#d&d tricks

[astarion-appreciation-station]

So I've played D&D in some form for 20 years. Started in college, met my husband over it, still play it today. I've seen a lot of tips and tricks over the years.

One trick I like while playing a necromancer is Summon Undead.

This is different than the usual animate dead because you can choose a specific type of undead to summon. So here's what you can do!

1) Summon a Putrid Undead. Among the other usual undead traits it has this:

Okay great, it poisons enemies that's good

*BUT WAIT THERES MORE!*

2) Poison an enemy round one. On the undead's turn attack with this:

3) So now you have a chance to paralyze a target and keep it paralysed as long as it fails saves. Combine this with ways to lower the chance of a failure (I personally used this with an eloquence bard / Unsettling Words - basically a use of Bardic Inspiration that subtracts the roll from a creatures next save) and you have an almost permenantly stunned enemy.

That's great!

...

So how does this relate to BG3?

Well, imagine my surprise when I first played to see that Cazador had Putrid Zombies with a poison aura that paralyzed on hit. I almost wiped because of that.

But you know what? I wasn't even mad, because I recognized the same trick I had used in a past game!

... Reluctantly, I had to give Caz mad props for that. He still died horribly for hurting my vampire boyfriend but for a moment, I respected his game.

From one necromancer to another.

[violinfantasy]

when the academic article is so good it has you giggling and kicking your feet

[goryhorroor]

“2000s horror movies had to adapt rapidly in the new decade. by 2005, the horror genre was as popular as ever. horror films routinely topped the box office, yielding an above-average gross on below-average costs. it seems that audiences wanted a good, group scare as a form of escapism.”

[sacriou]

Those ghosts got mad tricks

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Against Lore

For the rest of May, my bestselling solarpunk utopian novel THE LOST CAUSE (2023) is available as a $2.99, DRM-free ebook!

One of my favorite nuggets of writing advice comes from James D Macdonald. Jim, a Navy vet with an encylopedic knowledge of gun lore, explained to a group of non-gun people how to write guns without getting derided by other gun people: "just add the word 'modified.'"

As in, "Her modified AR-15 kicked against her shoulder as she squeezed the trigger, but she held it steady on the car door, watching it disintegrate in a spatter of bullet-holes."

Jim's big idea was that gun people couldn't help but chew away at the verisimilitude of your fictional guns, their brains would automatically latch onto them and try to find the errors. But the word "modified" hijacked that impulse and turned it to the writer's advantage: a gun person's imagination gnaws at that word "modified," spinning up the cleverest possible explanation for how the gun in question could behave as depicted.

In other words, the gun person's impulse to one-up the writer by demonstrating their superior knowledge becomes an impulse to impart that superior knowledge to the writer. "Modified" puts the expert and the bullshitter on the same team, and conscripts the expert into fleshing out the bullshitter's lies.

Yes, writing is lying. Storytelling is genuinely weird. A storyteller who has successfully captured the audience has done so by convincing their hindbrains to care about the tribulations of imaginary people. These are people whose suffering, by definition, do not matter. Imaginary things didn't happen, so they can't matter. The deaths of Romeo and Juliet were less tragic than the death of the yogurt you had for breakfast. That yogurt was alive and now it's dead, whereas R&J never lived, never died, and don't matter:

https://locusmag.com/2014/11/cory-doctorow-stories-are-a-fuggly-hack/

Hijacking a stranger's empathic response is intrinsically adversarial. While storytelling is a benign activity, its underlying mechanic is extremely dangerous. Getting us to care about things that don't matter is how novels and movies work, but it's also how cults and cons work.

Cult leaders and con-artists know that they're engaged in mind-to-mind combat, and they make liberal use of Jim's hack of leaving blank spots for the mark to fill in. Think of Qanon drops: the mystical nonsense was just close enough to sensical that a vulnerable audience was compelled to try and untangle them, and ended up imparting more meaning to them than the hustler who posted them ever could have dreamt up.

Same with cons – there's a great scene in the Leverage: Redemption heist show where an experienced con-artist explains to a novice that the most convincing hustle is the one where you wait for the mark to tell you what they think you're doing, then run with it (scambaiters and other skeptics will recognize this as a relative of the "cold reading," where a "psychic" uses your own confirmations to flesh out their predictions).

As Douglas Adams put it:

A towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that a hitch hiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have "lost". What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with.

Magicians know this one, too. The point of a sleight is to misdirect the audience's attention, and use that moment of misattention to trick them, vanishing, stashing or producing something. The mark's mind is caught in a pleasurable agony: something seemingly impossible just happened. The mind splits into two parts, one of which insists that the impossible just happened, the other insisting that the impossible can't happen.

You know you've done it right if the audience says, "Do that again!" And that's the one thing you must not do. So long as you don't repeat the trick, the audience's imagination will chew on it endlessly, coming up with incredibly clever things that you must have done (a clever conjurer will know several ways to produce the same effect and will "do it again" by reproducing the effect via different means, which exponentially increases the audience's automatic imputation of clever methods to the performer).

Not for nothing, Jim Macdonald advises his writing students to study Magic and Showmanship, a classic text for aspiring conjurers:

https://memex.craphound.com/2007/11/13/magic-and-showmanship-classic-book-about-conjuring-has-many-lessons-for-writers/

There's a version of this in comedy, too. The scholarship of humor is clear on this: comedy comes from surprise. The audience knows they're about to be surprised when the punchline lands, and their mind is furiously trying to defuse the comedian's bomb before it detonates, cycling through potential punchlines of their own. This ramps up the suspense and the tension, so when the comedian does drop the punchline, the tension is released in a whoosh of laughter.

Your mind wants the tension to be resolved ASAP, but the pleasure comes from having that desire thwarted. Comedy – like most performance – has an element of authoritarianism. You don't give the audience what it wants, you give it what it needs.

Same goes for TTRPGs: the game master's role is to deny the players the victories and treasure they want, until they can't take it anymore, and then deliver it. That's the definition of an epic game. It's one of the durable advantages of human GMs over video game back-ends: they can ramp up the epicness by "cheating" on the play, giving the players the chance to squeak out improbable victories at the last possible second:

https://wilwheaton.typepad.com/wwdnbackup/2009/03/behind-the-screen.html

This is so effective that even crude approximations of it can turn video-games into cult hits – like Left4Dead, whose "Director" back-end would notice when the players were about to get destroyed and then substantially ramped up the chances of finding an amazing weapon – the chance would still be low overall, but there would be enough moments when the player got exactly what they'd been praying for, at the last possible instant, that it would feel amazing:

https://left4dead.fandom.com/wiki/The_Director#Special_Infected

Critically, Left4Dead's Director didn't do this every time. As any showman knows, the key to a great performance is "Always leave 'em wanting more." The musician's successful finale depends on doing every encore the audience demands, except the last one, so the crowd leaves with one tantalyzing and imaginary song playing in their minds, a performance better than any the musicians themselves could have delivered. Like the gun person who comes up with a cooler mod than the writer ever could, like the magic show attendee who comes up with a more elaborate explanation for the sleight than the conjurer could ever pull off, like the comedy club attendee whose imagination anticipates a surprise that grows larger the longer the joke goes on, the successful performance is an adversarial act of cooperation where the audience willingly and unwillingly cooperates with the performer to deny them the thing that they think they need, and deliver the thing they actually need.

This is my biggest problem with the notion that someday LLMs will get good enough at storytelling to give us the tales we demand, without having to suffer through a storyteller's sadistic denial of the resolutions we crave. When I'm reading a mystery, I want to turn to the last page and find out whodunnit, but I know that doing so will ruin the story. Telling the storyteller how the story should go is like trying to tickle yourself.

Like being tickled, experiencing only fun if the tickler respects your boundaries – but, like being tickled, there's always a part where you're squirming away, but you don't want it to stop. An AI storyteller that gives you exactly what you want is like a dungeon master who declares that every sword-swing kills the monster, and every treasure chest is full of epic items and platinum pieces. Yes, that's what you want, but if you get it, what's the point?

Seen in this light, performance is a kind of sado-masochism, where the performer delights in denying something to the audience, who, in turn, delights in the denial. Don't give the audience what they want, give them what they need.

What your audience needs is their own imagination. Decades ago, I was a freelance copywriter producing sales materials for Alias/Wavefront, a then-leading CGI firm that was inventing all kinds of never-seen VFX that would blow people away. One of the engineers I worked with told me something I never forgot: "Your imagination has more polygons than anything you can create with our software." He was talking about why it was critical to have some of the action happen in the shadows.

All of this is why series tend to go downhill. The first volume in any series leaves so much to the imagination. The map of the world is barely fleshed out, the characters' biographies are full of blank spots, the mechanics of the artifacts and the politics of the land are all just detailed enough that your mind automatically ascribes a level of detail to them, without knowing what that detail is.

This is the moment at which everything seems very clever, because your mind is just churning with all the different bits of elaborate lore that will fill in those lacunae and make them all fit together.

SPOILER ALERT: I'm about to give some spoilers for Furiosa.

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FURIOSA SPOILERS AHEAD!

Last night, we went to see Furiosa, the latest Mad Max movie, a prequel to 2015's Fury Road, which is one of the greatest movies ever made. Like most prequels, Furiosa functions as a lore-delivery vehicle, and as such, it's nowhere near as good as Fury Road.

Fury Road hints as so much worldbuilding. We learn about the three fortresses of the wasteland (the Citadel, the Bullet Farm, and Gastown) but we only see one (The Citadel). We learn that these three cities have a symbiotic relationship with one another, defined by a complex politics that is just barely stable. We meet Furiosa herself, and learn something of her biography – that she had been stolen from the Green Place, that she had suffered an arm amputation.

All of this is left for us to fill in, and for a decade, my hindbrain has been chewing on all of that, coming up with cool ways it could all fit together. I yearned to know the "real" explanation, but it was always unlikely that this real explanation would be as enjoyable as my own partial, ever-unfinished headcanon.

Furiosa is a great movie, but its worst parts are the canonical lore it settles. Partly, that's because some of that lore is just stupid. Why is the Bullet Farm an open-pit mine? I mean, it's visually amazing, but what does that have to do with making bullets? Sometimes, it's because the lore is banal – the solarpunk Green Place is a million times less cool than I had imagined it. Sometimes, it's because the lore is banal and stupid: the scenes where Furiosa's arm is crushed, then severed, then replaced, are both rushed and quasi-miraculous:

https://www.themarysue.com/how-does-furiosa-lose-her-arm/

But even if the lore had been good – not stupid, not banal – the best they could have hoped for was for the lore to be tidy. If it were surprising, it would seem contrived. A story whose loose ends have been tidily snipped away seems like it would be immensely satisfying, but it's not satisfying – it's just resolved. Like the band performing every encore you demand, until you no longer want to hear the band anymore – the feeling as you leave the hall isn't satisfaction, it's exhaustion.

So long as some key question remains unresolved, you're still wanting more. So long as the map has blank spots, your hindbrain will impute clever and exciting mysteries, tantalyzingly teetering on the edge of explicability, to the story.

Lore is always better as something to anticipate than it is to receive. The fans demand lore, but it should be doled out sparingly. Always leave 'em wanting more.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/27/cmon-do-it-again/#better_to_remain_silent_and_be_thought_a_fool_than_to_speak_and_remove_all_doubt

[blumineck]

I'm still waiting on some parts for the grappling arrows, but here's another fun one in the meantime!

As always, I'll put some extra info and lessons learned on Patreon for those interested!

[meteortrails]

law and luffy are so fun bc the fundamental basis of their relationship is that they were both there for each other in one of their most isolated, life changing moments of grief, and they’re the only reason the other survived it. they may not necessarily know all that much about each other, but they do know parts of each other that not even the closest members of their crew (their family) know now. like obviously by the end of dressrosa law sees and understands the reason luffy’s crew follows him, but I think a less obvious truth is that when law saves him luffy sees and understands the reason law’s crew follows him. I just think about luffy’s instinctive faith and trust in law on punk hazard; he looks at law and understands that as much as he pretends not to be law is fundamentally the person who saved him before he is anything else. and I think they both kinda struggle to categorize the specific and unique way in which they are important to each other (although admittedly luffy stops caring to much much sooner LOL), bc it IS different than their relationships with their crew or their family. not necessarily any more or less meaningful, just different. and idk i guess i just think it’s all very sweet, in the end, that they managed to find each other like this.

[taiyo-tenebris]

My first contribution for @fyeahghosttrick‘s Ghost Swap exchange! A 14: Sissel hiding in Lynne’s bag for @Meowdyjac

Though it's also fitting prompt B 12: Lynne and Sissel hanging out together (for anonymous)

And a little bonus:

With the later including the prompt for A 73: post-canon Yomiel and Lynne friendship (for anonymous)

[sandwitchstories]

A Cure for Restlessness

And I'm back with my Sanemi smut! That sexy chaos gremlin occupies way too much of my thoughts.

So without further ado...

If you prefer to read it on AO3, please click here!

Summary: Work has you stressed out to the point that you can't relax, you can't sleep. Sanemi knows the perfect cure for restlessness.

WC: 2100+

CW: MDNI, smut, AFAB reader, AFAB terms used to describe reader's sexy bits, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex. Please see AO3 link above for a full list of CW.

Divider posted by @saradika

You let out a defeated sigh. Sleep was just not happening. You had tried everything.

“Still can’t sleep, princess?” Sanemi asked, rolling over to pull you closer with an arm over your waist, his hand splayed on your stomach. His voice was sleepy as he buried his face in the crook of your neck and kissed your shoulder.

“No,” you sighed, reaching up a hand to run your fingers through his messy hair. “Too stressed about that meeting tomorrow. I hate having to talk to the big bosses. It doesn’t matter how many times I have done it, or how many times I have double and triple checked my data…I just… my skin feels like it is going to crawl off my bones.”

“That’s no good,” he said, his hand slid under your shirt to cup your breast, his thumb teasing your nipple.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up, baby. Go back to sleep, pervert,” you chuckled, turning to kiss the top of his head on your shoulder. 

“No can do,” he said, moving his fingers to pinch and pull at your nipple. “Can’t leave my girl all stressed out like this.”

“I’ll be fine,” you said, biting your lip, you could feel your pussy getting wet as he toyed with your breast.

He pulled harder on your nipple, kissing the shell of your ear. “You’ll be much better after you cum though.”

“Everything is better after an orgasm” you smiled. “But seriously, you can go back to sleep, baby, I know we both have early days tomorrow.”

“That’s not happening,” he said, his hand moving to grope and squeeze your breast. “Because now I’ve gotta see your pretty face as you cum before I can go back to sleep.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be a very good wife if I kept you from sleeping too, huh?” 

“That’s my girl,” he grinned against your shoulder, placing a kiss on your warm flesh.

Sanemi rolled you so that you were on your back  while he was on his side. His large, rough hand tugged up your shirt to bear your breasts, leaning over so he could draw your nipple into his mouth while his hand continued south, shoving your panties out of his way to rub his finger up and down your slit.

“Oh gods, Sanemi..” you moaned, spreading your legs wider. 

“Shit… I love when you say my name like that,” he said, biting down on your nipple just hard enough to make you cry out. “And I love how fucking wet your pussy is for me.”

His fingers were rubbing up and down your slit, adding pressure on your clit with each pass before he shoved a finger into your wet pussy. “Oh Gods, Nems.”

He pumped slowly a few times before adding a second finger, working them in and out of your core. The squelching sounds of your pussy getting louder with each thrust of his fingers filled the room. Your breathy moans of his name and whimpers of pleasure were like music to his ears and you’re his favorite instrument to play. 

His mouth was on yours, kissing you senselessly. His other hand was above your head, his long fingers tangled in your hair, tightening against your scalp like he knew you liked. 

“Faster,” you moaned, hips starting to move on their own. “Need more…”

He started fucking your pussy harder with his fingers. He rolled your nipple with his tongue, looking up at you. “Get your toy out of the drawer, princess.”

“But-”

He nipped down on your plump bottom lip, pulling on it gently and letting it bounce back.“Get. The. Toy.”

His fingers were still thrusting into your cunt as you leaned over and fumbled with the nightstand drawer, grabbing out your wand and turning back to him with a heat in your cheeks. 

Even in the dark he sensed your blush and chuckled. “You’re seriously embarrassed about pulling out a toy I told you to pull out? A toy we’ve used together countless times… A toy I know you’ve used on this pretty little pussy even more times… You’re so fucking weird sometimes. My fingers are literally buried in your cunt right now.”

“Well, like you said, I’m weird!” you said, settling back down next to him and moving your mouth to kiss him. 

“Yeah, you are fucking weird…but I love it.” He moved his mouth to suck and nip your ear lobe and talk in your ear. His voice was rougher and deeper than usual. “Turn on your toy, and put it on your clit. Now.”

You did as he instructed, the buzzing of it on the lowest setting against your swollen clit felt so good but it still wasn’t enough. You moved it in small rocks, pressing it harder against yourself.

“Turn it up another setting.”

You did as he instructed, whimpering at the increased stimulation against your sensitive bud. He started fucking his fingers into you harder and faster, your body was starting to shake, but still it wasn’t enough. You whimpered in frustration with your body not letting you finish…

“Another.”

You pressed the button with your thumb and began to shake even harder at the newest setting. You could feel the muscles in your body tightening and the sheen of sweat starting to coat your skin. In desperation you started to whine. “Shit, shit, shit.. I wanna cum, baby, I wanna cum…”

“I got you, princess, I’ve got you. Just like always,” he soothed gently, kissing you before shoving another finger into your slick cunt and starting to pound them into you. He pulled back from the kiss, his face hovering near yours as he watched you. “Cum for me, baby girl. Cum on my fingers.”

“I’m trying, baby, I’m trying so hard,” you whimpered, wanting so badly to cum for him and for you. You needed this, dammit.

“Your pussy is so fucking tight on my hand, shit, baby girl. Can you hear how fucking wet your cunt is for me, princess? You’re doing so good for me, baby. Cum for me, huh, let go… lemme feel you cream on my fingers…” 

“Ahhh!! Sanemi!!”

You were mindless at this point. You were begging. You were babbling. Shaking, squirming, sweating. You could feel your juices dripping down the crack of your ass, you pressed the vibrating wand even harder against yourself.

Sanemi adjusted his angle and hit that special spot inside that made you see stars and call out his name. He grinned and pounded his fingers into your cunt even harder, abusing that gummy place in your walls.

“That’s it baby, that’s it. Cum for me, cum for me, beautiful. Cum on my fingers.”

You cried out as you finally came, hips jerking off the bed, thighs clamping shut around his forearm in a death grip, trapping the toy between your pussy lips and his hand. The monster you married kept fucked his fingers into you more, intentionally bumping into the toy over and over again. He moaned as you came again, soaking his fingers and the sheets beneath you.

“T..t… too much,” you whimpered, feeling light headed from how hard your last orgasm was. You fumbled between your legs to yank the toy back and turn it off, dropping it on the bed next to you as Sanemi slowed his fingers, still working you through the end of your orgasm.

As you laid there panting he raised his fingers to his mouth and sucked his digits clean before leaning over to kiss you again. The taste of you on his tongue made your exhausted hole clench around nothing. 

“Better?” he asked, kissing your forehead as you worked to get your breathing under control.

“Duh,” you gave a breathing laugh and smiled.

He chuckled and laid back down, pulling you with him. “Good. Let’s get some sleep.”

You were about to agree when you felt how hard his cock was as it pressed into your stomach. One good favor deserves another, right? 

You trailed your fingers down from his shoulders, over his chest, down the lines of his abs, before sliding your fingers under the band of his boxers, taking his hard cock into your hand and stroking the hard velvet length.

“Who needs sleep when we have energy drinks?” you asked, leaning over to flick his nipple with your tongue.

“Good answer,” he said, biting his lip. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling your mouth to his. He kissed you in a starving, demanding way before pulling your head back so he could mouth your neck. His other hand slid down your back to cup your ass before pulling you on top of him. You sat up straddling him. You reached between you and freed his cock from the cotton prison. You rocked against him, rubbing your pussy along his hard length. The feel of your pussy spread open over his cock as you coated him in your arousal was incredible. With every drag of your hips over his length, the swollen head of his cock bumped your clit. You couldn’t wait to feel him buried inside you, balls deep. 

You placed your hands on his shoulders, lifting so he could shove aside your panties again and rub his cock head up and down your slit, gathering even more of your dripping essence. You bit your lip as you lowered down on him, throwing your head back in pleasure once you were fully seated with his dick in your core and your clit rubbing against the coarse hair at the base of his cock.

Sanemi’s large hands slid up your thighs to cup your ass, squeezing the round globes for good measure. Then his sinful hands moved to your front, pulling up your shirt to free your breasts. He bit his lip and groaned as he watched you riding him, your tits swaying and bouncing with your effort. He leaned forward and caught a rosy tip between his teeth.

With his hands now back on your hips, he braced his feet on the bed and began to fuck up into you. He drew his hips back so just the very tip teased your hole, and then snapped them forward, impaling you on his thick length, his cock kissing your cervix with every deep thrust. Over and over again until all you could do was hold on for dear life as Sanemi fucked you like his life depended on it. You squeezed down on him as his tip brushed against that special spot inside. He groaned, arching his neck back more, his fingers dug into the plush meat of your hips even more.

In a blink of an eye he had rolled you onto your back and was maneuvering you to be right where he wanted you. He folded you in half, his arms trapping your knees down onto the bed and pinning them open as he leaned over you. You called out his name, eyes rolling back in your head with pleasure. 

“Fuck, your pussy feels so damn good on my cock, baby,” he groaned as he picked up the pace again, fucking into you at a fast and harsh pace. 

“So does your cock, my love. You feel so good inside me!” You raked your nails down his back. You leaned up to kiss him, sucking on his bottom lip. “Cum for me, Sanemi. I want to feel you cum in me, baby. Fill me up.”

“Oh shit, oh fucks�� I’m cumming princess, fuck I’m coming baby,” he groaned as his hips began to chase his own high. 

“That's my love. Give it all to me, baby,” you smiled softly.

You moaned at the feel of his hot cum filling your spent pussy, his balls slapping into your ass, and his mouth ravaging yours in a sloppy, oxygen deprived way. He rested his forehead against yours, panting, and occasionally placing gentle kisses on your lips as he came down. 

“You are fucking amazing, princess. Take my breath away quite literally,” he said with a smirk. 

You giggled at his corniness. He pulled his cock out, hands still on your thighs keeping you spread. He watched the mix of your cum and his start to leak out of your well fucked hole. He gathered it on his thumb and then pressed it back inside you, leaning over to kiss you one more time before he laid back onto the mattress, pulling you to him and wrapping his arms around you. He kissed the top of your head gently.

“Better?” you asked him, looking up at him with your chin resting on his chest, a smirk on your face.

He turned your chin up, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips even with the awkward angle. He flopped his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes, a smirk on his handsome face.  “Much better. Now, go the fuck to sleep.”

[dnpbeats]

never beating the sugar baby allegations :/

[spearmintzero]

i felt so in control today, i was about to fuck up and eat something i’m not supposed to. but i said no, and threw it away. so this is ur reminder that you are the one in control. if you find yourself preparing something you will regret eating, you can always choose to not eat it

[evermorepeyton]

these men need chapstick, i think someone should give some to them on a m&g, let’s make them cute and personified so it doesn’t seem offensive like awww that is the moon chapstick !! ohh that chapstick has my old bedsheets !! or awww this chapstick has a llama xD you’re so annoying but thank you !!!

[theoutcastrogue]

MATT: When I ask for persuasion or deception on your end, when someone's rolling insight on you, that's an opportunity for you to be honest and choose persuasion. That way, when the opportunity does arrive that you are deceiving somebody, the person that's rolling insight doesn't know whether you are or not.

AABRIA: I've taken that from you, by the way. I love that. I was like, persuasion or deception, don't say which.

MATT: Yeah, the player chooses, they just say a number, and then whether you're deceiving or you're not, if you succeed over them, then you get to give the information you want.

BRENNAN: That's slick as hell. And that's what I do now too. Stealing that right away.

MATT: We all steal from each other. Make us all better.

— Adventuring Party: All About The Ravening War S12E04: "The Mystic River Episode"

[artharakka]

Sala, a cleric of Menura of Many Songs, a deity of imitations and art 🌙🦚

...unless it’s actually Eilir, fiancé of Deervale’s princess Aella, running from their arranged marriage.

[tommyssupercoolblog]

"Sorry but if you're nerodivergent and weird and grow on people like moss you're too clingy for anyone to like you" WRONG!!!! Dan and Phil literally reshaped each other's brain chemistry and have fused into one concept. try again

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

👻❄️ &🔥🐉