#i don't know how our bard's player made it through honestly

[charonean]

For the TTRPG character questions! You don’t have to answer all of them lol

2 // Noble

7 // Casimir 

21 // Liam 

34 // Liam

36 // Hybris 

40 // Dmitri 

61 // Casimir 

Thank you, my friend! I most certainly shall answer all of them lol

2. what was your original concept for this character? how did playing them change that concept?

My original concept for Noble was a lot more edgy and brooding. He fit a lot more into the typical "rogue" stereotype. When I played him though, he became a bit more lighthearted and flirty. Honestly, he fits a lot with the typical "bard" stereotype. He's just a funny guy.

7. there’s a magic item (or technological innovation, or special resource) made just for them—what is it?

It would be a telescope that showed the sky as it was on whatever day he'd want to go back to the most. It would a) be a cool thing for him and b) help him get his priorities straight. I don't he's aware that good things exist in his life, and getting to have a concrete date for a day that he cherishes (and that probably is after Dmitri died) would do him wonders.

21. do they have an idea about how they’ll die? do you?

Liam assumed he'd die before 16, so honestly he's kinda just expecting to die at any moment, which is partially why he's Like That. Right now though, I think he assumes he's gonna get killed. I think if he survives CoS, then his sisters (Talia and Lilian) will kill him.

34. what languages do they speak? how did they learn them?

Common, Elvish, Infernal, Celestial, Halfling, Dwarvish, and conversational in Draconic. He learned them all through books. He spent a lot of time stuck in bed as a kid, and that's how he'd pass the time. He's currently learning Draconic though because he's upset that Lionel knows it and he doesn't.

36. how do they fidget?

By playing music mainly. Or running his fingers over the bracelet Dionysus gave him lately. That's more a nervous tick than a fidget though. He's never still. Even when he's standing, he's kinda dancing around.

40. if you had to remake this character right now, how would you change them?

He's already been remade a lot from his initial concept (he and Cas sort of flipped in terms of who was the extrovert/introvert. Can you believe Cas once was the personable one? His 20 in Charisma means nothing to me). I think I would make him more well-rounded a person, as in he'd have less intense interests in things so as to be a better balance to Cas, who is nothing if not obsessive. They're supposed to be kinda parallels and opposites, but Dmitri also has an all consuming interest in something, which lead to his death, so...

61. is there an in-game moment of theirs you think about and just laugh?

I have two. One from when I played him as a player character, and another from our campaign where he's an NPC:

When I played him, he and his party were meeting with this wizard dude, and someone had asked Cas a question that answering would've involved mentioning Dmitri (at this point in his life, Cas straight up refuses to even say Dmitri's name), and he wanted to avoid this topic so badly, he got up and left. He grabbed the first book he could see and started reading it. It was on a creature called like a ragamuffin or something. He gained proficiency in identifying them.

In the Noven campaign, it's when Cyrus betrayed the party and ran into Cas, and his first reaction was to offer tea and not talk about what happened. My man has never addressed a problem in his life; that is fully why all these problems exist.

[codeandcreativity]

Reverie

Summary: Spencer and Maeve visit the Folger Shakespeare Museum. Written for @railmereid's 2K writing challenge/prompt: "Do you think we could pretend?"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Maeve Donovan (PG-13)

Category: Fluff, Angst

Warnings: Allusions to stalking. No explicit spoilers, but this won't make sense if you're not familiar with the beginning of the Maeve arc (Season 8).

Reverie

Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends. -William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

"Do you think we could pretend?" she asks softly.

"Pretend?"

"That we're together."

He looks up, past the scratched and dirty fiberglass casing of the phone booth, down one of hundreds of similarly featured streets from which he might have called her. "How?"

"Your mind is an amazing tool, Spencer. Convince me," she says with a gossamer laugh. "Tell us both a vivid lie."

"A rare vision?" he suggests, warming to the idea.

"Take pains," she says. "Be perfect."

"OK." He slips his hand into his pocket to pull out his own phone. "I'm going to hang up and call you on my cell."

"That sounds like a great start."

He settles the heavy pay phone receiver in its cradle with a satisfying thunk and hits the first speed dial on his cell.

"Hey," she answers right away.

"Hey." He smiles to himself. "You're still there."

"I'm still here."

"Great." He exits the phone booth and walks towards his car, three doors down in front of a coin-operated laundry. "I'm parked outside of Georgetown Laundry," he says, unlocking the door of his horizon blue 1965 Volvo Amazon and sliding behind the wheel.

"I'm right around the corner," she says, voice light with mirth. "Come pick me up."

He follows those welcome instructions, turning the corner at a lazy crawl just in time to see her emerge from the door of her brownstone. Her face is hidden from him by a curtain of rich brown hair as she turns to lock the door behind her. Her figure is mostly hidden, too, beneath a loose white sun dress that falls just past her knees and a gray cardigan that is at least one size too large. She turns at last, her eyes shaded by sunglasses but her smile bright and genuine. She trots down the steps to street level, waving cheerfully as she crosses the sidewalk to his car.

He's out of the car before he knows it, rushing to meet her on the sidewalk. He holds out his hand and says breathlessly, "Maeve."

"I think we're a little past that, Spencer," she says warmly, ignoring his proffered hand and wrapping her arms around him in an embrace that feels like early summer. She smells of cotton and lilac, light and sweet. Without a thought, he buries his face in her shoulder and wraps his arms around her tightly, as if she will float away, an ephemeral thing he must cling to if he is to have any chance of keeping it at all.

"You're really here," he murmurs against her skin. She shivers. He wants to make her do it again, so he says, "Maeve."

She laughs, her hands dancing the length of his spine. "I'm here. Now," she says as she pulls back just enough to see his face. "Where should we go?"

He breathes deeply, soaking in the warm summer air and the tethered feeling of her finally standing beside him. "Where do you want to go?"

She pushes her sunglasses up to reveal pale blue eyes, crinkling with excitement. "Where do you want to take me, Spencer?"

He barely has to think, when she says it like that. "I know a place." He pulls open the passenger side door and offers her his hand again. "Get in."

This time, she takes it, her skin cool and dry against his as she lowers herself into the car. "I should have known you'd drive something with character," she says as he climbs in the driver's side, running her fingers along the vintage console.

"I don't drive it much," he admits, pulling away from the curb and pointing towards their destination.

"I know," she says. "I'm glad you drove it today."

He turns his head for just a second to appreciate the childlike wonder on her face. "Me, too."

"Can I roll down the window?" she asks.

"Of course."

She works the crank until the window is as far down as it'll go, turning her face to the breeze. "I haven't been out of my apartment in so long," she says wistfully.

After a beat, he answers, "I know."

She turns back to him with a reassuring smile. "I can't wait to see where you're taking me."

They drive through tree-lined streets to the historic part of town, calling out landmarks well-known and esoteric, until finally he pulls over and puts the car in park. "I think we're here," he says, squinting through the windshield.

"You think?" she asks playfully.

He chuckles. "Yeah. We're here."

Before them rises a long two-story building with a facade of white Georgia marble, worn by more than 80 years of east coast weather but no less stunning for its age. Tall vertical windows line length of the building, art deco grilles adorning those and the entryway closer to the ground. A series of themed bas-reliefs pose under the windows, figures of stone so well-hewn they seem to not to have been carved from the marble, but to have emerged from it.

"Oh, I haven't been here in ages," she says, hand in his as she leads him up the stairs. Her fingertips hover over the figures, but she doesn't touch. Hers won't be among the hands that slowly erase the figures from the stone from which they were birthed. All the best tragedies already constructed, in word and stone, from Macbeth to Hamlet to Romeo and Juliet , those stupid, star-crossed lovers.

"This sort of artwork is usually installed near the top of the building," he says, watching her face flush with happiness as she traverses the path towards the doors. "The Folgers asked the sculptor to place them closer to street level to give the public a better view."

She pauses a moment in front of crowned Titania, dwarfed by an attentive Bottom, idiots in love. The Fairy Queen's face is turned out, in soliloquy or reverie. Titania's body occupies the same space as her lover's, but her mind is far afield. What a privilege.

She hums appreciatively. "Is there a show today?" she says, turning her hopeful face to his.

He smiles. "What would you like to see?"

"Surprise me!" she says with a grin.

They tour the library until the sun sets, gasping softly at the details of the collection on exhibit in the Great Hall. They admire the finer points of the room itself, with its soaring plaster strapwork ceiling and intricate terracotta floor, inscribed with the masks of Comedy and Tragedy, secreting in its tiles the titles of the Bard's plays. They hover as close to the First Folio as they're permitted.

Their hands never part.

They take in the Elizabethan Theatre, with its three-tiered balconies and carved oak columns, but that's not where either of them want to spend their evening, so he takes her at last out to the garden. And for all the things they've seen today, it's the sight of the formal garden, the smell of lavender and honeysuckle and thyme that pulls the breath from her lungs and she says, "Oh, Spencer."

Palms pressed together, he pulls her closer to his side. He bends his head and whispers, "There's more."

They traverse the garden slowly; she pauses often, to touch an unfurled leaf or inhale the scent of a flower rising brilliantly from the heavily mulched earth. While she drinks in their surroundings, he only has eyes for her. Her dark hair, blunt bangs playful over clear blue eyes, the pretty pink of her cheeks when she catches him looking, the sly curl of her lips that tells him she knows she's got him wrapped around her any way she desires. She has only to say the word.

"They're setting up for the show," he says, pointing down the path with his free hand.

She looks up at him, so pure and full of hope. " A Midsummer Night's Dream ?"

"I can't imagine anything else," he says honestly.

She laughs, soft like a blanket. "I imagine we have our choice of seats."

They do, and when they're settled on a blanket the color of a late summer sunset, she leans over and whispers in his ear, "I brought us something to drink."

"I don't…"

"I know," she interrupts. "It's sparkling apple cider."

Night falls around them and the lights come up. The players on the stage dance and sing through the text seamlessly, interlacing the stories of lovers and actors, tales of fairies and humans, crises of self and burgeoning feminism that make A Midsummer Night's Dream one of Shakespeare's most widely performed works.

As the play proceeds, they turn towards one another, until they are reclining, somehow watching the stage as well as the stars above. Puck makes their appeal to the audience at last, an assurance to the perturbed that what they have witnessed may be nothing more than a dream, to be whisked away by another sleep. There is no applause as Puck sees themself out, only the lingering silence of a theater long after the audience has gone.

They are the players now, alone on the stage.

"Maeve," he says softly, just for her. "Can I kiss you?"

"I think you should," she says, and before he can make a move, she presses her lips to his. Stunned, he reacts only after a moment, his fingers threading into her hair as he pulls her closer. He follows her lead, afraid of taking this ephemeral thing they've made too far. The kisses are passionate but chaste, not that he knows any other way.

Too soon, he feels her stiffen against him. "Spencer."

"What's wrong?" he asks, looking down at her face. The tone of her voice has painted her features ashen. She's only a shade now. A phantom.

He hears a series of beeps, a staccato succession of three.

"I… I have call waiting," she says, her voice truncated with fear.

"Maeve?"

"No one has this number."

"It's OK. Don't hang up. I can get someone to trace it," he tries to reassure her, but the terror in her voice has infected him.

"Spencer, I have to go."

Before he can say anything…

"Goodbye."

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"How will I know you're OK?"

…she's gone.

He's standing in a phone booth three doors down from Georgetown Laundry, listening to a dial tone.

-End-

Read on AO3

[tragedyposting]

for the 50 D&D questions, how about all the prime numbers?

Thank you thank you for the ask, sorry I'm just getting to them now, I've had a crazy week!

2. What class [would you be]? Either a wizard, order of scribes (because I am a nerd and a lit major respectively) or an Eloquence bard (because I am a theater kid in love with the sound of her own voice)

3. What two feats would you have? maybe linguist and actor

5. Which of your d&d characters has been the most like you? I don't know. I think they all contain an equal amount of "me," just in different places.

7. How do you go about making a character or NPC? usually I try to come up with a concept first, and then build the character mechanically around it! the concept can be anything from a personality or element of their backstory or sometimes it's just a sort of hook like "refined high society lady barbarian" bc I like to defy expectations and having a fun hook helps me build a character.

11. Have you ever fought a dragon? Oddly enough I don't think I have. I ran an attempted dragon fight but my players successfully convinced the dragon not to fight them which was wild.

13. Have you ever fought a mind flayer? Several times!

17. Who is your favorite “celebrity dm?” Brennan Lee Mulligan my beloved.

19. How did you discover D&D? I think I had heard of it before, but was first introduced to it up close at the public library teen center where I spent most of my middle- and high school years.

23. Do you have any art of your characters? so much! I make character portraits for all of them. I usually draw the whole party, too! I love drawing D&D characters honestly I think they've made up most of the commissions I've done, too.

29. Have you ever been drunk playing d&d? Not yet!

31. Tell me about your current party! I'm in two ongoing games right now, but I'll answer this as a player because I've only DM'ed two sessions. We are called Wilbur's Angels (I came up with the name and I am very pleased that it caught on) after Wilbur, our decrepitly old bard who is technically a deserter after a lifetime of service in the Last War (its an Eberron campaign) he has a tiefling ex-wife, at least one bastard kid out there, and he is very senile which is definitely hiding a big secret I cannot figure out. We have Lis, a cheerful changeling rogue, Abraham, our long-suffering sort-of-ex-Cannith Paladin, Ezekiel, our fire genasi warlock who is guarded and a little grumpy, the newcomer Thalia who is a sweet small town girl with a secret (which I also DO NOT KNOW). My character is formerly Soldier 2230 "Ev," a rigid soldier and an evocation wizard who was manufactured in a series of warforged wizards, who would later reinvent herself as Evy, who is chaotic as all hell and dedicated to the arts of self-determination, reinvention, and wearing a cool wizard hat.

37. What is the most recent PC or NPC you’ve created? I designed a bunch of NPCs with potential information for a mystery investigation session. I think the last on the list was the traveling scholar who helped them translate some Sylvan.

41. Give an out of context quote from one of your games! Ok I have to cheat and quote from the Apocalypse World session I played in last night (so it is TTRPG, but not D&D) and quote "Remember the Penis?"

43. Minis and terrain or theater of the mind? I like minis and terrain in the minimalist sense of grid and some kind of physical token because it allows you to keep track of distance and do fun things with movement and actions in your turn more easily, but its more important to me to build the imagery up through action (ie descriptive language, immersive DMing) than it is to have detailed minis or fancy terrain

47. Have you ever played at level 20? Probably for a one shot at some point. I don't remember.

(d&d asks)