#hes a dungeon master he knows how to spell

[keeksandgigz]

eddie munson is the type of guy to text you "babe u look urethral" when you send him a pic of yourself

[pursuitseternal]

“Release Me:” ⛓️ Chains and feral smut ⛓️ for “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader |E| 2K

“Chains” prompt for Ascended Astarion Week

Summary: After weeks of captivity and starvation, you finally rescue your love from his enemies. But the beast chained in the cell barely knows himself or you… until you’ve satisfied all his hungers.

CW: Blood kink (I just wanted a reason to have them fuck covered in blood), Feral/primal play, desperate sex, long nailed AA, prison sex, bondage/mild BDSM

Ao3 link | Astarion Fic Masterlist

⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥

Musty, dark, dead. The bowels of the Red Wizard’s tower are worse than a dungeon. Not a speck of light, no slight hint of breeze. It is a tomb. A coffin. And inside somewhere is your love.

You can feel him, his blood calling to you, even as his mind has unraveled these long weeks of capture. You get fleeting images of his senses: the wide-eyed fear in his chest to be imprisoned in the dark. Away from his beloved sun. The racing pant of his breath to be so enclosed, not unlike that year he never speaks of under Cazador’s torment. Locked away. You feel the stinging of silver chains gnawing at his flesh, burning just enough to sap his strength, but not so strong as to kill him.

This was meant for pain, constructed for punishment, to hold him until his enemies would kill him. Your beloved. Your lord and king and master, overthrown by his foolish need for more power. You told him not to go alone to seek the remnants of the Red Wizards of Thay… you warned him they would want their tome returned and would punish him for knowledge of it.

Even the decrepit remnants of a failed cult can win from time to time.

Your chest burns as you try to catch your breath, your skin and armor slick with the blood of your enemies. But your feet propel forward regardless, pulled by the tether of your bond to Astarion.

You heave a sigh of relief to finally find the cells, thick black doors almost indecipherable in the darkness. A little daylight spell, and your eyes adjust to find a dozen doors carved from the bedrock of this damnable tower. The rattling of metal links, the rough snarls of breath grows louder as you close your eyes and follow the ragged beat of his ascended heart.

Hand shaking, you pull out a Knock spell scroll, a sigh of relief that your own Wizard companion of old had prepared you to take on these foes. Even as your fingers stick to the parchment, hands soaked in blood, you recite the word, and the edge of the cell door glows bright white for a moment.

Resonant, it creaks open on its ancient hinges, revealing a pair of glowing red eyes and the crescendo of dry-throated breath. His body drags across the floor towards your daylight, and your heart bursts with ache to finally see him again. Tears sting your eyes.

Paperwhite and beyond deathly pale, his gaunt face leers at you from the darkness. Lines of red, of raw flesh cross his neck and bare arms and legs where he has been chained.

Chained naked.

Your bile rises in your stomach as you curse his captors souls, glad you have already put those Wizards to a bloody, eviscerating death. You’d do it all again, just to punish them for how they’ve tortured your love. Breathing his name, you enter his cell, the walls of black stone absorbing the light of your spell, it seems. But it gives off enough for you to see every line of his hollowed face, every crest of his bony frame.

Astarion twists against his chains, his mind a pulsing mess of feelings and words, too feral to even speak yet. But one word comes across clearly.

Blood.

His nostrils flare, his tongue dangling over his fangs as he scans your spattered armor. A predator with the scent of prey in his nose.

There’s blood in the air…

He’s too hungry, too starved for blood and for you to be safe. Not with they way his eyes are wild and his tongue laps at his jaw. “Astarion,” you speak, making his black-blown eyes focus on you. “I’m here my love,” you reach a hand out to caress his silver hair, but he just snaps his fangs at you once you're in reach. Those silver chains holding him just shy of disaster.

“Naughty,” you try to chide him, but the humor is lost on his hungry body and soul. Mind racing, your feet race faster, hands finding the closest fallen enemy to drag it back after you down the hall. Then you leave it, ignoring the muffled grunts and growls and slurps he makes as he drains the corpse completely.

When you glance back inside, he looks at you, steadier, calmer, and covered in blood. He still crouches on the ground, hands and feet and neck bound, but now he croaks your name. “Darling,” his voice pains you with recognition, “I knew you’d come.”

You hurry to his side, kicking that light, bloodless corpse to the side. The silver chains at his ankles sting you, but it’s nothing compared to the pain of separation you have endured for weeks. You pull the silver apart in your hands, freeing his legs so he can stretch them out at long last.

A deep grunt of relief sounds from his chest. Your hands work up and down one leg, then the other, trying to soothe the tension and numbness and blood flow.

As you reach the top of his thighs, you withdraw in surprise. His cock achingly hard, juts against his belly, twitching and pink and… happy to see you too.

“I have missed you,” his voice caresses your ear and rushes down your spine, the chains at his neck clinking their high-pitched music as he leans against you. Nose buried in your hair, he inhales your scent like a drowning man gasps for air. “I can’t wait another moment, my love.” His voice unearthly, barely more than a growl, his hands chained near his belly reach into your armor.

You notice his nails, literally clawing for you, seeking your flesh. Nails, so long unkempt, have taken on their wild form, the razor sharp talons of a vampire lord. “I was so worried…. I missed you, my love,” you sigh, an edge of fear in your belly as you long to kiss those bloodstained lips with your own. Ignoring the sting, you grab the silver chain, a little yank to tug at him, making a playful, aroused smirk turn his dripping, scarlet lips as his body draws closer.

“I am master of myself once more,” his brows cant rakishly, even in the dark. “I won’t bite unless you ask very… very… nicely,” he croons straining against your leash.

“Oh, I think you're asking for more than a nibble,” you tease to release some of the fear that still lingers in your veins. Never have you been separated from him since you turned, and never, not even during the Rite of Ascension and your fight against his old master have you feared his death more than these past weeks. Floodgates break, your need to touch him and taste him overpowering all logic and fear.

Your fingers work quickly, unlatching your breastplate and cuisses, eyes locked into his as he watches your every move, tongue licking the blood from the corner of his mouth absentmindedly. You let the metal clang to the floor. Those two restrained hands extend for you, making the chains around his arms hiss as the magic sears more into his flesh anew.

“Hold still,” you order, crouching to grab the chains and tug them free from his flesh, his wounds instantly closing up now that he is well-fed once more.

For all the pain that must be lancing through his body, he just holds your stare with his own, sultry and feral and commanding. “Now, where were we?” he purrs, hands trembling to finally touch your body. Even with sapped strength, he pulls you flush against him, bringing you close. Slotting you in your place against his body. Those blood-caked claws dig into the supple cover of your leathers, tearing through it at your hips and down the seams as though they are paper. You’ll worry about decency later, for now you’re of one mind, unable to think until you’ve joined again.

You sink your body onto his cock, and he sinks his fangs into your blood-spattered neck. Your groans bounce off the pitch black walls, a roar of bliss and relief and release. No more fear or danger, aside from the fear of coming too quickly and the danger of spending hours fucking once more, covered in the drying gore of your foes.

The thought tickles from your mind to his, and he laughs as he thrusts up into you. “Just like old times,” he rasps between swallows from your neck.

Like old times, like every time, your body follows its instincts, finally filled with what you have most craved. His cock stretches you, a nearly unfamiliar pressure once more, but you hardly notice, not with how dripping wet you’ve become just to feel his breath on your neck and savor his muscled frame thrusting into you.

Tears prick at your eyes but you won’t let them wash that blood from your cheeks. No, you just grip into his hair, pulling his mouth from the puncture wounds in your neck to your own waiting lips. The copper tang of your blood floods your mouth as his tongue sweeps inside, the familiar taste of your own blood mixing with the nasty pollution of your enemies’ he drained earlier.

It sours your stomach, the taste, but you’re too lost in the way his breath warms you, inside and out. Those long, feral nails score into your back, wandering quickly between your writhing bodies. With low, rumbling growls into your mouth, he grips your waist, moving you and holding you in place as he fucks harder. More erratic. More hellsbent on that release he needs.

His voice fills your ear, “My Consort, my love, my pet, my saviour,” he pours your beloved epithets over you, breath ragged and out of synch with his roughly snapping hips. One hand lies splayed on the stone behind him, that extra leverage driving him deeper with abandon. He’s thickening inside you, so hot and too quickly.

“Don’t get carried away,” you chide, yanking at the chain around his neck, making his crimson eyes stare at you with lust-blown pupils. “You haven’t even given me a reward yet for my daring bravery, my love.” You make him hiss, his slack mouth baring his fangs in pleasure-ridden pain. “And you haven’t even granted me an apology for running headlong into this… foolishness,” you cock your chin and tug his chain-leash again. “Promise me, no more ludicrous missions without me.”

He growls but nods, hands digging at your ass, not one hint of resistance.

“Then I’m satisfied, well…” you wriggle, clenching your walls on his throbbing cock inside you, “soon to be satisfied.” A laugh shared on both your panting lips, you ride his lap, bringing him back under a steady rhythm, drawing out his pleasure until you’ve had yours as well. He pulls against his last remaining chain, and you tut your tongue. One of your hands brings his fingers into the apex of your thighs, coaxing his finger to circle your clit with every buck. Your other hand releases that leash, freeing it from his flesh at last so you can grab his chin. Then you lick… long and cleansing, tasting the remnants of your blood, and your enemies’, and faint traces of his own.

That warm tip of his tongue laps at the corner of his lips, his breath heavy as he feels your walls fluttering around his cock. Spine arching, hips canting fervently, you scream for him, tears in your throat and down your face at last, as if you didn’t believe you’d ever be brought to orgasm by him again. Sharp nails score into the sensitive flesh of your folds, hips slamming into your last waves of pleasure as he spills inside you, spurt after spurt of his seed filling you and leaking to the prison floor beneath you both.

Crimson eyes glance up at you, wild and sated, hungry and happy all at once. “Get me home, my Consort,” he whispers. “You’ll be coming on my cock in our bed next.”

You smirk, breathless, pulling out a scroll to open a portal to your palace. As you stand, you kick the chains at your feet with your boot, thankful he’s released into your care once more.

⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️

💞 to @marimosalad and @nyx-knox

[linddzz]

Latest idea floating around in my head: a twist on the Hob saving Morpheus from the time-out ball, except that's where they first met each other.

Hob's still immortal, it's just that Death was the one who came and gave him the deal of meeting every 100 years

(is this also bc I'd love Death being Hob's centennial buddy? Her being way less reserved and straight up telling him who she is. Her delight at his delighting over life. The rage in him when Eleanor and Robyn die. Death took them and she wouldn't even say anything to him when she did it. Also I'd like to see him just immediately choke and squirm like a bastard as soon as he starts explaining his new shipping business to her in 1789. Yes and hell yes gimme Hobsie and Death as bros.)

So Hob is trying out new stuff again. He's never tried out being a magus and gets himself in as a member of Burgess' order and eventually an acolyte.

And then he's introduced to the "devil" that Burgess keeps in the dungeon. He's to help study up on strengthening the wards around the sphere and all that. And boy is he deeply, super uncomfortable with the sight of this frail man trapped in a cage.

("Don't let his pretty face fool you." Burgess will tell him, "the thing is a demon who would destroy us all if given half a chance."

To be fair, Morpheus does not help his case at all and his expression clearly says "you fuckin bet I will")

And Hob is Hob. So while he's working on studying up on wards (which so happens to involve a lot of careful, detailed study of the wards around the sphere) he's chatting at the thing in it. He complains about the boss, talks about the War, tells the demon about his day while the demon either glares at him or makes a hilariously big show of not paying attention. Sometimes Hob straight up shirks work (with a winking "you won't tell the boss right?") And just reads books.

And he nearly shrieks in surprise when he's reading some new novel called The Hobbit out loud and looks up to find the demon watching and obviously interested. So of course Hob is gonna keep reading him stories and keep studying those binding spells super closely.

And ok that's where I gotta admit the story doesn't have a solid conclusion in my head yet (besides obviously Hob is gonna bust Dream out and then get kissed a LOT) but I do have one bit where Morpheus first talks to him and of course it's just cryptic weird shit. Because Morpheus has started watching this shit-wizard who won't shut the fuck up back and can tell that something is OFF about him.

So just imagine Hob is yammering away about how he thinks the masters kid and the gardener have something going on, and he nearly shits himself when the "demon" presses a hand against the glass and says

"Death has touched you. I see it now. My siblings marks upon you. Is that what you are here for? To report to them? To let them see how low their family has come? So they do know what has come of me then, and they have sent you to chatter away and truly make it clear that they will do nothing."

Hob's just like. "WHAT?? SIBLINGS?! You TALK??! Hang on you know Death???!" But Morpheus already is back to curling in on himself in a furious pissy sulk

[dadsbongos]

Hi!!! Hope you’re doing well - I just want to take a moment to gush before I ask something, because I’ve really enjoyed your blog since finding it:

1: your writing is SO good I’ve reread your dunmesh fics several times now & just eat them up every reread. I’m stoked you also have funger content & can’t wait to eat those up

2: your blog’s aesthetic is just 🤌🤌 chefs kiss

3: your chilchuck’s wife fic - I’m convinced you are the chilchuck expert you characterized him so well (& the bit in the 3some fic when he choked the reader ? gulp)

OKAY on the with the actual question: I was wondering if you have any chil thoughts for the chilfuckers? Maybe some sfw / nsfw?

thank youuu :] i'm so glad to provide for the dungeon community with both meshi and funger <3 and also extra glad to make the chilchuck people proud, he's my fav lil man

i have so many chilthoughts bc i am a verified chilfucker i need that middle aged man

nsfw chilthoughts 

MEAN mean man

Likes to make his partners huff and whine, especially if they start haughty or mouthy

Facefucking, especially, for the mouthy ones. Wants to shut you up and make you drool

Lately the thought of Chilchuck fist-fucking a bigger race has been making me sweat… like yeah lil man, get up in that thang… I need to write it. Maybe some dwarven wench who keeps mocking Chil, or an ogre that feels its appropriate to pick n lift him up while working

Schrodinger’s breeder kink - sometimes its all he’s thinking about and sometimes the thought is entirely uninteresting

Touched on it a BIT in my body swap fic but i think Chil has a really sensitive neck and likes being held there (maybe not choked, but grabbed and stroked for sure)

Has a secret goon for younger partners but doesn’t like admitting to it, the taboo of it makes him all hot especially since he knows most other races can’t tell. Like a VERY poorly kept secret that could ruin his distinguished reputation

i also have chilchuck fic ideas that i haven’t fleshed out, but thought it’d be a shame if they sat in my ‘puter unseen:

Idea 1: Reader is a young elf, only about 72, and against all odds began dating Chilchuck. On his 30th birthday, it's brought to attention that you’ll be in your 90s when he dies. Leading to a spiral wherein you’re just trying to live in blissful ignorance to your races’ lifespan difference, and Chilchuck assumes you’re mature enough to handle his death, move on, and remember him fondly… lol… anyway. When Chilchuck dies you study how to maintain your own mana without a dungeon and practice minor healing spells until you can do a full revival, which fails on Chil, so you have to turn to dark magic. Basically rewinding his life until he’s the same age as when you two met and he’s upset you brought him back because YOU could get in major trouble and that’s when you confess you didn’t tell anyone when he died bc you knew you’d bring him back -- and you’re a nutcase that keeps doing this every time he dies despite knowing he wants to die peacefully. Omg loving someone so much you need them at all costs even ruining their perception of you… 

Idea 2: Chilchuck helping a 20-ish(+?) y/o half-foot negotiate a contract for themself and he thinks they’re soooooo cute so they get together, and he’s kinda nervous to bring them around cuz you’re crazy young compared to him. Not even a child to speak of GASP. The party doesn’t notice at ALL cuz they have no idea about anything about half-foot aging and customs -- but his daughters look at him sideways lmao

and this is literally not even a full fic idea but i have a note from my chilchuck master doc for you lol

im so normal about him

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

The Truth of the Matter

A/N: Warning dirty talk and misunderstandings of a certain word.

Summary: One day, Eddie, Dustin, Lucas, and Mike decide to summon a fairy. . .it's Steve Harrington. Chaos ensues. Pre-season 4, pre-Steddie.

Eddie pouted as he sat down on his throne. He was really looking forward to playing tonight, but Gareth, Jeff, and Frankie were all out sick. They had all gotten mono, which is what they get for practicing kissing. Gareth immediately yelled at him for that comment. Apparently, that's not what happened. Eddie was cackling to himself when the door opened. Dustin, Mike, and Lucas all filtered in talking excitedly.

"Hey, buttheads, did you not get the memo? Hellfire has been canceled," Eddie said.

"We thought you were joking," Dustin said.

"You never cancel Hellfire for anything," Lucas frowned.

"Well, Jeff, Gareth, and Frankie are all out sick with the kissing disease," Eddie said.

"Oh, that's right, they weren't at lunch," Mike said.

"Well, now what?" Lucas asked.

"You boys want to perform a spell?" Eddie said. "I found this cool little book at a Flea Market. Want to try it?"

Mike, Lucas, and Dustin all shared weary looks.

"Uh. . . "

"What? Don't be a bunch of chicken shits. Nothing is going to happen. It's just for fun," Eddie said. "What could possibly go wrong?"

"Of course, nothing is going to happen," Dustin said laughing. "That would he crazy."

"You're laughing a little hard there, Henderson," Eddie said. "It's not like I'm going to accidentally open a portal to hell."

Now, it was Lucas, Dustin, and Mike all laughing rather loudly. Eddie gave them all strange looks.

"Robes!" Eddie exclaimed, clapping his hands.

"We have those?" Lucas asked, and Eddie just cackled.

Several moments later, they lowered the lights and slipped on robes that covered their faces. Lit candles were scattered around them as Eddie opened a leather bound book in front of them.

"Why in the fuck did I get stuck with the pink robe?" Mike asked. "Why are all the others black and this one is pink?"

"You were too slow, Mike. Now, hush," Dustin said.

"What are we summoning?" Lucas asked.

"A fairy," Eddie replied.

"Why a fairy?" He asked.

"Well, according to this book, fairies have extraordinary healing abilities, bring you good luck, and have the ability to shield you from harm," Eddie said. "Sounds cool although, sometimes they have shitty luck themselves, so I don't know how that works."

"It also says they're loneliest creatures on the planet because they're wildly misunderstood," Dustin read over his shoulder. "Rather than harming children like some think, these creatures do everything in their power to protect them from harm. Most of the time, it is because they themselves were stolen in the night as children to be used by human greed. Aw, why didn't you say you just wanted to summon a lonely fairy who protects children?"

"Shut it, Henderson," Eddie said.

"And you're sure they won't be able to see our faces?" Dustin asked, and Eddie gave him a look. "Right. Shutting up."

Eddie began speaking and used his deep dungeon master voice as he said the spell. After the entire spell was done, they waited. . . and waited. . . Finally, a huge gust of wind swirled around them, the flames grew large, and the lights flickered behind them. Suddenly, a figure was falling in the middle of their circle with a loud thud.

"I was on a fucking ladder! What the fuck!" Steve’s voice yelled. "Oh, there's the light bulb. Huh, it didn't break."

Steve flopped onto his back and screamed at the sight of hooded figures surrounding him. Surprised voices whispered excitedly as they looked down on him. Steve furrowed his eyebrows in confusion at the sight of the bright pink one.

"Do not be afraid, Steve Harrington," a deep voice spoke. "We mean you no harm."

"What the fuck do you want from me?" Steve asked. "How did you even bring me here?"

"Magic. . .tell us your deepest, darkest secrets," the voice said.

"Fuck. Fuck! Okay! Okay! I, uh, like blue and yellow, but what everyone doesn't know, besides Robin, is that I like the color pink," Steve said.

"Interesting, but not what we're looking for," the voice said.

"I always wanted a little brother, but it wasn't until the kids I babysit came into my life that I finally got the siblings I always wanted, and I think if anyone of them died, I would die," Steve said.

"Aw," a familiar voice said softly and sniffled.

"That's . . . Really fucking sweet but no, not what I'm looking for," the voice said.

"Okay, okay. . .Robin's like my best friend in the world, my platonic soulmate, but I lied to her. She asked me if I was still in love with Nancy Wheeler, and I lied, I think I always will be. I just didn't want to seem so pathetic because I know it's over," Steve said. "Is that it?"

"Uh. . .warmer. . ."

"I once had a sex dream where I was with Jonathan and Nancy, but I never told anyone because I thought it would be weird."

"What the fu - "

"Quiet," the deep voice said. "That isn't what I'm looking for, but, uh, close."

"Okay, I once got my dick sucked at a party by a guy, and it led me to a lot of realizations. . ." Steve trailed off.

"OKAY. . .mi'lord, I do not think this man knows that he is a fairy," one of the figures said.

"HEY! That is a really offensive term. I'm bisexual," Steve replied. "Sacrifice me all you want but respect my sexuality please. Although I once used a rude term, I didn't know about myself at the time. Do you want to talk before you kill me?"

"You're, uh, surprisingly calm now," the deep voice said. "For someone who thinks we're going to kill them."

"Well, it's happened too many times now," Steve shrugged. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

". . .no."

"Well, I wish I was a woman sometimes. . .mostly because I wish I could go through the birthing process. . . I don't think my parents are my real parents. . . I once let Robin touch my dick because she wanted to know what it felt like. . . It was weird for both of us. . .sometimes I think about getting on my knees for Eddie Munson and - "

"OOKAY! STEVE, STOP SPILLING YOUR DEEP DARK SECRETS! I ACCEPT YOU FOR ALL OF IT BUT SOME THINGS SHOULD REMAIN A MYSTERY!"

"Let him speak!" The deep voice said.

"Stop with the sexual ones, at least!"

"Okay. . .um, it makes me really happy to know that I have a hobby to share with one of my kids. I mean, at least one of them, you know, understands why I like basketball so much. I love all of my kids, and I really wish I could play D&D, but I'm not great at math. I don't want to look more stupid in front of them. More importantly, I could be doing anything with them, and I still feel less alone knowing they want me to be around them. . . Even if they're being shitheads. I love it though, when they bitch at me. They're my family, and I've never really felt like I had that until they came along," Steve said. "Robin, too. She's my family too."

Suddenly, all Steve could hear was the sound of them sniffling, and they dropped to their knees around him. They dropped their hoods, revealing Mike, Dustin, and Lucas. They all hugged him tightly.

"What the fuck?" Steve asked.

"We'll explain it all later," Dustin sniffled. "Just know that we love you too."

"Oh, you're also adopted," Mike muttered.

"He wasn't adopted! He was kidnapped!" Lucas exclaimed.

"Oh, right."

The other person dropped their hood, revealing Eddie Munson.

"So, what was that thing you wanted to do with Eddie?" He asked with a smirk.

Suddenly, the doors burst open and Robin came running in, breathing heavily.

"Guys! Steve was changing the light bulb in Family Video, and he just disappeared - oh, hey, Steve! Steve! What the fuck's going on?!" Robin asked.

"Robin, guess what?!" Mike asked. "Steve’s a fucking fairy!"

"No! Robin, don't punch Mike! That's not what he meant!"

Mike screamed.

Part Two

[cartograffiti]

If you want to run a Court of Fey & Flowers Game, dnd isn't what you need

...because it's not what the Dimension 20 cast played, either.

I talked about this a little bit once before, very early in the season, but now that it's done, it's really clear to me that they played Good Society by Storybrewers with a few Dungeons & Dragons elements hacked in, not the other way around. Aabria Iyengar loves Good Society, and it really shows. She merged the systems really beautifully to suit the expectations of D20, and that's why I think players at home will get a better experience by starting with GS materials than by trying to reverse engineer the mechanics Iyengar showed in action.

Things they got from DnD:

-Skill levels/stats.

-Rolling dice to determine success.

-The game master/facilitator (Aabria) playing most characters.

-Some creatures and spells (the dog that has an old man's face, the telepathy spell I can never remember the name of).

-Aabria giving out Inspiration.

Things they got from Good Society:

-The principle of having a character goal that may be kept secret. (In fact, some of D20's specific goals were probably even chosen from Good Society materials. The player character with a secret spouse? There's a card for that.)

-Social reputation tracked by degrees, conferring descriptions and perks. (They did not use GS's exact system. Whether it was a hack or a mix with a game system I haven't played, I don't know.)

-Trading tokens that can be burned to make strong moves. (Again, not GS's exact mechanic--GS uses tokens throughout instead of dice. That game lets you decide what your character is capable of. Tokens make sure everyone has fair chances to act, especially when players have conflicting goals.)

-Additional guidelines and mechanics for agreeing on how the table wants social events to work, as well as how to navigate the varying dynamics of relatives, friends, and rivals.

-Rumors and epistolary phases. (There's a fun post going around about Brennan asking about these because "he wanted to get a good grade in dnd," but I think he was sincerely curious how they worked, because they aren't dnd!)

-The overall cycle of play, dictating the order of phases and pace.

-Some mechanics for the reputations and interactions of fae courts as entities were taken from Good Society's Fae Courts mini-expansion.

-Monologue tokens. (D20 has Aabria as the only one who can use these, GS allows anyone in the game to ask someone to monologue.)

-Additional guidelines for determining world state, character creation, and keeping the story within a consistent style and tone that feels like a recognizably Regency story...even when giant owlbears can get gay married.

-Other flavoring and approach details.

Things Good Society has that Dimension 20 didn't get to show off:

-The ability for players to also choose a secondary character to control, allowing them to participate in more roleplay and experience multiple personalities or social roles in the same game.

-A really rich and thoughtful collaboration phase, before the story begins.

-The ability to share facilitator duties among the table, and to allow the facilitator to play a main character as well as supporting cast.

-Advice and expansions for adjusting the game to various tones, genres, and other historical periods.

So you're looking at buying Good Society:

What you need is pdfs. Definitely grab the base game for $21.00, that has most of what I just described. If you're excited to see their Fae Court specific materials, it's included in the Expanded Acquaintance bundle with many other pieces of content, or there's a bundle of the base game and every expansion they've produced. You do not need to buy the more expensive bundles that include physical books and cards unless professional physical versions delight you, the pdfs are designed to be printable. Storybrewers also made and provide spreadsheet templates for sessions meeting online, so you can all see your worksheet choices.

Good Society is a really fun and flexible system, and it's most of what we loved about how A Court of Fey and Flowers was structured. It's your best route to a recreation, and well worth playing in its original form. I love that it doesn't have stats and dice--if you've never played a ttrpg that doesn't make you do math, this is a great introduction. I'm so glad Aabria featured it on the show!

[devildomresidentt]

Random Obey Me headcanons 2

Solomon comes up with most of his recipe ideas when he’s completely and entirely blackout stoned, he usually proceeds with them the day after the damage is done.

Belphie is a natural Ginger like Beel, but he decides to dye it a dark blue and white because he thinks it looks better on him.

Diavolo HEAVILY enjoys taking strolls around the Devildom on his special Unicyle, Denizens are now used to seeing their soon-to-be King giggling down the street on a Unicycle.

But if he’s feeling lonely, he’ll force Lucifer into taking a break and riding the Tandem bike he bought on an impulse purchase.

Belphegor and Satan has spent years training roaches to raid and scurry around Lucifer’s Study.

Levi, Solomon, Satan, Barbatos, Simeon, and Luke all have DND sessions every once in a while with Barbatos being the Dungeon Master (Luke doesn’t really know what he’s doing but bro has the spirit)

Lucifer HATES the sound Harmonicas make, which is why Satan and Belphegor has both learned and taken lessons on how to play it.

Beel, Mammon, and Belphie all used to eat dirt and sand like it was a luxury meal when they were little, this is the main reason they have the strongest immune systems out of all the brothers

Lucifer had a room cleared out in the HOL for Satan to keep his books, but instead he turned it into a Garfield shrine that only he has the key too (and there’s a spell placed onto the room making it disappear)

[weasleyreidstyles]

Serendipity

chapter twelve

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. all characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): none

series masterlist; previous part; next part

The rest of March passed by at an excruciating pace. True to his word, Harry had essentially isolated you from everyone you held dear. He glared at you in the corridors when you passed by and you felt the familiar gutting feeling of guilt every single time. Especially when Ron had finally been released from the Hospital Wing.

You found out that Ron was finally out through Neville Longbottom, who had asked if you'd spoken to Ron since he'd returned. He looked surprised by your confused face and told you that he would be officially out after lunch that day. Not even Hermione had come to find you, not that you were entirely surprised. You had made your way towards the ward with Pansy's elbow crooked in your own, for stability, when the trio and Ginny exited the double oak doors.

The look that Harry gave you was gutting, but the look of utter betrayal on Ron's face made your heart stutter in your chest.

"Ron-" you begin, but he cuts you off before you can even begin to explain yourself.

"Don't." he spat, voice raspy from sleep. "Harry told us what you obviously weren't ever going to."

You inhaled harshly, the arm looped with Pansy's tightening imperceptibly. "Let me explain, please."

"I don't want to hear any of your excuses, Meadow." the way he said your name was so foreign to you. "How could you fuck the enemy? Seriously, you know who his father is."

He's not his father! You wanted to scream; to shout to the rooftops. But words had evaded you. Tears filled your eyes immediately and you barely hear as Pansy shouts at him, no qualms for the fact that he had only recently recovered from being poisoned by her friends.

Hermione and Ginny barely spare the two of you a glance as they push the two pissed off boys away and down the corridor, the sound of Hermione defending you and chastising Ron for his cruelty is merely a whisper to you.

Pansy puts a hand on your forearm, thumb tracing soft circles. She breathes your name so delicately that you're surprised you even hear it. "Meadow? They're gone."

Your breath hitches minutely and your lip trembles as the tears that had been collecting in your eyes, finally fall.

"Oh, honey." she murmurs before pulling you into the tightest hug ever. "It's okay." she says over and over as she comforts you. "If they can't see how extraordinary you are, then they didn't deserve your friendship in the first place."

You only sob harder.

"Let's go to my dorm, yeah." she says. "Have a girl's day, just us two?"

You nod once and allow her to guide you down to the dungeons, both of you ignoring the circle of your friends in one corner of the Slytherin common room, who look at the two of your passing figures in bewilderment.

You spent a whole weekend with Pansy. But the hole in your chest never seemed to go away, no matter how much the two of you gossiped and laughed.

~∞~

True to his word, Mattheo tried to help in his own way, by providing ample distraction in the form of siphon training. He had told you that his friends were willing to help you, too. It was the least they could do, he had said. And thank Merlin that they were so willing.

You had finally mastered effectively drawing an adequate amount of power from random magical objects that Mattheo would spell, but you couldn't fight the dizzying feeling that overtook you each time you succeeded.

One day, he came to you in the library, Blaise in tow.

"Hi boys." you say with a small smile, but Mattheo could tell that you were hiding your emotions from them – Harry, Ron and Hermione were only sitting a few bookshelves away from you and you had never felt more alone.

"Hello, love." Mattheo mumbled as he pressed a featherlight kiss to your cheek, taking the seat beside you and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before his hand rested on the top of your thigh. He watched as your pretty eyes brightened almost instantly, but the faint sound of Ron's guffawing laughter made them dim as if the light had never been present in the first place. His hand squeezed your thigh affectionately.

Blaise took the seat opposite the two of you and having grown used to the two of you acting 'disgustingly coupley' over the course of the month, he didn't react to Mattheo's blatent concern. You noticed that he toyed with some sort of spherical object as he made himself comfortable.

"What's that, Blaise?" you ask, and he holds it up so you can see a transparent glass sphere that was barely the size of a golf ball. You tilt your head curiously.

"It's a conduit." he says, dark brown eyes tracing the smooth edges with precision. "When you siphon from anything with a form of magic imbedded within it, like the ground or a person, you can transfer it into this and it will hopefully take on the strain of the power, while also giving you access to it."

"So in simpler terms," Mattheo says, hand stroking up your thigh lightly, "you'll be able to do what you've been successfully practicing without worrying about passing out. In theory."

"What do you mean 'in theory'?" you ask, turning to Mattheo, who looks contemplatively at the conduit in Blaise's hand.

"Well there's no information about it helping a siphoner. Only that wizards use them to trap an extra bit of their magic in, just in case their magical core is compromised."

Like a horcrux. You thought to yourself, not noticing the way Mattheo imperceptibly tenses. He had a constant foothold in your mind, because it brought you comfort. But he could hear every one of your thoughts.

"So we – well actually Theo – thought that it would work in the same way." He hesitated to mention that Theo had had a hand in helping you. You still had not spoken to him. Not since you found out about his obvious involvement in poisoning Ron. You hadn't so much as uttered a word to him: not when you're in class and certainly not during patrols. "He just wants to help."

"Right." you hummed, "Well hopefully it does. I don't particularly feel like passing out today."

Blaise and Mattheo exchanged a look that you failed to miss. You huffed.

"Thank you Blaise." you say, and through gritted teeth, you ask him to thank Theo too.

~∞~

By the time April had come around, you had made peace with the fact that your friendships with the Golden trio and company were well and truly over. Your time was spent with the Slytherin group in their common room, instead. You wondered how you'd gone so long without fully knowing the whole group (you knew it was because you couldn't think of anything worse than jeopardising your existing friendships at the time of getting to know Theo and Pansy last year). Being around them filled a void that you didn't know existed in the depths of your very being.

Blaise shared your affinity towards muggle literature (he was currently reading the Great Gatsby and the two of you found immense joy when raving about eachother's annotations and perspectives).

Enzo was one of the funniest people you'd ever met and both of you enjoyed pissing Draco off to the maximum. He was also very sweet and caring under his nonchalant exterior but his wit was sharp as a knife – your twin snark was received abysmally from everyone else.

Draco was a little harder to get along with, considering the hatred he harboured for Harry, but he was, perhaps, the most sympathetic with you (besides Pansy, Theo and Mattheo) over your lost friendships.

These people were the only ones who did not outcast you, because they understood you – even your own housemates saw how you had become distanced from your old friends and they began to grow weary of who kept you company instead.

You were a group of pariahs, a wide berth always separating you from the rest of the student body.

You couldn't find it in yourself to care.

You finally talked to Theo and he apologised profusely for his part in Ron's hospitalisation, as did Enzo and even Draco. But like Mattheo, they seemed to find great difficulty in explaining themselves to you, clutching at where their hearts were as he spoke, as if it was trying to claw its way from each of their chests.

That's how you figured out the Unbreakable Vow that came hand in hand with the Dark Marks marring their left forearms. Mattheo, Theo, Enzo and Draco could not utter a word of what they were tasked to do, otherwise they would die a slow and painful death. It gave you even more incentive to get them out somehow. It would be difficult, but you'd never stop trying.

The conduit that Blaise had given to you, lay against your collarbone on a dainty chain of sterling silver, gifted by Pansy. It had developed whorls of varying shapes and sizes as you practiced siphoning day after day and you could feel the hum of power within it. It would only be released upon you shattering the glass. You were gaining control with each practiced session.

You were sat with Mattheo in a quiet corner of the Slytherin common room, focusing on a box of marbles that he had charmed individually for you to practice. The hum of your magic was faint, but the indigo glow was bright and pulsing as invisible hands sifted through the glassy orbs collecting the surges of magic with each stroke, reflecting rainbows of colour across your faces.

He had thought of this idea one evening while you laughed with Enzo at Draco's expense. He had been admiring the way your head tilted back as you heartily laughed, the way your hair cascaded over your shoulders and over his hoodie that you donned, how your eyes sparkled under the low light of the common room. He thought it was possibly the most ethereal sound he'd ever been blessed to hear.

Mattheo began with small objects. Putting a little bit of his magic into them for you to siphon out. Your magical cores mingled and danced around eachother every time you did so successfully and your conduit would glow with a symphony of colour before it would extinguish until the next time you channelled the combined power into it. He found you extraordinary.

He knew he was treading on dangerous waters. He should've never let this thing – this beautiful thing between the two of you – get as far as it had. He should not have been the cause for your broken friendships. But he couldn't help it. He was addicted to you in all senses of the word.

He couldn't get enough. And maybe that made him selfish. But everything he did in this life was for his friends, his family. So he wanted to be selfish, just this once.

Because Mattheo Riddle was in love with you.

You had integrated into his found family with ease. He protects his family. So he would protect you, too. You had lost your old friendships, but new ones had formed. Fresh, pure and innocent.

But war has a funny way of sullying the beautiful things in life. It's only a matter of time before it's ravenous claws ripped through his brief moment of peace.

~∞~

i don't really like this chapter because of all the time jumps but i needed to speed through the timeline a bit lol

and it was mean tto be slightly more fluffy than the last few, but it seems that i just can't resist writing angst.

thankyou for all the love on chapter eleven though, it means so much 🥹🫶🏼🫶🏼

taglist:

(striked out users are ones that i couldn't tag)

@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff @babeylover @thejadeazalea @undercover-smutlover @adhxmoony @dreamingofonceuponatime @thepassionatereader @urmomsgayforme5 @aphroditeisamilf @devotedlycrookeddonut @purplegirls-posts @nofacenonamelikekira @foxboyapologist @lafrone @lovely-maryj @nromanovaswife @leeknows-wife @dracygf @wildlyobserving @ravenclawprincess33 @melllinaa @vellicora @lantsovheiress @emiliahoward @stunkbiggu @vcosette @prongsprincessworld @mattiesgirl @rachmmb @x-kermit-x @sun-fiower-seed @cas-planet @certaindreampost @weirdowithnobeardo @mikalovesicecream @sunasbbie @rainy-darling @faeriepigeons @lovely-blackinnon @hiireadstuff @gimalo135 @elsafromcabinsix @moonlightreader649 @blueshome @nopedefe @spencerreidsthings @navs-bhat @agent-tempest @magimtz23 @y0urm0m12 @sbrn0905 @leona-hawthorne @whatsupb18 @moni-cah @taylorann2013 @unstablereader @gisellesprettylies @nat1221

[rottenpumpkin13]

Zack gets AGSZC to play DND. What happens? Do they miraculously finish the campaign or does it go down in flames?

The DnD Game That Ended In Flames

Zack: Picture this—you’re all sent to survey a rundown reactor in the sleepy village of Nibelheim, and—

*Sephiroth raises his hand*

Zack: Yes, Sephiroth.

Sephiroth: Why would Shinra send three SOLDIERs and one infantryman to survey a rundown reactor?

Zack: …Uh… I don’t know. And you’re not SOLDIERs. You’re a fighter, Genesis is a wizard, Angeal is a Paladin, and Cloud is a Rogue.

Cloud: What are you supposed to be?

Zack: I’m the Dungeon Master. Anyway, so you have to hike up the mountain to—

Cloud: People have been known to go missing and die when they trek up Mt. Nibel. I wouldn't really recommend it.

Zack, ignoring him: As you begin your trek, you encounter a fork in the path. One trail looks—

*Sephiroth raises his hand*

Zack: What is it, Seph?

Sephiroth: Cloud doesn't recommend it.

Zack:

Sephiroth:

Zack, ignoring him: As you begin your trek, you encounter a fork in the path. One trail looks—

Sephiroth: What if we die—

Zack: PEOPLE DIE, SEPHIROTH.

Sephiroth:

Zack: One path leads through a dark forest while the other is a bit more dangerous, but climbs steeply up the mountain. What do you do?

Angeal: Obviously the path that climbs up the mountain.

*Everyone agrees*

Zack: Alright. As you climb up, the trail becomes treacherous! Rocks start to loosen beneath your feet—

Cloud: I told you so.

Zack: I'm going to yell at you and you won't like it.

Sephiroth: May I use my perception to scout ahead for dangerous spots?

Zack, rolling the dice: You spot a loose section of the trail and warn the others. But the path is still unstable!

Genesis: I cast a spell to help stabilize the rocks. You'll see, I'll save us all with my talent and sheer skill.

*Zack rolls the dice*

Zack: The spell causes the unstable rocks cause a landslide. You’re hit by a falling boulder.

Genesis: WHAT?

Angeal: How bad is it?

Zack, rolling the dice: The boulder hits Angeal with a fatal blow. He is now dead.

Angeal: HOW?

Sephiroth: Genesis killed him.

Zack: Yeahh…your path to the reactor just got a lot harder. You continue up the mountain, saddened after Angeal's death. Then you spot a Nibel dragon perched on the rocks. Its hungry eyes gleam as it notices you! Cloud, you’re up first!

Cloud: I’ll use my sneak attack and aim for the dragon’s weak spot.

Zack, rolling the dice: You deal significant damage. Sephiroth, your turn.

Sephiroth: I cast a fireball at the dragon.

Zack, rolling the dice: The fireball engulfs the dragon, hurting it. Genesis, you’re up.

Genesis: I taunt the dragon.

Angeal: HA! Like that'll help. Looks like you'll be joining me in death.

Zack, rolling the dice: The dragon is enraged and charges at you. Angeal, you die.

Angeal: I'M ALREADY DEAD.

Zack: Oops, sorry about that! *Zack rolls the dice* Genesis, the dragon is defeated and you live!

Genesis: Success.

Angeal: AKSJDGSJSKS

Zack: You finally reach the reactor. It looms before you, its structure old and decrepit—

Sephiroth: It’s typical of Shinra. Their greed causes them to neglect everything hidden from the public eye. What the public can't see, they do not care about.

Zack: A-ha! See? See why you need to survey the reactor? How do you proceed?

Sephiroth: We leave immediately and do not engage with the danger.

Zack:

Sephiroth:

Zack, ignoring him: You advance inside and notice something strange. On one of the doors near the core of the reactor, you see a name engraved: Jenova. Sephiroth's mother’s name!

Genesis: The plot thickens.

Sephiroth: What is this? Why would her name be here?

Cloud: What happens if we investigate the surrounding area?

Zack: The room is filled with strange machinery and pods containing…creatures. What do you do?

Sephiroth: I investigate the machinery and the pods. I need answers now.

Cloud: I’ll keep watch for any signs of danger.

Genesis: I'll sit quietly and eat an apple.

Zack: Angeal, what will you do?

Angeal:

Zack: Oh yeah, you're dead.

Zack: Anyway, as you investigate the pods, you discover grotesque, half-formed creatures floating in the mako. Suddenly Sephiroth finds a data log that reveals the horrifying truth: Jenova is not his mother, but an alien entity.

Sephiroth: I shall love her either way.

Genesis: That is the saddest thing I've ever heard you say.

Zack: Genesis, you have a choice here. You can either comfort Sephiroth in this moment of shock or make fun of him. What do you do?

Genesis: I choose to make fun of him.

Zack: Really? Damn.

Genesis: Well, well, Sephiroth. It appears mommy dearest is an alien. I can't say I'm surprised. After all, the apple does not fall far from the tree.

Zack, rolling the dice: This angers Sephiroth greatly. Genesis, you are now in mortal peril.

Genesis: WHY DIDN'T YOU MENTION THAT BEFORE?

Sephiroth: I choose to murder Genesis.

Genesis: HUH?

Zack, rolling the dice: Yeah, you're dead man, sorry.

Cloud: This is why we don't make fun of people's mothers.

Genesis: She isn't even his mother! She's an alien!

Sephiroth: The more you insult my mother, the more I feel inclined to recreate our fictional game in real life.

Zack: The creatures in the pods start to twitch. It seems your discovery has triggered something. What do you do?

Cloud: We leave the reactor and head back to the inn.

Sephiroth: A sound choice. After all, it's only the two of us now.

Zack: You head back to the inn, but in the middle of the night, Sephiroth slips out and heads to the manor library, searching for answers.

*Sephiroth raises his hand*

Zack: Yes, Sephiroth?

Sephiroth: I’d never do that. I adhere strictly to protocol and my rank. I would not abandon my men.

Zack: You have no men. Only Cloud.

Sephiroth, turning to Cloud: He's insulting your masculinity.

Cloud: Not cool, man.

Zack: Hang on! You have the choice to either follow Sephiroth or stay put at the inn.

Cloud: He might need my help. I should follow him.

Zack: You go after Sephiroth at the manor. You reach the library door. But you feel as if once you go inside, you will never be the same again.

Cloud: Just let me go in.

Zack, rolling the dice: Angeal dies.

*Angeal flies at him, but Sephiroth holds him back*

Zack, unbothered: As you step inside, you see Sephiroth at a desk, reading over a thick book. He looks up as you approach, his eyes filled with a strange intensity, bags under his eyes spinning tales about his lack of sleep. He looks depressed, sullen, confused.

Genesis: That's just what you see when you open his office door on any regular day.

Zack: Sephiroth shows you the book, which contains detailed records of experiments involving Jenova. The more you read, the more you realize the horrifying truth about her origins and the experiments conducted by Shinra.

Sephiroth: This changes everything.

Zack: Sephiroth, you have a choice: you can either take out your anger on your surroundings in a fit of rage, or return to the inn with Cloud. What do you do?

Cloud: Well that's a fucking no-brainer. Clearly he comes back to the inn with me. Why would you even include that as an option?

Sephiroth: I choose to burn Nibelheim to the ground in a fit of rage.

Cloud: WHAT?

Sephiroth: Gaia needs to pay for the sins committed by her children.

Cloud: WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?

Zack: Sephiroth begins to channel his rage, summoning flames that spread quickly through the village! Nibelheim is engulfed in fire as villagers scream and flee!

Cloud: I have to stop him!

Sephiroth: You are too weak to save anyone.

Cloud: !?

Cloud: Zack, how do I stop the fire and save the people??

Zack: Hm, you can try.

*Zack rolls the dice*

Zack: In a shocking turn of events, the fire is contained and all but one person survives the fire.

Cloud: Who? Is it my mom?? Is it Tifa?? WHO DIED?

Zack: Angeal dies in the fire.

Angeal: I ALREADY FUCKING DIED YOU IDIOT

[lulublack90]

Prompt 26 - Sick Fic

@wolfstarmicrofic July 26, word count 752

Part seven of werewolf Sirius

Previous part First part

Sirius dropped Rorbey’s hands and cradled his own head in them as huge soul-wracking sobs burst from his body. Reggie, his baby brother Reggie, was alive. 

“Where is he, Rorbey? Can we get him out?” Remus addressed Rorbey, asking the questions Sirius couldn’t. The little elf wrung his hands. 

“Rorbey be feeling like a fool, Master Remus, sir. Rorbey should be knowing, sir, but Rorbey got his two Masters's magics confused. Rorbey should be punished, sir.” The elf shook his head as he snuffled sadly. Sirius looked up at him, his face tear-stained. 

“Where is he, Rorbey?” Though he felt he already knew. The little elf looked up at him nervously through his eyelashes. 

“Master Regulus is being in the same dungeon you was being in, Master Sirius,” The elf confessed. Regulus had been below Lestrange Castle the entire time, cold and alone. 

“Merlin’s ghostly balls,” Marcus exclaimed. Remus hit him with a silencing spell, and he immediately shut up. 

“Thank you for your input, Marcus, but we won’t be requiring further comments at the moment. Thank you. Now sit down and behave.” Remus growled. Marcus sat on the forest floor and watched the scene before him, silently. 

“Is he alright, Rorbey?” Sirius begged. Tears swam in Rorbey’s giant round eyes as he shook his head. 

“Master Regulus has a fever. Rorbey doesn’t think Master Regulus even knew Rorbey was being there.” 

“Remus,” Sirius’s voice cracked. 

“Tell me as much as you can, Rorbey,” Remus demanded.

Rorbey told Remus everything he could remember. It sounded as though Regulus was in a bad way. 

“He might have pneumonia amongst a myriad of other things.” Remus sighed, running his hand through his hair. "The sooner we get him out the better.” Remus deduced from the little Rorbey could tell him. “It sounds like he may have a fever. Rorbey, can you get him out?” Remus asked. Sirius could almost see the plan he was drawing up in his mind. 

“Rorbey can not, Master Remus, sir. Rorbey can take things to the young Master, but there is magic not letting Rorbey take wizards with him. Rorbey tried with Master Sirius, but Rorbey failed.”

“You didn’t fail, Rorbey. You’re a good house elf, and you’ve done far more than I can ever thank you for. But Rorbey,” Sirius continued. He’d gotten over his initial overwhelming feelings and was thinking straight again. “I need to ask you to help Regulus get better. Do what Remus says, he’ll help you.”

“Of course, Master Sirius, Anything for Master Regulus.” The elf nodded profusely. Remus gave him a list of potions to buy and how and when to administer them. 

“He’ll need broth once he’s conscious and plenty of fluids. He’ll take some time to recover, but from what you’ve described I think we’re just in time.”

“Use my personal account when you buy the potions,” Sirius told Rorbey, scribbling his permission on a scrap of parchment. 

Rorbey was gone for a few days, but when he finally returned it was with good news. Regulus was awake and alert and ravenous. He also had a message for Rorbey to give to Sirius, but Rorbey wouldn’t repeat it. 

“Rorbey, come on, it can’t be that bad,” Sirius urged. He didn’t want to order the elf, he’d never been one for that, but he needed to know. Rorbey shook his head. Marcus passed him a scroll of parchment and a self-inking quill. 

“Take this to him and get him to write it down,” Marcus told Rorbey. 

"Good thinking, Marcus," Sirius thanked the wolf. The little elf bowed and popped away. They didn’t have to wait long for his return. He handed Sirius the note written in an elegant script. Even as a prisoner, Regulus was never one for sloppy penmanship. 

‘Sirius, You absolute wanker, of course, it had to be you to figure out where I was. Hurry the fuck up and get me out of here. I must take my revenge on our dear cousin and her useless husband for what they have dared to do to me. Yours Regulus Arcturus Black  P.S. Thank you for sending Rorbey. Now get me out of here!!!’

Sirius chuckled as he folded the parchment and put it into his pocket. Regulus was pissed. He only swore when he was beyond frustrated. 

“Well, my sweet little brother seems to be completely back to full health thanks to you and Remus, Rorbey. So now the question is, how are we going to get him out?”

Next part

[formosusiniquis]

when you're fifteen

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise.

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Steve Harrington & Mike Wheeler WC: 4044 | Rated T | Tags/Themes: Good Babysitter Steve, Period Atypical Depictions of DnD, HoH!Steve, Disabled!Eddie Ao3

Eddie prided himself on his ability to manage a table. A forever DM, four years into a lifetime sentence, he can keep a story on track and, more importantly, keep tempers in check for hours at a time. 

He kept track of a thousand little details across notebooks, binders, and just trapped in his own brain. He knew everything about his NPCs, the world, his player’s characters, and the things that drove his players nuts. He had plans, backup plans, and vague ideas of shit he could do if things went completely and totally off the rails despite all of those plans. That was one of the things he held fast on his tongue the first time he failed senior year. Of course he didn’t pass. He’d taken on the mantle of Dungeon Master. He had to put together a story that took into account: Jeff’s high stakes backstory with the missing mother and bounty on his head, Gareth’s need to flirt with anything age appropriate that had a pulse, and Joey’s tactical mind when it comes to battle. Wasn’t it enough that he was going to class, he had to do shit at home about it too?

He didn’t like saying it. He liked to bitch about it a lot, actually. Eddie wasn’t really sure what he’d do with himself if he wasn’t The DM. It was like a core part of his identity.

It made the current situation he was in more world rocking than he really wanted to deal with.

He liked to think, if he couldn’t feel the remaining muscles in his side screaming in agony because he was sitting wrong -- or for too long or both -- and if his lower back wasn’t seizing and spasming for the same or maybe a brand new reason it had decided to come up with today, that he’d be able to manage this table just as well as he always had. Eight really wasn’t that different from three.

Except that combat is impossible to manage, each round took forever and that’s when everyone was paying attention. Except that there hasn’t been a satisfying story moment for Jeffrey the Jovial or Dustin’s Sir Rathington in the last four sessions. Except that Erica has been scribbling something in her notebook that probably wasn’t campaign notes since she hadn’t called him on the plot hole he caught session planning a month ago and hasn’t been able to fix -- and is more likely to have something to do with the way he noticed her looking at Uhura and Chapel when she was watching Star Trek reruns with Steve.

Except that Mike has been screaming at Dustin and Lucas for the better part of five minutes and Eddie really isn’t sure how to fix it.

“The plan is stupid. Did you even spend more than ten seconds thinking about it or did you decide that Will could just roll another character and we could save the resources.”

“Will could roll another character. It's not the first time he's rolled another character.” Lucas points out for what might be the third time, Eddie’s lost count.

“This whole thing is about resources, Mike.” Dustin snaps, “We’ll all be rolling new characters if we go into this stupid fucking fight while Gareth has no spell slots, Lucas is down to three arrows, Joey’s already used his second wind, and half the party is below half health.”

“It doesn’t matter, if we don’t go into the fight now Will is going to turn into some bloodsucking vampire spawn.”

Eddie knows this is the point that he should grab the reins again. He should prompt one of them to make a decision, or better yet, take the decision away from them entirely. But there’s a numbness in his thigh that has somehow spread to his mouth; it’s different from the pain the rest of his body is in, not really better or worse, and just as distracting. 

The rest of the table is quiet, boredom and annoyance plain on their faces. But they’ve also stopped looking to him to fix the problem. That’s the worst thing the Upside Down took from him, he thinks, even as his body is radiating pain from places he used to be able to forget he had.

“Or maybe it’s a trap,” Lucas points out. And it should be, but Lucas is a far better tactician than Eddie who already knows he won’t want to deal with the work it would take to do that well. “Y’know since you made all your weak spots pretty clear to Lord Ellias.”

“Or,” Dustin drawls out with a Harrington’s level of bitch and ire, “we could trust Eddie to turn this into a fucking story moment.”

“You guys are both so full of shit, just-” Mike has his nose curled and lip snarled, Eddie can feel the breeze of the blade swinging down to deliver the death blow to this campaign and adventuring party.

“Alright time to take a break.” Steve claps his hands, an angel come from on high to save Eddie. “Get up, get a snack, move your feet. Give my dining room some time to air out before it smells like nerd forever.”

Mike turns the full weight of his aggression on to Steve, who hopefully has a damage immunity or advantage on saves at the very least otherwise this is looking like a short talk, “We can't just take a break. Do you not get what the stakes are here? We've got to save-”

“Save someone who will still be in danger in twenty minutes.” Steve steamrolls over Mike’s argument with an unaffected ease. Eddie can feel the mood of the table lift just a bit, now that they’re about to be rescued.

“You just don't get it.”

“I get that it's pretend.” In a pre-Vencapocalypse world that would have been enough to get Eddie fighting on Little Wheeler’s side, but much as DnD is still his life. Fuck, it is all just pretend. “Go take a lap.”

“Ugh why do we even come over here. We could do this at my house without washed up jocks interrupting us.” Mike says but he gets up. Storming off to god knows where in the monstrosity of Steve’s house. Will, quiet as he always seems to get when he’s the center of one of these drag outs, trails off after Mike with an eye roll at the other two sophomores and an apologetic shrug for Steve.

And Eddie has his table again. Quiet and still, waiting for him to say something. Like there’s even anything to say when his very own Deus Ex Machina is leaving the room without so much as a backward glance at the poor schmucks he’s saved. “Well,” he says with a clap of his hands, “My blood sugar is dropping, so I’m going to shove as many of those cookies I smelled earlier into my mouth as I can in twenty minutes.” Because as much as they weren’t looking to him before, they need the DM to break the spell of the table. That’s how the whole thing goes.

And they scatter once it breaks. Eddie’s original Hellfire boys stay at the table, their ease at the Harrington house has been hardwon and the argument has rekindled something nerdy and skittish in them. Erica has headed off to the corner of the house Steve has let her claim as her own, nose still buried in her notebook. He doesn’t know where Lucas and Dustin are, but wherever they’ve gone they aren’t around to watch him struggle to pull himself out of his throne with his cane. He should just give in and let Steve raise the seat, half the problem is that it sits too low -- but knowing that and being willing to admit it at any point other than when he’s in PT levels of misery from pulling himself up are very different things.

Steve has his back to the door again, by the time Eddie makes his way to the kitchen. He has a bizarre semi-awareness of his surroundings that can be hard to predict. Sometimes it’s freaky how Steve can call out Dustin or Erica from a different room with an almost parental ‘eyes in the back of his head’ sixth sense. Other times his own soulmate can get the drop on him, managing to get her arms wrapped around his middle before he even realizes they’re in the same room.

It’s better to slam his cane against the floor a couple times. To let Steve feel the vibrations through the floorboards with his sock feet, that way nobody has to get hurt or feel guilty for doing the hurting.

Getting to see Steve’s grin bloom across his face as he flips that famous hair and catches sight of Eddie isn’t so bad either.

Next to Steve, it’s safe to prop his cane against the counter. He can rest his hips against the sure, solid surface and relax in the presence of his boyfriend while the blood returns to his limbs and a new kind of discomfort settles in. A hand, warm and sudsy finds the back of his neck. A strong thumb digging into a knot that had been there since at least last week with an erotic precision.

“You’ve got to stop letting them keep you in that chair for so long.”

"If we take breaks we'll just be here longer."

He shrugs, pulling his other hand from the dish water to pull Eddie into a gentle hold. "So be here longer."

"You'd get sick of the fighting. I'd get sick of the fighting." Actually it was probably better not to remind Steve of that. "You know I really did want one of those famous Stevie Henderson cookies."

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise. "I know the yelling is a lot, Sweetheart, I'm sorry. You don't have a migraine, do you? I can talk to him and make him chill out a bit." That last part is absolutely a lie; he doesn't think he could get Mike under control right now if he had a stun gun and half a pound of Argyle’s primo Cali weed.

Not that it matters Steve has on his scrunchy faced 'you're wrong about something,' look, Eddie just needs to give him the minute it'll take to get his thoughts together. "You know I love you right?"

“In this dimension and any others,” Eddie supplies.

Steve smiles, feather soft, and runs a soothing hand through Eddie's hair the way he always does right before he says something atrociously bitchy. "I turn my hearing aids off the second you all start playing. If I had to listen to your game three different times, three different ways I'd drive my car into a portal."

He keeps going the way he does when he's afraid he's been too mean and wants to try to soften his edges for general consumption, like Eddie hadn't fallen in love with him the first time he called Dusin a butthead. "This way you and Dust can still use me as a sounding board for your plots and theories and I don't have to listen to my favorite nerds try to remember if 5+7 is 11 or 12."

“So what’s?”

“I’m worried about him!” Steve insists. Eddie might pride himself on his ability to handle a table, but he knows Steve is proud of his way with the kids. His relationship with each of them is rich and distinct, the way he handles each of them unique.

But it’s Mike.

Something must cross his face. He can only call it something, because he’s honestly not sure what emotion he’s feeling other than headache and how many cookies can I eat before they start tasting like nausea. But something else must have been there that causes Steve to cross his arms and glare.

“Yeah, of course, you’re worried about him. We are worried about him. Why are we worried about him, other than worried about what an asshole he’s been lately?”

That was not the right thing to say either, Eddie’s really rolling straight ones today. Steve’s glare shutters even further closed, and seriously it’s Mike. The same kid who called Steve a washed up jock not ten minutes ago. Who takes every single offered opportunity, and even some that he makes himself, to bitch and glare at Hawkins own #1 babysitter and monster hunter. 

“He’s a teenager with more trauma than a ‘Nam vet. But even if he weren’t he’s not an asshole for being barely fifteen and not knowing when to shut the hell up. Do you remember the kind of shit you were saying back then?”

Big brother Steve has successfully landed a critical hit. Eddie does remember the kind of shit he used to say. Just like he knows Steve remembers the kind of shit he used to say. And they both remember the shit that they used to say to one another. How Eddie called Steve a braindead future Reganite who wouldn’t know good taste if it spit in his mouth. How Steve had called Eddie a tryhard that was so desperate to be different because that was the only way he could hide having nothing to offer.

“So we’re worried?”

“I just don’t want him to say something he can’t walk back because he forgot the thing he’s getting upset over is pretend.” He runs a finger down Eddie’s splayed hands. A tickling sensation he can feel down the path it traces from the back of his palm and down his middle finger and, in a phantom mirror, down his spine. “I know you get into your characters, or whatever, I’m sure this is bringing up a lot of memories but he’s going to regret lashing out if it means he pushes away Dustin or Lucas or one of the other guys.”

“I notice you left out Will.”

“Yeah well, Will is more likely to get hurt by something he says when lashing out while they aren’t playing exposure therapy the game. I mean seriously, you had to kidnap him? That’s where your, ‘Stevie, baby, what should I do with them this week? They decided to do something stupid,’ bitching and moaning landed you?”

Eddie doesn’t even really have time to let himself feel the fluttery, squishy feeling he wants to feel -- cause Steve does actually listen when they’ve got their feet tangled on the sofa together, each working on their own things -- before it’s getting smacked by down by the paladin of his heart. “No, no, that isn’t where I landed. I had a perfectly acceptable diplomacy mission prepared, with a back up fight that they were supposed to run away from. What do you want me to do, Sunshine? I gotta give the game some stakes. It’s not exactly fun for Will if he knows he’s indestructible.”

Maybe, he thinks, he should just stop talking today. Just cancel the rest of the session entirely. Will gets carried off by the vampire spawn, half dead and unsaveable, the party on its last legs, unable to agree on a course of action; and actually that’s where we’re gonna end things come back next week and hope Steve even lets us in the house after the screaming we’ve all done. Why? Because he can feel every joint in his body and every one of them is in pain. Because there’s been the dull throb of a low grade headache beating an even pulse in his temples since he woke up this morning. But mostly because every time he opens his stupid fucking mouth to talk Steve stops touching him, and that sucks absolute balls.

“I maybe had an idea,” Steve says. His voice dips and slides while he keeps his hands small, quiet, and close to his chest. Something Robin told him, and he’s now noticing, means Steve has thought about this idea a lot, long enough that he’s convinced himself it’s bad. Eddie’s noticed that even when these ideas aren’t phrased well, they’re never bad.

“I know it’s like rule number one: don’t split the party,” Steve can’t help but roll his eyes when he says it, an instinctive bit of brotherly mockery of Dustin, he would guess. “But what if you split the group a bit. Mike can go after Will, I’m sure Erica would be down to kill some vampires. She loves a chance to test drive her new feats and shit. Then Jeff and Dustin and whoever else can finish up that thing? With the missing girlfriend or whatever? And once that’s done they reunite to do whatever’s next on the list, save the kingdom.”

Eddie sits with that for a bit.

Impulsive is still his middle name, but sometime between being eaten alive by other dimensional hell creatures and getting a thousand and six tiny, itchy stitches removed he’s started giving things second and even third thoughts. Though in this case the second thoughts are less ‘is this a good idea’ and more ‘will Steve bend me over that solid oak dining table and critique my DM notes while he rails me.’

As his stomach swoops, his lower body twinges in a much less enjoyable way. Letting him know that now he’d been standing too long, or leaning against the counter the wrong way, or maybe something else entirely that made his legs tired of doing one of the few things they were made to do. 

Figures he finally lands a hot boyfriend and he's got chronic pain keeping him from getting his dick wet.

“If you’ve already got another idea-”

“No,” he rushes to assure Steve, who needs to stay confident in his own ideas for all kinds of reasons but right now mostly so he’ll be willing to play into this new fantasy of Eddie’s once his body is willing to cooperate with the standing and the bending it’s going to require. “No, it’s a fantastic idea. I’m plotting as we speak.” 

And that isn’t a total lie. Forever DM, he can think about all the fun ways the love of his life and reason he’s still living could degrade his current campaign -- An oath of vengeance paladin questing to save a lost love, isn’t that a little played out. Oh wow, rat swarms in a dungeon, they’re never gonna see that coming -- and figure out how to trick the group into thinking splitting the party was their own idea.

“How long,” he asks his resident child expert, “do you think it would take Will to roll up a new character?”

The smile that tips the corners of Steve’s face is the best part of his day. “Will always has an extra character rolled up with the rest of his stuff in his folder."

Things are slotting together in his head now, and as Steve's hands come around to do something magical in a spot on his back that probably has a name but mostly makes his legs feel like they should really belong to a baby deer.

“So Will…”

“Can convince Mike, and get a chance to try out the new thingy he built. He’s been waiting to talk to you about it.”

Eddie’s getting excited now, hands shaking in the good way. He doesn’t even care that his knee locks as he tries to bounce on his toes, just lets his hands get out the excited energy. “And the band can go do the story side plot shit I’ve been putting off…” 

“With Dustin,” Steve reminds, “cause he’ll want to go wherever there’s the best chance to stir up shit. You already know Erica is going to go where there’s a chance to prove she’s the best at fighting, Lucas too. Not the fighting thing. He’ll go to round out the group, and so his mom doesn’t have to worry about keeping track of one more thing on the family calendar.”

“You’re a genius, Sweetheart.” He snags Steve by the collar, ignoring his bitching that the two fingered pinch he’s got it in is going to stretch it out, and pulls him close. Pressing a kiss on the corner of his perfect boyfriend’s pleased little smile. “I gotta go talk to Will about this character.”

“Send Mike down when you do?”

He’s surprised when he gets no argument, barely gets acknowledgement, when he finds Will and Mike in the guest bathroom and separates them. Mike slips from the room with nothing but a backward glance at Will, who smiles supportively. Once he clears the room, it takes next to zero prompting to get Will to talk about his backup character. The ‘thingy’ he'd been working on a tricked out ranger build that's going to annihilate. 

There's something fresh, brightening, about Will's enthusiasm for the character that infects Eddie too. It gets him excited, for the first time since everyone arrived, to sit down around their over crowded table and play the hour of set up it's going to take to get the party ready to be split. 

And Will doesn't duck his head anymore when Eddie pushes at him and his DnD expertise, he just pushes back. Together they work out a couple tweaks that will make the build fit better in the party, flesh out a backstory that they can integrate even if it doesn't end up going anywhere, and it doesn't really feel like time passes at all. Until Sinclair is sticking his head through the door, surprise artfully hidden at who he finds, as he asks if they're ready to go.

Mike is conspicuously absent from the table when Eddie makes his way to it, and that won't do at all. He's not an asshole, he's just 15. Something like shame crawls up the back of his throat as Steve's reminder sounds in his head. He remembers 15 and the things he said but more than that, as he looks around the table, he remembers being the last to arrive at a hangout of people you're already worried hate you only to find them having a good time without you. 

Eddie has always prided himself on his ability to run a good session. "Stevie, gimme back our paladin, do I need to bring in a hostage negotiator."

A cookie held in one hand while the other smooths down the ruffled fringe of his bangs, Mike re-enters the dining room. The back of his Hellfire shirt is bunched and, if that weren't sign enough he'd been on the receiving end of a perfect Harrington hug, he looks settled. A smile tugging at his face that Eddie hadn't realized how much he missed, he looks boyish and happy and if Eddie didn't before he understands Steve's mission to keep these kids kids by whatever means necessary.

"Alright, now where were we?” He says once Mike is back in his seat beside Will, “Ah yes, you all watch in horror as the vampire spawn, hastened, dash away from you all with the unconscious, but still alive, body of Sir William the Wizened." Before anyone can restart the shouting, and he knows there will be shouting now that they’ve all had a chance to look over their notes and their character sheets, he barrels on. “From the hill behind you comes a shot. An arrow flies, thwip thwip. It slices between you all, before sinking into the back of one of the spawn at the back of the pack. He stumbles to the ground and the rest of the pack leave him to die.”

“We can interrogate him!” 

“Worry about who’s behind us, dude.”

He doesn’t let Mike or Dustin derail him, Eddie continues, “As you turn the hill behind you is nothing but mist. You all know the range of an elven bow, but whoever fired it is nowhere to be seen. You wait, breath held, as a figure all in black slowly approaches. You get the feeling you see him now only because he wants to be seen.

“Will, describe your new character for us!”

[wearesorcerer]

This could potentially be big. Screenshots from someone in a Facebook group providing his professionally-affected opinion:

Basically, if any of this is true, you could expect Paizo et al to sue WotC/Hasbro. I would love to see that happen, personally, but it all depends on how likely any of the above actually is to work. Like, if 5.5/6e turns out to be as crappy as 4e was, this will just be WotC shooting itself in the foot again (though probably not enough to kill it). So far, I've only heard good things mechanically and bad things for the playerbase, but they have all been vague suggestions with no concrete details.

A Concrete Example

The Hypertext d20 SRD was constructed under 3.5 as exactly what its name suggests: a self-interlinked reference document for everything in the system. Prior to its existence, the SRD was a collection of (possibly rich) text documents without page numbers or other means of easy reference. The Hypertext SRD included all OGL material from print sources it could find, so includes ~85% of the Player's Handbook, Dungeon Master's Guide, Monster Manual, Expanded Psionics Handbook, Epic Level Handbook, Arcana Unearthed, and some bits from Deities & Demigods. It has other useful tools, like an encounter calculator and spell search. For the longest time, it was the only thing like it. Other sites (DnD Tools, Forgotten Realms Helps) eventually sprang up with more content; DnD Tools has been taken down numerous times for violating the OGL, while Realms Helps has stayed under the radar for some reason.

At some point, the d20srd webmaster updated it to include Pathfinder (seemingly all, but arranged by book like how Paizo's PRD was, which is deeply unhelpful) and some 5e (limited entirely to the core three books). This was long after d20pfsrd launched; that site is modeled off of the 3.5 d20srd site in organization and is amazeballs.

Since this webmaster has published 5e material on this site and since the new OGL possibly interprets that as accepting its terms, if this new OGL were legal, he could be sued to take down his entire site (or at least the perennially helpful portions) because it is no longer valid. (Per the screenshots, this is only half hypothetical: I know WotC did do this when 4e came out to fanpages that had 3.5 and 4e material because they didn't want competition from their own product.) This would leave only unauthorized (DnD Tools) or status unclear (Forgotten Realms Helps) archives. We've already lost reams of 3.5 material because WotC deleted its 3rd ed. archives (they used to publish stuff online regularly).

[larluce]

Have you ever thought of the episode A Servant of Two Masters with a scene like Ella Enchanted when she breaks her curse? If you don't know the scene or the movie, that's okay because I have ✨a vision✨

Like that:

Merlin inside is dying because he's trying to kill Arthur and that's his worst nightmare, but Arthur decided that needs to be open and honest to Merlin and just tries to confess. I don't know how they got there, but just imagine that Arthur is talking sweetly to Merlin, holding his face with love and going to kiss him, but Merlin is crying because he's with a knife in his hand and trying to stab Arthur in the back. He breaks the curse, but Arthur saw the knife and assumes the worst.

I did watch that film! "A Servant of Two Masters" had the pontential to be very angsty indeed. But of course they decided to make it comedy. Not that I didn't like it anyways, but a more serious take like the one you are proposing would have been GOLD.

I recently saw a post similar to this, not quite, but kind of captures the same idea: LINK

But you inspired me. So I'll add this to your vision:

Just as the movie, Agravaine orders for Merlin to be arrested before he can explain anything, proclaiming he's in alliance with Morgana. However, Arthur, though still very hurt and confused, starts to analyse the situation. Why would Merlin try to kill him now? Is not like he didn't have better chances before. Has he done something to make Merlin change his mind about him? What did Morgana offer him? And why a knife? Merlin literally serves him his food, he could have poisoned him, find a more discret way to do it, he's a physician apprentice for gods sake! Was his servant this dumb? Then he remembers, Merlin was crying through all of it, and he seemed like he was trying to tell him something but couldn't. He thought it was due his emotional confession that his servant had tears in his eyes, but now... could it be that Merlin was forced to do it? Maybe Morgana threatened someone dear to him? Like his mother or Gaius. Or maybe he just can't bare the thought of yet other person betraying him, specially if is Merlin, that now he's making excuses for him? Doesn't matter, he can't execute Merlin, even when his uncle keeps insisting on it. So he just keeps him in the dungeons ad pospones his death sentence as much as he can.

Just as Arthur gathers the caurage to go visit Merlin to ask for answers, against his uncle's wishes of course, Gaius aproaches Arthur and tells him Merlin was under the fomorroh's control giving him the burned cut head of the snake as a prove. He explains he went to visit Merlin and Merlin gave him that and told him Morgana put it in his neck to control him when he was captured, but somehow he managed to break the spell. His uncle intervenes, telling him is all lies, that Gaius just wants to save the boy because he's dear to him and accuses him right then and there of being the traitor they were looking for. For Arthur, however, there was never a doubt, his Merlin is innocent, he never wanted to betray him. He almost cries of relief and, ignoring his uncle and his physician's dicussion, he runs to see Merlin.

His smile fades once he gets there though, cause Merlin, his Merlin, is hanging from a rope. Horrified and in full panic mode, he puts him down as quickly and as carefully as he can. He yells desperately for the guards to fetch Gaius and starts making CPR, but even when Gaius later appears to help it's too late. Merlin's dead and Arthur's whole world is put upside down.

There's a note Gaius finds hidden in Merlin's clothes, it says: "I'm sorry, Gaius. I couldn't fight it much longer, I could feel it, growing back again, trying to control me and I couldn't let it, not again. I would rather cut my own arms and legs and being burn in the pyre a thousen times than hurt Arthur, much less kill him. I won't go through that nightmare again. Please tell him I love him too, that i never mean to do it. I love him more than I love myself. But if he doesn't believe you, if he hates me forever, it's alright. I don't blame him, so don't blame him either. Keep protecting him, please. Specially from Agravaine. Loves you, Merlin".

Gaius shares this letter with Arthur and of course he breaks all over again, but then he asks, "Why did Merlin told you to protect me from my uncle, Gaius?". Gaius doesn't want to answer at first, but Arthur commands him and Gaius answers carefully "he believed he was the traitor, sire". Arthur responds after a pause "And you believe that too?". There's a silence before the physician says "I gave him the pergamine and the ink, he said he wanted to write a message for you that later I would deliver. I was a fool, I should have known..." he sighs. "But I wonder... where did he get the rope?". And that's when when all clicks to Arthur. Agravaine was the one insisting on killing Merlin inmediatly amd Merlin didn't have access to any rope. He confirms it when the guards tell him Agravaine visited Merlin once, they couldn't hear what the man was telling to the boy, but it sounded like he was threatening him.

Agravaine was the traitor, Agravaine gave Merlin the rope. Agravaine is the reason his Merlin now is gone.

Arthur goes to his uncle a sword in hand and demands answer with the blade on his throat. First he dinies it, but then he laughs. "You killed my sister. You and your father" he admits. Arthur's expression remains as a stone "What did you tell him?" Arthur demands. "I just offer him a less painful way to die". Arthur kills him, but finds no satisfaction. He's dead inside. His Merlin died thinking he hated him and he let him believe that. He didn't visit him for days after all, he didn't confront him inmediatly for answers, he let his uncle cloud his mind. This was his fault.

Arthur looks at his sword and puts the point of the blade on his heart. He's about to push the blade when suddenly the doors open and the sword flies from his hand. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" a familiar panic voice shouts at him and Arthur turns. A Merlin with golden eyes is running to him and then hugs him tightly. "Are you mad?!" Merlin's still scolding him, but Arthur's just watches him in shock. "Merlin" he's only capable to mumble.

It turn's out Merlin's magic saved him somehow. It just put his body on the verge of death enough to make the fomorroh believe that the body was uninhabitable so it left his body completely. His mortal body was now too weak though, so his only vital energy left is his magic. That's why his eyes are constanly gold now. It takes a while for Arthur to understand it. Specially the magic part, but honestly, he's far too happy and relief to have Merlin back that he can't be mad about Merlin lying about his magic. In fact, if anything, he's thankful for it, since it saved Merlin's life.

"But you didn't plan that, did you? You did actually try to kill yourself" he accusses however, still heartbroken at the fact.

"It was the only way I could think of-"

"Never, Merlin" he commands him very serious. "Never do that again"

"I can't promise you that"

"Then any harm you do to yourself, I'll do it to me"

"You can't do that!" the warlock shouts horrified. "You are the king! You have a kingdom-"

"Our kingdom, Merlin! We built it together and it's nothing without you either"

"I'm just a servant, an illegal warlock now. My life doesn't matter."

"Don't ever say that again!" Arthur holds Merlin fiercely. "Didn't I tell you're the most valuable person to me? The only person I could trust with my life" tears run down his eyes.

"But.. I lied to you. I even tried to kill you"

"Lie to me then, kill me. You have my permission"

"Arthur-"

"No, I just got I glimse of what a life without you would be and I won't live it again. Not for a second. I can't lose you again".

"I can't lose you either". Merlin cries too. "My magic, everything I am, is yours. It has always been yours". Arthur caresses his cheek.

"Then let me take care of what it's mine"

Between tears, they kiss. Is not really tender or passionate, but pure necessity for the other.

"I'm sorry" Merlin snifs separating the kiss "Gods! My eyes won't stop shining" he says embarrasssed and tries to cover them.

"Don't" Arthur says while he uncovers his eyes gently. "They're beautiful" Merlin smiles but then sighs, sadly.

"The rest won't think the same"

"You don't have to worry about that"

Arthur gives Merlin a royal pardon so he's the 'only legal sorcerer' unless until he can make magic legal again completely. Gwen and the knights accept him inmediatly. The rest are wary at first but eventually they accept him too, when they realise he's the same clumsy servant they always knew. As Merlin recovers from his near death experience, his eyes glow less, but Arthur loves to see Merlin's eyes turn gold everytime.

Aaaand that's all I got. My imagination can't do much.

[taki-yaki]

Prompt: Tav that knows absolutely 0 offensive spells and skills, like she only knows buffs or healing spells. I don’t know what class she’d be, or if she’d be an ordinary civilian, but I don’t know if she’d be the leader. I’d like to think she’d jump at the chance to create an alliance with Astarion once his vampirism is revealed.

I think the closest for a zero-offensive Tav would probably be a life cleric of sorts who just has support spells and nothing else. So spells such as bless, Healing word or cure wounds, shield of faith etc.

Astarion x Pacifist Tav

You were never the fighter sort of Cleric. Seeing yourself as a travelling cleric, healing those in need, instead of fighting in dungeons. Mainly making a small profit by offering ceremony rituals or simple blessings whether they pay you in the end or not, it’s all out of the kindness of your heart. 

Even if along the road, a bandit chose to target you only, you would attempt to paralyze or slow their attack, whether it was a hold-person spell or a blindness. Anything to stop you from using physical brute force.

Despite all of your talent, you question how it came to be that the others within your group saw you fit to lead and find a cure for the tadpole in your skulls. Despite your protests of not being the frontline fighter type. However, Astarion offers a solution to your predicament, he’ll keep you safe from harm as long as you do the same for him. 

In exchange, he sees you as the perfect person to kill his old master. Besides what else is a vampire lord's weakness than the radiant glow of a cleric, even if you can’t fight with offensive spells, you could perhaps summon an orb of light on par with the power of the sun that will burn him to a crisp.

From what you recalled of vampires during your monastery education, they told you to avoid them as they were nothing but bloodthirsty creatures of the night, hungering for the lives they lost upon their conversions. But Astarion looked different to what they spoke, as if he needed your help, just like those you’ve helped on your travels.

During your fights, you would stay far from the clash of swords, healing and supporting from afar. Ready to heal him whenever he gets hurt, even if it was a small scratch. 

Of course, Astarion would tease you over your fussing with him, but deep down he does enjoy the comfort you provide for him that he thought he would never receive after centuries of torment.

At times he does offer to teach you how to fight offensively with a simple blade, but after continually somehow making the blade slip out of your grasp and hesitate to even land a simple swipe upon a training dummy, he relents choosing not to pull you out of your natural comfort zone.

Whilst traversing through the shadow-cursed lands, when the warmth of the sun is out of his reach due to the chilling touch of the shadow curse. You summon small orbs of daylight, emitting the familiar glow of the sun for him to feel the familiar warmth of the sun once again.

[milkratz]

The ache in his chest was something he had gotten quite used to. What would be a dull throb in the mornings grew into a ravenous, burning monster as its hunger grew; Gale was often left out of breath, the feeling of something so terribly hungry crushing his heart and lungs, his mind panicking as he fought against the once unfamiliar sensation.

When the others glanced back at him, he'd give an embarrased little smile - It wasn't as though he was the most in shape amongst their friends. A year in a tower, plus a life of softness, led to quite a softer figure. But it wasn't as though he could say, "No, I'm not out of breath from casting a spell. It is the bomb in my chest that's trying to eat me."

Gale could see in Tav's eyes the little look of disappointment whenever they handed over a magical artifact. It didn't compare to the disappointment of Gale when the hunger barely abated as he devoured the essence of Weave in whatever shitty little artifact he pressed to his chest.

It was one of the nights, where not even the allure of a good book, something Tav had grabbed in their exploits and handed to him with a small smile, could distract him from the pain. It was unfair - He had devoured quite the artifact earlier that morning, and yet the orb in his chest demanded more.

He sat by the fire, pretending to read the book in his hands. The goblet of wine by his feet laid untouched, the taste of it overwhelming bitter. When he had swallowed but a sip, Gale could feel the anger of the Orb; How dare you consume something so impure! Vile! The ache in his chest had grew, cutting off his lungs and squeezing his heart, and he fought to carefully set down the cup, as to not alert the others.

Shadowheart and Lae'zel sat opposite of him, a heated arguement or another feuled by the Shadowheart's truly baffling intake of wine and Lae'zel's general... self. Wyll, Karlach, and Tav sat with the owlbear cub, who Tav had claimed the honor of simply naming Cubby, and Scratch, who was in a very heated game of fetch with Halsin, who looked half-interested in catching the ball himself.

Astarion... Gale frowned. He hadn't actually seen Astarion since the party returned to camp, victorious in their dungeon delving once more. He was often sat around Tav or even Shadowheart, indulging in the wine that he had once, bitterly, told Gale tasted like nothing more than rot and vinegar. But tonight, beneath the cloudless sky, Astarion was nowhere to be seen.

Gale tried not to let it concern him; It wasn't as though Astarion was known for his openness, but perhaps it was because of that, that his lack of presence made Gale feel iffy. Astarion had moved, just a bit slow enough to draw Gale's masterful eye towards him. He was of course aware of the situation between Tav and the resident vampire, but something in the dull eyes of Astarion made him think that the elf hadn't been taking as advantage of it as he should.

Gale pursed his lips, setting down his book. No matter. He'd take care of the issue. With the group progressively closer to the Underdark, which might be the safer choice in comparison to the Mountain Pass but still not safe, it was important that everyone was in tip-top shape.

No one paid him any mind as Gale shakingly got to his feet; The mouthful of wine he had all but spat out had no effect on him, but the others didn't need to know that his sway was caused by the piercing agony in his chest. A glance at Astarion's dark tent let him know he wasn't there, but Gale was not dismayed. He knew the vampire often forayed into the forest, perhaps in search of food or just to get away from the general rowdiness of the camp.

And in the forest indeed did Gale find him. Hunched over on his knees, Astarion made a rasping sound, apparently not having noticed Gale's tramping about - A whole new reason for concern, since the pain was such a ball of focus in the back of Gale's mind that he couldn't bother to keep his foot steps light even if he wished to.

Between Astarion's hands laid a rat, who despite it's limp posture, made a weak squeaking sound. Astarion stared at it, and Gale oculd see just the hint of wetness on his lips, glinting in the moonlight. Not red; Clear, just a hint of drool as Astarion stared down at the meal on the ground.

Gale cleared his throat, unable to take the stalemate any longer. Astarion's head snapped towards him and with a jolt, Gale could see a glimmer in Astarion's eyes, a dampness that made him feel weak in the knees and his heart throb painfully in something other than the crushing of his chest.

"Playing with your food, Astarion? Thought you were better than that." Gale kept his voice light, trying not to spare a glance at the rat. He wasn't a fan of them; God knows Tara, the damn beauty, hunted enough of the rats in his tower that he got used to seeing the rodents in all sorts of dismal states, but the pain in both Astarion and the rat's eyes made him feel some sort of way.

There was a scoff. Astarion sat back on his hunches, his dirtied hands resting on his thighs. The moonlight set his white hair aglow, his normally sallow skin having a hint of life under the radiance. It casted a light on the scars on Astarion's neck, which strained as the vampire seemed at war with himself. The rat seemed to take it as a queue to flee, and with a speed otherwise betrayed by it's pitiful state, streaked off into the night.

Gale frowned. "Didn't mean to scare off your meal." At the lack of sound, or acknowledgement really, from the elf, he stepped closer into the light.

Astarion opened his eyes slowly, staring up at him. If his eyes had been dull throughout the day, they were all but lifeless now. His breathing was labored and Gale realized why; Astarion was starving.

"You haven't been eating," Gale accused. "Why? Is Tav's blood not good enough for you? Are the scoundrels we kill not to your liking?" Gale didn't know why he was so angry; Perhaps it was seeing someone who was normally so haughty and high and mighty, on his knees in such a state of hunger he'd drool over a rat.

Astarion winced as though Gale's words hurt him. "I... I simply haven't found the opportunity, that's all. All the beasts in the forest seem to have realized there's a monster on the loose; It's getting harder to hunt more filling meals. And..."

The next words were so quiet Gale almost couldn't make them out.

"I don't want to go back to eating rats."

Gale pretended not to hear it; Astarion had not been open with the other members as he had been with Tav. Gale knew the quick and dirty details, of course. A spawn of a cruel vampire master, a slave. Forced to endure horrid torture and abuse for centuries. But Gale was arguably the least favored of the vampire, and he doubted that the other male would appreciate Gale asking him all the details of his horrid past.

"Has Tav not offered you their neck recently?" Gale asked, stepping just a bit closer. Astarion's gaze turned hard as he glared.

"You needn't make it sound like I'm just using darling Tav! Perhaps if you cared to know, they've been getting awfully close to Wyll and Karlach. I," Astarion mumbled, "Didn't want to overstep more than I have." His gaze turned moody and somber, his eyes turning downwards towards his dirtied hands. He twisted his palms up and Gale could see the scratches and blood; Undoubtedly from where he had struggled to catch a rat of all things, another sign of his weakness.

Gale pursed his lips. He knew, of course, that everyone had camp had their issues and it was unfair of them to treat Astarion with the level of distrust they had. Gale would be first to admit that the sight of Astarion's fangs had sent shivers up his spine when they first found out. But Astarion had been nothing but respectful, if annoying; Never bared his fangs at anyone undeserving.

An idea formed in his head, something he would later blame on the nonexistent wine in his system.

He sighed and stepped closer til he in front of the pale elf. Astarion stared up at him, curiosity and confusion warring with the distrust and perhaps fear in his eyes.

"Feast on me. I doubt my blood will taste like anything exquisite, given the current state of my being but, if you're so hesitant on drinking from Tav and there's no other sources of food," Gale said simply. He held out a hand to Astarion, who's lip curled at the sight. The elf refused his grasp and stumbled to his feet dazedly, his red eyes narrowed at Gale in offense.

"I do not need your pity, dear old wizard. Save it for someone who doesn't know you're a fool," Astarion's words cut bitterly to Gale, who was equally offended by the lack of flair to Astarion's words as he was the harshness. He really must be hungry in that case.

Gale scoffed. "Pity? Pity is much different from sympathy, friend. I know hunger too. You've been slow and weak recently. You tripped over a trap even I saw today and almost killed yourself and the rest of us. You're the fool if you think your hunger only affects yourself."

The tangent was perhaps a bit uncalled for, but Gale felt feisty tonight. Astarion shuffled on his feet a bit, his gaze defeated. Gale felt something in him, other than the actual orb of pure magic eating at him, stir at the sight. Gale sighed.

"Believe me, I doubt you'll enjoy this anymore than I will. Just, don't kill me? Because then you'll probably kill everyone here and that's just a hassle." Gale plopped down on the ground, his lungs grateful for the break. He could feel Astarion's gaze on him, but his eyes remained close. He, admittedly tauntedly, strained his head forward to reveal the length of his neck.

There was no warning as he felt twin fangs sink into his neck; He hadn't even heard Astarion move. There was a sharp pain, not unlike when he got his ears pierced, that quickly dulled to an ache. He could feel the wetness of Astarion's mouth on his neck, the pulsing as he sucked at the blood. Overall, despite the ache, the sensation wasn't entirely unpleasant. Gale let him drink until he felt his head grow heavy, and he reached up to tap at Astarion sluggishly.

There was a pause and Gale felt a tad bit of worry when Astarion didn't immediately unlatch. Then, he felt the fangs retract from his neck as Astarion sluggishly lapped at the twin pricks on his neck, cleaning the blood.

There was silence as Gale struggled to keep his head straight and Astarion, for the first time in days, had a light to his eyes.

"You're right. Your bloody tastes dastardly."

Gale let out an unbelieving laugh, surprise and the dizziness of blood loss coming together, making it seem like the whole situation was a lot funnier than it was.

It wasn't as funny when he felt Astarion grab the collar of his sleep shirt and yank him towards him. Gale didn't move as Astarion placed one, small, gentle kiss to the corner of his lip.

"I think I could grow to like it, though."

[childotkw]

In dark side of the moon, can we hear a little more about Riddle's take on things? Particularly regarding Harry?

Tom was, admittedly, a little embarrassed that it took him so long to really notice Evans.

Dumbledore’s son - and wasn’t that a disturbing notion, that someone somewhere had looked at the man who regularly wore outrageously coloured robes decorated with bumblebees and snitches and fluffy clouds and thought him desirable enough to sleep with - had initially flown beneath Tom’s radar. Oh, his arrival at Hogwarts had sparked much conversation, but his actual presence?

Tom hadn’t given the young man much thought. He had had him categorised and labelled in a neat little box from the very first mention of his existence.

Any son of Dumbledore was surely a steadfast believer in his father’s doctrine after all, and therefore not worth Tom’s time.

That impression has lasted only a few weeks.

Word had spread about Evans’ mentorship of the Shame of Slytherin, Nathan Ciro, but Tom had never seen the two together. It had been a point of discussion amongst the school and their House in particular - Dumbledore’s offspring taking a Slytherin under his wing, yet another sign he had dismissed - but for all that people were baffled by the choice, no one seemed to know much of anything about the relationship. How or even why it had come to be.

It seemed like fate that Tom was the one to stumble across the pair. Without even trying he had accomplished what so many others had not.

As it should be.

He had only seen Evans from a distant before, and the man had never struck him as someone particularly intimidating or imposing. He was short, slender, dressed plainly, and the frankly hideous glasses he wore were the only thing Tom could make out of his face - another point, everything about the man was so carefully constructed to be forgettable, Tom really was a fool - but his voice was distinct.

Tom slowed momentarily when he heard the muffled sound of a conversation, then crept closer. It was late in the afternoon, still an hour before dinner would be served, but the dungeons were normally quite empty at this point. Classes had let out ages ago, and most Slytherins enjoyed basking in the sun before they had to return to the cold hallways that bracketed their common room.

He peeked around the corner, and immediately felt his interest pique.

Evans was squatting before a curled up Ciro, staring at the younger wizard with a painfully kind expression.

“- it didn’t work.” Ciro was mumbling, hiding his face in his knees.

“It was your first try, you can’t have expected to get it right straight away.” Evans’ voice was low and patient, not dissimilar to how he spoke in classes, but with a heavy kind of intensity in it that caught Tom off-guard. “Most wizards and witches never master it.”

And that intrigued Tom more. Just what was Evans teaching Ciro?

The other boy said something else, inaudible from how his mouth pressed into his knobbly knee. Evans huffed a laugh, poking Ciro with his wand. “What’s the rule, kid?”

Ciro shifted, unfurling a little. “Head up,” he grumbled, clearly reciting this so called ‘rule’. “I said, you mastered it, and you were younger than me when you did it.”

“I was,” Evans agreed easily, his smile sliding into place with an ease Tom was briefly envious of, “but I also had a hell of a motivator to get it done.”

“What, were you being harassed by dementors?” Ciro asked, his tone far more snide than Tom was used to. He could count on one hand the amount of times he had heard that level of life in Ciro’s voice. Certainly not in the last year had he shown that much fire.

But that knowledge felt secondary to the implication behind his words.

Dementors. A difficult spell. Surely they weren’t talking about the patronus? And Evans had supposedly mastered it before he was fourteen?

“Well, maybe not ‘harassed’, but I had a few run ins,” Evans said blandly, as if most wizards would survive one encounter with such a creature. Ciro goggled at his mentor, mirroring Tom’s own incredulousness. “The point is, I learned the patronus under a lot of pressure. I needed it to protect myself, so I pushed myself. You don’t have that driving you - and you should be bloody glad for it,” Evans added when he saw whatever expression crossed Ciro’s face.

“Then why are you trying to teach it to me?” Ciro’s voice was small. “If not everyone can master it…why bother at all?”

Evans sighed, his face creasing fondly as he ruffled the boy’s hair. “Because I know you can do it,” he said simply, as if the very idea that Ciro would not be able to produce a fucking patronus had never crossed his mind. “Kid, Nathan, you managed to produce mist on your first try. That alone is incredible. It took me weeks to get that far, and I had a far better teacher showing me the ropes. You’ll get there, but you have to be patient with yourself. I’ll be right behind you every step of the way, okay?”

Tom stood there, feeling oddly breathless as he watched the scene play out. He couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation, his ears flooded by the rush of blood.

He felt, strangely, as if something fundamental had just shifted inside him, and that was -

Exhilarating.