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abominationvault · 7 months ago

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Session 48: Sat 17 Aug 2024

Last week: Rabies, black puddings, Chafkhem! This week: Nadia gets a Hero Point for being so brave about the thunderstorm by her house. Jorg’ath and Skabb’s neighbours have had a window open for a suspiciously long time; Jorg’ath is convinced he’s dead. The DM thinks he’s probably murdered someone and is airing out the house. Are octopoo from space? The jury is out…

Hartvig can become saturated with divine power, now. Nadia: “That sounds… soggy.” Hartvig: “Yes; I can become engorged.” Retching all around.

Sprocket recaps for a Hero Point, and we’re off. A cliffhanger…

Chafkhem was contained by a locked door, and some runes that prevented teleportation. (Skabb, upon being told that Chafkhem is a he: “She’s a she, because she’s grandma.”)

Sprocket recalls knowledge about mummies. Hartvig helps out: he has an “understanding of death and undeath in all its macabre complexity”. Skabb is not remotely interested if he’s a mummy, because all the good stuff has been taken out. They surmise that Chafkhem is one of your dry undead. Could we rehydrate him…? There’s a big pond underneath us… Jorg’ath wants to have a chat first. We don’t know that she’s a bad lady. They are dry, from a specific location, immune to bleeding damage (no blood) and harm spells heal them and vice versa.

As the dust clears Chafkhem sees a lizard (Jorg'ath) and asks who he is, in a creaky, dry voice. “I am Chafkhem.” Immediate giggling all round. There is some confusion over the spelling/pronunciation of Chafkhem, so in our grand tradition of refusing to pronounce NPCs' names properly, we christen him Chuffcum. Jorg’ath introduces himself and asks how he came to be in this room. “We’ll get to that. Who are you?” Jorg’ath explains who we are; Skabb bites him. (Jorg’ath. He seems to have appointed himself our leader, and she didn't vote for him.) Chuffcum asks what year it is. Sprocket asks what calendar he uses. Absolute Reckoning; the normal one. Does Absalom still stand? Yes. How did we get here? Mostly a lot of stairs. Did the inhabitants upstairs not prevent us from coming down. ... No…?

Do we know what he means about the Absolute Reckoning, we ask the DM? Yes, that’s the one we use. The year is 4721AR now. (For being polite, Hartvig is Making An Impression.) What year was he incarcerated here? Chuffcum starts rifling through papers on his table, looking. Around 4244, so about 500 years… Fashion may have changed a bit. Sprocket says we may have a home for him. (Immediately rescinded by the DM who still hasn't forgiven us for Augie.)

Who put him in here?

Jafaki. Have we encountered him? Her? … No. What about the rest of the Sagathin? Do we know these words? (Skabb is bored and doing laps on Rabies.) Was Jafaki mummified, Sprocket asks. “I mummified myself,” Chuffcum says proudly. Those others are… unworthy? I think. (Skabb is doing BMX tricks using Jorg’ath’s tail now.)

Chuffcum demands we answer his questions. Were we just allowed to waltz in here? Broadly speaking, yes. Impressive. What is our intention?

Why did he mummify himself, Hartvig answers. His bandages are made of parchment, some with writing on, Hartvig notices. Chuffcum isn’t sure he can trust us, but says that he mummified himself because he wasn’t ready to die.

We on the other hand are here to fuck up a lighthouse. (It’s been a while… some of us sort of forgot why we were here.)

We’ve nothing to fear from the lighthouse, he says, Velcro is long dead. Sprocket tells him she’s a ghost. If a corpse could look concerned, that’s what we would see in Chuffcum’s face. That changes things, he says. We will be progressing further down, yes? Well, if we scratch his back, he’ll scratch ours. (Sprocket takes this literally and makes a faux pas.) If we deal with Jafaki he will help us.

We’re aware of worms that crawl? The (neophytes)? An ancient evil. We will know them when we see them; they are grotesque worm-like creatures. Smaller than a purple worm, possess occult powers. (Sprocket, delighted: “me too!”)

Chuffcum used to run the entire arena. (The floor we’re on.) Was he not under Velcro’s command? Yes, he was, but any loyalty he may have held was diminished when he was shut into his own study. After Velcro was slain, chaos reigned in here. He was bundled in here and locked up by a jealous Jafaki.

Let’s say we help him, and get the wealth of his wisdom. Then what? He gonna stay in here forever? He doesn’t intend to stay here, no. How do we know he isn’t going to come back and fuck us up? What about Absalom? He says he has no interest in either fucking us up, or Absalom.

Hartvig wants to know about his five year plan. Chuffcum tires of this conversation.

For Luna, this is simple: We are going to fuck stuff up anyway, we might as well get something for it?

Skabb wants to know about the runes; he says he put them there himself to stop others teleporting in. He crosses the threshold of the door to prove he can; Jorg’ath is satisfied.

He hasn’t attacked us, but we’re still not entirely trustful. Sprocket hugs his shin.

Team huddle!

Nadia thinks we should talk to Jafaki and get the other side of the story. The others agree with her and Luna, essentially - we are going around this vault beating up everything that attacks us, so why not this Jafaki and his worms as well? We will move on, and see what we find, and go from there.

Chuffcum says he will stay here until we return.

Onward? Question mark?

Does Chuffcum want us to leave the door open, or lock him back up? “You will leave the door open.” (Skabb does not like this mummy one bit. "He might be learned, but he's got no manners.")

Okay, which way are we going? South, that’s right. And where is Jafaki and the beasties? Luna pokes her head back in to Chuffcum’s office to ask him. Level below, in their laboratory. Are they weak to anything? They possess powerful occult abilities including telepathy and magic. They have a natural resistance to magic; regular weapon attacks are best.

Before we leave, Sprocket puts a day’s worth of rations in the room with Chuffcum. Luna: “Are you trying to lure the mice in to eat him, or what.” Chuffcum smiles at Sprocket. He has magic, yes? Can he reawaken the teleportation circle in here? It connects to the level above. It’ll save us taking the stairs. Sprocket thanks him.

Getting back to town will be less arduous if we can awaken a few of these. If we make one in town, we could even zip straight there. Sprocket does a ritual, starting it off with “BEHOLD!”. Hartvig, Augustus, and Nadia will help (you don’t need to be a caster to assist in a ritual).

Sprocket makes an Arcana check (red 9). “Oooh, I biffed it.” Hero Point, not better. The others don’t roll very well either; the runes sputter but don’t come to life. Chuffcum asks if we need help. Sprocket, dully: “Yes… It’s my first go…”

“We were all apprentices once,” Chuffcum says kindly. (Sprocket may be imprinting on this mummy.) He tries again with Chuffcum’s help - the circle comes to life!

We continue exploring. What are we each doing? Skabb is petting Rabies; Hartvig raises his shield. (Every six seconds.) Nadia, Augustus, Jorg’ath and Luna watches for threats. Sprocket casts Detect Magic. Skabb listens at the next door but hears nothing; she pushes it open with Jorg’ath watching in case something attacks her.

The DM is quiet for a moment; we assume he’s making secret rolls. Oh wait, he's dropped off Discord.

Something looks off about the wall in this room. Skabb can’t tell what it is so she calls Luna over for help but she can’t tell what’s wrong, and neither can Nadia. Sprocket however sees, cleverly hidden in a painting, an outline of a doorway. It’s a hidden door! “There, there! See! A handle I can’t reach.” It has no handle. "Oh." He pushes the door open. “Tadaaaa!”

Another corridor that opens into a chamber. Sprocket army-crawls down it. He sees a door, and “some kind of structure”. “It’s all safe!” He yells back to us. We follow in.

“Wait there Sprocketses,” the DM tells him. “I raise my shiel-” says Hartvig, probably too late.

There are six long blades hidden in the door, as he steps into the room he hears a click and the tile he is standing on moves down… Because he’s so tiny they miss him, fortunately. Initiative!

Hartvig goes first and creeps cautiously into the room. The whole room has things on the walls where the blades come out. “Oh, well… I raise my shield.” He presses into a corner.

Luna wants to get in and disarm the traps. Nadia goes in on the same turn and assists. Luna makes a Perception check - 27. This is a complex trap, and it controls six blades. Each mechanism would need to be disarmed individually. Luna disarms one, Nadia fails her crafting check to destroy another. She makes a note to just shoot the thing next round; if we don’t get minced by blades.

The trap goes next; more blades appear. One slices at Luna - it misses. One slashes at Hartvig, who is covered in armour class, and it misses.

Skabb is next. She can’t see what’s going on, only hear hurt noises from her friends. Can she see where the traps are? Past Nadia and Luna, not really. Nadia points out some more of the traps so that Skabb can take a look at them. She is trained in Thievery, and has tools! She makes a check - 25, close, but not enough. Hero Point for a 14. She awaits her slashing, but is standing in the bit of the room with no active blades, hooray!

Jorg’ath comes up and asks Nadia if she would like to leave (she’s good), and retreats, there being not much he can do.

Sprocket checks his spells while Skabb’s cat makes her opinions known. Assessing the situation he sees that if he were to put a hand too close without knowing what he’s doing, he might lose it. There are bone chunks on the floor - can he have Augustus shovel bits of bone into the mechanism? Yes he can. He looks at Luna to see if this has helped; she gives him a withering look and shakes her head, so he lies on the floor in a star shape.

Hartvig can’t do much here either. He could use Guidance…? He does "one on Lunes, and one on Nads", and raises his shield again. (He gets a Hero Point for “Lunes and Nads”. What does that shop sell, Sprocket wonders? We don't know, but it’s next door to Guns and Banjos.)

Luna has a go at another one, and manages two. Hero Point on the last one, still a miss. Nadia disarms two more.

Some stuff happens, I am AFK. Hartvig and Skabb take their turns, but are unable to do anything to disarm the last trap. Jorg’ath hits one with a 34 to attack! Crit damage brings it to 51!!!! It has a hardness of 16, removing the first 16 damage, but he still manages to break it!

Luna, Nadia and Skabb make Reflex saves - we all manage to dodge away in time. Yay! We all get Hero Points for teamwork, the DM is going soft in his old age.

Some of the bones in here are relatively undisturbed, but it seems there’s something curious about them. They don’t look like normal humanoid bones. Hartvig does an Occultism check of 21. He’s heard tales of fleshwarping experiments; some of the bones seem fused together in ways they shouldn’t be. “Foul magics!” he cries. One set looks like the bones of a snake, or an eel. Or a worm…

Skabb does a Nature check on the wormy one. This, with a 30, would have been Large. Bigger than any of us, but not as big as a purple worm. About the size of an ogre. One of its teeth is about half as tall as Sprocket, who is just shy of a foot tall. Nadia picks up a tooth, with the intention of making Sprocket a hat or a breastplate or something.

In the next room Nadia finds dried fluids in bottles and a desk. Is anything about to leap out and attack…? No. She takes a look at the bottles she finds, Crafting check 16. Skabb watches her do this. She could help her, and in fact feels a strong impulse to do that, so she does. Herbalism check: 30. Between the two of us over about ten minutes, we identify 3 moderate tanglefoot bags, and an expanded set of Alchemists tools. A mobile alchemical laboratory! Nadia keeps both, while Skabb finds some bottles that used to contain specimens, and drinks the (still alcoholic) contents.

Sprocket, still casting Detect Magic from earlier, gets a ping from the room we were just in. He follows it. Right in front of him there is some form of scrying magic. He gets another ping from two different places as well… He tries to identify it with Recognise Spell; he makes an Arcana check. 12, Hero Point, 12 again. “Never mind!” He’s not sure what kind of magic it is. Is someone spying on us?

He tells us what he’s discovered. Skabb has Detect Magic…? She could have a go. She agrees - it’s scrying magic. She can make an Occultism check. 28. She has heard of this spell: it’s called Clairaudience. It has been cast here in its permanent form, and allows you to hear what’s happening on the other side of the wall… She touches the wall, and hears rats scurrying around. For the rest of us, the wall becomes see-through and we can see into the next room. It looks like a cell - broken bed, otherwise empty.

We should check out the other places the spell has been cast, and see what we can see-see-see. Again, as soon as she touches the wall, we can all see through it into another cell. The door is open in this one - we saw this one before, we’ve been in it.

Any other points? Yes, they sensed more, further down the corridor. Another cell, no baddies, door is closed. The final one, another cell. Closed door, and a rotten looking mattress on the bed. Skabb thinks it looks boring as shit in there. “Um… yup. Yeah.”

Nadia noticed some papers on the desk in the room with the bottles. Some of the pages relate to the pattern of the trap we triggered. After that it gets more interesting. She finds a series of pages with notes about gladiators who were kept in the cells, and Velcro. She and Chuffcum were spying on them, and deciding which were the most promising. “Perverts.” She shows the others.

Hartvig continues to investigate. He finds a long thin corridor, that mirrors the one we’ve already been in. Something seems off about the wall in front of him. The stonework doesn’t look the same as what is around it. He Investigates: Perception 8. “I don’t Perceive well.” He Hero Points it for 19, giving it a sound prod with his staff. It moves - it’s a door. “Found a door!” he shouts, in a scream-whisper.

Luna and Nadia can see an annoyed-looking raccoon hovering in the doorway. We’ve found Grabby! Nadia finds some woodlice and gives them to Grabby, and we follow Hartvig to the north. Arguing that finding doors is quite Heroic for Hartvig, Skabb thinks he should get a Hero Point. It is granted.

Nadia follows Hartvig and covers him while he opens the door. (“Slice the pie!”) He’s found a cupboard! Amusement all around. We’ve been here before; it’s a bit anticlimactic for him, but he’s also quite relieved.

We go back to the room, and try the door to the north. A plain room, except for something funny about a section of wall. Anything else funny, like holes for spikes? Not that Hartvig can see. He Perceives: 9. Hero Point 26! And he gains a Hero Point for finding his second secret door in ten minutes. He finds a stately hallway - frescoes of battles, points of light on the ceiling, balconies, stone bridge connecting them, access to the tunnels. Badly damaged statues.

And we call it there! Hartvig is in Kent next week, getting drunk and judging LARPers, so Nadia will take him for the session.

#dnd #pathfinder #abomination vaults #abomination vaults spoilers

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bisluthq · 9 months ago

Note

Some of your anons were saying a while ago how her and Travis are travelling and exploring so much of Europe together. But that actually doesn't seem to be that true. And this is not meant to be a critique or anything.

If memory serves me right he was at the last Paris show right. They stayed in the city for one day and could have seen the Louvre together and that was it.

Then yeah they were at Lake Como, stayed at that fancy hotel and did the boat thing. Idk how much more they might have seen, cause it was like a 3 day thing

It's possible they were in Ibiza for 2-3 days after that. It was never confirmed, this was just things from the jet people

They have been staying in London on and off in between shows. Idk how much going out has been happening though. No sightings of them, besides that restaurant

And then there were people saying last week that they might have gotten back to Italy or gone to Athens for a bit, but again not really confirmed.

All in all, doesn't seem to be that much varied. After the Ireland shows they could have gone sightseeing but went back to London. Seems like same thing is happening/going to happen for Amsterdam. He's about to go off to the golf thing, so jury's out if he's still able to catch a Zurich show or later on in that city idk how to spell the name

lol no but exactly. They’re having more of a euro tour than T/J ever did because T/J never did a tour they both had time to do.

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survivor-trinidad-and-tobago · 2 years ago

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Episode 15: "ACQUIESCE BABY!!!"—Kaleigh

In this round: Everyone acquiesces to Kaleigh's spelling superiority when she wins her second individual immunity; Kaleigh steals Zee's vote; and Zee joins the jury

Zee

Whaddup my name's Jared I'm 19 and I never fuckin learned how to read

Michael

Honestly not much to report! I'm going to try and stay strong with Alex and Kaleigh. Tony left but I'm sure that's a big relief for him, he did great for his first game.

Jack

Hey babes, so I’m SOOO HAPPY to be back and I’m with my hot gurlzzz and I love them. Im so happy Tony got out cause he didn’t vote w me (that’s what he gets 😌). At this point anyone but me, champ, or zee going home is the best for my game cause it’s gonna be a 3-3 tie. IM READY FOR ROCKS☠️😈

Kaleigh

woooooo another immunity win, i woulda been so shocked if someone could beat me at a spelling bee. ACQUIESCE BABY!!! my deranged cobwebby brain is good at one thing and one thing only… and that’s spelling. i’m jk i’m good at other things too but wow lol ok. so i’m immune tonight. zee is asking me and alex to flip on michael, and its just condescending at this point :( like i know what i’m doing babe and idgaf if u think michael is gonna win. i’m fine with that LMAO why would i flip on my allies to be at the bottom of ur 3? like? no??? but i told her it’s a possibility but i think i’ll probably just steal a vote tonight and get zee out. please god don’t let her have another stinking advantage !! also i finished that book and it was extremely good. and it’s my niece’s 4th birthday.

Alex

Ugh, this vote still feels tenuous. Champ said today she wanted to take Zee out last vote (not that it would have mattered, ultimately - I KNEW she had a second idol lol). She's flat out lied to me so many times at this point, but she also knows how big of a threat Zee is. Finding the time to actually talk game with her feels like it will be impossible, though. I finally reached out to Zee last night to compliment her on still trying to unify the tribe like with the game night. She used the words 'icing out' to describe how quiet chat has been between sides, which is fair. I don't know if it was directed only at me, but even if that wasn't what I was trying to do I can see how she felt that way. It just felt like there was not even, like, pretended level of potential to work together and I didn't know how to bridge the gap of "hey even though we won't tell each other anything in-game, how's life?" and have it not seem disingenuous. So I'm glad that came out of last night. The Tony blindside definitely surprised me, and Jack coming back into the game over Colin. It really feels like it's Champ or bust with this vote but if we come to the risk of rocks, I see them possibly flipping. Now that I'm at Actual Final 6 I don't actually want to go to rocks anymore lol. It just feels like if we can get through tomorrow's vote we could get the rest of the way but who knows. If Zee has a third idol I'll lose my mind lmao. The way Kaleigh's still got her steal a vote and idol and I'm sitting over here with my flopped advantages. Sigh. Kind of incredible of her to only have one vote against her so far AND IT'S FROM ME. She's killing it. Wait. Do I have the most votes out of our 3? I do! Well, that's something I guess. Maybe I could have played a more fluid game, and tried to get the majority alliance to eat each other from the inside of it, but there's no point in thinking about that now. I'm at Final 6 and that's very neat.

Champ

I’m running late again for the confession, anyways here for a good time! Not a long time LMFAO

Zee

Haven't heard from Jack all day, Champ messaged once. I'm pretty sure I'm going home tonight

Tribal Council

youtube

Zee: LOST VOTE

Champ: Alex (ROCKS ROCKS ROCKS)

Kaleigh: Zee (IF YOU HAVE A THIRD IDOL ISTG)

Kaleigh (Zee’s Stolen Vote): Zee

Alex: Zee (You’ve played SUCH a good game, and for all I know, you could still be here after this vote. It genuinely wouldn’t surprise me lmao. But here’s hoping this works. I enjoyed our pre-swap talks.)

Michael: Zee (you’ve played a wonderful game, sorry we didn’t really play together but that’s how it goes 🤷🏾‍♂️)

Jack: Alex (sorry babes we ain’t working together)

#episodes #Youtube

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lovethestars1966 · 3 years ago

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STEREK, falsely accused FBI CH17, complete

IT IS COMPLETE! Yo it is FINALLY finished. And I dead ass forgot to post it on here. It has actually been done for about a week so I am really sorry for my tardiness posting it here. Below is a small snippet of the epilogue,

WARNING does contain spoilers.

Also I apologise for the spelling and grammar errors, I always seem to miss a few.

I’ve put a keep reading because it’s a lot of words, hit that to read the full snippet and his the link to see Stiles crush it as a lawyer.

FINALLY, thank you all so much for the most amazing reviews and compliments, all of them undeserved. You are so fucking amazing and I can’t tell you how much this all meant to me!!! I love you all.

LINK

CH one:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31853854/chapters/78866347

Epilogue: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31853854/chapters/85028854#workskin

—————

“This is not going well,” Stiles hissed into Derek’s ear five days later, the last day of Gerard’s trial.

“Shh,” Derek hissed back, Stiles ignored him.

“Like on a scale of one to ten, one being the best outcome possible, and ten being them overthrowing the case and handing Gerard the presidency, this is a fucking one hundred,” he continued, and Derek turned to him with a quirked eyebrow.

“What could be worse making a sociopathic megalomaniac President?” Derek pondered quietly and Stiles looked to contemplate the question for a moment.

“Making him an omniscient ruler of the universe,” he suggested, and Derek nodded judgmentally.

“Yeah,” he muttered to himself, but loud enough for Stiles to hear, “it was my own fault for engaging.” Stiles frowned and pinched his side.

Suddenly there was a banging from the front of the room, “I will have silence in this courtroom,” Judge Ryder sneered towards them, “if you two are bored of these proceedings, please feel free to excuse yourselves.”

Stiles bit down on his snide response and slouched back into his seat defeatedly. From the corner of his eye he could see Gerard ginning manically, victory well within reach, but Stiles refused to give him the satisfaction of looking over.

Derek turned a bright shade of pink at being called out and choked out an apology that Stiles didn’t plan to echo. This whole trial had been a show.

“He’s just drunk on power,” Stiles huffed quietly once the rooms attention slipped back onto the defences expert they had on the stand, he was currently ripping their own expert testimony apart. Derek didn’t respond this time, just gave him a swift kick to the ankle in warning. “Ow,” he griped and glowered at his husband.

“The defence rests your honour,” one of Gerard’s many lawyers announced smugly and sent Derek and Stiles a mightily superior look as he sat down. Stiles doesn’t regret poking his tongue out at the man for a single second, not even if it earns him another ankle kick.

“And the prosecution?” Judge Ryder asks reluctantly, and turns to face their own team of lawyers the DA of Sacramento lent them. Babies, the lot of them. Stiles was sitting just behind the babies as it so happened, and so he was privy to their hushed conversation.

“Do you have anything?” The man asked leaning over to first chair, a woman in a clean cut pants suit who Stiles could tell really wanted to win, she just didn’t know how.

“After that?” She muttered in shock, “no way, we’ll just leave it for closing statements and finish it then,” he heard her whisper back, and Stiles was growling and then springing forward out of his seat faster than anyone could catch him.

He leaned over the railing, into their little brain trust and pulled both of their seats back until his head was neatly in the middle of them both, just as she was about to tell the judge their decision and hissing a little harsher than necessary.

“Don’t you fucking dare say that!” He whisper shouted, and the whole room erupted in hushed mumblings.

“Excuse me?” The woman balked back, shocked at his intrusion.

“Order!” Ryder yelled, banging his gavel incessantly, “order!”

“If you don’t discredit that testimony right now, you may as well make your closing statement a resignation letter, because no one will hire you after that.” He warns, and he sees a flare of anger shine in her eyes, for a second he thinks she’s going to do it just to spite him, but looking sideways at the jury, she turns back and leans in closer.

“What do you mean?” She asks genuinely interested, although clearly still pissed off.

“You cannot let that be the last thing the jury hears,” he tells her, a bit more calmly now that he knows he has her attention, “they will come into closing already on the defences side, do you know how hard it is to win a jury back with closing, harder than you can achieve I’ll promise you that.”

She growls at the challenge, “Well what would you suggest?” She demands.

“Anything is better than nothing,” he growls.

“Order!” Ryder orders again, and finally settles the court room down,

“Don’t let the the doctor go, cross-examine,” he pushes her, voice urgent. She rolls her eyes.

“And just what could I say up there that wouldn’t make him sound more convincing?” She questions clearly losing faith in him.

“Agent Stilinski!” Ryder calls commandingly, Stiles ignores him.

“Stiles,” Derek hisses more worriedly from behind him, “sit down,” he tries to tug Stiles back into his seat.

Stiles shrugs him off, “Look at his watch, his clothes, for fucks sake his tie pin has a diamond on it,” he growls, and both lawyers flick their eyes to the so called Doctor.

“Agent Stilinski, you have five seconds before I hold you in contempt!”

“Stiles is so badass,” Erica whispers to Lydia beside her.

“I still don’t understand,” the lawyer whispers back, eyes panicked now.

Stiles growls and hangs his head, “I don’t know his name,” he urges her and then lets Derek pull him back finally, and glares heatedly at Ryder.

“Are you finished?” The judge asks, rather condescendingly.

Stiles just holds his hands up as indication, refusing to speak.

Ryder looks disappointed that he couldn’t kick Stiles out, but looks back towards the prosecution lawyers who stare back wide eyed. “Well?” He prompts, “do you wish to release the witness or not?”

The woman freezes momentarily, and then looks back towards Stiles. Stiles bulges his eyes as an indication that she should do what he said already, and she gulps before placing her hands face down on the desk, and using them to heave herself up slowly.

Stiles reflected back on the expert witness and his testimony. He was clearly only here to throw doubt on all of their accounts, unfortunately he had done a very good job of it, and the look on the juries faces, prior to Stiles outburst, was very compelled.

His main schtick had gone along with the theme of Gerard’s entire defence, and that was, ‘the prosecution is mistaken’. He had given evidence that a person like Joseph could be mislead to believe he was following Gerard’s orders, that he was crazy, which was true, but not in that way. He had taken all of their testimonies into question by implying a lack of objectivity, and since this was just a trial on his involvement with Joseph they couldn’t use any of the evidence they had found connecting him to senators and joint chiefs to compound their argument, since that was a much more confidential trial.

Stiles closed his eyes and the woman, Cassidy Taylor, turned away from him and looked up at the judge. This was not going to go well.

“Your honour we do wish to cross,” She spoke shakily and Stiles cringed, he willed her to speak more confidently, not show any fear, and then suddenly, his wish was granted. “Yes,” she said with dawning realisation, “we do,”

Stiles flicked his head up, curious as to what caused this abrupt change, and saw her grinning over at him.

It would seem she had a plan. Stiles felt a tremor of nervousness run up his spine, because she seemed dangerously certain.

“We do,” she repeated, and then stepped out from behind the desk and made firm eye contact with the judge, it was enough to have even Ryder shifting in his seat, “but to do the cross, we wish to invoke emergency council.”

Stiles eyebrows flew to his forehead, and the courtroom, again, erupted into murmurs. That hadn’t been what he was expecting.

Derek looked to him with the same question in his eyes that was floating around Stiles mind, “does she mean you?”

#Sterek #sterek fic #Team Sterek #sterek fanfiction #sterek fics #Stiles #Stiles/Derek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #stiles x derek #SCOTT AND DEREK ARE BROTHERS #related Scott and Derek #FBI BAU #teen wolf #teen wolf fic #complete

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mcd-ms-rants · 4 years ago

Text

*opens tumblr*

*looks at activity*

8 notes??!!

hhhhh I don’t deserve u all thanks soo much <3

well u asked for it

be warned it’s super lengthy again

STUFF I DIDNT LIKE IN MCD SEASON 2:

• Right of the bat I’m just gonna say this season is a hot mess

• what is even going on here

• Why is Phoenix Drop so...untouched? Like yes it’s grown old with age but also everything looks ok not like burnt to the ground or anything

• I’m SURE Zane would have told someone in O’Khasis where he was going especially the Jury and you’re telling me that none of them care?? Not even Janus? His fave juror?

• If I were Janus I’d burn it down just sayin

• Why is Irene’s relic so glorified? I SHOULVE INCLUDED THIS IN THE LAST POST BUT WHY TF DOES ZANE NOT USE ESMUNDS RELIC LIKE WHYYY

• I don’t like how Irene has healing and everyone goes wow but we NEVER GET TO SEE ESMUNDS RELIC (I haven’t rewatched MCD in a while if he does use it lmk and ignore the above :) thx) I’m sure it’s pretty powerful considering in s3 Shad says “a spell by Esmund?” when he sees the protective barrier thing around the portal so it’s powerful and the Irene Dimension fight would have gone different with it

• Why does Aphmau act like a shit friend by venting to Laurance and then ditch him when he needs her most? Like you can’t just keep dumping your problems on him he’s got his own to deal with be supportive

• I LOVE VYLAD that’s it that’s all I have to say

• tho I wish we could have seen more of him and the relationship he shared with his brothers cuz angst time

• HOW is Aphmau able to disguise herself as Zane and WHY do people not question it? She has a different build and body structure, different colored eyes, two eyes not one, tan skin and some chest like cmon that disguise is fooling NO ONE also why is it normal for ‘Zane‘ to show up fifteen years after he was last seen? Why does this make no sense

• This may seem a bit much and honestly you’re welcome to your own opinions on it but I feel as though Zane should have had more of a role in s2. Hear me out. The way his character is written is that his untouchable status as a high priest is a big part of his character. It’s why he’s able to get away with so much shit. Removing that like in s3 ruined him (for me) and not using him at all in s2 seems like wasting a perfectly fine (albeit unoriginal) antagonist. Yes it would mean pretty much everything would change but yknow what maybe it needs to

• AARON. That’s it he’s the problem. In my opinion Aarmau should never have happened. Aph is a lord and doesn’t have time for a romantic relationship. Aaron is a broken shell of a man who definitely doesn’t have the time for a romantic relationship. They speak like 5 times properly and even then it’s nothing overly romantic (as far as I know?). I don’t think naming a child counts as romantic I always saw it as familial?? Aarmau ended being a one night stand that caused Aph so much grief and all through I was just thinking that it should never have happened anyway. They should’ve had a strong platonic bond instead. QUEERPLATONIC RELATIONSHIP. Imagine. it would’ve been so much better. It would’ve brought awareness to a community that is not always shown in the spotlight but is as deserving of it. Why does Aaron stick around after Zane is in the Irene Dimension anyway? Didn’t he say that he was there solely for revenge? Isn’t his part done? Why is he still trailing after Aphmau

• THAT DEATH SCENE THO. Zane and Aaron both die from some unknown magical thing. what is it? I have no clue all I remember is that Aph found it somewhere. someone remind me? I don’t understand why Zane was killed off in the very way they were trying to avoid in s1 I get it it’s been fifteen years real time but...it seemed so underwhelming for me. Anyone else?

• Ive seen a lot of people mention this one before but Laurence should’ve been Shad’s descendant not Aaron it didn’t make sense to me

• WHAT IS THE POLITICAL SYSTEM OF O’KHASIS. It’s such a crucial part of MCD yet we never hear of it at all. Since Aph is a lord it matters a lot. I can elaborate more on this if anyone wants me to!!

• WTF is the lore here. In ep 100 Hyria says that Irene had no children and in ms s6 flashbacks I see a child? Whose is it? What is going on??

too tired to add more rn but if you reached here thanks once again I never expected any of this <3

#zane ro'meave #garroth ro'meave #mcd vylad #mcd garroth #aphmau #minecraft diaries #irene #rant #what is this hot mess #aaron lycan

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notmrskennedy · 4 years ago

Text

Whatever You Need

(Chip x Fem!Reader)

A/N - am I little in love with Chip? Yes, but who isn’t? So please enjoy my hot take on our lovely Mr. Chip Taylor

Summary - a university professor meets a very adorable maintenance guy ...

Warnings - a pinch of swearing and two teaspoons of mentioning gross things

Word Count - 3k

-------

There’s a thin line, she realises as she rushes into the lecture hall, between anthropological research and grave robbing. When you’re on loan to the federal government and a water pipe bursts at a cemetery, there isn’t much to do other than say, ‘yes sir Mr. FBI agent, I will gladly slop through three feet of mud and water, digging through graves!’

She’s ten minutes late to her lecture. Ten minutes long enough that the TA’s are snickering. Ten minutes long enough that the entire class looks horrified that their Anthropology 101 professor is covered head to toe in dried mud, grass, and whatever else could be found in destroyed 19th century coffins.

She sets her bag down heavily on the desk and startles everyone in the room. Sans the maintenance guy. He’s tinkering with vent at the foot of door. He’s mostly a faded ball cap and a distressed jean jacket, one arm shoved up the vent. She can’t imagine why someone would have their arm up a vent, but god only knows why the university would ask someone to.

A moment passes where she unabashedly stares. How did she miss him? Was she in that much of a hurry that she nearly tripped on the guy and didn’t look back? And what the hell is in that vent?

The TA’s snicker behind her back, sobering up when she shoots them a half deadly look. She’s covered in mud, not lenience. She half hopes Maintenance Guy will turn around—she has a desperate, yet beguiling feeling he’s hot. But what she’s really curious for is what’s stuck up that vent.

And he doesn’t turn around—his complete disregard of her is a 180 from the rapt attention she’s receiving from her students—until she’s frustratedly brushing dirt off her face. Pulling grass from her hair.

“Let me just start with,” she begins, pulling an earth worm out of her sleeve, “if the federal government asks you to sort through bodies in a flooded cemetery, tell them no. And despite how much fun grave digging can be, there’s a thin line and that line is punctuated by whether they’re arresting me or not.”

Maintenance Guy snorts, head turned to beam up at her. She’s almost taken aback by how bright he seems. How his grin puts the sun in its place. He looks honest, grease stains and all.

There’s something to be said about the fact she’s studying his bone structure instead of his fleshy bits. She can’t tell you what colour his eyes are, but his zygomatic bones are killer.

“Professor?” a TA prompts, ineffectively holding back their own knowing smiles.

“Thanks for reminding me,” she replies, digging through her bag to hand out a stack of student essays. “Pass these back, please?”

Tick one for the professor.

“And as per usual,” she announces, leaning back against the white board, “let’s do our daily recap. And as you know, these questions can be used to aid in exams.”

She sneaks a glance at Maintenance Guy, pulling his arm out from the vent. He grumbles, digs through his toolbox, and grabs a screwdriver. Whatever is in that vent is stuck.

Once the rustling stops, she says, “Okay, question one: if your professor—that would be me for those of us who are new—were to be one of, say, five wives with one husband, it’s called—?”

“Polygamy!” a student shouts from the front row.

“You’re right, but you aren’t correct,” she says, standing up straight. “Polygamy is the practice of having more than one spouse. Polygyny—with an ’n’—is multiple wives to one husband. Examples of the culture are Kenya’s Logoli and other Abalulya sub ethnic groups.”

She writes it on the board for spelling, and glances over to see Maintenance Guy paused in his excavation of the vent. He’s paying better attention than her students. It’s sort of sweet and she stifles her soft giggle at the thought.

He’s ridiculously tall and she takes a moment to appreciate just how long his femurs have to be.

“Question two!” she announces and finds even the most hungover kids forcing their attention on her. “If your professor were to marry five men all at once, that’s called—?”

“Polyandry,” a student pipes up from the back. “A lot of times it’s fraternal marriage.”

“Examples of a culture that practices—”

Pop!

Maintenance Guy rolls back with the force. His knees are still bent from where they’d been used as leverage against the vent, a wall of debris bursting into his face. In one gloved hand was a dead raccoon, while the other desperately brushed bits of the vent’s clog—a raccoon’s nest—from his eyes.

“Oh Jesus,” she mutters, jumping into action. She picks up a garbage bag from his toolbox and nets the dead animal from his hand. It’s a pretty tame find, though she’s used to human remains which tended to be—gooier.

With the animal tucked up, she hauls Maintenance Guy to a sitting position, frantically cleaning the odds and ends of the nest out of his eyes. She steals his ball cap as she whispers kind words to him, further trying to shake the bits of insulation out of his shaggy hair.

The class is in a terrible chatter behind them. Not that it matters. Not with Maintenance Guy’s eyes opened and his hands gently clutching onto her wrists as she brushes the last bits of insulation off his cheeks. His eyes are definitely hazel up this close.

“Thanks,” he croaks, still gently latched onto her hands.

“It’s no problem,” she smiles back, absently studying the rest of his face. He’s got the kind of skull she’d love to see on her table—well, maybe once he’s died of his own accord because he seems rather sweet. Confused and concerned, but…sweet. “Don’t worry. I’ve had much worse flung all over me. You don’t much get used to it.”

He smiles, barely chuckling. Coughs up a bit of insulation.

“You might want to see a doctor. Insulation in the lungs is…what gets you a one way ticket to my lab.” She grins at her own terrible joke. His eyes are too close and she can’t help but wish for a skeleton to be looking back at her. She understands those. People are too…gooey.

“I’m Chip,” he offers, silently asking her for help to his feet. She does, offering her own name in return. He mulls over it, like it’s a fine wine sitting on his tongue. “Professor Y/N. Thanks again.”

She shrugs, mouth suddenly too dry. Heart beating too fast. Jesus, human interaction was going to kill her. There was no job to distract her from Chip’s strong hands. There were no bodies to keep Chip’s genuine gaze off of her. There wasn’t anything to distract from seeing Chip as so pleasantly human.

“Want the raccoon as a consolation prize?” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck with a newly de-gloved hand. There’s something satisfying about answering questions that aren’t meant as questions. Especially ones that showed just how weird she really was. The questions that were relationship testers—like can we be friends if I tell you that I keep carrion beetles as pets?

“Actually, sure.” Chip’s jaw drops just slightly open. He has cute teeth. “Dissection is a key part of the anthropological process, forensic or not. Let’s see just what this raccoon was up to. Eh, class?”

Every single one a deer in the headlights, the class goes eerily silent. She winks at Chip and announces again. “Don’t you guys want to see what I do for a living? I mean human remains are much cooler but I think we can settle for a mostly solid raccoon carcass.”

A TA clutches at her stomach. “Professor, never say that again.”

The professor just laughs, absentmindedly taking a soft grip on Chip’s shoulder. “Don’t worry everyone, Chip’s going to keep the raccoon. At least I’m not making the final a practical examination. I do have access to laboratory rats—“

The entire class clambered forward, hoping to dispel the idea and the evil smirk off their professor’s lips. She just beamed back at Chip, dropping her hand. She expected the same horrified expression of her students, but he seemed, dare she say, impressed.

That wide eyed shock creeps onto her face. Because who would risk being impressed by a professor covered in dirt from grave digging who offered to dissect a raccoon at 10 AM on a Tuesday?

Apparently, it’s this guy. Must have a thing for crazy women.

Chip shakes his head, bites his lip, and turns to stoop for his raccoon trophy. “I’ll, uh, have them send someone for the nest. I—I guess I have to do something with the raccoon, if you’re sure you don’t want it?”

She just shakes her head, failing miserably at keeping her cherry red tint to herself. “No, no. Maybe next time.”

“Next time,” he repeats, rather sadly, to himself. Though, as he turns to leave, it feels more like a promise.

The worst part about knowing Chip is that she seems to see him everywhere. Rushing between lecture halls? There he is, doing his best to fix a fountain. Getting escorted away by federal agents? There he is, sympathetically waving as he walks across the quad. Leading a group of students outside to lecture on the green? There’s Chip, fixing a sprinkler.

She’s had exactly three times in the last six months to talk to him. All under three minutes.

But today, today she’s running late from court. Grand jury testimony had gone fine, until Agent—God, she’ll never learn his name—WhatsHisFace tried to ask her out again. Because what a turn on talking about the mutilation of a hacked up college girl was.

It also didn’t help that, outside of the court room half an hour before, she was doodling what she thought Chip’s skull would look like.

So she can’t help but storm into her postage stamp of a classroom, dropping her package on the desk with a gentle, yet annoyed huff. Her 12 students, all seniors in the Anthropology department, raised their eyebrows at her. At her court getup.

She’d missed those formative lessons at 13 on how to be a proper lady. And even if she had had them, it probably wouldn’t have stuck. Besides, what she wore into the field had to be more than acceptable for the university’s standards. The heels and pink blouse of today were extremely rare and uncomfortable.

“Whoa, Professor Y/N!” Reese Rosebeck calls out, dramatically twitching in his chair, “Is that really you? You look hot!”

“Ha, ha. That’s a very coherent thought for the kid who wrote the worst paper I’ve ever read,” she deadpans. She relents when she sees his dramatic puppy dog pout. “Though, I do have to say I enjoyed you’re use of colloquial slang. Accentuated your point very cleverly.”

“As long as I impress the hottest professor on campus, I’m alright.”

There was a quiet laugh from the back of the room, and she found her eyes snapping to the hunched over back of none other than, Maintenance Guy Chip Taylor. He’s just quietly listening—as always—tinkering with the radiator pipes in the back of the room. She’s half thankful. It is starting to get cold.

“Hey, Chip!” she chirps and the poor thing bangs his head on the pipes. He waves her off in a flash, hand extended wildly above the other desks in the room. Reese chuckles to himself, dragging Lionel with him.

She kicks her heels off behind her desk, straightening herself once she’s back on stable ground. She’s about three apples short of a pie to wear heels for more than six consecutive minutes. The female students give her rather sympathetic looks as she begins to roll her feet and open her package.

She pauses halfway in. Jeez, she forgot about—“Hey, Chip?”

Like a meerkat, he pops up with a dazzling soft grin.

“Are you going to call the cops on me?”

“Excuse me?”

Her students’ eyes bounce back and forth between the pair, following the invisible tennis match. The professor settles on a rather tired, “Are you going to call the cops? The last person who attended lecture that didn’t know me, called the cops because of a demonstration. So, are you?”

“No.” He shakes his head and she wonders if he’s a little too trusting. He’s honest as he leans back down to continue futzing with the pipes. He’s genuine in every interaction they have. Does she really deserve the kind of trust he’s offering? To a crazy woman who’s asked if he’ll call the cops on her?

She shakes the thought away. These 12 students—tangible students—need her focus. At least for the next few minutes. She pulls six human skulls from her package, all neatly wrapped up in protective glass cases. She places those on the table along with a box of gloves.

“Two people to a skull,” she announces and runs through the rest of the directions. “Don’t forget your gloves. You too, Ms. Figg.”

Jamie Figg’s fierce blush is long forgotten once they are all set to work. Tactile learning is the best way to learn in her opinion, expressly in advanced classes like these. It also gives her a moment to rest her brain—even if it’s a few minutes before the onslaught of necessary questions.

She settles into an unused section of chairs and desks, smiling absently at the way all of the kids have squeezed themselves around the one table. She misses the days when she was young and new, ready to find her own legs to stand on.

Chip’s not quiet and she watches him with too much adoration as he sits down next to her. It’s not all too unexpected nor uninvited. He smells like grease and good cologne up close, mixed up with that dangerous combination of hazel eyes and delicious bone structure.

Chip smirks, drawing her out of her smidge of staring. “See anything good?”

“You have excellent bones,” she mutters, tracing a finger against her own cheek instead of his. “Prominent zygomatic bones and well balanced supraorbital margins. But the, um, the rest of you is—is nice too.”

Oh great one, Y/N. Perfect. You’re such a fucking creep.

Chip just smiles. The kind of soft upturn of the lips and dip of the head that means he took it like the compliment it was meant as. He runs a rather shakey hand through his hair, bringing his gaze back up to do his own staring. She wonders what he sees about her. She’s sure he doesn’t see bone structure like she does, but does her flesh give away something she doesn’t know about?

Chip wrings his hand down behind his neck and she sees it. That little bit of something that brews between his bones and his epidermis. The fuzzy sort of thing that sits behind his eyes. The one she’s seen in war veterans, cops, and now the university’s maintenance man.

And as if he’s just a skull on her table, she states ever so eloquently, “You look like the kind of guy who’s seen some shit, Chip.”

And as if she’s accepted his offer for the raccoon all over again, he beams. He further turns away from her, shaking his head, and she follows his eye line to the students not so subtly glancing over at the pair every three seconds. The dozen are still chattering on, examining the skulls in their hands with rapt fascination.

Chip, despite all the non-threatening, sensitive, idiot boy vibes, looks over the skulls with more recognition than she cares to admit she sees. Most people don’t look at skulls like they’re familiar. Like the idea of them being formerly attached to a living person doesn’t bother them.

Again, looks like he’s seen some shit.

“Are they real?”

She nods, taking a tiny chance and pressing their shoulders together. She’s not upset to say that Chip carries very warm skin on his lovely skeletal structure. She wipes the blush off her cheeks and answers, “From the university’s collection. I’ve done a lot of travelling, lots of excavations, lots of grave robbing—sometimes the university doesn’t miss the skulls of the not-so-recently deceased.”

“You’re very—“

“Creepy? Weird?”

She hopes that Chip is too stupid to hear the insecurity bleed through. That he’s too stupid to look at her the way he is. Instead, he squints as if he can’t risk choosing the wrong adjective, so the words inch through his brain. All carefully refined into his choice of, “…Intelligent.”

His takes her hand in his to accentuate his point. She nearly stops breathing.

“You’ve forgotten more this morning than I’ll ever know,” he whispers. She doesn’t know how to look at him without letting him see the hearts in her eyes. Her fingers tighten against his. “I’d never call you creepy.”

She swallows, fighting against the rock in her throat. It wasn’t often people paid her any compliments, especially after she’d let her mouth run for more than five minutes in a one-on-one conversation.

And as if she isn’t already trying to desperately clutch onto her frayed nerves, he confidently pulls a slightly creased business card from his shirt pocket. Offers it to her irritatedly hesitant fingers.

“I do home visits, you know,” he says, putting more weight into where their skin touches. “So, if you’re dishwasher breaks or something, give me—give me a call.”

Chip squeezes her fingers one more time, double checks she’s holding onto the business card, and walks back for his toolbox. Only when the classroom door is closing behind him does Reese shout out, “Oh-ho-ho! Professor’s getting some!”

“Get back to your skull before I use yours as a soup bowl,” she snaps, though she can’t hide the cherries in her cheeks as she thumbs over the business card. Chip Taylor. Whatever you need.

#chip #chip taylor #68 kill #spencer reid #chip x reader #mgg #mgg fluff #reader insert #fem reader

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fleckcmscott · 4 years ago

Text

Stepping Stones - Chapter 2

Chapter links: 1

Summary: Y/N and Arthur share a delightful life, one that isn’t perfect but wholly theirs. When his struggles take a serious turn, she's surprised by the toll it exacts. Though the steps they'll have to take aren't easy, walking them together makes all the difference.

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Struggles with mental illness

Words: 3,739

A/N: Once again, a heartfelt thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for offering to beta-read this story and her encouragement. Her contributions have been invaluable! Also, thank you guys for your support! I hope you continue to enjoy this story. And don’t worry: there may be angst - but there’s love, too.

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask! I’m still working on requests and Way Back Home!

Y/N wasn't used to being searched. It'd last happened at the District Courthouse when she'd gotten in the wrong line and nearly wound up in the jury room for a murder trial. At least the stout woman in Arkham's visitor entrance lobby was more pleasant than the bailiffs.

Unassuming in a white polo shirt and black pants, her nametag introduced her as Gladys, and the split "I Can Help!" sticker along the top cemented her as a fixture. She was friendly for a Gothamite, commenting on the sunny weather while unceremoniously dumping the contents of Y/N's handbag onto a plastic table pad. Asking about the ride over as she politely ignored tampons and confiscated a nail file. She spelled Y/N's name back to her before jotting it on the sign-in sheet and offered a genuine smile. "You have a nice time with your husband, dear. Just check out with me before you leave."

Visitor's badge pinned above her left breast, Y/N adjusted the collar of her red silk blouse, ensured the heart pendent around her neck was centered, and pushed through the door marked "Visitation."

Her kitten heels click-clacked across the checkerboard linoleum floor. The cafeteria was large, like an elementary school gymnasium without the scoreboards. Lack of funding had turned the once pristine walls to the off-white of a bathtub that had seen too few scrubbings. Large windows dotted them in sets of two, each covered with grate from the inside. Metal fans were riveted to their frames, a poor attempt to compensate for the lack of fresh air. To her left, six rows of steel tables stretched halfway across the room, about a third full of staff and patients, family members and friends. A metal buffet stood to her right, along with a sign stating a menu of beef cutlets and gravy would be served at 5:30 PM. A pony wall separated a family area on the far end. She spotted a patient with his wife and daughter watching cartoons together, ones that were old enough for Y/N to have grown up on.

It struck her how average the place felt, similar to the hospital back home she'd spent far too many hours in. It made sense: the people here were patients like any other, even if they were under lock and key. When she headed to the aluminum coffee urn on a rickety steel cart, there was a woman, around thirty, making conversation with a new wave chick, holding a ragged teddy bear and pulling her hair. Their eyes met and Y/N attempted a friendly smile. Once she'd purchased two cups, she sat by a window and crossed her legs, foot swinging back and forth as she sipped the stale liquid.

She tried to quell her nervous anticipation. Due to his time of admittance, Arthur's forty-eight-hour observation period had stretched late into Thursday night, well after visiting hours. Tasks big and small had punctuated the wait. One of Arthur's clients called to confirm a birthday party, and Y/N, hazy from lack of sleep, explained there'd been a family emergency.

Then it dawned on her that she'd have to find Arthur's gig list, which meant rummaging through his desk, a private space she'd respected since presenting him with it for their anniversary. Thank god he no longer locked the drawers, because she had no idea where he kept the key. (There were only so many hiding places in their three-room apartment, but she had no desire to search every nook and cranny.) The yellow legal pad resided in the top left drawer, under a prop catalog and kraft paper notebook. After ringing Gary and asking him to fill in ("I'm not sure I can do all these, but I can mention them at HaHa's." "That'd be great but don't get yourself in trouble. And, please, leave out Randall."), she telephoned eight households and three businesses with his contact information and apologies.

She worked extra hours in the evening to make up for the time she'd inevitably take off when Arthur was home, an arrangement that wasn't strictly legal, but she didn't see the harm in. Her colleagues graciously ignored the number of personal calls she made, to ask how Arthur was doing and learn about policies. While he wasn't yet rational, staff said, he was cooperative. Well, mostly cooperative. He'd eaten breakfast and referred to everyone as sir or ma'am, but he'd also caused a ruckus when he'd come to and found his wedding ring missing. They'd made an exception to the no jewelry rule and given it back. Personal clothing wasn't permitted, either, besides underwear, and toiletries were out of the question. It irked her - he deserved the dignity of his own hairbrush - but she didn't want to single him out by arguing for further favors. So she shuttled over a week's worth of briefs on her lunch break, chest tight as she gave it to the man with headphones at reception.

Despite the setting, despite the weight of not knowing what mood he'd be in, a thrill bubbled through her veins. Whenever a silhouette appeared behind the glue chip glass of the patient entrance, her pulse skipped. Y/N knew it was silly to expect a lot this first visit but she couldn't help it. She missed him. She missed him. Like it had been thirty days instead of three.

It took about six minutes for the door to crack an inch, and a full ten seconds for it to open completely. An orderly propped his weight against it, pointing in her general direction with his head. She stood and smoothed her palm down her A-line skirt, ensured the hem was at her knee. Maybe it was selfish, perhaps even foolish, but she hoped the surprise would be a highlight of Arthur's day, make him feel better, and she hoped seeing him would be one of hers. He was still her partner, after all. Still her Arthur. That would never change.

Clad in white scrubs and white shoes and about twenty feet away, Arthur stepped over the threshold and scanned the room. She gave him a modest wave when she caught his eye. His approach was more tentative than she would have liked, his steps shorter than usual, fists balled at his sides. As he drew closer, she noted the oiliness of his hair, the two-day black and grey stubble on his chin. His crow's feet had grown deeper, his eyelids slightly purple. Exhaustion dripped from every pore. The cut on his forehead had scabbed over into a thin line, quite modest considering its origin and how much he'd bled.

But he was as beautiful to her as always. The hint of a smile tipped her mouth. "Hi, Arthur."

"Hi," he said lowly. A reservation she barely recognized clouded his light green irises.

Part of her began to suspect popping in like this had been a mistake. Giving up wasn't in her nature, however, especially when it came to the love of her life. She forged ahead, closing the gap between them. Dr. Kellerman had advised her to let Arthur set the pace of their visits, to offer support while respecting his boundaries. Yet, touching him had become as vital to her as breathing, and it didn't occur to her to ask for permission before she reached to cup his face.

His skin felt papery under her fingertips, and red, flakey spots of dermatitis bloomed next to his nose and below his eye. He smelled of cheap bar soap and detergent, though whiffs of his woodsy masculine scent lurked underneath. But his clothes were clean and fit him well, better than half his own wardrobe. "I'm so happy to see you," she said, tracing his sharpened cheeks.

He nodded weakly, lips pursed into a grimace of disbelief. "Good."

"I got us some coffee. We can sit here or on one of the sofas."

"Here's fine."

She took his hand and led him to their table, itching for him to entwine their fingers, lamenting a little when he didn't. While he followed closely, his posture radiated tension like an oven radiated heat. Rather than the gait they'd adopted over the years, he moved as if he was afraid to touch her, as if he feared she'd disappear. Or reject him. Once he was situated and stirring sugar into his cup, she sat beside him and bumped their legs, refusing to let his fears go unchallenged. "How's your room?"

"It's okay. Just me. I'm not there much." He blew lightly on his steaming brew. "I haven't seen this part of the hospital before."

Y/N arched her brow. "No?"

"Penny had trouble getting over here to visit. When I had episodes."

Flabbergasted, a huff of disapproval escaped her. Arthur had been in out Arkham six or seven times, and Penny hadn't made it over once? According to Arthur, she'd been sick for a while, but what about twenty years ago? Even later, they hadn't had any money, which meant she would've had to care for herself while he was away. If she had had the wherewithal to go through the process of committing her son, couldn't she have at least called a cab? Y/N pushed her ire aside, not wanting it to affect Arthur. "Did you see your therapist today?"

"Mhm."

"Is he good? Does he listen to you?"

"He's fine."

She took a long drink. "Did you get the underwear I brought over?"

"Yeah." he sighed, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. "They wrote my name on the waistband."

"I'll get new ones," she said, tapping her chin in contemplation, opting for a little cheer. "Donahue's has a racy number from Mad Mod. How'd you feel about zig-zag bikinis in maroon?" Instead of the laugh she'd craved, the incredulous smirk he saved for ridiculous suggestions, his knees quaked, bouncing and bouncing, freshly wound springs in bleached cotton.

None of this was going as she'd pictured.

Self-consciousness was atypical for her, a personality trait she'd shed in her late twenties after a failed marriage and the beginning of her parents' declines. Being with Arthur felt secure, open, even during his worst days. When he'd discovered his mother's Arkham file, learned the details of his abuse. Or the weeks after she'd passed and any chance of finding out more about himself, the truth about his father and chance to get a crumb of paternal affection, had died along with her.

Gathered at this table with her husband and bad coffee, old insecurities returned with the force of a subway careening at full speed. She sought to encourage him but didn't want to dismiss his feelings, harken back when he'd been burdened with "Happy." Her questions were obviously getting on his nerves - she was at a loss as to how he'd react to more of them. Their banter had vanished. The clues she had to follow were based on an old map, comprised of well-worn paths to joy she could walk with her eyes closed. Now those paths were overgrown with weeds.

But she wouldn't stop trying to trim them. Some shears were in reach: a woman's magazine lay abandoned on a nearby table, famous for its relationship quizzes and bedroom advice. She snagged it, scooted her chair closer to Arthur, and flipped through the glossy pages until the headline "Are You Meant To Be?" screamed in bright pink font. She cleared her throat and read aloud. "'You and your husband are shipwrecked on a desert island. You can take any household item with you. What item would you bring?'" She paused, then went with what first came to mind. "Toothbrush. I can't expect you to kiss me when I-"

"Why are you acting like this?"

Her gaze locked on him. "Like what?"

"Like I haven't fucked everything up."

Automatically, she reached for his thigh, not heeding the angry twitch of his jaw. "You haven-"

He batted her arm away, inadvertently knocking the magazine to the floor. "Don't lie to me," he rasped. "I don't like you seeing me like this. I don't want you to have to come visit and pretend." He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, an anger she recognized as shame dripping from every word. "Can you please just go?"

Pain lanced through her, pain she hadn't felt since her father, deep in the throes of dementia, had accused her of stealing from him. Her lashes lowered to hide her hurt. Arthur acting like this was proof of how out of sorts he was, how much he was struggling with his illnesses. But it didn't make his behavior any easier to take, even if she firmly believed it should. She had to try to accept him as he was in the moment. To forgive him and herself for pressing him too far, too quickly. To listen to his request for time, the way he'd listened to hers after the Murray show, giving her the gift of patience and understanding. A gift he also deserved.

Pushing herself to stand, she glanced at the orderly and lay a gentle palm on Arthur's back. To her relief, he didn't retreat. "I'm here if you need me," she said softly. "If you feel up to it, give me a ring. We could both use a joke or two." Fingertips caressed his distended shoulder, and she pecked the crown of his head, breathed in the oily musk of his scalp. Not entirely pleasant but him all the same. "We'll see each other soon. Get some rest and remember I love you."

~~~~~

"This woman wandered in off the street the other day. Pointy-toed shoes, fur coat, pillbox hat like she thinks she's Jackie Kennedy..." Perched on Y/N's side of the bed, Patricia dunked her orange pekoe teabag, gave it a good squeeze, laid it on her saucer. "She wanted to sue the Wayne Estate for damages to her Bentley, because Thomas Wayne had broken a legally binding oral agreement - she must have read a legal thriller and gotten haughty - to fix the potholes in Old Gotham when he was mayor. I told her to complain to Public Works, but she decided to camp out at your old desk to clip her nails. Finally, Matt had enough and offered her a phone call to Gotham PD or ten bucks for her trouble." She shook her head with a chuckle. "What a jackass. Retirement can't come soon enough."

"Don't wish your life away," Y/N retorted, inadvertently quoting a pamphlet she'd gotten from the Arkham gift shop, "Care for the Caregiver." The title had made her balk: Arthur bathed himself, fed himself, knew who she was. But it had been a straw to hold onto, albeit feebly. She retrieved a curved, wooden hanger from the closet and stuck one end in the arm of her freshly ironed blouse. "Besides, you've been working since you were sixteen, right? I give it a year before you'd go stir-crazy."

"Actually, I've been thinking about taking a class or two at the learning center," said Patricia.

"Oh, really? What kind? Pottery, advanced baking, conversational Spanish?"

"How to find nicer friends."

Hand on her hip, Y/N smirked over her shoulder to find Patricia's teacup raised for a toast. "Let me know what you learn," Y/N said, hoisting the laundry basket onto the bed. "I could use a few pointers." She batted the older woman with a dress sock, then fished for its companion. She shook them out. Aligned the cuffs and toes, smoothed the nylon with the side of her hand, folded the fabric into thirds. The top drawer's left ball-bearing slide stuck when she tried to pull it open, and she made a mental note to ask Arthur to take a look at it.

Without warning, a profound sense of loss swept over her, flushing her cheeks, her forehead. He'd been gone almost a week, the longest they'd been apart aside from conferences and training. Her days had been blessedly busy but dragged on nonetheless, slow as the secondhand on her watch when the battery had to be replaced.

Arthur had gotten in the habit of leaving a note whenever he had an early gig or errand to run, just a few words stating where he was, that he'd be home later, that he loved her. Though she knew he was in Arkham, she couldn't stop her heart from expecting one when she made morning coffee. She ached to pull him inside before he lit a second cigarette, and for his teasing kisses when he'd resist. The way he brushed his teeth from side-to-side, eschewing her method of small circles and daily flossing. Last night, a hot flash had kept her awake, and she'd longed for the feel of his strong, slender hands rubbing refrigerated lotion into her calves, a trick he'd learned to quiet his mother when she'd gone through what he politely referred to as The Change.

Y/N had never wanted to love someone so much she needed them, but Arthur had made it safe. And now here she was, anguishing over a stubborn piece of furniture. She gave the knob another good, hard heave until it popped off into her palm. With a groan, she slapped it on the top of the dresser, between his wallet and her jewelry box.

A gentle hold on her elbow halted her. "The clothes'll keep," Patricia said.

The compassion in her voice, subtle chords that would sound like judgement to others, loosened Y/N's stance. Granted permission for her to take a break from coping and give into grief. Slinking down onto the mattress, she picked up Arthur's blue house pants from the mound of panties and trousers and hugged them to her breast.

"Your anniversary is coming up," Patricia continued. "Will Arthur be home for it?"

"Yes. Three weeks is all the insurance will pay for, and Dr. Kellerman said we were lucky to get that." Most patients were discharged after two, even if they had nowhere else to go.

"How is he? Do you think he'll be ready then?"

"I'm not sure. He barely comes to the phone." She'd tried letters, too. Written on her office letterhead, declarations of her support and affection that were as stilted as the motions she regularly drafted. Something for him to read when they couldn't speak, when they couldn't touch. But he hadn't responded.

Although Y/N was the sole person he'd added to his list of allowed visitors, he hadn't signed the release. Sure, she'd learn the details of his care if a court remanded him, but she wasn't about to have him declared legally incompetent, not unless everything went to shit. But she had deduced his schedule by calling and asking if he could come to the phone. He's in group, Mrs. Fleck, the charge nurse had let slip. Or, You can try in an hour. He should be out of one-on-one by then.

Therapy three times a day. Safety and daily living skills. Goal setting before bed. No wonder he hadn't had the energy to say good night.

"I know what you're going through," Patricia said. She stretched to put her empty teacup on the nightstand. "When Robert got back from Korea, he kept his distance. Buried himself in starting his business, was gone most nights on extra late repair jobs, worked, worked, worked. It was nearly a year before he really came home. But he made it and Arthur will, too."

The intimacy behind the disclosure was a welcome invitation, a hook that tugged at Y/N's core and confirmed honesty would be all right. She drew a shaky breath, fiddled with a loose thread on the hem of Arthur's pajamas. "I thought I'd seen everything. Losing my mother, going out of my mind with my father. Those were finalities I couldn't prevent." Rapid blinking fought the wetness of her eyes. She swiped at them with the heel of her hand. "If you had seen him, Patricia... I just hope Arthur understands. I don't want him to think I wanted him to leave."

"Listen to me." Patricia adopted her mentor tone and hugged her tight around the middle. "There's no way he'd believe that. Remember when we doubled at Kao Wah? When we were in the restroom, and he ordered your favorite dish without having to ask what it was? He adores you." She swept her hand through the air as if she could sweep away Y/N's woes. "You promised to take care of him through everything. You did what you had to to keep him safe. You couldn't have done anything else, Y/N. Don't doubt yourself."

After some moments Y/N nodded. "You know, my parents had a swimming hole on our property. When I was young, I used to skip stones across it and make wishes. For my doll's arm to mend, for my parents to say safe, for my sister's surgeries to go well." She chuckled and dabbed at her cheeks with Arthur's house pants. "I guess it was like praying, which I never had use for." The slightest smile edging her lips, she turned to Patricia. "Let's go to Gotham Park and throw some rocks."

~~~~~

The next morning, eleven percent of her worries cast away by a currently sore right arm, Y/N walked past Sherwood Florist, a closet of a shop around the corner from her office. Storefront freshly washed, robust floral arrangements on display in large, spotless windows, and an owner in horn-rimmed glasses checking the temperature of the nearest cooler, she decided to stop in. Yes, the florist told her, an expression of dubious curiosity on his face. They delivered to Arkham. Just include the patient's full name and ward in the address, and it'd be sent this afternoon.

She chose a squat, plastic vase filled with daisies and a yellow enclosure card with a bumblebee in the lower left corner. A bit cutsie for her taste, but it was the only neutral choice among birthdays and congratulations. She pondered what to write, pushing back the urge to ask him to reach out. A minute later, she put her pen to the cardstock. "I miss you like thread misses a needle. (Good thing you're the comedian - that was terrible.) You're not alone in this. You have my whole heart. - Y/N."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics @iartsometimes

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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chelseaheskett · 4 years ago

Text

12:14PM, TUESDAY. AUGUST 11TH, 2020.

She’d been in this situation so many times. Too many times.

The drive down to Charlotte after her second round of artificial insemination, sitting in the clinic waiting room with her Mom by her side. Holding her hand and praying. Chelsea tried not to get her hopes up, tried to bury the excitement. The first round had been unsuccessful. So much of her money and savings spent, just for it to fail. Her doctor greeted them with a huge smile on her face. Ushered them inside her office.

A pee-on-a-stick pregnancy test from a grocery store she’d never been to before. New town, new city. All the way on the other side of the country. No Mom to hold her hand this time. Chelsea shyly smiled at the checkout person when they scanned it through. Snuck it off to the nearest restroom. Washed it off and boxed it up, after the result came through.

Her doctor’s office after lots of dizzy spells. Nausea. Rocking three kids, three toddlers, in a stroller back and forth with her foot while she waited for a diagnosis. A reason for all her symptoms and sickness.

This time it was a self-service checkout. The same grocery store she always went to. She avoided the aisle with the eggs. Bagged up the test on her own and drove home. Took it into the bathroom off the entryway, so she didn’t have to run into her Mom looking after the kids. It was just a precaution. She just had to rule it out. It was impossible for the test to be positive, anyway... until it wasn’t. 'Til it wasn’t impossible and it was positive. “I gotta duck out again, I’ll be back!” Chelsea called out, already halfway out the front door. She drove back to the store, foot a little heavy on the gas. Parked the car the way Elliot usually would: poorly, and practically illegal. Shoved two different brands of take-home pregnancy tests into a bag. Just to be sure. Just to rule it out. False positives happened.

Three false positives in a row didn’t look too good. Chelsea loved probability. Tutored Jenny in Math all the time. She was a numbers person, okay? She typed them into her phone, over and over, searching for a doctor’s office with any available appointments. Drove half an hour into the city to see somebody, anybody. The guy didn’t ask her any questions. No medical or family history, nothing. Chelsea didn’t choose to tell him anything, either. Didn’t say I have four biological children under the age of four, a teenage step-daughter, and a husband who got a vasectomy. Told him about the three at-home pregnancy tests, though. He got her to pee in a cup. It was any wonder Chelsea had anything left, after all of her previous attempts. She asked for a blood test, too. Didn’t mind waiting a few days for the results, she just needed to be sure. A nurse came to draw her blood and then handed her off to somebody else. Another doctor in the clinic for a sonogram.

The urine test was positive. Chelsea refused to believe it. Got changed into a gown for the ultrasound and hitched her legs up in the stirrups. The doctor got going with the wand, making small talk. Chelsea nodded; replied like a robot. Clenched the fabric of the gown around her stomach to keep her hands from trembling. Shifted around, uncomfortable, from the pressure of the wand moving around inside of her. She refused to look at the screen until the doctor pointed it out to her, lining over the image with his fingertip.

“Here’s the yolk sac.” He said, before moving his finger out. “And the gestational sac…”

Chelsea nodded again. Quick, frantic. Grit her teeth to keep from crying.

“And this tiny white speck? That’s the embryo.” Chelsea had to squint to see it. But it was there. It was there. “I’d say you’re around five, maybe five-and-a-half weeks pregnant.”

There must’ve been something in the water. They had a barbecue on the weekend with the twins. Macy and Amy and their families. Macy balancing Ollie, her three-year-old son, on her hip while Caleb hugged her from behind. They announced they were pregnant. Eight weeks along. Their second pregnancy, with three years in between. Four, by the time the new baby arrived. That was acceptable, that was… that was normal. Four years between, like a regular person would. Unlike Chelsea, who had practically been pregnant every year over the last four. Who had four babies under the age of four.

Everything was a number. Jack had just turned three about a fortnight ago. Jenny had turned thirteen-years-old weeks before that. A teenager. It was the twins’ second birthday in two days. They were meant to have a party on the weekend. Luca was only six months old. Vasectomies were 99.9% effective for preventing pregnancy. That was one pregnancy for every thousand vasectomies. And Chelsea was pregnant again. Chelsea was about to be pregnant for the fourth time, with her fifth biological child. Five under five. Luca had only just gotten his first tooth. Only just started eating solids, when he agreed to it. Six months. Six children. Six fucking children. One in one thousand. Pregnant, again.

Chelsea felt like a robot malfunctioning. Broken and spitting out numbers. It got like this, this bad, sometimes. Fixating on numbers and figures, as if her brain couldn’t process things any other way at this capacity. This overwhelmed. When she was feeling something that couldn’t even be named or described. She took the sonogram printout and walked out of the clinic. Without paying, without even realising. Just walked to her car and stopped to sit on the curb. She eased her head between her knees, forcing herself to breathe. Birthing classes gave her plenty of practice, right? In, out. Nice and easy, the way Elliot would always say. Elliot. How was she gonna tell Elliot? Again?

The courthouse wasn’t far from the doctor’s office. Chelsea didn’t even think about it: when she got calm enough to get back in her car and drive, she did. She’d already driven into the city for the appointment, anyway. Somehow remembered to fill the meter for street parking in front of the building. She found the right courtroom and slipped into a pew at the back. Nobody noticed her entrance. Didn’t notice that she was severely underdressed in an oversized tunic and jeans. Flat sandals. Elliot was sitting up the front of the room at his bar table, head bowed and scribbling something on a notepad. Chelsea couldn’t see his face from this angle, but she’d know that hair anywhere. The shape of his body, hunched over in his seat, suit jacket pressing tight against his back. She could see the arms of his glasses tucked behind his ears, too. Chelsea got lost in the sight of him. Pretended to herself that she was just here to watch, just to see him in action, and not for any other completely life-altering reason. Nope. For now, she wasn’t going to think about that.

The other lawyer, the prosecution, was pacing around before the guy on the witness stand. Gently questioned him. Chelsea didn’t know much about the case, but it only took a little while to figure out what was going on. The man on the stand was the victim. Yeah. “Victim.” Chelsea furrowed her eyebrows, listening to the guy talk. Rehearsed and manipulative. The lawyer gave a thank you and sat back down at the bar table across the way from Elliot’s. Hey, at least something had gone right today! It looked like she had gotten here just in time to see her baby—no, bad word!—her husband work his magic.

This was a very serious assault case—Chelsea shouldn’t’ve been grinning ear-to-ear in the back row, but she couldn’t help it. Elliot stood and unbuttoned his suit jacket. Pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Chelsea got antsy when he said lawyer stuff like objection or verdict at home… this was next level hot. Seeing him in his element. His cross-examination was smart. Completely clever. Turns out the “victim” was a wife beater. The accused, Elliot’s client, was the wife. And Elliot made sure everybody knew it. Constantly looked over at the jury, giving Chelsea a shot at his side profile. There was someone in the gallery taking photos. Yeah, how did Chelsea get a copy of that? Hey, maybe she could be a court photographer. That’d be cool.

Elliot was getting the victim, the husband, pretty worked up on the stand. Hitting him where it hurt. Asking the right questions. From the evidence Elliot was providing, the guy had a temper. A really short fuse. And Elliot knew which buttons to push. Chelsea was getting worked up, too. Flushed cheeks, a bead of sweat collecting on her forehead. This should not have been arousing, but it was, Goddammit! Hormones notwithstanding. Elliot was confident and cunning and she was so proud of him. Practically had the guy on the stand exactly where he wanted him until the prosecution, rattled, called for a recess. The judge dropped his gavel and said something about breaking for lunch. Chelsea felt like she was in an episode of SVU. She’d have to bring Jenny to one of these, one day. She’d love that. It was good. It was a good distraction. But as the gallery started to disperse, and the judge and jury filed out of the courtroom, Chelsea’s stomach twisted into knots. Time to face the music, huh?

Elliot was shuffling paper into his briefcase. His client, the wife, left the room with who Chelsea could only assume were her parents. Some support system or another. Chelsea gave the woman a small, soft smile when they crossed paths. Elliot hadn’t caught sight of her yet. She stood a few steps behind him, fingers wrapping around the thin strap of her bag, hanging over her shoulder. Chelsea cleared her throat. Rolled back on her heels. “Y’know, it should be a crime...” Talked before she even thought about touching him. Knew he would recognise her voice and wouldn’t get jumpy. “You up there being so sexy. Just out there on display for the whole world to witness.” She teased, voice slightly high pitched. Had to push through all this anxious, nervous energy. The pit in her stomach.

“Hi, handsome.” Chelsea said, breaking the distance between them by the time he turned around to face her. She didn’t want him to seem unprofessional or anything, so she caught his wrist and stroked his arm instead of giving him a hug or a kiss in greeting. Didn’t call him baby, because she was actively avoiding that word for the moment. Handsome wasn’t used nearly as much as he deserved, anyway. And standing there in his suit, hair falling over the frame of his glasses, it was fitting. Appropriate. Despite her gut feeling, Chelsea smiled up at him. Let her shoulders drop and relax with a deep, drawn out exhale. “Nothing bad’s happened, I promise.” Well. It depends how he saw it, really. Chelsea didn’t want to put that out into the universe, though—no matter what ended up happening with this pregnancy. She knew him, though. Knew he’d panic and wonder why she was here, at the courthouse in the middle of his work day, if something wasn’t wrong.

Before he could question it, Chelsea got to talking again. Ran her mouth some more. “You’re doing really great, honey. He was about to crack, I could see it!” The minimal touching thing was hard. Chelsea smoothed out the lapels on his jacket. Fidgeted with his tie. It was really for her own benefit, not for his or his appearance. “You’ve totally got this in the bag.” Her hands slid up to his shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “God, you’re so talented. You’re so good at this, Elliot.” She’d known it this whole time, of course, but now she had actual evidence. And he couldn’t argue back if she was using legal jargon!

She wished it could stay like this. Light, unserious. Chelsea tried to keep it going for as long as possible. Tried to keep the shake out of her skin, and the caving emptiness out of the pit of her stomach. Chelsea flit her gaze away from his face. Briefly, momentarily. But he knew her. He knew her better than anybody in the entire world. No matter how much she wanted to right now, she couldn’t hide from him. She couldn’t hide from this. “I don’t wanna interrupt your lunch time, hon, but... is there someplace we can go to talk? Somewhere quiet?”

#elliot #elliot 28 #interaction

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britishassistant · 4 years ago

Text

The Villainous Paranoiac Goes To Jail and Ninja Afterlife

Two innocent children get sent to Night Raven College

A set of scenarios about three of my ocs unwittingly trading places for two days, non-canon to any of my AUs

Swap 1:

Yuu—> Konohagakure

Yuu wakes up with a tantō to the throat.

Chie: Tell me where my daughter is and I’ll make your death quick

Yuu promptly freaks the fuck out

Through a combination of panicked yelling and tears the Prefect manages to convey to the Ketsugi that if there was a kidnapping, Yuu is both uninvolved and as much as of a victim as their precious daughter

Gai confirms that the strange teenager not only has no chakra, but clearly has little to no combat training despite his(?) athleticism, meaning Mayu-chan could easily overpower an assailant of this size, especially one this undernourished!

Yuu tries not to be offended and to avoid staring at Gai and Lee’s eyebrows they’re so big

Promptly shrieks when Kami!Sanji materializes to confirm that the Paranoiac had nothing to do with Mayu’s disappearance as far as the other gods can tell

Yuu becomes convinced that this place is the afterlife

The sad part is that Chie and Jirou can’t actually say much to the contrary, because??? Their daughter remembers dying before she came here?? Also there are active deities just floating around so.

Actually tears up at the homemade meals the Ketsugi provide

Before being sick as a dog later because food infused with chakra? Does not agree with a person without a chakra regulatory system

Surprisingly patient with Lee and any questions he has the purity of Jack and Deuce is strong in this one

Bit more long-suffering towards Naruto and his rendition of Wonderwall. Sunshine child too bright, introvert Yuu can’t handle it

Keeps writing down everything everyone says

This makes ANBU and ROOT very twitchy

The Paranoiac is quietly slated for “interview” at T&I the next day

Yuu crashes on the Ketsugi couch none the wiser

Mayu—> Nanba

Mayu wakes up to confused screaming and profanity.

It’s Hani.

It’s very rare for screaming not to be because of Hani

All he knows is one child was in this bed last night, and now’s there’s a different one dressed like it came straight out of Ninja Kamikaze???

Mayu for her part is both very alarmed to be waking up in a prison cell with two strange men and very glad she has her bokken with her

Kiji comes in to find his beautiful inmates being menaced by a twelve year old with a wooden sword

The twelve year old is winning

Once Mayu has ascertained that they aren’t enemy ninja and she’s somehow in her old world (?) she becomes much more cooperative with the guards

She’s very worried about how she’s going to get back to her family in Konoha

Also wondering if she should try to contact her former little brother Harp (who knows if she’ll ever get the chance again?)

These worries are not assuaged when the Warden informs her that there’s no records proving “Tamara Kaur” ever existed

For lack of any relations who they can contact to take the child off their hands, and because they have no idea how she successfully infiltrated the most secure prison in the world and replaced one of the inmates, the Warden decides to keep Mayu in Nanba’s holding cells until further notice

Guess who finds the samurai child while breaking out?

Nico, Uno, and Rock are amazed at the existence of a real live Japanese Samurai! With a katana and everything!!

Jyugo just asks straight out if Mayu’s an actor too

Mayu is very bemused by everything, but they seem friendly! The one with the mohawk likes food too!

Plus the blonde one is British! Just like she used to be!

Uno is very confused about how a twelve year old somehow lost her citizenship

Break Mayu out to get food together

They get caught the moment they set foot in the cafeteria and scolded very harshly

Mayu has trouble sleeping in a cell cot that night

Nana—> Night Raven College

Nana’s first instinct on waking up in a strange bed next to a monster is to assume he’s been kidnapped and attempt to subdue his captors

Which means Grim wakes up to an attempted smothering

The ghosts hear muffled screaming and rush in only to get salt and iron filings to the face. Nana actually has them all on the run when Crowley bursts in

Instantly becomes a confused and lost child in front of the headmaster and dorm heads

Only Grim and the ghosts know the truth, and their complaints are overlooked due to them “scaring the poor boy”

No one has any idea what to do with a thirteen year old magicless kid. It was hard enough with Yuu, and the Prefect was at least sixteen and could attend classes!

Nana adapts quickly to the idea of being in this new world— he’s just sad he couldn’t say goodbye to Kiji, Hani-senpai and Trois-senpai before leaving Nanba

Immediately resolves to leave NRC at the earliest possible convenience when he gets a good look at the Theory Wall— he can’t even read Japanese but that amount of crazy that it signifies always spells trouble

Is confused by all the pictures of Disney villains on the Theory Wall, but decides it’s not worth the trouble to ask about

Actually uses the beauty products Vil left for Yuu correctly

Gets semi-adopted into Pomefiore after asking Vil where the high quality products came from

Grim and the ghosts aren’t sorry to see the little brat go

Vil carts him around to test his potential in the performance arts

Epel tries to be a good senpai for the kid, and tells him he doesn’t have to just go along with Vil

Nana appreciates the effort, but does find this kind of thing more fun than being on his own he’s homesick for his cell

Rook enjoys seeing the child freeze up minutely whenever he asks about the prison attire and the large “7” tattoo on the back of the boy’s head

Nana likes Rook less and less with every pointed question the vice dorm leader makes

Can’t sleep in the big cushy Pomefiore bed and so curls up on the floor with a pillow instead

Swap 2:

Yuu—> Nanba

What why is Yuu in jail now

The prefect was supposed to be back home/in Ramshackle Dorm, why is Yuu in jail now—

Yuu is stressed and overdue for Grim snuggles

Paranoiac is also not thrilled about being stuck in Building Three— it’s like Pomefiore on steroids

At least Epel and Vil don’t steal and obsess over the underwear of their “fans”

Rook...the jury’s still out. But probably not. Probably

Maybe

Hopefully

Much less cooperative than Mayu.

Questions about the Prefect’s family name are met with a stony glare. “It’s Yuu. Just Yuu. How many times do I have to repeat myself?”

Can’t answer any questions about Mayu or her current whereabouts despite admitting to knowing of the girl, but does posit a theory about the three of them transmigrating and swapping places based on the information gained in Konoha

Gets offended and even less cooperative when the interrogating guard calls the hypothesis “crazy”

Not intimidated by Hajime or the other guards in the slightest. Yuu’s classmates are far more likely to inflict lasting bodily harm and it’s hard for even the worst human glare to measure up to Floyd or Leona on a bad day

The Warden scares the Prefect though

Doesn’t stop Yuu from requesting a lawyer or other legal counsel before submitting to further questioning

The Paranoiac is a Japanese citizen and has made a point to know what the applicable legal rights for this situation are

Yuu ends up in the holding cells

Guess who hasn’t learned their lesson while breaking out?

Uno takes one look at Yuu

“Ah Jyugo, this one has your energy”

Nico loudly asks if the Prefect is from an isekai and died and reincarnated in Nanba??! Do they die over and over again and revive to beat bad guys?? Do they have an amazing cheat skill?? Are they a spider?? Can they shoot a beam??

Yuu just thinks. Ah. So this is what would happen if Kalim and Idia somehow had a kid

Don’t break the Prefect out, but Jyugo comes back later and deposits something through the bars

“This is Kuu. He’s a guard, but he’s also really good when you’re lonely. You look like you could use the company”

Yuu blinks and holds out a hand for the black cat with a guard cap to sniff

Crashing in a cell cot is uncomfortable, but hey, at least there’s a cat to pet

Mayu—> Night Raven College

Why is there a tanuki in her bed?

Grim isn’t waking up by being murdered but being poked with a stick by another smol child isn’t much better

Mayu is Concerned by the Theory Wall

“Is— is the person who lives here okay?”

Grim: Hell if I know

Mayu’s even more Concerned when she opens the fridge and sees it’s bare

>:|

Sanji wouldn’t let these people go hungry, so she’s not going to either!

Searches until she finds the Prefect’s grocery money and marches with Grim to Mr. S’s Mystery Shop

Everyone is confused by the presence of a new preteen on campus after the last one vanished from Pomefiore during the night

Mayu’s used to haggling with market people who would rather see her starve than even sell her the worst of their produce, so she’s easily able to barter Sam down to a third of the price for the groceries she wants to buy

Sam’s more amused by the guts of this tiny samurai devil than anything

Mayu and Grim drag all the food back by themselves with a few students following from a distance out of curiosity

They all soon enter Ramshackle once the smells of cooking begin to emerge from the dorm

Silver first followed because the child has a sword and is now helping to knead dough

Epel arrived because he had questions about where Nana had gone, but Mayu is genuinely clueless so now he’s peeling apples for lack of anything better to do

Mayu soon has several “helpers” for making bread and other easy-to-preserve and mix-and-match bulk meals to fill the Ramshackle fridge, though she soon has to send Grim out for more ingredients when her helpers begin getting hungry

The night ends with a feast that can rival the quality of food served at Kalim’s parties

Mayu finds one of Yuu’s blank notebooks and writes down some easy recipes the Prefect can use for all the food now in the fridge and pantry, with emphasis on fish based dishes

The ghosts and Grim enjoy having Mayu much more than Nana

Mayu still has trouble sleeping in the big Ramshackle bed that night

Nana—> Konohagakure

Well this isn’t Nanba or Night Raven College

Welp. Time to go then.

Nana is halfway out of Konoha before anyone notices

Gai does notice because a strange kid in a prison jumpsuit swiftly scurrying to the exit sticks out like a sore thumb in the early morning

ANBU’s search for the vanished Yuu is the only reason Nana isn’t stopped by them

Nana tries to run

Nothing can outrun the Beautiful Green Beast of Konoha

Nana is now more than slightly traumatized

Gets carted off to early morning training with Naruto and Lee

Is initially more interested in plotting yet another escape attempt until Lee mentions Yuu and NRC—then he’s curious about what information he can glean about the two other members of this triad

Especially interested in the concept of reincarnating into another world or being brought there by an outside force rather than moving between worlds freely

Eats an almost alarming amount for his size at breakfast that morning and leaves nothing on his plate

Unfailingly well-mannered to his hosts

Offers more information about Mayu’s past world in payment for eating the Ketsugi’s food and waking up in their home after they refuse to let him pay them back using manual labor

Asks them to tell him what they already know so he can work out what knowledge gaps to fill in

Nana: ...Why are you singing Wonderwall?

Takes it upon himself to teach Lee and Naruto more English so they can at least form basic sentences

It’s an uphill battle because predicates and participles are hard

A supportive and encouraging if slightly inept teacher

Soon realizes Chie somehow knows all the swearwords and glares at him for trying to teach them to the boys

Also falls ill from eating chakra-infested food

Gets twitchier as the day goes on and asks to leave the village several times, insisting he can’t impose on their hospitality any longer

Only agrees to sleep on the couch once Jirou subtly implies that at least people will notice and go looking if he goes missing from their house compared to if he disappeared from a tree miles away from Konoha

Can’t sleep on the couch due to jumping at noises during the night, ends up curling up on the floor next to it

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docholligay · 4 years ago

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Prompt: "I loved her to the point of invention." -Sarah Ruhl: The Clean House

Love is such a simple word, carried in the mouths of babes as it is, tossed carelessly by people hurrying on their way to work in the mornings, heedless of its power. As if a great incantation had been discovered at the top of some crystal mountain, in the long ago, and now was used by children to bring luck for school exams and coin tosses.

It rather reminds me of the word “awesome” when I think on it. Something so grand and impressive as to be daunting, frightening even. The majesty of whatever we might call God made manifest in the atom bomb or some pillar of fire, and yet anymore it merely suggests something pleasant. We have forgotten the fear of awesome, haven’t we?

It is much the same with love, I believe.

For who, if we consider all aspects of the word, could be said to love a cake, or the color yellow, or the cherry blossoms in spring? A tawdry use of a powerful word, if one is aware of it. But I suppose there are people in this world putting twenty year rum into a Diet Coke, and I shouldn’t be so terribly surprised. To use the magnificent thing in a common way, so as to prove how little it is to you. How very bored you are with life.

I have been, myself, very bored with life, but I still would not have thrown around the word. I would have told you I had never loved anything at all, and you would have taken me for some poor little rich girl, or for very dramatic in the way of a French noir movie, or perhaps both. It might have added to my mystery and your resentment of me. I would have held neither against you.

I find myself distracted. We are talking on the issue of Haruka, and the issue of what you might term my betrayal, what Rei might allow as my lapse in judgement, and what Usagi herself would say was an accident. We both know that last one to be a lie, don’t we? I am many things, but careless is rarely one of them. Perhaps my only great moment of carelessness in the whole of my pedicured life was falling in love with her. My tragic accident.

For I did not mean it, you know. She was a plaything, as I have had so many times before. Terribly handsome. Even in those ill-fitting clothes, the first time I saw her, that cheap haircut somehow still flattering her with the way the soft wheat of her hair fell against the grey of her eyes, tendering resting on her brow. I was traveling in the west of France, once. I must have been a child, or very nearly, and I watched a storm roll in over the wheat, those greys almost caressing that buttery gold. It was almost like that, to look at her. I wanted to possess it instantly., and as you have observed often, I am spoilt, and I get whatever it is I ask for. I knew what I do would do to her.

I could not possibly have imagined what she would do to me. I loved her, and I learned all the most dangerous parts of that spell, all the things you must pay in recompense. I loved her even knowing what it is we all must face, in the end. I have seen it so many times, reflected back at me in waters false and true. But I loved her all the same. I loved her to the point of invention, making entire worlds wherein I could save the maiden, and slay the dragon, and we would be married in some royal affair. I loved her until it made me foolish, drunk on the intoxication of her goodness. Beauty is quite one thing, a cheap gilt on the frame, and it fades in time, and covers the true ugliness of the thing with a glamour, you have seen such in me.

It is such a cliche, to say that she is a diamond in the rough. Perhaps because it isn’t true. A diamond is only a rock until it is refined. Perhaps I am the diamond, cut to glittering, capable only of sitting in the setting, of scratching that which is soft, of cold, bright, brilliance. So yes, she was never the diamond. Her beauty was not of polish and refinement, and her mystery was not of cologne and fine suits. That field, in France. A sunrise. Something of that. Something wild and warm and nourishing and kind. The sort of creature I never could have been, alive in her, something that had never learned to spurn a gentle touch, even if she wished it so.

Anyhow, I skipped the slaying, as you see, and went immediately on to the wedding, but that hardly matters, this story is well out of joint to begin with. The dragon still stands, some Doom of Damocles above our heads, and Haruka no longer loves me, for I am a traitor, and worst of all, she knows that I turned the traitor in service of her survival. I have given many things to the moon, Minako. Commander Venus. Whatever you wish to be in this capacity as judge, jury and executioner. I have given my life, but I will not give hers, and whatever my crime, whatever the cost, I will not watch her die, I cannot bear it, and you will not force me into it.

So I protected her, and left Usagi exposed, and she was very nearly killed. What was the charge you leveled? Desertion? Cowardice unbecoming a Senshi? I think we both know that’s hardly so, though it is a much more impressive and credible reason to have me court-martialed or executed or whatever your plan happens to be here. Usagi may oppose you, but I will not. I take whatever punishment is given me, but think not for one moment that I am unaware how the hangman enjoys great job satisfaction when it comes to the question of me. You may kill me, but you will not convince me it is all in the name of fairness and duty.

I love her. I love her in the ways of old gods, tearing and burning in a new type of creation built from destruction, pulling together from bits of the cosmos, stars ripped from the sky to place in her eyes. This is the creature that I am. I am the snake biting my own ankle. I am the pillar of salt. I am peering beyond my shoulder even as I walk forward through the thorns of my own mistakes, trapped in amber and timeless.

I am not sorry.

#valentine's prompts #madegeeky #I just read a gothic horror novel #I also am not sorry

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grailfinders · 5 years ago

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Fate and Phantasms #46: Carmilla

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re building Elizabeth Alter, a.k.a. Carmilla. This is what happens when you feed Eli after midnight. She’s a Cleric/Sorcerer mix who can deal a lot of necrotic damage to whoever’s unlucky enough to fall into her traps. If you want outright torture though, you’ll have to get creative-it’s like you’re supposed to be the good guy in D&D or something.

You can check out the build’s summary spreadsheet here, or read the level-by-level breakdown below the cut!

Race and Background

Carmilla’s a special case: she was a human when she was alive, but as a servant, she’s kind of a Vampire. It’s close enough for us though, and Planeshift Ixalan was kind enough to give vampires a playable race. As a vampire, she gets +2 Charisma and +1 Wisdom, 60′ of Darkvision, Vampiric Resistance to necrotic damage, and two skills related to bloodsucking. Bloodthirst lets you make a melee attack on a willing, incapacitated, or restrained creature, dealing 1 piercing and 1d6 necrotic damage. The victim’s current and max HP is reduced by the amount of necrotic damage taken until their next long rest, and you heal equal to that amount as well. Your Feast of Blood means that for one minute after draining someone’s blood, your speed increases by 10′, and you have advantage on Strength and Dexterity saves and checks. It’s not quite getting younger, but it’s certainly nice. The damage from Bloodthirst doesn’t improve on its own, but we’ll be taking care of that ourselves.

For our background, we’ll make a variant of the Noble background. Carmilla may be queen, but she didn’t sit on the throne peacefully. This will give you proficiency in History and Intimidation, and your Position of Privilege means you’ll always be welcome in high society, or else.

Stats

First off, make your Wisdom as high as possible. You did rule a kingdom after all. Next is Charisma, because you ruled that kingdom mostly through fear. After that is your Constitution; you siphon your health from others, but that just means you have plenty to spare. I’d say you’re not that ripped, but you do somehow lug a massive iron coffin around with you, so let’s pick Strength next. After that is Intelligence; you’re not stupid, but we need other things more. Finally, we’re dumping Dexterity; for an assassin, you’re terrible at being discrete. Your best bet is to be so terrifying everyone pretends not to notice.

Class Levels

1. Cleric 1: Starting off as a cleric might seem an odd choice, until you remember Death Clerics exist. At first level, death clerics are proficient in Wisdom and Charisma saves as well as two skills, which for you are Medicine and Insight. The key point of torture is to hit where it will cause the most pain, not the most damage. Now you’ll know their weak points, both physical and mental.

You also learn spells at this level, which you can cast with your Wisdom. Death Clerics can prepare first level spells from the cleric list, as well as the spells False Life and Ray of Sickness. You also learn three cantrips. Toll the Dead hurts more on creatures who are hurt, which is great, and works well with another feature you get at level one. Sacred Flame’s branding is a bit iffy, but setting people on fire is always a fun time. Finally, most of your torture gear is going to have to be handmade, so use Mending to keep everything together.

Finally, death clerics become a Reaper, learning the one necromancy cantrip that isn’t already on the cleric list (Chill Touch), and allowing you to cast single target necromancy cantrips on two creatures if they’re within 5′ of each other. The iron maiden’s doors are wide enough for everyone. Also, chill touch prevents its target from being healed, which would really cramp your style.

For weapons, you’ll mostly be using a Morningstar. You have a staff, but it’s really pointy, and you’d want to keep a hand open for spells and your Bloodthirst anyway.

2. Sorcerer 1: First level Sorcerers also get Spells, using their Charisma instead. Use Minor Illusion and Control Flames to mess with your victim’s mind. Gust will push back the unsightly creatures you can’t even bring yourself to touch. Poison Spray is also there. For first level spells, grab Mage Armor to set up that nifty thorn outfit you’ve got going on and Charm Person to make using your torture implements that much easier. You can’t make the victim intentionally hurt themselves, but there’s nothing inherently harmful about chaining yourself up, right?

First level sorcerers also get their Sorcerous Origin. The Bathory’s draconic bloodline has mutated in you to something... darker. Shadow Sorcerers get Eyes of the Dark, which at first level enhances your darkvision to 120′. You also learn the Strength of the Grave, allowing you to make a Charisma save when reduced to 0 hit points to instead hang on at 1 hp. You can only succeed on this save once per long rest, and it won’t work if you’re taking radiant damage or a critical hit. As it turns out, vampires are pretty hard to kill.

3. Sorcerer 2: Second level sorcerers become a Font of Magic, gaining sorcery points that will later be used for metamagic, but right now can only be used to make more spell slots.

Speaking of spells, you learn Sleep at this level. Sleeping enemies are a good target for your Bloodthirst, or to get dragged into a torture device.

4. Sorcerer 3: Third level shadow sorcerers get an improvement to their Eyes of the Dark. You can now spend three sorcery points or a spell slot to cast Darkness, and if cast with sorcery points you’ll be able to see through the darkness as well. Seeing is a privilege, and one you’re happy to revoke.

Sorcerers also get Metamagic at this level. Heightened Spell is expensive, but combining your saves with disadvantage is practically a sure bet. Having to stop mid-monologue to cast inflict wounds is so passe. That’s not a problem any more, thanks to Subtle Spell.

Speaking of spells, you learn a second level spell now. Crown of Madness isn’t that painful for the target at first, but they’ll have to live with what they’ve done for the rest of their lives. That’s where the true psychic damage kicks in.

5. Cleric 2: Second level clerics learn to Channel Divinity once per short rest. As a death cleric, you know two channel divinity options. The standard Turn Undead forces undead around you to make a wisdom save or run away from you. You should probably skip this one, especially since you’re undead too. Maybe. RAW Ixalan Vampires aren’t listed as undead, but they are vampires, so that probably falls under DM fiat.

For better use of your divinity, look no further than the Death Cleric’s Touch of Death. When you hit a creature with a melee attack, you can add 5 + twice your cleric level in necrotic damage to that attack. Your Bloodthirst is a melee attack that likes necrotic damage, and this adds a lot of necrotic damage to a melee attack. It’s a match made in heaven.

6. Cleric 3: Third level clerics get second level spells, and death clerics can add Blindness/Deafness and Ray of Enfeeblement to their spell lists. You’re going to want that last one: dumping dexterity means your AC is... not good. Best to mitigate the damage where you can. Some other spells you should check out at this level include Silence to abuse your subtle spell ability, and Spiritual Weapon. Technically it can be whatever form you choose, so why not a floating iron maiden? Sadly, this can’t restrain a creature, but you can also use Hold Person to keep one opponent steady while you find their jugular.

7. Cleric 4: Use your ASI to bump up your Wisdom for more and better spells. You also get another cantrip at this level; Thaumaturgy lets you really make an entrance, and gives you that “demon eye” look you have at your lower ascensions.

8. Cleric 5: At fifth level, your turn undead becomes Destroy Undead, instantly killing any undead of CR 1/2 who fail their wisdom save. The jury’s still out on you being undead, and you’re probably well over CR 1/2, but why risk it?

You also get third level spells, including your domain spells Animate Dead and Vampiric Touch. Getting some extra use out of your torture victims is nice, and Vampiric Touch uses wisdom instead of strength for more consistency in exchange for less healing. Some other spells to check out include Bestow Curse and Speak with Dead for more on-brand spells, and Life Transference just in case someone else in your party needs healing. You’ll just get it back from someone else anyway.

9. Cleric 6: Sixth level clerics can now channel their divinity twice per short rest, meaning you can add a total of 34 necrotic damage to your attacks between rests. You also learn the art of Inescapable Destruction, meaning your cleric spells and channel divinity ignore resistance to necrotic damage. Good news for you, bad news for those half and 2/3rds god types.

10. Cleric 7: Seventh level clerics get their fourth level spells, including your domain spells Blight and Death Ward. The former does a lot of necrotic damage, but it doesn’t really fit in with what you want to do. Blight removes someone’s bodily fluids, but you want to take them for your own. You can instantly kill a tree though, so congrats on learning a pokemon move. Death Ward also adds another layer of Not Dying to a creature of your choice, namely you. Not dying is good, you should try it.

Another fourth level spell you should check out is Freedom of Movement; forcing a villain into their own deathtrap is cliche and your strength isn’t that high. Don’t be a fool.

11. Cleric 8: Use your next ASI on your Charisma. You don’t have many sorcerer spells, but charisma is also tied to how terrifying you are and more importantly, your Not Dying roll. Destroy Undead increases to CR 1 if you were interested, and you gain a Divine Strike, which adds 1d8 necrotic damage to a weapon attack you make once per turn. This doesn’t work with your Bloodthirst, but a bit more pain on your normal attacks never hurt. You, anyway. It’s going to hurt a lot of other people.

12. Cleric 9: Ninth level clerics get their fifth level spells, including your final domain spells, Antilife Shell and Cloudkill. Melee combat is for peasants, and antilife shell lets you live your best life, with everyone at least 10′ away from you. Cloudkill’s also nice, but poison is more Semiramis’ thing. Another spell to look at is Contagion, which afflicts one of a number of dreadful diseases on a creature. Flavor these into some torture techniques, and you’ve got your favorite spell ready to go.

13. Cleric 10: Tenth level clerics learn to rely on Divine Intervention, possibly allowing a deity to help you in any way your DM sees fit. This does mean you’ll have to figure out who your deity actually is, though. Since we’re on a MTG kick with your race, there’s always the Piety options from the new Theros book. You strike me as an Erebos sort of woman.

Aside from all that, you also get a new cantrip at this level. Guidance lets you add 1d4 to one ability check. You can have a little imperial privilege. As a treat.

14. Cleric 11: At eleventh level, you can see your Destroy Undead climb to killing CR 2 undead. Or you would if not for the fact they’re probably your undead to begin with. More constructively, you get 6th level spells! Create Undead lets you make more useful minions out of your victims, and Harm lets you deal a massive blast of necrotic damage to a creature while eating up a chunk of their maximum HP.

15. Cleric 12: Twelfth level clerics get another ASI, which for you is maximizing your Wisdom for even stronger spell saves.

16. Cleric 13: Thirteenth level clerics get seventh level spells. Divine Word lets you cash in all that HP reduction you’ve been getting to deafen, blind, stun, and even kill creatures based on their current HP.

17. Cleric 14: Destroy Undead increases again to CR 3, and in only slightly more useful news your Divine Strike improves to adding 2d8 necrotic damage per turn.

18. Cleric 15: Fifteenth level clerics get eighth level spells. There isn’t much in the way of high powered spells that help out your build, but the high level slots are good for empowering spells you have and for making more sorcery points.

19. Cleric 16: Use your last ASI for higher Constitution. That gives you better concentration and a lot more health.

20. Cleric 17: Your final level brings your Destroy Undead up to killing CR 4 creatures, and you learn ninth level spells. Despite their power, ninth level spells don’t really do much for your build; you can’t even True Resurrection the original Elizabeth Bathory. However, you do get Improved Reaper, letting you double up on necromancy spells up to the fifth level.

Pros: Your sorcery points and Improved Reaper mean that you have a lot of energy in you for low level spells, letting you stay active for much longer than other spellcasters. You also have several spells that can effectively shut one enemy out of a fight. You probably aren’t strong enough to kill someone in the duration of a single Hold Person, but that should be enough time to mutilate them with some Contagion-based torture techniques. Finally, you’re pretty okay at not dying: you can heal yourself while still attacking enemies, you have pretty high HP for a full caster class, and you have two get out of death free cards you can punch per long rest.

Cons: You need to be hard to kill because you’re definitely not hard to hit; dumping dexterity did you no favors there. There’s also a dearth of high level spells that fit with this build-the consistency of low level spells is fine, but that’s never going to make up for not having a wish-tier spell to use. Finally, specializing in necrotic damage might be an issue in a world where the undead exist. This problem is easily solved by breaking character a bit and grabbing some radiant spells or using your other Channel Divinity option, if you’re really pressed for choices.

Next up: We’re making the strongest build in the world!

#fate grand order #fgo #carmilla #dnd 5e #Fate and Phantasms

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