#toggle bolts

[iheartvelma]

Drywall anchors are usually either plastic (for light duty) or metal cones that self-tap into the drywall but don’t expand.

The “lunar lander” types are called molly bolts and are also for drywall but they’re not as easily removable.

Now the real issue is in older late 19th / early 20th century construction that used plaster and lath.

Lath is usually thin strips of wood (and sometimes, metal mesh like chicken wire) nailed to the studs, with slight gaps between them, over which plaster is laid to create the wall surface.

Here’s a photo of a plaster and lath wall seen from the other side; you can see how the plaster penetrates between the strips, allowing it to grip into it.

For these kinds of walls, toggle bolts (#6 and 7 in the original video) work best, and you need to predrill a hole to get it through the wood.

For heavy items like mirrors or TVs, use a magnetic stud finder to locate the nails securing the lath to the studs and drill into the stud.

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

FIXDEX GOODFIX industrial cologne exhibition in germany

[starqueensthings]

A very Crosshair Character Analysis

I posted a poll the other day looking for some opinions, and the prompt was: does Crosshair ever truly miss a shot? Meaning, of all the shots we’ve seen him aim and fire, how many of the few that didn’t land, were intended not to land? Does Crosshair have the skill and ability to land every shot he takes, and what of the ones that go astray (because there are some!)? The overarching, collective opinion (77% of votes) is that the sniper only misses a shot when he intends to, but let me explain why I was asking— the "methods behind my madness," if you will… (Fasten your seatbelts, and keep all extremities— and pitchforks— inside the ride!)

If Crosshair “doesn’t miss”, then there are some things that demand consideration and possible explanation. Please accept this weird internet essay as a deep dive into Crosshair’s character based solely on how I perceived his actions throught season one and two, and opinions I formed while watching his character develop. And while this could not be a Tech-approved analysis without touching on both his perceived good qualities and “flaws”, please know this is not a hate-on-Crosshair post.

Before I get into specifics, I think it’s imperative that we establish a basic understanding of his personality before the chip’s activation. While there is, sadly, not much “footage” we can use to form a true characterization of him, there are some instances we can touch on. The Skako/Anaxes arc from TCW and the earliest few moments of “Aftermath”, Crosshair is shown to be quite sarcastic, uninterested in trivial conversation, measurably combative toward those with differing opinions to his (seemingly all regs, including but not limited to Kix and Jesse), moderately argumentative toward leadership outside of his own Sergeant (mainly Rex, as Crosshair seems to have no qualms following Anakin’s or Cody’s orders), comforting to those who need it (Echo), and an overall good tactical team player.

So, let’s start this analysis by dialling things way back to their mission on Kaller and the complications that arose once Order-66 had been dropped. More specifically, hunting Caleb down in the forest. One of the things I noticed upon first watching that scene and every re-watch since, is how often Crosshair toggles back and forth between blaster bolt and stun cartridge on his rifle, as if constantly battling the indecision of exactly how he wanted to detain the Jedi. Now, if you remember, Tech com’s in and basically says [paraphrased obviously]: “Shit is starting to his the fan, we better get our butts outta here,” to which Hunter responds: “Can’t. Haven’t found the kid yet.” Crosshair then chimes in with, what I have long-deemed to be his catch phrase: “Wrong,” and proceeds to shoot the branch that Caleb is perched on. Not Caleb, who, in Crosshair's mind, should be the rightful recipient of a kill shot… the branch. Hmmmm.

If every one of Crosshair’s shots is so masterfully aimed that its deemed an automatic hit, and thus every miss is intentional (a notion of which I also believe, less one particular shot which I’ll touch on a little later), then there would’ve had to have been a portion of Crosshair’s cognition overriding that Order-66 command to eradicate all Jedi, even if it was only enough to fleetingly switch his gun to stun.

Not long afterward, we see his beloved Firepuncher saber-whacked from his hands, and Crosshair opts to then continue his attack with his backup DC17. Missed shot, missed shot, missed shot, missed shot. Were these blown shots intentional as well? And if so, why does he continue to assail the Padawan? Is Crosshair only able to fight off the command to kill Caleb while his finger is on the trigger, possibly knowing that’s when the fight against his own mind becomes most crucial? Is he clinging to some autonomy in the moments where he’s not posing an imminent threat to those around him, like during the flight back to Kamino? Or can he only resist the chip’s influence when the urge to do something terrible is paramount?

Let’s skip ahead, shall we, to when the Batch is attempting to flee Kamino with Omega. Crosshair sashays onto the landing platform in his new gothboy armour, fresh out of an undescribed chip “augmentation” procedure (whatever that eludes to), and proceeds to have a small stand off with Hunter— both of whom have their weapons directed pointedly away from each other (interesting). During the succeeding fire fight, we see Crosshair line up several well aimed shots, many of which appear to be only inches away from landing on their “intended target”. He eventually succeeds in shooting Wrecker in the shoulder, and I’d like to point out that this shot lands almost exactly where Wrecker was hit by the training droid some hours/days previously. Was the placement of this shot intentional? Did Crosshair pick that particular target area knowing Wrecker would survive the damage?

The shot I find most intriguing is the one near-perfectly aimed at Hunter’s head (lol— brothers). You know, the one where Omega saves the day by unexpectedly blasting Crosshair’s rifle out of his hands. If the chip's activation was the reason he was now hunting them and claiming their treason, why had that moment seen him hesitate? Perhaps he needed a second to line up his shot, you might argue to which I would say argue: we’ve seen him use the active recoil from that same rifle to line up his next shot many times in quick succession with a zero margin of error (see the Skako/Anaxes arc in TCW and the first few minutes of Kaller), including when each shot was aimed at targets both more dynamic in action and further away than Hunter was.

Crosshair then takes several shots at the ramp of the Marauder as they take off, all of which are well aimed… and simultaneously redundant; the passengers are taking cover in the ship already, the Marauder has begun its take off, the ramp is closing, Crosshair running whilst knowing he can’t reach them. I personally attribute those last few shots as tokens of both anger and resentment for being left behind, not ones made with the intention of killing. I think that he expected his brothers to know him better than to believe these actions were of sound mind— he thought they’d be able to deduce that he was fighting a losing battle inside his own head, yet they were quick to believe he would actually entertain such sudden and aggressive hostilities toward them.

At this point, you might be itching to argue that maybe Crosshair's accuracy is largely diminished when he opts for a pistol instead of his rifle, and while I can't dispell this theory, I can provide some statistics. We see Crosshair use a pistol only four times in the entirety of the show so far: 1. against Caleb on Kaller (objective miss), 2. against the Batch Batch as their leaving Kamino (objective miss), 3. against a soldier while he and his new elite soldier squad infiltrate Saw's camp (direct hit), and 4. against Leiutenant Nolan when that asshole he gets on Crosshair's last nerve at the Outpost (direct hit). I will leave it up to you to decide if the theory of whether his skill level changes based on the weapon he's firing holds any merit, or is worth further discussion.

Moving on— the 99-clan is reunited on Bracca. Let’s turn our attention to the shot Crosshair takes at Tech whilst the latter was emerging from the ion engine, and I’m going to include pics this time to support my assertion.

Crosshair has an undeniably clear shot— his line of sight is not impeded, there are no environmental or atmospheric disturbances to disrupt his composure, he was ready and waiting for them to appear. The shot that he fires lands a good distance in front of Tech. Though the unexpectedness of it was enough to startle the genius into nearly falling out of the engine, I believe it was intentionally aimed this way (see below). A warning shot if you will. A “Hello, I outsmarted you and am waiting at your point of attempted escape. Stop trying, and get down here because I don’t want my new imperial cohorts to take aim for me and kill you” shot.

The next arc (Ryloth) quickly demonstrates that any neurological augmentations he’s been subject to (at this point, I believe we've been shown two, but have been led to believe there were several), have had no effect on Crosshair’s infamous sniper skills. First, he fires a perfectly aimed tracking beacon onto the moving target of Gobi’s ship. Then, upon the ship’s return, uses a single shot to disable one of the engines; a shot taken from, what appears to be, several kilometres away and having the immediate desired affect of disabling the ship. Finally, he makes the astoungingly precise shot (and I’m using astoundingly very heavily here) of blasting Senator Taa in the head. This shot, more than the previously mentioned two, are a sign of his impeccable marksmanship. Let me remind you, he was an undisclosed albeit very far distance away, on the opposite ridge of an enshadowed canyon, and is still able to shoot the senator in a place in which HE WOULD SURVIVE the attack. And not just survive, “make a full recovery” as Rampart claims afterward. This is unrivalled accuracy, and while I do not support the assassination attempt in itself, I can not deny how much skill was required to have achieved it.

My next point is something I have always personally found quite compelling, and it occurs in an off-the-cuff, likely forgotten about piece of dialogue.

Brief context: Crosshair has scooped Hunter off of Daro, they’ve landed on Kamino, and the duo (and a third soldier) are on their way to the Command Center to await the rest of the squads arrival. One of Crosshair’s elite troopers waits until he departs the platform before approaching Rampart and saying: “I question the clone’s motives with his old squad. I don’t trust any of them.” I’m intrigued to know where such a potent mistrust began. Is it simply because he’s a clone? A person born and raised unnaturally in comparison to someone with a traditional gestation and upbringing? Or has this soldier previously identified possible cracks in Crosshair’s imperial facade? Has Crosshair failed to hide his distress in quiet moments where he possibly longs for the life he had with his brothers? What is it that triggers this soldier to suspect Crosshair has an ulterior motive in capturing his old squad, and one that they’re apparently worried would not coincide with Rampart’s ideals?

Ramparts reply, in my opinion, gives us a well disguised clue: “If his plan fails, none of them will be a problem any longer.” If his plan fails. Crosshair’s plan. Crosshair has a plan for mobilizing his old family into one place, and what is it? Is he concealing the hidden objective of a reunion with his brothers under the guise of squad assassination? Was it always his plan to eliminate his new elite squad members, hence the perfectly placed mirror pucks we see him utilize in the training room, to make room for his old squad?

Remember, Hunter asks him some time later: “So this was your grand plan? Bring us here and kill us?” Crosshair answers: “If I wanted you dead, you would be.” And this is a statement which I believe to be incontrovertibly true. He has never wanted his family dead, despite having both the resources and skill to ensure they would be if that’s what he desired, but no. He’s angry that he’d inherently felt more loyalty to them than they had shown to him; frustrated that their choices post-Kaller did not align with his expectations of their choices, disheartened that they hadn't initially recognized to his choices to be ones made outside his character, and Crosshair now eagerly rebuffs their every excuse. Reference the spoken: “They don’t leave their own behind… most of the time.” . . . “You tried to kill us, we didn’t have a choice.” . . . “And I did?”

And follows the: “We’re loyal to each other, not some empire.” . . . “You weren’t loyal to me. I was one of you. You may have forgotten, but I haven’t. And it’s why I’m going to give you what you never gave me: a chance…” conversation. (Just stab me in the heart and twist the knife around, Jennifer!!!! Ouch!!! I'm still not over this!)

Was this his plan? To lure his brothers back to their home, and indirectly beg them to join the empire? To offer them the chance to join the ranks of those who have relentlessly hunted them, in the hopes that there might be some semblance of safety in conformity? To reunite the elite squad that they were in the days of the Republic (the original elite squad of which Rampart is trying to replicate with tactically inferior recruited bodies), simply for the safety that joining the empire could potentially promise? Is this the first demonstration of Crosshair using hostility to shield those he cares about from the callous clutches of the empire that he’d become painfully familiar with?

Regardless of the still-unexplained motive, Crosshair’s plan fails. Hunter has either become, or has always been, as protective of his family as Crosshair is stubborn, and he would never willingly subject his brothers (and now sister) to a life of committing abhorrent war crimes in the name of an Emperor who rose, uninhibited, to extreme and unnatural levels of power whilst abolishing the Republic of which they'd previously served. That’s not what their squad was made to do, despite Crosshair trying to convince Hunter perhaps maybe it was.

Unsurprisingly, Crosshair’s pitch falls on deaf ears, even despite killing his elite squad as an offering of trust. Once the training droids have been taken care of and the fray had subsided, Crosshair stands to find Hunter now has a blaster pointed directly at him, as does Wrecker— (Echo and Tech, curiously, keep their weapons pointed away), and the tables have quickly turned. Hunter begins his own plea to his brother, and it leads to a very ambiguous admission. Hunter: “Crosshair, forget the empire. This isn’t you, it’s your inhibitor chip.” Crosshair: “Wrong. I had my chip removed a long time ago.”

What degree of this admission is true? All of it? Parts of it? None of it? Was Crosshair only told that his chip was removed during one of the apparently many augmentations he’d been subject to? Was it removed and replaced with an alternative? Or was it truly extracted, and his questionable actions have been entirely his own? If so, was it the fall of the Republic that spooked him enough to join the ranks of an unknown empire? Did the thought of disobeying orders bother him enough to sacrifice the family dynamic he’s always known, and replace it with a safe sense of conformity? And if this is the case, was missing all of the shots he’d aimed at his brothers, a veiled display of love?

Atop the water hours later, Tipoca City has fallen. Due to their imminent death, Crosshair and his squad have been forced to work together to survive. Tech makes a lingering comment about Crosshair’s unyielding personality being outside of his control, and it’s still ringing in our ears at this point because it implies that a lot of this misunderstanding may just be because of how strongly Crosshair forms opinions, and how only one of his brothers understands that about him. Omega is mid-drowning trying to save her droid friend, Hunter is .4 seconds away from leaping into Kamino’s frigid and turbulent waters to try and retrieve her… and we see Crosshair grab his rifle. This is a shot, of any, that I would expect him to miss— water both impedes and shifts the trajectory of a projectile and mathmatically accommodating for this would take some serious, well thought out calculation; the only usable light for aiming is from the burning remnants of their home, and the container in which Crosshair is perched heaves and tips with every wave.

But he doesn’t miss. He, again, demonstrates that he can make any and every shot he wants to. He lands his shot on AZI’s chest (not dissimilar to where he shot Wrecker, on an obviously smaller scale), and pulls Omega from the depths of the water. Upon turning to see his brothers poised and ready to shoot him if they deemed the need appropriate, I think Crosshair realizes how monumental the fracturing of their squad was. They have no trust left for him. His actions, powered by an inhibitor chip or not, quickly led them to believe he was not the person they knew him to be. As much as he desperately wanted to them understand how powerful the control of the chip was, they didn’t. And I think this moment robs Crosshair of some of his anger and resentment he harboured toward them, and reaffirms that his only option now is to follow the path he was first influenced to follow, regardless of if it’s what he wants now or not. He then chooses abandonment. He chooses to be left stranded on that platform, likely aware that the potential he’d perish there was high. His separation was now his choice.

Let’s move on to Season Two! Episode 3, appropriately named “the Solitary Clone”, indirectly shows us more about Crosshair than I believe any previous episode ever has. Crosshair’s marksmanship is, once again, on full display as he takes down an old separatist tank with one shot (I’m still reeling over it, ok? That shit made me horny). And I can’t move on from this episode without also mentioning how it ended— we know Crosshair has respect for Commander Cody, that was demonstrated by his willingness to follow Cody’s command while he rebuked others’ in the Skako/Anaxes arc. I think it’s also apparent by the return of his notorious sarcasm, that Crosshair is happy to see a familiar face, one of which he may have previously deemed a friend. Cody, in return, places tidbit of trust in Crosshair (I’m also going to link this post in case anyone is curious about my thoughts on Cody’s initial comments). Not only does the commander inch toward the precarious conversation about “going rogue” and the Order-66 debacle, but Cody lets Crosshair take the lead after their shuttle crashes on Desix. “Trust me,” Crosshair begs, and Cody accedes.

They gain access to the strong hold; Crosshair, Cody and Nova (RIP) struggle only mildly with the droid forces ("Droideka's."). Crosshair demonstrates more inhuman trigonometry abilities and immaculate skill by using those mirror pucks to shoot around corners. Cody saves Crosshair’s tushy when a Commando droid gets a little too close to the sniper. Crosshair lowers his weapon at Cody’s request while they negotiate with Tawny Ames, a motion he had otherwise refused earlier in the episode (the civillians they come across behind a closed door— Cody lowers his gun and reassures them, Crosshair does not.) And when the Empire shows its true colours by demanding that Cody renege on his promise of peace and assassinate the governor, Crosshair does not hesitate to answer the call.

Now superficially, this act would appear as nothing more than a repeat of his crimes on Onderon, or Crosshair simply “following orders” as he had previously developed into a sort of mantra. But I think it’s much more layered than that. I think Crosshair recognized that Cody would be subject punishment did he not comply, a notion reinforced by his extended time at Rampart’s elbow, where it was regularly displayed that clones were of little significane and use to this new military regime. What would happen to Cody as a result of his disobedience? Would he simply be demoted from Commander? Would he be court-martialed and questioned? Detained and imprisoned? Killed? Is this why Crosshair took action into his own hands, and “did what needed to be done”? To protect Cody from the repercussions of disobeying a direct order? Or, more harrowingly and something that I am more inclined to believe, was Crosshair protecting Cody from the poignant shame and self-hatred that he knew the Commander would feel if he DID comply? Was Crosshair unwilling to let the mind of another clone be tainted by the emotionless demands of the empire, so he took the action upon himself? Was his objectively unnecessary and cruel attack, an action of deep seated respect and appreciation? Is this why Cody's comment about living with the consequences of their decisions affects Crosshair so deeply as they separate at the end of the mission?

Let’s dial back to the debated intention of Crosshair’s shots— are his missed shots deliberately missed? Our next stop on this journey is The Outpost (my personal favourite, and not because of the dreamy, sardonic, bearded Commander Mayday), but because of the overt growth that we see Crosshair attain. (Here’s an analysis I posted a while back about some of the messages I think the writers were trying to convey via symbolism throughout Crosshair's episodes to this point). If you've read it and even partially subscribe to my theory, then we can agree Crosshair’s mentality has been shifting little by little since we saw him last, and his attachment to Mayday (and the adjacent benefit that Crosshair rediscovers in companionship and brotherhood) is proof of this. So here’s what happens— raiders make it inside the perimeter of the Outpost thanks to limited man-power and degrading equipment. Crosshair heads directly to where he knows he can play to his strengths: high ground. He’s taking quick and careful aim at the retreating insurgent when the nearby shuttle explodes, and something peculiar happens. Whether it be the blinding flash of the explosion magnified significantly by his riflescope that had caused him such immediate discomfort, or something more (chip alert? Maybe? Or residual effects of having it augmented so many times?), but Crosshair’s subsequent shot is not of his regular quality. He hits his target, so I am not deeming this as a shot missed, but Crosshair has a track record of “one-shots” or “kill shots” of which this is not.

I’m inclined to ramble on for centuries about this episode because there is simply so much development, growth, and symbolism that occurs in those 28 minutes— it’s truly a masterpiece in story telling, but I’ve deviated too far from the intention of this essay (novel) so let’s trek forward.

Let’s get to Tipping Point, and what I would deem to be his only failed shot (and the implications of what it might mean). Crosshair has been sedated, interrogated, injected, neglected, confused, and abused since arriving on Tantiss. (You guessed it, I also have an analysis of this episode, structured a little differently than my previous but still helps to break down what I deem to be the motives behind his actions). Hemlock first attempts to bribe Crosshair with his freedom in exchange for information on his brothers, and as such, divulges his true need for Omega. Crosshair, who has never really had the chance to bond with her like his brothers have, refuses to provide any information. And why? Having only a surface level relationship with Omega, and having rebuffed her advances for companionship several times, why would he protect her in the face of imminent chemical torture? Because it directly protects them, and they are no longer being hunted by a squad of recruited bodies lead by an angry brother... but by a twisted and cruel doctor who's methods were proven unorthodox and tortuous upon immediate introduction.

Upon awakening from another round of interrogation, Crosshair understands the time to act is diminishing quickly, as is his ability to refuse Hemlock the information he wants. Each interrogation leaves him physically and mentally weaker; the time is act is now. He shoots and kills the pair of troopers, as well as the interrogation droid, with no difficulty. He stuns Emerie the scientist (possibly recognizing her clone accent for what it is, thus opting not to kill her?), steals her access card, and stumbles from the room. His body is no where near recovered from whatever toxin that droid injected him with, and he staggers through the unknown halls. Quickly coming across a pair of troopers guarding a doorway, the next shot is the only one that I believe he truly missed, and understandably so. It lands on the wall between their heads, and Crosshair quickly realizing his failure, shoots them with the following two rounds.

While missing that shot is largely inconsequential to the overall story, I think it’s an important anecdote for his character growth. In that moment, Crosshair is both physically weakened and mentally desperate to get a message to his brothers, and it’s the combination of those that had his aim faulty. He’s found himself nothing more than a man broken… stripped of the celebrated titles he’d once possessed and mentally mined until simply raising and aiming a blaster, a motion he’d once found more innate as breathing, was a motion difficult for him. He's forsaken his family, lost his purpose, been rendered nothing but an experiment and a tool.

So to summarize this egregiously long essay of Crosshair’s character, I’d like to reiterate that he is human. As we all do, he has faults. A lot of his reasoning is arguably flawed. He makes poor decisions, often in haste without considering the ripple effect it may have. He is extremely stubborn, and he does not communicate well. And there are things he’s done and decisions he’s made that I can not personally elucidate and would love to openly discuss with other Crosshair enthusiasts (example, trying to incinerate his brothers in an ion engine— did he assume Hunter would double back again, and this is Crosshair’s attempt at forcing them into the open? Or is this one of the moments when he cannot fight off the chips control?). You don’t have to like him. You don’t have to agree with him or anything he says. You don’t have to like me or agree with anything I say, but as we head into the third and final Act of this remarkable story, it is worth determining which of his actions are superficially misunderstood, and which have a deeper meaning that a casual viewer might simply overlook.

Thank you for attending the Ted Talk that no one asked for.

Holly ♥️

**forewent the taglist as this is not my typical content

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Chauvinism.

Commissioned by the very lovely @meri47.

Pairing: Yandere!Clark Kent | Superman x Reader (DC).

Word Count: 2.6k.

TW: Kidnapping, Plans for Prolonged Imprisonment, Nonconsensual Touching, Obsessive Behavior, and Slight Codependency.

You woke up to the feeling of something burning into the back of your head.

Again, true to the most literal definition of the word, burning. You bolted upward, bringing one had to the back of your scalp as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes with the other. Exhaustion weighed you down, made it difficult to think about anything but the searing pain burrowing into your, the stiffness of your joints, the static numbness pricking at your fingertips, but luckily, you didn’t find an injury, didn’t smell burning hair, didn’t feel flesh melting off of bone or blisters forming across delicate skin – even if you were uncomfortably warm in that familiar, ‘held your hands too close to an open bonfire’ way. Still, you had to force yourself to calm down, to tear your attention away from your own startled distress and turn your focus outward.

You weren’t on fire, which was good. That was good.

But, you were in a strange room with strange crystalline walls, which was bad.

Very, very bad.

You swallowed down something thick and dry that’d lodged itself in your throat. The scenery was as blank as it was alien – all featureless, all bizarre, little more than a series of hexagonal pedestals that erupted from the ground without pattern or intention and four chrome walls so well polished, your own distorted reflections were able to corner you on all sides, and so tall, you weren’t able to make out the ceiling that had to be looming somewhere far above your head. The only actual piece of furniture seemed to be the bed you were sitting on; a remarkably normal mattress swamped with remarkably normal sheets, blankets, quilts - all doting cutesy, sappy patterns, all things you’d find in the bedding aisle of a particularly folksy home-goods store.

Partially out of curiosity and partially out of hope that you’d be able to dispel the knot of dread coiling in your stomach, you turned over the corner of the nearest quilt, finding a paper tag still on the end of its plastic toggle. That, for as thankful as you were not to be lying on a bare stone floor, was almost the most concerning thing you'd seen so far. It meant that someone had found the time to prepare this, to get ready for you. It meant that someone had decided to bring you here, and had given your abduction enough forethought to buy a fucking blanket.

You were almost tempted to curl back into yourself, to cover yourself in a stranger’s blankets and pretend you’d never woken up, but any delusions you might’ve had of being able to sleep this off like a bad dream were dispelled by the sound of a man clearing his throat, a new weight coming to rest on the other side of your bed. You jerked around the face the new presence, your eyes instantly landing on the monster who’d—

— on your coworker, Clark Kent, sitting on the edge of your mattress.

Your coworker, Clark Kent, who was inexplicably dressed like Superman.

For a second, all your panic and all your fear seemed to disappear in favor of making more room for complete and utter confusion. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and admittedly, his get-up looked a step above what you’d find on the clearance rack of some out-of-season costume store. You couldn’t imagine where he’d gotten it. He was smiling, too – that gentle smile, the same one he wore as he slipped a mug of freshly brewed coffee onto your desk an hour before either of you were supposed to be so much as thinking about getting to work, as he rubbed the back of his neck and admitted that he got too caught up while he was writing his last article and pulled his third all-nighter that week. Despite everything, you couldn’t help but relax. Clark was here, which meant that wherever ‘here’ was, it couldn’t be that bad. You couldn’t be in that much danger if Daily Planet’s resident sweetheart had managed to make it out unscathed.

“Clark!” You scrambled toward him, already grinning. “Oh my god, thank fuck you’re here – I’m don’t know where we are, and my head really hurts, but I don’t think we’re—”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. You were out for a while – try to remember to breathe.” His tone was like his expression – light, soothing, comforting enough to have you nodding along in an instant, to have you doing your best to inhale and exhale without cutting yourself off with more half-formed fears. He moved toward you, his fingertips brushing against your bicep before he draped an arm over your shoulders, pulling you into his side. You melted against him, and with an airy chuckle, he went on, keeping up a tenor that could’ve lulled you to sleep in any other circumstance. “You said that your head hurts? If you feel dehydrated, I get you something to drink.”

“No, that’s aright, I’m alright. I just—” You glanced towards the crystal walls, towards the nonexistent ceiling. “Do you know where we are?”

There was a slight lilt to his smile, a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder. “If that’s what’s got your heart beating out of your chest, you can let your guard down. We’re in the Fortress of Solitude. Unless a supervillain found a way to terrorize the North Pole, you’re perfectly safe.”

Now, it was your turn to laugh. “The Fortress of Solitude? I’m not an idiot, Clark. What do you want me to think – that Superman needs a house sitter?”

He was quiet, for a second.

Then, empathy practically dripping from his tongue, he said, “Honey, I am Superman.”

He’d hesitated, but you didn’t. Your reaction was instantaneous, automatic; a swell of bubbling laughter and a playful elbow driven into his side. You loved Clark, but he wasn’t a superhero. He kept a running list of the names of his coworkers’ pets, to make sure he never mistook Rebecca’s dog for Max’s rabbit. Whenever he stubbed his toe on a doorframe, he’d apologize to the doorframe. When aliens rained down from the sky or monsters erupted from the ground, Clark was always the first to run, and while you couldn’t blame him, you couldn’t say his tendency to make himself scarce as soon as the villain of the week reared its ugly head was very heroic, either. “That’s not funny,” you managed, eventually, in spite of your nervous smile. “We could be in danger. If you want to put on a Halloween costume and pretend to be a superhero, at least wait until we’ve gotten back to Metropolis.”

To his credit, he kept a straight face. “I wouldn’t lie to you, (Y/n).”

“At least try to make it plausible, then. I mean, he’s an alien, for fuck’s sake, and you’re from southern Kansas. He can fly, and you get stuck in traffic every morning. I’ve been to your flat, and everybody knows Superman lives in the Fortress of—”

Your voice died in your throat. Your mouth fell shut, and you went limp against his side.

After several seconds of stubborn silence, you forced yourself to spit out a soft “Prove it.”

His grin broadened. With a single hand, he took up the scruff of your blouse and lifted you off of the mattress without a hint of strain or trepidation. You were tossed, cursing and thrashing against his hold, into the air and caught in his lap, every step of the process just as effortless as the one that’d come before it. On reflex, you clung to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and cursing under your breath. He only laughed, glazing over your distress, your confusion in favor of paying more mind to your amazement. “The laser eyes can get a little out of hand, and flying indoors is…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Is inhume strength enough, or are you going to make me break out the x-ray vision?”

“No, that’s not— I think you’ve done enough.” You felt breathless, like you’d just run a marathon. You felt drained, and exhausted, and frail, but you forced yourself to smile up at him, to remember that he was still your coworker, still your friend, still Clark Kent.

And if you knew anything, you knew that Clark Kent couldn’t hurt a fly.

(You also knew that Superman would’ve been able to break your neck with a flick of his wrist, but you tried not to think about that.)

“This is great,” you kept your tone bright, cheerful, burying your anxiety beneath a heavy layer of brimming enthusiasm. “You have to tell me everything! As soon as we get back to Metropolis, you’re going to—”

“About that,” he cut in, only somewhat apologetic. “Metropolis might have to wait. This can be a sensitive time, and I thought it might be better for you to stay here, with me, just until you’ve adjusted to…” There was another pause, another sympathetic smile. The heel of his palm pressed into the small of your back, and against your will, you were reminded of just how easily he could crush your windpipe, or break your spine, or rip your heart out of your chest before your body had time to give out. “To this. To us.”

You didn’t have his resilience. Your expression immediately dropped. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t waste time, didn’t pretend to believe it was a genuine question. “Think of it as a precaution. You’re just going to stay somewhere safe and quiet for a few weeks, let some new information soak in, and when you’re ready, we can go home together.” He bowed his head, his lips ghosting over the curve of your shoulder. You tried to let go of him, to put a little distance between yourself and Clark, but his hand rose the back of your neck, keeping you pinned against his chest as he went on. “I tried to think of a way to do this at home, but it wouldn’t have worked out. You’re going to be in danger, and this—” He nodded toward the crystal walls. “—is one of the only places where I know you’ll be safe. From the people who want to hurt me, and from yourself, while you’re still learning.”

“Learning what? Clark, I might be a reporter, but I’m not going to sell your secret identity to the first paper that makes a bid.” Another half-hearted shove to his chest, another attempt to give yourself space to breathe. He only held you tighter, his smile pressing into the side of your neck. “I-It’s not like you can keep me here, either. I mean, it’s not like heroes hold civilians hostage.”

“Heroes do what they have to do,” he muttered, his voice stifled by proximity, his breath warm against your skin. “’specially if it means keeping the people they love safe.”

It felt like a stupid thing to ask, given your situation, your position. It felt like a waste of breath, considering you were in his lap, in the heart of his secret lair, with his mouth pressed against your skin and his hands drifting toward your waist, and yet, you couldn’t seem to stop yourself. “You love me?”

There was a throaty laugh, a squeeze to your side. “With all my heart.” There was no hesitation, no reluctance. If you’d been standing, your legs might’ve given out. “I wish it didn’t have to be so complicated. I really did try to find a workaround, but if I tried to approach you as Clark, you’d never be fully protected from everyone who’s after Superman, and if I tried to love you as Superman – well, then you’d never pay Clark a second glance. I didn’t want you to only know half of who I am.” A kiss, this time, shallow and fleeting, pressed into the corner of your jaw. “This was the only way I could show you who I was without putting you in harm's way. You’ll learn the ropes here, and when you’re ready, we can go back to Metropolis and get you moved into my place—”

A waste of time, a waste of breath, a waste of hope. Still, you couldn’t seem to stop yourself from making bad decisions, today. “What would you do if I didn’t feel the same way?”

This time, it was a kiss to your temple, then your forehead. He didn’t try to kiss you – to actually kiss you, thank God – but it was a small mercy, further dampened by the fact that he was still holding you, still keeping you as close as you could possibly be. After long, agonizing seconds, he raised his head. If he was worried, if he noticed the tension in your shoulders, how stiffly you held yourself, you couldn’t tell from his easy smile, the levity in his tone. If anything, he seemed excited, eager to plan out your future together with or without your cooperation.

“If you didn’t love me…” He tried to laugh, but the air hitched in his throat and he settled for a wistful sigh. “Why are you asking? Have something you want to tell me?”

“It’s a hypothetical.” Your tongue felt swollen, your head heavier than it should’ve been. “Just… indulge me, alright? I’m curious.”

“Like I said, you don’t have anything to worry about. If you took a little time to come around to me, I wouldn’t mind – it wouldn’t change anything, either.” It was a corrupted type of reassurance. Rather than soothing your anxiety, it only seemed to make you feel more sick. “I’d just have to work a little harder, keep a closer eye on you. I mean, I already plan on keep you as close as I can, but—” He clicked his tongue, brushed a few stray hairs away from your face. “—I guess I’d have to hold you a little tighter. Until I could trust you to come around on your own, at least.”

He'd already taken you to an impenetrable fortress in the middle of a frozen wasteland, hundreds of thousands of miles away from the nearest person. You weren’t sure how much more tightly he could hold you.

Dread welled in the cavity of your chest, something sweet and sickly rising into the back of your throat, but you managed to nod, to lean against him. He welcomed your cooperation, rewarded it with a low, throaty sound of approval. “I should show you around. There isn’t much to see, but, y’know, common courtesy and all that.”

“I’m… actually still pretty tired.” It wasn’t a lie. You were exhausted, and you wanted more than anything to crawl into the nearest hole and wait until this had all blown over. But, there weren’t any holes you could crawl into – just a bed, a few mirrored walls, and a man you had formerly thought of as Clark Kent. “I think I might need to take it easy for a couple hours, just to give my brain time to process all this. Would… would that be okay?”

That, that was what made him falter – earning a slight lapse, a new quirk to his smile – but he held himself steady, only nodding as you shifted off of his lap. Hesitantly, with no small amount of apprehension, you edged away from him, daring to put just an arm’s length worth of distance between yourself and him and letting out an ounce of tension drain out of your rigid form when he didn’t immediately decide you weren’t worth the effort, when you didn’t find yourself reduced to little more than ash or pulverized viscera. “Of course. Give me a few minutes, I’ll get you something more comfortable to—“

“This is fine.” Your voice cracked, but you tried to pretend you didn’t notice. “I mean, I’m fine. I just— I think I need a little time to myself. To take this all in.”

His disappointment was visible, but he didn’t argue. You waited until he’d left your room, until he was out of sight and out of earshot, to slip back under your mound of blankets and shrink into yourself. You were exhausted, and yet, you’d never been more awake in your life. Sleep seemed like a distant dream, leaving yourself helpless and unaware like a lurking nightmare.

It was all you could do to lie there, small and vulnerable, and try to ignore the eyes burning into the back of your neck.

[spiribia]

for a long stretch of my life since childhood observing other kids making small flipbook animations i felt that animation was something that other people could get how to do but that i couldn't. regrettably my oldest attempt has been lost forever to old laptop and defunct tinypic upload, but even when you look at my later 2014 animation, you can see a trace of how i just felt absent some kind of intuition of what to draw for each frame to give the illusion of fluid motion.

there was one clarion moment a few years ago when i was watching a warrior cats youtube animator's animation progress stream, and as soon as i opened the video, they toggled between two keyframes that looked kind of like this, one after the other:

i remember this moment clearly because it was like a lightning bolt had hit my brain. i understood how to draw a fox coiled up as if to jump, and i understood how to draw a fox jumping. animation was literally just that, and the several interpolations between them, a fox starting to push off the ground, a fox just leaving the ground, etc., all of which i could draw a still image of if you asked. now thread them together. you are probably wondering how i didn't already realize this is how it worked, but it just never ever clicked in my mind until this one brilliant second, after which i immediately exited the tab in shock and never even saw any more of this life altering fox animation

[allieisacrybaby]

Hot Cocoa Kisses

Sam Kiszka x afab!reader

warnings: some scandalous touching but nothing too spicy mostly teasing. a lot of teasing. fluffy little winter fic. no use of "Y/N". kissing. used the word "girls" to refer to Rose and reader.

You and Sammy stood bundled up from head to toe as flurries of snowflakes gently drifted down from the slate-grey sky. The two of you watched Rose bolt around, causing chaos, trying to eat the flakes, and playing in the snow. As you watched her play, you giggled, your breath forming soft clouds in the frigid air while Sammy toggled with the settings of his film camera looped around his neck, readying to take a picture of Rose covered in snow. 

“Rose! Looky here!” Sammy whistled, holding up her favorite ball in one hand and his camera up to his eye with the other. 

Rose immediately stopped in her tracks, ears perking up and eyes locating the ball Sam held. A chorus of clicks ensued before Sammy threw the ball for her to retrieve. 

“She looks like she’s got a beard with all that snow covering her face!” you giggled as you snuggled into Sam’s side. 

“She’s a little gremlin, a snow gremlin…no, a snow monster!! She’s gonna get you!!” Sam stated, pulling you flush to his chest and tickling your side. 

“She’s not a monster, Sammy!!” you yelped as he dug into your sides, “My Rose Bud is too sweet to be a monster!” you gasped dramatically. 

“You’re right. She loves her humans too much to turn on us!” Sammy smiles down at you, placing a kiss on your chilly cheek. The sound of snow crunching caught both of your attention, as Rose began to dig a hole in the snow. 

Abruptly, the wind picked up and whipped your hair around as the snow began to fall quicker and harder.

“I think it may be time to head inside, yeah?” you stated, pulling your scarf taught around your nose and mouth. 

“I think so. Let’s get our snow monster inside.” Sammy agreed, whistling for Rose as the two of you trekked through the snow and up to the step of the cabin porch. 

The three of you were staying in the quaint stone cabin Sammy had bought in the Blue Ridge Mountains as a little getaway from the hustle and bustle of Nashville and tour life. Sam, affectionately called the cabin “The Love Nest” because the both of you could escape and simply be together. After the second leg of the Starcatcher World Tour, Sammy decided you both needed some time away from the rest of the world. You packed up your things into the car and made the trip to the secluded cabin, nestled among the snowy pines and forest creatures.

As Sammy bolts the door closed, Rose shakes the snow off her fur and finds her bed by the fireplace. 

“I need to get that thing going. I can’t have my girls freezing!” Sammy laughs as he shucks off his winter clothes and boots. 

“I’m gonna make us some cocoa while you do that.” you say as you remove your layers too.

“Sounds great, baby.” Sammy smiles.

You enter the kitchen and gather everything you need: a saucepan from under the stove, two mugs from the top cupboard, the milk carton from the fridge, and the hot cocoa mix from the pantry. You get to work pouring the milk into the pan and clicking the stove top to life. As you stir the milk around the pan lost in your head, you feel Sam’s warm arms wrap around your waist and his chin rest in the crook between your shoulder and neck watching you work. 

“How’s it going, lovebug?” Sam asks, placing a kiss just behind your ear.

“Hmm, well, now you’re distracting me. Gotta keep an eye on the pan.” you tease. 

“Me? A distraction? No!” Sam antagonizes. 

His hands slide under the hem of your long sleeve to draw circles with his thumbs against the skin of your stomach.

“Sammy, quit that tickles.” you gasp, squirming in his ever-tightening grip.

“Shh, watch the pan.” he instructs as his hands wander up higher to rest against your ribcage right under your breasts. 

“Sam.” you whine.

“Hush.”

“Sammy!” you whine, getting his attention. “The milk is done, and it’s gonna burn if I don’t turn the heat off.” you huff out, flustered.

“Oh…sorry, bug.”

“It’s fine. I just can’t focus on making us cocoa when you’re feeling me up,” 

“I thought you liked it when I felt you up.” Sammy smirked, moving his hands down to rest at your waist.

“I do but not when I am freezing and trying to make us cocoa!” you huff rolling your eyes. “Can you grab me a spoon so I can add the mix?”

“On it!” 

Sam shuffles over to the other side of the island and grabs a spoon from out of the as you pour the milk into both of your mugs. Handing over the spoon, you crack open the hot cocoa mix and scoop a generous amount into Sammy’s “World’s Best Dog Dad” mug and your ladybug mug that Sam got you for Valentine’s Day a year ago. After thoroughly mixing the powder into both mugs, you handed Sammy his and grabbed yours from the counter. 

“Cheers!” Sammy said, clinking his mug against yours, making you chuckle and shake your head.

Taking a sip, your eyes fluttered and closed as the cocoa heated you from the inside out. 

“Oh, this is good,” Sammy hummed in appreciation. “Let’s go enjoy it by the fireplace and get extra toasty.”

The two of you made your way into the living room, where the fire that Sam had so beautifully crafted was roaring in the fireplace. You sat your mug on the coffee table and then sat down on the big worn-in couch that Sam had thrifted when he bought the cabin. 

“Here, make yourself comfy I need to go grab a snack from the kitchen. Do you want anything?” Sam asked, handing you two fluffy blankets.

“No thanks, I’m ok.” you smile, tucking the blanket over your legs.

“Okay.”

Sam disappeared into the kitchen to retrieve his snack, and you made yourself comfortable on the couch. Then, you grabbed your mug and took another drink from it. You peered over at Rose, who was watching you with attentive eyes from her dog bed next to the fireplace.

“Come here, girly,” you called, patting the space next to you on the couch. Rose jumped right out of her bed and onto the couch next to you, plopping her head in your lap. Sam returned to the living room with a bag of soft pretzel bites in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Who eats soft pretzels with hot cocoa?” you questioned as he sat beside you.

“Me, duh. It’s like a sweet and salty thing. It’s good.” 

“I guess, but that’s weird Sammy.” you grimace.

“Whatever you say, bug.” “But who needs pretzels when I have you,” Sammy says, pulling at your leg to get you closer to him.

“Are you calling me salty?” 

“Mmm, maybe.” 

“Samuel Francis!”

“Oh, hush and get your ass over here.” 

You shake your head and look down at Rose, who still has her head in your lap.

“Do you hear your Daddy, Rose?! How rude!” you pout, ignoring Sam to talk to the pit bull. 

“If I apologized for calling you salty, would you come and sit closer to me?”

“Negative. Our daughter has already staked claim to her my lap, and by dog law, unfortunately, I cannot move; therefore, you’ll need to get your ass over here.” you reply, using his own words against you. 

“Man, you really are salty, huh?” 

Sammy sighs at your attitude but gives in. He shuffles closer to you, pulling his blanket and mug with him. He rests his head against your shoulder, reaching down to your lap to scratch Rose’s head. Peering over to the big glass floor-to-ceiling windows over your shoulder, the snow outside had picked up, the wind throwing snow around the air. 

“Wow, look outside. Kinda looks like we're in a snow globe, and someone shook up our globe.” Sam chuckled, pointing to the window.

“Oh wow. It’s really pretty out there, but I’d much rather spectate from inside where it’s warm.” 

“Me too, bug.” Sammy agrees, hooking his arm around your shoulder. 

You lean into his embrace as you sip your cocoa and watch the snow fall from the sky, peace and tranquility taking over your body as you snuggle into Sam’s body and pet Rose’s head, lulling her to sleep. 

“Thank you for this little getaway, for making the fire, and for keeping Rose and I warm,” you smile at him.

“And thank you for making the cocoa, my little chef.” Sammy smiles back, leaning down to kiss your lips and the cold tip of your nose. 

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Sammy.”

tag list: @sacredjake @digitalcalamity @spark-my-nature @ohhkaty @andtherestishistory13 @hearts-hunger @mal-gvf @losfacedevil

[kat-grows-things]

I really need to figure out how to put the shelves up on that other wall but ?? the stud finder doesn't work in this apartment bc I'm pretty sure the wall is hollow with metal studs. I have no idea what to do with that if I want to support a decent amount of weight

do you ever take plants out of quarantine and have no idea where they were before. why do I have so many philodendrons? where on earth did I have them all before they got spider mites? ?? I don't even think I've acquired new plants?

[pancakeke]

I am NOT going to the hardware store today. rake fixed with toggle bolt instead.

[colesabi]

hey, hey, sabi >:3 any AU or idea for fic snippets that you'd be willing to share? >:333

also! hope you recover quickly :(( covid sucks ass >:(

Sure!! I was gonna give you another snippet of Ch. 4 but I don’t have much there so I’ll give you a longer one that’s been in my WIPs for a while. It needs some reworking but it’s the ‘Games’ prompt for The After. Thank you for the well wishes. Hoping for actual sleep today but I’m wired.

…

Chris pulls a card from the deck, looking down at it before his gaze slides to Leon, the intent of the look mischievous. “I think we did this last week…”

“Ugh!” Claire grimaces, “I do NOT need to know about what you and Leon do in your free time.”

Chris laughs. One of those loud, boisterous ones Leon’s become so accustomed too as the man settles down and eyes his little sister teasingly, “you should have asked before you decided to sit in that chair then…”

Claire looks utterly disgusted as she bolts up from the armchair’s confines, her head swiveling between the leather cushion and Chris’ face as she stammers, “but it’s the most comfortable one!”

“Exactly.” He says automatically, a grin plastered on his face. 

Claire visibly gags, her eyes looking over the other offerings in the living room. “Is there no place safe to sit? Is the coffee table tainted too?!?”

Leon watches her stare at Chris, arms crossed as he purposefully remains silent. Then he contorts his facial muscles in a look that conveys ‘yikes’ before turning his gaze to Leon. 

“Claire, he’s just messing with you.” Leon says, hearing her clear display of disgust echo at her brother’s reaction, “the coffee table is fine.”

She doesn’t seem convinced, narrowing her eyes as she responds. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Would it make you feel better if I knew something that you and Jill do?”

Claire looks just about ready to vomit, giving Chris an incredulous look. “God, no!” She yells, diverting her gaze to look at the entryway. Leon is sure she’s hoping and praying that the others walk in soon so she can be spared her brother’s teasing. 

Chris just laughs again, tucking the card back into the deck before he offers nonchalantly, “then you shouldn’t have brought this game for game night.”

Claire huffs, pouting. “It wasn’t my idea…”

Leon watches her loiter near the other armchair, looking down at it warily as she glances back at Chris, her index pointed down towards the cushion, “this one safe?”

Chris scrunches up his face, dropping the deck of cards on the table before flattening out a hand and toggling it back and forth in the air. Claire releases an exasperated sigh, long and drawn out and Leon can’t help but sympathize. 

He slaps the back of his hand against Chris’ bicep, the man coiling in on himself in mocked hurt as he interjects, “knock it off Chris. Claire, we have never had sex in that chair.”

“OH MY GOD!” she screams, turning on her heels and stomping off towards the kitchen. She briefly clamps her palms over her ears before she reaches the fridge, yanking it open to grab a soda from its confines. 

“You two are impossible!” She yells from behind the island and they both fall into a fit of giggles. Chris’ laugh settles long enough to ask, “do you think it’s weird that Jill invited Carlos?”

“That was decades ago Chris… a lot has changed since then.” 

[bowbeforemegatron]

Next we made Springtrap and Foxy's ears. We cut the shapes out of EVA foam and glued them together with contact cement to create an outer shell. Then made pieces for the outer rim of Foxy's ear, the inner ear for Springtrap that actually sits on top, and the "metal" bars. The ear parts were wrapped in fleece and glued on with Fabri-tac. I know a lot of people recommend hot glue, but the Fabri-tac made for a strong flexible hold that took a few minutes to dry so we could still stretch the fabric as we went. For foxy, the foam metal bars were simply inserted along with some leftover soft foam from the bodies to fill the voids. I did forget to paint them before gluing them in, but took care of it later with a creative use of a grocery bag (holes in the bottom for the bars to stick out and bag protects the fabric from paint!). Springtrap's ears slide over the rods and are removable. @8bithellscape wanted the larger ear to bend, so we included a wire, toggle bolt hinges, and some PVC pipes to guide the cable. A servo in the head will pull the wire to create the bend and both heads will have ear wiggle and eye movements.

[triviallytrue]

BG3 Feat Tierlist

Fuck it, here's every feat in the game split into four tiers. Within each tier, feats mentioned earlier are better.

Always Take

Feats that, when applicable to your build, are so good they should always be taken.

Tavern Brawler

The best feat in the game by a wide margin. Strength elixirs are available by the time you hit level 4, so for throwers and monks this is a flat +5/+5 to all attack and damage rolls, scaling to a +8/+8 when you get Cloud Giant elixirs in act 3. The fact that it gives you +1 Con on top of that just makes it even more absurd.

Sharpshooter/Great Weapon Master

Both feats revolve around the -5/+10 attack/damage passive, which is crucial for dealing damage as a non-TB martial. Requires a fair bit of game knowledge to manage (should be toggled off against high AC/low HP enemies) and prepare for (Oils of Accuracy, sources of advantage), but in the hands of a skilled player it's essential. The question of which of the two is better gets into thornier debates about ranged vs melee - GWM has the better extra feature with bonus action attacks, but ranged martials can already utilize their bonus action with hand crossbows and have archery style for extra accuracy, but melee gets strength elixirs- on and on.

Often Take

Feats that are not essential but will be useful in a lot of builds.

Dual Wielder

Funnily enough, this feat is the closest thing pure spellcasters have to an Always Take. Melee martials are better off with two-handed weapons and ranged martials don't care, but pure spellcasters can use this feat to dual wield staffs. As early as mid act 1 with the Spellsparkler and Melf's First Staff, this makes a big difference, and in the lategame this allows for dual wielding the Markoheshkir and Staff of Spell Power. Oh, and you get a free +1 AC on top. Isn't an Always Take because if you're running more than one pure spellcaster, you may want to distribute the staffs instead.

Savage Attacker

On a d12 this averages out to +2 damage, which is fine but not incredible. What really makes this shine is that the effect applies to all additional rider dice as well, which is a hefty chunk of damage by the late game. A very nice option for melee builds to pump up their damage, especially if using strength elixirs.

Ability Score Improvement

The default option. Bland, unsexy, but almost always a pretty good choice.

War Caster

The opportunity attack feature here is negligible, but as it turns out, not losing your concentration when you get hit is really, really important. Most dramatic example is twinned haste, where losing concentration will stun half your party, but there are lots of other scenarios where it's pretty bad. Only reason it isn't higher is that there's other ways to obtain advantage on concentration saves, but if you don't have access to those, this is worth taking.

Alert

Much improved over its tabletop counterpart, due to BG3 using a d4 for initiative rolls. If you commit to this one partywide (or on all non-dex primary characters) you can almost always all go first, especially nice for parties that benefit from interweaving actions when they go together.

Resilient

Useful for patching up your saving throws - you can't gain saving throw proficiencies by multiclassing. Mostly useful with Constitution for casters looking to never blow a concentration save, but could be nice to have to buff up Intelligence saves against stuns.

Rarely Take

These feats have niche uses but aren't generally optimal.

Elemental Adept

A very hard one to rank. There are three good elements in BG3 - Lightning, Cold, and Fire. Lightning and Cold resistance are uncommon and can be mitigated with Wet and Fire resistance can be bypassed with Arsonist's Oil, so that part of the feat is less useful than it would appear at first glance. The damage increase is +0.5 per damage die on average, so a Fireball or Lightning Bolt will deal +4 damage per target, which is quite good. Cantrips deal +0.5/+1/+1.5 more, which is less impressive. The main downsides are that you only get it for a single damage type when you'll want to use spells from all three, and that the main elemental damage specialist (Draconic Bloodline Sorcerer) gets their Charisma added to their specialized damage anyway, so Ability Score Improvement for +1 attack/DC/damage is competitive. I think this narrowly misses the cut in most builds, but it's still pretty good.

Lucky

Loses points because it doesn't synergize with... well, anything, but it's never bad to be able to reroll important rolls 3 times a day. A slightly suboptimal alternative to Ability Score Improvement if you don't have anything you want and are feeling quirky. Be warned that it may slow down the pace of play with random boxes.

Sentinel

Unfortunately doesn't have the juice to be a core building block with its Polearm Master synergy bugged, but it does accommodate a tank-adjacent playstyle that you really can't get any other way. Purely mechanically it isn't terrible either, but generally there are better options.

Actor

Useful if you have a Warlock/Sorcerer Tav who isn't going to multiclass into Bard or Rogue. Still not great in most situations - you can get a lot of other bonuses to ability checks and there's a parasite power that gives you expertise in all the social skills in act 3.

Polearm Master

Kind of a tragic feat, considering its stature in tabletop. The bonus action attack doesn't proc additional non-ability modifiers like the Great Weapon Master passive, which severely limits its usefulness, and the classic synergy with Sentinel is buggy and unreliable. Still probably usable, but only just.

Spell Sniper

All damage cantrips besides Eldritch Blast are pretty bad, so be sure to take that one. In general you'd rather take two levels in Warlock to get the goodies that make Eldritch Blast ridiculously good instead of merely better than Firebolt, but as it turns out there is a clear niche use where this is completely optimal: Eldritch Knights that need a cantrip to use with their bonus action attack but can't spare two levels for Warlock because they want the level 11 fighter multiattack. The expanded crit range is worth more to them than the other Magic Initiate crap or a single level in Warlock. Go figure!

Mobile

Optimal for Hamarhraft builds, if you're the kind of person who likes crazy builds in theory and is willing to push through hours of tedium in practice. Everyone else should steer clear, movement speed is nice but not worth spending a feat on and the other benefits are negligible.

Never Take

There are strictly superior options.

Defensive Duellist

Close to putting this one in Rarely Take, but I cannot in good conscience endorse putting in a feat so you can burn reactions on buffing AC, or one-handed melee builds in general.

Martial Adept

Very hard to justify a feat for a single superiority die (ie, one maneuver per fight).

Charger

Would be usable if it was a passive or just cost your action, but spending your bonus action in exchange for only 5 damage and not being able to combo other abilities with it makes this one a no-go.

Mage Slayer

Want to fuck with casters? That's what Wizardsbane Oil and Arrows of Arcane Interference are for. Don't waste a feat on those squishy nerds.

Shield Master

Makes you tankier without making you more resilient to actually dangerous conditions like stuns. Don't spend feats around avoiding damage - enemies can't damage you when they're dead.

Medium Armour Master

Decent effects in the early game (more the AC than the stealth) but obsoleted by magic items that give you these effects or better for free.

Heavy Armor Master

-3 damage, only from nonmagical sources, in a game where most heavy armor users will have more health than they ever need? Not worth a feat.

Tough

Gives less HP at level 12 than a level 5 Aid cast, which hits the entire party.

Crossbow Expert

Crossbows in BG3 already get the main feature that makes this good in tabletop for free. Instead you get the ability to hit from point blank range (you should not be doing this) and a slight improvement to a mediocre ability. Pass.

Athlete

Don't sacrifice one of your ability points for the ability to stand up faster and jump a little farther. There is a level 1 ritual spell which triples your jump distance.

Lightly/Moderately/Heavily Armored/Weapon Master

You're better off getting your proficiencies through multiclassing instead of feats, even with the ability score bonus.

Ritual Caster

Take a level in Wizard.

Magic Initiate X

Take a level in X.

Durable

This is what healing potions are for, and it's hard to run out.

Performer

Just play a Bard. It's a really good class, I promise.

Skilled

A feat on extra skill proficiencies, in a game where you can build an entire party to cover the handful of actual relevant skills? Come on now.

Dungeon Delver

Worst feat in the game. Not only are its stated benefits complete ass, its main feature is glitched and offers no benefits.

[chromaticflare]

My Latest Creation: The Snowplow of Doom

During the harsh Polish winter, my friend and fellow r/place veteran, Resor, has to brave snowey roads that even snowplows can’t tame. As such, for their birthday, I thought I’d make something to help them deal with this issue.

Half snowplow, half snow cannon, and mounted to the front of Resor’s car, introducing the Snowplow of Doom!

What it Does

The contraption has two modes: snowplow and snow cannon.

When in snowplow mode, the contraption flings accumulated snow on the road off to the side and out of the path of the vehicle.

Alternatively when in snow cannon mode, the vehicle will accumulate snow into a ball in front of the vehicle. The ball will then be launched at high speed when the firing rope is pulled.

How it works

The contraption has four parts: the spell switcher, the spell array plate, the bolt sign toggle, and the firing rope.

Spell Array Plate

The spell array plate contains the glyphs.

The bottom “snowplow” row of spells consists of push spells that fling snow up and to the side.

The top “snow cannon” row consists of a central “snowball” spell which collects snow and forms it into a ball, as well as push spells that funnel snow into it.

Spell Switcher

In order to switch between snowplow and snow cannon mode, the spell switcher is employed.

The spell switcher, which is secured to the spell array plate, has ink drawn on its back that fills in the gaps on the glyphs on the spell array plate. By moving the lever, you can change weather the top or bottom spells are completed, toggling the mode.

Bolt Sign Toggle

The final component of the snowplow is the bolt sign toggle.

Tied to the toggle is a rope which, when pulled, causes the toggle to swing up and touch the snowball glyph. As there are bolt signs drawn on the toggle, this makes the snowball spell change into a snowball launching spell, causing the accumulated snowball to fire at high speeds.

The Quirks

This design has a few quirks. For starters, the bar on the spell switcher is rigid and can’t be folded up, meaning that you can’t use whatever door the bar is blocking. Additionally, bar for the spell switcher doesn’t lock in place, meaning it has to be held in position to prevent it from staying in snowcannon mode or to stop the spells from deactivating if you hit a bump.

Could I solve both of these issues with just a single double hinge joint near the base of the rod and two hooks welded to the far door? Yes. Am I going to? No.

Happy Birthday, Resor!

[permanent-beta-bag-of-water]

I came up with a way to hang my skulls, without modifying the skulls, using glue, or whatever. I got these toggle wing bolts. Just slide them into the cavity of the skull, and voila. You can remove them too, by turning the bolt while the wing bit is caught inside. It's a pain to remove, but it's possible.

[seriousbrat]

Interesting answer as always!

Tho my argument is that because magic can be so active, kids need a sport to stay fit and able to do it. The real reason Neville could never produce a patronus is because he didn’t get that post-10km endorphin rush.

Of course I’ve read your fic and I remember the Rosiers hunting werewolves. Here’s an idea that you’re free to take or reject: would the self-loading crossbows have a tracking spell intheir arrows, in case the game runs gets shot but runs away?

I can imagine muggle weapons being one of those things that wizards don’t need, but they just really like, almost as a fetish. I suppose the sword of Gryffindor is an example.

Speaking of werewolves, I always thought you don’t give Professor Ninja Warrior Circuit Lupin enough credit. Canon Lupin is actually quite active, not only in his practical lessons, but also in high-risk Order moments like the department of mysteries and 7 potters. I don’t think he’s waking up at 5 am to do laps in the lake, but I also don’t think he’d pass out from exertion after a run or a game of quidditch.

lmao I forgot about Lupin's ninja warrior obstacle course! Good point. And yes I mostly just meant that he's always described as tired/pale/exhausted in canon from his transformations, (which is technically not a healthy state) and it is still an illness so I just wouldn't describe him as healthy. I don't think that he's an absolute weakling haha, he can obviously hold his own duelling etc quite well. Although I did once have Sirius describe him as 'Remus fucking glass bones Lupin' in a fic haha, but that was just Sirius being mean. (also it was a muggle au. in which remus was born with glass bones and paper skin. and every morning he breaks his legs. )

It's not a bad point. I'm not sure how physically taxing actually casting magic is supposed to be itself, like if it requires physical stamina as well as willpower. I'm sure though that being fit in general helps a lot, especially with more active forms of magic like duelling where you usually to have to run around a lot haha. It might be helpful for them to do endurance training at Hogwarts lol but between that and the stairs and the classes I think I'd be exhausted! There's so much activity at Hogwarts that doing some kind of physical training is probably more useful for adult witches and wizards honestly.

About the crossbows, that's a great idea! I always pictured the bolts as vanishing and reappearing instantly on the crossbow but there could definitely be some sort of tracking charm on the animal if the bolt didn't fell it instantly. Although tracking would also be what the hounds are for.

I'd thought about whether the crossbows would have inbuilt aiming charms but decided against it because I think the "fun" of it is in the skill, so it would kind of defeat the point if you never missed, and similarly I think the 'fun' would be chasing down the poor animal in a bloodthirsty way with your bloodthirsty hounds. Maybe these are charms that can be toggled on/off somehow haha, like they exist for training crossbows and for amateurs but most true enthusiasts don't use them.

Also yes, Hagrid uses a crossbow (which isn't self-reloading lol, that's for lazy posh people like the Rosiers) and obviously we've got the sword of Gryffindor/other goblin weapons, plus many suits of armour around Hogwarts. In 'the fountain of fair fortune' Sir Luckless uses a sword and shield, and Sir Cadogan, who was a wizard, uses both wand and sword. So I think wizards would be familiar with/enjoy medieval weaponry at least. And like magical crossbows, Cadogan, and Gryffindor's sword, maybe pre-statute of secrecy it was more common for muggle weaponry to be combined with magic.

[strid3rofthen0rth]

"Could we use those screws with the sproingy flappy dealy? I think Kent has those"

"Dude😂 Toggle bolts? Yes, that's what they're for."

I mean, she wasn't incorrect, and she got her point across, so I guess they're called that now???

[palushiemalis-fr]

Write My Dragon's Lore -- Results!

@protoformx personality: outgoing and loud

@the-odd-aardvadillo occupation: biologist or whatever form of science fits into your lore

@hystericblue aspiration: flying under her own power, she's not staying on the ground

@revolupine hobbies: puzzles and cosplay.

@scrubbythebubble dislikes : tight spaces, the cold, authority

“YOU.” 

Seep felt as if the Sandsurge’s hard stare had shot straight into his face. He felt winded from the impact. He wasn’t often put into a position where he was on the back foot, let alone on first entering a room.

“Me?” He managed as she sprinted over to him, drawing her neck up as high as she could to meet him.

“You are the resident engineer, yes?” She tilted one eye at him to peer into the reflection of his lenses.

Seep craned his neck back and tried to keep her stare, feeling bewildered at the hostility seeing as she was the one to invite him over.

“Yes, I mean, I’m not the only one but I— who are you anyway?”

“Cesarie.” She flicked the sail of her tail boisterously, “I am a bio-engineer. I needed to be polite and say hi and ask some questions and all that, good clan you got here. But then again I’m used to working in really cramped, nasty conditions, at least this place has heating. I’ve seen some real blighters when it comes to labs…” 

She began to ramble about her journey over from the Lightning territory. Seep couldn’t quite keep up and let his mind wander, inspecting what she had done with her chamber.

Cesarie’s den pulsed with an organic, ethereal green light. He squinted through his goggles to see delicate glow worms threaded from the cave ceiling, softly wriggling from their silken strands. The slime molds and algae that practically crawled on every surface let off their own glowing hues. There were terrariums and specimen jars lined up along racks and racks of shelving. Illuminated roaches and isopods trundled about in dimly lit habitats, a swarm of fireflies bonked persistently against the glass of their temporary tank.

Her work table was another matter altogether; an unfinished game of chess sat between microscopes, scapels and scientific paraphernalia with which he wasn’t familiar. For a biologist, she kept a lot of brass fittings, bolts and screws about the place. The air smelt green but was tinged with metal polish and lubricant. He’d always appreciated the smell.

In the middle of the chaos was a huge bell jar filled with a soup of green and blue ooze. Or, what he believed was ooze. It certainly seemed lively, it let out a belch of bubbles which popped vigorously. This caught Cesarie’s attention.

She marched over, knocking some spanners and tools onto the floor on the way, and slammed a fist on the worktop.

“SIMMER DOWN.” She barked.

The ooze let out a flatulent ‘glop’ and settled down.

Seep chuckled, he could relate. His own experimental subjects could be just as cheeky.

“This is my prototype.” She grunted, rolling the jar onto its side and tweaking the instruments and strappings attached to it. “I call her ALGEE. Aviator Levitator Green Energy … something something… I’m workin’ on it.”

“Ehh, the acronym’s usually more important than the words used to put it together.” He shrugged, “But uh, what does it mean? What is that thing?”

After bashing a few loose screws into place she heaped the jar onto her back (Seep watched her ‘percussive adjustments’ approvingly, making note to brush up on his own technique.) She pulled the arm straps tight and the jar sat snuggly between her two sails. She placed on an aviator’s cap and pinged the goggles to her forehead.

“Stand back.”

Seep coiled himself back into what little room the lab had for his huge, winding body.

Cesarie yanked a toggle on her strap and the jar hummed and sizzled with light. The glass shook violently and it began to lift of its own accord, pulling her up like a hot air balloon. She hung precariously in the air, her legs kicking and her tail wagging excitedly.

Seep laughed in amazement, “Impressive! And this is the prototype? This could be a paradigm shift in–”

There was a crack and a hiss and a whizz all at once.

Cesarie dropped like a stone and hit the ground with a winded “Oof.”

Cesarie picked up her jar of gooey, glowy ALGEE and juggled it from one paw to another. It must have been hot from the intense chemical reactions. There was a large crack down the size. 

“As I said. Prototype. But one day, this baby’ll fly all the way to the dunes and back. That foreman will be sorry he ever fired me for collecting algal samples on the job…” She began to rant and ramble once again, Seep sat himself down for the long haul.