#dnd vibes

[furballtsarina]

Astarion, my beloved disaster vampire 🖤

Had so much fun capturing his dramatic flair in this portrait! This is definitely one of my favorite recent pieces — I got to lean into all the elegance and menace.

[moonbeampixels]

The knight’s resting place ⚔️🛡️

[wormsinastarcoat]

CURRENT WIP AND EXCERPT TIME WOOOOOOOO

Surprise! For the past month or so, I've been participating in @beauvandalen 's Novella Spring Garden Jam! My wip a little over 8k and still untitled, but i do have a working synopsis:

🐺🐴⚔️✨️ A werewolf, a horse boy, and a bounty hunter walk into a bar...

Except actually it's the woods, and the woods are maybe haunted as fuck??

Their job: to find what's been making travellers and supply wagons go missing… presuming it doen't find them first. 🌲🌳👻🌳

I'm SO excited about this project, so please send me asks about it!!

Here's the first few paragraphs 😈😈

[samiraiart]

2024 Huevember 15-16/30

[j0sh-my-g0sh]

WIP gangs together

[monstersovka]

🦇 Lord of bats 🦇

[emiett]

I made a cringe art tile of my dnd character and now it's in the community center's ceramic display case

[nubesrosasart]

💃🎵Jaheira, Jaheira🎵💃 finally got to finish this Shakira-inspired illustration for Jaheira ❤️

[eliotbaum]

The party at castle Ravenloft

[hairmetal666]

Wayne's used to worrying about Eddie. He should be; he's been doing it since the kid was twelve. First it was Eddie's silence, his permanent frown, the way the bones stood out too prominent on his small wrists. Then it was the kids at school, taunting him and calling him names, the fights and calls from the principal's office. Next came the late nights, the drinking, the dealing, failing his senior year twice. But all of those times, every single one, Wayne had known what to do. Maybe it wasn't perfect, maybe it took a little time, but he'd always figured out exactly what his boy needed.

And now--now Wayne doesn't know if he can help; knows it's not in his power to fix it. 

So, he sits for the second week in a row, watching his nephew--his whole heart--sitting in front of the window, looking out at the forest, nursing the same cup of coffee that he poured six hours ago, and wonders how in the world he can help.

They're cleaning up from dinner, Eddie quiet at his side, when he says, "Gonna need some help with the mugs tomorrow."

After moving to Oregon once Eddie graduated and he retired, he found an affinity for pottery. Never woulda thought it, but he loves it and tourists love his booth at the farmers market.

He can't think of a better way to get his nephew out of the house, but wonders if he doesn't know his boy as well as he thinks after a decade in Los Angeles, that Eddie'll refuse. He just nods, though, goes back to drying the plate in his hands.

And next morning, right at 6:45, Eddie is in the living room in black jeans that are so worn they're nearly grey in places, and the threadbare Metallica tee Wayne thrifted for him nearly a decade back. It's a win. Small, yes--Eddie doesn't even complain once about the country-western station Wayne plays in the truck--but still a step forward.

Wayne wastes no time parking and handing Eddie a box of carefully packed merchandise. He leads the way, trusts that Eddie is right on his heels until he hears Jim Hopper's voice say, "You better keep an eye on those mugs, son. Your uncle will tan your hide."

He turns to see Hopper balancing one end of Eddie's box, Eddie's cheeks flushed pink. "Sorry, I--uh, I've got it now." Hopper lets go and for the briefest instant Eddie's eyes dart to the side and the pink in his cheeks grows deeper.

Wayne tracks the path Eddie's eyes took and finds--he swallows back a chuckle--Steve Harrington just setting one of his Adirondack chairs into place, his t-shirt lifted to show of a stretch of stomach.

Well. Eddie did always like the pretty ones.

They setup the booth in companionable silence, and Hopper pops back over for a proper introduction. Before he departs again, he says to Eddie, "I got some kids who really love that dnd game and your show. They're going to be crazy to meet you. That okay?"

And Eddie, he's a good boy, he smiles and nods but as soon as Hopper is out of earshot, Wayne's saying, "Hop's kids and their friends are big fans and I know you're heartsore about the cancellation, but you better be polite."

Eddie glares. "What do you think, old man, that I'll be mean to children?"

"Well, with how you've been moping around the cabin these last few weeks, hard to know."

He scoffs. "Yeah, well. Netflix putting your hit show on indefinite hiatus without warning or explanation will do that to a guy."

Wayne knows there's nothing he can say to soften this hurt, so he gives Eddie's shoulder a tight squeeze. "I'm proud of you no matter what, son."

His nephew nods, eyes down, but Wayne doesn't miss the small, pleased, lift at the corner of his lips.

The morning passes smoothly and Wayne pretends he doesn't notice every time he finds Eddie's gaze straying to Steve's booth.

The kids come by around noon, Dustin Henderson breaking away from the pack to shriek, "You're Eddie Munson!"

Eddie smiles, stands. "That I am, young adventurer." He bows low, exaggerated and the kids giggle. "Pray tell, what are your names?"

The chatter is fast and easy, Eddie the happiest he's been in weeks, and Wayne relaxes back in his chair, lets out a long, slow breath of relief at the breaking storm. He stretches back in his chair, eyes catching on Steve Harrington across the way. Steve who is watching Eddie and the kids with an expression Wayne can only think of as fond.

Wayne isn't one to play matchmaker, but--he thinks, just maybe, just this once he could nudge.

It happens late in the afternoon, when business has well-slowed, Eddie asking, "Um--that guy over there, who is--what's his deal?"

Wayne thinks he manages to keep all traces of amusement from his face and voice as he answers, "Who? Ohh, Steve Harrington. He's the guidance counselor down at the middle school. Does a bit of carpentry in his free time. Best friends with the woman who owns that little bookstore."

He watches as Eddie processes, as his eyes widen, probably in remembrance of the pride flags and Protect Trans Kids shirts, how the woman in question wore a lesbian flag pin on her apron. "Guidance counselor?" He says eventually. "Kind of a drag."

"You would think, but the kids love him. The ones you met earlier today? He babysat them for years; imprinted on him, Jim and I say."

"Hmm," is the only response he gets, Eddie's attention back on the man in question.

---

The day after the market, Wayne walks into the living room to find Eddie's laptop tucked into the cushions of the window seat. He hasn't seen the thing since Eddie came home, never used to see him without it, and this--well.

He says, "need to run into town for a few things. You up for a trip? You might could stop at that bookstore."

Eddie nods, takes a sip of his coffee--he's actually drinking it-- says, "Yeah. Yeah, I think that'd be cool."

The store isn't busy when they arrive, and Wayne drifts towards the magazines to leave Eddie to his own devices.

Wayne loses himself to quiet browsing, wanting to give Eddie space, to maybe chat with Robin Buckley, strike up the beginnings of a friendship. Enough time passes, though, that Wayne is wondering where his boisterous, noticeable nephew could've disappeared to so silently.

He winds around a shelf and sees Eddie and Steve Harrington in deep conversation. He can't hear it, not really, but they're standing close, with pink in their cheeks. As he watches, Steve says something that makes Eddie laugh and pull a few strands of hair over his mouth.

They're almost inseparable after that. Eddie, Steve, Robin, and all those kids. They play dnd, have movie nights, spend hours at the diner. And Eddie, he's writing, sketching, gets down Wayne's acoustic guitar and plays around for a while.

When he asks how things are with "that Harrington boy," Eddie flushes red and says, "none of your business, old man" before giving Wayne a quick, affectionate squeeze. 

---

Two and a half months after Eddie came to stay, Wayne's walking back from the river, the sky the light navy of new dusk. His fishing rod is draped over one shoulder, tackle box held easily in his fist, the walk home pleasant, a perfect end to a good day.

The light from the front porch seeps through the trees, and he's thinking about a cold beer, a warm pizza, if Eddie's found his way home yet, when figures standing on the porch stop him in his tracks.

It takes a second, longer, for his eyes to adjust from the dark of the woods, and the glow of the bulb, but then he sees--

Eddie and Steve locked in a fierce embrace, desperate and very much private.

He turns right back towards the river, doesn't mind giving the boys some time.

He waits a good half hour, just enjoying the forest, before heading back. Steve's car is gone, the porch vacant, but the cabin is lit up, bright and warm and inviting.

Wayne steps inside, and his nephew is there, laptop open, but he isn't working, just smiling to himself, chin resting on his fist.

"Okay?" Wayne asks.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Eddie's smile doesn't fall from his face.

He doesn't want to interfere, ask too much, not when he's sure things are still young. Instead, he asks, "What'd you say to ordering a pizza?"

And Eddie, heedless of Wayne's question, says,"you know. I've been thinking about maybe staying here for a little longer."

And Wayne, his smile grows, and he claps a hand on his nephew's shoulder. "You're welcome here for as long as you want. Already consider it your home anyway."

[luckyblackcatxiii]

I got a new ipod recently--yeah yeah I don't care I love my mp3 players still--and really wanted to decorate it with a certain awful man...which led me to be possessed to draw some CoS stickers. A handful of NPCs and our PCs as well!

(I'll be premiering these at ANYC as well as doing pre-orders on these in the coming months...though this is just the beginning of some new CoS merch so heads up ;{3 )

[entnoot]

Vesper Mournfell (she/they), changeling shadow sorcerer for Meg! Thank you for your enthusiasm and encouragement!!

[aetherixs]

fantasy high quotes

i've been binging d20 recently and my love language is taking notes so here is a vibes-based collection of fantasy high quotes that tickled me (from all seasons) in vaguely chronological order:

“Everything’s just like something else” - Gorgug’s mum

“Speaking of boning down, have you seen my mother lately?” - Riz

“Can I cast detect thoughts on myself? - Adaine

“Am I my own dad?” - Gorgug

“I’d like to invest in swamp Venice— it sounds idyllic” - Fig

“Do maids have dreams?” - Fabian

“I love you too. Is that normal?” - Ayda

“I did a bunch of magic. It was too much. You can’t just destroy a government” - Arthur Aguefort

“Well, I’m up under here and there’s this apple jammed in my mouth. I’m gonna piss." - Gilear

“I kiss her and then I skateboard away” - Fig

“I disguise myself as someone who has passed the bar exam” - Fig

“You’ll never be half the boat my van is” - Gorgug

“I cast ‘spare the dying’ on Gilear’s penis” - Gorgug

“I might have made a deal with a devil of acid reflux” - Fig

“Hindsight is 50/50" - Adaine

“If we want to save face we need to burn your house down” - Fig

“Do I have any wherewithal once I’m in the briefcase?” - Riz

“I’m going to sneak into Gilear’s room tonight and give him a vasectomy” - Fabian

“You catch a lot more bees with sugar” - Kristen

“Are the rats showing hole?” - Fabian

“DO YOU HAVE WATER VEHICLE PROFICIENCY, JAWBONE?” - Riz

“There’s too many dragons! We gotta just keep shooting Grandma and gassing it” - Riz

[amara-gaelthorne]

Witchcraft Doesn’t Owe You Proof

Not everything sacred needs to be converted into data or monetized into results. Fantasy isn’t “lesser.” Symbolism doesn’t have to justify itself to capitalism. Internal experiences are valid experiences. And imagination? It is a power. It doesn’t need a paycheck, a testimonial, or a TikTok manifestation glow-up to matter.

Witchcraft—at its core—is liminal. It lives in the in-between, in dreams, in play, in the mythic, in the symbolic. Yes, it can be practical and results-based. But it also can be deeply indulgent, internal, aesthetic, irrational, beautifully useless in the utilitarian sense. That’s not weakness. That’s art. That’s freedom.

The Burden of Legitimization

When witches today feel the need to constantly prove that their craft works in the "real world"—it’s a form of protective posturing. Centuries of persecution, accusations, and erasure led to an underlying anxiety: “If I don’t produce, they’ll call me a fraud. If I don’t fix something, they’ll call me evil. If I indulge in fantasy, they’ll call me insane.”

That anxiety is real. It’s collective trauma. But bending to it doesn’t liberate anyone. It just hands your practice over to the same structures that once condemned it.

You Know What’s Revolutionary?

Saying: “My witchcraft isn’t for you.” “My fantasy isn’t meant to fix the world.” “My symbols don’t need to be literal to be real or meaningful or useful to me.” “This practice is sacred because I feel it, not because it ‘works’ on reality.”

That is radical honesty. That is witchcraft with backbone. And that’s where I'm standing.

But Not Me. Not Us.

I’m a black-garbed warlock with a demon wolf at my side. I have skeletons and sigils and a pendulum that doesn’t need to predict anything to feel sacred. I make charms not for productivity, but for companionship. I speak to spirits, not to control them, but to coexist.

This isn’t about usefulness. This isn’t about outcomes. This is about presence. Power. Permission to imagine. Because that, more than any dollar or spell, is what the world fears:

A woman who doesn’t need to explain her inner world to anyone.

To Those Still in the Shadows:

If you’ve ever felt that your magic was “not enough” because it was too symbolic, too dark, too strange, too aesthetic, too rooted in fantasy— Let me say this with fire:

You do not owe this world results. Your path does not require proof. Your magic is not a pitch deck.

You are not broken for indulging in something that doesn’t “serve a purpose.” You are not immature for finding love in the mythical. You are not failing if your witchcraft doesn’t fix the world’s wounds.

Sometimes witchcraft is not about fixing. It’s about feeling. It’s about facing. It’s about fcking existing as you are, wild and untamed and unquantifiable.

My Magic Is Not For Sale

So to the algorithms, the moral panics, the critics, the capitalist covens, the skeptics, the sanitized influencers, and every fake “demonologist” who ever tried to leash the strange:

You don’t belong in my pit. My witchcraft will remain indulgent. Symbolic. Unapologetically dark. Unmeasurable. And mine.

[veilwaltz]

the alter is wherever you kneel

[lexicorp]

I absolutely love messing with picrews and this one is hella neat^^

My critiques I would say is some excess colors for hair and eyes, also it'd be neat to have the weapons one to be able to be mix matched with each other to be able to pair the sword and shield

But it's really fun to work with with the DnD feel :3

Imma bug @kylinvartilo and @beginner--artist-soliac to give it a try 👈👈

Picrew chain👍

Inspired by @lilacebean

Link ⬇️

Tag anyone you know to do this👍

@somerandomdudelmao @tapakah0 @ambi-stage @andva-ri @abbeyofcyn @autisticenbydonnie @phykoha 👍

Tagging random people

@lemon-lime-slush @aro-manita-muscaria @gnomeantics @avogadro-toast @pageofheartdj @jules--pirsecon

You can do this if you want to👍