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all-purpose-dish-soap · 5 hours

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27 / 1.7k / spreading rumors about dating Gaz, part 2

⬇ nsfw; mention of revenge porn

...

Gaz doesn't negotiate. He doesn't back down. When the situation calls for it, he knows when it's time to escalate.

That's why he fucks you on your dining room table instead of a public bathroom. Partly because he's not a slag. The idea of you possibly agreeing to do it--of giving him the same ammunition you gave your ex to humiliate you--leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Even if you started rumors and risked his reputation.

A growl rises in his throat at the thought of your ex having the gall to send him that video of you. Christ. What on Earth did you see in him?

Partly, though, he wants to fuck you in your own house so that when he next sees your prat of an ex-boyfriend, he can properly rub it in that fucker's face that you invited him in on the first date.

Or maybe he'll take a picture of your panties in his teeth. He hasn't decided yet.

You're strung out with pleasure, your bare back against the table. You’re caught between wondering why he wanted to fuck you after all and letting every last reservation about it vanish into nothing. You’ve always wanted this. You never thought it would happen.

"Sergeant," you gasp out. "Is this-- what about your reputation--?"

"Don't start." His fingers trail the lines of your body, his eyes fixed on the parts of you he caught only blurry glimpses of in your ex's video. It didn't do you justice.

He wants to pretend there's nothing to this besides convenience--you did owe him. Hell, you wanted to sleep with him. You always made that crystal clear. Now he's just allowing himself to give in to baser impulses like a dog snatching up a rabbit thrown into its path.

But you're right. This will look bad if someone finds out. He should worried, but it's hard to care about that when the thing competing for his attention is the filthy way your pussy swallows him again and again, seeing how slick you leave the base of his cock.

He should've used a condom. He knows for a fact you knew he didn't and you said nothing. He'd tell you off for it now, too, but he's absolutely certain it would just make you cum. The nerve of you.

His hips stutter for a second before he can banish that thought from his mind. He shouldn't like the idea of you being that obsessed. Acting like you'd do anything he asked. Christ, work would be a nightmare if this got out. Him actually sleeping with you. But then again, he suddenly doesn't much like the idea of you finding a different rebound. You'd just be thinking of him anyway, right? Wouldn’t you?

Whatever. He’ll deal with the fallout later. When he's not enjoying your body.

“Who’s going to know?” he murmurs, eyes falling to your chest. “Let it go.”

“Mkay,” you sigh out. There's nothing more you want than to please him right now.

"You'd do anything I asked, wouldn't you." It's not a question. You both know it's true. And he likes that--he hates admitting it, but he does. His eyes drop to your pussy again, and his hips pick up their pace.

You've spent months flirting with him, teasing him about taking you to bed. Now you're getting everything you want. He's right. Why would you care one goddamn second about the consequences? “Anything.”

He hates how needy you sound when you say that. You're too trusting. He's taking advantage of you. Don't you get that?

His grip on your hips tightens, pushing into you more and more roughly. Your moans rise in pitch and he has to grit his teeth.

“Good." He says lowly. "Then you won't tell a soul about this, will you?"

"But--ah, ngh..." You bite your lip as he stops thrusting and grinds himself into you. You gyrate your hips, needing friction. "But people already think we're together."

“Do they? That’s a bold claim.” You're overestimating how many people believe silly rumors. Besides, it's hardly your concern anymore. He lays his palms flat on the table on either side of you, bracing himself. Your skin is so soft; your neck tempts him, but he restrains himself. "You're keeping your mouth shut from now on, yeah?"

You let out a sound of frustration as he slows even further. You try to push your hips harder against his. "Sergeant, please!"

"You want this, don't you?" His voice is chilled, but the heat in his eyes as he stares down at your bucking hips is hardly discouraging. "You'll want it again. You'll keep wanting it."

"Ugh, yes," you snap, squeezing your thighs fruitlessly around his toned waist.

"As long as you don't tell a soul about this, I’ll see to it that you get what you want," he growls. "Not your team, your friends, your stupid ex. No one."

You open your mouth to question him again, but he pulls away and snaps his hips hard into yours. Whatever you were about to say dissolves into a string of semi-coherent affirmations. Yes, you'll keep it quiet. Yes, you'll pretend none of this ever happened. Yes, you'll never use his name on base again. Anything he wants. Just don't stop.

"Good girl. Good girl..." Easy enough. Now that he knows how to get his way with you, you shouldn't be such a problem anymore. He can’t help but be a little greedy, though. "You're not going to fuck anyone else, either."

"Never!"

He grunts in approval. "And you'll never--and I mean never --try to get back with your ex. Understand? You'll stay away from him."

You writhe and plead, winding your arms around his shoulders. He grabs your wrists and pins them to the table, the muscles in his arms taut.

"Do. You. Understand?" His voice comes down on you like low thunder, all around you.

"Yes!"

"Good. I'll know if you do. Mm…" His breathing grows shallow. Your heat is impossibly tight, and tightening up even more. He squeezes your wrists. "You going to cum?"

"C-Can I?" you breathe out. "Please, can I cum?"

His hips stutter and he has to close his eyes for a moment. God, he's never been tested like this.

"Sergeant, please!"

"Cum," he says, the word short and sharp like gunfire. "Cum on my cock. Right now."

He presses his thumb to your clit and you wail, clenching around him like you haven't cum in weeks. Your body rolls, practically convulses, your head knocking against your dining table as you arch up. He lets out a snarl, not slowing down despite how painfully tight you squeeze him.

Once you come down from the high, his pace never slowing, your swollen core twitches and spasms with overstimulation. You cry out, but you make yourself stay in place. You want to keep making him feel good. You want to make him feel better than he ever has.

"Cum inside me," you pant out. "I-I'm on birth control. You can-- please--"

"You're a liar," he growls through clenched teeth even as he picks up his pace.

"I promise," you plead. Even if you're a liar, and you are, you're not lying about this. God, you want him to do it so bad you can feel yourself clench up again at the thought.

You're teetering on the edge of another orgasm when he pulls out, spilling his load across your chest and stomach instead.

You clench down on nothing, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction even as your orgasm ebbs out of reach. You let your head fall back onto the table, your breathing heavy. You don't see his eyes running over you, deliberating.

"Sergeant?"

"Mm?"

"Do you maybe want my phone number?" Almost seems like a silly question. He has your address now anyway.

"Hm." He pulls away, picking up your discarded purse from the mess of clothes on the floor. He pulls out your phone and opens your texts, types in his number, and sends himself a quick message. Then he finds your conversation with your ex-boyfriend. His eyes narrow. The last texts exchanged were earlier tonight. And you started it. You told him you were out to dinner with someone else. Just to get a rise out of your ex. It obviously worked.

That's okay, he figures, opening the menu and blocking your ex's number. If there's one person he does want to know about this, it's that arsehole. Maybe now he'll stay away from you.

You sit up. "Kyle?"

His eyes meet yours, steady and unwavering. "Yeah?"

"Were you serious?"

"I was."

"Even about coming over again?"

"I mean every word I say.” He hands your phone back to you and begins to get dressed.

You watch him, grasping the edge of the table. "When will you be back?"

"My squad leaves on assignment tomorrow. Don't know how long it'll be." He zips up and grabs his t-shirt. "I'll text you."

"Right, right." You suppress a sigh. "Always got a job to do."

He slings his coat over his shoulder, then pauses. He knows he shouldn't, but he can't help but reach his hand out to your cheek. He runs the back of his finger over your jawline. Then he disguises the tender gesture by gripping your chin and pulling it up so you're looking him in the eye.

"Behave," he tells you, voice low. "No sleeping around. No flirting of any kind. Is that clear?"

Your heart pounds. You swallow and nod.

"Good," he says, holding your gaze a moment longer.

As he leaves, closing the door behind him, he curses himself.

This is not a good idea. What's he trying to do, fix you? Stupid, stupid, stupid. This isn't going to end well. You're not good for him. But damn if he doesn't feel more satisfied than he has in years.

He has no choice. If he wants you to behave, he'll have to keep your eyes on him. Whether he’s on base or not.

...

part 1 / [part 2]

more Gaz / masterlist tag

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helvegen-s · 15 hours

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Rage, rage | five

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she is clear about who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: nothing that I can think of, just some fluff and nimue and azriel bantering

Two days had passed since Nimue had been there, in that house, in that city.

She spent the day inside her room, in silence, talking to herself or to The Voice, when that entity deigned to honor her with its presence. She wondered how it was able to overcome the magical guards that surrounded the entire house, how it got there without alerting Rhysand or any of the others.

Food simply materialized on a small desk in the room assigned to her. Clothing too.

Sometimes she heard the others talking through the walls: she heard them gathered in the living room discussing strategies or plans; she heard Feyre crying at night, lamenting the fate of her sisters and the guilt that consumed her; she heard Cassian and the blonde female, Morrigan, talking in the living room about trivial matters.

What she didn't hear was that dull noise on the other side of the bond. She hadn't heard the voice or the steps of this Azriel fellow. She hadn't smelled his scent, of cedar and mist, the same scent she had smelled on the dead spies her father had sent to Prythian.

In her head, she had begun to imagine stories about each of them. Her own observant nature had told her that Cassian must be some kind of warrior, a commander or general in Rhysand's army; Morrigan, on the other hand, must be involved in politics, as her contributions in those small meetings she heard on the other side of the house were purely rational and theoretical observations, worthy of a brilliant mind; Azriel, she assumed, would be a spy, hence that distinctive aura surrounding him, and the fact that her father's dead spies were imbued in his scent and that of his pretty dagger.

She spends her days like this, locked in with her own thoughts.

Until the third day, when someone knocks on her door. Sitting in a small armchair, Nimue simply waits for whoever it is to decide to come in: it's not her house, she has no right to prohibit anyone from entering.

When the door opens, the petite figure of Feyre slips into the room, closing the door behind her. They both look at each other, in silence, Feyre standing by the door and Nimue sitting in front of her.

Nimue knows she has nothing to say, however, Feyre seems to be struggling to find the right words.

"You're not our prisoner, you know that, right?" Nimue nods, but says nothing more. "You're free to roam the house, go out, and do whatever you do in your free time. We're not your jailers."

"I know, this is what I do in my free time," and with her hand, she simply gestures around, towards nothing. Because that's what she does in her free time: nothing. It's either train or wait for something to happen, nothing more. "I've considered it would be best to stay here. My presence is not welcomed in this house, and I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable. I know it's not a good time."

Nimue didn't want to tell her that she heard her cry at night, but nevertheless, Feyre's gaze was filled with understanding.

"It's not a good time, you're right, but you've helped us to make it not even worse. Don't judge them by how they treat you, they're a bit short-sighted. That's what happens when you've been living the same life for five hundred years," a small laugh escaped Feyre's lips, and Nimue couldn't help but smile herself. There was something about that woman that softened her heart, like Ferlan, the old cook who told her stories. "They'll accept you, sooner or later. Give them time."

Feyre directed her a smile so warm and friendly that for a moment, Nimue felt breathless.

How sad it was, to shrink in her place at such a small act of kindness, because in her life she had never known such a thing.

Nimue nodded, trying to return the woman's smile.

"Come with me."

She was surprised, but she obeyed and stood up. The brunette woman walked through the halls of the house, with Nimue trailing behind. She pointed out each room; to the right, a beautiful office; to the left, a smaller second living room; downstairs the kitchen and the living room where she had already been, and a little further down the hall, a huge library.

Nimue couldn't wipe the constant look of amazement off her face: yes, she had seen libraries, offices, kitchens, living rooms. But nowhere had she felt that warmth emanating from the walls, that sweet smell, a mixture of all the scents of those who inhabited it.

She felt Feyre's eyes on her, with an amused expression on her face.

"You have the same look as a child who has tried candies for the first time."

Nimue frowned, tearing her gaze away from the shelves full of books to look at the brunette, puzzled.

"What is a candies?"

Feyre placed a hand on her chest, letting out a small cry of indignation. With her hands outstretched, she loudly asked for some candy and they immediately materialized in her palms.

Nimue looked at them as if she were looking at a six-legged horse: balls of all colors, with shiny wrappers and all kinds of scents. She took one and opened it, imitating Feyre, who popped one into her mouth without hesitation.

When the princess put it in her mouth, she could swear she had never tasted anything so delicious in her life. Yes, the food at her Palace was good, but that... That was a whole new world.

As she savored it and let it roll around in her mouth, she reached out her hands into the air.

"More," she said aloud. Feyre let out a genuine laugh that, once again, softened her heart. "More, please. I've never tasted anything so delicious in my life, I want more."

Candies began to sprout from the palms of her own hands, overflowing and falling to the ground. Before she knew it, a small pile of candies and many more things had formed at her feet: there were lollipops, spiral-shaped candies, candy canes. There were even small buns appearing at her feet and in her hands.

Feyre couldn't stop laughing. The innocence and naturalness of the princess had fallen upon her like sunlight, after being immersed in her own shadows for the past few days.

"The house really likes you, it's not willing to please everyone like this."

"I know," said Nimue, "sometimes I feel like it's trying to talk to me. It's such ancient magic, it must be a very special spirit."

A last and enormous bun appeared in her hands, as if the house itself were appreciating Nimue's acknowledgment.

She looked up at Feyre, with a silly smile she couldn't wipe off her face. It even hurt her face, as she couldn't remember if she had ever smiled so much in her life.

"Come, let's go outside."

Feyre took her hand, and while Nimue took one last bite of the bun, they left behind that small pile of sweets. She glanced back, and in a low voice, she thanked the house again.

Before she knew it, Feyre had pushed her out into the same courtyard where they had landed days ago, just after escaping from Hybern.

The sun was high in the sky, and Nimue had to squint to see anything. She found herself in the same situation as three days ago, completely overwhelmed by the light, the sounds, the smells, the vastness of the sky above her.

She took in as much air as her lungs would allow, and allowed herself to enjoy it all: the blue sky, the cool breeze coming from the mountains, the smell of the sea and salt that reminded her so much of home, when the sea breeze would sneak through her windows.

Twenty years locked away. And now, she felt that not even a whole lifetime would be enough to see it all, to feel it all.

She still held Feyre's hand, who couldn't stop watching her by her side.

"I believe you. I see in you a scared child who has managed to escape the clutches of an evil man," she said, carefully and in a low voice. Nimue felt a breath of fresh air, which tangled in her hair and danced around her face. "I choose to trust you because I see goodness and light in you, fighting to do something good."

Nimue brought a hand to her face: she found that, once again, she was crying.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you, for your trust. I understand what it's like to be in your place, I would also be suspicious of me. But I will prove to you that I can be useful to win this war."

Feyre nodded and smiled.

"I hope you'll be useful to us for much more than just the war."

And then Nimue felt it.

After three days of dead silence, something in her chest began to vibrate again.

She looked up at the sky to see two winged shadows approaching them. Instinctively, she covered Feyre with her body, prepared for anything.

Azriel and Cassian landed carefully on the courtyard, under Nimue's watchful gaze. Those wings were something impressive.

"What are you doing here alone with her, Feyre?" Azriel asked. He walked threateningly towards the two females, and Nimue felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, like a cat ready to attack. "It's not safe, she should be under surveillance."

"Azriel-"

"I'm right here, don't talk about me like a dog," Nimue interrupted, taking a step forward. Azriel was tall, yes, but so was she. Face to face, she didn't feel the least bit intimidated by him, and she even realized how surprised the male was by the indifference she felt towards his intimidation. Nimue smiled. "That thing of spreading your wings like a bird and seeming bigger might work with others, not with me."

She didn't know what prompted her to act like that with the winged male. Perhaps it was his anger, which through the bond infected her with that anger and rage that left her seeing red.

Azriel growled.

"Give me one reason to trust you. Then, I'll let you roam freely around my house and my city."

"I saved your life. Shall I remind you?" Nimue takes another step forward, getting so close to him that she can see the tiny specks of dark brown in his amber eyes. "If I hadn't taken you out of there, who knows what my father would have done to you. I also remind you that it was me who pulled the arrow out of your chest without poisoning you."

"But something tells me you're doing that to win our favor and trust. Who says you're not a spy for your father? Only a fool would trust you."

"Hey, I trust her," Feyre says. She and Cassian look at each other, not knowing what to do.

They don't fully understand the situation either. Azriel had always been cautious and foresighted, slow to trust people and always suspicious of others' intentions. However, there was something about Nimue... They couldn't quite put their finger on it, but it was a kind of blind trust.

Azriel ignores Feyre and continues accusing and accusing.

"What I really can't wrap my head around is how we've never known anything about you. My spies have been in the Court of the King of Hybern for years and I've never heard a whisper about a princess. If you're so powerful and important, explain to me how not a single person on the other side of the sea knows of your existence."

"Maybe you're not as good at your job as you claim to be."

Azriel feels like he's about to explode, now more than ever.

He has to fight against all his impulses not to kill her on the spot. But at the same time, there's something in him that dies just imagining her bleeding.

His own mind contradicts him, and he feels like he's going to split in two. So before any of that happens, he lets out one last growl and leaves, flapping his wings and causing a gust of wind that tousles Nimue's hair.

There they stand, Feyre, Cassian, and Nimue, watching Azriel enter the house.

They look at each other, not knowing what to say, and the princess feels her heart racing.

It was so complicated, dealing with all those pure and unfiltered emotions that came to her from the other side of the bond...

Cassian snorts and then smiles at the two females.

"Would you like some tea?"

Nimue furrows her brows and looks at Feyre, then at Cassian.

"What is a tea?”

Taglist:

@lilah-asteria @agentsofsheilds @leptitlu @just-here-reading @glitterypirateduck @saltedcoffeescotch @krowiathemythologynerd @annblvd @annamariereads16

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #azriel #azriel imagine #azriel x female!reader #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #cassian #rhysand

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galedekarios · 19 hours

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Keeping this anon, but I hear you hate bloodweave. I was curious on your take to why.

You don't have to reply to this if it makes you uncomfortable thought!!

i'd like to preface this again by saying that this is my opinion. idc what you ship.

i've talked about this here, but i don't mind reiterating my points:

they have no chemistry, to the contrary, gale shuts him down right away during their first talk and ast*rion's manipulation attempts. i assume that gale sees right through him from the beginning. a lot of people love to hc gale as naive as or as completely taken with ast*rion, but it's the complete opposite. i imagine his many years in waterhavian society made him realise quite quickly what type of person he's dealing with. the relationship they have doesn't progress much from that. by act iii they - at best - begrudgingly tolerate each other.

they are diametrically opposed in the things they value as people as well as their morals. gale is kind-hearted, he approves of helping those in need, children, mothers, slaves, refugees, even the animals you meet in-game. he seeks to avoid bloodshed, approves of letting people who want to pay the party back for their help keep their money and belongings. he seeks knowledge and even power not for selfish reasons or a taste for the darker things, but because he seeks to better their odds of survival against a seemingly invincible foe. ast*rion meanwhile is selfish and cruel and vile. he delights in violence and bloodshed, he finds the struggle of people caught in the crosshairs amusing. he is greedy and short-sighted, seeking power for himself, no matter the cost to others.

they are completely incompatible in terms of what they look for in a relationship and a potential partner. gale wants and needs a deeper connection, a tangling of the souls, and he needs someone to be there for him unequivocally, to love him for who he is as he is. he is not taken in by someone's looks or image they present of themselves, nor does he do hate sex / endless bickering / enemies to fwb / etc.

the first things he cites for trusting the protag are their good actions (helping mirkon, helping arabella, seeking to ease the tension between zevlor and aradin), it's all those things that at first make him trust the protag and later - when they unselfishly offer him help, give him artefacts - makes him fall in love with them. sex and immediate gratification isn't important to him. sex is a component - one way in an array of ways to proclaim love.

for ast*rion, it's manipulation first and his entire romance hinges on that. his partner falling for his looks and his text book manipulation into sex. that's already where this breaks apart for me in terms of this ship because that doesn't work with gale.

add to that ast*rion's cruel remarks about gale's when he is need:

[after gale's background story reveal] You'd have us debate? That Netherese jack-in-the-box should be a blip on the horizon by now!

[after mystra's demands] I can't believe Mystra's demanding Gale sacrifice himself to destroy the Absolute. It's just a waste of a perfectly good cult that we could be controlling. And a waste of a perfectly good Gale, I suppose.

[at the stormshore tabernacle] Well? Go on, then - it's rude to keep a goddess waiting.

[after orin potentially kidnaps gale] So, we kill Gortash or Gale dies? It's not an easy call. On the one hand, killing Gortash would be fun. On the other, Gale can be very annoying. We should probably save the wizard, though. He does have his moments.

i think it's very clear, given the fact that these reactions range from act i to act iii, that he doesn't give a singular fuck about gale. contrast this to karlach's reactions, or even shadowheart's:

Karlach: That bloody freak won't get away with this. That's my wizard she took. And we're going to get him back.

(particularly karlach has many reactions like this.)

...unless you play either of them as an origin char and make the most ooc choices, i do not see how this pairing is supposed to work.

additionally, as i've discussed more in my previous post, the parallels people draw between them are shallow at best or can be drawn virtually between any of the other origin companions, or are non-existent at worst. ast*rion having a reading animation that he shares with gale (as halsin and shadowheart do too), or having their tents next to each other (like wyll and gale do in act i) isn't really enough for me.

as i've said previously, i have tried to engage with the pairing because it's sadly inescapable since people often don't bother tagging, but there's nothing except shallow ooc stuff.

#ch: gale dekarios #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #text: asks #text: personal #meta: mybg3 #bloodweave critical

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deadly-espresso · 1 day

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(kenneth simmons)

apparently i have been drawing Kenneth Simmons the "incorrect" way. Kenneth does NOT have cucumbers for legs, he's actually "built like a Minecraft Skeleton". So I put my Kenneth on a diet and he now has the correct proportions. /j

(ok to be serious I saw someone describing Kenneth as being "built like a minecraft skeleton" and I was like "holy shit, that's actually a fun art idea". So I drew him like a minecraft skeleton. to be a bit more clear about what the post was about, it was criticizing about how people draw Kenneth "like a femboy" (probably in the sense of giving him more prominent hips and legs). I do believe that the original poster's got a point since even my own art is guilty of this (my art isn't all that realistic and I've drawn plenty of characters with pretty damn wide hips and legs, my OC Marble is a very noticeable case of this). However, if I do have my own criticisms about the post, Kenneth really is NOT built like a skeleton cuz even Kenneth's canonical artwork doesn't give him a waist THAT thin, and also the reasoning for why people "shouldn't" draw him "like a roblox avatar" is because he supposedly isn't a femboy? Like, even if we're working how he was described officially in text, he was described as a showy and effeminate character, and even then his fashion sense does resemble the kind of fashion that was associated with campy male characters in the late 20th century (which fits since Kenneth's story takes place mostly in the 1980s). So, it's not unreasonable that Kenneth could be described as a "femboy". So, yeah, even if the post does have a point about people's tendency to draw Kenneth with more meat on his legs compared to how he depicted officially, the claim about him being built like a skeleton isn't quite accurate either. So, in conclusion, you should have fun about how you draw characters, okay?)

(sorry for the random tangent, I just had some thoughts I needed to get out regarding this art challenge. this art challenge wasn't something done out of spite, but rather out of genuine interest and also to poke some fun at how I draw characters.)

#art #digital art #ghost and pals #minecraft #colorbars #broadcast illusion #art challenge

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indie-ttrpg-of-the-week · 2 days

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Apocalypse World

Did you know that some early PBTA games used to have *Blank* world as a naming scheme? it never really caught on

Touchstones: Fallout, Mad Max

Genre: Post-Apocalypse, Drama

What is this game?: Apocalypse World is a roleplay focused post-apocalyptic roleplaying game, its also the game that spawned the very popular PBTA framework

CWs: Apocalypse world deals with many dark themes, it's considered an "R-Rated" game citing Language, Sex, and Violence, it also features Mind control, mentions of drug use, and general post-apocalyptic horribleness, however I will attempt to stray away from those themes if possible

How's the gameplay?: OK, I'll likely actually link back to this review a few more times as we talk about other PBTA games, just so we can skip explaining the PBTA gameplay every time, so we're gonna try to be pretty thorough this time Apocalypse World's primary mechanic focuses on the use of Moves, Playbooks, and a 2d6 resolution system, where 1-6 is a miss, 7-9 is a weak hit, and 10-12 is a Strong hit, however your roll will always progress the story in some way, this way even failure can be fun! Moves trigger when doing specific actions, and they all interact with mechanics in some way, the prototypical move in Apocalypse world reads like this: "When Narrative trigger: gameplay effect", then this will either help you with a roll around the gameplay effect, or have you roll for a new gameplay effect, whereupon it'll read like this: "On a 1-6, Failure with consequences, on a 7-9 Success with Consequences, on a 10-12 Success with no consequences" Moves will usually add a stat to them, Apocalypse world's stats are Cool, Hard, Hot, Sharp, Weird, and HX, HX being an asymmetrical stat determining your relationship with other characters.

Playbooks are your character's narrative role, it will give your characters their narrative abilities, gameplay moves, relationships, appearances, basically everything about your character beyond things such as name (and even then, some games remove THAT distinction too), you pick one at the start and generally stick with them the whole game, think of it as a class, in Apocalypse World specifically every playbook has a "Special", a move that generally triggers when characters have sex, this might seem like the type of thing that other games in the framework dumpster pretty quick, but you'd be surprised it actually took a bit for people to get rid of that one

What's the setting (If any) like?: It has one Ok, in all seriousness, Apocalypse World's setting assumes you're playing in an edgy, presumably nuclear, mad max inspired post apocalypse, characters are grimy, aesthetics are leathery and gritty, mutations are common, and shit's BAD. Otherwise, feel free to work on the specifics, maybe you just want to play 1-to-1 fallout, or maybe you want to create your own fully original apocalyptic version of The Butt, Coventry, UK

What's the tone?: Dark. Apocalypse World makes it very clear that the world sucks, and the characters (probably) suck, while you could play a ragtag group of do-gooders, the game assumes a morally gray cast in a world that is actively hostile towards them. Apocalypse World's tone is, not for the faint of heart

Session length: Variable but 3 hours is usually enough to do quite a bit

Number of Players: 3 Minimum, but obviously more can help

Malleability: Apocalypse World's setting is generic to non existant, letting you play a ton of post apocalyptic settings, while branded apocalypses like Fallout or Mad Max might be difficult due to the inclusion of overt supernatural elements, you could really do any nuclear apocalyptic setting within this framework.

Resources: Apocalypse World has quite a few resources just due to being one of the oldest PBTA games, a google sheet exists, I've seen some short scenarios, and the game provides you with Move and Playbook cheat sheets, fan playbooks also exist and there's some pretty good ones if you look around enough, it's not a lot but it's enough for what the game is And here's the big cheese! While most modern PBTA design comes from Monsterhearts and Masks, this is the game that started it all, its gritty and very rough around the edges, but I still really like it

#indie ttrpg #ttrpg #ttrpg community #ttrpg of the week

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mercurygray · 20 hours

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Hiiii Merc 💜

Everything ok? Hope you're feeling better!

I saw your prompt list and I just couldn't resist... How would you feel about either nr 72 (mischief managed) or nr 74 (are you challenging me?)

For, you guessed it, my girl Fred? (I have to stay loyal to my girl)

If not, no worries 💜

Thank you 😍

- your Fred Friend

The three of them definitely looked like trouble.

Fred looked up from the table she was wiping down to see Ken Lemmons at the door of the Aero Club, his two smallest assistants in tow.

"Morning, Fred," Ken said with a smile. "Mind if we come in?"

"Oh, I'm not sure I can let these two hooligans in here," Fred added with pretend seriousness, looking down at Billy and Sammy, who was carrying a cardboard box. "Since they're not actually members of the US Armed Forces."

"Not even if we brought you a present?" Sammy asked, gesturing with the box he was holding.

"Billy and Sammy found something out at the hardstand and thought you'd like to have it," Ken explained. "I thought it'd be better if they brought it to ya in person."

Fred pretended to consider it, keeping in mind that all three of them, including Ken, looked like they were up to something. It was not outside the realm of possibility for the contents of the box to be a live frog - or a cow pie. "Well, I do like presents. Depends if it's a good one."

"We brought you a spark plug!" Billy said with a grin, obviously very pleased with his joke.

Fred's eyebrows went clear up into her hair, trying not to appear uncharitable. (Six year old boys were a tough bunch when you didn't like their jokes.) "Oh, well then. Can't say I've gotten one of those recently. Where is it?" But just as she said that, the box in Sammy's arms meowed, and one tiny black paw batted its way out of the lid. A spark plug, huh? Fred carefully opened up the box, trying not to get swiped, and came face to face with a tiny scrap of a black kitten, eyes peering querulously up from the cardboard. It yowled inquisitively and tried to stand up on its back legs to get out, not quite strong enough to make the jump yet.

"Goodness me. Where on earth did you find him?"

Sammy spoke up immediately. "We were helping Ken with the engine and he needed a spanner -"

"A wrench," Billy corrected over his friend, looking at Ken for confirmation that he'd used the right word. Ken nodded, but Sammy had kept right on going.

"-And there was a noise in the boxes of spare parts! So we named him Spark Plug!"

"He scratched me," Billy added, showing the still-red scratch on his good hand. "But I don't think he meant it."

"I think he might have gotten away from his mother and crawled in where it was warm," Ken offered, by way of actual context. "Needs a little bit of looking after, but I thought he might help with your mice."

Helen came round the corner with the bookkeeping ledgers, heading for the back office from the supply room. "What's this? Presents for Fred and not for me?"

"I think he's for all of us, Helen." Fred collected the box from Sammy and tipped it to show Helen. The kitten batted at the box again. "This is Spark Plug."

"Oh, goodness, isn't he a darling," Helen said, reaching in with one finger to pet his small velvet head. "Hello, you. Are you hungry, precious? Did those boys give you a silly name?"

"Can we help feed him?" Billy asked, obviously with an eye to the main chance of getting into the kitchen and closer to whatever today's treats were likely to bed.

"Before we do anything he's going to go outside and get a bath, and while we're doing that you're going to go with Ken to the ammunition depot and find us a tray of sand," Helen announced. "He needs a place to do his business. If we're going to start with cats I want them to know what the expectations are."

"Well, come on, you heard Miss Helen," Ken said, a hand on both their small shoulders. "Let's go find some sand."

Their mischief now mostly managed, the two boys took off at a run towards Ken's Jeep, their handler taking his sweet time behind them so he could drive over to the depot. Trouble, Fred repeated to herself with a grin, still holding the box. Inside, Spark Plug made another swipe at the cardboard. "Are we keeping you out of trouble or getting you into it, buddy?"

The cat only yowled again, and Fred, for her part, agreed.

#asked and answered #Anonymous #i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #tds cinematic universe #masters of the air OC #masters of the air x oc #freda torvaldsen

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avi17 · 2 years

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Maybe I'm just seeing more of this than usual since I'm in my biggest fandom in a long time but like. I feel like the kids today have very much forgotten that you're allowed to just...ship a thing. You're allowed to think the characters had interesting potential and just. Do the thing. You don't have to dissect eye movement and body language and where people are standing and stuff to prove it's canon- that stuff is chemistry, and it can be real and present without it being intentional. Doesn't make it any less real, but also doesn't make it some kind of conspiracy- there are movies from 70 years ago where actors had interesting chemistry that comes off homoerotic, but that certainly doesn't mean they were playing it that way on purpose. You don't have to wildly skew stuff actors say in interviews either, putting words in people's mouths is actually a little creepy.

I think we're at the point with queer representation and canon queer ships where we've had enough of it turn out to be real that we want it to always be real, and we feel like we have to prove it is real to feel valid in shipping it. I'm here to tell you that you don't have to do that.

I'm not saying those ships SHOULDN'T be canon, I'd love them to be. In some cases the story would be way better if they were. But you don't have to prove they were Canon All Along to be allowed to enjoy them. And if you hinge your enjoyment of a piece of media made by cishet people on the idea that the actors are going to confirm your ship was canon, or feel like you have to validate your ship by insisting it will become canon, I feel like you're just gonna end up disappointed.

#stranger things #steddie #byler #stranger things 4 #st4 #like. guys #when Joseph quinn was asked about steddie he made a joke and then was like idk man people can dream #I'm glad he's not a homophobe and is cool joking about it but that doesn't mean it's canon or that he's the captain of the steddie ship #WE are the captains and that is totally fine #and the byler kids i just. i worry about you guys #i fully support you guys but i also just honestly don't think you're gonna get what you want and are so convinced will happen #and i feel like this fandom is gonna get NASTY on both sides at that point #i just. oof #queer shipping #lgbtq+#ok addendum I'm seeing this post being liked by mileven people who are being dicks to the byler people #and just so we're clear this is not for you either #the fact that your het ship is likely to be canon in a story written by straight people doesn't make it better and you are also being jerks #gonna put all you kids in time out like mama Steve

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