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marvelmaniac715 · 10 months

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This fic comes from a dream I had where Chucky was actually trying to be a good parent. I know, Chucky actually trying to be a good dad? It has to be non-canon, right? I’ve forgotten most of the dream, but I remembered this tiny bit of it, and because I’m a sucker for Chucky and Glenda’s dynamic, I’ve decided to write it down. Oh yeah, and I gave Nica/Chucky their limbs back, because I don’t think this will work without arms or legs.

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Glenda winced as they accidentally sliced their finger. As blood began to seep out of the shallow cut, the teen was even more confused when the person in front of them- Nica- began… having a breakdown? It wasn’t quite clear, but after a few seconds, she sat up straight, but her posture was entirely different. There was also something slightly different about her face, it was almost as if there was someone else inside of her body.

To further back up this theory, ‘Nica’ spoke, but their voice was rougher, less feminine. Making eye contact with Glenda, they asked in surprise:

“Glenda?”

Not quite sure what was happening, Glenda just nodded, deeply confused because didn’t they already confirm what their name was? At the nod, ‘Nica’ (was it Nica? It didn’t seem like Nica, so Glenda decided to refer to whoever this was as Person Two for now) grinned and walked tentatively towards the teen, beginning to raise their arms before changing their mind at the last second. Instead, they cautiously asked:

“Can- can I hug you? Would that be okay?”

Glenda smiled awkwardly and walked towards Person Two, nodding in confirmation. Immediately, Person Two closed the distance between them and wrapped their arms around Glenda, one hand carded through the teen’s short red hair whilst the other rested lightly on their back. It was a nice moment, and for some reason, Glenda immediately recognised the gesture as something along the lines of parental affection. For a relatively touch-starved teenager, this sort of hug combined with the parental feelings attributed to it was something they secretly loved and didn’t want to end. But just as it began to feel comfortable, Person Two’s arms tightened around Glenda as they mused aloud:

“Wait, I’m awake, and the main trigger is… so that would mean…”

Immediately, the hug ended as Person Two immediately pulled away and frantically looked Glenda up and down for signs of… something. Then, they took hold of Glenda’s hand, the one that was still actively bleeding, and gasped. Their eyes landed on the blade resting on a nearby table, and some kind of realisation seemed to wash over them. Then their focus was back on Glenda, and the teen was given a reproachful stare that somehow seemed more meaningful than their mother’s more half-hearted attempts at discipline over the years.

In a mildly exasperated tone, Person Two admonished:

“Glenda, did nobody ever teach you to be careful around knives? Accidents can happen, people can get hurt. It’s wonderful to see you again but it shouldn’t have to be because-‘

Because what exactly Glenda never learned, because this borderline stranger guided them to the bathroom with a determined expression on their face. Once there, Glenda was instructed to sit down on the edge of the bathtub whilst Person Two rifled through drawers to find a first aid kit. It took a little while, but once they found it, they held it up with a triumphant grin, immediately tearing it open and searching for disinfectant spray and bandages.

Glenda tried to weakly protest that it was nothing, and that a band-aid at most was all that they needed, but Person Two shook their head and insisted:

“No, no, this is the least I can do. Let me help, kid. I have experience with this kinda stuff.”

True to their word, Person Two immediately set about rinsing the cut with a paper towel and warm water, apologising ever time the teen winced in discomfort and giving them a reassuring hand squeeze. Then, they uncapped the disinfectant spray and briefly warned:

“Brace yourself for a second, this might hurt, but it’ll be worth it.”

The warning was very much appreciated, because when the spray hit the cut, Glenda felt like their hand was on fire, and they yanked it back abruptly with a soft yelp. Person Two offered them another reproachful stare and wordlessly held out an expectant hand, leading Glenda to immediately place their still bleeding hand in their’s.

As Person Two finished wrapping and tying the bandages, with a band-aid underneath, they smiled at Glenda and asked:

“There, now how much better does that feel, huh?”

Glenda grinned in relief, because it really did feel a lot better, and nodded, letting out a heavy sigh. Then their survival instincts kicked back in, and they asked what really should have been the obvious question from the start.

“Wait, who are you?”

Person Two tried to change the subject, but when Glenda fixed them with a reproachful stare of their own, they admitted in a voice that was barely above a whisper:

“I’m Chucky, and I’m… your dad.”

Glenda shook their head in disbelief, unable to do anything except repeatedly mutter the word ‘no’ under their breath. A hand on their shoulder snapped them back into reality as they said the first thing that came to mind:

“No, you can’t be. My dad bailed when Glen and I were babies, mom said he was an asshole who didn’t care about us, but you’ve been so nice… you can’t be my dad.”

Person Two (or Chucky, as he was apparently called) shook his head adamantly and rushed to explain himself.

“I didn’t want to leave, you have to understand that. Your mom and I… had our differences, and we still do, but it doesn’t mean that either of us love you or your twin any less. I didn’t know where you guys were, and your mom wouldn’t tell me. I tried to get in contact, you have to believe me. But when I found your mom again, you were both off at school, it’s just been a long string of bad timing and unfortunate circumstances.”

He paused for a moment to let this sink in, then he tentatively cupped Glenda’s cheek with his hand and said again:

“I didn’t want to leave.”

Glenda didn’t know how to feel. Their whole perception of their mother, of their entire family, was beginning to crumble. But their father seemed genuine, and they were exhausted from the bombshell revelation that their father loved them. So they gave in to the childish impulse inside of them to lean into the only taste of paternal affection that they’d ever experienced, savouring the moment for as long as it lasted.

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Chucky was still new to the whole ‘being a decent parent’ thing, but after his catastrophic attempts to interact with Glen, he took a good long look at himself in the mirror and asked himself: was this really the type of father he wanted to be? A father that terrified his children and had no bond with them whatsoever? It wasn’t even a question for him. That wasn’t the sort of man- the sort of father that he wanted to be.

He had years to reevaluate his memories of the twins, and the more he thought about how he’d handled things, the worse he felt. After a few years of analysing where he’d went wrong, he began to feel genuinely sick to his stomach whenever he saw his kid quivering in terror… because of him. He made himself promise that if he saw the twins again, he’d do his best to be a decent father, no matter what it would take.

He wasn’t entirely prepared to talk to Glenda after all that time, but when he saw the cut on their finger, all of his dormant fatherly instincts that he didn’t even know he had kicked in. Did he handle things in the best way? No. Did Glenda seem confused and mildly traumatised as a result? Unfortunately, yes. But Chucky figured that tending to his child’s injuries and proving to them that he was not a threat was a decent start when it came to establishing a bond between them.

#chucky #chucky series #childs play #seed of chucky #charles lee ray #tiffany valentine #glen ray #glenda ray #nica pierce #horror #fanfiction #fluff

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twentydaysofdrabbles · 9 months

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The Concierge Gives A Tasting - Look (Part 22)

The walk back to your room is not long, but it is enough to have Sans dogging your steps like a slavering hound. His red pilot lights for eyes glow bright in the shadows between lights, bobbing and weaving with every step.

You’re not concerned about showing him where you lay your head. After all, you’re so rarely there. So you aren’t afraid of slipping out your room key from your hidden vambrace, of swiping it past the card reader. Of pushing the door open and admitting yourself into the dim, cool room.

It’s a fairly standard room, by hotel standards. Though you’re considered the Manager’s right hand, your room is far from ostentatious. Tastefully decorated in classical luxury, but not overly so. A small round table stands near the kitchenette set off to the side, two ornately carved and padded wooden chairs tucked neatly under it.

Next to the kitchenette, a wall with a weapon rack, most of its slots empty, and a dresser with a repair kit on it. A door set at the far wall. A closet just beside it. And behind a wall of curtains, a wall of windows. But of course you never open them.

Your bed is big, the main focus of the bedroom, covered with dark satin sheets and a multitude of pillows. A single padded armchair stands to the side of it. Impeccably made. Neat.

Sans is staring at it, looking as if he wants to muss that neatness right away.

“Patience, Mister Sans,” you say softly, a hint of a tease in your even tone. “We’ve not yet finished our negotiations.”

“then hurry the fuck up,” he growls, prowling up to you.

At least, until he is stopped by your hand on his chest. Just a little pressure and it would cause the hidden blade nestled under your wrist to pop out...but you’re careful not to let that happen. Looking at him from under your lashes, you let a small smile spread over your lips. “Mister Sans.”

The skeleton sneers at you, impatience writ plain on his face. A sneer that turns into a pout when he sees that you’re unmoving. “sweetheart, ya wouldn’t be leavin’ me in the cold, would ya?”

“The cold isn’t exactly what I’d call it, Mister Sans.” Dropping your hand from his chest, you bring it to the lapels of your coat. Shedding it with one smooth movement, shrugging it down your arms.

All at once, Sans freezes. Then he grins a greedy grin, his tongue flicking out to lick over his teeth. “oh, sweetheart. now we’re talkin’.”

Chuckling lowly, you turn away to drape your coat over a coatrack just beside your weapon rack. “Make yourself comfortable, Mister Sans. I won’t be long.”

“don’t mind if i do, sweets.” His voice is a low purr, just barely audible over his footsteps as he goes to sit in the armchair near the bed. Predictably, he sits with his legs spread, his arms draped along the back of it. As large as he is, he doesn’t fully fill the armchair. A surprising fact, to you. You didn’t realise the armchair was that large.

Now that he’s lounging in it, his eye lights glued to you, you’re suddenly reminded of a man watching a striptease. A smile quirks the corner of your lip up. If he thinks you’ll perform for him, he’s sorely mistaken. But you’ll not leave him wanting.

Under your coat is a plain shirt, well tailored, well fitted, moulded to your body in stark contrast to the coat which gives you a sharp silhouette. You can feel Sans’ eyes on you as you reach down to undo the ammunition belt around your waist.

“how many, sweetheart?” he asks huskily, roving his red eyes all over you.

You spare him the barest look, taking out the spare magazine without looking. “Four.” The gun is slid out of its holster next, magazine ejected, chambered round removed. Made safe. Placed back in its spot on the rack. “Miss Toriel took two out.”

When you next glance at Sans, he looks as if you had just slipped him the dirtiest pickup line. “shit, four and not a single scratch on ya,” he groans, zeroing in on the red stains around the wrist cuff of your shirt. Slowly dulling crimson amid the pure white fabric. A deep inhale, expanding the skeleton’s broad ribcage, and he growls on the exhale. “ya still smell like blood, damn.”

Ah, the perfume must have dissipated. “Is that an issue, Mister Sans?” you ask politely, unbuttoning the cuff of your shirt so you can roll it up to your elbows. Your vambraces are revealed by this action, close fitting as to be a metal skin around your forearms, stopping at the base of your wrists. It is raised on the tops and undersides of your wrists, the holsters for your spring-loaded knives.

A hidden latch frees your arms of the metal armour. One by one you set them upon the dresser, to be taken apart and cleaned. Flakes of dried blood litter the wood and the floor where you stand, something that Sans doesn’t miss.

“not a lotta folk use knives up here,” he idly notes, tongue flicking over his teeth. “whaddya say ya invite me to a demonstration one of these days?”

Goodness, Sans is a bit of a sadist isn’t he? Maybe a bit of a masochist too, by the sounds of it.

“Oh?” you ask, toeing your shoes off at last. They are nudged back under the dresser, away from where anyone could trip over them. Now clad in just your socks, you lift your pant legs just enough to show the tops of them. They’re not the sexiest articles of clothing you own, not by a longshot, but you don’t miss the way Sans looks at them with blazing want in his eyes as though you had just shown him your underwear.

Ah yes, that monster thing about socks. Well, you’ll milk that for whatever it’s worth. Lifting a foot so you can reach the last switchblade hidden in your right sock. Gloved hands close around the handle of it, slipping it from the sewn in holster and onto the dresser. As much as you want to dexterously flick the knife this way and that, your hands still ache from the exertion of earlier today.

Though he is briefly distracted, Sans seems to compose himself. He loosens the tie around his neck, unbuttoning the top button to reveal the ivory bones hidden behind. "yeah,” he just purrs, flicking his jacket to the sides and showing off the black suspenders clinging to his shoulders. Ah, he didn’t miss that you liked them.

A perceptive man is a dangerous one. But you’ve always known that about Sans.

At last fully disarmed, you pad over to where he sits. He watches you keenly, crimson eye lights roving up and down your body hungrily, admiring the swing of your hips, the delicate steps you take, until you’re bracing your hands on the arms of the chair and looming over him, casting him in shadow.

This close, you can see every flicker of his eye lights, feel every breath he takes. You can see how his eyes lock on the collar of your shirt. Dark ink creeps up your skin from under the white fabric, dark tentacles curling and weaving under the fog. Through your shirt, too, the barest hints of a tattoo can be seen. A collar tapped into the skin around your neck, a visible, artistic weight across your collarbones, your shoulders, closing behind the nape of your neck.

“nice ink, sweetheart,” he purrs, lifting a finger to press over the top of your chest. “mind letting me see the rest of it?”

Perhaps if he looks closer, he can see the skull wreathed in vines and laurels sitting at the base of your throat.

But you don’t give him the opportunity.

“If you secure a second meeting, Mister Sans, then I would be glad to accommodate your request,” you say evenly, though with a smile in your voice.

Sans growls briefly, “pfft, second meeting.” Then it hits him. He narrows his eyes. “whaddya mean?”

Your lips tip up in a sly smile, your eyes glowing bright with dark desire. “One thing at a time, Mister Sans,” you murmur, your knee coming up to rest on the chair between his thighs. One day, you’ll figure out how he has such thick thighs for being made of bone. Perhaps it works like his belly.

His eyes flick to your gloves then, still tucked up tight around the base of your palms. “them too?”

“Third meeting, if you’re lucky.” You’re confident he will make it that far.

The eternal grin on Sans’ face widens and he leaves the matter of your gloves alone, tipping his chin up so he can leer at you. “ya like teasin’, don’t cha sweetheart?” But it doesn’t look like he’s protesting. Of course, he’s much the same, dragging a distal phalanx down the centre of your chest until he hits the waistband of your trousers.

You don’t say anything in response, figuring the satisfied expression on your face evidence enough. Bracing yourself on one hand, you press the other flat against his sternum. Levering more and more of your weight on him until he is pinned against the chair.

Like in the elevator, Sans just wheezes slightly with a grin, panting up at you, “fuck...”

And just like in the elevator, you lean close. Close enough that your lips brush against his sharp teeth with every word you speak, “Allow me to take the lead in these negotiations.”

The skeleton monster looks as if Gyftmas had come early. “oh yeah sweetheart, take the wheel.”

Oh, you’re going to have so much fun.

#undertale fics #mafiafell au #mafiafell sans #mafiafell sans x reader #sans x reader #the concierge #drabble #ficlet #it's getting spicy #another massive chapter that i'll work on in parts #so there's still a post every day

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crystalelemental · 9 months

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If, any BY GOD DO I MEAN IF, we must get Kanto Neo Champions...can we please, pretty please, not do Kanto Birds? As much as I'd love Leaf and Articuno, that's a 1/3 shot, and I don't trust DeNA to not mess that up after they gave Spectrier to Victor. Please do something more interesting. Please.

Neo Champion Blue The only Pokemon options left for Blue were Alakazam and Rhydon/Rhyperior. I went with the latter, because we are in far greater need for more Rock and Ground types than we are Psychic. I went with Ground, because he already has a Rock-type, and I figure sure, we'll let Blue be diverse. It's kind of his thing.

I gave Blue the Field sync, focusing on Ground Zone. Personally, I think a Field pair will be at its best when it has bonkers DPS to contribute, into an ally's sync nuke of choice with the extension. So, he's a 4-bar spam DPS unit first and foremost. Giga Impact is the best we can do with Ground, and by god he shall have it, with a Piercing Gaze effect built into the passives. Similarly, his coverage is Rock Wrecker, because man do we ever need Rock-type damage sometimes. Buddy move is Bulldoze, hitting -2 on Defense, Special Defense, Speed, and Evasion. Defenses are always relevant, Speed is good for myriad Cakewalk sets on both Ground and Rock, evasion is just to mess with Latias and Cresselia. Which, related, Blue's Buddy move is infinite spam and ignores passives that reduce damage, so he is the only Ground-type that fights Cresselia and wins. To emphasize damage, his trainer move is a bunch of survival effects similar to Nemona, but either grants +3 moves up next to any ally, or re-applies Ground Zone if this skill is held for later. Between entry, his sync, and this, that's three applications of Zone. Additionally, because he extends Zones, this should stack with the natural Field effect into a double extension. It should be plenty, even for High Score. Finally, the main draw I wanted out of Blue was a bit more team support, since Field feels more analogous to Support to me. So I went with Team Honing Hit. Just let him cap Atk/Crit for the team by taking attacks, what's the worst that happens?

I haven't thought through Grid, but Haymaker's in there somewhere. I packed a lot into this kit, so I'm not sure what else to add, but I'd consider a Rock-themed approach, where he instead sets Rock Zone on sync, with appropriate rank 5 extension for that instead, giving him two fields to play with. I'd consider Adrenaline, since that speeds up access to an ally's sync. Maybe Pep Rally on something to offset gauges, which are his primary weakness. That or a potential Free Moves Next.

Blue's strength is raw power on Ground and Rock-type damage, which are, I feel, relatively rare. Ground Zone was made available through Courtney, and I wanted to make something a bit more premium. Buddy Bulldoze is the big focus, outperforming Courtney's main utility in basically every way that matters. All while retaining her limitations. Gauges are rough on Blue. His starting speed is okay, but for a 4-bar spam supporting notoriously high-gauge issues like Ground? It's not enough. Team Honing Hit can open up a support that boosts speed, though, so there's a bit more variety in that regard. The reduction of accuracy also helps with options like Maxie, who now safely drops his trainer move to spam Precipice Blades.

Neo Champion Leaf Can you tell I pick favorites? Leaf is the only one I'd actually want. It's been three years, man. Leaf deserves something, with Red having a yearly anniversary treat and Blue having 5 alts. The birds are allowed only if she gets Articuno, but failing that, I'd really like Ninetales, with this kind of nonsense at its back.

Burns and debuffs. Burning Jealousy is a cool move, shut up yes it is. Scorching Sands acts as her secondary DPS, because we don't get enough of that for Ground, but also a Fire-type High Score is destined to have a Ground-weakness, so this sets her up well. The function is that she applies Burn, then it steals the stat buffs of the target. With Burning Jealousy, in CS, you can start the match with Five Stats +3, then just cap all your stats in one action by hitting them with that burn. The chain of skills should go Burn lands, then passives activate. She then follows up with the Classic Elesa skill in Burn format, reducing all stats of the foe by 1 each time she attacks. Her Fire moves are all AoE. Get debuffed idiot. This then plays into her final passive, which is a combination of Good Form and Rising Tide.

Speaking of, Buddy Heat Wave. The goal of this should be fairly obvious. AoE hits all foes for a rebuff, then sets Sun, and restores some HP for her Gauntlet sets. The sure-crit is to save her Trainer Move. It restores 1MP. This allows her to apply the full -3 rebuff, and get three applications of Sun guaranteed. I thought about ignoring passives, but since hers isn't infinite use, I went with no damage penalty instead. Gauntlet Solos are fucking dumb anyway.

The final focus is that Leaf here is Sprint. Each burn is -1 sync cooldown, for a full fast-ramp in 3v3 contexts. Then sync, then boom, another -3. With innate Rising Tide backed by Sun and a rebuff, Leaf has perfect synergy with the focus, which is on rapid, high-power sync that would be overkill with standard Tech.

Leaf's limitations are more cosmetic. She's not as dominant in the Gauntlet Solo meta because she just doesn't have Piercing Blows, and Burn is a bad condition that's stopped short by Tornadus and Entei, who block her Buddy move entirely. In most contexts, though? She's not really built with flaws in mind. The worst I can say is that I set a lot of her skills to be about her own buffs, which isn't as guaranteed on her own. Foes could just...not have buffs. Then what? Not everything is CS. But Rising Tide is also easier to set up than Power Play, so I let it slide. Moreover, I feel like this sets her up to also be more supportive than dominant. Her damage, without burns and without myriad buffs, is only okay. But applying a Rebuff and Sun? She's a great third component to Fire-type teams.

Her grid's focus is fairly easy, thankfully. Power Play as the sync multiplier, Hostile Environment3 and Superduper Effective 9 for Scorching Sands, and probably Mind Games 9 for faster debuffing. Maybe that SS Lysandre skill that debuffs Atk/Sp Def instead. But most importantly? Head Start 1, and Adrenaline 1. Field pairs only have significant value as second sync fast-rampers if you quad queue, or have Adrenaline. Well look at that. Head Start 1 also lets her get -4 cooldown, which potentially allows for double fast-ramping on first sync. Lastly, I'd want SC Zinnia's ability to flinch unbuffed foes, but set it at a 30% rate. Leaf has enough overpowering nonsense in her kit, I don't think she needs AoE stagger on top of it.

Neo Champion Red Red is his HGSS incarnation, there is no Espeon. Therefore, we have to look at the rest of his team. And personally? I'd hope for a second Venusaur. It has a Poison type. And god, do we ever need more of that. I initially wanted to do Max Moves instead, but Mega Evolution works out.

Venusaur's focus is on guarantees. Attacks will Poison. Debuffs will occur from moves. They will spread. Debuffs will happen double the impact. Poison is instead Toxic. After mega evolving, I have over 500 special attack, and am boosted by Spirit. Die.

I kept this as a straight-forward Striker for a few reasons. One is, that is what Poison most needs. I do not want to hear about another Poison Tech with awkward tools. Special damage in particular is valuable, because right now H!Iris does not synergize with the best in show. Red gives her something. But perhaps most important of all...I did not want all three of them synergizing.

No, I'm serious, I hate that. I hate when they drop a set and are like "These are all meant to mesh perfectly even when they have nothing in common." I hate that original Kantrio did it. I hate that Johtrio can do it. I hate that the Dual Rat/Cynthia thing worked out perfectly, and that Galarian Neo Champions got to be a perfect set despite being so wildly different. Just let things stand on their own, this doesn't have to be a set. Him needing poison conflicts with Leaf's need for burns, and neither agrees with the other. He can set Poison Zone but only if no Zone is active so he doesn't get along with NC Blue (unless he's there for special Ground damage, but Blue is physical so figure that one out). That's not to say there's no synergy. SS Blue will still hold together any combination of offense. SS Leaf works great with NC Red. NC Leaf works great with SS Red. There are still combination but I want players to have to look beyond the immediately available obvious solution. You can probably make all three NCs work, as a Ground-type beatdown, but you'd have to decide who the correct tank is and I hope that gives players pause.

As for limitations, I didn't equip him with many. Speed is arguably one, as is "weaker sync from mega evolution," but he's more a DPS focus anyway. I feel like maybe I should've given Venoshock an MP limitation, but I admit I don't want to edit these anymore I've been doing this all morning.

Grid can give him Superduper Effective 9 on Earth Power, and I'd be willing to throw in SS Leaf's Noxious Hit 9 for offense debuffing. Just let him debuff everything, who cares. I'd say maybe something to reduce sync cooldown, but I'm not sure what works best.

#pokemon masters #sync pair theorycrafting

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tuesday7econlive · 1 month

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The Trade-off of Leather Working

I have taken up the trade of leather working in my leisure time for the past 4 months. While I have not made many large scale projects I have made simple wallets and keychains.

To get started with leather projects of course the first thing you need is leather. But aside from that, tools are the second most important part of leatherworking.

Before I started to begin learning about leather work I researched where to focus my efforts as there are many possible skills one could learn, yet the tools for each one are vastly different. I basically narrowed down to 3 main categories.

Primitive leather work ( making of items such typically straps, belts, wallets)

Luxury leather work ( making/repair of jackets, shoes, bags)

Tooling (using leather and tools to make designs)

If I wanted to apply the concept of preferences my list would look like

Tooling > Luxury

Primitive> Tooling

Primitive> Luxury

My list is rational and satisfies completeness. It aligns very well with my goal of looking for something cheap and fun. Primitive leather working fills both those categories. Tooling is quite expensive, but creatively stimulating. To get my feet wet with tooling I purchased a stamp of a Brontosaur to brand my wallets, but the small 1”” stamp alone cost me almost $20. The reason why Luxury HAS to be the last resort is because of all the expensive oils, stains and higher end leather that I would end up working with.

I started out with Primitive leather work because I really did not have my tools. The only leather I had were some scrap bits of leather I bought off of someone else. I was given a leather starting kit for the Holidays with waxed thread, whole punchers, etc. The first thing I made was a sling similar to the one above (although not as nice). Over winter quarter I started to produce more wallets. The issue with this is my PPF. I only have scraps so realistically I can’t really produce much, and everything I make is technically lower quality as I am learning. The decision choice for what products I made is reflected in my PPF.

The first PPF is linear and does not reflect how things actually played out. I had a choice from my scrap leather to make about 2 Wallets or 5 small keychains (This is an arbitrary assumption of what I could make, I am not too experienced or efficient yet). The issue here is the leather I had must be cut from the center of the leather sheet. Much of the scraps came in odd shapes that had to be shaven off in order to work with clean squares. Another important factor is the idea that if I wanted to make something nice, I had to pick the best spots of my leather to utilize. Something that had less marks, wrinkles or fraying edges. Thus the second PPF much more reflects this struggle. As I make one wallet the possibility to make more keychains diminishes. Because leather was my biggest scarcity issue I won’t make a PPF reflecting all my resources. If I chose to make a business out of this skill realistically on a large scale I would need to consider other factors such as tools wearing out (possibly ruining pieces of nice leather) or even oils/ paints staining leather incorrectly or even simply running out of supplies either thread, glue etc. The leather work I was doing really didn’t require all the tools I had which made me lucky in the sense that the value is preserved but on the other hand I was not operating for profit. Especially because I was not necessarily selling anything.

If I wanted to analyze my interest in Leather work as a firm. I came up with a rough idea of what my business could look like as a cost curve. As shown and as stated before I am making no profit. This means no matter what I do, whether I make the most beautiful bag in existence I will always be losing money. I have a fixed cost because I need resources. I may not own a factory or even the top of the line tools, but at the bare minimum I need blades, thread, and needles. However my fixed cost as much as I would like will never go to zero. This is because the way I view how I pay off the fixed cost is with practice. Everytime I complete a project, or learn it's costing me resources, durability on tools etc. However I because I am learning, and becoming more efficient in how I work the costs does go down in the long run in that regard. However I will still owe the monetary value thus it can never go or reach to zero. My AVC and my MC continue to grow especially because I don’t make any money. So If I were to evaluate my business I would say that I am operating at an economic loss hands down. But as everything does there are hidden costs. Following suit in this endeavor taught me valuable skills such as patience and budgeting. I also learned new sewing techniques and applied concepts from my classes into my work. The experience I gained from working with my hands on a project is more valuable than the money I put into this hobby. In terms of my social cost I would say I am making profit, especially because what I make is tangible and I can share it with my family. The fact that I am also using scraps instead of purchasing large commercial quantities of leather lets me be more resourceful and less wasteful than some other leather workers. I learned a lot in relation to sustainability and working with what I have rather than getting the top of the line tools.

Jonathan Ornelas

ID# 5562068

Ornelaj4

Econ 23 @7

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nordicedges · 8 months

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Enhance Your Culinary Skills with Excellent Kitchen Knife Blade Blanks from Nordic Edge

Close to the heart of every kitchen, there lies an arena where Flavors mingle, ingredients integrate, and culinary magic bestows its charm. Major focus of this universe are the tools and essentials that bring a chef's cookery craftiness to life, and among them, the kitchen knife stands out with supremacy. But what if this major essential tool could be more than just a means to an end? Enter Nordic Edge, renowned Kitchen Knife Blade Blanks is a for a haven for those who seek to infuse their culinary endeavour with a touch of uniqueness.

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#kitchen knife blade blanks

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conjoinedpubes · 11 months

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Adventures of Solis - Chapter 7: Rearmed

Adventures of Solis - Chapter Index Written between RL 60+12 and 80+17 Weapons testing Also reformatted the older chapters for easier navigation

Greatswords Galore

So far, main-hand has been swapping between Claymore and Flamberge. Late-game, we have 2 new options - Helphen's Steeple and Alabaster Lord's Sword.

Alabaster Lords - was hoping this weapon would do something, anything interesting really.

But yeah, its as bad as people say it is. Largely a str weapon with short reach and unintresting weapon skill - not sure what I expected here. Cool anti-bird option though, thanks to the big gravity explosion.

Helphen's Steeple - really nice on paper, but runs into 1 very major snag - the buff is lost when you swap out the weapon. This is only a problem thanks to the stun > dagger swap > crit combo.

Its an incredible 'big number stick' for int-hybrids, just not for this character specifically. On a personal level, also dislike the weapon art being 'just' a self-buff.

Flamberge - In the end, still my favourite GS. Main reason being bleed was at least something to help supplement damage versus magic resistant foes (a problem that never gets truly solved).

On a side note the Flameberge's *technically* better scaling to dex over str didn't matter much. Weapon scaling is from base AR - so even though other Greatswords have a str-bias, the raw AR advantage over Flamberge meant that Claymore was still a better raw numbers weapon on our Int-Dex character.

There is still 1 option I have to test - Knight's Greatsword with its unusual jump combo. If one drops, then Ill try it.

Exotic Blades

Wing of Astel - Very intresting weapon, good contender for a light main hand. The Weapon Art does intense poise damage and multihits vs big bosses.

The projectile based heavy attack is also very unique, although I still dont know *how and what* to use it for.

Wakizashi - Did not consider the idea of having both Carian Slicer and an off-hand dagger. Wakizashi is chosen for the dex scaling + innate bleed.

A dagger costs no fp and can apply status - but has more limited moveset and lower damage. I also find it cleanerr to swap off-hand weapons than cycle through a list of spells. Carian Slicer has more damage and can be cast while jump/sprint.

Is this breaking with theme? I dont know - maybe.

Moonveil - Yeah, that one. It is a bladed int-hybrid weapon and so it counts. Pretty much 'Lance like' in that it just solves most of the game by existing - don't feel inspired to use it.

Zweihander - When cold infused, this becomes a dex+int weapon. Might actually be the best/most intresting option, but requires more stats and is significantly heavy. Will test more in the future.

Sword of St. Trina - Could be interesting, if we lean even harder into the critical-hit focus. Found it to be redundant since most of Solis' kit does stance breaks very well.

*maybe* there is some sort of 'stun lock' build that utilizes sleep and regular stagger, but as said in earlier chapters - wanted to lean away from the crit gimmick and be better at general combat.

The Dismounter Arc

While planning this build, I completely forgot about the Curved Greatsword class.

Started this character months ago, then took a long break. During that time, CGS got buffed.

A large bladed weapon with a generalist sweeping moveset. Also pairs well with off-hand staves and has good natural reach/momentum.

Downside? weapon art selection has little overlap with what we have been using. (Which meant that the next step was to test various weapon arts.)

Adventures of Solis

Chapter Index

Next | Previous | Beginning

#adventures of solis #build journal #elden ring #elden ring builds #elden ring coop #elden ring pvp

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ohfarrell36 · 1 year

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Buck Bravo Folding Knife Review

Make your newsletter a celebration, yet it will help sermon or warning or reference article. Showcase your customers and businesses. Focus the spotlight on people today the constituency that in order to reading the mailing. By doing this you build anticipation: Who will be in the spotlight the very next time? Might it even be me or my career? Affix a paper clip at the unfastened side of your thread, with length of 12 inches from finish. Sew all of your beads on the string for the paperclip. The thread should be solitary strand through the beads. The paper clip will wait the pearls on the thread. You can even lay the wound pearls on a work surface wrapped up Clip-lock roofing sheet with felt, a fabric built of squeezed matted animal tissue. The felt will assist in preventing the pearls from straying and will defend them from business table main. Remove the spring assembly from the bottom of the steering shaft by taking a pair of pliers and removing the two main pivot pinastre Clip-lock metal sheet . You should be given the chance to understand pivots within actual tilt column. When the jack knife became the Tactical Folder a new improved system was developed to quickly flick the knife open. Fresh device was the prepared and thumb stud. Both work on the same principle. The blade made style usual for Spyderco allowed the user to assemble the base or pad of his thumb in the outlet and along with a rotating pressure swing the actual blade a single continuous motion. The other most common new style opening device may be the thumb stud. When done, you will see a small Snipping Tool 18 yard box. Click and drag the scissor-shaped icon (encircled red) to take the screenshot. Stretch the selector to capture a desired portion insect killer entire screen and an individual done. You will observe your captured image on Snipping Tool dialog window. Make the desired changes to picture and save it. You may saved like a JPG screen impression. Exit the Snipping Tool box. A- you. Check the brand on every door; your locks could quite possibly have different usine. Purchase a re-key kit terrible brand you have. They are easily accessible at home stores and online. The kits come with two keys and tools to re-key six door locks. Now to discuss your hair color. Yes, it's something you preferably should consider as it can make or break any hairstyle. You can get the best haircut on the planet for you, however, when the color almost all wrong, it ruins method look. For those of you, who already color Clip-lock sheet their hair or are considering it, know these crucial elements. Black and very dark shades are not just for for the young-at-heart, very good for younger and younger looking crowd only. These unforgiving colors will only harshen the features of a poor found themselves with fine lines and wrinkles. Very fair, porcelain skin should steer beyond very light shades due to the fact usually washes them down. Keep the publication schedule fluid. Send a newsletter when experience something state he. Don't lock yourself into a monthly or quarterly publication schedule right after which scrounge to find newsworthy material to fill the site. Sometimes tôn không bắn vít mail a newsletter two months in a row; strategy I possess a gap of three to four months between tasks. Do you think our readers monitor? I don't.

#khaivy

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theggning · 3 years

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I Hate the Alternate Ending of Blind Betrayal, and Here's Why!

DISCLAIMER THE FIRST: Massive spoilers for Fallout 4 abound. This post discusses Blind Betrayal, a quest with suicide as a heavy theme. Content warning applies.

DISCLAIMER THE SECOND: This post discusses cut OFFICIAL content from Fallout 4 that has since been repurposed into multiple mods. I am not criticizing any modders or their implementations of this content. Mods are fun and people can enjoy whatever the hell kind of game experience they want with whatever mods they want.

I am ONLY interested in discussing the original cut content as Bethesda had written it, and how it would have impacted the story and lore of Fallout 4.

So, yeah, it seems there was originally going to be another way to conclude Blind Betrayal (BB).

As described in this Kotaku article (citing this post by Tumblr user tentacle-explosion,) there are unused audio files of Danse’s dialogue that show an alternate ending to his pivotal quest. These lines are the only evidence we have of this ending (suggesting that it was cut fairly early on, as no other actors/characters seem to have recorded for it.)

From what we can tell, in this alternate ending of BB, Danse comes up with a possible way out of the sticky situation re: his identity as a synth. According to the Brotherhood Litany, he is able to challenge Maxson’s authority as Elder via combat. If you agree to this idea, you go with Danse to challenge Maxson. The Paladin and the Elder duel one another, Danse wins, and Maxson dies. Then Danse names the Sole Survivor the new Elder-- or with a hard charisma check, you’re able to convince Danse to take the job himself. It is unknown how the main plot would have progressed beyond this point, as there is no other evidence of what being (or influencing) the Elder would have been like or what choices it would have given you.

There is understandable disappointment in learning that this ending was cut. Choices in games are great, and it could have been fun to have multiple different options for how to resolve the quest. In many gaming circles, people complain that this theoretical ending is superior to the one we got and shouldn’t have been axed. The Kotaku article calls it a “way better” ending, and you’ll see many players lamenting that it wasn’t implemented, saying Bethesda was bad at writing for cutting it, etc.

So why did Bethesda get rid of the Elder ending of BB?

In December 2020, after the Fallout 4 Cast Reunion, Danse’s voice actor Peter Jessop answered questions in a private signing session on his Instagram. Peter Jessop is an extremely kind and gracious man, an avid gamer, and a huge fan of Fallout. During the stream, he reflected on the alternate ending and remembered recording the lines, but stated the content was ultimately cut because Bethesda decided it was lore-breaking.

Peter Jessop is right. Bethesda was right. The Elder ending of BB is a bunch of dumb nonsense. It sucks, I hate it, and I’m glad they got rid of it. And now I’m going to tell you why!

SIDENOTE: King Shit of Fuck Mountain

There is no wrong way to play a single-player video game. If you are having fun, then you are accomplishing the task for which the game was made. Good for you! Play it on easy. Play it on hard. Mod it. Speedrun it. Make up an intricate roleplaying scenario. Perform “challenge” runs. Kill everybody you see. Ignore the story and run around collecting wheels of cheese. Games are meant to be fun and there is nothing wrong with enjoying a game however you damn well please. This is especially true for RPGs like Fallout, which are designed with player freedom in mind.

There is an RPG playstyle I like to call King Shit of Fuck Mountain: a naked power fantasy in which your protagonist is the most powerful person ever, even beyond normal RPG plot significance. Through brute strength, incredible charisma, or having completed tons of quests for world-breaking artifacts and weapons, your character wields godlike influence, able to control people, factions, and the fabric of the world itself. A game enables KSoFM gameplay when it allows the player limitless freedom to gain as much power as they like with zero consequences to plot or storytelling.

A great example of this is the Dragonborn in The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. If the player chooses to pursue every questline in the game, one single person can become Harbinger of the Companions, Archmage of the College of Winterhold, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, Nightingale and Guildmaster of the Thieves’ Guild, hero of the Imperial/Stormcloak army, the chosen one of like, 11 different Daedric princes, a bard, a Blade, and otherwise just, absurdly goddamn powerful in completely unrealistic ways. And that’s not counting DLCs. A fully-kitted-out Dragonborn is King Shit of Fuck Mountain.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with playing KSoFM if you like to. But I’m not a big fan of this style, personally. Sure, my first Skyrim character became KSoFM while I was figuring out the game, but after my first playthrough I preferred my characters become coherent figures in the story of the world. I pick one or two character traits and things that my Dragonborn is good at, focus on them, and make them part of some overall story. My honorable Imperial paladin werewolf is in the Companions, and hunts vampires on principle. My Argonian sneaky archer is a gleeful thief, but would never jive with the College or the Dark Brotherhood. I like creating protagonists who fit into these settings immersively. I don’t care about power fantasies or being in charge. I don’t WANT my character to be all-powerful, because that ruins my immersion and my little story.

Additionally, in a plot-driven story-focused game like Fallout, KSoFM tears the narrative apart. Skyrim is fairly light on story, so the Dragonborn can be the leader of the Companions and the Dark Brotherhood and whatever other factions without any of them noticing or caring. But FO4’s themes, faction drama, and the main thrust of the plot don’t work at all if the Sole Survivor is able to become too powerful or too influential. The Sole Survivor cannot become the leader of every faction, solve every problem, or eliminate every inconvenient bend of the conflict because it makes the lore of the entire setting implode. Thus, the game forces you to choose between factions. You cannot be with the Minutemen and the Nuka-World Raiders. You cannot be with the Railroad and the Institute. And you cannot become Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel.

So if you’re the kind of person who loves playing KSoFM, if you like plots that your character can “solve” with relative ease, or if you just think it would be super cool for your Sole to become Elder regardless of surrounding storytelling, then you might think the Elder ending sounds super cool. You are absolutely allowed to disagree with me here. Install all the mods and write all the fic and have all the headcanons you like. I respect that. There is no wrong way to enjoy a single-player video game. Have fun!

But if you’re a big nitpicky pedantic lore nerd like me, a fan of cohesive storytelling, or if you just want to hear how the Elder ending of BB absolutely fucking ruins Maxson, Danse, the Brotherhood of Steel, and the entire plot of FO4 from a narrative perspective, read on!

1. The Synth Thing

The Elder ending requires the stupid plot contrivance of the BoS forgetting about Danse’s synthhood.

One of the biggest problems with the BoS as an institution is their strict and dogmatic beliefs, which include a widespread dislike of non-human species. Perhaps more than any other non-humans, the BoS hates synths. Synths are, in their eyes, machines given free will, a violation of the sanctity of human life and the ultimate example of technology run amok. To them, synths are not sympathetic, they are not slaves, and they are not victims of circumstance. They are weapons that left unchecked will destroy all of humanity for a second time. Synths are anathema to everything the BoS stands for, and finding out that one of their most beloved and trusted Paladins is one is an earth-shattering blow to their integrity and sense of security.

It is completely absurd that the BoS would allow a synth within their ranks, particularly as they are waging war against the Institute, who created synths in the first place. It is even MORE absurd that they’d allow one to influence their Elder, or even worse, to become Elder. It completely undermines their mission in the Commonwealth, and the core tenets of their extremely rigid beliefs. No matter the Elder, no matter the Litany or obscure BoS law, no matter how valuable the Sole Survivor is as a soldier or how much influence they wield. Danse is a synth. He’s the enemy. He is physically the embodiment of everything they hate.

Not only wouldn’t they trust a synth in general, but the BoS specifically believes that Danse is an infiltrator for the Institute. Even Danse believes that he is a danger, that the Institute may be able to take control of him and use him as a weapon. Sure, we know none of this is actually true, or possible, but the BoS don’t know that. And given how quick they are to order Danse dead without even the possibility of surrender, I don’t think there’s any charisma in the world that’s going to convince them otherwise.

According to Peter Jessop, this, ultimately, is the reason why the Elder ending was cut. He talks about it around the 11:30 timestamp in his Instagram stream, linked above:

“We recorded an ending where you keep Danse alive and you take over the Brotherhood. But there was a question of content… there’s no way the Brotherhood, once they knew he was a synth, would let him be even the right hand of the person in charge.”

Bethesda correctly recognized the incredible narrative contrivance for the BoS to shrug off the reason they’re trying to execute Danse in the first place. Whatever other beefs I have with this ending conceptually, they all come in second to just what a big dumb leap it is to get beyond this first and most important problem.

2. The Complete Death of Conflict

The Elder ending of BB destroys the conflict of the quest, and potentially the conflict of the entire game.

Greed is a poison. There is no such thing as a perfect ideal or a perfect organization. Power corrupts. Humanity has the choice to build back better. War never changes. The Fallout games are full of themes, depicted by the characters and quests and factions we play out.

Blind Betrayal is rightfully praised as one of the most powerful quests in FO4. Not only is it well-acted, but it puts the player in a very difficult position. The BoS has given you clout and glory and free power armor and lots of firepower, but now you see the price: unquestioning obedience. You are ordered to execute your friend and mentor Danse for the mere fact he is a synth. Are you going to follow that unjust order? Are you willing to give up your principles on command? Or is this where you can no longer stay quiet and stay in line?

To be honest, I’ve always thought the fact you can talk Maxson out of killing Danse but still remain with the BoS in good standing was a cop-out. BB goes 90% of the way to forcing you to choose between a companion and a faction, and then chickens out at the last second to let you have both, if your charisma is high enough.

(I believe this has the fingerprints of Skyrim’s development on it-- Bethesda’s writers got nervous about doing another Paarthurnax choice involving the fan favorite Brotherhood of Steel. That’s right. Danse is the Paarthurnax of Fallout. Frankly, I understand why they chose not to go there, but damn, wouldn’t it have been wild? You want to run with the BoS? Then kill your friend and feel the burn. THIS is what it means to follow orders without question.

As for me, I’d pick Danse every time and sleep soundly without the company of shitty bootlicking dieselpunk LARPers- but I digress.)

Anyway, you know what would have REALLY been a copout? If the game asked you to make a difficult thematic storyline choice, and you solved the problem by just not choosing at all.

You are supposed to feel uncomfortable when Maxson orders you to kill Danse, because the game is telling a story about how it is maybe a bad thing to thoughtlessly follow orders without question. It is asking you to think about what the BoS is, what they are doing, and how they are going to run things, if you choose to let them “win” the Commonwealth. It is pointing out that there is no room for gray in the BoS’ black and white. That a good, loyal man may die because of the way he was made, through no action of his own. That soon, you’ll be killing other people on command. The Railroad. Fleeing Institute synths and scientists. Others, down the line. It all depends on who’s giving the orders. Are you going to follow those orders?

Eesh, that sounds thought-provoking and unpleasant and difficult! Let’s just skip it by killing Maxson and making ourselves the boss. Now we get to tell everybody else what to do!

It’s unknown what powers the Elder ending would have granted the player, or how it would have interacted with the other factions. There is speculation that you’d have been able to ease back on the BoS’ dogmatism, or change some of the later events of the game. For instance, perhaps you could talk the BoS down from attacking the Railroad, sparing popular characters like Glory and Deacon who must die in the normal BoS storyline. Perhaps you could have made the BoS a kinder, gentler faction and directed them to run the way you want them to.

If this was indeed the case, then the Elder ending would not only suck the gravitas out of BB, but torpedo the entire main plot.

If you can get rid of any and all downsides to siding with the BoS, why in the hell would players side with anybody else? With the player given total power, the BoS becomes a perfect faction with no drawbacks, no weaknesses, no tough decisions to be made. Screw slumming it with the Railroad or the Minutemen, let’s take over the BoS. Free power armor and a giant robot! Forget the whole intolerance thing, I hereby proclaim the BoS No Longer Problematic! Now to force all the factions to get along, completely removing all conflict and nuance from the plot!

That’s some real anticlimactic “tell Legate Lanius to go home and then he does it” bullshit right there. King Shit of Fuck Mountain!

Look, it might be nice if there was a perfect path like that to take through the game. It would be cool if our characters could be that powerful and the game was that tailored to our individual choices. On the other hand, “I change all the factions to suit my exact liking” might be a fun idea for a fanfic, but it’s an incredibly boring plot for a video game. “I get to make everything in the world exactly how I want it” is Minecraft, not a story-driven RPG with a complex and intricate plot.

It would be great if complex conflicts could really be solved that easily and effortlessly, but hey, you know what? War never changes.

3. The Assassination of Arthur Maxson (Literal)

Arthur Maxson’s death is too significant and fundamentally disastrous for the Elder ending to make any sense at all.

Hero, villain, leader, monster, tortured soul, brutal dictator, immature twerp, bearded sex hunk. However you personally interpret Arthur Maxson, there is no denying that he is a venerated, popular, beloved figure in the BoS. He is the blood heir of the organization’s founder, a powerful warrior, a brilliant tactician, and a charismatic negotiator. He is responsible for reuniting the East Coast BoS with the Outcasts, leading the new, stronger BoS with a sense of shared purpose. There is a damn good reason his name is Arthur and he named his ship The Prydwen, echoes of King Arthur and the legends of his glorious kingdom of Camelot. Arthur Maxson is so beloved that many view him as a demigod, a messiah sent to lead the BoS into a mighty and prosperous future.

So I’m sure nobody’s going to be upset when some wasteland jackass recruited a month ago stumbles in with a synth, kills him, and takes over his job. Right?

It doesn’t matter that it’s “honorable.” It doesn’t matter that it’s done “by the book” via obscure BoS rules. There is no codex or litany or rule so binding that it’s going to overcome the cult of personality around Maxson. There is no way that the BoS is going to accept the death of Arthur Maxson, a man whose reverence borders on worship, especially not when he is immediately replaced by a wastelander, or a synth.

The death of Arthur Maxson removes the unifying glue that’s been holding the BoS together since mending the rift with the Outcasts. Maxson’s death eliminates the one person that both sides of that conflict agreed could steer the organization in the right direction. Some level heads may try to keep the focus on the mission and the Brotherhood tenets, but Maxson loyalists will never forgive the new Elder for his death, and that amount of passionate righteous anger will not be quelled by appeals to the rules. The new Elder’s war on the Institute is basically over before it begins, when the forces splinter and start infighting over the change in leadership.

And this is if the new Elder lives long enough to actually give any orders. I give them around 24 hours after the duel before some angry Maxson loyalist “accidentally” pulls the trigger and “tragically” empties a clip into their back.

24 seconds, if it’s Elder Danse, the dirty synth abomination.

4. The Assassination of Arthur Maxson (Figurative)

The Elder ending of BB falsely pretends that Arthur Maxson is the biggest and only problem with the BoS.

In the Elder ending, as written, the conflict of BB is considered completely and totally solved by the death of Arthur Maxson. The core problem, that Danse is a synth and considered an enemy by the BoS, has not gone away. But by getting rid of Maxson, this apparently no longer matters. Nobody else is going to take offense to Danse’s nature or protest his presence. Nobody else is going to attack him or try to follow through with Maxson’s prior orders. Nope, that meanybutt guy who gave the order is gone, and everybody else is going to welcome Danse back into the fold like nothing ever happened.

I touched on this a little bit on an ask about Maxson a few weeks back, but a lot of people seem to believe that the FO4 Brotherhood of Steel is the way they are purely because of him. That he is the one making them treat non-humans as second class citizens at best, and enemies to be slaughtered at worst. That it’s his fault the BoS is so vehemently against synths and the Institute. That he is the one influencing their imperialistic tendencies, and treating the Commonwealth like territory to be conquered and people to be ruled over by their betters.

He’s not. That’s the Brotherhood of Steel, guys.

The charitable, altruistic, virtuous BoS that many of us met for the first time in FO3 were outliers. Lyons’ group was literally disowned by the rest of the faction because their kindness to wastelanders had gone so far astray from the “core” tenets. The BoS as a whole has always been exclusive, isolated, and seen themselves as “superior” to the average wastelander. They have long disliked or outright hated non-humans (and even Lyons’ BoS in FO3 use ghouls, feral or not, for “target practice” if they get too close!) The rigid dogmatism of the BoS is not something that Arthur Maxson started, but has always been part of their fabric.

Now, it’s true that Maxson is absolutely going hard on the BoS tenets, and extremely dedicated to upholding them. His BoS are the way they are and act the way they act because he believes that this is the way it should be. Is it possible that a different leader may be a little more flexible? Absolutely. Could a skilled Elder eventually show them the benefits of a softer approach and a more generous worldview? Totally. Is getting rid of Maxson and replacing him going to make that happen overnight, or going to make the rest of the BoS who supported him shrug and follow suit?

Nope.

Blaming Arthur Maxson for everything unsavory about the Brotherhood is unfair to him and also foolishly ignoring the deep, massive problems that are far older than he is-- problems that plenty of its members wholeheartedly believe are not problems at all. Getting rid of Maxson does not make the BoS kinder or gentler. Even pretending Maxson isn’t as personally beloved as he is, any new Elder who steps in and starts trying to fundamentally alter the way the BoS operates and what they believe in is going to face some major, immediate pushback.

Like, a full clip of bullets in the back type of pushback.

In the face if it’s Elder Danse, the godless freak of nature.

5. The Un-Redemption of Paladin Danse

Last, and my personal least favorite!

At first glance, Paladin Danse is a steely jackboot, a die-hard Brotherhood loyalist who fully and firmly believes in their cause. Many immediately dismiss him as a humorless brute, or completely ignore him because they think that’s all there is. But if you spend any time with Danse at all, you’ll notice a sort of weariness in him. He is tired, overworked, and his years of service are starting to weigh on him. He has watched friends, comrades, and mentors die in horrible and gruesome ways, and he suffers from PTSD. Though he has always been told that his own sacrifices, the sacrifices of his brothers and sisters have been” worth it,” he’s starting to question if that’s true.

After telling of the incident where he personally executed his best friend Cutler, who’d been turned into a super mutant, the Sole Survivor is able to console him:

Player Default: You did the right thing. Danse: {Somber} It's what I was taught. I don't know if it was right.

This line is an excellent summary of Danse’s entire character arc. He learns to question whether to believe what the Brotherhood has taught him, or to believe in himself. His gut feelings. His sense of justice and his own ideas of what’s right and wrong.

(In the interest of not turning this into an essay about Danse’s character, I won’t even get into how this also applies to his beliefs about his worth as a person. But keep in mind, that dimension is there, Danse just covers it up by making everything about the Brotherhood.)

During Blind Betrayal, after getting the orders to execute him and hearing Haylen’s plea for mercy, we may expect Danse to be ready to fight back or flee. But when you confront him in the bunker at Listening Post Bravo, he’s compliant and suicidal. Danse is so deeply poisoned by the BoS’ rhetoric that his own feelings or will to live don’t factor into the conversation. He demands that you follow your orders and execute him, because he believes, as the BoS does, that all synths are dangerous and must be destroyed.

Danse: {Stern} Synths can't be trusted. Machines were never meant to make their own decisions, they need to be controlled. Technology that's run amok is what brought the entire world to its knees and humanity to the brink of extinction.

{Confident} I need to be the example, not the exception.

Through various dialogue options, if your charisma is high enough, you are able to talk Danse off the ledge. He is able to consider, at least, that the BoS’ merciless judgment of him is wrong and that what he was taught isn’t right. He is a thinking, feeling, self-aware synth, and that makes him as much a person as any human. Danse is no danger to humanity-- and maybe, most synths aren’t either.

Danse is an example, not an exception.

Later on, if you manage to get him out of BB alive, Danse shows further acceptance of his nature. His approvals about synths begin to soften slightly (or many of them do, at least… it’s not perfect.) He is still struggling with his identity and reconciling it with his former hatred, but his dialogue suggests that he’s on the road to being more open-minded and understanding. Along with this, Danse learns that he has value as a person beyond the Brotherhood. He no longer needs to define himself with BoS beliefs or judge himself by how useful he is to them. He learns that he is worth caring about, worth being friends with or being loved because of who he is-- not what he is, in any regard.

[SIDENOTE: Many players, myself included, are frustrated that Danse’s arc leaves off sort of midstream there. Due to the open-ended nature of the game, we don’t get a real conclusion to his arc-- even though much of his idle dialogue doesn’t change and he still espouses pro-BoS sentiments ( an unfortunate by-product of writing for a video game) there is every indication that he’s started down the right path, but understandably has a ways to go.

Also, Peter Jessop agrees with us.]

Meanwhile, in the Elder ending, Danse doesn’t get a redemption. His entire character arc, actually, hits the skids and does a total 180.

He never leaves the BoS. So scratch the need for Danse to ever think about himself as separate from them. He never needs to question what they’ve taught him or whether they’re right or wrong. He never needs to find any worth in himself beyond his use to the BoS. Why would he? He might be the Elder. The BoS is all he needs to care about anymore. The BoS is all he ever needs to be, ever again.

And I think, most horrifying of all, this Danse never needs to change his mind about synths. On the contrary, one of the surviving dialogue files includes Danse’s speech to reassure the rest of the BoS of his stance:

Danse: I want to make one thing clear to everyone. This body might be synth, but my heart and mind belong to the Brotherhood. The Institute is still a tremendous threat to the Commonwealth. They possess technologies that need to be confiscated or destroyed. And even if that means I have to pull the trigger on my own kind, I’m willing to make that sacrifice.

Elder ending Danse doesn’t grow more understanding on the nature of synths. He doesn’t accept that synths are people, or anything more than technology run amok. He won’t even accept that for himself. Elder Maxson wasn’t wrong about synths-- they’re the enemy and they need to be destroyed.

But, see, he was wrong about Danse. It’s okay for Danse to exist in spite of his nature. It’s okay for him to never fully accept his own personhood, and to outright deny it to his kind. Because his body is a machine, but he’s different from the rest because his heart and mind belong to the Brotherhood.

He’s the exception, not the example.

CONCLUSION:

The Elder ending of Blind Betrayal is dumb, contrived, stakeless, character-derailing powergaming crap at its finest and I’ll happily dance on its grave.

People give Bethesda a lot a shit for their writing-- whether it be stuff they left out, stuff they left in, or stuff that they never, ever could have made work due to the limitations of writing for a video game. Plenty of it is well-deserved, or at least worth a discussion. But from the minute I found out about its existence, I have always wanted to extend a congratulations to Bethesda for cutting the alternate Elder ending of Blind Betrayal. It was a good choice. A very good choice to cut a very dumb plot that would have fundamentally altered the story they were telling, and characters that I’ve grown to love. I think the writers deserve some credit and a hearty handshake for the wisdom of this decision.

Now as for why Nick Valentine isn’t romanceable--

#fallout 4 #fallout meta #paladin danse #arthur maxson #blind betrayal #this one was a long time coming #any thematic resemblance to any fics of mine is a coincidence #the blind betrayal manifesto #king shit of fuck mountain #the initial intrigue of the idea wears off if you think about it more than not at all

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princess-of-riviaa · 4 years

Text

My Captain

Pairing: Captain Walter Syverson x Reader

Summary: You are the only one by his side to heal him after Captain Syverson gets attacked in the field. As an army medic, you do your best to stay professional, but Syverson makes it a bit of a challenge.

Warning(s): gore, injury, mentions of suicide, handjob, blowjob, dirty talk, slight voyeurism/exhibitionism

Word Count: 3,930

A/N: Apologies for no gif, i couldn’t find any that fit this scene and I didn’t want to settle for a random one of Sy, so I put nothing:(

The door to the bathroom slams open as you half-limp to the bathtub, your captain struggling to remain conscious. Syverson is a big guy, even for military standards, but your thorough army training allows you to help keep him on his feet, though you struggle to do much more than that. You place him in the bathtub but accidentally lose your grip at the last second. He falls with a cringeworthy thud that is sure to leave a deep bruise on his glute.

“Shit, I’m sorry--I lost my grip,” you get out as you hurry back through the captain’s main room--damn, his quarters are way nicer than yours; he’s living like a king in comparison to your shared dorm--and find his emergency aid kit. There’s enough gauze and stitches in it to cover his wounds. You rush back to the bathroom and turn on the faucet. Hot water comes pouring out, instantly filling the room with steam.

Syverson’s eyelids droop. That’s a worrying sign, especially since the skin around his mouth is still blue.

You reach for your swiss knife on your belt--the last clean weapon you have--and slice open the captain’s bloodied shirt. He isn’t much help in getting his clothing over his shoulders and down his legs, but after a minute or two of awkward struggling you toss the ruined clothes in the corner to deal with later.

By now the tub is halfway full, sloshing around Syverson’s legs as you maneuver around his body, trying to clean out the wounds on his arms before stitching them shut with half-shaking hands. You’ve dealt with wounded soldiers in the field before, too many times to count, but this is different. This is your captain, your leader, the person you and the rest of your unit turn to for guidance on anything and everything, and he’s bleeding out right in front of you--while simultaneously suffering from hypothermia.

Syverson mumbles something, but he speaks too softly for you to understand him. Still, the sound of his voice gets your attention and you look up to see his eyes closed. You tap his cheek three times to get him to wake up again.

“...fucking hurts,” you hear him mumble.

You nod. “I know, but it’s almost over. You just gotta hold on, okay? Keep your eyes on me, okay?”

You turn your attention back to his bicep, pulling the thread through your last stitch to his bullet wound. You sigh in relief just as you see the water begin to stir. One glance down at Syverson’s body tells you that his legs are shaking--he’s shivering.

“I shouldn’t be… shiverin’ … in hot water, right?” He struggles to get out through waves of fatigue and pain and cold.

“It’s good,” you assure him. “Shivering means your body is warming up again. You were too cold to shiver before. The blood loss wasn’t helping either, but your wounds are closed now, so that should help.”

Silence passes between you. He makes an obvious effort to keep his eyes open and not let his teeth chatter. You watch as the color in his face returns to normal, a lively red filling his cheeks and lips again.

You begin to rise to your feet. “Okay, I’ll wait in the room--”

He grabs your hand before you can move. You stare down at it, your brain trying to process the sight in front of you. He didn’t just grab your hand. He laced his fingers through your own. He holds your hand with a desperate grip, a terrified grip. Syverson has never let himself look like anything other than a god of war in front of his men. But right now is different. Your captain is in enough pain to make him scared; ten minutes ago he was giving death a stare-down, so you can’t entirely blame him. It’s just… alarming. You’ve never seen him look like this before. He’s never seemed so… human.

Just one more thing to add to the neverending list of things that makes Syverson hot as fucking hell.

“S-stay,” he whimpers out. His voice is so weak that you suddenly feel bad for ogling over him, even if it was only for a few seconds.

“I won’t go anywhere,” you promise him and move to sit beside the tub.

The water fills with blood and dirt and grime quickly. You have to drain the tub and refill it twice before the water is anything close to clean. By that point Syverson is back to his senses and refuses to tell you how bad the pain is, no matter how many times you remind him that you’re the medic and it’s crucial that he be honest with you.

I ain’t dying, so quit acting like I am, is all he says.

Now that the mood in the room has settled, you can no longer ignore the fact that your captain is completely naked in front of you. You force yourself to keep your gaze on his wounds, refusing to look anywhere south of his chest, but the temptation is still there. A taut warmth makes its home in the pit of your stomach. It takes everything in you to not focus on the… particular body parts you can sneak into your peripheral vision.

Stay professional, you scold yourself.

“I’m dirty as all hell,” Syverson says suddenly, breaking the tense silence. He nods towards the sink. “There’s a sponge under the sink. Hand me it, will ya?”

You find it easily, though hold back from laughing at the fact that Captain Walter Syverson owns a pink shower puff.

“Don’t you dare.” He scowls as he takes it from you and begins to scrub his arms clean of dirt, careful to avoid his fresh stitches.

You hold your hands up innocently. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“You were thinking it.” Syverson struggles to reach his shoulders and winces as he stretches to scrub his back.

You move to sit behind him and tell him you can do it. He offers you the shower puff and you slowly, gently begin to clean his back, mesmerized by the artpiece between his shoulder blades. You’ve never seen Syverson completely shirtless before, so this is your first time seeing the tattoo. It’s two rows of dates written in thick Roman numerals: 08.12.1980 - 09.11.2001. You’ve seen these kinds of tattoos before. They’re in remembrance of someone you’ve lost, usually their birthday to their death date. You get the urge to ask Syverson who died, who he lost, but you know him well enough to know that he’d be grateful if you didn’t pry. So you stay silent, instead continuing to scrub his back and the parts of his arms he missed.

Once his back is clean you move back to his side and start to clean his legs, starting at his ankles and working your way up. You’re so focused on the water and soap in your hands, in every scar and fresh cut your hands rub against as you clean him, that you hardly hear him speak.

“It was my brother,” Syverson says.

You look up at him, not knowing what he’s referring to. “What was?”

“The tatt,” he confesses. “I know you saw it.”

You’re quiet, resisting the urge to voice every question you’re thinking right now. You never knew Syverson had siblings, let alone a brother that he’d lost.

“Thank you,” Syverson says as you make your way to his knees, your heart racing faster the further up his leg you move.

You pause. “Why are you thanking me?”

“You didn’t ask about it,” he explains. “Most people are too curious to be respectful and shut their mouths. And you didn’t look at me with pity when I told you it was my brother. Everyone does. I fucking hate it.”

You shrug. “It’s your story. You shouldn’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“You’ve lost someone,” he realizes.

You’re quiet. It’s hard to grow up in a military family and not have lost a few people. Of course you’ve lost someone. Doesn’t mean you ever want to say the words out loud. But Syverson told you, and it’s only fair. “My cousin. He, um… he killed himself.”

Syverson doesn’t say anything, just nods, but the look in his eyes when he holds your gaze… you feel seen. You feel like he’s heard everything you didn’t say. It’s a weird feeling. Not bad, but not exactly good either. But it helps.

You return to cleaning his legs. You move as slow as you can, making sure to clean over every inch of skin twice, but it’s only a matter of time before you make it past his thighs and have nothing left to clean but his navel.

“Um…” Shit, your breathing is unsteady. He can no doubt hear the nerves in your voice. You avoid his gaze as you ask, “Do you want me to…?” Do you want me to clean your navel? I’ll happily clean your cock too, just say the word.

Instead of answering he grabs your wrist and draws your hand and the shower puff towards the pit of his stomach. Your heart skips a beat. Two. Fuck, you can feel how wet you are suddenly. For the first time you let your gaze drop to his manhood. He’s blessed with a good eight inches and thick girth, so thick you have to wonder how the hell he can get inside a woman without splitting her in two. Dark hairs curl above the base of his shaft, and his balls look heavy and smooth. Heat rushes to your face as you feel your mouth begin to water. What the hell is wrong with you? You have no doubt that Syverson is aware of exactly which part of him you’re staring at, and you can practically feel him gloating. Still, you can’t bring yourself to tear your eyes away from him.

“Sy--”

“I want you,” he confesses.

You swallow, unable to meet his gaze. He’s delirious from the blood loss, or maybe the heat in the room is getting to you and you’re hallucinating--

“I’ve wanted you since that night you walked in on me and Captain Gonzalez,” Syverson continues, and his words bring back a flood of memories that, until now, you’ve managed to suppress.

You’d been wandering to the captain’s quarters--you were bringing something to him, but now you can’t remember what it was--and stopped to knock on his door when you heard the sound of someone moaning in what you thought had been pain. So you’d opened the door, your mind switching from Sergeant to Medic in less than a second, and froze when you saw what was actually happening.

Captain Gonzalez, one of the three captains on base, was on her hands and knees. Her black hair--normally combed back into a perfect low bun--was knotted and sticking to her face with thick droplets of sweat. Her eyes were closed in what could only be described as pleasure so intense it’s borderline painful. She gripped the bedsheets in front of her like they were a lifeline while Captain Syverson fucked into her from behind like a dog in heat. The muscles in his stomach and arms flexed with each thrust, and the way his brow furrowed in concentration on top of the animalistic grunts he made with each movement made you gasp. Luckily, Gonzalez didn’t hear and therefore didn’t open her eyes amidst her blissful orgasm, but Syverson heard. Syverson looked from his lover to you. His pace didn’t stop, merely slowed as he held your gaze. And then, when he realized you couldn’t seem to look away, he sped up his movements, pounding into the other women with such strength and intensity that the headboard banged against the wall. He was putting on a show for you. A predator toying with his prey, making you completely aware of every ounce of power inside his body. Making you aware of everything he was capable of, the pain and pleasure he was able to make someone drown in. For several seconds you stood frozen, unable to walk away from this side of him. He was the pure embodiment of strength and dominance--though there was nothing pure about it. You raced out of the room as soon as your brain figured out how to work again. You didn’t dare look back.

You thought he’d forgotten about it. You thought you’d imagined him catching you. You thought the entire encounter had been a dream.

But Syverson’s words make your worst nightmare come true.

You pull your hand away, dropping the shower puff and letting it bounce on the surface of the water. “I’m so sorry, I never meant to walk in on you--”

“But you were glad you did,” he says. “I can see it all over your face. You haven’t been the same around me since that night. You barely look me in the eyes anymore. Because you liked it, right? Because you liked watching your captain fuck someone, liked knowing I can make a woman scream so easily, huh? Tell me, did you touch yourself to the thought of me when you went back to your dorm that night?”

“Syverson--” you begin.

“Would it make you feel better if you knew I jerked off to the thought of you, too? The way you looked at me, that cute little blush on your cheeks and your eyes glued to my body--fuck, it left me unsatisfied even after Gonzalez had had her fill.” He lifts his hand from the water and grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He searches your face for something. “I want you, and I know you want me.”

You open your mouth but he beats you to it.

“Am I wrong?”

You hesitate before shaking your head, admitting what you always swore you would keep secret. “But you’re my captain.”

“I don’t care about rank,” he insists. “Not in here. Not right now.”

You swallow, unable to walk away from him. You want this--god, do you want this with him. You didn’t realize how much until that night you walked in on him, but it was undeniable after that. And you’ve spent too many nights since then getting yourself off to the thought of him fucking you just like that, doing your best to muffle your moans into your pillow so as not to wake your roommate. You’re tired of just using your own hand to find your release; you want to know what it would feel like with his fingers between your folds instead.

“I want you to touch me,” Syverson says. “But I won’t force you. You’ll only do this if you let yourself.”

You hesitate. You don’t even know where to start. “H-how?”

“The way you’ve thought about doing since that night.” His voice is barely more than a whisper, but it sends shivers down your spine and steals the breath from your lungs.

Before you can talk yourself out of it you lower your hand into the water and wrap your hand around the base of his shaft. He’s long enough that his tip breaks the water’s surface. You can see how red it is, and you can’t tell if it’s bath water or precum making his tip shine, but you want to taste it nonetheless.

“Fuck, you’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to see this,” Syverson curses. “How long I’ve wanted to feel your hand wrapped around my cock. Go ahead, baby, move your hand up and down.”

You’re hesitant at first. Even once you begin to move, your hand is shaky and unsure. Syverson wraps his hand around your own--fuck, he makes your hand look so tiny, it’s almost laughable--and guides you up and down his cock at a pace and grip that he prefers. He closes his eyes in pleasure. The sight of him like this--open and vulnerable and lustful and godlike--makes your thighs clench together. You almost lose yourself in the sight of the blissed-out expression on his face before remembering that you have a task to do and you turn your attention back to his shaft. He drops his hand back to his side and lets you continue. You take pride in the fact that you know how to do it now, and when he releases his first “fuck!” and a deep moan quickly after, you’re practically glowing with pride. Or you would be, if the sight of him and the sounds he’s making only for you weren’t so arousing. You speed up your ministrations and even add a second hand to the water to begin massaging his balls. You’re not entirely sure what you’re doing--you’ve never actually been physical with a guy before--but you’ve watched enough porn to know the basics. Syverson’s breathing speeds up and he throws his head back. You watch with lustful adoration as his abs clench and unclench with every breath he struggles to take.

“Does this feel good?” you dare to ask, your voice breaking through the quiet in the room.

“Shit, baby, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep that up,” he growls.

The way he says baby with that Texan accent of his makes you swoon. How can he make such a simple word sound so dirty?

Your hand moves up and down his shaft twice, three more times before he squeezes your wrist to make you stop. You freeze, thinking you’ve done something wrong. When you look up at him, his blue-eyed gaze is on you.

“I ain’t wasting my seed in this bathwater,” he says. “The only way I’m coming is if it’s inside of you.”

Your eyes pop. The alarm must be written all over your face because he’s quick to explain himself.

“Your mouth, baby,” Syverson says. “I wanna cum in your mouth.”

His candor leaves you speechless. Your entire face is burning with an intense blush and your mouth is dry. You know you won’t be able to answer him verbally. So instead you turn towards the drain and pull it up. Syverson’s gaze is so intense that it burns a hole in the side of your face, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. He’s turned you into shaking putty, but you’re not complaining. The way he makes you feel wanted more than any other woman with just his words, the way he makes you feel sexy and powerful with the way he looks at you… it’s definitely startling, but it’s addicting too.

“When I’m healed,” Syverson begins, “and I can actually move without it feeling like every bone in my body is breaking, I’m going to fuck you.”

He’s not asking for permission. He’s telling you. There’s something so dominant about that. It makes your toes curl.

“I need to be inside of you, darlin’,” he continues. “I need to know what you feel like when I enter you, need to know the sounds you make when I fuck you to your fifth orgasm. You got that?”

You finally bring your eyes to his and nod. Somehow your body is burning up yet covered in goosebumps. Have you ever wanted someone with the intensity that you want your captain?

The last of the water finally drains out of the tub and you hop inside. Syverson is large enough that it’s a tight fit with the both of you, but you manage to fit between his legs. You move to your hands and knees, staring at his cock just inches from your face.

“Put me in your mouth baby,” he moans.

And you do. The salt of his precum hits your tastebuds instantly, but it’s not a completely horrible taste. You manage to fit the majority of him inside of your mouth, something he’s clearly surprised about.

“Fuck baby, have you done this before? Let other soldiers fuck that perfect little mouth of yours?”

You don’t answer, instead just focus on not gagging too much around his shaft. You don’t succeed for long. By the time you pull back and take in a deep gasp of air, spit is running down your chin and your eyes are watering.

“You’ve no idea how fuckin’ hot you look right now,” Syverson says, sounding like he’s under a trance.

His filthy words spur you on and you put him back in your mouth. You begin to bob your head up and down and move your hand along the base of him, which you still can’t manage to fit inside your mouth. He only lasts a few seconds with you in control. You jump when you feel his good hand move to the back of your hand.

“Can I fuck your mouth?” he asks.

You moan in response, and you hope he knows that means yes.

He knots his fingers in your hair and begins to move your head along his shaft at a much faster pace. You can’t breathe through your mouth anymore and instead focus on getting air through your nose as your eyes water again. Syverson makes a sound you’ve never heard from him before--a sound of someone tumbling over an edge, a sound of losing control and loving every second of it--and a second later your mouth is filled with the warm, salty taste of his cum. You swallow every warm drop that falls against your tongue.

It’s only when you finally pull away from him that you realize the gravity of what you’ve just done. You just gave your boss a blowjob. You just bathed him while he was completely naked. You just admitted that you have a crush on him, even if you didn’t use as many words.

“Shit,” you breathe out.

“What is it?” Syverson asks, still fighting through his haze of pleasure.

“I can’t believe we just did this,” you admit. “I can’t believe I just…” You can’t even say it out loud. What had you been thinking?! You hadn’t been thinking, that much is clear.

“No one has to know,” he assures you. It doesn’t make you feel any better. So he adds, “And if someone does find out, which I’m sure as hell won’t happen, I’ll tell them the truth.”

You frown. “The truth?”

“That I came onto you,” he says. “And with me being your superior, you didn’t want to say no.”

“Syverson, that’s not true--”

“No one needs to know that,” he assures you. “I ain’t gonna let you get in trouble for this, alright? You gotta trust me.”

Well… he’s never let you down before. He’s kept his promises. He’s a good, trustworthy leader. You have no reason to not believe him. But still… “I can’t let you take the fall for this.”

He shrugs, then winces, instantly regretting the nonchalant movement. “The worst that’ll happen is I get probation. I won’t be able to go out to the field with y’all for a month. You’ll probably be under Gonzalez’s jurisdiction for a bit. That’s all.”

“That sounds serious,” you say.

He just brings his good hand to the side of your face and brushes his thumb across your cheek. “I knew the stakes when you carried me in here, Sergeant. I took the risk anyway. I’m gonna be the one who takes the fall for it. But trust me when I say it’ll be okay. I ain’t letting anything happen to you.”

And with the way his blue eyes shine with sincerity, you can’t help but believe him.

***

Tag Squad:

@agniavateira @hnryycvll @littlefreya @celestial-vomit @lestersglitterglue @watermeloncavill @honeychicana @penwieldingdreamer @mary-ann84 @elixasays @buckysgoldenheart @noz4a2 @trippedmetaldetector @omgkatinka @lunedelorient @aphrodites-punch @yespolkadotkitty @sweetybuzz25 @iloveyouyen @deathonyourtongue @utterlyhopeful @wondersofdreaming @tsukuyomi011 @the-soot-sprite @desperate-and-broken @jayismz @emelinelovesjc @palaiasaurus64 @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @henrythickcavill @secretlyactivated @madbaddic7ed @persephonehemingway @geralt-of-baevia @stargazingfangirl18 @thedarkplume @spookypeachx @pensieveforyourthoughts @aletheladyinred @littlemissthistle @designerwriterchic @becs-bunker @angelic-kisses13 @captainbigdy @sestrasasylum @boundtomyfate @wednesdaybraids @harlotforhenry @radkesgirl83 @xuxszx @kitkatd7

Let me know if you want to be added/removed from my taglist!

#captain syverson #captain syverson x reader #captain syverson smut #sand castle #captain syverson sand castle #henry cavill #henry cavill smut #henry cavill sand castle

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mattoyaki · 3 years

Text

Razor Build Guide

An anon asked me to make a Razor guide like my Yanfei and Zhongli guides and I’m more than happy to oblige! Razor holds a very special place in my heart. He was my first 4 star pull, my first character to reach c6, and was my main carry from AR10 til around AR 50 when I pulled Hu Tao. He’s a very f2p friendly character and has a great design, what’s not to love?!

If you’re looking to build the wolfboy I hope you can find this post useful 🐺

Role

Razor is a text book selfish DPS. “Selfish” meaning Razor does nothing to support his team members, his kit is entirely centered around himself. And that’s okay cause we love a selfish king!! Razor uses a sustained play style meaning he will primarily be the one on the field, only switching out to use his supports skills or burst and then swap right back to Razor.

The most important thing to note with Razor is he is a physical attacker, meaning he doesn’t quite fit into teams that focus on elemental damage.

Talents

Prioritize Razor’s Normal Attacks over his skill burst. The majority of his damage will scale from from his normal attacks. His Burst comes second and you can save his skill for last.

Razor requires books of Resistance, hilichurl masks, and Dvalin’s claw to level up his talents.

Weapon

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ - Wolf’s Gravestone; Skyward Pride; The Unforged; Song of Broken Pines

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ - Serpent Spine; Prototype Archaic

For weapons Razor keeps it pretty simple. If you have a 5⭐️ claymore slap it on the wolf boy. WGS is currently his best weapon although Song of Broken Pines might be better, we’ll have to wait and see but I really don’t recommend pulling on the weapon banner, personally. If you don’t have a 5⭐️ claymore he has few options for 4⭐️

Serpent Spine is the best 4⭐️ claymore for Razor if you feel like spending the $10. Otherwise, Prototype Archaic is great, especially at high refinement! The Litchic Blade also works if you have it at high refinement but bear in mind this is conditional to having at least two Liyue characters in your party.

Artifacts

Overview

(4pc) Pale Flame; (2pc) Pale Flame, (2pc) Bloodstained Chivalry; (4pc) Gladiator; (2pc) Gladiator, (2pc) Bloodstained Chivalry // (2pc) Pale Flame

Though Pale Flame is still being tested it does appear to be overall better than the Gladiator set. It mostly just depends on the sub stats for atk%. If you’re able to get high enough atk% from sub stats and weapon then definitely go with Pale Flame full set or 2pc PF//2pc BC. If you’re unable to breach 2k attack then consider gladiator for the Atk% increase.

Stats

Timepiece: Atk%

Goblet: Physical Dmg Bonus

Circlet: Crit Rate / Crit Dmg

Sub Stats

Prioritize sub stats in the following order:

Crit Rate = Crit Dmg > Atk% > Energy Recharge > Flat Atk

Team Comp

As mentioned above, Razor is a selfish DPS and uses a sustained play style. As such, he pairs well with characters that can do off field damage and support. Razor also likes Cryo characters to proc superconduct, which halves the physical resistance of enemies. *Note: Chongyun is the exception here. His E infuses Razor’s normal attacks with cryo, making superconduct useless.*

Anemo and Pyro characters don’t really synergize well with Razor. Even the god tier support Bennett isn’t the best match for him due to overload causing knock back on enemies, requiring Razor to sprint to catch up, leaving the AoE of Bennett’s Ult. It’s not the worst, but still annoying. Anemo characters do better with elemental team comps where they can swirl. Since Razor is a physical damage dealer he doesn’t benefit much from Anemo support.

The ideal team comp for Razor would include a Cryo character for superconduct, a damage buffer, and shielder/healer. Electro, Cryo, and Geo Resonance all work very well with Razor.

A popular team right now that consists of all 4⭐️ characters is Razor + Diona + Xingqiu + Fischl

Diona is a fantastic partner for Razor. She heals, she shields, and she applies cryo for superconduct.

Xingqiu is another excellent character to use with Razor. Their bursts synergize very well together. Xingqiu also makes a great 4pc Noblesse Oblige user! Give him a sacrificial sword and he’s one of the best supports in the entire game.

Fischl provides Electro Resonance which increases the amount of electro particles Razor gets which = more ult uptime. If you happen to have c6 Fischl she’s a monster in her own right.

Note: If you have Zhongli you can swap out Fischl as his resistance shredding is poggers as hell for the wolf boy

For this team you’ll typically start with your supports and use their skills. Summon Oz with Fischl, apply hydro with Xingqiu and Cryo with Diona. Then swap to Razor and proc superconduct with his E and start spamming autos. Fischl can reposition Oz if needed by using her E again or her burst. Try to pop Razor, Diona and Xingqiu’s ults at the same time some big pp damage.

Other Potential Teammates:

Ganyu, Zhongli, Qiqi, Mona, Albedo, Rosaria, Barbara, and Kaeya

TLDR

Razor is a good boy!! He is a physical unit that likes to hog the battle field, only switching to use his support’s skills and bursts. He can use any 5⭐️ claymore, but the prototype archaic is a fantastic option and obtainable for everyone if you don’t have a 5⭐️. The new Pale Flame set seems to be his best option but Gladiator is still good if the atk% sub stats are better. Diona and Xingqiu are two of his best supports if you have them. As long as you have some form of physical resistance shredding for him (superconduct and/or Zhongli) Razor will preform very well.

I hope this was helpful in some way to the anon that asked and to anyone else trying to build the Wolf boy!

#genshin tips #genshin impact tips #genshin impact #genshin #Razor #Razor build #genshin impact razor #razor genshin #gaming #gacha #mihoyo

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the-writer-ofthe-fandoms · 4 years

Text

Recovery is not Linear (Lucifer Morningstar)

Paring: Lucifer Morningstar x reader (Mostly platonic). The other main characters are mentioned in this too Words: 1.3k+ Warning(s): Self harm, suicidal thoughts A/N: I had an extremely bad night, i almost relapsed. I needed to write this out to help keep me from doing so. Please, if stuff like this triggers you: do not read.Please Do not hesitate to reach out to others if you need to vent. Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255 Trans support hotline: 877-565-8860

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Tired.

That's the feeling you felt these past few weeks. It wasn't just a physical feeling of exhaustion, it was like your brain was exhausted from the constant internal battles and intrusive thoughts.

Numb.

You almost felt like there was nothing: no happiness, no sadness, no anger. Nothing. It was like your emotions were under anesthesia and they couldn't wake up. Numbness...

It was overwhelming. It had gotten to the point were you isolated yourself from you dear friends and kept yourself locked away. It was too much to deal with all at once and the best plan you had was isolation. They didn't need to see you this way... So weak...

Relapse happened. The intrusive and destructive thoughts won your mind and you broke your two years clean.

"But hey, at least the pain from the blade felt like something." Your mind twisted this as a good thing, but you also knew it wasn't a healthy way to cope...

You laid in bed, curled up under the covers. This was the fifth day of staying here, only ever getting up to deal with the bare necessities and to inflict pain onto yourself. The warmth of your blankets and pillows provided a sense of comfort that you didn't want to give up just yet. You sighed and kept staring at the wall, trying to keep your mind blank from the dark thoughts.

You pondered for a moment on whether or not your friends noticed your sudden disappearance. You hadn't touched your cellphone since you self-isolated, so you didn't have a clue if they tried calling or texting.

"They are all busy anyways..." You mumbled and turned to lay on your other side, wincing at the sting of fresh cuts on your thighs and forearms. Lucifer and Chloe had cases to solve, Linda was busy with work and her son, Amenadiel was also busy with his son, Mazikeen was probably working a bounty, and Dan and Ella were probably wrapped up in whatever case was thrown to them.

Your mind started filling up with darker thoughts despite your attempts to focus on something else... The tiny voice in your mind telling you the only way to stop these feelings of numbness and tiredness was to end it all.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to get those intrusive thoughts away. Your mind was exhausted from fighting them these last few weeks so your brain decided to mentally check out. Your eyes slowly opened as you kept your focus on a random poster you had up. Your breathing was shallow and the grip on your blankets was tight, but you weren't feeling there in the moment.

A knock on the door almost pulled you back, but you figured it was just someone trying to sell you something. Your brain kept you away still.

It was the sound of your door being opened with a slam that jolted you back into reality. Next thing you knew Lucifer, Amenadiel, Chloe, Dan, Ella, and Linda flooded into your bedroom all looking worried. In a heartbeat, Lucifer was at your side, taking your hand into his much larger ones.

You knew immediately they would notice something wasn't alright. Your hair looked like it hadn't been touched in days and your eyes looked sunken in and raw from crying. Your body was shaking from the pure anxiety that began to build, and you knew Lucifer could feel that.

You opened your mouth to speak but couldn't find any words to explain yourself. You felt fear begin to rise in your core, the blood that pumped through your body felt frozen cold as you looked between all of them.

"Guys, let me handle this." Linda spoke, whicu everyone agreed to leave except Lucifer. He refused to leave your side. "(Y/N), what's going on?"

Your lip trembled as you looked to her and back to Lucifer. It only took seconds before you broke down into tears. You explained as clearly as you could through the sobs that racked your body.

You told them about the feelings of numbness, the feeling of being tired all the time, and how you relapsed. You told her how ashamed you felt, failing that two year long streak of being clean of self harm.

"Recovery isn't a linear thing, (Y/N)." Linda spoke softly. "It isn't straight forward either. Your relapse doesn't erase all the past achievements you've made towards recovery." She explained more to you about recovery, and she offered to sit you down for a more proper session in her office tomorrow so she could provide you with more resources.

"I'll be going to the other room. I can tell Lucifer wants to talk to you alone." She smiled sweetly.

"Darling, do you have a first aid kit?" He asked.

"Yea, under my bathroom sink." You mumbled. Gently, he helped you up from the bed and led you to your bathroom.

"Take a seat on the bathtub ledge. I just want to make sure your injuries are clean." You follow his instructions and slowly rolled up your sleeves and pulled down your sweats enough to show your thighs. You and Lucifer were close enough to the point you felt no embarrassment changing in front of him. Just embarrassment of your fresh wounds and old scars.

"You must think I am silly huh? A small, unimportant human upset over nothi-"

"Don't finish that sentence." Lucifer turned to face you, kneeling in front of you with the first aid kit ready. "You were the first human I ever made friends with, (Y/N). You are far from being just being unimportant. And before you try it, I am not lying. You know I never lie."

"But-"

"No but's..." He began looking over the scabbed cuts from last night, an ointment packet at the ready. "Well, actually butts are more than welcome to me." That made you crack a small smile. He lightly coated the cuts on each area of skin with the ointment. It stung a bit, making you visibly wince, and Lucifer apologized each time. Once he felt it was covered enough he placed some bandages over the wounds.

"Thank you for helping, Luci."

"No problem at all, my dear." He placed a soft kiss to your cheek and pulled you to your feet. "Want to see everyone else?"

You bit your bottom lip, "Yes, I probably should." You took hold of Lucifers hand as he led you out to the main room where everyone else was.

"I'm sorry, I worried you guys. It's-" You couldn't even finish your sentence when you felt Ella practically jump on you for a tight hug.

"You don't have to apologize at all, (Y/N)." She said, pulling away. "We get it. Just please know you can rely on us if you are ever feeling down or need a distraction."

"You are always welcome to join Trix, Lucifer and I for game night." Chloe offered. "Trixie loves when you hang out with us."

"And I've been looking into trying meditation if you ever want to join me." Dan jumped in. You could see Lucifer trying to refrain himself from making a snide remark.

"You are always welcome to visit Charlie, Linda, and I." Amenadiel smiled warmly.

"I'm always down to have a movie or tv show marathon." Ella giggled.

"And I am always looking for more friends to party with." Maze smirked.

Happiness.

For the first time in weeks, you felt something more than emotional numbness. You felt pure giddiness bubble in your chest as your friends kept saying different ideas to you.

You felt hot tears once again roll down your face, and you hastily wiped them away.

"These are happy tears guys. Thank you so much." You choked out with a big smile on your face. In an instant it seemed like everyone join in on a group hug.

An awkward, but loving group hug.

#trigger warning #lucifer #Lucifer Morningstar #lucifer morningstar imagine #lucifer morningstar reader insert #lucifer morningstar fox #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar x y/n #mazikeen x reader #lucifer morningstar imagines #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #lucifer x y/n #lucifer imagine #lucifer imagines

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sirspud · 3 years

Text

So, for reasons beyond my own comprehension, I have recently endeavored to recreate the characters of DuckTales (2017) into Pathfinder characters and run them through one of those pre-built adventures. And I mean that quite literally, resolving skill tests with dice rolls, writing up their character sheets, mapping out their positions on a virtual battlemap. I am effectively playing D&D by myself, with characters I don't own, to the cathartic benefit of absolutely bloody nobody, not even myself.

I don't know how to write segways, so I just wrote down the character info for Dewey and Huey below. I'll write Louie and Webby in a separate post.

Also, if you want to read these guys going through an adventure, see this post.

Dewey, the Explorer

Age: 17; Height and Weight: 5' 9", 160 lbs.

Race: Duck; Class and Level: Fighter 1 (0 xp)

Str 15, Dex 15, Con 13, Int 10, Wis 9, Cha 14

Alignment: Chaotic Good; Deity: None.

Dewey is a fighter, specialising in attacking with two weapons at once, for the sole reason of "it looks cool". But this is merely the start of this young duck's career. By the end of it, he would've multiclassed into all kinds of classes. A couple of levels in rogue, a few in bard, and pretty soon this young duck will a smorgasbord of different classes.

It started when Dewey uncovered an old longsword in Uncle Donald's attic. Rather than asking, "what is this weapon doing in a fisherman's attic?", Dewey instead asked, "how can I practice with this without Donald noticing?" So, he snuck out one night to test his might, finding the large, rusted blade to his liking.

Donald does eventually find out, taking the sword and forcing the young boy to promise him up and down not to play with swords ever again. When Dewey inevitably does - multiple times - Donald gives up and decides to teach Dewey the basics himself, deciding that if he's going to insist on playing with swords, he's at least going to learn how to avoid accidentally killing himself.

Class Features: As a fighter, Dewey gains a bonus combat feat at 1st level. Obviously, he chooses Two-Weapon Fighting, so that he can actually fight with two weapons without incurring massive penalties.

Feats and Skills: For his 1st-level feat, Dewey takes the Skill Focus feat to gain a +3 bonus on Acrobatics checks. As a duck (i.e., human), he also gains an additional bonus feat at 1st level. He chooses Weapon Focus to gain a +1 bonus on attacks with his longsword, reflecting his training with Uncle Donald.

Dewey doesn't have many skills, gaining a mere 2 skill ranks from his class and 1 extra rank from his race. He puts them into Acrobatics, Climb and Swim, giving him the following skills:

Acrobatics +6, Climb +6, Swim +6.

Equipment: Dewey's main equipment includes his longsword and shortsword combo, which he uses to... well, not a horrible effect. He has a suit of scale mail, giving him an AC of 17, as well as a sling and ten sling bullets. He has a backpack containing a bedroll, a days' worth of rations and 50 feet of light, but strong silk rope. He also has a kit full of climber's gear - a notably expensive investment that left him with a measly 2 silver coins to his name.

Huey, the Analyst

Age: 17; Height and Weight: 5' 10", 180 lbs.

Race: Duck; Class and Level: Cleric of Athena 1 (0 xp)

Str 12, Dex 11, Con 12, Int 14, Wis 16, Cha 10

Alignment: Lawful Good; Deity: Athena.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "What? Huey can't be a cleric! He's a Junior Woodchuck! If that's not druid material, I don't know what is!" And yeah, if I was using D&D 5th edition rules, that would be case. However, in Pathfinder, druids have to be Neutral, either along the Good/Evil axis or Law/Chaos axis. And Huey is a Lawful Good character if I've ever seen one. So, he's a cleric.

Not to say that Huey didn't try to become a druid. He met with an elder druid early in life and tried to learn the ways of the Old Faith. And though a few routine trials proved that he wasn't cut out for a druid's life, the old man was perceptive enough to notice a talent for divine magic in him regardless, and directed him towards the Cult of Athena - goddess of wisdom, tactics and community.

Now, Huey has become an adept cleric, wielding divine power and a mean-looking mace with caution and discretion. He wouldn't call himself a "true" follower of Athena, though. There are aspects of the faith that he doesn't quite agree with - namely all that nasty business with war. Thankfully, this is something that actually puts him in Athena's good books - only the horrifically unwise rally behind a cause they don't fully understand.

Class Features: As a cleric, Huey can channel positive energy 3 times per day to either heal his friends or harm undead monstrosities. Choosing the domains of Community and Knowledge, he also gains the ability to heal creatures of fatigue and worry, and to glean tactical insight into a monster's weaknesses with but a touch. He can prepare and cast divine spells, choosing from any spell on the cleric's spell list. His favourite spells include the following:

0-level spells (3 slots) - detect magic, guidance, light, read magic, resistance, stabilise.

1st-level spells (2 slots, plus 1 domain slot) - bless (D), comprehend languages (D), cure light wounds, detect evil, divine favour, protection from evil, sanctuary.

Feats and Skills: Huey's 1st-level feat is Extra Channel, allowing him to channel positive energy an additional 2 times per day. His ancestry also gives him a bonus feat in the form of Self-Sufficient, which grants him a +2 bonus on Heal and Survival checks to reflect his initial training with the druids.

As a cleric, Huey has 2 skill ranks, plus an extra 2 ranks from high Intelligence, and 1 extra rank from his race. He puts 1 rank each into Heal and Survival. He puts a rank into Spellcraft, to help him identify spells and magic items, and a rank into History, having learned much in his training under Athena. He puts his final skill rank into Craft (cloth), having been taught how to sew by Donald, and his final skills look like this:

Craft (cloth) +6, Heal +9, Knowledge (history) +6, Spellcraft +6, Survival +6.

Equipment: For his defensive gear, Huey purchases a suit of studded leather armour and a light wooden shield, providing a decent AC of 14 without hampering movement too much. He has a shortspear, favoured weapon of Athena, and a heavy mace, favoured weapon of most clerics. In his backpack, there's a bedroll, a days' worth of rations, a torch, and two flasks of holy water. He has 45 gold, 3 silver, and 9 copper coins.

#ducktales 2017 #dewey #dewey duck #pathfinder #dnd #d&d #huey #huey duck #fighter #cleric #donald #donald duck #fantasy #technically fanfiction?

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aaluminiumas · 3 years

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Übung macht den Meister

Although Heisenberg’s workshop was situated quite far from the main production facility, he nonetheless was able to hear the uproar of gargantuan apparatuses and clanking of heavy details falling from hooks on the ceiling. The engineer, however, paid no heed to the sounds: he’d got accustomed to the ruckus that almost deafened him once – that hubbub contained the triumph of the creator who had been able to construct such an enormous factory from scratch. And oh, did that factory function. It generated numerous cyborgs and robots just like a living organism. At first, he didn’t feel passionate about the project, and mostly deemed them as toy soldiers; but now, absorbed by the experiments, Heisenberg dedicated more time to his drafts. He could barely control the odd excitement that took over him and ignited new ideas. The man wasn’t put out by a whirl of sparks escaping a broken engine: albeit it failed to blind him, the accident certainly had repercussions. The objects he saw weren’t turning into a gray blur, but the reddened eyes were shot by a twinge of searing pain every time he blinked. Evidently, a trauma had taken place. As a matter of fact, he still felt the ramifications – bright lamps hurt just as much. Hence the glasses. Hence the dim lanterns in his workshop used as the only stable and available source of light.

In the crepuscularly lit austere room, one could distinguish outlines of a beat-up desk and a rickety table nearby: Heisenberg tended to get up so abruptly that the seat was sent flying all over the workshop to the far wall. A set of drafts was affixed beside the desk. Some of them were dog-eared; others sagged and concealed red marks and oily stains. Obviously, the engineer rectified them during the working process and, at last, he seemed to deduce that it was easier to draw up a new one taking into account all the previous mistakes. A bit further, in the darkest corner, an autopsy table peeked out through the adjacent door open ajar. An ashy arm with a German tattoo was dangling from its side. Übung macht den Meister. Practice makes perfect.

Heisenberg flicked his lighter open in the air and lit his cigar. Then, he sauntered to the operating room, tossing around various bolts and screws by the boot, his coat swishing across the floor. It had just dawned upon him: the idea that came to his mind could turn his world upside down molding a brand new impression of a universal soldier. With that, he could probably create another weapon. Far more perilous and infinitely more truculent.

Leaning against the doorjamb and inhaling the acrid odor of chemicals amalgamating with fuel and smoke, Heisenberg pensively perused the cadaver on the table. A man, approximately forty-five, maybe fifty years of age; stout, burly, even; quite strong – if the operation goes well according to the plan, he might preserve the sweep and power which will eventually make him a progenitor to the upcoming generation of universal soldiers. However, if no success obtained, the guinea pig gets jettisoned. Nevertheless, it will still contribute to the development of modern technologies. Probably.

Wincing at the smoke scratching on the eyeballs, Heisenberg nibbled on the cigar to feel the flavor of the tobacco. Today was a special day, and everything gained additional intensity to it. Even an ancient and dreary tool kit, standing beside the autopsy table, looked like an artwork. In any case, a saw slightly rusty at the handle, with its blade covered in gore, could pass for a picture painted at the time of war – or for a not-so-deft scheme.

Heisenberg checked the blade with a finger, positioned himself so the blade leveled with the forearm, and gently pressed the saw to the spot under the elbow. He spotted a glimpse of the phrase tattooed into the flesh, Übung macht den Meister. Yeah, right. Years of endless practice didn’t turn out fruitless, and he could approbate his skills on the man. It’s a pity the silent patient couldn’t quite appreciate the grandeur of his advanced body. Pressing himself against the handle, Heisenberg began to slash – and realized that splatters of lukewarm blood sprayed across his face. The unfastened shoulder swerved to the side making the tool spring off and leave a gash several inches higher the elbow. He was used to other operations, so he expected the blade would immediately be intercepted by the bone, but the assumption was wrong. Moreover, he hadn’t fixated the body, hadn’t chosen the right angle… he got to focus.

The blood was pouring out, ploddingly trickling across the leg of the table and collecting near the tool kit: the drain was jammed, and Heisenberg didn’t have the time to clear it up. The stale air saturated with the odor of smelting iron, rapidly assimilated with a heavy smell that completely eradicated the smoke of the extinguishing cigar. He no longer tasted the tobacco.

Heisenberg gave a quick once-over to the besmirched mirror of the prosectorium: it reflected his apathetic, blemished face with blood splashes pointing out the white scars, so they looked fresh. Wiping off his lips, the engineer swiveled back to his patient. He was wrong from the very beginning; the tactics he had picked could not work well. He needed to come up with a finer instrument – this operation required as much accuracy as a clockwork mechanism. First off, he had to expose the bone and check its condition. The man might have fractured his arm in the past, and in this case, the radius would crack.

Heisenberg pulled a drawer under the table. A metallic glimpse of the medical instruments slapped him in the eye. Comparing to his usual kit, tweezers, trocars, dilators, and forceps seemed puny and completely useless. How much time would he have wasted trying to dissect a corpse with a scalpel? How much energy would it require to grasp all vessels in a human body? However, he had to admit the obvious: medical instruments did provide a better view – and helped avoid any collateral damage that could eventually impact the functions. Though, he didn’t lack guinea pigs, so for the most part, Heisenberg’s cyborg army consisted of crude details roughly pinned to the joints: who the hell cared what cannon fodder was made of?..

Forcing the blade into the forearm, Heisenberg made a surgical incision. The blood sluiced over the table, but, heedless of it, he made no attempt to stop it. On the contrary, the man loved the sense of superiority and dominance over this nameless cadaver sprawled in front of him, whose future – if there was any – totally depended on him. Heisenberg’s breath slowed down, and he cut through the muscles pushing the scalpel further. It wouldn’t take too much time reaching the radius, though he couldn’t wait any longer. Shoving the tool aside, the engineer splayed the wound open and plunged his gloved fingers inside – he sure relished the feeling of the fabric being sodden with blood. In a moment, he propelled his digits deeper between the flavescent taut tendons and ligaments.

Soon enough, he bumped into a solid bone and palpated the surface blotted with crimson chunks to discover a barely perceptible jut: it was either a long-healed crack or a consolidated fracture. Satisfied, Heisenberg hummed under his breath, took a deep drag, exhaled – and lifted the cheroot back to his mouth. A plume of smoke mingled with a metallic flavor of blood. Taking off his glove, the engineer reiterated the maneuver to convince himself of the presence of the flaws. There indeed were tiny clefts, lumps, and bulbs which may have been caused by either strenuous work or occasional fights. To hell with the initial plan; the bolts could be twisted into the elbow or higher if needed; the saw had left its mark already.

Heisenberg affixed the arm by the belt and scorched the spot of the future cut by the cigar. A galvanic thought came to his mind: a hacksaw would be more convenient – it had no teeth to get blocked by the skin.

Finally, the blade sank into the radius; a wet, slushing sound came, and the hacksaw leaped off the bone, somehow slashing Heisenberg across the hand. Blood, rich maroon color, flushed all over the floor and splattered the stained coat – although he didn’t seem to have a grievous injury, the man got an impression that he had damaged an artery.

“Fuck,” the engineer cursed through the clenched teeth, squeezing the wound with his good hand, “You will pay dearly for what you’ve done.”

He didn’t have a first-aid kit on the premises but nonetheless possessed a number of bandages in the top drawer under the autopsy table. Heisenberg never marveled at where they came from or who could have brought them here, so, ignoring all the possible questions that were about to pop up in his head, the man decided to use the gauze according to its intended purpose. The blood was trickling down his forearm, leaving a vermilion trail – just the same as the wounded villagers hounded by Lycans. This spoor simplified the task significantly: their sense of smell, considerably amplified by various experiments, inevitably led the beasts to the victims. He tended to come across those obnoxious, deformed, hirsute creatures gnawing on the broken bones until they got spotlessly clean. Would they dare track him down and pounce on him if they smelled the scent of his blood?..

Quickly swathing the gash, Heisenberg plummeted into his metal chair and stared at the gauze growing redder with each second. He managed to avoid such accidents. The last he recalled was when he took interest in vivisection several years ago. The test subject was still alive and bit him. Of course, there was no point continuing the research – he didn’t plan to splurge time and resources: no gag could muffle shrills and groans that later rang in his ears; tight leather belts rarely helped – the people writhed and squirmed, and the incisions weren’t accurate. It was simply easier to work with corpses. They were, at least, quiet. There was enough din at Miranda’s spontaneous sessions: apart from the usual reports and graphic descriptions of what they did with their Cadou specimens, she had a horrible tendency to arrange meetings saying she missed her “lovely children.” Bruh, he missed his seclusion, for all he cared, but his desires were never a subject of discussion.

Heisenberg scrutinized the massive figure on the table; the half-severed arm dangle off the edge – he had cut the belt in half, too. The blood kept dribbling on the floor, and he recollected his first murder.

He hadn’t planned that: a tantrum caused the killing, and he always indulged when it came to outbursts of rage. Then, a particularly boneheaded villager riled him up. Gaunt, with dark, deep-set eyes, the man was arrogantly leering at the lord, grinning lopsidedly from beneath the sandy-colored mustache.

“Your days are numbered, you know? Your and that goddamn factory of yours,” the man spat a clot on the ground. “In a blink of an eye, you’ll be another pile of metal over there.”

He didn’t even try to save his life – he did not beg, plead or pledge eternal allegiance. Heisenberg never paid attention to ingratiation and groveling, but such audacity sure as hell drove him crazy. The fellow was not frightened in the slightest, no, he even seemed to probe how far he actually could go before crossing the line and getting himself killed. What an idiot. An idiot, who nevertheless was given a special honor: normally, the Lycans did the dirty work, Heisenberg himself didn’t find solace in senseless brutality that brought no results whatsoever.

In all honesty, it was nearly impossible to run a real show in this godforsaken place – there were no individualities to taunt and to play with (that smug loudmouth moron may very well have been the only), and testing his booby traps on despicable worms ready to sell their God appeared absolutely dull and stultifying. The cutthroat on the table could’ve attempted to stand out and take part in a confrontation with the lord, but, unfortunately, he failed to resist a mere lycan. Sore loser.

Heisenberg peered at his wounded hand – and swiveled his eyes toward the blood-soaked glove.

Übung macht den Meister. That was his last blunder – and it will never happen again.

#re8 #resident evil #resident evil village #karl heisenberg #heisenberg #re8 karl heisenberg #fanfic #fanfiction #violence

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