#GM Y-body

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Oldsmobile F-85 Deluxe Station Wagon, 1961. The F-85 utilised GM's new Y-body architecture that it shared with the "senior compacts" from Buick and Pontiac. It also shared the 215ci alloy V8 that had been developed by Buick and that was later sold to Rover when it became superfluous to GM's requirements. Sales were disappointing and when the second generation model arrived in 1964 it dropped the Y-platform's innovative unibody construction and alloy V8 growing in size to become an "intermediate" in order to compete with Ford's Fairlane

[puckinghischier]

Tentastrophe

Nico Hischier x Fem!reader

summary: reader and nico are in a secret relationship while on a camping trip together

notes: hi lovies! i got this request from my dear 🏔️ anon so i had to get right on it!! this was so fun to write and even more fun to play out in my head while i was writing it 🤭. also i had no clue what to name it so i quite literally just made up a word 🫣. i hope you enjoy!! happy reading! 🫶🏼

request: We’re camping and my tent ripped, can I please share yours?

[5.1k]

You hated the outdoors. Truly, you despised being outside.

You hated bugs, you were scared of wild animals, you hated the heat, you hated dirt, grass made you itchy, and you really hate the lack of indoor plumbing.

Literally, how do people enjoy spending a week out in the middle of nowhere, no signal for miles, no air conditioning, and eating the same four types of canned food? Not to mention your dislike of sleeping bags.

Who wants to sleep on a flimsy piece of material on the hard ground for days at a time? It’s just simply not appealing.

You continue to list off the things in your head you hate about camping and the outdoors in general while watching yourself be driven farther and farther away from the city through the windshield of Jack’s SUV.

“Oh c’mon, Y/N, don’t look like someone just kicked a puppy in front of you,” you hear from the front seat, Jack looking at you through his rear-view mirror.

You roll your eyes at him.

“Jack, I’m being taken to a remote location against my will with no access to a bathroom or civilization for seven whole days. At least if someone kicked a puppy in front of me, it’d be over sooner.”

“Woah, so you’re advocating for puppy kickers now, are you?” A new voice rings out, this one belonging to Dawson, who occupies the seat against the window beside of you.

“She’s not advocating for it, Dawson, she’s just saying she’d prefer it to being stuck in the woods with you for a week straight,” Holtzy responds from your other side, having been sandwiched between the two in the backseat of Jack’s car for the hour and a half ride to your unfortunate destination.

Dawson reaches behind your head to smack Alex’s. Alex tries to retaliate, and suddenly you have two hockey players trying to fight each other on either side of your body.

“Hey! Cut it out before you hurt Y/N! Coach needs her to get good footage this weekend,” Luke yells at the two forwards.

“Wow, thanks for showing me where my worth lies, Luke,” you deadpan.

Luke flashes you a grin before turning back around in his seat. “You’re welcome.”

You stick your tongue out at him, knowing he’s just teasing you.

When you applied for a marketing internship at the Prudential Center a year ago, you had no idea that you would become so invested in this world. After the initial six month period of your internship was over, you were making plans to find work elsewhere when you were approached by the team’s GM and asked if you were interested in staying on full time as the new social media manager.

You immediately agreed, knowing you had found your passion with working in sports and wanted to stick with it for as long as you could. It didn’t hurt that you had become such good friends with a handful of the players close to your age, four of which were in the same car as you right now.

You and Jack were the closest, though. The two of you bonded over your shared love of country music, a rare find outside of your southern hometown. You had found other interests in common, too, but becoming each other’s country music concert buddy is to credit for much of your friendship.

You grew close to Luke simply because of your proximity to Jack, but found that he’s become a little brother to you. People always assumed there was more than friendship going on between you and Jack, but both of the Hughes boys had become the brothers you never had, no feelings beyond that ever surfacing.

As your job continued to cause you to spend time with the team, you found yourself growing closer to other players as well.

Nico was another player you found yourself talking to long after your work duties were done for the day. Whether it was chatting before practice, pulling him a little too frequently to do interviews or make videos, or grabbing a bite to eat after practice and games because neither one of you wanted to end your conversations, you found the Swiss captain occupying a large chunk of your time both at work and outside of work.

Which doesn’t make it all that surprising that he asked you to be his girlfriend three months ago.

After a huge win over the Islanders at home, the entire team had decided to go out to celebrate. You had caught a ride with Jack that morning, but when you were searching for him so you could leave, he was nowhere to be found, already gone to whatever bar everyone had agreed on.

Nico had stayed behind to do a few extra post-game interviews, so when you bumped into him outside of the locker rooms on your search for Jack, he offered you a ride. You had mentioned how hungry you were, telling him you should probably go home and grab something to eat and change before getting an uber to the bar, but Nico had pulled into the first late-night diner he saw after you mentioned your lack of eating dinner.

The two of you sat in the 50’s themed diner for hours, ignoring all the calls and texts asking where you were and why you didn’t come out to celebrate. You didn’t even realize how late it was until you received a text from Jack, asking that you call him when you got up so he knew you made it home safe, apologizing for forgetting you at the arena.

Nico walked you up to your apartment after driving you home that night, despite the fact it was after three in the morning and they had a mid-day practice the next day. You still don’t know if it was the high of winning or the late hour, but he decided to kiss you at your doorstep that night. Three days later, he asked you to be his girlfriend because he told you he couldn’t stand not being exclusive with you for a second longer.

No one knew, though. You kept on acting as if nothing had changed at work, and no one caught on otherwise. You decided it was fun to keep it to yourselves, enjoying being each other’s secret. You didn’t know the policy on dating your coworkers, either, so you didn’t want to risk anything by outing the relationship this early.

You felt bad lying and sneaking around Jack and Luke, especially, but you’ll tell them eventually. You enjoyed having no eyes on you, your relationship being simply between you and Nico right now. When you tell your friends and the rest of the team, it’ll be out there for good. Fans will find out, your boss will find out, and then your small bubble of Nico will burst.

That’s another reason you dread this weekend. Not only do you just hate camping and being outside for long periods of time, you’re going to be stuck being around Nico for a week straight with no chance to be his girlfriend instead of his coworker.

The trip is the team’s pre-season bonding activity, so you’re tagging along to capture material for future videos and pictures for the various social media pages and website. You had tried to send one of the other members of your media team, not thrilled at the idea of a camping retreat, but the head coach had requested you, specifically, because of your ability to convince the players to participate in various trends and videos.

You owe some of that to Nico, of course. After the two of you formed a friendship, he started telling his teammates they had to participate in whatever silly tasks you asked of them or he’d start reporting them to coach for making your job harder. Since his forceful request, you rarely had to fight to get any of the players to do the latest trending dance, or answer silly questions as they get on the ice before practice.

Unfortunately for you, this means the higher ups see your success and suddenly you’re volunteered to do things like this. And really, what kind of social media content can you create when you won’t even have cell service?

Tuning back into your surroundings, you notice you’re almost to the campground you’ll call home this week. You were so lost in your own head that you barely even noticed the four (grown) men in this car with you singing loudly to the F.U.N. song from none other than Spongebob Squarepants.

Jack and Luke were duetting the song, Jack taking the sponge’s part and Luke singing Plankton’s lines. Dawson and Alex were simply adding harmonies.

You were in for a long week.

———————————————————————————

“Who in their right mind would put a twenty-four year old teenage girl in charge of putting together her own tent?” you whine out as Curtis walks over to see you trying to read the directions for putting together the tent laid out in front of you.

“Honey, I think you’re a little too old to be calling yourself a teenage girl,” he chuckles as he kneels beside you, taking the instructions out of your hands.

“I’m just a girl, Lazar. I will always be a teenage girl at my core, no matter what age I am. Therefore, I’m a twenty-four year old teenage girl. And I’m extremely incapable of building a fucking tent,” you cry out, crossing your arms and huffing.

Curtis just shakes his head and laughs, grabbing the rods that go inside of the tent to give it structure, putting it together for you.

You sit back and watch, trying to help where you can, but ultimately being reverted back to the role of ‘holding the flashlight for dad’, but instead you’re ‘holding the mallet for Curtis’.

Halfway through putting your tent up, you see Nico start walking in your direction. You admire your boyfriend, his tan skin showing due to his green t-shirt being stuck in the pocket of his athletic shorts instead of on his torso. His black hat sits backwards on his head, hiding what you’re sure is sweaty hair. His favorite pair of sunglasses rest on his nose.

“Already making the guys do your dirty work, how dare you, Y/N,” Nico teases as he stops to stand in front of where you’re sitting on the ground.

“Listen, one perk of being a woman in sports is the fact that I’m always surrounded by men just waiting to save the damsel in distress,” you put your hand across your forehead to hide the sun from your eyes, squinting your eyes as you look up at him.

He rolls his eyes at you, flashing you a smile.

“Need any help, Curtis?” Nico calls out, but keeps his eyes on you.

“I think I’m nearly done, but if you want to start hammering the stakes in the ground that’d be great,” Curtis replies, not even looking up from the tent that had now taken shape.

“Sure thing. The mallet, please,” he reaches his hand out to you.

You hand Nico the mallet, looking up at him with an amused grin. “Get to it, time to do manly stuff and go pound on something .”

You start to stand and Nico shoots his other hand out for you to grab onto, helping you heave yourself off the ground.

Once you’re stood in front of Nico, he pulls your hand toward him so you’re standing dangerously close to him, your chests nearly touching. You look around, making sure no one sees the position the two of you are in right now.

Nico leans down, lips grazing your ear as he whispers “Unless you want me to drag you behind a tree and do extremely un-coworker type things to you with the entire team right here, I suggest you don’t talk about pounding anymore this weekend.”

A shiver makes it way down your spine as Nico steps back, walking over to where Curtis is now standing, turning to face the two of you.

You hope he assumes the redness on your face is because of the warm sun, and not because his captain just threatened to do R rated things to you behind a tree.

Ten minutes later, your tent is fully assembled and you’re blowing up your air mattress with a battery powered pump that’s seen better days.

Jack had laughed at your for bringing an air mattress, claiming it’s not really camping if you don’t sleep in a sleeping bag. You told him you refused to sleep on the ground with just a thin bag underneath you for the whole week. If you had to be here, you were going to make yourself as comfortable as you could.

You even brought a battery powered fan to sit in front of your bed incase you got hot at night, but you learned very quickly that even though it’s hot and humid during the day, the night is chilly and dark.

After everyone had settled in and the sun had set, Timo had managed to start a fire, placing hot dogs on a small grate he placed next to the fire while Jesper worked on opening cans of various types of vegetables to heat along side the sausages.

You laughed to yourself, knowing the team nutritionist would develop an eye twitch seeing what foods will be consumed by the players this week. The amount of sodium and carbs in the containers of food for the week were definitely not in line with the meal plan.

Finding a spot next to Jack, you go sit on one of the various logs around the fire, needing the heat to warm your chilled skin. Music played out of a speaker sitting on the picnic table behind the logs, one of your favorite country songs filling the space.

“Nice choice, it’s one of my favorites,” you nudge Jack’s shoulder as you sat down, assuming he had control of the music.

“Yeah it’s a good one, but don’t look at me. Cap’s the one with the aux right now,” he says, pointing to where Nico is standing by a tree, red solo cup in his hand.

You turn your head and make eye contact with him, his eyes having already found you. The raise of his cup and tilt of his head telling you he played this song specifically for you. Your face heats and you smile at the ground, trying to keep the grin from stretching too wide, not wanting to raise suspicion from the brunette to your right.

“Y’know, I wonder why Cap has any country music in his playlist at all, because last I checked, his phone was full of rap and Swiss music and he told me country was his least favorite genre,” Jack starts, leaning closer so you can hear him over the music and chatter. “But then I remembered, I see you and him talking an awful lot after practice, before practice, and everywhere in-between.” You feel like someone has dumped a bucket of ice water on your head, worried Jack’s figured the two of you out. “You’re not cheating on your music buddy, are you?” he asks, looking at you suspiciously.

Relief washes over you. He just thinks you’re sharing music with Nico. Not that you’re seeing Nico behind everyone’s back.

“I might have mentioned a few good artists to him. But don’t worry, concerts are still reserved for you,” you bump his shoulder again.

“Mhmmm. Must have taken a lot of convincing to make a rap loving Swiss man convert to Zach Bryan,” Jack hums, still looking at you suspiciously.

“Just a few links sent is all,” you tell him, noticing he’s just staring at you. “What?” you ask, leaning back a bit.

“Nothing,” Jack shakes his head, his eyes gleaming with an idea. “Just thinking…have you ever thought about going out with Cap?”

You choke on air. You try to recover with a cough, claiming you swallowed the wrong way. “What, what do you mean?”

“You know, like you and Cap. Going on a date. Dating. I think you two would be good together. You guys already seem friendly enough, and he’s a great guy. Plus, I can see the way you look at him, Y/N. You definitely have a crush on the guy,” Jack teases.

You start laughing. Jack is confused by your reaction, not thinking his suggestion was funny at all, but you can’t stop the laughs from escaping.

“Oh, Jack. You’re funny,” you tell him once you calm yourself down. “That’s nice, but nah. I don’t think Nico and I should go there. Too many things could go wrong, y’know? Plus, who even knows if I’m allowed to date any of you guys. Workplace romances are frowned upon in most jobs, you know.”

“Okay, it wasn’t that comical of a suggestion. I was being serious, I think you guys would be great together. To hell with the rules. I can tell when two people are into each other,” Jack says with a hint of annoyance, not appreciating your little laughing outburst.

A look of surprise makes its way onto your face at his comment that he thinks Nico is into you, too. Maybe the two of you weren’t doing such a good job at acting normal around the team. You succeed at suppressing the laughter this time, figuring a second outburst would really make Jack upset. “Oh, you think he’s into me, do you?”

Jack looks at you like you just asked him if the sky was blue.

“Are you kidding me? Y/N, he literally jumps at the chance to be in any of your tik tok videos and he threatened the whole team so they would quit, and I quote, ‘making your job harder and just fucking do what you ask’ or he’d report us to coach.”

You can’t help but giggle this time, of course knowing all of this, Nico having told you himself after he did it, but you can’t let Jack know that.

“I don’t know, Jack, that doesn’t exactly sound like something he’d do. What does he get out of it? More interruptions during practice? More attention on social media? Doesn’t sound like Nico if you ask me,” you tell him, trying to play dumb.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe he gets to spend more time with you. He gets on your good side, helps make your job easier while making ours harder. Earns brownie points to butter you up so you say yes to a date one of these days,” Jack leans his head towards yours, looking up at you like he’s just proven his point.

You steal a glance over at Nico, his head cocked, silently asking what you and Jack are talking about. You shake your head with a smile, telling him its unimportant with the roll of your eyes.

“I don’t know, Jack. We’ll see, I guess,” you sing song, earning a sigh from the boy to your right.

“You’re hopeless, both of you. I need another beer,” he gets up, leaving you on the bench by yourself, chuckling at just how right your best friend is.

After all of the burnt hot dogs and lukewarm veggies were eaten, it was time to for everyone to retire to their tents.

All of the players had to double up on tents, you and the coach being the only two people with their own. The players that were sharing tents on this trip would be sharing hotel rooms all season, so the bonding began with them being able to exist in the same space for an extended period of time.

Your tent sat about 50 feet from Jack and Luke’s. Nico’s tent was in the row of tents in front of yours, three tents separating the two of you.

You quickly made your way to your own tent and started getting ready for bed. Not being able to wash your face or do you proper skincare routine, you settled for brushing your teeth with a warm bottle of water and applying lotion to your face before crawling into your make-shift bed for the week. You hadn’t packed nearly enough blankets, seeing as you assumed it would be warm inside your tent, but you were chilled to the bone. You kept your sweatshirt on, opting for a pair of sweatpants instead of the skimpy sleeping shorts you brought.

You settled into your bed, switching off the small lantern you had been provided.

You laid there for what felt like ages trying to fall asleep. Every little snap of a twig or rustle of leaves made you scared a bear was about to claw its way through your tent.

You thought you had imagined it at first, assuming the wind was blowing and causing your tent to slightly ruffle in the wind. But when it happened a second time, this time the sound of something fiddling with the zipper of your tent following the ruffling, you were starting to panic.

You sat up, pulling the blanket to your chin as you saw a hand push on the door of your tent, a quiet yelp making its way out of you.

“Shhh, it’s just me, let me in,” you hear the familiar, accented voice of your boyfriend ring out, huffing while walking over and unzipping your tent just enough for him to slip through.

You walk back over to your air mattress, turning on the small lantern, looking at Nico standing in the middle of your tent. He was wearing a tan sherpa fleece with plaid pajama bottoms. He had to hunch over slightly, his height being too tall for your small tent.

“What the hell are you doing in here? You scared the hell out of me, you know that?” you whisper yelled at him, careful to not raise your voice too high as to not wake any of his teammates.

“My tent ripped, can I please share yours?” Nico asks with a smirk on his face.

“Oh, yeah? If your tent ripped then where’s Jesper sleeping, huh?” you raise your eyebrow and cross your arms.

“I just left him to fend for himself. Didn’t exactly want to invite him to sleep in here with us. Never know what he might see,” he walks towards you, placing his arms around your waist and pulling you close to him.

He looks down at you, your position mirroring earlier when this exact tent was being assembled, but you had no fear of anyone seeing you now.

“Hi, Schatz.”

You giggle up at him, unraveling your arms and placing them on his shoulders. “Hi Neeks.”

“I’ve been waiting all day to do this,” he mumbles before bringing his face down to yours.

You lean up on your tip toes to meet his lips, sighing contently into the kiss.

Nico pulls you closer, no space left between your bodies as his sucks your bottom lip into his mouth. You tangle your fingers in his hair, pushing against him into the kiss.

His tongue swipes across your lips, asking for entrance, and who are you to deny his wish? His tongue slips into your mouth, effectively deepening the kiss.

Nico walks you backwards until you plop down onto your air mattress, bringing his knee to rest in-between your legs, his forearms on either side of your head to support his weight.

You tug on his hair slightly, earning a groan in response. He starts grinding his pelvis against your thigh, which was your sign to stop this before it got too out of hand.

You pull back, pushing him up off of you slightly. He looks down at you with blown pupils and swollen lips. “Alright, tiger, slow down. We’re not having sex with several tents full of your entire team a few feet away.”

Nico deflates and brings his forehead to rest against your shoulder. “You couldn’t have told me that before I got a stiffie?”

“Sorry, shouldn’t have let yourself get so worked up. Should’ve known I wasn’t going to go there with this many people around,” you laugh at his whiney tone.

He rolls off of you onto his back, slinging his arm over his eyes.

“What are you doing? Quit being so dramatic,” you roll your eyes, trying to grab his arm and remove it from his face.

“Stop, trying to think of sad puppies to make my boner go away,” he swats your hand off of his arm.

You bust out laughing for the second time tonight, but this time you throw a hand over your mouth to stop the noise. The conversation about puppies in the car on the way here earlier making its way to your mind, making you laugh even harder.

“Okay, I think I’m good now,” Nico finally says, sitting up.

“Good. Don’t even think about getting handsy, either. This,” you gesture between you and Nico, “is not happening tonight. Or any night this week, for that matter.”

“Got it. You don’t want any of my teammates to hear you scream my name while my tongue is ins-“ you slap a hand over Nico’s mouth, not letting him finish that sentence.

His eyes shine with amusement at you, seeing your own wide in surprise. “Can I trust you to take my hand off of your mouth?” you ask him.

Nico shakes his head, but not before he darts his tongue out and licks a stripe up the palm of your hand, causing it to fly off of his mouth.

“Okay, you’re disgusting,” you scold him, wiping you hand on the blanket you’re both sitting on top of.

Nico just laughs at you in response, finding your annoyed expression amusing.

“C’mon, let’s go to bed. I’m already sick of you and the week hasn’t even started yet,” you tell him, pulling the blanket back so you can settle under it.

Nico follows your lead and places himself under the blanket at well, pulling your body close to his.

You lay your head on one end of your pillow while Nico places his on the other end, not having brought his own from his tent. The two of you just lay there facing each other for awhile before you remember to reach over and turn off the lantern once again.

You’re appreciative of the new warmth Nico brings to your bed, finally feeling yourself get sleepy.

“Wait, how are you going to know when to wake up before everyone else and go back to your tent?” you ask him, knowing his phone was in his vehicle, none of the players allowed their devices with them. You and coach were the only ones with phone privileges this week, even though they didn’t even work out here.

“Don’t worry, I will. First time I wake up I’ll sneak out, don’t worry,” he assures you, kissing you on the forehead before pulling your body flush to his, resting his chin on the top of your head.

Neither one of you must have woken up at all during the night, though, because when you wake up the next morning to the screams of “I knew it! I knew they were into each other! I told you so!” from your best friend as he stood inside your tent at the end of your bed with not only Luke, but with half of the team standing outside the wide open door of your tent, you were confused until you felt the weight of a body against yours. You open your eyes to see Nico’s scrunched face, the noise waking him up as well.

You both roll over and open your eyes, noticing your audience.

“I called it! I knew there was something going on here! How long have you two been together?” Jack bombards the two of you with questions despite you having literally just woke up.

“Get the hell out of this tent before I get coach to make everyone run three miles today,” Nico grumbles, his voice gravely from the early hour.

“No way, we need an explanation,” Dawson speaks this time, his expression matching Jack’s pleased one.

“You’ll get your explanation, but for right now, get out. Let us actually wake up without fifty people in our fucking tent. Now go, get out,” Nico pulls you closer to him, hiding your face in his chest and slinging a leg over your own.

“But-“ Jack starts again, but Nico removes an arm from around you and points at the door, “OUT!” he says sternly, his captain voice making an appearance.

The group of men start grumbling, but ultimately leaving your tent, zipping your door back up so you and Nico could have a bit of privacy again.

“Nico, you didn’t wake up,” you say, your voice muffled because of how close he’s holding you to his body.

“Sorry, Schatz. Was sleeping too good, I guess. Always happens when I’m sleeping with you. You’re like my own personal melatonin.”

You chuckle at him, not really mad that everyone found out, just wishing they hadn’t found you asleep together on a tiny air mattress.

“At least the boys know now. Now I don’t have to keep sneaking around at practice. I can stare at your ass loud and proud now,” Nico says, detaching himself from you and rolling over onto his back, rubbing his eyes.

You reach over and hit him in the chest. “This doesn’t give you permission to say innapropriate things to me while we’re at work.”

He rolls his head to look over at you, “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he smiles innocently, causing your to roll your own eyes and sigh at him.

“Hey! You guys better not be having sex in there! I’m implementing a no bone zone when I’m within a hundred feet of you two! Get your asses out here and get to explaining!” you heard Jack shout once again, beating his fist on the side of the tent.

You bring your hands up to cover your face, embarrassment flooding your veins.

“Jack! Suit up, you’re coming with me on a little run,” you hear coach shout, earning a “Shit, Nico this is your fault!” from Jack.

You burst into a fit of giggles.

You can’t help but feel like a weight has been lifted off of your chest, not having to lie to some of your closest friends anymore. You also foresee your week of no time with Nico changing slightly, figuring Jesper will be down a roommate for the remainder of the week.

Nothing, though, not even sharing a tent with Nico, or sneaking off to find open areas to gaze at the stars at night, could make you like camping.

You almost change your mind the night Nico takes you to a clearing, laying a blanket on the soft grass to stare up at the sky before he gifts you a necklace with his initial on it, the engraving on the back echoing the small “I love you” he whispers in your ear as he clasps the jewelry onto your neck.

You almost thought you liked camping then, until you walked back to you tent to find Nico had left it unzipped and a possum had made a home in the corner, hissing at him as you screamed loud enough to wake the whole team.

Yeah, you hate camping.

[newtkive]

pixels [ newt x reader - modern text au ]

ch. 2 - drama queen core

summary: minho's drama finally catches up with him, but newt becomes a hero.

warnings: strong language, mutual pining, none really.

➥ m.list

__

THE GLADE

[ 12:08 PM ]

y/n: gm pookies

newt: it’s the afternoon.

y/n: yeah well

ur east coast

newt: so are you y/n

y/n: FINE BAD MORNING THEN ARE U HAPPY?

minho: drama queen is awake

newt: you’re the drama queen min let’s be fr

minho: u want me to die be honest

newt: see .

tommy: hey guys :3 been waiting for you all

y/n: awwww tommy <3 gm

tommy: morning sweetums

minho: ew stop

newt: how did you sleep?

tommy: good! used my new heated pillow

newt: not you

minho: not you

tommy: wtf

WHO THEN?? THERES LIKE 7 OTHER PPL IN HERE

minho: he means y/n

and there’s 4 other people not including newt and y/n dumbass

y/n: oh

why just me????

newt: cuz you stayed up til 6 am

y/n: ..

how do you know that

newt: i saw you were active on discord

gally: doesn’t that mean you were awake too then

newt: ok and?

minho: thats crazy newt

newt: no it isn’t

i just casually saw it

y/n: hehe

im ok i need to sleep more. sims 4 was really consuming me

why were you awake??

newt: up for work

minho: you get on discord before work?

chronically online..

newt: can you choke and pass out and hit your head please

minho: THE WAY U WANT ME DEAD IS INSANE

y/n: he’s gotta check on his discord hoes before hitting the grind

newt: there are no discord hoes

unless you count thomas

and i don’t

tommy: well why not

newt: because you disgust me

tommy: love u too :3<3

minho: y’all about to kiss aren’t you

newt: never say that shit again im outside your door with a b*mb

minho: why censor it

just blow me up it’s my grandmas house anyway. u want to jump her that bad????

gally: blow that bitch up i say

y/n: HELLO???!,!!

gally: minho not grandma

she loves me cuz im so tall

minho: tall people always gotta remind you they’re tall 😒

like we get it bigfoot

gally: shut up tinkerbell

y/n: you’re somewhat tall minho

minho: any man under 6’0 is considered short

y/n: yeah but newt is 6 ft trapped in a 5’10 body so not totally true

newt: what does that even mean

minho: give me a break

i can tell you exactly what that means

she wanna hit

newt: stop

tommy: don’t get his hopes up

newt: dude

stfu

y/n: what newt said

gally: can we appreciate the only one actually over 6 ft here

minho: no.

tommy: im the same height as newt!!!!

y/n: yea but ur like 3 ft trapped in a 5’10 body tommy not the same

tommy: oh ..

minho: kind of real

newt: can someone kick gally i’m tired of seeing his fucking name on my phone

gally: then turn your phone off don’t you have old ladies to tend to at the library

newt: yeah and they all love me

y/n: so real

if i was old i’d go in there and imagine you’re my young boyfriend and cling to everything u say

tommy: true im the old ladies

y/n: LMAO

minho: write a fanfic y/n why don’t you

newt: yeah you both are old and not beating the dementia allegations

y/n: IM THE YOUNGEST HERE

ur just mad you’re old as dirt

tommy: youth has left you newt and it has turn you bitter in your old age.

minho: thomas knows big words who knew

newt: which word in that sentence was big??

y/n: shut up minho

minho: wtf did i do

y/n: idk but i imagine you sitting there typing on your little phone and i got pissed

minho: WHAT???!.‘wKWHFO

newt: LMAOOOOOOOOOOO

yeah chubby little fingers hitting the wrong letters on his iphone 8

minho: im leaving

tommy: dont leave i forgive you for what you said

minho: i don’t give a damn

y’all mad y’all are all fake im the realest i’ve been prophesizing and reading scriptures 7000 years before y’all fake asses were born be so for real right now

y/n: not reading that

congrats

or sorry for what happened idk

about to drink my coffee in a wine glass

tommy: just drink wine

newt: it’s noon tommy??

tommy: ok and?

newt: explains a lot

minho: no coffee for me this new year only water and pussy juice fr fr

[ newt removed minho from the group ]

tommy: woah

y/n: woah..

newt: i can’t take it anymore

alby: How did you get that access..?

newt: don’t worry about it

in times of need i have to step in like that

y/n: hi alby!

alby: Hey y/n!

tommy: you’re such a hero newt

gally: that was deserved

who wants to play minecraft rn

y/n: me!!

alby: I’ll play, I’m off work today.

y/n: let’s go to the desert i want a camel

gally: alright but then the caves after i wanna mine

newt: if you mine with her you gotta bring extra food and storage when she dies so you can pick up the fallen items

gally: i forget you’re her designated babysitter

y/n: oh please no he isn’t

and i’ll bring my own food

newt: you always say that and then leave it in the stove oven

y/n: WELL I WONT THIS TIME

newt: sure ok

i’ll get on after work

[ alby added minho to the group ]

minho: when i get you.

newt: why did you add him back alby

alby: He was harassing me.

newt: be a man and take it

gally: im leaving

[ gally left the group ]

minho: im going to throw up and die

newt: im staying out of this

minho: (guy who caused it) im staying out of this

y/n: why does gally alwyas leave 😔

newt: why question a gift from the heavens

tommy: get online y/n gally is attacking my dirt house w a pickaxe :((((

y/n: NO IM COMING

minho: im coming to your work newt

newt: okay im locking the door early then

minho: i’ll smash through the glass idc

newt: i’m leaving my shift is over at 1 today.

minho: i’ll use life360 on you

newt: i deleted that app

minho: i’ll stand in the middle of the street

newt: ok let me position my car in front of you

just come to my apartment and we can play w them on pc and xbox

minho: …. fine but i hate your guts

newt: fine

y/n: HURRY GALLY IS ATTACKING MY SHED NOOOOWWW

newt: i’ll just rebuild it

minho: i’ll set it on fire just wait

[fasolabean]

gm tag im still so so soft about the "i love your body i love your brain" moment :( there's been a subset of joost fandom on twitter that's been rly bodyshame-y ab kä for the past couple weeks so this just. means a lot to my stupid brain

[theresattrpgforthat]

would you happen to know about any ttrpg that could run/emulate the tone of STALKER/Annihilation?

Frail humain beings entering a Fucked Up Zone with the intent if reaching the center and things getting weirder and more dangerous the farther they go in?

THEME: Eerie Fucked Up Settings

Friend I have some truly excellent games for you this week.

TRESPASSER, by Binary Star Games.

The Zone is an area that's been sealed off by a nation or group of nations due to its danger. It's filled with Anomalies, extremely dangerous areas where physical laws like gravity, magnetism, electricity, or chemistry can break down to lethal effect, as well as mutants and things considered impossible.

Like many, you have entered the Zone, but not legally. You are collectively known as Trespassers. Some inside are on their own, some in groups, some part of larger factions. But most want one thing: to reach the centre and claim what it conceals.

This game can accommodate a GM but it isn’t necessary - in fact, you can even play it solo! As this game is inspired by STALKER, I think it’s going to really give you the vibe you’re going for. Troubles in Breathless games escalate as you play, so the longer you stay in The Zone, the worse things are going to get. I definitely recommend checking out this game!

BLOOM, by Litza Bronwyn.

BLOOM is a solo gmless journaling game in which you play a teenage girl trapped in quarantine at a boarding school on an island infected by the Tox, a plague that makes the trees and animals grow huge and hungry, and mutates your body in strange and horrific ways. In it, you will draw cards and write journal entries based on specific prompts in order to craft a story of survival and love.

I’ve read the book Wilder Girls by Rory Power, and it has a lot of the same themes as Annihilation and STALKER, so it might fit the niche you’re looking for. As a solo game, this uses the Wretched & Alone SRD, so you’ll probably want a Jenga tower, and you’ll definitely want a deck of cards.

Navigator, by Micheal Klamerus.

Navigator is a two-player tabletop rpg created for the Just the Two of Us Jam. It's inspired by the movie Stalker and the games Alone Among the Stars, Memoirs of a Barbarian and Thirst.

In this game two players journey into a mysterious, restricted site known as the Zone to find a room rumoured to grant people their innermost desires. One player is The Client, a person who wants to find this room and have their wish granted, and the other player is The Navigator, a person with previous experience navigating the Zone that has been hired by The Client to help them find the Room.

This game is definitely inspired by media such as STALKER, but it doesn’t have to be inspired by that. When I played this game, we decided to go for something a bit more fantastical, but if you and the person you play this with agree on the same inspiration, you should have no trouble experiencing this as an eerie, unnerving, dangerous setting.

Exclusion Zone Botanist, by Exeunt Press.

YOU ARE AN EXCLUSION ZONE BOTANIST. GET IN. DISCOVER AND DOCUMENT. GET OUT.

Another one for the solo enthusiasts, and it’s inspired by Jeff Vandermeer’s Annihilation. Your character is specifically looking for plants, which you will locate by rolling 2d6. You get a little hex map to track your progress as you play. As you go, you risk being influenced by the corruption of the zone. Your goal is to document as many plants as possible before you become the forest - because if you are corrupted too much, they can’t pull you out. A delightfully time-sensitive game.

The Zone, by Laughing Kaiju.

The digital tabletop storygame of magical realism, mutant weirdness, and collaborative self-destruction.

This is a really cool digital ttrpg, with a physical version on the way. You can play solo or multiplayer, and the website will guide you through play step by step. The game is meant to be collaborative, so everyone will have moments where they direct play. The author also encourages you to play to lose - this is a tragic game, a horror game. The game itself uses a number of cards representing locations, laid out in a spiral to form an abstract sort of map. Each location will have its own scene, probably more. And rather than rolling dice to resolve tasks, you choose whether something is easily doable, or not-so-easy - in which case you pull from a deck. This is where the mutations may come from.

If you are interested in the physical version of this game, they’re currently taking pre-orders on Backerkit!

[sillyromance]

Can you make comfort vore? From Optimus?

Hello, dear evelyntyecrqzy!

Sure! Here you go!

P.S: there is angst and one heavy word in this work. Also I've written it from the first person's perspective... I really hope you don't mind it.

Have a good day and take care!

***

- How do you feel, little one?

It was late evening; almost all the lights were gone, the only bright area was Ratchet’s lab: the old medic was staring at the big green screen, typing aggressively on the panel and mumbling something inaudible. He was too busy to pay attention to anything else. The rest of the team left to their quarters after they had brought the kids home. No body had shown any signs of life since then.

I was lying on the couch, curled up in a tight ball. My head felt heavy and hurt; I felt cold and lonely. It was hard to hold back sobbing, but I didn't want to attract unnecessary attention - nobody cared anyways. Why would they? Were my problems that important?

I squeezed my eyes shut, tears running down my cheeks violently as my shoulders started shuddering...

And then I heard his deep, gentle voice.

"How do you feel, little one?" - I turned my red face to the huge mech behind me. Optimus Prime, my guardian. Through the cacophony of my thoughts I hadn't heard him coming. His blue optics far above glowed with concern.

I hurried to wipe the tear tracks from my face and stand up, mumbling something like: "Sorry" or "It's fine, don't bother yourself..." But as far as I did this, his large servo wrapped around me and very soon I found myself sitting on his plain rough palm, being swirled with his kind, sad gaze. I felt nothing but guilt, though the only reason for it was my depressing mood. I couldn't look straight at him, turning away over and over, rubbing my hot cheeks in attempt to get rid of the tears. I hated myself for the mess I had become – I waited for him to throw me away as far as he would get a good look at my ugliness. However, Optimus didn't seem disgusted with me at all.

- Did someone offend you? - The mech asked again with the same sincere tenderness in his tone.

I shook my head negatively.

- Is it something in your body?

I closed my face with both hands and shook the head even more violently, crooking.

- No...

- And what’s about your soul?..

I sniffed silently; choking sensation dug its claws into my throat as it let out a pathetic "Mm-gm..." and I nodded. Everything in me just fell somewhere down; I felt my poor heart beating hysterically in the stomach. There was a crazy mix of panicking fear and complete indifference. I was trembling, wishing to be left alone. But even more, I wanted to be comforted. I wanted someone to embrace me and whisper soothing words, to say that it was going to be OK, to stroke my hair as if I was just a kid. But wasn't it too much to ask? I didn't dare to believe Optimus would bother himself to spend time with such a puny, pathetic creature.

After this cut through my head, I couldn't keep myself from crying anymore – I literally burst out.

- Hey, look at me, Y/N.

Hesitantly, I obliged. I was ready to see disappointment or distaste, but instead...

- There is nothing to be embarrassed with. Do you want to talk about it?

I wasn't sure if I heard him right. Did he really... worry about me? Of course, as my guardian, he should have, regardless... Wasn't I dreaming?

- W-what d-do you m-mean? – I replied indecisively.

- I thought, perhaps you could share your pain with someone. Sometimes it helps. - A small, understanding smile appeared on his faceplate. - I'm sorry... It hurts my spark to see such precious little thing crying.

I lost my ability to speak for some seconds.

- Does it r-really? W-why?

Prime's eyebrows lifted up in surprise.

- Because you matter. You're my friend, Y/N. Friends help each other, don't they?

His gravely voice had already had its way with me. My shudders calmed down and though my eyes were still wet, I couldn't help but smiled back at him.

- Thank you... for this... But I don't want to talk right now...

- It's absolutely fine...

- ... I'm very, very tired, though. - At the moment I said that, my spine weakened and I collapsed at the flat, warm surface of Optimus' hand.

Something childish, basic, something from the abyss of my wild, subconscious core suddenly arose inside me and escaped my chest with barely audible plead.

- Please... Don't leave me here...

A quiet sigh rambled beside me; my entire figure was washed with warm air of his exhale.

- Don't worry, Y/N. I won't.

His digits closed over my tiny form. I wasn't able to see a thing anymore, but I could say for sure that we moved away from the place.

Quite soon the sounds of Ratchet's work faded away. Optimus opened one of the many electric doors and walked into a somewhat room - I heard a soft "whoosh" as the panel shifted back to its place. My guardian set me free on his berth, and only then I understood that we were in his private room. Sitting down beside me, he spoke even gentler than before:

- You are out of energy. And so do I. But still, I don't want you to stay alone...

Do you trust me?

I nod, already predicting where he was heading to. Cybotronian friends committed this small ritual with humans regularly; many were fond of it. However, I had never tried it with him. I couldn't claim that I was completely inexperienced too, but those previous times were emergencies which I couldn't truly like – they were harsh and distasteful like a rotten fruit. Now... It promised to be much more intimate. And it depended only on my wish.

I glanced at him through my eyelashes - I was too sleepy to keep the eyes wide open - and murmured:

- I do.

Optimus nodded. I was lifted up again - straight to his mouth.

Slowly, controlling every his movement, my guardian guided me inside his maw and laid my feet on his squishy glossa - there was a faint blue light twinkling at the back of his depthless throat illuminating a humid, warm chamber. Thanks to him I didn't even touch the sharp dents – their deadly blades loomed right above me, but stayed harmless, serving simply a reminder of what power Optimus actually had over me. The glossa curled around my legs as soft, thick blanket, then released them and I was pushed further to the glowing entrance of the esophagus.

I stared down, processing what was about to happen. I appreciated the leisure pace Optimus chose with me; his gentle licks and steady, rhythmical ventilating brought me nothing but comfort and peace. I sensed my toes in his pharynx and waited for inevitable with dull thrill - to be unceremoniously drugged into misty, humid confines of the muscles’ trap, to be deafed and choked. That what I was usually met with before, every time I was gulped down. However, when Optimus swallowed, his artificial, metal flesh contracted just slightly, pulling me so carefully inside that I almost missed the moment. It was like... A hug. The next swallow was just a little bit stronger - I gasped as he let his hand go off me and my tiny being got engulfed into his soft throat. It felt better than anything I knew before. Surrounded by the pulsing alien flesh, I finally felt protected and loved – the state I sought for so desperately all that fuckin’ day.

For some time he just held me there, his head titled back. I didn't make a move, trying to avoid hurting him. Living heat of his soaked into my bones and made me so drowsy that I thought I would fall asleep. However, at that moment the muscles came to action and lovingly tugged me deeper. The light grew brighter, though it didn't bother me at all; I was easily slipping in a long wiry tube constructed from the smaller ones, thinner and more solid, poured with viscous, bubbling energon – I was watching little sparks floating in there as I was passing by and a weak flame of forgotten happiness flickered in my soul once more.

Finally, I arrived at his fueltank. Its walls greeted me with a friendly squeeze, forcing me to curl into fetal position. I didn't cry anymore; all my worries and demons disappeared long ago, at the second I heard: "How do you feel, little one?"

God! I was so horribly wrong. I thought no one needed me, that I was lost, abandoned... And still, there was someone who couldn't bare me cry.

I felt Optimus' servo laying down on the lump I must have made on his waist, caressing me. I rubbed my head against the spot where I could recognize the pressure and smiled.

I did matter.

[inkdemonapologist]

EVERYONE'S DOING GREAT IN THE BATIM CTHULHU GAME....

Joey's legs were definitely Very Broken last session, so in this one Jack is uHHHHHH USING? THE GIFT???? THE MASKED MESSENGER GAVE HIM???? TO HEAL JOEYS LEGS????? im sure thats fine

What's also definitely fine and normal is Prophet trying to interrupt a ritual and getting all of the ink sucked directly out of his body by said ritual????? GREAT!! COOL!!!! NOT LIKE HE NEEDS THAT TO STAY CONSCIOUS OR ANYTHING!!!

anyway have some drawings of the music boys having a normal one, and also, if you like out-of-context TTRPG quotes, have some out-of-context quotes from the most recent session under the cut!!

[Sammy is played by me, Joey is played by Boo (inkyvendingmachine), Henry is played by Maf (inkcryptid), Jack is played by Mochi (whatyouwantedmetosee) and Thren (haunted-hijinxer) is our GM!]

[Sammy] Sammy’s going to play carnival games! [GM] Okay! He sees a pop-gun and a shooting set-up. [Sammy] … I’m not super good at shooting. Do I have to follow the rules? Can I just like… go stand up close to it? [GM] I mean… no one’s telling you not to… [Sammy] I’m gonna cheat. [Joey] I love the idea of Prophet just, climbing up onto the counter and, as the targets go by, just poking them with the gun,

[Sammy] I am… hMMMRRMRMMmmm… I’m gonna try to stop running off without the rest of the sheep… [GM] Prophet’s New Year’s Resolution,

[Henry] Henry’s going to pick them up and carry them over to Leon. [Sammy] Leon? Really? [Henry] HE’S A MEDIC! [Sammy] I mean, Jack’s here and Jack’s not going to be confused that Joey has horns! [GM] He does look a little, hyperventilate-y, but, uh, he’s trying to fumble for his medical stuff, [Henry] …well okay if he looks panicked Henry’s going to turn around and take him to Jack. [GM] Just turns around on his heel like “Nope, that’s no good” [Sammy] Leon’s like “OKAY GOT MY DOCTORS KIT RIGHT HERE UH UM UH” and Henry’s just like “No. No.” [Jack] Jack also has an indefinite insanity, he’s got the same risk of fumbling, he also probably has LOWER medical skill – [Sammy] Yeah, that’s true, [Henry] OKAY, then yeah, you’re right, I’m taking him to Leon – [Joey] *laughs* Henry turns – Henry carries Joey towards Leon, Leon starts fumbling for his medical stuff, Henry turns around, takes one step towards Jack, looks at Jack, y’know, recovering from this very intense negotiation between two machines… and then TURNS AROUND AND HEADS BACK TO LEON,

[Henry] He might just set Joey on the desk and then be like “He’s hurt, can you help him.” [Joey] (“Fix.”) [Jack] (This is when Leon lets us know that he is not a doctor of medicine.)

[Sammy] At some point, Prophet will pop back into the room and say something like, “Come quickly, my sheep! Yellow mist rose from below!” [Jack] Jack’s gonna… turn to face the Prophet. And he’s not sure what look he’s giving him, but he’s giving him a look of SOME form. [Jack] Probably mostly panicked, honestly, [Sammy] Sammy, my guy, read the room!

[Sammy] Is Bendy having this one-sided conversation Out Loud? [GM] Yeah, that’s what I’m imagining! [Sammy] Ohhh I’m sure this is FINE, what’s gonna phase Leon at this point, honestly!! [GM] Just things about, “Where did you go, we were all worried, what are you doing, I think your legs aren’t okay? Sorry I tried to stand on them, I hope I didn’t mess them up,” [Joey] Hm…… this is a lot of information to feed into a Just Waking Up Joey, [Jack] And now Joey knows what it feels like to be talked at by Joey Drew!

[Henry] *carrying Joey* If you die because of this, I’ll kill you.

[Jack] Jack is gonna put the audiolog in his bag. [GM] Pete approves of this. [Sammy] Oh my goodness, Pete don’t enable him! [GM] He will!

[Joey] I’m suddenly worried about Henry… [Henry] I’M worried about Henry trying to carry Joey down these slippery stairs! [GM] You should be! :) [Sammy] That's an ominous thing for the GM to say… [Henry] Next up, HENRY breaks his legs! [Sammy] EVERYONE STOP BREAKING YOUR LEGS!

[Jack] Should I do something interesting? [Sammy] Yes. YES! Don’t listen to me, but YES.

[Henry] Henry is looking at him, with– it’s been oddly hard to read his expressions lately, I think, but he is… you have his attention!

[GM] There’s a counter on that shooting gallery setup– [Jack] Y-yeah, just, just put him down somewhere, I guess;;;; I don’t want to know what would happen if he tried to do this while Henry was carrying him. I don’t think he knows what he’s doing…! [Henry] Okay, Henry will put him down… [GM] Peter is also wondering what Jack is doing, but– [Jack] ANYWAY! Um…Jack is going to rummage through all of Joey’s pockets! [Joey] *bURSTS OUT LAUGHING* [Joey] I KNOW THAT THIS MIGHT HAVE, OTHER REASONS, But I’m JUST LOSIN' IT at “okay put him down! *STEALS ALL HIS STUFF* Okay thanks!”

[Jack] I don’t know how to explain this! Jack doesn’t normally do things that require explaining! He just collapses, in the swamp!!

[Sammy] Hey, Jack, what happened to your Constitution? [Jack] Oh y’know! [Sammy] Okay, alright, just checking! [Jack] Y’know, normal things! [Jack] Anyway, Jack feels terrified, but also great! It’s fine. :)

[GM] I don’t think Bendy is clued into all this weirdness. He’s just like, that was great! He didn’t know people could do that, why don’t they do that all the time?

[Joey] Did the ink go into his legs and then heal them? Or did the ink go into his legs. [GM] His legs do not hurt anymore! There’s some of that weird, displaced numbness? Where the breaks were? But they don’t hurt! Anymore! [Joey] …okay, but, [Henry] I notice that does NOT answer the question.

[GM] And Sammy can see that the person there is holding a bowl up to this mirror, where it seems to be filling with this knockoff yellow ink! [Jack] They are juicing it!

[GM] Is Joey being careful, going down these stairs? [Joey] You said it’s a spiral staircase, right? [GM] Mmhm! [Sammy] Joey, [Joey] Joey is going to, attempt to – [Sammy] jOEY, [Joey] –slide the railing! [GM] There isn’t a railing. [Joey] There’s not a railing??? [GM] There is not a railing. [Joey] Awww… [GM] You could slide down the stairs I suppose??? [Sammy] (Bumpbumpbump) [Joey] Joey is going to be disappointed that whoever made this scene forgot the most important elements of a spiral staircase!! [Sammy] Joey Drew… [GM] It’s just stone walls. [Joey] *dejected* This sucks… How am I supposed to cartoon my way down! This is so dumb! [Henry] You just WALK DOWN! Like a NORMAL PERSON!!! [Joey] NO!!! [Joey] …How deep is the drop, again? [GM] About two and a half stories. [Henry] Joey we just got those legs fixed! [Jack] JOEY DREW DON’T YOU DARE.

[Jack] Jack’s good at this, at least! *rolls* ….. Jack’s theoretically good at this,,,

[Sammy] Oh, it’s Moonlight! He’s in Carcosa! [Sammy] This would be SO funny if it was like, vanilla-flavour Sammy, hearing these threats from this guy he interacted with like, ONCE [GM] Sammy DID hear threats with the guy he interacted with once! That was like, his interaction! Running away while being yelled at with all sorts of horrible threats of bodily harm. [Sammy] Sammy checking his texts like “Who is this…”

[Joey] Joey is going to ask Bendy what Henry is doing right now, how Henry is faring. [GM] Bendy will say that it looks like he’s stabbing tentacles, with a pocket knife? [Jack] Well that seems normal, and not at all alarming! [Sammy] Yeah, I mean, that’s just a thing Henry does sometimes, I dunno [Henry] Normal Henry Behaviour, [Sammy] Exactly! [Joey] Joey is going to tell Bendy to keep an eye on them, but he wants to press forward to see if they can stop the ritual, because he doesn’t think they have time to run back, and also, he thinks Henry deserves to get a really heroic shot. [Henry] Thanks,,

[Joey] YEET THE TENTACLE MONSTER! [Joey] Jack has experience with snake-yeeting, so it helps.

[GM] Oh, nevermind, Peter is not scooting away, he is not moving much. [Joey] (Peter,,, Now is not the time…!) [Jack] ...Because he’s freaked out, or because he’s injured? [Joey] Because he left! He’s not there! He took Jack’s job! He was in this stressful situation and he just peaced out!!

[Sammy] I feel like I’m not going to be able to use the “scoping out the hotel” bonus dice. I think that ship may have sailed. [Henry] Clearly, in 30 years, Sammy ends up back at the same hotel, and goes, “oh! Hang on! I recognise this place!” [DM] It’s just lodged in his brain, [Sammy] He still has the bonus die, 30 years later… gotta return to the wRECKAGE OF CONEY ISLAND… [DM] …Let’s not wreck Coney Island. [Sammy] It WILL be wrecked in 30 years! [Joey] We don’t have to wreck it! [Sammy] It’s gonna burn down all by itself. [Joey] All by itself… and also just, conveniently for insurance claim purposes!

[GM] There would be magical backlash, that would probably hit all concerned, especially probably the lady, and if she were to die it would be very bad for the art of dance! [Sammy] Okay… but it wouldn’t bring about the Yellow King, just nobody could dance anymore? [GM] …potentially. [Sammy] Technically, nooooobody told me “and make sure people are still able to dance afterwards” [Sammy] Obviously that’s the IDEAL outcome, but it’s not… a necessary thing… [Henry] Sammy please

[GM] Peter doesn’t seem like he’s breathing well, but you could probably sort that out just by, like, positioning him a little better – [Joey] WELL~! I guess Jack just has to perform CPR then~! [Sammy] *laughs* I WAS ABOUT TO SAY, Alright, time for mouth-to-mouth~! [Joey] …probably, away from the tentacles, though?

[Jack] And what’s goin’ on with… other guy whose name I totally remember? [GM] Leon! Mostly cowering. [GM] He kind of grabs onto Jack’s arm when he gets close, and he’s just got his eyes closed and he’s trying to get his breathing under control, and he’s like, *nervously psyching self up* “Okayokayokayokay! Okay… let’s go…!” [Jack] Oh… oh no I got attached to him…

[Henry] Henry’s gonna tell him he can go back upstairs to Allison, if he wants. [Sammy] There is a steam-engine-headed man up there, but, y’know. [Sammy] Beggars can’t be choosers.

[GM] Leon’s still not looking. [Sammy] Need to get you a mask without eye-holes, my dude. They do wonders.

[GM] You hear a voice that doesn’t, sound… classically human?

[Joey] He’s planning on doing Giant Cartoon Hand Grab, and yanking her out of the circle the moment he sees Prophet cause a distraction. [Sammy] These two work SO well together for how much they DON’T work well together.

[Jack] We make bad decisions here in the music department.

[honourablejester]

Some of my favourite Heart: The City Beneath fallouts:

It might be weird to have favourite bad things that can (and will, with some regularity) happen to your character. But this setting is the setting of weird, cool, horrible things happening to your character, and some of them are just cool?

I’m going just on the standard fallouts here, not the landmark specific ones, although developing a permanent stink from wading in the bog of eternal stench, or contracting the build-a-labyrinth disease, or getting forcibly and irreversibly hired by a hungry library are all also really cool.

Mind, Echo and Fortune fallouts are the coolest. Blood is physical damage, which while you do have some fun options like spitting your teeth out and being unable to talk or look non-thuggish while doing so, it’s still mostly in the realm of ‘you’re physically hurt and can’t do important shit because of it’. Supplies fallout is also on the more boring side, in that you just start running out of things like ammo, food and light, breaking or losing equipment, etc. But the other three. The other three are fun.

Mind gives you fun things like the COLLATERAL MAGIC fallout, which has your brain reboot from something traumatising in an arcane pattern, and because of the highly suggestible magic in the Heart, promptly cause a damaging magic surge that boils out of you and hits an ally. This can be upgraded to a major fallout that lets you learn that as a spell. You can develop delusions, lose memories, get addicted, be overcome with strange obsessions, start fully just creeping everyone around you the hell out.

Fortune seems like it would also be boring, but the Heart is a setting where bad luck means a lot. You can get lost, get separated from the party, have NPCs start looking for you, have whole powerful factions like the church of the Moon Below decide they hate you, get saddled running a settlement you have no aptitude for, to fully destroying settlements or connections as a result of your failures. Fortune fallout can be really fucking huge in scale. I think my favourite minor fortune fallout, just to give the idea, is FOREBODING, which is where you get a Jedi-style really bad feeling about this. Nothing bad happens immediately, but you know it’s coming. And yes, you can upgrade this minor fallout to major, which is when the bad thing hits. I do love that.

And then there’s Echo fallout, which is where the Heart shows its true, body-horror-y colours in fine style. If you take Echo fallout, the Heart starts affecting you. And the reverse. You could start coughing up horrible bugs, or developing strange appetites, or attracting the attentions of a cult (who like you, they like you a lot). At major fallout, you can start developing physical transformations. But there’s also creepier effects, like the minor DÉJÀ VU, which is where the Heart starts noticing you and putting elements of your past and thoughts into the surroundings.

And then there’s a lovely chain of echo fallouts that starts with the minor RAVENING CALL, which does nothing except let you hear a broken howl in the back of your mind occasionally. Let’s just say this fallout upgrades dramatically, shall we? All the way to a character-killing critical fallout.

(Critical fallouts are always character ending, but the player chooses to upgrade to critical, not the GM, so you only bleed out or go completely mad or suffer any other weird and wonderful bad ends if you choose to).

Again, it might seem weird to enjoy the horrible things that can, and will, happen with some regularity to your characters. But Heart is very much a game where you’re doomed from a standing start. The zenith abilities every character gets, the capstone of their progress, will destroy them, or otherwise take them off the board as a character. Fallout just gets you a different, possibly sooner and less triumphant bad end. This game is a race to the most dramatic end, where you’re exploring a weird eldritch realm that gets weirder and more horrifying the further into it you go, and where you’re the kind of person who decided that exploring the bowels of the Forbidden Planet was an excellent career choice. You will be taking fallout a lot, you can take stress pretty much every time you make a roll if you roll below an 8 on a d10, and any time you take stress runs the risk of fallout. It should sound really unfun. But … it doesn’t?

Partly because there are ways and means to heal stress and fallout. But more because big, dramatic, and also weird and terrifying things are happening as a result of your choices. And that does seem cool to me. You are going to be affected by what you do, by this setting, by the choices made by you and around you. And, you know. Every time you roll the dice, it has the potential to result in something really really weird and cool happening. Not nice, but weird and cool. Heh.

So, in summary, Echo fallout is the coolest, followed closely by Mind and Fortune.

[equalseleventhirds]

Hey, do you have any recs for long form, more serious ttrpg systems for fantasy settings? I feel like I hear a lot about short/definitively-lengthed systems, but I've been yearning for a DnD-esque system without all the baggage of equip loads and complicated Challenge Ratings and other rules-y baggage I don't super care about.

do i! do i ever!

serious & long-form systems do on the whole tend to be crunchier than shorter systems (not always, but generally); nevertheless, i've picked out a........ handful......... ok there's Several, i did try to control and limit myself but u kno.......... games......... anyway, here are some that are considerably less crunchy than d&d but still lend themselves to long fantasy campaigns.

uh. under the cut for. oh god it's so long. it's so long. tried my best to explain them, u see. (which is also why it took me so long to reply lol, sry abt that)

godeater (& godeater 2.0): play in a broken, post-apocalyptic fantasy world, where dead and dying gods warp the land, and you raid their bodies for divine magic to help support humanity. 2d10-based, get weird & funky with it! i admit a small preference for version 1.0, which gave u some loose examples but left much of the worldbuilding and even character building up to u to create; 2.0 has some extra books that go with it that i haven't much looked into yet, but seem to give more solid lore to work with, if u would like that.

when the guilds pay in copper, crime pays in gold: alchemical guilds pay shit wages to use people for magical experiments. go do crimes on 'em with your own magic. d6 base, assign dice to stats to make ur own dice pool; fairly light rules and in fact very little in the way of instruction or hard lore on the gm's side, so better played with an experienced gm who's good at making their own stuff, but certainly campaign material for the right gm!

third empire - violence + beauty: the world sucks, and has sucked for a while, through two oppressive empires and into a third one. you play adventurers who are trying to carve out a little goodness, a little justice, a little vengeance, in the world. y'know. lasers & feelings based, but expanded beyond the original (which also comes with it if u get it!) into more lore, more character choices, very collaborative worldbuilding, downtime mechanics, etc etc.

ruby radiance 6e: streamlined dungeoneering built to let ppl play the way actual play podcasts sound, essentially. d20 pool system, based on trophy mechanics but v much adjusted. lots of choices to make during character creation & leveling, but much much less to keep track of during the playing part. u get it.

wizard pals: all of you are wizards, going on adventures and trying to accomplish your goals in a fantasy world. d12-based, fairly lighthearted (can lean silly but u could use it for more serious if not super grimdark adventures), much worldbuilding left up to the gm, but very simple rules, so.

grimblade rpg: (speaking of grim lol,) action & adventure in a grim fantasy world; things like character creation and rewards (and magic) fully imply a fantasy world, but worldbuilding is left up to the gm, altho there are many tables to roll on to give some help. uses d4, 6, 8, and 10; all rolls are contested rolls, with dice picked based on how serious the gm feels this roll is.

shattered aether: post-apocalyptic science fantasy, you roam around a fucked up magic world and protect ppl from various dangers. 2d6 based, based on the lumen system so fairly combat-forward in a very high-action very cool asskicking way. for some reason the font chosen for this book is murder on my eyes, but if u can get past that (or just zoom in lots and read a bit at a time) it's straightforward, simple, and fun!

familiars of terra: this one may be a little too crunchy, but i love it a lot and rly the most crunch is in character creation and tracking experience, actual gameplay is (imo) pretty easy. post-post-apocalyptic fantasy world, some science fantasy elements depending on where you choose to focus, bcos there are absolute PAGES of lore on this extremely cool and enormous world; you and your party go around with your soul-bonded animal friends to spread hope and healing and also do cool shit. y'know. card-based, again it is probably more crunchy than ur looking for but less abt tracking what you can do during things and more abt tracking experience in order to level up stats, so.

1400 quest: ok that last one was crunchy, this one's very uncrunchy. pick a handful of things and get going! clearly inspired by d&d, but very very streamlined, so things that were pages of mechanics are like, one or two sentences. gm's side of it is like, a handful of rollable tables and then do whatever, so prolly for the more experienced gm. d6 based, but you may have occasion to use other dice. also if you like this one there's others by the same author focusing on other things (1400 mage, sneak, etc), or you can check out others in the 24XX type of games, which started out sci fi but has since been expanded to a bunch of other stuff. u kno.

beast dream: pokemon-inspired game where you make friends with magical beasts and go on magical adventures! d6-based, forged in the dark, so there is a little crunch wrt deciding on position etc and stuff like stress, but the author rly wanted to focus in on letting u adventure and have fun without getting bogged down in numbers and i think that shows, stuff like load and reputation aren't so much a thing.

cognatons: play as sentient, magic-filled automatons doing whatever fantasy adventures your robot heart desires. d4-based, caltrop core, so you get a fairly simple & defined set of actions; less to keep track of, easy to follow.

dethrone the divine: you're gonna overthrow the gods, and also take their places. you're already either divine, semi-divine, or magically powerful in other ways, and you adventure with the goal of gathering power and followers so you can take the place of the shitty gods in power. d6-based, pretty straightforward system, makes characters v cool and powerful, which is always fun.

perilous: do you love dungeon crawls bcos i love dungeon crawls... streamlined and easy to understand fantasy dungeoneer adventures in this one! d20-based, leans towards tags instead of complicated numerical skill stuff to keep track of. go to dungeons, fight monsters, get treasure. simple n good. (adds in some metaplot, like who sent you, how will this affect the people living here, whatever, but rly strong with the very old core of d&d-style 'go do a dungeon' kinda thing, if that's what u like.)

high magic lowlives: ok my latest obsession bcos i'm currently planning a big ol campaign for friends in this one. there are classic adventurers in this world, out there cleaning out monster nests or whatever, but they're usually in the employ of the immortal aristocracy. you? you make your money by stealing from and humiliating the immortal aristocracy, because you're a lowlife. it's a dangerous gig, but isn't it better than going into student debt at wizard school? melds high fantasy aesthetics with like, magical twitch streaming aesthetics. fun as hell. uses all the dice and also sometimes tarot cards (mostly just for character creation, u kno). easy to understand rules, i'm having a great time.

ellipses rpg: setting-agnostic system (make ur own setting!) with simple, streamlined rules and an emphasis on improvisation. d20 based, rly just some very basic foundation and then a lot of encouragement to make things up and do what's fun. so like, loosey goosey & not super structured if you want structure, but could be fun!

unbound: setting-agnostic system but with much more formal structure, got structure around how to collaboratively worldbuild your setting and everything. obvs this means some crunch, but it's still not super crunchy, nice and straightforward rly. lotta character options but not so complex and math-heavy, u kno. card-based system. designed actually for a series of short campaigns in a linked world, tho, so if ur not up for exploring new characters a lot, may not be for you.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

From Mako Shark to Manta Ray: The Evolution of the Most Influential Corvette Concepts

Published: 14 Nov 2022, 16:04 UTC • By: 

During the 1960s, General Motors introduced a trio of stunning show cars that laid the groundwork for the C2 and C3 Corvette. Although many other concepts followed, these three remain the most influential, as they went on to inspire the styling of modern iterations, including the current, mid-engine C8.

Like the Corvette itself, the notion of a concept (or show) car was born in the U.S., under GM’s roof. Dubbed Buick Y-Job and designed by the legendary Harley J. Earl, the drop-top beauty unveiled in 1940 previewed a series of novel features and design cues that influenced the division’s mass-produced models for over a decade.

When GM decided to build a rival for the European sports cars that were flooding the North American market in the post-WWII years, the same Harley J. Earl was selected to draw it up. To build hype around it, the corporation commissioned Earl and the Chevy team to build a show car which was codenamed EX-122. First shown to the public at the 1953 Motorama in New York City, the concept would become known as the Corvette and with a few minor changes, it entered production a few months later.

Contrary to popular belief, the C1 wasn’t the commercial success that GM had envisioned but it did pique the American buyer’s interest in a homebuilt sportscar, so the corporation poured resources into the development of a successor.

Under the supervision of Styling and Design head Bill Mitchell, the new Corvette’s design was ironed out as early as 1961 and, as they did in the past, the team created a show car that would help promote it. Like the upcoming production version, the vehicle was designed by Larry Shinoda, who drew inspiration from the 1959 XP-87 Stingray racer.

Gone was the curvaceous, European-looking theme of the C1, with the ‘Vette’s body now boasting far more aggressive lines that look like the sleek shortfin mako shark. Although it was officially codenamed XP-755, the concept car unveiled at the 1962 International Automobile Show would become known as the Mako Shark due to its unmistakable resemblance to the fast-moving predator.

One aspect that contributed to this was the car’s spectacular paintwork. Legend has it that, upon returning from a fishing trip with a taxidermized shark head (some reports state that it was a complete shark) as a trophy, Bill Mitchell hung it in his office and instructed the design team to replicate its coloring on the show car.

Several attempts to make such an impossible task possible were made but Mitchell was not satisfied. The styling head would put the trophy next to the car and since the paint was not identical, he instructed the team to try again. Annoyed by this, an unnamed member of the team snuck into Mitchell’s office one night, took his beloved trophy, and airbrushed it to look like the car’s latest paint job. In the end, the boss couldn’t tell the difference and, since the car and the shark now looked the same, he finally gave his frustrated team the thumbs up.

The Mako Shark managed to draw enough interest in the C2 as it became a fan favorite at every event where it was showcased. It underwent styling and detail changes over time, gaining front fascia and interior upgrades. The car also lost the distinctive "double-bubble" canopy borrowed from a previous concept and became a pure convertible.

Apart from the unique paint and several flamboyant design cues, its overall styling made it to the mass-produced model. which became the commercial hit that its predecessor never was.

Unlike other GM concepts that were eventually destroyed, the original Shark is still alive and well, residing in the corporation’s Heritage Collection located in Sterling Heights, Michigan.

Just a few years after the debut of the Mako Shark, the Corvette team began work on the third-generation model which would roll out the factory gates in 1967. While the mid-engine format proposed by Zora Arkus-Duntov with his race-bred CERV II concept was considered, Bill Mitchell's conventional front-engine design was deemed more marketable by GM’s top brass.

Under the codename XP-830, the development of a new concept car kicked off in early 1964 with the C2’s existing chassis as the base. For the C3, Mitchell wanted "a narrow, slim, center section and coupe body, a tapered tail, an all-of-a-piece blending of the upper and lower portions of the body through the center (avoiding the look of a roof added to a body), and prominent wheels with their protective fenders distinctly separate from the main body, yet grafted organically to it.”

Turning this vision into reality took about a year to pull off. Mitchell’s designers completed a full-size, non-running version in March 1965, and days later, key members of GM’s management were invited to see it. Everyone was blown away and unanimously decided that it had to go into production as soon as possible.

Finished in a similar paint and carrying the same Mako Shark moniker as the XP-755, the non-functional concept was first shown to the public at the New York International Auto Show just a month later. While its exterior design was praised by everyone, its futuristic interior received a lot of criticism for ergonomically-nightmarish such as the yoke-style steering wheel with its complicated transmission controls.

Behind closed doors, the development team was working on a running model that would address these issues and in October 1965, it made its public debut in France, at the Paris Auto Show. Powered by the highly successful and versatile 427 version of Chevy’s Mark IV big block, the functional Mako Shark II had rear-exiting exhausts -as opposed to the static model’s side-mounted variants – and a conventional steering wheel with column-fitted transmission controls.

Although it’s unquestionably the most influential concept car to ever don Corvette badges, shaping the look of America’s popular sports car for generations to come, the story of the second Shark, in either non-functional or functional form, didn’t have a happy ending. Unlike its predecessor which enjoys retirement on top of a pedestal inside GM’s Heritage Collection, the static version was dismantled while the running model was transformed into another show car.

This leads us to the third most influential Corvette concept. Completed in 1969 it left the Mako Shark name behind (but not the now-iconic paint) and became known as the Manta Ray.

Its front fascia remained largely the same, with the only additions being an extended bumper ring around the vents and a chin spoiler mounted underneath.

On the sides, the Manta Ray featured functional exhausts that were masterfully integrated into rocker panels, but its most distinct upgrade was the profusely elongated, tail. The now-classic four taillights layout was tucked under the rear deck line and a pair of pop-up flaps that reflected light from upward-facing lamps were added. You can see rare footage of them in action below, thanks to the video posted on YouTube by DtRockstar1

The reshaped tail flowed into a sweeping, scooped-out, stinger-style roof that helped accentuate the aggressiveness of the overall design. Speaking of aggressiveness, the car was powered by the newly introduced ZL1 427-ci (7.0-liter) V8, a lightweight, all-aluminum monster that could spit out no less than 430 hp.

Even if the Mako Shark II had to be sacrificed to build it, the Manta Ray was in itself a work of automotive art that captivated the hearts and minds of sports car enthusiasts. Thankfully, after its transformation, GM decided to keep it and it joined the first Shark in the corporation’s Heritage Collection.

Many other concept cars that carried the Corvette nameplate followed in the next five decades, but none were as pure nor as influential as these three. They inspired the look of every mass-produced Corvette generation that followed, including the current and radically different C8. 

[rabbitcruiser]

Drive Your Corvette to Work Day

Many Corvette owners own other cars as well, and often only drive their Corvettes on special occasions. Corvettes are regularly driven on beautiful days or are taken to car shows, but usually aren’t used as commuter cars for work. But, today is different—today is Drive Your Corvette to Work Day. Sponsored by Mid America Motorworks, a supplier of aftermarket Corvette parts and accessories, the day has taken place since 2001. The goal is to get as many Corvette owners as possible around the world to drive their car, in order to show how popular the car is. It takes place on the Friday closest to June 30, the day in 1953 when the first Corvette came off the General Motors assembly line.

Harley J. Earl was no stranger to designing cars. He redesigned the LaSalle in the late 1920s, designed the Buick Y-Job—which is seen as being the first concept car, and also designed the GM Le Sabre. He then began working on “Project Opel,” which would turn into the Corvette. In its design, he took inspiration from the Jaguar XK120. On January 17, 1953, the Corvette was introduced at GM’s traveling Motorama display, at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York City.

Later that year, on June 30, the first Corvette for consumers came off the assembly line at the GM plant in Flint, Michigan. Tony Kleiber, a worker at the plant, drove the first car off the line. The Corvette had been named by Myron Scott, a photographer for Chevrolet. After looking in the dictionary for a word that started with a “C,” in order to give the make and model phrase an alliterative effect, he found “corvette,” the name for a small warship that was fast and easy to maneuver.

At a time when most cars were built out of steel, the Corvette was the first sports car with a body made completely of fiberglass. There were only 300 built the first year, all of which were white convertibles with red interiors and black canvas tops. They otherwise used standard Chevrolet parts, such as the “Blue Flame” six-cylinder engine, and the two-speed Powerglide automatic transmission. Still, they could go from the speed of 0-60 in 11 seconds and could reach a speed of 110 mph. They had no exterior door handles, and no windows as well, just plastic curtains. They had a sticker price of $3,513, which is $32,979 in 2018 dollars. All were equipped with a $91 heater and $145 AM radio, which was added to the sticker price. 1953 models are worth much more now: the third Corvette produced was sold for 1.06 million dollars in 2006.

As of 2018, there have been seven generations of Corvettes (C1-C7). V8 engines were an option beginning in 1955, and 9 out of 10 buyers selected the option that year; all Corvettes have since been equipped with V8s. By the 1960s, the Corvette was known as America’s favorite sports car. The second generation (C2) of the car was produced from 1963-1967 and was known as the Sting Ray. One of the most popular Corvettes of all time is the 1963 model, which is unique for having a split rear window.

Corvettes have been produced in Flint, Michigan, St. Louis, Missouri, and since 1981, in Bowling Green, Kentucky, where the National Corvette Museum also is also located. There were issues when making the 4th generation of the car, thus only one 1983 model exists, and production was continued with the 1984 models. The lone 1983 model can be seen at the Corvette Museum. Years after the first Corvette rolled off the assembly line, they still are towards the top of the pack for speed and acceleration. They have also been continually produced longer than any sports car or passenger car in the world.

Drive Your Corvette to Work Day is being observed today! It has been observed the closest Friday to June 30th since 2001.

Source

[sevilemar]

Our GM gave me a Couatl mini he bought, and asked if I could make it more rainbow-y. I was delighted to oblige, of course^^

Before:

I tried to strip the paint, but all it did was fuck up the base as you can see, so I worked with what was there. I put white down on the very light yellow part of the wings, because there was a lot of green bleeding over, and yellow in itself is not enough to cover it.

For the body, I started with a green/turquois mix and worked my way up to light turquois for the highlights. In the wings as well as for the fins, I used just a touch of purple to complete the rainbow.

After:

[dailycharacteroption]

Kalistocrat (Starfinder Archetype)

(art by SkavenZverov on DeviantArt)

The Kalistocrats of Pathfinder, and their far-future inheritors in Starfinder, are… interesting. They’re pretty blatantly based on those weird “not quite a cult but certainly not entirely innocuous” pseudo-religious movements for rich people that teach that their wealth and the continued drive to acquire more is a clear sign of their superiority and willingness to adhere to the strange doctrines of the movement, but aside from pointing out how the actions of these greedy elitists affect other people, the writing rarely claims that they’re entirely full of it. Compare this to the church of Razmir, where it’s pretty explicit that the so-called “Living God” is really just a sorcerer con-man who has recruited an army of other magic users and plain old fashion thugs to con the wealthy and browbeat the poor to wring every last copper out of both, because who needs actual deific power and authority when you have money and people believe you are a god anyway.

I think that the reason Kalistocrats don’t get the same rap is that, despite their focus on the acquisition of wealth of all things, they’re not necessarily evil people. Aside from their adherence to the “advice” of Kalistrade’s Prophecies, they get to decide exactly how they go about making their wealth, and this holds true into Starfinder too, though let’s be clear here, just because they’re not evil doesn’t mean they’re good. After all, you can’t get absurdly wealthy without exploiting someone somewhere.

But let’s say you want to play one of these weird uber-businesspersons, (I don’t. The whole cult-y vibe of the group gives me the heebie-jeebies) There is an archetype for you in Starfinder, either as a player or as a GM who wants the villain of the week to be Jared Leto and pals.

This archetype is interesting, because it’s one of those that let’s you pick and choose from a list of abilities, or even skip levels that you would normally get these abilities if you so choose, making it almost more like a selection of feats or modular class features than an archetype.

Some work on perfecting their bodies and minds through meditation and exercise, allowing them to bolster one of their saves each day.

Others focus on learning about other cultures, bolstering their ability to interact with them amicably and avoid insulting them.

An advantage of being so well-connected is that you can call in favors for people to do your research for you, allowing them to use their social skills to learn more about a subject, assuming they have time and a way to contact their allies. Additionally, they can use their connections to secure discounts every now and again.

Their focus on the writings of a long-dead philosopher-prophet allows some to better understand hidden messages and codes, as well as speak in code with others of their philosophy through modified quotes from the core writings.

The key to successful business is building your network, and many excel at just that, able to make a good first impression as well as do research on new potential partners ahead of time.

Some take their physical fitness even further to better resist assault on whatever aspect of their being they focused on during their meditations that day.

Whether it be through esoteric knowledge, knowing the right doctor, or knowing enough about mystic arts to enter a meditative trance of healing, many of these wealthy figures are able to bolster the effects of long-term care to heal their bodies and minds faster.

This archetype is, by nature, very flexible, and can be used easily with pretty much any class. Gaining a buff to saves as well as various social and financial boons makes the most sense of course with a character geared at least partially for the social side of things, as well as being a bit more durable. More than anything, though, it offers thematic abilities character lore, which is always nice.

Again, I don’t get the appeal, but you don’t necessarily HAVE to use this archetype with the Prophecies of Kalistrade in mind, and even if you do, it’s perfectly possible to play one as benevolent as a financial up and comer can be, or, if we drop them being actual kalistocrats, they might even be philanthropists in the truest sense.

The Kalistocrats have endured throughout the ages because their strange restrictions seem to actually work, but is it actually the taboos that bring them this fortune? Or is it just sound financial advice and/or inter-philosophical nepotism? The duo of the mystic Targaad and the witchwarper Veox seek answers without letting the wealthy organization know.

Given their focus on wealth over all things, the White Glove Club boasts some of the best security for it’s members to flaunt their wealth. However, recently a string of thefts have left many minor members of the club embarrassingly destitute. All the security camera footage shows is someone looking exactly like the vault’s owner extracting the cash in each case, a mocking calling card of the endiffian thief who has made the club and it’s member their target.

They say that Baron Yanras gained his fortune by using his witchwarping magic to glimpse alternate realities where he was already successful. Whatever the truth of this, he is almost as skilled at bending reality as he is at business, all of which has attracted the attention of a horror beyond the stars, a warpstitcher intent on making his body a prize to feed off the visions of realities where he has failed.

[probablyevilrpgideas]

How to Play: Popeye

Ok, so this is actually kinda straightforward. You're a multiclass barbarian/monk. More specifically, you're a Path of the Zealot Barbarian/Way of the Astral Self Monk.

At base, just being a barbarian/monk gives you some good Popeye-esque stuff. You don't "rage" you eat spinach. You get increased defense without armor (I ain't never seen Popeye wear armor, have you?), you get extra attacks, your punches do more damage than normal, you can punch missiles away, martial arts gives you multiple punches from level one, etc. If you have seven levels of Barbarian, Feral Instinct even lets you eat your spinach in an ambush.

Path of the Zealot

With Path of the Zealot, your path abilities all just feel right for Popeye. That first punch in a round is a killer, you can be raised from apparent death with no material componentsjust a can of spinach, when you've eaten your spinach, you can better resist poison/explosions/mental assault. Hell, even Zealous Presence can be fluffed as Popeye blowing a steam whistle from his pipe-

And at 14th level, you're strong to the finich cuz you ates your spinach with Rage Beyond Death.

Way of the Astral Self

So then, why Way of the Astral Self?

YOU CAN HAVE AN IN-GAME, MAGICAL EXPLANATION FOR GIANT POPEYE FOREARMS.

Ok, so that's actually just a bonus, but the visual of Arms of the Astral Self is a really nice bonus lol.

The actual main effects of this ability aren't really a big deal, because if you're playing Popeye, you're going to emphasize Strength. Being able to use Wisdom in its place is meh. BUT

That doesn't look like normal melee range to me.

(ok, I just couldn't find a gif of Popeye's arm stretching out *as* he punches someone, but I know that's a thing)

Body of the Astral Self lets you deflect energy damage and do double your Martial Arts die for damage with your punches. Awakened Astral Self increases your AC without armor and ups your punches per turn to four.

Ephemera

Ok, so, that's your classes. Obviously your background is going to be Sailor. Sailor gives you Athletics and Perception proficiencies, so (assuming you take Barbarian as your base class, which you should) take Intimidation and Survival as your class proficiencies. You could also ask your GM if you could take Performance as one of your proficiencies.

You *probably* want to be human, especially if your GM is using Tasha's Cauldron style ability increases, but Orc or the like would be a defensible choice.

(also, I will put in a word here for playing a harengon and being a mix of Popeye and Bugs Bunny who eats carrots instead of spinach. And you get to add your proficiency to Initiative, meaning you're more likely to be able to eat your carrots at the start of combat)

For feats, Sentinel would definitely be good, given how often Popeye hits some as they move towards him. Tavern Brawler would also be very fitting, if perhaps a bit redundant (maybe if you want to forgo Monk levels), and if your GM doesn't let you take Performance in lieu of a normal Barbarian skill, you could take Skilled (I'd suggest Acrobatics, Performance and Concertina). Crusher would be amazing just for the 5' knockback, which is very Popeye. Fighting Initiate would also be good to give you Two-Weapon Fighting.

Downsides

Now. There are some drawbacks. 5e refuses to let you take two bonus actions in a turn, which means you can't rage and spend ki points for Astral Self stuff on the same turn. I would recommend asking your GM if you can do both in one turn provided you do nothing else (and if they're reticent, offer to forgo the martial arts damage when manifesting your arms). I feel like that's honestly pretty fitting for Popeye eating spinach.

Other Options?

You could go Way of the Sun Soul, since Popeye does some fire-y shit with his pipe when he powers up sometimes. However, you could actually forgo Monk levels entirely, take Tavern Brawler for your punching, and get levels of Warlock instead. In this case, you probably want to go Pact of the Blade (with a gauntlet as your pact weapon) and Hexblade as your patron. I can' find an invocation that lets you channel your eldritch blast through melee, alas, but honestly, Eldritch Smite and hex-pact-blade stuff works well, and if you want to use your EB for stuff, like repelling blast, just fluff it. Gift of the Depths would be really fitting for Popeye.

[talesyettold]

Welcome to the Sublime🍁

You haven't listened to Strangers in the Wood yet??? Well, you're only missing out on one of the best actual play series that has ever hit your podcatchers. We've got the awards to prove it.

Illustration by @spookynest

“But what is it?” You ask.

Strangers in the Wood is the first season of our show, Tales Yet Told, which premiered on September 2021. The whole season is only 33 episodes, each sitting around an average of an 1hr 30min per episode. It’s weirdly fun, surprisingly vulnerable, and horrifically evocative.

Strangers in the Wood is possible because we’re playing Babes in the Wood 1e by World Champ Game co., a ttrpg heavily inspired by Over the Garden Wall. It’s a narrative focused game using the Powered by the Apocalypse engine to help facilitate a story of tense and intimate horror and it serves as the backbone of everything Strangers in the Wood is.

Strangers in the Wood follows the story of two foster siblings, Dorothy and Dakota, as they wander a mysterious forest ruled by a shadowy entity known as The Stranger. Thankfully they have their friend Walter, the talking weasel to be their guide. If this sounds like Over the Garden Wall…that’s on purpose

“But who is it?” You shout from the windows.

Kendo (They/He) as The Game Master Hi, that's me. I'm our narrative facilitator and arbiter of consequences. I've been playing ttrpgs as a semi-forever GM for about a decade now. I started in D&D 4e and have since fallen in love with the indie ttrpg scene. I have a love for character-driven stories and exploring ourselves and the world around us through collaborative storytelling.

Dr. Hilda (She/Her) as Dorothy Margaret Reed - (She/Her) Dorothy Reed is a shy yet stubborn 7-year-old with dark hair and blue eyes. She idolizes her foster-sibling Dakota as well as her bio-sister Hazel from whom she was separated when she entered the foster system due to their large age gap and Hazel aging out of the system quickly. She enters the sublime dressed as a pepper shaker for Halloween and also wears a hand-me-down blue coat and red shoes that she got to pick out herself. She is incredibly happy with her life at the Abbott's home and wants desperately to return to the only place she’s felt safe. Her biggest fears include spiders, dogs, and the dark.

Marcie (She/They) as Dakota Wallace - pre episode 21(She/Her), post episode 21 (He/They) Dakota Wallace is a fiery and hardheaded 15 y/o boy with short black hair and green eyes. He grew up with an only father who live a hard and fast life with Dakota being there for the worst of it. As he got older he learned that if he wanted his place in life he has to fight for everything. After his father had a particularly bad incident, Dakota was thrust into the foster care system where he began to feel like an outcast. He enters the sublime dressed as Ferris Bueller for Halloween. He is afraid of returning home to the Abbott's and that he will always cause destruction wherever he goes.

Gus (He/Him) as Walter Brookstone - (He/Him) Walter is a clever and snarky young man currently in the body of a small brown weasel. He entered the Sublime after running away from home, feeling like an outcast and a loner. Here, after some time, his transformation would take place. He is determined to return Dakota and Dorothy home, hopefully sparing them his fate, and maybe cause a little mischief along the way. Walter has no love for the Sublime and would see it in shambles if he had his way. His biggest fears include being a bad person, staying a weasel forever, and owls. And yeah…that’s all of the Player Characters. Of course, there are plenty of NPCs to latch on to as well, but you’re gonna have to listen to find them. 

“But where is it?” You scrawl into a dusty tome.

Lucky for you it’s everywhere you can get your podcasts! We have new episodes every other Wednesday! Spotify | Apple Podcasts | Google Podcasts | Goodpods | Stitcher | Podchaser

“But why is it (something I should listen to)?” You whimper.

Because you love good stories. Because you love ttrpgs. Because you love Over the Garedn Wall. Because you love autumnal aesthetics. Because you love talking animals. Because you love your siblings. Because you love a crisp breeze through the trees. Because you love wandering blindly into the woods. Because you love cars driving through school hallways. Because you love selling your secrets. Because you love long road trips. Because you love the feeling after the tears have fallen. Because you love the isolating horror of recognizing your body is becoming something you don’t recognize and despite the fact that your true self is struggling to make itself known and free society will continue to treat you based on the malignant skin sack that buries your soul beneath its unrecognizable meat and despite all that you can still be firm in the fact that you are the only person who can define yourself.

All of that is Strangers in the Woods. Are you ready?

[theoldaeroplane]

Intercessor

Behold, a hyperfixation-fueled day-in-the-life of my new Apocalypse World character! His name is Fray and he definitely isn't 85% just BotW Link. This was written mostly for my GM and fellow party members, so the brief rundown is that we're in an eternal magic winter, surviving in pockets of tolerable cold, with steampunk/Victorian-esque tech.

4.3k, no content warnings. I put his character sheet under the cut at the bottom as a bonus :)

---

“Fray! Saint Fray!”

Hold on.

Saint?

Fray’s not sure when that started happening.

He’s heard hero and gallant and even champion—all of them kind of feel like too much—but saint is new. Sainthood seems really excessive.

He was not consulted on this. But then, he never is.

Fray stops in his tracks, peering over a heavily-obscured shoulder to see who’s calling. His new scarf, all wool and possum fur, feels like sitting in a sauna, but it’s terribly bulky, especially with his pack in the mix. It might be too big. He doesn’t cut an impressive figure in it. But then, he never does.

Behind him, squeezing between frozen-over remains of archaic vehicles in the narrow alleyway with all the grace of a puppy, comes—ah. Of course.

Andrei.

Fray turns, eyebrows cocked as Andrei halts his bulk bare inches in front of him. Fray is short, but Andrei’s ridiculous. Six and a half feet, top-heavy, all muscle he’s never done a thing to earn as far as Fray can tell. Deep pockets and a deeper voice. Sort of cute with his gold hair and dimples, but not Fray’s type. Still, he’s nice enough. If nothing else he’s bought his way into Fray’s good graces with beer after beer at the Manufacturing. “You’re so fast,” Andrei complains, leaning on his knees. “Gimme a second.”

So: Fray shoves his hands in his pockets and thinks through his agenda. He’s not in a rush. The tailor’s doesn’t close for hours yet. The yotes that have apparently found a way to worm their frozen bodies under the wardings and onto the Merchants’ land won’t come out until the shifts change. He’ll work dinner into the middle somewhere. He’s got time for whatever this is.

There’s another thing about Andrei that Fray likes. When Fray tugs off his top pair of mittens to free the thin-gloved fingers underneath and signs S-A-I-N-T?, he can see Andrei focus on his hands, lips jutting out in his concentration. Andrei is nowhere near fluent, probably will never be, but being able to sort-of read what feels like Fray’s first language goes a long way in endearing Andrei to him.

“Um,” Andrei says. “Are you not? That’s what they’re calling you.”

Fray squints at him. Signs: T-H-E-Y?

“The Children?”

It always takes Fray a moment to realize people usually say Children with a capital “C” around here. His face twists up in a grimace, and he shakes his head no emphatically. W-H-Y?

“Don’t know,” Andrei says, guileless as always. “I won’t say it no more, if you like.” At Fray’s resigned, bewildered shrug, he goes on, “Well, but, I’m glad I caught you!” With this he claps a huge hand on Fray’s shoulder, the blow barely cushioned by the thick layers of wool. Fray staggers instantly, unprepared knees almost buckling. Andrei yelps and helps him regain his feet. “Sorry! Sorry! Here, this is it, this is all, look, my sister got these and I thought to myself, you know who’d love that? Fray, that’s who! Lucky thing we crossed paths!”

The thing he shoves in Fray’s face smells like heaven. He starts salivating like a damn dog. It locks Fray in place momentarily, trying to piece together where he knows it from. What it reminds him of. It’s there somewhere, on the edge of things, but—

“It’s doughnuts,” Andrei tells him, conspiratorial. “Like at the market that time. You know?”

Fray remembers. A wagon on the merchant circuit pulled by four aurochs. The overpowering smell of fried dough drawing him nearly straight from his house. Standing in line for thirty minutes when Andrei pulled him in. Finally being handed the paper bag, translucent with oil and steaming hot, and looking into it to see not just the miniature doughnuts, but for the first time he can remember in—a long time—sugar.

It had been physically painful for him to keep himself from cramming the whole thing into his mouth. Instead he forced himself to savor it. That had almost been worse, it turned out, because now his memory of it was such that he does not think anything will ever near its equal.

Andrei had said they were pretty good doughnuts.

Fray stares at the oil-soaked paper that Andrei holds level with his eyes, and before he can quite stop himself he looks from bag to man with naked want on his face. He points at himself with a disbelief that is exaggerated both to be clear enough for Andrei to pick up on, and as a show of his genuine surprise and delight. He probably does look like a dog, waiting for a treat. That’s fine. Fray knows what he is about.

Andrei, generous enough to overlook how Fray is practically vibrating, pushes the bag into his hands with a lopsided grin. “You bet! I remembered how much you liked them—oh, no, no,” he cuts himself off when he sees Fray pull out his wallet. “It’s a gift!”

Fray looks at the bag again, to Andrei again, to the bag once more. He gets it settled in his off-hand so he can use the other. W-H-Y?

“Well, because we’re friends, twerp,” Andrei says with the kind of smile that Fray can only read as knew you’d say that. Because this has happened before.

Because Fray kind of doesn’t … do friends.

Not on purpose. He’d rather if he did have friends. It just seems like it never quite sticks. It’s not unusual for him to be hailed in the street by someone grateful for some favor or other he’s gone and done for them months ago, something he’s already forgotten. But those aren’t friends. Or at least, he’s pretty sure they aren’t. Lots of people ask him for favors after what happened.

There just seems to be something about him that keeps people from wanting to stay too long.

Except Andrei, apparently.

Fray pulls the bag closer to his chest and lets the fried smell warm him inside and out. He works his face into something he hopes looks appropriately sheepish. “Thanks,” he signs, because he’s pretty sure Andrei knows that one. (He does, by the way he beams.) Fray adds, afterwards, F-A-V-O-R-I-T-E.

“Hell, Fray, you’re my favorite too,” Andrei says with amusement. Before Fray can correct him—tell him he meant the doughnuts—Andrei straightens and sticks his hands into his armpits against the cold. “Hoo! Bad as witch piss out here. I’ve got to be getting. See you at Manufacturing tomorrow night? I hear there’s going to new music!”

Fray nods, giving up on the favorite comment. Sure, Andrei might as well be his favorite person. He likes him well enough. It’s not like there’s anyone else, not really. The thought stings a little more than it used to.

---

He doesn’t get swarmed just trying to cross the dome anymore, at least. That had been a problem last year. Far Haven has a scant few hundred souls to its name, and Fray is sure every single one of them has talked to him at one point or another by now. It drove him into hiding for a while, nerves shot with so much attention. The flocks of opinionated strangers only died off with time, as memories and emotions faded and what he’d done drifted out of the city’s mind.

Saving the lives of every one of those few hundred souls takes some time to drift.

These days he’ll only get a few hangers-ons, most of them children who want to see the sword. The children do not get to see the sword. Fray tries to prevent anyone from seeing the sword in general. This has never deterred them, and he cannot bring himself to frighten off kids. It’s not uncommon to see Fray making his steadfast way through snow and slush with three or four ragamuffins tailing him, telling each other stories of the thing their parents say he did. Fray never confirms (or denies) anything.

That’s happening now, as a matter of fact.

“I heard you’s killed the thieves dead!” says a gap-toothed girl at least ten years younger than him, but nearly as tall. She reminds him of someone, he thinks as he eats the doughnuts. He wonders who. “I heard there was forty of ’em!”

“Nuh-uh! It was three! But they were big and scary and frostbitted!” This from a blond-haired boy with huge glasses and a mouth entombed by a scarf.

“You jokers gotta get your stories straight,” says that absolute goblin of a red-head girl with the false arm. Her voice is like a vulture croaking. “Short stuff, hey! Mr. Hero! You were there, weren’tcha? Cough up the details!”

She’s all but dog-piled by the other two. “Mr. Fray can’t talk!” protests the boy. “Because he got hit in the throat by the frostbitted!”

“Horseshit, I see him talk. Came saw my dad about maps and shit last week, didn’t he? He talks. Not a lot, maybe. You guys think he’s too stupid to say much or just stuck-up?”

“Definitely stupid,” says Fray in the painful scrape of his rusted-over voice, loud enough to catch all three of them off guard. There’s a shocked silence until he looks back at them and winks, and then giggles send up after him like a train of bubbles.

They peel off when he’s about a block from the tailor’s. Just as well. Fray pauses in the dark overhang of the tailor’s doorstep to pull his scarf down and palm his throat. The heat from his hand does little against the stain of discolored skin, blanched pale and blue against his dusky skin. It bleeds down his neck like a port-wine stain, a slashed jugular bleeding ice.

Fray thinks he is maybe supposed to be dead, with the way that ice-white blemish hugs his neck. The skin is cold and hard, and it glitters at him whenever he looks at it in the mirror, like crusted snow.

Well. Nothing to be done. Fray fixes his scarf and pushes his way into the relative heat of the tailor’s.

Warm air licks at his face. He sighs in relief, stopping for a moment to relish it as it caresses his ears and cheeks. The shuffle of fabric and leather draws him out of his reverie for but a moment, long enough to cast a glance toward where Elle’s apprentice sticks her head out from the back. “Oh! Mr. Fray! Got more?”

Fray gives her an apologetic nod, unshouldering his pack to pull it open. From within he produces no less than five shirts, all of them damaged in exactly the same place and exactly the same way. Each one is black—he learned that lesson a long time ago, not to wear anything but black against his skin—and each one has perfectly round holes burned into the same spot on the forearms. They’re as big as eggs, two on each arm. One of the shirts has similar burned holes in a long row down the spine, all identical and evenly spaced. Elle’s apprentice looks the garments over and tuts. “There won’t be much of these left to repair at this rate, you know,” she scolds. “One day I’m going to refuse you until you at least tell me how you keep getting them.”

Fray nods and has the decency to look embarrassed.

She scoots him out posthaste, telling him to return in two days. He should really learn how to repair his own clothes. It’d be a way to pass the time if nothing else. And to avoid awkward questions.

That’s all Fray has in front of him for the rest of the day: passing the time. He meanders. He picks up and loses more trails of children, none of whom get to see the sword. He finds lunch in the form of beaver steak and turnips at that place that has a jester on its sign. He pings back and forth slowly between shop after shop, recognized at each one, buying nothing.

Mostly he thinks, stopping at a mirror in one store to surreptitiously peek beneath his scarf again: this frost thing would have looked cooler if it had gone over my heart.

Because Fray’s kind of … done everything around here. A couple times. Often with encouragement and enabling from strangers who see his bright eyes and dull hair and go oh! Fray! Come in! He’s done everything, including worry about the cold-dead magic stuck to his throat, but nothing’s changed. Now he just thinks it’s ironic he got a neck wound only after his voice skedaddled.

If the frost-rot weapon had connected with his heart instead of his neck, Fray muses, he would probably be dead. That seems like a more vulnerable part of him. Which—that might have been interesting, to see what happened if he died. But that would come at the cost of him probably not being alive anymore.

Which itself probably hinges on whether or not he counts as alive.

He gets a snack as he makes for the Merchants’ territory. The doughnuts are gone. The sausages he buys aren’t nearly as good as he wants them to be. He’s nearly out of the market when he’s waylaid by a tall, dark woman with wide eyes, the most visible thing in her bundled-up face. “Aren’t you the one who saved the city?” she says, breathless. “From that break-in?”

This is one of those questions where the answer makes him feel like a jackass, no matter how factual it is. But he nods anyway, meekly. The vibes on this woman aren’t great. He’s not sure how much he wants to admit to her.

Her wide eyes go wider, until Fray thinks they might eclipse the rest of her face. “Saint,” she breathes, all awe and devotion. Fray almost cringes. “The Children are with you.”

He doesn’t know how to react until he remembers to capitalize that “C”. Oh. One of them. One of those cuckoos that worships the arcane frost that sits outside their little dome waiting to kill anyone it can. Fray gives her a weak smile and hopes it’s not very encouraging. “I would walk with you, Saint,” the woman says, catching up his left hand as she slips to his side. “Allow me to feel your presence.”

Oh, son of a bitch.

There are people you do not want to piss off, and those people are the Children of the Frost. They’re a religion? Cult? Club? Something. They’re fans of the cold nightmare outside this pocket of survivability. Really into Frostbitten, he thinks. Most of them seem a little moonblinked. Unfortunately for him and everyone else, they’ve wormed their way into the council seats. They run half of Far Haven.

She starts walking before Fray can pull back, and as she is nearly as tall as Andrei, she does a marvelous job of pulling Fray along like one of those toy ducks on wheels. She’s power walking, even. They’re still headed where he needs to go, to the outer bounds of the dome, but there are fewer and fewer people here as witnesses. Fray does not love that. Fray’s of the belief that the Children need babysitters.

There’s just one person left in sight when Fray finally locks his knees and digs his heels in. He pulls his hand away and the woman rounds on him with alarming speed. “Something the matter?” she asks sweetly, looming.

Fray puts his hands up and shakes his head, then throws a thumb over his shoulder. I need to go that way. He could get to the Merchants’ from here, yes, but he could get there from a couple streets over, too, and those streets have lights. And people. It’s not that he feels in danger—Fray very rarely feels like he’s in danger from anything—but something about this is making his skin crawl.

The woman watches him with eyes that seem much too large for her skull. “Oh, of course,” she says, as if in a daze. “But, brother in the snow, would you grant me one favor?”

Well. He’s the favor guy. It would probably not go over well if he turned down what is evidently such a big fan. He makes a point of not actually nodding, but he does pause and wait to hear her request.

The woman says, “May I see it?” Her voice trembles. “Your kiss?”

Fray mouths the words what the fuck? before he can stop himself.

“Your mark?” the woman tries again, grabbing the plush fabric of his coat when he tries to back away. “The gift the frost left you. Grant me this, let me gaze upon it, Saint Fray of the Frost.”

Before he can think better of it Fray pulls her hands off with a firm grasp, and squares his shoulders before he shakes his head. To emphasize his point he crosses his arms in front of him, the universal gesture for no. No on several levels. No on the levels of stop-calling-me-that and who-the-fuck-are-you-anyway. (And perhaps most importantly, no-one-gets-to-see-that.)

“I understand,” the woman says after a long pause. She sounds a million miles away. Her hand lifts again, drawn toward his scarf as if it was magnetized. “At least then allow me to fix your wardrobe.” Her fingertips brush the very edge of the scarf. The hair on the back of Fray’s neck prickles and shivers, and that’s his signal to leave.

By rights he should have been out of there before she could manage anything. He would have been, except his foot slips on the iced-over cobbles when he tries to retreat. The woman’s fingers sink into his scarf and it tears away in her hand as he pratfalls hard. The cold air strikes like a serpent at his exposed throat, and he swears he actually sees the glitter under his own chin as the uncloaked moon falls upon him.

The woman is agape. She falls to her knees in fervent prayer. Fray wonders if all the Children are actually fucking insane, or if he lucked out. For now he snatches back his scarf and sprints back up the road. Not as fast as he can go, nowhere near, but more than enough to put a few blocks between himself and the Child. He weaves through a few other snow-crushed buildings and through the edge of the red-light district just to be sure he’s not followed.

God. That probably won’t lead to anything good. But there’s nothing to be done about it now.

Fray shakes himself and sighs and politely waves off the folk pulling double shifts on the world’s oldest profession. He tugs the scarf tighter against his neck. There’s nothing for him here, either, not until he figures this frostrot thing out.

---

It’s dark, the borders of the pasture empty of lights or people. The yotes shine dull white, glossed with blue icicles melting off their fur outside the embrace of the permafrost. They snarl and yap at him with eyes as pale and empty as the moon. He is between them and the Merchants’ wool flock. If these creatures get loose among the merinos, not only will Fray not get paid, but will probably not go a week before someone tries to assassinate him. The goodwill he’s won does not, he suspect, apply to the pragmatic Merchants.

And then he’d have to kill the assassin, and it would just be messy and he doesn’t want to piss off the Merchants.

But he’s not worried about that.

They’re not enormous, the yotes, but their skinny bodies are lithe and fast and hard to predict. There’s six of them. They have claws and superior weight. They have greater numbers. They have those ice-bound teeth that shatter into frostrot the moment they hit blood.

Fray has the sword.

The yotes mouth at each other, excited and riled. Only two of them seem to stop long enough to notice that Fray has set his arms before him as if he held a shield and a blade. For a moment he looks idiotic. In the next, he looks inhuman.

The shield ripples out of nothing across his arm, held there only with the humming of the gold-tinted implants set into his flesh. The air fills with the smell of singed cotton, the superheated elements too much for the fabric to resist. In his opposite hand the implant on his wrist makes a dull thrum, and suddenly the pretend sword in his fingers is not pretend at all. It is, instead (as Fray thought the first time he saw it), a fucking knight’s broadsword. The blade is made of light, and it sits easy in his practiced hand. Both armaments glow and roil like molten gold, not adorned with any boss but a constantly shifting pattern of faint hexagons. He knows from experience it’s not just them: his eyes are lit up, too, glowing gold, those hexagons mirrored by his pupils. Fray checks his grip on the sword, raises the shield, and charges.

There would be no point in detailing the fight. It lasts around seventeen seconds.

The yotes on the ground, now mostly divested from their heads or guts, lay still. Fray approaches one, ever on guard, and nudges its crazed face with the flat of the blade. It’s already dissolving into that sludgy, slushy substance so many frost-touched creatures return to if they perish outside their domain. It’s gross. He wipes the blade off on the clean snow to its side, despite not needing too, and then the blade dissolves from sight. The shield follows, and not long after the dull hum of the implants dies down and goes back to matching his heartbeat. (He hopes it’s a heart he’s got in there.)

Well. That’s his job finished, then. Nothing more to be done here.

Fray stands there for a long time, watching the corrupted bodies melt into the snow.

---

It’s not that the drop in his mood is unexpected so much as Fray doesn’t know how to mitigate it. Right now, curled on the nest of blankets he calls a bed, he feels like he’s in free-fall and he does not know why. It’s always worse if it’s a culling job like this one. He’s developed a sick kind of sympathy for the creatures he cuts down. They aren’t normal animals. Most of them were once, a pack of wolves, a flock of ravens, things the frost struck down before reshaping into its own kind of native inhabitant. They don’t eat. They don’t even kill, some of them. They just carry the frost with them, trying to bring it into the places the Chasm has not yet fully swallowed. There’s no understanding in their white marble eyes. They don’t know what they’re doing.

Fray tries to remember how he got here, to Far Haven. He’d been journeying, he thinks. He’d just done something he was grimly, blackly satisfied with. He could feel the stain of its gratification on his soul. He has no idea what it was, but he thinks he knew once, and he knows it was—

… he knows it was worth what he had to sacrifice. It has to have been.

Only, he wishes he knew which part of him had been used to pay for it. His voice? His memory? The flesh that had been excised from his arms and the golden implants set in their place? All of it, or a combination?

Does it matter?

No, is the answer he arrives on again, trying to sink further into the warmth of his bed. It doesn’t. He’s here now, he’s helping people, he’s doing what it feels like he’s supposed to be doing. That should be enough.

In his dream, Fray is again in the underground chamber that keeps the entire city warm enough to survive. The implants’ roar as they form the golden sword shakes him down to his teeth. The thieves are very annoyed that he’s here. In front of him they argue about who betrayed their plan to extract the generator’s heart and let Far Haven freeze to death, a few hundred miserable lives less valuable than their payout will be. Fray does nothing but keep an eye on the young woman that’s accompanied them, the one who looks fraught and sick with guilt. She barely looks past girlhood.

They fight. It gives him more trouble than it feels like it should. After one of the men shoves a strange gauntlet against his throat and squeezes, after the glittering death of frostrot embeds itself in his neck—after Fray cuts him down and rushes to recover the ancient battery and shove it back into the squealing generator—he remembers the girl.

He finds her clinging to the edge of the magic runoff and its mile-long drop into a red-tinted black, her arms bloody and slipping against the steep concrete. I’m sorry, she wails as he runs to her, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to do this, please help me, please, please. I won’t tell anyone what you are.

He stops in the middle of reaching for her hand, startled stiff by her last words. Just for a moment. Just long enough that when her weakening arms seize and fail her, his dive to grab her is just that little bit too late.

She falls, and Fray watches in horror. In his dream, he can see her panicked face right until the very end. When she hits the ground impact shocks him awake, and he staggers off to the washroom to vomit up greasy doughnut batter and undigested sausages. In the mirror, the inert embrace of the arcane frost—the kiss of death—glitters in the candlelight, clutching his throat like a lover. The implants start to hum as his heart speeds up.

Fray wishes he knew her name. He wishes she could have told him what he is.

But there’s nothing to be done about that now.

---

Thank you for reading!!! as promised, Fray's character sheet. We're playing a hack of AW called Burned Over, and I'm playing a class called The Weaponized, which is what led to me calling Fray "RoboCop Link" until I settled on his name.