#ttrpg modern au

[mooreaux]

Sometimes u just have to draw ur OT3 with a big ole mess of kiddos. Me and @night-market-if share Hadvar , Maud, and Caliban . And their kiddos (left to right in big pic) Rainy, Colder, Bird, and Phoebe

[r0tt13]

is this guy bothering you queen

[grimvestige]

Silly meme redraw of Killian ft. his boyfriend Lancelot~!!

Lancelot belongs to @sadincae!!

[brekfastserial]

I’ve started on it. I’m going with a modern AU of the NPCs. Haven’t done the Count yet. But I think it’s coming along. If you want to see this painted as opposed to just sketched and colored help me hit 1k for the fundraiser before Saturday

[soupedepates]

Pelagia belongs to @corneille-but-not-the-author

They called me a fool, a mad woman, when I announced everyone Pelagia and I were having a boy.

"Zuza, darling, she will be a full Witch, she will be a girl", my beloved companion tried to assure me every time she got the occasion. "But your obstination would do a merry song! Do you have a word that rhymes with stubborn?"

But guess what?

I.

Was.

Right.

I have been a midwife for almost half a century. I have born three children before, and two of them were boys. I know when I am expecting a boy. I can tell.

Of course, when I gave birth, everyone made fun of my conviction. I must admit, I thought I got misled for some time.

And then, my baby discovered the Glamour.

And I love my girlfriend's face. I love every expression on this face I adore. Every move of the lips, every shudder of the eyelids, every wiggle of the eyebrows. But, quite honestly, I know nothing more satisfying than Pelagia coming to me, holding against her our child with freshly changed clothes, bearing a sheepish figure and saying: "how come you were so fucking right about his gender".

To that, I answered:

"Forty-seven years of experience of midwifery. Forty-seven sweet, sweet years of experience."

Now, I look at my son running around with his siblings from other parents. He is quite a rowdy boy, taking after his mother. The other one, not me. He doesn't have the shadow I've seen over the head of his late siblings, the family he would never meet.

But sometimes he seems to know about the world. Sometimes he is just too good with the crows. Sometimes he sees like he is Gifted. A smile reminds me Agatka's joyous demeanour. A laugh sounds like Bogdan's. Sibylline words from his mouth could be Czcibor's. I see the shared features, my heart aches knowing they would have loved their little brother. Yet he is so different, so unique...

He doesn't have their solemnity. Their resignation.

I think Abramelin sees the world, and he finds it beautiful.

[druidx]

The Stitches Beneath

CW: General angst, injury, blood Note: Set in the modern alt universe of "Her Countenance was Light", but with vanilla canon implications Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannah-heartstrings, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster Or read on AO3

Elo's standing by the sideboard, examining the new titles he's bought, when Farren saunters over with her coffee. "You're welcome to borrow it after I'm done, if you want," he says, putting a hand on her shoulder. Elo's eyes flash wide and she hisses, pulling away from his touch. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle–" "No, it's fine, sorry, I just– Long day, you know?" Elo flashes a tight smile. "That I do," Farren says, and sets the cup down. Elo's turned to face him, and Farren notes she's standing very stiffly, the shoulder he just touched hunched unnaturally. "You sure you're alright?" He points to his own shoulder. "Did you pull something?" "No, yeah, I'm fine," is the quick answer, eyes darting away. Libra's scales, but she's a shit liar. "Alright. Well, let's stop standing on ceremony, eh?" He gestures to the sofa. "Make yourself at home." This is the fifth or so time he's had her round for dinner. She could just still be feeling the need to be polite. The fact she's picked up the mug in her non-dominant hand could just be convenient. He could be the Queen of Sheba. They sit on the sofa, Farren sprawled comfortably. Elo is gingerly easing herself back, and even then she sits stiffly. "I could always give you a shoulder rub if you've over exerted," Farren says. "No! I-I mean, that's okay, thank you." "Just, I can't imagine it was easy dragging me out of that warehouse?" Her lips are pinned in a flat line, glaring at the switched-off TV before she answers, "Backup had arrived by then. One of the uniforms helped me." He watches her a moment longer. Nothing more is forthcoming, and Farren decides he's given plenty of opportunities to fess up to whatever's wrong. "You lie like a hooker, you know that?" "Excuse me?" He sits forward. "Cut the crap and tell me what's wrong with your shoulder."

Her mouth works. She rubs at her forehead. "It's nothing. Just a scratch." "Bug. What happened?" She throws her hands up. "I was coming down the warehouse stairs with Vecchio and the other backup when I saw McCleary push you over. So I yelled to Vecchio to cover me and… I was going towards you anyway, you know? But McCleary took a step back and picked something metallic off the ground, so I dove over you… And bloody Vecchio! I don't know where he thought he was shooting, I swear his aim used to be better than that. Man needs glasses or something…" "Bug?" Elo takes a staggered breath. "Right. So McCleary brings this wire or whatever down and he catches my shoulder. Vecchio and the unis tackle McCleary, the medics are more interested in you and there's only room for one in the blood wagon anyway, so I went home on the way to the hospital and patched myself up so you and your what-turned-out-to-be-mild concussion wouldn't be worrying about why I was bleeding." "Did you log it?" Elo snorts. "No. It's just an iddy scratch. Next you'll be telling me I have to log my papercuts." "If you haven't been to see Matilde about it and you didn't get it looked over by an EMT, let me have a look." She pulls back, stance closing off. "Why? It's fine." "A cut on the back is hard to deal with on your own." He raises his hands in a placating gesture. "I just wanna check it got cleaned up okay." Elo's arms snake defensively around her middle and her cheeks colour. "But I'd have to remove my shirt and bra, and… Um. Well, I'm not sure that's professionally appropriate." "I'll lend you a towel, you can use that to cover up. Think of it like wearing a strapless dress." "Because we both know how often I do that…" She shakes her head. "Why are you so bothered about a tiny cut?" Farren purses his lips and looks away. "It's just… I had a mate, over at the 86th. He got caught by a junkie's shiv on the ribs. Just a small cut, he said he patched it up. But he didn't get it cleaned out properly. It got infected, went septic. Within a 10-day he was dead." Farren turns serious eyes on her. "I'd rather that not happen to you, if it's all the same." Elo swallows. "Oh." "So your choice is me, now. Or Matilde tomorrow morning – and I will be checking with her." Fear laces the tightness around her eyes, but her voice is sharp. "Fine. Get me the towel."

After changing in the bathroom, Elo settles herself on one of the stools at the breakfast bar where Farren's laid out his med kit. The dressing is longer than Farren's expecting, held on more by hope than microporous tape. He peels the dressing off and sucks in a breath. "Bug, this is not just a scratch!" The wound is at least six inches long. Paper sutures wonkily attempt to hold the sides together. It's already looking angry. "You were just going to leave it like this?" She mumbles something he doesn't catch. "And how would you've dealt with it on the streets, huh? What kinda backup would you be, writhing on the ground after some turkey pushed you into a wall!" "I would have managed! Taken painkillers or something. It's only cuz I'm relaxed that it hurts." "Bullshit!" "On like you can talk, Mr 'I ran on a sprained ankle'." "That was different. And at least I told you!" Farren slams the flats of his hands on the counter. "Libra's scales, why are you like this!" She freezes. Voice cold and husky, "I think I should leave." Then she's sliding off the stool, and grabbing for her coat. "Bug, stop. Wait. Stop, I said!" Farren grabs Elo's arm, wrenching her back around to face him. She tries some manoeuvre to get out of his grip, but he's like a dog with a bone and she's not at her best. "What is it you think I'm like? Tell me – what name are you gonna throw at me?" "Why the hell are you doing this to yourself?" He shakes her. "Who gave you the idea this is how it should go?" Her eyes widen and her lips press tightly. "Who told you, huh?" She looks away. "Was it Dalliance?" Her head whips around. "No! How dare you–!" "Then who? Huh?" He shakes her again. "I want names, damnit." Lips press again into a bloodless line as she angrily holds his gaze. Farren lets go, stepping back. Elo twists into a fighting stance. Knuckles white where she grips her coat. "Gods dammit…" He cups the back of his neck, eyes squeezed closed, forcing himself to take deep breaths. When he opens, she's watching him warily, body tense like she's expecting to fight. A trickle of blood stains the towel. "At least let me dress that, before you go." She relaxes her stance with a wince. Her lips are twisted in a nauseous expression, her lightened skin sheened with sweat. She gives a tight nod.

They move back to the breakfast bar, silent aside from the odd hiss or grunt of pain as Farren cleans the wound. It's only as he's applying the dressing, that he says, "I'm sorry. For losing my temper. But this isn't procedure. And I know you know that. What's the handbook say, huh?" Her voice now tight and small, Elo quotes, "If an injury is sustained that will be detrimental to one's normal working duties, it should be reported to a superior officer and logged by the in-house medic." "And what's the reasoning given?" "Injuries must be logged primarily to ensure the injured officer is given appropriate time off, or reduced duties, to expedite the healing process and return them to normal duties as soon as practicable." "Damn straight. So tomorrow, you're gonna go to Matilde and you're gonna tell her you didn't realise it was as bad as it is until you got me to look at it. And now you know, you're reporting it in accordance with procedure." He takes a juddering breath. "And I'm not gonna keep pushing. You wanna tell me who made you think this was normal, you do it when you're good and ready. But you do this to me again…" His hands still on her back, and she can feel them shaking. Something burns in Elo's chest. "I won't. I promise. On my badge." Farren draws in a deep breath. "Good." His hands go back to work.

[recovering-vamp]

[sunflowerpirateart]

Another ttrpg group haunted house pic lol

[OC credits: Morgan - highstrider2254, Haukea - alluringAllegro, Shiro - stormsfordragon, Eyol - mtann12, Jin Fang - trashbabyaia, EvaAverySmith - jezzaworks18]

[faerunfaggot]

real ones know whts up

[rebe-p-arts]

Embracing lovers on a bed of roses, author unknown

[chikirya]

Ok i finished oathbringer yay

In the middle of reading, had to stop at this part:

Not the first time reading about the oathstone obviously but then I thought 'hm, following orders from a rock huh? Where else have i heard that before?'

Then it dawned on me:

Szeth is actually playing by TTRPG rules

[creator-from-hel]

Modern AU Tyr, aka overachiever in academics, license in history + master in marine biology, tried politics before giving up because it was too overwhelming, currently trying for a PhD in deep-sea creatures, hopelessly in love with his best friend, addicted to sugar and using funny shirts to convey the sarcasm his emotional repression is blocking

overall a big sweetheart with a lot of problems (like his canon namesake)

[luziland02]

Aegean as a bassist in a Modern AU

[dcawritings]

Unfortunate: My wife, a player in a long-running Pathfinder 2e campaign that I run, immediately clocked when I was in the middle of trying to design a DCA-inspired NPC and demanded, nay, begged for me not to go through with it. I love my wife and alas, he will be unused

Fortunate: I now have a DCA oc/ttrpg AU and I'm going to figure out how I can make things about him. His name is Celest (short for Celestial) and he's an Automaton Oracle who specializes in astrological magics and somehow has two (or more) souls stuck inside his automaton core. He's a couple hundred years old (in terms of being in his current form/life) and tends to keep to himself and away from major cities.

[soupedepates]

Baku and the patient belong to @hel-phoenyx, and Bazyli to @noa-de-cajou

This is the patient Dr. Claro talked to me about

She is so young

Could be my daughter

But it's "Hello

I'm Mrs Majak"

And

"The doctor has already told me everything I needed to know so we will tackle precise issues"

And

"It's better if I run some tests

Some of them are invasive

Like the smear test

You can say no to them

I won't pressure you to do anything"

And

"Have you discussed about being monitored by a specialist with Dr. Claro?"

And

"Can I examine you?"

And

"I am going to prescribe you this cream

To ease discomfort

You apply it internally"

And

"You need to know that the pill's efficiency can be lessen by consuming activated charcoal

Or medications on the list I'm writing you down

Or phytotherapy

Or laxatives

And for maximum efficiency you have to take your pill very consistently"

And

"Do you have any question?"

And

"We should meet again in a month or so just to make sure you're doing good on the pill I'm prescribing you"

And she leaves

I close the door

She is so young

How can you hurt a child?

I deal with horrible situations on the daily but sometimes it is more painful

I want to go home early but I have so many patients and they need to be seen

Buzz

Oh

What bad new am I going to-

"what the hell zuza your third kid looks so much like you it's so fucking funny"

An attached picture

Bazya and Bogdan

But okay Bazyli you make yourself at home even when I am not here

Wait Idalia must have clocked out an hour ago

Bazya and Bogdan can you believe it?

My son

My baby son

He looks so grown-up he was just a baby

He came

He actually came

He wants to see me again

Oh

I must be tired

...

I am crying

[prince-jelli-fish]

was thinking about whether or not Luther had any tattoos