#terrible copying mechanism

[hey-i-am-trying]

Mine brings Richas and Pac to heaven, the same way Momza does with Lullah and Chayenne. All the other eggos are there, Pac got to hug Rámon again. Chayenne goes and finds Max, Trump, Tilin and Juanaflippa, he is sobbing while apologizing, hugging his younger sibling, they are so much smaller than him, Max tries to call him down and say it is not his fault, it was not his job. Lullah first finds Pomme and Dapper, but she tries not hog them too much, she knows they are anxious to see Richas again. She instead find Sunny, they never managed to build a relationship, but maybe is the clarity of death, maybe it is just because felt right, but hugging Sunny, she knows that is her little sister too. Richas is almost tossed in the ground by Dapper and Pomme. They are cursing each other out, they scream and cry. "You dumbass, you better have kept the promise" In the middle of the rough housing they almost didn't see Em reaching them. "Maninho" She takes his hand in his. "Did you saw us? Did you saw me? I became a star too!" But she is not there just for herself, she keeps holding his hand while dragging him, she knew where they are, it is where she has spending most of her time in heaven

"Hey, Richas", his tia smile at him "Took you longer than I though, pendejo"

[chaotictomtom]

true certified head in hands era im living rn

[n0tamused]

A/N: This is based off of this post I saw on tiktok theorizing that BootHill must've died a brutal death for only his head to remain.

Content: angst, scramble drabble, she/her, female reader, BootHill needs comfort and he gets it, BootHill written prior to his release

“-Hey, hey, BootHill, breathe, my love-” Warm and cautious hands cup the cheeks of her loved one who sat shaking on the very corner of her bed. Hair messy and some fallen in small clumps from the struggle with his artificial body. “Shh, you’re with me.. there’s no one around, just me” she tries to soothe him again, worry rising like a bubble in her throat at her partner’s distress.

BootHill’s eyes flickered between red and gray, jumping around the room but once they were on her, they looked at something past her, through her. Even with half of his human body gone he wasn’t spared of the terrible memories and dreams. Every once in a while they’d come back to haunt him and drag him through all the suffering once again. Like once wasn’t enough. And in his scared stupor he didn’t rise from the bed before tugging his own hair and trashing the bed, even managing to hit her in the pure state of his delirium in attempts to pull off the ropes he felt in his nightmare.

Ragged breaths fan across her hands and she has to call out to him a few more times until she finally gets a response that he’s finally lucid. “Huh-? Huh..what?” He stumbles, hoping to summon strength to feel again, with his hands, Metal wraps itself around her wrist, squeezing then lessening its grip before squeezing again. “It’s okay.. it was just a dream.. See? Just breathe, come on.. do it with me”

Worry is etched deep between her brows and her frown in the dim light of the bedroom, but she manages to calm him down. But with each twitch of his body she regrets the lack of things she could do. She would’ve intertwined their fingers together, would’ve hugged him until he realized he was being held - but what use of it was it when he physically couldn’t feel touch? It was like explaining colors to a blind man. She might as well cry with BootHill.

But she has to stay strong, and patient above all else. She needs to be his rock at this moment. “Come.. let’s rest some more. We can just lay down for now” she leads him to lay down after her, moving his head despite his confused and pained grunt, setting his ear to her chest. Her hands go to his hair and she holds him there, just like that. And she feels his weight fall onto her, no longer resisting.  The thump of her heart draws him in until it becomes the center of his world. He sees darkness before his eyes, but hears the light of the heart kept away from him, safe behind her ribs.

It was an anxious thump, fastened with fear and lack of air, before easing into a smoother rhythm. BootHill didn’t realize he was shedding tears until her gentle fingers brushed over the edge of his eyes, prompting them to close. “ ‘m sorry..” he muttered, swallowing a breath before he nuzzles his head against her chest, shuffling so his artificial body followed the long lost habit of his past self in the form of hugging. Mechanical arms practically trap her under him, and she only hugs his head closer. This is the least she could do..

Hearing him cry into her chest broke her heart, feeling how her shirt became damp,  and hearing him murmuring apologies for every tear that fell tested her strength too. He felt broken and lost, in hatred of the fate he was forced into and the suffering he had to endure, and he couldn’t give up, for that would mean betraying you. He just had to keep moving. 

BootHill can’t betray the only person left that he loves, and that loves him in return. 

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[prokopetz]

Re: your post about genre limitations of D&D

There was like a ton of d20 games back then, from browsing forums it feels like half of genres and IPs got their d20 book printed, and the other half got some homebrew.

Did it carry the genre implications of D&D itself? Was it something subtle or did it straight up feel like reskinned D&D? If yes, is this because the implications are that deep mechanically, or simply because the authors didn't do enough hacking?

The thing you need to understand about the d20 System renaissance is that the overwhelming majority of licensed d20 System games genuinely do not give a shit whether Dungeons & Dragons is a good fit for them or not. Indeed, many were created with the explicit understanding that it isn't, and no intention of trying to address that in any way. The bulk of such adaptations exist for one of two reasons:

The author and/or IP owner wanted to publish a worldbuilding bible for their setting (or, in the case of a television franchise, an episode guide), but getting people to pay money for a worldbuilding bible or episode guide is hard. However, if you take that exact same worldbuilding bible, staple some game mechanics to the side of it, and call it a licensed RPG, nerds will line up to buy it. Most worldbuilding-bibles-pretending-to-be-RPGs use the d20 System because the OGL allows you to copy and paste D&D's rules into your product verbatim, which cuts down on development costs.

A media franchise with an existing tabletop RPG wanted to get a foot in the door with the D&D crowd, so they bashed together a d20 System version of their core rulebook as a marketing gimmick, gambling that some non-zero percentage of D&D players who tried it would be interested enough to check out the non-d20 System game it's adapted from. In this case, the d20 System version doesn't need to be good, or even playable, because its purpose isn't to be played – it just needs to exist.

Hasbro, for their part, encourages all this because it reinforces the popular perception that Dungeons & Dragons can do anything, and that's worth more than the relatively tiny number of players they're likely to poach. The fact that half of them are unplayable copied-and-pasted garbage which exist only for marketing purposes and the other half boil down to logistics-driven dungeon crawling with a thin veneer of the licensed setting painted over it just isn't terribly important.

(To anticipate a variety of inevitable responses, please note that no part of this post remarks on the merits of Dungeons & Dragons as a game; I'm talking about marketing here, not game design.)

[80rosequartz08]

Vivziepop Can't Write POC

TW/CW: Racism, S/A mention

Surprisingly Vivziepop's work actually has more POC characters than I first realized. And all of them are...less then splendid.

Valkyrie

Valkyrie...poor, poor Valkyrie...

Forever cursed to sit in the back, shut up, and only stand up and contribute when her white savior girlfriend either royally screws things up or needs moral support.

I've spoken about my strong feelings on Valkyrie many times before in previous posts so I'll only really give one new shred of criticism I've realized: Making your main POC female cast member a former genocidal murderer who spent supposed years killing her girlfriend's kind is...a choice.

Emily and Sera

My biggest issue with Emily and Sera (especially Emily) is that you can hardly even tell that they're meant to be Black. Their skin is a weird dark grayish brown, their features are stock and bland (both of them lacking proper noses), and their hair is some puzzling mix of straight and poofy.

And the writing of them both is also unimpressive. Emily is a carbon-copy, stock "Bubbly young girl" archetype who never really does much other than sing and move around. She acts more like a piece on a chessboard than a character, simply moving and doing what the scene needs her to do. Sera on the other hand, is a personality-less stick figure who just kind of does things because...the plot requires it. Also, great move Vivzie! Making one of the main villains a Black woman who endorses genocide and has to act like a babysitter/manager to the loud, obnoxious, hate-spewing white guy. How progressive!

Velvette (Kind of?)

I...actually have no real words to say about Velvette. Which sounded like a positive until I realized the reason I had nothing to say about her is because she does nothing. Like, ever.

She just kind of stands around being annoying and ignoring her fellow Vee's whining fits and sex crimes. Jeez, uh...that argument between her and Carmilla was stupid, I guess?

Velvette: She sure is one of the characters of all time!

Valentino

Not even worth mentioning, you already know he's terrible.

Alastor/Husk

Oh dear god, Alastor...

Words fail me at how much of an insane fail both of these characters are. One is a offensive caricature of Voodou that would make Dr. Facilier roll in his grave, who's also somehow whiter than snow despite being half Creloe. And the other is a constantly complaining douche and a hopeless alcoholic, who has a whole song devoted to calling a sex worker a loser for being abused/not having a proper coping mechanism. Oh, AND he's enslaved by the other "Black" guy! HOW PROGRESSIVE 😀

Oh and Carmilla is there too, but I've been awake for too long and also have nothing to say about her :/

[focsle]

I never did a long thing about scrimshaw, so it’s time! At 1 am, apparently.

I think scrimshaw is one of the most fascinating material goods to emerge from the history of the American whaling industry (which is the context I’m discussing here, though of course the artform exists across numerous eras and cultures outside this brief blip of nautical history).

It’s one way to see amatuer art that usually doesn’t often survive in other forms. To see the art project of an ordinary man who was bored and needed something to do with his hands. Others were highly skilled craftsman, creating intricate engravings or mechanically expert tools. The most common scrimshaw was images etched on sperm whale teeth. Sometimes those images came from the maker’s own imagination and sometimes they were copied illustrations. Ships & whaling scenes, women, mythical figures, and patriotic symbols make up the bulk of the visual language in those pieces that survive.

But alongside the teeth were all a manner of carved items: canes, candle holders, pie crimpers, children’s toys, sewing boxes, yarn swifts, corset busks. So much bone fashioned into quiet little homegoods. And it’s that contradiction within scrimshaw that fascinates me. The brutality of the industry, this ivory from an animal that frankly died terribly, that’s then softened into a little domestic item. An object that could have hours to years of work put into it. Some were made to be sold but many were made as gifts. In the long stretches of boredom at sea, in the lull between back-breaking work and life-threatening terror, scrimshaw gives a window into where the minds of these men continually turned. It shows where their hearts were and what they were holding on to over all the years they spent adrift in saltwater and blood and oil. That’s the poetry I see in scrimshaw. Pain and love and longing and creativity and playfulness all bound together in these complicated little pieces that found their way out of the hands of their anonymous makers to preserve a small part of their story.

Some scrimshanders names are known. Frederick Myrick is one of the most well known American whalers, not so much for the scope of his life (of which little is known) but for his scrimshaw. Born in Nantucket in 1808, he first went whaling in 1825 on the Columbus and then again on the Susan 1826-29. In the last few months aboard the Susan, Myrick engraved over 30 sperm whale teeth, all depicting the ship he was on (though there are a handful that depict other vessels). He signed and dated nearly each one. These pieces are often referred to as ‘Susan’s Teeth’ now, and when one comes up at auction it’s not unusual for it to sell for six figures.

Many of the teeth Myrick scrimshawed included an inscribed couplet of his devising: A dark wish for luck that succinctly gets at the violent and unstable heart of American whaling.

“Death to the living, long life to the killers Success to sailor’s wives, and greasy luck to whalers”

Sometimes large scenes were etched on panbones as well.

Moving from scrimshaw on teeth and jawbones, pie crimpers are some of the more common sculptural items. Popular motifs included animals (dogs, snakes, and unicorns/hippocampus are big), body parts (mostly clenched fists or lady’s legs), and geometric designs.

Others were more mechanically complicated, such as automatons and children’s toys with moving parts and gears. Here’s one of a small rocking sailboat, perhaps made for someone’s child or younger sibling.

Sometimes a particular creative fellow created something more eccentric, like this wild writing desk kit fashioned out of a carved panbone and sperm whale teeth.

Another frequently scrimshawed object was a corset busk that would be slid into the front of the garment in order to maintain the posture. A rather private item compared to others. And one with a very on-the-nose message of wearing close to one’s heart the memory of someone who’d be gone for 3-4 years, who might never come home again. On some level, so many of these daily objects whispered ‘forget me not’, ‘think of me while I’m gone’. 

There’s something tender to all the various domestic items that were fashioned on the job so long and far from home, but it’s the yarn swifts that really captivate me. They were one of the most complicated pieces of scrimshaw to make, with over one hundred different pieces that would have to be carved. It could take someone the length of the voyage (2-4 years) to complete a single one. Unlike teeth which were comparatively very quick to make and were frequently intended to be sold, it’s very unlikely that a swift was made with the aim of selling it because of the significant labor that went into it. They were almost certainly all gifts, and very special ones at that. Every time I see one I can just feel the love towards its intended recipient radiating off of it.

Scrimshaw captures a specific snapshot of a moment in time. On a broader scale it’s a surviving reminder of a bloody industry that flared up and winked out, preserved in the form of a long-lost ship and the spout of a long-dead whale inked on a yellowing tooth. But that snapshot also reveals the emotional world of the men who were caught up in such an industry: what they valued, what they thought about, what they missed, and what they wanted to be remembered of them.

[maxphilippa]

i'm genuinely just saying that the ii fandom should try to not put their ships on basic dynamics because when you watch the media itself you realize that they're wayyyy more complex than that, and that the content that gets made off it feels one dimensional and like people don't really get why their dynamic/friendship works at all, or simplify their attributes completely disregarding the other relationships the characters in said ship have.

nickloon works because of suitcase mattering so much to both of them. now this is something that most of the fandom doesn't get because they don't get nickel's character at all and often portray him as an gay asshole, but i've made a lot of analysis on his behaviour, so you can check my posts on him if you're interesed to learn why suitcase is so important to him too. however they're so much more than just "a weird gay thing", they're an story of growth and realizing that you were wrong, how much love they have and how you can learn and change for the better, as someone who went through that same thing and now i have a best friend thanks to that, seeing how people only put them on one dynamic disregarding completely the reason as to WHY they're like that is pretty boring. they work because had so many issues at hand and needed communication in order to work through it. their care towards one person (suitcase) is what made them be so angry at eachother and what ultimately made them become friends as well, but the way they genuinely ended up wanting to be friends and caring so deeply for eachother is what speaks the most. sure, nickel cared about baseball and all, but balloon was ultimately the reason as to why he lets go of the rough attitude, and decides that he does want to fix what he has done, that he wants to become a better person and friend.

lightbrush works as an POST canon ship, not as one that happens on s2, nor should people ignore the fact that paintbrush was often angered/stressed by lightbulb's behaviour for most of the show. it works because ultimately they're both struggling to come to terms with themselves, and lightbulb gets to finally understand why she was messing up so much and genuinely showed care for paintbrush, who was ultimately struggling with themselves, you know, coming out and all that. what people don't get by making their relationship just an "silly random fella x hot headed person" is that they're both so much more than that. lightbulb has depression and her terrible copying mechanisms are what made her suck so much as a team captain, and paintbrush wanted stability and for someone to actually listen to them for once. lightbulb gets to learn that life is much more complicated and that she has to be there for people if she wants genuine connections with others, and she helped paintbrush on such a complicated moment, showing that they can work on an actual friendship post show, and that they do care about eachotther after all.

fantube is so much more complicated and emotional from what the fandom usually portrays. downgrading them to just an "girlboss x malewife" feels like they're not getting their characters at all and also like it's missing the point of their arcs being entwined by still making them act like their s2 pre-ep 14 selfs. both fan and test tube had severe issues with social interaction and grasping on what's real and what not, emotional communication often being their biggest struggle, and constantly got on arguments with others thanks to the fact that they couldn't "fit in". test tube shows to generally struggle understanding people and their feelings, meanwhile fan is more so aware of those, he still struggles with understanding that the game is very real and that he can't keep running away from the fact that change IS very real. they both made eachother grow because fan made test tube aware of feelings, and test tube made fan aware of growing and learning. they're both pretty equal on their own terms and they had bad copying mechanisms through s2 as a whole, except for their elimination of course, where they make amends and start over. they trust eachother and are pretty much partners, whether romantic or not, they are a team. a duo. they're just trying their best after all, and still struggle a lot with feelings at times. but that's why they work it through talking: the thing that they couldn't do at all before.

i really like/enjoy these ships on their own and i kinda hope that the fandom starts to actually get the characters and understand them properly, i would've also talked about silvercandle, but that is a whole can of worms and after iii 18, i have an overall more negative/neutral stance on the fandom perception of them.

this is just a recollection of thoughts, too.

[zedecksiew]

TO PUT AWAY A SWORD

David Blandy + Daniel Locke's post-apocalyptic hopepunk TTRPG ECO MOFOS is back from the printers. Meaning it will soon be in our hands.

Am fairly hyped for it, because I wrote an adventure!

To Put Away A Sword is about the woes of building a home on poisoned earth. The terrible powers that hurtled us to the end of the world continue to bear bitter fruit in your garden.

You are villagers living under the shadow of a fallen giant mecha. Its reactors and warheads leak into your groundwater, poison your goats. What will you do about it? What can you do?

+

Mechanically it is a pointcrawl around your local valley. Not super complex, design-wise; but I was pleased with my gimmick solution for mapping both the adventure's dungeons:

Grab a mecha figure, pose it, place it on the game table; each part of the figure corresponds to a location in the dungeon key. Solves for stuff like relative orientation.

Easy!

+

To Put Away A Sword is me making a mecha adventure.

Disclaimer: I am not a mecha nerd. I am unfamiliar with most of the genre. Anything I know about Gundam I've absorbed by osmosis.

I was mainly into giant robots in childhood. Receiving a Macross figure for my birthday. Pouring over the manual for The Crescent Hawks' Revenge, which my brother left behind:

While I was not much a fan of mecha, I was very much a fan of Evangelion. I spent my middle teens obsessed with it. The biomechanical, pseudo-mystical stuff; the teen angst. I wanted to be Shinji. I thought trauma was so cool.

So cringe. Anyway:

One of the inspirations for To Put Away A Sword is the survivors-rebuilding-a-town-and-planting-rice sequence in Thrice Upon A Time; probably my favourite part of the whole franchise, now.

The joy and difficulties of trying to build your paradise in the weird ruins of the old world:

Yeah, the adventure has a lot of Evangelion in it. There's a Nerv HQ analogue to explore. There's a content warning for child soldiers.

+

The other inspiration for To Put Away A Sword is this piece of box art, an accessory set for Macross's iconic Stonewell Bellcom VF-1 Variable Fighter:

I don't know what this kind of arrange-your-missiles-in-front-of-your-fighter-jet photo is technically called. Hardware porn parade?

You see it often enough. Here's a real-life photo of the Lockheed Martin F35 Joint Strike Fighter:

Fairly or not, in my head I associate mecha with seeing copies of Jane's Defence in airport magazine racks. The genre feels like such a natural way to riff on the hyper-charged corpo-military-industrial complex.

After the brush war ends, and the natural resources extracted, and the ethnic cleansing concluded, and the profits announced, who gets to clean up after a Raytheon missile?

In To Put Away A Sword---you do.

+

Ultimately, as always, I am writing and designing from my lived experiences.

See that? The gas flare from the Hengyuan Refining Company? It is about 200 metres from my living room.

That gas flare surfaces constantly in the stuff I make. As I write this post I am breathing its acrid chemical smell. My nose itches. I was asthmatic as a child; I seriously worry about cancer, nowadays.

At night it lights up the sky like Barad-dur.

The plant obviously and continuously flaunts regulations. We've tried lodging complaints: with its corporate management; with the Department of Environment. Nothing has worked so far.

"A home on poisoned earth" is a visceral fact of my life.

+

To Put Away A Sword is wish-fulfilment, I guess? In the world of the adventure, at least, the forces that are poisoning your home are post-peak oil.

It is nice to imagine a reality where a kind of survival and flourishing is still possible. My partner Sharon and I talk a lot about imagining hope.

Last month she bought this small mecha-looking thing. A wireless camera! She built a little hut for it on our garden wall. It is trained, 24-7, at the gas flare.

Environmental activists we've met say video evidence of emissions is important. We'll see. We imagine it helping.

+

Anyway. David just sent me this photo of my adventure, in print:

Looking good. I hope folks play it and enjoy it.

Preorder ECO MOFOS and its adventure bundle >>>HERE<<<

[mossdaggar]

Unemployed Promo Post

Hey y'all, I'm Moss, a queer game designer who heads Brewist Tabletop Games. Late December, I quit a toxic job environment when my mental health was at its lowest. I fortunately had a big game launch just before I did, but I've now been out of work for 6 weeks (I've had interviews and I've got some hope!) and it has left me in the red. I'd love if you'd check out my games or boost this to people who might. <3 A notable release I've had is HELLWHALERS, a TTRPG of nautical and Christian-religious horror. Play as damned whalers hunting a leviathan whale in a bid for redemption in this token and d6 based game. There's even a metacurrency with its own gambling mechanic! I also have Rel1ct, a GMless eldritch body horror solo or duet TTRPG inspired by things like Annihilation and The Color Out of Space. Play with cards and dice in a journaling game that TTRPG reviewer/designer Sam Leigh called a "TTRPG that will wreck you". There's also my experimental gridless tactical TTRPG that is a love-letter to JRPGs and weird math, Infinite Reverie. It's only $9 right now, but the 2nd edition is coming this year, and it'll just go up in price from here. It's complete and playable in v1, but the layout is /bad/. Pip, the other half of Brewist Tabletop Games, is working on a gorgeous and fantastic redo of the game, and you'll want to pick it up before that price jumps! You can also find a draconic duo of games bundled together, Kn1ght and Dr4kk3n, two games about fighting their own respective terrible dragons, but in two very different ways. Kn1ght is a GMless solo or duo journaling game, the original model rules that Rel1ct was based off. Dr4kk3n is a d4 based dungeoncrawl for 3-4 players and a GM built on Caltrop Core engine, pioneered by designer Titanomachy. Regardless of whether or not you can pick them up, all my games can be found at brewisttabletopgames.itch.io, and as a thanks for looking, I'll be adding a few community copies of each of these games. There are also a smattering of pay-what-you-want and small microgames available on our itch as well.

[queenimmadolla]

Hey, me again! Sorry to bother you but I wondering if I can send a request about my favourite family (but of course remember to take the time you need to write this or completely ignore this request if you don't like it)? I was thinking about the reader coming back home from an afternoon with the other girls and once she comes back, she sees the most adorable scenario she has ever seen. Eddie and the other boys sitting on the tiniest chairs ever, wearing tiaras, make up, fake earrings, playing having tea with Penny and her stuffed animals. Idk, I thought it was cute😅

But Again, feel free to ignore this request if you don't want to write it. Thank you and I hope you have a nice day❤️

this was such a cute request for them and i enjoyed every single second of writing it. i hope i did it justice and i hope you enjoy!

𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐞𝐚 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬

(girl dad!eddie munson x mom!reader/pregnant!reader)

warnings: imagery of men in terrible makeup and mentions of pregnancy (reader is pregnant) more penny, eddie and reader (and baby wayne) adventures here :)

If someone were to have told younger you, you’d be a mom before you were the age of 21, you probably would have punched them in the face, strictly because of the implication and the jinxing. While having a baby was something you entertained after seeing a particularly cute one out in the world or something, you weren’t overly fond of the idea of raising a tiny human with someone or even on your own. You considered yourself much too selfish for that. 

  …However, if someone were to have told you you’d have Eddie Munson’s–one of three local freaks and town urban legend in the making—babies, you probably would have given them the keys to your car and maybe the deed to your parents’ home.

  Your crush on the metal head had a lasting effect on you. When you’d actually begun dating him, falling head over ass in love, being with him was all that mattered to you and it didn’t feel pathetic because it was all he wanted, too. 

  Immediately after graduation came marriage and then Penny, your cute little Oopsie as Eddie referred to her when she was in your tummy. You preferred it over his original nickname for her, which was Creampie, seeing as how he was sure that was how she’d been conceived. You forced him to change it.

  Of course, since you had said baby with another on the way, you had to provide for them. Eddie had already been employed at an autoshop—his skill with the mechanics of a car was probably what led to Penny’s conception, you just couldn’t help yourself when faced with Grease Monkey Eddie—and Eden got you a job with her at her father’s firm as his partner’s receptionist.

  It worked out pretty well, Eden didn’t have a car so you’d pick her up before work since she’d rather jump off her roof than drive with her dad, who was also her boss, then afterwards you’d drive back to the trailer where Eddie and Argyle would be waiting for the two of you (if Argyle wasn’t off, she’d chill with your little family until he came to get her because she didn’t want to go home and you couldn’t blame her).

  Normally, your job wasn’t super stressful, you’d just been exhausted lately, though you didn’t exert yourself (Eddie would never allow it). 

  Today you had felt every agonizing second of the work day, it had been so slow. You’d done all the filing, made all the copies, called all the people, there just hadn’t been as much going on as usual and after you’d managed to make it to lunch time, the last half of your shift was spent staring across the room at Eden, both of you blinking owlishly at each other, staring contests, trying to get paper airplanes to reach the other, anything to stave off the boredom. Suddenly, you couldn’t wait til you could take maternity leave. 

  After work, you’d both practically sprinted to your car, the ride was spent bitching about the work day. The closer you got to your home, the more life you felt began to fill you; energy the work day had sucked away returning to you at the notion of seeing Eddie and Penny.

  If you had known exactly what you’d be walking into, you may have transcended into a higher level of joy.

  You and Eden were still chatting as you shut your car doors, still shedding the weight of the work day. She’d been talking about moving in with Argyle, something she was desperate to do but her parents were still hesitant about when you unlocked the front door, pushing it open for her.

  Eden had walked through the doorway and stopped, causing you to run into her back. 

  “What’s the hold up?” You asked, peering around her shorter frame. The sight made you gasp.

  “Hi, honey!” Eddie greeted you, grin so wide it almost looked like it hurt.

  Eddie, Argyle and Jonathan—always dragged around with Argyle—were crouched in tiny pink plastic chairs (much too small for them to actually allow their weight to rest in, lest they break them) around the small table in the living room, which was cluttered with various kitchen utensils and Penny’s pink tea set. 

  Not an unusual sight, since they always indulge your three year old. What was new was the bright colors adorning their faces.

  Eddie had on bright purple eyeshadow (complete with poorly replicated wings of eyeliner), cheeks powdered with an even brighter pink and lips coated in a deep shade of red lipstick, meticulously applied judging by the precision. Pink clip-on earrings dangled from his lobes and around his waist was one of Penny's pink tutus—stretched to its limit.

  Argyle’s long dark locks were in two high, messy ponytails. His eyes were decorated with a blue eyeshadow (ruined with various marks and stains of mascara), cheeks powdered bright red and lips a coral orange. His tutu was purple and his earrings were red.

  But Jonathan…oh, Jonathan. His eyeshadow was pink, cheeks pink, and lipstick a bright red. Penny was always more gentle with Jonathan, for some reason. His makeup didn’t look as messily applied as the majority of Argyle’s and Eddie’s. Unlike with them, Penny had attempted to draw on eyelashes for him, and he had smatterings of glitter sporadically around his face. Not only did he have one of her pink tutus and green earrings, he also got the privilege of wearing her favorite pair of fairy wings.

  He refused to make eye contact with you, staring into the tiny, plastic tea cup clenched in his hand.

  “Hi, babe. What happened here?” You asked, hand moving to hide your smile, though you were pretty sure it was obvious. Penny—dressed in her pink princess dress and a purple feather boa, pretty little face also covered in makeup with a plastic crown carefully placed on her head to make sure her curls didn’t get tangled in the combs of it (Eddie had to have put it on her)—returned from the hallway closet where her toy box was located, arms full of her stuffed animals, all of which she dropped the moment she saw you.

  “Mommy!” She squealed and you squatted down to allow her to run into your arms as Eden stepped out of the way and disappeared into your room. “LOOK, MOMMY! I made daddy and unca Ahgle and unca Johnny puddy!”

  “Uh huh,” was all you could say without laughing. 

  “We awe having a tea pa’ty.” Penny informed you after she’d unwound her arms from around you, giving your baby bump a gentle pat before she ran back over to scoop up her stuffies. They were placed in the other empty plastic chairs surrounding the table and actually looked like they fit in the tiny seats, unlike the grown men.

  “Do you think I’m pretty, mama?” Eddie asked, batting his eyelashes at you with his red lips pulled into a mischievous smirk. Eddie was no stranger to makeup, you’d done his eyeliner for gigs plenty of times and he could now do it on his own, but that only involved lining his waterline and tightlining, not wings. 

  He and Jonathan had silently stared at themselves in the bedroom mirror, self reflecting on how they got themselves in this position, for longer than either of them would care to admit. But Eddie would do anything for Penny and he knew you would get a crack out of seeing him like this.

  Argyle was too high (it was a perpetual thing at this point, he’d been stuck in a high since back in high school) to care, although he’d wanted his ponytails braided and Penny wouldn’t allow it.

  “I think you’re something,” You offered through your giggles and Eddie chuckled along with you, stopping only when a flash of bright light momentarily lit up the room and blinded him. 

  Eden lowered the Polaroid camera she’d retrieved from your room, plucking the picture that whirled out. 

  She shook it briefly and examined the developing photo with a careful eye before she smirked. 

  “Oh, this is a good one. I gotta make a copy of this for Nance.” 

  Jonathan stood up then, kind of. His butt was still stuck in the tiny chair so it went with him. “Eden, give me the photo.”

  Eden took that as her cue to take another one, cackling as she grabbed the film. 

  Jonathan began to advance. 

  “Eden—I mean it, give me the pictures—EDEN!” He shouted as she bolted out of the front door. He ran (as best as he could with a tiny chair attached to his ass) after her with Argyle following him to play instigator. 

  “Run, baby, run!” Then when he realized he’d be in both pictures as well, “GET HER, JONATHAN!”

  Eddie was howling with laughter, causing Penny to join in even though she hadn’t been paying attention to what was going on. Once he calmed down, he stood up from his chair, pulling the thing off of his hips, he moved it to the side and sat on the carpet, patting the spot between his legs to beckon you over. 

  You set your bag on the counter and went over to join them, settling between his legs as you leaned back into his chest with his encouragement for cuddles. Eddie pressed a kiss to your forehead, no doubt leaving a kiss stain as Penny set a little tea cup on a plastic plate down in front of you.

  “He’we you go, mama.” 

  “Oh, thank you, Penny!” You lifted the teacup by its tiny handle and pretended to take a sip. “That’s very good!”

  “Yes,” she stated, pleased and already distracted with arranging her stuffed animals in their seats.

  “Long day?” Eddie asked, mumbling against the side of your head as he continued to press kisses wherever his lips could reach. He’d clocked the lingering bits of tension and stress on you the moment you’d walked into the trailer, he also swore he had a sixth sense tied to you somehow, because he could always tell when something was wrong. He’d get bouts of anxiety at work and come home to find out you’d had a terrible day, so he’d taken to just calling you when the feeling popped up. 

  He hadn’t been wrong yet.

  “Yeah,” You sighed, turning onto your side as you burrowed further into Eddie and the soft shirt he wore. “It’s better now, though.”

  He hummed as you lifted your head, lips puckered.  With a grin, he closed the small distance, giving you your ‘welcome home’ kiss.

  “Awww!”

  You broke away, the two of you smiling as your attention was drawn to your daughter, who looked shy and had a small smile of her own as she wrung her little hands together.

  “You kissed.” 

  Eddie chuckled, chest shaking against you. 

  “We’ve kissed before, baby.” He pointed out. She’d witnessed you exchange thousands of (appropriate) kisses in front of her but lately she’d been cooing every time Eddie showed you affection. You thought she may like seeing you two love each other like the couples in the cartoons she watched.

  “Yes.” She giggled into her little palms, shoulders rising as she became even more bashful.

  You shook your head in amusement, raising a hand to rest your chin in, thumb absentmindedly stroking over your lower lip. You were surprised to see a shade of red over the skin of your thumb, considering you’d worn a nude shade of lipstick.

  Oh. Eddie’s lipstick. Right.

  Then you got to thinking about it, the gears in your head turning as your eyebrows furrowed. 

  “Eddie?”

  “Yes?” 

  “Where’d you get this makeup?”

  Eddie and Penny exchanged nervous glances and there was a long pause in between your question and his answer, deciding to try to get out of this like his daughter often tried to.

  “Yes.”

  “Eddie, is this my makeup?!”

  “Baby, I have to go pee, can you move real quick?”

  “You’re not getting away, answer the question!”

  Yes. It was your makeup.

[rathayibacter]

KATABASIS IS OUT

the new edition of KATABASIS, my surreal folkpunk tactical afterlife combat game, is out! check it out, it's 50% off for the first week, and free forever if you own a copy of the original edition of KATABASIS. thank you so much to everyone, I'm really excited to show you what I've got!

I've got a lot more I want to add in the future, but for now it contains: -Full character creation rules for making a terrible, cursed spirit -In-depth mechanics for exploration and combat -Two Communities and the deadly Path connecting them -NPCs exploring the world, who may or may not join you on your quest to escape death

screenshots under the cut 🫀

[sharptoothed-gaze]

Feeling a bit sad rn as a Foolish main because I know /why/ Leo is upset. She’s not coping with purgatory, she’s not coping with missing Vegetta, and she’s not coping with feeling like she might lose even more if Pepito leaves her.

Also devastated because Sunny literally did nothing wrong. She has a terrible self esteem and uses money to try and cover that. She’s scared of people hating her and absolutely crumbles the moment she thinks someone does. Sunny didn’t realize what “copying” meant to Leo, she just wanted to seem cool and confident to someone older than her. She couldnt have predicted that her coping mechanism would entirely conflict with Leo’s understanding of the world…

After their first meeting, Foolish found Leo watching a video of Vegetta. She’s said her other dad wouldn’t have liked Sunny, and Foolish couldn’t really argue. He told her he missed Vegetta too,, AND THAT ISNT SUNNY’S FAULT.

Both of these children need to learn better coping mechanisms. It’s not enough for Tubbo to just say Sunny and him can only rely on each other and Foolish only nudging Leo to be kinder. Foolish needs to tell Leo that Sunny didn’t mean any harm and ALSO tell Tubbo about where the conflict is originating.

The parents need to communicate past immediate chaos and thinking this situation is only silly. It is a bit silly, but it’s now impacting Pepito because both girls don’t wanna lose someone they consider family. This is emotional trauma all the way down and the parents are encouraging it, mostly because they hung out with Richas and got desensitized to egg death and harm for the day!

[chaotictomtom]

head in hands

[abbyromanoff]

id like to request beefy g!p natasha x reader nat is a mechanic and has her own garage and has clients and all that. she’s damn good at what she does. she has 2 or 3 other workers, can be random ppl or like tony steve and bucky. reader surprises nat at her garage with some lunch for her and the boys. the boys love her and always welcome her when she comes. reader sees nat finishing up on a car all sweaty and dirty, muscles strongly showing with gray sweatpants on where her bulge looks big. she gets all hot and bothered. nat is excited to see her so they go into her office in the garage and reader sits on her lap and they eat and ends with them having sex in her office. some cute fluff then some dirty smut at the end 😁

Your mechanic

Parings: g!p Natasha Romanoff x reader

Summary: going to see your girlfriend at work was supposed to be a sweet time, until it ended up with you on your knees

This took soooo long because I accidentally deleted the story the first time 😔

Word count: 953

Warnings: smut, blowjobs, boot humping, small bits of fluff, terrible writing, degrading, praising.

No one is permitted to steal, copy or reblog my work as their own!!

Finishing up the five little lunches you headed to your girlfriends shop. You often made her and her coworkers meals, knowing that they probably didn’t eat much throughout the day. You learned to cook for them, wanting to make healthy and delicious lunches that they’d love. The guys appreciated what you did for them, you’d make them food and in return they’d fix your car for free whenever needed. Walking into the dealership you you saw Steve and Bucky working on one car and Nat along with Tony on the other. Nat was under the car, meaning you could see her large bulge through her grey sweatpants. You bit your lip as you remembered all the times she used her long cock to fuck you into oblivion. The three guys rushed over to you and took their own containers, walking over to the large table to eat after sending rushed thank you’s. Nat rolled out from under the car and stood up to walk over to you, stopping to give you a kiss and grab her own chicken sandwich with mashed potato’s, asparagus and a water bottle. Seeing her in her dirty tank top covered in oil turned you on more than it really should’ve. Her biceps were out and you admired them, wanting to reach up and grab onto them. The sweat covering her forehead made you think of her like this in a different setting, a less pg setting. She walked the two of you into her office, telling the guys you both were going to eat in her office. They nodded, not really listening as they were too engrossed in eating. She closed the door behind you two as you sat down on her desk, legs swinging over the metal table. Nat closed the blinds as she went to sit down on her squeaky desk chair. She put her hand on your inner thigh as she ate, occasionally looking you over. You were so turned on with all of her touches, her outfit and all of her teasing, you wanted her to take you right here right now.

Catching you staring she lifted your chin, making you look her in the eyes. “My eyes are up here baby.” She said with that raspy voice of hers. She could see your embarrassed face from being caught making her laugh. You both sat in comfortable silence as you ate. She started talking about her day and the card she was fixing, even if you didn’t understand a thing she said you still listened just as much. You both talked about anything that came to mind and just appreciated being with one another. You still were horny as ever and wanted her, you wanted to suck her off so bad. You decided on trying to tease her to make her want you, getting off the desk to sit on her lap.

Once you were seated you started fanning yourself, acting as if it was hot in there. “God it’s hot in here.” You say as you go to take your shirt off. Nat watches in desire as she goes to grope your chest, feeling herself getting hard as she manhandles the plush skin. You let out exaggerated moans as you rolled your hips, hitting her cock with every movement. This went on for a few minutes, her head rolled back as you continued to grind on her, her touching your tits all over. You got off her lap much to her dismay and went on your knees infront of her. She realized what you were planning on doing and gave you a supporting grip to your head, grasping your hair in her large hands. You cupped the now large bulge, teasing her length under the confinement. Pulling down her pants and boxers you were met with her cock now springing free. Moving forward you licked her tip and jerked off the rest of her.

Nat got tired of your slow licks and urged you to continue, “Come on baby, suck my dick. Swallow my fucking cum.” She pushed you down until you were gagging. You tried to fit as much of her in your mouth as you could, but with her large length it wasn’t easy. You could feel her twitching as your tongue licked every vein and ridge.

Her legs were shaking and she new she was going to burst soon. “Fuck baby, gonna cum! You’ll lick it up all won’t you? Yeah you will, my little slut.” Her degrading words made a wet patch form in your underwear, you used her shoe to help you get off. Grinding your pussy against her work boot, occasionally hitting her leg caused you to moan around her dick, sending vibrations through her. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she exploded in your mouth. Her moans only grew louder when she finished, watching as you sucked up every drop just like she asked of you.

“Shit, you take it so good. Wanna fuck your mouth every second.” Honestly that didn’t sound like a bad idea. You loved sucking her off almost as much as you loved her, most mornings you’d wake her up with head and when she returned home you’d blow her under the kitchen table. She said she loved your mouth more than anything, as much as she loved your pussy your tongue licking her up would always feel better. Once you swallowed all of her cum you leaned back, you thought she was going to offer eating you out or fucking you but she only leaned back and said, “Why don’t you go home and wait on your knees for me. I should be done in an hour.”

[randomwriteronline]

The foundations of the Bionicle, as recorded by Lebori Tarduk of New Atero under the guidance of the Turaga Nui, chosen prophets of the God of Mending:

In the time before time, the Great Beings constructed Mata Nui.

He was born a Spirit, as splendid and perfect as his creators wished; he was born pure thought and light and sound, coursing through plasma and lightning, compressed into shape by gravity and magnetism; and he was born curious, for he could not yet be wise, aching to know all that the Universe beyond him held. But where his mind went he could not follow, as he had no body.

The Great Beings toiled to bring him into the realm of physicality. They assembled bones from stone and ice, and organs from plant and air and water, and hardened flesh from fire and earth and iron. But when Mata Nui entered them he felt each piece with frightening clarity, felt the still body suffocate him the longer its mechanisms remained immoble, and though he worked to keep them active and track their functions and their needs he found himself overwhelmed; and so each body shut down, for perfection struggles when placed within imperfect things.

At last, a solution was found: smaller bodies of flesh and metal were hushered into a form as large as a galaxy, and the Matoran were made, with the Makuta, the Vortixx, the Skakdi, and each of the species that inhabited the copied world within Mata Nui himself, so that they would control what the Great Spirit could not in his stead; and mighty beings were chosen to watch over them, from the Toa to the Barraki to the golden divine brothers, Artakha of the forge and Karzhani of the scalpel; and so Mata Nui at last was complete, to be the savior of Spherus Magna - and so Mata Nui became the Mending God, and began his lonely pilgrimage through the shadows of the universe, carrying along within his body a universe of his own.

That of which he learned, none can know. It is divine knowledge, vast and endless; it is not for little things such as ourselves. Too long it would take for us to catalogue all he'd witnessed, longer still to begin to understand.

We only know, from the records of the world inside his mass, that Makuta Teridax was his brother, though perhaps in power alone; we only know he worked from within the god's innards, very soon, to poison him and take his place. We know he fought and was fought harshly, and succeeded briefly as well; we know his machinations caused Mata Nui to fall - deathly ill first, and into the waters of the reunited moon of Aqua Magna second. We know that Mata Nui died: we know a sacrifice awoke him to dreams, but not to consciousness. We know his body was stolen at last, and he crashed once more onto the Great Barren, where yet again he was given form - by the dunes and the Ignika, Mask of Life, in which his Spirit had been imprisoned.

All is known after this: of the mending of the Great Barren's tribes, under one sign to repell the Skrall; of the mending of Spherus Magna, in which Teridax was defeated, and the people of the Great Spirit returned to the cradle they had never known. This world is one for new legends, though still he is a part of it: and the people of Spherus Magna remember him, now and forevermore, as the God of Mending - a god who mends, a god who is mended.

Terrible was his convalescence, terrible the effects upon his health. No more shall he explore the worlds he once flew past; no more shall his touch pull together a planet torn into three. He could, once, but no longer can he withstand the strain: though he does not regret following his duty through into his destiny despite the misery it brough him, he is too weak now to take on such a burdensome quest.

To this day he sleeps, sick and brittle, within the Mask of Life: his tired soul cannot sustain a physical form. In his sleep he sees us: merciful god that he is, he extends his spirit slowly, to help us as best as he can in his limited strength.

To this day he rests, and to this day to rest is the most profound way to honor him.

based on these tags by @legend-as-old-as-time on this post

[rdr2stories]

"I will make a gunslinger out of you" a Jovier fanfiction.

A short fanfiction about Javier's early life in the gang.

“How… Are… You?” John spoke slowly, carefully pronouncing every letter of the words as Javier sat before him with a deepening frown on his face before unsuccessfully trying to mimic the off way that the English words were pushed out of John’s throat.

John snorted at the other man’s poor pronunciation of such a simple sentence. “Damn, you really do suck at this.”

Javier snickered as he grabbed another log from the pile and threw it into the fire he sat on the ground next to that kept the two of them warm in the cool air of the misty morning. “Se nota que te burlas de mi, me gustaría verte intentando aprender español.”

“Yeah, I still don’t understand what you are saying,” John leaned back in his chair, watching as the Mexican pulled a blanket around his shoulders. “Where did Dutch even dig you up from?”

“Don’t be so harsh on him, son,” Dutch spoke as he came over to his adoptive son and the newest addition to his crew, laying a hand on John’s shoulder. “He might not understand us but he has a good eye for crime, we can use that. He knew which chickens were the best to steal, after all, he tried to steal the same as me.” He let out a low chuckle.

John let out an amused huff as he looked up at his father. “Yeah but how will we communicate with him?”

“He will learn, don’t you worry son.” Dutch patted John’s shoulder before walking over and kneeling in front of Javier who cast him a suspicious look, especially as Dutch held out a gun. “For you. If you are going to run with me you got to have a proper weapon.”

Javier looked cautiously at the gun that Dutch was obviously offering to him. “¿Qué quieres por esto? ¿Cuál es el truco?”

“It is yours,” Dutch said fondly and Javier finally took it, curiously looking the new weapon over, a small grin spreading on his face. “It is a good weapon.”

Javier grabbed the gun in his holster. It was old, rusty, its mechanisms were poor and even when it had been new the quality had been worse than terrible. It was simply what he had had on him when he had fled Mexico, it wasn’t anything good but he had survived, now he had something new, something good.

“Can you use that thing?” John asked as he gestured at the new weapon. Javier did not understand. “Alright, come on.” John stood up and reached down a hand for Javier on the ground to take.

Javier looked at John’s hand for a second before accepting it and being pulled to his feet.

“Come on, let’s see what you can do with that thing.” John grabbed a few things within camp before leading Javier away, knowing that if they were too close the gunshots would draw unwanted attention, so he found a secluded area with a fallen tree where he placed a row of five empty bottles. “Shoot those.”

Javier looked between John walking back towards him and the bottles he had just put up.

“Go on,” John encouraged as he took a safe spot next to Javier who held the gun out in front of him, carefully aiming before taking each shot. He only missed two bottles.

“Not bad,” John replied as he walked back to the log, replacing the broken bottles with new ones before making his way back to Javier with a grin. “But slow.” He pulled his gun from his holster and fired off five fast shots, each of the bottles shattering and landing on the ground in pieces.

Javier’s eyebrows raised as he let out a whistle. “Impresionante.”

John grinned happily as he replaced the bullets in his gun. “I know. Here, let me show you.” He gestured for Javier to make his gun ready before going further. “You want to work the gun with both hands, that makes it faster, each hand has it’s own job. One fires, one pulls the hammer.” He held the gun as he explained, watching Javier copy his stance. “And then you just got to be careful to pull the hammer back before firing, it is a lot of timing.” He fired off two quick shots, hitting two nearby trees right in the middle.

Javier thought for a second, his mind working to fill in the pieces of John’s explanation he hadn’t understood before firing off two shots fairly faster than he had at first.

“Yeah! Keep working on that, and then we teach you to aim after!” John grinned and patted Javier’s shoulder.

Javier snickered in annoyance and before John knew it, Javier had pulled two knives from his belt and made them land perfectly in the bullet holes John had just made in the trees.

“Damn!” John exclaimed, taking a step back as he watched Javier grin happily. “That was good!”

“Good,” Javier repeated with broken English. “Yes, good.”

“You catch on quickly,” John swung an arm around Javier’s shoulders. “What do you say you teach me those knife skills and I will make a gunslinger out of you?”