I’d rather let you sleep off the Stim and Rad-X, have you in fighting shape bright and early tomorrow morning.” Backhand gave him a look that was actually fond and the ache mounted up in his throat once more. “I’ll take first watch.”

  “Put your armor on!” Danse barked as she moved to the door, his voice harsher than he had intended. “You--I-I mean, you need to be prepared, Knight.” He tried to play it off, tried to relax his posture a little. He had nearly stood, shaky fingers crushing the rotted windowsill to try and support his weight.

  She waved her bandaged hand at him, as if to say hush , but still buckled her chest plating back on. Danse knew her moments of insubordination should have been worrisome. Had he gotten too complacent, too used to the less stringent requirements of fieldwork?

  He did let Rhys and Haylen slide. He just couldn’t stand the two of them dancing around each other anymore, it was maddening. Rhys talked a great game, he always had, but Danse would have to be blind not to notice the knight’s care for their scribe. It wasn't technically against regs, of course, but Danse knew if anything he ought to put his foot down. As their senior ranking officer, if the relationship went south between them he would be dragged into it. It was hard to justify it though, when he saw the two of them all curled up with one another.

  Better that they enjoy themselves now. Life could be so incredibly short.

  …

  “Hey, what’s your deal with the muties?” Backhand asked curiously. He had gotten a boatload of pre-war nonsense out of her, she figured she had earned at least one question. “You lose one of your own to them or something?”

  Danse made eye contact and Backhand’s breath caught in her throat. He looked positively worn, fragile , like all the life had gone out of his body. With an expression like that , she expected a great (if sad) story. All she got was a soft “ Yes ,” spoken in a voice thick with emotion.

  When it became apparent that that was the end of it, Backhand cleared her throat and readjusted the dingy pipe pistol in her hands. She proceeded to methodically count her bullets, trying not to make him feel like she was waiting for the rest. The experience left her shaken. She had thought Danse to be the typical soldier, but it was obvious now that there was much more to him than that. He clearly cared deeply for the wellbeing and safety of each member of his team, possibly too much for him to escape unscathed. He was one of those , she realized, practically a kindred spirit to her dearly departed senior officer Sergeant Cathan. Courageous, firm, the shelter in the storm. A true embodiment of everything a soldier should strive to be.

  “ I could not feasibly promise anything…it was not within my power to promise. ”

  She noticed Danse pull the bedroll up around his shoulders as if he was cold. There was a sharp wind that blew through the old station on top of the hill, but Backhand, New Englander to the end, barely felt it. She leaned on the worn bannister of the stairs, her eyes squinted against the darkness as the stars brightened overhead.

  There was more rustling from behind her and she assumed that Danse was doing his best to make himself comfortable on the old mattress, his frame a bit… large for the task. Backhand snuck a peek and was relieved to see him curled up in her bedroll, his back to the wall and eyes closed.

  She hoped that Paladin Brandis made it to the Prydwen safe and sound (and that her armor was still in one piece). She may have hoped a little harder that Brandis was already giving Maxson a run for his money. The idea of Maxson being thrown off his game made her snicker quietly to herself.

  Her good humor faded all too quickly when she recalled that there was nothing keeping them out here and away from the Prydwen once they finished cleaning up Weston. If something shifty was going on between Danse and Maxson, it wouldn’t be long before they were back in the thick of it. She cast another glance at the large man after she heard him mumble something, watching him shift around in the sleeping bag. There was an odd vulnerability to him when he slept, which she remembered all too well from their time in the police station.

  The wan sunlight hadn’t woken him as she scribbled her note, but he stirred when she placed the paper down on the floor beside his head. His bedroll was bunched uncomfortably at his elbows and she took a selfish moment to kiss his forehead and then tug the fabric up around his shoulders. It couldn’t hurt, she reasoned with herself. He had hummed in his sleep and snuggled down into the warm embrace of the bedroll. It made it incredibly difficult to leave, even with the two Mister Handy units cheerily patrolling the courtyard. If something happened…

  Well, it didn’t really bear thinking about. Backhand had the feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time she and Danse would meet.

  …

  Backhand woke him for his watch shift at almost exactly two hundred hours. She looked fatigued and Danse ignored the protest of bruises on his body in favor of more quickly freeing up the mattress. “Got it warmed up for you.” He yawned, chuckling when she poked him in the ribs.

  “I bet you did, you big furnace.” She teased, her eyelids already drooping. “Nothing to report, sir. All’s been quiet.”

  “Carry on, Knight.” Danse saluted out of habit, scooping her combat armor up off the floor and beginning to adjust it to fit his own body. Once he was in some semblance of protective equipment, he snuffed the lantern on the bedside table and took his place at the window. He borrowed Righteous Authority from her, seeing as his rifle was back with his power armor. Probably lying on the ground, covered in super mutant gore. Danse frowned unhappily.

  His night vision had always been impeccable, with or without his helmet. Danse scanned the landscape for threats, glad that they at least had the high ground. If anything tried to attack, he would know well before they arrived.

  The Commonwealth was almost peaceful at night. Once all the raiders had bedded down with one another and the ferals had retreated to their holes, a tenuous calm reigned that was usually only broken by clans of ambitious super mutants or radscorpions.

  Danse rested his weight gingerly on the wall, afraid that it may not be able to support him in its decrepit state. Thankfully it held fast and he relaxed after a moment. His pulse was still quick enough for him to be slightly anxious. It was a normal leftover from using a Stim, but he disliked the feeling; epinephrine and adrenal-sour in his mouth while his heart slammed a tattoo on his ribs.

  Danse fought the desire to shake himself, certain that Backhand wouldn’t appreciate being woken up by the percussion of poor-fitting combat armor. Though she had mentioned that her son could sleep through anything, “ just like his mommy .” He imagined being on the front lines, getting your meager rest wherever you could and going for weeks without seeing a real bed would probably do that to a person. Lord knew he had a hard time readjusting to the quiet safety of the Prydwen after clocking lengthy stints of fieldwork or skirmishes with the Enclave.

  He had dreamed of Cutler again. Danse exhaled slowly through his nose, fighting the tremble of his hands. Mercifully the dream had faded well before Backhand woke him. He wasn’t sure how he would have reacted to being shaken awake while still in the grasp of his memories. He shook his head, propping the barrel of Righteous Authority up on the windowsill. He couldn’t go on like this, haunted by the echoes of a man who had ceased to be. True, they had a bond. A bond which Danse had naively believed was unbreakable. But when Cutler had gone missing…

  Danse was no stranger to horrifying experiences. Centaurs, super mutants and ferals plagued his nightmares, nightmares which inevitably led to an enormous super mutant hive in the Capital Wasteland...

Part Six

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #79: Paracelsus van Hohenheim

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re making the Father of Toxicology, Paracelsus van Hohenheim! Hohenheim is known for his skill in potion- and homunculi-making, as well as his mastery of the four (five) elements! Also his weird qualifications for what does or does not count as a “medicinal” plant, but we won’t be adding that to the build.

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

Next up: What we all need is something steam powered / What we all need is a - Steam Powered Giraffe!

Race and Background

No points for guessing, but Paracelsus is a Human, giving him +1 to all ability scores. He’s also a Cloistered Scholar, for History and Arcana proficiency. You’re not mixing chemicals at random here, this is science. And magic.

Stats

Your Intelligence should be as high as you can make it, both because you’re a smart guy and because that what all our features are based on. Second highest is your Wisdom- you’re good at being a doctor, but medicine’s a wisdom check so we’ll have to be smart here too. Third is Dexterity- you don’t really use that sword too often, but you have one. Also, you’re wearing leather armor at best, and you don’t get mage armor. Your Constitution’s okay-you’re not really tough, just lucky. Your Strength isn’t very high, you are a caster after all. Finally, you’re dumping Charisma. You don’t cause much of a splash in London, and the only person you need to be able to lie to is a literal child, so it’s not that big of an issue.

Class Levels

1. This may shock you, but the famous alchemist is secretly an Artificer. They’re just coming out of the woodwork in London. First level artificers get proficiency in Constitution and Intelligence saves, as well as Medicine and Nature. You can heal people, and your Arcana comes from Nature, so that all checks out fine.

When you take up the class you learn Magical Tinkering, letting you add various minor effects to tiny items. You also get Spells, that’s right, Spells, that you can cast with your mind thoughts. Use your Intelligence to prepare and figure out their save DCs.

For your cantrips, Frostbite gives you a bit of water for your attacks, and Magic Stone does the same of earth. For some good 1st level spells to prepare, check Absorb Elements to charge your attacks and protect yourself at the same time, Catapult to fill an object with enough magical energy you can fling it around at people, and Grease. I know it’s called grease, but make it some ice to fit the elemental aesthetic we’re going for.

2. Second level artificers can Infuse Items, making and altering up to two magical items at a time. You learn four infusions though, and can swap them out on long rests. Like all casters, there’s plenty of leeway with what you take for spells and infusions, but I’d suggest Enhanced Defense for extra not dying on your part, an Alchemy Jug for raw materials (sometimes you have a hankering for 2 gallons of mayo),  Sending Stones for more earth-themed magic (the next time we get something for Earth is level 13, so enjoy this), and/or an Enhanced Arcane Focus to empower your spells.

3. When you hit third level, you pick your specialty, and let’s be honest here- of course you’re an Alchemist. At third level, you can create an Experimental Elixir at the end of a long rest that lasts until the next rest. Upon creation, you find out what its effects will be based on a roll of a d6. An elixir can heal, increase the drinker’s speed, give an AC bonus, give an attack and save bonus, grant the power of flight, or cast Alter self on the drinker. All benefits (except healing) last a varying amount of time. You can also make extra elixirs by spending a spell slot for each one as an action. You can also just wait a couple levels to make more on long rests.

You also learn how to make The Right Tool for the Job. Assuming you have an hour of free time and tinker’s tools available, you can craft a free set of artisan’s tools.

Finally, your specialty spells, which don’t count towards the number you can prepare, are Healing Word and Ray of Sickness. Throw the former at your party and the latter at your enemies, and make sure you don’t mix them up.

4. Use your first Ability Score Improvement for more Intelligence. That will net you more spells prepared, stronger spells, and plenty of other benefits later on.

5. Fifth level Alchemists are Alchemical Savants, adding their Intelligence modifier to one instance of spells that Heal or deal Acid, Fire, Necrotic, or Poison damage. That means everybody gets the amount you rolled, but one lucky person gets 4 extra.

You also learn how to prepare second level spells. Your specialty spells are Flaming Sphere for a bit of fire, and Melf’s Acid Arrow for... I guess this is void? Sure, why not. For other spells, Continual Flame and Enhance Ability are generic alchemical solutions, Heat Metal gives you more fire power, and Skywrite is a practical application of your air mastery.

6. Sixth level artificers gain Tool Expertise, doubling your proficiency bonus for any check involving tools. You also make a second Experimental Elixir at the end of each long rest.

You also also gain two more Infusions, and can keep a third up concurrently. The Homunculus Servant in D&D isn’t quite as intimidating as the ones in FGO, but it can be useful to deliver touch spells. Radiant Weapon also doesn’t have much use for you specifically, but it makes the Azoth Sword look really cool.

7. At seventh level, you begin to experience Flashes of Genius. When a check or save is made within 30′ of you, you can react to add your intelligence modifier to the roll. You can do this a number of times equal to your intelligence modifier per long rest.

8. Use your next ASI to become a Magic Initiate for a smattering of Wizard spells. These will round out your elemental cantrips and give you added flexibility with Gust and Fire Bolt, as well as Chromatic Orb. The two cantrips mean the full array of elements are always at your disposal, and the latter lets you attack with a variety of damage types, flavoring the orb to your preferred element. All three use your Intelligence to cast like artificer spells, and you can cast Chromatic Orb once per day for free, or with spell slots like any other spell.

9. Ninth level Alchemists use Restorative Reagents in their potions, and also learn third level spells. Any creature that drinks one of your elixirs gains some extra temporary HP when they do so. You can also cast Lesser Restoration without using a spell slot by using alchemist’s supplies. You can do this a number of times per long rest equal to your intelligence modifier.

Your specialty spells are Gaseous Form for more wind abilities and Mass Healing Word for stronger cure-alls. For spells you’ll need to prepare, Water Breathing and Water Walk turns your elemental skill over water into something more useful than just throwing it at enemies’ faces.

10. You become a Magic Item Adept, allowing you to attune to more items at once, as well as craft magic items with much less time and material cost. On top of that, you learn to cast Prestidigitation for more minor magical effects.

Finally, you learn two more Infusions, and can use one more at the same time. Enhanced Weapon should really go to someone else, but Boots of the Winding Path can be useful for anyone, yourself included.

11. At eleventh level, you can create Spell Storing Items. Once per long rest and one at a time, you can put a 1st or 2nd level artificer spell into a weapon or arcane focus. Any creature holding the item can cast the spell, using your intelligence and their concentration. The spell can be cast from the item a number of times equal to twice your intelligence modifier. 

12. Use this ASI to bump up your Dexterity for better swordplay and better not-dying.

13. Thirteenth level artificers get fourth level spells- Blight lets you literally suck the life out of creatures and mostly plants, and Death Ward does the exact opposite, keeping a creature alive the first time they’d die while enchanted. Mordenkainen’s Faithful Hound gives you a more attack-oriented servant, albeit one that’s invisible. Stone Shape and Stoneskin give you further control over the element of Earth. You can also pick up Elemental Bane to increase the power of several of your spells.

14. At this level, you become a Magic Item Savant, with the ability to attune a fifth magic item at once, and you can ignore all race, spell, class, and level requirements to use or attune to magic items.

You also get a new cantrip, as well as two new infusions learned and another concurrent infusion. Grab Create Bonfire for one last blast of fire, and then grab whatever two infusions you feel your party needs the most. Casters generally have a lot of leeway when it comes to building them, simply because of how varied “general magic specialty” can be.

15. Fifteenth level Alchemists can create a third free elixir, and learn Chemical Mastery. They resist acid and poison damage, and are immune to being poisoned. You can also cast Greater Restoration or Heal once per long rest for free, using your alchemist’s supplies.

16, Use this ASI to finally maximize your Intelligence for more and more powerful spells, stronger flashes of genius, and more free casts from Restorative Reagents.

17. With this level, you learn your highest level of artificer spells. You get Cloudkill as a specialty spell, helping you to create the Demonic Fog just a little bit easier. You can also Raise Dead as a specialty spell too; in Fate, death tends to be more permanent, but you could create zombies with pseudo-philosopher’s stones, so this is a straight upgrade for you.

For prepared spells, Animate Objects helps you bring larger homunculi and/or elementals to life, while Transmute Rock and Wall of Stone gives you more impressive earthbending powers. Finally, Creation will help you make items out of the void, lasting anywhere between 1 day and 1 minute. You can’t use this to create spell components though, so you’ll have to find the real philosopher’s stone the hard way.

18. You become a Magic Item Master, with the ability to attune six magic items at once. You also get one last round of infusions, bringing your total number of infusions learned to 12, and your total number available at one time to six. Again, take what you want at this point, you know what your party needs.

19. Use one last ASI to improve your Constitution and Wisdom for better health and medicine checks.

20. The artificer capstone is a Soul of Artifice. You gain +1 to all saves for each magic item you’re attuned to, and you can use a reaction when dropped to 0 hp to remain at 1 hp instead by ending one artificer infusion.

Pros

You’re a strong support caster, with healing, buffs, and magic items for the whole party. You still have plenty of ways to deal damage too, so you’re not doomed if the party splits up.

Soul of Artifice gives you extremely strong saves at level 20. Having a +5 on your worst save is still pretty good, especially since you’ll need good constitution saves for concentration spells.

You can deal a wide variety of damage through your spells. If an enemy resists one type of damage, that’s fine. Even ignoring Chromatic Orb, you’ve got poison, cold, fire, acid, necrotic, piercing, and bludgeoning damage to mix things up. And that’s not even going into what you can get done with Element Bane or elemental weaknesses.

Cons

Your AC is very low for someone with d8s for hit dice. Technically you can get away with medium armor, but the in-character choice would be leather, or even better, no armor at all. Try to stay out of the thick of things.

You also have very low charisma, so you might have trouble convincing people to take your medicine. You might also get shoved into another plane like you’re back in high school.

While you can deal a lot of different damage types, you mostly focus on Fire and Poison, two of the most resisted types in the game. You’ve got plenty of other options, but those are your specialties.

[blackdogdesignuk]

The Diner Dilemma

Written by Blackdogdesignuk

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/30510615

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Warnings: explicit, smutt, porn without plot, maybe a slight plot. Sub/Dom play, light bdsm, forced orgasms, hand free, sex toys, humiliation, exhibitionism, hint at kink shaming, restraints, Mr. not-much-dialogue Whiskey, no consent, clit slapping, girl on girl. girl on boy.

Summary:

You've never felt such conflicting feelings before, as Poppy meanly flicked your pert nipples you felt the embarrassment creep over your face but deep down a small stab of shameless pleasure inside was eating away at you. Neither of you were trained for this sort of torture.

Notes:

Self insert warnings: It's a female self insert, I think, she has a vagina anyway and I'm using she/her pronouns ...also she's blushing petal pink which suggests her skin tone as Caucasian, she's based on me, a pale ass white girl. Also she has a name, or a nickname anyhow. I've no idea what I'm doing.

2.4k words I believe of the most self indulgent thing I've ever written. To be honest it's the only thing I'd class as a fanfiction I've written. I write short poems not porn but this whole scene came to me whilst participating in the (solo) business of pleasure. That's when I thought, Jesus there is something wrong with me... Maybe other people will like this too? 😳😂

Also do I know how to use page breaks? .. 😒 no.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

"Well if this isn't the most interesting situation we've found ourselves In!"

Poppy exclaimed playfully. The setting sun was blinding you slightly through the big diner windows, bathing the whole bar area in a warm orange glow. Poppy Adams was pacing the retro diner floor in front of the table you were currently tied to. Shivering with adrenaline and maybe cold because you had been embarrassingly stripped down to your knickers and the very thin, very see through strappy top you wore under your work clothes. The ropes rubbing against your wrists behind your back were burning into you as you slienty struggled against your restraints.

"Now see here Miss" exclaimed Agent Whiskey "Your boarish robot hounds almost ripped my good hand clean off!"

"Quiet down please Jack" Miss Adams' sickly sweet baby voice disgusted you "I set a very clever honeytrap for one of those sneaky undercover agents who were following me and well.. here you are! Agent... Babydoll is it?" She nodded at you "yes you look like a Babydoll... Poor sweet girl fell for it hook, line and sinker... I didn't expect you to be with her" Poppy kicked Whiskey's boots "Intel suggested you were undercover in London with Kingsman. How wrong we were and I've managed catch not one but TWO Statesman agents in my sticky web! What a bounty eh?" Poppy Adams smiled whilst seating herself at the bar, swinging her legs playfully.

You glanced over at your partner hoping he had been formulating a plan to get you both out of this mess, however he looked just as confused as you were with his hands tied to the table legs behind his head and they had even secured him around his broad middle. Like a trussed up pig ready for slaughter, least he’d kept his jeans on you though jealously.

Poppy cleared her throat "Now we are going to play a little game my dears, we've all the time in the world whilst I wait from your bosses about my demands and I'm bored and feeling a little evil this morning"

Your heartbeat kicked up a notch as she clicks her fingers and one of her minions barged through the kitchen double doors, dragging some sort of dentist/barbers chair. He heaved it loudly across the floor until it was positioned in front of you.

As Poppy opened a box she'd pulled out from behind the bar, her henchman was busying himself with untying you from the table and man handling you into this very hard and very uncomfortable chair. It was as dated as the rest of this joint you thought, like something you'd find in a 1920's barbers, however this one had been modified clearly as it had big buckle straps on the arms where your wrists would go, metal stirrups and more straps where your legs would be resting on the small platform.

You watch confused as he quickly made himself scarce and you see Poppy had now armed herself a black leather handled flogger, it had gunmetal grey chains hanging down delicately from where she'd wrapped it around her wrist.

Oh shit.

Poppy Adams pushed you back forcefully into the chair until every soft part of you was exposed. You wouldn't be that embarrassed, it was an empty room, however you were hyper aware of the fact Agent Whiskey was tied up and eye level with your crotch a literal stone's throw away from you.

Smiling as she stung your thigh with a sharp bite of her cat o' nine tails Poppy then almost lovingly parted your legs and placed your feet into into the stirrups of the medical contraption. Completely.. completely vulnerable you thought as she buckled your wrists tight and pulled a small lever on the chair which made the metal stirrups spread your legs wide to keep you in place and exposed fully.

Sheepishy you glanced up to make eye contact with Agent Whiskey, trying to give him an apologetic look but to your suprise you found he was blushing severely and his eyes were darting around, looking at everything but you. Even his ears were slowly turning pinker by the second and you swear he had a small bead of sweat making its way down his temple.

You've never felt such conflicting feelings before, as Poppy meanly flicked your pert nipples you felt the embarrassment creep over your face but deep down a small stab of shameless pleasure inside was eating away at you. Neither of you were trained for this sort of torture.

What a bitch you thought.

"No Agent Whiskey" Poppy snapped as she walked over to him "give your colleague your full attention, she obviously wants it, the least you can do is look whilst I torture her in front of you"

Poppy grabbed Jack's face with it hand and directed it at you. "I think you'll like the show I'm going to give you? You may try look away in some sort of twisted respect agent but the tight bluge in your jeans is a dead give away that your enjoying this as much as I am."

"This is not right Ma'am....I can't.. p-pleeeasagggh" stuttered Whiskey helplessly as Poppy Adam's jumped off his lap and slapped your partner across the face, cutting short his pleas. Turning quickly around she walked to grab a big pink dildo from the case on the bar, it was about 10 inches long and the tasteful thickness of it suprised you. You felt sure you had the same one in your bedside drawer at home..

Walking up behind you Poppy leant over your shoulder, making bedroom eyes at Jack whilst the she nibbled your ear and slowly dragged the sex toy down your body, teasing your skin.. slowly...slowly.. until she came to the outside of your lacy knickers. Pressing a button on the side, it started vibrating at the tip which caused you to jump unexpectedly as the vibrations tickled your clit through the fabric of your underwear. She worked at you for a good few minutes. Pulling hot pants from your lips and giving you cold sweats whilst you tried to stop your eyes rolling in to the back of your head.

"Oh Honeybee, I'm going to make you cum for me now, right here in front of your colleagues and there isn't a thing you can do about it. I'm in control.." she whispered into your ear whilst squeezing your nipple with her other free hand. "..and there is nothing you can do about it, your body will betray you and I will get what I want" a sharp jolt of pleasure shot through your crotch as she caught your clit in just the perfect spot. You gasped surprising even your self at how thicky sexual it sounded.

Deciding the fabric was hindering her efforts, Poppy swiftly tugged them off and dragged them down your legs, catching them slightly on the metal parts of the chair. Abandoning you a moment she spat on her hand and slapped your clit which was now becoming more swollen by the minute, you mewled at the shock of the sting. Your nipples hard as bullets now as she slid the whole length slowly in to your aching pussy. The sound of it sliding in to your wet cunt was so obscene and Jack was just staring now, mouth slighty parted, the buttons on his jeans threatening to pop at any moment. This did nothing but spur you on despite the degrading act being forced upon you, deep down being the submissive was always a fantasy of yours. Did Poppy know this? Or did she not expect you to like this sort of kink torture? Maybe you were more fucked up than you originally thought.

Your face prickled with shame as a pink glow crept over your cheeks. Concious of your nose and chin as it always threatened to betray you when you were very aroused turning a rosy pink petal colour. Thinking back to the many nights you'd spent in hotel rooms during undercover missions with your partner. Thinking about when you came hard but silently, stifling a fist into your mouth, knowing Agent Whiskey was in the next room and secret wishing it was him who'd given you such a long, wet, sticky orgasm. Your face sold you out though, it was a dead give away when you answered the door to his frantic knocks and requests to get dressed, informing you about the change of plans from HQ. You suspected he did know...he's not dumb. Jack's eyes had shot from your crumpled up bed sheets back to your flushed cheeks and chin, lingering on your face a little longer than you'd expect..

That same flushed look you had then was painted over your face now and he knew it too as he seemingly couldn't now break eye contact with you.

As Poppy fucked you messily with the dildo, your body abandoned you getting more juicy and slippery by the minute. The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife, and was only penetrated by the obscene sound of your gushing pussy and your uneven pants, trying to catch your breath and fight against the unwanted pleasure rocking thorough your body. Miss Adam's slowly removed the plastic member that she was fucking your cunt with and dipped two fingers deep into you, coating them in your slick.

Thankful for the breather you closed your eyes for a moment but when you opened them you watched horrified as she'd wandered over to Whiskey and smeared your creamy mess all over Jack's face, forcefully slipping a finger into his mouth so he could taste that sweet nectar. You bit your lip as Jack was clearly struggling against wanting to take control of the situation and enjoying this too much.

Did he like it? What is she doing now? She's touching his jeans.. oh Jesus, please... Don't...

Jealousy panged deep in your stomach. Poppy was now sliding his zipper down but she didn't really need to help him much more as the button popped it's self open. Quickly realising why as it was absolutely magnificent. Looking into his big brown eyes you couldn't tell if he was enjoying your pain or sympathising with it, but his now thick, beautiful, coffee coloured cock was standing to attention and jerking with each grunt he made in an attempt to clean his new creamy moustache off with his tounge.

Poppy just laughed staring at the sorry sight she'd created. "I've heard of men cumming hands free before but I've never witnessed it, let's see Babydoll do you think we could make it happen for him? It would be humiliating right? ESPECIALLY as I’d forgot to mention the live feed you have in that fancy cowboy hat you're wearing Whiskey, it's playing all this fun back to your HQ right?"

Fuck!

You gasped, hoping Ginger had enough respect for you both to turn off the audio and video feed but leaving the GPS tracking active so we could at least be rescued.

"Yes, yes, I know they can track you, in all honesty I wasn't expecting any ransom I just wanted to fuck with you both for shits and giggles to be honest" Poppy smirked.

You blinked, looking back at Jack for some sort of reaction to this horrifying news but he just had his eyes closed and was thrusting his hips into nothingness, beads of sticky precum were dripping from the tip of his dick on to his jeans. That big beautiful dick swaying and twitching in the air, it was mesmerising. Clearly Poppy was paying attention too as she drapped the chains of the whip over his throbbing cock causing Whiskey to cry out and jump in anticipation.

"You dirty boy Jack Daniels" she scoffed and pulled her flail back so fast it caught the tip of his penis sharply making him whimper in pain.

Paying her attention back to you, she took the vibrating member in her perfectly manicured hands and held it on your clit. It was too painfully long, stoking your fire relentlessly, not letting you have even a second to compose your self as you struggled to fight down the familiar sensation quite literally buzzing in your nerve endings.

For fuck sake, I don't want this! I can't give her the satisfaction of the screaming orgasm she's forcing out of me.

You writhed, swinging between pleasure and pain, it was too intense. Too sensitive. Your thighs were shaking with anticipation as you edged closer and closer to your climax. Agent Whiskey stared intensely at your body, his chest rising fast now, he looked like a man possessed. He was close, you could tell. His face contorted in to an almost painful state of bliss.

Glassy eyed, his rhythm faultered and his hips tensed as thick ropes of cum shot out of his spent cock and splattered on to his heaving stomach. Once, twice, three times he twitched releasing more and more hot creamy fluid. Jack gasped for air as his orgasm dribbled down slowly over his beautiful tanned skin making quite a mess of his public hair. His face shined with sweat whilst he stared at you, beautiful brown eyes apologising, shame painted across his expression.

"Oh d-darlin.." he managed to stutter.

Well, that was the final nail in your coffin. Tipping you over the edge, you let out the filthiest moan you had ever given anyone, inspired out of darkest depths of your depraved mind. Your orgasm gushed out of your swollen slippery pussy and slid down the shaft of the dildo she was using to finish you off. It pooled satisfyingly in a creamy mess just above your asshole, threatening to spoilt the leather chair you were strapped to.

''There you go Babydoll, we got there in the end didn't we... You both must have been sooo tightly wound. What... Was that a record 4 minutes until Whisky shot his load hmm?" She sneered with that stupid baby voice and then leaned in close to your face "..and you clearly have had a lot of practice havn't you? Look at that pretty pussy all messed up. I might even get him to crawl over here and clean you up huh? But that would be just what you want I now suspect..."

BOOM..

Poppy's sentence was interrupted by a huge explosion from the back of the Diner, as a dozen men ran in to the room.

You closed your eyes in relief. God damn it, Ginger. Took your time honey...

Notes:

I don't think forced orgasm and light bondage will have a huge audience but I would never forgive myself if I didn't make this into at least a paragraph or more.

I have also created a piece of art to go along side this story see my socials here to find it -https://linktr.ee/blackdogdesignuk also a video showing the 'making of' the sketch my tiktok - search Bettyblushes

Please excuse any grammatical errors mistakes, I truly tried to catch them all but it's been a hot decade since I studied at school. 😬

[trillian-anders]

amor de mi vida - 1946

pairing: bucky barnes x latinx!reader

warnings: racism, prejudice, fluff, angst, smut

word count: 2843

description: Bucky Barnes is a sweet young Brooklyn boy, just on the cusp of manhood, a hopeless romantic that falls in love with almost every girl he sees. when he sets his eyes on a young girl fresh off the boat from Cuba he finds out how hard love can really be.

for @cake-writes 1940s challenge.

The cries of a newborn, sweet to those who no longer have one, but frustrating to those still dealing with one. 

Christmas of 1945 was a blessed Christmas. The first grandchild receiving the most presents even though the baby hadn’t even been born yet. Hand knit booties, little caps, a crib that Bucky and Steve put together and set in the corner of your bedroom. The nursery painted and nested. 

Winnie gifted you with a rocking chair. “You’ll thank me later.” She said. And it did come in handy. The gift left in the nursery soon was dragged into your bedroom, late night feedings while you rocked both you and the baby back to sleep. 

It was a long and arduous labor. Almost a year to the day Bucky had returned. The contractions started just after breakfast and labor lasted well into the next day. It was as dawn broke that his cries broke through the air for the first time. 

Your sweet little boy. 

He was laid onto your chest, wailing halting as his skin touched yours, lips smacking for the first time in open air. His little fists clenched tight. James Buchanon Barnes II, Jaime. 

His hair, eyes, and skin were yours. Everything else was his fathers. If Bucky had brown eyes they could have been twins as a baby. 

Jaime was a good baby for the most part, alert, always looking around and didn’t cry too often. But he had a lot of trouble throughout the night in the early days. 

You resented Bucky and glared at him while he slept, Jaime suckling on your raw nipples and fatigue plagued your body. 

“How can I help?” Bucky would ask. But beside changing diapers and watching him while you napped there wasn’t much else he could do. Bucky had gotten pretty good at changing a diaper with one arm. Once every two or three months Howard would have another prototype, something else for Bucky to try but had volunteered a break while the Barnes’ got settled with their new baby. 

And a sweet baby he was. 

A spoiled baby he was. 

Winnie loved taking him. George couldn’t put him down. And the girls loved passing him around and cooing as he began to babble. 

Bucky was obsessed with his son. The man cried when he was born, when you nestled his little body in the crook of Bucky’s arm. He said, “Thank you,” with tears in his eyes, he pressed his forehead against yours, “Thank you for this.” But you were thankful. Thankful for your little family. The baby you’d been craving for so long. 

The future you wanted. 

“Can I hold him?” Peggy held her hands out, letting you place Jaime into her arms. A smile stretching across her lips. “He’s gorgeous.” 

“Thank you.” You smile, brushing a curl off his forehead.

“Howard is trying to break James down into joining us.” She says, bouncing the now giggling Jaime on her knee. “James would be an incredible asset to the team” At the moment ‘us’ was only Howard, Steve, Peggy and the rest of the commandos currently enjoying their time off having returned to their families at the end of the war. 

While you were focused on Bucky the rest of the world celebrated the end of the war. Men came home, husbands, fathers, sons… reunited with their families in the wake of the utter destruction the US laid on Hiroshima. 

“They were ready to surrender,” Steve spat, the day it was announced, his jaw hasn’t been unclenced since. “It was unnecessary.” The US did the one thing he hated, became a bully. He felt disrespected by it. Like he just went and fought to defend the helpless, take down an international crime syndicate in the name of justice, only to come home and have the United States act on a grudge. 

He now manned the small grill in your new backyard. “The kid needs a backyard.” Bucky claimed. It probably had little or nothing to do with the fact that he was a disabled war vet who was married to a Cuban woman and the stares he’d been getting pushing the pram around were starting to grate his nerves. It was in a cute little suburb outside of the city, still close enough that you could continue with dress orders and he could help George with the shop when he needed it, but far enough away that no one really knew you there. 

And no one had said anything about the two of you as a couple. Yet. 

A bottle of beer passed between the two men, while you took Jaime back into your lap. “Howard is getting close.” Peggy said, “Maybe this week.” Bucky smiled at her before turning to his son. This week maybe he’ll have his arm back. A kiss to your forehead and he scooped up the little boy from your lap, holding him tight to his chest and blowing a raspberry on his stomach. Jaime giggled and squirmed in his grip before turning his head to look back at you and cry. 

“He hates me.” Bucky sighs, the baby reaching his chubby little arms out to you. 

“He doesn’t hate you.” Jaime rests his head on your shoulder while you rub his back. His fingers gripping at your shirt. “He just loves me more.” Bucky presses his lips to yours before pressing a kiss to his son’s head of curls. 

“We need to have a girl next,” He says, “So she’ll love me more.” The entire pregnancy Bucky had been hoping for a girl. He wasn’t disappointed when you had Jaime, and he liked to spend time with him, but Jaime was definitely more attached to you. 

“I’m his food.” You laugh, “Of course he wants me more.” 

“He’s a mama’s boy.” Bucky jibed. “I want a daddy’s girl.” Steve laid out the burgers on the table, taking his seat across from Peggy. 

“Have you thought any more about it Buck?” You settled Jaime into the wooden highchair at the end of the picnic table and Bucky began to give him little pieces of squished blueberries which Jamie seemed content to play with. 

“I’m just not sure I want to be that far from my family.” He says. “We’ll talk later.” And it was always later. He didn’t want to talk about it in front of you. The danger that the missions had. You rested a hand over your belly, Jaime just learning to eat soft foods and you were already pregnant with baby number two. It was another reason why you’d agreed to move out of the city. 

“I could always go back to working for my Pa.” He’d say while you’re getting ready for bed. “Once Howard finishes my new arm.” He’d gotten pretty good at surviving without one though. He could do pretty much everything he could do before, within reason. 

“But would you be happy doing that?” You asked. Jamie was sleeping in the room beside yours, trying something new now that he was sleeping through the night. “Would you be happy to settle for going back to work at the shop?” You knew what his answer would be. He’s been following Steve since they were kids, protecting him, making sure he was safe. “Would you be able to let him go out there alone?” 

“He wouldn’t be alone.” Bucky argued. But he knew what you meant. He stepped behind you at the vanity, squatting down to wrap an arm around your middle, splaying his hand wide over your growing belly. Your first pregnancy you hadn’t started showing until you were four or five months, but this one seemed to sprout right away. “But you would be.” You sigh and lean back against him, meeting his eyes in the mirror. 

“I want you to be happy.” 

“I am happy.”

The house was white, with powder blue shutters. The porch was large and Bucky recently hung a porch swing with the help of Steve. Together they put up floral wallpaper and carried in boxes, setting up your home while you held the still newborn Jaime. 

Now it was well lived in and not suitable for company most of the time, but it was your home. And you told Bucky you weren’t going to move again if you couldn’t help it. The big surprise was the spare bedroom he’d made into a sewing space for you. Your Mother’s old sewing machine, a place to organize fabrics, buttons, and thread. 

You were finishing dress orders every day, but it was becoming a little too much. 

“Why don’t you ask some of the girls to help you?” Bucky was talking about the girls from the factory, not all of them completely abandoned you when you married him, but you know some had started families of their own. He was holding your son, Jamie playing with a scrap of tulle that was shimmering in the sunlight. “You’re not going to be able to keep this up much longer, mi amor.” He was right, your back aches and your belly was growing every day. Soon you’d have two babies and it just wasn’t going to be possible. Especially if Bucky went back to work. 

So you outsourced. 

Two girls, friends you hadn’t talked to in a while agreed to help. Amara and Rosalyn. ‘Friends’ who had always been very close from what you’d seen. The girls still worked at the factory, but with the dress orders you had it would give them significant income. You were currently making $50 a week selling these dresses, but with the two of them you could do three times the work, $150 a week, with both of them getting 15% was good money. They couldn’t say no. 

With that kind of money coming in, “You wouldn’t have to work if you don’t want to.” Bucky wasn’t having it. “I’m making $105 a week with these.” A kiss to his palm. 

“I want to work again.” He says, “I want to help provide for our family.” 

The new arm was a little heavy, “But that will get modified over time.” Howard claimed. It was metal and cuffed around his upper arm. His shoulder was sore from the initial nerve connection, but stayed always a little stiff because of the weight of the arm. 

The first week or so a lot of dishes were broken, doors pulled off their hinges, and Bucky was refusing to hold Jaime. Something that he didn’t realize Jaime would have such a problem with. The sweet little boy crying and fussing, reaching out for his father but Bucky wouldn’t do any more but rub his back or kiss him before bed, 

“Not until I get this arm figured out.” He didn’t want to hurt him. Which was something you could understand, but your 6 month old baby could not. Jaime seemed to go backwards, waking up in the middle of the night wailing, unable to sleep. Crying uncontrollably no matter what you did. It wasn’t until Bucky stopped breaking things around the house, when he practiced fine motor skills with Howard, did he feel comfortable enough to finally soothe your son. 

Your body woke up on its own. Startled out of sleep by the silence, you’d been expecting Jamie to wake you up like he had been every night before but he was quiet. The house was quiet. Your hand brushes against the empty sheets, still warm from where Bucky’s body had once lay. 

You find him in the nursery, the shining metal arm beneath Jaime’s butt, the small boy lay on his chest. Skin to skin. His right palm splayed on his son’s back, rocking him back to sleep in the rocking chair you definitely thanked Winnie for, multiple times. 

His eyes were closed, his head leaned back against the chair. A pile of drool on his chest from where Jaime’s mouth was open. You sigh, placing a hand on your belly and leaning against the doorway of the bedroom. It was a relief. 

You admired the two of them for a minute, rubbing your belly and feeling the little movements of the baby still inside you and for a moment, not for the first time since finding out you were pregnant, did you wish your Mother was still alive. 

There was a bit of grief in that moment, knowing how much she would have loved having grandchildren. How she would have doted on them. Maybe if this baby was a girl you could name her after her grandmother. 

Steve showed up a few nights after that, fully geared up in a suit you hadn’t seen. One like the suit he wore in the films, but more muted. Something easier to get by in, and a duffel next to him. 

“I can’t leave her Steve.” A whisper in the hallway. The duffel dropped on the floor. 

“I need your help with this pal.” Steve replied, “You know I hate to ask, but I need you.” You step out into the front hall, your husband’s back blocking out most of Steve. 

“What’s wrong?” Your back hurt like hell, breasts heavy with milk for the feeding you knew Jaime would want soon. Feet swollen in early third trimester. Bucky sighed and turned to you with a smile, 

“Nothing sweetheart, go get ready for bed. I’ll be up in a minute.” Your eyes met Steve’s and his face was serious, brow pulled tight, jaw clenched. 

“Steve?” You step further towards them, “Is it serious?” A curt nod. 

“I wouldn’t ask him to come...” You nod, looking back at your husband. His fists clenched at his sides. 

“You should go.” His face falls, 

“But dahlin, I can’t leave you here alone.” 

“I won’t be alone.” You soothe, “I’ll call your Mother in the morning, I’m sure she’ll be happy to stay with me for a few days.” You didn’t want him to go, not really. But Steve was never gone for more than a week, and you could tell how badly Bucky wanted to go. There was something in him that needed to follow Steve, every time Steve left on a mission Bucky would be anxious and couldn’t focus on anything. The worry. 

“He just rushes into things,” Bucky explained once, “He wasn’t particularly good at making plans.” Which was true, but most of that was left to Peggy. 

“You want to help him,” Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist, “So help him.” A soft, languid kiss. 

“Are you sure?” He searches your eyes for the truth and you meet his lips again in reassurance.

“I’m sure, just, when you’re done, come home.” He nods, leaning his forehead on yours for a moment before looking at Steve. 

“Let me go see Jaime and I’ll be right out.” 

The first time he came back it was frightening, all the bruises. A gash in his side hastily stitched, but healed within a matter of days. It wasn’t easy seeing him go each time, albeit not often did he go, but the reunion of him coming back was heated and passionate. 

Rushed kisses and his hands curled into your hair. The pleasure in having both arms so he could do everything he wanted to, but couldn’t before. Fingers in your mouth pressing down on your tongue while cool metal digits strummed pleasure under your skirt and stuffed into your panties while Jaime napped. 

Both hips held for leverage while he was buried inside you in the only way you could get comfortable, grinding against your pussy to make you cum quickly before the both of you left the bed to start your day. 

He whispers into your neck, moaning as he held you over the washing machine, his hips slapping against yours in a steady pace, “I told you I would take care of you.” A whimper from your lips, “I’ll always take care of you.” Fingers laced in yours on the table top over the laundry, his hand met your chin, turning your mouth to meet his as you came, moaning into his mouth. 

He was almost his old self once he started going back out on missions. The anger of last year faded into dark moments and restless sleep. Some nights he wasn’t able to sleep at all, but the resentment you felt when you’d been awake with the baby was washed down with the fact that he needed every good night he could. 

After the incident in the old house, the bruise on your arm was the only memory for weeks after, he’d never taken his anger out on you again. He’d gone back to boxing, a hobby in his teen years, an outlet for the anger and trauma he’d experienced out in the field. 

Now that he was working with Howard, Steve, and Peggy, he was training a lot more. The muscles in his arms and legs are more defined, his soft belly tighter. 

And he was happy. Truly happy, for the first time in a long time. 

.

.

.

taglist //  @corneliabarnes @bookish-shristi @saturnki @jennmurawski13 @geeksareunique @albinotigerpython @cake-writes @iheartsebastianstan @000bananaclip000 @shadowbuisness​ @sprinkleofbooty @gifsbysimplysonia @vhsbarnes @loseralert @wendaiii @mcueveryday @alwaysbenhardysgirl @beck-alicious  @thefandomzoneisdangerous

[oc-and-art-review-reblog]

name: wildheart specise: fire element draco-morphiad (explained below) pronouns: she/her

specise info: draco-morphiads are, basically, a specise of sexless magic cat furries. each one of them controls one of twelve elements (although two of them are special); fire (fire elements are also able to control one type of igneous rock, differing depending on the individual), water, earth, air, plant, plague, void (this void being concentrated everythingness and named for its pitch black color, there may only be one void element at a time and only two have ever been recorded), quantum strings (this has been proven to be possible, but never recorded), gemstone, metal, sound and light. draco-morphiads have a unique internal anatomy, their body cavity is filled entirely with liquid magic. this magic contains their consiousness and, when needed, forms organs to keep the draco-morphiad alive. draco-morphiads also have whats known as elemental bits, an extra part of their body made from their element or regular body part modified by it. draco eye color is also generally dictated by their element. just a draco-morphiad generation (they live tens of thousands of years) ago, they had an expansive interdimensional (this takes place in a multiverse) empire. but for reasons now lost to time, it fell. the specise took heavy casualties, although it was nowhere close to extinction. theyre rarer now, and... scattered, to say the least. their natural ability to create interdimensional portals doesnt help that. given that draco-morphiads are sexless, their native language's pronouns were dependant on element, but wildheart was raised by a sexed specise tens of thousands of years after the near extinction of the language (plus draco-morphiads were invented to explain her so i think she should get to keep her pronouns).

apperance: wildheart has brown fur, which turns abruptly black (like, theres a straight, non-gradiant divide between the back and brown) at the waist, so approximately half of her is black and half is brown . she has blood red eyes. fire element eyes are usually orange, but this is explained. she has a pair of half-crescent obsidian wings coming out of her shoulderblades, each one flanked by three floating obsidian triangles. embedded in her chest is a peice of obsidian shaped like a broken heart, and her claws are obsidian as well. she has a couple notches in each ear and a scar over her eye.

story: wildheart is born on a remote planet in a remote universe. save for her and her littermate, their parents and their older sibling squirreltail. soon after the two's birth, their parents die of reasons. unprepared to take care of them, squirreltail opens two portals to random inhabited parts of the multiverse and sends them through, hoping each will be picked up by someone responsible and more able than him.wildheart ends up being adopted by a family of goatlike skeleton monsters, where she stays for the first 13 years of her life (draco-mophiads age like humans up until about their 20th birthday). during this time she becomes incredibly close with her adopted brother, [edit with name later, i forgot it]. shortly after her 13th birthday, wildheart discovered her ability to make portals. with their parents permission, she and her brother went out to explore the multiverse a little.on their little jaunt, the two encountered a creature totally alien to them, and wildheart dared her brother to go poke it with a stick. unfortunately, the creature turned out to be a bear-esque superpreadator and ripped wildheart's brother to shreds while she watched.wildheart opened a portal to nowhere in particular, landing her at a market in the interdimensional void (my imagining of the multiverse is, like space, mostly empty. universes take the shape of enormous white orbs with the texture of frosted lightbulbs. their glow is soft, yet can be seen from light centuries away). scared to go back home, she wandered.and wildheart never stopped wandering. she quickly exanded her scope to universe hopping, trying her best to repress the memories and emotions from her brother's death.during the next eleven years, wildheart developed a routine. explore and universe hop, break gear, plunder something ancient for rare stuff, sell it at the interdimensional market, get new gear, repeat. in ancient tombs and temples, wildheart saw one thing over and over again. carvings of things that looked like her, had the same powers as her. naturally, she assumed she was the last.on the eve of her 24th birthday, wildheart was traveling through the market, looking for something special to get herself. wherever she went, the vendors all talked about one thing. the nearby combat arena had a new champion, a catlike (cats are p much a multiversal constant) calling herself reaper. knowing wildheart, many suggested she challenge her.wildheart was confident in her abilities, both physical and magical, so she decided that a championship would be the perfect gift to herself.

she actually proved a pretty even match for reaper, but in the end the champion won. though wildheart's energy seemed boundless, reapers patience and tactical skill were ultimately able to exhaust her.

after the fight, the two met by chance somewhere in/around the market. they got to talking, reaper asking what wildheart does for a living. finding the prospect of universe-hopping more interesting than beating the shit out of people, reaper asked to join wildheart.

reaper was a tall (for a draco) draco-morphiad with black fur, white patterns outlining the shape of her skeleton (or what it would be if draco-morphiads had those). she wore a grey hoodie. her wings, skeletal things composed entirely of ice, marked her as a water element, though her eyes seemed to contradict that (although wildheart didnt really know that). instead of the slightly desaturated off-teal you would expect from a water element, reapers eyes were pich black with pupils colored a deep, beautiful blue.

anyway, after a few weeks of traveling the multiverse together, the two encountered something strange. a universe with no glow, just a dull grey orb.

portaling inside (and quickly leaving), the two found that the universe was empty. it had experienced a heat death, something totally unnatural in this setting.

wildheart and reaper agreed that they had to find and kill whoever did this.

idk how, exactly, they found him, but that person turned out to be a being calling himself entropy, the incarnation of the void, the nothingness that came before the multiverse. while he was monolouging about a pair of beings called 'chaos' and 'order',  wildheart and reaper tried to jump entropy. entropy did not like this. he used some sort of attack that sent the pair into a strange voidspace.

sat in this voidspace was a pair of beings. a scribbled dragon, with eyes of wildheart's blood red, and a hyperrealistic marble statue of a woman with a buzzcut in a dress, with gemstone eyes of reapers deep, beautiful blue. the two were enormous, the tip of the dragons talon bigger than wildheart's entire body. they were playing chess on a table of equal proportions.

"you're back early." remarked the dragon "did something happen?"

after a bit of confusion, it became understood that wildheart and reaper had no idea who these people were or where they were.

the two giants explained that they were chaos (the scribbled dragon) and order, demiurges of the multiverse.

many googols (a number with a hundred zeroes) of googols of eons ago, there was nothing. out of that nothing arose chaos, pure unbridled creation. but without filter, chaos could not create or take any definite form. and so, it (chaos is they/it) sat as a sort of existance soup for not even they know how long. until, at some point, order arose from the void. order was filter, what chaos needed to truly create. she (order is she/it) could not create by itself either, each dependant on the other to do something they instinctually longed for. order's form was also much different from her current day form, either a ball of quantum strings or a colorless cube of indeterminate material (i havent decided). so, the two came together and created. one of the first things the two created was a pair of souls, one blood red and the other a deep, beautiful blue. each one carved their true name into the corresponding soul in the first language, marking them as the incarnations of chaos and order.t hey were to be sent out into the multiverse together every once in a while, when the multiverse needed saving or just spicing up. of course the current incarnations were wildheart, incarnation of chaos and reaper, incarnation of order. they had been sent out this time for the purpose of killing entropy, whose trail of destruction included countless universes. but for reasons i dont know yet but were probably a mistake on chaos and orders part, they couldnt do it by themselves. they needed two more of their kind (chaos was vague about what 'their kind' was because i want it to be revealed in the narrative later). idk if its the two specific dracos they meet later or just any.

theyre currently in the place behind existance, chaos and order's personal voidspace.

chaos also reveals when talking to order that wildheart and reaper are siblings, before promptly sending them back out into the multiverse. entropy has long moved on, assuming he killed the two siblings.

the story isnt too well planned from here but

after some freaking out/contemplating/whatever over the fact that theyre siblings, wildheart and reaper continue on.

eventually, they encounter Six Of Spades, child of the last draco-morphiad monarch. saen (six of spades uses saen/trah pronouns, the traditional draco neutral/no-element pronouns) is a no-element, a semi-rare mutant with, you guessed it, no element. six of spades percives this as a fault of some sort, and overcompensates for it by playing up the ‘last heir to the draco-morphiad throne’ thing. Technically, saens cousin would have inherited the throne, but saen has no cousins saens aware of. six of spades would actually make a good monarch, if not for saens general neurosis and feeling of being (mostly) superior to those around trah.

six of spades watched saens parent die in front of saen to poachers, who wanted monarch eris (six of spades's parent)'s teeth. the teeth are the only part of a draco-morphiads pure magic core that doesnt simply dissipate after death. theyre an extremely potent source of magic, thus why draco-morphiads were killed for them shortly after the fall of the empire.

apperance wise, six of spades is an average sized (about 4 feet tall) grey draco-morphiad. saen has medium-grey fur down to saens waist, where its abruptly replaced by light grey scales. saen has ear fins like a dragon, and spikes going down saens back that may or may not start with the scales. six of spades has a lizard like tail and long, angular talons. save for color scheme (monarch eris was green), the spitting image of saens parent. six of spades also wears a worn gold crown and carries a worn gold staff with a magic gemstone orb, both posessions of monarch eris

wldheart and reaper convince six of spades to come with them.

eventually, they encounter a young (about 13 year old)

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Eve’s Coven

Here are the vampires I mentioned earlier, along with updated bios for some old ones. A lot of stuff is WIP so keep that in mind:

Allen Lecarde: A drifter vampire and hopeless romantic, he fell in love with Rika Amano and turned her without her consent, ruining their blossoming relationship. Miserable and remorseful, he wandered about the city until Eve’s coven took him in. His power is WIP.

Amon: The oldest and most powerful vampire and the leader of the coven. Eve calls him a close personal friend, and he has been alive for thousands of years. Unbeknownst to all, he is also the father of Nadia, Dracula’s adopted daughter. He is an extremely powerful wizard and has the incredible power to negate natural laws, cancelling out things such as gravity or momentum or density... or increasing/kickstarting them if he sees fit.

Bartholemew Comstock: A pilgrim from the 17th century, he wandered off from his colony and nearly died in the wilderness, finding salvation in Eve, who claimed to be an angel… she just left out the “fallen” part. Miserable upon learning he was a vampire and deeming himself an affront to God, he went into hiding for years,eventually coming to believe that there was little meaning to his actions if he was damned to Hell. He begin to strike down and feed off those he viewed as sinners, all the while bemoaning his miserable lot in life and fearing retribution from God.

Beatrix Cullen: A black widow type serial killer who loves to carve up her victims with a chainsaw. She is an incredibly skilled seamstress, and utilizes this in conjunction with her power, which allows her to give life to the lifeless, essentially allowing her to create golems without use of spells or scrolls. She has a very special project lined up utilizing her seven favorite husbands, but she’s looking for just the right head...

Cyrus Lovelace: A former slave owner, Confederacy member, and all-around unpleasant person who captured slaves and auctioned them off to vampires as cattle. He was the one who purchased Dahlia from her parents for her infractions and had rather untoward plans for her before Dracula broke up his operation. He has the power to hypnotize people with his voice.

Dallas Ryder: A white cowboy from the late 1800s, he was hunted relentlessly for the crime of loving a black man. He dedicated much of his time to roaming the South and slaughtering any Klansmen he found without mercy. He was eventually captured and nearly lynched, but he was rescued by Amon. He has the power to control the trajectory of any projectiles he releases as long as they remain within his eyesight, be it bullets from his gun or a paper airplane. The efficiency of the projectiles is also increased. 

Dee Comporre, Giorgio Nero, & Mr. Viticcio: Three members of Cosa Nostra who once worked to enforce the will of an extremely powerful criminal in the 1920s. Giorgio is their leader, and has the power of magnetism, capable of feats similar to Magneto from X-Men; Dee is incredibly violent, paits her face up like a skull, and has the ability to secrete corrosive acid; Mr. Viticcio wears a coat, hat, sunglasses, and has a heavily bandaged face, and has the ability to stretch his limbs out like rubber. It is unknown if their names are real or aliases.

Elizabeth Bathory: The Blood Countess herself. After evading death in the 1600s thanks to Eve, she became a loyal follower of the demon, and was recruited into the Order of the 1800s. Dracula and Rasputin managed to defeat her and supposedly kill her, but Bathory is notoriously hard to slay. True to her infamous reputation, she tends to “Feed” by bathing in the blood of her victims. 

Elvis Chavez: A big fan of Elvis growing up in the 60s and 70s, Elvis wished to someday be like the impersonators he saw at his father’s bar. He got his wish in the 80s when he went to Vegas, but was often ridiculed by his peers for portraying the chunkier Elvis of his later life due to his weight. He became a vampire mostly out of spite for those people, hoping to outlive the even as he indulged in gluttonous behavior. He is absolutely unashamed of his gut and kept his chubbiness even after he was turned. Power is WIP.

Flanagan & Tantomile: A pair of psychic vampire twins.

Jack Fairchild: Jack the Ripper himself. He has the power to travel through shadows. He is the most hated and feared member of the coven, and he has committed nearly every atrocity you can imagine, gleefully. He views himself as above laws and morality. He was once a student of Dracula, and the lover of Rose Milliner, but was swayed to join Eve and slaughter his peers at Dracula’s school. After Rose rejected him, he went on to become the cannibalistic, immoral spree killer he is known as today.

Kane Dødsstreik: A Nordic warlord. He has a quiet intensity and is in general given a fair amount of respect. He stands at 6′5″ tall. He has the power to use his voice as a weapon (a la Black Bolt); he tends to speak softly and infrequently, though this is less because of his power - which he has complete control over - and more because he finds most of his fellow coven mates unworthy of his words.

Kristoph Hollenfeuer: A former Nazi who commanded a secret paranormal investigation branch known as Enigma. He has the power to generate tracking bombs from his hands.

Michelle Kitt: Once a notorious cat burglar in the 50s alongside her husband, she would steal from the rich and give to the less fortunate (though she would still keep some for herself). After eventually settling down, enemies she’d made broke into her home, killed her husband and daughter, and left her face cut up and scarred heavily, as well as costing her an eye. She has the ability to ignore the rules of sacred hospitality, allowing her to enter buildings uninvited at the cost of her pronounced combat skills being weakened, as well as the power to move silently.

Mickey Harrelson: A former hitman and one of the new Order. His power is WIP.

Nestor Sokolov: A lost cosmonaut, whose supposed death was covered up by the Soviet Union after he burned on reentry. While he did suffer severe burns, he managed to survive, and was saved from death by Amon. He often still wears a modified space suit to hide his face. He has the power to phase through solid objects. 

Pierre Labeau: A man hailing from Louisiana, he was born with a disfigured nose that made his upper class mother feel ashamed. She locked him in the attic, his only friends and interests being the various spiders therein; eventually, his mother even cut his nose off, something he would return to her in kind before killing her. He began to kill people like her, snobbish upper class twits, cutting off their noses and slitting their throats. He learned of the phrase “cut off her nose to spite her face” and decided to dub himself Spider Face after the mondegreen one could discern from the phrase. He was eventually caught in the act and driven into the bayou where he supposedly died, though Amon in truth allowed him to join Eve’s coven. His love of arachnids caused him to gain their powers, making him much like Spider-Man, as well as giving him incredibly virulent venom. While he certainly isn’t totally wicked, he also revels in being something of an area boogeyman and proudly proclaims himself a villain any chance he gets.

Piper Sanchez – One of the new Order. Formerly a young, mute homeless man. Loves rock music and has a guitar. Has the power to control and empower rats, which he can do with his music.

Rhapsody Von Braun: Hailing from the early 60s, Rhapsody was an artist who had her career derailed by workplace sexism, which led to a car accident that permanently damaged her leg and led to her becoming a drug addict. She spends a lot of her time sleeping, and walks with a cane even as a vampire. She’s rather sweet and pleasant, though she is a bit scatterbrained. Her power is to make drawings she draws come to life.

Ryo Amano: The elder son of the Amano family and a criminal mastermind, for years he served alongside Jemima Mathers, regulating crime in the city and ensuring his work would go unhindered. However, his cruel past caught up to him: when it was revealed he had his sister violently beaten and kicked out of the family, and that he had driven his own mother to suicide by making her blame herself for her daughter’s disappearance, he had to go into hiding. Eve soon discovered him, and his lineage was revealed to him - his father was Amadeus Zephyri, which made him a dhampyr. Granted vampirism, he soon found himself in possession of a powerful new skill. Where his father could stop time, he could essentially utilize a localized acceleration of time, causing negative effects to rapidly occur, such as allowing a decrepit pillar to crumble or to cause a knife wound to fester and kill the victim immediately. 

Sawney Bean: The infamous Scottish cannibal of legend, transformed into a vampire by Eve as he was about to die in his sealed-in cavern alongside the remains of his family. He eventually decided to give in to the ultimate vampire taboo and consume another vampire; finding he liked the taste, he continued to eat other vampires who crossed him, eventually twisting and transforming into a terrifying monster with metal teeth and claws that stood well over seven feet tall. He rarely ventures out from his hideaway unless called by his masters.

Walter Sherman: A good, kindhearted man who ever since the 1910s always looked to the future and was excited for progress. After his wife and two children died in a freak accident, he attempted suicide, but was turned into a vampire instead. Power Is WIP.

Wayne Nicol: A former circus clown. He has the ability to enter people’s minds and utilize their most powerful fears against them.

[jokerownsmysoul]

A rainy night in the universe we belong to

Summary: you’ve always loved rainy days, especially this night where you’re enchanted by the thunderstorm you’re both looking out the window, yet it’s not enough for you not to end up in each other’s arms and enjoy your love.

Pairings: Arthur x Reader, Content: soft

Warnings: uuhm nothing?? Too fluffy

Word count: 2911

A/N: I wrote it while it was raining omggg also this is very self-indulgent lol I felt a bit lonely and sad and needed some cuddles, I started writing and this is the result.

A/N: english is not my first language so I apologize for any typos, I’m still learning.

“Artie, come here! You should see this!” Your apartment had only a few rooms, but you had to strain your vocal cords to shout enough for him to hear you since he was on the other side of the apartment, far from where you were.

Arthur was cooking dinner while you were staring at him bustling around the kitchen among pots and flavors by moving in a way which hypnotized you. You’d been together a long time, and you knew that music and grace were buried in his soul as if they were the roots of a land which doesn’t make them grow, so strong and sturdy they are, and yet, even though you knew it, every time you watched him even just exist next to you, you were amazed at how graceful he was, no matter what he was doing, as in this moment when you were wondering how he could dance making moves which totally enveloped you. Even while he was cooking he held grace and sophistication in his movements. He moved between the walls of the kitchen with such freedom that, if he had been a bird in a cage, he would have made a third wing of that cage and he would have used it for dancing, too.

When Arthur was dancing, he wasn’t just dancing with his body, there was another entity within him which had hypnotized you once again; you’d been staring at him ever since he started cooking in moves which didn't feel like they belong to this earth.

He didn’t belong to this earth, that’s what you thought while he was pretending not to know that you had been staring at him for a long time, though you knew exactly he was faking by the knowing smile he had printed on his face.

Only another powerful emotion like the one which invaded you as soon as the sound of a thunder covered the whole city could awaken your mind from his enchanted dance, and as much as you never wanted to take your eyes away from him, you couldn’t help but encourage the enthusiasm which you felt growing in your stomach and shortly after you were already running towards the window of the living room, with your face sticking against the glass.

“I’m comin’, sweetie!” He muttered with a curious voice and wiped his hands on the kitchen apron he was wearing in an impatient movement.

“Artie! Hurry up, you cannot miss it!” you felt the splash of the apron thrown on the table and his hurried steps reaching you. "I’m here, sweetheart". He stood behind you wrapping your waist and placed his chin on your left clavicle, naked and free from the grip of your hair which were falling on the other shoulder.

"Look! It’s so difficult to catch the very beginning of a thunderstorm. It’s beautiful." Arthur smiled popping a kiss on your left cheek, on his lips he felt your face wrinkle to let out a giggle while you tilted your neck, never taking your eyes away from the view, only to give him more space and allow his lips to reach also the corner of your mouth, before he moved away and resting his chin on your clavicle one more time and watching together the beginning of the thunderstorm which was rising in the night. The first thunder emitted a faint light but the more the minutes passed and the louder and brighter they became, the city began to turn yellow emitting a warm glow in the atmosphere while lights from the buildings became more and more numerous, betraying the silent movements of the inhabitants of Gotham returning home, blindsided by this sudden storm.

“It’s truly beautiful, love.” You would have sworn that Arthur wasn’t only talking about the thunderstorm but also about the warm feeling of holding you in his arms as he made you swing from right to left, back and forth, in a slow, almost imperceptible movement, but which awakened all of your senses as if his body were a single caress which wanted to wrap you entirely. Without ever taking your eyes away from the thunderstorm you let him cradle you into his arms hugging you in a gentle embrace, while a fun giggle made your shoulders tremble slightly and Arthur’s face vibrate, still placed on your skin.

“We can see also our faces on the reflection of the window, Artie.” You giggled one more time as your faces deformed in the rainy tears falling on the window glass, modifying the reflections of your faces in shapeless drafts and making you laugh. "Look at your nose!" You pointed out the spot where his nose twisted in the reflection by touching it with your finger and then you pressed the palm of your left hand completely on the window glass, letting the raindrops flow beyond the glass and beyond your hand; while you watched them walking through the glass, hiding under your hand and reappearing on the bottom of the glass shortly after, it looked like they were entering the skin and becoming rain yourself.

Arthur looked at the spot you had pointed out, now almost hidden by your hand on the glass and by his face reflected you noticed that he was smiling to himself. “It looks sort of like a wolf.” You felt Arthur’s chin curling over your skin in a giggle and then he put gently his left hand over yours, which you kept still open on the glass. "Your hand is distracting me from the thunderstorm." He said distractedly, as if his thoughts were speaking for him. He filled the spaces between your fingers with his own, his hand was so big compared to yours that when he planted it on yours he completely covered the back, now of your hand were visible only your fingers alternating with his and from your perspective it seemed that your fingers had blending in a single hand made by two separate bodies.

You were one soul in two distinct bodies and at this moment, finally, you shared even only one body, just as you have always dreamed of; stay in each other’s body for the rest of your life and feel your souls blending into one another. He leaned his head against yours, your cheeks touched each other as you both looked at the canvas painted by your hands held one on the other and on which flowed the drops of an invisible rain you couldn’t touch.

Each of you breathed the smell of the other that was mixing with the smell in the background of the dinner Arthur was preparing shortly before, but now seemed to matter little; you were feeding on each other’s love by witnessing a thunderstorm which had meanwhile become more powerful. Thunder ripped the sky like giant electric spiderwebs, and the city was a black spot dotted with earthly stars which illuminated the walls of the buildings in front of you.

“Oh, is that so? Is my hand distracting you from the thunderstorm?” You felt his cheek bend against yours in a knowing smile. Every time it rained you had the same childish enthusiasm that you had as a child and you got excited as if it were the first time in your whole life you saw the rain, and since you were together Arthur would have sworn that the look you gave to the thunderstorms had never changed. You pulled your cheek away from his to turn towards him enough to look him in the eyes, your bodies were still glued to each other in the embrace with which Arthur was still rocking you from right to left, swinging both of your bodies. He had music in him, and in this moment, as he held your waist with his right arm and cradled you, he turned even this hug into a slow dance.

“Is my hand even enough to distract you from… this?” You said indicating with an almost imperceptible movement of the face the explosion of colors and sounds that was taking place before of you, in a laugh which hid your disbelief. You obviously didn’t think it was true. "Y/N" he said, penetrating your face with his gaze, “every part of you is enough to distract me from anything, love. And yes,“ he kept, already knowing what your answer would have been, “even from any thunderstorm.” He held you even tighter with his right arm which didn’t want to leave your waist and kissed you, leaving the grip of your hand still on the glass only to wrapping your right cheek with his own.

As soon as he took his hand away from yours you felt on the back the freshness left by the absence of his skin; it was a feeling which made you feel uncomfortable, it felt just… wrong. Your body was created only to be touched by him; if he didn’t touch you, your senses wouldn’t work anymore and you were just wrong without him. This lack, however, was soon filled by his lips which had landed on yours. His lips were as firm and obstinate as he was in making you understand that those words were true. “I’m gonna need more kisses like this if you want to convince me that way”, you said reading his mind after you broke the kiss, without pulling away from him. Your lips still brushed one another as you spoke, the desire you felt for each other was so insatiable that you would always find a way to touch the other.

In fact, at this moment it seemed that your kiss had never been broken, so close you were. "We better get started, then." He smiled and followed the curve of your neck with light kisses, guiding you to tilt your head so he could kiss as much skin as possible; he would fill every inch of you with his kisses. You encouraged his moves and turned back to the window by slightly tilting your head to let him travel freely over your neck and behind your ear. Your eyes were caught again by the thunderstorm, which had by now flared up, majestic, with such a power that the sky of this gray night had assumed metallic blue shades which mixed with the ice color of the thunder, and then turned into lilac shades when those thunder reached the horizon, painted orange by the lights of the adjacent apartments. The sky was so full of different colors and lights that if you hadn't known they were caused by the thunderstorm, you would have thought that someone had thrown multicolored fireworks all over the city, until there was no more parts of the sky colored by its natural gray color.

Your window, at this moment, reflected those same lights on the glass and through the raindrops it looked like a speckled galaxy with planets of different colors, the frame of a constellation which had enveloped the whole city and your apartment in the same way in which Arthur was enveloping you in his warm body. You’d never seen a thunderstorm so colorful that it looked like fireworks and at this moment, as Arthur cradled you into his embrace in a slow dance and peppered your neck with soft kisses, you thought the universe really got mixed up in this storm for how much the view was beautiful. Those same lights were projected also on the walls of your apartment coloring them blue, violet, orange, so even yourselves were living inside a galaxy.

"Arthur," you said in a whisper still bewitched by that panorama, "do you think our love can be as all-embracing and outstanding as this storm?" Arthur lifted his lips from your neck slowly by replacing his head on yours and giving you a cheek to cheek kiss. He watched the thunderstorm explode upon you together and lingered before answering, enthralled as you by this vision. "I think," he said, his eyes fixed on the thunderstorm as if he wanted to talk not only to you but to the whole world from behind the window, "it really is, and even more. Our love is breathtaking." You felt your heart open in half and embrace Arthur, because for your heart beating only for him wasn’t enough and wanted to physically love him through the flesh. "I think so too, love." Through your reflection on the window Arthur noticed the smile that marked your face and your shiny and watery eyes filled of all the love you felt for him and that, somehow, he had to come out your body.

"Look how beautiful we are", he said as he watched your figures hugged in the window as vivid as if they were reflected in a mirror, your eyes locked in the reflection of the glass and you both laughed, sharing the same childlike lightheartedness that you had when it rained and that you had never let go even growing up.

You often wondered how a man who had such a turbulent childhood could still preserve the innocence that children are never taught, which they cultivate within themselves but growing up it gets lost. Arthur, though he had never been able to experience it, had kept this innocence within him, dormant, until he could bring it out of his body and finally feel it as soon as he met you and live it entirely with you.

You taught him to be the child he never had the chance to be, and he allowed you to be a woman without ever asking you to erase the lightheartedness you kept within you. Arthur, actually, had always loved your childlike lightheartedness completely. He could have lived a lifetime staring at you while watching the thunderstorm with astonishment in your eyes. “Yes, Artie. We truly are.”

You kept looking at the colorful and shapeless draw of your hug on the window glass. Your love and bodies reincarnated had found and were loving each other in every possible universe, in every already existing universe and in those which would be created in the years to come, and at this moment, observing an identical copy of your embrace wrapped by the thunderstorm, by the lights and the subtle rain which flowed over the glass, modifying as it pleases the soft silhouette of your reflected bodies, you both believed that what you were looking was one of the many parallel existences who belonged to one of the many universes in which you were existing.

You liked to think that, at this very moment, from their own universe they were looking at their reflection in the window, just like you, and seeing you, too, just like you were seeing them.

You have met one of your infinite and parallel lives and you were communicating with your other through the window of your apartment, which now looked more like a portal to other worlds, to every world filled by your other lives.

Your other live in front of you had by now turned your attention away from the thunderstorm and your looks were chasing each other in the reflection of the window for a few more minutes, your love was more breathtaking than this magical panorama which was taking place in front of you. Until you turned to him and still helding in his arms you wrapped his neck with your arms as quickly as he wrapped your waist with his own. As soon as you looked into his eyes, into his real eyes and not into their reflection on the glass, you noticed that the same lights and fireworks which previously colored the window and the sky were projected into his green eyes, his skin colored with the same bright shades of the sky; this was the only constellation which actually took your breath away and you cared about, making you forget the magic view in which you had been wrapped up so far by this suggestive thunderstorm.

"I love thunderstorms almost as much as I love you, Arthur," you got even closer to him and by your chest resting tightly on his you felt his heartbeat was racing as you spoke, and this sound was telling you more than your words could ever do, "and there will never be anything I could love more than you. Ever."

You placed your lips on his to seal this certainty between your bodies which were touching not only through this kiss, but in every possible way. Shortly after you went away to look at the only natural phenomenon for which you would never stop getting excited and covered, minimized, even erased the beauty of this thunderstorm and every possible thunderstorm to come, making them futile: his existence.

“I’m gonna need more kisses like this if you want to convince me that way”, he replied to you with a playful smirk, answering you with the same words you had just said to him. "We better get started, then." Immediately after you kissed him with passion, feeling his smile on your lips in the kiss as he recognized his words in yours. "Y/N, my love for you is so endless that my heart is struggling to hold so many feelings." He told you at some point, and a moment later your lips touched again and got lost in a kiss you would have sworn had lasted longer than the thunderstorm which had led you to meet one of your parallel lives. You were sure that at this moment every parallel live of yours were all kissing with the same intensity as you.

What else could they do but touch each other? All your parallel lives, past present or future, in whatever universe they were or would have been, were touching one another in an endless caress, just like you. By now you had begun to swing back and forth in a slow dance just like before and your tongues were talking to each other, surrounded by the storm behind you which was celebrating your love in every possible universe reciting a song which only you could hear, one in the other’s body.

No matter in which world you were born or would be born in the ages to come, both of you would meet the other in every possible existence because this is what each of your reincarnation was destined for: to find the other, to love the other, without being any more far apart. You spent, and would have spent every life, every reincarnations loving one another, and you wouldn't want it any other way.