#funny part of this is that Normal would still be a Cleric

[nat-without-a-g]

The acolytes of the Doodler were not bad people, they’re consumed by their obsessions. They all think that they’re helping the people they hurt, too— minus that one incel with the trumpet he’s just an incel. The only thing that really defines an acolyte of the Doodler is their obsession with something, and in some way coming to utilize power from the Doodler to achieve these goals, intertwining their obsession with their understanding of the Doodler.

Let’s talk about Normal Oak-Swallows-Garcia!!!

We know that the school is on an especially vulnerable point between the worlds after the kiddads become stuck on Earth, with three separate incursions happening within the building in the span of a month. Additionally, all the kids have something they’ve defined their lives around, but Normal is the only one who built his identity around it since childhood and defined himself by it. I don’t want to refer to his love of mascots as an obsession, it’s more like a hyperfixation and one he had before Teen High, but his ‘school spirit’ act is somewhat obsessive. Underneath his love for his school is his desire to be the center of attention, his desperation for recognition, and the underlying feeling that he deserves it. I’m getting that last part from his experience on the Pride floor. Normal is a good kid! He’s a character with nuance! I’m just saying he is susceptible.

Like, incredibly susceptible. As much as I’m not a fan of how Lark and Sparrow handled him being excited about an interest (we remember Sparrow saying he’s not proud of Normal, but Lark in episode one really went ‘does your kid have a friend yet?’ In front of Normal), it Is possible to read some of what they say as concerns that he’s going to wind up Doodlerized. Especially with their innate familial connection to it, and the fact that I also think specifically Lark would incredibly susceptible as well (obsessed with trying to Destroy the Doodler, but hate and love can be easily muddled) were it not for his closeness with Sparrow. I think that’s why both siblings seem to have gone out of their way to interact with Normal in ways that didn’t involve his interests but would still be fun and pleasant (like going to the zoo or the park, Lark taking him out for pizza). Trying to keep him grounded with experiences that are not all connected to one thing, that way it’s harder to pull him off of his supports.

That being said, in spite of Lark’s ‘do not involve the children’ line, I’m pretty sure Normal would have gone down the path of a Doodler acolyte had he not had D.A.D.D.I.E.S. And the teens. Not JUST because Normal is already vulnerable to his obsession with popularity, and his family’s innate tie to the doodler, and a CHUNK of his wobbly support structure has gone completely missing and he is aware of it and nobody will believe him. But also because his obsession is rooted in the school itself. The school that is about to have not one but Three Incursions. Back-to-Back. Plus the mayor is friendly with his mom, meaning she has a direct influence on him. And Hermie’s attempted betrayal would only prove to him that he was right that the mascot— and therefore himself— was something worth protecting without the goal of going to the goof realm to keep him focused. It would just reaffirm the belief. He might even overtake the mayor as the main spokesperson of the doodler because, as we see when he sits on the throne, he Empathizes with it.

If Hero was approached to manage D.A.D.D.I.E.S., which she likely would have been had Hills not assumed that Normal had access to Daddy magic too, she would probably have to confront her brother at some point.

[quartz-crow]

Bleeding Heart - Pt. 2 (Astarion x reader)

Hope you guys enjoy

Read part one here 🌿✨

Chapter 2

Astarion stared out across the harbour. The sea was slightly dappled in the moonlight, but it didn’t shimmer that much for it was a still evening. He almost wished it had been stormy night - for he would have quite enjoyed watching the waves swell as the skies thundered above. At least then it would have matched his thoughts - as dramatic as that must have seemed. The high-elf rested his chin in his hand and exhaled a lengthy sigh. He hadn’t felt quite this way… well, as far as he could remember, not for at least two hundred years. He hadn’t felt worry’s hands clawing at his very being in quite this way for a long time. When Tav had fallen out of the sky earlier… well, she had refused to look at him for some odd reason. And that was even considering the fact that he had carried her back the way to camp - despite Karlach’s pleas to ‘have a turn to help’ as she so put it. No, instead her eyes had been shut or fixated on the ground below. What’s more, she wouldn’t speak… not at all. It was as if she were lifeless in his arms… and it reminded him of the victims he had brought back for Cazador. The very comparison made his stomach churn. He couldn’t even bear to contemplate the thought of ever hurting her - no, he’d rather throw himself onto an open fire. He felt sick.

“Is… Astarion alright?” Shadowheart asked softly from where she sat beside the campfire. She had been watching Astarion for a little while and she noticed that her rogue comrade hadn’t moved from the shore for a few hours now. Gale sighed and glanced up from his book. He had been enjoying refamiliarising himself with various rare cantrips and potions - that was before he had been interrupted, of course. Regardless, he too observed Astarion’s figure in the distance for a few moments.

Both the wizard and cleric watched on in horror as Astarion suddenly haunched over and started to vomit. After composing himself, Astarion glared towards the campfire, causing both Gale and Shadowheart to quickly look away. “I didn’t know vampires could be sick” Shadowheart muttered after a few minutes of silence. “Oh yes,” Gale replied softly, “Unlike what folk law may suggest, vampires aren’t too dissimilar to you and I… Although, I’ve never sunk my teeth into a woman in quite such a literal way”. Shadowheart’s nose curled up in disgust, “Gale. That isn’t funny”. Gale chuckled and closed his book, before carefully placing it on the ground beside him. “I’m kidding! Well, kind of, but let’s not forget that Astarion isn’t quite a vampire… he’s sort of a half-mortal, being a vampire spawn after all”. Shadowheart cautiously picked at the bread in her lap, “I know that, but still… he’s not being his usual narcissistic self”. Gale raised a wily brow, “…Is that such a bad thing?”. “No… I suppose not. I was just wondering if his odd behaviour had anything to do with Tav falling from the sky earlier”.

The wizard’s eyes slowly flickered across at Halsin’s tent on the other side of camp. The druid had been talking to Tav for a little while now - apparently he was testing out her reflexes and whatnot after the fight earlier. “I imagine he’s just worried about her”. Shadowheart furrowed her brow, “He’s not the only one who is you know.”. Gale smiled softly. He was almost taken aback by Shadowheart’s open affection for their friend. “Shadowheart” he spoke gently “You know that’s not what I meant… We all care about Tav, she means a great lot to us all. But you know how she and Astarion are together…”. Shadowheart sighed and tossed her bread onto the open fire. “I know”.

You blearily watched Halsin as he ground up a few herbs in a pestle and mortar. Candlelight flickered softly within Halsin’s tent and whilst it would have normally been comforting, you couldn’t help but see Astarion’s face in every shadow. You had spent the entire evening retelling your vision to Halsin and now your eyes throbbed in pain from all the crying you had done. “I’m sorry Halsin” you whimpered as you wrapped his blanket around your shoulders. The aroma of lavender calmed your senses as Halsin continued to grind the herbs in front of you. You watched as the mixture slowly turned from a gritty paste into a silvery liquid. Halsin reached for a small cup, which he had obviously carved out of pine at some point. He slowly poured the liquid into the cup. Once it was full, he raised his palm above the mixture and ran his index finger clockwise along the ring. “Somnus angélus”. Halsin had murmured so faintly that it was only just about audible to your ears. Orange droplets fell from his palm as he repeated the charm. These droplets slowly trickled into the cup, which shone brightly with magic. “Here” he leaned forward to pass you the cup, “It’s not much, but it should keep the dreams at bay for tonight”. You took the cup and cautiously watched as the orange droplets glimmered from within the liquid. “Thank you Halsin, but I don’t think I can drink this… What if Othim needs to talk to me?”.

Halsin stared at you. He took in each inch of your frame… your shoulders seemed to carry the weight of the world, and now your eyes were equally as heavy with worry. Despite previously telling him about your encounters with Othim over the past few months, Halsin had his doubts about how much this dream visitor of yours was to be trusted. “Friend, please drink… He’s already proven that you don’t have to be asleep for him to reach you”. You frowned and slowly nodded. Yes, that seemed to be the truth as you had learnt from today. You were so incredibly exhausted… not only from the day of physical excursion but also from how you had tortured yourself with… well, the image of Astartion killing all those peo - no, stop! You squeezed your eyes shut and quickly took a swig of the liquid. Thankfully, it tasted not unlike peppermint tea. With a sigh you placed the little wooden cup down, “Thank you Halsin… I.. thank you”. Halsin nodded and smiled softly. He readjusted himself to sit beside you and gently wrapped an arm around you. You felt your eyes grow wearier. You could feel the warmth of the potion as it slowly made its way down your throat… and as it went, it was as if all the pain was lifted from your physical body. “It’s okay” Halsin murmured as you leant your body against his. He rested his chin on top of your head as you dozed off to sleep. He vowed to himself that he would stay awake all night if you needed him to. The wood-elf had a tremendous amount of respect for you, not only as a leader but as a friend too… and through all the months of knowing you, he had never seen you in so much pain.

As such, he wanted to help you in any way he could.

[utilitycaster]

hi, what are your thoughts on the recently announced changes to dnd classes? I'm particularly interested what you think about the new paladin and warlock since you always have very correct opinions on them.

Hi anon, I must admit I have not been keeping up with the PHB playtests; I do intend to get the updated book when it comes out but I found keeping up with every change was a lot of time I would rather spend on other things, especially since they came out very intense and have walked a lot back (some for valid reasons, some not)

I did, however, go look at Paladin and Warlock though I didn't go into depth with any subclasses.

Warlock, since that's the one I found first (Playtest 7): in terms of general progression I am always pro focusing more on invocations so having them from the start and having two more is good in my mind. I am also pro pact magic. I think it is a cool different thing and is a feature of the class; making it a normal spellcasting table was a mistake. Spell progression/cantrips/slots seem otherwise the same as the 2014 PHB, which seems reasonable.

I haven't read thorough other classes so I don't know if swapping cantrips is true of every class; I do think there should be a way to change out cantrips because sometimes you pick a bad cantrip. You shouldn't be able to prep them if you're a prepared caster (wizard, cleric, etc) but yeah I'd say levels or at least ASI levels should permit cantrip swaps.

Magical cunning is GREAT actually because that used to be a L20 feature and now it's slightly weaker and L2. Hilarious, but also I think it offers more opportunities for engaging with your patron and the RP/story that provides. Same with the Contact Patron L9 feature. Keeping Eldritch Master for the capstone is admittedly a little weak but also I'm lenient on L20 because so few people play at L20.

I think the pacts being invocations is fascinating because like, you could just be a pact boon-less jack of all trades if you really wanted, OR you could have all three, and that's funny to me. I also like that you get additional spells rather than just expanded options.

The one thing I'm not sure about is moving the subclass to L3. This works okay for paladins because paladins are like, you dedicate yourself at L1 and your powers come from your own dedication and conviction, and then you take an oath at L3. Warlocks are like...until you have a patron you are just a guy. That should be at L1.

Paladin:

Bonus action lay on hands is killer. incredible. no notes. big fan. I do think they should still be permitted to cure diseases however; basically 5 lay on hands should be a lesser restoration spell.

Simplifying spell prep is probably a good idea just in terms of time and ease but the drawback is you don't have as many cool options each night. Less of a big deal for a paladin but this would be an issue for full prepared casters, and I checked and (EDITED I FORGOT TO INSERT WHAT I MEANT TO SAY HERE) full casters get full spell prep as before so nevermind, fine for paladins.

haven't been following weapon mastery but given most characters don't swap weapons that often, seems fine.

Smites are also fine; paladins can do STUPID damage as is so limiting smites to only one per turn is not unreasonable imo.

Big fan of find steed always being prepared because I think a lot of people just don't use it because there's better spells unless it's a really important part of their character. We need more steeds.

Abjure Foes seems awesome; Radiant strikes are great also FINALLY. SORT OF SMITING ON UNARMED STRIKES.

Restoring Touch makes more sense to me than Cleansing Touch, also seems reasonable.

Broken Oath flavor text very good

Overall this seems pretty good for paladins and the only warlock thing is that I think they need to work on when you choose a subclass.

[fandom-go-round]

Hi, bebe! I would love a thing on how each of the magic-using bg3 party members feel when they're channeling their different kinds of magic through their bodies to cast it, both physically and emotionally--i.e. druidic magic and channeling nature for Halsin, Shadowheart and her divine casting, Wyll and the power he draws from his Patron, Gale and what it's like for him to manipulate the Weave. One thing I'd love to see with Shadowheart in particular is the ways in which it feels different for her to channel divinity from different goddesses as her relationship to the divine changes. Thank you so much!

Warnings: Act 2 Spoilers, Act 3 Spoilers, Shadowheart Quest Spoilers, Gale Quest Spoilers, Halsin Quest Spoilers, Wyll Quest Spoilers, Magic Talk, Implied Self Image Issues, Relationship Issues (Gale)

Halsin:

His magic feels like a warm breeze, grass between your toes, laying in a sun patch. Casting druid magic always feels like the earth is responding, reaching out to the call. It’s one of the reasons Halsin loves being a druid so much. Nothing makes you feel connected to life than the world responding to your pull. It’s more complicated than that of course and the type of spell also means a lot. Healing magic is like warm water, rolling across wounds. It can cause people to jump in surprise if they’re used to divine healing magic which is more of a ‘sinking into the skin’ sensation.

Being in the shadow cursed lands makes everything hard. Summoning the power of the land is nearly impossible so it pulls more from the caster. Halsin focuses mostly on changing shape than complicated spells; it feels like spell slots go twice as fast. He has to admire the other druids who make it look easy. Part of his issue is that he’s distracted by Thaniel; with so much to focus on, magic is hard to come by.

Baldur’s Gate is easier and harder at the same time. It’s easy to find life in the city but only humanoid life. There are patches of plant life here and then but it’s a weak cry to the forests he’s been living in the last hundred years. Halsin finds it jarring to be around as so many people and longs for more open spaces. He takes small pleasures in warm bathes and interesting food but it can feel hollow. He’ll never say it but he enjoys breaking the cobblestones with his spells when he has to fight, letting nature push its way through. He’s not going to tear the city down but he knows that he can’t stay permanently. The sooner her can feel grass between his toes, the better.

Shadowheart:

Shar’s magic feels like a crisp breeze; it can feel jarring but also makes her feel more alert. Little the first nipping of winter on her cheeks. A pinch on the cheek from a teasing relative. The cold keeps her alert on a normal day. The magic makes her numb eventually; after a long day Shadowheart feels like she’ll never get warm again. She does find it comforting and to feel close to her Lady is something that she wants every day.

After she renounces Lady Shar, magic feels empty. It’s almost worse than the cold sinking into her bones. The feeling of going to call for a spell and simply feeling void; it would be funny if it wasn’t so cruel. There is a god that answers (she can still cast magic) but she tries not to think about it too much; she’s not ready to commit herself to another god yet. It makes it hard to be a cleric and she’s in pain on two fronts; losing her god and also her purpose.

Where Shar’s magic was cool, Selune’s is warm. The first time she feels the connection Shadowheart doesn’t finish the spell, the surge of warmth making her panic. To feel safe and warm makes her want to cry but she pushes through, healing Karlach so fast most don’t even notice her hesitation. Warm hands cupping her cheeks, a hand on her shoulder. She’s in awe that worshipping can feel this good and has to sit with that. Devoting herself feels easy when it’s like standing in the sun.

Wyll:

Wyll’s magic always has a heat to it. Even if it’s an ice spell, his fingers tingle like being held too close to the fire. It makes sense, he figures, since his powers do come from a devil. He was never someone who thought he would wield magic but the longer he has the powers, the more he enjoys it. They give him the power to protect people and what he loves. How can you not appreciate them, even when he’s on the edge of falling in deeper?

The issue is that the magic changes, over time. The first few years it’s a warm tingle and now, after seven, the flames are licking up his arms. Wyll feels tired after he casts a spell, even as he’s able to cast more spells. It feels like the magic is an inferno and could swallow him whole. It’s a blessing when he first gets the tadpole, it blocks some of the heat and makes it easier to think. It’s during this period he realizes the truth; the magic is wearing on him. Physically and mentally.

Wyll has to decide if he’s going to keep the magic or try to get out of his deal. His Infernal powers are addicting in the best and worst ways, like stretching a muscle and feeling the burn. He wants the power to save people and he does a damn good job at it. If he loses his magic, then what? Wyll knows he’ll still be a hero but if he can save more people… it’s not something that he’ll decide just yet but it weighs on his mind the entire journey.

Gale:

The Weave is something that Gale can’t live without. It’s one of the constants in his life and tapping into it is almost as easy as breathing. Sometimes it’s easier. When he was with Mystra it felt like every time he cast a spell he could smell her, feel her all around him. A comforting embrace that shielded him from the outside world. If he felt lonely with her, it was worth it to feel wonderful doing magic. To push himself deeper and deeper into study so that he could feel good again. Was it healthy? Maybe not. And that’s a hard pill to swallow, even years later. But in the moment, it felt like everything he ever wanted.

After her has the orb, magic feels like a vice. The comforting hand turns into a clenched fist and Gale has to stumble through learning to cast even minor spells. It’s like wading through mud in the dark; he’s lost and the Weave threatens to consume him entirely. The first few times he pleads with his goddess to set him free, to help ease the burden but she doesn’t reply. Eventually, he learns how to navigate these new feelings. The sensation of being swallowed turns more into water lapping at his ankles, cold and icy.

The Weave will never feel the same way again and Gale accepts that. After the crown, after the tadpole, he’s happy to be able to touch magic and not feel pain. It’s not longer a lover’s embrace anymore and he needs that, to heal. It’s still warm, still comforting but more like a pair of gloves than entangled bodies. He has a lot of feelings about Mystra but he does still respect her and he’s glad that she respects him. The Weave makes him feel whole and it’s not something he’s going to take advantage of again.

[bananasfosterparent]

Update on my current runs!

Silkina the Bard Waveservant -

She got the Volo eye (not pictured) and has been helping her friends while looking for a cure. This is my first "good" solo run, so it's a lot of content, more than I'm used to! Definitely going slower than my usual, but still a lot of fun! Also never realized how funny Karlach is lmao. Just getting to the goblin fight so we'll see how it goes! Very excited to get Wyll's party scene!! Silkina is sassy, but kind and really an outlier among other waveservants because of it. Well, she's really good at connecting with others at least. Despite it being odd, since most Waveservants (especially clerics) are quite standoffish and introverted, Silkina focuses on making her outgoing nature work for her, sharing the might and fury of Umberlee with her words (and music).

Also.. after getting the Volo eye and almost everyone disapproving, I noticed Wyll didn't.. but he didn't have a ! either. I had her talk to him anyway and he was like "Welcome to the one eye club! A woman with one eye is very intriguing c:" and I giggled.

Efeniti (Spawn Astarion ending AU run) -

In the exact same place it's been for a few weeks lmao I have not touched this playthrough. I AM SCHTALLING. I know what you're thinking... because I'm an AA fan... but really, I just can't emotionally handle the break down scene after he brutally stabs Cazedor. Or the brutal stabbing. I am really not ready for that. I have my own feelings for why and what it makes me experience, but maybe if I actually go through with it this time, I can talk about it (it's not that bad, I'm just procrastinating).

This version of Efenity is who she would be if she hadn't lost the woman who was like a mother to her. If she had been able to have a somewhat normal life and become a private magic teacher in the upper part of the city. She's much kinder and able to temper herself much better.

Efenity (Canon AA romance run #whatever) -

This is idk like the 5th time I've played as Efenity. I've lost count 🤷🏽‍♀️ Most of these runs, I only got to Act 3 and only 2 I've gotten to the final fight and couldn't win it after trying over and over. This time I plan to finish it!!! I want my epilogue, dang it! I killed Minthara this time, at the party. There was a leftover from EA with a voiced Tav scene. If you killed Minty and the goblins at the party, that night or morning after(?) there's some conversation and Tav says something in the cut scene! ANYWAY... I tried it and it didn't happen 😭😭😭 I either did it wrong (I attacked before Minty had her murder cutscene) OR they patched it out of the game! I could go back and try it again, but I barely won that fight and it took me SO many tries (mostly due to needing to long rest).

But! Regardless! Even though I didn't get that cool voiced Tav scene... I have added Efenity killing Minthara and the goblins at the party to her canon story. Because it just makes sense that she'd do that. Originally, she just uses her to get to Moonrise but I scrapped that. While Efenity just sees the tieflings as collateral damage, she knows Shadowheart was struggling with that whole ordeal which did bother her... she cares for SH and she is her first real friend. And with Minthara insulting her for not wanting to sleep with her, on top of it...

Efenity was like OKAY. Time for you to go, ma'am.

Solenia Omraebra, the Drow Cleric -

I've only had her for about a week and I love her. She's also been through at least 6 different hairstyles 😭 Solenia is my newest Tav, a Drow and cleric of Eilistraee! She's very studious and scholarly. I don't know much about her beyond that yet. Still working on her backstory and whatnot, BUT she is good to a fault. She wants to save everyone, in every way that she possibly can. Even those she probably shouldn't get close enough to, to try to save. Even those she is told are irredeemable. She's romancing Gale! She's just getting through Act 1 stuff and almost to the goblin camp!

[hecatemoon87]

BOB SAGINOWSKI x FEMALE OC

Warnings ⚠️ smut

NO minors!

Read Part II

Part I: The Confession

It was early morning as Bob Saginowski unlocked the back door to the cathedral. As he entered, the familiar musky smell of wood and incense filled his nose.

Bob was a junior priest at St. Mary's Cathedral on the outskirts of Brooklyn. It was his turn to be available this week for daytime confessions.

He was dressed in a long sleeved shirt and trousers, all black. And the white clerical collar was neatly fastened around his neck.

He walked over to the confessional and opened it. The priest before him had left several candy wrappers inside. Bob sighed with annoyance as he cleared them away. "Jesus Christ," he mumbled but then made the sign of the cross. "Sorry," he said, turning his gaze to the lord on the cross nailed above the altar.

His sincerity wasn't as genuine as it should have been. He just wasn't in a good mood. In fact, he was depressed. His faith in God had been so strong in his twenties, but now, at thirty, he was beginning to question his choice in joining the priesthood.

The second demon that he was wrestling with was lust. As of late, his mind was always drifting toward sex. And it had intensified several weeks ago when a childhood friend had recently returned to Brooklyn.

She had been pretty as a girl, but now, as a woman, she was gorgeous. And all he could think about was kissing her, smelling her skin, caressing her curves and feeling her tightness envelope his cock...

"Bob?" He heard a voice behind him, causing him to jump a little. He turned around to see it was Jocelyn, his childhood friend. Speak of the devil, as they say. Or, in this case, demoness.

"Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in," he said, regaining his composure.

"I'm very good at being sneaky," she said, smiling and walking over to him. She was dressed in a tight maroon blouse, her cleavage tastefully on display, and she wore a black short skirt with heels. Her eyes had a little smokey texture to them and her lips were full and red. To say the least, Bob was feeling tempted.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you worried you'll burst into flame?" Bob joked. He remembered her being very rebellious against her Catholic parents.

"What are you talking about? I'm a good pious Catholic girl," She said, pushing out her bottom lip in mock offense.

"Don't lie inside a church," Bob said, shaking his head in amusement. "What brings you here anyways?"

Her bright disposition suddenly faded. "I need to make a confession," she said, seriously.

He chuckled, still believing that she was joking. But when he saw that she did not laugh, he grew concerned. "Oh, you're serious. Um, well, there's the confessional..." he said, pointing over to the fifty year old confessional booth.

Without looking at him, she walked over and entered. The soft click of the door closing behind her echoed through the church.

Bob, thinking she might be pulling a prank, proceeded with caution. She had a mischievous side to her, which, in all honesty, he loved. He remembered when they were kids, she would put frogs or snakes into other children's back packs because they had been mean to Bob.

As he got into the priest's side of the confessional, he pulled open the partition.

"Well, as you know, Bob, it's been like eighteen years since my last confession," she said.

"It's Father. You call me Father, during confession. And actually, outside of it as well," he said.

He saw her roll her pretty eyes and said, "Fine. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," she said, emphasizing the word 'Father'.

"I'm sure you have,"Bob said, chuckling.

"Hey! Shut up," she said, laughing. "No, seriously, Bob...I mean, Father. I've sinned big time."

"Murder?" He said, arching an eyebrow.

"Ha, ha, you're such a funny priest. I'm talking about having impure thoughts about a man," she said.

"Well, I'm sure thats normal for you," he said, and smiled when she hit the partition window with the flat of her palm. "Bob!"

"Sorry, my child, please continue," he said, still grinning.

"So fucking weird, priests calling people their children and we have to call you daddy," she said.

"Don't curse in church and don't call priests daddy," he said.

"Whatever. As I was saying, I'm having urges for this guy. Like, anytime I see him I want to just rip off his clothes and lick him," she said, almost passionately.

Bob bit his lower lip, that little comment had sent a wave of lust through his loins, his cock hardening, and growing tight against his trousers.

"Is he married? Because don't do that if he's married," Bob said.

"No, he's not married. Well...it's like he's married, but to a dude...but they arent gay and they don't have sex," she said.

Bob furrowed his brow in confusion, "What does that mean?"

"It doesn’t matter. What matters is how he makes me feel. I'm touching myself daily because just thinking of him makes me so wet," she said, in a sultry voice.

Bob shifted in the confessional, thinking that maybe he shouldn't be taking her confession. He started thinking of her soft moans and heavy breathing as she teased her nipples and fingered her wet pussy.

"Father? You've been pretty quiet over there. Any thoughts?"she said.

"Uh, well, lustful thinking isn't the end of the world. It's when you become obessed with it, placing the desire for it over your love for God, that's the sin," he said.

"I am obsessed, though. Just being near him makes me feel naughty. I want him to tell me I'm a bad girl and that I have to be punished for my sins, you know?"

Bob licked his lips and looked over at her, "What?"

"Yeah, like bend me over that pew over there, pull down my panties and spank me until I cry. Then force my legs open and pound my spoiled little pussy," she said, placing a hand on the partition and looking at Bob intently.

Bob's eyes widened as he came to the realization that she was talking about him.

"Fuck, that's hot," he said, softly.

"Don't curse in church, daddy," she said, grinning wickedly.

To be continued!

[theswandragon]

Poem today was a vent and I don't feel like sharing, so instead I'm gonna ramble a bit about writing characters, something I've done a bunch of this past month

Specifically, four different characters. Little rambles about each?

(Characters in this case are for D&D, but for most of them I designed the character first and then made the game fit my vision)

(If you're one of the other players in these campaigns, these blurbs are spoiler-free)

Haywood Titanforce, a human life cleric with some secrets and quite a bit of history. I first created her for a metagaming-encouraged dungeon crawl, but recently gave her new life in a proper campaign. When I was fleshing out her story, I wanted to honor her previous life, and found little ways to incorporate moments from the dungeon crawl as events in her life. Part of that was an offhand joke about what god she worshipped, and I named one outside of the Life domain. Well, I wanted to keep that idea, but also have her still worshipping a Life domain god. So, how could I make a cleric who followed two gods? I ended up with her traveling far away from her home, and picking up another faith—a god from a completely different pantheon, with a different portfolio, as a part of how she gains power.

Kraktar Bone Cleaver, an orc bruje who was immortal for a pretty long time, but recently lost most of his magic and is trying to get it back. In the meantime though, he's trying to reconnect with the Old Ways of using magic, until he can once again master chronomancy. For writing him, I wanted to blend a few concepts together, spawned from the idea of having a character with incredible base stats and very little actual power at the start. I also wanted to make another old character, but not someone from a species that would normally live that long. His name is itself part of the story—the title he was given centuries ago by his tribe. He's also older than the regional mage guild, which was pretty funny to plan out with the GM.

Flora Cetea, a Luskara conjuration wizard (Luskara are a homebrew race designed by a friend of mine, basically humanoid sea monsters who can transform to human/elf to pass while on land). He's fun because all of his magic is done through plants. The idea came from a discussion on how copying spells works with 5e's rules, specifically the thematics behind it, and the discussion involved how each wizard's spell formulas are somewhat unique to the wizard. So I jumped off that to someone who doesn't use normal formulas at all, and landed on using specific plants to create consistent magical effects by channeling power into them. And he's a Conjuration wizard because that would be a lot of plants to carry around everywhere.

I don't have a name for the last one yet, and I don't have a ton of story for her either. What was fun for her though is the setting is one the GM has been running for a while, which gave me a lot of hooks to tie into. I needed someone simpler, and the party would benefit from a tank, so I took one of the hooks they gave me—a mercenary guild with some...problematic history and a minor cult issue—and put together someone trying to escape all of that, after they got in way over their head. Also she's trans, the guild she's leaving is almost exclusively male, so I get to play with that dynamic a little bit.

Edit, a day later: Her name is Heather

Mm, sleepy character rambles. Might edit for clarity in the morning. Not looking for critique, but if people have questions or comments I'd love to hear them.

[peantbutter-honeycombs]

Kids Are a Handful of Love

Summary | Post Campaign, Fjord and Jester are pseudo parents to a little girl that's been traveling with Nein since the start of the campaign when they picked her up on the side of the Amber Rd. Though she doesn't refer to them as her parents and the two aren't married they're doting parents. Both are eager to finally give her a somewhat normal upbringing and provide the childhood they never had.

Author | Full writing credit to, @angelltheninth

Notes | This story was commissioned

Warnings | Fluff

———

When they decided to take an impromptu vacation off the coast of Nicodranas to spend some time with their kid, neither Jester nor Ford could have predicted how much fun it would truly be, or how much such a simple gesture would mean to their child.

She was still so small and new to many things, so of course when the opportunity to experience something for the first time presented itself she was eager to take it. Even if it sometimes ended with a fire or two. Oh well, nothing was permanently damaged. Except for Marius and his clothes. And he may have a few bite scars for life. But other than that Anwen was not a menace, no more than Jester at least.

“Where are we going today?” Anwen looked excitedly between Fjord and Jester as Fjord steered the ship toward the port.

“Nicodranas. We’re visiting Marion today. So make sure to bring her lots of shinies.” Fjord was of course referring to the treasure jewels they found recently, not to the big stash of coin and trinkets that Anwen ehm... borrowed along the way.

Anwen’s smile only widened, which showed off her sharpening dragon teeth, “Okay! I’ll go see and find something really sparkly and pretty!” She put a few jumps in her run as she took off towards the lower deck.

“And you tell me I’m the bad influence.” Jester smirks up at Fjord who only shakes his head, “Not very fatherly of you, blaming me for it.”

“Very funny. I know she’s just exploring, that’s fine, we were both like that when we were kids, I just wanna make sure she’s safe while doing it. You know?”

“For her to know she has us there with her.” Jester finished for him. They shared a knowing look. Fjord nodded, his head turning towards the little girl running up to them, “Exactly.”

“I found it!” Anwen held a big red jewel in hands, almost the size of her head, “It’s red like her.”

Jester knelt down to the little girl and patted her light brown hair, “I’m sure she’ll love it. But how about we put it in the Bag of Holding for now, really make it a surprise?” Anwen seemed a little reluctant, she really liked all things shiny and sometimes found it hard to part with them if it wasn’t on her own terms. But she relented and gave Jester the jewel, which the cleric then put away.

A few minutes later, they were docked in the Port, which was brimming with life. Fishermen offering new goods, posters and people offering and looking for helping hands for future voyages, all kinds of animals hoping to get a few pieces of fresh fish.

Jester and Fjord flanked Anwen and gently took her smaller hands on their bigger ones, “Come on little Bee Up!” They both lifted her up a few inches off the ground, at which Anwen giggled with excitement and kicked her feet before they touched the ground again. They did this a few times more as they walked around the market.

“I thought we were going to see Grandma?”

“We are, we’re just taking a little detour, maybe we can find a few more things for her.” Fjord scanned the market with expert eyes for anything tasty. His smile widened when he found the perfect thing, “Hey Anwen, look over there. See what I see?” Anwen tilted her head in confusion. Jester snickered as she watched her daughter’s eyes light up.

“Ice cream! Can we get some?! Please?” She looked excitedly between the two of them. Fjord and Jester merely smiled down at her and nodded, their smiles widening even more when Anwen’s eyes sparkled in excitement.

It brought them even more joy when the ice cream vendor gave them extra big scoops for being such an adorable family.

“Don’t eat too fast, it will freeze that smart brain of yours.” Jester patted Anwen’s smeared cheeks with a napkin, only for the little girl to go right back to devouring her ice cream. It was gone in a span of minutes, while Fjord and Jester were still halfway through theirs.

Next stop was a small store close to the center of the marketplace. There they bought various scented candles and a big basket, which Jester then arranged and wrapped in a big blue bow.

“What do you think? Will she like it?” The basket was almost comically big, shielding Jester’s head and part of her torso from view.

“I think we went a little hard on the candles there, but other than that yeah.” Fjord gave a thumbs up and immediately regretted his choice of words when he saw the mischievous look on Jester’s face, “There’s a kid here Jester.”

“I wasn’t gonna say it!”

“Say what?” Anwen looked confused but before she could ask again Fjord scooped the little girl up and put her on his shoulders, her hands tangling and fisting into his hair. It didn’t hurt him however, Anwen knew to be careful.

He tilted his head to the side and slightly upwards, “Ready to go see Grandma Marion?”

“Yes! Let’s go!” The little dragon girl pointed excitedly in the direction of the Lavish Chateau.

It wasn’t long before the three found themselves traveling through the currently empty halls and stairways, knocking on Marion’s door and being met with the brightest smile in Nicodranas.

[shina913]

Scale, Part 9.5 | KSJ

Scale, Part 9.5

✮ ✮ ✮ Scale Masterlist ✮ ✮ ✮

Pairing: KSJ x fem!reader

Rating: Mature content (21+), no minors please!

Genre: Rich boy!AU; CEO!AU; strangers to lovers; fluff; angst; smut

Count: 3.3K+ words

Warnings: fluff; heavy cussing; SMUT; oral (f-receiving); unprotected sex (wrap it up)

Summary: Kim Seokjin lives in a world where money is no object as he is the heir to his family's lucrative company; OC is a scrappy go-getter who has to work hard at multiple jobs to meet her financial obligations. When their paths cross, they'll have to figure out whether they can find a balance point between themselves and their lives.

A/N: I realized that I put these two through the ringer so...here's a little gift for them.

PS - sorry if I'm totally botching the sailing/boating terms. I tried, y'all. Anyway, enjoy!

❤️, comment, reblog, or send me an ask 📩. Would love to know what everyone thinks.

You fidgeted with your clothes as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Were you too plain-looking? Too casual? Too…comfortable?

You tried to shake the memory of Miya’s voice echoing in your head. The thought of her wanting to dress like you sent a chill up your spine.

Then there was Jin’s voice–repeatedly assuring you that you were amazing and beautiful just the way you were…and that it wasn’t the way you looked or the way you dressed that made him fall for you. It was so much deeper than that. You had a connection that couldn’t be put into words but you both felt it.

“It just occurred to me that I have never taken you out on a proper date,” he remarked a few weeks after his kidnapping ordeal.

“I feel like we’re way past that, don’t you think,” you chuckled. It’s only been a few months into this relationship–though it felt longer than that given how eventful and complex things have been.

You were perfectly fine picking up where you left off in your relationship–eager to continue without further setbacks.

But Jin had an entirely different take.

He wanted a refresh…a “clean slate” of sorts. He was intent on making it up to you—he thought he owed you that much even though you made it clear to him that you weren’t collecting a “debt.”

“I mean–after everything, my feelings for you haven’t changed. Do I still look like I need to be wooed?”

“I would never, ever take romance out of the equation,” he says seriously. “Especially when it comes to you.”

And that’s how you ended up in front of your mirror, wearing a chunky-knit sweater, leggings, and sneakers. It didn’t scream “first date” but Jin insisted that you dress comfortably. The bottom showed comfort but you decided to make the top date-nice, at least. A compromise, you thought.

Since working on the Hwang books at the office, Hoseok has been so impressed with your contributions that he’s asked if you would be willing to take on more hands-on, accounting work and not just general clerical tasks…he lured you further by compensating you for the extra work–which made it difficult to turn down.

Agreeing to the extra work at the office meant scaling back on your schedule at the diner considerably. You pretty much eliminated weekday evening work and opted for part-time hours during the weekend–which freed you up to spend more time with your dad…and Jin.

“Never getting tired of this view.”

Your eyes dart up to your mirror from being downcast as you secure your hair with an elastic and brush it up into a ponytail.

He was leaning against your bedroom door frame, watching you intently. He was dressed casually in jeans and a sweatshirt with slightly mussed up hair that you normally saw in the morning…usually after pulling on it the night before.

You laughed. “I’m literally just putting my hair up.”

He takes a few steps towards you. You finish up, put the hair brush down right in time for him to close in on you to wrap his arms around your waist.

“Doesn’t matter. I find any movement you make sexy,” he says in a low voice.

Your face began to heat up under his gaze. “Funny you say that–you should switch places with me,” you quipped as you swipe your thumb lightly against his lower lip.

He groans seductively. “You know…if I wasn’t so excited about today, I would drive us down to the apartment right now and have a moment with you, Miss YLN.” He places a warm, lingering kiss on your neck.

“I told you–we don’t need to go on this date,” you breathe into his ear, sinking your teeth to your bottom lip.

“Very tempting but we’ll have plenty of time for that, I promise,” he says as his lips grazes yours and applies a bit of pressure to your hips. “Today, I just want to sweep you off your feet,” he says with a boyish grin. It takes you aback for a moment when seconds ago, he looked like he was just about ready to devour you.

“Now, c’mon! Let’s get going while the weather's nice,” he says as he smacks you lightly on your ass.

******

Jin smiles with excitement as the waiter brings your order to your table.

Brows knitted, you grin at him playfully as you take a look at your lunch spread. As soon as you arrive at the Ferry Plaza Marketplace and read the restaurant’s sign, you glance at him curiously. He simply returns it with a wink–you know…the one that made you weak in the knees.

“Eat up,” he says invitingly before picking up a shell, bringing it up to his mouth and taking a quick slurp and tilting his head back to swallow.

“Hm. Oysters, huh?”

He hums in appreciation. “They’re fresh-caught, every day.”

You pick up a half-shell yourself and throw it back. It had a fresh, briny aftertaste with a slight sweetness and creamy finish that went down smoothly.

“Good?”

You nodded and proceeded to dig into a bowl of warm, comforting seafood chowder whose broth you sopped up with slices of fresh-baked sourdough bread.

After your early lunch, you strolled arm in arm further down the waterfront where the marina stretches in front of you. You see rows of boats–all shapes and sizes, bobbing up and down the calm waters.

You glance out on the bay, you already spot a few boats out in the water. It was a beautiful, sunny day with a soft breeze and gentle waves.

The boats get considerably larger the further you walk down the dock until you and Jin stop right next to a handsome, luxurious, multi-level boat. To you, it looked like a mini-yacht.

“Hyun!”

“Jin! Good to see you.” The man gives him a handshake.

“Everything check out well?”

“Oh yeah. She’s good to go–you picked a perfect day to take her out,” he says.

“By the way, this is my girlfriend, YN. YN, this is Hyun–the shipwright here at the marina. He takes care of most of the boats out here.”

“Especially Jin’s,” he says with a chuckle as he shakes your hand.

“Nice to meet you,” you smiled at him.

“Well–she’s got a full tank and ready to cast off when you are!”

Jin thanks Hyun, leaving you to ogle at this gorgeous piece of engineering in front of you.

“What do you think?”

“Uh–wow…it’s–fantastic!”

He shrugs, nonchalantly. “Yeah. It’s too bad I haven’t had time to take her out much these days. Every now and then, I’ll rent it out just so she can get her licks in.”

“I…I thought your boat was the one that you took me and my dad out to that time?”

“Ah, that’s my fishing boat. This…well…was a little treat for myself,” he said.

A treat? When you wanted to buy yourself a “treat,” you either got yourself a new pair of shoes or an indulgent slice of mille-crepe cake–which was a splurge in and of itself.

He helps you aboard and casts off shortly before boarding himself.

He leads you up to the expansive, shaded, cockpit level. The first thing that greets you is a plush, seating area with a small, wooden table in the center–perfect for entertaining or lounging around. Behind the seat facing the back of the boat is a small wet bar and beyond that are more plush loungers.

He takes you in further to the front of the boat.

“This is the helm, right here,” he says. “C’mon, have a seat,” he says as he pats the captain’s chair. You oblige as you were low-key excited, marveling at all of the controls and screens that you knew nothing about–but were no less impressed by them.

You stare at the steering wheel in front of you and give him a look as your fingers hovered over it.

He smiles. “Go ahead–put your hands on it.” And you do so, excitedly.

The helm included double seats and came equipped with flip-up bolsters and arm rests. As you glance at each feature on the console, you feel him rest his chin on the crook of your neck, pointing out and gently describing each dial, throttle, and joystick on the control panel.

Afterwards, he takes your hand to lead you down a set of stairs.

“There’s more?”

“Oh yeah–you haven’t seen anything yet!”

At the foot of the stairs, is a small kitchen with a cooktop and a microwave. You travel down a narrow hallway to where the staterooms are located. From the outside, it didn’t look like it had this much room below deck.

“It sleeps about 5-6 people comfortably,” he says as he shows you the smaller rooms. There’s a full bathroom at the end of the hall complete with a sink and shower.

“The master suite is right here–” he says as he pushes the second to last door, right before the bathroom.

You look inside and you are greeted by a plush bedroom with a king-size cabin bed. The interiors are covered in dark wood–like a hotel room–that floated on water.

“I haven’t been in here since I remodeled it,” he muses.

“Hmm–maybe we can christen it,” you suggested playfully.

A slow smile creeps across his lips. “Be careful what you wish for,” he says as his eyebrow quirks up slightly. “But that’ll have to wait–for now, do you want to take her for a quick spin?”

“Me?” you asked incredulously. “Do you have a death wish?”

He laughed heartily. “Ah–well…I’m sure it’s much safer than being out on the water with Namjoon and Jungkook.”

As he guides you back up to the cockpit, he tells you an anecdote of the first times he took out the boat shortly after he got his advanced sailing license, inviting Namjoon and Jungkook onboard to celebrate. He glosses over a few details but it ends with a distress call and the coast guard towing them back to the marina.

“Don’t worry–it’s been a few years since then,” he assures you as he takes the captain’s seat once more, prompting you to take the seat next to him.

He sits at the controls, presses a button, and the engines roar into life.

Slowly, Jin eases his boat out of her berth and toward the marina entrance.

He glances over to you and motions you to take his seat. He gets up as you settle behind the wheel and instructs you to grab on to it. Placing his hands snugly over yours, he continues to steer your course out of the marina, and within a few minutes, you are out on the bay.

You couldn’t help but squeal in elation. Jin smiles as he feeds off your excitement. “Just keep her on this course,” he instructs as he stays close to you, guiding you towards your destination.

Half an hour later, you are anchored in a small, secluded cove a short distance from the city. Shortly after, Jin grabs your hand and practically drags you down into the master cabin.

As soon as you arrive below deck, he smashes his lips onto yours as he fumbles with the door handle. He tasted absolutely intoxicating as his deft fingers make quick work pulling your sweater over your head. He tosses it to one side and gazes intently down at you, eyes dark, pupils dilated.

He raises a hand to cup your jaw. His fingers move down your chin, your throat, your sternum. Your mouth ran dry. His breath was dragging, the rise and fall beneath your chest becoming more pronounced.

Lifting your head, you stared back into his eyes, pouring all the invitation into your gaze that you knew how. His plush lips parted as his gaze dropped to your mouth. His fingers travel from your sternum to your already too-heavy breasts and he goes to palm them, eliciting a deep sigh from you.

It seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. His lips sought yours, capturing them once more.

You closed your eyes, a whimper escaping your mouth as your arms snaked around his neck, urging him closer to you.

It felt like ages before his hand finally cupped the curve of your ass and it instantly sets your body aflame, coupled with the ache that had been pooling between your thighs ever since he asked you to take the wheel.

He urges you to lay on the mattress and once you were set down, he pulls off his hoodie and undershirt along with it before hovering over you. He dips down to lower himself to your lips again, his hand caressing your cheek and jawline gently.

But you wanted his hand in other places. You were an ounce of self-control away from shifting to try to coax it where you needed it most. Much to your delight, his hand slid down your body, stopping right on the waistband of your bottoms. You lift your hips to help him get them off you.

His fingertips drew back a few inches and slid just beneath the leg of your panties. You pressed closer and opened your mouth against his, dipping your tongue in to egg him on.

“I want you,” you begged.

Jin barely let you finish before he claimed your mouth again. He had your breath rasping through your lungs and your thighs shaking with need throbbing between them. You wanted to cry out in frustration when he moved his hand from your bottom, only to sigh when he brushed your right breast with the back of his knuckles. Your nipple hardened further, pushing against the lacy material. His other hand moved up into your hair, cupping your nape as his kiss turned ravenous.

Your bra strap slipped from your shoulder with a slow slide of his fingers, baring one breast that he wasted no time sinking his mouth onto. He was between your legs, his hard-on pressing against your crotch–a slow, torture that made you half-moan and half-growl with impatience.

He rolls his still-clothed cock against your clit until you thought you would push you over the edge right there. A couple of oh-so-easy adjustments and he could be inside you. Finally inside you. This was getting out of control. You were getting out of control.

You had to put a stop to this…or move it along quickly–you’re no longer sure.

“Too much?” he asked silkily, his voice a deep rumble at your back.

You groaned. “Not enough,” you breathed out candidly as you palmed his erection through his jeans.

He chuckles darkly as he pries your hand off his crotch. “I told you, we’ll have plenty of time for that.”

He hooked his fingers in your panties, sliding the delicate fabric down your bare legs.

He caught the back of your knee in one hand and pushed your legs open so wide your muscles trembled. He swipes a finger between your folds and you let out an audible gasp of pleasure.

“So wet and ready for me,“ he whispered, then he dipped his head until the warmth of his mouth covered you. His tongue lined you, licking deeply at your core.

The room spun. Your hands fly into his dark strands–fisting at his scalp.

“Fuck…yes,” you moaned as he kept up his oral assault, prompting you to shamelessly buck your hips into his mouth.

He applies gentle pressure on your clit with his thumb while he circled it with the tip of his tongue bringing you closer to your climax.

“You taste so good,” he whispers before darting his tongue back into your slick.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, jaw slackened as your breaths turn ragged.

“I’m close…don’t stop–fuck…don’t stop,” you drawled.

“Yeah? Let me hear you, baby,” he says before he wraps his lips around your aching bud and suckles on it gently–which was all you needed to push you over the edge.

Your orgasm slammed into you and you arched back, releasing a hoarse cry as you dug your nails into his shoulder, leaving small crescent shapes on his skin.

He gets up to pull his bottoms off then crawls up to you. As soon as you feel his weight on you, you pull his neck down to feast on his lips, tongues entwined–tasting traces of your arousal in the process.

Grasping your knee, he hitches your leg curling it around his waist. He then rolls you both over, making you gasp once you were on top of him.

You took him in your hand to line yourself up over him then slowly sank your hips lower, claiming him as yours.

He groans low in his throat, closing his eyes.

You draw out a deep moan at the the feel of him in you–stretching and filling you to the brim. He places his hands on your hips and moves you up, down, and pushes into me.

Oh…it feels so fucking good.

“Baby,” he whispers, and suddenly he sits up so you were nose to nose, and the sensation is…insane.

You gasped, grabbing his upper arms for support as he cups your face in his hands and gazes into your eyes.

“I love you, YN,” he murmurs and kisses me passionately, ardently. You kiss him back, dizzy with the feel of him so deep inside you.

“I love you…so much,” you murmured. He groans and rolls over once more without breaking contact, so that you lay beneath him. You wrap your legs around his waist.

You reach up to caress his cheek and very slowly, he starts to move, closing his eyes as he does and moaning softly.

The gentle sway of the boat and the peace and quiet tranquility of the cabin are broken only by your labored breaths as he slowly fucks in and out of you. He puts his arm under your head, to tilt your neck up slightly and meets you in the middle to kiss you.

Your hands grasp his lower back before moving down to squeeze his cheeks, urging his hips to thrust deeper into you.

Your pulse starts to raise with his steady rhythm until your body starts to tremble with that all-too-familiar feeling.

“You’re getting so tight–gonna cum hard for me?”

“Yes, god, yes–” you whined as your hips sync up with his movements.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby…sooo fucking good,” he moans into your ear.

It doesn’t take long for you to come completely undone underneath him. Watching you writhe in pleasure makes him sharpen his movements further, burying himself more fully inside you. The gasps lodged in your throat broke out in quick bursts when you couldn’t draw enough breath to scream.

“Fuck, YN–” he rasped as your walls clenched around him.

You locked your legs tighter around him and held on as your final contractions milked him of all restraint. His hips slammed forward, growling as he felt his release. His hair fell forward around his face and the veins stood out in his neck.

He eased himself out of you, his chest heaving as he retrieves a towel from the closet, cleaning you up. He lays next to you, hand smoothing up your arm, making you nuzzle into his chest.

He inhales your scent deeply before placing a lingering kiss on your forehead.

“Do you want to head back?” He asks after a few minutes of laying in comfortable silence.

“Hmm–just a few more minutes, please?” You reply sleepily. You were spent, yes, but you just wanted to relish the peace and quiet. You’ve been through a lot in a short period of time–and truth be told, you hadn’t had many moments like this with him–not without having to look over your shoulder or waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It seemed like such a trivial thing–curling up to take a nap in the middle of the day with a significant other. But these were the type of things that you looked forward to experiencing more of…Ordinary experiences with an extraordinary person whom you loved and loved you back.

“Anything for you,” he utters as you both nod off to the gentle rocking of the vessel.

Part 10(finale)◥

Taglist: @deepseavibez @shameless-army @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie @twogyuu @jakepralta @arisud @justmewondering-recs @taleasnewastime @se0kedinluv @bangtannoonalvg

[atomoxxetine]

The Cleric Who Cannot Cure pt.1

https://tenor.com/view/eddie-munson-eddie-eddie-stranger-things-stranger-things4-edit-gif-25801714

It’s about u becoming Eddie’s savior( Maths tutor )

Disclaimers!!!                                                                                                       

1. English is not my first language.

2. I don't know much about the '80s.

3. I know nothing about DnD.

4. I know almost nothing about the American school system.

5. The protagonist in this fanfiction is oddly specific and very hard to insert yourselves in. It's pretty much self-indulgence fic, but I just decided to leave out my name and share it with the world. ((The protagonist is the new Asian kid in the town.This is my plan for now))

6. I'm pretty new to fanfiction and Tumblr.

7. swearing  💀💀💀

8. ooc bc I binged and didn’t pay much attention except for the Eddie part.

9.prob eventually angst idk yet

I decided to write this to get Eddie Munson out of my head, hopefully. I haven't been able to function as a normal human being for a week now. No thoughts, just scenarios with Eddie on repeat. 

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.

.

"Hi! Ms.O'Donnell assigned me to tutor Maths for you-uh-Debbie?" Glancing at your sweaty palm mid-sentence because you are unbelievably bad with names, you announced. Burst into the room, check. Talk to Debbie, fuck, you have to identify her first. Oh shit, this is it. You already started the conversation. There is no going back now. What if Debbie is not in the club today?? But Debbie is a girl's name, and there's only one girl in this room so that’s still alright. There was a burst of sudden laughter right after you finished the sentence. What the hell is going on, why are they all laughing? Did you pronounce something wrong? Is she not Debbie?? Fuck. This is so scary. And what in the world is this club doing in this bloodcurdling room??  "Lady Applejack, perhaps you got too carried away with all this D&D. Is your new persona named Debbie? I thought you know better than to come up with this awful name." A voice boomed from behind the screen with a little chuckle. Fuck, you almost squealed. Didn’t know there was a person there. Your heart is pumping the blood so fast, the gushing sound almost drowns every other noise." And I thought you freak knew better than to assume I am bad at something." The girl in front of you retorted. Oh no. Did you cause a commotion? What is going on? If she is not Debbie then who is Debbie?? "There ain't no Debbie in this room. Are you mistaking something?" she asked, looking back at you. "I...I'm pretty sure I come to the right place." You hesitantly read out the smudged scribble on your hand. Thank god for the script. "...Debbie Munson, Hellfire club?" Followed suit by another laughter, even louder than the first time. Fuck, you wished the ground would just swallow you. This is so not worth it! Just for some extra points and to be in Ms. O'Donnel's grace. And what is so fucking funny?? "Debbie Munson! Debbie the freak Munson!!!" A boy roared while rolling on the floor from all that laughing. "Hey, hey, tone it down, tone it down, boys." The voice belonged to the man who suddenly emerged from behind the screen. Thank god, I’m saved. "Do you seriously don't know Eddie The Freak Munson?" The boy who was still on the floor quipped. You panicked. What??? Eddie??Freak?? What have you gotten yourself into? That kinda explains the sketchy room and suspicious club name.Wait..is this a cult?? "I-I haven't been familiar with Hawking's customs yet. I-is this something I'm supposed to be a-aware of?" you spluttered. "DUDE!" "Dustin, you are going to scare her off!" The man finally walked out to greet you. "Told you! This is my year! They are already sending me my cleric! Oh, dear cleric, please heal me from all the damage Calculus has done to me." The man who you think is Eddie said while feigning a heart attack. You flinched with widened eyes from the sudden actions. You are going to be so dead by the end of the day. It’s either from your own anxiousness or these scary people sacrificing you to satan. And what is a cleric? Why are you the cleric? What the hell are they talking about? "Talking about scaring her off." scoffed a taller kid. You gained back your composure, which you have little to none since the beginning. Think y/n, think. What should you do next, if you don’t want to be dead?

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E98 (March 10, 2020)

Be warned: there are spoilers for the most recent episode below!

Tonight’s guests are Ashley Johnson and Travis Willingham!

Announcements: On Monday at 7 PM Pacific, there will be a special Doom: Eternal one-shot! VOD will be on YouTube on Wednesday. We’re one week away from the release of the new campaign book, Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount!

Episode 98: Dark Waters

Stats! 124 days passed between the Nein’s voyages at sea. It’s been 77 days since Fjord’s pact was broken. Fjord took 40% of the damage taken by the Nein and the crew (Yasha took second-most at 21%).

What’s it like RPing dream sequences with Matt? Ashley: “It gives me the fear.” They both agree it’s a panic feeling first, and then you get excited to see where he’ll go. Travis: “All cognizant thought goes out the window.” Ashley feels like she rushes it sometimes to avoid keeping the attention on her too long, and Travis dreads the open-ended questions: “What do you do?”

This is the first time Travis has had to wait a week to find out if his character will be revived. “Aside from analyzing the fight, it’s been okay, just because we’ve got two dope-ass clerics who feel pretty strongly about Fjord, so I hope we’re in a good place.” He’s mostly concerned about the intangibles and what they don’t know. He didn’t know the orb was still in him---he thought it was destroyed or reset when he threw away the sword. He’s worried that if they try “the normal cleric stuff”, it’s not going to work. He does almost prefer fights that are just dropped on them out of nowhere, because the anticipation is often the most stressful part.

Ashley’s still not sure if she has the feathers or not, since that was in a dream. “Building the character, I didn’t know that would be a possibility for that to change.” It’ll have to come out in the game. “Outside of that, I think-- obviously there’s a lot of healing with the group, but I think in terms of Yasha’s relationship with the Storm Lord, she’s still figuring that out. It’s very tough love, which she’s getting the tough love from the Storm Lord and the familial and kindness and love from the Mighty Nein. So that combo is going to be really good for her to turn things around. I don’t think she’s ever really had a feeling of worthiness outside of maybe being loved by Zuala. So I don’t know what that looks like for her yet, but we’ll see. I think she doesn’t fully know what her purpose is yet.”

Did Travis anticipate a confrontation with Uk’otoa back on the sea? “No, I’m a fucking moron. I didn’t think of that at all! I don’t have anything the ol’ snea snake wants anymore.” Brian: “Yes you do!” Travis: “I didn’t know that!” Dani: “The dark seed of power in you the Wildmother saw?” Travis: “I thought it was metaphorical! Well, now that you say it like that...” He wasn’t upset at all. “More than anything I was just trying to plan my branch narrative for what was going to happen next. More than anything, it became clear that they had just massive intent to come and kill me. I mean, Matt played it beautifully, so even in moments where I was disappointed in myself, like forgetting that enemy characters can hold their turns.”

Cosplay of the Week: a dramatic cape-flaring Fjord! (Ming.of.mings, photo by Rsellos, makeup by Omglobnunu, all on Instagram)

Travis: “The thing that hit me the most was when it came over and it grabs Fjord’s body and starts to walk him off the side of the ship, I was like, Mercer, what the fuck, man! I’m already dead! Give me a second!” He notes that they haven’t done a resurrection ritual yet in this campaign, only revivifies. Losing the two death saves when getting stabbed while unconscious was the moment when he realized how significant the intent was here. Everyone notes how clutch the Counterspell was.

On Jester and Beau showing concern for Yasha’s wellbeing: “I think for a lot of people, sometimes accepting compliments makes you uncomfortable. I’m one of those people. It’s a weird thing for Yasha to hear, because even in her tribe it’s not like that was a normal way of communicating with each other. Only compliments she would have gotten about how she looks or her character as a person were from Zuala. I think, especially with Jester, she’s such an open character that has so much love to give, just bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, just refreshing to be around, they’re all teaching Yasha very, very positive ways to feel and accept that.”

They talk about the way the improvisation can lead to poetic parallels like Yasha and Fjord falling/rising. Ashley: “I feel like so much of that is Matt, and he’s such a masterful storytelling.” Travis: “It’s such a gift, too. He’s giving you something new in the story that you created, and so you have instant ownership of this thing he made just for you.” Ashley: “You just hope you can meet him where he’s at.”

On Yasha’s harp: “Music is a very huge part of my life. I’m using the harp as, yes, for self-care for her, but also I think music can be a form of therapy. There was a moment where I was like, man, it would be so fun to multiclass as a bard, but then I remembered my wisdom is so low... it wouldn’t work. And I actually had talked to Matt about it. There’s more that I want to explore with that, and I don’t quite know what it is yet. I think where it sits right now, it’s a form of therapy for her. I’d been wanting to give her positive things to do to try to pull her out of this place that she’s in, and I think it’s really helpful.”

Seeing the sword again: “I think more than anything, it just unsettled Fjord. There was nothing about that that was easy to adapt to: seeing the sword, and then seeing multiples of the sword, just wondering who is this, what do they have, do they have abilities, what am I missing, how much do I not know about it?” He was initially worried that it was Avantika come back to life.

Fan Art of the Week: Caleb, Caduceus, and Fjord during the fight! (CreativeBleu on Twitter)

On Yasha having a lot of run-ins with creepy people: “I think a lot of that is because of the way I rolled the character, I rolled really low for Yasha’s stats, which is a bummer. She’s very susceptible because of that to being swayed, as we have noticed with Obann and things that have happened in her past. That’s maybe something that she puts out there, where people pick up on that. There’s obviously still and probably will always be a bit of darkness in her. I think people like Icky-thong and Lord Sharpe and people like that can pick up on it. I wanted to play a character like that anyway, I wanted to play somebody with a little darkness in there. I do think it is a source of frustration for her, and that’s where a lot of the guilt comes from.”

Has piecing together Caleb’s past changed Fjord’s opinion of him? “No, not at all. Maybe it’s just me, but seeing how much pain Caleb carries with himself from his past-- if he was flippant about it, that might give him pause, but he’s so fucking tortured about it. He can’t harbor any ill-will or confusion about where his heart lies. He’s full of regret, there’s a real person in there. I think also Fjord is like, I don’t want to be defined by my past, it really, really sucked. Every day since Fjord started with the M9 has been continually the best days of his life, and I think the same is probably true of Caleb. There’s no judgment because that doesn’t help anything. He just want to observe, absorb, acknowledge. You’re making positive changes, and that’s everything. That’s heroic, despite what you think is monstrous. That’s not who I see.” Brian talks about how life can end “when you choose to be defined by your worst moment”. Travis: “People that chain themselves to their past obviously haven’t moved beyond that past, and that process looks different for everyone.” But he believes you should get to define who you are after you’ve moved past that.

On the few new lighthearted moments with Yasha: “I think it’s the comfortability of the people around her. I think it’s just getting more comfortable with everybody, and also it’s just... I don’t know. If I think of something that I think would be funny, I’ll probably say it, but try to keep it in whatever Yasha’s sense of humor would be.” She notes some similarities to Grog. “She’s absolutely a teddy bear on the inside. She sees so much beauty in the world. I love playing those contradictions. She’s always had a sense of humor.”

How does Fjord define being a “good man” now as opposed to the start of the campaign? Initially, it was Vandren: “tough love, not overly emotional, not really available in that way, but conveyed a strong sense of leadership, knows what he wants, is focused, driven, stalwart, dependable, a lot of those bullshit male ideas. Some have value and some are just misplaced. If you try to live up to the idea of somebody else, you’re often going to find yourself going down a path that doesn’t look very familiar. Fuck it, I’m going to be me and see what that is. He’s got the agency. Maybe you just try and be you and hope that’s a good man.”

[leapyearkisses]

For the director’s cut: Orbs Are Bad News, please? Part 2 (or both, if you’re willing!) It’s one of my favorites 💗

One of my favorites, too! Thanks for the ask! :D I'll do both parts, with Part 2 to follow this a bit later.

Director's cut comments in bold below the cut! MESS, m/m, holding a handkerchief, etc.

This story came from a prompt on a writing meme about a character losing the use of their hands while having to deal with snz. I can't remember at the moment if the prompt was D&D-flavored or if I just picked that setting myself because I was really into playing the game at the time (still am!). Also I'm incredibly sleep-deprived, so I hope these comments don't ramble overmuch.

"Okay, we don't know what we're dealing with here, so let's be careful." Gerrit pushed open the heavy wooden door and lifted his torch to illuminate the room inside. The firelight played over several tables covered in intriguing objects and glinted teasingly off of more than one hint of gold. Gerrit himself spotted a stolid wooden chest in the corner and his heart rate quickened.

When I was a kid, my mom gave me the Dragonlance books and I fell in love with them, although it was a long time before I was able to play D&D myself. I attribute my love of the very traditional fantasy realm to these books and my enduring love of sickly mages to Raistlin (Soulforge was like an EXPERIENCE for me). Gerrit has his origins in Tanis Half-Elven - he's a good guy, kind of a normal/default fighter build. "Jackpot," breathed Remembrance, the party's resident ne'er-do-well. She rubbed her hands together, sharp nails clicking. Gerrit was sure she was assigning price tags to the lot of it, except for whatever she hid in her bags for herself, of course. "I know a guy in the capitol who'll pay through the nose for that pervy little statue there." "That is a religious object," chastised Cordes with a haughty tsk. "It's used in rituals of worship for the goddess Fortuna." "Oh, I'm sure he'll be worshipping," cackled Remembrance, and she slipped past Gerrit into the vault. "Few hundred gold and he'll be rubbing out a grand ol' prayer." Her pointed tail waved with greedy delight. "Hey! The proper course of action would be to bring it back to a temple!" Cordes went after her, pushing Gerrit aside.

Remembrance and Cordes are here to be the beta couple and provide background color. Their development was based on a few factors: A) a D&D party should have ~4 people with different abilities (fighter, sorcerer, cleric, rogue), B) a priest and a devil is never not a fun/ny dynamic, C) I'm not into F snz but I feel bad that most of my OCs are not women, and D) given that Gerrit is a "default" archetype, there needed to be differing characters to contrast his personality with (or he would seem to have none). Also I like dirty jokes, so Remembrance can be my humorous id for this purpose lol The half-elf grumbled but wasn't surprised. "At least TRY not to touch anything cursed," he called. He'd been the one to organize this little band, but although he was the one who reported to their patron, he had precious little influence over what they did. They were happy to point to him when some upstart had a problem with the party, though. Ingrates. He turned to the last member of the group. "What about you, Llewellyn? I thought I saw some books on the far table." "Lead the way," replied the sorcerer, and his usually mellifluous voice sounded strained. Purple shadowed the hollows under his faintly luminous silver eyes, and he had his nose tucked into his handkerchief again. Gerrit hadn't spent much time around full elves, but he'd always believed they couldn't get sick, at least not like a human or dwarf. Llewellyn had been dragging since Saints' Day, though, and seemed to have come down with a flu. His skin, where visible under his fitted robes, was wan.

Fuck up that slender, haughty elf man is an endlessly running subroutine in my head. "Sure," said Gerrit, and he stepped into the room, holding the door out so that Llewellyn could join him. "You, uh, you don't look like you're feeling any better." "Oh," said the sorcerer, "I'm not. I ran out of tonics." He entered the vault and walked over to one of the tables, investigating a strangely shaped glass bowl. "But as we were already down here, I'm not sure what you want me to say. There's no inn at which I might rest my weary bones." "Cordes could make you an herbal remedy," Gerrit grumped. He went over to the chest he'd seen earlier and smashed the lock off with the pommel of his dagger. He didn't need any fancy lockpicking tools like Remembrance's. And hitting something felt good when his companions were all intent to be annoying, acerbic, or both. "I suppose," Llewellyn replied, sounding uncertain as his voice wavered. Gerrit tried to ignore the way his ears heated at that. That was the tone that overtook the elf when he was preparing to sneeze. It wasn't any of Gerrit's concern. His occasional roll in the hay (literal and figurative) with Llewellyn did not make it easier or more appropriate to acknowledge his odd attractions, especially since they were currently ransacking a dungeon with a priest and a psychopath. He focused his attention on searching the chest, and he was rewarded with a heavy coin purse, a stack of calfskin-bound journals, and a ruby the size of a robin's egg. He whistled.

Gerrit and Llewellyn are the dynamic opposite of Eliseo and Padgett. Gerrit is the less-privileged, more personable, "low class" character and Llewellyn is the high-born, fussier, sarcastic noble; however, in this story Gerrit is the voyeur character with the fetish and the POV window while Llewellyn is tortured for everyone's amusement. Narratively it's more fun and easier for me to describe the non-fetish-having character because I also like the power of the narrator to be that voyeuristic eye. Llewellyn gasped. "Hah- hahttsch-ow!"

I made myself laugh while writing this hahah "'Ow'?" Cordes appeared from behind a bookshelf, one arm wrapped tightly around a thick rug, the other reaching for his pack of salves. "What is it? Cut? Burn?" When Gerrit looked, their sorcerer was rubbing his nose with his left hand. "Bruise," Llewellyn said. He lifted his right hand, in which he held a blue crystal orb that was knotted inside a thin lattice of gold chain. "I got my hand caught." He'd apparently run the thing into his nose when trying to cover his sneeze. Llewellyn's thin face was already dusted pink from the embarrassment. Gerrit couldn't help but laugh. "Very graceful," he chuckled. "I will thank you for keeping it to yourself," Llewellyn replied, and that was elvish dialect for "fuck you." Gerrit laughed again.

Embarrassment is a huge part of my enjoyment of this kink because of the ensuing power dynamics. The victim is thrown into disequilibrium by something (snz) that is inherently seen as socially inappropriate, disgusting, or at least uncomfortable. Almost always their reaction is outsized to what it would probably be outside of a fet context (most people can sneeze in public without feeling shame - which is the typical mode, lol. It's a normal bodily function). However, then the other character, motivated by their BF's anxiety and potential humiliation is prompted to caretake and comfort them, "approve" of the "shameful" act, and deepen the intimacy of the couple. They can also enjoy the embarrassment and the act voyeuristically while feeling their own discomfort about watching, then deal with either having to divulge the kink or be found out by their partner later (because consent is the sexiest thing, really). But I love my characters and I'm not into hardcore stuff so much, so there are almost never any consequences of the "humiliation" - the characters do not get caught out, they do not get shamed by society, they do not actually lose face or have to explain their sexual preferences to anyone who should not know them.

Now you know way too much about my psychology but also the basic formula for any kink story I have written or will write in my entire life. Yay! Cordes had leaned over to see the orb better in the firelight. He was the only one among them whose vision was hindered by the dim light. "What kind of artifact is this?" he asked. "It doesn't resemble anything I've studied."

Lol humans don't have darkvision. "I'm not sure." Llewellyn held it up to the torch. The orb lit up like a lamp, but otherwise nothing happened. "Whatever this chain is, though, it's very prone to tangling." He tried to shake it off his wrist and failed. This was a task for both hands, and he set to freeing himself. And kept trying. And trying. Gerrit frowned. "What are you doing? Cordes, would you get that off of him?" "Sure." The priest reached out to help, but Llewellyn suddenly backed away out of reach. "Uh... I'm not trying to steal it, elf." "Oh, I would let you take it," Llewellyn said, scowling. "But I have a feeling we would be in for some trouble if you touch it now." He held up both hands. His palms were wrapped around the crystal and bound with the ball in that thin gold chain. "I am... I'm stuck."

---

"STUCK," hooted Remembrance again. She was crouched at the entrance to the dungeon - a root-cellar-like set of doors they'd found in a small bandit settlement - and hauling out a heavy pack stuffed with loot. In the daylight, she looked menacing and out of place, her horns, dusky maroon skin tone, and black eyes setting her apart from this land's primarily human residents. "And you even said not to touch any curses!"

Jump cuts are funny! I love this kind of thing, honestly. It's some of my favorite humor - that and dramatic irony, which is also often depicted in visual media with a funny jump cut. "I recall you said so as well," said Cordes, who looked exactly like a run-of-the-mill human resident except for the star-like scar on his left temple. He reached down and grabbed Gerrit's hand, steadying the half-elf as he climbed out of the hole. Llewellyn was hanging uncomfortably on Gerrit's back, arms looped around the other man's neck. They'd tried to find a more dignified way to get him out of the dungeon, but he couldn't manage the ladder well enough without the use of his hands. "The artifact didn't react to my detection spell," sniffed Llewellyn disdainfully, and Gerrit was quick to set him down before that sniffing could become another sneeze. He didn't want to blush in front of the others.

Blushing is very appealing to me, so everyone blushes all of the time. "There must be someone in Veigh who can help you," Gerrit said. "We'll just swing by on our way to the capitol." The city was three days out of their way, but they couldn't have Llewellyn stuck this way for the two week trip back to their patron. With his hands bound, he couldn't cast any spells that required him to gesture, and that was almost all of them. He'd effectively rendered himself completely useless in combat. Veigh had a chapter of the Mages Guild in residence, though, and if no one there could help, they might at least be able to send Llewellyn on ahead via a transportation spell.

Let's go on a short tangent about names. Usually I name my characters using Babynames.com or similar sites and I pick based on the look, sound, and meaning of the names. For this little group, things were slightly more haphazard. Llewellyn is a Welsh name meaning "leader." I just happen to like this name already, but it also has a visual beauty and difficulty to pronounce on sight that lent it well to an elf character without me having to look up specifically elven names. When I make elf characters in D&D, I tend to give them a nickname or alias that is easy to remember and pronounce so that the name isn't a hindrance while playing the game.

Gerrit's name was picked based on sound. It is similar to the Welsh name Gareth ("spear ruler"), which is on purpose, but it was altered to make it a bit more fantastical/removed. It's appropriate for a fighter in meaning but also suits his more familiar/pedestrian half-elven experience vs. that of a noble elf.

Cordes was given a short name because he is a no-nonsense human, but I chose it to resemble that of conquistador Hernan Cortes because of the "holy invasion" and "treasure hunter" associations. Remembrance is named using the PHB's suggestion that tieflings often pick "ideal" names for themselves, and she has a complicated past (like most tieflings). "I will hope there is." Llewellyn looked pale and worn, though his fine features still exuded the otherworldly beauty of the high elves. His hair was a silky black, although mostly covered by his hood, and the contrast made his silver eyes look even more curious. He fumbled for a minute at his waist before scowling heavily. "I can't get into any of my bags, of course..." "What do you need?" asked Gerrit. Remembrance had started off through the trees, humming, her bulging pack swaying with her sinuous movements. Gerrit really didn't want to let her get too far ahead, not least because she was scary good at concealing herself in the foliage and might slip the party completely. However, Cordes was with her, and Llewellyn couldn't exactly fend for himself right now. "My handkerchief..." The elf's voice had gone wavery again, and Gerrit watched as his nostrils flared. Fuck.

Oho! Here is the plot and the kink conceit. Gerrit hurriedly patted his pockets until he produced his own handkerchief, or what he bothered with when necessary. It was a large square of flannel, rough around the edges. It wasn't embroidered or monogrammed like Llewellyn's, but he figured by now the flannel was a hell of a lot cleaner, and it was soft for an irritated nose. "Here, take mine."

Characters' belongings are also a good way to contrast their situations and personalities. I don't consider handkerchiefs particularly vital to my enjoyment of this kink, but they are a useful visual and I like to describe things. Small details like this are how you can worldbuild without having to do too much extra research. Llewellyn held out his hands plus the orb for it, breath hitching, but no matter how Gerrit tried to drape the cloth, it kept slipping off of the artifact. He supposed he could try to tie it around the-

This is just so funny to me XD Llewellyn made a desperate sound and tipped his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. His breath was coming in soft pants now. And he was raising the orb reflexively. Gerrit couldn't let him whack himself in the face again, so he did the only other thing he could think of. With one hand he reached out and took Llewellyn by the shoulder. With the other, he lifted the handkerchief and pressed it over the elf's nose. His fingers settled firmly on either side of Llewellyn's nostrils, and none too soon. After another half-hitch, Llewellyn ducked forward again with a quiet but insistent sneeze. "Happtsch!

One of the most pleasing sneeze sounds, tbh. Gerrit was sure he was beet red. “Bless you,” he mumbled. Through the cloth, Llewelyn’s nose felt hot, and any gentle pressure resulted in a bit of a squish. “Let me just…” "Whh- wait-" Llewellyn leaned into the handkerchief. "I'm nh- I'm not done hhH-" His eyes slipped shut and he gasped again. Gerrit swallowed and tried to ignore the tenting of his breeches. "R-roger that." He could feel Llewellyn's nostrils twitching against his fingers. "Hh...Haah- Hapttschuh! Snrk... Aptschiu!" His body rocked, and he took a half-step forward. Gerrit could hear the thick sound of congestion in the elf's nose as he tried to stave off another sneeze.

The desperation, talking through the sneezing, and congestion are all vital parts of this scenario. Unavoidable embarrassment + disgust factor + need for caretaking/mitigation. "Blow your nose," he said. "It will help." Llewellyn hesitated, but in the end, he had to comply. There was nowhere for the mucus to go except out. He started to blow with a gurgle.

I used to be really against mess, but the taboo/disgust part of the brain turns off psychologically a LOT during arousal and now I really do not find snz interesting without it. Snz without mess isn't embarrassing enough or visually exciting. Gerrit moved the hand from his shoulder to start rubbing Llewellyn's back. The handkerchief and his fingers were rapidly growing damp, but he really didn't mind. "There you go." He held the handkerchief to Llewellyn's nose until the elf moved back on his own. His nose was red and tender looking, and his cheeks were flushed rosy. He didn't seem to want to meet Gerrit's eyes. Gerrit didn't mention it. He didn't really want to look at Llewellyn either right now. It had been a while since the elf had looked so very fuckable.

Potentially due to my propensity to write fanfic about established ships, all of my OCs apparently have a history or mutual attraction out of the gate. On one hand, it's difficult just mechanically to write a scenario about a romantic or sexual encounter without there being chemistry and an excuse for them to already want to rub bits (obviously), especially in short stories, but I also cannot stand the thin veneer of situational causality that underlies porn (to borrow from Cards Against Humanity). If I can't care about my characters' lives outside of the one random fetish scenario, I can't care enough to write about them at all. He put the handkerchief in an easily-accessible outside pocket of his vest. "Ready to go?" Llewellyn coughed lightly. "Yes." "Excellent." Gerrit gestured for Llewellyn to precede him, and the two of them headed out through the trees, following the sounds of Cordes negotiating the underbrush and swearing about it. --- Travel proved easy enough once they made it to the road. They were fortunate not to meet anyone else along the way. The party could handle a group of bandits without their sorcerer, but they had their treasure to worry about, and Remembrance always drew stares, and sometimes aggression, even from normal travelers. Gerrit thought her skills more than made up for the extra negative attention they drew. And anyway, Remembrance was crazy but she wasn't evil. She did better out on the road than in town, but that was probably true of all of them. Llewellyn kept up with her pace, but it was clearly a struggle. He was usually fairly quiet, but he didn't speak at all as they walked, focusing on breathing and not devolving into coughing or more sneezing. There were a few times when Gerrit hastily reached into his pocket, at the ready, but Llewellyn fought back the itch with admirable determination. He kept his nose from running by sniffling heavily, which sounded somewhere between awful and revolting. Cordes commented on it multiple times with disgust, but nothing could be done. Llewellyn held his tongue, and Gerrit was reluctant in this case to offer the handkerchief without being asked.

Cordes is here providing the societal reaction and voice of reason lol, but there still aren't any consequences or shaming from them. I just imagine how fricking uncomfortable it would be if people acknowledged this porn scenario happening in-world and so that is never part of the story development. They found a place to camp about half an hour outside the small village of Tewks. Remembrance cleared out some brush to make a flat area for the bedrolls and then promptly decided she'd rather sleep in a tree with everything she owned. She found a good, solid oak a few yards from the camp and ensconced herself in the crux of its branches. She had a good view of the road in either direction and volunteered to take the second watch in the middle of the night, which was her favorite time. Gerrit agreed to take the first watch as Cordes started to set up his tent. The priest refused to sleep on the ground and always took an extra fifteen minutes to erect a curious one-person canvas canopy. It wasn't even large enough to sit up inside, but whatever. The priest never asked anyone else to haul it along, so Gerrit wouldn't complain.

Remembrance and Cordes are thus handwaved away from the sexual center of the plot and they will neither see nor hear anything they aren't invited to. These arrangements left him and Llewellyn alone together on one side of the fire, and he supposed that was preferable during the orb situation anyway. Llewellyn couldn't handle his own bedroll, help with the fire, or unpack any of their supplies. Gerrit realized he would probably have to help the elf eat, too. And... Well, when he noticed Llewellyn fidgeting uncomfortably, Gerrit took him out into a thicker copse to see to his other needs. They didn't talk about it... Llewellyn could hardly undo his own buttons, though, and it wasn't the first time Gerrit had taken over.

I am very into watersports, so it creeps in, although I don't think there's a friendly community out there for that like there is for snz, so I haven't developed any kind of presence for it. It appeals to me for pretty much all of the same reasons as described above. Maybe someday I will start writing those kinds of stories on this account as well, but I don't know if they would find an audience, so maybe not. By the time the fire was hot enough to cook over, Llewellyn had tucked himself up to sit on a tree stump, exuding an aura of furious self-reproach. Cordes took some jerky into his tiny tent with him - for some reason. Gerrit made up two bowls of pottage and sat himself on the ground at the roots of the stump. He put one bowl on the ground for himself and then held up the other. "Hungry?" "Not particularly," Llewellyn replied, voice blunted with congestion. He coughed. "But you're going to make me eat something, aren't you." "I'd prefer you do it willingly." Gerrit tapped the spoon on the side of the bowl. "Come on. It's hot. You'll feel better." Llewellyn growled in a manner more suited to orcs than elves. "I feel like an invalid." Gerrit sighed. "Well, if it makes you feel better, we can pretend you lost your arms in an owlbear attack very tragically." He could feel Llewellyn's fiery glare on him and smiled a little. "Look, we've all done stupid things while adventuring. I'm sure you remember when I tripped and knocked myself out on that knight's shield during the tournament." "I remember," replied the elf, begrudgingly. "Besides, you're sick on top of the whole orb thing. Maybe your detection spell wasn't sensitive enough. Maybe the thing's not even cursed! Maybe it's supposed to do this, and we just don't know why." "I have a hard time believing that. What possible purpose could this serve?"

Porn! Gerrit shrugged. "Don't ask me. Dad says my mother was a druid, but I haven't got a magical bone in my body." He tilted his head. "We could always try smashing it?" Llewellyn's rejection was forceful. "Do you want to explode?!" Gerrit chuckled. "Not really." Llewellyn sighed. Gerrit held out a spoonful of pottage. Feeding both Llewellyn and himself was a bit difficult, but Gerrit did well enough when he could alternate. It would be better if he could use both hands equally like Cordes, but he couldn't, and so he didn't. He just thought about it wistfully as he worked. Llewellyn ended up eating most of his bowl, then went back to sitting quietly and sniffling. Gerrit finished the rest and put the utensils aside to deal with later. And... Even though Llewellyn hadn't asked, he drew out his handkerchief again.

More caretaking, more intimacy. Gerrit is a kind and loving person even though he's a fighter by trade. "Hey," he began, trying not to sound awkward. "You wanna blow your nose?" No one else was paying attention and Llewellyn didn't need to inhale any more of that crap. The elf gave him a shitty side-eye. "Come on," said Gerrit. "Don't be like this." He patted the ground in front of him encouragingly as if Llewellyn was a recalcitrant cat. "I'm fine," said Llewellyn, and then betrayed himself with a quick breath. "Hah--" "Come on," Gerrit repeated, "before you make a mess."

He is also pretty comfortable talking about a lot of things that people with the fetish have generally admitted difficulty acknowledging. This is because even though he's the one with the fetish in this, he is also the "Padgett" character and practical and not caught up in the anxiety prison. Llewellyn came down off the stump to sit in front of him, legs tucked underneath, and rested the orb on Gerrit's thigh to balance himself. His eyes were pinched with reluctance, but Gerrit could see that the elf's nostrils were already damp. "Hah- hh- hurry," Llewellyn gasped.

People should sit in each other's laps. It's good. Again, Gerrit reached out with the handkerchief, enfolding his companion's nose. He could feel Llewellyn's breath fluttering against his hand through the fabric and hear quite clearly how it kept catching on congestion. "Hah-hngk- Hahgkttscht!" Llewellyn ducked forward with the force of it and Gerrit steadied him with a hand on his hip. "Ngkttsch! Hnggktxch!!"

The sneezes now involve nasal consonants because of congestion. Sometimes people tend to have a certain way their sneezes always sound, and I try to maintain that, but these details are important to show a change in the severity of the cold (and evidence of sniffling for hours). Gerrit bit his lip sharply to keep from saying anything, but his body was singing with arousal. Llewellyn hiccupped a short gasp and Gerrit pulled the handkerchief away to present a clean corner. The current spot had become soaked and silvery. "Bless," he managed after a moment, and he carefully readjusted the cloth. "Are you going to sneeze again?"

Hiccupping is also sexy and cute. Also I spelled that wrong in the original, gdi... Llewellyn nodded, eyes teary with the effort of the first bunch. Gerrit wasn't surprised; the elf had been holding back since they left the dungeon. He couldn't imagine it had been comfortable, but Llewellyn had his pride. He never would let Gerrit give him love bites either. Annnd Gerrit was going to have to stop thinking about that. "Haptsch!" Easier said than done. Really. But Llewellyn's comfort came first.

Voyeur with a heart of gold. "Hahkptsch!" The sorcerer groaned softly. "Hah- hh- Hgnaptscxhx!" Gerrit did his best to assist Llewellyn through the fit. He kept the handkerchief secure, moving it when necessary to keep it dry enough. He steadied the elf when the sneezes bent his body or when he felt faint from lack of breath. He even massaged Llewellyn's nose for him when he was trying to blow it and the congestion was stubbornly refusing to move. By the time he felt finished enough to lean back, Llewellyn was flushed and light-headed, swaying where he sat. Gerrit was sweating and needed a towel. "........Thanks," murmured Llewellyn, eventually.

Sometimes kink authors tend to just write out like twenty sneezes in a row and I hate that, honestly. (No shade - I don't even have an example in mind because I don't read a lot of stories anymore and everyone has their preferences.) I just think that the kink should support the storyline and not the other way around. The story should be enjoyable and sexy but have a narrative structure and coherent rising and falling action. Even if a fit is a sexy scenario (it is), trying to make your eyeballs power through a repetitive series of nonsense syllables is counterproductive and takes the reader out of the story and into the realm of annoyance, which disrupts arousal as well. "Yeah," said Gerrit. "Sure." He swallowed. "Let's wash up." He helped Llewellyn to his feet and they went a little way to a creek (generously; it was little more than a ditch through the woods). Gerrit gently washed Llewellyn's face, careful of his tender eyes and nose, and sent him back to camp to lay down for the night. He lingered at the water's edge to wash the handkerchief and, well, to take other matters in hand.

If ya know what I mean. Llewellyn was completely out when he returned, and Gerrit was grateful. He smoothed the elf's bangs back and then settled beside the fire to take watch. The woods in the dark were full of the sounds of insects and small animals moving in the undergrowth. And Llewellyn snoring and sniffling in his sleep. Safe sounds. Gerrit rested his chin on his hand and looked toward the road. Damn orb. It was going to be a long way to Veigh.

And this was getting long, so this is where I cut it to make part 2, which I will also commentate in a bit (hopefully after a nap =___=). Thanks!

[timeforelfnonsense]

Lost and Found

Astarion x Dafni 

Rating: T

Hurt/Comfort

TW for depression mention 

Ao3

I’ve been working on this bad boy for a month and it’s done at last!

 An important note: There is some reference to the Lolth Sworn drow in this and I feel the need to clear the air and state that I have some issues with the way WotC characterizes the drow as inherently evil. My house rules are that none of the races are inherently evil because the broad strokes in the source material as problematic af. So while the followers of Lolth might be evil I want to make it clear that doesn't equal all drow are bad. Dafni holds all varieties of elves in tender regard. As an eladrin of the fey wilds and a follower of Corellon she understands that fluid and changing nature of all living things. Life is messy and people do not fit into boxes, very few folks are all bad or all god. Not every elf worships the Seldarine and that’s ok. A fundamental part of Corellon is freedom and choice therefore it would be foolish to insist her path is the only right one. Her issue is with Lolth not the drow as a whole.

The Underdark was a horrid and forsaken place. A shudder ran down Dafni’s spine as she rubbed away the gooseflesh cropping up across her arms. Lolth’s influence hung heavy in the stale air. She would have to step lightly. A cleric of Corellon would be a great prize to the followers of the Spider Queen. She missed the warm sun on her face, the feeling of grass beneath her bare feet. She could feel herself wilting under the oppressive darkness that surrounded them.

Anxiety was a strange and forging feeling. The majority of her 160 years had been spent embodying the playful delight of spring. Perhaps it was on account of her relative youth. Or, maybe it was the influence of Corellon Larethian, whose wild and wonderful influence she had felt all her life. He had looked out for her. Cared for her as a father would his child. Truly, Corellon felt as much a parent to her as her mother, Thesmia did. A meek half-smile tugged at the corner of her lips. He had given her a reason to leave home when the wanderlust became far too much for her to contain. If she was to flourish as both an elf and a divine servant, Dafni would need to truly know herself beyond being Thesmia’s shadow. Absentmindedly her fingers reached for the familiar crescent moon that hung from her neck.

Her feet skidded to a halt, her trembling hand pulled away empty. Her blood turned to ice. An agonizing dagger of guilt pierced her heart and she felt as though the ground beneath her would open up and swallow her whole. Part of her wished that it would. She had carried the holy symbol since she was a young girl. Though she knew in her soul it had been her’s even before that. It had served as her connection not just to her god, but her heritage and primal spirit- The very essence of her being. 

“I lost it.” Her voice was less than a whisper, stunned and distant. Tears began to well up in her eyes. The world around her was growing colder by the second. “My amulet is gone.” Her breath began to come out in heaves and she began to sob in earnest. “It- It must have gotten lost when the minotaur tossed me!” 

 Her sharp cry stopped her traveling companions in their tracks. Each of their faces dressed in varying degrees of confusion and concern. Gale began to speak but his words were drowned out but the low ringing in her ears. A dizzy, sickening feeling bloomed in her gut and the edges of her vision began to blur as the darkness she had so feared gripped her soul.

They had doubled back to the old Selûnite fort. The others were still there setting up a temporary camp. Shadowheart hadn’t been able to find anything physically wrong with her aside from the normal bumps and scrapes that were to be expected on an active adventurer. 

Astarion felt truly helpless for the first time since he’d escaped Cazador’s clutches. It had been an hour and Dafni had yet to wake. He clasped her hand in his. A soft blue had slowly been spreading over her sage-green skin, creeping its way from the tips of her fingers to the crown of her head. Her locks were shifting at the root from rosy pink to a frosty teal. The flowers that wove through her loose ponytail had all weathered into dust. 

He squeezed her hand, “Come on Daffodil…”

Gale had been fairly positive that this was, to some extent normal for the eladrin of the Feywilds. Something about a book he’d read by some notable wizard? Truth be told Astarion hadn’t been paying much attention. He was too busy staring down Lae’zel, who’s paranoia filled gaze had been locked on Dafni’s sleeping form from the moment they’d returned. 

He should have been annoyed at her. The loss of some silly costume jewelry had caused her to swoon like a high born lady. He knew she was made of stronger stuff than that. Her little spell had put them all behind and left them without a healer the whole trek back to the fort. Yet, try as he might Astarion couldn’t seem to conjure up the ire he held for those too weak to survive hardship on their own.

 He groaned, letting his head hit the wall behind him with a soft thunk. There it was again- That damn sentimentality! By the Hells, he was a vampire, not a nursemaid! What had gotten into him? 

“You should rest.” Wyll placed a hand on his shoulder, “I’ll keep an eye on her for a bit.” 

His eyes went narrow, a low growl rumbling in his chest. The idea of leaving her while she was vulnerable made his blood boil. 

I’ll watch your back and you watch mine…

Her promise echoed through his thoughts. Dafni had held her end of the bargain with unwavering resolve. If he left now it would feel too much like betraying the one person he’d allowed even a fragment of trust in the past two centuries.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t an appropriate reaction.” He muttered while he whisked away an icy tear from her cheek. “I’m just a bit... Out of sorts.” 

Wyll nodded, taking a seat on the dusty floor beside him, “Hey, she’s tough. She’ll pull through, whatever this is.” The warlock gave him an almost smug look, “You really care for her don’t you?” 

“I hardly see how that’s any of your concern.” He sneered with a wave of his hand, “Besides, my concern is simply a matter of pragmatism. Our little band of misfits can’t afford to lose our best healer-” Astarion hesitated for a moment before adding, “Don’t tell Shadowheart I said that. We need not add my body to the pile- Should things go poorly.” 

“If I promise not to sell you out will you take a break?” 

For the first time since she had fainted, he noticed the scratchy dryness in his throat. Astarion scowled, there was little in the way of appetizing food that he had seen but he would just have to make due. He was loathed to leave her side but Wyll was a good man, a better one than him in truth. He would keep her safe. 

“What’s this? The legendary Blade of the Frontiers, stooping to common blackmail.” He tried to keep his tone flat but he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips, “Fine, I’ll take a break. I’m a bit parched anyway. I suppose I’ll try to track something palatable down here. Unless…”

 He arched an eyebrow towards Wyll who moved away with an overstated scoot. 

“Not a chance, now go!” 

Cold. 

A crushing, all-consuming chill wrapped its arms around her spirit. Spring had left her. Now she stood alone in the isolating melancholy of winter. She reached out for the familiar warmth of The Protector but here- In this cursed place his influence felt far and foreign. If only she had her holy amulet. It could have served as a compass leading her back to Corellon’s embrace. She would simply have to press on. She had put them behind already and there was no time for sentiment. She wouldn’t be able to cast spells until she found a replacement and the chances of a spare symbol of her god in the Underdark were laughable. Dafni tried to sniff back the tears pricking at the edges of her eyes but it was no use. They rolled down her baby blue cheeks freezing before they could fall to the ground. She glanced up at Astarion, who walked a few paces ahead. While Gale and Wyll had spent the better part of a day coddling her, he had remained distant. 

Maybe he didn’t want her like this? Her sadness threatened to consume anyone near her and he had enough grief of his own. He had admitted once that he enjoyed having her near. Whispered in her ear that she was sunlight and happiness made flesh as he took her in a flower patch of her own creation. 

The feeling of a gentle hand pulled her from her thoughts. Gale offered her a small smile before speaking, “Are you all right?” 

“Oh-” She sniffed, whipping away another frozen tear, “I’ll be alright. I just don’t feel much like myself right now.” 

Gale nodded in response, “Yes, I can see that. Perhaps we shouldn’t have brought you here. The Underdark does seem quite at conflict with the very core of your being.”

A mournful laugh escaped her aching chest, “I don’t think we’d have had any better luck with that shadow curse above ground. No, my sorrow isn’t a good enough reason to risk the rest of the group’s safety.” She brought an icy hand to Gale's cheek, causing him to shiver, “I appreciate your concern but really I’ll be alright. We eladrin are ruled by our emotions, a shift of season was inevitable at some point or another. It’s unfortunate for the rest of you it had to be winter. Things are dire enough without my sorrowful presence bringing you all down with me. Perhaps it would be best for all of you to keep your distance.”

 She sighed, her eyes falling on Astarion, who lingered just on the edge of the bitter cold her sadness created. While it pained her to say it, she knew he was right to keep away. The others should do the same if they were wise. Gale gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

“He’s a funny one, Astarion.” Gale mused, “Wyll told me he had to resort to extortion to pry him from your side while you were out. Yet, today he acts as if you have the plague.”

A small snort of laughter broke past her tears, “Extortion?” 

“I believe comments were made comparing Shadowheart’s healing abilities to your own. Wyll offended his silence in exchange for Astarion taking a break.”

“That’s not fair to her.” Dafni sniffed, “She’s not a life cleric, she does her best.” 

“You have a good heart, Dafni.” Gale said giving her arm a squeeze, “My point is I think he cares about you, in his own odd way. At the very least he’s far more pleasant when you are around”

“You really think so?” 

“I do,” Gale assured, “he’d have to be the biggest fool in Faerûn not to see how wonderful you are.” 

Dafni felt a bit of warmth return to her heart. Not enough to thaw her sorrows but it was a start. Gale’s words helped her sort through the chaos of her mind as they had so many times before. He was a loyal and kind friend, as was Wyll. Shadowheart too despite her evasive and secretive nature. Even Lae’zel had warmed to her as best she was able despite their differences. There was a solace to be found in the support of her peers. She wasn’t so alone after all.

The sound of her laugh hit Astartion like a battering ram. She seemed to be in slightly better spirits since arriving in the Myconid Circle. She floated about the fungus folk with an easy familiarity. It seemed being among the vibrant plants and creatures of grotto had offered her some sense of normalcy. He looked over his shoulder to see what had coaxed a giggle from her (no matter how pitiful and melancholy it sounded). A sharp twinge of jealousy ran down his spine as he watched Dafni stroke Gale’s cheek with a somber smile. 

He bit the feeling back. It was better for them both if he kept his distance. Gentle kindness was hardly his strong suit. Gods, he was a disaster. How many times had she offered him comfort even when he spurned her? She had given so freely to him, her kindness, the warmth of her bed, the very blood in her veins. And there he was relying on someone else to comfort his lover.   

 Dafni was a resilient little thing. So optimistic and sweet it made his teeth hurt. It was disorienting to see her so morose. He had learned the boundaries of her emotional aura rather quickly. He had noticed an unfamiliar warm feeling that first night at camp. He found himself lingering near her as often as he could after that. Savoring the tender happiness that radiated from off of her. She had told him it was simply part of her nature. A charming quirk he’d grown to enjoy a great deal. But now he could feel her heavy sorrow as if it were his own and he longed to make her hurt go away.  

Damn sentimentality.

He had his own worries. He didn’t need to take on hers as well. She didn’t need him to coddle her. And more importantly, he most certainly was not beholden to her contentment for his own survival despite his halfwit heart’s insistence to the contrary. She was making him soft. It was ridiculous! He was far too old to be fretting over her like a lovelorn sprat. 

It must be the tadpole. Her compassion must have wormed its way into his brain somehow. That was the only logical explanation.

He needed to clear his head and get some distance between them so he could feel more himself. He wandered aimlessly about the grotto as he attempted to show away any feelings of softhearted sympathy but it was no use. He rubbed his temples and let out a frustrated huff. He should never have taken that first taste of her. She’d become an irresistible craving from that moment on. It wasn’t just her blood, but every aspect of her that called to him. Inviting him to take refuge in her affections. He could feel himself lowering his guard a little bit more each day despite his efforts to keep her at arm's length. She’d flash him that beguiling little grin, her topaz eyes brimming over with admiration and he would find himself tempted to let her just another inch closer. He’d known she was dangerous from the moment he clapped eyes on her in the wreckage of the crash. He’d prepared himself for a stake to the heart but the infatuation she had inspired in him was infinitely more frightening and possible just as deadly.

He made his way to the alcove where the Society of Brilliance had set up shop. The strange hobgoblin had mentioned something to the party about being a collector of magical items and oddities. Walking had failed to rid him of his frustrations perhaps shopping would. 

A glimmer caught his eye as he approached the cluttered stall. There, on the table was a familiar silver amulet. He was going to get it back for her and pray the gesture was enough to curb his need to see her happy. He could swipe it easily enough but he didn’t want to draw trouble to Dafni if she was spotted wearing it. No, charm and a dash of intimidation would be his best shot.

“Excuse me,” He smiled wide allowing for a slight flash of his fangs, “I was hoping you would be willing to part with that necklace.”

“A vampire interested in the acquisition of a holy symbol?” 

“Yes, it’s very ironic.” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Now, how much do you want for the damn thing?”

“Well, first time for everything.” the hobgoblin shrugged, “You have a good eye, this is very unique. It’s forged from mithral and inlaId with sylvan moonstones. The holy symbol of Corellon is more commonly depicted as an eight-pointed star these days rather than the crescent moon. Meaning this item is very old indeed! It was brought in just yesterday. I would be hesitant to sell it but my research does require more funding. How does 900 gold sound?”

“I hate to be the one to tell you but ‘very old’ is a relative term when it comes to items of elvish origin.” He kept his tone flat and unimpressed, “Long-lived people do tend to hold onto things.” 

“Ah, but you’ll find this is more than your average antique! Judging by the craftsmanship I would say it dates back to the time of the primal elves.”

Shit. 

Of course, her necklace had much more than sentimental value. He had hoped for a quick haggle but it seemed he was going to have to work for it. He really didn’t have that much coin on him, nor was he inclined to spend it on something that was not rightfully the hobgoblin’s to sell. He raffled through his mind searching for a thinly veiled threat or convincing argument to lower the price until the perfect mixture of the two dawned on him.

Astarion let out a droll hum as he checked his nails with casual disinterest. He spoke in a low, blasé voice, “You said before you weren’t much for combat? Don’t you think it’s risky, carrying around a holy item of Corellon in the den of the Spider Queen? It would be such a shame if something were to happen to you at the hands of a zealot. Really I’m doing you a favor by purchasing it. I’ve crossed swords with the Lolth sworn before they are merciless and skilled fighters almost as dangerous and bloodthirsty as vampires.”

He let a wicked bark of laughter. A bemused expression flickering across his face. He could smell the fear stirring in the timid merchant. It would seem he hadn’t lost his edge after all.  

Blurg swallowed hard before mustering a response, “ Ah- I hadn’t thought about that...”

Dafni sat cross-legged on the ramparts of the fort fletching a new batch of arrows. She’d need more to compensate for her lack of magic for the time being. She’d spent the whole trek back to their camp scanning the ground for her necklace but it had all been for not. She’d just have to accept the fact it was gone no matter how much it broke her heart. 

“There you are, darling. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

 The sound of Astarion’s voice caused her to jump, tossing her arrow down with a start. Dafni clutched her chest shooting him a sharp look. He only laughed, his infuriating gorgeous face fixed in a grin that reminded her of a satyr who stumbled upon a river of bathing nymphs. He dipped to his knees placing a hungry kiss on her scowling lips. He couldn’t be serious. All-day she had been desperate for his attention and he was completely uninterested but now that he had an itch to scratch he was searching up and down for her. Unbelievable! She shouldn't have been surprised. It wasn’t as if he’d ever promised her his undying love and devotion. Still, she had thought him tactful enough not to proposition her after the hell she’d been through that day. 

“I’m not really in the mood right now.” She scolded, “You’ll just have to entertain yourself tonight, you egotistical lecher!”

“That- Isn’t why I sought you out. But, if you truly don’t want my company I’ll leave you be.” He shrugged his tone flippant despite the flash of vulnerability in his ruby eyes.

“I- I’m sorry that was really mean and uncalled for. Please stay.”

Stupid impulsive girl.

She slumped forwards, hiding her face in her knees. She could feel the icy tears threatening to spill over for the hundredth time that day. He’d come to check on her and she’d cut him down because of her own insecurity. The bitterness had gotten the better of her and she had unwittingly discouraged his attempt at compassion. 

“If you think the accusation of being a rake is the most heinous insult that’s been hurled at me I’m afraid you’ve missed the mark by quite a lot.” 

He sat down beside her, placing a hesitant hand on her back. She could sense his uncertainty. He was nervous and clearly out of his depth but he was trying. His cautious fingertips moved slowly across the expanse of her back, tracing nebulas shapes and patterns as she drew short, shallow breaths. She couldn’t bear to look at him. She just knew he was staring at her with the same wide, gentle eyes he had when she’d offered her neck to him that night in the woods. If she saw him like that the dam would break and she’d be an utter mess. 

“I still shouldn’t have said it.” Her voice came out shaky and quiet as she peeked over the top of her knees at him. 

“I think I’ll find it in my heart to forgive you.” He leaned in close, whispering in her ear. “I have something for you. Now, stand up and close your eyes.”

She arched a questioning brow but compiled, hopping to her feet. He pushed her ponytail to one side. His touch lingered on her jumping pulse causing a shiver to run down her spine. A warm chuckle falling from his lips in response. The cool feeling of metal draped across her throat, an otherworldly comfort hummed all around her as the delicate weight of a pendant fell against her chest. 

“Where did you find it!!” Dafni gasped, “I thought I had lost it forever! You can’t fathom how much this means to me.”

“It’s a gift, to repay you for all the ones you’ve given me.”  

It probably seemed a small thing to him but he’d returned a missing piece of herself. Words felt woefully inadequate to express her gratitude. She threw her arms around his neck, sending him staggering back a bit. She hardly noticed. She stood on her tiptoes placing gentle kisses all over him. First over the bridge of his nose and then his cheeks and down his neck. Her fingers laced through his soft curls tugging him close, her lips brushed against his. Astarion’s hands fell to her soft waist, his mouth ever so slightly parting for hers. Dafni sighed, running her tongue along the warm seam of his lip earning her a satisfied purr. His hand ventured to the small of her back gently coaxing her closer. She took in a deep breath, the dizzying blend of leather and patchouli making her weak at the knee. She could have stayed like that forever, pressed safe and content against his solid chest. The feeling was big and terrifying but magical and perfect all at once. 

Drat...

She was falling in love with him.

[empty-dream]

About S2E23

(because I've been waiting a whole year or so to talk about this adsfas)

First of all, I love how the flashbacks in this episode are formatted in smaller screen and usually in a rather muted color scheme.

Compared to pretty much everyone, Tamaki starts off relatively happier and fortunate. No dead families or friends, no heavy expectations, no betrayals, no greatest failures, no twisted minds. She's just so ordinary. And for most ordinary people, their drive might not be as strong and clear-cut as the hardened ones'. "Because everyone told me to. Because everyone said I could." It's lucky if anyone can go so far with just that level of motivation, if you can even call it that. And it happens every day, everywhere. Imagine choosing a subject or a career not because you love it, but because it just so happens that you can do it. Unless you do anything with how you deal with it, I'd say not much satisfaction or motivation will come out of there. Her sob story begins ON screen, starting from being betrayed by Rekka, the very person she adores and the reason for her career decision in the first place, and culminating in Hajiki's death and Juggernaut's dismemberment which she could barely do anything to prevent. The only reason why she survives is that she just happens to have incredibly high sturdiness. If the nether was successfully blown up in Joint Investigation arc, only she would survive since she can't save anyone. And survivor guilt is painful. She isn't totally useless per se, but her fighting performances are quite underwhelming, especially compared to people like the Academy Trio or the seasoned veterans. The 8th already has Iris as the nun, so not much reason for Tamaki to act as one too. Until the Fifth Pillar arc when Iris is overwhelmed and that's when Tamaki starts doing the clerical job too since she wants to both help Iris and be more useful. And when Tamaki has her fighting spotlights, more often than not, the lucky lecher syndrome kicks in. (Which is one of the reasons why I love Chinese Peninsula arc so much. The syndrome mysteriously doesn't appear at all, she is the designated nun and she does her job splendidly as one, and she does fight too. Perhaps the syndrome is only active in Tokyo??) Since S1E8 is still my best Fire Force episode, I totally appreciate the snippets from Rekka incident. Especially the part where Shinra and Tamaki’s conversation is played again complete with the echo effect too... Gah I love it! Look, I know she’s a total tsundere, is kinda bratty and not really the sweetest person around when she first appears (especially around Shinra). But it's pretty obvious from the Rekka incident onward that Tamaki looks up to Shinra so much it's not even a secret to Iris. She takes seriously the facts that he saved her from Rekka and promised to save her anytime anywhere if she calls for him. Even though the fact that she might really need saving each time does irk her.  

Throughout the 2nd Season, Tamaki tries to be more useful and change. Sure, she began her career with a flimsy reason. But she still chose that herself. After everything she has gone through, she has no intention to abandon it nor stop to lament her own inabilities. She wants to change and makes the effort to do it, even if she wouldn't measure up to the level of Arthur or Shinra. It's just a story of an ordinary person, and I love it.

Until today, no explanation about why she has the lucky lecher syndrome or what it actually is. I suppose that's a gag but imo it's not funny and Ookubo tends to leave the jarring 'gags' unexplained (the other being the Arthur's family and mindset about it). But on the bright side, how the syndrome messes Tamaki's self-worth is actually played realistically. It's a stupid and weird curse, of course strangers wouldn't believe her and the meaner people would just bully her for that. This, when clearly she doesn't like or want it one bit. The flashback with her sitting on the corner instead of the dining table at the 8th really highlights that she's used to keeping her distance from everyone. 

The first time I read this scene on the manga I completely fell for it. Like, the companionship is real. If Tamaki isolates herself on the corner out of fear of inconveniencing her comrades with the syndrome, then Shinra is just gonna take the corner from her so Tamaki can mingle back in. This, coming from the guy who was also shunned and cruelly misunderstood. From the pages alone, I can honestly say "No wonder Tamaki looks up to him. If she likes him in *that* way, also no wonder."

But David Production once again astonishes me with this one extra scene, when the muted color and small screen format suddenly bursts into colorful tints and fits the normal screen size. You know what this is usually about. It's like a realization, an acknowledgment, like you see something for the first time that entirely flips your dull world upside down. Like that one sentence changes everything. That kinda thing. 

My point is: I love how Tamaki is just a normal person, sees horrors she is not ready nor ever expects to see, regrets so many things she can’t prevent, grows to appreciate the companies around her, and wants to change so that she can fight herself and ensure none of the tragedies would happen again. Given the things that happen currently in the manga, I really want to see how it plays out ;)

[zenodotus-xxiv]

I was given this idea by @guinevere01 , who suggested I use a TMA quote for a TAZ fic and vice versa! I will absolutely be playing around with more of these, so consider this the first of many.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27621641

CW insecurity, mentioned drug use (Merle’s in this one, what did you expect?)

“I suppose that’s part of trusting someone, isn’t it? Letting them help how they can.”

Life was a little bit hectic. Opening up a magic school, dealing with being the saviour of… basically all of existence, handling a fairly new relationship, and spending as much time with your sister as possible after she died and you forgot about her for ten years wasn’t exactly going to be easy.

But all of that paled in comparison to Taako’s real issue. For ten years, a whole decade, he’d thought that he had nobody, had always had nobody, and could never trust a single soul. And then it had turned out that all of that was bullshit. He had a family. He had a wonderful, stupid, infuriating family, with a too-kind puppydog of a fighter and a bad cleric and a gnome with wanderlust and a sweet as fuck brother in law with terrible fashion and a quietly funny archivist and LUP, his twin sister, his other goddamn half whom he’d never gone without, whom he couldn’t go without.

He had to reconcile those parts of himself. The part that insisted that it was just him, only him, that he could never trust anyone else, and the part of him that was currently curled up on the couch in his boyfriend’s lap, braiding his sister’s hair and trying to listen to Mavis complaining about her classmates while also making sure that Barry didn’t blow up his kitchen reheating last night’s casserole.

The reaper squad had the evening off, and Merle and his kids had been sitting at the house when Taako got home, so tonight was just going to be a quiet night in. Well. A crazy night in. Every night that one of his weird friends broke into his home and insisted that they were having family time Right The Fuck Now got a little crazy. But as it was, Merle had just decided to come over and chill on the porch and blaze it with Lup, and Mookie had wanted his nails painted. They’d get sent home the next morning with more tupperwares of leftovers than they could eat in a week, and Taako probably wouldn’t even bother cleaning the nail polish stains off the ceiling. It added a little flair.

Huh. This was his family. He had one of those, now. Technically, he’d had one for the last hundred years or so. He had people who’d break into his home and steal his food, and that was just… a normal thing now. It was normal that Magnus would come over and start spontaneously fixing something and yelling about shit cheerfully with at least four dogs in tow. It was normal that they’d get postcards in the mail from Davenport, normal that Taako would wake up to find Angus asleep on top of a bookshelf, normal that he’d be painting a small child’s toenails and normal that his brother in law would be giving beard care tips to his basically-niece as she complained about bad teachers and mean classmates.

That was his life, he tried to tell himself. He was happy, he had a family, he had friends, he had people who cared about him. But there was still that part of him that had gone ten years on the road alone and thought that was how his life had always been. Still that part that insisted that all this was going to come to an end, the other shoe was going to drop, that he’d be alone again.

He didn’t know how he’d deal with that.

For all he complained about people breaking into his house and stealing his twin time, for all he bitched about Magnus’s dogs, or Barry’s terrible fashion choices and semi-legal necromancy experiments, or the weird succulents that Merle “gifted” him, he’d hate to be without them. He’d gone too long on his own. He never wanted to do that again.

But there was still that one part, telling him to run, that getting connected to people just meant losing them, that trusting someone was just asking to be betrayed, that he should just cut his losses and get out of here while he still could--

“Taako? Are you listening?”

He was shaken out of his thoughts. Mavis looked at him expectantly.

“Sure am, pumpkin,” he smiled. “You were saying?”

“I asked what I should do about Nicola?”

“Hmm? Uh.. y’know, keep your friends close, enemies closer, all that jazz.”

Mavis looked bewildered. “She’s a rabbit? Were you-- you weren’t listening.” She seemed to droop at that.

“No, no! I just… have a lot on my mind. Rabbits. Let’s see. Carrots? Lettuce? Cute ears? Yeah?”

Lup looked up at him and rolled her eyes. “Koko. You’ve been stuck on the same part of this ‘do for the last five minutes. Something’s up.”

“No! I’m fine, just… school stress. We’ve got voles in the garden. Right, babe? Voles?”

Kravitz looked confused. “Voles? I don’t think we have voles.”

“Exactly! We need voles! They’re an essential part of any garden!”

“Voles eat your roots.” Merle piped in from the armchair by the fireplace. “You don’t want voles.”

“What do you know about gardening? Wait, no. Don’t answer that.”

Merle shrugged. “You sure you’re doin’ okay? You look worried as hell. Heck. Worried as heck.”

“You can cuss around us, dad.”

“Nah I can’t! Your mom gets pissed, uh, gets upset, when Mookie comes home saying bad words.”

“That’s besides the point,” Kravitz said. “Seriously, Taako, are you okay?”

And gods. He sounded genuinely worried, the dork. Lup looked up at him, that same worry laced in her eyes, and all of a sudden he wanted to cry. Shit, this was all so difficult. Why couldn’t he be having a normal problem? Why couldn’t this really be about the school, or unplanned home intrusions, or voles, or basically anything that wasn’t his entire identity and sense of self at war with the other half of it as he tried desperately to remind himself that all this was real and normal and his life, that he had a family, that he could trust people--

He could trust people.

He could trust his family.

He could trust Merle, the guy had saved his bacon more times than he could count. He could trust Barry, that was his goddamn brother-in-law, even if he was a total nerd. He could trust Kravitz, who’d proved time and time again that he cared, and trusting Lup was a given, that was his twin. So what was he all worried about?

“I just…” he croaked out, still perilously close to crying in the middle of his living room, surrounded by Merle and his spawn. 

Godsdamnit! What was he doing? He was Taako, from TV? We didn’t get fucking insecure!

He took a deep breath. No. His family… should know. If even so they could know what they were getting into. He owed them that much. “I just… worry. About you guys.”

Merle chuckled. “Look, I may be a shitty cleric, but I know how to protect myself. And I’m certainly not letting any of the rest of you guys die on my watch.”

“Yeah, and Bear and Krav and I are literally immortal. We can take care of ourselves.”

“No, no! I get that. I just… I worry that you guys are gonna figure out that I’m not shit, and decide to spend your time with some different dumbass hot-as-fuck elf who isn’t just a knockoff Lup with a dope hat!”

Everyone stared at him in shock. Then Merle started laughing. And so did Barry, and Lup, and Kravitz was making a valiant effort to hold back, but Taako could still feel his chest shaking with barely contained amusement.

“I’m being serious! I’m trying to have a serious, adult conversation, you shitheads!” he shouted.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” managed Barry. “I’m sorry, dude, and I’m really proud of you for gettin’ that out, but… c’mon.”

“Look, Koko.” Lup said. She took his hands and squeezed. “I get it. I’m sorry it’s so funny, but… seriously? You’re fucking irreplaceable. You know that, right? You’re so much fucking more than a knockoff me in an admittedly dope as hells hat. I love you, everyone in this room loves you, even if some of them, Merle, won’t admit to it. You saved the world, you’re a really good wizard, and you are absolutely the shit.”

“Yeah, it’s just--”

“Do you trust me?”

He didn’t have to think. “Absolutely.”

“Good. So if I tell you to believe something, can you try your best?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

She smiled at him. “You, Taako, may be a bit of an asshole, but you’re OUR asshole. And if anyone tries to take you away from us, I can and will set them on fire. Got it?”

“Yeah!” Merle piped in. “And I’ll sic Della Reese on their a-butts! On their butts!”

“And then I’ll revive ‘em so we can do it all again!” Barry agreed.

Kravitz shot him a glare.

“Or not. I could also just. Hit them with a sword real hard. Don’t need to go too fancy.” he mumbled.

Taako nodded.

The rest of the night passed more peacefully. A stray spell hit a vase and turned it into a ceramic turtle, Barry got soup all over the toaster, and Kravitz refused to try weed.

It was a welcome diversion, really. All this stress was starting to give him dark circles, and it was pretty tough to remember to glamour them over every morning. But… this was nice.

Taako had people he trusted. It was difficult to remind himself of that sometimes, but there were people who loved him, who didn’t mind him needing their help.

He didn’t have to do everything alone anymore. He supposed that was part of trusting someone, wasn’t it? Letting them help how they could.

He had a family. And he could ask them for help.

[loquaciousquark]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E73 (Aug. 6, 2019)

Gooooooood evening good evening good evening all! @eponymous-rose is off packing for a cross-country move (as if THAT’S an excuse), so here I am isntead to lay waste to all you love. 

Tonight’s preroll: Sam’s costume from the liveshow getting dunked in acid.

Tonight’s guests: Laura Bailey & Sam Riegel, in a fully human and normal tshirt and jeans. Everyone oohs and ahs over Laura’s adorable live show outfit; Sam waits eagerly for equal attention. And waits, and waits...

Tonight’s announcements: Huge thanks to everyone who came out to the live show in Indy last weekend (I was there! It was great!). Laura talks about everyone singing the theme on the intro. Sam sent his entire costume back with Dani so he wouldn’t get stopped in the airport. Poor Dani! Season 3 of Between the Sheets, featuring Amanda Palmer, is up for Twitch subs now and will be up on YT on Wednesday. CR is headed to Austin, TX, for a live show on Sept. 23! Everyone talks about how Doty will definitely, definitely be in this show: The Adventures of the Darrington Brigade, ft. the return of Sam as Taryon. Sam says he already has something in mind for his costume; everyone else will be playing new characters. Laura’s got an idea for a backup character for Jester, but BWF advises her not to use this for the live show since Jester will def be dead in less than 20 episodes. Go to critrole.com/events for more.

Episode 73: Uthodurn, which is not spelled at all like I thought

CR Stats! Nott dealt 124 damage this episode, only 23 of which was friendly fire. Sam: “You know, he just needs to get out of the fucking way.” Nott rolled her 50th nat 20, resulting in a 43 stealth check. Laura and Sam quietly talk about Sam’s tendency to touch everyone else’s dice as opposed to his “playing fairly.” Sam also laments he’s lost his dustbuster in the studio somewhere after the last bit. Jester is tied with Beau at 9 for the most HDYWTDTs. Jester also played her 50th prank this episode: creating the ballpeen hammer as an offering to the Allhammer.

Laura thinks part of Jester’s new anger in battle is part of losing Yasha, especially when she disappeared right in front of her and Jester wasn’t able to help her at all. “Jester mammoth-raged.” Laura raves about being a mammoth & talks about needing to work on her elephant noise. Both Laura and Sam fail miserably at making the noise.

Sam slowly drinks a shot. It’s... a thing.

We have a close-up of Sam’s nail polish, which was done for the live show. He doesn’t own nail polish remover, it turns out.

Nott will talk to Cad about the explosive arrow whenever Cad brings it up. First, Cad was invisible & therefore at fault because he couldn’t be seen; the second part of the blame goes to Laura Bailey, who leaned over and told Sam right before his turn he had to kill this thing right now. The explosive arrow was the best thing he had; Sam accepts one part of the blame for forgetting it would be fire. Sam & Laura agree the bolt should have had some thunder/force damage associated with it because of the concussive blast. (Hilariously, my father presented this precise argument to me with GREAT VIGOR right after this episode aired.)

Jester’s call to the Traveler was just in the heat of the moment. All of her power comes from him, so Jester calls out to him (and Laura thinks it cool) when she gets a big oomph. Sam wonders aloud if her powers genuinely come from the Traveler or not. Laura: “I mean...as far as she knows.” Sam’s also distracted that the question card had a straight-up name on it rather than a username.

Sam considers the outcome of the election a win, since he’s one of the bi-Presidents of D&D Beyond until further notice. “It doesn’t matter how you get there, as long as you get there.” Laura asks if he thinks about it being a hollow win when he goes to sleep. Sam: “Do I look like the kind of person to have thoughts as I’m falling asleep?”

Nott’s usage of the pistol’s single shot was pure pettiness. Sam thought Nott had a shot because she’s acrobatic & fast & has some tricks, and he just didn’t want Beau to win. Making loud noises & drawing attention didn’t even cross my mind.

Jester was very proud of Fjord making those strength checks, but she wasn’t surprised. “He’s very strong, even though he looks like he’s not.” Laura thinks it’s funny and poetic that Travis rolled so well after ditching his sword/powers.

Travis has three sets of dice. Liam has a bunch of sets, but they’re all red (says Laura, offended). Laura only used purple dice at the live show because of how she was dressed.

Cosplay of the Week: a great Scanlan cosplay with Ioun’s third eye by @cxptaingrayson.

Sam realizes something that’s been holding back the Nott-Fjord relationship is that Nott has always been a little suspicious of Fjord. Now that he’s “talking like a real weirdo” and is still brave, braver than before, she can trust him more.

Laura’s asked about Jester’s conflict between healing & DPS. Laura: “Do you think Jester asked to be a fucking healer?” When they were deciding their characters, Laura was originally going to be a warlock with the Traveler as her patron; then Travis was like, warlock! What a cool class! Can I have it? And Laura said sure, she’ll be a cleric, that sounds cool. “And now he got rid of his fucking patron! Who knows if he’s going to be a warlock anymore? What a waste of a warlock!” She likes being a cleric--but even from Jester’s very first inception she’s always been a healer who hates healing. Brian: “She’s a battle Mercy.” She’s not regretful she healed Beau; the reason Laura didn’t immediately heal her is that she thought from Matt’s face that the remorhaz was very close to death, closer than it actually was. She confirms Jester is Chaotic Neutral.

Brian tells Laura he texted Travis to tell him Laura accused him of stealing the warlock class. Laura: “YOU DID NOT!” Brian: “You said it on the air!!”

Travis, via text to BWF, apparently in all caps: “I WAS CHANGING RONIN. YES I STOLE WARLOCK.”

Nott’s teasing of a powerless Fjord is 100% just because she thinks it’s funny. Sam: “There’s not really a deep reason to it. They tease each other all the time. Why would that change just because he tossed his sword in the lava?”

Laura needs to do research on other animals she can become since she enjoyed the mammoth (and giant eagle) so much. Sam keeps a list of flying creatures Laura can turn into because Laura struggles looking it up and often keys it into her D&D Beyond app before she’s even started. BWF: “This is uncharacteristically unselfish.” Sam: “Well, Laura is--I love her. Laura is pure harp music and I would do anything for her.”

Their environments are just getting better and better for Nott in terms of how goblins are seen. She’s given up the mask now, but it’s nice to have people look and not scream.

Both Sam & Laura pause to fan over the design of Uthodurn. It’s way cooler than either the Empire or Dynasty to them right now.

Laura points out that Nott has been fairly outgoing lately; it’s been a while since anyone said “you’re a goblin, stone her!” She’s beginning to come out of her shell as she gets used to her body (not that she likes it in any way), but it’s a development from Veth’s original shyness. She’s also drunk a lot; Sam says this will continue until he gets more Laura Bailey speeches.

BWF still has Laura’s copy of Game of Thrones, which he borrowed in 2011. Laura doesn’t listen to books on tape because she likes the inflections in her own head.

Fanart of the Week: a cool grouping of portraits of the M9 by @dylanbydoodles.

They apparently threw an election party after the D&D Beyond President reveal. Sam talks about convincing the Lyft driver on the way back that it was a swinger’s party in the most ridiculous way possible. Poor Indianapolis.

Nott & Veth’s relationship is getting very complicated. Sam says they’re beginning to blend a little together, but he’s now coming to realize there’s a part of Nott deep down that is deeply scared of going back to Veth & losing her rogue abilities, her adventuring; she wants to be herself again for sure, since her body is definitely wrong, but she’s beginning to fear the loss of some of what Nott is now.

BWF sincerely thanks Sam for the effort and thought he puts into his character. Sam sincerely thanks him. It’s a lovely moment.

Jester’s slip about Fjord’s powers was deliberate on Laura’s part but accidental on Jester’s. Everyone’s a little worried about Fjord without powers, even though he proved himself in the remorhaz fight. She thinks the slipup happened because Jester wasn’t on guard--because Fjord had done so well in the fight, she’d forgotten.

So far, Nott’s choice to leave the family behind in Nicodranus is worth it; no one’s died and they’re making headway on their goals.

BWF: “The Mighty Nein: no one’s died-ish.”

Apparently Matt owns the building they’re filming in? I missed part of this and genuinely can’t tell if it’s a joke.

BWF talks about how Liam, Matt, & Travis have all been genuinely mad at him before. Matt and Travis were mad; Liam was just disappointed.

How did Sam lose the election? He doesn’t think it’s because of him or anything he did. He thinks there’s a demographic shift in America; the electoral college hurt him; both he and Liam ran the campaigns they wanted. Liam’s was serious issues & serious passion, while Sam farted around for three months. BWF asked Adam Bradford at D&D Beyond, who’s the General Manager, about the results; apparently the pie chart was VASTLY in favor of Liam with only the tiniest sliver for Sam. Laura thinks it’s because Sam’s done nothing but troll Sam for five years and this was their chance to troll him back. Sam: “To that I say: good job.”

Dani & Max both voted for Sam. Laura didn’t vote. BWF voted for Liam. Chris forgot there was a vote. Zach voted for Liam.

Sam talks about the game they play, the app for D&D Beyond, and how the whole campaign allowed him to shine a spotlight on himself. “I didn’t get as many votes as Liam, but I got a lot of attention.”

Everyone loved this last live show. Laura legit loved wearing her dress; Travis & Liam looked great. Tal looked normal. Brian marvels at his own tattoos. He and Tal went through a lot of ideas before they committed to the bag situation--he sent it to Jaimie Alexander before the show happened so she could vet it. Ha! “Her response was 25 crying emojis and ‘please send this to my boyfriend.’“

Reminder: Mica Burton, Overwatch League host (and daughter of Levar Burton), will be guest-starring on Critical Role this coming Thursday.

And we’re out! Is it Thursday yet?