#razz musings

[razzberrydazz]

Me, realizing one of the many reasons I like Shadowheart and Astarion so much is because they read as having BPD to me, because I am a person with BPD and I project myself the hardest on characters I see myself in. It's MY comfort characters and I'll project on them however much I want 🤡😈

So I broke down the base criteria of BPD symptoms (you only need to tick 5 of the 9 criteria to be able to be diagnosed with BPD) and how both Shadowheart and Astarion can be interpreted as having and expressing the various behavioral criteria.

The main criteria: Fear of Abandonment, Self-Harm and/or Suicidal Thoughts, Chronic feelings of Emptiness and Dissociation, Unstable Self-image and sense of identity, history of unstable relationships, impulsive and self-sabotaging behavior, mood swings, extreme anger, Paranoia and disconnect from reality. It's not explicitly a criteria, but it's incredibly common if not a prerequisite that people with BPD have prolonged past trauma that caused them to have these maladaptive behaviors.

Both Astarion and Shadowheart have the traumatized unstable past to explain their behaviors (Shadowheart DEFINITELY has SEVERE childhood trauma since she got kidnapped and forced into a horribly abusive and manipulative cult, while Astarion has the trauma from Cazador's centuries of abuse and manipulation)

Both of them have SEVERE trust issues (Shadowheart from being in a cult as well as her attempts to pit Tav against Lae'Zel because she's distrustful of her {she has good reason to be when she's carrying a Gith artifact, as well as the Githyanki's long history of brutality and oppressive regimes}, Astarion from being so severely abused by Cazador despite his attempts to please the vampire lord, both of them can latch onto Tav and trust Tav entirely too Much once they're shown a shred of decency)

Both have Extreme fear of abandonment that they deal with in different ways (Shadowheart avoids abandonment by generally pushing people away and keeping them at arm's length so she can't grow attached especially if she stays Sharran, then latches onto the player far more than she should if no longer Sharran because Tav is her last tether of trust and warmth; Astarion avoids abandonment by trying to seduce you and get in your good graces as quickly as possible)

Both have unstable self-image and identity (Astarion doesn't even remember his own face before turning into a vampire, Shadowheart has to double down and recite the Sharran dogma to herself near constantly because she is unsure of her faith and by act 2/3 has QUITE an existential crisis on her relationship with Shar and Selune and cuts her bangs and even dyes her hair if no longer Sharran)

Both have a history of unstable relationships (Shadowheart can't even remember most of her possible past relationships due to the memory wipes, the main relationship she does remember is that of her with her cruel capricious goddess Shar, and if you go Selune route in Shadowheart's personal quest she will latch onto Tav and ask them to be with her forever with the clear implication that she's afraid Tav will leave her; Astarion hadn't been able to maintain a single good relationship in his entire time under Cazador because he had to lure his lovers to his master)

Both have impulsive and self-sabotaging behaviors ESPECIALLY Astarion imo (Astarion's perceived initial hypersexuality and inability to say no to sexual intimacy for most of the game, his want to do the ritual which overall has a far worse outcome for himself and others, his attempt to feed from Tav without their consent and possibly kill them in the process, his approval and encouragement of evil actions that reinforce that Tav is not trustworthy; Shadowheart's attempt to kill Lae'Zel by holding a dagger to her throat while she slept was definitely an impulsive act, and if she throws away the spear of night in act 2 that was Definitely done by impulse and not of active thought, and her cutting and dying her hair was most definitely done on impulse imo)

Both appear to have chronic feelings of emptiness and dissociation (Astarion largely because of the chronic vampiric gnawing hunger as well as him appearing to dissociate during some sex scenes, Shadowheart feeling emptiness largely due to the loss of her memory and mind as well as her dissociating via prayer because Sharrans try to empty themselves of all emotion to feel the emptiness and loss that Shar upholds)

Both of them have appear to have varying anger issues (not as much as other characters at times, as both Karlach and Lae'Zel DEFINITELY have worse anger issues at first glance if you ask me) and different ways they deal with it (Astarion is quite murder happy about it, such as when he can kill the Gur bounty hunter without caring for Tav's input, and Shadowheart's anger and resentment towards Lae'Zel and Selunites causes her to verbally lash out at any mention of Selune while at one point physically threatening Lae'Zel with her dagger and possibly killing her if Tav doesn't intervene or eggs her on, though I think most of Shadowheart's anger is turned inward and turned into her mentally anguishing that she's not a good enough devotee to her goddess)

Both have Extreme paranoia and suspicion of others (Shadowheart is distrustful of others by default and is especially paranoid about Lae'Zel due to her being Gith, Astarion is paranoid of being taken back to Cazador and holds Tav at knifepoint at first accusing them of being the one that kidnapped him before Tav assuages his fears)

Of the BPD criteria, I'd say outright Self-Harm and Suicidal Ideation shows up in both Shart and Astarion the Least (Gale has EVERYONE beat in the suicidality department); they both most definitely want to live, though they both still do Self-Harm usually through their self-sabotaging actions. I wouldn't count Shadowheart's stigmata hand wound as Self-Harm since it was Shar that inflicted that on her and not Shadowheart inflicting it on herself. If anything, it could be argued that Shadowheart purposely doing things she knows Shar would dislike in order to activate the wound is some form of self harm possibly? Shar is her abuser so I still am firm that her wound is not Shadowheart harming herself even if she knowingly does things to activate it because it is the fault of her abuser for hurting her.

As for extreme mood swings, often times those can be pretty well concealed and be mostly internal instead of external if someone is good enough at masking their emotions. Of the party members, Shadowheart and Astarion and Gale mask their emotions the most. Karlach has pretty outward mood swings, she's very expressive, while both Shadowheart and Astarion (and Gale) are typically pretty withdrawn and wear a mask of false smiles. Shadowheart definitely seems to be chronically depressed or otherwise ruminating and not having a good time mentally. If she has mood swings they are likely turned inwards and not outwards. She does have outbursts of anger and panic indicative of rapid mood swings at times, however. Astarion's dramatic catty antics could be read as mood swings judging how he reacts to Tav's various actions. Both he and Shart are very catty.

Overall, both Shadowheart and Astarion can be read as having enough matching behaviors to the BPD criteria for me to confidently say they're coded to have BPD, even if it's not explicitly stated as such.

Sidenote, sometimes people with BPD can experience minor hallucinations especially auditory hallucinations, and Shadowheart most Definitely had auditory hallucinations of Shar judging and shaming her if you ask me. It could have actually been Shar in her head yes, but it could also just as easily have been Shadowheart's own mind tormenting her.

BPD can also possibly predispose people towards Psychosis, black and white thinking, and delusions, though it's not a definite. Astarion's obsession with completing the ritual insisting it will protect him for good could be seen as a possible delusion of grandeur. Shadowheart definitely has black-and-white dogmatic thinking while under Shar's thumb. They need so much healing.

All of this is my interpretation to support my headcanons of course, these also enable my shameless projecting on these two catty characters. I'm a borderline bitch and if I can't get a stable personality myself, store bought is fine!

A lot of stuff is speculative and that's fine with me.

[dazzlerazz]

For as much as I may love Lyris and the Fetch, Piama will always have the most breathtaking design of the entire Passions cast

As soon as she was shown on screen I KNEW she was getting a route and also that I needed to read it right that minute and BADLYYYYYYYYY

[mayhemmaybe]

"You might as well ask Lightning to pull that off, they'd both have the same appeal."

[razzithold]

I just had a flashback to a time I spooked a friend of a friend enough that they refused to tell me their name and only told me their first initial because I had somehow convinced them I was a fae entity trying to steal their name, which I love.

I'm just here in my trenchcoat full of stolen names looking to pickpocket another one from a foolish passerby off the street.

Anybody wanna name? I got a fiiiine selection right here! (Opens trenchcoat to reveal dozens of nametags that were clearly stolen from employees of the local Target)

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

BABY GIRL

Pairing - Jackson Rippner x fem!reader

Summary - Jackson likes to keep you doped up for both of your safety.

Warnings - Non-con, dub-con, drugging, manipulation, degrading, p in v, edging.

Word count - 1.9k+

Notes - Guess who wanted to work on one of her WIP's but decided to watch Red Eye and just had to write another one about my favourite boy.

You laid on the bed, completely naked against his body, he only wore his boxers, your left leg draped over his hips, his hand slowly caressing your back as your face was pressed up against his lean bare chest. 

The audio of the television was muffled, your sight blurred as you slowly breathed in and out. The sheets were hardly covering your flesh, but you were too dazed to pay attention to it. The sensation of his large fingers caressing your tender skin was enough to earn gentle moans from your soft lips. His cold blue eyes watched you like a hawk. Almost skeptical that you would commence a ploy against him, despite your doped state. 

Jackson Rippner was fascinated by you. The moment he saw you, he knew that you would be his. It was unfortunate with the circumstances you met under. Star crossed lovers in his opinion, a bit of a spiced uniqueness to your relationship.  

You were assigned to investigate him for terrorism. Many times you were warned about your high levels of ambition, your eagerness put you in danger. But you were always too stubborn to listen to your superiors. 

“Jackson” you murmured against his chest, almost drooling. He sighed lightly, his hand rubbing circles around your lower back. 

“Yes baby?” He asked softly, there was silence for a brief moment. Jackson waited patiently for you to respond as you raised your heavy head. 

“Are you going to keep me drugged up forever” you slowly questioned, your eyes ached to stay open, your thoughts blurred with sweet nothings. 

There was this blank, emotionless stare from him. As he was questioning himself, he really did wonder what he’d do with you in the long run. The thought of him keeping you mindless for the rest of your days made the blood rush to his cock. Only being mentally capable to muse the thought of him touching, fucking, loving you. 

But then he also wanted to take you out for an expensive dinner, vacate at a ski resort, hold you from behind as you cook him a loving homemade meal. Jackson never considered himself a romantic, but different people create a better you. The idea of having a life as one together made his heart flutter. 

“No baby girl” he answered eventually. 

“When will you stop” you breathed out, a small smile on your lips, a thread of hope. There was a small grin on his lips as his hands gently rubbed your hips. 

“When I know you’ll be a good girl for me” Jackson mocked, pulling you completely over his hips to saddle him. 

“I am a good girl” you countered, your head felt heavy yet your thoughts light. 

“Because you’re drugged up” he laughed softly, his large hand caressing your cheek as your face fell limp on him. 

“Touché” you snorted and he patted your cheek a couple of times. Sluggestly, you lifted your head back up, looking at him with innocent eyes. “Please sir, I promise to be good” you assured, but your small smile was all so devilish. 

That title always got the blood flowing to his cock. You could already feel his size growing underneath you. 

“Really? You cross your heart, hope to die, type of promise?” Jackson razzed, flashing you a toothy grin as his fingers slowly moved closer to your core.

“Yes sir” you promised, batting your eyes towards him. 

“Oh baby girl, how can I be so sure?” He toyed, titling his head to you. 

The scratches on his face were faint. Whenever he sobered you up, you were quick to get in every shot you could at him. However, you were foolish not to carefully plan out your scheme to escape, or as you preferred to do, attempting to kill him. 

“Because I love you cock Jacky” you moaned, his fingers toying with your clit. 

Within a blink, Jackson had flipped you onto your back. Holding your throat down against the mattress and huffing, flaring his teeth at you. “What did I tell you?” He snarled, his thumb rubbing over your chin.  

“You hate being called Jacky” you choked out, but you were still grinning at him. 

“And I thought you wanted to be a good girl” he pouted to you. 

“I do” you almost sang, coughing at the restriction to your throat. 

“Fix your mistake then” Jackson ordered calmly. 

“Because I love your cock, sir” you choked out, emphasizing the correction. With the release of your throat, Jackson sighed. 

“That’s a good whore” Jacksont grinned at you, flexing his hips forward. You pouted to him. “My good whore” he corrected himself, dropping his lips onto your neck.

It was pointless, trying to deny the sensation Jackson always brought over your body. It was too much effort to try to hide the pleasure he always bathed you in. 

This is where you belonged, underneath him, figuratively and literally. 

In small circular motions, his tongue swished over your heated skin, his hands ran slowly up and down your torso, his fingers playfully scratching at your nerves, his stubble tickled you. Your arms gradually enveloped around his back, your fingernails scraping at his skin lightly. 

“I’ll always take care of you baby girl. You know that right?” Jackson asked as he pushed his boxers down enough to free his throbbing length. 

“Yes, Jackson” you breathed out, laying your head back carelessly. 

“Could have gotten you killed, interfering with my business, like a little fucking brat. But I saved you…” Jackson grinned as he lined himself up with your gushing entrance.  

“No Jackson” you shook your head, moaning out softly as he gently pushed himself inside of you. 

“Who are you lying to?” Jackson snorted as he rested himself completely inside of our canal.

“This isn’t living” you countered, your hands rising up to the back of his neck, your legs raising up to your hips in unison.

Jackson couldn’t help but to laugh as his hips snapped back and forward. His lower lip was stuck in between his teeth as he searched for the perfect pace and speed.

“For someone who is constantly high, you sure as hell are conscious” he remarked, his hands holding onto your sides.

“I was always smarter than you” you murmured, biting onto your lower lip. 

Jackson laughed gently as his teeth nipped at your earlobe. 

“Yet look at where you are now. Be my good girl, I want to spoil you rotten. Don’t you want those things?” He toyed, his fingers rubbing your sensitive bud. 

“Yes Jackson” you answered emotionlessly. 

Most of the time it was easier to give him what he wanted, your complete submission. You were always so weak, tired, feeling out of body. The effect his touch had on your body was the biggest punishment. If you weren’t always so high, you’d be heavily humiliated with how badly you craved him. The control he had over your body was frightening, he was your puppeteer, always pulling on your strings despite how desperately you tried to cut yourself free. 

“I want to give you the world” he professed as he found the perfect rhythm to fuck you to. 

“I want to kill you” you whined out, face twitching as the high stimulation took over full steam ahead.

“No you don’t, you could never do such a thing” he mumbled, his hands pinning yours above your head. 

“But I’ve tried” you groaned as he hit your cervix. 

“And that’s okay” he assured you, kissing you in a sloppy manner as if to comfort your distressed thoughts. “You’re learning to be my good girl, yeah?” Jackson asked, teasing your bundle of nerves as he kept your pleasure swimming by the edge. 

“Yes Jackson” you shamefully admitted, your eyes swelled with tears as his thrusts became more painful. 

His mouth fell open into a large smirk at the sight of you crying. It was one of his favorite looks of yours. Over mere seconds, your tears formed into a stream as you sobbed underneath him. The clarity of your predicament washed over you once more. 

“Yeah, you’re so fucking pathetic. Acting like a tough, stuck up bitch. But you’re nothing but a little whore for cock, my cock to be precise” he grunted, feeling your walls clench around his throbbing size.

The sounds of your troubled moans always felt like a melody to him. The mixture between your logical and sensual thoughts left you in shame. Jackson kissed you deeply, your mouth was wide open but you refused to kiss him back. The taste of your tears made him growl like a wolf.

“Fuck, your director would be so disappointed in you. Everyone thinks you’re fucking dead. So get the stupid thoughts of breaking free out of that little mind of yours” he sneered, his free hand holding your chin in place as you tried to turn your head to the side. 

“Stop talking Jackson” you whimpered, desperately trying to focus on the pleasure and not his taunting words. 

“No one is looking for you. I have no tails, nobody cares about me. Only you did, you felt it too from the beginning, just like I did, our connection” he grinned as his balls slapped against your entrance. 

“Shut up Jackson” you whined as you felt your climax build. 

But Jackson loved watching you cry. It was amusing to watch your emotional strength crash, it was pleasing to look at your humiliation. A wonderful reminder of how reliable you are on him. Jackson loved to pull your strings around, to keep you on your hands and knees as he yanked you across the dirt. 

“Bet you wanted me to steal you away from your useless life. Now your biggest stress is wondering how many times you’ll get to squeeze my cock each day” he moaned out, kissing your tears away. 

“Shut the fuck up Jackson!” You screamed out as loud as you could, your weak body thrashed under him but it quickly left you exhausted. 

“Someone’s getting sober” Jackson pointed out with a grin, holding you down effortlessly. “Might just keep you tied up instead, I like your screams” he winked to you. 

“Please stop, please, please” you begged repetitively as he continued to fuck you senselessly. 

“Then tell me what I want to hear” he sighed, his hand combing back his damp hair from the sweat that trailed down his forehead.

“N-no” you shook your head, you could feel him twitch rapidly inside of you.  

You knew exactly what he wanted you to say. It was the thing you hated doing most. He always wanted you to say it when you were so close to finishing. 

“Please” he toyed, playfully begging you as he kept your built orgasm dangling from the edge.  

“Come on baby girl, make me feel good” he grunted as he smacked your rear. 

There was another weak shake of your head so Jackson held his body still inside of you. Pathetically, just like he always described you as, you whined out at the pressure built in your core. All you wanted to do right now was come undone, feel something good in this torture. But Jackson stared at you sternly, menacingly. His hands pressed down on your hips as you tried to rock yourself around him. 

“I-I love you” you admitted, your cheeks beet red. 

Instead of fucking you senselessly like you assumed he would. Jackson pulled himself out and jerked himself over you. Quickly, his white ropes of semen sprayed over your sweaty stomach. You panted, looking at the mess he made on you as your distressed expression made him chuckle silently. 

“I love you too” he replied blankly. 

As you caught your weak breath, Jackson laid his body on top of yours, his fingers touched your sensitive core, gently teasing you. You moaned out, ready to do anything to free yourself of your painful climax. 

“But so, drugged or tied?” Jackson cocked an eyebrow to you.

[hockeyandhrsepwr]

How on Earth?

*The boys try to embarrass Eddy, but things don’t go the way they expect*

The hockey boys are at a house party and have decided to spice the evening up with a little game of truth or dare.

“Eddy, your turn” Luke says and the boy rolls his eyes. “Dare.”

“Okay, think of the cheesiest pick up line you can, then say it to a girl of our choice & try to get a date.” The boys start snickering and looking around the room. “Her!” Duke points to a group of girls chatting in the corner “Bruh there’s four of them. Be specific.” He rolls his eyes. “The redhead in the black top. 20 bucks you can’t get her number.”

“Ooh, 30 he gets shut down right away.” Luke pipes up.

“15 he can’t get a dance with her” Comes from Mark

“Wow guys, thanks for the support.” Eddy flips them off as he makes his way towards the girl.

Duke snickers and the guys ask him what’s funny “She’s in my management class. Ive asked her out before but she said she doesn’t like athletes. And she definitely saw him over here with me.” He rubs his hands together. “There no way he doesn’t get shut down.”

Y/n POV

You’re standing chatting to a few friends that lived in your first year dorm, when someone taps you on the shoulders. Your friends are smirking and you turn to see Ethan Edwards, one of the hockey players. You know a few of them from classes but haven’t met him yet. You can see Dylan over his shoulder smirking. Oh shit, he’s wearing glasses. They’re my weakness, especially given how cute he is even without them.

Ethan POV

Holy shit she’s hot. The girl looks up at me questioningly. I’ve forgot what I’m supposed to say.

Y/n POV

He clears his throat

“Sorry, I just had to come over & say, my eyesight may be crap, but I can still see you’re an absolute catch. “

It takes a second but you laugh. “Really?”

His face falls, so you rush to finish “It was cute!” And his face perks back up. “So if I asked you if you want to grab a drink?” “Now or another time?”

He smiles “hopefully both?”. Damn he’s cute. You smile back.

“How about coffee tomorrow morning?” You wink

“That sounds good! Can I get your number so we can sort it out?”
“I’m thinking more we could maybe grab one now at my place and then see…” you trail off, hoping he’s picking up what you’re putting down. It takes a sec, but he seems to get it & blushes. He nods, dopey grin on his face. “I’d like that”

“Okay, Why don’t you give me a few minutes to tell my friends I’m leaving & then ill come grab you”

He nods & heads back to the boys as you walk off in search of your party buddy.

No one POV

Ethan walks back over to the boys, getting razzed because he didn’t get her number. They ask what pick up line he used, and the response is overwhelmingly “what the hell?” “Please tell me you didn’t”

Duker starts up “God thats embarrassing man. Of all the possiblities, you come up with that? No wonder it didn’t work!” He finishes just as someone approaches the group

Y/n POV

You sling an arm around Dukes shoulder as you say hey to him, Mackie & mark, who you’ve had classes with at some point over the last 2 years.

“Sup boys, having fun?” They nod. “Cool, Eddy you ready?”

He nods & extends a hand. You grab it and pull him towards you. “Bye boys” you call over your should as you pull Eddy away “see you Monday Duker.”

You head out and start the walk back to your apartment.

Back at the party

The boys are speechless. “How in the fuck did that work?” Mackie muses

“Guess its not that she’s doesn’t like athletes, she just didn’t want you” Luke laughs as he nudges Duke, who’s still staring at the front door.

“Legend” Mark says, as some of the junior guys make their way over. “Did Eddy just take a girl home?” Jacob says, and the boys relay the tale. “Alright! He’s got game.”

[cyberphuck]

Assassin’s Apprentice Abridged: Part One

EDIT: Tumblr randomly swallowed like 500 words in the middle of this, so I've added that back in.

I am finally embarking on my long-threatened project to summarize all of the Farseer Trilogy for my friend Razz so they can understand my shitposts about it but don’t actually have to read it. I started with this post about the cast of characters in the first book.

This is being broken up into sections because the trilogy and AA in particular (as well as Royal Assassin... whew, that one’s gonna be hard) is so insanely long and complex.

And now, Ladies and Gentlequeers, AA Abridged: Part One.

We open on the narrator musing both about writing a history of the Six Duchies (but being unable to because every time he tries it turns into a salty rant about everything bad that's ever happened to him) and also about how very old and decrepit he is. He is hunched over his writing desk, his fingers gnarled and knuckly, literally crumbling away like a Thanos-snapped MCU character as he sorrowfully attempts to make some record of the long and storied life he's lived before he lapses into the sweet void of death.

Fitz is 35.

"I bet you're wondering how I got here," Fitz writes. "It all began when I was born. Neither of my parents bothered to show up."

Actually, the curtain opens on Fitz as a six year old, being hauled up to the front doors of a fort by a cranky older man. "Surely you must have memories of your childhood before six," someone in the audience asks, but Fitz replies "No, I definitely don't, I never did and I'm tired of you asking me that." It never really becomes super important what he was doing before he was six, unless you count the time where he was traveling from the King-In-Waiting's ballsack to the sweet hot vagina of Some Lady He Never Spoke To Again.

Fitz is scooped up and brought inside the fort, and presented to Prince Verity. You'd think Verity would be at least a little upset that his older brother has muddied the line of succession with his long-ago nut, but Verity acts as if Fitz's existence is the funniest thing he's ever seen. "Yep, looks just like him," Verity confirms, then instructs a soldier to bring Fitz to Burrich.

That's right, the cranky old man hammers on the front door, waits for someone to open it, says "this is Prince Chivalry's kid and I'm tired of dealing with him," and then walks off. Despite this, Fitz never develops any abandonment issues and only has healthy and honest relationships with people for the rest of his life.

"Those are all the memories I have of that fort," Fitz writes, "except for that one night that Prince Verity, Burrich, and Prince Regal stood and looked in on me in the stall and Regal complained that I was muddying the line of succession."

Burrich does not think this situation is as funny as Verity did.

But he's honest and loyal, so he sighs and says "C'mon, Lil Accident, I'll find a place for you to sleep." That place is in a horse stall with Vixen, the hound dog, and Nosy, her pup. Burrich looks down at all of them, mutters "Patience is gonna have a fucking aneurysm" and then walks off.

After a couple of weeks, Burrich puts Lil Accident on a horse behind him and they ride away from Moonseye and towards Buckkeep. During this time, offstage, Fitz's father Chivalry gets word of his appearance and does the only sensible and logical thing, which is to ollie out the window while flipping everyone off and yelling "GOOD LUCK FIGURING THIS ONE OUT, LOSERS!" He abdicates and retires to a farm with his weirdo wife, which pisses off basically everyone.

Burrich and Fitz arrive at Buckkeep, the capital of the Six Duchies, a tall castle on a hill overlooking the ocean. Burrich is the stablemaster, in charge of all the critters large and small at the keep. He'd also been Chivalry's right hand man until he'd jumped in front of a boar to keep it from killing the Prince and fucked up his leg. Burrich comes home to Buckkeep with a bad leg and a six year old bastard to find that his bestie has just fucking peaced out without saying anything to him. He's kind of having a bad day. He hands Fitz off to stableboy Cobb, who leads him and pup Nosy to the kitchens to get something to eat.

Cobb sits FItz-and-Nosy just outside the kitchens and goes inside for delicious pie. A burly man walks by Fitz, does a double-take, then points and yells, "Hey everyone! It's Chivalry's Bastard!"

Fitz shrinks down.

"I heard you don't even have a name!" Burly man hollers, then gets right up in Fitz's face. "Is that true, tiny and defenseless six year old boy that I'm accosting? You don't have a name?"

Fitz yells "NOOOOOO" and, like a tiny, dirty Jedi master, force-shoves the man onto his ass. The crowd, assuming that the dude was just a coward who couldn't handle being yelled at by a toddler, has a laugh and carries on with their tasks. Fitz gets up and he and Nosy run away and spend all day hiding in a hole.

Burrich does eventually find him, and with a hearty "what the fuck you can't just burrow underneath the shed, get out of there," returns him to the stables, where his new home is Burrich's little bachelor pad above the stalls. In the days and weeks that follow, Fitz wakes up, eats breakfast, and immediately escapes the keep to go down to the town and run around with a bunch of street kids.

Fitz doesn't say much but he's game for anything and he has a dog, so he's accepted into the gang as "Newboy." He and his new friends generally just run around making trouble, stealing food, and bothering people. One of the notables in the bunch is Molly Nosebleed, called that because she always looks like someone just got done beating the shit out of her. Wholesome!

One sunny day, Fitz, Molly and Nosy are on the rocks near the beach looking for sheel to eat. I have no idea what sheel is and neither does Google. Then Molly's dad shows up to hit her with a stick to teach her a lesson about having a drunk, violent dad.

Alarmed, Fitz force-shoves Molly's dad into the sand. Molly immediately freaks out and struggles to get dad back on his feet to stagger back to their candle-making shop (or chandlery if you're feeling fancy). Fitz is confused at the intricacies of abusive relationships, but relieved that no one yet knows that he has force-shoving powers.

Aside from his brief encounter with childhood trauma, everything is going great for Fitz. Then one day, while he and his fellow urchins (and Nosy) are running from a dude whose sausages they just stole, Fitz runs right the fuck into Burrich.

"You get your butt right back up to the castle, young man," Burrich says, dragging Fitz along by his ear. "And if I EVER find out you've been down in town hanging out with someone again, I will personally have sex with them a bunch of times," he added foreshadowingly.

"I don't have to do what you say," Fitz barks.

"Bark," says Nosy.

Burrich's eyes narrow. "How many fingers am I holding up?" he asks.

"I don't really know numbers," says Fitz.

"Bark," says Nosy.

"Nosy says that's three," Fitz translates.

"Alrighty then, no more puppy for you, the puppy is going to live on a farm upstate," Burrich says. He drags the puppy outside.

Presumably something cool happens to it.

So now instead of slumming around Buckkeep Town, Fitz spends his days following Burrich around and being taught how to manage horses and dogs but not birds because birds apparently hate bastards. Fitz is careful not to let Burrich see him being friendly with any animals.

One day, Fitz is sitting underneath a table in the Great Hall, being friendly with a bunch of puppies. It's the morning after a party and there's plenty of leftover food to be had, and he's happily stuffing pies down his shirt and sharing pieces with the pups. Then he hears footsteps and who should show up but KING SHREWD!

Shrewd is technically Fitz's grandfather but has never really spoken to him. He's walking along with Prince Regal (*crowd boos*) and the king's new fool, a weirdo albino child who's just cartwheeling along behind them.

Fitz goes "hmm, time to bounce" and crawls out from under the table. Shrewd stops to look at him. "Ah, the Little Accident," he says. "If you leave weapons laying around, someone will eventually pick them up and stab you with them."

"What?" says Regal.

"What?" says Fitz.

"I am not going to leave you laying around for someone else to kill me with," Shrewd says. "Lil Accident, take this pin. I am going to to feed you, train you, house you and clothe you. If anyone's got shit to say about it, show them this pin. It means you belong to me."

"...Okay, sure," Fitz shrugs. He puts the pin into the collar of his shirt. Shrewd nods magnanimously and walks on. Regal flips him off. The Fool cartwheels out the door as they leave.

That night, Fitz goes home to Burrich's bachelor pad, but Burrich turns him right back around. "You done gone and did it now," he says. "King Shrewd noticed you and now you're gonna have to go live inside the castle like a fancy lad. Go on."

"But despite my fear and resentment of you, I see you as a protector and father figure," Fitz says.

"Oh little boy who blew up my life, I love and resent you too," Burrich assures him. "If you get lonely, you can come back down here and I'll murder another puppy for you."

Fitz trudges up to the castle. He has a room of his own. There's a fucking weird tapestry on the wall of the ancient King Wisdom consorting with... what is that thing? Slenderman? It's creepy.

Weeks go by. Fitz is kept busy with new lessons in reading and writing and 'rithmetic, as well as swordery. Once in a very long while, he makes the trip back down to the town to visit his buddies, but those trips become fewer and farther between.

It's the middle of the night.

Fitz wakes up to a draft and a light in his face. There's an old man at the foot of his bed, holding up a lantern. "Come with me," the old man says.

"Oh," Fitz yawns, getting out of bed. "It's the call to adventure."

The old man leads Fitz to a doorway in the wall that hadn't been there before. This is where the draft was coming from-- a steep staircase leading up between walls. Old man leads Fitz up a maze of passageways and then finally to a huge hidden room with all the amenities a crazy old wall-man could want, like a fireplace and comfy chairs and a big bed and a library and a science lab.

Also, the old looks like he took a hot frying pan to the face. Like he really looks like hell.

"Wrow," Fitz says.

"Wrow indeed, boy," the old man agrees. "My name is Chade. I bet I look familiar to you. Well it's because I'm King Shrewd's brother and I blah blah blah I have a weasel named Slink. Next you're going to ask what the fuck happened to my face. I can tell everything you're thinking, because I'm a master spy and assassin and-- now this part you should take to heart-- I am always right about everything. Never doubt me."

"Okay," Fitz says.

"Good. That out of the way, let's train you to kill people."

[brassandblue]

Who are your muses best friends?

Arthur's best friends are: @bertievi's George VI; @admiraltyspride's Lord Nelson; @ageofxail's Daniel/America (husband!!!), Noel/England & Royal Navy; my Jack/London; & @xbasilrp's Toni/Spain (spicy boyfriend).

Not quite besties but very close platonically (unless otherwise noted) are @terrorcaptain's Crozier (very father-son tbh); Thera at @therapardalis; Mycroft at @governmentofficial (also husband!); @hope-on-hope-ever's John Franklin (friends/colleagues in general but also estranged father and bastard son in THAT ONE AU); endearingly fond of @imprvdente's Fish; & Pris at @herstoriies

@honorhearted gets an honorable (ha!) mention because of how complicated Ben and Art's relationship is. Arthur admires Ben but also wants to punch him in the nose. Arthur enjoys punching things though, so take that with a whole spoon of salt. He genuinely wants the Americans to win and believes Ben to be a properly good man--part of the reason he razzes Ben like he does is because there's really no other way (in Art's opinion) to try and shake Ben out of seeing the war as a largely black and white problem. He sees a lot of himself in Ben--they are both educated, stubborn, hot-headed, and courageous in stupid ways, and they both have a heart. Arthur doesn't want to see America get its start as a country with all of the kindness burned out of all its founders. They are... complicated.

I don't like to go godmode people, but Art's "default" is that he is besties with Portugal, France, India, U.S. America. However, I handle that on a case-by-case basis because, again, it would be shitty of me to force that decision on other writers.

Goodsir's besties are: The Henry Collins that lives in my head; @tooxldtorememxer's John Irving; @herstoriies' Priscilla (big fat crush on her too tbh!!!!!); @therapardalis; @terrorcaptain; Silna at @tatteredxsails; @bertievi of course; he's also pretty close with @ageofxail's Noel; & @imprvdente's Fish; & he has........ complicated feelings about @honorhearted's Ben.

Thomas Blanky's besties are: @wantsusdead's Francis (I mean we just started threading but LISTEN-); oh also @terrorcaptain's Francis (+ husband); he's also super fond of @admiraltyspride too; can't forget about the Sidebear, thank u @tatteredxsails; & if I get my way he's going to continue to 'Dad' at @imprvdente!!!!!

The Railroad Man has no besties because he's an abject piece of sh oh wow, Moriarty actually!! @multipleoccupancy

[ace-malarky]

Revenge

In which Phorg (local grung bardbarian) muses on home and the life it's had, and all its friends go "Wow you're a better person than us" because it's true

I still have not played any of these lads in an actual dnd setting but by god I love them all

~~

Phorg is sitting by the small pond in the grounds, rain pattering on the canvas awning that’s stretched over the decking. It has its feet in the pond, the water soothing away the dust and the aches of the road.

Thunder rumbles in the distance; Phorg taps its fingers against the decking in an answering rhythm and feels something settle in its soul, finally coming back to rest.

It’s home.

Phorg blinks, stilled by that thought. This hadn’t been home before. Home had always been the swamp, even after it had run away (been thrown out, whispers the voice that sounds like Karo, old and bitter), but something had changed.

It felt right.

Talons click against the wood behind Phorg, a concession from Karo, who tries hard not to sneak up behind anyone anymore.

They’d learnt not to after startling Chant too many times, her magic still volatile and destructive after years of neglect.

The aarakocra crouches just at the edge of Phorg’s vision, under the awning. “So,” they say, not removing their hood. “You came back.”

Phorg nods. There had been a moment, when the job had been done, that it thought it might... leave. It would have known the way; they weren’t so very far at all.

But the feeling had passed, with no need for Phorg to confront anyone that might have known it in the past.

And then it had come home.

“Good. Tosh would have missed you.” Karo is crouched so still they could be a statue. Their head is canted away, sharp gaze sweeping across the gardens.

Phorg hums an acknowledgement as the thunder rumbles again, just as distant.

“And your – old people,” Karo says carefully, as if the thought disgusts them. “Did you have to acknowledge them?”

“Did not go near enough.”

“Would it have helped?”

Phorg shrugs. “Help you?”

Karo huffs. “That is – different.”

Phorg croaks out some laughter. Karo relaxes their stance, almost dropping to a seated position on the planking.

“Don’t want revenge,” Phorg says. “Not like Chant.”

“Not like me.” Karo pats at the wood and then tilts forward to kneel, their wings flapping twice to counterbalance. “No. You’re better than all of us.”

Phorg frowns. “Tosh.”

“Tosh is a child. She doesn’t understand revenge.” There’s a fond undertone in Karo’s voice, though they’d never admit it.

“Razz.”

“Well-” Karo stops. “No, you’re right there. Razz wouldn’t take revenge, even though he really should.”

“Not everything solved with it.”

“I’d swear by it,” Chant says, swinging in from one side, landing heavily on the planks. She’s damp but not drenched, so she can’t have been outside for long.

“Because it served you so well,” Karo replies dryly, tense in a way that said she’d startled them and they hated that.

Chant shrugs. “It cleared out a den of evil, too. Although I did have to share.” She drops to sitting, reaching out to hit a gloved hand against Phorg’s back. “Took the high road though, did you?”

“No chance to choose,” Phorg replies.

“You would have, though. You’re good like that.”

Phorg frowns again. “Both of you say that.”

“Well, then, it must be true,” Chant says, and laughs at Karo’s horrified expression.

“Much as it pains me to admit it.”

“You know, you don’t have to keep pretending to hate me.”

“Who said anything about pretending?”

Phorg only half listens to their playful bickering behind it. It had never thought much about revenge, not even in the early days after leaving (being forced out for not fitting in right).

Maybe it should have. Would that have made those early days easier?

“Well,” Chant says, in response to something, “it would have been good in the moment. I think you would have regretted it before long.”

Phorg lets out a croak, looking around.

“Oh - sorry, was that like a rhetorical question? I can never get the hang of those.” Chant smiles. “But speaking as the only one of us who has successfully wreaked revenge, I don’t think it would help you. It’s better to – fill that with something else. Like...” Chant trails off, scratching at one of her horns as she thinks.

“Music,” Karo suggests. “That’s what they threw you out for, wasn’t it?”

“Left,” Phorg says, born of old impulse to defend its old traditions. “Not thrown. Wrong caste, so... stagnant. Hard to change.”

“That feels very...” Chant frowns as she thinks. “Splitting hairs.”

Phorg shakes its head. “Made my choice.”

Chant and Karo share a glance that Phorg doesn’t attempt to interpret.

“But yes,” Phorg says, allowing them that, “music. It is what I would fill the space with.”

Karo nods.

“I think it’s very sweet,” Chant says, falling backwards onto the decking. She braces her head on her hands to take the weight off her horns. “Gives me hope and all that.” She laughs. “Welcome home, Phorg.”

Karo clicks their beak in agreement.

“If you ever feel the need, though.” Chant reaches out with her boot to nudge at it. “We’d help. You know that, right?”

Phorg hums, letting everything lapse back into silence. Letting the rain fill out the space between them.

It was home. Its family was here now; the settlement it had come from left behind.

It didn’t need to destroy them to have its revenge, that would only help to prove their point about what Phorg was good for.

Phorg’s revenge came in doing what it loved, what it came out here to do.

… But maybe it would keep Chant’s offer in mind for another day.

[little-earthquakes-rp]

Sh- Send me “Shh.” and my muse will spill a secret. - Gus (Non- Zombie verse)

Teasingly he asked, "A secret aye? What is this summer camp or something?" He was just razzing his best mate but he'd play along. Gus, not one to usually partake in spirits didn't want to leave his friend to drink alone leading them to fall into a deeper conversation than normal. The fighter racked his brain for a moment before finding one, "I would've asked Keera months ago to move in if I didn't think she'd take off running for the hills." His friend John laughed and nodded in agreement given he knew Keera well enough. It was a fair assessment.

[dazzlerazz]

I liked the Reigning Passions mc because she seemed to have broken the mold for generic white skinny cute mc that lovestruck had followed up until that point. She didn't break the mold THAT much, but it was a small win for me. I wished she was fatter throughout the entire time cuz I thought it would suit her seeing as she's thicker anyway in her sprites. Lovestruck never got too diverse with its body types, always been muscly boys and skinny girls, I was so excited to see and play as someone *different*. And she wasn't even helpless either, she definitely holds her own in pretty much all other routes, and I love her for it

Honorable mention: Her eyes are half light green and half light blue but it never becomes a plot point like at all, it's just a nice part of her design that I think really made her stand out against the others. Each mc is really cute in their own ways but multicolored eyes NOT being a topic of discussion is definitely giving her bonus points. She was probably the mc I drew the most!

[lastchancefm]

  ⸺   🦬   greetings, buffalos ! walking around campus, sporting his brother's battered brown aviator jacket, covered in patches we’ve spotted RICHARD 'RICHIE' SLADE, a twenty seven year old who contributes to our thriving community as a RADIO OPERATOR. according to our intel, they’ve been around the sanctuary for seven years and what we know about him, aside from the fact that they don’t agree with the decision to close the gates, is that if he's heard a song even once he can remember all the lyrics and he hoards music like it's gold, he loves tinkering with any kind of thing, taking it apart and putting it back together again, you can find him often playing with the younger kids and telling them wild stories. )

PINTEREST • MUSINGS

NAME: Richard 'Richie' Slade

AGE: 27

BIRTHDAY: 19th April (Aries)

GENDER: Cis man

PRONOUNS: He/Him

SEXUALITY: Bisexual Disaster

OCCUPATION: Radio Operator

HOMETOWN: Clearfield, Oregon

HEIGHT: 5"10

FATHER: Graham Slade †

MOTHER: Jolene Slade †

SIBLINGS: Rachel Slade ?, Benjamin Slade †, Christopher James Slade †

humming incessantly, drumming your fingers on every available surface, shit-eating grins, the soft blink of comms tower lights, ugly and sometimes vaguely offensive graphic tees with holes in the hem, falling asleep in the car and getting a piggyback into the house, draping yourself over seats dramatically then peeking to see if anyone is watching you, a companionable arm slung around your shoulders, a sure hand hauling you out of windows to sit on cold roof tiles, razz jolly ranchers turning your tongue blue, neon lights reflecting off wet asphalt, the half-cool touch of a chain dangling from your lover’s neck against your racing pulse, grinning through the pain so hard you bite your tongue until it bleeds, a dusting of freckles, your nose turning pink in the cold.

ɪ'ᴍ ᴀ ꜱᴄʀᴀᴡɴʏ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜰᴜᴄᴋᴇʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴏʟ ʜᴀɪʀꜱᴛʏʟᴇ. ɪ ꜱᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ ꜱʜɪᴛ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ.

PRE-OUTBREAK

richie was the third of four kids, benny was four years older than him, rach born the year before that.

by the time rich showed up, his parents had done their time trying to figure out good ways to raise kids and basically just left him to it. he had everything he needed technically but he only rarely saw his parents a couple of times a week. neglect felt too strong of a word. unless he was getting in trouble, he basically didn't exist: so he decided to do what any thirteen year old starved of attention would do. become a problem.

richie was into all the hoodrat shit: stealing from the corner store, throwing firecrackers in the supermarket and mailbox baseball. he swore at teachers, then just made fools of them when he got too much detention. plausible deniability was richie's best friend.

he had a few friends but bullying was a problem, his nose was broken three times in two summers. he was skinny, lanky kid with bad teeth who didn't know how to fight but he never knew when to back down, yelling vicious your mother jokes till he saw stars.

then cj was born. the very epitome of an oops baby, long after the slades had ever intended to procreate. instead of ceej getting the same treatment as richie had, he was the baby of the family who could do no wrong. rich didn't hold it against him but his relationship with his parents continued to deteriorate, looking at the coddling and attention he'd never gotten. that they were capable of the whole time but chose to deny.

the only thing that stopped him bombing out of school was rach, who was basically his surrogate mother and went to bat every time he made something explode at the science fair. she recognised that he was smart and talked to him like a person rather than a problem-creating idiot until she turned eighteen and moved out for college.

so what if his parents couldn't appreciate him disassembling the toaster and putting it back together, they just got annoyed there was no toast one morning. he was a debate team loser, an av club loser who did the sound tech for the musical every year. the one thing richie did otherwise was run track, he was no good in a team but give him a pair of headphones and a wide open space and he could run for miles. quick as a whip.

rich was a good big brother, way better than being a little brother. he'd carry cj around, explaining everything he wanted to know without talking down to him, played pretend games and did the different funny voices for characters in his bedtime stories.

got diagnosed with adhd, shocking absolutely no one. has learned to live without the meds he was on in the years since it all ended.

ɪꜰ ɪ'ᴍ ᴏꜰꜰᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ, ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴍɪɴᴅ. ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʟʟ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ, ɪᴛ ɪꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴇᴇ.

POST-OUTBREAK [ FAMILIAL DEATH TW ]

everything went to hell in a handbasket while their parents were on vacation, benny became the resident adult, stepping into the role with none of the grace of rach. rach had gone to school in washington, out of state, they lost contact with her that night.

their parents were at a conference in boulder, with no plan and the neighbourhood eating itself alive, benny started them on the worst roadtrip ever.

benny passed over their grandfather's aviator jacket, sherpa-lined and meant for high altitude it kept him warm. it still does, it's rare that you will ever see richie without it.

three years in and richie wakes up in a cold sweat, a gut feeling filling him with uncontrollable unease. something is wrong. cj is curled into a comma shape, rich bracketing him. he can't hear benny breathing.

[ FAMILIAL DEATH TW ] it's clear that benny was trying to fight it. tears crawling down his cheeks as he jerked back and forth like a wild thing, trying to contain the infection as it told him to rip richie apart. a bit of richie died that day, killing his big brother and it never came back the same.

they'd been in colorado a while but stumbled across a group. their dad was alive but richie resented the fact that he hadn't tried to come back for them and remained where he was the entire time. graham liked fishing and hunting, he'd taught the boys all he knew about gathering for themselves, starting fires, finding water sources. rich never did find the time away from cj to ask what happened to their mom.

a few people who were here seven years ago know that richie first arrived with his father and cj, they had an explosive argument about joining the group as rich wanted to stay but his dad didn't trust them. cj, overhearing their dad say it was a bad place sprinted back out into the wilderness. graham followed. richie hasn't talked about it since.

survived most of the early outbreak by using his long cultivated free-running and bouldering skills to get up high and find places to hide. his hoodrat tendencies stuck with him, he still knows how to hotwire a car.

[ weapons tw ] doesn't like firearms and gets skeeved out when asked to hold one, he has a metal baseball bat, a crowbar and a machete. that's enough for him.

isn't anywhere near well educated enough to teach kids but loves to make sure that they get to be kids, even at the end of everything. sometimes he gets in trouble for having too little of a filter but kids like him, he doesn't try to make them feel small.

grows weed, has a little plot that he tends to, would like grow lamps to keep growing year round but gets that it's pretty costly in resources. gives this to people who need help sleeping or with pain.

sad clown, every emotion needs to be masked with humour otherwise what is he? are you not entertained? i must entertain the masses etc etc. actually feels everything very deeply and is sensitive as fuck. trust ISSUES

surprisingly good at his job, knows when it's okay to have a bit of a laugh and when to get serious. very good at keeping track of patrols, guard rotation and scavenging beyond the walls.

always cold, always ramming a beanie over his ears, rarely without fingerless gloves and drowned in various layers.

Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ, ʜᴏᴡ ᴅᴏ ɪ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ? ᴀᴍ ɪ ꜱᴏ ᴛʜɪɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ?

WANTED CONNECTIONS - TBA

im sorry my brain is dripping out of my ears

[ graphic template; ]

[razzithold]

I've been running a homebrew dnd game lately using an alternate timeline of my main game setting and I've figured out two main ways to deal with overpowered players who all but one shot the big boss enemies: make the boss hit HARD, and make the point not about fighting the bosses anymore, but about dealing with the far reaching consequences of that boss's influence. I want my players to care about the world they're in and the people they meet.

Sure, my players nearly killed my planned big boss fight in one round, but that fight itself was just the beginning. Now? Now they're seeing how far that baddy's reach went in this city. Said baddy was a vampire mob boss with the midas touch who ran an extensive trafficking network, and the fight with him was honestly pathetic because he's a coward who tried to get out of dying by surrendering. They were able to interrogate him and discovered a way to reverse the vampirism he caused through blood magic. The vampire boss is dead, but his lackeys are still out there, hiding and regrouping.

First the party ran into a rogue death knight that was once under the vampire's control but has since gone AWOL attacking innocents, and to make that death knight actually a challenge to my overpowered as shit level 6 players I had it sacrifice itself with its big necrotic hellfire attack in hopes of it taking down the party with it. It hit hard, 20d6 of damage, actually nearly killed two players, if it had just a few more points of damage they would have died instantly.

The party was able to survive that, and in surviving they met a group of down on their luck npcs that were victims of the vampire and death knight. They found a timid little dhampir girl being raised by a barkeep dwarf, and the dwarf reveals to them the poor little dhampir is a result of that now dead vampire having his way with a woman in this part of town. If the party didn't hate that vampire's sleazy golden ass before, they Definitely hated him now.

The party went to the vampire's foreclosed estate to find seven vampire spawn guarding it who attacked the party. The party were able to intimidate the vamp spawns into surrendering and used their newfound spell to reverse the vampirism, and discovered these people were taken advantage of by the dead vamp boss because he lied about saving them from their plight and turned them undead instead.

I was able to get my players, who had already killed the vampire boss of this arc, to hate that bastard so much they want to drag his soul out of hell and kill him again for the suffering he's caused. One of my players was on the verge of tears when I described the little dhampir girl and the adopted dwarf dad's story. I got to elicit emotion for the scenes I set and that makes it so worthwhile for me as a DM/GM. And most of my game is improv DMing!

This party's not made of murder hobos, they've grown to care about helping the people of the city they're in, and hearing the description I've made of the conditions in this city pull at my player's heartstrings. One player gave that dwarf barkeep 5 platinum coins and another gave him 250 gold to help him pay for his business and all the damages caused by the death Knight's explosion. Usually I see players hoard their gold and be Hella stingy with it, but not these players, they cared about the npcs and wanted to build positive relationships with the world around them.

It warms my cheesy little heart to know I've created a world that my players grow to care about and enjoy, a world where my players want to stay beyond our usual allotted game time to play for more, because they're invested and enthralled in the intrigue. My players even if initially are not immersed have become entrenched in the setting I've made and find joy in learning more about it - one player who is usually very quiet and detached has had his PC join a law school within the setting so that he can help all these people in the game he meets by helping them write up a class action lawsuit. And doing so is engaging this player more, he's more willing to talk and interact with npcs, now that he's more a part of the world. Meeting new npcs and hearing their plights has him jotting down notes and asking the npcs for more information so that he can offer to help them sue the nobles encroaching on them.

Another player, who is playing an alien sent down to conquer earth invader Zim style, has defected from his prime directive and is helping this city bolster its defenses against his own people now. He was originally here to conquer the city, and is now an ally to the queen. He's helping invent an air filtration system to solve the city's smog problem. He's given me the plot hook of his people sending lackeys to retrieve him, and the hook of him helping the inhabitants of the city and learning it's culture.

Still another player worked with me to create a spy for the queen that is borne of the lore of this city. I love when players work with me as the DM to weave the characters into the world.

Are my players overpowered as shit because I let them use an anime 5e supplemental book? Yes absolutely. I mean they took down a death knight in two rounds at level 6! Death Knights are supposed to be a combat rating of 17! Combat rating is a lie, if your players can do 10+ damage in one attack, give your enemies more hp.

Weave your party into your world and give them a compelling scene and they will care about the world their characters live in, whether that be caring to help or caring to hurt the world they live in. Also helps if your group meshes well together, good group chemistry makes the game run way smoother.

Thank you for coming to my 4am ramblings about my ttrpg games I run, they're so much fun to play!

[taxi-trolls]

Also question to Razz! I'd love if you could make a post to introduce people who're new to the community to some of your favourite Fantrolls! I looked at the ones on your other blog but I'm hooked, thank you!

i have,,, so many trolls and my muses swing around like a potato on string attached to a ceiling fan and i gotta make more bios for the "main" muses

so far the muses that are awake the most are Pierro, Riicko, Okubi, Junnie, Starfy, Ollapy and Flufii

also anyone can dm me if they wanna learn more about my massive collection of both trolls and non trolls, beware tho i can and will make puns if we talk for a while

[all-the-things-2020]

Continuing the Way - Chapter One

Summary: Mariana and Din Djarin have left Thantos Prime behind. Mariana is busy working and studying at the university on Chandrilla, while Din is happy taking care of their sons. But someone from Din’s past brings an opportunity that Din may not be able to turn down, and Mariana faces a challenge that could impact her career.

Rating: PG

Din made sure his sons were safely occupied with their building set before he started prepping dinner. It was always dangerous to leave two toddlers unsupervised for even a short length of time, but he’d learned that if he gave them the building set he could have a good fifteen minutes before they started squabbling. Ad’ika knew better, but he got frustrated with Cabur’s selfishness, and since he was only marginally more socially developed than his brother, it never ended well. Right now, Din quickly assembled a pan of meat and vegetables, popping it into the oven to roast just as he heard Cabur’s shrill, “Mine!!!” Din sighed. They don’t call it the Terrible Twos for nothing, he mused as he wiped his hands and headed into the living room to referee the argument.

Ad’ika was floating a carved wooden tauntaun over his head, using his Force-sensitive powers to tease his brother. The tauntaun, which for some reason was painted a hideous bright pink color, was a prized possession of both boys. “Daddy!” Cabur complained. “Mine! ‘Dika mean!”

Din plucked the tauntaun from the air and squatted down between the two children. Cabur was glaring at his older brother, who flattened his green fuzzy ears when he realized that Daddy was not amused by his trick.

“Ad’ika, I’ve told you, it’s not fair to use your powers,” Din said carefully.

“Cabur bigger,” Ad’ika said. It was true that the younger brother was now quite a bit taller and stronger than the elder, but since they were two different species, that was only to be expected.

“I know,” Din said, stroking Ad’ika’s head, “but he’s much younger than you. You need to be the big brother. Show him how to share and be nice.” He ruffled Cabur’s dark hair. “And you … you need to work on sharing, and taking turns. You know this.”

Both boys mumbled, “Sorry, Daddy,” or something close to it, and Din laid the tauntaun down on the floor before pulling both children into his lap. As frustrating as the boys could be, he loved them dearly and always tried to be gentle when reprimanding them.

They were still cuddling together when Mariana arrived home, her hair falling out of its braid as usual at the end of a long, hectic day. She dropped her satchel on the table inside the apartment door just as the boys launched themselves out of Din’s lap.

“Mama!,” they cried.

She crouched down and pulled them into a hug. “My boys,” she said, planting a kiss on each of their foreheads. “I missed you all day. Did you miss me?”

They nodded and kissed her cheeks. “And were you good boys for Daddy?” They gave each other a sideways look that spoke volumes.

“They were as good as can be expected,” Din said. “It’s hard to be two, isn’t it, Cabur? And hard to be 53, huh, Ad’ika?”

Mariana laughed, stood up and gave Din a nice, sloppy kiss that promised much more after the boys were asleep. “Mmm,” he said. “Can you watch them while I check on dinner?” He tapped the toy tauntaun with his shoe. “And maybe give Pinky a time out until they’ve forgotten about him?”

“You’ve got it,” she said, deftly bending down and slipping the offending toy into her pocket. She then turned to the boys and said, “Who can build me the tallest tower?”

They scrambled to impress their mother, and Din stepped into the kitchen. The food was roasting nicely and by the time he had sliced some bread, and cut up some fruit for dessert, it would be ready to eat. He pulled clean plates out of the cupboard, humming quietly to himself as he set the table for his family. He knew Cara and Greef would razz him mercilessly about his new domestic role as stay at home father, but after so many years of living amongst the worst the galaxy had to offer, he found he was quite content to putter around the apartment, taking care of his sons and his wife.

He heard their chatter and laughter, punctuated by the occasional clatter of falling building blocks, while he finished preparing dinner. He knew Mariana was tired after her day, and playing with the boys always helped energize her a bit, so he didn’t mind not having her help.

Soon enough, dinner was ready and he called them to the table. Cabur and Ad’ika raced to see who could reach him first; the winner got put into his seat by Daddy, while the loser got put into his seat by Mommy, so it didn’t really matter who won, since either way the boys were happy.

Today Cabur won the race, as he did more and more often now that he was taller and steadier on his feet. Still, Ad’ika had his own advantages, sometimes moving faster than seemed physically possible, and Din suspected he often let his younger brother win so that he got to spend a few extra moments with Mommy.

“This looks delicious,” Mariana said, after she’d settled Ad’ika into his seat. Din smiled shyly. He always felt uncomfortable when she complimented his cooking; it was not a skill he’d ever thought he’d be praised for.

“Thanks, cyar’ika,” he replied, dishing up food for the boys first and then preparing a plate for her. Ad’ika’s plate was heavier on meat, while Cabur’s was heavier on veggies and bread. The younger boy was reluctant to eat his vegetables but could be persuaded most days by the addition of his favorite food — and the promise of dessert.

Din and Mariana chatted quietly while they ate, pausing now and then to keep the boys on task. When it was clear that the children were finished, Din removed their plates and brought them bowls of fruit. Cabur was clearly disappointed that dessert wasn’t a cake or pastry tonight, but Ad’ika dug in readily. By the time Cabur was finished with his fruit, Mariana was ready for her own dessert, and Din brought it to her before wiping the boys’ mouths and helping them down so they could go back to playing.

He watched them race their toy spaceships around the room while Mariana finished her dessert and cleared the table. “I’ll take over,” she said, sitting next to him on the couch and giving him a fruit-flavored kiss. He retired to the kitchen to nibble on his own dessert while he washed the dishes and tidied up.

Soon the kitchen was cleaned up and he was on the couch snuggling with Mariana while the boys continued playing. “Busy day?,” he asked her, blocking a flying stuffed bantha that threatened to hit her in the head. Apparently the game had shifted from Space Battle to Flying Animals.

“Of course,” she said. “Three classes, two hours of research for Professor Ti’lik, and a staff meeting.” Din winced. He’d been to his share of staff meetings at the Academy back on Thantos Prime, but apparently university staff meetings were exponentially worse.

“Term’s almost over, right?”

Mariana nodded. “Yes, I’ll have exams in three weeks, so I’m not going to be much help around here for the next month.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Din replied. “I’ll survive. I survived last term and the one before that.”

“I know,” she said, “I just feel guilty for taking advantage of you.”

“You can always take advantage of me, cyar’ika,” he whispered in her ear, which made her giggle and slide her hand under the hem of his shirt to trace patterns on his stomach. This led to a kiss and then another, until a loud “Ewww!,” from Cabur brought them up short.

Ad’ika was unperturbed by their actions, but Cabur had started reacting to their amorous moments with his new favorite word, which he’d learned at the park when some of the children in their playgroup saw Ad’ika eat a frog.

“Okay, ad,” Din said. “We’ll stop embarrassing you.”

Cabur shook his head. “Yucky!,” he said. He’d just recently decided that while hugs were fine, kisses were gross and to be avoided at all costs, except for goodnight kisses from Mommy, which were grudgingly tolerated.

Mariana sat up and pushed away from Din. “I should get some studying done anyway,” she said. She crossed the room and fetched her data pad from her satchel. Din slid onto the floor to play with the boys; it would keep them from bothering her and let her focus on her work.

After an hour of building hangars and racing Banthas and playing catch, it was bath time. Mariana put down her pad and stretched. “Who wants a bath?,” she sang out.

Ad’ika immediately dropped his toy and raced across the room. He had discovered the joys of bath time on Thantos Prime and it was one of his favorite parts of the day. Cabur put up a bit of a fuss, but allowed himself to be herded into the ‘fresher. Mariana ran the bath water into the tub while Din undressed the boys and soon they were splashing in the water, pouring cups of water over each other’s heads and floating little plastisteel boats on the waves. Din and Mariana each took charge of a child and soaped and scrubbed as best they could in between naval attacks. When both boys were clean, they scooped them out, rubbed them dry with fuzzy towels and wrangled them into their pajamas.

“Mama story!,” Cabur demanded.

Ad’ika agreed, tugging at Mariana’s hand.“Buir, gehat'ik gedet'ye.” Mother, story please.

Din helped her tuck them into their beds, then retired to the living room while she told them one of the stories from her childhood. Din didn’t remember any stories except those the Mandalorians had told him, and the boys preferred Mariana’s stories, which were more varied and had happier endings. Far too many Mando’a stories ended in glorious sacrifice and death on the battlefield.

By the time he’d picked up all the scattered toys and swept up the crumbs that inevitably ended up on the floor (Ad’ika was extremely skilled at sneaking snacks out of the cupboards despite Din’s best efforts to keep them safe from little claws), Mariana had returned. “They’re both asleep,” she said, picking up her data pad. He joined her on the couch, leaning back against the cushions. This was his favorite part of the day, when the boys were asleep and he could completely relax.

Mariana returned to her studying, head resting on his shoulder as she read. Din stroked her hair, content to simply be near her as she worked.

[flameandindifference]

Thoughts on... your dad? ( For HH verse)

Send my muse 'Thoughts on' and a character name and they'll say what they think of them;; Accepting

Oh. Oh so we're just gonna go here, are we?

This time the book is put aside completely and with a wave of his hand, the Prince summons both Razz and Tazz who happily settle in his lap and accept the pettings they earn almost immediately. It was something he needed, just to settle his mind.

".... My Father has made mistakes. I won't deny that or act like it never happened, because it won't help."

While his feelings might have been of a level of idolization when he was small, that had changed. But that didn't mean they had turned negative. Absently, he gives a little scratch under Tazz's chin.

"But he always means well, even when he does mess up. I love my Father... and I wouldn't have him any other way."

@luminouswings, @ducktastic-dad