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mossy-rock-in-a-field · 4 months

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Several weeks ago, my retirement-age mother requested that I play Baldur’s Gate 3 for her because she has trouble with controllers/keyboards and wanted “to see what all the fuss is about with that cute wizard boy.” For context, my mother and I have done this sort of thing in the past with certain RPGs (dragon age, mass effect, etc.), but it’s been a few years since she’s personally requested a game like this. Basically, I control her Tav but let her make all the choices so she can determine how the story plays out without worrying about mechanics. She treats it like a choose-your-own-adventure book.

Anyway, here is a list of some of the things my mother has said and/or chosen to do throughout the course of BG3 in no particular order:

She is (obviously) romancing Gale. She is quite smitten with him and his passion for books and learning; she also thinks he’s polite and qualifies as “relationship material.” She also REALLY likes the things he’s said about his cat so far (my mom is a cat lady), so I know she’s gonna flip shit when we meet Tara in Act III.

She’s playing a normal druid Tav with a generally good alignment. Her favorite spell is Spike Growth because she thinks it’s hilarious whenever enemies walk into the AOE and die. I usually end up having to cast it at least once per battle per her request. Sometimes twice.

Contrary to her alignment, my mother tasks me with robbing every single chest, crate, barrel, and burlap sack we come across; this also includes people and their pockets. The party is always at max carrying capacity. ALWAYS. She doesn’t like selling things because “what if I need them.” The camp stash is in literal shambles. There is no hope of organizing it. She’s got like fifty seven sets of rags and a billion pieces of random silverware.

She MUST talk to every animal and corpse in the game. I think five hours of her total playtime so far (47ish) has been spent speaking to animals as many times as humanly possible. Like, I was thorough in my own playthroughs, but this is on a whole other level.

She did NOT get Volo’s lobotomy, but she did let Auntie Ethel take her eye in hopes of a cure for the tadpole. I did not understand the logic then. I still do not understand it now.

She is far more interested in fashion than equipment stats. Do you have any idea how much gold I’ve had to spend on dyes just to make things match? SO much. Same vibe as that “please someone help me balance my finances my family is starving” tweet but instead of candles it’s thirty thousand fucking bottles of black and furnace red dye.

We broke the prisoners out of Moonrise, but they got on the boat too early and bugged the fight by leaving Astarion and Karlach behind. Wulbren Bongle somehow got stuck in combat mode even after engaging the cutscene on the docks below Last Light; he he kept trying to run ALL THE WAY BACK TO MOONRISE nine fucking meters at a time while I frantically tried to finish the fight with the Warden, otherwise Wulbren would have run straight into the shadow curse. (I would’ve let him go; fuck Wulbren Bongle, all my homies hate Wulbren Bongle. But my mom didn’t know that, and she wanted to keep him safe. So.)

She had me reload a save like eighteen times to save the giant eagles on top of Rosymorn Monastery. Wouldn’t even let me do non-lethal damage just to get past things. I think getting that warhammer for the dawnmaster puzzle took us like an hour and a half alone. (Yes, I know you can use any warhammer, but SHE didn’t.)

She’s started keeping an irl notebook to keep track of her quests between play sessions. She writes down ideas and strategies when she thinks of them during the week, then brings them to her next game session at my house. I think she wrote about three pages on possible approaches to the goblin fortress alone.

She insists that I pet Scratch and the owlbear cub before every single long rest, no exceptions. Sometimes I have to do it multiple times until she is absolutely sure that the animals know exactly how much she loves and cherishes them. She has also commissioned a crocheted owlbear plush from a friend of hers and is very excited.

I’m sure there’s a bunch of stuff I’m forgetting, but those are some fun things I thought of. She’s enjoying the game and is telling all of her retired friends to get it and play it for themselves. She asked me “what is Discord” yesterday and I think my life flashed before my eyes.

anyway shout out to my mom for being neat

Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale #gale of waterdeep #astarion #gale dekarios #laq talks #I talk #she stares at me real hard after she makes a choice too #like squinting to see if my expression gives anything away #if it was a good or bad call #I keep my face blank as shit it’s hilarious #I have not told her I’m writing fanfic for this game #nor will I ever #jesus christ

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tales-of-the-ghost-zone · 7 months

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A few months before Danny gets his powers, while on a trip to Gotham with his family (maybe there was a ghost convention or something). While in Gotham Danny some how figures out that Bruce Wayne is Batman. I don’t know how he figures it out, but he does. When they get back to Amity Danny jokingly makes a power point presentation for his parents about why they should put in their will that if something ever happened to them Bruce Wayne would get custody of him (and Jazz if she’s still underage at the time).

A couple of his points are:

He’s a billionaire so you know he’ll be able to afford to take care of me and Jazz

He has a mansion so lots of space and big rooms

He’s got a butler

He’s already well known for adopting black haired blue eyed children so he probs wouldn’t be opposed to taking me in

He’s got kids of his own already so me and Jazz would get more siblings!!

He’s Batman

Danny did the whole power point as a joke but his parents actually took it kind of seriously. Cause up to this point neither one of them had thought about what would happen to Danny and Jazz if the both of them where to die. So they make a will and put in it that if they both die then Bruce Wayne gets custody of their kids. And then they all promptly forget about it.

Two years later Bruce Wayne gets a call from a man claiming to be the executor of the Fenton will and that Bruce’s presence is requested in Amity Park for the reading of the Fenton will. Bruce is wracking his brain trying to remember who the Fenton’s are and if how he knows them. But the man is coming up blank (cause he’s never actually met them before). He goes to the will reading and is shocked to hear that the Fenton’s, two people he’s never met before, have left custody of their 16yo son to him.

Danny is just as shocked because holy shit that power point was a joke. He didn’t mean for his parents to actually take it seriously and do that!!! And Vlad is pissed. He was sure he was gonna get custody of Danny after killing off the Fenton parents! Bruce is trying to figure out why these two strangers left their son to him. He’s watching Danny with eagle eyes trying to figure the kid out. And he sees the way Danny flinches whenever Vlad gets close or puts his hand on Danny’s shoulder.

Vlad tries to convince Bruce it would be better for Danny if Bruce gave up custody to him(Vlad). He’s know the boy for two years after all and he was actually a family friend. Danny meanwhile is silently shaking his head and giving Bruce pleading eyes silently begging him not to let Vlad take him. Bruce just tells Vlad that the Fenton’s must have had a good reason for giving him(Bruce) custody instead of giving it to Vlad, and he’s going to abide by the Fenton’s wishes.

Bruce leaves with Danny and once in the limo he asks Danny if he’s ever met him or his parents before. Poor Danny has to explain how he jokingly made a power point about why his parents should leave custody of him to Bruce in the event of their deaths, and how he never thought his parents would actually take it seriously. But hey at least he doesn’t have to go live with Vlad now!

#danny phantom #batman #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton #ghost king phantom #it was supposed to be a joke #but the Fenton parents are weird #and extra #and they love their kids #so if their son wants Bruce Wayne to be their back up in the event of their demise #then who are they to say no #Bruce is super confused when he shows up for the will reading #who the hell are these people #the executor of the will didn’t know that the Fenton’s and Bruce didn’t know each other #he saw Bruce Wayne’s name and that he was being left custody of Danny #and he just assumed that the Fenton’s and the Wayne’s where friends #plus Wayne is always adopting orphaned kids with black hair and blue eyes #and Danny fits that perfectly #the man did not question this decision for a single second #vlad is beyond pissed #he killed the Fenton parents to get custody of Danny #and it was all for nothing cause those idiots didn’t leave him custody #he’s trying to figure out how the Fenton’s knew Bruce Wayne as well #Danny is just super embarrassed #it was a damn joke!#it wasn’t supposed to be taken seriously

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evilminji · 6 months

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I just remeber a post from a while back ( >.>)

Remember the Dairy King? Ghosts that STAY for one reason or another, instead of moving on? I made a prompt about HAUNTS, but?

What of Haunted Houses? Haunted by what? Themselves. Their People are gone. They lay abandoned. Dead homes. Limnal places. Haunted and alive.

And yes, some of them are angry. Who wouldn't be? They did nothing wrong! Their People are gone, the world strange, and they have known nothing but neglect and suffering. They of course lash out.

Maybe they saw horrors, inside their walls. Abuse they could not stop. Death they could not prevent. Humans are terrible things to them. Painful. Ugly.

But there are also those, we must imagine, who are DESPERATE. Clinging. Covetous. Trapping any unfortunate enough to stumble into them, because they can not bear to be alone again. Ugly cycles of suffering and need.

Not all, of course. There are houses you would never know were Haunted. So comfortable and warm, they just feel like a hug. Blankets ready just where you need them, tables always set for just as many as arrive. If they have gardens, they can even feed you!

The problem? For there always IS some sort of concern.

You can't just... let ANYONE live in these Houses. These manors and castles, huts and homes. In the same way you can't let just ANYONE keep a disable eagle or tiger. And even beyond that? Guess who's voice is still cracking, just got a crown that doesn't fit, and needs to CHECK on these homes?

Because unlike other Ghosts? Most of these ones? Can't run away. They exsist where they exsist. Many in need of careful, patient, therapy and socialization. They're scared. People keep trying to EXSORSIZE them.

It hurts.

They don't understand why people are hurting them.

Why they are punching HOLES in their walls to "renovate" them instead of asking for things.

It HURTS.

And? If we want to do a cross over? I bet you two coffee and a doughnut, Danny meets Constantine and the Bats at one such house, in old Gotham. Where the last of one branch died and when then greedy mofo OTHER branch tried to turn their stately home into a McMansion? They nearly died.

Which, to be fair. Great Aunt Agatha DID warn them. "Leave the house be. She's a good girl."

But of course, things escalate. Building crews are lied too, nearly die. Batman gets involved. Breaks a rib. Now Constantine is staring down a Haunted House, who is very scared and just wants the bad men to go away. Wants her Aggy back.

And all DANNY sees is the equivalent of a terrified cat, cornered by a group of thugs, who is puffed up desperately to make themselves seem Scary(tm), all while those same group of thugs level WEAPONS at that poor creature.

Ghost king FROM THE HIGH BAR! With the FULL BODY FLYING TACKLE!!!

You get away from THAT HOUSE, you magical BASTAAAAARD! *SLAM*

@hypewinter @ailithnight @hdgnj

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #or just DP if you want #haunted houses #are trying their best #they just want to be Good Homes #get a good grade in Being Home #a thing that is reasonal to want and possible to achieve

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kelcemesoftly · 9 months

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Request “You know I would die for you, right?” for Trav

Not My Girl

Triggers: swearing, alcohol, angst then fluff

Notes: Thanks so much for this request! I think I went a little overboard, but shhhh. I had a lot of fun writing this one :) Maybe angst is my thing??? Who knows.

Also, as much as I cannot stand the Bengals, I have nothing against any of the players or Logan Wilson. So no hate please ❤️💛

The Chiefs were down by a field goal at the beginning of the fourth quarter. Usually, that wouldn't cause you too much stress, but this was against the Bengals. And historically, the games had come down to the last possession. That thought alone made you feel sick to your stomach. You knew how important this playoff win was to the guys on the team. It would prove to all the haters, all the doubters, that the Chiefs were the real deal, and that Arrowhead would always be Arrowhead.

You watched as Pat, Trav, and the rest of the offense fled onto the field. You were up in the booth with Britt, some of the other wives, and Trav's entire family. Unfortunately, the Eagles hadn't made it this far in the playoffs, and while that was sad for Jason, it meant that his family could come and support Trav while rooting for the Chiefs to pull off a win. "Let's go, babe," you muttered, standing near the see-through glass of the family-style suite. Pat got the ball and threw it to Trav, who successfully made the catch. He gained about ten yards before he was tackled down by Logan Wilson. Only this time, the defensive player was preventing him from getting up right away. At first you felt as if your heart stopped, afraid that Travis had been injured. But, that worry was quickly replaced with utter confusion once he stood up and got in the face of Wilson. You couldn't hear any of the words being exchanged, obviously, but you could see his muscles flex under his jersey, even with as far away as you were. "What the hell?" you whispered, glued to the plexiglass in front of you.

The ref threw up a yellow penalty flag as Wilson shoved Travis, who then reacted out of instinct by shoving the defensive player back. Soon enough, both teams got into a scuffle, and the only reason Travis got out of that mess was because Pat literally pulled him out of it. "What happened?" Britt asked, popping up next to you, her brows furrowed in concern and confusion.

"I have no clue. He hasn't been like this... this mad, in years," you said, shaking your head. At the beginning of his career, Trav had a real quick temper on him, but that had progressively gotten better as the seasons had went on. Sure, he would get heated here and there, but this was something different. Listening to the ref's call, you heard that each player got an unsportsmanlike call, offsetting each other. You reached for your drink and took a long sip, running your fingers through your hair while watching the boys on the field below. Luckily, Travis had remained put together the remainder of that drive, with him scoring a touchdown. Unfortunately, Butker missed the extra point, so the Chiefs were only ahead by a field goal.

Kylie had made you up another drink, and by the time you were half-way through it, the Bengals had tied up the game. "You don't want 15 to have the ball in his hands in the final seconds of this game," Britt said, clapping her hands as the Chiefs' offense took the field once again. You watched them intently, immediately picking up on the fact that Travis was distracted. That altercation must have really rattled him, based on fact that Trav had now dropped three passes.

"Come on, Trav," Jason encouraged, placing his hands on top of his head. The game was down to the final 30 seconds, and the boys still had forty yards to go. Blowing out a deep breath, you bit down on your lip as Britt handed you a shot glass. "It's good luck," she lied, clanking glasses with you and Kylie before all three of you shot it back.

As you reached down for your drink, you shrieked loudly when you saw Travis and Wilson going at it once again at the end of one of their plays, albeit this time it was much more intense. There was clearly yelling going between the both of them, with Travis pointing his finger angrily at the man across from him. "Baby, don't do this. We need you," you begged, swallowing the bile you felt creeping up in your throat. Once again, Pat was able to break up the fight, but not without a flag being thrown. Thankfully, the penalty was only on Wilson that time, otherwise your husband would have been ejected.

"What the hell is his deal?" you asked no one in particular, shaking your head. You were angry that he was doing this because he could have easily jeopardized the game and his team, something you knew he'd regret. And it was a playoff game, to make it worse. You just prayed that nothing else would happen in the remaining seconds of the game.

Britt took your hand in hers and squeezed it as Pat got the ball, scrambling around the pocket until he spotted Trav being wide open. Your husband caught the ball and ran it into the end zone, spiking the ball. He screamed out in happiness and did one of his dances, only being stopped by his teammates embracing him. Pat gripped his arm and dragged him off the field before he could confront his enemy, not wanting there to be a penalty flag on the play to overturn the touchdown. As soon as the touchdown was confirmed, everyone in the booth screamed and cheered. "We're going to the Super Bowl!" Britt screamed, jumping up and down with you.

Everyone in the booth celebrated while the players wrapped up the game, and before you knew it, you were heading down to the field with the other family members in the booth. As soon as you got to the field, your eyes roamed around for your husband. Once you spotted him, you took off running for him. Trav opened his arms and you jumped into them, legs and arms wrapping around his sweaty body. "You did it, baby, you're going to the Super Bowl," you grinned, happy tears streaming down your cheeks. Even though they'd been to three Super Bowls before, winning two of them, the pride and joy you felt for him never got old. Giving him a sweet kiss, you told him how much you loved him before he set you down. He kept his arm securely wrapped around your shoulders as his family hugged him, as well, not letting you go for one second. It wasn't abnormal for him to want to touch you, but he wasn't generally this clingy.

Before you had a chance to ask him what had happened on the field, Wilson began to approach your small group. When Trav saw him, a low, animalistic growl left his throat, and he started to stalk toward him. You tried with all your might to hold him back, scared of what he might do. Unfortunately, you weren't strong enough to do so on your own. Luckily, Jason and Ed were right there. Jason gripped the back of his jersey and Ed stood in front of his son, pushing him back with his hands on Trav's chest. "I think you should give him time to cool off," Ed said, turning his head to speak to Wilson. With a curt nod, he obliged and walked away with his shoulders slumped.

"Travis Michael Kelce," you said firmly, eyes narrowing. You had no idea what the heck was going on, but you weren't going to have him risking his career over a petty football disagreement with someone on another team. When Trav's warming blue hues met yours, his face instantly softened and he swallowed thickly. "What the hell is this about?" you asked, putting your foot down. He shook his head, signaling he didn't want to talk about it on the field in front of all the reporters. You could understand that, so you didn't argue with him. Instead, you continued to celebrate with him and the rest of the guys before they headed to the locker room.

You and the rest of the family waited in the family waiting area while Trav showered and changed. It was eerily quiet between all of you, considering the win that just took place. "He had to have said something non football related. Travis has never been that pissed over a game," Jason commented, holding Ellie in his arms.

You sighed and nodded your head, looking down at your shoes. "Why don't y'all head back to the house? I'll wait for him. Hopefully I can get it out of him and he'll be calm by the time we get home," you suggested, rummaging through your purse to hand Kylie the keys. They agreed and after giving you a hug, shuffled out of the waiting area.

It wasn't too much longer before Travis emerged from the locker room. A small smile crossed your lips, and you offered him a hug and a kiss when he greeted you. Despite how irritated and slightly annoyed you were with him about his altercation with Wilson, you couldn't help but be immensely proud of him. He laced his fingers with yours and led you toward your car.

As soon as he pulled onto the highway, you turned in your seat so that you could properly look at him. "Trav, what happened? This... this anger, this rage, it isn't you. Not anymore," you said gently, stroking the back of his hand that was rested against your thigh.

With a heavy sigh, he glanced toward you and then squeezed your leg before turning his attention back to the highway. "I fucking hate his guts, Y/N."

You chuckled humorlessly, scrunching up your nose. "I gathered that from your two interactions with him, babe. Why do you hate him? You haven't had an issue with him in the past," you pointed out, placing your palm against the back of his hand before lacing your fingers with his.

"He made degrading and derogatory comments about you, babe. Comments that I wasn't going to fucking stand for. I don't give a fuck what he says about me. He wants to comment on my game? My appearance? My personality? Go for it. But he will not speak that way about my wife," he seethed, face reddening.

You swallowed thickly, shaking your head. "What did he say?"

"It doesn't matter. All that matters is that he said filthy things that he should have never said. I will never forgive him, Y/N."

"I appreciate you sticking up for me, babe. I really do. But you could have been ejected from the game. The playoff game, Travis! You would regret that for the rest of your life," you said, your free hand flying into the air.

"No, I wouldn't. You know I would die for you, right? Getting kicked out of one fucking game would be nothing."

And as much as you wanted to argue with him, as much as you wanted to say he would regret it in the long run, you couldn't find it in your heart to yell at him or be mad. He was defending your honor, being the most amazing husband and person you could have asked for. Instead of yelling at him, you leaned over and pressed your lips to his cheek. "I love you. To the moon and back."

"You already know, baby girl. I love you more."

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Taglist: @kelcemenow @hearts4papayas @keiva1000

#travis kelce #travis kelce blurb #travis kelce imagine #travis kelce oneshot

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strrwbrrryjam · 2 months

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the take that hosea is a good father is an understandable one, considering it mostly derives from comparison to dutch, who groomed two orphan boys to be outlaws, pitted them against one another through his favouritism, treated one son more as a workhorse than a son to the point where he literally drives himself to sickness and injury and has most of his self worth come from what he can do for others, dismissed his gang members when they had concerns - often berating them and accusing them of not being loyal (which he does repeatedly, sometimes unprompted, to men and women who have been loyal to him for years), prioritised a man so vile that most - if not all except dutch - did not like him - a man who went against everything he claimed to stand for - a man who was actively a threat to the people of colour and the women who dutch had promised safety too, did not plan to rescue his son who was being tortured and very close to death after being captured from a very obvious trap, did not plan to rescue his other son from prison, taunting his dying son over being too tired to go on any jobs, claiming that he never had a son in an effort to manipulate eagle flies, pointing a gun at his son and leaving them to die, (and that's outside of his other crimes, being abusive to his girlfriend as well as hitting on other women in front of her and making it so the gang members treat her like shit. exploiting a fucking genocide for his own personal gain, and more)

so it's easy to look between the two and think "wow, hosea is so much better than him, he must be a good father/man," but that just isn't true, he's.. more okay than anything. not only was he complicit in signing his children's death warrant, raising them to be outlaws, and putting them in so much danger, he was also complicit and enabled dutchs treatment of the gang members, not just arthur and john either, but all of them.

he is the second in charge, the other half of the curious couple, he holds so much power in the gang, and we see that with how they listen and confide in him, and yet he doesn't do much, he doesn't stop dutch from mistreating the gang members, doesn't stop dutch from doing much of anything (even things he clearly disagrees with), doesn't throw micah out (which, I repeat, he does have the power to do so, especially since dutch still respects hosea, yes, we see dutch not listen to hosea that much, but he still respects him and his decisions, still clearly cares for hosea, i'm sure if hosea were to dig his feet in on something instead of rolling over, dutch would at least consider, of course this is just my interpretation), doesn't work to settle tensions between the gang, he still brings the gang on dangerous jobs that are doomed to fail (one of which results in his own death) - believing in his own hubris and intelligence which results in him underestimating his enemies, and he doesn't take charge even when he knows something is wrong.

it isn't just this either, he has his moments where he too treats the gang members (not just arthur) unfairly, berating, and using physical aggression on sean and bill, comes to mind (although, this was a different time where such actions were acceptable back then and sean and bill were generally being rather lazy, which could very much put them in danger,) but he was also at fault in the raising of his two sons into the roles that they had and is partly responsible for arthurs incredibly low self esteem, often calling him stupid and ugly looking, which may be jokes to him but something arthur very much takes to heart, believing it to be true.

sure, we see him asking arthur to rest and trying and succeeding to get the gang members to open up, and actually listening to them, we see him comfort them and respect them, unlike dutch, and he's very good at that, I applaud him for it, but I can't help but feel this mostly coming from his old age and the fact that he feels (and is correct) about the gang coming to an end and realising what he has done, trying to rectify the situation, soothe his regret if you will. that doesn't mean he didn't take this role much sooner (likely back to when bessie had passed), but I believe he fully delved into this role because of his old age and his regret, wanting to make sure he feels the world with as little of it as possible. he has been a complicit and active participant in everything.

this isn't anti-hosea, i love hosea to bits, i wish he could very much replace my pa but I wish people would understand that just because dutch is awful, does not mean that hosea is an angel, he's decent, at best.

#would you believe i wrote this all while being in the bath. i was washing my hair and inspiration just hit me. lol #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 hosea matthews #hosea matthews #rdr2 dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde #rdr2 arthur morgan #arthur morgan #rdr2 john marston #john marston #rdr2 van der linde gang #van der linde gang #strawberry speaks

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dungeon-strugglers · 1 year

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✨New item!✨ Wings of the Raven Wondrous item, legendary (requires attunement by a cleric or paladin)

This long black cloak is made from raven plumage, and is a gift from the Goddess of Death to her most devout servants.

Sentience. Wings of the Raven is a sentient lawful neutral cloak with an Intelligence of 14, a Wisdom of 16, and a Charisma of 15. It has hearing and darkvision out to a range of 120 feet, and its passive Perception is 18. The cloak communicates telepathically with its wielder and can speak, read, and understand Common, Elvish, Sylvan and Abyssal.

Personality. A fey spirit named Fin Dòmhnallan inhabits the Wings of the Raven. The cloak is protective and inquisitive. It demands that its wielder follow the Goddess of Death's will, and to always take a trinket or memento from the fallen as tribute to her.

Twilight Bond. You have a +1 bonus to AC while wearing this cloak. This bonus increases to +2 when you are in dim light or darkness.

Death Sense. While wearing the cloak, your awareness of life and death is greatly enhanced. While you are within 30 feet of a creature that you can see, you are able to tell if it is healthy (more than half hit points), bloodied (less than half hit points), dying (zero hit points), diseased, dead, undead or neither (such as a construct). This ability cannot be deactivated while wearing this cloak, knowledge of life and death becomes your constant companion.

Corvid Comradery. While wearing this cloak you can communicate with ravens and crows, and you have advantage on Charisma checks to influence them.

Raven Form. As an action while wearing this cloak, you can use your Channel Divinity to shapechange into a giant raven. The transformation lasts until you use a bonus action to return to your normal form, or until you drop to 0 hit points or die. Your statistics are replaced with the statistics of a giant raven, but you retain your alignment, personality, languages, hit points, proficiency bonus and Constitution, Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma scores. You also retain all of your skill and saving throw proficiencies, in addition to gaining those of a giant raven. You can cast any spells that don’t require material components with a cost while in giant raven form. Your equipment merges into your new form and has no effect until you return to your normal form. You still benefit from the cloak’s magical properties while in giant raven form. The giant raven uses the statistics of a giant eagle, but it has darkvision out to 120 feet, resistance to necrotic damage, bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing damage from nonmagical attacks, and its natural attacks deal an extra 1d8 radiant or necrotic damage (your choice). This extra damage is increased to 2d8 against undead or creatures with less than half of their maximum hit points. If you reduce a creature to 0 hit points while in giant raven form, you can take a bonus action to move up to half your speed and make a melee attack. Additionally, necromantic magic is suppressed within 60 feet of your giant raven form. Undead creatures have disadvantage on saving throws and a creature attempting to cast a spell from the school of necromancy must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw against your spell save DC or the spell fails while within this area.

Those who have proven themselves dedicated to preserving the sanctity of mortality are blessed with dark insight and formidable might. The Goddess of Death calls upon her champion to hunt necromancers and their abhorrent, death-defying spawn. Where her gaze falls the land darkens under the wings of a thousand ravens and undead creatures cower in the unkind shadows. - 🖌🎨 Like our work? Consider supporting us on Patreon and gain access to the hi-resolution art for over 170 magic items, item cards and card packs, beautiful creature art and stat blocks and setting pdfs with narrative hooks and unique lore!🧙‍♂️

📜 Credit. Art and design by us: the Dungeon Strugglers. Please credit us if you repost elsewhere.

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generalfoolish · 2 months

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Into Your Arms

Summary: Your life is disrupted after a chance meeting with the 11th street kids, and despite your better sense you find yourself drawn to the chaos.

Pairing: Vigilante (Adrian Chase) x Fem!Reader

Warnings: *All of my works are M for mature so 18+ please; language, language, language, canon typical violence, sexual themes, canon-typical violence, gore descriptions, blood mentions, TW some PTSD related stuff

Word Count: 2.3k

Request: can I please request an Adrian Chase x fem!vet!reader...

a/n: I have the flu! Hope this makes sense 🙈 eep! edited to add the entire tag list

Master List | Tag List Form | Adrian Chase Master List

With tears in your eyes, you stared down the barrel of a gun at the motley group in front of you. They were talking, their voices filling the small space, but you couldn’t make out their words over the roaring in your ears, over the man who was holding that gun and had said without an ounce of remorse that he was planning to kill you.

You’d been intubating an English bulldog when he came in with a busted up eagle–of all things. Your breath stuttered as he raised his voice, the force of it causing him to move the gun. It was funny. You were about to die and all you could think about was that dog in the back.

Dr. Hurwitz had managed to keep the eagle alive, but it hadn’t been enough for the man in front. He’d kill you all because you’d seen his face. With blurry vision you looked away from the barrel of the gun and at the man himself. He was dorky–in that boy next door way. In a different life, you’d consider him handsome. He reminded you of the goofy labradors you saw each day at the clinic, with his big eyes and soft hair.

Fear gripped your chest, forcing your breath out in small, panicked puffs. You were only dimly aware of Greg, one of the other nurses, whispering at you to “get it the fuck together.”

“Hey. What the fuck are you saying back there?” The man with the gun asked, looking between you and Greg.

“Just trying to calm her down; she’s hysterical.” Greg told him, and as if you’d rehearsed it, another sob wracked through you.

“Oh, god. Are you okay?” One of the women asked, her voice laced with concern.

“Of course not, she thinks she’s about to die.” The other man answered, the one who had come in the beginning with the eagle.

You felt worse than you had before, but now your brain was soaking up the visual information you’d missed. Despite his gun still trained on you, your eyes were drawn to Vigilante–that’s what they had called him.

“What other choice do we have besides killing this veterinarian, this nurse, this nurse, and this male nurse?”

“You can just say two nurses, man.”

“If I just say “nurse,” I think people will imagine it as a woman.”

“He’s standing right there! We don’t have to imagine anything.

“It must be weird, waking up every day and being a male nurse.”

“You’re a fucking busboy!”

“Oh great! Now we definitely have to kill them, because you’re giving stuff away about my secret identity!”

“Do we really have to kill these people?”

The pause of silence was too much for you, the shared uncertain looks between the group. A small whimper left your lips, and you cursed the sound.

You had higher hopes for yourself than this. You never imagined you’d be in this scenario, of course, but when it came down to it, you’d thought you would be able to handle yourself. Instead, you’d turned into a sobbing fool at the first sign of danger. You weren’t even begging. You just stood there, metaphorically pissing yourself and waiting to die.

You willed yourself to stand straighter, but kept your arms up in the air. You’d die with a bit of dignity, even if you’d had to summon every ounce of courage and self to do so.

“No,” The blonde began and that was all you needed to deflate completely. The false bravado simply slipped from you as fast as you’d mustered it. The fleeting confidence roared in your ears, drowning the rest of the conversation. You let yourself be jostled around, ziptied, and left in the waiting room of the vet office.

Your life gets simpler after that. You keep working at Dr. Hurwitz’s office; thanks to a considerable bump in pay, for not leaving (re: suing), you were finally able to drive a few hours to the coast for a little relaxation. You heal. The journey is as odd as the day that precipitated it. You settle back into your routine and can watch your regular procedurals–and don’t bat an eye at the guns, violence, and death. But a man talking too loudly at you in the office, his tone mean and cutting, and you’d crumple to tears in the staff room pawing at your phone for the speed dial number of your therapist.

But it’s good, your life is good because it’s the one you didn’t expect to have. You take nothing for granted, and you spare yourself no criticisms. You learn to love yourself, and the inspiration of finally liking who you are seeps into every facet of your life. You take up photography as a new hobby, and you start going to the gym. It’s there you find a class in self-defense, and though you aren’t kidding yourself about your skill level against some supe, you figure you owe it to yourself to at least learn how to throw a punch.

You’re leaving class one night, taking a gulping sip from your water bottle, admiring the new ache you’d gotten from your sparring partner, when the street goes sideways. You hit your elbow hard, and barely register the clatter of your bottle and bag hitting the street. By the time you catch your breath, the attacker has made himself known.

For a brief, blinding moment, you don’t move. Your chest is seized, your blood sluggish in your veins. You want to scream, run, fight, but you can’t move your stupid, useless body. A flash of blue, a great clap, and a spray of red followed by the kind of primal scream only the dying can make–and then you were being lifted up.

Your elbow was a throbbing scream as your feet hit the pavement, right side up.

“You okay?” A man asked, though muffled from beneath a blue and black facial mask, you’d know that timbre and cadence of that voice anywhere. You want to scream, kick, spit–something to show this asshole that you aren’t the same scared girl anymore. But he’s lifted your arm to inspect the damage, and he’s taken his glove off. His touch is so gentle, the softest caress, that you actually answer his insane question.

“Yes.” Your voice is a hushed whisper, though not a scared, timid thing.

“That was a sucker punch, by the way. You totally coulda kicked his ass.” You hissed as he pressed a particularly tender spot, and though he hadn’t seemed to be paying attention to you, his head snapped up. “That hurt? Oof, yeah. That’s a bitch. Let me take you to the hospital. We’ll take the Vigimobile.” He rambled off, nearly sing-song, and began to tug your other arm behind him. “I’m Vigilante, the car is mine, obviously. D’uh.” He paused only when I pulled back from him.

“What’s up?” He asked, looking around, like there might be a second thug.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” You told him, exasperated.

“Why not?” His head cocked to the side, and you have to literally shake the image from your head as you remember thinking of him as a labrador.

“Why not?” You echo, your voice nearing hysterical.

“Your elbow is dislocated, at least. Worst case, fractured. I’m the only one here. Your phone is smashed, and you don’t have car keys in your bag.” He lists off items by raising a finger with each point.

“You tried to kill me four months ago!” You scream at him, throwing your hands up to accentuate your point, remembering the pain in your elbow too late. The sharp pain that slices through your body leaves a fuzzy ring around your vision, and you see Vigilante take a step towards you as the world tilts sideways for the second time of the night.

You groan as you pull yourself from that inky abyss, and smack your lips against the paper dry feeling of your tongue.

“Where the hell am I?” You manage to croak out, and the shuffle of feet is the only indication you get that other people are around.

“Hospital.” A man’s voice tells you, and you have the funniest feeling you know the voice. The gentle comfort of that wraps around your delirious mind and pulls you back down.

The next time you awake it’s because of the sun. The windows were left open, meaning that the bright rays of the morning hit you full force. You blink harshly against the intrusive light, and remember being attacked. Fearful of the state of your body, you gingerly begin testing your toes and slowly you work your way up your body. You’re twitching your fingers when a knock at the door startles you.

You don’t know the person standing in the frame, but you wish you did. He’s holding a balloon, flowers, and a stuffed dog. Confusion paints your face, and he waves sheepishly.

“Hi, you up?” He asks, shuffling closer hesitantly.

“Just barely.” You murmur back, shifting in the bed.

“They gave you a lot of pain medicine last night.” The man tells you. You wish you knew more about this whole bizarre situation. You couldn’t remember anything over the pounding in your head.

“That’s right, because I…”

“Your elbow. It was dislocated, which is better than a fracture. But you did tear a tendon, which means you’ll be in a sling for a few weeks.” He explains, fidgeting with the stuffed dog.

“Did I have surgery?” You push, figuring he’ll at least answer some questions.

“No, no. I asked them to monitor you overnight.”

“Why?”

“You…you might not remember me, but we’ve met before. I’m Adrian, and I threatened to kill you once.” You blink at his deadpan, waiting for the punchline. But you know he isn’t joking, somehow. You know him. He’s the one from the vet clinic, the one who saved you from the guy last night.

“Are you stalking me?” You ask, wondering partially if he’s here to finish the job. He laughs, too loudly.

“A little bit. I feel horrible about it.”

“The stalking?”

“No. When I tried to kill you. It was a precaution. But I’ve changed my mind about that. About a lot of things, actually. Anyway, I just wanted to say sorry for all of that, and I hope you feel better soon. I brought you some stuff.” He explains before dumping the stuffed dog in your lap and putting the other stuff on the nightstand. You try not to gape at him.

“Okay, I’m going to head out.”

“You just got here.” You say, surprising both of you.

“You want me to stay?”

“For some reason, yeah. Would you?” With his eyes wide, he nods and takes the chair beside your bed.

“How’s the eagle?” You ask, voice soft and unsure. Adrian picks up the conversation easily though and is soon animatedly telling you all about the bird's latest antics.

You’re not sure how Adrian became such a regular part of your day, but you find yourself waiting for his visit all the same. He doesn’t have a pet, but he comes by the vet clinic and asks for your advice on all his potential pets everyday. He also tells you about his day, his night, and anything else he can think of. When he isn’t talking to you in person, he’s blowing your shit up with memes and weird emojis.

The idea of seeing him every single day would have made you want to call your therapist before, but after he saved you, his choices began to make sense. Maybe you were making excuses, but he had become such a stable part of your life that you began to love his daily visits. When he missed one, which happened from time to time, you were miserable. He always made up for it, though.

“I’ve got a cinnamon chai for the apple of my eye!” His voice rang out, drawing you from your small cubicle to the front. Your smile grew when you took him in, and his own was full on beaming.

“Adrian, you didn’t have to get me a drink.” You scolded, secretly pleased as you sipped from the steaming cup.

“Course I did, I wanna do that stuff for you.” He told you bashfully. You wanted those things too, even if it felt insane to consider.

“Actually, I had something I wanted to ask you.” He began, and you watched as his tongue darted out to lick his lips. “Would you wan…I mean, I would like to, if you want to, uhm. Dinner?”

“Sure, Adrian, I’d love to.”

“Sick. I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Okay, seven, it is.” You agree, taking another sip of your drink, and watch as he leaves. He must think you’ve looked away because he fist pumps into the air. You stifle your laugh and go back to work, thinking very hard about what you were going to wear.

@michi-reads @strawberriesandknives @uncle-eggy @fictionlandslanddreams @uwiuwi @lostinwinderland314 @kidd3ath @maplefire18 @zekegorilla @hypnoash @greenxtea0 @myguiltypleasures21 @Goblynnrockz @racetrackheart @ticharluv @likeficsinthewnd

#adrian chase x reader #adrian chase x you #vigilante x reader #peacemaker vigilante #peacemaker

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inejschumacher · 4 months

Text

Day 4 of Via’s Taycember

pairing: jude bellingham x reader

wc: 815

cw: references to sex, mention of death, kissing, arguments

Gleaming, twinkling eyes like sinking ships on waters so inviting, I almost jump in

Seldom is one ever gifted the choice of manner of death. Yet, if you were ever the lucky recipient, you would drown yourself in the depthless, ever-loving eyes of Jude Bellingham.

But I don't like a gold rush, gold rush. I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush. I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch. Everybody wants you, everybody wonders what it would be like to love you.

It seemed, however, that you weren’t the only one to dream of such a desire. It felt as if every corner in the real world and online was filled with girls desperate for even a single second of eye contact, of the off-chance that if Jude ever left you, he’d choose one of them instead.

You’d struck gold, yet struggled to keep your anger in check every time a girl got too close and touchy with Jude, not trying to be the ruins in his sea of gold. You knew the wishes exchanged between girls, wondering what it would be like to truly have Jude love them, and how they could love Jude. Better than you could, anyway.

Walk past, quick brush. I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush. I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush.

Though it appeared that Jude knew exactly how you felt. Every time you were swarmed by a mob of girls, he always kept you close to him, a reassuring brush of his fingers or a kiss to keep you grounded. He knew what you needed in times like this, how to hold you in his arms or speak the words you needed from him. Take off the rose-coloured glasses, and everything was still the same.

Nightmares of falling away from him, or the daylight’s mirages of your relationship crumbling felt as if your heart was cast away in the skies until your feared reality of him crushing your heart out finally ground it. But the only thing he ever grounded was your mind, his love never faltering.

What must it be like to grow up that beautiful? With your hair falling into place like dominos

You ask him, wondering how such a pure soul only matured, retaining its ability to know how to love whomever its heart chose. You knew of so many women who claimed they were loved by their men, yet just a singular glimpse into their purported perfect porcelain lives uncovered a love so loveless, no arms to hold them as they shed their tears of sorrow, no volitional surprises of laundry done or dinner cooked.

Yet despite all the attention, it was you Jude kissed after every winning match, flushed from the joy and love of scoring goals and having you witness them from the closest of bleachers. He’d watch your hair fall back into place after tousling it with his hands as he pulled you in for a celebratory kiss. How perfect were you, for him? If only you could see how you’d also grown up a loving soul.

I see me padding 'cross your wooden floors with my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door

After a night spent loving every part of you, leaving bruising lovebites down your collarbone and on your inner thighs, you’d cross his floors to clean yourself up as he brought the snacks. Enough times where you could picture such a scene with your Eagles t-shirt waiting on the door handle to be worn in bed, lying on top of him after another horrid day.

At dinner parties I call you out on your contrarian shit

His strong opinions when it came to what he was passionate about were enough to warrant initiating an argument at dinner with your families. Even the simplest of debates over football legends and loyalties would lead to his contrarian arguments. You had to be quick to recognize when one was about to occur, and quickly chastise him before things could get too out of hand and risk a ruined night.

My mind turns your life into folklore, I can't dare to dream about you anymore

Sometimes the fantasies of a peaceful life filled with love grew to consume you in such a way that you couldn't bear the reality of your relationship. You slowly felt yourself pulling away, trying in vain to assuage such feelings in your dreams and in your reality.

It wasn’t meant to harm, but you needed to understand what you really wanted, you supposed. Not spend your life encircling someone, being hidden in the thousands of others in Jude’s orbit.

At dinner parties won't call you out on your contrarian shit

It didn't seem necessary anymore, to spend time trying to quiet Jude. He deserved to be able to speak his mind as a celebrated footballer himself, he deserved to free himself from the constraints of politeness and conformity. Perhaps he was the one the otters should listen to, take in his words and experience, rather than make him a fool for speaking even the most intelligent of words.

And the coastal town we never found will never see a love as pure as it, 'cause it fades into the gray of my day old tea

You and Jude had always planned a little getaway to the Irish shores, to watch the waves crash against the rocky cliffs as you two walk down the coastlines hand-in-hand, free to ramble about whatever as you let go of your worries and duties for once.

As you gaze into your day-old Earl Grey tea, you let yourself picture what could have been. If you had let go of your inner turmoil and let Jude in. You once held his loving brown eyes, deeper than the ocean waters, in yours, grievings cast away into a darkness, but it was the one you chose to follow, filled with regret.

'Cause it will never be gleaming, twinkling eyes like sinking ships on waters so inviting, I almost jump in

#via’s taycember #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham fanfic #football fanfic #evermore #taylor swift #real madrid #Spotify #fanfic #fanfiction

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