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#this was experimental LMAO but fun!

bokatan · 11 months

Note

What are some of your fav ghoul headcannon? Or bits of "noncannon" lore?

aaaa thank you @alder-berry! I’m going to yell about ghouls now.

FEV Involvement

So for starters: low level FEV exposure is needed in order for humans to be able to ghoulify(along with some unknown genetic components), otherwise they’d just flat out die from radiation poisoning.

There’s so many prewar ghouls with military/corporate ties due to a modified strain of FEV being trialed as a vaccine for the new plague before project's focus was completely shifted over into weaponizing it.

The majority of wastelanders have had some form of low level FEV exposure. This plays into wastelanders generally having a higher level of radiation resistance compared to vault dwellers - they’re just more likely to have the genetic components involved in radiation resistance, and the prior exposure to FEV means they have the potential to adapt to various conditions and even develop minor mutations in response to extreme conditions.

Ghoulification

There’s no standard timeline for ghoulification and it’s highly dependent on the individual + the amount of radiation they’ve been exposed to, how long they were exposed for, and other factors like genetics. Some people ghoulify extremely quickly while others never get to a point where they’d be considered a ‘full’ ghoul.

The way that ghoulification presents is also highly variable and dependent on individual + radiation, exposure time, and other factors such as genetics. Some people can gain the radiation & disease resistance, healing from radiation, extended lifespan, potential mutations, etc without getting much of a typical ghoul-like appearance, while there’s others that are pretty much fully human but have scarring that makes them physically appear to be fully ghoulified.

Due to how much variation goes into it, there’s not really any one factor that indicates if someone’s ghoulifying. It’s not unheard of for people to survive radiation poisoning without ghoulifying because of wastelanders having increased radiation resistance, so recovering from radiation poisoning doesn’t automatically mean they’re going to become a ghoul.

The damage and scars that typically present when ghoulification starts are commonly mistaken for chemical or radiation burns, especially if the individual is ghoulifying at a slow rate.

People with very high radiation resistance that become ghouls are much more likely to get additional mutations.

It’s common for people that are in the earlier stages of ghoulifying to bleed and bruise for no clear reason. Radiation causes mass cell death and hemorrhage + would cause clotting issues due to low cell volume, and that’s something that would likely persist until the majority of a person’s cells are mutated.

Ferals

I’m going to link to another post rather than copy and paste everything since it’s a long post, but here’s my theory on how and why ghouls become feral.

Miscellaneous

Ghouls typically don’t have as much tactile sensation due to all of the nerve damage and scarring from their skin sloughing off. They also tend to have poor circulation and lower body temperatures(hence the disease resistance - yes, I’m implying that ghouls are immune to rabies and other diseases in the same manner that opossums are).

It’s very common for ghouls to have bone + dental issues due to a combination of damage from frequent vomiting from radiation poisoning, and from the way that radiaton pretty much leeches calcium and other minerals from bones and other tissues.

Ghouls can smell radiation. (Not a headcanon that I came up with, but one that I’m 100% running with- I interpreted it more as an extra 'sense' rather than a legitimate smell, but that's just me)

Ghouls age at an extremely slow rate like lobsters rather than just being frozen at the age they were when they ghoulified.

#thank you!!💖#I should make a headcanons tag one of these days #yes that one about bleeding is 100% so I can draw Reed covered in blood regularly #and yes I’m implying that Reed was given experimental vaccines while in the army lmao #sometimes you just gotta let your guy have random nosebleeds and cough up blood with no warning. as a fun little treat #and he’s up to date on all of his shots. here’s his vaccine certificate. he’s allowed to go to the dog park now #fallout #fallout ghouls #ghoul meta #fallout meta #(pspsps hi y’all should check out the two meta tags above - I use those for similar posts)

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gallawitchxx · 2 years

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tried something new for this first day—some second person pov, inspired by last year’s kinktober in second person queen @wehangout who gave us 31 days of gorgeous smut!

• • • • •

day 1: sex dream for kinktober 2022 by @gallavichthings

• • • • •

It’s raining, thick, heavy droplets that slap the pavement and crash against the windows.

Mickey’s tight and hot, the vice grip he has on your cock just as strong as the one on your heart. You take his nipple in your mouth, roll the hard pink nub between your teeth, and he groans.

Ian.

You’ve wanted to have him like this for so long, and now that he’s here—pliant and gorgeous and still damp from when he showed up unannounced—you vow to spend the rest of your days pulling sounds from him.

Mickey clenches and you wake, alone.

#i am a fool for taking on another project #squids is heading up the bee prayer brigade if you want to lend your energy & support #LMAO #but i could just let kinktober go completely….#we’ll see how many i do #all drabbles all 100 words all experimental #no plans just fun 🖤👻#shameless #shameless fanfiction #gallavich kinktober 2022 #kinktober 2022 #ian x mickey #dirty drabbles #day 1 #sex dream #bee writes 🐝 ✍🏼

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hyperionwitch-art · 6 months

Note

So I have to say that the texture on your art is just *chef's kiss* and I have to 100% ask what brushes you use cause whatever it is just makes me wanna chomp your art it's so good.

Thank you (and sorry for the VERY late reply)!!

So, when I was still using Photoshop, my main inking brush was Stumpy Pencil from here: https://stumpypencil.blogspot.com/2009/11/return-of-stumpy-pencil.html I use the Pencil: Stumpy 6 pt. for basically everything. :P

As for color and texture, I BELIEVE most of my brushes came from Charlie Bowater (free, here: https://charliebowater.gumroad.com/l/BoiJD) and Kyle T. Webster (uuuuh I'm not sure which set exactly anymore, though I've had good experience with everything I've used so a good ol' Google search should get you pointed in the right direction)! There are a few others as well, I think, but I've just been transferring all my brushes from install to install and I nnnnno longer recall from whom they came, I'm so sorry 😢Maybe Algenpfleger?

These days, I use Clip Studio primarily, so it's a different story--I've had to make a few myself (I had to recreate Stumpy Pencil, for instance, to my endless sorrow), and I'm not sssure how to share those or if I even can in a couple cases since I was grabbing old brush shapes, but I have gotten these brushes from the Clip Studio Assets, and I've messed around with most of these and liked them!

Hope that helps! 🖤

#ask #art advice #I'm always happy to share what knowledge I got! but also...#my knowledge sucks because I have long ago forgotten where I got my stuff lmao #to be completely honest #in an average flat-color-with-texture image I use like maybe 4 brushes #stumpy for the lines then a hair brush a sandy looking texture brush and maybe a big soft airbrush for some spots #the fur brush from clip studio is great for crunchy paint lines as well as fur and short hair #OH and a freckle brush #but I think I made that one myself in PS and Clip 'cuz it's just varying the size and scatter of your brush #and then for the few paintings I do I use some blocky rectangular painting brushes for most of the details #which are somewhere among the clip brushes but I can't remember which #gives the faintest whisper of leyendecker y'know #but having a ton of texturing brushes can be really helpful for niche situations!#even if you don't use them much it's fun to have a bunch around and then try them out when you hit a wall #hmm this fabric could look rougher #what do I have that could do that #or what could I go get and try out #that sorta thing #v experimental #lol this got ramble-y sorry

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mortal-ghost · 4 months

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something...different lol. this is very raw and unpolished and i'm honestly kinda into it. played with some random voice samples i found online and just mashed it all together with bass and guitar and digital drums.

#my music #music #experimental #i cant even say what genre this would be idk #having a lot of fun with this #i..dont know why there was a recording of someone saying 'absorption' lmao there was also one just saying 'iceberg'#but the person saying it sounded too cheerful for it to work

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nova-kuroi · 2 months

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Spooky art :D

Hshshsahsh I have realized my art wips/ideas rn feature the same character over and over again I'm sorry I swear I'm not neglecting my other children

#art #artists on tumblr #oc #original character #demon oc #illustration #horror #a very experimental drawing that was fun to work on #my own persona is basically my dumping ground for horror ideas lmao #and I've been on a horror kick lately

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sonic-adventure-3 · 10 months

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NONE OF YOU ARE READY FOR WHATS COMING. i’m creating my magnum opus. fr fr. i’m 11 hours into this thing, i’m maaaaybe halfway done. this is like 2 full paintings that top everything i’ve ever done, INCLUDING that last sheriff shadow. sorry to keep liveblogging drawing but i’m having the time of my life rn

#i know i’m doing meaningless hype but like damn i’m just really excited to be working on it #this is the kind of art i’ve dreamed of making. pretty; funny; kinda experimental; and a full scene #augh this is fun #rambles #art lb #<- liveblog tag for this lmao

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razzle-zazzle · 7 months

Text

Whumptober Day 04: I see the danger, it's written there in your eyes

Shock + "You in there?"

3220 Words; Rewired AU

TW for isolation, memory loss, experimentation, electrical torture

AO3 ver

This sucks.

Dion glared at the locked door, arms crossed. All of his attempts to force it open had proven futile, leaving him nothing to do but lean against the wall and glare at it.

The room he was in—if it could even be called a room, when there was just barely enough space to lie down—was small, four plain stone walls with a single metal door. There was a single… cot was too generous a word, honestly. It was a slab of metal just barely big enough to lie on, held up by two diagonal metal struts braced against the wall underneath it. There was a drain in the center of the floor; Dion refused to touch it if he could help it. By bracing himself against the walls of the corner, he could climb up high enough to get at the ceiling. But the panel over the single small light refused to budge, no matter how hard Dion tried to pry it off. Spots still danced across his eyes from his efforts.

The only ventilation came in the form of four small slits in the door. There was a slot at the bottom of the door, as well, but the panel covering it wouldn’t budge. If Dion were more resourceful, if he had a better idea of what was going on—

But he wasn’t, and he had no idea. He’d been handling groceries out in town, on his way back to camp—

And then he was in here, in this barren room, with no way out. The jacket he’d gotten for his seventeenth birthday was missing, as was his wallet, pocket knife, and compact. Whoever had taken him and put him here had gone through his pockets, and the knowledge left Dion feeling violated.

But there was nothing he could do about it, and that, more than anything, crawled under his skin like so many wriggly spiders. The inaction grated against him, his leg bouncing in agitation. He needed to move, to get up and do something—

But he couldn’t do anything. Not yet. Not until the door opened, or he found out what the hell was going on, or—something, he didn’t know.

This sucked. Dion glared at the door from where he was sitting on the slab.

The door had no response for him.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

Bright light danced in front of his eyes, and his vision swam worse than it already was.. He didn’t recognize the voice speaking to him, the words spinning through his head uselessly. He swallowed, but the nausea remained.

Still, he spoke. “Dion Aquato.” Son of Donatella and Augustus Aquato. Eldest of five siblings. Dion Aquato. I’m Dion Aquato—

“No, you’re not.”

+=+=+=+=+

Meals came in through the slot at the bottom of the door—gross. Even if it was on a tray, it was still being slid along a floor that had been exposed to god knew what. Dion didn’t eat, the first few times, fear of poison and disdain for invisible concrete floor grime holding him back.

But the hunger pricked at his stomach. It was impossible to sleep well on the slab or the floor. He needed to keep his strength up however he could, if he ever wanted out of here.

The meals were simple. A plastic spork came on the equally plastic tray. Neither the utensil nor the tray could be used to escape, as far as Dion could tell, so he left them by the slot when he finished. The food was…

He didn’t know how long he’d been in here, but he was already homesick. Truth be told, he’d been homesick the moment he’d finished inspecting the room, but the feeling had only built over time. He missed his mother’s cooking. He missed cooking. He missed food that wasn’t bland unseasoned drivel. He’d had his fill of dry chicken and plain mashed potatoes and sad greens. He wanted to eat food, real food with actual flavor that he wasn’t shoving down his throat just for the nutritional value.

How many days had it been? Three? Four? Dion wondered if his birthday had passed already, if he had turned 18 in this cell, away from his friends and family. It had only been a week off, when he’d found himself in this tiny stone hell.

Ugh. This sucked. The food was awful. He had no idea what he was even here for, or where here even was. He wanted to go home. He wasn’t smart enough or strong enough to figure a way out of this cell.

Dion was clean, at least, his hair hanging loose around his face and on his shoulders. He couldn’t remember when the grease had been rinsed out—but he really didn’t want to think about that. So he didn’t.

“An explanation would be nice.” He grumbled. “Wouldn’t mind some fucking answers.”

The door had no answer for him.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion woke up to a bright light right in his eyes. Where—

He was lying back on a hard surface, at an angle. There was pressure across his legs and chest. Attempts to move were thwarted—oh. He was strapped down.

Dion turned his head to the side to avoid the light shining down on him, cool metal pressing against his cheek. He scrunched his eyes shut, spots dancing across his vision. His head was pounding—probably because of the light.

He heard footsteps to his left. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

There was a woman standing there with a clipboard in hand, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. Dion blinked.

Nope, she was still there, still regarding the clipboard in her hand through cat eye glasses. A pen floated over the clipboard.

Dion turned his head to look to the right. The room he was in had… six walls? No, wait, it was eight, wasn’t it? Yeah. Eight. Eight plain white walls that went up to… he couldn’t tell, with the bright light looming above him. He scrunched his eyes shut and turned his head back to his left, opening them as the woman walked over to a shelf taking up three of the walls.

The room gave him an uneasy feeling. The bright light reminded him of dentists; the lady’s labcoat and the sanitized room reminded him of hospitals. There was even a counter back to his right that took up three of the walls, with a sink and cabinets.

A binder floated off the shelf and opened in front of the woman. She flipped through the pages inside for a moment before the binder returned to the shelf.

Dion opened his mouth. He was so done with his stupid little cell, with this bright light searing down into his eyes—but most of all, he was so done with not knowing what the hell was going on. He wanted answers, dammit, so he opened his mouth and spoke.

“What do you want from me?”

The woman’s head snapped around so fast that Dion almost thought it might fall off. She was regarding him, now, and Dion snapped his mouth shut. He felt like a bug under her gaze, like a number on her clipboard that wasn’t what she expected.

She walked over to him, lips pursed.

“At least say something!” His mouth moved before his brain could process what he was saying. Her brow furrowed, and Dion tensed.

“You,” she loomed over him, close enough that he could see the gold of her eyes, “should not be up.” She held something small in her hands, and Dion strained to make out what was surely going to be used to hurt him—

One click. Two clicks.

Dion never heard the third.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

His head swam. His mouth opened, then closed. He tried again. “Dion Aquato.” Dion I’m Dion I’m Dion Aquato I’m an acrobat I’m a brother I’m Dion Dion Aquato—

“No, you’re not.”

+=+=+=+=+

There were holes in his memory.

Dion almost didn’t notice them, at first. Day and night blurred together in his cell, with nothing to mark the passage of time. How long had he been here? How many days? Had he turned 18, here in this cell, away from his friends and family?

All of his street clothes had been missing when he’d woken up here—he was dressed in a simple shirt and pants made of a rough fabric he couldn’t identify, the light gray seeming to melt into the stone around him.

(But hadn’t he searched his pockets when he’d first woken up here? He remembered them being empty of his things—)

That was the first clue. The second was the collection of plastic sporks in the corner of his room—he was sure he’d put them there, but he couldn’t remember eating that many meals. The third clue was that he still didn’t know how he was clean, despite being in his cell long enough to start to smell.

There were holes in his memory. Once he finally realized this, he realized the danger he was in. Panic spiraled in his brain. What if he forgot everything? What if he forgot his family? His home?

But what could he do? He’d never even left this cell.

(Had he?)

Still, he needed to remember. He thought back to his life outside, to home—

He could remember his mother’s face, at least. Could still remember every member of his family, from his parents to his Nona to his siblings. Mom. Dad. Nona. Frazie. Raz. Tala. Queepie. Could remember the circus, the blue and green stripes of the Aquatodome.

He glared reproachfully at the door of his cell. His name was Dionysus Aquato. He was the eldest of five. He was 17—no, he was probably 18 already—and he refused to forget his home and family. He’d die before he let that happen.

“You’re not keeping me here forever.” He whispered. “I’ll get out eventually.”

The door had no response for him.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion woke up strapped to a table.

There was a bright light overhead. His head swam, a pounding headache behind his eyes. His mouth had that awful taste that it always got when he overslept.

This wasn’t his tent or the caravan, though. This was an octagonal room, the ceiling obscured by the light bearing down on him. There was something familiar about the room, but he couldn’t fathom why.

He turned his head to his left. There was a woman standing there, regarding a binder floating in front of her through cat eye glasses, hair pulled back into a bun. There was someone next to her in… a pantsuit? The woman was wearing a lab coat, which some part of Dion felt was far more appropriate for the sterile setting.

Dion didn’t recognize her, though. But hadn’t he seen her before?

And the guy standing next to her—Dion had never seen them before. But he knew their face. Didn’t he? He didn’t know.

“Why is it conscious?” They asked. It took Dion a moment to realize that they were talking about him. That… that didn’t bode well.

Her lips pursed. “Because I’m investigating a problem.” She pressed something—

Pain! Dion yelped, his body jerking against the straps. It arced up his legs and arms, through his chest, into his head—

Just as quick as it came, it was gone. His shoulders heaved.

A problem. She’d called him a problem. That couldn’t be good.

Remember. He needed to remember. His name was Dion, Dion—

Dion Something. He tried to remember, searching his mind—

Another scream was ripped from his throat as a fresh wave of electricity burst through him. He spasmed, the straps pinning him down. His wrists and ankles were starting to ache—were they going to bruise?

The pain left again. Dion’s thoughts chased each other in circles. His head spun. He needed to—he needed to—

Remember. His name was Dion, Dion—

Dion Aquato!

His name was Dion Aquato. He was the eldest of four—no, five. He came from the Aquato family circus.

Mom Dad Nona Frazie Raz Tala Queepie Mom Dad Nona Frazie Raz Tala Queepie Mom Dad Nona—

He screamed as another wave of pain rushed through him. The electricity didn’t stop, even as his voice cut out, even as he continued to spasm. His head swam, pain pounding his brain to bits—

All at once, the pain stopped. He shook, and turned towards the pair.

The woman’s binder had fallen to the ground. Her nose had bled, a red smear on her upper lip.

“Well.” She said, “That’s… interesting.”

Dion didn’t have the energy to question it. He needed to remember, anyway. Mom Dad Nona Frazie—

Something clicked. Once, twice—

He never heard the third.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

It sounded disappointed in him. He couldn’t fathom why.

“Dion Aquato.” He was answering the question, right? He was Dion Aquato. It was his name, his identity—he was Dion Aquato eldest son acrobat 17 years old Dion Dion I’m Dion I’m Dion I’m Dion Aquato—

“No, you’re not.”

+=+=+=+=+

The pile of sporks in the corner was gone. If it had ever been there at all—he had probably just imagined it.

He didn’t know when he’d gotten here. Didn’t know how long he’d been here. Had a week passed? Was he 18, now, had he missed his birthday in this stupid little cell?

His old clothes were gone, replaced with a dull blue shirt and pants the same gray as the stone around him. It was weird, to look down at his legs and see nothing but gray, gray like the walls, gray like he was just another fixture in the room, just another setpiece—

(Hadn’t his shirt been gray? Hadn’t he been wearing his street clothes when he first woke up in this cell?)

His head swam. Lights danced behind his vision.

His name was Dion Aquato. He had a family and a home. His name was Dion Aquato.

(Was it?)

He looked at the door. Metal, like the—well, cot was too generous. More like a slab, really—slab sticking out from the wall, held up by diagonal metal struts. Metal, like the ring around his neck.

(He couldn’t remember when it was put on. He couldn’t get it off. Maybe it had always been there.)

“How much longer?” He asked. How much longer would he be stuck in here? He wanted to go home. He wasn’t even sure where home was.

The door had no response for him.

+=+=+=+=+

He came to strapped to a chair. The room he was in was familiar, octagonal-shape tickling some corner of his brain. But every attempt to recall if he had been here before resulted in fog filling his head. But he needed to remember, right?

There was a woman standing at a control panel-like structure to his left, her mouth moving. He couldn’t hear what she was saying through the panel of glass between him and her.

Remember. He needed to remember. His name was Dion Aquato. He was 17 (18? 16?). He didn’t know where he was. Home was Mom Dad Nona Frazie Pooter Tala Queepie, it was blue and green tents and a towering caravan. He needed to remember.

He muttered their names under his breath, pushing at the straps wrapped around his arms and chest. As usual, they refused to yield.

Mom Dad Nona Frazie Raz Tala Queepie

Dion Dion Dion my name is Dion my name is Dion

Mom Dad Nona Frazie Raz Tala Queepie—

Pain shot through him, electricity coursing through his body until his head spun. Even when it stopped, the room continued to spin, the bright light above him leaving spots in his vision.

He needed—he needed—

Remember!

His name was Dion Aquato. Home was green and blue and Mom and Dad and Nona and Raz and Queepie—

He was missing something. He needed to remember it.

“Shut up.”

Another bolt of electricity. Another scream that left his throat raw.

He didn’t even realize he’d been muttering. But he needed to remember, he couldn’t shut up, he needed to hold onto everything that he had for as long as he could, needed to hold himself together no matter what. He mumbled their names, his brain struggling through the haze of pain and light dancing behind his eyes. Mom. Dad. Nona. Frazie. Tala. Queepie. Mom. Dad. Raz. Tala. Mom. Dad. Nona. Frazie. Mom. Dad. Nona—

“I said shut up.” Something clicked—

Dion’s body convulsed against the straps again. His throat hurt too much to scream, the electricity seizing through him.

The electricity stopped. He twitched. The taste of copper filled his mouth.

Remember. He needed to remember. Mom. Dad. Frazie. Queepie. Mom. Nona. Raz. Queepie. Dad. Nona. Tala. Mom. Dad. Mom—

“Fine, then. If you can’t shut up, then you won’t speak at all.”

Something clicked. Once. Twice—

He never heard the third.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

He wasn’t sure. “Dion.” That… sounded right.

“Who are you?”

They sounded frustrated. He wasn’t sure why.

“Dion.” He was Dion, wasn’t he?

“No, you’re not.”

+=+=+=+=+

Gray walls stared back at him. He tried to remember any place other than this, tried to remember being anywhere but these walls—

Nothing. Just gray.

He knew he had come from somewhere, though. He had a mother and a father out there, somewhere—somewhere that wasn’t here.

But what did his mother’s face even look like? How did her voice sound? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember, and she seemed all the less real because of it.

How many siblings did he have? Did he even have siblings at all?

His head hurt. Lights danced behind his eyes. He clutched his face in his hands, massaging his temples. Nausea threatened to spill out of his mouth and onto the floor below. He choked it down.

His name was Dion. He had a mother and a father. He couldn’t remember their faces. He needed to remember.

Did he? He couldn’t remember. His head swam.

He pitched forward, his hands hitting the concrete floor as he fell off the slab. His name was—he was—

He retched.

Shoulders shaking, he leaned back. He rubbed his mouth, not caring about the bile and spit on his arm. He looked at the door.

“I’m—” He needed to remember. His head was swimming. “Where am I?” Who am I?

The door had no answers for him.

+=+=+=+=+

Bright light loomed above him, searing his eyes.

Exhaustion weighed him down more than the straps holding him still. A bitter taste lingered in the back of his throat.

A woman’s voice floated over to him. “Shutdown, Test 24-2.” The light was blinding, he couldn’t see where the voice was coming from—

Pain arced through his limbs. Something in him clicked. His head pounded, pressure like a vice—

Something clattered on the floor.

“Stop now.” The pressure receded at the woman’s voice. He couldn’t fathom why. He was too exhausted to care, his eyes slipping closed. Light danced behind them.

Click.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

He had no answer.

“Who are you?”

Why were they asking? He wasn’t anybody.

“Who are you?”

The voice was starting to grate against his head. Nausea danced in his throat.

“Who are you?”

“I—” Who was he? Was he anything?

“Who are you?”

Bright light danced in front of his eyes. At once, the answer came to him.

“Who are you?”

“Nobody.”

“Yes, you are.”

#whumptober2023 #no.4 #shock #''you in there?''#psychonauts #zaz writes #isolation tw #memory loss tw #memory alteration tw #electrical torture tw #experimentation tw #rewired au #dion aquato #aranka naumann #well. maybe.#i don't really want to come up with a new scientist oc though so we're goign with my girl aranka for now #this was so so fun to write #but now i'm rushing to post this so i can catch the bus home LMAO #anyway 💅 four days in and i'm FINALLY writing about dion suffering

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bokatan · 5 months

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SNAPDRAGON!!!! (sorry i love snapdragons i got really excited about it lmao)

[ botanical headcanons ]

snapdragon: is your muse merciful? why or why not?

This is where Mercy's name choice is a bit ironic- she can be very compassionate and merciful at times when she feels it's warranted, but on the other hand she can be downright nasty when she doesn't think it's deserved. This is mainly something that comes into play with faction conflicts & bounty hunting- she'll take matters into her own hands if she feels like there isn't going to be an appropriate punishment for what was done. For example- she’d likely “lose” a bounty placed on someone for killing their spouse if she found out that spouse was abusive(and she’d likely be missing supplies, caps, etc). On the other hand, she’d turn in a bounty very dead if it was for someone with some sort of wealth or authority if she learned that they were responsible for harming or killing children. She doesn’t trust the NCR or any other government/legal organizations to actually hold people accountable when they’ve committed heinous acts, & especially if they have some sort of power or authority or if they’d have the ability to pay their way out.

Reed's somewhere in the middle but leaning more towards merciful. He's fine with emotionally removing himself from situations and following out orders he disagrees with, but he's also not inherently cruel and doesn't actually want to harm others. He’s the type that’ll usually go out of his way to either try and help or kill a severely injured animal or person, and he’s pretty careful with his aim to make sure whatever he’s aiming for has a very quick death rather than just injuring them.

#ask games #thank you!!💖#this. may have gotten stuck in drafts hell lmao #mercy tag #mercy info #reed tag #reed info #since this ask is really good for explaining their characters #Reed knows he’s most useful as a weapon but he’d rather not cause excessive suffering yknow??#fun fact in-game his anti materiel rifle is named miséricorde #which is referring to a type of dagger used in the middle ages to kill severely wounded knights #Mercy’s the type that just. doesn’t really charge for medical care if someone’s sick/injured #+ also the type that’s willing to look into more experimental and potentially unethical treatments if it’s going to help someone more #she’d more than likely perform euthanasias as well. like for people not just animals #basically they both have Opinions about being able to offer a quick and ideally painless death vs just leaving something to die naturally #although mercy’s also the type that will intentionally drag it out if she’s dealing with someone that’s intentionally caused a lot of harm

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simsreaper · 8 months

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Call me insane because I just started a new legacy challenge(also filling the void of putting my NSBC on hiatus for the time being)

Because I'm so original with names and couldn't help myself but name my founder after the generation name(and will do the same for the future heirs) buut meet Sun Light and Star Nova

I'm doing the Cosmic Legacy Challenge by thepettymachine. I've had this challenge on my radar for awhile and thought why not just start it.

I wanted to give the founder a companion which was why Star was also made, I'm switching up my playstyles! I'm excited for this save! <3

More pictures of them under the cut

#more info in the tags cause I didn't want to type up a storm #since it's planet themed I was thinking of keeping both of them for every single generation as vampires/immortals but #that's gonna be annoying for me to manage so they'll live their normal lives but I'll have star have babies like star jr. and so on so that #each heir will have a star accompanying them especially the next two gens - the planets don't have moons lmao #and each planet that does have a moon or multiple i will also make them because this is an experimental save for me #and also a challenge #i also want to start giving my sims weird names because it's so funny to see their names pop up in the notifications #i had way too much fun with the poses I installed - why did it take me so long to start using poses??#sims 3 #sims 3 legacy #ts3 #Cosmic Legacy challenge #Light legacy #Cosmic 1

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