Team-Purgatory-2.0

Context: I’m dming an entirely new campaign and a friend of mine knows next to nothing about DnD

Friend: I’m gonna be a high elf sorceress
Me: okay cool
Friend: And I’m gonna have Ray of Frost and be a cryomancer
Me: okay cool, but that’s not a thing
Friend: and every time I cast it I’m gonna sing let it go
Me: suddenly not cool and I would prefer you didn’t
Friend: her name is gonna be Elsa
Human cleric: if you do I’m never healing you

hugealienpie  asked:

I see prompts are open yay! Please tell me all about Ford finding out about Bitty and Jack.

Ooh, this is interesting, because I don’t feel like it’d be an announcement, but just something Ford finds out when Jack visits or the like. I mean, it could go the other way, like Lardo could be, “heads up, Bitty’s dating our ex-captain” and Ford would be like, “okay? why are you telling me?” (She’s a theatre background, what is a Bad Bob to her?) I think she’d be pretty chill with it, and coming from theatre, like being gay is not an issue, esp in college (and even at the professional level) and esp if we go with the oft reblogged “Ford is gay” headcanon.

But here is a small fic that is only half based on the above…

Ford double checks the dozens of pages Lardo has given her for the upcoming roadie. She thought dealing with dressing room allocation was hard (and it is, one hundred percent) but figuring out room allocations is somehow worse, particularly when she’s new, and hockey players are more superstitious than the girl who played Johanna in Sweeney.

“So, who was it I’m meant to pair Oliver with?” Ford asks, grabbing for the red pen she’d stuck into her bun earlier. She comes out with a green one. It’ll do.

“Wicks. But really, he’d be fine with any of the guys in his year.”

Ford makes a note on one of the pages. “Okay, then I think I’m–Oh, shit.”

“What is it?” Lardo looks up from her sketchbook.

Ford double checks through all her sheets before she says anything. She’s not worrying, because there’s no time for that, she’s just already hating the amount of extra work she’ll need to do to fix things.

“I’ve left Eric, um, Bitty,” Ford corrects herself, still getting used to hockey nicknames, “off the rooming list.”

“Oh, that. Nah, you’re good.” Lardo goes back to her drawing. “He stays with his boyfriend when we’re playing up there.”

“Boyfriend?” Ford double-checks.

“Yeah. He’s in Providence. And he’ll drive Bitty to the games and practices and stuff. Should’ve emailed you that. My bad.”

“That’s fine.” Ford grabs another pen from her hair, forgetting she already has one in front of her. It’s red this time. “Just thought I was going to have to redo an entire afternoon’s worth of work.”

“Right,” Lardo says. “I can see why the minor freak out.”

“Excuse you, I did not freak out.” It’s half a lie. Ford has so many notes on these sheets, but she’s not freaking out, she’s managing. It’s all part of it.

Lardo looks up and smiles at her. “Knew you’d be fine at this.”

Ford takes the compliment with a gracious nod, and goes back to ticking off the rooming list against the team names. All accept Eric.

Keep reading

Fyre Festival was the perfect buttfuck bacchanal of comedy. It was a failed music festival whose victims seem to be privileged millennials who went on to lodge exaggerated and tone-deaf complaints. And it was organized by Ja Rule. There are so many punchlines there that you need to stop to take a breather in the middle of it.

Mankind hates “hippie” festivals as a concept. Do you remember New York’s Great GoogaMooga food and music festival? It raised $75,000, which wasn’t enough to cover the damage everyone at the event did to the grass, and there was a brawl over fried chicken.

Every year when Coachella rolls, there’s a deluge of articles and Twitter one-liners about the kinds of people you’ll see at Coachella. Same with Burning Man, Bonnaroo, SXSW, whatever. If you go to it, you probably love it, but the rest of us for some reason disdain the events and the sorts of people who attend them. It’s like each one is chum for cock sharks, and we’re all Quint, just surly as shit for being eaten the last time this happened.

Why The Fyre Festival Attendees Should’ve Seen It Coming

NO WAIT I’M SORRY!

Context: So here’s the lay down. We’re playing a sea fairing campaign and we’re trying to obtain a ship. Our party includes a Minotaur fighter, a Psionic; who is keeping her identity a secret from the rest of the group, two dragonborn brothers a cleric (me), and a sorcerer.  The sorcerer is a sharp tongued noble, the psionic has no patients for jokes and won’t hesitate to melt someone’s brain just for being obnoxious, i.e. the sorcerer.

DM: Okay so you form you party and are on your way to find the cause of disappearance of the town’s livestock. You arrive at the farm in question. There is a run down barn, a few small huts, and what appears to be a tool shed. What do you do?

Me: “I say we search the barn for clues.:

Sorcerer: “Okay let’s split up gang, you and the bovine go check the barn while our robed friend and I shack up in on of these huts!:

Psionic: "It is unwise to trust a robed stranger is it not?”

Fighter: “It’s also unwise to refer to me as a bovine, you ignorant lizard.”

Sorcerer: “It’s fiiiine i’m just joking around; however, hooded maiden the offer still stands.”

Me: “So to the barn then.”

We eventually figure out that their is a nest of giant rats who have been attacking the town’s livestock and stealing food and what not. The entire time the sorcerer continues badgering the Psionic, fast forwarding to the cave full of giant rats. Just got done with a fight everyone’s low on health and we’re about to rest.

Sorcerer: “This cave is a drag, why not head back to town and shack up in the inn? You can bunk with me love! (referring to the psionic)

Me: "For the love of Poseidon would you give it a rest! We have a job to do!”

Psionic IRL:  Sorcerer, make a intelligence check.

Sorcerer, IRL: What? Why?!

Psionic IRL: I’m using Mind thrust, make a intelligence check.

Sorcerer: “No! Wait i’m sorry!”

DM: Roll, she already said it.

Sorcerer: *rolls* …. 1

DM: oh……

Psionic: *rolls d10* I got a 10, how much health do you have?

Sorcerer: “…2”

Table looses it

DM: So yeah the sorcerer kinda grabs his head in agony and just slumps to the floor motionless. He’s dead.

Needless to say this is going to be a interesting campaign. I ended up using revivify on the sorcerer and continue our quest. All the while the sorcerer has been quite behaved since then.