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pitlanepeach · 2 days ago

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Sweet Relief | Chapter One

Summary — Lucía Mora has spent her entire life being the protector, the one who has to pick up everybody else's slack. Carlos Sainz, boss of the Sainz mafia, would do anything for his daughter. If that means burning down the world in order to protect her favourite teacher? So be it.

Warnings — Mafia!Carlos, organised crime, single dad Carlos, age-gap romance, smoking, slight sugar baby vibes, set in Spain, eldest daughter parentification.

Notes — Surprise! This is just an idea I've been playing around with for a little while! I plan to update this randomly, so if you'd like to be part of the taglist, let me know - Peach x

Word Count — 5k

Masterlist

The apartment building smelt like boiled rice and bleach again. Lucía had left the window cracked to tempt a breeze through the corridor, but all she got was the sour breath of exhaust from the street below and the far-off, metallic bark of a dog tied too tightly somewhere.

“Another one last night,” Señora Méndez said from the other side of the clothesline, her voice bouncing between the two buildings like a ball no one wanted to catch. “This time they took the poor boy’s bike. Pulled a knife. A child, Lucía.”

Lucía clipped a wet sock to the line, her fingers aching from cold water. “Did anyone call the police?”

The older woman snorted like that was the funniest thing she'd heard all week. “And wait three hours for a shrug? Please. They don’t come here anymore. Not unless someone dies, and even then, it takes them hours.”

Lucía didn’t reply. Not because she disagreed, but because she knew the rules of the neighbourhood: acknowledgment fed the fire. Let it flicker out on its own.

From the fourth floor, she could see a triangle of the schoolyard where she spent her days; the worn slide with the duct tape, the tree with a splintered trunk, the crooked hopscotch squares someone had drawn in chalk weeks ago and no rain had bothered to wash away. She squinted. Were those children already? It was too early.

“I told my youngest she can’t go out alone anymore,” Méndez continued, clicking her tongue. “Even just to the panadería. It’s not safe. People are saying it’s the Sainz men again. New blood in charge.”

Lucía’s stomach tightened at the name, though she couldn’t say why. It sounded too old-fashioned for her, like something that belonged in newspapers she didn’t read. She imagined men in long coats and rings too heavy for their fingers. Whispers behind car windows. The word “Sainz” hung in the air like smoke.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she said, too gentle to be believed. “Things will settle.”

Méndez gave her a look—the kind older women give younger women when they think they’re being naive.

Lucía smiled anyway.

Later, when she stepped back into her apartment, the floor tiles cooled her feet. A cracked mirror reflected the same thin figure it always did; oversized cardigan, damp hair in a claw clip, half-laced shoes. She didn’t look like someone important. She looked like someone who’d learned how to disappear in the middle of a crowd.

Still, her eyes lingered on the painting taped to her wall. Just a scrap. A figure in a car, shadowed face. She hadn’t meant to draw him. She didn’t even know who he was. But something about the lines felt familiar.

She turned away and went to make her tea.

Outside, down the street, a black car idled too long. She didn’t hear it over the whistle of the kettle.

—

Lucía slid into the staffroom just before the bell, shoulders tight under her threadbare coat. The lights overhead buzzed with that sleepy yellow hum that always made her feel like she was moving through syrup.

“El milagro llega,” came a voice from the coffee counter.

María, young and smug and dressed like she’d slept in something fashionable, handed Lucía a paper cup filled three-quarters of the way with burnt machine coffee. Her nails were painted a cheerful orange. Lucía’s were bitten to the quick.

“I’m two minutes early,” Lucía said, taking the cup with both hands like it was something precious. “That makes me God, not a miracle.”

María laughed and flopped into the nearest chair, kicking off one boot. “You’re always early. Just not for this. You always dodge the coffee meetings. Is it me? Do I intimidate you?”

Lucía arched her brow and sat. “I grew up with three brothers. You don’t even register.”

“Touché.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

María was all neon eyeliner and loud opinions. Lucía was muted grays and quiet nods. Still, they made it work. Like a pair of mismatched socks that no one sees under boots.

“You’re doing the after-school art class again?” María asked, softer this time.

Lucía nodded. “No other teacher signed up.”

“They never do,” María said, and then, delicately, “You don’t have to do everything, you know.”

Lucía’s smile faltered, just a breath. “If I don’t, nobody will, and then the kids will miss out.”

María didn’t push. “Have you ever thought about doing something else?” María asked, finally. “I mean… you’re talented, Lucía. The drawings on your board? The way you talk about colour to the kids. It’s not normal.”

Lucía shrugged, eyes on her cup. “Truly talented people don’t live in apartments with broken heaters and mould in the corners.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is when your mother still calls you every Sunday to remind you the electric bill is due, and your youngest brother thinks the word ‘job’ is a slur.”

María winced. “Right. Fair enough.”

The bell rang then, sharp and sudden, scattering whatever truth had started to bloom between them.

Lucía stood, smoothing her skirt. “Time to go be magical.”

“Time to go be criminally underpaid,” María muttered, and followed.

As she walked down the hallway to her classroom, Lucía passed a row of children’s drawings taped to the walls. Most were bright chaos—scribbled suns and wobbly cats. But one stood out: a man in a suit. Dark glasses. A black car behind him. A child's scrawl underneath: Papá.

Lucía paused, fingers brushing the edge of the paper.

Then she kept walking.

—

The radiator had gone quiet again.

Lucía wrapped herself tighter in her cardigan and sat on the corner of her bed, phone cradled between her shoulder and cheek. Her sketchbook lay untouched on the windowsill, half a face etched in soft pencil lines that blurred into nothing.

The phone rang once. Twice.

Then her mother answered with a sigh, like she’d just been interrupted from something impossible and important.

“Ay, finally,” her mother said. “I thought you’d forgotten your own family.”

Lucía closed her eyes. “It’s Sunday, mamá. I always call on Sundays.”

“Yes, but it’s already past seven. We were starting to think maybe something happened. You know how things are. All the robos going on. I saw on the news someone got stabbed on Calle Nueve—that’s your neighborhood, isn’t it?”

“No, that’s a few blocks down.” Lie. It was the next street over.

Her mother made a clicking sound with her tongue. “You should move. It’s not safe. Not with all those gangs and criminals. That Sainz family is active again, they say. The one from the newspapers. You know him?”

Lucía nearly laughed. “Do I know the head of a crime syndicate?”

“I’m sure you meet all kinds at that school.” She said snidely.

Lucía let that pass. “Is everyone okay over there?”

A pause. Then the softest inhale, the kind that always came before the hook. “Well. Your father hasn’t worked in three weeks. The cold makes his knee worse. And I try, mi niña, you know I try, but food’s expensive and your little brothers eat like wolves these days. They need new shoes, too. The ones they have now—ay, the soles are like tissue paper.”

Lucía rubbed her temple. “I already sent you extra this month.”

“I know, I know. And we’re grateful. But if you have even fifty more euros—just fifty, to get us through until your tía sends something from Seville…”

“I’ll send it tomorrow.”

“Dios te bendiga,” her mother said, immediate and bright, like a switch had flipped. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Lucía didn’t reply. Her eyes had drifted to the cracked ceiling, where the plaster bowed in the corner like it might finally fall. She imagined standing under it, letting it come down. Letting something else break, just for once.

Her mother was still talking. Something about her neighbours. A cousin getting married. She listened, half-present, half-fading.

When the call ended, she sat in the dark for a while, phone in her lap.

The radiator ticked. A siren warbled in the distance. She reached for her sketchbook but didn’t open it.

Instead, she stood, crossed the room, and opened her little tin cash box. She counted the bills. Folded two twenties and a ten into an envelope. Wrote her mother’s name on it in her careful, teacher handwriting.

Then she sat again.

Not crying. Just quiet.

She didn’t need to cry. That was the thing about being the strong one.

You learned to be tired instead.

—

The classroom was quieter than usual.

Lucía noticed it first in the way the chairs scraped a little softer, the whispers tucked themselves under desks, the tension that hung like dust motes in the light. Something had happened.

She scanned the room. Then her eyes landed on Inés Ramos, seated in the far corner by the window.

Eight years old. Tiny. All knees and knotted braids, with a silence so profound it felt deliberate. Inés spoke the way birds did; only when she had to, and never too loud. She coloured her worksheets in delicate, swirling pastels, even when the instructions said “crayon.” Never caused any trouble.

Which was why Lucía’s stomach knotted at the sight of her now: hunched, turned slightly inward, like she was trying to fold herself into nothing.

Lucía crossed the room.

“Inés?” she said gently, kneeling by the desk. “Can I see your hands?”

The girl blinked, startled, but held them out. One was pink at the knuckles. Not quite bruised. But not unmarked.

Lucía’s voice stayed light. “Did you fall?”

Inés glanced sideways. Toward a pair of boys two rows down, still giggling into their sleeves. One of them—Mateo—noticed Lucía watching and immediately straightened, eyes wide with guilt.

Ah.

Lucía stood slowly, spine like a taut thread. She walked over to Mateo’s desk with the deliberate calm of someone who’s learned not to raise their voice unless they want to lose the moment.

“Mateo. Can you come with me?”

The class went dead quiet. Lucía didn’t yell. She didn’t scold. But everyone knew: this was worse.

Out in the hallway, she crouched to his level.

“Tell me what happened,” she said, voice soft. “All of it.”

Mateo squirmed. “We were just playing.”

“What kind of game ends with somebody being hurt like that?”

His mouth worked uselessly for a few seconds. Then, a sullen mutter: “She’s weird. Never talks. We just wanted her to say something.”

Lucía closed her eyes.

“You are never,” she said slowly, “to put your hands on another person in anger. You understand?”

A pause. A grudging nod.

“Good. Go back inside.”

When she returned to the classroom, Inés was still curled inward, her braid frayed at the end. Lucía didn’t touch her. She knew better. Some children needed space the way others needed hugs.

So instead, she sat beside her and pulled a piece of paper from the stack.

“Do you want to draw for a while?”

Inés hesitated. Then nodded.

They coloured side by side for the rest of the lesson. Lucía didn’t ask any more questions.

—

That evening, after the children had gone and the room had quieted to the ticking of the old wall clock, Lucía was cleaning paint cups when she saw it.

A man outside the school gate. Standing very still, arms crossed. Watching.

Not like a parent. Not like someone waiting.

Lucía squinted through the sun-glare. She couldn’t see his face. Just the suggestion of sharp edges. A suit, maybe. Or just the posture of someone used to control.

Then he turned and walked away.

—

The first time Carlos saw her, he thought, ‘She’s too soft to survive in this world.’

She moved like someone used to being invisible. Calm. Quiet. But not weak. No—there was something else. The way she watched the children like they were hers, even when they weren’t. The way her voice carried not because it was loud, but because it was certain.

She didn’t command the room. She held it.

Through the window of the town car, he watched as she crouched beside Inés in the playground.

She touched her.

A hand on the braid. A gentle tuck of hair behind his daughter’s ear.

And Inés didn’t flinch.

Carlos’ entire body went still.

He'd seen his daughter go catatonic at the lightest brush of a stranger’s hand.

But here she was, allowing it. Leaning toward it, even.

He felt it like a hook in the chest. “Who is she?” he asked, eyes still fixed.

“Lucía Mora,” Álvaro said, already flipping through the file. “Twenty-three. Teacher. Lives alone. No husband. No boyfriend. Supports her parents and two brothers financially. One of them’s a dropout. The other’s fourteen and doesn’t go to school.”

“Why?”

“Eh. No idea. Father’s got a back injury. Looks like she’s been the responsible adult in the family since she was fifteen.”

Carlos didn’t say anything. Just watched as Lucía handed Inés a piece of chalk. Let her work in silence. Matched her energy instinctively, like she’d studied her, but no—this wasn’t a performance.

This was instinct.

This was real.

“She’s overworked,” Álvaro added. “But no drugs. No record. Clean. Honest.”

Carlos laughed under his breath. “There’s no such thing.”

Álvaro paused. “You want us to keep tabs?”

“No.” That surprised even himself.

He took the file. Read through it slowly. Scanned the address, the salary, the debts she didn’t talk about. She was drowning in them.

She had no idea who Inés was. She wasn’t trying to impress him, wasn’t angling for proximity to power. She was simply... good.

And he’d spent so long surrounded by people who faked goodness to mask their rot. This woman, he thought, is a fucking anomaly.

Carlos closed the file. Lit a cigarette. Let it burn in his fingers.

“I want to meet her,” he said finally.

Álvaro tilted his head. “At the school?”

“No.” He tapped ash into the tray. “I want to see who she is when she’s off-duty.”

He watched her one last time—how she stood to clean, how she smiled at a student, how she rubbed the back of her neck like her body had forgotten it belonged to her.

Then, “Set something up. Soon.”

—

The walk home always felt a little longer in winter.

The sun dipped low behind the rooftops, casting everything in blue-gold shadow. The kind of light that made even broken things beautiful. Worn tiles, laundry lines strung between balconies, shutters half-hanging off their hinges.

Lucía clutched her coat tighter around her. The zipper had broken two weeks ago.

She passed the usual markers: the crumbling fountain outside the abandoned butcher shop. The dog with one ear that always watched from the fire escape. The little red café that played cassette tapes through dusty speakers.

Then she turned onto her street and paused.

Nothing looked different.

But something felt off.

She scanned the road. No one there. A few windows lit up in the apartments above. Someone arguing in rapid Catalan across the alley. The scent of something frying in oil.

Still.

She felt it. The weight. Like someone was watching.

Her fingers twitched at her side. Her heartbeat picked up, just a little.

She shook her head. “Get a grip.”

She’d been tense all day. The thing with Inés. The boys. The cold. The phone call from her mother, still echoing in the back of her mind.

She was tired. That’s all.

Still, when she reached the door to her building, she didn’t fumble for her keys the way she usually did. She kept her head high. Shoulders square. Turned the lock with practiced speed and slipped inside.

The stairwell smelled like rust.

She took the stairs instead of the elevator.

Halfway up, she glanced back down the dim concrete shaft.

Nothing.

But she couldn’t shake it.

She reached her apartment, locked the door behind her. Bolted it. Latched the chain. All the things she usually forgot to do, tonight done in sequence like ritual.

Inside, her little space waited for her—soft and cramped and cobbled together with secondhand furniture and fading art supplies. She turned on the lamp. Lit her candle. Boiled water for tea.

By the time she sat on the couch, blanket over her knees, sketchbook in her lap, she almost felt normal again.

Still…

She looked once at the window.

Nothing but window lights and laundry lines.

She stared for a moment longer.

Then she opened the sketchbook and began to draw. Gentle lines. A small hand. A braid. The memory of a quiet child.

—

He came alone.

That was rare.

But Álvaro didn’t need to see this. No one did.

Fernando stood across the street from her building, tucked into the shadow of a shuttered tobacco shop, hands in his coat pockets. Watching.

The place was worse than he expected.

Graffiti crawled up the walls like veins. One of the windows on the ground floor was cracked, taped over with a cardboard cereal box. The outer door didn’t shut properly. A group of teenagers smoked on the steps, passing something back and forth, loud with the recklessness of people who didn’t know how close they were to danger.

Carlos’ jaw locked.

He watched her window. Fourth floor. Faint light flickering behind a torn curtain. Warm, amber. A single candle glow in a city of broken teeth.

A woman like her shouldn’t live in a building that smelled like piss and regret. Shouldn’t have to walk home with her keys between her fingers like a weapon. Shouldn’t have to dodge stray hands on the metro or carry cash in her bra or count every euro at the corner market.

She should be somewhere safe.

Somewhere soft.

Somewhere… his.

That last thought came uninvited.

He didn’t like it.

He didn’t like how this felt. Like he’d swallowed something and it had lodged behind his ribs. Tight. Hot.

This was supposed to be curiosity. A thank-you for what she’d become for Inés. That was all.

But standing here, watching her silhouette move through that too-small apartment, watching her sit down at the table with a bowl of what looked like soup and stare into it like she was willing it to become more—it wasn’t curiosity anymore.

It was hunger.

And it was fury.

He imagined someone breaking into that building. Kicking open her door. He imagined her scream. He imagined getting there too late.

And something ancient inside him snapped its teeth.

No.

That wouldn’t happen.

Not to her.

He stepped away from the wall. Lit a cigarette with hands steadier than they should’ve been.

And started to plan.

—

It was just after lunch, and the classroom buzzed with the usual post-break energy: some students talking in hushed voices, others already immersed in their books or drawings. Lucía was at her desk, sorting through papers, when she noticed Inés standing by the door. Her little frame was still, her eyes wide, her hands clutching the strap of her bag tightly, as if unsure if she should enter the room or run a million miles away.

Inés didn’t usually seek out attention. She wasn’t the type to raise her hand or push herself into conversations. No, Inés was a child who observed, who stood on the edge of things, careful and quiet. But now, Lucía could see the hesitation in her posture—the way her feet shifted, the way she wouldn’t quite meet anyone’s eyes.

“Are you okay, Inés?” Lucía asked, her voice light but warm, calling the girl over with a gentle gesture.

Inés blinked, then slowly walked over, dragging her feet just slightly as if trying to make the decision to move. She didn’t say anything at first, but Lucía noticed how she leaned a little closer to her desk once she reached it, the silence between them not uncomfortable but filled with unspoken understanding.

Without a word, Lucía set down the papers she’d been holding and turned toward the girl, offering her the space to sit if she wanted.

Inés hesitated again, then sat down on the edge of the desk, just beside Lucía’s chair. She didn’t say anything; she simply curled in on herself a little, wrapping her arms around her knees, her eyes flicking from the floor to Lucía’s face and back again.

Lucía watched her for a moment, her heart softening. She didn’t need to ask what Inés wanted—she could see it in the way the child’s shoulders slumped, the way her fingers lightly tapped the edge of her notebook.

Lucía smiled gently. The other children in the class were too busy with their own conversations to notice, leaving the two of them in a kind of cocoon of quiet.

“You’re welcome to stay there for as long as you’d like, Inés,” Lucía said after a long pause, her voice soft but steady. “No rush to do anything.”

Inés looked up at her then, and for the first time, Lucía saw the faintest trace of something like relief in the girl’s eyes. It was fleeting but real.

Inés shifted closer, not quite enough to touch her, but enough. She glanced at the papers on Lucía’s desk, then at the art supplies scattered across the corner, but she didn’t move toward any of it.

After a while, Inés spoke so quietly that Lucía had to lean in to catch her words. “Do you think I could… draw with you?” she asked, voice soft and almost shy. “Like we did last time. But… just sit with you. Don’t want to go to my desk.”

Lucía’s heart skipped a beat. She nodded with a smile. “Of course.”

The little girl opened her bag slowly, pulling out a small, worn sketchbook. She didn’t start drawing right away. Instead, she just held it in her lap, tracing the edges of the pages with her fingers.

Lucía stood up, brought the attention of the rest of the class to the board, and gave them their tasks for the next hour. She found herself glancing at Inés every now and then, concern slowly morphing into something sweeter as she watched the little girl get lost in the splashes of colour.

Eventually, the bell rang, signalling the end of class.

Inés hesitated, as if reluctant to leave.

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” Lucía said, standing and gathering her things. “Whenever you need, you can come. I will excuse you from your other classes, if you’re having a hard time.”

Inés met her eyes for a moment, and for the first time, Lucía saw a small smile tug at the corners of the girl’s lips. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

—

Lucía’s apartment was dark when she arrived home, the quiet hum of the city outside her window the only sound. She closed the door behind her with a soft click and leaned against it for a moment, breathing in the stillness.

Something was different.

Her eyes immediately went to the door, to the lock she’d been complaining about for months. The old mechanism had been temperamental, sometimes jamming or refusing to turn, and she'd had to manoeuvre it a hundred times just to get inside. But tonight, the lock had turned smoothly. Too smoothly.

She paused, her gaze narrowing.

A small white envelope sat neatly under the door, right where the frame met the floor. There were no markings on it, only a single word: Compensation.

Lucía bent down to pick it up, her fingers brushing the paper before she slid it open. Inside was a thick wad of bills—far more than she was expecting for a few months of discomfort. The amount was substantial enough to make her pause, her heart skipping a beat in cautious disbelief.

She stared at the money, her mind racing.

Her suspicions stirred. Her landlord was an odd man, constantly vague, never really engaging beyond the bare minimum. And the money—it felt off. Too much. She hesitated before slipping it into the pocket of her cardigan.

With a sigh, she made her way toward the kitchen to drop off her bag and empty the trash can.

The hallway was dimly lit. Her building was old, like everything else in this part of town. The stairs creaked underfoot, and the walls were thin enough to hear muffled conversations from neighbouring apartments. Lucía could always count on hearing at least one argument or loud voice on any given evening. It was part of the charm, really.

She made it to the trash chute and started to open it when a familiar voice interrupted her.

"Lucía, wait a second."

She turned to find her neighbour, Marta, a woman in her late thirties with messy hair and a perpetually tired look, standing in the hallway. She had the same exhausted but defiant look that Lucía sometimes wore. A woman just scraping by.

“What is it?” Lucía asked, already guessing it was going to be about the building. Everyone seemed to talk about the building lately—its shitty carpets, its damp walls.

Marta lowered her voice, glancing around before stepping closer. “You’re not gonna believe it, but I just heard some things from a friend of a friend who works with the landlord.” She looked over her shoulder once more. “Apparently, the building’s being sold. To some big corporation, but it’s… God, they’re saying it’s Sainz. He’s buying up the whole block.”

Lucía blinked, half-thinking she hadn’t heard Marta correctly. “Sainz as in… The mafia family?”

Marta nodded, her eyes wide. “Yeah. The mafia. Apparently they’ve been looking at this building for months now. I mean, you know how sketchy things are around here. You can’t trust anyone.” She shifted on her feet, speaking faster now, as though needing to unload the whole story at once. “The rumour is they’re going to hike up the rent, make it impossible for us to stay here. It’s all about making money. They don’t care about us. They’ll just push us out if we can’t pay, move in people who can.”

Lucía’s chest tightened.

Marta’s face had already darkened, and she reached out, placing a hand on Lucía’s arm. “I don’t know, Lucía, but I’ve been looking for another place, just in case. If they raise the rent… we’ll be screwed. I don’t know how anyone will manage to stay here, not with the way things are.”

Lucía nodded, feeling oddly hazy about it all.

She didn’t know how long she stood there in silence, her hand still gripping the trash bag.

“I’ll think about it,” Lucía finally said.

Marta gave her a sympathetic look before nodding and walking away, muttering to herself about how it was just another in a long list of “impossible” things to deal with.

When she finally dropped the trash into the chute, she was still thinking about Sainz, about the landlord’s strange behaviour, and that envelope with the money. It all tangled in her mind, filling the space in her head with questions and suspicion.

She made her way back up the stairs slowly, her thoughts racing.

Back in her apartment, she locked the door behind her, the new lock clicking smoothly into place. She placed the envelope full of euros on the counter, still unsure what to make of it.

Her phone buzzed, a familiar tone signalling a new message.

Lucía stared at the screen. It was from her mother.

I don’t know if you’ve looked at the school uniform prices for your siblings this year, but they’re going up. Are you going to be able to help?

She couldn’t say no. She never could.

She glanced at the envelope. Bit her lip.

I’ll come by tomorrow with some cash.

308 notes · View notes

osteoptimist · 10 hours ago

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For those in the "like a trad fantasy adventure but wished it was better than D&D in some way" camp, I heartily recommend Draw Steel by MCDM (you might have heard of the creative director, Matt Coleville). It doesn't fully release until later this year, but I've been following the development and the playtests have been really fun.

It's a game about killing monsters, and it does that really well, but it also has some amazing social mechanics (the Negotiation rules are great for getting your players to think about NPCs as complex individuals) and they put in a lot of effort to make it fun for the Director to run.

My players have told me they love this game for a lot of reasons:

YOU DON'T MISS. There is NEVER a time where you're up in combat and a bad die roll means you basically lose your turn. In D&D, a handful of bad rolls can mean you don't accomplish anything the entire night! Draw Steel uses a 3-tiered system for its rolls, and even a tier 1 roll still does something. Attacks always hit, you're rolling to see how strong the effect of your ability is (they're almost never just plain damage) and how much progress you're making. The enemies are making progress too!

Character creation gives you a much better idea of who your character is. You pick a Career as part of your background, and that gives you a list of possible "inciting incidents" that caused you to leave your old life behind and become a hero. There's also a big list of Complications, each with a benefit and a drawback, that help make your character more interesting. Things like having an elemental inside you, a fairy stole your face, or you just don't have a head at all!

No "martial/caster gap". The warriors get awesome powers and the mages aren't bogged down by a bloated list of spells. All the classes have access to big flashy abilities that change the fight in meaningful ways. Plus, the high-level abilities are designed to be cool and fun, not give the Director a headache by rewriting reality.

Fights are super dynamic. I've seen lots of 5e combats devolve into everyone standing in a big clump and hitting each other until someone goes down. That never happens in Draw Steel. Your abilities are throwing enemies across the battlefield, slamming them into walls or each other, creating or destroying terrain, and letting your allies reposition.

If you like running D&D, I can say I've found Draw Steel to be much less draining at the end of a session. Hell, I'm usually energized and excited to go home and prep the next session. Some of the big things I like as a Director:

Because of the way resources in Draw Steel work, adventures AND individual fights get more dramatic as they go on. The heroes are gaining power, but they're getting more and more vulnerable if they make a mistake. It creates amazing automatic tension, and its so much easier to pace the game. (Unlike in D&D where characters can unload their strongest abilities in the first round, and then go take a long rest between most fights).

In combat, I get a ton of tools to make the fight dynamic and memorable. I gain a special resource called Malice every round that I can use to activate stronger monster powers or change the battlefield, bosses have special Villain Actions that help pace the fight, and the enemies all have unique abilities that make them feel different. No "claw, claw, bite".

The Negotiation rules I mentioned provide a mechanical scaffold for important discussions. What really sold me on it was the way it gives players a real incentive to try to figure out the motivations of the NPCs, turning them into three-dimensional people with their own inner conflicts.

While it is still a complex game with a lot going on, all that complexity has a purpose. I remember trying to learn 5e and being confused by ability scores vs ability modifiers, spell slots vs prepared spells, all the different things the word "attack" can mean, etc. The designers went back to first principles and have done a pretty good job to make sure all the rules are useful and make the game more fun.

I could go on. There is a lot I didn't touch on. Downtime activities and crafting, TITLES holy shit titles rock, the way your Ancestry is like a grab-bag, the way initiative supports teamwork, kits instead of a list of weapons, the game is awesome.

To be clear, it is still a lot like D&D in the broad strokes and has a lot of similar underlying assumptions. It's a challenge-based game where combat is the primary way to solve problems, you get stronger by overcoming those combat challenges, getting stronger means you get more powers and items to fight more combat challenges. But it does all that stuff with much better design and great creative design.

So okay, these two things are both true:

A lot of people default to D&D as a universal game despite it only supporting a very narrow genre and playstyle

A lot of people do like the playstyle supported by D&D but might take issue with specific mechanics and the actual implementation of said mechanica

These two groups are different and when making game recommendations to these people it's good to recognize which type of person you're talking to.

If someone wants a game that supports investigation, in-depth social gameplay, or faction-level play, then you don't recommend Pathfinder. That's like someone saying "I wish I could fly but I only have a skateboard" and you saying "well a skateboard is no good, have you considered rollerblades?"

Now if they actually do say that they like the playstyle of D&D (whichever part of that they mean) then you can go ahead and recommend Pathfinder. Or Break!! Or Errant. Or any number of the other fantasy adventure games out there. I'm actually thinking of making a big post that's just all the different fantasy adventure games I can think of. But at that point you do not recommend Apocalypse World or Monsterhearts or whatever. Those games kick ass, but c'mon, when people are clearly communicating that they like a trad fantasy adventure but wished it was better than D&D in some way you don't want to scare them with stuff like "Make a move that follows" and "look through crosshairs" and "act under pressure," geeze.

And this is also why I often ask people to be specific when they ask me for game recommendations upfront or make it perfectly clear why I am recommending whichever games I am in the given context. Like recently when someone genuinely asked me for alternatives to D&D I answered from the point of view of looking for a D&D replacement. It wasn't an exhaustive list but idk I like all those games. Anygway

#draw steel

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powderpinkprincess · 2 days ago

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Pressure [Lando Norris x reader]

description: Lando finds out about the Helmut Marko comment. But did anyone he trusts give him out? warnings: a few bad words, mentions of panic attack

Lando had always considered himself lucky. He got to live his dream. Driving in Formula 1, competing with the best, being in the motorsport elite. It was insane to think about. He was living a life most people could only imagine. He had a great, supportive family, a good team around him, friends he trusted, and a girlfriend he loved. From the outside, it looked like he had it all figured out. And in many ways, he did.

Naturally, his job and his lifestyle came with their fair share of difficulties and stress as well. Travelling a lot, switching time zones often, always pushing himself beyond his limits – it was difficult. Not only for him, but for everyone who worked in Formula 1. They had to be mentally tough to be able to perform under the extreme pressure that was on them, but that sort of mental toughness didn’t mean they were immune to stress and anxiety. They were all only humans, after all.

Lando never wanted to lie and say he always had everything sorted. Yet, there were things he preferred to keep private. Some things about his life weren’t public knowledge, and he preferred to keep them that way. One of those things was the fact that he had dealt with panic attacks since he was about sixteen.

It had never interfered with his driving. If anything, racing was often the one thing that grounded him. But still, it was there. A part of his reality that he’d learned to manage over time. Therapy helped, so did the right people around him, and in the past few years, working with McLaren’s sports psychologist had made a real difference. He’d gone almost eight months without experiencing one. That was the longest it had ever been.

He didn’t talk much about it. Only a handful of people knew, and even fewer saw, people he deeply trusted. His family, his best friend, and you, his girlfriend of three years.

That is exactly why that quote hit so hard.

It was just a quote. A random article someone forwarded to his WhatsApp. Just another thing people like to send him: memes, photos, race edits, media noise. But this one… This one made his blood run cold.

"We know Norris has some mental weaknesses,” Helmut Marko told Motorsport-Magazin. “I've read about some of the rituals he needs to do to perform well on race day."

He blinked. Reread it. Reread it again.

It just didn’t seem like the usual trash talk. It was specific. Personal. Like… What was he even talking about? Would he know about that? How?!

He put his phone down on the kitchen counter, his coffee suddenly forgotten. Then picked it up again. Scrolled through the article. Searched the interview’s context. There was none. It wasn’t a publicized McLaren feature. It wasn’t a documentary. It wasn’t common knowledge. It wasn’t even supposed to be.

He felt his stomach twist, rage building in his chest. What was even going on?! Did someone… Talk? But who? And how…?

You walked into the kitchen, humming a song, you weren’t even sure which one. You carried two mugs in your left hand and a bowl in your right, which was left in the living room from the night before. Lando had a few days off, so the two of you could finally start the list of movies you wanted to watch.

Your glance wandered to your boyfriend leaning against the kitchen counter, and your smile faded a little. He had his phone in his hand, jaw clenched, his thumb hovering over the screen as if he was about to type something that was supposed to be well-composed. He had a frown on his face, he was chewing on his lower lip, and he looked like he wanted to throw the phone across the room, but couldn’t quite justify the drama.

You walked closer. “Lando? You’re good?”

He glanced up, and you were sure your expression just mimicked his. He seemed troubled. He turned the screen toward you, not saying a word.

You read it, slowly. Then you read it again. “Oh.”

Your eyes met his. His voice was quiet. “How the fuck would he know about that?”

Your heart dropped. You knew what he meant. The article wasn’t the issue. The article was just the fuse.

“The only people who know are…” he trailed off. He locked the screen of his phone and placed it on the countertop beside him before looking back at you. “I mean, it’s not on record. Not on media. Not anywhere.”

You saw it then - not just the anger in his eyes, but something colder. Fear. Betrayal.

“I never told anyone outside the team. You. Jon. The psychologist. Maybe…" He silenced, shaking his head. “Someone talked. Someone had to talk.”

You wanted to stop him. That quote was nasty, but it was vague. You didn’t want him to jump to such harsh and hurtful conclusions based on those two sentences. No one you knew who knew about his past struggles would give out Lando like that… Or would they?

You took a deep breath. “Lando…”

“No, don’t say it’s nothing. Don’t say he guessed. You don’t guess that shit,” he cut you off before you could even start.

“I wasn’t going to say that,” you replied gently. “Just… Maybe it’s not even about that. Maybe he saw something and twisted it. He didn’t say anything specific. For all we know, he’s just throwing stuff around to stir drama.”

“Or maybe someone I trusted opened their fucking mouth.” He made eye contact with you again, but this time you couldn’t quite read him.

You didn’t even know what to say. What could you say? That it wasn’t even a possibility? That it didn’t matter? That no one cared?

But it mattered to him. He cared. And a quote like that coming from Helmut Marko himself would certainly make a huge noise in the media, even if it was just something as vague as it was. People will talk about it, and they will try to guess what he meant exactly. Just like you and Lando did right now.

You crossed your arms and leaned against the counter next to him. “Okay, then who do you even think could’ve said something?” you asked, your voice calm but firm. You wanted him to see what you were getting at.

Lando didn’t respond.

“Seriously. Your family? Max? They have never even talked to this man as far as I know. Jon? The team psychologist, who has a literal obligation of confidentiality and could legally not say anything unless you murdered someone? Or me?” you asked, ticking the options off on your fingers. “We are the only people who know. You haven’t told anyone else. So, unless you think one of us suddenly decided to go behind your back and give Helmut Marko, of all people, personal information about your mental health, maybe you should take a breath and think this through.”

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “Maybe someone let something slip without meaning to.”

“Or maybe it wasn’t even about what you think,” you answered, softening your voice a little. “Maybe it’s just a bitter old man trying to sound like he knows everything. Don’t give this more power than it deserves.”

He nodded slowly, deep in thought, his shoulders still tense. You understood him. A lot depended on his mental well-being. This was something even Zak didn’t know, and he liked to dig out lots of information about his drivers that could affect their performance. Especially now when they had the best cars on the grid.

“We all love you so much. We know how much it means to you to keep it a secret,” you continued. “Don’t hurt yourself by thinking any of us gave you out before you see actual proof.”

He stayed quiet, chewing on the inside of his cheek, his jaw clenched like he was holding something in. The heavy silence stretching between you was lightly filled by the soft buzz of the fridge, the birds chirping outside, and your quiet breaths.

You reached out, letting your hand rest on his arm. “Lando.”

His eyes flicked to yours, guarded.

“You’ve done so well,” you said softly. “You haven’t had a panic attack in what… Eight months? That’s not nothing. You’ve been handling everything better than ever. This comment doesn’t undo that. Besides, you guys operate under so much pressure. Constantly. It’s not normal what you do week in, week out. I’m not even sure you’re the only one who deals with stuff like this. You might just be one of the few who’s been brave enough to talk about it.”

He let out a soft breath, something between a sigh and a scoff. Yes, he did talk about mental health, but he purposefully never mentioned anything that personal.

“Maybe that’s where this comment came from,” you continued. “Cause you were open once. But you gave space for conversations that matter. And people look up to you for it. They admire it. What you did was real mental toughness, you know that. And Zak knows that as well.”

He looked down, his voice nearly a whisper. “It just felt like… Like someone cracked the door open. Even if it was only a little.”

You nodded, your thumb brushing gently against the inside of his wrist. “Then you close it. You don’t owe anyone your story. Especially not someone like Marko.”

He took a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it out. He forced a small smile on the corners of his mouth and nodded again. “Right.”

You weren’t sure any of your words got to him until his hand finally found yours and gave it a small, grateful squeeze.

#f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando x reader #lando x y/n #lando norris x y/n #ln4 x reader #ln4 x y/n

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emotionally-cuckolded · 2 days ago

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[Marriage Counselor] How long has it been now since your wife started cuckolding you? Four months I think. So tell me how you feel about it now. I've spoken with her and she's very pleased with how everything is going. How about you?

[Cuckold] Well -- I have started to feel less jealous about her having someone else as her sex partner. It's been hard the past month, though, since she decided to stop having sex with me.

[Marriage Counselor] But you do understand why, don't you. The sex she's been having with him is simply so much better than she has ever had with you that it makes it hard for her to even think about you in a sexual way anymore. You do understand that, don't you?

[Cuckold] Yes. It's frustrating, but yes I understand why she decided that. But the problem, really, now isn't just that. Two weeks ago, she told me that she and her sex partner -- the same guys she's been having sex with three or four times a week for almost two months now -- have decided to start going out on dates together. And so -- just a couple of nights ago -- they did. They went to a restaurant together, and then to a bar to listen to music, and then she spent the whole night with him at his apartment. I guess I never expected her relationship with him to ever be anything more than just sex.

[Marriage Counselor] And that hurts your feelings and makes you jealous?

[Cuckold] Yes. Both of those things. And I worry that they might see someone we know -- that people will find out that she cuckolds me.

[Marriage Counselor] O.K. Let me ask you this. You do really love her, right? And want her to be happy, and satisfied, and feeling fulfilled in life.

[Cuckold] Well yes. Of course. More than anything in my life! That's why I agreed with you when you first recommended that she cuckold me. Because I knew it was something she needed to do to be happy and to be satisfied and to feel fulfilled.

[Marriage Counselor] Good. That's right. Well -- let me say two things about what is happening now. First, you need to understand that when a woman is with a man as often as your wife has been with him, and when he is satisfying her sexual needs the way he is for her -- it is very natural for a woman to start to develop emotional feelings for the man -- often very strong emotional feelings. And so it is very natural for her want to be with him in ways that go beyond having sex.

And secondly -- going along with that -- your wife has deep romance needs in addition to her sexual needs. You knew that you had been failing to satisfy her sexually, but what you perhaps didn't realize is that she was feeling romance-deprived as well. Ultimately, what she needed was not just another sexual partner, but a real lover -- a man she cares about and wants to spend a lot of time with -- including socializing with and dating. Has she told you that he now refers to her as his girlfriend? And that they plan to go to a party together next week so that he can introduce her that way to his friends? And that she is eager to start going out with him as a couple with people that you and she used to socialize with?

[cuckold -- on the verge of tears]. Oh god - no. She hasn't told me all that. So pretty soon everyone will know?

[Marriage Counselor] Yes -- and yes, most men in your position feel very humiliated and ashamed, but I can work with you on that, so that you can accept that what you are doing -- stepping back so that your wife can fall in love with another man -- is something admirable -- a real sign of how deep your love is for her.

[cuckold] Falling in love? Is ... is that what's happening.

[Marriage Counselor] Oh yes. Most of my clients reach this point eventually, so I'm not surprised by it at all. What is important for you to focus on is that this is a very important time for your wife. She is experiencing the delirious thrill of fall in love and having her love requited. You want to make sure that you don't do anything to interfere with that experience for her. She and her boyfriend will be spending more and more time together I suspect, and all she needs from you is to be a supportive friend to her -- to step back and to step away, so that the two of them can explore their feelings for each other more -- and then you will need to accept, and even celebrate wherever that process ends up -- which for many of the couples I've worked with, involves the cucked husband fully replaced in his wife's life by her lover.

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chillinglikeashilling · 2 days ago

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Lord forgive me for paying attention to the YT comments section but I really want people who claim Annie was treated as a less 'desired love interest' than Mary to remind me which of them was told she didn't have any business being near them by both Micheal A and Michael B Jordan.

"Oh but Mary is shown to be the focus of desire and Annie isn't"

Are we forgetting that the first thing Stack tells Mary to do is kick rocks? That one of the first things we learned about their past relationship is that he left her in the middle of the night without any communication at all?

Yes Smoke also left Annie but that to me is representative of the fact that both twins always chose each other over either of their respective lovers, or anyone else in their lives. At the very least we know from the fact that he married her that Smoke considered Annie someone in his life, who was not Stack, that he could build a life with. She made him a mojo bag so it's not like Smoke left in the middle of the night.

And it's not like either twin is best friends with the other's lover but Annie clearly gets so much more consideration and respect from Stack than Mary does from Smoke. Smoke would clearly rather Stack and Mary never even have been together in the first place but even from (what was supposed to be) the opening night of the Juke we see Stack and Annie working together to manage Smoke and the business. Annie is being paid to cook there sure, but to me it's clear that she was always supposed to have a huge role in the business.

I'm not saying the movie is perfect or that people can't have their own opinions but even if we're appealing to the respectability argument- Annie is the only person in the main cast apart from Sammie with very little 'sin' on her record. For one thing she's the only woman of the three love interests who isn't cheating on her husband for whatever that's worth to folks in a movie called Sinners.

And even the comparison of the love scenes feels disingenuous to me. I've seen some people say Mary is the one shown to be desired between her and Stack while Smoke is shown to be desired by Annie and I want to remind everyone that again Mary is the person chasing Stack. He saw her that morning and said go back to your white husband. Annie and Smoke are reuniting as a couple that went through a horrible loss that can rip modern couples apart, without the additional stresses of being sharecroppers on top of that.

Additionally I don't think it's a coincidence that the love scene between Smoke and Annie happens before the sun goes down and the one between Stack and Mary - which I remind everyone leads to Stack dying!!- happens after nightfall and after Mary has already been turned by Rennick. Sammie and Stack both talk about that day before the sun went down being one of the best days of their life. Given the connection and parallels between the twins I would assume that the same would probably be true for Smoke.

So one of the best days of his life involved getting to reconnect with his wife. Getting to fold her into a business he and his brother were building not just for their own financial freedom and independence but also as a safe space for their community. A community Annie was a central part of.

One of those love scenes happened between a couple that had a real chance of reconciling if Rennick hadn't shown up and it's not the one featuring Mary.

#Also I don't know sometimes married couples like to hit it from the back #That's not a bad or non intimate way to have sex especially because we do see them sharing intimacy face to face right before that #Again the movie isn't perfect but please free my sister Annie from the stereotypes people are projecting onto her #That are completely unsupported by the text or subtext while ignoring and flattening out what we are actually shown to fit their assumption #annie sinners #smoke and stack #Elijah Moore #sinners spoilers #Spoilers #Trust me as someone who loves romance in all formats some people are having the world's least intimate and connected sex face to face #Sinners #sinners movie #sinners 2025 #Also this is my post so I'm gonna keep ranting in the tags - reducing Annie down to having to be the strong “aggressive” Black woman for #*checks notes*#Using her family's knowledge and root work to identify threats to her community and work to try and keep them safe #When Mary is the one talking about “Beating every bitch in here” over being asked to leave Stack alone BY Stack #Get a grip

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goodqueenaly · 2 days ago

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Do you think we'll ever get to see the widow's law impact succession related plots in asoiaf? Potentially with the freys? I've always been disappointed it was not included in the dance, as a way to lend strength to rhaenyra's faction and show her or her allies as skilled politicians to play up her claim via a popular law championed by a popular queen.

I certainly think it’s possible. I’ve talked before about the Widow’s Law, and I agree that it seems like a creative addition that should have come up in the Dance - say, Lord Beesbury mentioning it in defense of Rhaenyra during that late-night meeting of the green council upon Viserys I’s death, or Grand Maester Orwyle explaining to Rhaenyra why the law should support Aegon II’s accession. GRRM certainly doesn’t have to reintroduce it in the future, but I would not at all be surprised if he does; I will certainly be curious how much of F&B is translated to the main novels (beyond, of course, broad character and narrative parallels).

Of course, it me, so I tend to think (as I mentioned in that original post) that the Widow’s Law was inspired by Maurice Druon’s depiction of the Salic law in The Accursed Kings, specifically The Royal Succession. In that novel, Druon has the soon-to-be King Philip V essentially invent a rule that would support him becoming king over his late elder brother’s daughter, Jeanne. Consequently, I would not be surprised if GRRM brought up the Widow’s Law again at the accession of Viserys II - another capable, intelligent younger brother who, upon the death (in which he may have had a hand) of his late elder brother’s son, crafts a quasi-legal or pseudo-legal argument in favor of his accession over that of his dead elder brother’s daughter. In this case, of course, Viserys II and his supporters might have taken the position not of the character of Philip V and his (paid) scholars but of the slightly mocking author himself: just as Maurice Druon remarked that the basis of the Salic law “contained nothing concerning the transmission of the royal powers” and only briefly mentioned “that the inheritance of land must be by equal division among the male heirs”, so I imagine the soon-to-be King Viserys would argue that the Widow’s Law (should anyone have used it to support the rights of eldest daughter Daena) did not speak to the transmission of royal powers, only the inheritance of “lands, seat, or property”.

Perhaps a more straightforward argument over the Widow’s Law will come in “The She-Wolves of Winterfell” (or whatever its final title may be). Cregan Stark obviously married three times, with a child or children from each marriage, and given the succession disputes among his descendants (which are obviously going to be at the heart of this story), I could see someone bringing up the Widow’s Law to support the rights of one or multiple candidates. Would, say, Serena Stark’s descendants say that Beron Stark had had no right to be lord in the first place, because Serena should have inherited the right of her father Rickon (as the child of the first marriage) to Winterfell? Would, say, Cregan’s daughters by Alysanne Blackwood (to the extent they had children) argue that their claims to Winterfell should also come before those of Cregan’s younger sons and their descendants, since those daughters were born of Cregan’s second marriage? I could very much see that happening.

It’s possible that this law comes up with the Freys as well, although I’m not sure how much we may focus on this. I tend to think we’re going to see a vast number of Freys die - at a second Red Wedding or otherwise - so the point may be something of a moot one. Considering Big Walder is well aware of the order of succession within House Frey (and very ambitious in his own right), perhaps he or someone around him will bring it up with respect to his right of succession; alternately, perhaps it will be the role of the postgame ruler of the Riverlands (whether Edmure or someone else) to sort through such legalities regarding whatever Frey descendants may remain (assuming the Twins themselves still stand).

#asoiaf meta #widow’s law #laws and customs #speculation

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rj-anderson · 9 hours ago

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I've just realized I never posted another update here about how we got my 93-yo mom into assisted living a couple months ago, and it is THE ABSOLUTE GREATEST STORY and I'm still just reeling with amazement over how it all came together, so here it is under the cut.

As you will know if you read my earlier posts about Mom, I've been her primary caregiver for the last few years, especially since my dad passed away in early 2020 (we were able to hold a beautiful, well attended memorial service for him right before the first lockdown, another bit of timing I am still very grateful for).

And as you will also know if you read those previous posts, Mom's mental clarity and ability to look after herself has been going downhill for the last couple years, and despite her overall sweet disposition and gratefulness for everything I was doing, by Dec. 2024 I was at my wits' end and really close to burning out. Only a blessed last-minute increase in respite care, thanks to a pilot program coordinated by my local hospital and Alzheimer's Society, enabled me to keep going while I waited and prayed for a long term care placement for Mom.

That being said, we'd already been warned that it could be up to five years before Mom got an offer, because despite her acute nerve pain attacks, chronic vertigo and increasing cognitive issues, she was not considered to be "in crisis". (I was definitely having a crisis as her caregiver, but that didn't count.) So from an outside perspective, it looked unlikely if not downright impossible that we would find a place within the next 12-18 months, unless Mom had a major health crisis.

Despite that, though, I had a strange deep-down confidence that something was going to change soon. In fact, part of me really felt sure that it would happen by spring at the latest. Now this was a bewildering feeling to have, because I am one of the least mystical woo-woo people in the world, and objectively it didn't seem likely to happen at all. So I found myself praying that God would keep me from clinging to false hopes (if they were false) and prepare me not to be discouraged or bitter if my feeling turned out to be groundless.

But I also found myself praying, "Lord, I don't how this is going to work out with Mom, but I look forward to praising you for whatever you're going to do." Because I remembered how things had gone with my Dad's care, and how the best plans I had in mind turned out to be not nearly as wise or good as the way God arranged it in the end.

Anyway, a number of things happened in December that made me question my belief that Mom would be best off in long term care, despite all the efforts I'd gone to choosing the right places for her. I took her to see the closest home on our list, thinking it would be a positive experience and put some of her fears to rest, but EVERYTHING about that tour was a disaster. It was far too big, and noisy, and overwhelming, and my mom kept saying "I could never go to a place like that, I would be totally lost. I'd rather be out on the street."

So I ended up having to take that particular home off the list, which brought our options from three down to two and made it even less likely to get a room offer. But that experience did make very clear what kind of place Mom wanted -- small, homey, quiet, and easy to navigate, with fellow residents she could talk to, and ideally some opportunity for Christian fellowship. Unfortunately, I didn't know of a single long term care home in our area that fit that description.

Until the first week of January 2025, when I joined my regular Zoom prayer meeting with three women from my old church. And as I was telling them about my difficulties, one of them said, "Oh, I wish your mom could go to the home where [a woman who also used to go to our church] is living! It would be so perfect for her!"

Now, I had heard plenty about that woman and the wonderful Mennonite assisted living home she'd moved into a few months earlier, but I never thought it could be a fit for my Mom. However, after that conversation I looked up the home's website and realized that not only was the place much closer than I'd thought it was, it sounded like they might actually be able to provide the level of care Mom needed.

I called the care home. We had a good, thorough talk about Mom's needs. I set up an appointment for a tour. And from the instant I stepped in the door, I knew this was the place our family had been praying for. Not only was it newly renovated, small, quiet and cozy, offering home-style meals and regular church services, there was a lovely vacant room with a view that immediately made me think, "This is Mom's room."

Long story short -- and skipping over a multitude of other unexpected blessings and mercies of God along the way -- we moved Mom into her new apartment in mid-February. They even allowed us to paint the room her favourite colour, and set it up with all the furniture and pictures she needed to make it feel like home, before we brought her in. And since then, she's been getting all the medical and personal care she needs, I've been able to enjoy regular visits with her while also having a life of my own again, and despite having had twelve acute pain episodes over the six months before the move, Mom has not had even one attack since she got there.

Despite all the hardships, discouragements, seeming dead ends, and other ups and downs of the past year -- even because of them, in some cases -- God has been faithful and very, very good. So I am keeping the promise I made a few months ago, when all seemed utterly hopeless, and praising Him for what He's done.

#eldercare #caregiving #valley of the shadow #answered prayers

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whateversawesome · 8 hours ago

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About the New Garden Arc

It's been a while since I've written a chapter analysis. I've been busy writing my new Royal AU Twiyor fic. Lucky for all of us, after chapter 115 came out, so did many fantastic analysis!

Anyways, I've been thinking about the things we could see in this new arc and I'd like to share that with you 😊

First of all, I have observed that before a big arc, Endo sort of foreshadows what the arc will be about by showing us the character's state of mind or even things that happen around the character.

Example: Right before the cruise arc began, we have chapter 43, which starts with Franky and Twilight mentioning the Garden. In this chapter, Yor uses her strength to save an innocent creature (a cat.) The arc turned out to be about the Garden and, later, in the arc Yor saves Olka and her baby.

On chapter 44, when she runs into Yuri, we get a glimpse at her state of mind: Yor wonders if there's a point in continuing her work as an assassin.

We see that Thorn Princess seems without a purpose. I think she hesitated because she wanted a "normal life." Later in the arc, she rediscovers her purpose and decides to keep on doing her job to protect her family's happiness.

Everything that happened in the cruise arc was brewing way beforehand.

Knowing this, let's review previous chapters to learn Yor's state of mind:

Kissing, kissing, and more kissing: Yup, kissing is all over Yor's mind. It was mentioned when she went out for dinner with her colleagues, when she arrived home drunk, when she met the Authens, when she went to see a movie with Anya, Martha, and Becky. See? 😏

Yor, the protector: Yor's mentality has changed; from someone who wanted to solve things murdering people (remember when Anya was in the waiting list for Eden?) to someone who wants to protect. This was recently mentioned in the chapter when they went skiing and again when after that movie.

Her childhood: Specifically, the way Yor was affected by war as a child. This was mentioned when she was at that charity bazar with the office girls and those women were bullying Millie. It was mentioned again when she had dinner with Yuri.

Those are the biggest three topics I have noticed. So, what are some topics we could see in this arc? What should we expect given the previous information?

Yor's Past: Yup, the time has come. Why? They are going to the south, where Yor is from. She's already been thinking about her past, it's been mentioned several times. So, yes, I think we'll see at least part of it. My guess is that just like with Twilight's past, we will see how Yor joined the Garden.

Yor as a protector: Not only as an assassin. The arc began with Yor protecting an innocent ladybug, so it will probably end with her protecting another innocent creature. And my guess is that this will make her clash with Hemlock, who seems to be very much in super assassin mode. Bonus: We will probably also find out why Hemlock dislikes Yor so much.

Yor's realization of her feelings for Loid: My twiyor brain wants this to happen so badly!! But out of the three, I'm not so sure about this one. Given all the mentions about kissy kiss, it's definitely coming, however, I'm not sure it'll be in this arc. It depends on the direction Endo wants to go. At the moment, it doesn't really match but this arc could help her get closer to this realization.

Other things that we could see: McMahon's past (I would love to see that!), Yor's childhood home, Yor's parents, Yor's first 'client', the teacher-student relationship with McMahon, Yor's training.

Hopefully things will be clearer withing the next couple of chapters. I'm thinking this will be a long arc, packed with action, but also valuable information about Yor.

#spy x family #twiyor #sxf #yor forger #loid forger #loidyor #spy x family analysis #spy x family meta #spy x family manga #spy x family chapter 115

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taran-wood-beast · 15 hours ago

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So I think the main thing I've learned here is that Kerblam! could have worked if they had just made that guy the World's Most Annoying Piece of Shit Asshole. Like, I'm no fan of the CIA. But if they fed, I dunno, Chris Rufo to the terror dogs from Ghostbusters, I can't really pretend I'd have a problem with that?

I've been wondering for weeks now why McTighe is the one Chibnall era writer to get invited back and it seems pretty clear now that it's because he actually is pretty solid at both characterization and propelling forward an entertaining narrative. He just can't stop stepping on politics rakes Sideshow Bob style.

Also I still haven't forgiven him for girlbossifying Ace

Some little details I really enjoyed here:

* Love when Ncuti rolls his Rs McCoy style.

* The costuming on Conrad and Ruby's first date, where they're both dressed in riffs on Fifteen's outfits.

* The little domestic bits between Kate and her hunky trophy BF. This is how UNIT is supposed to function.

Actually the main thing threatening to completely break this episode is that the eternal tension between "UNIT is a familiar and loveable ad hoc family of Earth based supporting characters we like" (Season 8 UNIT) and "UNIT is a ruthless clandestine international paramilitary with world-ending technology and little to no oversight" (Season 7 UNIT) is stretched to its furthest ever extreme. Another user refers to it as the Avengers-fication of UNIT. I don't think that tension gets resolved here. I'm actually not sure it can be resolved. And I sort of wonder if stretching and prodding at that tension may actually be the point of the exercise for these 45 minutes? It would be in keeping with other deconstructions of aspects of Doctor Who RTD has overseen in the past

Moving on, the actual most interesting part of the episode for me is the "Ruby has PTSD" section. It's deft character work, well acted, and crucially it's an angle on Life After The TARDIS thats never been done before. It gets paid some lip service with Martha but we don't stick around long enough to dig into it. Looking forward to see where they go with this in the finale.

Also the fact that Ruby explicitly cites "getting trapped in a double bass" as one of the things that traumatized her is hysterical. Doctor Who is such a silly silly show but even the silly parts would be completely terrifying if you had to actually experience them!

Also also imagining Belinda one day having a similar conversation but one of her traumatic experiences is "I met some nerds."

Trinity Wells you will always be famous. Also love that we're just stuck with Fox News Trinity Wells now.

Re: the TARDIS scene at the end...You can tell McTighe has only written Jodie's Doctor before now because the Doctor talks like a cop here. It's his version of the Capaldi one-liners in Boom.

I really liked this scene actually. It's completely in keeping with other times the Doctor has gone Vindictive Bastard mode on people who've personally hurt his friends. And its great to see Ncuti get a proper Vindictive Bastard Doctor scene! It's really good, juicy stuff. Just, man. The actual lines he's given...you can really hear the Supercilious Yorkshire Lilt in some of those authoritative moral condemnations...

It's naturally mostly Ncuti's performance that makes it interesting. Because right at the end, when Conrad refuses to show remorse, the look on Ncuti's face is just...sadness. Because this Doctor would be sad about it! He starts the scene seemingly brushing off Conrad's suggestion that the Doctor is there to "save his soul" but then when Conrad refuses to have his soul saved...he's disappointed after all! He was hoping to save his soul! It's a really savvy performance note that cuts against the obvious reading of the scene. People who keep saying they "don't know Ncuti's Doctor" aren't watching!!!

That said, its extremely frustrating that we have three Doctor Lite episodes for a Doctor who might only get 18 and a half episodes total.

#doctor who #dr who #fifteenth doctor #varada sethu #millie gibson #belinda chandra #ruby sunday #dw: lucky day #whoblogging #interestingly the closest they ever got to actually resolving the UNIT problem was in Battlefield #ncuti gatwa

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grayintogreen · 19 hours ago

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HELLO FELLOW NEIN AGAIN ENJOYERS. And happy Tombtakers Loredrop Day. Today I bring you a preview of a long term event coming this summer.

Are you sad that all the enticing lore dropped in CR2 episode "Fleeting Memories" might as well be an eternity away from bearing fruit? Did you think Cree was a fun NPC and wanted more of her? Are you a fan of fix-it fanfic that barely fixes anything and in fact just makes everything a little bit worse?

Well, I have something you might enjoy!

In honor of Nein Again reaching episode 26 on the day of LitMoR's fourth anniversary, I'm going to be running a weekly "bookclub" for the series to run parallel with Nein Again starting July 29th. You can find the full schedule for the entire duology, plus side stories and intermissions here (more dates to be added depending on where I get with the third mega novel and yet it's still going to take less time to get through than Nein Again). It runs exactly like Nein Again, only its a really long fanfic.

And you may be asking yourself? Uh, what's LitMoR? And I'm GLAD YOU ASKED.

life in the margins of redemption is a post-episode 26 canon divergent series I started writing four years ago after the end of Campaign Two to satiate my incredible need to retell the story but slightly to the left, keeping dead characters alive, making certain plot threads and themes more prevalent, and exploring some elements from the campaign that I thought were underdeveloped simply because those just weren't the things the cast wanted to focus on (and that is valid- this is in no way me going HERE'S MY BETTER VERSION OF CANON, it's a love letter to wanting more of these characters). At 1.6 million words and the main two stories of the duology remaining in the top three longest fics in the CR tag even after all these years, it is an absolute chonker and I'm still adding to it. It's a story that is very close to my heart and I thought it would be fun for people to either re-read or discover it while taking it in in bite-size chunks as you watch how it diverges from canon and goes off in wild new directions.

Below the cut is an FAQ ranging from what you can expect to the story to how the book club will be run if you'd like to participate. If there are any other questions, please don't hesitate to send me an ask! I look forward to seeing how this goes. Hopefully it'll be fun for the people who would love an excuse to reread and for new readers alike.

WHY ARE YOU DOING IT?

I've been told numerous times by people that LitMoR looks interesting, but is ultimately very daunting and intimidating. By promoting a book club, I hope that maybe those people who have wanted to read it will find it easier to do so. Also a lot of people who have read it thought it would be cool to do.

WHAT WILL WE BE DOING?

Whatever you like! You can read the assigned chapter and go "that's nice" and never do anything else. You can leave a comment on AO3! You can join my Discord and talk about it with other people. You can talk about it on tumblr. You can not do any that at all and instead do some secret additional thing. It's really up to you how you engage with it. I just ask that you be polite about it. It's all in fun.

WHAT IF I DON’T LIKE IT?

Back button. I really don't expect this to be a huge thing- it's just something that I'm proud of and want to share it with others and if there's a way to share it that makes it easier on people to read, that's great! But I will not be coming to your house and demanding you give me my flowers. I just ask, again, that you be nice. If it's not for you, it's not for you.

WHAT CHARACTERS DOES THIS FOCUS ON?

This is an ensemble story, so while there are significant narrative beats dedicated to Molly, Cree, and eventually Lucien, every character is given a chance to shine and have their own subplots and arcs. A lot of arcs still play out as they did in canon, but under radically different circumstances and in new ways and some characters whose personal growth wasn't focused on as much even get some additional layers.

WHAT IS THE SHIPPING/ROMANCE VIBE LIKE?

My rule of thumb is that if you absolutely despise any of the ships listed, this series isn't for you, but if you're indifferent at worst, you'll probably be okay, because the shipping is on par with how canon treats it- i.e. it's part of some characters' arcs, but it does not derail the plot nor does the romance override other relationships. Everyone is still intensely weird about one another, regardless of whether or not they are kissing.

EXPLAIN THE RATING

The rating is for violence, gore, intense situations, and a lot of mindfuckery, but I wouldn't say any of it is atypical of what you would see in canon. The tags represent anything that comes up more than once, but if something is specific to a chapter, I will usually put it in the author's notes.

WHAT TAGS SHOULD I USE IF I WANT TO POST ABOUT IT?

LitMoR, LitMoR bookclub or life in the margins of redemption are good tags to use! I would avoid using canon CR tags unless you're just really into them for organizational purposes so to not to annoy people who aren't here for this. I'm trying to make this as fun and hassle-free for all sides of the line. I will only be using the CR tags for this post and the starting post and every subsequent bookclub post after will be tagged with the series name or "LitMoR bookclub" to keep things tidy and not annoying so you can either follow me or the LitMoR bookclub tag for updates.

WILL THIS SPOIL FUTURE EPISODES?

If you are aware of things that are coming up narratively even if you don't know the details, then you should be okay, because for the first few weeks OUADYA will follow pretty close to canon before it wildly diverges and doesn't pick up canon events until much, much later. If you want ZERO spoilers ever, then you might wanna sit it out, because while it does take lore in a different direction and does operate under its own thing, it will likely spoil a lot of things for you.

I have heard that it's possible to enjoy the fic if you haven't seen the full campaign if you don't care about utterly spoiling yourself! If you decide to stop watching after episode 26 for... reasons, it is actually fully able to be enjoyed with just that context.

HOW CANON COMPLIANT IS THIS?

It does not consider TNEOL or Molly and Caduceus's Origins comics canon (the first story was written before any of them came out), and does, again, take things in wildly different directions and has intense, deep, and maybe not exactly what was intended by Matt and the cast, lore, on top of occasionally throwing out certain spell rules that get in the way of good storytelling (like Doric's infinite wildshapes in the Dungeons & Dragon movie). I do have it on good authority that my characterization is pretty damn accurate, but you'd have to ask the frequent readers to weigh in on that.

Also shockingly, I have accidentally predicted a lot of canon events, which is very funny.

#critical role #cr fanfic #cree deeproots #mollymauk tealeaf #the tombtakers #lucien nonagon #life in the margins of redemption

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magnus-marmot · 1 day ago

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Comparing Control (the game) to TMAGP

So I finally got around to playing the video game Control after Alex mentioned having been inspired by it in the season 1 QnA. (I started the game years ago but my old computer refused to run it.) And I can definitely see some of the inspiration.

The Federal Bureau of Control is what the OIAR wishes it could be. Their job is to basically track down Altered Objects, Altered World Events and Objects of Power, research them, contain them and then put out an "official" story for the public to avoid any further panic. It's reminiscent of the SCP Foundation, and functionally it combines the purposes of both the Magnus Institute and the OIAR. The player is also given loads of lore on the paranormal events through a variety of media, including letters from concerned citizens, official reports, internal correspondence, recorded interviews, radio/TV programs and so on, which reminds me of the way TMAGP is formatted. I recommend you play it if you're interested in this kind of stuff and some action-oriented gameplay. It's actually super interesting, and I understand how it could fill up the creative tank, so to speak.

What really caught my interest was that I noticed a striking similarity between the explicit metaphysics of Control and the theories I've had for TMAGP. Like to the point where I'm doubting myself because surely the inspiration couldn't be that direct. Let me explain, and then you can be the judge (also some surface-level spoilers for Control).

Control metaphysics and how they relate

In Control, the AWEs seem to be largely caused by people's thoughts and beliefs. People's perceptions morph reality by creating archetypes in the collective unconscious, which then manifest into paranatural objects and events. The FBC uses fancy (pseudo-)scientific language like parapsychology and parakinesis, they talk about rituals and the collective unconscious and resonance and frequencies. They are concerned with Thresholds, which are places in the world where different dimensions leak into each other. The Bureau itself is an altered location (or a Place of Power), in which the architecture keeps shifting unexpectedly and which seems to work like a nexus that creates links to other altered locations, objects or phenomena. For example, you can find a light switch that doesn't connect to anything, but by pulling it three times (ie. performing a small ritual), you get transported to a motel that's kind of like every motel you've ever been at and also none of them. Just the amalgamation of the concepts people connect to motels.

If you've read any of my TMAGP theories, all of these ideas should at least vaguely ring a bell. Everything from the collective unconscious to people's thoughts being manifested in reality, the liminal spaces created by the amalgamation of those thoughts, and the mercurial locations where the dimensions bleed into each other. The difference being that I use archaic alchemy concepts for my points, while the game uses modernised language that at least tries to pass as scientific. Which, mind you, is not incompatible with alchemy either. For example, modern Rosicrucians still rely on alchemical language, but they often apply it more metaphorically to the modern (though equally pseudoscientific) concept of resonance and manifestation. I guess I'll very briefly break those ideas down too.

Resonance and alchemy

The metaphysics in Control revolve around vibrations and resonating frequencies. This is based on the real world belief that everything in the universe is vibrating at a certain frequency, and similar frequencies attract each other (known as the Law of Attraction by those who buy into it). The idea is that you can manifest things and outcomes into reality by aligning the frequency of your thoughts with whatever you want to manifest. Think of something real hard and it will come to you, be it good or bad.

This idea is not necessarily new, even if the language for it is (at least relatively speaking). Pythagoreans thought that there's a universal harmony created by the movements of celestial bodies, and it's reflected on our lives on Earth ("as above, so below"). This concept was equated with anima mundi or the world soul, and it's the same idea that alchemists later associated with either Aether or Mercury or both (depending on who you asked). Mercury is the shared life force on our earthly plane and it reflects the Aether that makes up the heavenly plane. Changes in one must be seen in the other ("as above, so below"). And we've come a full circle.

My take-away from this

I don't think Alex has directly stolen any ideas from the game, and while I can definitely see some inspiration, the feel of the two pieces of media are totally different. So I'm not drawing these comparisons to prove a point, I just thought it would be interesting to talk about them. But we're definitely dealing with classical alchemy concepts in TMAGP, and we've even been explicitly told that Fr3-d1's code utilises alchemy. I'd also be more worried about the conclusions I've been making if episode 40 didn't make this whole manifestation aspect abundantly clear and difficult to doubt.

But on the other hand, we do have some instances where music (ie. vibrations) is contributing to the paranormal. We've got the violin that produced aetherial, soul-healing music when fed with blood and drove the audience mad when not. We've got Bonzo's theme song, which seems to either summon Mr Bonzo or just follows him around. And most recently, we've got the nursery rhyme that is directly linked to Heinrich Unheimlich and possibly helped in his creation. So I'm not entirely discounting the possibility that we're dealing with vibrations/resonance in some capacity.

Conclusion

This became a pretty incoherent and rambly post, and I doubt many are interested to read about this topic in the first place. So if you made it this far, here's a bonus reason for playing Control: the altered objects are contained in a panopticon that's physically linked to an archive. (The archive is underwhelming but this set-up still tickled me.) Also there's a creepy janitor with a thick Finnish accent who sings Finnish iskelmä songs and loves using directly (and intentionally badly) translated Finnish idioms such as "blow up into pussy splinters" and I love him.

#written after tmagp40 #yapping #this post is for me #the magnus protocol #tmagp #tmagp spoilers #tmagp speculation #control game #ahti the janitor

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