So lots to unpack here.
The past 6 months have been exceedingly difficult for me. I dealt with homelessness, hotel hopped, ended up losing my vehicle, and had a death in the family. In the midst of all that, one of my closest friends got in legal trouble and wound up in jail. I got in touch with him via email and we’d chat regularly. When he needed a few dollars for commissary or the phone, I’d give what I could. He was extremely grateful, so when I told him what was going on with my living situation, he insisted that I go crash at his place for as long as necessary.
It took me several weeks to come around to the idea because he still had 2 roommates living there; but neither of them had spoken to him much in the 3 months he’d been incarcerated. So he asked me to keep him up to date on what was going on at his place while I stayed. His dog was still there and I could tell it made him anxious not knowing if she was being taken care of.
Neither of them acknowledged him when he reached out; In fact, they didn’t do much of anything at all. They stopped paying him rent, refused to answer his phone calls ultimately because something he said rubbed them the wrong way, bad mouthed him behind his back, and would question me about what he would message me and what he said when he called, which to me was insane—they. could’ve answered their phones and found out themselves!
About the roomies: neither one works, but they’re both “handymen”, so one of them will go and do odd jobs or doordash about 1-2x a week. The other one never leaves the house. Ever. If he does, it’s either to dumpster dive or to run to the store to get himself groceries, but he never stays gone long at all. Both have bad drug habits and mood swings.
So I got to the condo and got myself situated on the living room couch, trying to make myself as small as possible. The entire place reeks of cat piss, it’s crowded with random things they found in the garbage, and is also home to about 7-8 cats and 2 dogs. They feed these animals and “usually” let them out before they’ve gone potty in the house. That’s it. The animals have no structure, they fight, they relieve themselves wherever, and they’re generally more trouble than anything else. I love animals, so I help with them as much as I can anyway.
Roomie1 is the cat owner. He busies himself most days by basically playing Tetris with all the garbage he’s hoarded in the living room or on the back patio while incorporating more unnecessary things when he goes for his weekly dumpster dives. He’s stayed here the longest, but according to my friend who owns the place, has not been keeping up with his rent. R1 would justify that by bringing up all he’s done for my friend, like cleaning and light maintenance. He goes on these long winded rants about how my friend dropped the ball, hadn’t been keeping up with the mortgage, etc. Yet when I’d tell him he should just talk to him, he’d say he wasn’t ready.
2 weeks into sleeping on a urine stained couch in a fairly active, cluttered living room, I realized the only thing keeping me from sleeping in my friend’s bedroom was the fact that one of R1’s cats had kittens, and the 6 of them were using his bedroom to keep them away from the other chaotic animals. My friend told me from the beginning I could have his bedroom, but I get anxiety when I feel like I am asking for too much, or generally speaking up for myself. I was honestly kind of annoyed when I saw the bedroom situation, but I didn’t want to seem spoiled; I was honestly just grateful to have a place to lay my head at night.
Fast forward to now; I am currently in the bathroom with the remaining kittens and their mother. They are sweet animals, but R1 does very little in terms of maintaining the litter box and cleaning up the many accidents that they make outside of the litter box. I’ve bought cleaners with enzymes, air fresheners, etc. to keep the smile down, but I don’t feel like any of this is my responsibility. I am paying my friend what we agreed upon, but both of these guys act like it’s their house I’m in, when they are tenants just like I am. The only difference is, I’m doing what I can to stay in touch with my friend. I work full-time, and I’m paying him what he’s asking me. R1 constantly asks me for food, and when he does get a little bit of money, he spends it on gambling or a new vape.
I’m starting to get fed up, none of the situation is remotely fair, but at the same time, I don’t want to come across as ungrateful or entitled to anything. I am not. It was a blessing to offer me temporary housing, but I just don’t know how to deal with the situation any longer. It’s not getting any better anytime soon…please help.

In part 1 we examined what the different endings would make of season 1 through 4, looking at where we were there. Red's confession to Kirk had eliminated the possibility of Third Man, and left us knowing Liz was Red's daughter. We examine the nonsense Rederina would make of those four seasons with balderdash moments and dialogue where there was no need to lie.
Part 2 was devoted to season 5, for the bones were pivotal. We concluded that to let stand the bones were the remains of the "real Raymond Reddington" was wither nonsense, or terrible writing and even worse continuity. But that is how we left it. With Garvey, Ross, Red and Dembe talking nonsense if indeed we are to believe that. Certainly it was what Liz believed, and by extension the task force as nobody sought to confirm this assertion. A report, shown to Liz by Jennifer for a few seconds, before Ross punched her at her request, that became the truth for all.
Now we come to season 6, or as it should be known, the pointless season with no real baddie that made any sense, storytelling wise. Jennifer as the real baddie of the season made far more sense, extending Kate's arc with the bones, if she had forged a DNA test to make Liz believe Red was not their father, and take her revenge on both Red and Liz. But alas, this has not come to be and I have no hopes left by now.
The arc of the season made no sense. Why on earth was Bastian Moreau bombing the UN? In theory, he was hired to carry out the assassination. Anna McMahon made no sense because her motives were never explained. It felt like the direction of the season was improvised. The first part of the season was devoted to the pursuit of Liz and Jennifer of Red's identity, which included sending Red to jail. Jennifer thinks the fire may have been at their beach house, in Rehoboth Beach, and they go there.
This brings us to this nonsense, which seems to indicate that Jennifer indeed remembered who Liz was, and that both sisters had been together in that beach house. Why was that there?
What is more intriguing is a few lines that make the whole Rederina idea ridiculous. Let us go back to season 5, for a quick look at a momentous episode, the 100th episode of the series, the story was written by Dave Metzger & Jon Bokenkamp and the teleplay was by Jon Bokenkamp & John Eisendrath, Abraham Stern.
Remember that according to the disastrous season 8B, Red is supposed to be Russian. You know, growing up in Russia. Nachalo has the scenes of Katarina in growing up in Russia. Not the USA.
The scene is between Red and Dembe. Dembe who knows the true identity.
"I haven't felt this giddy since Herbie Hunnicutt and I pooled our box tops and sent away for the decoder ring and periscope."
Do I need to say it? Decoder rings, periscopes and cereal box tops? Not 1960s Russia, and no Herbie in Russia either. And then season 6 featured these lines, from when Red is facing lethal injection, his instructions for disposal of his body, written by Bokenkamp and Eisendrath in 6.11 Bastian Moreau:
“I've made arrangements to be cremated, have my ashes placed into Mama Lu's opium pipes. The users won't mind, and on the off chance there is an afterlife, I'd like to be high in it”
But in Konets, written by the same writers,, Jon Bokenkamp & John Eisendrath, Red says he wants his ashes into a Russian River. WTF?
This clearly speaks to a re-direction, or lies, or a monumental misdirection, for there was no such indication. TWO episodes featuring the same writers, Bastian Moreau and Konets.

The fathers situation

Season 6 had Red speak of his father more. He reflected he was not a good man, adding to earlier seasons, when he spoke of his father cutting him down to size, using bylcreem and having an admiration for cadillacs.
"That stuff you use in your hair– is that Brylcreem? My father used Brylcreem" In Berlin, season 1, written by same two, Bokenkamp and Eisendrath.
"You know, as my father used to say to me, just because you’ve been bumped up to first chair in the orchestra doesn’t mean you can compose a symphony " The Troll Farmer written by Bekenkamp and Eisendrath.
"What is this? A ‘78…. My father loved Cadillacs." in The Judge, written by same two, season 1
And then this one where his father was a sticker for keeping one's word, Dr. James Covington, written by J. Orci and Lukas Reiter. Season 2
" I asked my father for advice.All he wanted to know was whether I’d given my word to Mr. Kodagolian that I’d work the summer.I told him I had. My father suggested I stick it out. I’d given my word."
How does that fit with Red is Reddington? Not an issue. But we certainly have a giant issue in the Rederina hypothesis. That father Red describes up to season 6 does NOT fit with Dom.
Let us review what he tells Liz in what he believes would be his last converversation with Liz, witten by Jon Bokenkamp & John Eisendrath:

I was a difficult child. People saw me one way I saw myself another. I felt misunderstood acted out. My father fancied himself a disciplinarian. Very moralistic. Instead of trying to understand me, he excommunicated me.

Difficult child, misanderstood, a disciplinarian father, excommunicated, disowned. NOT language of things happening to an adult, but to a child.
Our Rederina issue? We SAW Katarina, an obedient child, doing exactly as Dom wanted. Not difficult. right up to being a woman, marrying who her father wanted, sleeping with who he wanted, keeping a child she did not want because Dom wanted.
BUT it works beautifully for Red is Reddington. Red is disowned by his father, changes his name to Reddington, and enters the US Naval Academy, likely with the help of someone like Fitch. And see what happens in this season when Ressler keeps digging into Katarina, and finds Dom, without knowing his name, but the Russians tell him who he is to Katarina.

LIZ: You didn't stop, did you, trying to find his real identity?
RESSLER: No, I didn't. I don't know who he was, but I think I found someone who might. Your grandfather.
LIZ You found Reddington's father?
RESSLER: Katarina's. Look, all I have is a photo.....Look, I know you were asking me not to pursue this, and if you're pissed at me, I get it, but I felt like I had a right to know. My only regret is that I hit a dead end.'Cause that guy he's a ghost.

The fact Liz is surprised when she thinks Ressler found Reddington's father (NOT RED'S), her paternal grandfather, is HUGE. Because Liz was obsessed with blood relatives, and she had all the resources of the FBI to find her paternal relatives, including grandparents. Birth, death, graduation, military service, tax, educational, census, marriage, financial records. And she has NOT found her paternal grandfather. This tells us that the man known as Raymond Reddington was not born as such. Reddington was an alias. A name that begins in the US Naval Academy. Which then makes sense of his excommunication. Disowned, he gets another name. Works for Red is Reddington.
Dom was many things, but a man of his word he was not. Katarina was also many things, but neither was she big on her word, as seen by her betrayal of her country, family and friends. Red is. Loyalty and keeping his word is paramount:
"My word is my bond. My currency."

The Mothers situation

Red may have had a mother with Russian ancestry, but sure was not the same woman we saw as Katarina's mother. Let us review what Red gratuistuly says to Aram to who he is indebted for saving Liz in season 3, written by Daniel Cerone in The Director, part 1:
"There are foundational elements in our lives. People that form the brick and mortar of who we are. People that are so deeply imbedded that we take their existence for granted until suddenly, they’re not there. And we collapse into rubble.
I’ve stood over the open grave of someone I’ve loved too often. Once for my mother. And then the others."
Red has then by then already lost his mother. mind this is season 3, a full 3 seasons before Ressler manages to find Dom, via finding Katarina's mother, who had died earlier that year, in 2019.
Cerone vs. Kattie Bockes and the Coopers.
If Rederina was to be a thing back then, then the continuity person should have been fired, instead of posting stupid things in instagram, and I stand by this even if I turn to be right. We ARE paying attention, Ms. Gee. u/Anselmo123 has a lot to say about this. u/Jen5225 and I had written volumes about the mother issue.
But then we have the issue of Red's actions when Katarina's mother died, which is right about the time Red gets out of prison, and gives an enormous party, with everyone attending. No mourning, because he is not Rederina. His own mother had died years ago, and he was not involved with Katarina's mother. He sees Katarina's father, and does not even know the story of why Dom likes buttermilk in season 3.
He then goes on a treasure hunt with Vesco underneath the Philadelphia Opera House.
The Rassvet tale.
The episode was written by Sean Hennen. We know is not all true, as Dom says, but there were not all lies either. It will be The Orion relocation Services and others that will confirm pieces of it.
And that includes Ilya's groundhog day where he learns TWICE that Katarina was alive. WTF?
https://preview.redd.it/7380lz09375b1.png?width=500&format=png&auto=webp&s=19328dad8e2634837b7f24b420a2f1c7a8ce69c7
Season 7
This season belongs to Fakerina. Bear in mind that until the disaster Nachalo aired, Katarina was referred to by the writers and by the characters in situations where lying was unnecessary as "Katarina". Also not by novice writers either, but Reiter and Cerone. Note that Nachalo was the "proud" baby of Bokenkamp, Eisendrath and Reiter.
RED TO DOM: "Katarina's been surprisingly formidable." written by Daniel Cerone in Roanoke.
RED TO DEMBE: "We know Katarina is holding Dom somewhere in this 2-mile radius." written by Lukas Reiter in Katarina Rostova, conclusion.
RED TO FAKERINA: "Katarina.... It's not safe. You're not safe." written by Jon Bokenkamp, John Eisendrath & Lukas Reiter.
RED TO DEALER: "an enemy of mine contacted you." & "Where's Rostova? Nine days ago, a painting was commissioned. It was sent to this address, shipped to you-- Mr. Paul Allond." in Drexel, season 3, written by Dave Metzger.
And note this interview by Bokenkamp regarding the character played by Layla Robbins:
“Remember, this is Elizabeth Keen's mother who not only abandoned her, but sent her child away to be raised by somebody else.” (May 17, 2019) with thanks to u/outofwedlock for the exact quote.
There are two options for us to consider: One that the writers, and show runners lie continuously to the audience, or that at the time, it was intended that she was Katarina Rostova, but this is contradicted by the showrunners saying the ending has not changed. Well then.
But it is not them who call her Katarina Rostova. It is herself, both to the people who want her dead, and to the people she hires:

WOMAN: May I ask who's calling?
FAKERINA: Katarina Rostova....You believe the Kazanjian Brothers killed me because that's what I wanted you to believe. It was a good plan. It tricked Townsend into paying the bounty on my head, part of which I used to prove my innocence.

to Red: "Dom promised me no one would get hurt. Said he loved his child and just wanted her to be safe. Do I seem safe to you? Hunted, chased into the shadows." written by Lukas Reiter.
What Frankie knew her as:
"that's your daughter? Katarina Rostova? ... Your own daughter wants to kill you because you betrayed her?"
"All I know is Katarina Rostova hired him because she thinks people are trying to kill her and that you might know how to stop them. The plan was to con you, not kill you, to get you to tell Inspector Oban who the assassins are and what they, or you, might know about her sources and safe houses."
Then we have the Orion Relocation Services, written by Sean Hennen & Taylor Martin
FAKERINA: "Help me to remember."
And in "Katarina Rostova, Conclusion" written by Lukas Reiter
FAKERINA TO DOCTOR: "I want the truth, doctor. I don't care if he tells the woman I am now, or the woman I was then."
Were all of this writers lying in their lines, lying in interviews? Jon Bokenkamp, John Eisendrath, Daniel Cerone, Sean Hennen? Fakerina is credited as Katarina Rostova, and has the longest arc of any baddie.
​
Of course the pandemic ended season 7 earlier, so the episodes that would have ended it were at the beginning of season 8. A season which made sense to half way, then it became a three ring circus.
We have a number of abandoned plot lines, such as Liz's hallucinations with Kate, which last the duration of season 8A, from the time she is on the run in 8.04 to 8.14, which comprises 3 months in show time. Then we have Red confirming this state of affairs with Liz chasing him and wanting to kill him is directly related to Kate.

LIZ: You and Kate underestimate me.
RED: Oh, so she's here, too.
LIZ: Do you see her?
RED: I do, without even having to look.

Most things Liz did in season 8A was driven by her conversation with Kate, including going to Townsend.
We also had the kill order on Liz who Panabaker advices them, which is also forgotten:

Panabaker: This certainly makes me feel better about the DOJ’s directive.... The one I came here to tell you about. They just issued a burn notice on Keen. They want her scrubbed.
Aram: Scrubbed? What does that even mean? Scrubbed, like killed scrubbed?
Panabaker: It means – eliminated. Knowing too much is one thing, but she now demonstrates an obvious liability to the Bureau.... As soon as Keen’s handled, the DOJ will disavow all knowledge of the Task Force, kick Reddington free– : You never existed.

The plot holes of season 8B are well documented, including the change of the Friend From the East menacing prior self, to the weeping fool of later times. A meeting in Paris that leads them to him, which include decoding ads they did not have with a machine they did not either, and Cooper approving the abduction of a Russian national, a member of a elite team, who is nonetheless abducted by being oblivious of his surroundings by a team of a few guys?
Starting by the premise of the disastrous if entertaining Russian Knot, written by Katie Bockes, in which the script coordinator seemed to have forgotten we have SEEN Red and the Friend from the East talk on freeing phones, not a rusty relic.
https://preview.redd.it/duhcjmcht65b1.png?width=1916&format=png&auto=webp&s=9785f01203abe9ada39b5175f8572ac09e49f09a
Where was the script coordinator? Was there a bible? Do ANYONE remembers anything about the show they are paid to write? It goes downhill from there.
And we continue to spin in the same exact point in season 8 as we were in season 3:
TOWNSEND: "Elizabeth? You in there? I do hope you're in there, Elizabeth, 'cause I'm gonna need you for this next part, which promises to be rather awful. While you have a moment, I suggest that you and Raymond reflect upon the concept of loss. I know it well. I feel it in every breath I take, every moment that... that I sleep. Loss became a part of me when I watched my wife and children die before my very eyes! But today, Raymond, I'm gonna give you that burden! I'm gonna show you loss! Today, I'm going to kill Elizabeth while you watch."
RED TO CONSTANTIN:

KIRK: Is Masha your daughter?
RED: What do you want me to say? Yes she is. Is that what you want me to say? Yes, Elizabeth is my daughter.

We have then now, as we did in season 3, two options, Red is Reddington or he is Katarina, yet so many lines written by the show runners and main writers contradict directly Rederina.
We have two letters addressed to Liz, his own, that Red destroys in season 4 and one that he kept, from Katarina.
And then we have Nachalo, the dumpster fire. I have written enough about it, many series, butthis is handier:
We have obvious things:
Season 1: Most of all, I want to sleep. I want to sleep like I slept when I was a boy.
Season 6: "I was a difficult child."
All I know is that unless this people had no idea what they were writing and are basically functional illiterates, Rederina was a red-herring, since season 3 got the third guy theory defenestrated.
FOWLER: I know the truth, Red about that night, about what happened to your family. Do you want to know the truth?
RED: More than anything in the world.
Except he DOES know. Why tell a lie to someone he will kill? Fun stuff? like when he and Dembe tell lies to each other, like Herbie?
"I haven't felt this giddy since Herbie Hunnicutt and I pooled our box tops and sent away for the decoder ring and periscope." => Jon Bokenkamp & John Eisendrath
Red remembering Jennifer in the blue house, by J. R. Orci:
https://preview.redd.it/z50t4z3ss65b1.png?width=648&format=png&auto=webp&s=6738b76751f0bb9a9edca9694230e2240ade3726
"I raised my family in this house." A lie according to Nachalo if Rederina were the solution.
KATE TO RED: This business with your wife, this pursuit, it's pushing you in ways that I don't like.
KATE TO RED: Take a moment. Read a book. You will find your wife.
Why not write "this business with Naomi", and "you will find her"? Too hard for Daniel Knauff who co-wrote Monarch Douglas Bank?
The Zombie Mama a product of Daniel Cerone, Katie Bockes and the Coopers:
"I've stood over the open grave of someone I've loved too often. Once for my mother." A mother dead by 2016
and a mother who died in 2019 found in The Third State, and Lady Luck.
"Where's Rostova?." So Rederina thinks this woman is still going by Rostova, a name not her own supposedly? by Dave Metzger.
"I was just imagining young Katarina covered in glitter. As an adult, it's easy to dismiss this stuff as girlish frivolity." Written by Dawn DeNoon. Come on, this is just ridiculous.
NAVABI: "Yes, and we can't disprove it with DNA because there's nothing on file from 1990 when Reddington disappeared." Once we had established this, courtesy of Daniel Knauff who write the episode Gregory Devry, was it too hard to add a line about how on earth did it come to be in CODIS?
NIK: Reddington's her father? I can't say I'm surprised. I'm sad for her. That sucks, but what does this have to do with me? He really is NOT surprised a trans man turned to be someone's father? written by Lukas Reiter and Bokenkamp.
FAKERINA: Katarina Rostova. ...You believe the Kazanjian Brothers killed me because that's what I wanted you to believe. It was a good plan. It tricked Townsend into paying the bounty on my head, part of which I used to prove my innocence." She must be daft, to keep using a name that is not her when they already thought Rostova was dead. It only worked if she WAS Rostova, trying to clear her own name.
RED TO DEMBE: "We know Katarina is holding Dom somewhere in this 2-mile radius." => Lukas Reiter
RED TO DOM: "Katarina's been surprisingly formidable." => Daniel Cerone
from Kate Kaplan, conclusion, Teleplay by : Jon Bokenkamp, John Eisendrath, Daniel Cerone Story by : Lukas Reiter, J. R. Orci
KATE TO RED: I made a promise to Elizabeth's mother to protect her girl at all costs. [Not HIS girl]
KATE TO LIZ: I loved Raymond. And your mother. I loved her, too. Oh boy.
and from Sutton Ross, by LR, JB, and JE
DEMBE: Ross wants blood. He thinks you [RED = RR] ruined his life..... he thinks you [RED NOT THE BONES IN THE BAG] did, and because of that, he wants to world to know what's inside the duffel.
​
Not to mention what it does to some hilarious lines:
"Elizabeth, I knew your mother better than she knew herself." becomes "I knew myself better than I knew myself"
"We shared to affection of Katarina" "Yep, I loved my former self and myself now too. "
"I was just imagining young Katarina covered in glitter. As an adult, it's easy to dismiss this stuff as girlish frivolity." One cannot imagine what one can remember.
​
"She's gone because of choices you made for both of them. First for Katarina, then Masha."
Where who we start in this one?
To me the only way this mess made any sense is if Red was Reddington, protecting Katarina as well as Liz and having a noble endeavor such as taking down the cabal completely worth him not telling Liz who he was. otherwise is monstrous, stupid, nonsensical, cowardly, and a general clusterfuck of nonsense. Rederina amplifies this tenfold to be the stupidest story about the clownish people who created trouble after trouble and then instead of telling Liz Rederina let her descend into madness, had her husband killed, and caused the death of countless people.
Dembe is an idiot who should have told Liz, instead of suffering torture and anguish.
On what planet is causing all this trouble to keep someone alive instead of saying "I am your mother" is a good story?
And now it seems we will not even get a clear answer? And we are insulted by the person responsible for keeping details straight that if we pay attention we already know?
Greed in this extreme form is bad. Extending the story killed it. Now no matter what it will always be a clusterfuck of lies and bad writing.

Lads, lasses, and other various 'ems last night was one of the hardest ones yet. Since i (28m) and my wife (27f) are splitting after almost nine yrs (been married one) it's been real rough on me, but last night was the first night my existential crisis cane back and i didn't have her to roll over to and cuddle to make me feel alright again. I know in the long run this may be good for us and maybe we can become somewhat friends again since we're not fighting each other and are trying to end this on ok terms we don't hate each other or anythin. We've both only ever lived with others and never alone so i think this may be a good thing in the long run, I'm at my granmas till i can find a rental, but that doesn't mean this doesn't hurt me. I usually don't have many emotions at times, i didn't even cry at our wedding, but since last Friday when i left the house till the date of posting I've only had two days in which i haven't had a breakdown. I feel so numb and cold, she was my longest relationship, my first wife (i hoped my only), and we were each others first times. I'm trying to be strong like usual but it's so tough guys anyways if you read this far thanks sorry for the long run on post.

6/9/23 Real Fast: Ohtani homers, Paredes' two HR's - 00:59
Quick Pitch explores the Premier Plays from June 9 - 01:01
Jake Rogers: Home Run Statcast Analysis - 00:10
Isaac Paredes: Home Run Statcast Analysis - 00:17
Kyle Schwarber: Home Run Statcast Analysis - 00:17
Mookie Betts: Home Run Statcast Analysis - 00:10
Josh Donaldson: Home Run Statcast Analysis - 00:09
Enrique Hernández: Home Run Statcast Analysis - 00:10
Joey Wendle: Home Run Statcast Analysis - 00:14
Brandon Dixon: Home Run Statcast Analysis - 00:15
Gary Sánchez: Home Run Statcast Analysis - 00:12
Shohei Ohtani's 440-foot homer - 00:34

SPOILERS FOLLOW, to get the same table with scores hidden, go to the comments.

GAME	RECAP	CG
AZ 11, DET 6	recap - 03:08	condensed - 08:38
TEX 3, TB 8	recap - 03:04	condensed - 08:06
KC 2, BAL 3	recap - 03:10	condensed - 08:13
NYM 7, PIT 14	recap - 03:12	condensed - 08:46
LAD 4, PHI 5	recap - 03:13	condensed - 08:13
BOS 3, NYY 2	recap - 03:10	condensed - 07:31
MIN 3, TOR 2, F/10	recap - 03:02	condensed - 08:34
HOU 9, CLE 10, F/14	recap - 03:14	condensed - 10:08
WSH 2, ATL 3	recap - 03:08	condensed - 08:39
MIA 1, CWS 2	recap - 03:17	condensed - 07:03
OAK 5, MIL 2	recap - 03:34	condensed - 07:19
CIN 4, STL 7	recap - 03:11	condensed - 07:26
SD 9, COL 6	no recap	condensed - 07:19
SEA 4, LAA 5	recap - 03:07	no condensed game
CHC 3, SF 2	recap - 03:14	no condensed game

Longest dongs of the day:

NUM	BATTER	PITCHER	RBI	DIST	EV	LA	VIDEO
5	Josh Donaldson	Garrett Whitlock	1	448	112.0	23	video
3	Mike Moustakas	Nick Martinez	2	441	105.9	25	video
17	Shohei Ohtani	Luis Castillo	2	440	112.9	30
4	Jordan Walker	Ben Lively	2	431	109.4	21
2	Brandon Dixon	Peter Lambert	1	430	104.7	28	video
12	Nolan Arenado	Ben Lively	2	429	108.4	31
5	Leody Taveras	Luis Patino	1	427	108.7	25	video
12	Fernando Tatis Jr.	Peter Lambert	1	425	103.4	27	video
6	Manny Machado	Austin Gomber	2	417	106.9	20	video
12	Jack Suwinski	Tommy Hunter	1	415	102.9	25	video

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Just wanted to say I love the new manhunts. I realize it wasn’t a huge change but it somehow felt more … natural? I was not a fan of the 2 control points + 3 bounties = manhunt target that they use to use. But somehow it seemed to work in the new format.
Also like the new story and castle settlement stuff being added.
Descent mode… still could use some work. I did a couple of runs and my longest was about an hour and 15 minutes. I died prior and to the nemesis. Seems kind of long. It was fun and I will continue to play it, but still needs some work.

Edit 1: as per u/Petroklos-ZDM's suggestion, i turned off crossplay, aside from ONE single lucky run which served to show my normal load time here is how it has been to me (DX11, Classic Engine, High Performance GPU):
Lucky Normal Extract Load Time on Solo (No Crossplay)
Extract Long Load Time on Solo (No Crossplay)
No Crossplay Public Circuit Long Load Time (i participated anyways, plus the host was AFK) : ( u/Perfect_Use3654, it might not've been my longest time of 5 minutes, but that's my average load time since the problems started)
​

Just finished binge-watching Terrace House Season: Opening New Doors 2018-2019 and here are my thoughts on how the cast members have evolved since then:
Ami
I barely recognized Ami when I saw her recently. She looks more mature now, and I think it might be because she's ditched the colored contact lenses she wore on Terrace House. Back then, she was unsure about her future but had dreams of becoming a model. It's great to see that she pursued her dream and stayed true to herself.
Taka
Taka made the right move by confessing his love to Reika. I couldn't help but wonder why he didn't do it sooner. Maybe their paths crossed again because of Terrace House. Speaking of Reika, she appeared innocent on the show, but now she exudes a sense of maturity. Interestingly, they now have a YouTube channel together and recently shared a video showcasing food in Karuizawa. Taka also continues to sell his clothes (BREW), though they seem more like merchandise than a full-fledged fashion label.
Tsubasa & Shion
Initially, I wasn't sure if Tsubasa and Shion were compatible, but they gradually became my favorite couple, and I was rooting for them. However, in the last episode, they hinted at having had a fight. Sadly, I later discovered that they broke up shortly after the conclusion of Terrace House. It seems Tsubasa is now dating a woman, which isn't too surprising given her tomboyish appearance.
Seina & Noah
I had my doubts about Seina and Noah's relationship lasting but they're now married and even have a baby! It's amazing how things can change. I wonder if Noah pursued his pilot license during this time as well.
Yui
Besides Taka, Yui had the longest run on Terrace House, appearing in 28 episodes. She displayed some toxic behavior on the show, but it's nice to see that she's still in contact with Maya, despite not being particularly close to her during their time in the house.

I want Jaheira, Imoen, as my perma members. It just does not feel right to exclude them especially after Imoen gets her suicidal tendencies after being tortured, I just want her to remain close so I can guard her. Jaheira, obviously she has been with me since the very beginning and has lost her hubby so I cannot let her go either.
So, I have 3 more slots to fill.
I have never let go of Misc..........he was not with me in either BG 1 or SOD, I had Neera in his place.
Now, I want tanks/fighters/clerics, I play as a mage but that can change.
Neera/Aerie/Anomen are my potential takes.
I just found out that a halfling named Jazzy ?? is a very strong fighter so I guess I want her in place of Aerie/Neera. Also, Viconia must have the best romance in game I heard. So, I might need her too.
I want to go on a no-relation run or if possible which is the best romance in your opinion guys, since obviously I am a newbie and people have played this legendary game multiple runs.
I need to know how I can say no to Jaheira romance without upsetting her. It just does not feel right to say no to her, being the longest companion.
Or maybe advise me a party with the rest 3 slots.

Link to part 2
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/13qcl3m/the_big_rock_candy_mountain_book_2_finding/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
Well, this is going to be a little different.
First thing I want to say is that Kev will be back. I’m not the type to sugar coat things, he’s in a pretty sorry state, but he’s going to pull through. He’s a tough bastard.
In case you haven’t clued in yet, it’s Mike, I might not be as much of a wordsmith as Kev but I think I can keep your interest.
She was about five foot four, pale greasy skin and pitch colored hair that was just about to cross the double line from shiny into gross. Early thirties I’d guess, but with the strange shit Kev and I have gotten ourselves into she could be a million, or put together yesterday for all I know.
She was a “ Shame Monger” which was as esoteric of a job title as it sounds, and the first context me and my little buddy had on our current assignment.
The place we’re in is an old, decrepit arcade, I’m surrounded by shadowy figures sticking to the dark recesses like insects.
Kev is somewhere deep within the place sticking his neck out with God knows what ( I mean, I do as well, but I’ll let Kevin relay shit when he’s up to it.), and I’m making small talk.
“You human? “ I say, she’s not offended but raises an eyebrow.
“Are you? “ She has an edge to her, human or not, she’s seen some shit.
I laugh, running a hand over the branded lines mimicking clown patterns Art left me with after that stay in his gulag.
“Sometimes I forget about the braille.
Yeah, %100 sadly. “ I lean on the counter as I speak.
“Me too, you haven’t been working with the watchers long, have you? “ She sounds concerned, “ I’d suggest finding a new job. They have a bit of a reputation. “
“Long enough. “ I’m wary now, information is a resource I’m not willing to part with easily.
I don’t think she’s wrong, mind you, every day I spend with these wizards by another name, I like them less and less. Being sent with Kev, Jr, and the voices in my head, wandering across the country to find something called “The Fleshsmith”, is the best case scenario in my opinion. Gives me some breathing room.
“How do does one deal in shame? “ I say after a long silence. The glitched beeping of the machines becoming grating.
“Not as spooky as you’d think.
You play airsoft? I’m Tori by the way. “ Tori says, lighting up a small black cigar.
“Never got the bug, but I’ve heard of it, and I’m Mike. “ I reply.
“Well Mike, I play, and it’s a great hobby. Lots of physical activity, lots of equipment to learn about, it’s got something for everyone. For the most part, it’s an exciting activity .
But, think of the factory that makes the plastic ammunition. It’s integral, but it’s cheap, easy to make, monotonous, and far removed from any of the interesting facets of the hobby.
That’s me. I brush up against all kinds of folks, but besides the little wrinkle your friend is dealing with, all of the real spooky shit is well past arm’s length. “ she coughs, the thick, cherry scented smoke hangs in rings, “ It’s a living. “
“Honestly, I couldn’t be happier.
I hear ‘ Shame Monger’ and I was thinking torture, and, I don’t know, ghosts maybe? “ I shrug, motioning for one of the cigarellos.
She gives me one, it tastes of rose and a rich, almost syrup like tobacco.
“Sorry to disappoint. No, extraction is pretty painless, uses a kind of blotter paper. And to the best of my knowledge, ghosts aren’t a thing.
As I said, things are safe and boring. “ Tori says, taking a seat on a black waist high stool.
I let her statement hang for a moment.
“So what’s with the big guy trying to blend in, waiting for me to leave the counter? And why did he come with 2 friends and a running engine? “ I say, low but casual.
I can tell she’s annoyed at my insight.
“That’s nothing horror adjacent. Just a good old fashioned shake down, cost of doing business.
He doesn’t know exactly what goes on here, but him and his associates know it’s profitable enough they can squeeze ten grand out of me a month. “ Tori shrugs, putting out her cigar.
“You can’t give someone a discount to rattle their cage? “ I ask, curious.
“Listen to you. “ Tori laughs, “If your butcher asked you to get shot for them, would you jump at the chance? “
I make eye contact, I can’t help but smirk.
“I’ve gotten shot for less. “ My comment gets a sideways look.
“Mike, I’m seeing you, and I’ve got to say, kinda seems like you’re full of shit. “ Her reply is harsh, but I can’t blame her. I’m dressed like salesman, facial scars or no.
I don’t reply. I walk to the grimy, dim, wet floored men’s room.
Someone who chooses my line of work doesn’t get into it because they have great impulse control. And unfortunately, I’m not unique .
Since I’ve got here, I’ve felt scared, small, ineffective. I know you guys have seen Kevin’s point of view on things, and it makes me seem like some kind of wrecking ball, but that is 50 per cent showmanship, 30 per cent planning and 20 per cent not caring if I lose a piece or two.
But this situation, some low rent semi-connected asshole who thinks he’s Don Corleone? It calls to me.
The clothing I wear is designed to be reversable, and with a few adjustments, I’m no longer wearing a cheap looking used car salesman’s suit, but an antique tuxedo with a 1940s design.
The mirror is grimy as hell, I try to clear a spot, but the sad, octogenarian Esque flow from the tap isn’t up to the task.
But it’s clear enough to reflect him, standing behind me. I jump, and my heart starts to pound.
“Not the time for this. “ I say, pacing.
I try to look away, but there he is, in the corner of my vision, each time. I’d close my eyes, but that’s what he wants, he gets closer when I can’t see.
For a half second my vision is taken up by a crystal clear image of his face. That angular, pale visage inhuman by any standard, but haunting in it’s echoes of a past rooted in mortality.
I stumble backward, slamming into the wall. Panting, my eyes locked on his almost-there form.
He’s tall, wicked, and everything about him exudes power. He’s taken to looking like me more and more lately. But a twisted, malignant reflection, what I could be if I let this pulp novel of a corner of reality have it’s way with me.
“Fuck off Demi! “ I say, getting to my feet, “ I’ve got shit to do. “
Still don’t know if he is just another hallucination, or who he says he is, but Demi and myself are on pretty poor terms as of late.
I hear the bodyless old ghoul whispering what I assume are dark threats as I open a small tube of what I like to refer to as ‘Mike’s Mix’.
A combination of preparation H, topical anesthetic, and just a hint of clown white. Laugh if you want, but it stops a hell of a lot of incidental injuries in my line of work.
Demi starts to fade and I see what I can of myself in the dull mirror.
I’m a little too old for the phrase, but I’m sure a lot of you folks out there would refer to the cliché spook I’ve cultivated as “Cringe”.
I don’t disagree.
But, it’s the game I have to play right now. I’m not some invincible cursed killer, but you know what, I can certainly play one on T.V.
(Did I just try to relate to kids, then make a joke from a 40 year old commercial? This is why Kev does the writing.)
I walk out of the bathroom, reeking of fear sweat and tainted water. The foot and a half lucite rod is tucked up my sleeve, I tap the end of it against the wall as I walk.
The guy is six feet, easily, he’s fifty or so, but making up for it with trips to the gym and a few friendly doctors if I don’t miss my guess.
He doesn’t take the bait, just keeps talking to Tori, once he looks to me, I can tell he is asking her who I am, she’s smart, she shrugs after looking over.
I had an entire plan where I would embarrass the man, get him to send some guys, and make things so costly he just gave up on Tori. It’s a classic, but if it ain’t broke and all that.
But plans, like the people that make them, tend to fail at the worst times.
Once I get within striking distance, the guy turns, his speed isn’t supernatural, but a lot more than I was expecting. His punch lands well enough that I don’t remember starting to fall.
The second finishes the job before I can get my bearings.
The darkness creeps in and in it’s peace I realize how stupid it was to go in this half cocked. I was jonesing for a fight I could win so badly, I went in without a plan B.
I need someone to reign me in, back home it was Eli, here, it’s Kev. As the last bits of conscious thought leave me, I feel bad about leaving him alone.
It's the stifling heat that wakes me up, before my vision clears I smell hot, cheap leather, old vomit and years worth of attempts to mask the smell.
I’m soaked in sweat, the air is like a sauna. I’m sitting in the back of a car, I wouldn’t call it a limo, but it’s clearly built for comfort, in optimal circumstances. There’s a tinted glass partition separating me from the front seat, it’s cracked slightly, I try to tell if anyone is there, but have no luck.
“Can’t say this is a new experience. “ I say, to whoever may be listening.
I try kicking out the windows and the partition, they don’t budge a millimeter.
“If you are up for talking things over, I’m game. “ I try to pry the overhead light loose, and that’s when I notice it.
It's a note, in a thick plastic sleeve, wrapped around my forearm and stuck with some kind of adhesive.
The pain is horrible, made all the worse by the constant pouring of sweat literally putting salt into the wound.
Said wound isn’t deep, a few layers of skin down, enough to weep blood, but far away from pouring. But if this kills me, it won’t be exsanguination. Depending on how long, whoever, plans on keeping me in here, I worry about infection, necrosis, pretty much all the members of the Untreated Wound crew.
I take off the suit jacket, and tear it into strips to use as makeshift bandages, I have a feeling I’ll be needing plenty by the time this is over.
My left arm is slow and clumsy as I open the envelope. I hope it’s just shock, or swelling, not nerve damage.
It reads:
Hey, Dracula, or whatever the hell you are.
Fuck yourself, you think we don’t have ways of taking care of your kind?
Have Fun
Niko Ferang
“Well, can’t say the guy isn’t succinct. “ I say, laughing.
If I just went up to the guy with a threat and a pipe, I’d have either won or lost, and that’d be the end of it. But my genius self succeeded in convincing him I was scary enough to toss me… here.
It dawns on me that there is something obvious I haven’t tried.
As I pull the latch on the passenger side door, something inside me tells me to stop.
Visually, I can’t really describe what it looked like opening the door. The brief period before I saw what was beyond was the visual equivalent of trying to catch a greased pig.
I was left with a view, an identical car interior. The other car parked impossibly close, Their doors seeming to blend with their exteriors.
I enter, as a great man once said “Buy the ticket, take the ride. “, and my dumb ass need for assurance, bought me one hell of a ride.
Once I get in, the driver’s side door closes, and I find myself in the same sweltering heat, in the same backseat.
The damp leather sticks to my arms, I start to calculate how much water I’m losing by the minute, and the math scares the hell out of me.
I try going through the door a few more times, but the more I do, the more I realize, it’s the same car.
The fear becomes as oppressive as the wet heat, I’ve researched a hell of a lot of things from the watchers library, but infinite Oldsmobiles didn’t come up.
I’ve been disarmed, but left with my phone, and wallet. I’m kind of impressed they managed to find 99 per cent of the equipment I can hide in a suit, but hey, %1 is better than nothing.
The phone makes a useless bludgeon, I quickly retire the idea, and figure, even neutered as it is ( I find I can get online, but little else.), it’s better doing phone things than broken.
The good news is frighteningly slim.
I’ve got a few feet of polymar tarp, folded in the wallet, useful for a lot of things, but most important in my situation will be trying to get some kind of drinking water.
An emergency credit card knife, barely useful little thing, won’t do me any good in a fight, but might be a useful tool.
Three strike anywhere matches, a small hook and length of fishing line.
My lips are cracked and bleeding, it can’t have been more than an hour or two, but I’m starting to feel heat exhaustion set in.
I think I’ve found something when the knife sinks into the thin leather of the overstuffed backseat, but the shoddy blade encounters some kind of solid matter, and as I pull the knife out, the leather seals itself.
I stay still, trying to conserve energy, trying to formulate some plan.
He sits beside me now, his looming hunched frame bent in the confines of the car. His face is a blur, but I know beneath the shadows he's smirking.
“I’m way too tired for you Demi. “ I say, wiping what feels like a liter of sweat from my forehead.
His repeating, echoing laughter proves me wrong, I shiver, despite the brutal heat.
It can’t have been more than a few degrees, bit It feels like getting splashed with ice water.
The light in the car begins to dim, and with it, the soul crushing temperature of the luxury automobile drops.
I scramble to set up the tarp, I was banking on this, without some kind of temperature drop, the plastic sheet is useless.
Within an hour droplets have began to create a small stream, collecting at the cone shaped tip of the suspended tarp. Lacking anything to put it into, I catch the liquid in my mouth.
It's foul, and likely contaminated, but it’s my only option. If I’m stuck in here a week I can get by without food, brutalized by heat, I won’t make it 2 days without water.
I feel exhausted, wondering exactly how long I’ve been stuck here I check the time on my phone.
It’s almost random progression does nothing to comfort the surreal sense of dread that is enveloping me.
I don’t know when I passed out, but I wake up laying across the reeking leather, being dragged backward.
I feel fingers, dozens of them, clawing, scraping, trying to gain purchase. A crevice begins to open in the deep black leather, and I begin to be dragged into it.
I throw myself forward, landing painfully on the sticky, grime ridden floor of the car.
Fear, and the awkward ergonomics of my situation make turning around a slow, nerve wracking chore. Once I manage to, I regret the decision.
Hands, some small, some large, some seemingly cobbled together from mismatched scraps, slowly pull themselves from the crevice between the seat and back of the back seat.
They prod and crawl like insects, none ever giving way to arm, just a lumpen flow of calloused, wrist like structure, giving each an segmented, centipede like appearance.
I sit up, watching the macabre display, trying to make some kind of sense of it.
I actually scream when there’s a sharp, loud, mechanical ringing beside my head. The type of analogue noise that went out of style long before land lines did.
It doesn’t take me long to find the handle and pull out an ancient car phone, it’s a two part wood paneled brick of a thing, I pick up the receiver, “Hello” I say, a question as much as a greeting.
The voice is male, probably early twenties.
“Don’t worry about them. They can be an issue if you don’t sleep on the floor, but I’ve never seen one drag itself more than half way across the seat. “ He’s calm, but has a survivors hushed impatience.
“Who are you? “ I ask.
“I won’t lie to you man.
I’ve been in here a while, but now that there is someone else, I think I can get out. Call me Pol. “ I catch the hopeful tone in his voice.
“How? “ I say simply, still trying in vain to put more space between me and the hands.
“Not to sound cold, but if I tell you, there is a chance you just take the information and leave me here.
The first step is us meeting, you’ll know the plan by the time that happens.
I don’t lie. “ If nothing else I can say Pol seems smart.
“Fair enough, what can I do? “ I Trail off at the end of my sentence, one of the hands is pointing at me.
“You need to understand a few things about this place.
First, don’t travel at night. Nothing you are going to find is going to be any better than the crawlers.
Second, remember the numbers, 1, 5 and 9. I’m assuming you have a watch, or a cellular phone? If the time ends in one of those, you’re likely to find a new space.
Last, what’s outside of the car, on the driver’s side, pretend it doesn’t exist. “ The instructions are cryptic, but I’m in no place to turn down good advice.
“How do I know I can trust you? “ I ask, knowing the answer.
“Don’t see how I could be anything other than what I say.
Wouldn’t it be pretty obvious if I was trying to lead you astray? “ Pol’s response is reasonable, but a lifetime of being blindsided makes me wary.
“I guess so. What should I be doing now? “ I say, flipping off the hand like thing that continues to point at me.
“Get some sleep. Time, day and night cycles, they mean nothing here, and passing out in a hundred and fifty degree weather is a shitty way to go.
I won’t be able to get through during the day, so listen carefully.
If you time your travel right, you are going to be looking for two main things. The first is going to be a pillow mint, eventually you are going to starve either way, the human body needs more than just sugar, but you should be able to find enough to keep you going till malnutrition kicks in. The second is a soda can, it’s a sip, and it’s turned, but it’s better than trying to lick the droplets from the windows. “ I listen to Pol, hopefully memorizing his instructions.
Daylight brings with it reek and heat, I watch the hands scuttle back to within the recesses of the seats, shuddering a bit as I see wave like, movements in the cushions.
“God damn it. “ I say looking at the display on my knock off phone. About %50, for all I know I’ll be out in 15 minutes, but I’m not banking on it.
I watch the numbers flash by like a stock ticker, waiting to see if Pol is trying to screw me over or not.
I see 1:39 and crack open the passenger side door.
The same sweltering heat, the same basic backseat, but I know, at a glance, things are not quite identical. Part repetition from the day before, part a decade and a half playing private eye, but I can tell Pol was telling the truth.
Lipstick, smeared on the passenger window, an old handprint. It seems like something bad happened here.
The leather of one of the headrests is torn, I purposely avoid looking at the certainly not stuffing inside.
It’s like this place wants to tell a story, I can’t help but try and hear it.
I don’t find any soda, but I do find a single, red and white pillow mint, wrapper mostly in tact, sitting in a sticky patch on the floor.
I try my luck a few more times, using the cell phone as a kind of metronome, and while I do get a lot of repetition, every so often, there is a little change, or quirk.
I’ve collected two pocketfulls of mints, and found myself desperately hoping to stumble upon anything to drink. Another night of distilled sweat, dust, and God knows what doesn’t seem appealing.
I must have been too slow opening the door, I’d done it over two hundred times at this point, and the grey haze of this new variation set off every danger instinct in me.
It felt like I was being watched from every angle, despite the gloom the heat was worse, and seemed to bake a fungal reek into the air itself.
The door handle on the passenger side is mangled, the steel colored plastic twisted into a useless lump.
The leather seems slightly rotten, weather stripping peels, light fixtures are cracked and loose, it feels very, old.
I watch the phone, my eyes instinctively darting around, there are noises from the front seat and I doubt they have my best interests in mind.
I’m trying the mangled door handle but something is broken.
That being, said, with a car this old, the fish hook, with enough persistence could work,
I Peel back some of the stripping around the window, te hook begins it’s slow trek down into the mechanics of the door.
I scratch my wounded arm, it hurts, but that isn’t what concerns me. I feel a small, irregular lump.
I peel back my makeshift bandages, and what I see attempts me make to vomit stomach contents that weren’t there.
Small, brown grey mushrooms, a half dozen, about the size of a grain of rice. I feel a tingling in the wound, and panic sets in.
Opening a door like this requires a steady hand, but between the noises in the front seat, and the literally budding body horror on my arm, my nerves are shot.
I hear the partition begin to lower, and that rotten, fungal reek becomes nearly a physical force. My eyes water, my nose runs, and I hear a noise, like flowing sand.
I feel the hook dig under the proper part of the lock and pull up as I feel something wet soak through my shoe.
The door opens violently, not that I’m upset, I toss myself forward like I’m going for a touchdown, my forehead slams off of the armrest in the newest backseat I find myself in.
Before the passenger side closes I catch a glimpse of the mess that spilled from behind the partition. Rot and flesh, an aborted rotten attempt at life enraged at the universe that spawned it.
I actually feel relief at the blinding sunlight, and shining leather, and find myself relating to the monsterous mass I left behind.
I look at my arm, realizing I didn’t leave all of it behind.
“Oh, fuck me. “ I say, fumbling the credit card knife together.
The mushrooms had doubled in size, the cheap tin knife makes a terrible scalpel, I scream as I err on the side of caution, flaying a half inch around each.
I’m bleeding heavily, half of the makeshift bandages barely keeping the flow at bay.
My vision swims, I feel sick, and I fight the urge to break down into a mentally and physically broken heap.
That’s where I’ll leave everyone. Night is falling, and without a little more help from Pol, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last.
If this is the last time you hear from me, well I’m sure Kev will have you guys covered for the rest of what I hope is Art’s downfall.
If it isn’t, I’ve got a favor to ask, did you guys notice anything I didn’t? Is there anything that is more obvious from outside this displaced cluster fuck?

Hi, I'm The Bard, he/him, 24 years old. I have ASD and haven't been able to shake a hyper fixation for some time now. I am looking for anyone who would be willing to run Pathfinder First Edition for me for a specific style of campaign.
I would love the chance to play a game with the themes of Zero to Hero or Rags to Riches aspects of a slow exp 1-20+ campaign. I have run a few similar campaigns, and have read all of Dave the Commoner. To me this kind of campaign is very reminiscent of how BECMI was ran.
I have been obsessed with this style of play for years, successfully running two campaigns along the same lines, and doing some solo play of the idea. Although, I am looking to see if there would be any DM's interested in running it for me. If you have questions about the style of play I am talking about, please ask here in the thread.
I have played BECMI, AD&D, 3.5, and 5e. I love the flow of play seen in BECMI, but love the rich roleplay communities that have grown out of 5e. That being said my longest lasting and most fun campaigns have been with Pathfinder 1e, and I am looking to dive right back into it.
I am a huge fan of NPC Classes, Core Races, and classic fantasy stories, but love the exponential growth within the system using gestalt, unchained, or even spheres of power. I'd love to play using the rule systems of pathfinder like downtime, retraining, rooms, teams, and even at some point Kingdom Building. Domain play has always been a favorite of mine.
I understand running a game for me alone might be a challenge for some people, and some DMs might only be interested in only a small part of the game I am trying to play. I am totally up for having multiple GMs or having other players help me along the journey.
I was thinking of starting as a human gestalt of two npc classes, rolling 3d6 down the line, and using the standard level 1 npc gold to kit out my character. Then through play, I'll make heavy use of downtime and retraining rules.
This was a recent solo attempt at this kind of campaign. https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1-iplsAj0vXgqe3w2jLs8KdLe2_dpXAOj?usp=drive_link

As salaamu alaikoom wa rahmatullahi wa baarakaatu my fellow brothers and sisters. As a result of a dire need for some more accountability, it’s time again for the nofap leaderboards challenge!
As usual it will be running on a week to week basis (to keep it more active) and we will be tracking who has abstained from PMO for the longest period of time (Set your day counter) and rank them accordingly. It’s obviously something we all struggle with and I know that the Prophet(S.A.W.) encouraged competition amongst the Muslims in terms of acts of worship. So why not make things a little more fun with a little competition and accountability! We will be going by the Islamic calendar, inshaaAllah.
SIGNUPS WILL BE DURING THE FIRST 2 DAYS OF THE POST (FRIDAY AND SATURDAY) AS IT’S QUITE TEDIOUS TO BE UPDATING EVERY SECOND.
What is required of those who wish to participate is to:
1. Turn on your streak counter (this can be found in the ‘about’ section of our forums) so that I can see the amount of days that you have.
2. Post on the thread stating that “you’re in” for the week, how the streak is going for you, and how you plan to improve/keep the streak going (also feel free to add some tips which have been helping you if you’d like).
3. You must TRY to pray 5 times a day.
4. No porn, no masturbation, no sexual stories etc..
LEAGUES:

• DIAMOND: 200+ days
• PLATINUM: 160+ days
• GOLD: 120+ days
• SILVER: 80+ days
• BRONZE: 40+ days
• PROSPECT: 20+ days

There will be update threads posted each week, inshaaAllah. Please post your updates.
If you relapse; shake it off and hop right back in! Allah is Most merciful and forgiving. Don’t despair in His mercy. He loves it when a slave repents and turns back to Him. We don’t have time to give up. Remember that we’re all in this together and that we should encourage and help each other out. May Allah guide us, straighten our affairs for us and rid us of these vile addictions. Ameen! Please sign up below! :)
LEADERBOARD RANKINGS
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The Ambitious (1 day - 4 days)- Unranked

So I’ve got about 100 hours in the game now. I am loving it but I just cannot surging past 7 days. I think my longest is 9 days. As soon as I start getting comfortable and preparing for the long run something just goes wrong and I die. Like my last run I had weapons, a great base, vehicles and I died instantly assuming I was dragged down by zombies that managed to grab me. But like most of my runs average about 3 days. I know all the basic beginner tips but I’m just curious of any advice or more intermediate tips you might have to help me get past that 7 day mark. Like should I prioritise certain tasks over others?