#Goblin them up a normal amount

[tampire]

Landon Cider and David Dastmalchian praises Grey Matter and Auntie Heroine

[easy-there-leftovers]

I See You, Darling (3)

[Astarion x reader] As I mentioned in a previous post, this came along surprisingly easier than the last one. The same can’t be said about the quality though maybe– sorry for that. :,DDD|Word count: 2.6k.| 

Content Warnings: Mentions of cooking, handling knives, blood, one sex joke (lol), the normal warnings that you’d associate with the game

Part 2 here!!

Next Part here!!

As an outsider to most of everyone’s problems, you find your place by helping in whatever way you can. Even if that may be at the expense of your own comfort, but at least it’s been fun so far.

Alternatively: Reader can't catch a break from anything, can they?

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Being resident camp caretaker was surprising, for lack of a better term. You were away from the stresses of technology, corporate assholes, and disappointing family with your choice to pursue unpractical careers. Instead living the “cottagecore lifestyle” of foraging for food and cooking with a cauldron that those from the digital world claimed to be the best. What they failed to mention were the incessant pests coming in to nibble through rucksacks if you were not careful, and the occasional swarms of ants or flies coming in to nip at your flesh.

The experience was a mixed bag, so it would seem. But the tired smiles that the group would give you when you greet them with a warm and filling meal was always a comfort that you would have.

And it would seem they needed it now more especially than ever.

Your band of misfits planned to venture out and defeat the goblins at their camp in order to aid the tieflings’ journey to Baulder’s Gate. Per your instruction, you convinced the more solipsistic members of the benefits of eradicating the sect. Namely, they wouldn’t hinder you as much in the future if they were taken care of. Hence your plan to slightly increase the amount of portions for supper tonight.

By twilight, you had a good broth steeping in your cauldron. The camp having returned just a few moments prior from an earlier excursion. You were making a pottage that the others have expressed their enjoyment for. A stew of sorts that you had made when you had quite the number of items that would have spoiled before consumption had you not done anything about it. A mixture of fruits and meat, stewed in a consomme of a pig’s head and various mushroom caps. 

This time around, you’ll be using fresher ingredients to hopefully lift their spirits.

As you’re chopping up fruits, you think about all that’s happened to you and possible explanations for why your character suddenly ceased to exist in order to make room for you.  What’s more is that no matter how many nights pass, you never end up waking from your dream. Which you fear is lasting longer than your usual ones.

Your working theory is that whatever force, be it magic or fate, tethering you to this world is also responsible for removing Tav. Astarion claimed that he couldn’t remember the finer details when you had confronted  him. And so you settled with that hypothesis. That like how a thread that unravels opens a seam in a garment, a new thread must be used to darn the cloth together again.

You laugh at the disgustingly poetic analogy you created in your head. You fear that you’re becoming more and more deranged as—

“My, aren’t you busy?” The intrusive voice causes the knife to slip out of your hand a bit, thankfully only cutting off a portion of your index finger’s nail. Your shoulders, that were raised in alarm, release their tension after feeling the sudden chill leave your body.

“Astarion,”  Exasperated, you put the knife down on the cutting board to catch your breath for a while. 

“I would greatly appreciate it if you stopped sneaking up on me when I’m doing something dangerous.”

The high-elf offers a mischievous smile in response. “Very sorry, pet. But it’s hardly my fault when you’ve barely been paying attention to me.” There’s regret in his words, but not in his tone.

Because while perhaps it’s an odd interest, he enjoys hearing the quickened pace of your heart. The pulse getting louder, as it stays that way for longer.

“I’d feel sorry for doing so if you were too, but you’re not.”

You laugh out, breath still shaky but steadying slowly, as you pick up your knife again.

 “I heard you’re part of the encampment that’s finishing off the goblins by midmorn.” Chopping the rest of the fruits, you feel his presence move from behind you to off to your side so you can see him from your peripherals.

“Hm? Yes. Although I would have preferred if we didn’t do this at all. It’s too much work, and the goblins could be entertaining! Killing useful spoils seems like an awful waste.” 

This must be the reason why he approached you, to persuade you to call off the hunt. And his unfading smile supports that thought. When you voice said thought, it earns you a playful scoff.

“Don’t you have anything else on your mind other than the parasite lounging in it?”

The mood is light as you say this, the banter welcomed by you both. 

And as you continue to converse, a few eyes begin to follow the two of you. They’ve never really seen Astarion interact with you for this long, at least not away from your private spaces. And even less without hushed voices. The interlocution is definitely a welcome spectacle to them. 

“On my honor, the only thing on my mind is depraved, carnal lust.” He says, proudly. Gesturing to himself with one hand, and the other held high like he was swearing an oath. 

Your closed mouth drops into frown, eyes wide, and your eyebrows skew upwards. A very undignified, but small, squeak coming from the back of your throat. You swore you heard someone groan in disappointment from far away too.

You know full well that the look of shock that you were sporting was by no means attractive, but the flagrant revelation, though not at all out of character, was shocking to have directed towards you. You’ve been trying to romance the elven vampire with your character, only to end up nowhere. Therefore you are completely unsure if the dialogue he was spewing was completely a figment of your imagination, or is, indeed, canon.

The elf in question has seen this expression of yours before. Quite often, too. And while he doesn’t think it a, “pleasant sight,” it is rather… charming to him. 

Whether it be on purpose or not, people have the tendency to be on guard around him, preserving any twitch and sound that could give them away to themselves. Not that much had ever evaded him before with his naturally cunning behavior. But this clearly unscripted response, with the blatant confusion swimming in your eyes, is a rather refreshing sight to see.

“I see–” you clear your throat to lower your voice back to its normal octave. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to uh, bring those thoughts into fruition! Uh–,” You slide the rest of the cut fruits off of your cutting board and into the stew. 

“Is there anything else you wanted to tell me? Something I should know?” You turn to face him. He laughs at first, but then his brows furrow in question, as if he did have something to say and forgot about it or thinks it is no longer an appropriate time to ask. He shakes his head and says something along the lines of, “letting you do all the hard work” and returns to his tent.

But you are not left alone for long as another member of your little ragtag team joins you to ask about dinner. To which you ask them for which meat would be better to toss into it. 

—————————

After dinner, your little rapport concerning the plan and new findings with everyone is adjourned. Some thanked you before they left, and others simply walked away. From what you have learned from them, the Archdruid that was taken prisoner by the goblins was named, “Halsin.” He was a topic of interest as they said he might be able to aid you in your search for moonrise and understanding the Mindflayer worms.

Wyll had also approached you alone after dinner and offhandedly mentioned a dead boar being on the road. He had planned to return to camp with it if it could have been useful, but he had claimed that the animal had been unnervingly light. As if half of its weight was no longer there despite seemingly just keeling over for no reason.

You take note of that in one of your many journals, including additional information about the Archdruid and their kind in general. The book appearing more and more like the game’s quest booklet, with the exception of a few crossouts and colored ink to emphasize each quest’s urgency and relevance to finding a cure. When you successfully rescue the druid of the grove, it seems you will have to move out quite soon after, so you fixed up your pack just a bit to make it easier later on.

You look around, everyone seems to be in their respective areas. Doing whatever it is they usually do  with the exception of Astarion. Though he has been known to either sneak off or hide away from time to time in his tent, so you think nothing of it.

You return to the communal chest, tallying up the remaining supplies and inspecting the wares. You sort the tradeable objects in one rucksack and appraise its worth. The chest also has pieces of gold, some that others have placed, and others you picked up and added. You prefer to let the others keep what they think is valuable to them, and only place what they want to share in the vessel. 

If the party’s gold ever runs out, you think that the rucksack is worth a few nights of food when you travel out again. Assured by this knowledge, you placed your writing materials back in, closed the chest, and turned in for the night.

Maybe this time, you’ll wake up. But you also don’t really want to. Not just yet. 

—————————————

As you slept, you wondered about the longevity of your knowledge of the media. You hadn’t finished the game, and although you’ve accomplished a fair bit of it, you worry about how you will face the events to come. One of the only reasons why you haven’t flinched so much at the terrors that occurred was because you had anticipated them. Braced yourself for the dangers ahead.

You fear what might happen when you no longer have that power at your disposal.

Perhaps it's the worry, perhaps it's the stiff, compact ground that you have yet to be accustomed to sleep on despite the bedroll, or perhaps it's the presence of something suddenly cool that stirs you awake. 

But what you did not expect was Astarion’s face hovering over yours to be the reason. Fangs bared, and ready to bite. Your eyes go wide and you let out a small gasp, hands moving up in a gesture akin to clawing at yourself. 

The elf realizes that you’re awake now and he curses. Moving away as you scramble upright just like you did all those nights ago. The look of genuine fear at the prospect of being bitten is apparent on your face, and he feels almost guilty to be greeted with it.

“Please, I wasn’t going to hurt you— I just needed, well, blood.” He says it in a panic. Worried that you might run off, losing his only sure chance, and possibly enraging the rest of the camp.

In this moment, you realized the error in your ways. Astarion had been hunting nearly every other night in the same area. And if you were progressing through the events like how the game did, he couldn’t have had the time nor energy to venture too far after feeding from most of the creatures in the vicinity.

‘The exsanguinated boar…’ You remember.

“You’ve been feeding on animals for the past few nights, haven’t you?”

“It seems like word got around then.” Although unknowingly, he’s referencing what Wyll delivered to you earlier in the night.

“I’m not some monster, I feed on boars, deer, kobolds– whatever I can get. I’m just too slow right now. And with the damned excursion,” He stops himself, complaining is only doing worse for his condition.

“It’s not enough. I feel so…weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” You’re conflicted. You had no problem offering yourself as your character for him to feed on, but even witnessing that through a disconnected screen was enough to make you feel uncomfortable imagining it. You care about him, want to give him what he deserves, but this…

What’s more is that you know what he’s saying is necessary, not at all overstating how dire his need to satiate his hunger is, making it all the more difficult.

He needs to convince you, if he wants to continue on, that is. Without the presence of the illithid, he resorts to more practical means of doing so. Similar to what he did to many.

Noticing the slight tremor of your hands, he takes the chance to slowly kneel down on your bedroll. Closing the distance between you. He takes your hand, now rougher from the work you do, and meets your shaken gaze with his dark eyes.

“Please. I only need a taste, I swear.” He had meant to tell you before dinner, had he not felt the eyes of the others on the two of you. This discovery is not lost on you. He needs you specifically. And you realize it's out of convenience because you’re an expendable resource. If you pass, the group can venture on, but he also still needs you alive for whatever reason. He can’t have the others finding out, not until they trust him. 

He needs you to trust him. And this is the only way you can help him in this moment.

With that, you strengthen your resolve. 

“I…I trust you, Astarion. But no more than what you need.” A dangerous bet, but you hope it would be worth it.

“Really? I–”

 “Can I trust you on that?” The shock on his face fades, and he agrees.

“Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?” You lay down, preparing yourself to faint during the process and allowing your blood to flow throughout your body. He observes the rapid movement of your eyes as he drapes himself above you. Your sight flitting from anywhere but him and then returning all the same. No doubt that you fear being at his mercy.

He feels almost sorry that you have to do this for him.

So he graces you with what mercy he can give.

The bite is quick. You would have felt the flesh of your neck parting for him, had he not done so. You feel tears prick at your eyes and start to feel the area from your neck and upwards go cold.

A momentary, sharp pain, that lulls to a chilling numbness in what seems like a matter of seconds.

You feel his body start to grow warmer at your expense and you feel satisfied knowing that you could help him.

When he doesn't stop, you start to worry.

Your breath catches in staccato beats, pulse quickening in tandem. You try to stop him, hands coming up to push or tug, but the heavy sensation that washes over you only permits them to find purchase on his form.

You try to speak, but it seems as if the common tongue does not reach him.

Your mind goes into overdrive, all of a sudden it doesn’t feel like a dream anymore and genuine fear courses through your veins.

You need him to stop, and you try to think of more efficient ways of doing so.

But your mind starts slowing as well. The pain has certainly faded, but the presence of the vampire at your throat reminds you in case you’ve forgotten.

As a last ditch effort, you try to use whatever might appeal to him, to break him out of the trance that he was in from finally replenishing himself. 

It was one of the few Elvish words you recalled.

The effort thankfully makes him pull back in shock, stopping him. Your eyes finally close, thankful for the reprieve you're finally granted. You hear a distant, “thank you,” and a more distant “shit” before rest takes over.

You worry about waking up tomorrow.

But for now, you’re thankful that Astarion will be able to fight well.

For himself and for everyone else’s sake.

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Thank you to @rey26, @shyminnie07, @lynnloveshobi, @iggee-rose, @automnepoet, @tiannamortis, @aoirohi, @sarkara211, @jane-3043, @h3110-dar1in9, @h3ll0k1ttyl0ver333, @mimziethealien, @squichymochi, @sharabay, @furblrwurblr, @dork-of-the-universe, @thedevilssinner, @fuckalrighty, @queenofthespacesquids, @perseny, @goldenplutus, @h4nluv, @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer, and @auszimbo for asking to be tagged!!

[pup-pee]

I LVOE I LOVE I LVOE I LOVE I LOVE OMGOMGOWMGKLDS LGJYTMS I TYU TYSMMMM!!!!!! FKLAHSKJFHAKJFHW AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AKLSHFKJAHFKJAHGWKLJFWH

First official post for the new blog, starting strong with a Wally and an au version of Wally lol the au belongs to Jay @pup-pee he showed me this au and like,,,,, stares,,,, got obsessed too like fdssbfjdhfjsdk Nirvana au my beloved

also kyle and him fighting for the same damn spot, but it a good one lol

[meanbossart]

Hey! I was thinking of trying to write something for you about DU Drow but after a trying to gather stuff about him via your page I’m struggling to get something substantial for his personality- like I get it mostly (I think?) but it’s hard to put into words (which makes it easier for me) so if it’s not too much to ask; how would you explain DU Drows personality and maybe some of his values? - if you don’t mind! I love your art BTW!

Man, this is a tough ask and I MADE the guy. The fic is definitely the best place to see his personality in action, but it is also 20 chapters long so far - and I'm a fairly reasonable man.

Before I get to any descriptions, there's two important things to note: A) Overwhelmingly, his looks do not match his demeanor. and B) DU drow is extremely hedonistic in practice. He might claim to have certain beliefs or standards but hardly ever practices them.

Anyways, I present to you: The guy, more-or-less summarized to the best of my abilities.

BEHAVIOR: Purposefully standoffish. He wants to be noticed, but he does not want to be bothered. He's a little bit stiff with his body language and mostly makes use of head/neck gestures to assert his sentences and signal his level of interest. On that note, me makes it extremely obvious for the socially-versed individual to tell what he thinks of them - he hardly ever tries to hide if he's disinterested, annoyed, or having a laugh at your expense. He expresses emotion through his face a normal amount, but his default look is eerily bland, and subtle emotions might go unnoticed because of his eye-color and thin brows.

As it is with most people, the more uncomfortable he is with a situation the more stiff and inexpressive he becomes, and vice versa.

SPEECH: DU drow is very much well spoken, and simultaneously very blunt. He abides by most conversational formalities (definitely more formal than you would assume him to be) and basic etiquette. He will greet you and he will say please and thank you even if clearly not meaning it or feeling like you're unworthy of the gesture. Sometimes, he does it just to be patronizing.

With all of that in mind, he has a tendency to use violent turns of phrase and analogies to express himself, this applies to both negative and positive feelings. That being said he's aware of social norma and knows full well when things are or aren't appropriate, even if sometimes he chooses to ignore that and be weird anyway - usually with the purpose of intimidation.

He is the most earnest and sincere with very close friends (quite literally only Astarion and Shadowheart) and rather curt with everyone else unless you catch him in a particularly good mood. He's a little chummier with dwarves and duergar (he finds them amusing and fun to hang out with) and reserves a slight bit more tenderness and kindness for children and mothers, especially if they're elves. He's also fond of animals. He is dismissive of gnomes, goblins, bugbears, half/full orcs and hobgoblins. He despises githyanki and drow. He treats humans fairly respectfully but thinks they are a far lesser race than pretty much all others.

He has a very dark/offensive sense of humor and a tendency to make well crafted, but cruel jokes or quips about sensitive topics. This goes for everybody, including people he's on good terms with.

VALUES: Here's where things get tricky. DU drow is both a hypocrite and a unreliable narrator of his own story, not to mention deeply unfamiliar with his own inner-workings and feelings. Politically, he would be the guy who doesn't vote, doesn't want to pay taxes and dreams of living off the grid, who thinks everybody should pull themselves up by the bootstraps and that it's a dog-eats-dog world. He hates systems of government, authority figures, hierarchical structures and archaic customs. He believes it would a chaotic but functional world if people governed themselves.

In practice, he doesn't stand for anything and gladly overlooks injustices and things that don't align with his supposed values as long as they favor him, or just don't get in his way, and easily makes exceptions for things on a whim. He's indifferent to slavery; unless it's Astarion's. - He thinks humans are a worthless pet-race, except for his dearest and nearest friend, the half-elf Shadowheart. He thinks Half-orcs are intellectually inferior, but he will gladly be chummy with them if they amuse him and make for good-company during a night-out.

INNER WORLD AND INTIMACY: DU drow is extremely unfamiliar with his own emotions and very often comes up empty when he has to justify or explain anything that is based on feeling, while simultaneously operating on impulse and instinct for the vast majority of the time. He is subject to fear, resentment, and insecurity as much as anyone else, but carries a deep shame in acknowledging his own vulnerability at all. He is very intense when it comes to love, however, and shows no reluctance in expressing it through his words and actions towards the people he cares about. He does care for the levels of comfort of those dearest to him though, and doesn't bombard them with it unless the moment is right, or if overwhelmed into doing so. The same applies to physical affection - he's extremely comfortable with it, but cares deeply for respecting the boundaries of his loved ones. When it comes to strangers, he only touches them outside of combat if there is some kind of power-game at play.

A couple of other things that might be of note:

-He likes creature comforts, but is also fine with going without them and won't ever complain about having to live, sleep, or survive in less-than-ideal circumstances as long as he feels in control of the situation. -He can be enticed by valuables and gold because they make the immediate future easier, but he doesn't seek a life of vast riches. -He is not an alcoholic but probably has a binge-drinking problem. -While he is fond and respectful of animals, he has no issues killing them if the situation calls for it. -He pretty much always believes himself to be the most impressive person in the room. -He is not a vain man, but very much likes the way that he looks and to have it be acknowledged by his partner. -He believes faith, religion, and gods to be a waste of time.

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

Mercenaries finding random kid in the base. Who will punt the child and who will take care of it

Oh boy.

The TF2 Mercs finding a random little toddler in the base

Warnings: Thankfully none?

Scout:

- Oh god oh fuck oh shit. Stiffens up when a random fucking toddler runs by him in the hallway. He was just on his way to grab some more energy drinks from the fridge. Who let this little shit into a war zone?! Scout’s brotherly instincts kick in pretty damn quick and runs to grab the child before they could get into any artillery.

- Talks to a child how he’d talk to a normal adult. Just with less cursing and petty condescension. “The heck you doin’ here?” etc.. While the toddler completely ignores him. Bounces the little thing up and down a little. Scout’s actually had decent socialization with kids before due to his huge family.

- Scout doesn’t realize how comforting he is to a young developing mind. He’d make a great father and adamantly denies it. Partly due to his own father’s… untimely disappearance let’s just say. The other mercs are kinda floored how someone as annoying and troublesome as Scout has even the slightest amount of paternal instincts. Especially Spy. Hmm, for some reason he looks completely destroyed and devastated.

- Scout rolls a baseball on the ground with the kid and teases them lightly while Miss Pauling — stressed out of her mind — tries to find resources for this situation and figure out how a child of all things managed to end up in the middle of a battlefield. Let’s just pretend Spy isn’t standing there with his head in his hand. Realizing the consequences of his own past actions with utter depression written all over his outward body language.

————————————————————————

Soldier:

- DO NOT LET A CHILD NEAR SOLDIER. NEVER. DO NOT FUCKING DO IT.

- Are you insane? Are the parents insane? Is everyone in the world fucking insane? Soldier is practically an oversized toddler. He’d immediately make friends upon finding the child and give them a shitty nickname related to war in some way. Like “Captain diapers” or “Lieutenant Titsucker.” Now everyone else has to suffer soldier insisting the baby is his now.

- Tries to teach the child how to shoot a gun. Does not blow over well with literally all the mercs combined. Tries to read them the art of warfare and Heavy secretly has to switch that book out for a children’s fairytale mid story. Leaving soldier confused as to why the alleged warfare book contained faries and unicorns. “AND THEN MR. UNICORN SAID TO HIS FRIEND THE FAIRY: WHAT LOVELY LOCKS YOU HAVE. DEAR GOD!! THIS MUST BE SOME ADVANCED MILITARY STRATAGEM BEYOND MY UNDERSTANDING! GOD BLESS AMERICA AND ITS OUTSTANDING STEADFAST PROGRESSION!”

- Miss Pauling is absolutely livid when she finds out Soldier gave the baby a buzz cut. How the FUCK is she supposed to explain that to the parents? How the fuck is she supposed to explain that their lost child will come back knowing half the entire history of WWI now and knows how to recite the pledge of allegiance at like two years old?!

—————————————————————————-

Demoman:

- Demoman is initially pretty awkward. Quickly downs like several glasses of water in one sitting because it would obviously be a horrible example if he was drunk in front of a minor. He sits them down and tries to ask questions like where their parents were, and failing to understand the child’s not yet fully developed speech. Demoman suddenly empathizes what people mean when they can’t understand his scottish accent. Well shit. Looks like he has a little goblin in his care for a few hours.

- Demoman has a headache now. Surprisingly not from the child’s excited screeching and playing but the previously mentioned alcohol he had to manage with water. “Aye.. Quiet down a bit there..” He says flatly. Miserably holding his head while the child bounces around with endless energy. Maybe babysitting while recovering from intoxication wasn’t the best idea. He gave the kid some empty bomb shells to play with. Even bothered to draw faces on them to humor the kid.

- The child holds one of the shells up to his face “This is bob! Say hi!” they exclaim. Demoman stares at bob tiredly. Taking the shell into two fingers. “Guess you could say bob is the bomb.” The kid manages to stutter out. Which then immediately snaps demoman out of his exhaustion for a split second and causes him to choke on the water laughing his ass off. The kid’s laughing too. Overall the least insane experience the poor kid could have in the team’s base.

———————————————————————

Engineer:

- A small baby is in the intel room, trying to reach the briefcase. Naturally, the sound of the intelligence shifting in the other room would catch Engineer’s ears faster than anyone else’s. Especially considering the stats on his PDA show something bumped against one of his sentries on its way in.

- He enters the room pretty slowly. He knew whatever it was, it wasn’t a threat. Nothing that could bap his sentry with the force of a feather would be strong enough to fend him off. Let alone the patrolling sentry — which should have activated and began shooting by now. A blank, emotionless expression on his face as always, Engineer’s eyes trailed to the level three sentry. Which kept idly spinning from side to side and beeping passively. Completely ignoring the… Little child near the intel desk?!

- Engineer grinned, put his wrench on his shoulder and went over, sliding the briefcase away from the little one. “Oop! You don’t wanna get your grubby little paws on that thing, pardner. That there is for the adults, ya got that?” He said in a lighter tone. Very much unlike his usual rasp and frankly unintentionally scary deep voice. He didn’t care that the poor thing started whining. Dell reached down and ruffled the child’s hair. “Now, now. I know it’s disappointing.”

- Not even when the child hugged his legs and called him dada, not even when Miss Pauling asked to watch them for a bit. Engineer was like a nonchalant father lion tolerating his cub’s obnoxious little bites. A child could push his buttons to hell and back and Engineer would just sit there like there wasn’t a screaming child on his lap while he read the Tuefort newspaper.

————————————————————————

Heavy:

- If heavy were to be near a child in any capacity, it would make him nervous. His sisters were a different story. They’re family. But wild encounters with the beasts? What should he do? He doesn’t know them, and frankly he hates the idea of having kids. They’re way too much work, money, and his inner child wasn’t healed enough to take on another one. In a weird sort of way he’d be taking care of two.

- as he stares blankly at the little devil in front of him, the one he found trying to touch Sasha, he contemplated throwing them into the stratosphere like a baseball. His strong disliking for children didn’t come from a place of genuine malice however. He was envious that they still had youth and time to pursue everything they ever wanted. Heavy wanted to do many things in his lifetime and he felt that it was ripped from him due to the poverty he lived through.

- He recalled the time he made a child one time during Halloween and decided not to repeat that. He’ll pick up the child and shove it into Pyro’s room.. With a million dollars in the kid’s hand.

——————————————————————-

Pyro:

- Speaking of Pyro, they’re quite similar to Heavy in the sense that their inner child isn’t healed. But Pyro is once again able to destroy everybody’s outlook on them when they are capable of adeptly playing with children without ever hurting them. Especially catering to their personal needs depending on age. Can and will silently warm up a teddy bear in the microwave and hand them a bottle of chocolate milk.

- Pyro is extremely good at this, all things considered. They seem to have a pretty surface level understanding of childhood psychology and the proper ways to enforce a gentle parenting style. Which only adds to the mysterious era of their humanity; surely a faceless monster couldn’t do the things Pyro was doing. They were too calculated, too thoughtful in their actions. It made the other mercs pretty upset to see this display. In a sense, it was border-lining uncanny valley. Nobody could shake the primitive instinct that something was inherently wrong with this. They don’t even ask for help.

- But nothing violent becomes of it. Pyro had successfully eased the child into feeling comfortable the entire time they’re there. Not a single word left their mouth the entire time. They were only staring intently and tilting their head like a curious animal at the child by the time Pauling finally found the child’s parents. Scout jokes that Pyro is simply playing with his own mouse like a cat and has to be backhanded by a very uneasy Heavy.

—————————————————————————

Sniper:

- His parents — whilst nice — had their own individual flaws that prevented them from teaching this area of life. They did not think Sniper would be ever fit to raise a child and thus neglected his want for a small family. To be fair they aren’t too far off. Sniper is an assassin for hire that drives around nomadically and eats crocodiles for dinner. In no way shape or form would that ever be a proper atmosphere for a child to grow. He took their words to heart as always. He never did pursue a child. His father was angry that Sniper even thought of the idea.

- So imagine the guilt upon seeing the little rat bastard who had wandered into the base and was stumbling around the halls. He quickly realized this kid was essentially doomed. He was the wrong person to find this poor thing. The others weren’t any better. Removing his weapons was the very first thing he does, trying his best to conceal his expression. He didn’t want the child to sense his anger and self loathing. (Kids are sorta smart like that.)

- He then…. Throws the child into Pyro’s room.

————————————————————————-

Medic:

- Walks into his medbay with a bunch of folders. Sees a child sitting on one of the hospital beds. Proceeds to freeze in place like a deer in headlights. Has to double take for a moment to make sure he’s not dreaming.

- Proceeds to ignore the child for a bit for some reason. Even when and if other mercs are present and question him, Medic hushes them for some reason. Medic is like…. Fully convinced that child is an enemy spy in disguise. He moves around the room and half-asses a “Ho! Would sure be a shame if somebody stabbed me in the back while I was organizing papers!…. I SAID it would be a SHAME if SOMEBODY STABBED ME IN THE BACK!” (He fully believes this’ll work because Medic’s superiority complex doesn’t stop at Spy. He’s fully confident that he’s smarter than Spy, and Spy is a complete bumbling moron. Like most people to Medic.)

- The child makes a weird child noise, and that’s when he knows something is up. Medic narrows his eyes and marches up to the bed, staring the child maliciously in the face. “You don’t fool me, you know..” He says, gritting his teeth. “Is your kit broken or something? I can fix it for you for free! It’ll cost you an arm and limb though! Ho! Literally.” He adds “It’s quite an unflattering disguise for someone such as yourself!”

- Child stares blankly. Toddler has no clue what’s happening right now.

- Miss Pauling walks in. “Oh! There he is! Sorry for the interruption Medic, we had a child wander into the base—“ she pauses. Seeing Medic holding his ubersaw up to the child’s chin.

- “What do you mean we had a child wander in?” He is dumbfounded, and horrified.

————————————————————————

Spy:

- Spy opens the door to his quarters and makes sure to lock it behind him, always. He has like a million booby traps set up on his door and in his room to ensure nobody goes snooping for his private information.

- He turns around, adjusting his tie. Getting ready for the trauma of the day….. Then he sees a child sitting right in front of him in the hallway. The two of them lock eyes for a moment.

- …….

- Spy cloaks away immediately.

[corruptedmuse]

Here is my new pathfinder character, Havel!

Ancestry: Unbreakable Goblin Background: Hunter Class: Ranger Age: 20 Height: 3' 5"

Havel was born into the goblin tribe of Oir, outside the trading town Svetlana. He soon established himself as the black sheep of the very large family, as he was unusually solitary for a goblin, and rather disinterested in most of their antics. He latched on to the hunter's way of life, and specialized. Over the course of his adolescence, he developed skills to not only hunt any and all types of prey found around the settlement but learned to haggle and sell whatever he could hunt or find. Eventually, most of his tribe left for Absalom for better work (most of them being craftsmen) but he stayed behind. After their departure, he focused on selling his catches to the Almir family, a well-off rather large merchant family, becoming friends with one of the sons around his age, Ninel.

One day while hunting around some ancient ruins, destroyed in some forgotten war, he came across a strange metal container that was recently uncovered by some heavy rain. Breaking it open, a brilliant and beautiful crystal of light was revealed, which was sure to fetch a high price. He grabbed it immediately, put it in his leather bag which sat on his hip and rode back to town. He sold it quickly to the Almirs, spinning a tale of how he nicked it from some cave monster's lair. After the family passed it around admiring how the air around it shimmered with blue light, Ninel fashioned it into a necklace for his youngest sister, Flora.

Havel's life went on normally for only a few days, before he began to feel sick. Sweating and loss of taste turned into vomiting blood and extreme pain, with some of his flesh near his hip becoming clay-like in malleability. Managing to get to the local clerics before completely collapsing, he underwent an extremely intensive healing session for the next week. While unable to stay conscious for long periods of time, he did recall seeing some of the Almir family in the same ward, seemingly being treated for the same disease. Eventually, he was able to fully wake up, finding himself still sick but able to move with the help of a crutch (for his hip and right arm were, as he later found out, irreversibly scarred). One of the clerics, seeing him up, told him that one of the high clerics from Absalom had summoned him to the Almir manor.

Upon arriving, he was shocked to find the place surrounded by onlookers, protected by clerics he didn't recognize, while the whole manor was alight with fire. Confronting the high cleric who stood at the gate, tossing in Havel's belongings into the blaze, the arrogant high cleric proceeded to berate Havel. The crystal he found was not a simple light source but an old power source for some lost thaumic weapon. Since breaking open its containment shell, Havel had unwittingly spread magical contamination to himself, his belongings, and all the Almirs. In fact, many of the Almir family, having lived with the crystal for several days, were far more warped and damaged than he was, with Flora passing away from her sickness.

Completely overwhelmed with shame and guilt, Havel ran off into the surrounding woods, keeping his back to the surviving Almirs. He hid for several days in a fugue state, weak in both mind and body. Sensing easy prey, a young and abandoned wolf came to Hazel, who didn't bother to resist, but decided against consuming what he smelled as sick. This snapped Hazel out of his haze, and with a surprising amount of anger and frustration, pounced on the wolf. The two tussled for a while, before both were exhausted, calling a draw. Upset with the wolf's lack of strength and survival skills, on a whim, Havel decided to hunt for the wolf. Over the course of the next two weeks, the pair grew in health and companionship, and Havel named his new friend Crocket.

After resolving his physical ills (though never able to walk without pain again), Havel returned to his unaddressed guilt. Realizing he could never undo the damage he had done, he committed himself to doing his best to help the Almirs as repentance. Upon his return however, they refused to receive him, and all he could do was plead at their place of residence. Since then, he has focused on sending them any excess money he makes, and when he can, go searching for some cleric or doctor skilled enough to heal the injuries of the Almir family. His search for money and talent has brought him to Otari, where he has been working for the last two weeks.

Starting out introverted, his experiences has only made him more odd as a goblin, reserved and quiet. He now exercises the utmost care when dealing with the unknown, often to his detriment. However, when he is comfortable and relaxed (often when interacting with crocket) his more wry and witty side becomes more visible. He also returns to his old energy when he needs to haggle, selling his catches or buying supplies for himself. While a rather scary wolf, Crocket acts more like a large lab dog, full of juvenile vigour and lack of care with his large body.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Mint Plays Games - Liminal Horror and On The Hill.

It's time for a new year and some new games, and my first game of the year was Liminal Horror, by Goblin Archives!

I do not consider myself an OSR aficionado, but I'm aiming to try and remedy that a little this year, and Liminal Horror has been haunting since I discovered it's existence.

Since the last time I tried to run an OSR game, I've learned that it's often a good idea to get a sense of how these games are meant to be played through using an adventure, so I went on the hunt for a compelling adventure to play through for this one. I settled on the adventure On the Hill, by M. Allen Hall, mostly because it was free, printed nicely, and I saw some good reviews for it!

The Adventure

On the Hill is a remix of the adventure module Horror on the Hill, writing for Basic Dungeons & Dragons. It's a voidcrawl, an iteration on a pointcrawl. There is a map with locations attached to an encounter die to mark each turn of play with a hint of tension and various omens or clues to keep the game interesting. Many Liminal Horror modules are voidcrawls, and On the Hill is easy to read and navigate, with three different maps - one for the GM, and two for the players to discover as they play.

The basic premise is that you are journeying through a state park, looking for a lost hiker while strange creatures of the hill haunt your steps. There's lore woven in throughout the module, and at the beginning is enough information to let the GM know what to expect from the intial NPCs, as well as a reason for why the Hill is as it is. The PC's will uncover clues in a random order, depending on what the GM rolls on the Clues table, as well as what path they decide to travel. I tried to introduce as much as I could, but overall our group paid little attention to it - and we still managed to cobble together a story in our short amount of time.

The Mechanics

The checks for Liminal Horror are very simple: you only roll when you're in danger, and you're rolling a d20 with the hopes of getting a value under your related stat. There are only 3 stats, and they double as your Health over the course of your adventure. You can take physical damage and wounds, which decrease your inventory, and you can also take metaphysical damage, which can inflict you with Fallout.

Fallout is a kind of strange consequence that changes your character, giving them some kind of benefit but also alienating them further and further from normal society. At the end of the game, death might be kinder than what the weird has in store for these characters. The module comes with a d6 table of custom Fallouts, such as a crown of bone that slowly emerges from your skull. Our table had a slight brush with Fallout - since we were just running a one-shot, I introduced a Fallout as soon as a character rolled for one. We still only ended up with two Fallout-related consequences the whole game, although the players who did find themselves changed fully embraced those changes. One of them received eyes as black as night, while the other found himself taking on cracked bark-like skin.

As a horror game, Liminal Horror pulls no punches. My GM-ing style is usually very forgiving, as I personally find it hard to punish my players, but I warned the party that this time, there was no more Mrs. Nice-Rabbit - and while nobody died, one player got pretty close. Another one lost his eyes, and I consider that a personal win, when it comes to ruthlessness. A few times I re-rolled a dice, but that was mostly because I kept rolling the same result, and I wanted to keep things fresh, rather than experience like, 6 cave-ins in a row.

The Drawbacks

One thing that I'm still unsure about when it comes to the OSR is the... lack of rules about certain things. I know that in general, it's expected that the party should allow the GM to make a ruling rather than stick rigidly to a detailed set of rules. That being said, the combat rules reference a stress die, and I'm still not entirely sure whether that's a d20 or a different die, and the wording makes it seem as if the topic is covered earlier in the rule-book - and as far as I can read, it's not. This lead to an awkward pause in play, while I tried to figure out how exactly Stress is supposed to work.

The Final Thoughts

Liminal Horror is compact, with simple character creation that allows you to come back quickly even if you die. Most of the time I found myself relying more on the module than on the game document, simply because of the amount of stuff in the module. Quinn of Quinn's Quest talks about how modules are where it's at in his Mothership review, and this approach certainly made me appreciate how much of a burden modules take off of the GM's shoulders. At the end of 2024, I felt a little run down from constant reading and GM-ing, and this game was a gentle return that made planning much much easier! I also don't think I'd have achieved the same amount of complexity if I had written my own adventure.

I also personally appreciate the Fallout system. It gives you a chance to impose non-physical consequences on your characters without turning the scary parts of the game into a sanity-eroding circus, which is often one of the weakest parts of traditional horror games.

Also, despite the style of play being drastically different from what we usually do, my players enjoyed it. I let them know ahead of time this was a horror game, and horror was what they signed up for. There's also a lot of really neat adventures out there! I'd recommend checking out The Twisted Classics Jam, the Tales From the Void Jam, and the Horror of America's Jam, which is actually going on from October to April!

If you as a group want to dive into some really freaky, horrific scenarios that treat the characters (and players) with respect, even as they're putting them through the meat grinder, then you should check out Liminal Horror.

[flutterby-bog]

Some additional headcanon notes nobody asked for, but this time in an overanalyzed format:

Scars

He's got a few scars on his face and a slightly crooked jaw from when it got broken when Bog was still a teen. The same group of goblins that did this had shattered his mother's horns in an attempt at taking the throne by force. These scars and battle damage are all that remain of those goblins.

Height

It's subtle, but Bog's torso segments can extend and retract due to a vestigial adaptation which insects use for breathing. Since he does not have an insectoid respiratory system this has only ever been used for changing his height for any reason. As demonstrated below:

A tall Bog is a confident Bog. When he's insecure he will shrink (either by hunching or drawing himself inward). The difference changes his height substantially. Even at his shortest, at least while standing upright, Bog still towers over Fairies.

Respiratory System

Bog has a large pair of fairy-like lungs inside his chest cavity, perfect for flying with such a heavily weighted body and belting out extended notes for long periods of time. His chest has additional segments that evolved over several molts to allow for efficient contraction/expansion of said lungs.

Vascular System

Has red blood, and a similar pulse to a Fairy, though the pulse is slower and a little louder. His normal level of blood pressure also sits higher than a fairy's. This leads to occasionally related headaches but otherwise does not seem to affect Bog's health.

Skeletal and Muscular System

Has a fusion of both internal and external skeletal systems throughout his body with exception of his torso, which is primarily exoskeleton, and his head, neck, hands, and feet, which lack exoskeletal plating.

His muscles do exist, but they are mostly on the inside of the exoskeletal parts. They are only visible in exposed areas like the underside of his forearms, where his legs connect to his torso, and his neck.

Along his lower legs and his jaw Bog has spurs of bone that sticks out. For insectoids these spines function as tactile receptors and additional grip. For Bog, these are just sensitive and drive Marianne wild for some reason he can't exactly fathom.

Motor Control

Bog has a lot more voluntary control over his body than a Fairy does. His feet are basically another pair of hands with an extended heel and are only slightly less dexterous than his hands. If he wanted to play the piano with his feet, he could easily... If he ever wanted to learn piano, anyway.

He also has individual control over his wings and various segments of his body, especially the ones that are along his shoulders that look like natural pauldrons. Bog likes to flex those in particular to make himself look more intimidating.

Sight

Bog's able to see more in the violet and UV spectrum than a Fairy can. Also exceptional night vision. Take Marianne's wings for example...

Normal Fairy Vision sees visible light.

Bog's Vision - This is what he was seeing the whole time. Well, at night anyway. When the sun came up he got the UV spectrum on her wings too and well, he was already a goner anyway.

Smell

That big nose of his isn't just for show. He's got a powerful sense of smell, which is why he will habitually breathe through his mouth sometimes or he just would get overwhelmed with the amount of scents nearby. Especially if he has to visit the Fairy Kingdom in Spring. Way too many flowers and perfumes.

Diet

Pretty much the same diet as a fairy except he eats meat in addition to the fruits and plants that a fairy can ingest. Does not enjoy overly sweet flavors like honey as much as Marianne does. Prefers spicy. The exception is tea. He very much enjoys tea.

Insectoid Related Habits/Instincts/Misc

Grooming. He'll dust off his wings frequently by running his arm against them.

Damaged wings. His wings are permanently damaged from being attacked. He will never get new ones.

Molts. He molts far less now but when he was younger he would frequently molt.

Puberty. Did not always have wings. Did not have a cocoon stage but over a period of several molts started growing his wings.

Betrayed emotions. If you know how to read his body language, you can look past the grumpy face. When he's nervous, his wings will pulse in successively. When uncomfortable/embarrassed/anxious he will get very fidgety. When angry, involuntarily rattles (ch-ch-ch-ch noise) his wings and shoulder segments. His expression might look "angry" when he's actually not. Sometimes it's just a mask (unless he's rattling then for peat's sake, Thang, get out of the way! You should know better by now...)

Jumpy. Loud noises/vibrations/quick movements will startle Bog, causing him to involuntarily flinch/jump fairly easily. Beware his fast reflexes, though. Just because you make him jump doesn't mean you got the jump on him.

Goblin Related Habits/Instincts/Misc

Dominant posturing. Goblins in general have a very strict social pecking order. The strongest lead and just because Bog's father was King of the Dark Forest doesn't mean he got the throne by birthright. In the Dark Forest you have to earn the respect of your people. And that means if a goblin wanted to usurp Bog, they could definitely try. It wouldn't end well for them, though.

Oh, somewhat related to the above, but Marianne's sucker punch may have initially ticked him off, because technically that was a challenge. His initial move was going for a big "F-you" with his staff, but you know why he went back a second time? To show off. Because he found it hot.

Protective drive. Goblins are pack creatures and fiercely loyal, and this includes Bog even in a position of leadership. Sure he might smack Thang around because the little moron irritated him, but the moment someone from the outside starts smacking Thang around it's over for them. Bog's little put-put swing on Thang is nothing compared to the heavy golf swing he'll do on the idiot who tries to mess with his goblins. (The mushrooms got the full golf swing but trust, they are fine. Bog knows what will/wont hurt someone.)

Fairy Related Habits/Instincts/Misc

Singing/Music Magic. Fairies have magic that can turn any stick, light source, or noise into music while they are in the vicinity. Bog prefers a different kind of music than most fairies seem to enjoy, but he still possesses this magic nonetheless. Goblins do not usually sing, but they'll play instruments or do some back-up vocals for the fun of it.

Heart on the sleeve. This is a weakness Bog actively goes out of his way to suppress, but he really is a romantic deep down, as most Fairies have a tendency to be. Sure-sure he says he hates love, but then has a soft spot for Dawn's boutonniere gift that he can't quite explain. It's the fairy in you, Bog. It's okay.

Blooming Magic. Bog can touch a fern and make it unfurl, same as Marianne can. He can also make sure venus fly traps get the nutrients they need even if he snaps them shut just to walk on them for absolutely no reason other than showing off for Marianne. The magic fairies use to bloom flowers basically is just giving the plant nutrients it needs and speeding up the blooming process.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Merry whatever

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 25

Prompt: Christmas

Rated: G

CW: none

Tags: Fluff; Getting together; First kiss

Notes: Continued from day 5

Steve is just putting the last of the cookies into the oven - stars and trees and gingerbread men with little vampire teeth - when there’s a cacophony of swears and noise from the roof and a giant letter X crashes into the snow outside the kitchen window. He wipes his hands on a towel, slips into his boots and coat and makes his way outside. 

“Eds? You still alive up there?” 

“Barely!” 

Eddie pops his head over the edge of the roof. He’s wearing the Santa hat again, the one they found in the attic together with the letters and the rest of the decorations. 

“Your roof is a fucking ice rink, Harrington. Veritable death trap up here.” 

“Hey,” Steve sloshes closer, almost trips over a plastic elf protruding from the snowy lawn like a tiny, cheerful goblin in a striped hat. “Don’t whine at me. I told you it was a bad idea, getting the letters up in that weather.” 

“Yeah, yeah, mom!” Eddie snarks. “Now get that thing back up here.” 

“Of course,” Steve rolls his eyes but still tucks the fallen letter under his arm and clambers up the ladder. “No fun if we don’t break both our necks.” 

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Eddie takes the letter from him as soon as he’s within reach, then extends a gloved hand to help him onto the roof. The wool is scratchy against his skin, but Steve still revels in the warmth of it, the firm press of Eddie’s fingers entwining with his. “Didn’t survive the literal apocalypse to be taken down by some holiday decorations. Now help me put this- woah!” 

He slips on the icey roof, teeters dangerously close to the abyss, eyes comically large and arms ruddering in the air for balance. Steve does what he does best and flies into action, bodily lunging himself at him and pulling him against his chest. He goes down on the shingles ass first, Eddie sprawled on top of him. By some Christmas miracle, Steve manages to grab a hold of the X before it can fall a second time. 

Eddie’s breath is warm against his neck, hands clawing into his coat, and oh shit, they’re close. So very close. Much closer than two buddies who just happen to be spending Christmas together should be. 

“You okay?” Steve says over the sound of his own blood roaring in his ears. 

“Peachy,” Eddie pulls back, shoves the Santa hat out of his eyes. His very brown, very pretty eyes that Steve has caught himself thinking about an absurd amount lately. There's a bright pink flush coloring the bridge of his nose - probably from the scare. Or the cold. Yup, the cold, that’ll be it. “Reckon you’ll ever get tired of saving my ass, big boy?” 

“Never.” 

The word is out before Steve can bite it back. And maybe it comes with a little too much force, a little too much conviction. The smile slips off Eddie’s face and he blinks. Gulps. Disentangles himself from Steve and takes the letter from his hand. 

For a few moments, the only sounds are those of the wind on the roof and Eddie’s struggle to put the letter in its proper place. 

“Still feels weird sometimes, doesn’t it?” 

“Huh?” Steve says lamely. 

Eddie chuckles and slots back into space beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder and knee-to-knee. 

“That it’s all just … over like this? That we’re here and get to do all this boring, normal stuff like baking cookies and putting up lights and celebrating Christmas?” 

One of his hands finds Steve’s knee - a light, reassuring touch. 

We’re here.

We’re both here. 

“Dunno,” Steve shrugs. The sky is turning dark and Hawkins is spreading out under them, a sea of twinkling lights slowly coming alive. “I like normal.” 

I wanna do a million normal things with you, for a hundred years. I don’t think I’d ever get tired of it. 

“Yeah,” Eddie hums, a low and content sound that Steve feels in his own body, close as they are. “I'm starting to get the appeal.”

Then, before Steve can say or do anything stupid, he bends down to retrieve something from somewhere by their feet. He reemerges with a toothy grin, a plug and an extension cord. 

“Okayyy, let's get these babies lit up, shall we?” 

Steve turns as the neon lights flicker to life behind them, basking them in their glow and- 

“Oh,” says Eddie. “Whoops.”

The words sparkling down at them, bright and cheerful for all of Loch Nora to behold, read MERRY SMAX. 

The laughing fit hits Steve so hard that, this time, Eddie needs to grab him before he can fall off the roof.

“You asshole,” he wheezes into the leather of his jacket. “You did that on purpose!” 

Eddie gasps through his own laughter, tries to put on a serious face. “What? Stevie, you wound me! What do you take me for? A troublemaker? A fiend with no respect for the honored tradition of this fine, Christian holiday?” 

His eyes are large and round with mock-offense, Santa hat flopping around with the force of his own laughter, face alight with that gorgeous toothy grin of his. He’s ridiculously pretty, so fucking pretty with the lights twinkling all around him and Steve’s brain just sort of short-circuits. Not for long. Just for a second. 

Just long enough to lean in and press his lips to Eddie’s. 

When he pulls back, Eddie isn’t laughing anymore. Instead, he’s staring at him, mouth aghast and eyes wide. 

“Shit,” Steve blurts. “I mean- Sorry, I dunno what that was, I-” 

Something flickers across Eddie’s face, something needy and raw. 

“I’ll show you what the fuck it was,” he growls and pulls Steve back in. 

This time, it takes the blare of the fire alarm from the kitchen to break them apart. 

MERRY SMAX, everybody!!!

Part 3

All my holiday drabbles

[silent-as-the-grave]

Meet You in the Middle

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Astarion/Gale Content Warnings: Chronic pain Length: 2.922 words

Summary: Gale's in pain after a long day of trudging through the Underdark and hides himself away. Astarion isn't having that. They need their wizard in proper working order, after all.

-

Before meeting Gale, Astarion hadn't realized that it was possible for someone to talk so godsdamned much.

The wizard fills the air with chatter day and night, rambling on about theories or academia or even nonsense such as the courtship rituals of the Batiri goblins, barely even pausing to breathe.  He speaks with an infuriatingly arrogant verbosity that often leaves Astarion's thoughts wandering out of pure spite.  Sometimes, Gale even resorts to arguing with himself when his train of thought veers in an unexpected direction, the odd display tugging his features into a faint frown that is almost as amusing to watch as it is ridiculous.

 Hells below, he even jabbers in his sleep.

But as insufferable as the constant racket might be, it seems that time has numbed Astarion's brain to the irritation, like the immunity granted by a trace, persistent influx of poison.  As the tendays wear on, Gale's usual babble fades to an odd, almost soothing undercurrent of sound in the background of Astarion's life.

Of course, that makes it all the more noticeable when silence falls, leaving behind a gaping void.

-

The Underdark is not a place for the faint of heart, filled as it is with a bevy of dangerous flora and fauna that have no qualms in destroying the unwary, but it is also a terrible landscape of unending caverns and tunnels.  A single misstep is all it takes to send a hapless traveler tumbling to their death.

Even the most experienced adventurers would struggle to maintain the stamina required to traverse this craggy, perilous landscape.

"Fucking hells," groans Karlach, her normally gregarious voice muted by weariness as she plants her greataxe and slumps to rest against its pommel.  "I wouldn't've pegged myself as being out of shape, but those cliffs…"

"Aye," Wyll replies, his own shoulders drooping after hours spent climbing deeper and deeper into a lightless abyss.  "I think we've gone far enough today.  Let's set up camp here and see if we can't get some rest before pushing further."

The others chime in to agree with varying amounts of enthusiasm, for which Astarion is secretly grateful.  He's not sure if there's a single place on his body that's not bruised and sore from hours spent climbing, sliding, and tumbling his way down endless slopes of rock.  Even the tough Lae'zel, who generally berates them for any perceived delay, merely grunts and drops her pack to the ground.

"Have you nothing to say about that, Lae'zel?"  Astarion can't help his instinctual desire to poke and prod, though his goading words lack their usual bite.  "No insults about our lack of endurance?  No pithy response at all?  I'm surprised."

"Silence," she growls, her already severe features pinched further by fatigue and likely some lingering pain from an earlier clash with a pair of minotaurs. She reeks of the tantalizing scent of fresh blood, still oozing from where she'd been gored.  "A warrior who is weakened by injury and exhaustion and does not stop to care for his needs is not a warrior at all, but a fool."

Astarion thinks that the little hodgepodge tadpole party he's been stuck with for tendays is chock full of fools, but even he knows when not to poke a dragon too hard.

The vampire holds up his hands in a flamboyant show of surrender and leaves her to encamp, eager to get his own tent in order and find some semblance of rest.  The ground here is solid rock with no good place to drive down tent poles and stakes, so it takes some creativity to get the burgundy and amber canvas hung to his liking, but the privacy it provides is well worth the effort.  Then it's just a matter of opening up his bedroll, scattering a few pillows and some of his increasingly large collection of trinkets around the space, and doing whatever other odd tasks strike his fancy.

It isn't until after he's situated that Astarion realizes how quiet the camp is.

Sure, the others are bumbling around with their usual modicum of mortal noises, and somebody's got a small fire crackling in a makeshift fire ring of rough onyx stone, but Astarion doesn't hear a peep of the wizard's endless chatter.

Strange.

It's not like he's missing.  Somebody had to put that stupid tent of his up (though the flap is already closed), and it doesn't look like Gale bothered to set up his telescope (not that he'd see anything with the damnable thing down here anyway) or unpack the rest of his usual clutter.

Something still seems off, and Astarion doesn't like it.

Astarion stalks around the edge of the camp, his every movement reminiscent of the sleek, calculated grace of a creature instinctually mimicking life while bearing none of its own.  The others seem too drained to pay him much mind, already dragging themselves to their bedrolls for some much-needed rest, so he's not concerned about having an audience when he pauses right outside Gale's flap.

Nothing unusual reaches his sharp hearing, just the familiar thrum of Gale's heartbeat and the near-inaudible whine of the Netherese orb's twisted magic.  The vampire's nostrils instinctively flare; there's no blood scent, at least nothing fresh, though he does pick up the residue of stale coffee and unwashed laundry.

Well, fuck it.  No time like the present.

"Gale, darling, are you dead?"

The only response he gets at first is a shifting of fabric and a muted groan, quickly followed by a sigh.  "Is there something you need, Astarion?" Gale's unusually succinct voice called out, its usual baritone edged in weariness.

"Oh, I am always in need of something, if a certain someone wasn't too straight-laced to have a spot of fun.  But you didn't answer my question."

And with that, Astarion slips beneath the tent flap and invites himself inside.

The wizard's light spell fills the interior of the tent with a pleasant ambient glow, though it's not as bright as it often is when Gale has withdrawn to read for the night.  The muted illumination paints the seated man in stark shadows, leaving him looking unusually haggard as he pins Astarion with a half-hearted glare.  "I assure you that I am still living, breathing, and very much conscious.  There was no need for you to barge into my tent without my permission — I could have been in the middle of dressing or something equally as humiliating, you know."

"Better to ask for forgiveness than permission," the elf sing-songs back, waving his hand dismissively.  "Besides, it's not like I haven't seen it before."

“Astarion.”

"Yes, yes, I know.  Shame on me for saying such scandalous things in the presence of our coy resident wizard."  Setting the teasing aside, the vampire cocks his hip and folds his arms over his chest, surveying Gale more closely.  There's a pinched look to his features and a stiffness to the way he holds himself that Astarion sets off the vampire's internal alarms.  "But there is something wrong with you outside of the usual, isn't there?  Did you get stuck by a minotaur when I wasn't looking?"

Gale merely grumbles, not bothering to reply.

Normally, such a lackluster response would only further encourage Astarion to exasperate one of his companions, but this is Gale, and he and Gale have a thing.  They haven't put a name to it yet, and neither of them really seems to know what to do with it, but it's there.  So Gale will just have to deal with his concern.

Gale, who seems to like having him around even when he's pricklier than a hedgehog.

Gale, whose kindness has begun to smooth out Astarion's sharper edges like an endless torrent flowing over river rock.

Gale, who somehow looks at him and actually sees him.

It's only fair that Astarion be allowed to see him back.

The vampire folds gracefully to the ground beside Gale's bedroll, his smarmy mask slipping out of place before completely falling away.  "If you truly want me to go away, I will," he murmurs, his voice softening.  "Just say the word.  But hypocrisy doesn't look good on you, dear—if you're allowed to badger me into being honest about what I'm feeling, then I sure as hell ought to be able to do the same to you."

There's another sigh from the man next to him, though the sound is touched with wry amusement rather than irritation this time. "Ah, 'tis poetic justice indeed when my own arrogance returns to smite me."  Leaning back into his pile of pillows with a grimace, Gale shrugs.  "There's nothing wrong with me now that I haven't dealt with before, so your concern, while welcome and appreciated, is completely unnecessary.  I swear, it's not anything worth troubling yourself over."

"Let me be the judge of that," Astarion shoots back.  "Now, tell me what's got you so out of sorts, or I'll fetch Shadowheart and let her scowl at you until you fess up."

Gale huffs.

"I mean it."

"Fine, you pest."  Restlessly raking a hand through mussed strands of long brown hair, the wizard finally shrugs.  "It's… well, my knees are simply sore after today's slog.  As I said, nothing to be worried about."

It's no secret that Gale's knees bother him.  He even pokes fun at himself for it on good days, chuckling about his age or previously idle lifestyle causing the creaking sounds they all know so well.

But Astarion can't remember a time when he actually hid away to mollycoddle the damned things.  It's yet another change in their usual routine that sends his suspicions on high alert.  Ruby eyes narrowing, the vampire grabs the edge of Gale's blanket and swiftly yanks it away.

Gale is bare from the waist down (well, outside of his smallclothes), but any teasing that Astarion might normally indulge in dies on his lips as he catches sight of those troublesome knees. The golden-brown skin around the joints is so swollen that the usual bulges and dimples have completely disappeared under patches of blotchy red.  "Darling," Astarion drones out, "I may not be a healer, but even I can see that they don't look particularly well.  Shall I fetch Halsin for you?"

"No!  No.  I don't wish to be a bother."  And that's just the crux of things, isn't it?  Ever eager to be useful to their odd little group, Gale is the first one to step back and put his own needs last.  Like someone else always deserves to be helped before him.

Fucking hells.

"You, my dear, are an endearing, self-sacrificing moron."  Rising to his feet again, Astarion waves off his sputtered reply and jabs a finger toward the wizard.  "Stay right there.  I'll be back in a moment."

He's gone for only a handful of minutes, returning to Gale's tent with a lumpy burlap sack that lands on the ground with a metallic clatter as he settles back at the wizard's side.

By this time, Gale has found his words again, his warm eyes filling with curiosity and a bit of understandable uncertainty.  They all know that Astarion really isn't the type to go around playing nursemaid.  "What are you doing?"

"Taking care of you, since you obviously can't be bothered to do so yourself."  There are more words hovering on his tongue, words instinctively meant to cut and rend.  You're no use to us in this condition.  Do you really intend to just lay in your tent like a worthless sack of shit?  If you can't be bothered to take care of yourself, maybe we should replace you with someone who can pull their weight.

But Astarion knows from experience what will happen if he utters such words, and he no longer craves the sight of the utter devastation they leave in their wake.

Because somewhere along the way, he's begun to care.

Ugh.

Shuffling through some bottles and a few bundles wrapped in cloth, the vampire finally finds what he's looking for in the bag.  He eventually presses a tin cup filled with water and a handful of what looks like wood shavings into Gale's hands.  It looks odd, sure, but Halsin promised that it would help.  "Heat this, then drink it."

Maybe he's in too much pain to argue.  Or maybe he's stunned by Astarion's no-nonsense attitude.  Whatever the reasoning behind it, Gale quietly calls a sphere of flame to his palm and heats the water until it starts to steam.  "Hm.  Smells of wintergreen.  Tastes of…" he dips a pinky into the water and brings it to his lips for a sample, grimacing at the flavor, "...bitterness and something sour.  Willow bark, I take it?"

Astarion simply makes a validating noise, already digging around in the sack again.  If Gale knows what it is, and presumably what it does, why can't he be bothered to fetch some himself?

‘I don’t wish to be a bother.’

It's hard not to see the similarities between the two of them in this situation.  Astarion remembers how hard he fought to prove his worth to the others in the beginning so they wouldn't kick him from the group.  How he still catches himself viewing his body and deeds as commodities rather than a person with value solely because he exists.  He recalls burying a ridiculous amount of pain and trauma as deep as he could so the others wouldn't view him as weak.

Deep down, he's used to being disposable.  And the more he gets to know the wizard, the more he realizes that, at least in some ways, Gale is too.

Gale continues to watch Astarion with unusual silence as the vampire pulls out a wad of the fabric strips Halsin typically keeps on hand for bandages.  He says nothing when Astarion starts wrapping the fabric tightly around his swollen knees, not even when a necessary shift in the joint's position leaves him biting back a groan.  He remains quiet while the elf stuffs a couple of cushions under his shins, and even when Astarion dumps a small sack of dried grains across his knees.

Yeah, that last thing is weird.  Halsin better not be fucking with him.

"Now hit this with a cold spell," Astarion says, repeating Halsin's instruction with more confidence than he feels while he taps at the newest addition to the pile.  “But carefully.  I really don't want to have to explain to the healers that you froze the bloody things off."

Spreading fingers stained in faded shades of blue ink, Gale mutters "glacies" and watches a layer of ice spread across the coarse fabric.  He doesn't say anything more, but the relief brought by the makeshift cold compress is clearly written across his face as though penned by an enchanted quill.

"There," the vampire mutters.  His self-appointed tasks complete, Astarion finds the tent sliding into an uncertain sort of stillness.  He's not sure what to say now, and Gale doesn't seem to be able to look at him.

Gods above and below.  Why does this have to be so difficult?

"You didn't have to–"

"Why are you such a–"

The sound of their overlapping voices ceases almost as quickly as it began, and they're left staring awkwardly at one another.

Astarion watches Gale for another moment, noting the way the wizard's shoulders slowly relax and how the guarded look in his eyes begins to ease. It's enough to leave him with an odd sense of satisfaction in the aftermath of his fussing. "How's that feel?"

"Better," Gale admits with some reluctance.

"And what do good little wizards say when someone pushes past their pigheaded determination to suffer in silence and helps them feel better?"

"...You are intolerable.  But regardless—thank you, Astarion."

"You're welcome," Astarion says quietly, the usual snark in his voice absent. "Just… look, I know I'm the last person who should be saying this, but you're not alone here.  There are people around you who care about you, who are willing to help you, if you'd just stop being an absolute muppet and let them."

"You're quite correct," Gale replies with a faint chuckle, raising a finger to wag in playful reproach.  "You'd do well to follow your own advice, my friend.  Pots and kettles and all that."

Groaning, Astarion lobs a rude gesture in the wizard's direction.  He knows perfectly well that Gale isn't wrong, but that doesn't mean he needs a reminder of his duplicity.  "Shut up and finish your sawdust tea, you daft turnip.  Halsin's promised to whip up a salve to help with the pain, but for now, I expect you to sit here and get some rest.  We need our wizard in proper working order, do you hear?"

The wizard's lips quirk upward just the slightest bit before he nods and leans back into his cushions, tea in hand.

This time, Astarion is the one to eradicate the silence that lingers, grabbing a book and regaling the other man with a dramatic reading of an absolutely atrocious bodice-ripper they'd probably found in an abandoned cart.  He's not particularly good at voicing the characters, but he more than makes up for it with flashy movements and an embarrassingly loud recitation of the spicier bits.

His ridiculous performance is enough to send Gale into fits of laughter and eventually draw the ire of their tired companions, but Astarion doesn't mind. There's a comfort to be found in all that chatter, isn't there?

Perhaps it's his turn to fill the void for Gale, instead.

-

AO3

[spewagepipe]

Plumbing the Depths: Is low-level D&D meant to be this brutal?

The short answer to reddit user DisgruntledVulpes688's title question is "no", because as they reveal in the replies, there are some exceptional circumstances that are far from the D&D standard. But that's really just context for the part I want to discuss, which is this reply from Mac4491:

Even when I want to challenge veteran players I pull my punches at low level when required. The Goblin rolled a nat 20 and did 12 damage to the Wizard with 6hp? No...he didn't.

Mac4491 didn't ask for advice, but their reply exposes the nature of the underlying issue: low-level D&D really is brutal, in a way that disagrees with the creative goals of many people who play it. If you've ever fudged a roll to save a level one character before, then this post is for you.

In any game of skill (including games like D&D and similar RPGs that are often a mixture of skill and chance), the more that someone plays the game, the more they tend to develop their skill at that game. As a player's mastery grows, challenges that were "Just Barely Manageable" at first will gradually become trivial and even tedious for them.

To compensate for this, designing a game normally involves creating what's called a "difficulty curve"; a process of increasing the difficulty to match the player's mastery so that they continue to experience an engaging challenge. The problem is that D&D, et al., have an inverted difficulty curve, which does the exact opposite.

At first level, 5E D&D characters are extremely fragile. Survival depends on both a healthy amount of luck and on your own wits and strategies – skills that, if you are trying the game for the first time, you don't yet possess. The preferred environment for learning is one in which you are able to experiment and make mistakes without suffering serious consequences. That environment does exist in D&D... but only at the higher levels.

If you manage to survive (using the skills you never had the chance to learn), then you eventually acquire a disproportionately large hit point pool relative to enemy damage, plus various other protective abilities. If you've developed some real-life mastery of the game system at the same time, then this allows you to trivialize much of the ostensibly "level-appropriate" opposition – the game has gone straight from "oppressive" to "tedious".

My impression is that the overwhelming majority of people who play D&D would prefer a game with a more traditional difficulty curve: one that is easy at first, and then becomes more challenging after they've learned the ropes, but the rules don't support that.

Mac4491's fix is to replace D&D with Captain May I?, which I generally think is a bad plan.

My fix would be to replace D&D with an RPG that doesn't have the inverse difficulty curve – perhaps Apocalypse World.

But if you're married to D&D, maybe try this house rule out: every character starts with 10 Hit Dice (and the corresponding total HP), but they never gain any more than that. Tons of health at first – but the margin for error shrinks as they level up and face deadlier monsters.

[lunastrophe]

Drow Lore 🕷️ Dangerous Merchants

Drow merchants are often not who they seem to be. Some of them are more or less independent information brokers, selling not only goods, but also knowledge to those who can pay for it. Some others secretly work for noble drow houses, occasionally serving as their spies, agents or assassins.

Normally, the drow merchants' first and foremost priority is to ensure the prosperity of their business, but they are often fine with taking an additional assignment now and then - for a fee, of course, or in exchange for other benefits.

In the Icewind Dale series we can meet a great example of a prosperous drow merchant who is much more powerful than he seems to be at first glance - Nym.

🕷️ Polite Drow Merchant - Nym can be found in the hidden svirfneblin village in the Lower Dorn's Deep and after being approached, he greets the player characters in drow language:

"Mallan uss, dis malli usstan tal tanas talthalra. Usstan zha Nym."

This line contains some drow words from canon sources and some others that seem to be distorted - but it can probably be translated as: Honoured one, you honour me with this meeting. I am Nym.

Nym is always exceptionally polite while talking to adventurers, referring to them as "honored customers" - however, soon it becomes clear that under this veneer of politeness and almost-friendliness, there is a cold, cunning and manipulative mind.

🕷️ Profit And Self Above All Else - when the player character points out that it is strange to see a dark elf in a village of deep gnomes, since svirfneblin typically hate drow, Nym replies casually:

"Dire need overcomes simple hatred in periods of duress. I am a businessman. Petty racial differences are irrelevant in my dealings. The deep gnomes have gems. I have goods. It's an excellent relationship. Most profitable."

Since svirfneblin from Lower Dorn's Deep are in deplorable situation, doing business with them - or maybe rather taking advantage of their misfortune and lack of other options - must be "most profitable" indeed.

Nym also tries to take advantage of the visiting adventurers: he buys even quite valuable items cheaply, but his prices are high; he offers special services (enchanting a shield), but demands an outrageous amount of gold as a payment; he is also a slippery negotiator - if you are not careful, you may end up paying him way too much for a simple dagger +2.

But as it turns out, in the past Nym was doing much worse things for a profit.

🕷️ Skilled Thief - the player character can ask Nym about his profession, commenting that being an Underdark merchant sounds like a possibly dangerous and short career. Nym replies calmly that for many, it is, but then states:

"However, I have been in this trade for over four hundred years. I have seen my way into and out of places that no other dark elf has ever seen. You'd be surprised how powerful a single merchant can be."

He is clearly proud of his accomplishments and cannot resist boasting a bit:

"I have seen many things, been many places. The gem mines of Thay aren't quite as frightening as some might lead you to believe. The depths of the Moonsea aren't filled with undead. Oh, and the treasury of Dorn's Deep wasn't very secure even when it was inhabited by the dwarves."

Why is the information about the treasury of Dorn's Deep so important?

🕷️ Nym's Stratagem - sometime after 900 DR, the elves from the fortress known as Hand of the Seldarine and the dwarves from Dorn's Deep formed an alliance and together they created many powerful artifacts. At some point, though, many of those artifacts mysteriously vanished from the treasury and inexplicably fell into the hands of enemies - orcs and goblins. The elves accused the dwarves for secretly supplying the orcs and ultimately, the alliance was severed. The war that came after destroyed both nations.

The vanishing of artifacts was apparently Nym's doing:

"The darthiir [elven] and dwarven artifacts produced by the so-called "Time of Cooperation" were too valuable to resist. Selling the artifacts to the goblinoid armies was the best business decision I ever made. It had so many angles to play. The stupid goblins went bankrupt just to buy artifacts that they couldn't use properly. The dwarves who were threatening to attack some drow outposts were implicated, and the darthiir slit their own throats when they decided to wage war against the goblins and dwarves. Silly elves."

🕷️ Drow Cause - Nym's words about "dwarves threatening to attack some drow outposts" suggest that he was acting not only for his own benefit, but also for the benefit of some local drow community - likely Rilauven, drow city located below the caverns of Lower Dorn's Deep.

Was Nym supported, or maybe even employed and sponsored by Rilauvenian drow? Or was he acting independently - and making the entire drow city owing him a debt was only a side consequence of his plan?

It is not really known - but when we meet Nym several decades later during the events of Icewind Dale II, he seems to be on good terms with Rilauvenian leaders like Malavon Despana and he even works for them...

Also, in one of the books that can be found in game, we can find this note:

"It is rumored that a dark elf by the name of 'Nym' was the individual truly responsible for the fall of the Hand. Through magical means he entered the vaults of the dwarves, stole their artifacts, and sold them to the goblinoid armies. He then sat back and watched as the elves and dwarves destroyed their alliance with accusations of guilt.

It is speculated that Nym did this to remove a significant threat to the drow population in the area of the Hand. With the elves and dwarves vanquished, the drow were free to claim their territory as their own with no consequence..."

🕷️ So, to sum things up - beware of the Underdark drow merchants... especially the ones who somehow manage to stay in this dangerous business for centuries.

For more of my drow lore ramblings, feel free to check my pinned post 🕷️

[sinvulkt]

⌚️ The S-Classes That I Raised Prompts ⌚️ — Han Yoojin

🎄For the Fandomtrees event ☃️

⌚️ Yoo Hyujin before regression (during Christmas time, meeting Hyunjae, Song and Yerim, other angsty stuff )

⌚️ Yoohyun decide to give in his instinct and lock up his problematic hyung so he’d finally be safe (before or after regression )

⌚️ “Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep”

⌚️ To survive (to get the time to save his loved ones), Yoojin accept to pass a subversient contract with a Transcendant (and become part of their clan - with the physical transformation it implies. Be evil, give him the tentacles he hate 😈 )

⌚️ Despite Yoojin’s best efforts, everyone dies. Everyone always dies. (And the stacking of power and memories from Last Repayment skill doesn’t help keeping a sane mind ). (Is someone (Hyunjae or Yoohyun ? ) still alive and desperately trying to help-force Yoojin to stay as such as well, or is it an infinite time loop, or just a doomed ending? ~ )

⌚️ Yoojin dies, but manages to survive through becoming a ghost (or a weak goblin thanks to Yoon yoon ). Now he just need to make his younger brother aware of his existence before Yoohyun does something drastic.

⌚️ Yoojin successfully regresses. Only, he isn’t the only one who remembers the past. (Bonus: everyone does. The relationship with his brother won’t be so easily fixed~ and Sung Hyunjae might come back lurking around for his favorite distraction :3 )

🎉 For the Smallfandomfest 🎊

⌚️ Things go wrong. Yoohyun decides to go forward with his plan to ’lock up hyung for his own good’. Now if only Yoojin actually cooperated (but both brothers are equally stubborn).

---

⌚️ Sung Hyunjae kidnaps Yoojin for a nice world-tour trip

(He felt it was his turn to have fun, and it’s not like Yoojin would take those holidays by himself, would he?). A surprising amount of people gives Sung the thumbs up after the brief moment of panic ’Yoojin disappeared’ (Yoojin really should take holiday days). Yoojin does not give the thumb up (he want to rest too, for sure! But not now- there is just- so much to do- and not on a world trip with Seasong guild leader!).

---

⌚️ When dungeons appeared / instead of them, a mark appeared on people.

’H’ for heroes. ’V’ for villains. ’N’ for normal.

(Did Yoojin get N or V?~ Did Yoohyun get V or H?~ :3)

Society rebuilt itself around that. (What they didn’t know, is that those letters are attributed randomly - the tragedy that ensue is a result of people’s own actions, not a predetermined classement)

(Han Yoojin pre-regression as the local supervillain, brother of hero Yoohyun, would be fun)

---

⌚️ A christmas pre-regression

(Do you feel the crushing loneliness slowly twisting my soul ?)

---

⌚️ May the fire burn, everything that remains

And free our soul from, our lingering pain

---

⌚️ “Adults and children are both human. Sadness, happiness, and every other emotion—they feel them the same way. But as one gets older, the things you have to endure and the things you have to take responsability for only increase. When you want to cry, you can't cry, and when you laugh, you can't laugh—not without being aware of the people around you.

— Han Yoojin, The s classes that i raised, chap 216

5 times Han Yoojin wanted to cry/laugh but couldn’t, and 1 time he did.

(Or just whatever his quote inspire you to create)

[thewizardmus]

Peter Parker could totally handle Gotham and a typical Batman patrol but Bruce Wayne could not do a typical Spider-Man patrol in NYC.

Not because Batman couldn't handle Spidey's rouges gallery, he has that in the bag. Fighting Mysterio isn't really any different from Scarecrow and talking down Solomon Grundy and The Hulk is about the same. Same with Sandman and Clayface, Penguin and Kingpin, The Lizard and Man-Bat, etc. Green Goblin might give him a little trouble but that's just cuz Joker normally doesn't have tech like the glider.

The issue is their theming and the way they approach their communities. Batman's entire image revolves around being feared by Gotham's underbelly. He is the night and all that. It's why he wears dark in the pitch black of night and why his body shape is mostly cape. He is a shadow, practically a primordial entity in Gotham.

But Peter's entire thing is being The Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man it's more about making the civilians feel safe and comfortable knowing he's present. The wise cracking jokes and waiting in line at a hot dog cart are just as important to that as actually webbing up thugs and fist fighting The Rhino again. Spider-Man selfies are as important to NYC as the man himself, whether it be actually Peter posing with the latest issue of the Daily Bugle or some guy with a decent costume. Anyone could be Spider-Man, both in the sense of Peter's anonymity and the fact anyone could use his web shooters and also the idea that anyone on the street could do something to help someone to use their own small amount of power.

And while Bruce has his softer moments where he shows how much he cares and empathizes with the people's pain and suffering because he was there he was that boy in the alley all those years ago. Importantly, that's something that Bruce only ever is shown to either the victim's or his own inner circle. It's not something that criminals are allowed to associate with Batman.

Honestly this thought started with the idea of Bruce being disgusted with Peter eating a hot dog cart hot dog cuz he's a rich boy who gets professionally made meals. This isn't meant to be Batman slander I love both of them this is me saying I want to see Peter give Bruce the ultimate aneurysm.

[sasoarts]

Lauandilings, the Laundry Borderlings

CHARACTERISTICS AND BEHAVIORS

The Lauandilings are green and lumpy Borderlings with skin consisting of stitched fabric. Their bodies are never seen, and if the cloth is removed, the Lauandilings will fizzle and dissolve in agony until they're nothing but floral-scented stains on the floor. Each Lauandiling is unique, having different pairs of legs and eyes. They are rarely seen with two heads or trails. These instances are labeled Lauandiling Rex and are twice as large as normal Lauandilings.

They make only gutteral noises and lip smacks, flipping their jaws loosely as if they're sock puppets. Their green Ichor seeps through their mouths when they communicate and are seen oozing out of loose stitches.

The Lauandilings move sluggishly but prefer to stay in place of their generation point. Difficult to spot, they're always seen currled up, making them appear as their mundane counterpart.

Dirty or worn articles of clothing are their diet. Opportunistic, the Lauandilings grab any pieces of clothing, such as socks, and stuff them in their mouths. If full, their bodies gurgle and expand, accumulating new fabric to cover their growing mass.

LOCATIONS AND SIGNS OF ACTIVITY

In corners and overlooked places inside buildings, look for the Lauandilings in places where clothes and fabric are being used or created. In factories, behind clothes stores and donation centers, and in laundromats are locations where this species of Borderling are seen. They're usually active when very few people are around.

Keep an eye behind cabinets and laundry machines for any green residue left by the Lauandilings. These are sure signs that they've visited the area. Take caution when touching the Ichor, as it causes mild irritation and redness of the skin. An artificial floral scent will linger for 24 hours.

Missing articles of socks and dirty cloth are also indicators of Lauandiling activity. Thus, the Borderlings earned the name 'the Sock Goblins.'

INTERACTION AND SAFETY MEASURES

Don't step on any leftover piles of laundry that appear to be breathing. Witnesses who step on the Lauandilings will immediately sink into a vortex of clothing. They will end up in a neverending cavern; its walls are lined with moist, pungent clothing. Unless a Witness has a sharp object, such as a knife, the unfortunate individual is stuck wandering in the labyrinth forever.

To escape from the pocket dimension, look for loose stitches on the walls of the cavern. Cutting through fabric will cause the Lauandilings pain, making ichor flood the cave until you drown. Exposure to large amounts of ichor will dissolve flesh at least 30 minutes, leaving nothing but bleached bones.

[vexwerewolf]

settle an argument for me, i think heatgunning is a viable tactic assuming you have enough heat/turn and a good weapon to followup on an exposed target, buddy of mine says it's virtually always a waste of actions. i'll concede that Last Argument of Kings is an awful followup, but i think heatgunning to expose a target for something like an op-cal unraveler is a viable tactic for a hacker.

I would not personally structure a build around heatgunning, but it is absolutely viable as a secondary tactic if you know what you're doing. If you're running Hacker 1 and Nuclear Cavalier 1 you can dump 4-6 heat on an enemy in a single action that also inflicts Impaired and Slowed. With certain enemy types, this can actually force them to change what actions they take on their turn - if an enemy's weapon causes self-heat, you may render them unable to fire it without overloading.

Your friend may have forgotten that almost all your Invades also inflict conditions. The Goblin gets the best control tool in the game in H0R_OS 1, which can proc Jammed once per enemy per scene and force them to move around a bunch of times. Except for the Chomolungma's System Crusher, you're never just proccing Heat (and System Crusher is incredibly effective specifically for heatgunning so I'm gonna give it a pass).

Also I cannot express how brutal the Exposed status is. Enemies without extra structure are basically dead if they get it; even low damage players will quickly killshot them when every attack deals double damage. Resistance at best only reduces damage to the normal amount, and even the highest Armor enemies simply can't keep up with the average damage output of a player mech.

Last Argument of Kings is not usually the optimal play, but it's one of the few tech attacks that can actually deal damage and is thus a crucial tool if your fireteam doesn't have Smart weaponry while fighting enemies with high Evasion. It also has the unique property of freezing an enemy's heat in place while it does damage calculation instead of doing a stress damage rollover immediately, which allows you to stack truly absurd amounts of burn on an enemy if you've structured your attack correctly.