#Congealed Group

[tahthetrickster]

literally lying on my couch being trampled by cats and thinking to myself . how can i make the angry gay faeries sad

[flickering-nightfall]

Playing with some ideas mostly regarding gender/reproduction in RW, and slugcat colonies.

Full transcript under the cut!

Creatures in Rain World are typically simultaneous hermaphrodites but require partners to reproduce, with either individual capable of being a genetic donor or carrier. Alongside what we are familiar with, this has lead to interesting reproductive strategies such as rotating donor/carrier roles, or dual/simultaneous genetic swaps.

Rotating donor/carrier roles - A K-selection reproductive strategy. One partner carries the first child, the other partner carries the next child, and so forth. Allows each partner to recover from the demands of childbearing.

Rain Deer aren't quite monogamous, but they tend to choose the same breeding partner whenever mating season rolls around. They serve as a donor one season, then bear and raise a child the next. Calves are raised away from the rain and worm grass, in places that have less food but more safety. Calf wool is softer, not yet gunked up by the dirty rainfall. Their legs are sturdier as children, allowing them to run for cover while the parent wards off threats.

Dual/simultaneous genetic swap - An r-selection reproductive strategy. Parents fulfill the donor and carrier role for each other. The more children you make, the more likely some are to survive!

Multiple batflies lay thousands of eggs in a single "blue fruit." Several eggs congeal and become nutrient paste for the surviving eggs (and for hungry slugcats). Like some plant seeds, batfly eggs that are consumed before pupating can survive passing through the digestive system. Ew.

Ancients also fell under this umbrella. Their genders (and the genders of iterators by extension, who have no sex anyways) could have been determined by a variety of other factors, such as societal role, donor/carrier preference, or simply different categorizations of personal expression.

It's difficult to say how well their common pronouns would translate to ours, but it seems they can translate to an extent, given what Moon and Pebbles use canonically.

Slugcats, like real slugs, can have children with a partner or self-fertilize. Unlike real slugs, they are often known to adopt.

In the case of self-fertilization: children who are born from one parent may display a large amount of genetic diversity despite the circumstances. Maybe slugcats have some sort of... genetic reservoir independent of their own genetic code?

Slugcats live 20-30 years on average... if they manage to reach adulthood. Their mortality rate is sadly rather high, especially in pups. If they were to develop as a civilization, it's likely their lifespan would increase dramatically.

Slugcats in a colony are more likely to have more children, and to successfully rear those children to adulthood, than those who wander alone or in small groups. The safety and stability of a colony cannot be understated.

Colonies either have a set, cycling migration path, or wander continuously. Survivor and Monk's tree home was a nesting site that their colony frequents about once a year. So it's likely that they'll see their family again!

...also, the strength of large colonies are why scavengers are likely to become the dominant species. In the time of Saint's era, continuous migration has become more of a risk, and it has become more difficult to support large populations. Slugcat populations have shrunk back to the more forgiving equatorial zones.

Saint's tongue is pretty unusual and probably unique to them, or to a small population that they hail from. Fur (of varying thickness) is much more common.

Meanwhile, scavengers are bulkier and covered in thicker insulating fur. They:

have seemingly massive populations

have a burgeoning society (the existence of merchants, tolls, bartering, elites and leaders)

are adept at communicating (non-verbally)

manipulate their environment

can build structures (scavenger-made structures were a scrapped idea from Saint's campaign)

can create complex weapons and tools

may have agriculture behind the scenes (unsure if scout parties prioritize exploration or hunting)

I would wager on scavengers developing more quickly than slugcats, but it would be nice if there was a future where both could co-exist.

[nhaaauyen]

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART I: HEAVEN KNOWS

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part II // part III // part IV // part V

wc: 4.7k cw: guns, brief descriptions of violence author's note: ty @mirconreadzztuff22 for being my arcane encyclopedia!! This is gonna be a seven part series so buckle up!!!

You blink awake, the world slowly coming into focus as a cacophony of muffled sounds pierces your slumber. Squinting one eye open, you’re able to see shadowy figures dragging your companions away, their struggles futile against the intruders' iron grips. Your heart races, but instinct kicks in. You remain still, feigning sleep, as footsteps approach.  

Someone looms over you - in the dim light filtering through the drugstore's grimy windows, you catch a glimpse of her scarred face and steely gaze. As she reaches for you, adrenaline surges through your veins. In a flash, you slam into her, catching her off guard.

For a split second, you had the upper hand - but it's short-lived. The woman recovers with lightning speed, her combat skills levels way above yours. She easily corners you against the cold, dusty shelves, her knife finding its way to your throat. The blade's edge kisses your skin, a thin line of warmth trickling down your neck.

"Move any further, and I can end this now." she growls, her breath hot against your ear.

You raise your hands in surrender, and she roughly drags you to join the others. You're thrust into the main area, forced to your knees alongside Vander, Vi, Caitlyn, and Powder. The scene before you is horrifying - Through the front window, you see a horde of walkers slamming against the glass. Their decaying faces press against the surface, leaving smears of rot and congealed blood. 

At the fore stood the woman who captured you, her gang forming a menacing circle around your group. You noted how tall and muscular she was, her dark skin gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat in the dim light. A red shawl draped over her left side, obscuring her arm and shoulder.  Her short, styled hair framed a face set in stern lines, but her eyes, they sparkled with something dangerous, almost predatory.

The woman’s gaze swept over your group, lingering on each face before settling on yours. "Looks like we've got ourselves some lost lambs," she drawled, her voice a low, smoky rasp.

You felt Vi tense beside you, her fists clenching. On your other side, Caitlyn's fingers twitched near her now empty holster. Powder, uncharacteristically quiet, had her gaze fixed on the panels with the undead clawing their bloody fingers at.

The air crackled with tension as Vander spoke. "We're just passing through, we don’t mean to cause any trouble."

"Do you know whose territory you're in?" she demands, her voice cutting through the moans of the undead outside.

"No… but we weren’t going to settle here, let us go and we’ll get out of your hair."

The woman's laugh is harsh and devoid of humor. "I don't care," she sneers. Her eyes scan the ransacked shelves of the drugstore. "What I care about is where the remaining medications are. Hand them over."

Your throat tightens. You know exactly where they are – hidden in your pack. "I have them."

Her gaze locks on you. "Hand them over."

"Why should I?"

In an instant, she's in your face, so close you can see the flecks of amber in her dark eyes. Her scarred lip curls into a snarl. "Because you don't want to know what happens if you don't."

Your mind races, torn between protecting your group's precious resources and avoiding the wrath of this formidable woman and her gang.  Would she really let you go if you acquiesced? 

The tense standoff is suddenly interrupted by a burst of static. One of the woman's group members fumbles with a radio clipped to their belt. A male voice crackles through, urgent and clear.

"Sevika, the store's surrounded now. Get out before dark hits. Over."

The tall woman - Sevika, you now know - snatches the radio. "Copy that," she replies tersely, her eyes never leaving your group.

With a sharp whistle, her group springs into action. They wordlessly pack supplies, secure weapons, and prepare for evacuation. The efficiency is impressive, and you can't help but admire their coordination even when you had two of them keep their guns trained on your group.

“What about us?"  

Sevika's lip curls in amusement. "What about you?"

"Are you going to let us go?" Vander presses, his voice steady despite the circumstances.

"Sure," Sevika drawls, then points directly at you. "After she gives me the meds."

"What? How the hell are we going to get out of here ourselves?" Vi protested. 

Sevika's response is cold and indifferent. "If you want to get out that bad, do it yourself."

You watch Vander's mind work, always strategizing. "You have a base, it’s obviously well-supplied based on the amount of weapons and people you have. Take us with you, we can fight and help."

Sevika scoffs. "Now, why would I do that? You're lucky enough I'm letting you go alive."

Someone in her group chimes in with a smirk, "If they can get out alive." Snickers ripple through the gang, and your stomach turns at their callousness.

As Sevika's group continues packing, she allows your group to stand. You seize the moment, stepping forward. "I've got EMT training. I know how to use the medications I took."

Sevika dismisses you with a wave. "No thanks. We've already got a doctor."

"More help wouldn't hurt."

Her patience wearing thin, Sevika snaps, "I'm not picking up strays, especially ones so easy to put down."

You step closer, your face inches from hers despite the notable height difference between you two. "We were easy to capture because we were sleeping. That's a coward's move."

One of Sevika's people moves to intervene, but she halts them with a raised hand. Her eyes lock with yours, and to your surprise, her scowl turns into a smirk. 

"Okay," she says, her voice low and challenging. "Prove to me right now that you can survive.  However many survive, we'll take them in. But anyone left behind, I'm not coming back for. You're responsible for this."

Vander nods grimly. "Fine with us."

The moans of the undead grow louder outside.  While Sevika's group finishes their preparations, your group hurries to gather what few possessions you have. 

Vi angrily stuffs clothes into her backpack. "This is bullshit," she hisses. "We can take 'em. I say we fight our way out."

Caitlyn shakes her head. "That's suicide, Vi. They outnumber and outgun us."

You kneel beside Powder, helping her gather her collection of odds and ends - Her hands shake slightly as she works.

"It'll be okay, Powder," you whisper, giving her a reassuring smile. "We'll stick together, just like always."

Powder's eyes dart nervously between you and the others. "But what if they separate us? What if-"

"Shh," you soothe, squeezing her shoulder gently. "We won't let that happen."

Vander's deep voice cuts through the murmurs. "Enough," he says firmly but quietly. "I know none of us like this, but we're out of options. We can't keep running forever."

Vi whirls on him, eyes flashing. "So we're just gonna roll over and let them take us? After everything we've been through?"

Caitlyn places a calming hand on Vi's arm. "Vander's right, Vi. We're exhausted, low on supplies. This might be our only chance at something better."

You stand up, looking around at your makeshift family. "Maybe this is an opportunity. We don't know what their community is like but it could be a chance for a real home."

Vi scoffs, but there's a flicker of hope in her eyes that she quickly tries to hide. "Yeah, right. And I'm sure they invited us out of the kindness of their hearts."

Vander steps into the middle of the group, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. "Listen to me," he says. "I don't trust them any more than you do. But right now, we need to play along. Stay alert, watch each other's backs, and be ready for anything. We're stronger together, remember that."

There's a moment of silence as his words sink in. Then, one by one, you all nod in agreement.

As you finish packing, you catch Sevika watching you, that same unreadable expression on her face. 

"Alright, time's up," Sevika calls out. "Let's move."

The moans of the undead grew louder outside, time was running out. With one last look at each other, your group falls in line behind Sevika's squad. 

Sevika's group snap into formation, they move with a fluid precision that speaks of countless drills and shared experiences. Sevika stands at the center, her scarred face set in grim determination as she outlines the plan to her team. You edge closer, straining to hear every word.

"Listen up," Sevika's voice cuts through the air. "Dustin, you're the distraction. When I give the signal, toss the radio into the parking lot. That should draw most of the horde away."

"Margot, Ran, Renni take position at the rear, pick off any stragglers that get too close. Conserve ammo, make every shot count.  Finn, you’ll lead - make sure everyone is accounted for, then go, don’t wait for us."

"The rest of you, we're on supply duty. Grab everything you can carry, and prioritize non-perishables." Sevika's eyes sweep over her team, then land on your group. "I'll be keeping an eye on our new 'friends'."

As the plan springs into action, adrenaline courses through your veins. You dash to your pickup truck, sliding into the driver's seat. Powder hops in beside you, her eyes wild with excitement. In the rearview mirror, you see Caitlyn and Vi taking up defensive positions in the truck bed, their guns at the ready. Vander moves with surprising agility for his size, efficiently loading supplies.

You hear hard rock playing from the blaring radio that Dustin hurls into the parking lot. The walkers' heads swivel towards the noise, their groans intensifying as they shamble after it.

Gunshots crack the air as Sevika's shooters pick off the walkers that didn't fall for the distraction. You grip the steering wheel tighter, ready to peel out at a moment's notice.

Sevika appears at your window. "Ready to prove your worth?" she challenges, eyebrow raised.

You’re about to respond when a voice from above steals your attention.

"Sevika!"

All heads turn to the roof. A kid stands there, panic evident on his face. Sevika's eyes widened in disbelief.

"What the fuck? They forgot Ekko?" she snarls, livid at the oversight.

The momentary distraction costs you. Walkers, drawn by the commotion, shamble towards your truck. Only one corner of the store remains clear, but it's too far for Ekko to reach safely.

Your mind races, and adrenaline sharpens your focus. "I know how to drift," you blurt out. "If you guys can clear as many walkers as possible near that open corner, I can whip the car close enough for him to jump down."

Sevika eyes you skeptically. "You have an interesting set of skills…  you’re confident you can get us close enough?"

"I can do it in my sleep. So, are we doing this?" you ask.

She nods curtly. "Fine. But don't get tempted to fling me out of the car."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Sevika barks orders into her radio, relaying the plan to Ekko. The air fills with gunfire as both groups focus on clearing a path. You rev the engine, calculating angles and timing in your head.

"Hold on!" you shout, then slam the accelerator.

The truck lurches forward, tires screeching. You weave through the thinning walkers horde, your heart pounding in your ears. As you approach the corner, you crank the wheel hard, initiating a perfect drift. The world blurs around you as the truck slides sideways, stopping just beneath Ekko's position.

"Now!" Sevika roars.

Ekko leaps, landing with a thud in the truck bed. You don't wait for confirmation, immediately spinning the wheel to face the exit. In the passenger seat, Powder whoops with glee, while gunfire erupts from behind as Caitlyn and Vi pick off any pursuing undead.

A sharp tap on your window startles you from your laser focus on the road. You roll it down, coming face to face with Sevika's intense gaze.

"Need some directions?" she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you realize you've been blindly following the road away from the store. "Uh, yeah. That'd be great," you manage, trying to mask your embarrassment.

As you follow Sevika's directions, a sight on the horizon makes your jaw drop. A gated community looms in the distance, its high walls painted with the word “Zaun” on it represent safety you haven't seen in years. Suddenly, the organized efficiency of Sevika's group makes perfect sense. This is nothing like the ramshackle shelters you've cobbled together over the years.

The convoy of trucks comes to a halt in front of the gates. You expect them to open, but Sevika raises her fist. Your brow furrows in confusion, but before you can ask, she's out of the truck, moving with predatory grace toward the other vehicles.

She stops at one truck, yanking the door open with such force you're surprised it doesn't come off its hinges. In one fluid motion, she drags out the man who was supposed to be in charge in her absence earlier, Finn, and slams him against the side of the vehicle.

"You coward," Sevika snarls, her voice dripping with contempt. "You're a disgrace to this group."

You're transfixed by the sheer intensity of her anger, the way she towers over Finn despite not being much taller.   Then you see it - movement in your peripheral vision. A walker, stumbling closer to Sevika's unprotected back. Your heart leaps into your throat, panic flooding your system.

"Sevika!" you try to shout, but it comes out as a strangled whisper. Ekko's grip on your arm tightens, holding you back.

"Don't." he warns, but you barely hear him roaring in your ears.

Your mind races, unable to comprehend why no one is reacting. The walkers are mere feet away now. You struggle against Ekko's grasp, every fiber of your being screaming to do something, anything.

The walkers' rotting hands reach out, inches from Sevika's shoulder. Time seems to slow down. You're about to break free, to hell with the consequences, when-

CRACK!

The walkers crumples, a clean hole through its skull. The bullet whistled so close to Sevika you swear it must have grazed her.

But Sevika doesn't even flinch. 

"You're pathetic," she spits, her eyes boring into the man.

And suddenly, it clicks. The walker was never going to be a threat, but Finn was going to let the walker get her.  That decision was a huge fucking mistake.  

Before she let go, he leaned in to whisper something imperceptible but it had enough effect that she practically threw him onto the ground in response.

The gates begin to open, and as Sevika strides back to your truck, you can't help but feel a mix of admiration and fear.   The woman before you was no ordinary one, she was willing to put her life on the line to protect her people and weed out the weak links.

Sevika slid back into the seat next to you, her eyes meeting yours.  You feel exposed, like she can see right through you. There's a challenge there, a silent question: Do you know what you’re getting into?

You swallow hard, gripping the steering wheel tighter. 

As you drive through the gate, you couldn’t conceal your awe. The scene before you is like stepping into a different world - one untouched by the horrors of the apocalypse you've grown accustomed to.

Neat rows of houses line well-maintained streets. Lush gardens and small farms dot the landscape, bursting with life and color. People - actual living, breathing people - stroll along sidewalks, chatting and going about their day as if the world outside these walls hasn't ended.

You count maybe 15-20 houses in total, but the sheer number of people you see is staggering. There are more living souls in this one community than you've encountered in years of scavenging and surviving.

Sevika directs you to a parking spot, and as you're climbing out of the truck, a woman approaches. She's tall and dressed in a neat uniform, with short-cropped gray hair and a face etched with the kind of hardness that comes from years of survival. Her sharp eyes remind you of a hawk's.

"How much longer were you gonna keep talking before you let me shoot?" she asks Sevika, a hint of amusement in her gruff voice.

"As long as it takes to make my point, Grayson." Then, gesturing to your group, she adds, "I picked up some strays today. Oh, and a spot just opened on my team, by the way. If anyone in your group wants to switch sides..."

"Enough of stealing my patrol, Vika."  For the first time, you see Sevika truly laugh. You notice her tooth gap, she looks almost carefree.  

“Well, looks like you survived,” Sevika says, turning to your group.

“You could say that with a bit more enthusiasm next time.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on her lips at your quip.  “It’s your turn to uphold your end of the bargain now.”  She puts out her hand.  

You retrieve the bag you stuffed under the seat, it rattles with the pills as you hand it over.  Without even a goodbye or thank you, she turns to leave, and you watch as her group immediately follows suit.

Grayson gives you a once-over, then nods. "Alright, let's give you the grand tour."

The houses were luxurious and belonged to a class you never knew. Some have solar panels on the roofs, explaining the electricity you can see being used. There's a central square with what looks like a communal dining area. The smell of cooking food makes your mouth water - real, fresh food, not the canned goods and stale rations you're used to.

You pass by a building that Grayson identifies as the infirmary. Through the window, you can see shelves stocked with medical supplies. It's more medicine in one place than you've seen since the world fell apart. You notice guard towers strategically placed along the walls - despite the idyllic appearance, it's clear this place is well-defended.

"I've got a meeting to attend but Ekko here will take care of you, though I do hope that we will meet again - my patrol squad is always looking for new members." With that, Grayson strides away, leaving you all trying to take in the scenery.

"Come on, let's get you settled in! Sky will get you guys all sorted out." Ekko waved at your group to follow.

He leads you through the streets, and you can't help but marvel at the sense of normalcy. People are going about their daily lives, talking, and laughing. It's like stepping into a memory of the world before.

"Welcome!" Sky says, her voice gentle with a hint of anxiety at the sight of your group - soot ridden and blood stained clothes weren’t the most friendly image. "We got a spare house. It’s not huge, but it should accommodate all of you comfortably."

She hands Vander a set of keys and a small map. Then, with a delicate clearing of her throat, she adds, "If I may suggest... There are showers in your new home. I think you'll find them... refreshing after your journey."

Vi snorts at the polite understatement, while Caitlyn looks slightly embarrassed. 

Sky continues, "Once you've had a chance to clean up, Ekko can show you to the pantry. We'll make sure you have enough food to get started."

You can hardly believe what you're hearing. Showers? Fresh food? It seems too good to be true.

As if reading your thoughts, Sky's expression softens. "I know this must be overwhelming. Take your time to settle in. It must be hard adjusting to how it is here, but this place didn’t happen overnight. Everyone here has a part in maintaining things the way it is. "

Ekko nods, gesturing towards the door. "Ready to see your new digs?"

As you follow him out, you exchange glances with your companions. There's hope in their eyes, but also caution. This place seems like a dream come true, but you all knew that nothing was ever permanent. 

The moment you step into your new house, chaos erupts. Bags fly everywhere as you all rush to claim spaces. Vi tosses her pack onto a bed, while Caitlyn more carefully sets hers down. You and Powder are a whirlwind of motion, exploring every nook and cranny.

Tears prick your eyes as the reality sinks in. A real home, after so long.

"I call the couch!" Powder shouts, leaping onto it.

Vi raises an eyebrow. "You can have the bed, you know."

"Nope! This is perfect," Powder grins, bouncing slightly.

You all burst into laughter, the sound foreign but welcome after so much hardship. As the laughter dies down, you realize just how hungry you are. Powder’s stomach growls loudly, causing another round of giggles.

"I think that's our cue to hit the pantry," Vi says, standing up and stretching. "Come on, let's see what they've got around here."

At the pantry, you're shoveling food into your mouth, barely pausing to breathe. "I know this is canned, but why is it so good?" you mumble around a mouthful.

Ekko chuckles. "We have fresh fish, vegetables, and fruit too."

Your eyes widen in disbelief just as Sky walks in, Sevika close behind.

"Oh perfect, we were looking for you guys!" Sky says warmly.

Sevika's eyes scan your group. "I see you're settling in already. We’ve got jobs for you."

She starts assigning roles, Vander and Vi in food gathering. Then she turns to you, Caitlyn, and Powder. "You three will be working here in the pantry."

"What? Even after all those 'interesting skills' you said I had?" The words are out before you can stop them, tinged with disbelief and a hint of anger.

"This is a serious job. Making sure everyone gets the right rations is important. Preventing theft, too." Her tone is cocky, almost challenging.

Fury bubbles in your chest. After everything you've been through, all the skills you've developed to survive, you're being relegated to... food inventory? You want to argue, to prove your worth, but the words stick in your throat. You're acutely aware of how precarious your position is here.

Beside you, Caitlyn looks equally stunned. She's an incredible shot, her skills were wasted on this task. But like you, she remains silent.

"Understood," you manage to say, the word tasting bitter. You exchange a glance with Caitlyn, seeing the same resolve in her eyes. 

The days blend into one another as you settle into a routine at Zaun. It's surreal, to be able to think beyond mere survival. Conversations here with others touch on memories, hopes, dreams - luxuries you'd almost forgotten existed.

You're lost in thought, mentally cataloging the supplies, when a familiar voice cuts through your concentration.

"Looks like our newest recruits are really getting into the swing of things."

You turn to see Sevika leaning against the doorframe. Her presence fills the small space, making the pantry feel even more cramped than usual.

"Don't you have something more important to do?" you mutter, trying to hide your annoyance. "Like, I don't know, running this whole place?"

Sevika chuckles, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering into the pantry. "Multitasking, sweetheart. I can keep an eye on you and run this place at the same time."

You roll your eyes, returning to your task. But Sevika doesn't leave. Instead, she picks up a can, tossing it from hand to hand.

"You know," she drawls, "when I brought you in, I thought you might be more... useful. Didn't peg you for the grocery store clerk type."

Her words sting more than you'd like to admit, and it was also enraging - how dare she act like it wasn’t her fault you were assigned here in the first place? 

"We can't all be badass scavengers," you retort, reaching for a high shelf. Before you can grab it, Sevika's arm extends past yours, easily plucking the item you were struggling to reach.

"Here," she says, handing it to you. Your fingers brush as you take it, and you're struck by the calloused warmth of her hand.  You mutter a reluctant thanks, hyper-aware of her proximity. 

From the corner of your eye, you notice Caitlyn watching your interaction intently from across the room. Her gaze flicks between you and Sevika, a mix of curiosity and concern in her eyes.

Sevika notices too. She turns to Caitlyn with a raised eyebrow, the casualness in her voice from earlier gone. "Something on your mind?"

Caitlyn quickly averts her gaze, busying herself with her task. 

As you reach for another box, Sevika beats you to it, effortlessly lifting the heavy container. 

"How do you even have time for this?" you blurt out, frustration and confusion coloring your voice. 

Sevika sets the box down, her eyes meeting yours. "I don’t." 

The moment stretches between you, fraught with tension. Sevika's typical scowl returns, and she turns to leave.  "Try not to burn the place down with your expert can-stacking skills," she throws over her shoulder as she exits.

These encounters with Sevika were becoming more frequent, each one leaving you more uncertain than the last. But the random checkups made sense - you don't trust her, and neither does she.  

The pantry job was a way to keep your group in check but it coincidentally became a test of patience as well. Powder flits in and out, her time increasingly spent with Ekko. While part of you was frustrated by her lack of help, a larger part was glad she actually got to enjoy her childhood.

The breaking point comes during an argument with a burly man demanding extra rations. 

"Sorry, but rules are rules," you say, trying to keep your voice level. "Take it up with Sevika if you have an issue."

His face reddens. "Screw that, I'll go straight to Silco!"

The name hangs in the air, the mysterious leader of Zaun you've yet to meet. You knew Sevika's role as his right hand, but Silco himself remains an enigma, spoken of in hushed tones.

As the man storms off, you lock eyes with Caitlyn. Without a word, you both know - it's time for a change.

You find Grayson at the tennis courts, an incongruous sight that still makes you do a double-take. She's lounging in a weathered lawn chair, a beer in hand, watching a lackluster game between two residents.

The sun beats down on the cracked concrete court, weeds pushing through the fading lines.

Grayson spots you approaching, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes a long swig of her beer. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You can smell the alcohol on her breath as you draw closer, noting the slight flush on her cheeks. Despite her relaxed posture, there's a sharpness to her gaze that tells you she's far from incapacitated.

"We need to talk," you say. "About our roles here."

"What about them?"

Caitlyn steps forward, her posture straight and confident. "I want to join your patrol team."

You nod, adding, "And I want to join Sevika's scavenging group."

Grayson snorts. "If you want to join Sevika's group, why come to me? Why not ask her yourself?"

You feel your cheeks heat up as the memory resurfaces. "I did..."

Sevika stands before you, arms crossed, that infuriating smirk on her face. You've just finished explaining your request to join her team.

She laughs, the sound both mocking and somehow enticing. "If you can beat me in sparring once, sure." Her eyes rake over you. "But we both know that's not happening anytime soon, pantry girl."

"I need you to train me," you tell Grayson, determination in your voice. "Make me a better fighter. All I did was drive and fix wounds, but I know I can do more."

Grayson's eyes narrow. "How do I know I won't be wasting my time helping you two?"

Before you can respond, Caitlyn moves. In a blink, she's drawn Grayson's pistol from its holster and fired at a beer bottle perched on a table at the end of the court, shattering the bottle.

"Because we have the skills to prove it," Caitlyn says coolly, handing the gun back.

For a moment, there's silence. Then Grayson's face splits into a grin. "Alright, I'm convinced." She stands, stretching. "But today's my day off. I'll see you two at the west watchtower tomorrow morning." 

Her expression turns serious. "If you're late, don't bother asking again.  Do we have a deal?"

You and Caitlyn share a look.

“Deal.”

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Zombie + Restoration Hobbyist Reader Blurb

-

"Blink once if you can hear me."

It calls to them from the darkness - a voice melancholic yet strangely robotic in its application. It's familiar - like something they've heard in a dream. They can't move. Their arms feel as though they're pinned beneath boulders. Their legs feel weightless. The place in their mouth were their tongue sat felt dry and... exposed. Left with no other choice, their eyelids flicker upwards. The flesh over their right eye feels to be constructed of foreign tissue - metal scrapping over the weight in the socket where their eye once was. The image of the figure standing over them is fleeting, lips pulled thin in an expression of approval.

"Blink twice."

Their eyes flutter open for a second time - remaining there as two finger pry apart the lids of their still functioning eye.

"Good. It's fortunate that you are still able to hear. At the moment, my fixes are merely cosmetic so I'm afraid you won't be able to see out of that eye of yours for some time. If you are like other patients I've had the issue will work out on its own."

Their eye rolls idly in their head - struggling to make out any features of the person through the blazing lights overhead.

"You must have questions. Forgive me- I wasn't expecting you to wake up before I had time to work on your jaw. Please use this to communicate if you wish, you can ask me anything."

Function to their left hand returns - their wrist raw and lacking the binding weight shacking it in place. Restraints? Smooth plastic rolls beneath their fingertip as they flex the stiff joints of their digits. Their fingers trace out the rectangular shape of the keyboard's space bar. Gliding gracelessly over the keys, a hand helps stabilize their moments as they begin to type. A computer monitor awakens from its sleep as words pop up on its screen.

"Where am I?"

A common question. "You are in my workplace. I repair things from time to time to keep myself busy. I found you in a creek nearby during a stroll the other night. Thankfully, you hadn't been in there long or I would've had to replace more than the skin of your eye."

Their hand draws up to their eye, feeling the odd texture over their eye. It's felt.

"I hate to bring up any bad memories from the past, but I need to ask in order to provide you with the care you require. Do you remember anything from the day you died?"

Died?... That's... honestly not the most surprising thing about this ordeal. A stabbing pain blisters at the back of their mind as they try to remember. A boat. A shotgun. Laughter. Tears. Please, no. It's not funny just put it down. Please. please-

"Boating trip. They said if I tagged along I could finally be apart of their group. I thought I could trust them. They said they were my friends. They said"

Their body lurches forward - fighting against the bite of their bonds. It hurts. It hurts so much. Why are they still here? Garbble wails ricochet off the bedroom walls. In their time of misery, another memory rushes to the forefront of their mind. Their body convulsing on an operating table. The gentle hushes of another as they pet back their hair - drying blackened tears from the corners of their eyes. A compassionate hand from the world that had abandoned them when they needed someone most.

"Hold me."

"What?"

"I remember.. Arms around me. A voice calling out to me. Promising me everything would be okay. That was you - right? Hold me. I don't want to be alone. Please, don't let me be alone anymore."

The hobbyist removes the glove from their dominant hand, wiping the leathery flesh were thick, congealing tears pool. You pull your newest patient closer - mindful of their stitches as you rub small circles along their spine.

"You can stay here as long as you like. While I'm not the most social person, I can't turn away someone who needs my assistance."

Their sobs are reduced to small whimpers as they cling into you - dying your apron in various fluids as their arm locks around your midsection in a vice grip. You grab onto their other wrist, preventing them from wrestling it out of their chains leaving you with more work in the future if their skin were to tear.

"I know this is a lot for you, but please try not to damage yourself further."

Their arm drops from your waist - fingers flying over the keyboard on a flurry.

"What's your name?"

"My name?... You can just call me Y/n."

[b1asho]

Second question! (Sorry for the wait, I had a few more days of school… hence, more headache).

What are some traditional dishes from each of the species in Wreck Hounds? And, could you tell us the preferred food items of some of your favourite ocs?

Mm alien food (strictly off limits to humans, but don’t worry we’ve gotten as close as earth stuff is capable of to replicating them, exclusively via printing or growing, tho, not by making new animals. No other species before humans has done this before, mostly because the whole ‘aliens’ thing was newer to us and some scientists got excited about making the whole eating alien foods thing possible)

(I’m doin the other question in a sec my pen died :( )

Moss balls are a popular side dish made by cultivating edible moss around a hard, porous, reusable core. Sometimes they’re cooked but they’re almost always seasoned with something. You eat it by using your iron-reinforced Rossetian teeth to gnaw it off.

The coral on the Kixeli homeplanet is much larger than we’re used to, and this includes the polyps. Some species have larger growths on their colony that are “fruit”, intentionally exposed and meant to be eaten by other animals so their eggs can be moved elsewhere in the ocean (as part of a way to compete with all the other corals who kinda spit their stuff randomly all over the water). These are usually the ones that are eaten by Kixeli because they’re big, easy to get, colorful, and even taste different than the other polyps. Grilling them is actually a new thing because they now have much more access to plentiful flammable stuff/cooking devices, unlike back home where that was a rarity.

Prectikar are part of an animal group of ‘milk’ producing, feathered hexopods. They don’t have dedicated nipples and instead sweat it from the skin in specific areas, and some of them do it in different ways. The animal pictured makes a substance on the hump on its back that congeals quickly into a ‘wax’ once secreted, which the babies clinging to its back can lick off at leisure. It can also be harvested via scraping it off and cured into a cheese. Prectikar are also big fans of meat, nuts, etc due to their high calorie needs.

Cerest eat a lot of mass-produced heavily processed stuff because that’s what’s the easiest to produce and distribute to their large populations. Smallish invertebrates are the easiest to farm so are usually the go to choice. As I’ve mentioned before, food for Cerest is usually an indicator of class, so whether you’re a rectangle or a triangle determines whether you get some actual animal with your unseasoned cube and mash.

Muttreazik eat whatever food is from the biosphere of what their host was. However, they sometimes have different needs (such as being carnivorous instead of omnivorous, or being very large) that can make sourcing food harder.

[girlactionfigure]

In one of the last groups to arrive in Bergen-Belsen towards the tail end of World War II was a Jew of charismatic appearance who became known to all the other inmates as Reb Shmelke. His full name was Shmuel-Shmelke Shnitzler, a chassid and Torah scholar from somewhere in Hungary. He was very tall and distinguished looking, with strikingly warm and penetrating eyes. Most amazingly, he maintained a mood of genuine cheerfulness, a rare disposition to find in the hellish environment of the camp.

He underwent the harsh terrors and the suffering, the hunger and the abuse, that was the daily portion for the Jew’s in the camp, just as all the other prisoners. But, somehow, his demeanour and behavior seemed to indicate that he wasn’t affected the same way as everyone else, almost as if he weren’t really there.

How was he able to live in such a manner under such conditions? Nobody knew. But it was clear, nevertheless, that he was he drawing immeasurable fortitude and inspiration from some unlimited source.

He even was able to be a fountain of encouragement for his fellow prisoners. He would say to his companions at every opportunity, “A Jew and despair are contradictory in essence; they cannot co-exist.” Whenever possible he would organize a minyan for prayer, especially on Shabbat. At nights he would enliven all those around him with stories of the great Chassidic rebbes, momentarily transporting them to other worlds and places, enabling them to temporarily forget their sufferings of body and soul.

To the amazement of all, Reb Shmelke even found favour in the eyes of a few of the cruelest S.S. guards in the camp. Through these connections he was able to aid a number of the inmates.

He was assigned the job of removing from the barracks the dead bodies of the many who died from starvation. He would try to treat them with as much respect as possible, considering this to be the ultimate of holy work that he could do under the circumstances.

In addition to the prevailing conditions of horror in the camp under which the Jews barely managed to survive, Reb Shmelke was nagged by another compelling problem, one that was increasing in urgency with each day that went past: how could he possibly obtain oil with which to kindle the lights of Chanukah. The holiday was only a few short days away.

He consulted everyone with whom he came into contact that he thought might be able to help, but no one had any oil or even anything that could be substituted for it. All said that to obtain anything flammable in the concentration camp was unimaginable as well as impossible

He consulted everyone with whom he came into contact that he thought might be able to help, but no one had any oil or even anything that could be substituted for it. All said that to obtain anything flammable in the concentration camp was unimaginable as well as impossible.

Still, Reb Shmelke did not give in to despair. The mitzvah of kindling the Chanukah lights was much too important to him. He also realized how much encouragement and hope it would offer the Jews in the camp-to shine light into the deepest of darknesses, to celebrate the victory of few over the many, the pure over the impure….

On the day before Chanukah, Reb Shmelke had to hurry to one of the barracks near the end of the camp, where someone had died just that day. Not far from the fence at the edge of the camp, he stumbled when his foot sunk into a patch of red earth that turned out to be covering a small hole. It was clear that someone had dug this hole on purpose.

He gazed at the shallow depression, and after a moment perceived the sun reflecting off something in it. He looked closer and saw there was a solid object buried there, now slightly revealed. He knelt down and scooped out some dirt with his hands. It was a small jar, half-filled with congealed liquid! Could it be? Could it possibly be!

He removed its cover as quickly as he could and dipped his finger in gingerly. It was oil! He thoughts immediately flashed to the original Chanukah miracle of the finding of the single flask of oil. How could this be happening? Was he dreaming?

Then he noticed that the jar had been concealing other objects beneath it. He dug some more with his hands and uncovered a small package wrapped in a swatch of cloth. In it were eight small cups and eight thin strands of cotton!

Now convinced that someone had intentionally buried this Chanukah stash, Reb Shmelke quickly replaced everything back into the hole and filled it in with the dirt he had removed, carefully smoothing the surface. It would be too dangerous to keep the materials in his possession until Chanukah began the next day in the evening. Besides, perhaps it belonged to someone.

After he completed he job he had been sent upon, Reb Shmelke circulated among as many of the inmates he could during the rest of the day and the, casually asking with an air of innocence if anyone had concealed a quantity of oil in a hiding place. Everyone stared at him as if he were out of his senses.

The next night, all the Jews of Reb Shmelke’s barrack crowded around him as he stood poised to light the first candle of Chanukah. He struck the match, and then recited the blessings with great emotion before touching the tiny flame to the thin strands of wick projecting out of the little cups. It was a scene from a storybook in stark contrast to the dour, harsh environment of the concentration camp, a ray of hope that repeated itself for a total of eight nights.

The elderly Reb Shmelke managed to survive the next few months until finally the conquering Allied forces liberated the camp. His faith and hope had proven victorious. After the official conclusion of the war, he returned to his town in Hungary, to try to reassemble the pieces of his broken life.

Several years later, he was able to make the journey to the United States of America. One important stop for him there was to visit the Satmar Rebbe, Rabbi Yoel Teitelbaum, who lived in Brooklyn. The Rebbe, it turned out, already knew of Reb Shmelke and his deeds, and welcomed him with great warmth.

After they conversed for a while the Rebbe suddenly switched subjects and said to him, “I hear that you had the great honour of lighting Chanukah candles in Bergen-Belsen.”

“How does the Rebbe know that?” sputtered Reb Shmelke in wonderment.

“I heard, I heard,” replied the Rebbe, smiling mysteriously.

A few moments later the Rebbe bent over to his astonished visitor and whispered in his ear, “I am the one who hid the oil, the cups and the wicks in that hole next to the fence. I did it when I was imprisoned in the camp the year before you, before my miraculous escape.

“At the moment I did it,” the Rebbe added, “I believed with all my heart that at the right time it would be found by the right person who would know exactly what to do with it.”

—

Source: Rabbi Yerachmiel Tilles, Ascent Tzfat, with fact checking from Yad Vashem: World Holocaust Center, Jerusalem, Oral History of Rabbi Joel Teitelbaum, the Satmar Rebbe. Oral account of Bergen-Belsen Survivor Jack Eisenstein.

(Pictured here: A Chanukah candle lighting ceremony in the Westerbork transit camp, Netherlands, December 1943. Photo: Yad Vashem)

Rabbi Yisroel Bernath

[sleepynoons]

jing yuan x gn!reader, nsfw, not beta read

cw: implied violence/war, ptsd, angst/slight comfort

notes: getting back into the swing of writing! not necessarily canon – and maybe i'm projecting as someone with ptsd –, but jing yuan and ptsd just seem so inextricably linked to me. anyway, just an experimental drabble, hoping to expand into something larger down the line.

COLD. DESPITE the weight of the blanket and the warmth from your body pressed up against his, he feels so cold, almost shivering and trembling from the sweat clinging to his palms and temples.

he doesn’t dare to move, disallowing himself from glancing at you. in fear, truly, that the slow rocking of your chest in motion with deep breaths and the steeled grip of your hands on his arm are all conjurings of his subconscious.

the sweat is stubborn, sticky, tacky. congealing with each passing second, staining and matting his hair to his neck and shoulders. the air in the room also grows dense, heavy, oppressing, and it’s all too reminiscent of the caves, abandoned sheds, groves, underground tunnels jing yuan used to hide in.

him and his surviving soldiers, all holding their breaths, still vigilant, praying. he ordered the group to stay put while him and two others went to scavenge.

what a horrifying night.

the ringing silence of the bedroom distorts into wails. he can make out slinking shadows on the walls. you’re not by his side.

until he is jolted back, with the gentle pressure of a warm towel against his cheek.

his hand flies up to grab your wrist. his grip is a little tight, bound to leave a bit of redness, but it’s reassuring to feel your pulse underneath the pad of his thumb.

you continue to wipe away, making your way down to his adam’s apple and collarbone.

he won’t allow himself to open his eyes. and you won’t ask him to, either.

you know he only wants gentle comfort, nothing grand or extravagant. he can’t help it – no more loud noises, sudden, passionate movements, or words that are intoxicating in more ways than one.

so you continue to gently swipe and rub and smooth over the lines of his face, knowing that he will never experience the peace he truly craves for.

regardless, he will live on.

(for you.)

[violent138]

Just saying prying Bruce out of his batsuit after facing off certain rogues or exceptionally lengthy patrols must be very similar to the old timey corset group effort.

This happens most often if parts of the suit are melted to Bruce or congealed with blood, mustard, unmentionable sewer contents, or if he's worn it too long, Bruce just says "leave me like this", which they let drag on for three days tops.

[baldurs-gape]

Hunt

Two hundred years of being a spawn and Astarion had thought he'd learned everything he needed to about the life he had been dealt. His own naive arrogance came to bite him in the arse almost literally. Tadpoles, nautiloids, the lot came and went. Suddenly he was free and had to fend for himself. Easy.

Charming his way into the rag tag group of fellow tadpole fashionistas was easy. They all seemed so eager to pull him into their camp that Astarion almost felt bad for them for not realising they were cavorting with a monster. A very hungry one at that. Still, Astarion had a bit of sense left and he steered away from snacking on his protection.

Which left him with the only other option of hunting. Easier said than done. In all his years he had only ever been granted a fetid rat to drain, already half congealed so sucking it dry was in itself an exhausting chore. Still, it couldn't be that hard, right?

Traipsing off into the surrounding area once the rest of camp had fallen asleep, Astarion was eager to find himself a meal. He was an apex predator after all, designed to be the ultimate hunter. Except the woods were silent. No matter how quietly he moved, there was not a single creature to sink his teeth into. Frustrated, Astarion returned to camp and vowed to go a bit later the next night, when the noises of the camp had long since died down and calm descended on the area.

It was pointless. The heartbeats he could hear were impossible to reach. Not even a half-dead rat to scrounge up from the undergrowth. Really, Astarion had been hoping for something a bit more substantial like a boar. Alas, there was nothing of the sort he could find as he stalked through the shrubland.

Desperation drove him to stupidity. Sure, he could exist without sustenance but he wanted blood. It occupied most of his conscious thought, hearing the hearts of his companions beat almost deafeningly loudly. Self-discipline had never been his strong point and Astarion caved. Just a sip, that had been all he'd wanted. Never got even that as he was caught mid-attempt and almost sent fleeing from the camp.

Promising never to do that again had been easy. Protection was more important than satiating the neverending craving. As the group moved on, Astarion trailed along, on the search for something, anything to eat.

Closer to the goblin camp there were more animals dotted around and once again Astarion overestimated himself. Just because there was food within reach didn't mean it was as simple as sauntering up for a bite. No matter how quietly he tried to sneak, to ambush, creatures went skittering from him. Even the squirrel with a limp had evaded his launched attack.

Irritation licked hot up Astarion's spine. He should be better than this. Instead he was hungry and making more and more rash attempts to capture anything to fill his stomach. After the goblin camp's fight he had half a mind to return and see if he could have a few sips of tepid and cooling blood from the dead. Alas, upon his return he discovered that someone had dutifully gathered the corpses and was burning them.

Angry and frustrated, he headed out into the woods again late at night. There was the sound of a slow, large heart beating up ahead. Sneaking closer, Astarion was thrilled to discover a bear. It turned to look at him but discarded his appearance as a lack of threat. Bolstered, Astarion edged closer. The bear was huge, even by bear standards. Optimism wavering, he eyed it up for the best place to bite. Before he could make a decision, the large head turned again and dropped something in front of Astarion. A dead boar. Eyeing it, he glanced at the bear who huffed. What a strange creature. Still, Astarion was starving and he sank to his knees to drink. It was messy, unrefined. At least the blood wasn't still pumping through its veins to make the task more difficult. Sated and drenched from chin to near enough his hips, Astarion sighed.

"Thanks." It felt ridiculous to say that to the bear but being polite had been literally beaten into him.

From then on, Astarion found that the bear kept him company most nights. No matter where they bedded down, the bear seemed to follow. At first it merely plopped dead animals in from of Astarion for eating. The first big surprise was when it was no longer a dead creature but one that was still barely alive. The second big surprise came only a few seconds later. Blood from a still living creature was more divine than anything Astarion had ever had. He moaned as he sank his teeth through fur and skin. Drank and drank until he felt full to bursting then drank a bit more. Returning to camp, he was only a little drunk on his feast.

If Astarion had been a bit more alert, he'd have noticed the strange coincidence of his meal and that of the rest of the camp's matching. When he drank from a boar, the camp had boar stew. Rothé steak when Astarion drained a Rothé the night before. But he was too caught up in the bliss of being well fed and protected to notice.

By the time the bear had nothing ready for him, Astarion was a little offended. He had grown rather used to being provided for. However, the bear grunted at him and walked off, Astarion followed with minor grumblings.

Hunting, it turned out, was an artform. One that the bear seemed willing to teach him. While Astarion sprang from a bush to try and grab his prey, the bear sat back and watched. After the third unlucky attempt, the bear waded in. Astarion got to watch how the bear hunted down their prey, cornered it but waited for Astarion to approach and land the killing blow.

From then on it became a nightly activity. Slowly, Astarion mastered the art of hunting thanks to the bear. The first time he brought down a boar by himself, he was almost too elated to remember to drink. But drink he did, nothing had ever tasted sweeter than his own first independent kill.

Eventually, Astarion found himself to be a proficient hunter. He could feed himself with minor difficulties and rarely missed his target. Which was why, when he went to meet his strange bear, he was rather annoyed to find Halsin sitting in the spot instead.

"What you doing here?" Astarion drawled, trying to hide his frustration.

"I thought you might like a humanoid companion for your hunt this evening." Nose wrinkling, Astarion tried to deny everything. He was left speechless as Halsin sighed "if you insist" and shifted into an all too familiar bear form.

"You!" Torn between outrage, humiliation and gratitude, Astarion couldn't quite pick the emotion to go with. "It was you all along?"

The idea of Halsin watching him fail at hunting, treated him like an inept cub, had ever witnessed how messy and clumsily Astarion fed at the start, it was mortifying. Yet he was still there, offering companionship. Astarion's jaw snapped shut as he sniffed.

"Fine. I supppose you can come along in whatever form." Haughtily he added, "You could have saved yourself a lot of hassle if you'd just offered yourself up you know."

A knowing smile was sent his way. "I know. But you never asked. So I didn't."

"And if I asked now?"

"Want to find out?"

[biowhore]

Have this originally small moment between Lucanis and Kalliope that snowballed into a hurt/comfort-ish one-shot. All pre-release, of course.

[~2500 word count, if you need]

Kalliope was AFAB and uses they/them pronouns. They are a mage in the Mourn Watch.

~~~

The door to the Lighthouse crashed open from Lucanis's boot, nearly splintering the frame as the thick panel met stone.

Their Rook - because he was trying not to think of Kalliope as his - held most of their weight on his shoulders as he veered sharply for the sitting area. He deposited them swiftly but carefully onto an ancient settee, kneeling in front of them. Kalliope sat heavily, immediately doubling over as the toxin took hold. Based on the blade graze on their arm, Lucanis thought, it was a coating. He was betting on deathroot based on the symptoms, thank the Maker. He had the antidote already made; they would recover quickly.

A cacophony of footfalls sounded at the entrance as the whole group came stumbling in after the pair of them. Harding and Emmerich made a beeline for Rook, already squawking about treatments.

"I have them," Lucanis stated quietly but firmly.

Harding, Maker bless her, heard his tone and stopped dead, reaching for Emmerich, but the death mage kept walking and talking.

"Might be best to-"

"I. Have. Them."

That caused Emmerich to falter, allowing Harding to grab him, "Oh good, Lucanis got them inside. If anyone can treat it, it'll be the Crow. Come on, let's give them some space - toxin recovery can be disorienting."

"Ah. Yes, quite," Emmerich cleared his throat. "Rook is in good hands."

With that, their discordant little group tickled out of the foyer one by one, casting quick glances at Lucanis and Rook as they went. He knew what it looked like, but he really couldn't be bothered to care just now.

Kalliope sat up straight suddenly, their head lolling back with a groan. "Yeah, feels like getting kicked in the teeth," Lucanis murmured. And the gut. And the groin. Both hands placed gently on their cheeks, he pulled down their eyelids to check the whites and the flesh, confirming the agent. Next, he dug into one of his pouches, retrieving a roll of leather that contained a handful of tiny glass vials. With a precise hand, he plucked out the vial he needed, along with a delicate silver spatula. With it, he scooped a viscous substance from the vial and turned back to Kalliope.

Their eyes were open, watching him but not truly seeing through the haze of the agent coursing through their veins. Their heart would be fluttering at a rapid but weak pace, unable to move blood through their body as it should. That would cause fainting eventually, which Kalliope appeared moments away from. The core of their body would heat up as blood did not disperse, their extremities becoming icy simultaneously. To wrap it all up in a bow, they would hallucinate severely, dipping in and out of consciousness; doubly dangerous for a mage.

He held the thin metal up to their lips, "Apri, Rook."

Lucanis took advantage of the brief parting of Kalliope's pale lips to sneak the spatula between their teeth, scraping the congealed antidote onto their tongue.

He whispered an apology and covered their mouth with his hand, making sure they didn't spit it out immediately. Kalliope shook their head, squeezing their eyes shut tight against the bitter, metallic tang. They settled after a moment, and Lucanis pulled his hand away.

He waited, watching the minute reactions of their face. Their eyes flickered open in fits and starts, finally remaining half open and locked onto his. He watched their awareness trickle back in, the warmth sparking weakly in the amber.

He was not expecting Kalliope to roll those usually haunting eyes and flop their forehead onto his shoulder, a surprisingly annoyed groan accompanying the action. A few muffled words escaped from the fabric of his mantle, but he couldn't make sense of them.

"Better?"

Their head turned fractionally, enough to hear a couple of words, "Dragon shit".

Kalliope never cursed in front of them. In fact, he had been certain they didn't know any curses, and had never been more amused to be wrong.

"Come?"

They did not reply. Instead, they clutched both of their elbows as tremors began from their legs, cascading up the rest of their body. It was an expected response as their heart recovered and adrenaline surged, then quickly abated. In roughly 10-15 minutes, he guessed, they would crash and sleep it off for hours.

Without thinking at first, his hands moved to the outside of their arms. He hesitated, then gingerly placed them, waiting a moment for any negative reaction from them before moving them up and down, trying to both sooth and warm them. He picked up their teeth quietly clacking by his right ear, the sound cutting off abruptly as they clenched their jaw.

"You'll be alright. It will pass."

"Well it can bloody well get on with it; this is worse than when I got locked in a sarcophagus with a half-preserved corpse."

He sincerely tried not to laugh. Kalliope was soft-spoken and polite. They continued to surprise him at every turn. Despite his efforts, he was afraid he was growing fond of surprises.

"Half-preserved?"

"I had only just removed her organs."

Disgusting. He was certain he would prefer purging any poison over that, but he was biased. And mostly immune. What did they get up to in the Necropolis?

He felt the tip of their nose just barely brush against the skin of his neck as they turned their head again, causing his hands on their arms to hesitate. Kalliope lifted away from his shoulder, eyes downcast and glazed with the adrenaline crash.

"Andraste save me, he smells delicious," they murmured.

He had no doubt that they did not intend to actually voice that thought. His mouth quirked to the side with the effort it took not to smile, simultaneously shoving any mutual sentiments into a steel box, locking it, and hurling it into the furthest forgotten corners of his mind. He was certainly not feeling that barest brush of skin like a brand.

Kalliope paused, their eyes slowly tracking upward until they met his. They quickly flicked down to the floor as their hand clapped over their mouth. Again, their eyes tracked upward, and as they took in his face, both of Kalliope's hands slapped over their face, digging into their hairline.

With a groan Kalliope asked, "By the grace of the Maker, would you happen to actually be Bellara or literally anyone else?"

"Afraid not."

"So I've said that out loud, directly into your ear."

"Sí."

"Brilliant," they flopped onto the settee, covering their face with their arm, "I don't suppose it's too late to reverse the antidote?"

Lucanis barked a bemused laugh, "I regret to inform you that despite your wishes, you shall live. But at least only I heard that."

They peeked at him from beneath their arm, "That does not make me feel better."

Lucanis only shrugged, staring at them with a crooked grin. That smile faded slowly as he tracked the full awareness coming back into their eyes. The kind of awareness that bore right into his soul, read every secret carved there, and begged him to spill his heart to them. A heart he had locked in a cage long ago. The air changed between them, settling back into the heavy weight of all the things they could not say to each other. All the things he would not let them. And because they both knew he would not, that damned pain, that hauntedness, came flooding back into their eyes. It was almost more than he could take.

Their tremors were slowing, but the shaking of their arm was very apparent. Kalliope sat up slowly, looking away in true shame now.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't myself," they spoke softly, awkwardly, "I hope... I didn't make you uncomfortable."

Lucanis clenched his jaw, but managed to say, "Don't do that. It's fine."

They shook their head, palm to their clammy forehead, "You don't need to... it- I-," they sighed heavily, abruptly pushing on from the moment, "I am exhausted. You're the only one around, and I feel as though I shall fall flat on my face if I try to stand, so could you help me to my rooms?"

Kalliope avoided his eyes, resolutely staring at the floor as she asked this of him, as if it were an imposition. He hated that he was the one responsible for them feeling this way.

"Of course. Here," he took their shaky hand away from their face, guiding it around his middle as he put another hand on their back. Slowly they both stood, Lucanis pausing to let Kalliope get their feet under them. His hand at their back slid fully around their waist, supporting their weight as he led them toward the stairs.

"You were grazed with a dagger that had a poison coating. You've had the antidote, but the wound should be tended." Lucanis stated, trying half-heartedly to alleviate the tension between them. It was even more difficult with their body so close to his - he found himself wishing he could tend to it himself, if only to apologize in his own way.

Kalliope glanced at the torn fabric on her right arm, "It's barely a scratch. Must have been really potent."

Lucanis nodded, "Concentrated deathroot extract."

"Maker's breath. How many life debts do I owe you now?"

They both turned their heads to each other, Lucanis looking into Kalliope's amber eyes with all the certainty in his bones when he said, "None."

He felt their quick intake of breath, startled by his conviction. His arm around their waist contracted to hold them upright as he successfully predicted that they would miss the next stair step. Kalliope's right hand shot out for the railing needlessly, the breath they just took rushing out in surprise.

"R-right. Well... lucky me."

~~~

The remaining trek to Kalliope's rooms was quiet and without further stumbles. Lucanis shouldered open the door without pause, his charge squeaking in protest.

"I'm fine you don't need to- aaand we're going all the way to the bed. Ok."

He chuckled, "You have no legs to stand on at the moment; I thought I would make things easier for you." While the tremors were subsiding, Kalliope was weakening with the crash. He wanted to get the graze sorted before they slept for an age.

"You are mothering me. I am fully capable of getting myself to bed, even in this state," they protested. Lucanis approached Kalliope's bed, a modest thing with warm wool blankets and a singular pillow. He carefully deposited them on the edge and stepped back.

"Light the lamp, then," Lucanis gestured to the bedside candle lamp with a flick of his chin, folding his arms as he waited. When they rolled their eyes and held out their hand for a spell, he clarified, "Without magic."

Kalliope grumbled but reached for the tinder box. They couldn't even get it open with their shaking, weakened hands. They slowly placed it back on the table, muttering under their breath, "point made."

Lucanis smirked, taking the box and lighting the candle with deft fingers. He then nodded to Kalliope's right arm, kneeling in front of them again while rummaging through another of his pouches. They obliged him by slipping their arm out of the thick robe they wore. They were able to maneuver their long sleeve up past their elbow, where the graze was, revealing a pale and freckled forearm. Lucanis removed his gloves, preparing a small amount of poultice and a linen wrapping. The cut was very clean, thanks to a well-honed blade. It was the only thing he would be thankful for regarding the attack.

He kept his touch clinical, but it was hard not to dwell on the warmth of their skin. They were quiet, watchful, but their eyes followed the movement of his fingers mechanically, thinking rather than seeing. In just a few moments he was pinning the wrapping, absurdly wishing he had an excuse to be more thorough. He needed to leave, but his legs felt leaden.

"Hmm." Kalliope patted the dressing, "Passable."

Lucanis chuckled, "I think you're opinions should be limited to wrappings on the dead. Let me know when you've tended a couple hundred bleeding limbs."

They gasped in mock affront, "The principle is the same!"

Both grinned stupidly at each other and their meaningless banter. Lucanis's caged heart strained against its bars. Their pink, soft lips broke the grin, falling to a mild frown as their eyes seemed to lose focus. They tipped forward slightly, and his hand shot out of its own volition, cupping their cheek. Kalliope let out a rush of air, their eyes fluttering closed.

"Hah... the world is spinning."

Lucanis nodded, "Rest. By morning the effects will have waned."

"This isn't really what I had in mind when I said I wanted to see more of the world outside the Necropolis," Kalliope whispered.

"Oh? Taking on some gods was on the list, though?"

They shook their head and laughed, still keeping their eyes closed from the vertigo, "Oh don't do that, it makes it worse!"

He grinned, "Apologies." He wasn't really that sorry; he craved their laugh, even if it brought him as much pain as joy.

He realized their faces were very close, the tips of their noses just a breath away from touching. Kalliope mastered their laugh and peeked their eyes open, the flame of the candle dancing in their irises. Those eyes swallowed him whole, while his logic screamed at him to leave, to pull away, to end this any way he could. But he was paralyzed, and he could not decide if he was a willing captive or not.

"You're gentle for a Crow," Kalliope whispered.

"Gentle is not a word that accurately describes me."

"Yet I did."

"Rook..." He knew what they were doing. And he couldn't let them. Yet his thumb traced the bone of their cheek, his palm soaking in their warmth like it had never known such a thing.

"Kalliope," they tried to insist.

He shook his head slowly.

Again, that haunting resignation crept into their eyes, "I'm not afraid of you, Lucanis."

Oh, his name from their mouth. Like a knife in the belly, like the caress of the sea, like the itch of the Fade, like coming home, and leaving again all at once.

Their forehead met his, in pleading or exasperation or both. His hand on their cheek was seized by their own, grasping almost desperately, and he distantly registered the lack of tremors.

"But you are afraid of me," they whispered, then with a resigned confidence, "So, you should leave."

Their eyes shuttered, a wall of everite, leaving Lucanis briefly surprised. His hand fell away, and his legs finally did as they were bid, rising and stepping back. Kalliope's warmth left his body all at once, leaving him terribly and familiarly cold. Their gaze dropped to the floor, remaining where he had been and refusing to watch him leave. They simply waited silently.

His throat had closed. His hands, now back inside their gloves, clenched at his sides. His feet took him to the door, silent and detached, like he had wanted. But he managed to pause in the frame, something inside him finally deciding that he was incapable of leaving things between them like this.

Softly, simply, he bid them farewell, "Buonanotte, sognatore."*

His ears picked up the soft intake of breath and swallow they took as his feet left the threshold. It was the only apology he could offer them, the only acknowledgement he knew how to give after they had so completely sliced into the heart of the matter - in a way he didn't even fully understand yet.

He let his feet continue carrying him away from them, and his heart raged against the bars of its cage.

*Goodnight, dreamer

[outofangband]

Updated elves and winter headcanons

Obviously I couldn’t go through each group or culture so please feel free to send one and I’ll tell my ideas for them and their winter lives and traditions! I’m going to do humans next and I have a separate post for winter in Doriath

Winter in the March HCs

-While elves have heightened tolerance for and immunity to the cold compared to humans, they are not fully immune to the dangers of winter though these differ somewhat to humans.

Shock, confusion, temporary snow blindness, and lack of directional sense are the most common symptoms the elves suffer due to the cold. The snow can blanket the earth, trees and plants and rock that elves can orient themselves with (I’m once more basing this in part of Legolas’s words about the elves of Hollin where he appears to draw sense memories from flora and stones)

Not all elves suffer this the same way. It varies both individually, based on experience and based on culture and group and geography. 

-Both extreme insensitivity to cold and heightened sensitivity to it are viewed as signs of poor health or even malicious intervention (for example, extreme insensitivity to cold in particular is associated with ex prisoners of Angband in First Age Beleriand)

-Several Avarin, Sindar, and Silvan groups have words specifically for the way frost and ice congeals on various kinds of surfaces. (The Noldor and Sindar canonically have words too for frost patterns)

-Likewise, words are developed for the effects of light upon snow 

-Snow does fall in Aman, mainly in the Pelóri mountains and in some of the wilderness. There are places under the domain of Oromë, Nessa and Yavanna that perpetually resemble a winter landscape though like most of the domains of the Valar, these can defy typical dimensions and so are not always accessible to the elves who do occasionally stumble in by accident. Most elven inhabited regions do not receive regular snowfall however

-Winter in some places and both Aman and Middle Earth may take the form of a rainier season, cooler but not cold weather, or other weather changes without snowfall or extreme cold. In these locations, the words for the season surrounding winter (Fading, the period between autumn and winter and Stirring, the period between spring and winter) obviously different. These words might instead refer to changes in light after the rising of the Sun and moon, harvest or changes in growth and agriculture, rainfall or weather changes or other indicators of season change.

-Some of the Caliquendi, Green Elves and Avari live in places without cold or snowy winters. 

-Snow pictures made from pouring water dyed with roots or other flora and used to paint snowy landscapes is a favorite winter activity among both Sindar and Noldor populations, indicating that the tradition predates the sundering of these groups on the Great Journey. 

[commodorez]

Retrotech Crew 10 Year Anniversary!

A one-off post from @virescent-phosphor sorta snowballed into a tiny community, mostly started as vague vintage computer/technology shitposting here on tumblr.

We slowly congealed in a Skype group chat, which lasted for several years until we migrated to Discord in early 2017 (because Skype was garbage). By mid 2018, our numbers started to grow well beyond the initial tumblr crowd. And then we got a website and an IRC channel , both hosted by @aperture-in-the-multiverse. Eventually, multiple representatives of our group started showing up to various Vintage Computer Festivals around the country -- "hey, you're so-and-so!" Now, friendly faces are all over the place with overlapping interests.

@techav created a mighty fine vintage style logo for us which now adorns buttons, stickers, and even a handful of t-shirts!

Sure, we may just be a few hundred randos who talk about old computers in our free time with delusions of grandeur. But we're also folks helping one another out on projects, sharing the things we enjoy about old tech, hanging out and having a good time, and even still shitposting like the old days...

To all of the members of the Retrotech Crew, thank you for being a part of us.

To those members we haven't heard from in a long time, we miss you.

Beyond tumblr, here's where we exist on the interwebs:

Discord: https://discord.gg/GQjtBWE3as IRC: #retrodreams on irc.slashnet.org Website: https://retrodreams.net/

[mykoreanlove]

🍊

You fumbled with your outfit for the 100th time, still annoyed with how it looked.

„Why the fuck did she make us dress up in orange. I look like a giant carrot“, you huffed out in annoyance.

It was your friend‘s birthday which you gladly arrived for. You left the city five years ago and returned on happy occasions like this. Still, you were nervous to meet her new friends. But you were even more nervous about your old friends, especially Minho.

Ever since you moved away your friendship took a downfall. Back then the two of you worked at an agency together. You became inseparable from the get go - he was your confidante, your drinking buddy, your big brother when you needed him. Rumors about you dating circulated all the time but it was just that - rumors. You had no romantic feelings for him, even though he did. Or so you thought.

He never confessed properly but dropped some hints over the years.

You took a last glance into the mirror and sighed defeatedly : „Guess I’m gonna be a carrot for tonight.“

Your friend shot you a message as you were late to the party.

„Girl get your ass here. Minho has already asked about you ;)“

You gulped. He did? Wasn’t he coming with his wife? You thought back to when he first met her. Ironically, she has the same name as you, only spelled differently.

Memories of you sitting at the river flooded your mind. Minho consulted you for dating advice as he usually did.

„So, we went on a date yesterday and well, it happened. We had sex. It was nice, nothing too crazy but I still don’t know where this is going.“

He looked like he had to decide if he wanted to join the army now or wait a little longer.

You smiled benignly. „Break up with her.“

Minho turned to you in shock. „What? I can‘t break up with her the day after we had sex!“

You sighed - was he really that oblivious? „Min, I don’t want you to break up because you finally fucked her but because you have dated her for a while now and you’re totally unimpressed by her. Let her go. She deserves better and so do you.“

He was lost in thought, contemplating his options.

You moved away shortly after which resulted in him getting distant. He was serious with your name doppelgänger as they became an official couple. Maybe you were too quick to judge?

You arrived at the venue and laughed to yourself. Given the different shapes of the guests it was like a gathering of carrots and oranges. You spotted your friend and went over to congratulate her. You chatted about the past while downing sweet orange drinks.

„Have you seen him?“

„Whom?“, you giggled.

„Minho, y/n. Aren’t you curious? He’s right behind you.“

You turned around and spotted your old friend. He still looked handsome, even if slightly older. He was listening to his wife talking, holding on to his cigarettes for dear life.

You caught his gaze and congealed. Minho looked sad. No, that was not it, he rather looked lonely.

You thought back to one of your later visits. Your group of friends was all drinking and talking but somehow you ended up alone with him. Minho started pouring out his heart to you, in desperate need for help. He wasn’t happy with her, he wasn’t happy alone either so what was he to do?

„What’s so wrong with breaking up? And actually looking for someone that makes your heart flutter?“

He downed another shot before he answered. „I’d rather be with her on cloud 4 than on no cloud at all.“

Seeing him now made you realize that life on cloud 4 had to be cruel. As Minho realized that it was you looking at him his whole face lit up and he walked right over to you.

„Y/N!“ He hugged you tightly in his strong arms. „Damn, why are you still so good looking?“

You missed his banter, you missed him even more.

„Shut up, Min“, you laughed. Only then did you notice his wife standing beside him, fuming with jealousy.

In all those years you never actually met her, only heard those stories about her. You wanted to give her a chance so you greeted her casually. „Hey, you must be y/n, I am also y/n - nice to finally meet you!“

The second you stopped talking her soul left her body. She didn’t take your hand, she didn’t say a word to you at all. Enraged she turned to Minho and made a scene.

„Y/N? THAT Y/N? Are you seriously expecting me to party with her like this?“

You had no clue what got her so mad but decided to leave the premise before she would ruin the whole party. You motioned at Minho, whispering „I’m gonna go, Min.“

Only when you turned around were you able to fully grasp the argument.

„You take me to a party where the girl you’ve been in love with for years is also at and expect me to be cool with it?“

You stopped dead in your tracks. Did you hear that right? In love with you? Was she for real? You turned around slowly and faced him concerned. He looked embarrassed - both by the scene his wife made but also by the sudden confession. He never intended on telling you but now the cat was out the bag.

His wife noticed you observing them too which only fueled her anger more. „What are you looking at? Aren’t you ashamed to come here even though I am here? Don’t you know your place?“

Before you could explain yourself Minho spoke up. „She didn’t know.“

„What do you mean she didn’t know? You never told her but you told me?“

Minho looked you straight in the eyes, his gaze as intense as their argument. He didn’t break eye contact when he answered his wife.

„I told you because you are my wife and I planned on sharing my life with you. But maybe that was a mistake.“

He turned around and left. His wife broke down crying, only to be immediately consoled by her friends. Your friend came over and patted you on the shoulder. „Damn, did not see that coming.“

You didn’t either.

[mehoymalloy]

Short Circuit

(Critical Role / Cyberpunk 2077; Polyhells | Polyamorous Bells Hells, Imogen Temult/Otohan Thull)

Co-written by @inomakani and myself, as the first installment of our new series, Night City, Neon Hearts.

Unofficially for @maddytrout, who's random ask prompt about imotohan dancing up on each other inadvertently inspired an entire crossover series~

Rating, Warnings, and Tags below the cut along with the opening lines~

First Words (I'm trying a new thing lol):

‘You’re looking for an older woman—maybe late 40s, early 50s. Short white hair, kinda butch,’ Dancer says, so audibly unimpressed that Imogen can clearly imagine the bland expression she’s sporting back home. Imogen smirks as she tilts her head down, hair falling forward slightly to conceal her response. “'Kinda'?” Even though the word is silently mouthed, the SubVoc implant in Imogen’s throat translates the motions into a reproduction of her voice, clear as if she had spoken aloud but cocooned within their private, group-wide call. ‘They don’t pull it off nowhere near good as me,’ Dancer drawls. Behind Imogen, Ashton snorts aloud, stirring her hair and drawing a few wary glances from the other passengers in the packed but near-silent elevator. As they ascend, the ever-present buzz of the electromagnetic spectrum surrounding them, always alive with activity in Night City, slowly congeals into coherent data that is filtered through Imogen’s cyberdeck and subtly wired into her very consciousness—a sixth sense, easy as breathing.

Link in the Title!

[theresattrpgforthat]

Almighty TATTRPGFT, I ask you what is a good fantasy ttrpg thats like a smidgen simpler than/tighter than dnd thats flexible and has individual character progression thats cool? (I am so damn tired of dnd and after I finish my lancer campaign I'm gonna try to run a fantasy thing thats about world hopping since my brain cant stick with just one world... I wanted to run OSR stuff but most of my players want to keep their characters longer than a couple sessions)

THEME: World-hopping Fantasy Games

Hello there, so I’ve got some world-hopping games for you that I consider all much simpler than D&D, although the way they cater to your players’ wants may vary. Now I’m personally biased towards Forged-in-the-Dark games if your characters want to hold onto their characters and explore all of their mechanical and narrative details, but I’m also hoping that folks will see this ask and suggest more fantasy games that give you cool character abilities - maybe you can even mesh some regular fantasy games with something else on this list!

Portal Rats, by Tore Nielsen.

Portal Rats is a stand-alone fantasy tabletop rpg, based on the Black Hack rules. 

There is an unlimited wealth of worlds out there. Some are embodiments of ideals, some the product of a god's fevered will, and some who seem to have congealed from pure potential. In Portal Rats you can visit all of them. 

The core mechanic of Portal Rats is a roll-below test, using a d20 against an attribute on your character sheet. You have six attributes that should remind your players of D&D, although the backgrounds of your characters are less about your race and more about what you did in the past. The rules of the game look to be pretty concise, with much of the 58-page book being different character options and character classes. You level up when you finish a mission or quest, which results in more hit points, and higher attributes.

This game is probably close to what you as a GM are looking for: it’s an OSR mindset, with very little that allows the players to hold onto their characters if a roll goes badly. That being said, if your players are attached to their characters, they might be able to bring out emotional and narrative elements regardless of the system. Therefore, even if you pick up something that is more similar to OSR, they’ll find ways to role-play.

Vergence, by Small Cool Games.

Within the multiverse are a few places of great power called Vergences. They are ruled by families bred for the ability to open portals between worlds.

You play a member of one of these empowered bloodlines. Your birthright gives you the capacity to travel across infinite dimensions and manipulate reality.

But you’ll need to deal with conflicts involving your own powerful and manipulative family, secret conspiracies, mystical enemies, moldering gods, terrifying monsters, ancient artifacts, and existential threats with the potential to affect all the worlds of the Umbra. And possibly your annoying little sister…

Vergence is a Forged-in-the-Dark game that really amps up your character’s powers and broadens the stakes to a cosmic scale. Vergence is a much looser interpretation of Blades, taking away much of the bookkeeping found in the vice and heat mechanics that punish typical Blades’ characters. You also level up as a group, rather than individually, which I understand might not be what your playgroup is looking for, but your characters are still uniquely powered individuals with special abilities.

1400 Planes, by Unknown Dungeon.

1400 Planes is lo-fi hi-fantasy. 

The multiverse roils with boundless existence. For many, the infinite planes of creation drift past at an immeasurable distance, their alien secrets perpetually out of reach. However those who break their mortal shackles and cross that liminal space, wander such exotic spheres on an eternal pilgrimage.

1400 Planes is a stand-alone table-top RPG. The rules are short and easy to learn and the whole game can fit on a single sheet of paper.  It can be played using just the rules provided, or combined with other entries in the 1400 series to expand the world and provide more character and game options.

24XX games feel very slim and small, but I think they can provide the base for something bigger that caters to your group. They can also be combined with other games that use the same rule-set very easily, which you could use to provide interesting level-ups for characters. 24XX games are also usually pretty cheap, so you’re not going to break the bank picking up a few to play around with.

Planedawn Orphans, by Sharkbomb Studios.

Set in the Planar City, a strange melting pot that connects the vast diversity of the multiverse. You all play Planar Orphans stranded in this city, your original home worlds destroyed, corrupted or lost. 

A mysterious Patron has brought you together, provided you with a base of operations and tasked you to complete a Planar Key. This key will let you create a new plane for you and your fellow refugees. Your quest will bring you to exotic places filled with strange creatures and bizarre phenomena.

This isn’t a game in itself - it’s a campaign framework - but it gives you the opportunity to cobble together a bunch of different games while still giving your players a structure upon which they can scaffold their character’s growth and personalities. I’m currently running this across a huge number of different games with a co-GM and my home group: so far we’ve played Household, The Wildsea, Sundered Isles, and The Great Soul Train Robbery!

Sig, City of Blades, by Genesis of Legend Publishing.

Sig is the nexus of the multiverse, where eternal planes and infinite primes meet. It’s a rough home for cutters and bashers, hungry for coin and glory. It’s a city of gods, demons, and stranger things which lurk. It’s a place where opposites meet, trading knives and kisses in equal measure.

The Silent Regent once ruled over the city with a bladed fist. Now her throne sits empty and the criminal factions battle for control. They dispatch crews of Freebooters, clever and bold, to further their schemes. This is where you come in.

In Sig: City of Blades, you will play the Freebooters in service to once of the mighty city factions. Your faction depends on you to perform vital missions to seize territory and coin from their rivals. This is a game about clever spies, renegade sorcerers and reckless smugglers. You are the best of the best and the worst of the worst.

If you are familiar with Planescape, I’ve heard that Sig: City of Blades gives off the same vibes, at least when it comes to setting. Rules-wise, it’s Forged in the Dark. It looks like in this game, the multiverse comes to you; as scoundrels in a city at the centre of these dimensions, there are plenty of ways for you to get rich in some kind of way that counts. If your group is up to play scoundrels and thieves, you might be interested in Sig: City of Blades.

Tiny Dungeon: Second Edition, by Gallant Knight Games.

Tiny Dungeon: Second Edition is powered by the TinyD6 engine, with streamlined mechanics that utilize only one to three single six-sided dice on every action, characters that can be written on a 3x5 notecard, and easy to understand and teach rules, Tiny Dungeon 2e is great for all groups, ages, and experience levels!

Tiny Dungeon feels like a very boiled-down version of a classic fantasy game; heritages that give you starting abilities, traits that are reminiscent of character classes, and a turn economy that structures combat to make sure everyone gets the same amount of time to do things. You use d6’s to roll, with 1d6 being the worst pool (rolling with a disadvantage) and 3d6 being the best (rolling with an ability or advantage). The game is meant to be mod-able, with optional rules and various micro-settings meant to get your inspiration flowing. The best part about so many different micro-settings that all use the same rules is that you can absolutely jump from one setting to another!

Fantasy Recommendations from The Past

Fantasy, With Tools

Echoes of D&D

Non-Western Fantasy

Non-Gritty Low Fantasy

Fuck Wizards of the Coast

I’d also ask myself if Slugblaster could be hacked to be about fantasy adventurers jumping into various dimensions, rather than teenagers hoverboarding across space and time. It certainly has plenty of pieces that allow your characters to dig into personal issues - the Trouble mechanic really lets you digest the kinds of things your character might have to neglect in order to go adventuring! You can read more about it in my Dimensional Travel recommendation post.

[archon-maenad]

oh my goddddd I am so so so not normal about the concept of the endbringer truce, even more than I am about kill orders (and I am very not normal about government licensed assassinations).

the endbringer truce was ratified. and cauldron was obviously responsible for it crossing from cultural phenomenon to an actual set of laws, but to push that in the first place they had to make sure the concept was deeply important. and it is, it's become a cornerstone of both caping and just being a citizen of earth bet.

that leads to a lot of different ways to look at the concept. there's the cynical outlook, the bitterness the ordinary citizen feels when villains get away with running roughshod over them just because they show up to endbringer fights. heroes have their own flavor of this too, because there's a very real sacrifice of morals that comes from working with a nazi. even if people agree the ends justify the means here that doesn't mean those means don't cost you something. no hero on bet has clean hands, and they know it.

then there's the emotional outlook, where all the feels congeal. I'm such a sucker for humanity banding together, even in the face of hopeless odds, and the endbringer truce makes me tear up when written right. a week from now they'll be at each other's throats but in the moment, with levi or behee or simmy looming above, with the wreckage created surrounding the aftermath, villains and heroes work together. it's beautiful.

and then there's maybe my favorite aspect, the comparative outlook. how starkly the differences in mindset are between earth bet citizens and those of other worlds enchants me. that society has normalized setting aside grudges for the sake of survival in a way that most people can't, because the emotional hurdle is too much to pass even if they get the logic, and stories where that shows are just the best.

I read a post-gm isekai fic where taylor's gambit to rally a group of people against a bigger enemy failed, and that moment stuck with me because she specifically noted that it failed since she assumed the world would have responded like bet would have, and that even baseline humans from her home dimension would have understood the plan. and y'know what they fucking would have. because everyone agrees you Don't Fuck With The Truce.

having to actually explain first why the truce is important just did not occur to her, the argument was focused on why the enemy was obviously truce-worthy. but tay listed out the core concepts and people Did Not Get It and that was such a wild bit of culture shock from her perspective. being too cowardly or morally uptight or selfish to put aside grudges so you can survive gets culled real quickly on bet, but in that new world it was the norm.

it also let to a hilarious moment where she stone cold maimed (or maybe straight up bodied I don't remember) a guy who broke truce and to her surprise people were absolutely horrified. for once tay was not actually trying to deal psychic damage and someone sane could agree that everyone else is overreacting, because maiming or killing people who break truce when birdcages or life sentences aren't available is a completely reasonable response on bet!

I love exploring culture shock and reactions to it in the context of earth bet citizens on other worlds, and the endbringer truce is one of my favorite avenues to do so. it's status as a cornerstone of that society led to a fundamental shift in mindset that truly I am very very very not normal about as evidenced by this nine paragraph post about it.