#die casting gating system

[gudmould]

Analysis of examples of imitation failure in die-casting runner design

Abstract: Through analysis of an example of a failed die-casting mold design, key elements that should be paid attention to in die-casting runner design process are explained. When imitating runner system of other successfully designed die-casting molds, it is necessary to proceed from reality and combine structural characteristics of die-casting parts to design, change and improve it. Especially…

[soapyghostie]

Cipher from fogposting here, I have been thinking about the reader living in the slasher / dbd killer house idea!

And what I would be interested in is how chores would be distributed 😂 who does what? Do they let Bubba cook?

(not sure if this counts as request, but feel free to ignore it if you don't want to write anything about this!)

Horror House

Since there is a big group of them that live together, the slashers have a humongous house so it’s right that everyone has to pitch in (at Norman’s demand).

Jason handles the house’s exterior maintenance, ensuring the walls and gates are secure, and also takes care of the yard work. He’s actually really good at gardening if you mean by growing a never-ending supply of deadly traps and pitfalls.

Michael is in charge of plumbing, but his fixes often lead to eerie, dripping sounds, and he also handles the house’s lighting, but only installs dim, flickering bulbs that cast ominous shadows (he purposely does that to scare the shit out of Danny, Billy, and Stu). His cooking skills are limited to boiling water, but he insists on making everyone eat his infamous Michael’s Mac ‘n Cheese of Doom. 

Freddy manages the house’s electrical system, but loves to play tricks with the lighting to try and scare the others (it doesn’t work). He also helps with running the house’s music and entertainment with his razor-sharp glove-uitar (Freddy named it that). It’s just him running his glove blades over the strings of an actual guitar and it doesn’t sound that great.

Bubba cooks meals for everyone alongside Hannibal and it’s some of the most fine homemade cooking you will ever taste. He also helps Norman with the house’s cleaning. He is actually very good at doing laundry. He makes sure each piece of clothing is neatly folded and put in the right person’s pile.

Nubbins assists Bubba in the kitchen, but mostly makes ruckus and gets in the way. He does actual gardening, but is not very good at it. The plants usually die within 3-4 days and maybe a week if he’s lucky.  

ChopTop does a lot of carpentry and woodworking, but his creations end up looking sinister and unuseful. He ends up antagonizing Bubba With his creations by chasing him and waving them around in his face. He also helps Drayton with finances, but only embezzles funds to make more of those twisted projects of his.

Drayton oversees the house’s finances and handles the house’s decorating using human skulls and bones (Norman and Hannibal had to take them down because it was making some of the other residents sick to their stomachs and relieved Drayton from decorating duty). He tries to help out with gardening, but it always ends with him chasing Nubbins around with a broom, leaving the garden unattended for hours (maybe that’s why the plants die so fast). 

Thomas takes care of the house’s leatherwork and upholstery, but uses human skin, and also handles the house’s security, but only installs traps and alarms that have led to endangering some of the residents. He’s actually a pretty good cook, but prefers to let Bubba and Hannibal do the cooking so he can keep his eye out for danger. 

Bo manages any machine or car maintenance. Since the slashers have to use reusable stuff, Bo is there to make sure that everything is intact and working. He tends to be out in the huge garage-like barn in the back of the house for hours, with Amanda, always fixing something.

Vincent oversees the house’s art and decor with the help of Brahms. He’ll spend hours down in the basement (his art studio) creating pieces to hang up around the house. He also handles the music being played around the house with his radio. He finds Freddy’s attempt at making music annoying. He’ll help out with the laundry sometimes too. He treats laundry like he treats his artwork.

Lester doesn’t stick around the house; he’s out of the house early to attend his roadkill pile. However, whenever he is home, Lester will assist Norman with taxidermy and chores. He’s only tried helping cook dinner once and almost burnt the whole house down. Let’s just say he was never let back into the kitchen again.

Norman takes care of a lot of the house’s cleaning and keeps the house pretty tidy for an extremely worn down house. In his free time, he does a lot of taxidermy to put up for display around the house to give it more personality. He can cook, but no one likes house cleaning so that takes up a lot of his time. 

Hannibal is the main chief of the house. He prepares exquisite, gourmet meals. He’ll prepare separate meals for anyone who is no in favor for his special ingredient, *cough* human *cough*. He also runs therapy sessions for anyone who needs it. He’s a great listener and gives great advice. He also helps with gardening every once and awhile if he’s not busy with other things. Nubbins is trying to find Hannibal’s secret to growing a successful garden because his plants last for years. 

Amanda spends her time designing and building traps for pests and rodents that are crawling around in the house. She’ll help Bo out with his projects if he gets stuck on something because she gets tired of hearing him groan and complain. Listen, the girl needs her concentration okay? 

Billy Loomis refuses to do almost anything that requires him to be responsible: Norman was lucky enough to even get him to clean his room. However, he does like to pull pranks on the other slashers and make mischief. He may or may not have gotten his throat slit open by Michael once for it though…

Stu works with the technology and gadgets of the house. However, he only uses them to play pranks on the other residents of the house and nothing really useful. Hannibal and Norman had to provoke his technology privileges quite a few times because the others were complaining. 

Chucky only exists to insult and annoy the hell out of everyone. What is he gonna do? He’s literally a doll. Actually, he does help with organizing stuff. If he sees something misplaced or moved, he’ll put it back into its original spot. He also helps his wife Tiffany out with her fashion work. 

Tiffany handles a lot of the house’s fashion and style. She designs and creates outfits for everyone so no one has to go clothes shopping. She is also another one who is a really good cook and helps out sometimes. Her specialty is baked goods and always makes the best desserts for after dinner.

Brahms helps with decorating. He’s very picky with how the house is decorated and wants the house to be decorated with only the finest things. Most of the stuff he hangs up is Vincent’s art pieces that range from canvas art to sculptures.

Billy Lenz looks after the ‘household’ cat (it’s actually his cat) Claude. He feeds,waters, grooms, and plays with the cat. He makes sure that no one has to think twice about taking care of Claude. He likes to keep Claude with him at all times because Michael tried to kill and eat him a few times.

Pyramid Head is the guard dog of the house. He makes sure the younger slashers aren’t getting too out of hand and staying out of trouble. The slashers are really trying not to draw too much attention to themselves.

Carrie helps out with chores and does most of the laundry. She uses her powers to make the clothes spontaneously combust and move things around to dust the spaces underneath objects. 

Jennifer takes care of the house’s beauty and makeup. She critiques the other slashers on their work ethic and tightness around the house (It’s much appreciated by Norman). She’ll make sure that everything is put in its proper place and looks presentable. She does Bubba and Carrie’s makeup a lot and is your go to girl for when prom rolls around. 

Danny surprisingly is a very efficient cleaner and will get random bursts of energy that has him deep cleaning the entire house. He will disinfect the entire house in an hour and a half, insisting that Norman takes a break for the day since that’s literally all he does everyday 24/7 3/65. He also cares for the firearms and weaponry.

[ghoulishneeds]

✧ ─𝐼𝓉’𝓈 𝒜𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝒾𝓅𝓁𝑒─ ✧

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✧𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: You unwittingly accept the same bounty as Cooper. Things go sideways in a shootout and Cooper decides to teach ya a lesson

✧𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Cooper Howard x F!Reader

✧𝒞𝒲: dubcon, choking, spanking, language, smut, irradiated creampie, unbeta’d we die like men

✧𝒲𝒞: 4.6K+

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You adjusted the bag, heavy on your right shoulder. Relief washed through you as you hit the top of a dune and saw the next town.

Not far at all. If you were right, he was in the town.

You approached the makeshift gate protecting the town, and the armed guard stepped out of his shack. The guy was so tanked he was barely standing. He barely even looked you up and down before opening the gate.

Top-notch security.

You pressed on through the town. It was relatively late, with firelight illuminating the majority of the square. Some vendors were still open, trying to push their wares on newcomers and bartering with regulars.

Making your way through the crowd, questioning a few people here and there, you were careful not to raise any suspicion. An old man selling rusted Vault-Tec equipment told you about a few faces he hadn’t seen before, headed towards the bar. Thanking him, you scanned the streetline. The bar sat on the far end of the town, against the other gate.

Perfect. Easy out.

Discreetly reloading your pistol and reholstering it, you headed towards the bar.

You pushed the half-broken door open and the smell of cigarette smoke and concentrated liquor hit you. You sat at the nearest corner of the bar and ordered a drink. While the bartender poured your drink, your eyes scanned the faces in the bar. You tilted the glass back, the room-temperature liquor burning your throat on the way down.

A sharp laugh pulled your eyes towards a table near the back. A short, heavy-set man was throwing back a beer and telling an elaborate story.

The target.

You watched him for a moment, making the decision that it would definitely be easier the drunker he got. You settled in, ordering a second drink.

Turning the drink back and setting the glass back down, you looked around again.

There was an interesting blend of people in here, not surprising considering the top-tier security.

There was a table closer to you, where raiders were sharing drinks and discussing the towns they’d hit. The couple next to you at the bar appeared to be older-model synths.

Your eyes passed them to land on a man at the end of the bar. Even with the shadow cast by the brim of his cowboy hat, you could tell he was a ghoul.

You looked him over. Wearing tattered cowboy attire, he looked very pre-war, you thought to yourself. Hell, he even had spurs on. Radioactive cowboy. The thought made you smirk.

When your eyes moved back to his face, he was looking back at you. You almost jumped. His face was unreadable. His eyes burned into you and you let yourself look over his features for a brief second. You could see where he may have been handsome before. Save a horse ride a cowboy. You looked him up and down. His brow furrowed and you quickly shifted your eyes away. The negative expression almost made you embarrassed.

You kicked back the rest of your drink, the alcohol buzzing under your skin, warm. You could still feel the man’s eyes on you and you chanced a glance back at him.

His eyes were on your hip, where your pistol sat in its holster. Apprehension started hitting your system. It was never a good thing when someone looked a little too close at your gun, and he looked pissed.

His eyes flickered back to your face and you held his gaze. His eyes were almost the same color as the liquor filling the cup in your hand. Hm, pretty. The thought slipped through your mind.

There was movement at his waist and your eyes dropped down.

He had shifted the tattered coat back, the revolver at his hip very visible now. Your brow furrowed as you processed what he was silently conveying.

And it clicked.

Bounty hunter.

You huffed a sigh, frustrated. He was here for the same fucking bounty. You turned your attention back to the bartender and ordered another drink, quickly finishing it.

You needed to regroup. This was a fucking problem. A bounty THIS big? It was going to come down to more than one body on the ground, and you’d be damned if it was yours.

You just had to get to him first.

You glanced at the other bounty hunter again. He wasn’t looking at you anymore and you let your thoughts slow down for a second.

Worried if you left the bar, the ghoul would just take the target right there in the middle of it. Worried if you got in the way, you’d be taken out.

The problem rectified itself when the man staggered towards the bar to clear out his tab. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he leaned over the bar to toss caps at the tender. Your eyes caught the ghoul’s through the man’s arms and your heart rate jumped.

The man and his friends stumbled their way out of the bar. You took the small opportunity and blended into their group, moving with them out of the bar. You split off slightly to the right and followed from a small distance.

Making sure to keep the bar in your peripheral, watching for the break of light that would announce the ghoul’s exit from the establishment.

They made their way towards an inn across the street from the bar. This end of the street was relatively desolate, save for a few drunks and the occasional stray.

You made the quick decision that it was now or never. You drew your pistol, intending to just take his friends out with him. Solve the whole problem. You aimed and pressed your finger over the trigger. Before you could pull, a shot rang out and metal flew past your left ear. You whipped around, gun pointed at the source.

The ghoul.

You locked eyes with the other bounty hunter, your heart racing as you both stood ready with your weapons drawn. He was lean, holding the revolver one-handed. You struggled to keep your breath steady.

The tension had a physical weight to it.

The group behind you drew their own weapons in response to the shot. Another shot sounded from behind you and you took the chance, firing at the other bounty hunter. The bullet hit him square on, but the only thing he did was shift with the impact.

Gunfire exploded around you and chaos erupted.

Dirt and smoke made it nearly impossible to see in the already dim fire-lit street. You cut your losses. There was no fucking way you were making it out of the shootout without at least getting maimed. Can’t make money if you’re fucking incapacitated.

You peeled off from the violence, skirting the fence line. Finding a gap in the sheets of metal, you paused, glancing back.

The shots were slowing now, only one or two being fired in the last minute. You could only see his outline, but even with that, you could tell he was facing you. Panicked breath pushed out of you and you squeezed through the gap.

You hauled ass through the desert.

“Fuck. FUCK.” You gritted your teeth, fucking furious. At the interruption and at yourself for high-tailing it out of there. Sighing, you drew your gun, going to reload it out of habit. You dropped the magazine out and frowned at it. You laughed. It sounded empty. No need to reload; you’d pussied out and only fired one bullet. You jammed the mag back in and reholstered it. Rolling your eyes, you pressed on.

There was another town to the east. Not far. Maybe a day and a half’s walk. The plus-side of the wasteland and this line of work, business was usually booming.

You made your way towards the town, moving for most of the night. You traveled as far as you could before exhaustion began to set in. You kicked up more sand and moved slower, tiredness making you sluggish.

Against an outcrop, you set up a small makeshift camp. You wrestled with the decision to light a fire or not, but the cold mixing with the ache in your muscles pushed you to take the risk. You were fairly confident you could handle any radroaches it might attract. You settled down onto your sleeping mat and watched the flames for a while before sleep weighed your eyelids down and you slipped away.

Your sleep was dreamless, warm and grey.

There was a sound nearby, but you couldn’t identify it.

Shink, shink.

It was a slow, repetitive sound that gently pulled you out of sleep.

You opened your eyes to the flames, blinking sleepily until the blurred image became identifiable.

Shink.

It was a slow metallic sound.

A knife?

You jolted upright, your head snapping towards the sound. Hot panic overrode any remaining grogginess when your eyes focused on him.

The ghoul.

He was sitting on one of the rocks to the right of your mat, knees bent, sharpening the blade that belonged in the empty holster on one side of his hip. His eyes were dark, reflecting the firelight, watching you.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.” His voice was a heavy drawl, sinking under your skin.

You tensed, your heart racing, adrenaline surging through you as you scanned your surroundings for an escape route. The ghoul just watched you, sharpening the knife while eyeing you up. His face was neutral, if not almost amused.

Keeping your eyes on his, your hand moved for your pistol and connected with your hip. Cold fear hit you and you dropped your gaze to your hip. It wasn’t just the gun. The whole holster was gone. You looked back up and he was holding the pistol.

“You were looking for this, darlin’?” He tilted his head, smirking. Your eyes jumped between him and the gun.

“You ran off so fast I couldn’t thank you properly for the hole you put in me,” his voice was honeyed, raspy. Dark eyes burned into you and his face set into a frown. Fear pumped through you.

“You followed me out here to settle the score?” you asked. You weren’t honestly surprised. You shouldn’t have stopped for the night; you should’ve pushed on to the town.

Fuck.

The ghoul chuckled, a low rasp almost. “Well, darlin’, I certainly couldn’t let you put a bullet in me and think you were just gonna trot off into the sunset.” He looked at you like it was obvious. Like you should have known he’d follow you out into the desert. Track you like an animal.

You mentally sped through your options. Stay put and you were definitely getting killed, run and there was a chance. Your eyes cut to the left, a clear path over the outcrop. You tensed, getting ready to move the second you had a chance. When you looked back at the ghoul, he was leaning back, your pistol on his knee.

“Oh, sweetheart, I gotta tell ya,” he stood, grinning now. “I like it when they run.”

You bolted. Kicking sand up behind you in the scramble to get up right. Adrenaline flooded through you, prompting your legs to move faster. You scrambled over the outcrop and hesitated. Your stomach dropped at the sight in front of you. The desert went on as far as you could see, in a flat barren smear of orange across the landscape. No cover.

Doesn't matter. You've got to move. You started moving again but your moment of hesitation closed the distance between the two of you.

A sharp glance over your shoulder as you scrambled down the side of the dune showed you just how close he'd been to you. You furrowed your brow. He definitely could've gotten you from a five foot distance, what was he doing?

Your feet hit flat sand and you surged forward. You hear the sand behind you but didn't bother turning, not risking it.

I like it when they run.

He himself wasn't moving particularly fast. It was almost frustrating, just enough to keep you on edge.

The thoughts that rolled through your head were cut off by a sharp sound. A whine?

You were yanked backwards quite suddenly. Kicking and thrashing as you were dragged back by the rope.

The sound had been the rope cutting through the air. A lasso. A fucking lasso?

I like when they run.

Ah.

It's a game to him.

You grit your teeth and tried to pull against the rope, but it's held firm. Panic started to set in as you felt yourself being dragged across the hot sand. Your captor was moving slowly, almost lazily, the realization that you were being toyed with setting in.

"Let me go!" You growled and attempted to kick in his general direction. He just laughed in response. It was a low and mocking sound that sent shivers down your spine. He tugged the rope again, jolting you.

"Afraid I can't do that," he says, his words playful despite the tension in the situation.

As you continued to struggle against the rope, the ghoul seemed amused, smirking as he stood over you. A boot planted on the ground, on either side of your hips.

You rolled over on to your back and glared up at him, eyes narrowed against the sun.

He smirked down at you, a hand placed on his hip. He let a bag, that’d been slung over his shoulder hit the ground, tossing your pistol and holster with it.

"I've still gotta thank you for that bullet sweetheart." His voice shot through you. A thick drawl dripping with something you couldn't place.

You scoffed and spit sand at him. "You're welcome for the fuckin' free ammo," you hissed, your voice laced with defiance.

His eyes lit up at that. Like a switch flipped.

He dropped to his knees, so that he was effectively straddling you. Your eyes widened and you bucked your hips in an attempt to get him off of you.

He placed a hand against your stomach and shoved you back into the sand. He took both of your wrists in his hand and wrapped the rope around them. Tying it off in some intricate knot you’d never seen.

You glared at your now bound wrists and snapped your gaze back to him. Much closer now. He leaned back, still straddling your hips, lazily bringing his gaze to meet yours.

You held his gaze defiantly. His eyes were still very human. Amber and whiskey. Almost…pretty. The thought passed you again.

The exertion from struggling against the rope had left you panting, chest heaving.

He studied you for a moment, almost as if sizing you up. Then, he leaned down again, his breath hot on your neck.

"I think we're gonna have some fun, sweetheart."

A shiver rolled through you, hips shifting subconsciously. He raised his eyebrows, smirking.

You yanked against the ropes again, another attempt to pull yourself free from them. He chuckled, his breath hot on your neck. Leaning back again, he took the rope binding your wrist in his hand, and yanked it forward. You were jerked up off the sand, forced into an almost sitting position. The movement pulled you even with him, forcing you closer.

You tried to jerk away, turning your face the other direction. “It’s not like it even fuckin did anything.” Your voice sounded distant. Low, raspy.

He grabbed your chin, tilting your face towards his. Thumb stroking along your jawbone. Your breath has started coming faster, more shallow. Almost panting. You’ve stopped pulling against the rope, your eyes locked on his as some kind of heat starts rolling through you. Almost hungry. Eager to see what his next move will be.

“You see darlin,” his eyes dropped to your mouth and he let his thumb brush over your bottom lip. “It’s about the principle.”

He held your gaze and let his hand move to your neck. Rough fingers traced the line of your throat while you fought back a whine.

Jesus I need to get ahold of myself. This man just tracked me through the desert like a wild animal and tied me up.

He slid his thumb along your collarbone. His hand shifting over your chest, fingers tracing your sternum. Still holding your gaze. Something hungry and heated in his eyes fanning your steadily building need.

Fuck it. If I’m dying anyway I might as well make it good.

His grip on the rope binding your wrists hadn't loosened any, keeping you in place. He leaned forward, hot breath fanned out across your throat. You tilted your head back, exposing more of your neck to him. He chuckled against you.

The ghoul suddenly released his grip on your binding and your back hit the ground. You grunted as the air was knocked out of you, and looked at him indignantly.

He moved to stand, and looked down at you like you were a fucking prize. Your chest heaved with each breath. Frustrated with the entire situation. You glared up at him and he winked at you, before moving again.

You made a surprised sound as you were roughly turned over, the side of your face pressed into the sand. He hooked an arm under your midsection, jerking you up onto your knees and elbows. He pushed his knee between yours, forcing your legs apart and you gasped as your upper body dropped flat against the sand. The ghoul placed a hand at your waist, grinding himself against you.

You couldn’t help the needy sound that slid out of you. You rocked your hips back, suddenly desperate for the contact against your core. You chanced a glance back at him. The smile on his face was absolutely wolffish. “That’s it sugar.” His voice was a low rasp now.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your pants, yanking them down. He left them at your knees, not bothering to pull them all the way off. The air was cool in comparison, shocking your core a bit, you tried to close your legs. He forced his knee between your thighs again, shoving them open, and leaned over you again.

You felt his breath on your neck. "You're gonna beg for it, aren't ya?" he whispered, his voice low and husky. You nodded, your back arched, pushing you against him.

His hand was suddenly in your hair, yanking your head back. “Sorry darlin I didn’t hear you.”

You gasp, your neck ached at the angle. “I-“

He slid a hand between your legs, the lack of response hitting him the right way. The ghoul slid his fingers between your lips. You were embarrassingly wet. He tightened his grip on your hair, the other hand between your legs, teasing your entrance. “You gonna fuckin speak up or am I gonna have to make you scream?” He growled against your shoulder.

You swallowed thickly, your heart racing. “Y-yes.” You were almost gasping for air. "Please…fuck me." you managed to choke out. You felt his smile against your skin, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

The ghoul let out a low chuckle, "Now, that's what I like to hear." He released your hair, and shoved you forward again. He let out a rough exhale as he sunk two fingers into you. You moaned, a high needy sound, and pushed yourself back. He didn't move, watched you fuck yourself back on his fingers with a smirk.

You glared at him over your shoulder, his eyes met yours and he scoffed. "Seems like you're taking care of yourself sweetheart."

“Seems like I’m gonna have to.” You quipped back, challenging him. He raised an eyebrow and then his hand was on the back of your head. He shoved your face back to the side and pressed you down. He withdrew his fingers, leaving you whining at the loss.

He leaned back and you heard the light ting of metal as he undid his belt. You heard him slide the belt through the loops on his pants. The sound was followed by a zipper, and you yelped as the belt was looped over your head and around your neck.

The ghoul pulled the belt into a tight grip, slowly tugging it back, forcing you up once again. It was almost painful, but the feeling of him pressed against you was overriding everything else.

As he pulled back on the belt, you felt the pressure on your neck increase, causing you to gasp. You arched your back again, trying to push against him. The ghoul chuckled darkly and leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over your neck. “That’s right darlin’, show me how much you want it.” He growled, tugging hard on the belt one last time. He leaned down, letting his lips ghost over the side of your neck, making you shiver. Teeth scraping across the sensitive skin, his tongue followed.

He loosened his grip on the belt, just enough for him to lean back, and line himself up with your entrance. He paused, teasing your slit with the head of his cock. "Tell me how bad you want it sweetheart." You could hear the smirk.

By now you had been reduced to a panting, drooling mess. Your mind was overheated, making it hard to find the words he wanted to hear.

"Cmon darlin." He urged you, rubbing his cock against your aching clit. You jumped at the contact, a long whine escaping you.

"Please." You almost moaned it, turning your head to look at him again. "I need you."

The brief realization that you didn't even know his name passed through your mind.

Did it matter? No. Definitely not.

He looks amused. "There ya go." His hand moved to your hip and he pulled you back against him, filling you in one hard thrust.

You let out a low moan at the fullness. The ghoul leaned down, his breath was hot on your neck. "That's it," he growled, he had already started moving, harsh deep thrusts. "Feels good, doesn't it?" You just moaned in response, the sound hitched with each thrust.

He began to pick up speed, pounding into you roughly. The pain mixed with the pleasure, making you see stars. You arched your back, trying to meet his thrusts. The belt around your neck tightened, almost cutting off your air. It was fucking exquisite.

You gasped, your eyes practically rolled back in your head. "Oh god... more..." you panted, reaching down to touch yourself. You couldn't believe how good it felt. It was almost overwhelming. The ghoul groaned and reached down, slapping your hand away. "Not yet," he growled, continuing to thrust into you.

You yelped as his hand came down on your ass cheek. A hard sharpcrack. Several more followed in quick succession, leaving your ass burning, and you panting.

You looked at him with pleading eyes, and he smirked, a wicked glint in his eyes. "You want more?" He asked, his voice low and raspy. You nodded eagerly, unable to form words. He chuckled darkly and leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over your neck. "Say it." He released his grip on the belt.

You took a deep gasping breath. “Please, I wanna cum. I wanna make you cum.” You didn’t recognize your own voice or the words coming out of you. You would have been embarrassed any other time. But now, you needed release, you were desperate for it.

The ghoul smirked, clearly pleased with your response. He pulled himself almost completely out of you before pushing back in again, hitting your g-spot perfectly. You arched your back, a moan escaping your lips. He continued the new rhythm, one hand gripping your hip tightly. He leaned over you again, his hand sliding between your legs.

His fingers found your clit and began to tease it gently, circling around it. You cried out, your hips jerking. The hand on your hip moved. His arm encircled your waist, holding you in place against him.

You gasped as he picked up the pace. His thrusts took that rough demanding rhythm back on, his fingers moving in time. The sensation was overwhelming, and you felt like you were about to explode. "C'mon honey." he growled, his voice rough and demanding, but needy in its own right. You whimpered, unable to form a coherent thought at this point. You could feel it, you were so close.

Each thrust pushed you closer to the edge.You whimpered as you felt yourself on the brink, your body tensing and readying for release. The ghoul's fingers continued to move over your clit, pushing you ever closer to the edge. His other hand gripped your hip tightly, pulling you against his hard length.

You arched your back, a moan escaping your lips as you felt the familiar tingling sensation spreading through your body. The ghoul's thrusts became harder and faster.You locked eyes with him over your shoulder.

Oh god.

It was too much. You cried out, your body shaking as you felt yourself being pushed over the edge. You cursed as you came. Not like you had a name to scream.

His thrusts were becoming rougher, the rhythm sloppier. He had to be close. You pushed your hips back, attempting to meet his thrusts.

The ghoul groaned, sliding his hand around your throat, he pressed his lips against the back of your neck. "Mmm fuck." He panted out, hips hesitating. " 'm gonna fill you up."

He released the grip on your throat, using you hips for purchase as he drove himself deeper into you. After a moment of the rapid deep thrusts, his rhythm stuttered. He pressed a hand against the small of your back, burying himself in you. You felt his cock twitching as his own orgasm hit him. You moaned, arching your back as you feel the wet heat filling you. He groaned, a low raspy sound. Very briefly, letting his weight rest against you.

Within moments he'd removed the belt from your neck. He left you on the ground like that for a moment, while he redressed, smirking at the sight of his cum dripping out of your still exposed cunt.

As you caught your breath, the ghoul squatted over you, a knife in hand. Hot panic surged through you, erasing any sense of an after glow. He didn't move for a moment. Just held your panicked gaze, before smirking. He rolled you back over and cut the rope binding your wrists.

He stood back up and watched you redress. You slowly stood, facing him. His eyes tracked your every movement.

The ghoul pointed the knife towards you, his face regaining the serious expresssion from before. "Stay the fuck outta my way."

He kicked the bag he'd dropped earlier towards you and without another word headed off towards the east. You watched him, still feeling panicky and absolutely dumbfounded.

After a moment you turned your attention to the bag and frowned. You squatted to inspect it, pulling the zipper back. You shouted in surprise, nearly losing balance.

A fucking head??

What the actual fuck?

You steadied yourself and looked again. You almost laughed. The bounty. It was the man from the bounty. You stood back up frantically looking for the direction the ghoul had gone. You caught his silhouette.

You watched him, fighting back a smile. It'd certainly be a shame if you got in his way again.

[dailyadventureprompts]

The Mechanics of Baldur's Gate 3

As someone who's constantly tinkering with the mechanics of my favourite RPG, I LOVE a lot of what Larian has done with D&D; not only accurately translating the base system but improving upon in ways I never thought of.

Playing BG3 feels good, and I want to see how much of their work I can adapt for my own table. As such, here's a breakdown of a bunch of little tweaks they've made to 5e (taken from the bg3 wiki) and whether or not I think they're a good fit for regular pencil and paper d&d.

Shove is not a part of the attack action. It is a bonus action available to all characters. Shove only pushes the target back an amount that depends on the shover's strength and the target's weight. It normally does not knock them prone unless they are shoved off a high ledge.

This might be THE best design Larian implemented and is instantly going in my games. Bonus action shoving is such a natural addition to combat, gives so many more tactical options. My one protest is that I am NOT calculating the weight of every creature and object ( mainly because I'm terrible at guessing weights for things) so I'd go with the distance calculation based on the creature's size and con score.

Gaining inspiration based on backgrounds

Gee, a mechanical reward for roleplaying your character, one that's way more straight forward than the DM arbitrated "ideals, bonds, flaws," system. From now on I'm going to give each of my players an upfront " You gain inspiration when you ______" note on their character sheet based on their backgrounds.

The party is limited to two short rests per long rest. Short rests restore each ally's hit points by an amount equal to half their maximum HP (rounded down). There is no hit die rolling. Long rests require camp supplies, which are food items that must be looted or purchased. In towns you will be able to rest at an inn.

This is a mixed bag for me only because I like hitdie as a mechanical abstract and I don't want to see them removed. Tbh I wish more mechanics interacted with them and they were called something abstract like "stamina" or something. That said I ADORE the camp supplies idea because it not only gives you something minor to reward exploration with besides GP. On the otherhand tracking all those supplies without the game's inventory management would be tedious as hell so it'd need to be highly simplified.

I especially like the idea of limited short rests/supplies in larger survival based adventures where time isn't at a premium like it is inside a dungeon.

If you hide while not in a creature's sight cone, you automatically succeed. If you try to hide while in a creature's sight cone, you automatically fail. If you are hidden and enter a creature's sight cone, you must roll stealth against the creature's passive perception. This may be a straight roll, advantage, or disadvantage, based on the creature's senses and the level of lighting. Some creatures with different senses such as blindsight may follow different rules

Congrats on fixing stealth rolls Larian. No notes.

LOTS more opinions under the cut.

When a creature is at least 10 ft above their target and makes a ranged attack, they receive a +2 bonus to the attack roll due to high ground. When a creature is at least 10 ft below their target and makes a ranged attack, they receive a -2 penalty to the attack roll due to low ground.

This is fine, and quite inline with a lot of fixes I've seen for flanking rules. I'm fine with a little extra battlefield math in order to make moments of advantage (spending inspiration, reckless attacking etc) shine.

The game does not stop a character from casting a leveled spell with both an action and a bonus action

Mixed on this, on one hand I've played enough clerics to know how much it sucks to have to use your bonus action to do a necessary spell and then be stuck with a so-so cantrip or melee attack for standard. On the other hand there's some design balance issues at play here.

Help is an Action. This ability allows characters to aid an ally in combat and remove negative Conditions. Using the help action on a downed ally brings them back to 1 hit point and leaves them prone.

Love the idea of help doing multiple things AND being a solution to minor status conditions. and giving everyone the ability to help means I can be a lot more aggressive when it comes to knocking character to 0. if I had to further patch this, I'd say that this also allows for a medicine check to allow a creature to spend a hitdie when they're downed, or allows the helping character to make a "SNAP OUT OF IT, WE'RE YOUR FRIENDS" charisma roll for charmed allies.

Jumping is a bonus action which consumes 10 ft of movement speed. With a Strength score of 10 or below, a creature can jump 15 ft, and this increases by 5 ft for every two points in strength above 10. At 20 Str a creature may spend 10 ft of movement speed and a bonus action to jump, and can travel 35 ft effectively increasing the creature's movement speed by up to 25 feet.

This, combined with the prone rules (see below) is JUICY, as it allows for risk-reward battlefield mobility . That said I'd add some caveats/clarifications: The jump always succeeds in moving you, but if you're taking damage, jumping up or down more than 10ft, or into rough terrain you need to make an acrobatics check not to beef it and fall prone (ending your turn). Your jump is likewise a buffer for how far you can willingly fall before taking damage, but if you fall after your jump, you always land prone.

Weapon actions, 'nough said.

It's more complexity than I'd give to first time players but HOT DAMN if it isn't a great idea to give the martial characters some options instead of just making the same attacks over and over again. I've actually been sockpiling 3rd party versions of this for a while now and I can't wait to add them in.

All The conditions are great:

Blinded: In addition to the other effects, ranged attacks are limited to 15 ft range. Blinded creatures can also make opportunity attacks.

Frightened: Creatures which are frightened are unable to move at all (rather than being unable to move toward the source of their fear), unless the effect instead makes them "fearful" which gives them the frightened effect as well as making them flee.

Prone: Being prone gives disadvantage on Strength and Dexteritysaving throws, attacks against a prone creature have advantage out to a range of 10 ft rather than 5 ft, and ranged attacks against a prone creature do not have disadvantage. Your character cannot do anything while prone. Starting the turn while prone will cause you to automatically use half your movement to stand up. Becoming prone during your turn automatically ends your turn.

Wet: This is a new condition that prevents the character from burning (e.g. from Searing Smite) and grants resistance to fire damage, but also makes the creature vulnerable to lightning and cold damage

[utilitycaster]

Ok I'm probably going to regret reinventing 17th century European religious philosophy here but:

Ludinus's issue with the gods as stated to Imogen and Fearne (and I will state right now that we know he was lying or deliberately misleading at points in that conversation so I don't exactly take him at his word, but let's assume he does mean this) is that they did not prevent the Calamity. I have the following questions.

Does he have any loyalty/feelings about the Titans given that they would have killed all the people in the era of the Schism, ie, the gods averted that Calamity? My guess is no, which means that whole avenue of discussing the Titans was something of a dead end.

How should Calamity have been averted? The Prime Deities during the Age of Arcanum largely let people do what they wanted, which is what led to one of those mortals releasing the Betrayer Gods. Should the gods have struck down Vespin Chloras before he actually did anything, Minority Report style? Can the gods even predict based on the actions of a single individual or small group, because my guess is they can't, particularly since within the current stream of gameplay they absolutely cannot [ie, the reason the Changebringer can't tell FCG to stay or run is because Matt Mercer is the Changebringer and he doesn't know how people will roll; you do need to consider the medium here]. But if they could: so you think they should strike down mortals on the basis of thoughtcrimes? Or control them? In that case, why is Aeor a problem? There's a lot you can argue is justified once you permit the gods to override free will and kill people over mere potential for catastrophe.

On that note, Laerryn both was an unwitting architect of the Calamity (shorted on energy and then killed the Tree of Names, which served as a core planar defense system) but also averted the worst of it. Did the lives she saved by preventing the rise of Rau'shan and Ka'Mort outweigh the lives she took by destroying the Tree of Names? How should the gods have reacted?

Should, perhaps, the gods have all sealed themselves away earlier - perhaps post-Schism? If so, then the issue isn't the Divine Gate, now is it? Should the gods intervene or not intervene? Should they remove themselves or no? It feels like the issue isn't that they distanced themselves so that they can do less in the world, particularly if you wish to kill them, but that you really want to fucking kill them and they made that somewhat more difficult.

How do we know the gods (for example) didn't save Laudna? She was hanged and she's still alive; Morri would probably count this as saving her and I don't see the same desire to wipe out all Archfey. [real talk I find most discussion of Laudna specifically to be...incomprehensibly ignorant in its refusal to acknowledge that everything about it is player agency related, whether it's the story that the cast played out for Vox Machina or the decisions Marisha specifically made in creating the character, ie, do you think Matt should have said "well you can't play a Hollow One because that would mean the gods didn't save you" not to mention the fact that again, we are playing this within a game system where the existence Deus Ex Machina would in fact fucking suck ass; but even setting aside those reasons why this argument is stupid, it's still stupid. It's like a layer cake of stupid.] Again: do you want more intervention or less? Killing them guarantees less.

I'm assuming the problem with the Calamity is the vast loss of life, in which case, what's the math on how many people have been killed by the Vanguard or Imperium in the pursuit of unleashing Predathos? How many more will die?

If the release of Predathos doesn't result in the immediate demise of all the gods, and the Divine Gate is down, why isn't this a recipe for Calamity 2? What was the motivation for killing the gods again?

Should we kill mortal diviners who do not do all within their power to stop terrible things that may come to pass? If the issue is that some people have power without working for it, why haven't we killed all the sorcerers?

Should we be listening to a single word from someone who consumes random fey to live longer, and that's just the start of the CVS receipt of atrocities?

Is there a point where one's deeply held beliefs due to one's own personal trauma become invalidated due to one's actions as a result of that trauma? If so, why is the limit for Orym "is okay with killing people who are trying, directly, to kill you (which, frankly, isn't even a trauma response, that's just called not wanting to die, which I highly recommend as a personal philosophy), and gets upset when people defend those knowingly collaborating with his family's murderers" and the limit for Vanguard generals "family abandonment/just. buckets of murder of innocents./child soldier recruitment in multiple different contexts/eating fey as biohacking/destroying an entire city and the surrounding forest for hundreds of years (ongoing)/imperialism in multiple different contexts/I was going to make a gallows humor joke about how while neither exist in-world they've violated the Geneva Convention AND the IRB for testing on human subjects multiple times over but actually those both are in fact written in a lot of the same blood/probably some others that I'm forgetting"

[livingsurreal]

What is it with Baldurs Gate 3, that this game has so many characters I completly obsess about? I am usually a "one-true-blorbo" kinda girl. Fenris, Solas, Garrus, Jaal. Those are my Bioware blorbos.

I might try to smooch some one else but it never really works out.

Now for some reason, in BG3 my brain makes blorbos out of half the cast.

Astarion is my No 1. He is a very angry feral cat and I will love him till I die. He is perfect and sweet and angry and deserves sunlight and hugs and sweet gentle kisses and patience and a fucking hero in shining armor who stands beside him, without expecting shit in return. Who is there and is his shield and voice of reason. Some one who doesn't save him but gives him the space and chance, so he can save himself.

But damn, there is Raphael who takes way to much space in my brain lately. Give me that pillow princess and I will make him so much better he forgets what contracts even are. This poor sweet devil prince who never experienced love or someone who truly cares about him. All he knows is terms and conditions and life is so much more than transaction. Such a shame that he cant be romanced ingame. He is just the best devil and damn he looks soo soo yum. (WHERE IS MY RAPHAEL ROMANCE)

Karlach who is the bestest ever and I want her to ride me into the ground, and I want to hug her and hold her hand and never let her go and tell her is is the best thing since the invention of icecream and she deserves EVERYTHING!

Gale, sweet Gale who deserves unconditional true love, kindness and so many kisses. Someone who tells him "you are enough" and just loves him and blows him till he sees stars.

Wyll who deserves someone loyal, and sweet, who stands beside him and doesn't throw him away and tells him he is perfect the way he is. Also dances in the moonlight yayyy!

Dammon with his cute smile and sweet voice who needs to be smooched very gently. (WHERE IS MY DAMMON ROMANCE? Also he and Karlach would be perfect for each other if not romanced)

Rolan with his snotty attitude who needs to be smooched very hard. Also he needs to be fucked against a wall. (WHERE IS MY ROLAN ROMANCE)

Zevlor who deserves all the hugs and love. Also he needs someone who grabs his horns while riding him into the ground. (WHERE IS MY ZEVLOR ROMANCE)

Lae'zel and Shadowheart are made for each other. They are my sweet angry baes who really need to take a room and fuck it out of their system. Sorry, I would love each one of them but I just don't dare to come between them. But I will be their cheerleader and be the most embarrassing friend when they finally stop being silly. How sad is it that our companions dont find each other if we dont romance them. They deserve love, and Tav/Durge cant kiss them all!

Halsin who gives the sweetest bear hugs and seems somehow lost in Act 3, and should be kissed and hugged and be given lots of little ducky plushies.

Jaheira who is just the coolest and a damn good friend and gives great (bad) advice and who would share a blunt and a bottle of wine and I would listen to her stories all day, I love her so much. We all should have a Jaheira in our life.

Minsc who also tells the best stories and if you want really good (bad) advice you would ask Boo. He would be the best (worst) wingman, and the no 1 person you go to when you have a bad day. He just makes everything better. When in doubt just go and do some asskicking and everything is good.

How can ONE (1) game have so many wonderful characters, where I want to band almost every single one of them.

[haru-sen]

Breaking His Silence

Zevlor is frustrated with your unwillingness to train. But you're a warlock. You have no interest in letting him order you around the training grounds.

I spent way too much time on the combat mechanics.

CW: Combat, innuendo, SFW

Not exactly Through the Gates of Oak and Horn compliant.

“No thank you, I’ll die,” you laughed, shaking your head at the paladin as he gestured to the practice weapon rack. The two of you stood alone in the makeshift training circle. “I know my limits. I avoid going toe to toe against heavily armed melee fighters for that reason.”

“Which is why you need to train more,” Zevlor said solemnly. “You know as well as anyone how mutable the battlefield is. You need to be prepared for all eventualities.”

You shook your head, holding up your hand and raising a finger for each spell or reaction. “Misty step, misty escape, dimension door, expeditious retreat, blink.”

Zevlor’s frown deepened.

“Invisibility, fly, enhanced jump: I have spells, potions, and scrolls.” You grinned smugly at him. “I plan my escape routes.”

“Is that so?” Zevlor asked, crossing his arms and inclining his head to the side.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Come on, you’ve seen my tactics. I’m prep-”

“Silencio,” he rumbled.

Your voice died in your throat. You blinked in shock, the sounds around you cutting off instantly. You could not even hear your heart slamming into overdrive, adrenaline now coursing through your system. You could have counter-spelled that, but you were not paying attention. This was Zevlor. What the hell?

You immediately twisted your hands, casting hypnotic pattern. It did not have a verbal component, and while it took a moment, it left your opponents charmed and incapacitated. Perfect for escaping a silenced zone.

You grinned smugly at Zevlor, expecting to see him standing dazed from the spell, but he just met your gaze, his sword in hand. He stood there, absolutely unbothered by your spell...because the godsdamned paladin was channeling his oath, and therefore immune to being charmed. Fuck.

He raised his chin, the faintest smile on his lips. He didn’t try to mouth any taunts. He didn’t have to, the look on his face said it all: well, what are you going to do now, warlock?

You took a deep breath, calming yourself. This was Zevlor. He wasn’t going to hurt you. You didn’t have to waste a potion or a scroll. Giving a little wave, you turned and ran.

Something hard struck you in the back of the legs, and you fell, sprawling onto the ground. The bastard actually landed an opportunity attack on you. You glowered up at him, realizing that he struck you with the flat of his blade.

Zevlor regarded you calmly, not exactly laughing at you, but you could see the amusement sparking in his eyes.

Well then, you would have to break his concentration. There were...unorthodox ways of doing that, but you were not desperate enough to resort to those right now. You climbed to your feet, still glaring murder at him, before you followed up by tossing a grease bottle. There was a certain sense of malicious satisfaction as that sludgy oil splattered his shiny armor leaving ugly smudges. You held an alchemist’s fire grenade in the other hand, daring him to come closer.

Zevlor’s eyes narrowed and then his brow ridges went up as if to say “are you sure about this?”

You tossed the glass bottle between your hands, winking at him. He could be sensible and walk away. He could be foolish and force your hand. You were not worried about hurting him. He was an Asmodeus tiefling. He had strong fire resistance.

He stepped carefully through the puddle of oil, eyes locked on you, tail extended to help him keep his balance. He wasn’t angry – you had seen him angry. But there was a taut determination in his motions. Maybe you were escalating too quickly… or maybe the self-righteous bastard should not have surprise attacked you. Yes, this was definitely his fault.

You threw the glass bottle, flames erupting around him.

The tinkling of glass signaled the break you were waiting for. You raised your head, hands already forming a familiar spell configuration. You were going to eldritch blast this asshole across the training yard.

Zevlor charged you then. His sword lit up, and the Hellrider struck you with an actual godsdamned smite. You screamed as light erupted around you, blinding you.

“Fuck!” you shouted, instinctively reaching for your eyes.

There was a low rough laugh from behind you and you froze as the metal of his blade pressed lightly against your throat, claws yanking back on your hair.

“I had you in minutes. You warlocks all think the same way,” he growled in your ear. “Did you really expect those petty tricks to stop me? Do you know how many spell-slinging hell-pawns I’ve brought down? All of you thinking that your bargains with dark powers will protect you, but never willing to put in the work yourselves?”

You could feel the heat radiating off his armor, the smell of metal polish and smoke drowning out all other scents. Breathing hard, you considered your next spell.

“Do not,” he warned. “Show some grace in defeat.”

“You’re the one who attacked me,” you scowled, vision still obscured.

“I did you no harm, till you set me on fire,” he said, his voice raspy.

“You smacked me with your sword!”

“It was a love tap,” he said, breath hot on the back of your neck. “Enough. Do you yield?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said resentfully.

“So you will be training with me tomorrow?”

“Sure, if I have time,” you said, not meaning a word of it.

“Do not make me hunt you down,” he said sternly, the warning a low rumble that seemed to reverberate against your back. “Take this seriously. It’s your safety I’m concerned with.”

You exhaled slowly, slumping against him, your body starting to ache. “Zevlor, I’m blinded, injured, and you have a sword to my throat. You are the most danger I’ve been in all day.”

“Hmph.”

You really expected to guilt him there, but he just lowered his sword, and you felt a familiar cool energy pass through you, his hand channeling healing through your bruised body. You braced yourself against him, exhaling in relief. And then he finally followed up with a lesser restoration to clear the darkness around your eyes.

You turned to look at the still-smoldering paladin, flames licking his skin, black smoke rising from his armor, his expression severe as he regarded you.

“I will expect you on the training grounds tomorrow,” he said.

You nodded and briskly walked away. He could expect a whole lot of things. That wasn’t your problem.

##

“Tav, where do you think you’re going?” Zevlor shouted as you quickly turned in the other direction when you saw him coming.

“Very busy, can’t today,” you called over your shoulder.

“That was not the agreement,” he said, speeding up to follow you.

“Sorry, can’t hear you, I’m not wearing any underwear.”

“Wha-?” he choked and faltered.

“Ad alibi,” you laughed, and misty stepped away.

##

“He’s relentless,” you muttered, crouched in the shadows outside camp with Astarion.

“I don’t know why you’re surprised. That shoe-leather devil of a soldier has survived this long and he managed to reswear his oath. The bastard exists in a constant state of sad idealism and desperate tenacity…Darling, it might just be easier to give him what he wants,” Astarion said dryly.

“Are you kidding? I did not make a binding pact with a darker power so I could get up early and do calisthenics for a fanatical military commander.” You snorted and shook your head.

“Oh, is that all he wants? I assumed that when you set him on fire and he stuck a blade to your neck that it was some kind of devilish courting ritual,” Astarion chuckled. “Seems a bit derivative, if you ask me.”

Considering Astarion stuck a dagger to your neck when you met, well, maybe he wasn’t wrong.

“Shhh, he’s coming this way.”

You watched as Zevlor carefully strode along the path, slowly scanning the area. You knew his dark vision was not great, but there were spells and potions to fix that, so you were not ruling out the possibility that he could see you in the shadows. You now knew to take Zevlor very seriously.

“Someone get this old bastard a hobby,” you muttered.

“I think you are his pet project now,” Astarion said, a little too gleefully. “Good luck.” Sauntering out of the shadows, he stepped onto the path and Zevlor’s head snapped up.

The Hellrider looked Astarion over thoughtfully. “Have you seen Tav?”

“No, why?” Astarion cooed.

Zevlor stared at him flatly, orange eyes sharp. “I see.”

Astarion winked and gave him a little wave, before slinking back into camp.

Zevlor inhaled slowly, and turned toward your hiding place. You didn’t think he could see you, but you froze.

“This is childish,” he murmured.

There was nothing childish about not wanting to get smote again.

“I thought warlocks were superior to paladins,” he said, needling you. “Something about it being the “same deal, without all the trappings of piety and irritating restrictions.”

You bit your tongue, really wanting to respond. But he was baiting you and you weren’t that easy to goad, right?

“I suppose I understand then that you’re conceding your point. Warlocks are just lesser imitations of paladins, their pacts nowhere near as powerful as a truesworn oath.”

You rolled your eyes. “Hells, you’re so heavy-handed with the metaphors. You’re demonstrating a terrible understanding of the nuances of the situation. And to top it off, that’s not even a good insult. Make it cutting. Like “warlocks think they’re so sinister, but they’re really just suckling at the teat of outcast losers like Raphael. They can’t even get a real god to sponsor them.” You frowned. Wait, that was kind of mean.

His head snapped back and he regarded you coolly. “Done running?”

“I have no desire to spend hours sweating and straining on the training field while you bark orders at me,” you said.

Zevlor’s jaw clenched. “And I have no desire to see you get hurt, when I can help you compensate for your shortcomings.”

“You smote me,” you said darkly.

“And I’ll do it again, if I have to.”

Yeah, that was enough debate for the night. You began to cast invisibility.

He lunged and you shrieked not expecting the old man to move that fast. His sword alight once more, he hit you with a branding smite, your form now glowing, making invisibility useless.

“Really?!” you snarled, flinching as you steadied yourself on your feet.

“Silencio,” he said in response, and the shadowy world went soundless.

You gritted your teeth. This time you were ready for him. You conjured your ice knife, and a shard of ice struck his swordarm before it exploded and coated the ground in more ice. You were in the blast radius, but you were prepared for that too.

Zevlor grimaced, and took a step toward you before slipping on the ice, and dropping to one knee.

You grinned and jumped back out of the area of effect, before hitting him with the spell once more.

He staggered to his feet and slipped again.

Your ears popped and he grunted, falling prone. Concentration broken.

Grinning, you got ready to take off running, when you realized the older man was lying still on the ground.

You glanced over at him. “Are you all right?”

He groaned. “I’m fine.”

Sighing, you went over and offered him your hand. Bending over to grasp his forearm, you pulled him partially upright, but your footing was less sure this time. One foot slid out from under you and you stumbled forward. Both of you crashed back down in a tangle of limbs.

“Fuck,” you muttered, sprawled across his chest.

Zevlor lay face up, eyes shut firmly as he grimaced.

“Give it a few minutes for the ice to melt, unless I’m squishing you, then I’ll move,” you said.

He sighed heavily.

“Hey, are you hurt?” you asked.

“No,” he said, not opening his eyes.

“Did you hit your head?” You leaned over his face, palms flat against his chest. “Hey, open your eyes. I need to make sure your pupils are the same size.”

Very slowly, Zevlor opened his eyes, blinking owlishly when he looked up at you.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” you asked.

“None,” he said.

You nodded. “Do you know where you are?”

“Underneath you, apparently,” he said dryly.

“Astute,” you nodded. “This isn’t a trick, is it? Because I’m on top, so I won.”

Zevlor sighed. “Yes, you did.”

“See, that’s the problem with how you paladins fight. So honorable and silly. Sure I’m on top, but absolutely within range. You could strangle, curse, or just plain overpower me.” You nodded sagely. “Please don’t though.”

“I’m not looking to hurt you, Tav,” he said gruffly. “I just...I just wanted you to be prepared for less common attacks. I think it’s important that you compensate for some of your weak points,” he said quietly.

“Trying to make me train with you would absolutely hurt me,” you told him. “I am a caster, not a melee fighter. I am like a bottle of alchemist’s fire: delicate and oh so explosive.”

“It would be nice if you could help someone up without falling over.”

“So I should have just left you on the ground. I see,” you said.

“I am still on the ground,” he said. “Only now you’re on top of me.”

“So you’re in a better position than before.”

Zevlor grimaced at your joke.

“Am I hurting you?” you asked.

He shook his head slowly. “No.” He laid back, staring up away from your face.

You peered down at him. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll heal us both in a moment,” he finally admitted.

You laughed.

“So how would you get out of this then?” he asked evenly, one arm grabbing your collar and dragging you closer.

You studied his face. “You really want to know?”

He nodded, expression grim.

You leaned in and he tensed, like you were going to punch him, but he couldn’t dodge, not while he was holding onto you.

You pressed your lips to his, moaning softly as you ground against him.

He froze beneath you, a low ragged breath escaping him before he pulled away from you, his eyes wide. “T-tav, that’s unnecessary-”

“Sorry, can’t hear you, still not wearing any underwear.” You nipped the tip of his ear, feeling him shudder.

“Tav, this is inappropriate-” he coughed. Zevlor stared up at you, both of you very aware of the fact that he could easily get out from under you.

“You spent all that time chasing me around.” You rested a hand over the one still fisting the front of your robes. “Well, you caught me, Hellrider. Now what?”

Part 2

[christiansorrell]

TTRPG Read-Through: Liminal Horror

Here is a read-through I did last year (originally posted on Twitter) of one of the my current go-to game for modern horror: Liminal Horror by Goblin Archives! - Christian

I cut my teeth learning to GM as a Keeper in Call of Cthulhu and I've really been jonesing for a game in this genre that's more in the style of rpg I enjoy these days. I'm hoping this will be it!

Really excited about this. Shifting away from mental illness and trauma, both of which have their obvious problematic pitfalls, is something I could see really opening up what a character looks like and goes through after having things go wrong in interesting new ways.

Big spread on Facilitator and Player Principles. I think this is all very solid advice as a one-time or just-before-play read, but it's definitely too much for quick reference. That said, I always love reminding folks that we "play to find out what happens."

I may be off the mark but these two bullets make me think Goblin Archives is a Friends at the Table listener. Both of these make me immediately think of Austin's openings on there (which is a very good thing, for me).

Very straightforward stats. I like the HP distinction here and how it seems to refill between events/encounters and when drained is when you see actual damage occur. More inventory structure than I expected (I like that tho!) Cool to see character AND party questions here.

I really loved the Backgrounds and character options in The Bureau, a Control-inspired megadungeon-like module for this system I did a read-through of about a month or so ago. Excited to see more of that here. Also, I really need to play as a Very Online character.

Nice open character creation. I enjoy these types of questions: why do you believe there's something weird going on? What ideology guides you? What are your connections in the world, important relationships, etc.? Those create way more juicy bits than stats alone can provide.

I first encountered these kinds of character bonds in Fate years ago, but it's been a go-to house rule of mine during Session 0/1 for anything my group is planning to do longer than one-shot play for. Even in a single session, it can add a lot. Cool to see it here.

It's a d20 roll-under system (no modifiers, yay). Adding fatigue to inventory slots is a great way to make a mechanic out of that. Also, associates were unexpected! Shows this game could be more than just 3-4 bumbling normies going into the unknown (which is what I envisioned).

Combat is fairly straightforward (in a good way). No rolls to hit, it's just damage that is varied. Props to not using Advantage/Disadvantage as a game term like everyone else. Again, the Detachments make me think this game could have some wild situations come up!

Open-ended spell casting here (reminds me most recently of Primal Quest). They come and go day to day which is interesting, potentially changing entirely. I like the failure being equal to the desired effect. Want to kill someone with a spell? Be prepared to die if things go bad.

Okay, these relics are extremely cool. A blade that does MIND DAMAGE and requires recharging by feeding it memories? Good stuff.

Fallout is really interesting. Take enough DMG to go through your HP and it ticks away your Strength until you die (or take crit DMG). Fallout is the same but wears at your Control. Gaining Fallout makes you odder/more open to the true nature of things, but makes you heartier.

This is a good approach bc it means leaning into the things most games gate behind "sanity" here makes you more able to cope with the weird in the future. Feels like a path to more interesting stories (rather than the CoC-style "you are in a sanitarium now" character ending).

Remainder of the book is a small bestiary with monster creation guidelines, spark tables and a lean but comprehensive mystery creation guide along with a sample mystery. The loose framework, a steady clock ratcheting tension, and a focus on lots of clues feels like good guidance.

Having a mystery take only 6 pages feels much more approachable than the very traditional heavy-prep and lots-of-writing mysteries of something like Call of Cthulhu or Delta Green. I homebrewed a lot of CoC, and the prep work there can be pretty huge. This feels nice tho.

Overall thoughts: the book is a very lean and focused take on creating horror that doesn't get bogged down in the other ttrpg pitfalls of the genre while also having nice mechanics for associates, large scale encounters, etc. so there's room for a lot of types of stories here.

I'll definitely be trying to knock out a mystery for this as part of the jam. I've got a lot of weirdness to get out of my system and this seems like an easy, streamlined way to do it. Also, excited to play The Bureau and The Mall.

You can pick up the most recent addition of Liminal Horror in print via Space Penguin Ink. You can also find it on Itch. The rules and additional content also available entirely for free on Goblin Archives github.

Also, I wrote an adventure for this system last year: Tunnels in White.

Old money siphoning new money from every corner of your city. An aging mansion, quiet and worn. An old corporation shifting its gaze from development to development, always hungry, always growing.

A warehouse bearing the name Singleton Solutions, small and unassuming in one of a hundred industrial parks like any other, takes in truckload after truckload but never sends anything out. It’s the same for the people. Sometimes, they arrive in towncars, other times in shuttle vans. None come out. Ever.

What you know is something strange is going on inside that warehouse and you are determined to discover what it is. What you cannot know is where and how far the mystery may take you.

You can grab a print or digital copy HERE. It's also available via Itch.

Lastly if you like seeing my thoughts on games and how I make stuff for them, here's my monthly newsletter (which now has a free TTRPG thing to take to your table each month): https://meatcastle.substack.com

[scoops-aboy86]

I've had a terrible day, comment to ease my turmoil?

Oh, and towards the end of this chapter, “Luck can’t fix stupid” is just Eddie being hard on himself. He is a good boy who is trying his best. 

Part 1, part 1.5, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 of the love spell no go au

By morning, Eddie wakes to find that he’s rolled over in the night and Steve has burrowed into his arms. Hair that smells of Eddie’s shampoo tickles at his nose, and Steve is warm. A tingling under Eddie’s fingertips where they’re draped across Steve’s back tell him that his healing spells are still working—maybe that’s why Steve is sleeping so peacefully that it’s already dawn. 

Nancy was supposed to have woken Steve for his guard shift, probably hours ago. Huh.

Eddie wants to melt into this and soak it up, just in case he never gets another chance, but… there’s too much going on right now to get caught up in whatever this might be. Better to take a page from Steve’s book and let it be, hold his tongue and wait until they’re not dealing with an interdimensional catastrophe. 

Careful not to wake the (beautiful, brave, captivating) boy in his arms, he extracts himself carefully from the bed. He can’t resist leaving a soft kiss on Steve’s temple before he goes, though, his heart clenching and expanding and basically exploding in his chest when Steve shifts with a sigh and presses his full body into the space Eddie just vacated, seeking the lost body heat and breathing deeply against Eddie’s pillow. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck.

Instead of crawling right back into bed like he wants to, Eddie slinks out of the room and down the short hallway to the living room, eyes averted from the fleshy gash in the ceiling. Nancy is standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed as she stares up at it—but her eyes are clear, and she refocuses on Eddie as soon as he clears his throat. 

“So, uh,” he croaks, throat still rough from sleep. “Watch system kinda broke down, didn’t it?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Nancy replies, too quick not to be at least a little defensive. 

Eddie peers past her to Robin, who is asleep face-down on the couch with his uncle’s scratchy wool blanket draped over her. “Not saying I blame you there, Wheeler, but. Did you try?”

After a pause, Nancy lets out a breath that seems to come from all the way down to her toes, stiff shoulders slumping just a little and world weary in a way that no teenager should have to sound. “No.”

He flashes her a brittle smile, because yeah, he gets it. The only reason he’d managed any shut-eye was probably thanks to Steve’s reassuringly steady breathing at his back. “Fair enough. Instant coffee?”

There’s only the slightest twitch of distaste in her expression (he’s betting the Wheelers can afford actual coffee beans and shit) before she nods. “Coffee would be great.”

Which kind of makes him feel like a waiter, but he did offer. Eddie puts his back firmly to the gate and pokes around the kitchen for a pot to fill with water, pours it into four different mugs once it’s come to a boil, and dutifully stirs in the shitty off-brand Folgers. 

He sips his own somberly, pensive. All his life, it’s been drilled into him that magic is to be kept secret, cast in the shadows and never so flashy that it would draw too much outside attention. That’s what had gotten his dad locked up. 

But this group already knows about magic, even if they only refer to it as such using dnd metaphors that are actually more accurate than they think. Hell, maybe psychic powers are just a different method of spell casting—that’s deeper into magic theory than he usually ventures to go, though, so whatever. Not important right now. The point is… they could all die. It’s a very real possibility, especially for Max, and Eddie’s seen how that goes twice now. If there’s anything he can do to help, he has to try. 

Which means… he has to tell them. 

After Nancy recounts what Vecna showed her, after they formulate a plan that makes Eddie’s stomach clench and roll with dread, Eddie opens his mouth and says, “Guys, I have to tell you something.”

They sit patiently if a little incredulously through his explanation. A little more credulously once he gives a demonstration, turning an apple from the Mayfield’s kitchen blue, then, purple, then neon orange, then back to red and slicing it down the middle into an even seven pieces without so much as touching it. 

Dustin speaks up first, because of course he does—interrogating him about what offensive and defensive spells he knows, leading with examples that Eddie recognizes almost word for word from the Monster Manual. Lucas joins in after a minute, the boys’ enthusiasm snowballing until suddenly they’re drafting a list of things they want to see if Eddie can do. 

It’s Steve who ends up putting a stop to that, snapping. “Hey shitheads, he’s not a show pony and he’s not going to do tricks just to satisfy your scientific whatever, alright? You wouldn’t do that to Eleven, we’re not doing it to Eddie.”

“Scientific method, Steve,” Dustin grumbles, but relents. Eddie shoots a grateful look to Steve over the kid’s shoulder, and the smile he gets in return makes his heart do a flip. 

“I can’t do big shit like Vecna,” he cautions everyone, now that he can get a word in edgewise again. “But I can do smaller stuff. Protection charms on clothes, spells to make sure we don’t miss what we’re aiming for, that kind of thing. I can help, I’m just… not your point guy. I’m no Supergirl.”

Max snorts at the Supergirl part, but speaks up with a grave, “As the person sticking out my neck for this crazy plan, not missing sounds nice.”

That seems to clinch it. And next up, they need to stock up on weapons, so…

It was waking up to a cuddly Steve Harrington that did it, Eddie swears. That, and adrenaline from staring down the barrel of the balls-to-the-wall insane plan the group has concocted, because Eddie is surrounded by fucking heroes aparently. He doesn’t feel very heroic. 

Because he says things like “It’s not exactly a car, Steve” with a devilish smirk, and not asking but telling Steve that he’s driving the stolen RV, the words big boy tumbling out like his mouth has a fucking mind of its own. And each of those times, Steve blinks back at him with something in those hazel eyes, which Eddie is trying so hard to tell himself he doesn’t know how to read, but he wants. 

There isn’t time to do anything about it, though. When the RV’s rightful owners start banging on the door, adrenaline sends Steve leapfrogging into the driver’s seat and Eddie scrambling to get away from the windows so he won’t be spotted. They roar out of the trailer park with the kids whooping in the back, caught up in the adventure of it. 

Eddie feels like everything is going wrong and about to get worse, but he’s felt that way ever since Chrissy died so that’s nothing new. At least Steve stays in the RV instead of going into the War Zone, even if it takes Robin pointing out that the entire high school had seen them talking at Eddie’s locker on Friday and some probably noticed them sitting together at the game—because yeah, Lucas had told them what Jason Carver had done to Gareth, and Eddie doesn’t want anyone else hurt because some vigilante jock thinks they might be harboring him. 

“Sorry,” Eddie tells him after the others are gone. When Steve gives him a blank look, he adds, “That you’re a known associate of The Freak.” He nods towards the back of the RV where the two boys are wrapped up in a conversation of their own. “It’s bad enough that Lucas and Dustin are in the crosshairs, but they at least signed up for Hellfire.”

Steve frowns. “You’re my friend, Eddie, I don’t care who knows that. It shouldn’t even matter.”

“Dude, all of this shouldn’t be happening, but it is. It does matter. A hell of a fucking lot.” Eddie braces his elbows on his knees and drops his head into his hands. “Fuck.”

After a moment, a hand presses tentatively between his shoulder blades, shifting reassuringly up and down. It’s a big hand. Eddie is almost disappointed that he’s too upset to fully appreciate the contact. 

As it is, he groans into his hands and shrugs the touch off. “Steve, I should… I have to tell you something.” And you might not want to keep touching me after you hear it, he doesn’t say out loud. 

“What is it?”

Eddie lifts his head with a flick of his hair and a quick flail of his hands. “That was—I just cast a little privacy spell, if you were wondering. So the kids can’t eavesdrop.”

“Okay,” Steve says slowly. “Do you do that a lot? Just do magic like that? Because, you move your hands around a lot…”

He can’t help but smirk a little at that. “Not as much as you’d think. It’s a good cover if I have to, though.”

Steve’s eyes are wide and curious, his irises a honeyed brown tinged with spots of green. “Have you ever used magic on me?”

Aaand there it is. Eddie looks down at his hands, now clasped across bare his knees where time and wear have reduced the denim to strings. “Yep.” 

“Like what?”

So Eddie tells him about the love spell. 

Magic, considering everything else Steve has seen over the past few years and especially the past few days, isn’t much of a stretch to accept. That trick with the apple had helped, but for the most part he’s learned to just push through the confusion and listen to whoever sounds the most certain about it. 

And Eddie sounds pretty certain that he’s ruined Steve’s life. 

But that’s… not right. His life doesn’t feel ruined. He has Dustin and Robin. Yeah, he keeps ending up in life or death situations, but that gives him a sense of a purpose and might have happened anyway, because it’s not like Eddie’s one spell back when they were underclassmen created Hawkins Lab or Henry Creel out of thin air. 

A big part of Steve is elated, actually. Eddie likes him. Or liked him, enough to try and secure his heart with magic. Maybe that elation is from the spell, but honestly? The world might end tonight and any of them might die trying to stop it, so he’ll take any good feeling he can get regardless of where it’s coming from. 

When he tells Eddie as much, the guy looks about ready to cry. 

Before he can protest, Steve says, “I know you think you made me feel this way and that it’s like—” he frowns, unable to remember the way Eddie had put it “—violating my self-asomething-or-other, but fuck that. Your uncle said it wouldn’t have worked if I could never have liked you on my own, right? And I… In high school, people just hung around and I could never figure out why. Magic is as good an explanation as any, I guess. But with you, I had to work to get you to be my friend. I had to earn it. The more I got to know you the more I knew you’re a great guy, so by the time we were friends it felt like I’d really accomplished something, you know? You’re really nice, once you get past the prickly attitude—”

“Prickly?” Eddie mutters, quiet like he wants to interrupt but still feels a little too guilty to quite dare. Steve gets it; he knows how guilt can be, especially when it’s guilt for a stupid reason. 

“—And you’re smart, way smarter than me. The teachers who failed you are either full of shit or bad at their jobs, probably both. You’re so creative it blows me away, keeping track of all that Dungeons and Dragons stuff and making up entire worlds and all the people that go in them. And you have a great smile, with dimples and everything, and your hands are… And the way you watch me sometimes, like I’m the only person in the room even if we’re in a crowd, it feels really good.”

Eddie is getting more red by the second, a flush starting in his cheeks and threatening to go all the way to his chest at the compliments. Which, okay, Steve knows he’s gushing, but he’s been bottling all this up for a while and he’s not used to that. When it comes to love he’s usually an all-in kind of guy, and holding back had led to a quiet but snotty breakdown in Robin’s arms the night before. 

… Damn, he’s going to have to admit that she was right about Eddie being into guys (into him), though. 

“Steve,” Eddie says, and he sounds longing. Music to Steve’s ears. 

“I wanted the championship game to be a date,” Steve blurts. Because he’s already mentioned Eddie’s dimples and his hands, might as well go all in. 

Eddie’s blush intensifies, the start of that dimpled grin Steve loves so much on his face. “I… I did too.”

“So… after the game, when you went off with Chrissy…”

“That was just business,” Eddie says quickly, and Steve ducks his head to try and hide the relieved grin. “I mean, I wanted to help her, but I’m, uh. It’s always been just guys for me.”

“It’s both for me,” Steve tells him, glancing up through his eyelashes. He notices the way Eddie’s hand twitches, wanting to reach out but unsure, so he reaches over and tentatively lays his fingers over Eddie’s ringed ones. “Is that… okay?”

Eddie bites his lip, and just as tentatively twines their fingers together. “Y-yeah, I think so. This is—Shit, yeah.” 

“Would it make you feel better if… I don’t know, is there a way to turn the spell off?”

“Not really, magic doesn’t—” Eddie starts, but then stops, frowns. “Uh. My uncle did teach me something to undo magic once, but it’s a whole… thing. Like pulling a ripcord on a parachute, and, yeah, you stop falling as fast, but it jerks you around first. And it would ‘turn off’ every spell I’ve ever cast.” 

Before Steve has a chance to react to that, they’re interrupted by the rest of the group crashing back into the RV. Steve is up and barely even registers the remnants of Eddie’s privacy spell clinging to his face like invisible cobwebs. He spots Jason Carver out of the corner of his eye just before pulling out of the parking lot and, fuck. 

The rest of the day is too busy and tense to speak to Eddie alone, and Steve has a creeping worry (which he tries to ignore) that maybe Robin is right; maybe they aren’t going to be okay this time. 

Eddie doesn’t get to have nice things. Like an unbroken family, or a high school diploma, or Steve Harrington. 

He knows this. It’s deeply embedded in the reason he chickens out at the last minute, shaping his possible last words to Steve into, “Make him pay.” In that moment where their eyes had met he’d felt every loose thread, every unspoken thing between them weighing on him like a ton of bricks, and he regrets everything. Even though there hadn’t been time. He wonders if Steve regrets not saying whatever was on his mind back at the trailer, while the water was running… And from the way Steve looks back at him before nodding and turning to go, Eddie thinks he can hear the hollowness in it. 

Steve has similar hollowness, Eddie knows. Parents whose attention has always seemed to ghost right over him ever since Barbara Holland, leaving Steve to drift all alone in that big house until he felt like a phantom. They know these things about each other; they’ve talked about it all while high (everything except the Eddie wanting Steve part… and, apparently, an entire alternate universe full of monsters). And Steve gets it, even though Eddie wishes he didn’t. Wishes Steve’s life could be easy streets and clear sailing (ha, ahoy) so that Eddie wouldn’t have to feel so seen, stripped bare of all his armor. 

Even his battle vest is still in Steve’s possession, hidden under the thick army jacket. 

And it’s ironic, really, that Steve thinks he’s the stupid one but Eddie forgot about the goddamn air vents in the trailer. There isn’t really a spell to protect against that; luck can’t fix stupid.

So he does the best he can think of, if it can be called thinking at this point: flings a stealth spell at Dustin so the bats will be more likely to forget about him, cuts the sheet-rope, and bolts out the door. He grabs a bike and pedals as hard as he can, just trying to get away, and in the blankness of his panicking-in-overdrive mind an idea begins to form. 

When one of the bats gets caught in the spokes and Eddie goes down, he’s up almost immediately and spitting the words Wayne taught him when he was still small—before his uncle got custody but after his mom started getting sick, when Eddie’s dad had first started getting reckless. 

The swarm of flying monsters descends on him while he’s still screaming the spell. After the last syllable, bleeding and knocked around by the attack, the ripcord pulls and Eddie is slammed into darkness.

Tag list (comment to be added): @hotluncheddie @8em-em-em8 @anaibis @connected-dots @lawrencebshoggoth

Part 9, part 10, part 11

[herdsworldbuilding]

So despite my own personal statements regarding my dislike for complex, multiverse like narratives. I am infact like most people, a hypocrite.

So let me talk about my multiverse narrative.

This is a project I started sometime in high school, and it keeps changing every year that I work on it. I think it may be the project where I have done the most overhauls on.

There is no garentee I will not overhaul it entirely again in the future. But that will be then, this is now.

So even though it is a constantly changing project, I will share the oldest remaining a (and most consistent part of this project) Witches.

Witches are rare, shapeshifting beings. Able to transform into many things. Though they all have a unique familiar.

This familiar is what they are named for… ie the wolf witch, the chameleon witch or the cat witch, gryphon witch So on and so forth.

Witches for this setting are not born they are made. Quite purposely mind you. As it would be difficult if not impossible to make a witch without all parties consenting to it.

A consensual deal with the devil per-say.

The reason for this is because of how magic naturally works.

There are three kinds of majics. Major majics, middle magics and minor magics.

Under normal circumstances stances major magics like the kind that witches perform are deadly to most beings so minor magics are instead used

See even with minor magic it is done by cooperating with several people at a time. Usually the safest minimum is three individuals. Two to cast one to keep watch. The safest large amount of individuals is somewhere around twelve as any more and it tends to be a too many cooks in the kitchen ordeal.

Magic can be performed alone, but it is difficult and likely to backfire. Especially with the more magic you are dealing with. Or in other words the closer to major majics one gets.

Crafting with magic is slightly less risky but not as potent when done alone, and there’s several ways to do this sort of crafting… but before I get off track.

Witches are the exception to casting magic on thier own, they can just throw it around whillynilly all they want. This is because of one simple fact:

A witch is never alone.

That is because witches make themselves. when they fuse their bodies and consciousness together with others. This horrific process results in a single individual and an offshoot (the familiar)

This individual, with multiple consciousness, two to cast one to watch. Can perform magic as they wish.

Witches like this draw magic from the worlds around them and from themselves, and that is where this whole multiverse thing comes in.

Magic is everywhere and in everything there is life.

And the majority of witches come from and live in the place where dead universes combined. To be melted together and reused until the end of magic. This place. The place where dreams are made and go to die. As it has always been, and never will be. Is connected to everything. The cosmic ocean if you will. The roots of the world tree. The brackish world. The home of the many gates.

So it’s from here that a witch can fulfill their greatest purpose.

See when a witch create themselves they also creat a magic system (middle majics). A way to easily harness that energy so normally inaccessible to most.

Normally a magic system will be used by the witch themselves.

For example the Chameleon Witch upholds a magic system that relies on color, change the color of a thing and change the way that thing fundamentally interacts with life.

The chameleon witch uses their system when they perform magic.

But others can also buy into a witche’s system. Usually the inhabitants of the brackish worlds may buy into a witches system in order to perform magic in an easier way.

But that’s the less interesting option.

The more interesting system occurs when a real world, floating out in the spiderwebs of the cosmos decided to try magic.

If there is enough magic around (at least a 1.7 on my scale) and individuals start to pull on magic. There is a high chance that instead of pulling on nothing they find a witch’s path that’s already been thread. As it is easier to walk the path already taken than bushwhack a new one.

Some systems are more popular to buy into than others. Like the dragon witches elemental system. Or the black witches deal making system.

A magic planet can buy into multiple systems at a time, usually having them fuse into something unique. But they can stay separate too or expand in ways unknown to the witch themselves until they learn of this new idea.

The old sort of magic the kind that sings universes into being, still exists and could in theory be used by anyone in a world with enough magic to notice the fabric of order and chaos that the witches use to create themselves. But why do that when your system lets you throw fire balls? Or even find the mysteries of the universe in the equally impressive minor magics? (I mean the name is deceptive, this magic can be used to revive the dead, grant wishes and control entire worlds of used in the right place by the right “people”, it’s the magic of gods and “soft magic systems”)

The thing about witches (and magic system as an extension) is that they are mortal. Majic is an immortal force of existence. To exist is to be just a bit of majic.

But witches are mortal and so they can die. And with them the system they upheld dies too. In some cases a similar system belonging to another witch may fill the void, but otherwise the system dies.

The likelihood of a witch dying is slim though. They are mortal, but they are also ageless, as by the rules of the chaos at the ends of existence. Where things like time and scale and gravity don’t behave as they should. From where you can watch the countless ends and existences die and begin again in universes uncountable. As gods and giants and cosmic dragons forge worlds and multiverses of their own volition. And elder things play games and battle over the scraps and threads of thier own universes that they wish to forge into new existences. Doing anything they can to prevent existences from falling into the place that witches live.

Speaking of dragons and elder things: witches follow dragons, because cosmic dragons are especially good at destruction and creation. (Chaos incarnate, along with their siblings who are Order incarnate) So if a witch wishes to place her magic system in a particular place she will give it to a dragon who will go to a world and from there spread life and magic that they carry to that world.

Elder things know, they tend to have lived through the birth and rebirth of several universes. So they are especially good at learning and unknowning. They are usually the ones responsible for changing the ways a system interacts with the world around it.

A Witches counterpart is a Muse, witches write the rules of magic, Muses write the paths of things.

[taki-yaki]

Is there a race for something like Frankenstein? Not exactly a ghoul, but not exactly human? If that doesn't work how about a cyborg made by an artificer? My prompt is a Tav that has to deal with a new body after being "put back together," and unaging so she can be with Astarion forever🥺

 I think the closest would be either a Warforged with a magic jar spell or a Reborn but I’ll do a bit of both since they both seem to fall into your prompt.

Astarion x Warforged!Tav + Astarion x Reborn!Tav

Minor Cw: Body horror warning for Reborn Section

**Warforged Tav**

During a fierce fight in the remains of a ruined town, severely weakened within the depths without a healer on hand left to die and rot, you hastily cast magic jar upon yourself, falling into a catatonic state as your soul leaves your body, entering the ornamental container.

As soon as your soul enters the container, the sound of falling sand rushes through your soul's senses. All you could do was watch on helplessly as your physical body was touched by a necrotic spell, turning it into dust.

Astarion carries the jar, cradling it within his arms, looking for anything that your flickering soul could possess. Searching through the nearby overgrowth foliage, he finds a worn-down body of a warforge, a small iron hinge door lays open, once where a mechanical heart would lay. Recalling from Gales's lectures of this place these iron constructs could once host a mortal's soul, but have all eroded due to lack of care over the decades.

Pushing his luck, he inserts the jar into the container,  hoping for a miracle as the gears of the automaton start to grind in motion

“Darling? Are you alright, are you still in there? Say something damn it”

Upon waking, your body feels nearly hollow and heavy, you feel a fluid flow through the circulatory system of your new form. As you attempt to open your mouth to speak, his name comes out with a metallic echo in your form. It takes you aback for a second, feeling that your voice isn’t your own.

All Astarion can do is watch in silence as he waits for your response, after a while, he whispers, “I’m sorry….I shouldn’t have acted so hasty and now you’re stuck like this” gesturing at the iron plates surrounding your form. 

You reassure him that it’s not his fault, explaining that you don’t mind having such a strong robotic body, joking about how you could carry him around with ease like this.

Despite your lack of human skin, he does try to care for you, even when your insides are just a set of interweaving wires and cogs, trying to clean any moss on your body and learning how to replace the worn rusted joints with new pieces. 

Regardless, he’s relieved that you still have your soul in this form, unlike mind flayers who only mimic the original host, slowly becoming void of emotion, seeing such emotions as nothing but a manipulation tactic.

**Reborn Tav**

Your body was stolen from its resting place by a mad cleric who wished to use the infamous hero of Baldur’s Gate as their little meat puppet.

Attempting to stitch any loose parts of your battle-worn body back together with other corpses he has stolen. Not perfect but some parts are slightly different from that of your original form.

Astarion discovered the gruesome cleric's hideout, in which he proceeded to slaughter the man mid-ritual, seething with rage, until the sound of heavy gasping pulled him out. Turning around to see you awake, alive, but looking pale, almost ghoul-like. He’s seen this before, when he turned into a spawn decades ago, the fear and confusion of it all. They’ve made you an undead like him.

A reborn, who dances on the line of life and death, not hindered by the curses that normal vampirism would offer.

He attempts to help you get used to your new life, attempting to relearn your usual breathing rhythm, to help you attempt to eat and drink again, to regain some sense of normalcy. Despite your need to not sleep anymore, Astarion insists on you getting some rest by always staying by your side, promising that he’ll be by your side when you wake up.

Although there are times when the stitches on your body come loose, due to the cleric’s shoddy rushed handiwork, in which Astarion attempts to piece these parts back together correctly all whilst comforting you, and complimenting your body.

Despite your unexpected return, you’re new life as a reborn, Astarion was glad to have you by his side once again.

[gudmould]

Design key points and technical summary of automobile headlight reflector injection molds.

Car headlight reflector (also known as reflector) is a part of car headlight lighting system that has a reflection function to avoid direct light. It is located inside lens and decorative frame, is assembled with lens. Reflector can be seen from outside of car light through lens. Plastic parts are exterior parts with aluminum-plated surfaces. They are high-gloss electroplated parts with…

[spotsupstuff]

Questions about the recent art post!

1. You said the first karma/natural urge glyph relates to the Anemons’ chitin skeletons— how so? I can see it as a pictograph of a few different things, but it’s so simplified that the connection ain’t obvious- at least to me.

3. Why were the lower caste kept intentionally stressed? That seems particularly spiteful.. though of course real life class- and casteism is just as arbitrarily cruel.

2. What role did the CitID drones play in population control? Was it primarily as a surveillance tool, and thus an implicit threat? Or were they like, literally designed to kill people

The relation is in the question of ,,Why would the very first prohibition/warning be related to violence?" and the answer of ,,Most likely because they indulged a lot in it at some point. It says not to do indulge in something, so the opposite had to be true beforehand to a meaningful degree." A religion spawns out of a prompt from physical reality, so what real events inspired pieces of their religion? It's related to my ideas about their "technological" development. Rather than evolving their abilities likes us through machines, they went through the biological aspects (getting to those purposed organisms not out of sadism, but because that is how they knew how to do elaborate complicated things). To know biology, they had to do a lot of research and, with the "respawn" mechanic real to them, they could have had the means to "ethically" brutalize each other (and animals) for the sake of researching how things work, what the limits are, how can they be used and augmented. Mentioning they are of chitin, not of bone, is a reassurance that they are not wearing the remains of their own species.

It's related to the idea of the Caste system, but also to keep them more vigilant since they are down there with all the animals (you could say the High castes can allow themselves the pleasure to be calm and slow about things) and then the fact that stress does cause physical issues and kills. This is a major wip currently that I'm trying to figure out: they could be biologically immortal, what with sea anemones sharing phylum with such things as the Hydra and the Immortal Jellyfish. They have incredible regenerative ability, one of the traits defining the Cnidaria phylum. They have the Small Cycle, which is the respawn mechanic from the game explained in-world (though might be changed around yet for better definition). But I'm a writer and I want my characters to die, have to confront it as a fate and as on-lookers (Sparrows dying is important for Caper's character, for example), I want them to have different past lives that could plague them, that they would need to reflect on. There needs to be some kind of stake in the story to make it interesting. There's also no explanation for how they don't overpopulate the planet (just Sparrows is one of 13 children from one pair of parents), from sociological outlook immortal people who remember things are also disadvantegous to manipulators with political power. So I'm trying to figure out limits for their abilities, what *could* kill them enough to result in a reincarnation we are familiar with, what they should be afraid of, give good reasons that make sense. Stressing out the Low castes to make them die and therefore have them in a sort of monstrous rotation and in somewhat controllable numbers would be beneficial for the Elites, while they get to live on for as long as they want. Nineteen Spades, Endless Reflections I imagine was over 900 when he took the Void way out. Sparrows dies in her 110s, some of her siblings in their 70s-90s. Still a wip though, needs troubleshooting and confirming it doesn't poke holes Somewhere in the logic and if things feel right.

Surveillance tool, yes. Secretly keeping track of the citizens' indulgence and location next to the public knowledge of being helpful tools for things like navigation and circumventing karma gates.

[cosxtan]

thoughts about iron widow, its yin yang imagery, and how patriarchal societies keep everyone down

General thoughts on Xiran Jay Zhao's book Iron Widow. Spoilers!

iron widow comes right out the gate with yin yang imagery. it starts with a butterfly with yin yang wings, the dual pilots of the mechs are characterized by yin and yang properties, and the mindscape they enter during battle is just a straightup a yin and yang. the first lines of the book get into it too.

but what the book also touches on is how brutally women are treated in the patriarchal society of the story. we're in the perspective of wu zetian, a frontier girl whose only paths in life were to die as a concubine soldier, or to marry to a random man to satisfy his every whim. girls are often drowned locked in pig cages when they are dishonored or disobey.

zetian is a physical manifestation of the society's toxic norms. her feet have been so broken by foot binding done for aesthetic purposes that she has to wobble places with a cane. The author is always very deliberate in describing zetian as hobbling, not walking (side note, look up foot binding. It's real and it's highly disturbing!)

after many shenanigans, including killing her sister's abuser (based) and dumping his corpse out of a mech during a livestream (BASED), she gets matched with a pilot that's bound to kill her: li shimin, a death row inmate who was spared for his aptitude with mechs. he killed his whole family! one of the worst crimes in their society. he has to be muzzled and chained and bribed with alcohol to cooperate, piloting the most powerful mech in the fleet: the Vermilion Bird

but all is not really as it seems. after their first violent confrontation doesn't kill one or both of them, zetian and shimin are put in housing together and trained while under constant threat of execution if they dont comply. zetian learns that as a death row inmate, shimin was forced into labor camps and administered electric shocks if he didn't work fast enough. so much so, in fact, that his hands have lost their finer functionalities. he can no longer paint or write like he was able to as a child, something that brought him comfort and joy.

the symbolism is pretty clear to me. with two functioning feet and two functioning hands between them, they represent a unique kind of symmetry that the yin yang generally embodies. they are both disabled, but they work as a single unit within the Vermilion Bird.

it also brings up another layer of flaws in the patriarchal society. while the mistreatment of women is obvious and brutal, the men are harmed by this system as well. shimin was contorted by the government and media to look like an unhinged serial killer (this also makes reference societal racism, as he isn't fully Han like the rest of the cast). even as a man, he's just another cog that people want to discard because he's not up to par. they even ripped out one of his kidneys and half his liver.

but i think it goes a layer deeper than that. because while shimin and zetian are both abused and harmed by the society they live in, shimin still gets the better end of the deal. he isn't immediately executed for his crime of patricide, when zetian surely would have been. while he's disabled, he still has limited use of his hands. meanwhile, zetians feet are forever broken and unusable. he had options in his life before the incident. she did not. i think at their core, zetian and shimin represent yin yang from a unique perspective of being symbols of the damage patriarchal structures and societies can do to people. it's a really solid and consistent theme for a ya book. like, genuinely interesting and nuanced. hats off to zhao for their impeccable writing

[eyesteeth]

please talk more about the silt verses. your posts are so good and really get me thinking about the characters. do you have any paige or hayward thoughts? if not, then more faulkner?

THANK U ANON!! you are very sweet :]

i will admit in my sibling brainrotting i have neglected the other two leads a bit, but no more!! here, for your enjoyment, is a very long list of thoughts on paige and hayward!

⚠️ spoilers ahoy!! ⚠️

ok, Paige first :]

so i must confess right out the gate that it was very hard for me to get a pulse on Paige at first, but i believe i’ve got her down now. to me, her story is very much one of “the war is not here, so i don’t have to worry”, in a metaphorical sense. yes, people are dying, and gods are feeding, but i’m safe. i live in a penthouse. i have a job that pays well. i don’t have to worry. any death that happens is happening somewhere far away, where i don’t have to look at it.

and then Vaughn dies, and the fire is lit. the “war” is at Paige’s doorstep. if someone that close to Paige isn’t safe, then maybe she’s not safe. maybe she’s never been safe. and so she drinks herself to sleep, and one day she drives out, and runs into two (and later, three) new perspectives on everything.

i think this relates very well to how the Tree ends up developing later. it hating everyone and wanting everyone dead is sort of an extension of this and the greater series discussions of capitalism. under the current system, literally everyone is complicit in some suffering. someone was sacrificed so you could turn the lights on. people have died for your fast food. the good person/bad person binary that they put into the god failed to acknowledge this, and so, since everyone benefits from the suffering of some unseen individual, all deserve to die by its logic.

and Paige has to know this on some level. she helped with the marketing/designing of gods and saints. those entities she had a hand in making most certainly went on to feed on others. but it’s fine. it’s an invisible person being wronged, and you don’t have to look. and if Paige had this awareness/guilt in the back of her mind and it filtered into the Tree somehow… she might be responsible for even more death. 

despite all of this, she plays an everyman character with surprising efficiency. i think because we’re introduced to her as someone with a mundane job who isn’t drenched (lol) in cult antics that we settle in with her easily, despite the fact that (with the exception of Shrue), she’s the most financially well-off of the main cast. when she’s trying to figure out how to market the Tree, she considers marketing it to people like her before her father suggests prisoners instead. he’s much less well-off, and so he understands the lower-class plight better than she does. she ends up seeming most normal by comparison, at least until the back half of season 2 hits. i hope we get to see more active in the back half of this season. maybe she’ll get to kill someone personally!!

now, for Hayward.

Hayward’s whole ordeal is that he craves purpose. he tells his mom he’s going to be a cop when he’s young and then he becomes it. it’s a direction and drive and it keeps him going. he’s at his lowest in the front half of season 2 because he’s purposeless, essentially using his personal investigation as the one thing keeping him from killing himself. then, he gets to make a god with Paige and Dennis, and gets to worship that god, and suddenly he has purpose again. he’s much happier in season 3 because of that wonderful purpose.

this is fascinating for a number of reasons, first being that he’s one of the few characters to have (seemingly) wholly benefitted from a god. pretty much all god encounters have some mental downside even if you’re physically benefitting, like in the harvest god episode. but because Hayward doesn’t have to make the sacrifices himself, and he’s very purpose-driven, this whole thing is a positive for him.

but there’s a little bit of insidiousness to it. see, Hayward’s role in the force was mostly one of submission. he was following someone else’s orders. he gets to even play bad-cop/meek-cop for a bit in season 1 because stepping out of line means The Stink and he’s so dedicated to this purpose of his that he wants to stay in line. he’s a dog, essentially.

but, when it comes to the Tree, he has a bit of power. he was one of the people who made the Tree, after all. and with Dennis dead and Paige largely out of commission, he gets to direct things, if he likes. and he does, he makes little changes and suggestions without Paige’s input. he’s still submissive to his higher purpose, but he has power within that. the leash is given more slack. he could fully usurp Paige, but he hasn’t, and i find that very, very interesting. quite honestly, he could go full zealot mode later in this season and it wouldn’t seem out of character to me. he’s got potential for that sort of swimmy-eyed shining-teethed sweaty-grinned devotion.

generally though, he’s fun! he’ll do something bumbling or endearing and then turn around and do something that reminds you of just how much of a scumbag he can be. old ham dies hard. i also loved the coal dinner episode and how he dealt with it all. cornered dogs biting and all that. maybe he’ll get a really vicious moment this season. personally i hope Val fucks him up because i’ve had an idea for a joke animatic in my brain for months if it goes real. she could turn him inside out. i believe in her.

and now… my favorite part… character comparisons >:] i love motifs and i love foils and man if tsv’s main six right now don’t have em… here’s four.

Paige and Faulkner: man if these two ever meet up it’s going to be wild.

for starters, Paige being a confirmed prophet provides a baseline for prophet behavior within the series, and therefore provides an avenue of comparison to Faulkner, who’s own prophet status is up for debate. whether it comes down to prophet/prophet mirroring or prophet/false prophet mirroring, there’s still a parallel there.

they’re both suffering from the responsibility of their role and are holed up and left to their own devices when not needed, Paige having her cottage and Faulkner having his room. Paige explicitly engages in unhealthy coping mechanisms whiles doing this, and i fully believe Faulkner does as well.

they’re also both close with Carpenter in different ways, and depending on how things go, i could see this as either a point of bonding or a point of animosity. they could end up sitting down and having a discussion with someone who actually gets it… or they could get very petty very quickly. transgender solidarity or transgender hostility, take your pick.

Paige and Shrue: bit of an oddball choice, but hear me out.

they’ve got very similar premises but end up going in wildly different directions. they’re (kinda) de-facto everymen by being less In The Soup than everyone else, but that's because of their white-collar status. they’re Above the soup, if you will. they smell it every day, but they aren’t broiling between the chunks of meat.

they’ve got strong ideas about what an ideal future looks like, one without gods and sacrifice. that’s why they specifically want to recruit Shrue, their morals line up with what the Tree faith believes in.

Hayward and Carpenter: dogs dogs dogs dogs

i already talked about the diner scene a while back so imagine all that nestled into here. tldr, they have the same doubts about their respective place in season 1, and they move towards a new purpose in season 3.

i talked about Hayward’s dogginess in his segment, but Carpenter’s got quite a bit of dogginess to her too. there’s the explicit “attack dog of the faith” comment that gets made in the s2 finale but also the similar following orders thing. Carpenter walks out, metaphorically taking the collar off, but her whole “i want to be good, let me die useful” thing is just her putting on a different one. which, y’know, this time it’s a chosen binding, but you’re still bound either way. and this applies to Hayward too. exchanged his detective job for the Tree. will their respective choices pay dividends, or will they feel the yank of their self-imposed leashes?

Hayward and Val: it’s just one but it’s tasty

Val joined the military because of her mother and Hayward joined the force because of his mother. both of them expected honor from their respective professions of violence and ended up embittered with it as a result. as much torment as he went through, Hayward’s lucky that he didn’t end up in Val’s place. what sort of saint would he end up being, then? the truth-teller that Carpenter spoke of, perhaps?

there’s definitely More to talk about with these two but i think this is good for now. i’m hoping to relisten to all of tsv over the series break and take extensive notes so hopefully i’ll thread a couple more dots together. thank you so much for your interest!! a hug for you across the net :]

[osheamobile]

The Steam Summer Sale might be almost over (you've got a little under one hour left as of the time of this posting) but there are always little sales here and there, on a bunch of different storefronts so here's a small, non-exhaustive list of the games I've been obsessed with that'll help you if you're looking for things to do during the SAG-AFTRA/WGA Two Strikes No Waiting

These are in no particular order, some of them are bigger names than others, some of them are older, but they're all ones I've personally enjoyed the hell out of

Tunic: I've only just started this isometric Zelda-like with the Dark Souls campfire mechanic that all games seem to have these days, but it's not only adorable, it's extremely engaging, and some of the collectables I've been finding have been pages of its own instruction manual. It's like a love letter to Link's Awakening.

Hardspace Shipbreaker: A first-person 3D-physics game wherein you disassemble spaceships and send the components into three different colored bins based on what they are. It's really soothing, the zero-G mechanics aren't that bad to get used to, the Americana Folksy soundtrack is a banger, and the background story is your crew working on setting up a labor union.

CrossCode: Another Zelda-like adventure platformer with surprising three-dimensional depth for a two-dimensional top-down game, you play someone logging into an MMO for the first time and finding herself wrapped up in the mystery about that MMO's development, and on the way make some fun friends like Emilie, the French girl who is obsessed with laser bridges.

Chained Echoes: I haven't gotten that far in this but I'm really loving it - it's a loving tribute to your favorite SNES RPGs, with what appears to be three warring kingdoms and fantasy mecha. Including a neat twist to the turn-based combat system where you also have to balance your offensive and defensive skills to keep yourself in the sweet spot that is Overdrive.

Cosmic Star Heroine: Another loving tribute to the SNES RPGs, this one Chrono Trigger in particular. Featuring the titular space heroine who actually has sensible boots and clothing. One of your party members is a lounge singer who is also an assassin.

Pathfinder Wrath of the Righteous: Using the Pathfinder 1e rules and one of the most famous Pathfinder 1e Adventure Paths, much like the previous game Kingmaker, you've got a top-down RPG that plays like the Baldur's Gate and Neverwinter Nights classics, with a marvelous voice cast, some fantastic characters, and a relatively new photo mode that takes a bit to get used to but I really like.

Oxygen Not Included: A survival colony builder that's been described as a vertical Dwarf Fortress, it's cute and hand-drawn and surprisingly deep mechanically - the midgame involves managing heat and everything has a unique thermal conductivity. Be prepared to spend hundreds of hours in this, and you will die but every new game you start, you've learned something new about how to make your duplicants not die.