#there may be fewer than twenty years between them but there can't be fewer than like fifteen

[minutia-r]

wait a minute

Alys Vorpatril is probably young enough to be Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan's daughter

[monstersdownthepath]

Homebrew Horror: That Old and Rotten Crick

(Art by @stranger-chads aka @bluejay-makes!)

First detailed here and further built upon here, the Rotten Crick has been plaguing my thoughts. The downside of working in a store that sells fishing gear, I suppose. This also is a departure from my normal intro blocks, since there's not that much more lore to go through!

Rotten Crick is a fisherman first and a fighter second, but of course a creature like him has to get good at filleting whatever monstrosity he drags ashore, alongside whatever assassins that enemy fey send his way. He also presents a very strange figure in any campaign he may appear in; he's immensely creepy and unquestionably evil, but he's entirely passive in the evil he does and can even benefit a community he enters! Not only can he teach men to fish, he can give them all the tools they need to do so AND defend them from greater threats at sea. Anyone who takes up his bargains may think they're being Devil Deal'd, but the truth is that there's an entirely different sort of danger in accepting his assistance that almost never affects the life of the person he's helped.

Rather than being a mundane source of fantastical danger (like a local lord using magic and conjured beasts to secure power), he's a fantastical source of mundane danger. He directly encourages and enables overfishing, water pollution, and ecological collapse, things that adventuring parties can't exactly solve by punching the right creature into submission. By the time the damage begins to manifest in a noticeable way, it's often too late to stop. Even if the party defeats or chases off the Old Crick, it could be years before the damage he does is undone, if it ever is, though the intervention of nature mages, other Fey, and spirits of the wilds may at least help clean and dress the wound.

If a DM wants to use the Old Crick to be a true and painfully clear source of immediate danger rather than a long-term danger, having him be a threat to local sapient sea life (such as water fey and merfolk) is fully possible. His animosity towards sea life peaks when he's faced with "betrayers," and he'll go out of his way to concoct terrible plans to cause their deaths.

Before we get to the man himself, though, we need to look at his two most famous pieces of equipment: The Tomb of Karaphas and the Tidepool Reaper.

The Tomb of Karaphas

Minor Artifact

Aura: Moderate Conjuration, Enchantment, and Transmutation

CL: 18th

Weight: 8lbs

Slot: —

This deceptively normal-looking but magical tacklebox contains everything an enterprising fisherman could need to do their work but a boat. The Tomb magically generates mundane supplies such as hooks, lines, rods, reels, floats, lures, baits, nets and whatever else as needed by its current holder. It can generate enough gear for up to six creatures to perform a day's work fishing and/or trawling, and grants anyone utilizing its tools a +5 profane bonus to Profession (Fisherman) checks (or similar), as well as to Survival checks made to gather food from bodies of water and areas nearby them. Anything generated by the Tomb dissolves into nothingness 7 days later.

In addition to the above functions, the Tomb of Karaphas is magically capacious, acting as a Bag of Holding (Type IV). What is contained within is largely at the DMs discretion, but it normally contains the Rotten Cricks four enchanted fillet knives crafted from whale bones (two +1 Keen Animal-Bane Daggers, two +1 Keen Aquatic-Bane Daggers), a Net of Snaring woven from merfolk hair, tools for preparing sea life for consumption, tools for whittling and scrimshaw, whittled and scrimshawed trinkets worth at least 4,000gp in total, no fewer than twenty bottled beverages of varying quality and alcohol content, and a corkscrew carved from a sea serpent's tooth.

Destruction: The Tomb of Karaphas and all its contents are destroyed utterly if gnashed between the teeth of Ragadahn while the Rotten Crick is dead.

-----

The Tidepool Reaper

Minor Artifact

Aura: Moderate Conjuration and Transmutation

CL: 18th

Weight: 4lbs

Slot: ---

This powerful, magical fishing rod is much more than its mundane appearance suggests. It's capable of fishing in any waters, magically adjusting the length of its line, the strength of the floats and the weight of the sinkers, and the size and design of the hook itself as needed, all such adjustments done on the fly by the malign intelligence within the tool with no action needed from the wielder. It's still up to the wielder to supply bait, but the Reaper can fetch bait on its own if a supply is left anywhere within 5ft of it. With a simple command, the Reaper will conjure a stand for itself and fish entirely on its own using either a Profession (Fishing) check or a Survival check (+10 to either), depositing its catches into whatever container is provided, throwing catches onto the shore beside it if no container is available.

In the hands of another creature, it grants that creature a +5 profane bonus to Profession (Fisherman) checks (or similar), as well as Survival checks made to gather food from bodies of water. Once per day, the Tidepool Reaper may be used to dredge up items of varying worth; this is identical to a 18th level Cleric with the Flotsam Subdomain using Sift.

Destruction: The Tidepool Reaper can only be destroyed if it is sealed inside of the Tomb of Karaphas when the tacklebox is destroyed.

------

That Old and Rotten Crick CR 15

Neutral Evil Medium Fey Init: +7; Senses: Darkvision 60ft, low-light vision, mistsight; Perception +25

------ Defense ------

AC 31, touch 17, flat-footed 24 (+7 Dex, +7 armor, +7 natural armor) HP 130 (18d6+54), Regeneration 5 (Electricity) Fort +8 Ref +16 Will +13 (see Shield of Hatred) Defensive abilities Evasion, Shield of Hatred, Uncanny Dodge; DR 10/Cold iron and Piercing; Immune Cold, poison, sleep; Resist Acid 20, Fire 20; SR 22

------ Offense ------

Speed 30ft, swim 60ft Melee Tidepool Reaper (rapier) +17/+12 (1d6+4/16-20/x2) OR Tidepool Reaper (whip) +19/+14 (1d4+5 plus pull or trip) Ranged +1 Net +17 (Special) Space 5ft; Reach 5ft (30ft with Tidepool Reaper (whip)) Special Attacks Fishmonger, pull 5ft, Supreme Angler Spell-like Abilities (CL 18th; Concentration +26)

Constant--Speak With Animals, Water Walking At-will--Fog Cloud, Hydraulic Push (CMB 26), Bestow Curse (DC 22), Water Breathing 3/day--Charm Monster (DC 22), Dispel Magic, Freedom of Movement, Hold Monster (DC 22), Quickened Spiked Pit (DC 21) 1/day--Air Walk, Control Weather (as Druid), Horrid Wilting (DC 26), Summon Ship, Walk the Plank (DC 23) 1/month--Salvage

------ Statistics ------

Str 16 Dex 25 Con 17 Int 24 Wis 18 Cha 26 Base Atk: +9; CMB +12 (see Supreme Angler); CMD 29

Feats Combat Reflexes, Craft Magic Arms and Armor (B), Craft Wondrous Item(B), Greater Serpent Lash, Greater Whip Mastery, Harvest Parts (B), Improved Whip Mastery, Quicken Spell-like Ability (Spiked Pit), Serpent Lash, Weapon Finesse, Weapon Focus (Whip), Whip Mastery

Skills Bluff +16, Craft (Scrimshaw) +28, Craft (Whittling) +26, Diplomacy +21, Escape Artist +26, Heal +19, Knowledge (Geography) 28, Knowledge (Local) +27, Knowledge (Nature) +28, Perception +25, Profession (Fisherman) +35, Sense Motive +12, Sleight of Hand +20, Spellcraft +25, Stealth +15, Swim +24, Use Magic Device +29

Languages Aklo, Aquan, Common, Elven, Dwarven, Goblin, Halfling, Orc, Sylvan, Undercommon; Speak With Animals

SQ Fearsome Fishing, Item Crafting, water breathing

------ Ecology ------

Environment Any water Organization Solitary Treasure Triple standard (Tomb of Karaphas, Tidepool Reaper, Old and Rotten Coat (+3 mithral shirt with no maximum Dex bonus), scrimshaw collection, etc)

------

Combat: The Old Crick generally only fights against creatures he has an enormous advantage against; that is, creatures his Fishmonger ability triggers against while his target is in the water, allowing him to utilize his Supreme Angler ability to attack with unavoidable strikes. Against surface-bound foes, he will use the Combat Maneuvers his whips afford him alongside Quickened Spiked Pit to dispose of most enemies, or Walk the Plank to drag enemies into spontaneously manifested bodies of water to take advantage of Supreme Angler. His Fog Clouds do not impede him due to his mist sight, and he will use them to confound enemies relying on sight and keep his distance to utilize his whip's power to their full potential. Other favored tactics include utilizing the disarming ability of whips he wields to relieve enemies of their equipment before throwing the items into his conjured pits, or overboard any ship he's on. If he can throw his enemies into bodies of water with any ability, he generally will.

Morale: Old Crick is maniacal in combat against sea life, and bravely fights to the death against such creatures for the chance to end them. Against surface life, he fights only until the other party is unconscious or retreats, and rarely coup de graces fallen foes unless they are aligned with the sea in some fashion; he will likely steal what he desires from them and leave them tied up for another creature to find. When reduced to 30 HP or below, he will surrender and attempt to parlay and/or bargain. If his surrender is rejected, he will fight to the death.

------ Special Abilities ------

Fearsome Fishing (Ex): Old Crick wields the tools of his trade with such expert experience that he may use even common fishing rods or lengths of rope as if they were whips, applying his whip-relevant feats and special abilities (including Supreme Angler, below) to any such tools he wields. Magic fishing rods or ropes are treated as +1 weapons in his hands. His signature rod, the Tidepool Reaper, is even more dangerous when used in this way, responding to his will as easily as a limb; he may freely use it as either an +2 Aquatic-Bane Whip with a reach of 30ft instead of 15, or a +1 Aquatic-Bane Keen Rapier, both of which he is proficient with.

Fishmonger (Ex): Old Crick has the Favored Enemy ability of a 15th level Ranger (+6 to Bluff, Knowledge, Perception, Sense Motive, and Survival checks, as well as to attack and damage rolls), except it works universally against creatures with the Water or Aquatic subtypes. His hatred of sea life is so great that this ability also extends to Animals, Fey, Magical Beasts, and Vermin which live in the water, even if they do not have the Water or Aquatic subtypes. However, this ability never applies to creatures who do not live in water, even if they resemble sea creatures, as he commends such creatures for shedding their "horrid lifestyle" and choosing to "live properly."

Item Crafting (Ex): Old Crick gains Harvest Parts, Craft Wondrous Item, and Craft Magical Arms and Armor as bonus feats. He crafts Wondrous Items with incredible swiftness; any item that costs less than 1,000gp to create is crafted in 4 hours instead of 8.

Shield of Hatred (Su): The waves of hate flowing off Old Crick prevents sea life from easily touching him. He adds half the bonuses gained from Fishmonger (+3) as a profane bonus to his AC, to his CMD, and his saving throws against the attacks, abilities, maneuvers, and spells of any creature with the Aquatic or Water subtypes. He never counts as a willing target for the abilities of such creatures, even if he is magically compelled to do so.

Supreme Angler (Ex): Over the years, Old Crick has fished in the strangest waters one can imagine, and it's given him an insurmountable advantage when attacking the beasts of the sea. He ignores cover and concealment when attacking creatures that are partially or fully underwater while he himself is on the surface (whether on a shoreline, on a boat, or standing on the water). Each round, he gains a +20 profane bonus to the first attack roll or CMB check he makes with a whip against partially or fully submerged targets.

[foundtherightwords]

Winter Light - Chapter 2

Pairing:Tom Grant (Make Up) x OFC

Summary: Vanessa, a young cancer patient, arrives at a remote holiday park in Cornwall to wait out the rest of her days, but after a chance meeting with a park employee named Tom who's nursing a broken heart, Vanessa realizes life may not be done with her yet.

Warnings: slow burn, mostly fluff with some angst (main character has cancer, so can't do without angst altogether), swearing, serious illness (cancer), discussion of death/grief

A/N: for some reason I clearly remembered there were window boxes outside of Jade's caravan, but I just watched the movie again and saw she only had some potted plants. Oh well. Somebody could've added them after she left (this takes place about a year after the events in "Make Up").

Chapter 1

A Welcomed Distraction

Vanessa told Shirley that her plan had changed unexpectedly and asked to rent her caravan long-term. Shirley seemed delighted to accommodate her, though Vanessa still had the nagging thought that those beady eyes saw more than she let on.

Vanessa took advantage of the strong signal inside the office to send off a few texts. "Have arrived safely, everything OK, phone signals patchy but will try to stay in touch, love you, Ness." That would keep them off her back for a while. She then asked how she could get to the nearby town for some supplies. "One of the staff can drive you," Shirley told her.

A few days later, Tom knocked on her door. "Shirley said you needed a lift into town," he said, holding up a set of keys.

Vanessa followed him down the path toward an old black truck with a bug-splattered windscreen, its bed full of odds and ends. "Yours?" she asked.

"It's Kai's. I'm picking up a few things for him."

Vanessa wondered why Kai couldn't have driven her himself, though she didn't say so. She had seen Kai around, an intimidating hulk with a craggy, unfriendly face and a ferocious German shepherd by his side. She wouldn't have liked a drive with him.

Tom followed the same route the cab took when it drove her to the park, and he was just as silent as the driver. Though it wasn't as awkward, the silence between them was heavy with so many things unsaid. This boy had seen her at her lowest; she had told him things she never told anybody else; it was hard now to come back from that and get to know each other normally. As Vanessa stared at the windscreen, she suddenly heard herself say, "Do you know windscreens are cleaner now because of insecticides?"

"What?" Tom didn't take his eyes off the road, but from his tone, it seemed he thought she was an alien of some kind.

"It's true. More insecticides, fewer bugs, cleaner windscreens."

"Isn't that good?"

"Not necessarily. Insecticides kill useful bugs too."

"Like bugs, do you?"

Vanessa shrugged. "I'm not passionate about them or anything, but I don't understand the hate for them either. I think they're neat."

"Wait 'til you've swallowed a mouthful and see how neat you think they are then," Tom said, and Vanessa chuckled with relief. The ice seemed to have been successfully broken. "You settling in all right?" he asked after a while.

"Still afraid I'm going to run away? I've put down a deposit, I'm not going to lose that."

This time he did glance at her, perhaps to see if she was serious or not. Vanessa put her poker face on. Tom's mouth twitched wryly.

"Maybe you can fix up the caravan a bit, that'll convince me," he said.

"Alas, home décor has never been my forte."

"I'll help."

She decided to play along. "Got lots of experience, have you? How long have you been working at the park anyway?"

"Three years. Maintenance, mostly, but reckon I could do some painting and decorating if necessary."

That surprised Vanessa. He looked around her age, in his late teens or early twenties at the most. That meant he must've started working here when he was still in school. "Used to come down every summer," he said when she mentioned it. "I wasn't going to come back this year, but Shirley called, saying they were short-staffed."

"Why weren't you coming back?" Vanessa asked, not noticing that Tom had suddenly shut his mouth hard.

He didn't answer. The silence had returned, more tense than before. Once again Vanessa wondered if it had anything to do with the mysterious Jade.

Tom dropped her off at the town center and agreed to meet her again in two hours. Vanessa went shopping, refilled her prescriptions, and even found a new book. She was flipping through it on a bench in the town square, trying to find some warmth from the late autumn sun that refused to shine, when Tom came back.

"Sorry I'm a bit late," he said. "Got you these." His arms were full of an assortment of flowering and leafy plants.

"What are they?" She only recognized the ivy.

"Ivy, heather, cyclamens, Christmas roses," he nodded at each pot. "For your window boxes."

So he had noticed the dead plants. Vanessa looked wistfully at the silvery green ivy, the purple heather, the crimson cyclamens, and the pure white Christmas roses. The colors were so vibrant after the uniform grays and browns of the sea and the sand, they almost blinded her.

"They're beautiful, but... I might not be around that long," she said. A slightly uncomfortable flicker in his eyes, but again, he didn't remark on it.

"You agreed to fix up the van. I'm holding you to that," he said. When Vanessa still hesitated, he added, "The bloke at the garden center said they'll do well in the cold and don't need much looking after. Consider them a house-warming gift." He pressed the pots into her arms. The soft petals brushed against her cheeks. She couldn't help but smile at him. He smiled back, and suddenly it was like the sun had come out after all.

***

Despite her initial hesitation, Vanessa soon found the plants a welcomed distraction. They gave her something to do, something to look forward to, a reason to get out of bed in the morning after a night full of pain and morphine. She took her time cleaning out the window boxes, filling them with the potting mix Tom also got her from the garden center, and arranging the plants into the most pleasing combinations. Sometimes, while she worked, she didn't even notice the pain.

Tom himself was becoming a welcomed distraction as well. He often walked past her caravan on his way to work in the morning or coming back from work in the evening. He never stopped, only nodded at her or said a quick hello, but Vanessa had the suspicion that he was checking up on her. She didn't have a chance to confirm her suspicion until one morning, after a particular bad night, she was stirred from her morphine-induced stupor by a persistent banging on her door. She dragged herself out of bed and opened the door, to find Tom on the other side.

"Oh thank Christ," he said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Thought you were..." He noticed her ashen face and the way she gripped the door frame. "You OK?"

"Overslept my beauty sleep," Vanessa mumbled.

"Looks like you need more of it," he said, quickly stepping inside and guiding her to the sofa, where she collapsed.

"How dare you." She tried to laugh, but only a dry croaking sound emerged.

"Sure you're all right?"

"Mmm." It took too much effort to nod. "Just need to stay off my feet a bit."

"Can I get you anything?"

"Some medical-grade marijuana would be nice," she said, half joking.

"Marijuana I can get. Don't know about medical-grade though."

Vanessa opened an eye and peeked at Tom to make sure he wasn't winding her up. He looked solemn as a judge. She gave a weak chuckle. "Better not risk it, then." The pain was manageable now, only the sleepless night was taking its toll on her. Tom still hovered over her. "You'll be late for work."

"You shouldn't be alone." He didn't add "when you die", but Vanessa understood it. She glanced at him. He was looking at the floor, chewing his lips, trying to hide his concern. She felt a little annoyed, and then felt guilty for feeling annoyed. She was sure her caravan wasn't on his usual route to work, yet he went out of his way every day just to say hi to her, to make sure she was all right. Her heart melted a little at that.

"I'm not going to die today, if that's what you're worrying about," she said, burying her head in a cushion. He mumbled an uncertain "Okay," then she heard the soft click of the door as he left.

He came back that evening, bringing a steaming pot. "Made you some stew."

Vanessa, who had been so nauseous that she could only manage to nibble a few crackers, eyed the pot warily. "What's in it?"

"Snips, snails, and puppy dog tails," Tom said. When Vanessa raised her brow quizzically at him, he grinned. "My mum used to say that when I was being fussy. It's just potatoes and veg and beef." Then he added apologetically, "Do you eat meat? Sorry, forgot to ask."

"I do," she said. She got a whiff of the pot and suddenly was ravenous. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound fussy. It smells delicious. Thank you."

Tom ladled the stew into a bowl.

The first spoonful sent warmth throughout her body, almost drowning out the nagging, ever-present pain in her bones. "You made this?" she asked, scooping up another.

"Don't sound so surprised," Tom snapped back with a laugh.

"Where'd you learn how to cook?"

"Single working mum. I had to cook if me and my little sister wanted to eat." Vanessa was quiet, thinking of her own spoiled childhood. Her mother hadn't even allowed her in the kitchen, let alone cook.

She had almost finished the bowl before remembering to ask Tom, "You're not eating?"

"Nah, it's for you. It'll keep in the fridge. If you don't mind eating stew for several days, that is."

"I don't mind," she said, touched by his thoughtfulness.

But she didn't actually have to eat stew for several days. Tom kept coming back with more hot food until Vanessa insisted on paying him, at least for the ingredients. He seemed reluctant at first, but when she refused to let him cook for her anymore, he relented. And that became their routine. In the morning, Tom would pass by her caravan, and Vanessa would wave at him from the window or the front door, where she was working on the window boxes. In the evening, he would drop in and cook for both of them. His dishes were nothing fancy, and some of his food combinations sounded downright bizarre (who had ever heard of a spaghetti sandwich?) but for Vanessa, who had been living on canned soups and crackers since she arrived at the park, what he could do with a bit of mince, a can of tomato, and some herbs and spices was nothing short of a Michelin-starred restaurant meal.

She felt bad about letting Tom do all the work while she lounged around, but the kitchen was so tiny and her pain-ridden legs were so clumsy that the one time she tried to help, she ended up sloshing a pot of boiling potatoes over Tom's hands.

"You're such a menace," Tom laughed, as Vanessa, in a barrage of apologies, held his hands under the cold tap. "Back to the sofa with you."

"But I wanted to help," Vanessa said, trying to ignore the way their fingers were intertwined.

"Fine, entertain me then. That counts as helping."

She reluctantly disentangled her hand from his and returned to the sofa. Putting on some music seemed too lazy, so she picked up the book she had left on the table. "How about I read you something?" she asked. Tom shrugged, and she flipped through the book until something caught her eyes.

"OK. This one's appropriate:

The timeless waves, bright, sifting, broken glass, Came dazzling around, into the rocks, Came glinting, sifting from the Americas.

To possess Aran. Or did Aran rush to throw wide arms of rock around a tide That yielded with an ebb, with a soft crash?

Did sea define the land or land the sea? Each drew new meaning from the waves' collision. Sea broke on land to full identity.

Well, kind of. We're in Cornwall, not the Aran."

"That's beautiful," Tom said, pausing his cooking to listen. "What is it?"

"A poem, by Seamus Heaney. You know him?"

Tom shook his head. "Not much time for poetry in Derby. Sounds lovely though."

Vanessa bent her head down, glad that Tom had his back to her so he couldn't see her quickly heating cheeks. She had picked the poem because it was about the sea. She didn't think about how it was a love poem as well. How stupid of her. It was right there in the title, "Lovers on Aran". Hopefully Tom had simply appreciated the beautiful words and not thought much about their deeper meaning.

"He's one of my favorite poets," she said, to get her mind off her blunder. "I was going to uni to study poetry, but then I got diagnosed and... that was the end of that."

"I thought about going to uni too. Maybe in Derby, so I can stay close to mum and Clare. Was saving up for it, actually," Tom said as he took the shepherd's pie off the hob. The caravan had no oven, but that didn't stop him. Vanessa hadn't even known that you could make shepherd's pie without an oven.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," Tom shrugged. "Just didn't see a point to it."

Vanessa had noticed that Tom tended to become cross whenever their conversation veered toward the future. It was as if he didn't want to think too far ahead, wishing to live in the present only. That she could certainly understand. She just didn't understand why he would feel that way. Most of the time she would let it go and change the subject. That day, however, she felt like challenging him.

"So what, you're going to faff around here, doing maintenance work for the rest of your life?" she asked.

"What's wrong with that?" Tom was getting defensive now; the faint scar on his forehead, which he told Vanessa was from a childhood accident, turned bright red.

"Nothing. But you have choices. You can plan..."

"Thing about planning is, something always happens to ruin it. You of all people should know that."

Vanessa's face fell. "Cheap shot," she mumbled. She was only gratified to see that Tom also seemed to realize he'd said the wrong thing. He put his fork down and reached across the table for her hand, patting it.

"Sorry."

Vanessa continued to glower at him, trying not to show how good his warm hand felt over hers. "OK, you're forgiven," finally she said. "But only because how good this shepherd's pie is."

They didn't talk much about the future after that. Instead, talked about their childhood, about Tom coming down to Cornwall every summer and Vanessa growing up in Surrey, and their schooldays, which, when you were just out of school, seemed like yesterday and yet so far away at the same time. Vanessa didn't talk about her family, but she liked to listen to Tom talk about his dad, a builder who died of a heart attack when Tom was nine, his mum, and his little sister, Clare, born after their dad died, whom Tom seemed to dote on.

"Do you miss him, your dad?" Vanessa asked.

"Sometimes." Tom's voice was steady, but he was misty-eyed.

"It must've been hard, him dying so sudden like that."

"Yeah. Mum never gets over it, really. I don't think she even minds him dying much, just that we never got to say goodbye."

Vanessa's thought wandered to her own family.

"Wish I could tell my family that."

"What?"

"That it's OK to say goodbye."

Tom gave her a long look. "Why couldn't you?"

"There's no point. They wouldn't listen. I was born into the most dramatic family in all of Great Britain," Vanessa said with a mirthless laugh.

And, as if the floodgates had opened up, she told him everything about her family. How they had always been overprotective of her, because she was the youngest. Her brother and sister were much older - Miles by twelve years and Julie by nine - and both had left home when she was young, so her parents treated her almost like an only child. She had always felt guilty about it. It had only gotten worse after her diagnosis. Her mum quit all her hobbies and dragged Vanessa to every treatment center she could find. Julie, who was working in Manchester, took a job closer to Surrey so she could help out. They were walking on eggshells around her, alternating between sorrowful tears and a forced cheerfulness that she found even worse than the sorrow. Things had come to a head at Miles's wedding back in June. Vanessa had fainted in the middle of the ceremony and had to be taken to the ICU. Miles and his wife, Becca, had to put their honeymoon on hold because it had seemed touch and go for a while. They had been very gracious about it, but Vanessa couldn't forgive herself. "After that, I decided to leave," she told Tom. "I don't want my illness and my death to take over their lives."

What she didn't say was that everything her family did was a constant reminder of her impending death, and she couldn't take it. That was why she'd run away. But she couldn't admit it, let alone tell Tom that. Not after she'd put up such a front about not being afraid to die, like a child who kept telling herself there was no boogeyman under the bed.

"Maybe you could still try telling them," Tom said. "Again. Louder. Can't expect people to read your mind."

Vanessa looked at him curiously. When she first met him, he just seemed like a lad, albeit a cute one, but with not much depth. Yet here he was, pointing things out in such a simple, straightforward way that she couldn't help but to see the truth in them.

Despite such heavy talk, though, the thought of death was almost absent from Vanessa's mind during those cozy evenings. The pain was still there, but it was only a faint throb, easily ignored. It only came back when Tom left, but the smile he gave her as he said goodbye was enough for her to face it.

Chapter 3

[batmanpornu]

Why less sex is none of our business?

Articles on studies and statistics demonstrating that young people are having less than they did in the past can be found virtually anywhere these days. To what do we owe this? People have blamed anything from porn and video games to the fact that more and more young people are staying at home with their parents later in life.

But what do these numbers actually reveal? Is it that fewer individuals overall are engaging in sexual activity, or that those who do so do it less frequently? While we tend to give more attention to those who aren't coupled up, the research really reveals that married persons have seen the greatest decrease in sexual frequency.Batman Sex Games are used widely.

Calico is taking a new approach to the same concerns that have been the subject of so much research, debate, and commentary. Isn't it more plausible that a number of interconnected variables are at work here, 'conspiring' to bring about the decline? However, it's also feasible that "none of the above" is the correct response. You can easily find Best Batman Porn Game. Then there's the idea that serves as the subject of Calico's recent blog post: "Maybe the 'Why?' is None of Our Business?"

I can't tell you how many stories about the decline in sex activity among young people I've read over the past several years.

Several hypotheses have been proposed to explain this phenomenon, including "delayed adulthood," a decline in sexual experimentation overall, and lower marriage rates; and "digital distractions," including video games, Netflix binges, online porn viewing, and similar activities.Free Batman Sex Games Online are indeed outstanding.

Don't Point the Finger at COVID

At least one thing is obvious: This statistical pattern of declining sexual activity among young people predates the COVID-19 outbreak and its associated lockdowns, suggesting that other factors are at play.

Casual sex among Americans aged 18 to 23 decreased between 2007 and 2017, according to a research. When asked whether they had engaged in sexual activity in the previous month, 24% of males said "yes," down from 38% a decade before. This percentage fell from 31% among women to 22%.

A reduction in alcohol consumption is sometimes cited as a possible explanation for the decline in sexual activity among young people, but if both young women and men appear to be drinking less, why is the decline more significant among men?

Your gadget, which is literally at your fingertips, may provide stimulation in a matter of seconds. Suddenly, it seems like sex may not have as much appeal as, say, a film or a game. The same may be said about alcoholic beverages and other medicines.

I have no idea what kind of video games these individuals are playing, but they must be quite amazing if they find them more engaging than having sex. I come from a generation that didn't even have Call of Duty when I was a kid, but I still can't picture myself in my early twenties cancelling a date so I could sit around my living room and pretend to blow each other up in a video game.

[eluvine]

StarForge Core Species List

I've finally found the courage to start posting. This will be the first in A series of posts which will serve as an introduction to the roll playing system I've been working on.

Travelers- Not much is known about the orogins of these strange mechines, mostly because they don't konw/ refuse to say. What is apparent is that they come from beyond the Mesary star cluster, sent by an unknown civilization for reasons that aren't fully understood. Travelers are 5ft tall tripods with five arms and holographic displays for faces. The whole species considers themselves one family with A strict chain of command, the fewer generations between you and the first Traveler, the higher your rank. A clan can consist of thousands of members on the low end. Their society seems almost entirely built around the aquisition of knowledge so they can add it to their vast libraries for the public to use, even to the point of disregarding their own safety for the sake of descovery. This mind set often puts their people in conflict with those who would preffer to keep things secret, mor specifically the Tolm. The Tolm are an even more mysterious and ancient race of mechines obsessed with keeping the secrets of the past burried.

Meton- Possessing A body like that of gorrillas with A chip on their shoulder towards any who dare exist in their preasence, they are extremely paranoid and quick to believe in stereotypes. Given another twenty years or so they may have wiped themselves out, yet fate would have it that A radio signal from an earth like planet was detected near their system and gave them something to fear together, aliens. With the planets of the Meton home system united in A common goal, they set about concoring, inslaving, and eradicating anything that wasn't them. As they expanded outwards they incountered increasingly powerful empires, and soon overwhelming force just wasn't enough. They switched to aggressive diplomacy, forming alliances, undermining rivals, and consolidating power. They are now the founders of the Confederate Order, A tight knit alliance of nations acting as one, which holds the title of largest and most powerful empire in the Mesary star cluster. Though they have lost their expansionist polocy and adopted more liberal veiws towards those withen their borders, they still dispise any outside their jurisdiction and use fear of the outside world to stay united.

Velatrie- A somewhat fox like humanoid species with A light build and huge pointed ears and brown and tan fur with black spots. symilar to the Meton they also had an early stage of imperialism, with theirs motivated more by the aquisition of wealth. Being so hyper fixated on business, they would form the second most powerful empire, A corporotocracy called the League of Industry and Trade. Though the high councel is primarily made of Velatrie CEOs, other megacorporations are also given representation to keep their allies close. Neutral zones exist where the megacorporations can't interfere, permitting A safe space for new businesses to form and the opportunity to climb the ranks to potentially become A member of the councel. For A breif moment this empire was the most powerful and came closer than any to total domination, though unified efforts by their enemies and rebelion by annexed empires pushed them back.

Okirin- A flight capable parrot like humanoid species known for their vibrant culture, great food, and family values. Native to the jungle world of Telsaro, known for having the most hostile wildlife in the known galaxy, they are no strangers to overwhelming odds. Though whimsical and accomidating on the surface, the mistake of assuming they are soft and exploitable could be your last. Threatening an Okirins family and way of life will cause them to abandon all friendliness and go straight to murder. Early on their neighbors allied against them, anticipating A swift victory so they could split the terratory. Instead the Okirin to be unmatched in stubbornness, refusing to fall to any attack. And when their enemies had warn themselves out they went on the offensive, destroying their armies and gradually annexing their land. This victory was short lived, however, as the Velatrie were rising to power and quickly concored the exhausted nations. The Okirin were the only ones ammong them to survive as A culture, as the others would be displaced by Velatrie business fleets. They would spend several decades under L.I.T. occupation, but all the while they never gave up fighting. Okirin gurrilla forces would continue to recieve funding, weapons, and manpower from the capitol, which they used to interupt supply lines, destroying outposts, and being A pain to rule over. This history has sparked A deep hatred that continues to this day. The Affegus Commonwealth keeps its millitary large and strong, knowing the only thing standing between them and A possible second occupation by L.I.T. otherwise is the vague threat of Confederate Order intervention, and the Confederate Order sending an army their way isn't exactly A comforting thought.

Hexsila- One of the earliest victems of the League of Industry and Trade, these mantis like creatures had their home world rindered uninhabitable by Velatrie mines and factories being put everywhere. Having only just entered the industrial age by the time L.IT. got to them, they were completely deffensless against their vastly more advanced overlords. Most of their population lives withen the L.I.T. as an impoverished working class, with A large portion of the remainder seeking refuge in Okirin land, with whome they get allong well and share A lot of the same values. The closest thing they have to A cohesive government is the Bastion Fleets. These fleets consist mostly of Hexsila and other displaced peoples who came together for protection, trading goods accross the Mesary star cluster and helping others in symilar situations.

Hackon- Beastial humanoid mammals evolved on A desert world from an alligator like species, they organize into homes run by the oldest couple for protection. Tricksters and passionately emotional by nature, they are known for their competitive spirit, casual romances, and lasting friendships. As A civilization they have created A wide range of artificial sapient species to serve A variety of specialized rolls in their society, such as the Omnitil to serve as artists and archetects, the Narceon to serve as intertainers and performers, and the Avolar to act as servants and deal with waste management. They love A fair fight and give it everything they've got to prove their worth, but are quick to turn to flattery and submission when the odds are significantly against them. While their actions have resulted in many conflicts with those who consider their experiments with sapient life inhumane, they simply smile, pointing to their prosperous society and diverse culture to justify the means.

Ranntarin- The most human of any species, with pale skin colored with pink stripes. Their cold, dark, stormy planet is widely considered one of the most misserable places in all the Mesary star cluster. They are an egocentric and hostile people who demand absolute submission from their subordinates and A hands off approach from their superiors. Due to A complicated and unfortunate sequence of events, the Ranntarin empire and surrounding nations are A wild west distopia where corruption and poverty are the preffered fates. The Ranntarin sit at the center of the Mesary star clusters' black market and slave trade. They have A web of connections keeping this opperation strong, buying unique specimines from corrupt Hackon officials and selling elicit substances, having new slaves trained by Strigi slave states, and setting up A strong supply line to do business with the L.I.T. This is A self perpetuating system that has proven thusfar to be impossible to escape. Any polotician hoping to reform will see their economy tank as the black market pulls out and they lose protection from the pirate king, insuring the reign of good leaders is kept short.