#here have some homebrewed angst

[missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway]

It's hard for me to say, I'm jealous of the way, you're happy without me... (Chapter 3)

Hunterverse AU

Sy, Walter, Curtis (Lumberjack & the 2 bears) x POC Reader "Havoc/TG"

Ex Dean x Reader

Platonic Sam x Reader

Numerous SPN Characters

Summary:

A simple day of research takes a turn no one anticipated.

Warnings:

Angst and Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, Hunterverse AU, Polyamory, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Inappropriate Humor, Angst and Romance, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Additional Tags to Be Added

Divider @firefly-graphics Banner @cafekitsune Happy Reading!

You had all decided to spend the majority of the day researching. Six heads were better than one and all that. Sam made himself comfortable in your library after Curtis brought in a table from the garage storage. Dean was surprisingly quiet as he combed through the case file, connecting some leads and gathering their information so they could follow through on them tomorrow when their Fed suits were fresh and clean.

Around lunchtime you decide it was time for you to take a break and check in on your old man. You’re not sure if he knows the boys are in town yet. With the amount of hunters that love to gossip at TPK you can only assume he’s at least heard whisperings of them showing up last night. Knowing your history with them, he most certainly wouldn't have text or brought it up with you on his own. Per usual you’ll have to call and inform him of what’s going on. 

“My eyes need a rest and I’m starting to get hungry. So I’m taking a break.” You announce as you get up from your seat. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Beer if you have any to spare.” Dean requests.

“I’ll ask Sy if he has any left in the barn of his homebrew that’s bottled.” You let him know as you leave the room. You spot Walter in the kitchen as you make your way out to the patio to head to the barn. As you go to pass him by, he wraps a thick arm around your middle and pulls you close to him, laying a kiss on your lips. 

You melt into him, savoring the sweet moment before he pulls back, placing another kiss to your forehead. “Where you heading off too? I thought you were helping with research?”

“I am.” You look up into his azure eyes. “My eyes and stomach decided I needed a break. Plus I needed to check in with Dad. Dean wanted a beer so I was just heading out to the barn to see if Sy had any homebrew left.”

“You sure you weren't heading out there to watch them spar?” He teases. “Maybe get in a little rough and tumble yourself.”

“That does sound tempting.” You husk out. “But I’ll have to be strong and hold out. I really do need to call dad. Why don’t you come with me to make sure I behave and we can all call together.”

He lowers his mouth to your ear, voice low and husky. “What makes you think I want you to behave?”

“Naughty naughty bear.” You tease as you back away from him and open the patio door. “You comin’.”

“I wish.” He grumbles, following you out to the barn.

The sounds of flesh connecting with a mat, combined with deep grunts and groans, as you approach the open barn door, has your panties dampening. You saunter inside, leaning up against the wall as you enjoy the show.

It never ceases to amaze you just how strong and powerful these men are. Although Sy may be bigger in width, Curtis is large in his own right. Both stubborn and strong willed, unwilling to back down unless made to. Which leads to these bouts of competition that always end up with them sparing until someone gets pinned and has to yield. 

“Don’t waste all that pent up aggression, boys.” You call out. “I may need it later.”

Upon hearing your voice, Sy turns his head to look in your direction, opening himself up to allow Curtis to slip his bicep around his neck and capture him in a chokehold. “Say it.” He grunts out, tightening the hold.

“Not gonna happen.” Sy grits through his teeth.

“The sooner you say it the sooner she comes over here.” He replies, winking over at you.

You purposefully yawn and make a show of stretching out your limbs, arms high in the air, back arched, chest lifted. 

“Yield.” Sy states.

“What was that?” Curtis squeezes a little more.

“I yield.” He says louder. “Now get off me so our woman can tend to my bruised ego.”

He releases him and with a speed only he possesses, quickly makes his way to you. He pulls you into his sweaty shirtless body and takes his victory kiss. Leaving you a panting mess when he pulls away, heading over to the bench to towel off and down his water.

“C’mon man. You couldn’t just make me yield, you had to go and make her all twitterpatted too.” Sy yells at Curtis, still prone on the mat.

You chuckle to yourself as you make your way over to the grumpy bear of a man. You make a point to toss your leg over his torso before lowering yourself down, straddling his thick abdomen. You run your hands up his furry pecs, until you reach his bearded cheeks. You lean forward, arching your back, leaving your ass on display, as you nip at Sy’s bottom lip. “Poor Beasty. Looks like the Axeman came out on top this time.”  

His growl vibrates against your core, the only warning you get before he grabs your waist and flips you, spreading your thighs and pinning you beneath him with his hips. “Babygirl, I always end up on top, sooner or later.” He captures your mouth in a brutal kiss. Tongue teasing along your lip, asking for admittance, which you gladly grant. You make out for a bit, bodies dancing a tango you’ve performed many times, before Walter pushes Sy aside with his boot and lifts you into his arms.

“As much as I’m enjoying watching this unfold.” He places you on your feet. “You came in here for a reason. So let’s get that taken care of before you lose yourself to your hormones.”

“Spoilsport.” Curtis taunts as he joins the rest of you. “What did you need Dewdrop?”

“Nothing special. I’m taking a break from research. Wanted to call and check in on Dad. Also Dean wanted some beer. I came to see if you had any homebrew left Sy. Figured I could ask and then call dad.”

“I have a couple bottles left over from the last batch. I’ll bring em when we head inside. Let’s get your dad’s call out of the way and then we can make some lunch. I’m starving.” Sy replies.

“You're forever hungry.” You state.

“For you, Sugar. Always for you.” He winks at you.

“Such a charmer.” You pull your phone out of your back pocket and proceed to call your father.

Only the third ring he picks up. “I was wondering when you were going to ring me. How are your house guests?”

“Hello Dad. I knew those gossips couldn't keep their mouths shut. Yes Sam and Dean are staying with us while they work that vamp case Garth brought us. They’re currently in my library doing research as we speak.”

“I assume the lumberjack and two bears are on this call.”

“You know it.” Sy imparts.

“Good. So I can tell you this and I know for a fact it will be upheld.” Your father quips. “You are to take the damn night off. I don’t want you anywhere near this bar. You all worked the last eight days in a row and helping them Winchesters get that Vamp nest squared away is important. But not as important as you boys making good on your promise and giving me a grandchild or two before I croak.”

“Dad!” You groan. “When are you going to ease up on that already?”

“When you show me an ultrasound picture.” He proudly states.

Your men just laugh. “We’ll get right on that, Sir. You have my word.” Walter apeases him.

“I’m holding you to it. Now get off this phone and I better not see you until at least tomorrow evening.”

You sigh. “Bye Dad.”

“Goodbye, Hun.”

“Well that went a bit farther than expected.” You whine.

“Oh I fully expected him to try and take a hit to our manhood. He was pretty tame this time around. Betty must have paid him a visit last night.” Sy chuckles out.

“Come on, Dewdrop. You can warm my cock while I get clean. Promise I’ll fill you up so good you’ll be leaking me all afternoon.” Curtis slaps your ass and walks out of the barn toward the house. Not deigning to put a shirt back on.

The afternoon was spent with everyone putting their heads together to come up with a plan based off of the information that you had been able to gather so far.

“Listen.” Sy states. Captain voice initiated. “The intel we currently have does not leave me feeling one hundred on a plan. There is no room for contingencies. We need to do some recon during the daytime. If not by us, then by trusted sources closer to the possible nest location.”

“Do you have someone available to do that?” Sam inquires.

“I can give my nephews a call. They’re close by working a haunting a couple counties over.” Walter answers.

Dean and Sam look at each other, having one of their silent conversations.

“Alright.” Dean relents. 

Sy claps his hands together. “Great. Now supper time. Curtis, start up the grill while I get a fire going.” He turns to you. “We still got all them steaks Jimmy bartered with us?”

“Sure do.” You reply.

“Steaks and potatoes it is then.” He smiles mischievously, scooping you up and placing you in a fireman's carry, as he makes his way out to the extra fridge in the garage. 

Dean downs the last of his beer as everyone takes their exit, trying to chase away the tendrils of jealousy he’s feeling. They’ve been happening more frequently since last night.

Sam pauses at the door, turning to look at the sullen face of his brother. “Don’t take forever moping, alright. At least try to enjoy yourself tonight, okay.”

By the time Dean drags himself out back, he finds you all mingling around the fire pit, sans Curtis who is manning the grill while tossing a ball around with Booga. He can clearly see that his brother and Walter are deep in discussion about something he can only imagine is nerdy.  

The sound of classic rock being played on an acoustic guitar has him seeking the source. That is when he spots Sy, guitar in his lap strumming along and serenading you with some tune that has you beaming. Clearly the song has meaning to you because he watches as you dance around the fire. 

You're swaying your hips, letting Sy’s smooth voice run along your skin, warming you from the inside out. Dean can’t help but be mesmerized by your display, caught off guard by how safe and comfortable you must be to just let your guard down like that. He realizes that he’s only ever really seen you like this once and it was a long, long time ago. How blind and selfish was I all those years ago?

Curtis subtly watches Dean out the corner of his eye for a bit, taking in the effect you have on the hunter. He could give him hell for ogling his woman, but that’s just not who he is. “Domesticity looks good on her doesn't it?”

“Huh?” He’s snapped back to reality by Curtis’ question. Choosing to go lend a hand to one of the men that get to call you theirs. 

“When she lets herself go like that and just be.” He tosses the ball for Booga once more. “She looks like a damn goddess luring you in.”

Dean swallows and nods his head. “Yeah.”

“That’s his main objective everyday.” He points to Sy. “Well all of ours actually. Giving her what she needs to just be free, even for just five minutes. She’s so damn self sacrificing, helping any and everyone that she runs herself ragged from the stress of not saying no. Here she’s not allowed to just say yes. She gets a call, we ALL talk about it before a decision is made. Hence why she doesn't go out hunting much or alone anymore.”

Dean just nods along, sipping his whiskey.

“Plus, we can’t have her all stressed out when we're trying to knock her up.” He calmly states. “Not good for her or the future baby.”

Dean chokes on his next sip. “You're trying to have a baby?”

“Mmhmm. Have been. Wanna give her a family. Little ones to love and dote on. Plus we promised her pops and were falling behind on, as we are reminded quite often.” He chuckles to himself as Dean’s mind flashes back to a time that seems so far away now.

I’m searching for the pie she grabbed when she went into the last gas station when my hand bumps a rectangular, non-food- like package that crinkles. I take a look inside and notice a bright pink box that reads First Response Pregnancy.

“Did you grab somebody else’s bag by accident? Why is there a pregnancy test in here?”

“No, that bag is ours. Never left my possession since it was handed to me.”

“Ok. So why is the test?”

“Cus I’m late Dean.” I freeze at her words.

“How late?” I manage to ask.

“Bout two weeks.” 

“We’re always careful. Plus we havent had sex in a couple weeks.” I state.

“Pull out method isn’t always effective Dean.” You snatch the bag from his hands and remove the test. “I’d rather be safe than sorry. That’s why I didn't say anything. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go piss on a stick now before Sam gets back.”

I set the bag down and begin to pace the room. I never was good at being patient and the longer she takes in there the more anxious I get. What if she’s pregnant? We aren't even a couple. Yeah we hookup when the mood strikes and she’s one of the few people I trust with my life, but a kid?

Before I can spiral further, I hear the bathroom door open. “What’s the verdict?”

She steps back into the room, test in hand, stopping before me. She holds it up for me to see one single pink line. “False alarm. My eggo is not preggo.” She gives me a little half smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

I can’t help but to wrap my arms around her, placing a kiss on her forehead. “Beers are on me tonight.”

She burrows her head into my chest. “Make it top shelf whiskey and you got yourself a deal. It’s only fair.”

“How so?”

“It’s your weak pull out game that got us here.” She chuckles out.

I smack her ass for the sassy retort. “I didn't hear you complaining when you were coming all over my dick.”

She looks up at me, eyes full of something I just can’t place, but I really want to figure out. I lean in, running my nose along her cheek when the damn motel door opens. 

“Oh. Shit.” Sammy stutters out. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes.” “No.” We say at the same time.

She gives me a look, stepping away from my body and heading over to her duffle. “I hope you're done with whatever errand you were on Sammy cause I need a greasy burger and a thick milkshake stat.”

“Uh, yeah.” He looks over to me and I just shrug my shoulders. If she wants to move on from our little scare, who am I to tell her otherwise. “I saw this diner just down the road, a real greasy spoon.”

“Perfect.” She grabs her leather jacket and heads towards Baby. “Let’s feast boys!”

The unmistakable beat of Blister In the Sun is filling the air from a hidden speaker, presumably by Sy. "Come on sugar. Hit me with that sweet sweet voice." He shouts.

The smile that spreads across your face is full of nothing but mischief. “Looking for a little razzle dazzle Beasty?”

“Gotta get my entertainment somewhere.” He quips back.

You shake your hips to the tell tell beat, sending him a wink as you saunter over to Walter singing along to every word. You grab his hand and pull him into you. Turning so your back is to his front as you shimmy down his frame. Purposefully grinding your hips against his growing bulge. 

When he moves a hand to grip your hip, you spin on your heel, backing away, crooking your fingers in a come hither fashion. He follows like the sweet puppy that he is. You place him next to Sy, turning over your shoulder to Sam. “Come join the party Sam. I know for a fact you secretly love this song.”

He shakes his head at you, downs the rest of his drink and gets on his feet. You sing and dance around with your best friend without a care in the world. It doesn't matter that you mourned the loss of him. He’s alive and back in your life again. This time you’re not letting him go. Even if that’s only through text and phone calls as he trips around the country with the man you never fully got over.

It’s no secret that Dean broke your heart. Your men have done a great job of stitching it back together. But you all know that there’s still a piece that remains his. Somehow, Curtis, Walter and Sy do not feel threatened by the hunter being around. Maybe it’s because they already share you with each other and have no visions of letting you go. Or maybe there is something they’re holding back? Only time will tell.

This whole situation is all very overwhelming and you're thankful for this moment to just dance around the fire. Watching Sam make a fool of himself while you pull laughs from them all, is just the medicine your soul has been needing.

Your eyes scan over Dean’s stoic frame before quickly moving on to lock eyes with Curtis. “Enjoying the show Axeman?”

“You know it Dewdrop.” He shouts back. “Steaks up, so why don’t you shake that ass over to the table. It’s time to fill you full of something to soak up all that whiskey you’ve been sippin’.”

You blow a kiss in his direction, before sashaying your way to the porch, Jet and Booga hot on your heels. Dean swears that your eyes caught during the motion. Wishful thinking that maybe it was for him too. You are clearly feeling the effects of the liquor in your system.

You take a seat, dogs surrounding you as you watch all five men set the table. As you lean forward to grab a plate to fill, it is quickly snatched from your hand by Curtis. “Sit.” He growls out. “You’re not moving a muscle unless it’s to place food on your tongue. We have promises to make good on that start well before we head up to bed.”

You squirm in your seat at the authority in his voice. You love when his Dom slips out around others. Makes ya all mushy and submissive. You do as you told without putting up a fight, which results in a raised brow from Walter and a chuckle from Sy. “Curtis I’mma need ya ta use that voice more often. She never sass’s back when you do it. For me she thinks it’s a game.”

“Isn’t it?” You innocently tease. “Victory tastes much sweeter when you work for it. Right Beasty?”

He sets a glass of water before you and grabs hold of your chin. “To the victor go the spoils. And yours are ripe for the picking.” He lays a soft kiss to your lips, pulling back before you can take it further, leaving you chasing him as he backs away to take his seat next to you. 

Dean has been sitting, plate full, watching this exchange. He’s bewildered by how seamlessly nonchalant you all are about your relationship and showing affection. He’s not against PDA by any means, but he’s gotta admit that watching you be so open with them definitely stings. 

He regrets that he took your open affection for granted. Especially since he only ever really let you do it behind closed doors. If you were at a bar, unless you were hooking up that night, he never let it go past friendly touches. I would give my right arm to take that all back and be touched by her again.

Before he can sour the mood around the table, a phone begins to ring. Everyone checks their pockets, but it’s Walter who holds up his phone. “It’s Clark. Give me a minute.” He gets up and heads into the house to take the call.

“Who’s Clark?” Sam asks.

“His nephew.” Sy replies. “I assume he’s calling him back about him and Mikey doing recon for us tomorrow.”

“They idolize Walter. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.” You watch him pace the kitchen from your spot at the table. “Although this call is taking a bit longer than I expected.”

Just as you're about to get up and see what’s going on for yourself, Walter ends the call and is walking back to his seat.

“Verdict?” Curtis asks.

“They’ll do the recon for us.” Walter answers. “They’re having a bit of a time finding the bones for the haunt they’re on though and could use some extra hands to get it over with tonight.”

“Mikey couldn’t flirt his way into the good info I see.” You chuckle to yourself.

“Town historian’s a married straight man. Even his charms couldn’t pull that one off.” Walt explains.

“Well, looks like duty calls then.” Sy imparts. “Not that we need this many hunters, but who wants to help out? I’d really like to get back at a decent time. I have business I need to take care of.” He winks at you.

“I’m sure we can find and burn the remains before it gets too late and still enjoy the rest of our night before recon tomorrow. Might even get some extra hunters on the case. I’m down to go.” You respond.

“Where you go, we go.” Curtis states.

“Count us in too. I’m itchin’ for some action.” Dean throws out.

“Eat up. We head out in forty.” Walt declares.

You pull up outside your standard no tell motel, next to a red and black 1970 Dodge Challenger. “I see Mikey drove this time.” You snicker as you get out of the Durango.

Walt walks up to the room directly in front of the muscle car and bangs on the door until it swings open revealing a tall yet baby faced man. “Geez Uncle Walt. You still knock like the po po.”

He ignores his nephew and walks inside, nodding his head for all of you to follow. As you pass Mike you can’t help but to squeeze his reddened cheeks. “Loving the hair length Mikey. The ladies must be getting a real kick out of it.” You tap his cheek and continue on inside to find Clark’s large frame overtaking a chair, huddled over a table.

He looks up from his computer as you enter. “I see you decided to bring trouble with you.” He quips.

“Aww, Clark you still hung up on my little joke?” You tease.

“Joke?” He huffs. “You pretended to be my ex-girlfriend and exaggerated my prowess in bed to Lois. It took me weeks to work back up the courage to finally ask her out.”

“But you did end up asking her out right?” You retort.

“Yes.”

“And…” You gesture for him to continue.

Mikey wraps his arm around your shoulder. “And now they’re a gross ass couple. He’s always on the phone with her. And don’t get me started on when I try to bring someone back for the night.” He rolls his eyes. “One time he was all mopey cus she wasn’t returning his text and my date spent two hours listening to him bitch until she finally called. By the time I went to seal the deal she was too tired. Fucking cockblock.”

“She was too good for your pump and dump ass anyway.” Clark snorts.

“Alright boys that’s enough.” Sy pipes up. “You’re both pretty.”

Clark looks over your shoulder to the two unknown guests in his room. “You brought company.”

“Oh them?” You shrug. “They’re hunting buddies from another life. Clark, Mikey, meet Sam and Dean Winchester.” 

“Winchester?” Mike looks between you and them. “Like the Winchesters. Been to hell and back literally Winchesters?”

“That’d be us.” Dean imparts. “It’s nice to meet ya.”

“Likewise.” Clark responds.

“Hear you’re having some trouble with a haunt?” Sam queries. “We’re here to help.”

“Well shit. Sounds good to me.” Mike whoops. “If anyone can get that historian to talk it’s TG.”

“Tell us what ya got.” Curtis requests.

You were able to get the information you needed from Frank the historian. Minimal flirting was necessary actually. You went in, accompanied by Dean, posed as a couple on a honeymoon road trip, looking for fun unusual facts about each town you slept in for the night. 

It was interesting how hands on Dean played his part. He made sure to always be touching you in some subtle way until we're out of the building. It had your nerve endings going haywire by the time you got back to your men.

“I know that look.” A smirking Walter pulls you close to his leaning frame by the hips, whispering in your ear. “Need me to take the edge off for you baby?”

You subtly nod your head. “We’ll meet you guys back at the motel. Mikey. Clark. Head back with Dean and Sam.” He reaches into his pocket and grabs his keys, tossing them to Curtis. “Axeman you’re driving. Sy get in the back.” 

He pulls on the handle behind him, opening the door and ushering you in with a hand on the small of your back. He climbs in after you, closing the door with a thud. “Turn towards me and lean against Sy babygirl. Curtis queue up Tear You Apart. ”

He undoes the top of your jeans, pulling them down to bunch at your ankles, and spreads your thighs as wide as the seat will allow. He runs a thick finger over the sticky patch of arousal seeping through your thong. “Your soaked little one. I’ll have to thank Dean later.”

You whimper as he increases the pressure. Tilting your hips to get him to give you what you need. “Hold her still Sy.” He commands, ghosting his left hand along the hem of wet fabric. “When Curtis hits play, I’m going to fuck you with my fingers. You have until the end of the song to come at least once. If you don’t you’ll be shit out of luck until we get home. Understand.”

“Yes, sir. Want your fingers. I’ll be a good girl.” You whine out.

“Curtis.” He gives him a look in the rearview and the song begins. He yanks your thong to the side and sinks his middle and ring fingers to the knuckle with a growl. “So wet and fucking tight.”

He wastes no time setting a quick pace, attacking your sweet spongy spot, rendering you a mess in under a minute. You were already spun tight from all the innocent flirting and touches from your ex that by the halfway point of the almost 4 minute song you were digging your nails into Sy’s bicep as you came apart.

“Good girl.” He praised you. “Give Walt one more babygirl. I know you can do it.”

“Too much.” You whimper. “C-can’t.”

"Oh yes you can.” Walt growls out. Doubling down on his efforts, thumb circling your over sensitive little nub.

The next thing you know, everything goes still. Colors begin to dance in front of your eyes and you feel a distinct wetness coating your thighs.

“Did she just fucking squirt all over the back seat?” Curtis grits out.

“What?” You look up at Sy bewildered. “I can’t do that.”

“You can and you did Sugar.” Sy informs you. “And it was hot as hell. Just look at Walters' face. You he’s drenched baby.”

You look between your legs to find Walt grinning from ear to ear, beard clearly covered in your essence. “Worth the change of clothes.” He kisses your thigh and pulls himself back. “Why don't you cuddle Sy for a bit while I clean up and redress you. We’re almost back at the motel.”

“Kiss first.” You pout. He obliges your request and lets you taste yourself on his lips. He takes off his damp shirt, using it to remove the wetness from your skin, before ripping your thong off your body and tossing it up to Curtis.

"Hips up." He pulls your jeans back in place, zipping and buttoning you back up. Reaching into the back he grabs a shirt from the emergency duffle you keep on hand and quickly shoves it over his head as Curtis pulls in next to the Impala.

You all exit the vehicle, Walter making a show of wiping off his mouth and beard before he places a kiss behind your ear. "Thanks for the snack Sunshine."

Dean stares on, curious as to the reason for the shirt change when he spots Curtis putting something in his pocket and Sy readjusting his belt. Clearly something went down in the 8 minutes it took to get here. 

"Y'all get debriefed?" Sy asks Clark.

"We did. Now we just need to formulate a plan."

You all decided that splitting up was best. One group to distract. One to salt and burn. You, Curtis, Dean and Mikey were left to play hide and seek with the scorned female ghost, looking to avenge the life stolen from her by her fiance and best friend. While Clark, Sy, Walter and Sam were off to search the grounds for her makeshift grave marker and finally set her free.  

The thought was to lure her out with you and Curtis as bait. So there you were, making out on a dilapidated couch like a pair of horny teenagers when the temperature significantly drops. You can see your breath before as you sit up further on his lap.

You watch Curtis’ eyes track something behind you and still yourself. The next thing you know, you’re sailing through the air and slamming against a wall. You resonate the sound of your head connecting on impact before the world goes black.

Upon hearing Curtis’ bellow of rage Dean runs into the room just in time to see the ghost dematerialize from his strike. He searches the room for your smiling face, only to find you lying prone against the wall, blood oozing from a cut on your head. 

He is instantly overwhelmed by the feelings seeing you hurt has pushed further to the surface. He’s thinking crazy things, like what if he still has a chance at a life with you. Could he keep this life on the road and have you as a home to return to? Knowing you were being taken care of and loved when he was away. Sharing you would be better than never having you in his life again. He’s lived that once. He doesn't want to again. But those are questions for another day. Wishful thinking at best.

Right now the most important thing is to set this ghost free and get you the hell out of here. At that thought the specter rematerializes near your body, ready to finish the job. “Hey Bitch!” He shouts, shooting her full of rock salt as Curtis creates a salt barrier around your body.

Mikey rushes into the room, getting cut off by the ghost appearing once more. “Shit!”

Dean pumps the shotgun, readying to take the shot when the apparition lets out a shriek and bursts into flame.

“What the hell happened man?” Mike ponders as Curtis scoops up your limp body into his arms with care.

“The bait was too good.” He grits out. “Ghost tossed her like a rag doll, within moments of appearing. She never stood a chance.”

“Fuuuuuck! My uncle is gonna wring my neck.” He whines. 

“I swear to God, Mikey, if she doesn’t wake up, you’re Uncle is the least of your worries. Anything he does to you, will pale in comparison to the depths of darkness I will go to avenge her.” Curtis threatens.

[roleplayfinder]

Howdy and Hello! You can call me Slime!

New to this whole submission thing but not new to writing and roleplaying! I’m a literate Roleplayer with 10+ years of roleplay/writing experience in mostly action, fantasy, and some fandom works as well! I am still a bit new to other styles like smut, romance, and angst but always willing to give that a shot if that’s what you’re looking for too!

As I’ve been at this for a while now my responses can range between anywhere from 3-5 paragraphs to even more than that if needed/depending on how many characters I’m playing!

My current muse right now is an OC I’ve had (you’ll see that mentioned a lot in this submission), and I’d prefer to always be able to play him! He has his own homebrew setting, too, but he’s usually always thrown and changed around to fit any AU/Fandom I want to put him in.

I write fast and am available a lot of the time! When work calls, I will have to step away for that but it’s rare for me not to find time to write. Expect response times less than 24 hours from me unless something comes up!

In terms of roleplay partner aspects, I’m mainly looking at this:

ALL writers & characters aged 18+. No-go if you’re under that! Preferably the 21-24 range!

Canon characters or OCs. I primarily play my own original characters!

Literate (3-5+ paragraph) posts. I write a lot though so be warned hah!

Third-person perspective

OOC Chats (I’d love to get to know my RP partner! I also just love to talk to people too lol)

Partner who enjoys fantasy settings and is open to some action, romance, and maybe some smut too! Would like to develop my writing in that area.

Non-Negotiable things:

As I write in the third person, I’d prefer a partner who writes like that too! Please, nothing script-related or first-person. 

As stated before NO Writers or Characters Under 18!!!! 

Long wait times between responses. I know life gets busy, believe me, I know, but please don’t keep me waiting, like, a week! Sucks the excitement out of me.

I normally write with a primary OC I’ve had for YEARS now but my fandoms/brain rots are currently in the following:

Elden Ring

Pokémon (MastersEX, PLA, SV, and really any game in the franchise tbh)

Legend of Zelda (BOTW, TOTK, AOC specifically)

Monster Hunter (World+Iceborne, Rise+Sunbreak, Generations Ultimate, Stores 2 specifically)

And some homebrew stuff as well!

I write best when using one of my OCs but can play some canon characters in any of the fandoms too, but I prefer being able to use my OC! If you’re looking for a long-term writing partner for any of those fandoms or even some of your original homebrew ideas, I’d love to connect!

Oh yeah! If you have a group roleplay planned and are looking for a possible new member, I'm not opposed to that either! I've been in numerous roleplay groups having upwards of 5-6 writers at a time.

If I’ve stricken your fancy, please message me here on Tumblr or on Discord @slimeknight899

Alternatively, you can give this post a like and I can message you too! 

Thank you!

#eighteen and over #loz #loz roleplay #elden ring #elden ring roleplay #oc #oc rp #group rp #pokemon oc #pokemon rp #Monster Hunter rp

@slimeknight899

[findroleplay]

Howdy and Hello! You can call me Slime!

New to this whole submission thing but not new to writing! I’m a literate Roleplayer with 10+ years of roleplay/writing experience in mostly action, fantasy, and some fandom works as well! I am still a bit new to other styles like smut, romance, and angst but always willing to give that a shot if that’s what you’re looking for too!

As I’ve been at this for a while now my responses can range between anywhere from 3-5 paragraphs to even more than that if needed/depending on how many characters I’m playing!

My current muse right now is an OC I’ve had (you’ll see that mentioned a lot in this submission), and I’d prefer to always be able to play him! He has his own homebrew setting, too, but he’s usually always thrown and changed around to fit any AU/Fandom I want to put him in.

I write fast and am available a lot of the time! When work calls, I will have to step away for that but it’s rare for me not to find time to write. Expect response times less than 24 hours from me unless something comes up!

In terms of roleplay partner aspects, I’m mainly looking at this

ALL writers & characters aged 18+. No-go if you’re under that! 

Canon characters or OCs. I primarily play my own original characters!

Literate (3-5+ paragraph) posts. I write a lot though so be warned hah!

Third-person perspective

OOC Chats (I’d love to get to know my RP partner! I also just love to talk to people too lol)

Partner who enjoys fantasy settings and is open to some action, romance, and maybe some smut too! Would like to develop my writing in that area.

Non-Negotiable things:

As I write in the third person, I’d prefer a partner who writes like that too! Please, nothing script-related or first-person. 

As stated before NO Writers or Characters Under 18!!!! 

Long wait times between responses. I know life gets busy, believe me, I know, but please don’t keep me waiting, like, a week! Sucks the excitement out of me.

I normally write with a primary OC I’ve had for YEARS now but my fandoms/brain rots are currently in the following:

Elden Ring

Pokémon (MastersEX, PLA, SV, and really any game in the franchise tbh)

Legend of Zelda (BOTW, TOTK, AOC specifically)

Monster Hunter (World+Iceborne, Rise+Sunbreak, Generations Ultimate, Stores 2 specifically)

And some homebrew stuff as well!

I write best when using one of my OCs but can play some canon characters in any of the fandoms too, but I prefer being able to use my OC! If you’re looking for a long-term writing partner for any of those fandoms or even some of your original homebrew ideas, I’d love to connect! I primarily use Discord for writing/roleplaying!

If I’ve stricken your fancy, please message me here on Tumblr or on Discord @slimeknight899

Alternatively, you can give this post a like and I can message you too! 

Thank you!

#roleplay #oc roleplay #Monster Hunter RP #Zelda RP #Elden Ring RP #Pokémon RP

-

[duskythesomething]

omfg have i ever even given y'all the rundown on Tamakii's whole story?? he is such a Sad Boy allow me to explain-

so a few years back i had my first ever Real DnD with my ex and some former friends. i homebrewed my own race of catpeople that are essentially smaller humans with varying levels of feline features rather than straight up furries and called them Felikin, and i made Tamakii. this is the first depiction of him!

and whoo boy, i packed some backstory into this fella. Tamakii was sold off by his family, who lived in poverty, both to support their other children but to hopefully give him a chance at a more fulfiling life. he was bought by the royal family of the kingdom they lived in and groomed to be a guard for their young princess Natalina. they were both roughly similar in age, so they grew up together, and she was the only companionship he ever had. the idea was, either he survives and succeeds in his everlasting job, or he fails and dies trying and they just find a new guard for her. lucky for Tama, he's capable with a sword and in some magic, and he has an ability that allows him to take on a werecat form to protect others.

eventually, around the time that Tamakii was turning 20, their kingdom and a neighboring kingdom went to war. the battle came closer and closer to the city with the palace, and all hands ended up on deck fighting a losing battle. while his job was to protect Natalina specifically, he was also made to fend off attackers at the castle. in the midst of the battle, Tamakii got knocked unconscious by some sort of blast, and (where the DnD storyline actually began) woke up nearly a decade later, a continent away, buried halfway under rubble.

crawling from the wreckage, Tamakii was immediately thrown into typical DnD shenanigans, particularly fighting off and investigating a necromantic zombie apocalypse. the only important character from the party was a half-giant named Viggo, also searching for the special lady in his life. they do eventually find her, and Viggo parts ways with the group. the group also uncovers a dragon egg, which Tamakii lugged around until it hatched into a baby Tiamat, whom he named Tie-Dye. Tie-Dye stays with Viggo and his wife for the majority of Tamakii's adventures.

Tamakii's overall goal in life had shifted- he was supposed to be a protector and he failed. now, he was trying to figure out what exactly happened and get his shit back together. spoilers- he doesn't. i prefer to leave current-canon Tamakii off here, sad and angsty and struggling with his purpose in life especially regarding devotion to others. there is, though, two divering futures for Tamakii.

either way, Tamakii learns that it was Natalina who sent him away, hoping to give him a life of freedom she felt he deserved. her whereabouts are unknown, dead or alive, and the old kingdom definitely collapsed in that great war. in the first future, nothing spectactular happens, and Tamakii is just a really sad guy weighed down by failure, trying to move on with his new dragon child.

in the other future, Tamakii takes that fucked up necromancy knowledge he gained during the apocalypse and goes batshit crazy, trying to find Natalina to revive her and bring back his old life except, undead.

all in all, Tamakii is my sopping wet tragic catboy meowmeow who i use as a channel for all my Own personal failures and angst! here is a link to his Artfight page to see other art and facts about him: https://artfight.net/character/1653149.tamakii

[greenteaandtattoos]

If Ruby really did cry out for Summer right before she and Blake disappeared,

(see here for that post)

then it would parallel nicely with Penny's, "Dad!" right before she fell from Amity.

[amywritesthings]

Meet Me On The Other Side

PART TWO: THE UPSIDE-DOWN

gif credit to @ mcbride

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count: 5K

Summary: The Hawkins crew only has eight people in their three-tier plan to take down Vecna. Eddie makes a Hail Mary of a phone call to even the odds.

Warnings: SPOILERS AHEAD, VOL2 FIX-IT, Language, Angst (with a Happy Ending), Intense action, Peril, Graphic Violence, The Upside Down, Demobat attacks, Kisses, Confessions of Feelings, Eddie is still the Hero, But YOU save the day

A/N: This is my version of how the Battle of Vecna went down. Only canon I accept from here on out. Alexa, play Running Up That Hill (Totem Remix).

                       PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE

( Read on AO3 )

PREVIEW:

 Eddie’s face turns, planting a gentle kiss to the center of your palm. “Most metal concert ever.”

“Most metal concert ever,” you repeat, and he opens his eyes to stare at you. “Play like a bat out of hell, Eddie Munson.”

Slowly, but surely, a grin of determination plays against his mouth. He nods and you step off to the side, readying your spiked bat.

Eddie stares into the billowing horizon of blood red clouds and rips the chain holding the guitar pick clear from his throat. His nostrils flare, a multitude of emotions rising to his face — grief, fear, betrayal, anger.

Above all else, there is anger.

“Chrissy, this is for you.”

MEET ME ON THE OTHER SIDE

PART TWO: THE UPSIDE DOWN

.

So this was why they were using Max Mayfield’s trailer as their provisional headquarters.

The Munson household is a mess. Upon entering the once-common hang out spot for the two of you, Eddie warned what would greet you on the other side — keep an open mind, alright? Whatever timeframe this shithole was made happened to also be a week I forgot to clean — but a gaping hole of vines and dirt in the middle of his ceiling leading to a gloomy, radioactive mirror of his living room?

Yeah, that's worse than some dirty laundry.

The glittering, dark portal is not what you pictured, but it isn’t any less terrifying to look at in the flesh.

Something ruffles at your side — on your left stands Dustin Henderson, all Spanish moss and camouflage and donning a light gray, polyester head protector. He looks like a tiny knight ready for battle, straight from a homebrew Dungeons and Dragons campaign.

And he’s beaming up at you like he's bursting to say something.

The rest of the party remains outside, counting weapons and supplies before the final bell tolls. Dustin doesn’t seem too interested in the commotion, not when he’s teetering on his sneakers and waiting for you to speak first. 

So you do. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he replies, stuck on a giggle. “So you’re the…”

“I’m the… what?”

"You're the... girl." Dustin’s brows furrow. “The girl. The one Eddie always talks about.”

“Oh?” You shift to turn towards him, ignoring the massive portal in the ceiling for a moment. “Eddie talks about me a lot?”

“You have no idea.” 

Yeah. Dustin’s been clambering to talk about this ever since you left your car. That much is obvious by how his shoulders droop, mouth taking off at lightning speed:

“We had to implement, like, an entire ten minutes at the end of each Hellfire debrief so he could update the party about this mystery girl he's been driving to see on weekends because we got sick of hearing about it over and over again — no offense.” 

"None taken." A warm glow spreads through your veins like wildfire. “But you’re, uh, Dustin, right? When he comes up to visit me at school, he talks about a Dustin Henderson a lot.” 

Dustin perks, curls ricocheting from the force as he gawks up at you. “Really?”

“All the time.”

“What does he say?”

It seems like Dustin admires Eddie just as much as Eddie admires him.

“That you’re really good at foiling all of his planned dungeon crawls and it’s annoying as hell.” That earns a wild, elated laugh from the freshman. “But that just means you’re learning from the best, and you’ve come really far in the game. He’s proud.”

Dustin’s chin drops to his chest to mask the smile bursting at his mouth, all too bashful of the compliments you have to give. The moss at his shoulders bristles as he shrugs.

“So if you’re that girl, then you’re… also the honorary Hellfire member?”

Your brows knit with amusement. “He told you guys about the one shot—”

“—where you killed Eddie’s mimic in one fell swoop? Hell yeah! Holy shit, that was so epic. ” 

You laugh at the energetic reaction, shifting the strap of your backpack. 

“Guess he does talk about me a lot.” 

“Told you. Munson’s totally obsessed with you.” As if he’s spilled a dire secret, Dustin’s eyes widen. “Don’t tell him I said that.” 

You shake your head, finger pressing to your lips. “Secret’s safe with me.”

“What are you two conspirators chatting about over here?” 

Eddie calls from his bedroom as he walks down the hallway, bandana wrapped tightly around his forehead and covering his bangs. In his palm rests two silver lighters.

“Nothing.” 

You don’t anticipate Dustin to answer at the exact same time as you, but it happens. Eddie pauses in his step, apprehension crawling to his expression, but it flutters away as he sucks in a sharp breath and claps his hands together.

“O-kay, weirdos. Keep your secrets. We’ve got the fun part of this whole fuckaroo plan, so I suggest we figure out our own plan of action before we all go, y’know, up that way.”

The three of you simultaneously look up at the gate in question where a dirty mattress takes up most of the living room floor.

“We draw the bats away when Lucas gives the signal that Max is in a… trance, right?” you repeat Nancy’s words. 

“Yep,” Dustin confirms. “It should give Nancy, Robin, and Steve enough time to get to the Creel house so they can royally screw over Vecna at his weakest state.” From your peripheral, you see him drop his chin from the ceiling to look at Eddie. “You don’t happen to own any flamethrowers in that trailer on the other side that we might’ve missed, right?”

“Nope, just the flaming chords of rock ‘n roll, my friend,” Eddie replies, clapping his hand down on his shoulder. “And a few lighters for the lady.”

“Lighters?”

“Makeshift flamethrowers,” you supply for Eddie, and he winks in your direction.

“With what?” Dustin asks with emphasis.

“Hairspray,” Eddie adds. “My girl’s got those college smarts working for us.”

My girl.

You don’t have time to react. The trailer door opens swiftly, revealing a weapon-ready Nancy Wheeler.

“We’re ready to go. Lucas and Erica have Max set up in the attic.”

So this was it.

Robin is the next to enter, holding a rope bound in sheets with Steve in tow. The two of them set up the alley-oop on the mattress in this realm, tossing the rope high in the air. The sheets billow perfectly on the other side, dropping with the gate's gravity.

(Trippy.)

Steve, of course, takes the first leap of faith into the dark abyss. Everyone takes a step back as he uses his arms and core strength to hoist up, up… until he falls to the other end, Eddie’s mattress cushioning his fall. 

From the other side of the world, Steve Harrington looks at you and grins, thumb raised high in the air.

Nancy’s the next to go, with Robin dropping to one knee to help her ascent. Nancy struggles for a moment, gritting her teeth until she falls gracefully to the other side on her back.

Dustin follows suit, then Robin, leaving you and Eddie still safe in Hawkins.

“C’mon, angel, time to fly,” he murmurs against your ear as he nears you, all too happy with himself for such a corny, B-movie catchphrase. 

“Guess P.E. finally comes in handy, huh?” you ask as he slowly drops to one knee, holding his hands out to help hoist you onto the makeshift rope. 

“A-yep, that’s why it’s the only class I’m skating by,” Eddie jokes, spotting you as you use what strength you can muster to climb towards the ceiling, refusing to look back.

Suddenly the world is airborne when your arms pass through the threshold of the Upside Down. Your back slams into the sheet-covered mattress, knocking the air clear from your lungs for a beat. Eddie Munson stares up with worry lining his features, face glowing orange from the hue of his living room lamp.

You take Steve’s lead, holding up a quiet confirmation with your thumb extended: I’m good.

He sighs heavily, cursing under his breath before taking the ascent as the final party member to cross the point of no return.

This place is insane. Somehow right under your feet lives a gnarly, horrifying version of Hawkins ready to suck the joy and hope out of anyone who enters. Robin places a small hand on your shoulder after helping you up — you okay? — and all you can do is nod.

Truth is? No, none of this okay, but Eddie needs you.

(They need a fucking third.)

By the time Eddie lands on his back, hair splayed across the orange sheet, you’re there to hold out a hand and help him up. Each person of A- and B-Team files out of Eddie’s warped and vine-filled trailer and into what you can only describe as a waking nightmare.

Lightning billows over red and blue clouds, threatening to near and swallow you hole. Vines suffocate every trailer in the park.

“Hey.”

Before you can step out of the warped Munson household, however, a force tugs you backwards by the hand. The warmth of Eddie’s silver rings encompasses your skin, a stark contrast to the freeze of the Upside Down.

He squeezes and runs his thumb along the back of it, saying nothing with his voice but everything with his eyes.

Are you good?

(As good as you can be.)

You nod once, and he gestures for you to move: ladies’ first.

Eddie’s fingers linger when you pull away to drop down the steps and into the dead grass.

Steve and Robin situate their weapons from their backpacks as Nancy checks the ammo on her modified shotgun. Dustin waits at the bottom of the steps, trashcan shield at the ready.

“Guys? If anything goes wrong?” Steve starts, asserting a leader-esque tone to the crew. “Then we abort the mission.” He pointedly stares at Eddie. “Don’t be a hero.”

“You don’t have to worry about us being heroes,” Dustin answers gleefully for the whole of you, but something is off in the way Eddie stares at Steve. 

“Yeah, absolutely,” Eddie answers with the same peppy tone, but his eyes don’t hold the same excitement as Dustin’s. 

Steve seems to accept that answer and blinks to you, but there’s something underneath his gaze, something uncertain.

(What are the odds, Harrington?)

He tells you right then and there:

He doesn’t know.

There’s no time to talk when Steve turns on a heel, leading the way for Nancy and Robin to follow. What remains of the party — you, Dustin, and Eddie — stands in a triangle formation, watching the brave soldiers of Hawkins disappear in the smoke and clouds of the Upside Down towards the Creel house.

“Well!”

After a minute, Eddie breaks the silence as he slaps both Dustin and yourself on the shoulder, turning you towards the trailer.

“Time to get to work, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s not die in this shithole.”

“A-men,” Dustin sing-songs, following him back into the vine-possessed trailer once more.

Securing the house feels like it takes ages to accomplish. The only way to keep track of how long you've been down (or up) here comes from Robin and Lucas's small check-ins from the walkie at Dustin’s hip — still no Vecna, still no trance — and the three of you manage to make the Munson trailer a decent fortress for what’s to come next.

As you’re barring one of the living room windows, Eddie sneaks into his bedroom with Dustin trailing close behind.

From the hallway you see him admiring his guitar, still clinging desperately to the mirror vanity where vines don’t touch the instrument.

“What do you say, Henderson?” Eddie begins, plucking the guitar gingerly from its display. “Are you ready for the most metal concert in the history of the world?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” Dustin responds, feigning a blasé attitude.

“What about you, angel? Got one hell of a setlist in mind.” You see Eddie turn on a heel, peering over Dustin’s head to grin at you. “You know, Henderson, I remember the first time I played this chick Metallica.”

“Shut up,” you groan, latching a defense blockade to the floor. “He doesn’t want to hear about that.”

“She lost her mind,” Eddie continues, ignoring you. “Never heard any sick solo like that in her life. Kinda like you freaks when we first played them at Hellfire. She was hooked, weren’t you?”

“I was hooked because you were playing,” you correct.

“Yeah, then she converted to the religious house of metal,” he adds, snorting.

You offer a pointed look, trying not to smile. “We need the amps, Ed.”

“Right! Right. Amps. For the roof.” Eddie snaps his fingers. “Do you remember where those are?”

“It’s been, what, six months since my last Corroded Coffin show?” You near the corner of the living room, tapping the amps unaffected by the vines in the walls. “If they’re in the same place as they’ve been since the fifth grade, then I think I can manage.”

"You know me so well, princess."

Dustin finally groans, waving off Eddie. “Oh, Jesus, stop flirting in front of me. Less talking, more music-ing.”

Eddie chuckles, slinging the guitar over his shoulder with a waggle in his brow.

“Let’s do it.”

. . . . . . . .

He’s nervous.

He won’t say it, but Eddie’s nervous.

By some miracle of adrenaline strength, the amps are set up on the trailer roof. Dustin busies his hands with the wires to the right ports like he’s done this before, not bothering to ask you for help or Eddie for guidance. You hand him what’s left to plug in, distracted.

Eddie is on the other end of the trailer roof pacing, slow and deliberate. His head bobs with an invisible tune only he can hear while his fingers press into certain frets.

And he’s like that for most of the set-up: spaced out, keeping occupied.

“You good?” you ask Dustin, and the moss on his shoulders shuffle.

“Yep. Last plug and we’ll be good on Robin’s—”

As if it’s an omen in the flesh, her voice pings on Dustin’s hip.

.

Commence phase three! I repeat, commence phase three!

.

The three of you stop moving, stop speaking, and Eddie finally looks over.

Yeah. He’s petrified.

Standing at full height, you cross the roof with a forced smile. “Hey, rock star, how’s practice going?”

“Like shit,” he laughs softly, humorlessly. “Might fuck up on a solo or five.”

“You? Fuck up a solo?” You scoff. “Yeah, you’ll totally fuck it up.”

“Hey!” There it is. That smile of disbelief, wide and bright. “Damn, way to bring the criticism to my first Upside Down concert.”

“It got you out of your head, though, didn’t it?” You toy with a lock of hair. “First and only, by the way. I’m not making it a habit to come back here.”

“Yeah, neither am I.”

His chin drops, curls shaking as his chest moves with laughter.

“Kind of feels like this is the time where we have our conversa—”

You drop the hand in his hand to grab the fabric of his Hellfire club shirt, pulling him in for an interruption of a kiss. Eddie stumbles, stuck between holding you and holding the guitar in place. He settles with one hand on your cheek, the other holding up the guitar neck.

Eddie leans into the palm of your hand, chasing your touch when you pull away.

“Not until we’re out of this,” you murmur against his lips. “We made a deal, and I got your back.”

“You always do,” he replies just as soft. His face turns, planting a gentle kiss to the center of your palm.

“Most metal concert ever.”

“Most metal concert ever,” you repeat, and he opens his eyes to stare at you. “Play like a bat out of hell, Eddie Munson.”

Slowly, but surely, a grin of determination plays against his mouth. He nods and you step off to the side, readying your spiked bat.

Eddie stares into the billowing horizon of blood red clouds and rips the chain holding the guitar pick clear from his throat. His nostrils flare, a multitude of emotions rising to his face — grief, fear, betrayal, anger.

Above all else, there is anger.

“Chrissy, this is for you.”

The first chord is struck, sending wavelengths of an electric guitar into the abyss of the Upside Down. Soon the melody of Master of Puppets by Metallica deafens you, filling you with an impossible hope that yeah, this could work.

Dustin’s ecstatic by the amp, pushing the limits of the device with every dial to maximum levels. He headbangs as Eddie sends the guitar strings into a frenzy, shouting to the sky.

And Eddie Munson plays like your lives depend on it.

Because they do.

In the distance, shrieks meet the guitar solos as silhouettes of seduced — and massively-sized — demobats start to appear in the lightning storms overhead.

“It’s working!” you shout to Dustin, although the exclamation is not of excitement. You twirl the baseball bat in your hands, swallowing the terror threatening to freeze all your muscles in place. 

The bats cover an unbelievable wingspan in the clouds, making them larger than life and equally as scary as Eddie originally claimed.

No going back now.

Phase three had finally commenced.

“C’mon, we gotta take cover!” Dustin shouts over the music.

Eddie abruptly stops playing the thirty seconds of the song when the two of you shout his name to get his attention.

Taking off into a sprint, you slide off the edge of the trailer to the dead grass, temporarily dropping the bat to the ground. Your hands rise to grab Dustin, catching him in his descent, before Eddie follows swiftly with his guitar strap still hanging off his shoulders.

Forcing Eddie and Dustin into the trailer first, you hold the baseball bat in one hand and look just beyond the clouds — the demobats arrive in droves, seemingly agitated by the music by the way they screech in the forever night sky.

It’s Eddie who takes your hand and pulls, locking the bats out of the Munson trailer.

He did it.

(He actually did it.)

A moment of silence passes — then Dustin screams at the top of his lungs:

“Most! Metal! Ever!”

Eddie finally breathes — no, shouts to the ceiling like a madman as Dustin takes into an Energizer bunny hop, clapping his hands.

The two embrace, jumping up and down together with glee.

You haven’t quite caught up on the celebration, so Eddie brings it to you. There is a look in his eye when he turns on his sneaker heel, lost in the haze of mania and bravery, when he crosses the living room. His hand finds the back of your head, palming it with the intent to bring you against him.

Except he doesn’t kiss you, not at first.

Because he speaks when he’s pulling you in.

Eddie doesn’t even realize, but you catch what he says as soon as his lips are on yours.

“I love you.”

You enthusiastically meet him in the kiss, but when those three simple words process in the back of your mind, you stop. Freeze.

Eddie pauses, too, when time catches up to the now.

Eye to eye and out of breath, the sweat on his brow dampens the bandana circling his forehead. His gaze softens, Adam’s apple bobbing with a swallow.

“I love you,” he repeats, resigned and relieved. 

No fanfare. No fireworks. 

No rousing speeches or Dungeons and Dragons monologues, but the truth in its rawest form.

(He loves you.)

“Oh, shit!”

Dustin’s high-pitched shriek startles you both, causing Eddie to pull you into his side for protection. Dustin runs into the hallway, tossing a spear to Eddie. The metalhead lets go of you to catch it.

“I heard something. Outside, guys, I heard something mov—”

A thud lands above your heads.

Fear begins to creep its way back into your chest.

“They’re on the roof,” you whisper, corralling Dustin behind you as you pick up the baseball bat from the floor. 

The noise travels, tinkering on small paws, and the C-Team follows it into the hallway towards Eddie’s bedroom.

The sound makes it way to the side of the trailer as if scaling the perimeter.

Then, with no warning, a demobat screeches and shoves its way through the vent at the juncture of the bedroom wall.

Dustin and Eddie scream simultaneously, going into fight mode with their spears. They stab relentlessly as the creature howls and writhes, trying to wriggle its way in.

“Get it, get it, get it!”

“I’m trying!” Eddie shouts over Dustin.

You cross the triangle into the middle of them, slamming the bat down with all your might on top of the demobat’s head.

It has one final cry, wings outstretched, before falling limp to the floor.

Dustin holds onto your arm, peering around it. “Is it…”

“Dead?” You finish. You feel him nod against your sleeve. “I… think so?”

Eddie rushes to place his makeshift Iron Maiden-esque shield over the vent as a cover, leaving him with just his spear — just in time for several shrieks to sound off outside the trailer.

The demobats swarm the windows, battering the trailer to rock back and forth from their intense assault.

They know something’s in there.

They want in.

“Ho-kay, I think it’s time to go,” Dustin sing-songs as he rushes to the mattress leading to the sheet rope still hanging idle for an escape.

Eddie swiftly closes the bedroom door behind you as all three of you run to the rope, preparing for departure.

“Junior Metalheads first,” Eddie implores, and Dustin doesn’t need to be told twice.

With the assistance of Eddie, you help the smaller freshman up the ladder, relishing in his relief when Dustin’s back hits the Hawkins mattress.

But when you grab the rope, something feels off.

Eddie isn’t helping you. Instead, he’s standing there motionless, staring at a window currently getting slammed by demobats.

“Munson.” 

His last name wakes him to a point where looks at you — really, really looks at you — then drops to his knees to take the shield Dustin Henderson dropped while climbing.

“They’re gonna bust through the windows,” he tells you.

Anguished, distant cries of demobats fills the dead air of the room.

Your stomach drops through the floor.

“Eddie, we have to go.”

Dustin yells from the ceiling, waving his arms wildly. “What are you doing? Let’s go, climb!”

“I can buy time.”

Eddie’s expression twists with the words he can’t say:

I’m not going with you.

“Watch after Henderson for me, alright?”

You swipe to grab his arm. “Eddie—!”

Too late.

He turns before it’s too late, bolting with a spear and shield towards the now-opened front door of the trailer.

Dustin screams from overhead — Eddie! Eddie! — and you’re left with a decision you already made the second you drove to Hawkins.

“Dustin!” you shout over the sound of the bats. His eyes are glossy, expression pained and frightened. “Stay there. We need someone to watch the rope. I’ll grab Eddie!”

“Get him back!” he calls back, voice hoarse and crackled.

“I will,” you tell him, but you’re not sure if he hears you. Your voice doesn’t feel like your own, scratchy and sudden and scared.

Your feet run across the living room and into the night air of the Upside Down before you realize what’s happening.

From a short distance, you see him: shield strapped to his back, Eddie Munson takes off down the dirt road on a bicycle as the swarm of demobats follow.

Shit.

A bike.

Abikeabikeabike— There. 

By Max Mayfield’s house sits a rusted, but doable bike. You sprint across the street to grab it, careful not to lose your backpack as you mount and pedal.

He’s fast. Stupidly fast, and stupidly taunting the bats as they swoop to attack him. You can hear him shouting up ahead, but the words are lost on you as the adrenaline pumps through your body and pushes your legs to move faster.

A demobat dive bombs from the left, knocking Eddie clear off his bike.

He skitters across the dirt, kicking up dust as he rolls, only to howl in pain when a bat latches onto his side.

A second flies down, attacking his shoulder.

No.

“Eddie!”

Pedaling with every ounce of energy in your body, the bicycle skids to a halt and to the ground when you breach the hurricane of bats circling overhead. Eddie’s writhing and screaming, pushing at the bat to get it away.

“Get the hell away from him!”

You open the backpack to rip out a full can of hairspray, fumbling in your pocket for the first of two silver lighters, and flick.

The flame catches its attention, causing one of the demobats to unlatch itself from Eddie’s side to lunge for you. When you press down on the aerosol spray, a billowing flame shoots directly into it.

The bat lights up the forever night in a brilliant, screaming glow of orange.

The creature flails, trying to fight off the fire as it surges into the sky. You swing the makeshift flamethrower to your right, covering the second demobat completely in fire.

It curls into itself with a whimper, dying on impact to the ground only a mere few feet from where you stand, clearing a path directly to Eddie.

Wasting not a single second more, you crawl against the dirt and kneel protectively in front of him with the hairspray can and lighter at the ready. The rest of the swarm seems to understand, and they collectively scream in anguish and back off.

Eddie Munson shifts at your side, moaning in pain before realizing what’s warded off his attackers. He follows the glow of the lighter to settle his attention on you, his pale hand covering his wounded and bleeding side.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Making a saving throw,” you answer, briefly glancing over your shoulder.

“With a—”

“Told you hairspray was a good idea,” you interrupt breathlessly, trying to crack a joke at impending doom.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he croaks, grimacing on the ground. “You were supposed to climb the rope.”

“And you weren’t supposed to be a hero.”

The swarm moves faster in the sky, nearing closer to the ground as a few dip to test the waters.

“How much of that hairspray stuff do you have?”

“Four bottles. Two lighters.”

Eddie growls as he forces himself to a seat, legs tucking under him to stand. You quickly duck your arm under his armpit to keep him from falling. He attempts to stand, but ultimately crumbles back to the ground. You follow, dropping the hairspray.

With the amount of cuts on his face and next, there must have been other bats who had gotten hits on him while biking that you hadn’t witnessed. Except he’s not worried about himself. Not with the way he’s toying with the ends of your hair, swallowing to coat his dry throat.

“You gotta go back for Henderson.”

“No.”

“You promised me—”

“I didn’t say shit, Eddie Munson. You don’t get to say you love me then run out the goddamn door thinking I’m okay with you dying without me,” you bite, looking up at a bat deviating from the circle to dip its claws into the center of the circle.

(You don’t have much time before they all attack.)

“Because I love you, too.”

When you drop your chin, Eddie stares with wide, glossy eyes and parted lips.

Shocked. Somehow, after everything, he’s still shocked.

“Of course I love you,” you murmur, softer this time. “It’s always been you.”

You gently let go of his back to pick up the aerosol can, readying the lighter.

“And I’m not leaving you. Not this time.”

Eddie’s expression shifts and he nods adamantly, catching a second wind despite the odds. He picks up his spear from the ground, coating his palm with dirt, congealed blood, and tiny pebbles. The swarm overhead shrieks in triumph — biding time for an attack.

Back to back you both rise, using each other for support as you take a final stand.

This is it.

This is how you go out.

You draw in a slow, steady inhale, waiting.

Watching.

The first demobat leaves the circle and drops, claws out, to attack. You ignite the air with fire and catch its wing as it curls away. Eddie must have stabbed a bat for himself, because the squelch of metal hitting a body fills the air.

A dozen fall out of formation, flying at full force.

You can’t take so many at once.

But as they fly, they fall.

Dozens grow quiet, silent, and fall together in an unceremonious harmony of whimpers and gasps at your feet. Eddie presses up against your back and you follow, staying impossibly close, as the bats… grow still.

As if they’ve all died at once.

“...what just happened?” Eddie whispers, too afraid to speak.

You wet your chapped lips, shaking your head. “I don’t… I don’t know. Are they dead?”

Eddie takes the literal plunge, poking a nearby demobat with the tip of his spear. It doesn’t move. It doesn’t breathe.

They’re all virtually gone.

The pressure against your back disappears, and a thud drops behind you.

When you turn, Eddie crumbles to the ground, gritting his teeth.

“Eddie?” You drop to your knees, cradling him with terrified urgency. “Hey, Eds — hey. Stay with me.”

He’s breathing, but his eyes flutter closed, hand dropping from his bloody side to the dirt road.

Something bright flashes against your forehead, hitting your eye and forcing you to look up. There are three people running — people, real live people — and you recognize the flopping hair of the person in the middle of the formation immediately.

“Steve!” 

With all your might, you scream his name across the way without a care for what monster might hear.

Robin reflects her flashlight to you, stops, then takes it into a sprint. 

“Man down!” Robin shouts. “Guys, man down!”

“He got attacked!” you shout, only then realizing your face is wet from an overflow of tears. “We have to help him across the portal, he—”

Steve skids like a baseball player to Eddie’s opposite side, yanking his limp arm over his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he reassures, voice calm and collected. “It’s alright, we’ll get him back safe. It’s over.”

“Vecna?” you whimper as you help Steve push to his feet, bringing Eddie to a stand. The man’s head lulls, chin bent to his chest.

“Dead.” Nancy rushes to your side to spot Eddie from behind.

“In flames,” Robin describes with absolution laced in her voice.

It takes the effort of all four of you, but you manage to drag Eddie into the dilapidated Munson trailer. Robin flops to the other side, spotting Eddie’s unconscious descent to the other side with Dustin as you, Nancy, and Steve raise him across the finish line.

He’s safe.

Eddie’s injured, but he’s alive and safe.

Once he’s cleared from the mattress, you climb to the ceiling and return to the warmth of Hawkins.

And when Steve is the last to ascend, falling with a heavy breath of years’ awaited relief, the portal to the Upside Down in Eddie Munson’s trailer closes.

[struggling-with-time]

"You look like shit" [c!Wilbur x m!reader]

Pairing: c!Wilbur x male!reader, platonic

Summary: Your life unfolds alongside the musician you met. A common phrase rises to become common in moments of silence and triumph.

Warnings/tags: Angst, Alcoholism, PSTD, hurt no comfort, bit of fluff

Words: 2.3k words

Masterlist: Wilbur’s Masterlist - Full Masterlist - Event Masterlist

A/N: This was written for @allywritesforfun's valentines day event. "Secret Cupid/Secret Platonic Lover." I encourage you to check out the rest.

I got the prompt, "c!Wilbur x m!reader, platonic, any" For my secret valentine @a-spex for ally's event.

(Also requests are still open! Click here!)

“You look like shit.”

Is a sentence so lovely, it has been uttered many times through the years, through the centuries, through your friendship.

The phrase was quick to leave your mouth as a musician was knocking on your door in need of shelter for the night, to get away from the rain.

A musician who would spend the night in your small house, lie on your couch, and tell you stories of the world you had never experienced. He tells vividly of his travels, from his hometown, out to the sea, to climbing mountains, and descending caverns.

Although you never truly believed in his stories, you were captivated by his sense of adventure and search for something greater than what he had ever seen before.

He tells his name.

Wilbur Soot.

A man from nothing, who sealed your fate the day he knocked on your door.

A traveller gained a travel partner that night, and you were out of the village before the church bell ever rang. You had never been big on taking risks, but when staring down the eyes of destiny, you take her hand and let her guide you along. It’s better than for her to drag you on your way on a path you refuse to take.

“You look like shit.”

He tells you laughingly as you’re sitting around the campfire, a small settlement has been made in unoccupied fields. A man with the name of Dream had invited Wilbur to his new settlement, and Wilbur had dragged you along.

Leading to you having struggled with setting up a tent all afternoon, more out of breath from the activity than you had thought was possible. It’s a horrendous sight, but you’re overjoyed in the moment. It’s a moment of victory that needs to be celebrated.

The alcohol is quick to be pulled out as you share the bottle between you. It’s homebrew, but anything intoxicating is better than nothing.

The children of the settlement are long asleep as the adults, that are not much older than the children, share their stories, and laugh in the face of the other's pain and suffering from their travels. Each one seeking the fortune of the unknown.

“You look like shit.”

You wrap your soldier’s jacket around Wilbur, it’s late. It’s far too late for him to still be up. He may be your commander, but he’s still your friend. He’s your friend long before he’s anyone of authority to you.

“You don’t look much better.”

“No, but at least I remember to wear something other than nightclothes when pondering my thoughts to the skies.”

“I’m not pondering.”

“Sure, and that isn’t half-finished poetry.”

Wilbur hides his documents, you don’t know if it is poetry. You don’t know what he’s working on anymore. It all just seems to bleed together in between the shots of riffles and TNT blowing up. It all feels so meaningless when you watch others fall on a battlefield, they never wanted to be on in the first place.

He looks at you, his eyes are sunken, you know he doesn’t sleep as much as he should. Because neither do you, wandering the grounds, hoping to make them a bit safe in the night.

“Why are you still here?”

“Well, you stumbled into my house, gave me a call for adventure, then called me brother. I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t let me leave if I wanted to.”

He punches you in the shoulder, and his laugh rings into the night.

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Because I can put up with your bullshit, get some sleep Will, I’ll stand watch.”

You pull yourself up from the ground, he follows suit. His hand clutching the jacket you draped across his shoulders. You take it back, wearing it once again, feeling proud in the soldier uniform. Fighting for a country, for freedom, for your friendship.

“You look like shit.”

His voice getting carried from the wind behind you.

You smile tiredly at Wilbur as he comes to stand beside you, admiring the nation you’ve fought for together. Your wrist still burning from the missing heart on it, signifying the loss you’ve experienced. One you will happily take again, all over. Trusting your friend, your brother, deeply and thoroughly.

“You don’t look a whole lot better.”

Wilbur snorts at your comment, you can see his mind-twisting and turning to find the right words, either to get another quip at you or to find something poetic to say about the victory you’ve shared today.

A nation of freedom becoming independent from an oppressive force. The route for happiness is only paved from here on out.

He bumps your shoulder lightly with his own, settling on silence. And so the silence encapsulates you as you mourn the lost ones, and the sacrifices that have been made, all for the greater good, and all for the good that will come.

“You look like shit.”

“Oh, for fucks sake, could you say anything useful?”

Wilbur snaps at you, as you lean back in the chair, bored as ever. Legal documents and party promises have never been your strong suit.

“I could, like, have you seen Fundy today? Have you talked to Sally at all? I hear Tommy has been causing problems again, and I’m not the one on clean up duty.”

Wilbur sighs exhausted, and finally put down the documents in his hands. You never understood how an adventure as great as him, has tied himself to a place like this. The peace that has come with freedom has often been nice, but it’s all feeling so awfully similar to your life in your old village.

L’Manberg is great, and you would fight for it any day of the week, but right now it’s Saturday and a weekend, and you are craving fun.

“Alright, alright, I get it, you’ve become too important and high and mighty to share a drink with me. I get it, don’t worry dear President of mine. I shall take my leave.”

You do an overdramatic salute and wait approximately 46 seconds outside his door before the president has joined your side once more.

The steps of your shoes, falling in step with his. Many have called you brothers, and even more, have speculated, as the word seems to tumble from both of you, yet neither sharing any blood. You have the same taste of feeling like the world has the ability to be greater, and you will strive for that.

“You look like shit.”

His voice hits you like a dash of fresh air.

“I see you’ve escaped your cave of depression.”

“It’s called Pogtopia thank you very much.”

You snort at his response as you grab the flask from his hands. It’s cold, it’s always cold these days, the new President, Schlatt was his name, has put restrictions on the heat. He tried to tax the alcohol too, but that was quickly disputed when the alcoholic himself had been hit the hardest by his own tax plan.

“Yeah, yeah…”

The side of his eyes crinkle as he takes the flask back, you can see the way his fingers cling onto the bottle, the way he clings to this moment.

“Yeah…”

He breathes out.

You can feel it in the air, there is so much he wants to say. But there is nothing he can say. You both know what’s going to happen tomorrow. You planted the TNT yourself, under the eyes of a Wilbur you barely recognise, and the tyrant you once fought. But this is war, and thus the enemy of your enemy becomes your greatest ally. And how he has truly proven himself by providing exactly what Wilbur asked.

One day, you hope to never see that mask again, but it seems he’s never too far away from the chaos that is created.

“You look like shit.”

You kick a pebble away from his gravestone, you know it doesn’t matter if there is one or not. But at the moment, it feels like it makes the greatest difference.

It’s not even a real gravestone, he never got one.

Nobody thought he deserved one, yet there is a memorial for the dictator who once ruled the country of L’Manberg. They ruled like nobody meant anything and like you were all disposable.

And you can say you were, for now, you’re missing the greatest person you’ve ever met, and yet the world keeps turning. His body was buried somewhere far away from here. He was never meant to die, not after you finally found freedom, not after you were finally meant to walk the path you paved so many years ago.

Wilbur was meant to become a great man, and you can’t help but hate him for making you believe he would.

He was destined to do great, and thereby only did the worst.

You hate him.

“You look like shit.”

This is how the letter addressed to you starts. It was handed to you by Tommy, he told you it was one of the last things that had been left in Pogtopia, as Tommy had moved back into his embassy outside of the nation, and you had moved right back into its heart.

The letter is an apology wrapped in a lack of empathy.

Written days before the events of his death, written with a form of finality to it that you can’t help but wonder how many times he has rewritten this letter.

He rambles about so many things, about justice, about his traitorous son, about Eret, about Tubbo, Tommy, Techno, you. He rambles about you, calling you a brother, traitor and the best friend in his short life all in a sentence.

It reads as deranged as he was in his last days, at peace with the future, yet uncertain about the present.

You know you should either throw it out or save it, but it’s a decision for a future you, a future you refuse to remember as you head straight to your liquor cabinet.

The alcohol burning is ever-familiar as you once again drown out the world and the way you sometimes can hear the faintness of a gunshot, the smell of burning flesh, the way Wilbur looked dead long before a sword was pushed through his stomach.

“You look like shit.”

His head snaps open, he has been caught like a deer in the headlight, so innocent if you ignore the blood on his hands and gunpowder in his hair.

“If you’re going to raid my fucking liquor, at least say something and share with me.”

You fall down beside him on your couch, ripping the bottle from his hands.

“I can’t believe I’m still fucking drunk.”

You tell no one, the man beside you another hallucination, although he looks different than usual. A white streak in his hair was the most prominent change. But he looks older too, a lot more worn out, his clothes further ruined.

But the dead don’t come back alive, so you share your alcohol with him as you drown your sorrows, conversing with the hallucination, not realising how cold his touch is, or the way he looks so closely at you.

Words never leaving his mouth.

They never do.

The only ghosts that talk around here, is the one of him, but a version so innocent and happy. A version you can’t stand to look at, the ghost feeling nauseating to be around.

So you surround yourself with depressed hallucinations and bottles with no end. As you sleep the haziness away on your couch.

“You look like shit.”

You spring up from the couch, who the fuck is in your house. It’s the man from the night before your hallucination.

“Why the fuck are you still here?”

“What?”

“Am I still fucking drunk? How much of a bender am I on? I swear I would have slept most of it out by now.”

You run a hand over your face, already readying yourself for the headache to come, your house already dark, so that’s one less thing to worry about.

“No, it’s me, I’m alive.”

“Yeah sure.”

You turn away from the man, to gather bottles, there seems to be more than usual, you really must still be drunk.

“Dream brought me back.”

You stop in your step, letting the bottle in your hand fall onto your floor, it lands with a sad thump, before rolling over the couch.

“I’m sorry, say that again.”

You turn around to look at the man that was once named Wilbur. Wilbur Soot. A man that rose from the ashes, only to create so much pain and suffering around him, trashing everyone around him. A man that only left ashes behind as he moved on to a better place.

“Dream brought me back.”

“Get Out.”

You don’t have the time for this, and you certainly don’t have time to harbour resurrected dead presidents.

“What?”

“I said get out.”

Wilbur stumbles for a moment.

“But you’re my brother.”

“Don’t fucking call me your brother, if you still saw me as your fucking brother you wouldn’t have come in the middle of the night, and you wouldn’t have fucking come here at all.”

“But-“

“Get out of my house Soot. Get the fuck out of my life. You already took two from me. I refuse to give you more.”

You can see him bite his tongue. He has always been one to fight with words over actions. Leaving him defenceless without his silver tongue.

You watch him as he turns around and walks out your door. But you can’t find it in yourself to not yell after him.

It leaves your mouth before you realise the words are even there.

“You look like shit!”

[modmad]

Toonkind DnD masterpost!

Toonkind are a Roger-Rabbit-esque homebrew race for DnD invented by @yunisverse! You can read more about them here on the DnDBeyond page.

Playlists for listening to Toonkind games from the Einquell server:

-Toonkind Playlist (main list, all games including unedited audio)

-Toonkind Games (full games only, no fps games)

-Toonkind at 12fps (games for character development between two players! often about one hour long)

More specific arcs/game categories:

-Wonderful One Shots (recommended if you’re new to Toonkind, these games require no previous listening and last for only one session!)

-The Taffy Train Saga (a story arc that has become particularly significant, recommended listening if only to avoid spoilers later on!)

-The Neverending Train (run by Ky, inspired by Infinity Train! supes good lots of mini adventures with a mix of new/familiar characters)

-Luck Trio Games (any games featuring 2+ of the three characters with much too much luck and too few braincells: Delta, Sel and Jack)

-Bottomless Heights (do you like Gravity Falls? then you’re going to love where this is going)

-Eight Refrains (follows the story of two cute lil alien UFO babies but also looming threat! has Kirby/Earthbound vibes)

-Star Trio Playlist (do you want a super cute ot3? hell yeah you do)

-There’s Something Funny Going On (games that led up to the reveal of a particularly villainous villain... overlaps with Taffy Train)

Silver Screen (the Drafthouse’s first and ‘main’ adventure, long running and ongoing! Due to early days and some rough terrain the first few games are a bit hard to listen to, we generally recommend that people start on episode 7!)

Ruindall Rambles (a new arc DM’d by Fable and featuring some of the funniest characters yet, seriously the first ep had me literally in tears)

The Eclipse Cathedral (“A lighthearted start to a tense race to the rescue, as the Party Members deal with memories, lost or otherwise”)

Jello Crimes (A family can be a mouse, a gnome, and a wizard who's more than double their height)

The Oddyssey (Ky’s latest and greatest longform campaign involving mysteries, mechanisms and doors that just need to be punched)

Lighthearted Games List! Want to just chill out and have a good time? Have a go at these low-angst high-shenanigans games! there’s also a soft/fluffy feels playlist if you want snuggly games :>

Spreadsheet of all games including transcripts and character credits.

YEAH THAT’S RIGHT WE HAVE TRANSCRIPTS BABEYYY

The Einquell Wiki!

Below the cut are playlists for individuals, in case you want to follow a particular character’s journey so far! Only a few rn but I’ll add more as people make them.

EDIT: these links have broken when youtube is having some issues, so if that is still the case/happens again in the future you can find all these playlists by going to my youtube page of playlists that I’ve made!

The Engineer  

Minty

Larry Samuel

Charlie Black

Tobias O’Chrowelle

Tally Mark

Primrose Poodle

Alibi Miohn-Rouls/Deltasong Danger

List of characters played by Mock

Loccan

Emmet

Xorbleegok

March

Mersel

Sammy

Gille

Luciver

Ollie

Sandy

‘Tinies’ (very small characters who live in Dodo Studios, like borrowers!)

Brecht Brigade (a group of witches led by Rhode)

Bon

Hugh Script

Admiral Abbigull

Bilgerat

Craigory

Sir Bertie

Bukbuk Chook

M1-A

[enderspawn]

hello I'm a critrole and taz enjoyer and I'm looking to get into jrwi but . fanart looks Angsty so I'm Unsure (i know it's hypocrisy coming from a cr fan but .) jsbxjdbchdc I'm completely geniuenly asking - what do you like about jrwi? what's the premise like? You seem to really like the series, so please rant about it 🙏 (only if you want to ofc!)

I absolutely will, I will take any excuse to rant abt jrwi and try to get ppl to watch it BDKABDN

so to cover the basics jrwi, aka Just Roll With It, is a dnd show! featuring Grizzly, Bizly, Condifiction, and Slimecicle. their current main campaign (and the one I post abt most often) is JRWI: Riptide!

there are other campaigns, past and present, such as Prime Defenders (which is Patreon exclusive, with the first 5 episodes released for free this December), Convergence, The Fated Five/The Original Campaign, and more! They’re all also considered JRWI, but I’ve not rlly touched any of them beyond a bit of PD so I won’t probably be talking abt them (they’re here more for comprehensiveness and if you stumble across content labeled jrwi you don’t know, it’s probably one of these!)

Riptide is a pirate-based D&D campaign, following our main crew, comprised of: Chip, the human rogue, who is captain of the crew and the biggest bastard of the sea, Jay Ferin, a human ranger, who acts as the ship’s navigator and is known for her accuracy in shooting (as well as a few secrets or she might be hiding), and Gillion Tidestrider, (Champion of the Undersea, Hero of the Deep), who is a homebrew paladin/sorcerer multi class triton, who is very new to the whole “life above the sea” thing, let alone the whole “humans” thing, but works through it by strictly following his morals and holding honor above all else in pursuit of his destiny.

The campaign ACTUALLY starts with… none of these characters, but instead a prequel oneshot set 10 years before the events of Riptide, which explores the legend of the Blackrose Pirates. You might even recognize some familiar names!

After the Blackrose Oneshot, you can watch through the main campaign here!

To avoid this being a Painfully Long post, the rest will be under a cut

So for 1: Angst shouldn’t be an issue here tbh. It’s very much a TAZ-esqe campaign in tone, with majority being adventurous and funny and light hearted…. Until it absolutely punches you with feels. A lot of it is very character-based storytelling (which I rlly enjoy) but it means your mileage depends on how much you invest yourself in those characters. There’s plenty of bits you can look deeper into for angst or character building, but if you don’t *want to* majority of the time it’s fast paced enough to move on from.

if you’re wondering how competent of pirates they are; they didn’t even have a MAP until abt episode 40ish and have ended adventures giving away money on more than one occasion. They’re bad at it <3

One of the things that IMMEDIATELY drew me to jrwi and made me really enjoy it was the DMing style. I think the first episode of Riptide is, frankly, a masterclass in “will I enjoy how this game is run?”. You will know if you’ll enjoy the show or not by the end of episode 1. They don’t want to big themselves down in rules and play much more by rule of cool over all else. SHOULD [x] work like that? Probably not, but it’s cool, so it does now! It’s all abt keeping up that lighter tone and fast enjoyable pace so things don’t get bogged down. The players are willing to make objectively bad outcomes or choices for their characters (possibly worse than the DM would) just because it would be funny.

They do a LOT to flavor the combat to make it engaging to listen to, which is massive for myself: even in TAZ, I’d tune out when initiative rolled, but they add in a lot of flavor, character, and humor into their combat which keeps it engaging for me.

The DM, Grizzly, is great at working with what the players give him and running with it. Whether that be integrating backstory stuff, to *literally changing an entire planned arc* to be more music based after the players decided they wanted to form a band as a goof (which it originally WASNT apparently, but without knowing that I literally could not tell).

ALSO THEY LITERALLY MADE A WHOLE ASS ORIGINAL SONF FOR THEIR FICTIONAL BAND TO PLAY AND I FEEL LIKE THAT DOESNT GET TOUCHED ON ENOUGH

All the players (though I notice it most with Bizly and Grizzly) are great at playing their characters, but especially VISUALLY. Like physically looking at sight lines or having this noticeable change in posture/gesture when in character vs not. As well as some (imo) stellar voice acting moments, it’s just (chefs kiss). Like… don’t get me wrong here, this ain’t “professional actors/voice actors” level of good, but it’s damn nice for your average Joe dnd podcast and helps incentivize watching on YT (for me).

Another big thing for me is the length: episodes average around and hour and a half or so, making it more accessible for my poor attention span (especially with a midroll you can pause in). I’ve never gotten into Crit Role SPECIFICALLY bc of the length of each episode, but JRWI works well for me.

In the end though, like I said, I love characters and it’s (emotionally) a very character driven story. There’s plenty of fantastic adventures and puzzles and the like for people who care more for plot than characters, but the characters are the reason I come back every time. You start with these basic entertaining people then they start to show other sides of them and gain this depth I fucking LOVE. My personal favorite is Chip, but Gill and Jay are both so intruiging as well with some common themes/issues while also being incredibly different. I’m. Trying not to spoil anything here but I just….. yeah <3

ALSO while it’s patreon exclusive and thus requires 10+ a month to access, they have a series called Just Rolled With It where they talk abt the session they just played (what they liked, what they didn’t, theories, more in depth behind the scenes n character shit, etc). And like… the best part of PLAYING dnd is sitting around w your friends geeking out abt your campaign!! Talkin abt ur personal scrunglys!! and now I can do that parasocially with a podcast!!!

If you want a sample taste, I’ll link down below some spoiler-ish free* animatics of bits I enjoy you can watch to get a feel as well

*they’re bits/encounters from later episodes/arcs than the first few, but shouldn’t be any kind of plot spoiler or a major issue.

https://youtu.be/XANB-fCFUAI

https://youtu.be/9M-qhLlt5oI

https://youtu.be/z8Y3W1kyhaM

https://youtu.be/KpyFjbM4SK0

[im-basically-logan]

roleslaying with roman live thoughts under the cut

ok to be completely honest im typing this at the 20 minute mark and its 2 am

anyway i like dnd so im v interested in how this is gonna transpire with apparently 2 dms and only 2 players

homebrewed tho owo

waiting for the custom stuff to show up

OH lyra being like “understand this roman is different from the sander sides one please and thank you” lmaoooo

im wondering if this is all improv also like did the team minus thomas and terrance make a whole story for this and they dont know?

also the dialogue is pretty clean despite some goofs when the two main characters first met

probably thanks to there only being 2 people but like. idk! good for them :)

also im surprised roman has a 16/17 on dex idk why 

why is he investigating the thefts when he hasnt even told youngblood about them lmfao

oh i forgot to mention but there are ANIMATICS and ACTED PARTS??? thats so fuckin cool

the somewhat clumsy improv dialogue is just. SO DND

“s-so. what’s your name ? !” yup. should’ve been like the 3rd thing you said but Big Mood

roman not knowing what singing is is insane

i thought he was gonna be a bard fighter or smth but again this is homebrew

god i wanna know the lore of this world already. how are different races treated? how different is this world from classic 5e since its homebrew

like personally i play in a traditional 5e world way way less often. there is a lot of homebrew :]

not to say that sticking to the traditional dnd world is bad, its a very very nice foundation for new players/dms but branching out creatively is also nice

ANYWAY I DERAILED THE POST WHOOPS

i forgot to say I LOVE AUNT PATTY IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO HER IM CLOCKING AJ ON THE SPOT

bread,,, i want bread

goat power lmao

oh i thought youngblood would’ve had a way higher intelligence stat. its just 12/13 huh

TIGER TABAXI LETS GOOOOOOOO

SHES SO PRETTY OWO

ROMAN HAVING -1 INTELLIGENCE MOD LMAO

“That’s a business partner”

the editing and little animations and sound design is so good btw 

where did they film these shots they’re so nice

oh inspiration mechanics a bit different oooo

ok but how did he get inspo from remembering dorian’s name bruhhh lmao

dorian is one of the designs of all time the constellations in his eyes are so cool aaaaaaaaaa

is he a tiefling? i do remember this is a homebrew campaign btw but i am still curious

ANOTHER CRIT FAIL FOR ROMAN LMAO

A FUCKIN FROG

HELL YEAAAAAAAAAA THIS DUDE I LOVE THIS DUDE

SAMUEL LOVE THIS DUDE YEAAAAAA 

frog sus

roman rlly showing off than 8/9 intelligence lmao

fast timmy so cool

3 ft tall? damn short lol

is he fucking blue because of sonic

CRIT SUCCESS LETS GOOOOOO

“if we dont find anything on the southern edge of town, you will really get to know me” holy shit youngblood lmao

what the FUCK is happening here why does this child have these connections

uncensored word ass, insane. truly.

NOOOOO HIS FUCKING SWORD????? BRUHHHHH

anyway this was fun

i wonder how indepth its gonna get. world lore? angst? death saves?? MORE GOATS?

[noodle-puppy]

Critical Role Campaign 3 Race and Class Hopes and Predictions

So here I am, going to throw my hat in the ring guessing what I think the cast of Critical Role are playing, giving that Campaign 3 is just around the corner. I’ll probably be wrong but I think I’ll have fun with this! Guesses are under the cut, as this post might get long...

TRAVIS: Centaur Order of the Lycan Blood Hunter

Travis seems to prefer melee combatants who just hit things and get the job done; supposedly he’s said somewhere about not wanting to play a full-caster, yet I’ve seen a lot of predictions for Wizard (though I can see why). Blood Hunter seems like an obvious choice, but perhaps too obvious - but I can’t deny that I would love to see Travis go full werewolf! Besides, with what happened to Mollymauk and all, this class needs more time to shine: so Order of the Lycan Blood Hunter it is! Honourable mentions to Bard, Monk and Rogue; as they’re also classes I’d like to see Travis play.

For the species pick, I’d kill to see Travis play a Centaur. The idea of a centaur werwolf is hilarious to me, and has evocative imagery! I know that as fey creatures centaurs can’t normally get lycanthropy, but I can see Matt making an exception for the reasons I just said. Realistically though, I think he’ll pick a Human, so if he does you can’t say I was wrong! >:)

LAURA: Tabaxi Echo Knight Fighter

My first thought was Bard, but after Jester I don’t think Laura will want to be a support class any time soon. I think she’ll be a melee combatant, probably one without magic since both Vex and Jester had magic at their disposal. Barbarian is a popular pick for her, and while I can see the appeal, I’m going with Fighter. Perhaps she’ll go Echo Knight as a fun callback to Jester’s Invoke Duplicity? It’d be a pretty cool subclass to see in action!

As for species, I think we all want to see a Tabaxi. I'm getting early 2000′s 3D platformer vibes from this character, akin to Ratchet and Clank and Sly Cooper.

LIAM: Drow College of Tragedy Bard

Liam has gone on record to say that he’s playing through the four traditional RPG classes: Fighter (Orym), Thief (Vax), Mage (Caleb) and Healer. Cleric seems to be the obvious pick here (and hey, it’s probably right), but honestly? I’d love to see Liam as a Bard. I think he’d have a lot of fun taking a class associated with cheerfulness and revelry and injecting it with his trademark angst and sorrow. Could be a fun subversion! Apparently Matt has a Shakespearian homebrew College of Tragedy subclass in the works, and I think I’d be perfect to debut here!

Species-wise my first thought was Warforged, since they exist in Exandria now and the idea of a robot with instruments integrated into its body is very cool (write that down!), I’d love to see an Elf in the main cast, and I can see Liam paying tribute to Essek by making a Dark Elf his choice.

SAM: Kenku Circle of Dreams Druid

I know that Liam picks Sam’s combo, but from what I’ve seen Sam is the opposite of Travis: he loves magic-based characters, cleverly manipulating the games with his usual chaotic glee. A Wild Magic Sorcerer is probably going to be the winner (I like the theory of him and Laura making Wild Magic siblings!), but if a man can dream I’d like to see him as a Druid. I’d like to see a high Wisdom character from him, but yet the idea of messing around with Wild Shape is too good to pass up. I have no preference on subclass, so I’ll just pick Circle of Dreams because it sounds cool.

As you can tell I’d like to see more monstrous characters this time around, and you know what would be perfect for Sam? A Kenku. I’d trust no one else to pull it off. Also a kenku usually has black wings, so they’re totally going to be the love interest of Marisha’s character. Nailed the most important question!

MARISHA: Fairy Oath of the Crown Paladin

Speaking of, Marisha has summoned the wrath of nature as Keyleth and the might of martial arts as Beau; so this time it’d be interesting to see her step back and make a support character instead. We’ve already got Liam as our healer, but I think it’s time we had someone start out as a Paladin! Marisha looks like she has the gusto to pull off any of the subclasses, but of the lot the Oath of the Crown is catching my eye.

Something I’d like to see from this campaign is some of the new races, and one of my new favourites was released just recently - the Fairy! Only problem is they can’t fly in medium or heavy armour, so maybe we’ll see an unconventional Paladin build here?

ASHLEY: Dhampir Way of the Long Death Monk/Phantom Rogue

I’m going to be predictable here and say Ashley’s playing a Monk, a class that she expressed interest in during the Vox Machine vs Mighty Nein oneshot. I’m picking Way of the Long Death as the subclass to pair well with my species choice. On a similar note, the Phantom subclass of the Rogue will also work, and after her miserable dice luck I’d want Ashley to play a character with a consistent set of skills: she’ll finally get a good Slealth check!

Ashley’s seems to like playing characters at extreme ends of the spectrum -  Pike and Fearne look innocent, yet hold terrifying power; Yasha looks gothic and intimidating, but is gentle and introverted outside of battle. I’d like to see a character from her who looks like they could kill you and will, and the Dhampir is a fairly new playable species which not only fits the bill, but could lend itself to some great roleplay.

TALESIN: Fire Genasi Alchemist Artificer/Genie Warlock

Talesin seems almost inscrutable to guess for, so it was a hard pick for me here. I’ve got to be honest and say that 99% of what you see here is wish fulfilment, so if I’m just pulling everything out of thin air I think Talesin has what it takes to be a great Artificer, considering he knows a lot about the game. And the Alchemist subclass means that he could have a lot of fun with a mad scientist character. But this party is skewing towards support, and I would like to see a proper caster here beside the Druid. It ultimately came between Sorcerer and Warlock, but I think Warlock wins in the end. The Genie subclass is maybe cliche considering the race I went with but again, I can do what I want :P

Genasi is one of my favourite playable species, and while I know we just had Fy’ra Rai, a Fire Genasi is going to be my pick here. A hotheaded scientist with his efreeti parent watching on is what I’m going for with these choices.

So that’s all I’ve got in me (my arm is so sore from typing this guys); I might reblog this with further thoughts once we figure out who the characters are once and for all!

[umbralstars]

E and K for the fanfic asks?

E: Who is your OTP?

We have to go for a few fandoms here and I'll only do what I have written before (nothing necessarily published), and stick to video games rn:

FE12: KrisMarth (I have a mighty need to one day elaborate on this)

FE:A: Chrobin (I literally homebrewed my 3DS just so I could have m!Chrobin rights, do I even need to explain?)

FE:Fates: Azurrin and Corriander(?) (Not for everyone I know, but the ships spark joy for me. Also Corriander is a bit weird cause that one very specifically revolves around my MU Remi and Xander not Corrin. But neither ship is really canon at all to the AU I'm writing and are just angles I like writing for one shots- ok I'm gonna stop cause I could go on for awhile)

FE3H: Claudeleth, Dimileth, and Yurileth (also squish them all together)

FE Heroes: Kiralfonse (EDIT: I literally forgot them what is wrong with me?! Anyways they're great, lights of my life honestly)

FF7: Sefikura

Pokémon: Isshushipping (mostly involving my Black Nuzlocke protag Naolin, but base Isshushipping sparks joy too), Originalshipping, Preciousmetalshipping

Ace Attorney: Narumitsu and Baroryuu

K: Angst or Happy?

Actually looking through it around 90% of my library is some variety of angst. I love writing angst because of just how cathartic it is, even if it's just hurt/comfort and not full on angsty Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

A good happy comfort fic is sometimes what I need, but I feel so much freer when I allow myself to explore the unhappy side of life in a safe fictional setting. Character injury or death, arguments, moral quandaries, deep but painful conversations, plain old Big Sad is just so great to write for me.

This is probably not too surprising for anyone who's looked at my AO3 or have seen my wips. Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of times I just want cute and fluffy but I do often prefer to read/daydream fluff more than write fluff. I don't know there's just something about angst that makes my brain gears spin. I even prefer hurt/comfort more than plain old fluff unless I'm in a very non-angst mood (or if say a long fic needs a happy breather chapter or scene cause angst burnout is real).

But yes. Happy? Good. Angst? Also good but I do prefer it.

[leapyearkisses]

Director’s Cut Commentary - Orbs Are Bad News Part 2

Second part of me blathering my thoughts all over this old story per the request of a very nice anon! I am still sleep-deprived, so yay~ Sorry, this commentary is probably way less interesting, since this part is just the sexy stuff, but if you have any particular questions, please send me another ask!

Happy to do any of my stories or just answer asks, whatever. I clearly enjoy reading myself talk XD

Comments in bold below the cut! This part is NSFW. Well, it’s all kinky but there’s also sex.

I forgot to mention this in Part 1, but the title of this story is because the homebrew campaign I ran for my friends involved magical evil crystal orbs. Hence they are bad news.

"Are you ever going to stop sneezing?" Remembrance asked.  At the same time, Cordes said, "One thousand blessings, Llewellyn, one for each."  The two of them were several yards ahead on the road, and only Cordes was looking back over his shoulder.  Right now, the four party members were the only travelers on this particular stretch, although as they got closer to civilization, they'd started to pass the odd wanderer, farmers with wagons, even a merchant or two.  The woods here were broken up periodically by stretches of arable land, clear-cut several decades ago and now waving with wheat, flax, or various vegetable leaves.  The fields were golden in the late sun.  Their shadows stretched behind them like taffy, rippling on the cobblestones.  The day was vanishing quickly, and Gerrit could sense his companions' impatience to move on even as he stopped again himself, drawing out his handkerchief in a now very familiar motion.

 Stick your people in a world. That’s my advice. Don’t have them just floating around in a no man’s land of generic scenery. (Also why I like period/historical snzarios and fantasy stuff, because reading about plain people in an apartment somewhere is boring to me.)

Llewellyn, for his part, could not answer them, face buried in his elbow as he ducked with another reluctant outburst. "Hahktschiu!  Hahh- happtsch!"

"Bless," said Gerrit, and he stepped in front of the elf to shield him marginally from view.  He laid one warm hand on the back of Llewellyn's neck and lifted the handkerchief with the other, capturing the next sneeze in the flannel folds.  He settled his fingers firmly around Llewellyn's nose.

This was an arrangement that had been born out of necessity three days ago when the party had raided a bandit camp's plundered stores.  Along with a good stash of gold and gems, they'd found a blue crystal orb, cursed perhaps, that had summarily become attached to both of Llewellyn's hands, rendering the sorcerer unable to do most anything... including take care of his cold on his own.

 On the last episode of Orbs Are Bad News...

Llewellyn blew his nose into the handkerchief, wetting the cloth and dampening Gerrit's fingers through it.  Originally quite opposed to such a display outside of the most private circumstances, the elf had been forced to put his pride aside and let Gerrit help him.  His fever had abated the previous day, but the frequency of his sneezing had increased, as if his body was insistent now on ridding itself of whatever illness remained.  It was a horrific prospect to Llewellyn to catch the resulting mess every time in the sleeve of his robes... so he suffered Gerrit to hold the handkerchief, even though they were walking along the road where any might see them.

Despite some initial teasing, Remembrance and Cordes had quickly grown accustomed to the practice and now cared not at all, except to complain.  "We're going to have to camp again," grumbled Remembrance.  "Five miles from Veigh and we're going to be stuck without a bath!"

 Is five miles a realistic figure here? No fucking clue! I frequently engage in excessive and specific research for my stories, but I didn’t look up how long one might hike for in D&D. Oh well.

"Is there anything I could do for you?" Cordes asked, somewhat exasperated.  The priest had made several herbal concoctions for Llewellyn over the past few days, but none had helped the elf's nose much.  Cordes's specialty was unfortunately not the curing of disease but the mending of bones and flesh.

 I will take any opportunity to make up an excuse as to why the snz cannot be contained. You’re welcome lol

"Ndo," Llewellyn growled, as fed up as the rest of them.  "I'm beyond heh- help. Hngtschiu!"

"Bless you, arimelda," said Gerrit, trying to keep his voice even.  He shifted the handkerchief so that Llewellyn could have a drier spot, trying to ignore a glimpse of slickness on the elf's face.  "Remembrance, Cordes, why don't the two of you go on ahead?  Find an inn, get a room, take a bath, whatever you want.  It might be prudent also to send a message ahead to the Mages Guild about the orb.  Will you do that?  Llewellyn and I will join you when we arrive."

 An elvish word appears! I researched this but not walking.

Cordes nodded.  "Yes, I'll draft a letter as soon as- Hey!"  Remembrance had grabbed his arm and was rushing ahead already.

"Let's go, man!" she said.  "Everyone loves a damn priest; you're my ticket to a good room, so may your god help you if you dawdle."  Her pointed tail swished as she practically jogged down the road.  Cordes spluttered but could no more stand up to her as to a tornado, so off they went.  It was a remarkably short time before the two of them were out of earshot, disappearing around a bend.

 And again, removed so that the main characters can bang, lol.

Gerrit sighed but turned his attention back to Llewellyn, who was blowing his nose again.  The handkerchief was running out of clean corners this late in the day, but the elf leaned back this time when he was finished.  "All set?" Gerrit asked.

"Yes."  Llewellyn rubbed his eyes on his upper arm, wiping away a spare tear from the effort.  "...My apologies."  He cleared his throat, refusing to meet Gerrit's gaze.  "We may arrive after dark."

"You're ill," said Gerrit, trying to fold the flannel in a way as to avoid his pocket getting wet.  "We'd move faster if you let me carry y-"

"No."

"Then I don't mind taking a more leisurely pace."  Gerrit smiled.  Even after everything, Llewellyn was stubborn.  Honestly, since they weren't really in a rush, he didn't really care when they reached Veigh; they'd only detoured here to try and remove the orb.  If Llewellyn, the most inconvenienced, didn't want to give up his pride and piggyback on... well, Gerrit found his noble hauteur inexplicably cute.

 Me too, buddy. Don’t worry, you can carry your elf later.

He also wasn't in a particular hurry because it was awfully uncomfortable to make any sort of time with his arousal pressed flush to his thigh.

A reminder that sex is usually going to be involved in my stories. The snz is not enough by itself.

Llewellyn coughed into his elbow and then started walking again.  Gerrit had pulled back his hood for him in the morning and braided his hair, and the crown of plaits caught the afternoon sunlight like an obsidian.  Gerrit tried not to let his eyes linger on the sorcerer's pale nape.  Or any other part of him.  He and Llewellyn had been travelling together for close to three years, working for their current patron in the capital, and in that time Gerrit had felt himself growing closer to the elf.  Wanting to be closer, anyway.  

Llewellyn shot a glance at him and caught him looking.  Gerrit flushed and turned his gaze back ahead to the road.

"You've been very accommodating during all of this," the elf said, tone carefully neutral.

Gerrit shrugged.  "It doesn't bear mentioning.  We're comrades."

"Comrades," Llewellyn repeated, an edge to his voice that Gerrit couldn't quite place.  "Is that all it is?"  He kicked a stick that had fallen to the cobblestones, sending it into the brush. Somewhere to the right, bumblebees droned over a meadow.

 Llewellyn is kind of a asshole and not super great at communicating with any level of affection, although he does get better.

Gerrit swallowed.  "Yes?  You and I, we've helped each other before.  I consider you to be a steadfast companion."  Eyes on the road.  Eyes on the dappled play of shadowed leaves and light on the ground.  "Why do you ask?"

"So shy," Llewellyn exclaimed, a tad mockingly.  "You've never been shy about taking me to bed, Gerrit."  Despite his short height, the elf seemed to find it easy to look down his nose at the much taller fighter.  "Has something changed?"

 Height difference is also personally sacred to me.

"Changed?"  Eyes on the road.

Llewellyn stopped walking.  "You called me 'arimelda.'  'Dearest.'  Did you think I wouldn't hear you over my sneezing?"  He couldn't cross his arms with his hands trapped by the orb, but the set of his jaw was determined and his firm brows were arched.  "I wasn't so distracted then as you seem to have thought."

Gerrit shoved his hands in his pockets.  He stopped walking but didn't turn.  "Apparently not," he muttered.  "Look, we can set it aside.  Doesn't have to mean anything – doesn't have to change anything.  I know a highborn elf like you wouldn't consider an official relationship with a half-elven bastard, and I've known that from the start.  For my whole life.  So... I care about you.  But it can just be as comrades, or whatever you want it to be."  Llewellyn was quiet, and after a long minute, Gerrit did turn on his heel, desperate to know what kind of reaction he'd provoked.

 The angst of the half-elven existence! Gerrit is a very typical half-elf in terms of D&D characterization, lol. Despite that, I do find these different-lifestyle pairings interesting, so they keep happening, cliche or not. There is a definite pathos in the elf/human relationship because of the different lifespans, of course - most famously depicted through Arwen and Aragorn, probably, although he’s not the exactly typical human. Anyway, it kind of varies how people like to determine elven and half-elven lifespans in D&D depending on the PHB and your DM’s weary forbearance lol, but Gerrit and Llewellyn will expect to live similar lengths because I’m a sap.

He saw Llewellyn standing with his eyes closed and head titled back, lips parted.  The elf's nostrils flared as he gasped.

"Are you going to sneeze again??" Gerrit asked.  He threw up his hands, then went for his handkerchief once more.  They ­did have an arrangement.

He strode back over to Llewellyn's side and tucked the cloth around his nose again, thumb and forefinger just resting on the elf's nostrils.  He started to rub Llewellyn's back.  "You have the worst timing, you know?  Here I am, spilling my heart to you and everything."  

 I laughed writing this part, too. You can’t always let things just be angst.

"Sh-hhuh-t up, I jh- just nih-" Llewellyn gasped again and gave in; he had no other choice.  "Hahktscht!"  He moaned and pressed closer into the handkerchief, thick congestion only aggravating the itch that remained inside.  "Hkktschtt!  Hngtscht!  Hahh- ah-- ankcxttschiu!"

 That sure is a bunch of letters crammed together!

"Easy... it's okay."  Gerrit massaged Llewellyn’s nose, tried to soothe the irritation.  He guided Llewellyn to the side of the road, and, in a moment of calm, settled him to sit on the grassy bank.  He followed, kneeling at the elf's side.  Llewellyn was tearing up again and his nose was twitching against the pads of Gerrit's fingers.  Gerrit felt electric all over.  He found himself wishing the handkerchief was gone so that he might touch the soft, heated skin of Llewellyn's septum, coax the elf to relax and loose his tension, sneeze into Gerrit's palm.  The mess didn't bother him; none of it bothered him.  He was supremely unbothered.  His cock was almost painfully hard.

It took several more minutes punctuated with more urgent expulsions before Llewellyn seemed to trust himself to speak.  His eyes were wet with unshed tears, eyelids tender and reddened.  His nose was brightly ruddy, running to chapped.  He had to take a shaky breath, collecting his thoughts.  "Gerrit."

 I’m a very visual writer. This kink is extremely visually-based for me. I wish I could draw as well as I want to so I could depict these scenes how I imagine them, but eh.

"Yes?"  Gerrit lowered the handkerchief, gently pinching as he did to clear any lingering moisture.  He wasn't ready to hear a rejection, nor did he feel particularly ready for a lecture or a tirade or even a logical exploration of why a relationship was a bad idea.  He wanted, if possible, to keep walking to Veigh, side by side, listening to the bees and dragonflies and songbirds settling in for the evening, feeling the light breeze on his face, replete with the scents of summer.  

"Kiss me."

Gerrit blinked, mental caravan bunching to a halt.  "What?"

 i am so funny omg

Llewellyn nudged him in the chest with the orb.  "Kiss me.  You're all worked up."  He cleared his throat.  "And judging by the state of you, you're not put off by my cold.  So?"  He tilted his head to the side, gently, closed his eyes.  "I want you to kiss me."

 An example of the B character not really forcing the admitting of the fetish but just kind of not caring. That is also okay, and I think it’s normal. People don’t just admit to all their kinks immediately upon entering a relationship.

Baffled, but feeling as though maybe all was not lost, Gerrit obliged, pressing their lips together.  His own eyes slid closed and he cupped Llewellyn's cheek, deepening the kiss, touching their tongues together, trying to convey how he felt.  Whatever had changed.  The kiss lasted for too short a time; Llewellyn broke away to breathe, eyes half-lidded, but he didn't lean away.

 I’ve never kissed anyone, but I consume media. I feel like I am pretty good at depicting things regardless of experience.

"I'm not going to dismiss you out of hand," he said.  "You or your feelings.  But I would ask for some time to think."  He looked up through his lashes.  "Are you feeling better?"

 Another thing I like in romance, even in kink short stories like this, is a more realistic portrayal of the confession than just “It was obviously meant to be~”

Gerrit could feel his pulse in every extremity.  "Not really," he managed, and he kissed Llewellyn again, this time sliding one hand under the elf's head and one at his hip and pressing him back to lay in the grass.  He moaned in his throat as Llewellyn kissed back, and when they had to break for breath, he started to kiss at Llewellyn's forehead, jaw, throat, wherever he could touch skin.  His hands roamed over the elf's body, smoothing over hip and thigh and belly until he could start to undo the buttons on Llewellyn's close-cut robes.

"Gerrit," gasped Llewellyn.  He moved the orb between them, jamming it into Gerrit's sternum.  "You are not going to sleep with me on the side of the damn road!  Get ahold of yourself!"

 He has standards!

Gerrit growled at the quick pain in his chest, then shook his head and leaned back.  He flushed deeply and pulled his hands away.  "Oh.  Oh, fuck, sorry.  I-"

"Pick me up."  Llewellyn lifted his arms.

"What??"  Gerrit's brain was having a hard time keeping up at the moment, all of his blood being elsewhere.

"There was a thicker copse of trees back about thirty feet, on the left."  Llewellyn waved the orb at him.  "Pick me up.  We can lay down there."

 His standards are NOT that high! But he does have them!

So.  So Gerrit ducked his head into the circle of Llewellyn’s arms and picked him up, holding him securely and setting off down the road again, back the way they’d come.  The elf was right; there, about twenty feet back from the bank, was a thick copse of pines, all grown together with wild geranium and maidenhead ferns.  Gerrit pushed through, shoulder first.  Despite its proximity to the thoroughfare, the inside of the stand was quiet and shielded completely from view.  This would do nicely.

 Told you you’d get to carry him soon.

He set Llewellyn back on his feet and made short work of undressing him, first freeing the sorcerer from his pouches and bags, then undoing the silver buttons on his robe from his collarbone to his crotch.  The rich fabric fell open appealingly.  Next, Gerrit freed the elf from his boots and leggings.  A long white shirt, woven from the finest of elven angora, still covered him, but Gerrit pushed the fabric up over Llewellyn’s belly, leaning in to kiss the elf again and touching him intimately.

Llewellyn moaned and nudged Gerrit’s hip with the orb.  “Now you,” he said.  “I want to see your body.”

Gerrit complied, making quick time shedding his cloak, pack, leather armor, breeches, boots.  Two daggers, two short swords, caltrops, a bow and quiver, a glaive, and a spiked whip followed.  He pushed them to the side as Llewellyn rolled his eyes.

This is another funny trope lol, like when a hero or assassin or someone has to go through airport security and the metal detector keeps beeping because they’re carrying 18 knives on their person. Fighters are proficient in every weapon, so why not have one of everything?

"You can't possibly have a use for all of those," the elf said, and then Gerrit captured his mouth again.

He laid Llewellyn down on the soft carpet of pine needles, using his cloak to cover the ground and double as a makeshift pillow.  The elf was beautiful in the shifting shade, skin flawless.  He had the orb resting on his chest and it glowed intermittently in the inconstant sunlight.  The gold chain netting that encapsulated both the orb and Llewellyn's fine-boned hands glimmered.  "You know," said Gerrit, smoothing a hand down Llewellyn's bare thigh.  "You'd look pretty good bound up in gold chain."

"This isn't enough for you?"  He scoffed.

Gerrit laughed.  "It would be fun to tease you.  I love it when you fuss at me.  So cute."  He dodged Llewellyn's elbow and settled down on his stomach, hooked one of Llewellyn's legs over his shoulder, and nuzzled the base of the elf's cock.  "Ready, arimelda?"  His own cock was under him, pressed to his stomach in the confines of his shirt.  He could feel his pulse in the head of it, quickening with the scent of his lover.

"Yes, you prick," sighed the elf, and he moaned when Gerrit started to kiss him and lave his skin.  His fingers flexed on the orb, longing to wind into Gerrit's hair.

 Licking is kind of thing, and I love writing about fellatio so. Yay~

Gerrit took Llewellyn into his mouth eagerly, fingers curled over the elf's thighs, fingertips pressing at the sensitive inner surface as he sucked and teased and swallowed.  Like this, he could focus on Llewellyn's pleasure.  The noises the usually stoic and prideful sorcerer was making were enough to make Gerrit moan, mouth full, and rock his hips.  Nothing pleased Gerrit more than seeing Llewellyn undone, seeing the elf flushed and open and undone for him.  And he shivered, all over, when he heard the elf's breath catch and his tone go wavery.  He thought he could come from this, listening to Llewellyn sneeze while pleasuring him implacably with a heated, well-placed tongue.

 This is also VERY IMPORTANT. Caretaking to the point of like, partner worship idk. It’s good!!

"Aa, aa, ahh- ih- Gerrit, I-" Llewellyn drew his knee up, curling, heel drawing along Gerrit's back.  "I nih- need to snih- hh-"

Gerrit drew his head back, let Llewellyn's cock free for a moment.  He didn't loosen his grip on the elf's legs, though, wound up and desirous.  "Okay by me, melda, it's okay.  Feel all right?  Want me to stop?"  He was breathless himself, had to force the words past the distraction of his arousal, but he would abide.

 Consent is the sexiest thing.

"No, don't stop," Llewellyn groaned, then turned his head to the side.  "Hpptscht!  Hah- Haktschiu!"

"Bless, bless."  Gerrit kissed Llewellyn's thigh tenderly, then nipped it, drew his tongue over the hurt, sucked a bruise to mark its place.  He swallowed Llewellyn down again as the elf cried out in pleasure and then bent with another helpless burst.  Gerrit wondered if he could make Llewellyn come simultaneously with a sneeze and what that might feel like.  The fantasy set him alight.  His abdomen was tight, his cock like a brand on his stomach. He redoubled his efforts.

Gerrit felt it first, when Llewellyn came, in the tightening of the elf's thighs and stomach, then tasted the salt of his release.  His world narrowed down to taking it in, swallowing, milking with his mouth while Llewellyn cried out, going until the elf was pushing him away, keening, oversensitive.  He didn't wait to lift Llewellyn then into his lap, cradling him with one arm and stroking himself with the other hand, desperate to come as well.  Llewellyn pressed his face to the junction of Gerrit's neck and shoulder, tightly gripping the cloth of Gerrit's shirt as they rocked together.  The elf's nose was gently wet and he was panting, sniffling.  Gerrit came with a shout, holding him close, shaking with an overabundance of pleasure.  He let go of his cock and embraced Llewellyn fully.  He had enough presence of mind not to confess to anything, but he couldn't stop himself from murmuring how beautiful, how soft.

 okay. o__o There’s only so much I can say about writing the porn lol. I write what I want to read.

Gradually the world came back.  Birdsong, first, and the bees, the sounds of the trees swaying in the light breeze.  The lingering heat of the day, dampened by the shade and the growing dusk.  The musty smell of pine needles and the sharper hint of sap, the scents of sex, the pressure of Llewellyn astride his lap, the bite of uneven ground against his knees.  Llewellyn was touching his cheek, trying to say something sweet, failing because of his cold again.

 I tried to write this part so that it would not be immediately obvious to the reader, as it is not to the characters, that the orb is gone.

"Ah- hh- Ttschgktst!"

Wetness against his neck.  Gerrit wound his fingers with Llewellyn's and kissed his jaw.  "Bless you," he said.  "I'll find you a healer in Veigh.  We'll get you well again.  Right after we free you from the orb."  He laid his cheek against the back of Llewellyn's hand tenderly.  Then he paused. "Wait."  Straightening, he brought his hands between them.  The right was laced with Llewellyn's left.  "The orb is gone."

Llewellyn straightened also, looking down at his hands.  His hands with no orb.  He lifted them both, amazed.  And then wiped his nose on his wrist, sighing in pleasure.  Gerrit tried not to blush despite everything.

 Me too, buddy.

"Where did it go?" he asked, looking past the elf's shoulder.  "Why did it come off?"

"Who even cares at this point??"  Llewellyn had let go of him and was stretching, running his palms over his body, touching his own arms and face and cock, finally able to move and feel again after three days of magical bondage.  He wiggled his fingers and then clapped his palms together, raising a small flame with their parting.  "I have my freedom back.  I can cast spells again.  I can-" He smiled brilliantly.  "I can touch you, too."  He dropped his hands suddenly to Gerrit's lap, nimbly taking Gerrit's cock between them.

Gerrit lost track of the orb immediately.

 Me too, buddy.

---

It was dark indeed when the two of them made it to the inn in Veigh, but both were in high spirits.  Gerrit had relinquished handkerchief duty back to Llewellyn with a great internal mourning, but he could always fantasize about this again in the future (he did, frequently), and he knew that Llewellyn, despite his best efforts, would catch more colds on the road (he did, more frequently than he would like).

I would love to play a fetish-friendly D&D campaign, but it would be way too embarrassing, probably. My current PC has allergies, but I have never mentioned them in-game and probably never will lol. God help me if my DM ever remembers that I wrote them into my character sheet.

Remembrance and Cordes had only been able to secure one room, it seemed, with two beds.  Gerrit resigned himself, going up the stairs, to sleeping on the floor. But... it was apparent upon entering the small space that... well, their priest and thief had ended up taking up only one of the beds, together.  Gerrit and Llewellyn traded glances.

"I don't think I want to ask," said Llewellyn, going for the free bed.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Gerrit replied, joining him.

The untold story, lol

In the morning, Cordes, with great dignity sprung from embarrassment (the cause of which he did not volunteer) informed them that a letter had not been sent to the Mages Guild yet.  He was immensely relieved to find that one was no longer needed and quick to congratulate Llewellyn on his newly regained freedom.  Remembrance just chuckled from the bed and took her time buckling her armor back on.  

Already in Veigh, the party spent some time stocking up on medicines and liquefying some of the heavier treasures they'd liberated from the bandit camp.  Gerrit sent a message on to their patron to expect them back in the capital in a couple of weeks, barring disaster.  They purchased horses and set out, ready for the next adventure.

---

The orb lay still in the pine thicket, nestled like an egg among the ferns, waiting for the next hapless traveler. 

 Faust’s Orb of Rope Bondage. Make a Will saving throw [DC 15] upon touching the orb with any body part, wearing clothes or not. Upon a failure, the orb will find its way to adhere to the hand of the hapless adventurer. If both hands touch the orb, they will both be stuck. If two people fail the save, one of each of their hands will be stuck. The spell can be broken only if each attached party has an orgasm.

I GUESS

[xombigirl]

Can I tell you about my new DnD character? I'm about to be starting a curse of strahd campaign and my character is a illusionist wizard named Chara (Hyar-uh) Kovacheva! While she appears human, she's actually a homebrew race i created called the dollem, because she was sculpted from clay and brought to life like a golem, but thats already a creature in dnd and she's inspired by the doll from bloodeborne. Her mentor and creator Nikolai Kovachev was an illusionist working with his apprentice Klava who he was deeply, darkly, obsessively in love with. They were trying to essentially make illusions that could exist outside of the caster's magic. But when Klava found out Nikolai was trying to create a person, she freaked out. Nikolai, having already seen her with a man in the village, locked himself in his workshop and created an identical replica of Klava. When she found out she was naturally terrified and left for good. This creation was given the name Chara, which means pleasure from pain in Greek, and while she looks exactly like Klava she has a much more quiet timid personality. After years of training her (which BTW weakened Nikolai greatly cause he basically transferred some of his life to her) he tried to kiss Chara, she was confused by this action since she's kind of a self learning android. Nikolai, finally coming to terms with what he has done, begs Chara to poison his tea, which she does, and she leaves the manor. Currently from our session zero she's just stolen a necklace and is hiding in the woods. Also the only part of her that shows that she isn't human is her hands, which have ball joints so she's always wearing white gloves. I hope your day and weekend gets better im so sorry to hear you're having such a rough time 🌻🌻🌻

*chin hands* I AM ALWYAS HERE FOR D&D CHARACTERS!!!!!!

She sounds so cool!!! I don't know if you've ever listened to The Magnus Archives but I'm getting serious The Stranger vibes and I AM HERE FOR IT!!!! I also love some good angst in a backstory!! I hope your campaign goes amazing!!

[rocksfalleverybodydice]

LGBTQ+ D&D

hello adventurers!

i’m an Australian DM/player looking for some queer folks for a couple of long-term homebrew (5e) D&D games. one is currently in-progress and the other will be starting once we’ve found the right players. both will be RP-heavy with occasional combat. the tone is generally lighthearted with a mix of angst, drama, and intrigue. they’re open to LGBT+ people who are 18+ years old, and are very beginner friendly! games are geared towards cooperation and teamwork, with plenty of opportunity to explore individual character arcs as well as interesting homebrew worlds. (as such, no characters who are edgelords/murderhobos/min-maxed/evil/etc will be allowed.)

the ongoing campaign (DMed by me) is played weekly on Thursday nights at 7pm AEST. the yet-to-start campaign (DMed by my friend/player/DM) will also be 7pm AEST, on a day yet to be determined (probably a weeknight). this means it’s good for people around the GMT+10 timezone, or those close to GMT. both use Discord for voice and Roll20 for maps, so a working mic and decent internet connection are both required.

if you’re interested, please reply to this or send me an ask/message with the following: your name; age; pronouns; timezone; a bit about yourself; what you’re looking for in a D&D campaign; and why you want to join either of these groups (and, for bonus points, an example of a character you might like to play). if you have questions about either campaign, feel free to ask them either here or privately. and if you’re not interested in these games but happened to stumble upon this post, please consider reblogging so we can reach a wider audience.

happy adventuring, everyone!

[jamiebluewind]

Pok The Nightmare King?

***

@skysfallingbaby proposed an interesting concept. "Maybe Pok Gukgak is the Nightmare King". And while this theory make a lot of things a lot more messed up (like trying to use Riz in a sacrifice), it got my theorist senses a tingling.

So, without futher ado, let's get started.

***

First off, What is Pok exactly? We can assume that the Nightmare King doesn't just look like a goblin as he doesn't actually look like any one race when people have tried to describe him. We could guess some kind of magical effect that alters his appearance, but the Nightmare King was also banished (a spell with no time limit outside homebrew rules, unless the spell is not held for a minute or the creature is banished while already on their own plane) and seeing as Pok lived on the material plane for years, he couldn't be the Nightmare King... technically. The thing is, the Nightmare King doesn't have to be there to be there. Ragh's mom was piloting a clone of herself in real time while her real body was unconscious and housed miles underground (possibly in the molten core of the planet). A goblin suit could be piloted by the Nightmare King using the same principles. Even a direct connection to the Nightmare King is established in game via his corrupting influence constantly leaking from his plane of existence into the material plane (specifically in Silvar).

The next question that comes to mind is Why did Kalvaxus eat Pok if they were allied? and to that I say Do we know for sure that he did? What we do know is this...

Kalvaxus taunted that he ate Pok, but he did it in the middle of a battle to throw off Riz.

Kalvaxus would have eaten Pok while bound. Barring being able to enlarge/reduce Pok (and even then, he would only shrink to about the size of a cat), it would have taken a 6 to 7 foot tall dragonborn a WHILE to eat someone 1/2 his height and 1/5 his weight, bones and all (and dragons and dragonborns don't even have the established voracious appetite goblins do).

Riz and Sklonda were told Pok died at sea until Kalvaxus said otherwise.

Pok and Shadow Cat/Calina worked together

Shadow Cat/Calina was absent at Pok's funeral and never contacted Sklonda or Riz afterward.

Shadow Cat was spotted immediately after the battle with Kalvaxus (making it possible that she was given a heads up about Kalvaxus' plans).

So, using this information it's not that hard to theorize that Pok might not have been eaten or was eaten under the orders of the Nightmare King. Reasons to taunt might have been something The Nightmare King told him to say once free or just something he said to rattle Riz knowing it couldn't be proven. Reasons to ask to be eaten could have been to dispose of a clone he was piloting without risking leaving a magical trace behind (which could have been done regularly for one reason or another, but if Kalvaxus got caught red handed, they would have had an established story set up and a witness to it happening).

There's also a few things that happen during the Shadow Cat/Riz dialogue that take on a whole new meaning. I'll link the dialogue below, but one exchange really stands out. She said "Pok Gukgak. It's a good man" and when Riz asked what went wrong between them, she said "Nothing went... wrong between us" immediately followed by her offering "a little information swap" and to answer a question about his dad in exchange for answering her own. This was despite Riz previously saying "I wanna know where the crown is. I wanna know where Fabian is. I wanna know why people are coming for us in our sleep." and thus already knowing what information Riz would trade for.

Finally, let's look at Riz.

He is the son of Pok and Sklonda Gukgak.

He is an inquisitive rogue and on more than one occasion has been described as being "one with the shadows".

He has always has issues with sleeping, often avoiding it or just not getting enough of it.

He has always been able to see Shadow Cat and has met her at least once.

He was going to be sacrificed on an alter by a Nightmare King controlled Fig to complete some kind of ritual.

He was not attacked in his dreams when he failed his throws, the first time getting Baron while awake and the second time pounced on by Shadow Cat while asleep (while even Ragh was attacked in his sleep and got up while already under dominate person as Adaine watched).

Shadow Cat knew a lot of stuff about Riz, including current stuff ("I know that YOU only do things to kinda distract yourself from how DEEPLY sad you are that your dad is gone, I get that. The maidens and then you find the maidens and then it's on to the next thing and the conspiracy board and you don't sleep and you're digging digging digging- it's like when you were in that palimpsest. You will dig until your own hands are bleeding...").

Shadow Cat's first offer to get his intel was to answer a question about his dad if she got to ask him a question in return (followed by saving Fabian despite that being one of the things he asked for).

Some of these wouldn't hold water alone, but combined they paint a very interesting picture. Shadow Cat being so familiar with Riz makes more sense if she has been keeping an eye on the son of her boss off and on for a long time. It also explains why Shadow Cat immediately offered to give him intell on his dad in exchange for answering a question and clicking her tongue when he turned it down like he did. Riz being the son of the Nightmare King (maybe only a tiny part or an infused thing due to how it happened) would mean he's probably immune to some Nightmare magic and skilled with others (like how half-elves are immune to Sleep, but can't trace), which explains why he has yet to get attacked while dreaming and his natural stealth skills, perceptiveness, and sleep issues. The Nightmare King trying to use Riz in a ritual sacrifice instead of just some guy on the street might mean his son is required for it.

This all leaves me with so many questions.

Considering how strategic the Nightmare King is, why exactly would he pick Sklonda?

Could Pok have fathered Riz specifically to sacrifice later, as a backup for something, or as a cover for being around certain people?

Why did Pok leave and was it planned?

What was Pok really up to during his life as a spy?

Is Riz required somehow to bring back the Nightmare King?

Does the ritual actually require Riz to die and if so, could they revive him without causing the ritual to fail (like if it required a lethal amount of blood from Riz or a mortal wound)?

What will Gorthalax reveal once he's freed (which will most likely happen once Ayda learns Plane Shift and has a slot free to use it)?

Could someone in the party potentially question Kalvaxus (maybe with the help of Gorthalax or a specific spell)?

***

Special thanks to @skysfallingbaby for the bardic inspiration for this tinfoil time. I honestly hadn't considered the possibility until you mentioned it, but the moment I did I just HAD to follow the logic to see where it led. It really surprised me how many pieces fell into place the further I went. It really was an absolute delight to research. Thank you ^_^

***

Original Post