#(( This is meant for Matt

[otpbutmakeitspicy]

i suffer from 'men are hotter banged up' disease. unfortunately there is no cure.

Bloody and bruised >

[shorthaltsjester]

the reason critical role is so good is because every campaign features at least one cast member creating a character that they intend to be doomed by the narrative and matt and the rest of the cast going don’t be an idiot, Our Love Will Undoom Them. like in the explanation of percy’s final playlist, taliesin wrote, “Cheers to a happy ending for a character intended by his creator to be karmically irredeemable. May we all be so fortunate.” and just, Yeah.

[sleepypuddding]

🐍 your main villain looks gnc af

[cigarettedolly13]

Honestly I love the divide between fanon Mello and canon Mello it’s so funny to me

fanon Mello: SQUEEEEEEEEEE OMG MATT/L IS SO CUTE and I HATE that annoying popular Near!!!!

canon Mello: ok Matt now hit the second tower

[avocado-writing]

notes: full version of this. contains mild brat taming, spanking, holy imagery. reader is genderless. special love to @dhampling who read over the start for me, and M for being my beta 💕

pairing: astarion x LG!Paladin!Reader

rating: E

words: 3k

Astarion looks at you, and he wonders. 

He wonders, back when he was a spawn stalking through the streets of Baldur’s Gate, if his sheer proximity to you might have burnt the alabaster skin from his bleached, undead bones. That is the force of your radiance. 

Every part of you is a perfect fragment of your god. Sunshine-brilliant and drenched equally in his glory and wrath, there could be no doubt that you are a child of Pelor. You carry his emblem on your armour and his love in your heart. Your skin has a dreamy pearlescent lustre, soft and hearty, and you seem to glow from the innate light within you.

It makes Astarion sick.

You are so nauseatingly good. When he met you on the road near the crash site it was your first instinct to help. Not to second guess his nature, not to wheedle any masked truth from him, but to draw your sword and offer protection to a stranger.

He got the jump on you, of course - but he recalls how easily you laid him out on his back in return. When he was staring up at you, forcibly unarmed, and the sun framed your face like your god had in that moment blessed you with a halo just to spite him.

And still you had reached out a hand to him in friendship.

You hadn’t withdrawn when the truth of his condition came to light. He figured someone of your vocation would try to run him through without a second thought. But instead of offering him the point of your blade, you offered him your neck. 

“If my blood will strengthen you then I will gladly share it,” had been your words. He wanted to prove you wrong for your kindness, to drain you dry just to spite you - and your taste had been ambrosia. Sweetly blossoming on his tongue he had almost lost himself in the taste of you, until once again your firm hands pushed him away.

No. He would not get to end you that night.

Every day the two of you bickered. You, the stalwart immovable paladin; him, the nefarious rogue always up to something. The two of you were total opposites. It seemed almost cruel that fate had forced you into being travelling companions. And yet…

And yet.

Whenever you finished swapping barbs (well, the threw barbs at you, and you remained unbothered in the face of them, deflecting his venom with the pavise of your cool-headedness) he would see you smile as you turned away. He’d be well aware there was one on his own face, too.

Stupid. Weak. 

How he managed to get you into bed after that party at the Grove, he’ll never know. It was a gamble and the dice were not in his favour. But he gave it a go anyway, drolly mentioning the quality of the wine and the overwhelmingly oppressive atmosphere. When he suggested meeting you later that night he braced himself to be staked.

But that hadn't happened.

You’d been surprised, definitely. Eyebrows raised and smile sudden, but you’d said yes. You’d even giggled at the idea, dizzy like a schoolchild. 

And, admittedly, he felt an erotic thrill as he sauntered to meet you in that clearing. One he thought himself incapable of experiencing any longer. He was never excited about sex any more. He’d tried to convince himself it was due to his stygian soul, that a creature like him lying with someone as pure as you would be a defilement, would be sullying your holiness - something to bring you down a peg or two. Make you not so out of everyone’s reach.

Out of his reach.

Perhaps, though, in the corner of his mind he tried to wall up, he just relished the idea of being close to you.

And close to you he was. Your grip on his cock was warm and sweet as he slid inside you. You bared your neck and he found the bite marks that were becoming a permanent fixture on your skin, the softest place on you - every other inch was hard muscle. A reminder of that shield you carried, the righteous sword you swung. He made love to you in the most passionate way he knew possible.

He hadn’t realised he’d wanted to hear the sound his name made from your lips as you came around him. It burned into his soul.

He expected you to fall asleep quickly, after, but no. You’d actually held him. As if he weren’t some creature of the abyss but…

Well, your equal.

You hand had caressed his back in a way he’d never known before, soft and sweet, reading his scars like braille but not asking for their origin. Instead you’d opened up yourself a little and let him hear some of the chapters of your life.

He wasn’t surprised when you told him you swore your oath as a teenager. You grew up in the church, devoted from youth, and he could picture you: pocked-faced and wide-smiled, knowing exactly how you wanted to live the rest of your life. 

So sure-footed. He was jealous. He was smitten.

“Do you ever regret it?” he’d asked, burying himself into the warmth of your body. You’d shaken your head and looked him dead in the eyes, so utterly sincere that it moved him.

“I rarely regret anything. Not my oath, not the nautiloid… not you,” you’d whispered before kissing him. 

And, true to your word, you never did. 

Nowadays? You make him feel safe. Protected. Watched over both in and out of battle - whenever anyone tries to take advantage of his vampirism, when they act like he is a thing rather than a person, you are the first one to his side to defend him. 

It forces him reevaluate how he feels about himself; question if he is, in fact, a being worthy of love. 

He hates it. 

He is looking at his reflection in the mirror of you. Yes. You do see something worthy in him, something worthwhile and deserving of your nurture. It makes him so damned scared. Because if that’s true, it means maybe there’s more to him than the vicious little cretin he portrays himself as. Maybe he is worthy of it all. Of kindness. Of love. 

Of you. 

His soul begins to itch. He needs to do something to realign his universe, put things back into the way they’re meant to be. He needs to be a rogue, damn it!

Your adventure has called you back out to the Emerald Grove. With Isobel safe after the attack at the Last Light Inn you were comfortable leaving the Shadowlands for a while under the knowledge that before you fought Kethetic things were unlikely to get better, but also unlikely to immediately get worse. Astarion erects his tent on soft grass, relieved to not be surrounded by magical darkness, and waits for you to be distracted. 

It does not take long. You are swept up in good-natured conversation with Wyll, discussing some sort of swordfighting technique he neither knows nor cares about. When he is certain that no eyes are on him he simply melts into the gloom of evening. 

Where he belongs. Pathetic creature.  

As far as he can tell, nobody notices him. The shadows cling to him like a second skin, like his body was made to have them mould around him, and he heads into the Grove. It is easy enough. The druids are all busy, guards down ever since the tieflings left, he just needs to not make too much noise and they are easy to pilfer from. Nothing too big or obvious. Nothing they really need. A healing tincture here, a handful of rare herbs there, a couple of silver pieces left loose on a stone desk. But the more he takes, the less it thrills him. 

It occurs to him that none of this has the same impact that it used to. Once, the idea of robbing good people blind filled him with glee. Now, he can only picture your face every time his hand flits out to snatch something up. How disappointed you’d be with him. He is trying to fill a hole in himself and it is one that you have made. It sounds violent, but truth be told it’s anything but - he has been split open by your kindness, as if you were simply trying to carve away the rot and allow him to properly heal. That healing has barely started, and he's trying to patch over the necessary work with old bad habits which used to bring him joy. Not any longer, though. 

No. His soul isn’t in it today.

He returns to camp with his heart and pockets heavy. He wonders what he should do with his ill-gotten gains. Return them? Perhaps, as quietly as he took them in the first place, making sure no attention is paid to him. Gloss all of this over like an artist sealing a painting, finish this nasty piece of work. 

He’s so lost in his own thoughts that, when he pulls back the fabric door of his tent, your presence there makes him actually jump.

You’re sitting on an old wooden chair, dragged over from your own quarters, legs crossed with one of your pauldrons in your lap. A cloth is grasped in your hand and you’re taking your time shining the metal. He catches you doing this a lot. You like to make sure your armour is in tip-top condition, every day. You once told him cleaning your plate mail is an act of worship for you, and he found that quietly ridiculous; Pelor forbid you get any blood on the thing saving your life every battle.

He freezes when you look up at him. The door falls closed, trapping the two of you in the canvas together.

“You’re up late,” he says, trying to affect nonchalance. He does not think you’d be here if this was a social call, at least not with such a serious countenance. 

He’s been rumbled.

“Mm. I was in bed when I received a missive.” You hold the pauldron up and breathe a stream of warmth onto it, watching it fog before polishing the same spot.

“What sort of missive?”

“Nettie said she saw you skulking around the grove.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Bloody druids and their bloody perception. He’s going to torch that bloody Grove and all of those green-fingered bastards in it.

Except no, he’s not. He’d never. Not now. But he still finds himself going on the offensive, crossing his arms and scowling.

“Oh! ‘Skulking’, was it? Was that the actual word she used?”

“Yes, Astarion.”

He doesn’t have a response to that, so he just harrumphs. 

“You know that I do not lie,” you add on, as if his silence threatens to be damnation of your oath. 

“Mmm, I’m aware of that, and it is incredibly vexing!”

Finally you put the pauldron aside, all attention on him now. Hands clasped in your lap. Serious. 

“Turn out your pockets for me please, Astarion.”

Fuck. Fuck.

“No. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

You sigh.

“Is that because you’re denying you went and robbed our druid friends, or you just don’t want me to see what you took?”

His face burns. He doesn’t answer.

“Please, Astarion. Be a good boy.”

Oh. Oh. His body has an… involuntary response to that, one he wasn’t expecting at all. He feels himself throb as those words settle about him. 

“You’re not in charge of me,” he protests, but there’s little oomph behind it, because slowly his defences are beginning to fall. You need do so little and he is laid bare at your feet. He would lay himself bare at your feet.

He wonders if he can push you further. He wonders if this is all working for you as much as it’s working for him.

“I know I am not, my heart. But when you act like a brat I have little choice but to treat you like one.”

His mouth falls open at your brazenness, a perfect pink ‘o’.

His lips say, “I’m not acting like a brat!”

His cock says, I am and it’s on purpose. 

“Pockets,” you say one more time, and he feels the full force of your gaze upon him. Half-hard and flaming-cheeked, he gives in. Slowly he divests himself of all of the grove’s trinkets and treasures, laying them out on the floor at his feet in a slow display of shame. You remain absolutely neutral through it, face hardly moving an inch. When he unhands the final bunch of herbs you finally speak.

“Come here.”

If his heart needed to beat, it would be racing. He feels himself twitch in his underwear. 

He comes to you.

You reach out, wrapping a strong but sure hand around his wrist, fingers encircling its width perfectly… and then with a single tug, you topple him over into your lap.

He squeaks. Well, really, it is more of a moan, as he lands across your knees, your palm running across the swell of his arse. He’s never been so humiliated. He’s never been so aroused.

“Do you want me to stop?” you ask, voice feather-light, as solemnly as if you were swearing a vow. 

Ever since he escaped Cazador, he never lets anyone do anything he doesn’t want to his body. He won’t let them have control over him ever again. But this? You? That is different. He knows if he said a single word to the contrary, you would cease. You would not exploit him or take him for granted. He knows that he is precious to you, a thing to be treasured.

And for that, he trusts you to the ends of the world with him. To take care of him. 

To give him what he needs.

So when you ask him if he wants you to stop, even though he knows what’s coming, he whispers, ‘no.’

The first smack steals the air from his lungs, a breath he did not need but must have taken on his way over to you. It is a firm sting, and his cock goes from half-mast to full embarrassingly quickly.

Your hand goes back.

On the second smack, he finds himself mewling, a desperate little noise beckoned from the back of his throat from your ‘punishment’. It is one of rapture. He begins to try and rut into your thigh for some sort of relief, but you open your legs wider in order to remove his purchase on you. 

He whines. It isn’t fair. You keep going.

On the third, his arse has begun to smart. If he had blood his cheeks would be rosy, he’s sure. And yet each strike is like lightning up his spine. He has begun to leak into his britches just from this, and he feels pathetic and small, but so thoroughly safe and looked after in your embrace.

You ask him if he wants to continue. He nods so violently his neck threatens to break.

If this is the penance Pelor would have you deliver, perhaps he can find it in himself to be a religious man after all.

His head empties as you keep striking, but he hears the way you pause after every slap to listen: take notice of if he wants you to stop. When the only sounds you hear are moans of satisfaction, you keep going. He lies there, bonelessly aroused and limp-bodied, his whole universe centred entirely onto your hand and his cock.

“Do you want to come, Astarion?” you ask, eventually, voice heavy with desire. He nods, and for the first time he realises he has tears of overstimulation trickling down his face, so desperate is he to find release.

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck…” he groans. 

“And you’ll be a good boy if you do?”

Fuck. Anything you want.

“Yes…”

Your hand snakes round to cup him through his trousers. It only takes a couple of strokes over the fabric, and your touch is enough to finish him off. He comes in his underwear like a teenager who cannot control themselves, mewling and sobbing in desperation. It is like a blinding light across his eyelids, he swears for a second he sees your god in the white-hot intensity of his orgasm. The best one he’s ever had. 

You’re an angel, a fucking angel sent to be his salvation. 

As he rides out his climax against the meat of your palm, he feels the other one rubbing across his sore backside. It occurs to him you’re using your Lay on Hands to soothe some of the sting for him, which, if he were more lucid, he’d find utterly ridiculous; however as it is the ache in his arse is still pleasant but now less demanding of his attention. 

You manoeuvre him to sit up, letting his whole body collapse into yours. He is aware, through the cotton-clouds of his thoughts, that you are whispering his praises. Telling him how well he did. Reassuring him how much you care for him. Letting him know how proud you are. He’s never been so pleased in his life, and rubs his face into your neck, like a pampered cat seeking attention.

“Are you alright?” is what you ask eventually, after you’re sure he’s returned to himself properly.

“To be honest, I don’t remember the last time I was better,” he manages, and you laugh in a gravelly little chuckle. 

“Good. Your happiness matters to me.”

He can’t think of anyone who that’s ever been true for. He’s humbled that you have the sincerity to voice it. You are so… you’re so…

Wonderful. 

Even now, you care. He’s never had that before.

“Astarion…”

“Mmm?”

“Tomorrow, you’re returning those things to the Grove.”

He groans and you laugh again.

“Come on, now. You said you’d be good.”

“Fine! Fine. Just… don’t make me think about those nature-loving freaks while I’m bathing in the afterglow, hmm? I just had an orgasm that sent me into the astral plane. I’d like to enjoy it there a little longer.”

You do not argue. He feels your lips curl into a smile against the soft skin of his neck. 

Later, you’ll carry him to the nearest stream and wash him, your hands dancing across his skin like worship. You’ll treat him as if he is a holy relic. Precious. 

It will be then, in the water and softness of your touch, he will realise that he loves you.

The next day he gives back what is stolen. He can’t look at your thighs without his cheeks burning.

taglist & those who seemed interested: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @clairetheflower @foxiecelery @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate @dhampling @wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdonugget @useless-contributions @beardedladyqueen @hopeful-n-sad

[theautomattic]

I just now realized what Elektra meant in this scene:

Oh wow Matthew 👀 okay then!

[princedevitt]

[doverstar]

alexa play rolling in the deep by adele

[saruzzo]

It's always the same whenever someone new comes into his life— Freddie, Fausto, Peter Smith-Kingsley (…) And especially you, of course… and that's only the boys.

ROSARIO FIORELLO as FAUSTO in "The talented Mr. Ripley" (1999) dir. Anthony Minghella

[mihaelkeehl]

Mello isn’t a good person. It’s not new knowledge to him, in fact one of his first memories is shoving some toddler to the ground over some toys. He’s not stupid enough to even try branding himself as a good person, that notion fell through long before he first heard someone’s last gasps of air, the sickening gurgle in the back of their throats and a silent mouthed cry for their mother.

He knew he wasn’t a good person as he dry heaved onto the ground, nothing even able to come up, when had he last eaten again? He wasn’t a good person when he stuffed that headless corpse into a trash bag, shoving the heaving bag into the boot of Rod Ross’s luxury car. The empty McDonald’s wrappers that were scattered through the car crunched under his feet as he climbed into the car stone faced.

Most of all he definitely wasn’t a good person when he stood outside the chipped blue door of Matt’s apartment. He was grateful for once that Matt lived in a shitty part of town, no one really cared to look enough at the blood on his knuckles, the broken nose, the various bruises and scratches and spatters of blood. He needed to bring two changes of clothes in the future.

It was difficult to knock, it always had been. This was different however, far further than it had ever been before. Matt would take one look at him and know what he had done. How could he not? The man was integrated into every electronic he used, how else can you blackmail people if you’re not constantly recording every conversation you have. Yet Mello couldn’t decide what was worse, Matt looking at him with disgust or with love. The option of both made his stomach turn, the disgust he could deal with. It made sense. But to react with kindness and care? Mello didn’t think he could take it.

He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Mello grimaced slightly as it cracked open, the smoky haze of light shining on his blood splattered face.

“Oh hey busy day?” Matt said, putting his phone into his pocket. “I put the kettle on if you wanna shower, but I’m nearly through something big.” He rubbed his hands excitedly, walking back to his computer. “I’m gunna get back to it, I wanna be in Aruba in two weeks! I love stealing~”

Mello snickered, both of them would die of sun poisoning on the first day. His shoulders sagged as he unclenched his jaw. “Shower sounds great.”

He wasn’t a good person, but neither was Matt. Thank god for that.

[cerealmonster15]

Matt Arnold is so funny re: linc’s current stance with grant lol

Referencing this

[lawstudentmattmurdock]

music + matt murdock

funniest thing to me is matt pretty much being 24/7 tuned in to the radio. people around him ALWAYS have it on. he can’t avoid it.

as a result his knowledge of pop music from the last twenty years is unmatched. he’s so good at karaoke. he knows the lyrics to every top 40 you can throw at him. whenever he’s cooking or unoccupied he just tunes in and starts humming or singing along.

foggy just thinks his private music taste is insane, because matt just does not seem like a top 40 kinda guy, and he never puts them on when he gets to pick the music, but every time he catches matt singing it’s always like. ariana grande.

(i just so fervently believe foggy is a grunge/punk/indie/musicals fan and a bit snobby about it so he’s like. MATT. why are you bringing maroon 5 into our sacred space of shitty apartment 2. do we need to have a good music intervention)

[redbelles]

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 1.07 Driftmark

[lesbiandardevil]

another day another slay

[secondstar-acorn]

THE SALT AND PEPPER FABLE SAGA LMAOOOOOOOO

"I SWEAR TO GOD IT'S A STORY DUDE. IF NOT. Great idea for a story" HELKSRJL:KDSJF:KLJSD:L

[danwhobrowses]

So a thing happened on Critical Role this week (campaign 3 ep 91), we're gonna talk about it - a long talk - so if you haven't been caught up and don't wanna be spoiled don't keep reading okay?

One of the disadvantages of being in a different time zone is that after fretting all morning, going to work, thinking 'it's 7am maybe it's done now' I had to sit in my office for a stressful final half hour murmuring don't do this don't fucking do this don't you dare fucking do this!

I already was worried for everyone given the cliffhanger last episode, and the 5 hour length made me further worried as players kept being knocked down by Otohan Thull - already frightening in base form but now with an even higher AC and empowered. Then Sam Riegel had to do what he does best, a devastating sacrifice where FCG blows himself up to take down Otohan - Ludinus' No. 2, harrowed for being proficient in slaughter, defeated by no assassin or warrior but a cleric saving their friends. We've been well past 'get off the moon' hours with this one, but now there is an impact on every one of the Hells to think about, which is what this will be about.

FCG Though he is dead there is still stuff to talk about with FCG's death. A common debate right now is the potential of the Reincarnate spell; while the wording of the death implies that FCG's current body is irreparable there is a chance that a 5th Level Druid Spell can fashion him a new body, one of flesh, bone and tongue. The body itself needs to be dead for less than 10 days so there is wiggle room to gain the necessary components too if the top brass of Exandria turn it into a fetch quest. There is argument on both sides though; if FCG comes back does it undermine his sacrifice? Perhaps, but there's no incentive for the Hells to not try. Reincarnation hasn't quite happened in Critical Role yet - Since Molly/Lucien/Kingsley was kinda different, he kinda had the opposite, different mind same body - so it'd be a refreshing new option and also a way to redesign FCG without having to create a whole new cleric (because they definitely need a cleric) with a whole new skillset that the Hells will need to warm towards before the final battle. But at the same time, the soul has to be willing. FCG was content with his sacrifice, and in the arms of the Changebringer would he go back? I'd like to hope so if it's an option, it'd also entertain a whole new character arc for him as a 'real boy' - plus Matt and Sam don't have to fully abide to the D100 rule of what race he turns into. Of course, I like this angle more than needing a new character, because I like happy endings and it makes narrative sense that the Hells would claw and bite to pull him from that sweet goodnight. It would also validate a reason for the Hells to align with the gods, because if divine favour comes into play and the Gods decide against helping Bell's Hells' greatest advocate for saving them then they are foolishly and callously forsaking key players to their survival, FCG reincarnating with the help of the Gods would play a big part in the Hells standing with them rather than losing faith in them, and even with friction between the Titans & Temults and the Gods from the past they would have a common enemy. Still living or dying can have varying effects on the other characters.

Ashton From the moment Ashton met FCG they wanted to make sure this little bot would be okay, that they'd learn to value their life and be able to thrive. While part of that did happen, Ashton is likely going to feel like nothing's changed since Bassuras; knocked out by Otohan and when awakened a friend is dead, another person they couldn't protect.

Before the shard, I think Ashton would very easily fly off the handle, in their anger they'd blame everything including themselves and maybe even consider leaving themselves, it probably have made them more self-destructive too. Now though I'm not so sure, nobody would hold it against them to waver a little on their promise to take care of themselves in a burst of grief, this was after all their best friend someone they looked after like a little brother, and while I can see Ashton quietly and angrily grieving I can also see Ashton double down on trying to keep their promise, making sure that FCG didn't go out like a martyr and that it won't be in vain. FCG reincarnating would assist in Ashton's character drive too, since I feel like they would detest any replacement cleric because it's not FCG, they may also be less abrasive towards the gods if they came through for them and proved that they care - at least to the Changebringer, think they'd still throw copper at the Dawnfather given the whole Angel incident.

Imogen As the nominated leader of Bell's Hells, many will probably look to Imogen Temult for action, the problem is she has her own mother issues to deal with too - and I'm not entirely sold that Liliana has fully made a turn just yet, only that she won't hand over the Hells to Ludinus. FCG's death is gonna produce a lot of guilt from Imogen though, she was detesting the fact that she had to play dead at 1HP while Otohan cut down her friends again, she will likely blame her inaction which in turn may push her to be more aggressive in combat.

At the same time, I can see her being one of the more gung ho characters to push towards the Reincarnate option, perhaps even going as far as to accost or lambast anyone regardless of alliances or rank who she feels isn't as committed. Imogen has been in the position of loss before, and knowing that FCG had a connection with FRIDA she would likely compel herself to fix it rather than have to deliver the bad news. Regardless of whether he reincarnates though I feel like Imogen may look towards some more defensive spells, and maybe through Liliana try to tap into the powers of an Exalted to try and match the power she saw from Otohan, a risky endeavour for sure but FCG took an even greater risk for them.

Orym Orym is probably the toughest of the Hells to read when it comes to FCG's death. There will of course be a deep sadness at the loss of a friend, but I would also sense a...not bitterness but discontent that this is how it went down. Otohan killed his family, he kept fighting her until he could no longer stand because that's what they would've done, and now she's dead but it doesn't make it better, he wasn't the one to do it, he didn't even see it, and the one who did is gone with her. When Bor'dor was killed, Orym coldly reminded himself that 'we're at war', but I don't think he can justify that way with FCG, the loss was greater than the catharsis.

The death also has to turn attention to his deal with Nanna Mori. Many have pointed out that there is a lot of technicalities that may prolong, void or complete the deal; it was never specified how many times the Hells could return from the moon to continue the deal, but at the same time they did technically return from the moon to Exandria safe and sound via the Secret Backdoor. Still, Mori is his best friend's grandmother, there could be leeway on that matter too and even if he does have to commit to the deal (which I call 'Fatekeeper Orym') it's never been explicitly said that Orym needs to constantly attend to Mori in the Feywild, only that he has to be her caretaker and answer her beck and call. However, FCG's death will likely provide a sobering thought that his deal with Mori was perhaps voided, unless there is one more thread he can have her pull. When it comes to seeking options to bring a friend back, I would keep a close eye on Orym - it's not the first time Liam's resolved himself to be damned before.

Fearne Fearne will likely be a linchpin if the Hells seek out Reincarnate. The spell is exclusive to Druids and if Keyleth isn't on hand to do it the task and pressure will fall to her. It'll be interesting how she reacts, I don't wanna say she'll be the most positive of it because she'll certainly be upset, but I can see her being optimistic even if it's to also convince herself, the one who is most encouraging to find a way. As a shipper I of course want her to be the one who comforts and gets through to Ashton while they grieve but if she also is key to his reincarnation that also adds to their slow-burn. Outside of that, FCG's death may also lead into learning about Mori's deal with Orym, which will probably anger her that Orym kept it from her, there is also the fact that having FCG's life in her hands may bring back bad memories of Bassuras and Whitestone. One must also especially worry about her Asmodeus calling card, the Prince of Lies does nothing for free and I still feel like Klask was planted in her path by Asmodeus' (and maybe even Athion's) titan-seeking design.

If FCG does reincarnate though, I could see her friendship with FCG being even greater than it was, since they'll both feel a greater zeal for life - it may also make her feel further distant from her Evil vision, since she will have saved half her friends rather than risked killing them. If not though, Fearne may have to play mediator for the new cleric and may also be pushed towards freeing up more slots for healing to provide more support for the Hells in future battles.

Chetney It's gonna be an interesting one for Chetney too, from one perspective you could see him thinking that FCG traded their life for his; he died, he made peace with that, but then the one who revived him died. Chetney's more personal mindset has often been cloaked in secrecy, perhaps as one of the least open of the Hells despite many claiming him as the Heart of the group, so I wonder if Chetney may harbour some Survivor's Guilt for what happened.

I can see Chetney being the one to keep his emotions close to his chest, even if FCG were to reincarnate he would perhaps try to shrug off that he always knew it'd happen anyway. That being said someone who remains stoic and unwavering may prove a positive or a negative to the group, depending on the person or their interpretation of it. If a new cleric comes along though I could see him being additionally protective of them, having been the new guy before.

Laudna We should all be worried for Laudna right now. The recent 4SD already revealed that Laudna's 'close to the brink' and I'm pretty sure this is the brink. The aftermath of the Otohan fight will likely push each of the Hells to get stronger, since had they hit harder or been able to take stronger blows it wouldn't have come to this, but that will mean bad things when it comes to Laudna, as she may seek to gain power the only way she thinks she can - through Delilah. After all her last two levels went to Sorcery and did little in the fight, whereas her Warlock class Eldritch Blasts hurt Otohan fairly decently, such a thing can linger in the mind for Delilah to manipulate.

It'll be telling if they do try to Reincarnate him whether the damage will have been done already to Laudna, and that the joy of bringing him back turns to tragedy of Laudna losing herself further, as it often does it will fall to how she leans on Imogen, and how open about it she'll be to her. If FCG is lost however, we may have to keep a very close eye on Laudna being next.

Bell's Hells As I mentioned with Laudna, FCG's death will have made something apparent and clear; despite everything Bell's Hells need to get stronger. Even at Lv13, even with Exalted powers, Fey bargains and Titan shards they still just barely escaped a TPK, and granted they were weakened and worn out but no fight is guaranteed to ever be fought at 100%. Otohan may've been the toughest General of the Vanguard but the other Generals - the Weavemind, Zathuda and the Dominon of Cruft Commander - are still not ones to take lightly, Ludinus is still not one to take lightly, and if Liliana is going to be used by him to become a vessel for Predathos, that cannot be taken lightly. Bell's Hells may need to look towards enhancing their stats as well as their equipment, the harness is still a factor too which can boost them all with enough enchanted items at their disposal. An interesting one would be if Otohan's backpack ends up in one of the Hells' hands; many beforehand have talked about Orym being an Echo Knight but I would personally like to see Ashton take it, since it is powered by the Potion of Possibility like their own Dunamancy powers, it's possible (eheh) that they may align in some manner and could you imagine Ashton + 3 Echoes all raging to get All 4 Dunamancies? Otohan's swords may also provide unique properties for Chetney and/or Orym to use. Reincarnation or not I feel like that may be the Hells' next plan once it's discussed whether to attempt Reincarnation and they're off of Ruidus, gathering allies will likely also be something to prepare for for the final battle given how Otohan stated that they have 'enough Ruidusborns' for their plan. As a group it is difficult to tell if this will strengthen or weaken them, it could strengthen them in a 'never again' way like the Nein, but they were also very enthusiastic about bringing Molly back - it drove them through several arcs - FCG however often was the Hells' beacon of hope and the self-imposed attempted therapist, without that the Hells will either have to put it upon themselves to go the extra lengths or they'll close further in on themselves. If FCG does reincarnate I feel like it would definitely strengthen them mentally but if not I am not so sure.

It shouldn't come to a surprise that I will hold onto the Reincarnate potential so that the Hells can get back their friend, but rest assured I'm worried for all of them right now, there are crossroads ahead.