#capstone binder

[dartagnantt]

Trickery Domain: Revised | Making a domain more than just its one feature

PDFs of this and more can be found over on at my Patreon here! I release everything for free, so your support makes this possible. I'm working on a new class for 5e! Follow the Kickstarter here! I've also started making a new system based off of 5e, 6th Dawn! Become a patron and join the playtest.

So, in this month of deceit, what sort of trickery could I devise? No… revise! Haha! I've always been slightly disappointed in the trickery domain. It has one of the coolest channel divinities (the coolest belonging to forge) but past that, everything else is unremarkable. At will advantage on stealth for one person. Be invisible for 1 round when you could be doing the cool thing. and finally cool thing, but stronger! The divine strike was okay, but that's also the one thing that it only had one of two options for anyway

Bonus Proficiency

Behold the divine providence of lies! What do you mean it doesn't teach you to lie? I considered getting disguise kit, but I solved that with the next issue.

Sacred Mask

So, warlock's get unlimited disguise self at level 2, so what if a cleric could too? But how do I rationalise making it more limited, I know! By making it mundane so as to bypass divination magic

Invoke Duplicity

How do you improve upon perfection? Not sure, but I had to do something. I am all for fuckery with a doppleganger of some sort, well, I decided that making an important feature of this CD require melee combat doesn't really fit every kind of trickster. But what is tricky? What if what you thought was an illusion is now suddenly real?

Redirect Attack

I was inspired by the old treachery paladin and this seemed fun. This could probably do with some kind of restriction, but one reaction per round is a pretty good limit

Sacred Visions

When designing domain capstones, I find it useful to ask 'what is the ideal of this aspect?' So, when tricking someone, what if it was REALLY convincing? This is similar to my programmed hallucination spell, but more specific.

And now to plug my stuff. I release homebrews weekly over on my Patreon. Anyone who pledges $1 or more per post don't have to wait a month to see them, and also help fund my being alive habit.

At the moment, they have exclusive access to the following:

School of Illusion: Revised

Oath of Discord

Modular Airships

Lightspawn

I also have three classes, and a splatbook over on DriveThrueRPG to check out:

The Rift Binder. A class specialising in summoning monsters and controlling the battlefield.

The Witch Knight. A class that combines swords and sorcery in the most literal way.

The Werebeast. A class that turns you into a half beast to destroy your foes.

d'Artagnan's Adventurer Almanac. A compendium of races, subclasses, feats, spells, monsters and more!

[littjara-mirrorlake]

After hours of discussion, theorycrafting, and thinking, I'm finally ready to present V1 of my first homebrew subclass, the Feyblood sorcerous origin.

From levels 1-5, the Feyblood sorcerer is a highly effective face whose conversational skills extend to Beasts, Fey, and Plants. From level 6 onward, though, it reveals its true nature as a potent combo mage, chaining together charm spells with high mobility that make it difficult to catch on the battlefield. (There happen to be quite a few hidden combos within this subclass, to reward players who decide to go that route.) The capstone is a devastating pseudo-Geas landing on a creature you've already charmed, sealing their fate as a thrall to your blossoming archfey power.

I hope you all enjoy, and feedback is encouraged and welcome!!

[solsticevanfleet]

strawberry vines; s.f.k.

chapter one

Pairing: Sam & female!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: You had always been passionate about music and marketing, so when your final capstone university project is to create an exhibit with a specific muse, your chance encounter with a small local band leads you to an epiphany for the showcase. You never meant to mix work with play.

WARNINGS: Mild swearing, alcohol mention.

Notes: Hi guys! This is my first time posting fanfic for this fandom and I’m kinda nervous lol. This is an intro chapter to what will become a series. I hope y’all enjoy this plot layout, please let me know what you think! My asks are always open to comments, concerns, and suggestions!

It had always been cold in Clark, but never like it was today. You always brought an extra sweatshirt (sometimes a blanket) in the winter, but today it was nice outside, so you didn’t think too hard about it when you showed up in a flannel. The wind outside was warm, a nice 76 degrees that felt like a Californian beach-side haven compared to the 59-degree library. Courses had begun a week ago and being a senior, graduation could not come faster, though you were pleasantly surprised when the senior advisor offered a new capstone course. Opting for what felt like the ‘easier’ option, you decided to capstone in “American Magazines” rather than write a 25-page paper in some nondescript writing seminar. All magazines are is journalism of some sort… and it fits almost too perfectly considering your little hobby blog kickstarted pretty well this concert season.

It started as a way to get your writing out, a way to combine your love of music with your dream of working in music management and social media. Snippets of concert reviews and novice photos taken on your cheap Nikon camera were littered throughout the blog, as well as album reviews and interviews with amateur bands and musicians. A blog is basically an online magazine, right? You sat down in the surprisingly comfy library chair and skimmed the class’ syllabus, “END OF YEAR EXHIBIT” was displayed in bold caps and seemed to be the assignment of the year: an exhibit dedicated to the subject of your choice, paired with a homemade zine to be handed out to spectators at the show. 

Subject of your choice… you wracked your mind, flipping through the mental trading card binders of the musicians you’d worked with in the past, you were sure one of them would be up to the idea of being this semester’s muse. 

•

Lecture hall never got better, no matter the course or the people around you. But why would it? It was a lecture hall, but at least your professor seemed nice. Dr. Richards was an older eccentric man who wore his gray hair in a slicked back ponytail. He looked as if he was meant to teach in the fashion department and not in communications, but it made sense as he explained his requirements for the class. After going over the bulk of the syllabus, he went over the end-of-year exhibit in finer detail. It was meant to be a multimedia project where students needed to tie in their overall career goals with, something that reflected what the student had learned in the course as well as their own personality and aspirations. You smiled slightly to yourself, excited about the creative liberties you were being given for the project, and the prospect of being able to design your own exhibit for the public. You hadn’t realized that class ended, and you quickly gathered your things as you rushed to get out, not noticing the tall figure gazing toward you. You looked up and came face to face with your TA for the class. 

“Hey, I’m Danny, I noticed you were kinda zoned out for a moment there and wanted to check in,” he chuckled lightheartedly. His hair was done up in what looked like a turquoise claw clip, his curly bangs and front pieces tousled and frizzy. He radiated what could only be described as pure joy, as if he wanted to help in whatever way he could. 

“Oh my god, sorry, I do that sometimes, you know, lost in the mind of an artist or whatever, I’m just wracking my brain trying to think about what to do my exhibit on…” You cringed at yourself, “You know what, just ignore me. I’ve seen you around before, actually.” Danny looked surprised, and you could see the wheels in his head turning until his eyes lit up. 

“Wait, yeah! I think we have a few mutual friends, small world UMich is. About your exhibit, do you have any ideas so far?” 

“Well, I review local musicians and write about their gigs, usually free ones at bars or restaurants. I was thinking about possibly setting something up with maybe a band of students but I don’t really know where to search for one.” You saw Danny’s eyes light up for the second time.

“It’s funny you say that, I have a band and we perform quite a few times a week at The Garage Bar on Church Street, you know the one right?” You nodded as he spoke, a silent yes to his question. “We’re called ‘Greta Van Fleet’. I don’t think my bandmates would mind you coming in for a few practices or gigs, to be honest, I think Josh would love that. Why don’t I give you my number and we can talk about it more later, I’m running late for practice, actually.”

Danny scribbled his number down on a piece of paper and ripped it out of his notebook, handing it to you with a smile and a nod as he rushed out of the hall. You were alone as you gazed down at his hurried scrawl, who the hell is Josh?

•

Thursday night rolled around and you found yourself staring at the mirror, for the millionth time it seemed, deliberating over your outfit. You didn’t care what you wore, really, but you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious all of a sudden, they wouldn’t scrutinize you, right? They’re just a group of young guys- possibly young? Who were you to know if it wasn’t just your TA and a bunch of grandpas? Or maybe dilfs? Who knows, though you semi-wished for dilfs.

You finally settled on a black mini skirt and a plain orange tee with a jacket thrown on top, something safe but still giving the illusion that you might have gave a fuck about your appearance. As you walked out into the brisk autumn air, you shivered and pulled the jacket closer to you, berating yourself for not dressing warmer. It wasn’t too long before you showed up at the address Danny had sent to you a couple of hours prior, accompanied by a few dancing emojis – he was a frequent user of emojis, you had discovered, with the few texts you two had exchanged. You weren’t expecting google maps to take you to a house, maybe a bar or a practice hall of some sort, but it looked like your typical college-aged boys home. Fairy lights which were strung haphazardly over the porch, lawn chairs on the patio, and a turned-over welcome mat greeted you as you rang the doorbell. You could hear the plucking of off-key guitar strings and chatter coming from behind the door, which only heightened your anxiety about this whole evening. You brought along your laptop and camera, hoping maybe to get some off-the-clock practice shots if the band agreed to work with you on the project.

The door suddenly opened and jarred you from your thoughts, a flash of warm light came from inside the house and a curly mop now stood in front of you. Attached to the mess of curls was a bright white smile belonging to a handsome young guy; he couldn’t have been much older than you, 3 years at most. 

“Welcome, welcome! You don’t have to stand outside, come in and make yourself at home. We have beer and seltzer in the fridge if you want, or apple juice,” The guy blabbed, ushering you inside the foyer leading into the kitchen and living room. 

“Don’t be a dick, she doesn’t want apple juice.” The voice came from beyond the door frame, yelling almost as it berated the man in front of you. As you opened your mouth to speak, almost the exact same motherfucker walked out of the kitchen, “Sorry about Josh, he can be a bit overbearing.”

They had the same look, though this one had long wavy locks and his presence was not as bold, yet he shined as he entered the room. “I’m Jake, and this one is Josh, obviously, I assume youre the girl Danny’s mentioned.” You instantly felt at home, with the yin and yang nature of their contrasting personalities, and you nodded as you looked between the twins. 

Josh knocked the back of his hand into Jake’s shoulder, “Lighten up, will ya?”, he turned back to face you. “Let’s go, Danny and Sam are downstairs tuning. Did you need a drink or anything ‘fore we go?”

“Honestly I’m okay, thank you for asking though. Do you have anywhere I could plug in my charger, though?” 

“Yeah, just follow me.”

You made your way down the narrow staircase into what felt like a make-shift man cave of sorts, traffic signs, and rock ‘n’ roll memorabilia coated the walls as you entered the dimly lit basement. It smelled of incense, alcohol, and a hint of cologne as the boys ahead of you went straight for their bandmates. There sat Danny, and who you could only assume was Sam. He was hunched over what you thought was a guitar, only it was a light blue, almost green color, something you didn’t usually see. He had long brown hair, brushing his shoulders and wrapped like a halo around his face as his eyes were focused on the strings and his plush lips were mumbling something quietly, too quiet to hear. He seemed to be closest to your age, maybe a bit older, but nothing too crazy. Jake gestured you to the couch, where the outlet was sat directly next to, and you took a seat next to him. 

“Nice guitar, I love the color,” you uttered loudly, loud enough to get his attention. He was the only one who hadn’t immediately perked up at your presence, even Danny had greeted you so welcomingly, now occupied with the brothers. This one was seemingly too entranced by the sounds coming out of his instrument as he tuned the strings. At the sound of your voice, he slowly looked up, and you could see he had large, downturned chocolate-colored eyes. He smirked gently, one side of his mouth lifting as he scoffed.

“Thanks, but this is a bass. I understand the confusion though, especially since it is customized. Though, it does look almost brown to me... You don’t get much of those out in the wild.” His eyes quickly scanned your appearance, looking for a comment of his own. “Nice… leaves?” 

You glanced down confused by his comment on the color but noticed your tattoo peeking out from under your skirt, “Oh, thank you, they’re berry vines, strawberries actually. You don’t get much of those out in the wild, either.” He chuckled as you smiled to yourself, pleased with your quick wit. 

“Well, Berry, it’s nice to meet you. Daniel over here has been talking about you coming over for a week now and I think we’re all a little interested in hearing about this little project of yours.” 

“Nicknames already?” Danny chimed in, Sam’s head turning to meet the sound of his voice. “We can talk about logistics later, I have class in the morning so let’s get this shit started.”

The boys all made sounds of agreement and got into position as you looked around and decided to sit on a large purple bean bag chair on the floor, near where Jake was messing around with the pedals next to his feet. It was then that Danny counted them in and Josh’s vocals came in, loud, raw, and powerful, something you didn’t expect to come out of such a small man. The combination of Jake’s electric riffs, Danny’s pounding beat, the smooth and sexy bass lines, and Josh’s voice, you were quite frankly surprised and pleased. When Danny had mentioned a band, you had expected an amateur bunch of musicians trying to mesh their different sounds together, but this band was amazing, sounding as if they had been practicing for years and years together; their chemistry was addicting. As they finished off the song, Josh looked over at you for approval, grinning widely with a sparkle in his eyes really only seen in people who were truly passionate and into their craft. Your only reaction was a dropped jaw.

“That was… insane. Like, I’m blown away to be quite honest, you all work so harmoniously together- how? I mean, you’re all so cohesive.”

“I mean, we’ve been playing together since high school, we got a small following back home because of it but there’s always room to practice.” Jake was so genuine with his responses, probably the most level-headed out of the bunch. You nodded, urging them to tell more. He continued, “It’s been a rollercoaster but we’re looking to reach outside of just local bars and lounges.” 

Sam chimed in, “Yeah, I’m kind of sick of college.” he flashed you a smirk, which made your cheeks heat, but you ignored the urge to keep eye contact with him. “Well, I would love to work with you guys this semester… I’ve got good social media skills too if you’d like this to branch outside of academics…,” Even asking the question felt embarrassing to ask, but something inside told you to stick around. 

The boys looked around at each other, communicating with their eyes, silently agreeing with nods of approval and shrugs before Josh spoke up, “I think we could swing that.”

[on-call-ramblings]

During my senior year of high school I took a class called “Capstone” that was suppose to be an easy elective class to teach you how to go college and apply for scholarships. It turned out be the best decision I made that year.

I lucked out with the teacher I had. A man who radiated joy and a man who loved his job. He took it a step further than college and gave tips on how to succeed in life. Not only did he make up do research on what career we wanted, but he had us conduct interviews to people who worked in the industry. He didn’t just give us examples of what to do when you’re stranded in the middle of an abandoned highway, he drove up his truck to show us how to change a tire, oil, windshield wipers, and many other basic mechanical knowledge. He didn’t just tell us how to manage our fiancés, he told us the most efficient ways to calculate a budget for rent, groceries, and the best companies in the area to use when we filed for taxes for the first time. I still look through the binder I had for that class whenever I need help with something in my day to day life.

One day after watching one of those inspirational movies you watch during school, we had a group conversation. The movie itself was pretty heavy and there was some legit deep conversation. The concluded the whole discussion with “everyone you meet is different, and everyone you meet is going to be a little messed up. We all are. If you’re not, you haven’t lived long enough or loved hard enough.”

That phrase still sticks with me. I feel like after that day my ability to extend grace and understanding grew more than I initially realized. I always thought I had a rough go at high school, but all the sudden, at that moment, so did everyone else. None of us were every different from each other. I often extended that moment in my work, connecting to every grieving friend and family member I meet. It definitely helps keep the compassion fatigue away.

So, on days like today where I can’t get out of my own head and I can’t come up from a low, I know there’s probably someone in the room with the same feelings. Whoever that may be, we’ll live to see the sun shine soon.

Also, if by the off chance you see this Coach Belvins: thanks for everything ❤️ I hope that one day I can obtain the infectious joy you carry.

[la-mousme]

HIS 5925 History Harvest Reflection

I attended the History Harvest this past Saturday, and the experience is one I will not forget as it confirmed my interest in history and working for the community. As I get closer and closer to capstoning, there is still this concern of whether this path is the correct for my interests; however, in scanning and looking through Judy Ulster’s family photos and archival documents. That interaction with Mrs. Ulster is what gave me the confidence to keep going forward and to push through self-doubt.

            Anyway, in discussing my actual role in the harvest, I worked with DJ and Casey in the scanning area, along side with Jesse and Kat to guide us in the process. DJ and I worked on separate scanners and eventually working with separate families in scanning their documents. The process consisted of the scanner itself, organizing the scanned image file, and writing the metadata for the file. The work was simple and to the point, but the process was painfully time consuming as we had to write their information on each sheet. Scribing metadata is what limited how much I was able to scan into the RICHES database, in which we were only able to get through a quarter of the way through out of two binders filled with documents. The documents ranged and were organized to military regalia, obituaries and funeral arrangements, wedding certificates, and family photos.

            I was also given the opportunity to scan larger artifacts under Dr. Robkins, using the “Eva” and “Pete” scanners (their professional titles of the technologies I cannot remember). Dr. Robkins walked through with me how to scan the object, the position, the speed at which the scanner can read, and how to manipulate the scanned image to create a digital 3-D form. This proved to be much more complicated; however, coincidentally uses the same techniques that I have used in animation software.

            The overall experience was fun and eye opening, watching the community come together in preserving history. Seeing individuals of all ages preserving their history and heritage.

[rina-cassie-capstone-blog]

New background for cover

[alexiaoscpsarts-blog]

What’s it’s Been Like Meeting Different Women of Color:

In the end, we interviewed 14 different women of color; asians (south and east), middle easterners, africans (west and north), caribbeans, latinas, and women with mixed ethnicities. It surely was an experience meeting with all of them and listening to what they had to say. Just like what Merissa and I wanted, we wanted to hear something different from what we tell ourselves everyday. 

As two black women of the same age and living situation, our experiences as women of color are close to being the same; because we had a variety of women, we received multiple answers to questions we always ask ourselves. However, there was one question that ultimately united all of us together; what do you love about being a woman of color? Every single woman we interviewed responded with, “I love being different”. There’s such a liberating and exhilarating feeling connected to having another culture tied to you. As we all learned to accept and love who we are in a society where misrepresentation is prevalent, our culture is what pushes us up. 

If we had more time, I would have loved to meet up with other women of color. Many of them told us to continue with this project if we could. It’s something we’ve been thinking about actually. We now know that we aren’t the only ones who find this topic so important and close to our hearts.

[odnawn]

Process Binder #4

The past few weeks, I have made a lot of progress in regards to my Capstone Project for CPSA250/CPSA201. Not only did I fully complete my first portrait of Jean-Michel Basquiat, but I also completed my journal entry in connection to my visits to the Freedom School in DC with Do Better. In fact, I also have gotten well into working on my presentation through Prezi for ArtsFest and will post a link to it. Below is a portion of my journal for my Do Better visit:

During my visits to the DC Freedom School with Do Better, a community service-centered student organization that has chapters at the University of Maryland, College Park, Morehouse College, Bowie State University, and Howard University; I have had the opportunity to truly see the importance of representation manifest with my own two eyes. I have been blessed enough to have had countless opportunities to interact with and develop mentor-mentee bonds with children who look like younger versions of myself, and take me back to a time where I once did not love myself, people, history, or culture; and had no idea how to.

After volunteering with organizations and initiatives including the Blue Drop Initiative, the Slam the Gap Initiative, America Counts; and even my actual paid junior and senior counselor positions with Forcey Day Camp, one would think that I had reached my maximum potential and hit the quota on knowledge of the importance of representation. This presumption is false.

At my last visit to the Freedom School, I saw things beginning to come full circle in regards to the kids. Although I have not been able to visit too often due to scheduling conflicts with my internship at the Office of Community Engagement last semester or my job as a Marketing and Technology Assistant with the Office of Multi-Ethnic Student Education this semester, many of the kids recognized me immediately - even with yet another different hairstyle than what they had seen during my previous visits. Not only did they recognize myself and my two peers that I went with, Liz and Maimouna, but their faces literally lit up as the light bulb went off in their heads. With the Black Panther soundtrack blasting in the background and its bass making the gravel quake, we moved on to play “Red Light, Green Light” with our scholars and, dance to other current hits that they were familiar with. hen the sun eventually set, we read books with them inside to place an emphasis on and plant seeds of literacy and scholarship in young, impressionable framers of our future.

[hjonescpsarts-blog]

Sketches for the upcoming project.

[refinedbuffoonery]

Looking Through A Window (12)

macriley married undercover au

masterlist.

For pacing reasons, I decided to break what I had originally planned for Ch 12 into three(!) chapters. Also for pacing reasons, this one is shorter than usual. Oh well. Just know that the “good chapter” I’ve been teasing for a while is now Ch 13. 

As always, thank you for being patient with me and my slow updates! I am currently knee deep in original fiction for my capstone project, so my fic writing time is very limited these days. (I don’t remember the last time a story other than LTAW or Flawless occupied so much space in my head! At least this one pays rent since it’s my capstone lol.) 

*****

The day before the fundraiser, Riley calls him into the bedroom, asking for a favor. “I need your help,” she says, sitting on the unmade bed wearing shorts and an oversized t-shirt. She’s holding something behind her back. “How thoroughly did you read the binder on my cover’s backstory?” 

Unsure of where this is going, Mac replies, “I read most of it. Why?” 

“Genevieve Turner has a tattoo.” 

“Okay?” he says slowly, still not following. He vaguely remembers reading something about it. But only vaguely. 

“A large one. On her back.” Riley reveals the massive and intricate stick-on tattoo on the sheet in her hands, and Mac suddenly understands why she called him in here. The tattoo is stunning, all graceful lines and lifelike details. But Mac doesn’t miss the way Riley ever so slightly recoils from it. 

“It’s a—”

“Snake,” she finishes, looking anywhere but at it. “Bozer and Desi thought it was funny. Assholes.” 

“They made this?” Mac gently traces the design with his index finger. The snake—a rattler, based on the shape of its head—is wrapped around an ornate dagger, its head hanging below the point and its tail wrapped tight around the grip. A beautiful piece of artwork, if just a tad too lifelike. “This is really impressive.” 

Riley nods in agreement, explaining, “They designed it together, and they printed it with the new formula of that long-lasting fake tattoo ink they’ve been working on. It’s supposed to last for a couple weeks before fading.” 

The project is news to Mac’s ears. “How did I not know about this? And since when does Desi hang out in the lab?” The safe house apartment is supposed to be a bubble, keeping the outside world out, but right now it feels like it’s doing more to keep Mac in. He needs to call Bozer. Catch up. 

“Perks of submitting your reports on time. Extra lab time to work on side projects. You’d know that if you weren’t a chronic procrastinator who needs to be chained to his desk in order to do any paperwork.” 

That’s… That’s fair. Uncalled for, but fair. 

“Should I be worried about whatever else they’ve got in the works?” 

She makes an exaggerated thinking face, then asks, “How do you feel about face tattoos?” Mac chokes, and before he can muster a response, Riley says, “Kidding.” He really hopes she’s kidding. 

Still, a pit forms in his stomach. He and Bozer don’t keep secrets from each other. Not anymore, at least. It feels wrong to be the last to learn something about his own best friend. 

“Anyway,” she says, now pointedly not looking at the tattoo in her hands or at him, “Can you help me put this on?” 

Mac casts all thoughts of Bozer aside. He has a much bigger problem on his hands. 

His past self—a version not yet in love with her—wouldn’t have hesitated to offer his assistance. But the more Mac thinks about it, the more he realizes applying the tattoo is going to be torture. The intimacy in touching her like that. Waiting for her breath to catch the way it sometimes does when he touches her back and she’s not expecting it. Having to ignore the fact that her shirt will be off. 

“Of course,” he says, hoping Riley can’t hear the panic in his voice. “How does it work?” 

She hands him the tattoo and another small plastic package. “Use the primer wipe first. Once you take the backing off the tattoo will stick on it’s own.” 

“Sounds simple enough.” Mac rips open the package with the wipe, and Riley turns around, lifting the back of her t-shirt. Is it just him, or is the room really warm? Unable to stop himself, Mac’s eyes roam as her bare skin is exposed, inch by inch, and he imagines tracing the length of her spine, placing kisses across her shoulders. She is… luscious. He hilariously, horribly, hears the word in Bozer’s voice. 

Stop it, he chastises himself. Mac closes his eyes, and when he reopens them, he studies Riley with professional precision. 

Mostly professional, anyway. 

Arms raised to hold up her shirt, her shoulder blades sit at a weird angle. “It’ll be easier if you lie down,” he says, hoping she can’t hear the desperate edge to his tone. 

She complies. 

Riley’s breath hitches when the cool wipe touches her warm skin, and the brief semblance of professionalism Mac had grasped is blown to pieces. Every nerve in his body is alight just being near her. 

Placing the still-wrapped tattoo on her back, Mac measures and adjusts until it’s in just the right spot—the blade aligned with the groove of her spine, the guard at the base of her shoulder blades. Thankfully, Bozer thought to make the plastic backing clear. 

“I need you to pull up your shirt more,” he says. Or just take it off, the reckless part of him wants to add. 

She does, again without question, and when Riley folds her arms beneath her head, he can just see the curve of her breasts pressed into the mattress. Hoping she can’t see him in her peripheral, Mac lets himself pause and appreciate the view for a few stolen seconds. His cheeks heat. 

He peels off the backing. 

“Don’t screw up,” Riley warns. 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Mac presses the tattoo on her skin, molding the plastic to the shape of her muscles and smoothing the wrinkles. He isn’t quite sure how the ink transfer works, but he has a few theories. He’ll have to call Bozer to be sure. 

Perhaps. . . 

Wait. Hang on. 

He’s alone with a beautiful woman who isn’t wearing a shirt, and he’s thinking about skin chemistry? What the hell is he doing? Talk about needing to get his priorities straight. 

His head’s all over the place today. Maybe it’s time for a break. 

There’s nothing left to do at this stage of tattoo application; it has to develop for an hour before the plastic can be ripped off. “Timer’s set for an hour,” Mac says, standing up. He wants to keep trailing his fingers down her back, stroking her sides, seeing what sweet sounds might escape her lips. 

He settles for only doing it in his imagination. He can’t stop that train of thought anymore, not once it’s left the station. 

All the more reason to put a little distance between them. Before he hurts himself more than he already has. 

Riley asks, “Can you hand me my book?” Mac does, then heads for the door. He needs to get out of this room for a few minutes, needs to clear his head and raging hormones. “Wait,” she whines. “Where are you going?” 

Somewhere where it’s easier to be just your friend. 

Later, after the fundraiser—where they have to put on a show of casual touches and unspoken intimacy—he’s going to have to talk to her about some new boundaries. To have half a chance of getting over her with his heart intact, he has no choice. 

Before this op, Mac was content to quietly love her forever. He could’ve done it, too. But over the last few days, the realization has started to sink in that if he’s to get through this op in one piece, physically and emotionally, he needs to finally let go of the dream of something more. 

Where is he going? To prepare himself for one last night of being this close to her. To prepare to mourn the hope that she feels the same about him, hope he’s been harboring for longer than he’s willing to admit. 

In the middle of all that, he somehow manages to say, “To figure out where the hell I put mine.” And when she asks him to come back once he finds it and read with her, he somehow manages to breathe through the ache in his chest and say, “Of course.” 

*****

At precisely 5:59 a.m., Harley announces it’s time for breakfast. 

“No,” Mac and Riley both groan, turning their backs to the dog barking between them. There is no reason for her to be demanding food this early. Mac’s internal clock doesn’t wake him up until a little after seven, and Riley’s alarm won’t go off until eight. In the three weeks they’ve had her, Harley has never been fed before seven. Ever. 

Harley paws the back of Mac’s head, and he pushes her away in a halfhearted attempt to defend himself, but she isn't so easily dissuaded. He swears. “Ask your mom.” The bed dips as Harley jumps on Riley, followed by a pained grunt. 

“Get off.” 

The bed jostles again, but then Mac hears the telltale thump from Harley jumping onto the floor. She leaves the room, and the blissful quiet returns. Exhaling slowly, Mac feels his body sink into the mattress, limb by limb. 

Sleep beckons. One more hour, then he’ll feed Harley.  

A loud crash comes from the kitchen, and Mac doesn’t need to get up to know that damn dog is trying to feed herself. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,�� he mutters, rolling over. 

“Harley, no!” Riley yells, but her reprimand is conveniently ignored. She tries a different approach. “Harley, come.” Response comes in the form of another loud noise—the dog food bin getting knocked over. Riley growls her name a tad more harshly than Mac expects, but Harley slinks back into the bedroom with her tail between her legs. 

Voice softening, Riley pats the bed and says, “Come on. Let’s sleep a little longer, and then we can have breakfast. Okay?” 

To Mac’s surprise, Harley gives in, settling into her usual spot at the foot of the bed. Harley lets out a dramatic sigh, and then all is quiet in their apartment again. 

It’s the morning of the fundraiser gala, and once that little fact takes root in Mac’s brain, there’s no chance of him falling back asleep. They’ve got to learn more about what the Patriots are planning, and they can’t leave the party tonight until they do. It’s unsettling that three weeks have passed since the start of the op yet he and Riley still know so little about the organization, much less how to take them down. The thought has him clenching his teeth. 

The mattress shifts as Riley rolls over, her hand coming to rest on his forearm. His pulse jumps. “It’s too early for overthinking,” she says sleepily. 

“Then make me stop,” he snaps, regretting the harsh words the second they’re out of his mouth. Riley retracts her hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that,” Mac apologizes. 

Riley doesn’t say anything. Nor does she put her hand back on his arm. 

“I hate that we’re still in the dark.” He’s barely admitted that to himself, but voicing it aloud helps alleviate the weight on his chest. “We should know more by now.” 

“Not every op is an emergency, Mac,” she says softly. “We knew this would take a while.” 

She’s right. After years of urgent distress calls and impossible timelines, Mac’s forgotten what real undercover work feels like. It’s all the waiting around that he hates the most. “You’re better at this than I am. I’m glad Matty assigned you,” he says. Riley shakes her head.

“I’m only here because you and Desi would’ve killed each other by the end of the first week.” 

Mac laughs. “No. Well, yes. That’s true. But you’re here because we need you. I’m only here because these cranky old white dudes wouldn’t know what to do with an incredibly intimidating lesbian couple.” The comment earns him a pillow to the face, but Riley’s bright laughter makes it totally worth it. 

“I can’t imagine going on an op without you.” 

“I can’t either.” 

“Sure you can. I run point from the war room all the time.” 

“Not anymore. You haven’t stayed back in a long time, Riles. Not since…” 

Since. 

There are a bunch of ways he could end that sentence, but picking one doesn’t feel right. Leaving him with just since. It fits. 

“I guess you’re right,” she says quietly. Their knees brush, and despite yesterday’s promises to himself, Mac takes a gamble by crossing an ankle over hers, his heart squeezing when Riley doesn’t move away. 

Neither of them go back to sleep, but they make a good show of pretending until Riley’s alarm goes off, and Harley demands breakfast. 

They’ll get answers tonight. They have to. 

.

~ Tag List ~  Want to be added? Send me an ask.

@angelinanao

@annmariestuff

@bluedrew12

@dreambelievergeek

@emilyscotson​

@erika-amber

@fangirlfreak08

@g3svv

@hellishrose

@holbytlanna

@ijamaica5535​​

@likeit-or-leaveit​

@macs-paperclips

@multi-fandomshipper101

@mylifequotesshowallofthem

@nikki-1607

@orange-cat-vet

@penny114

@redjedistarfighter

@sxrein

@tall-tanned-tattoo

@thecarrieonokay

@tom-hunter-summah

@whatsabex

[pepprs]

ok besties. i have written nearly 3 pages out of 12 and i haven’t even gotten to the research part yet and it’s kinda like pulling teeth but hey ive written nearly 3 pages. my thighs and butt and lower back hurt excruciatingly bc yesterday i squatted and hopped around the satellite space like a frog putting the retreat binders together and i don’t regret it bc i needed to exercise and distract myself yesterday but also ouchie. my capstone meeting is tomorrow and i ha be to be up at 7:30 to prepare for it and also get to like eat and shower etc and im losing my fucking mind actually bc ive been going to bed at 3 every night and also this paper is due tmrrw at 11:59 but i have to help deliver annual reports to like the university president which i also want to do so fucking bad so im not giving that up. i ordered groceries and i bought ramen so i will tryerhwt for the first time and im so excited and im abt to eat some dates and tmrrw i’ll treat myself with mamasezz tomato bake and also more sushi bc im obsessed. Megan texted me and i need to reply and let her know im ok but also tell her im not ok but that takes effort and i need to direct every scrap of effort i have into writing this paper. god help me

[dartagnantt]

Circle of the Sands | What if circle of the land (desert) was more unique than a spell list

PDFs of this and more can be found over on at my Patreon here! I release everything for free, so your support makes this possible. I've also started making a new system based off of 5e, 6th Dawn! Become a patron and join the playtest.

My Kickstarter has only a week left! Become a weredragon before its too late! Get in on the tycanthropic awesome!

It's week 5 of our four week series on mayhaps, and so I do something different. This time, inspired by the new game I'm a player in, a desert themed druid.

Sand Veil

This ability was inspired by Gaara's shield of sand power. Originally I was to make it more expensive and use a pocket sand inspiration, letting you blind people who try and attack you in melee, but then I added spray of cards as a spell so it felt superfluous

Animated Sands

Sand monsters are cool. What if you could summon them?

Shifting Masses

Misty escape from the feylock is cool, what if you AND your sand monsters could do that, sandily?

Oh yes, and make all your summons sand, why not? Why not change the elementals? Because that wouldn't make sense. And the fire elementals would be shit out of luck in water

Animated Hordes

Not a lot of druid circles call for the spend two wild shapes cost on the level 10 feature. It'ls kind of neat. So here I give you the intended animated sands, but game balance is a thing

Quicksand Vortex

And here's what I did in lieu of making a quicksand spell, because I decided that would be awkward. Instead I have you tear a hole in space as a capstone. Very reasonable, I know.

Sandstorm

So we have Earthquakes, Tsunamis, Tornados, Full control over the weather, but no sandstorm spells? nah man.

Sand Tomb

What if we just dropped a heap of sand on top of people? Can I say that suffocation is a weird rule to work around? And why is this a sphere instead of a more typical conical shape as expected of a fallen heap of sand? As much as I wanted to troll the 5e shapes guide by making it a 20 ft cone pointed down, that probably would have caused needless confusion

And now to plug my stuff. I release homebrews weekly over on my Patreon. Anyone who pledges $1 or more per post don't have to wait a month to see them, and also help fund my being alive habit.

At the moment, they have exclusive access to the following:

To Shreds, You Say?

Chimeric Hunter Conclave

I Costs an Arm and a Leg

Skeletal Amagams

I also have four classes, and a splatbook over on DriveThrueRPG to check out:

The Rift Binder. A class specialising in summoning monsters and controlling the battlefield.

The Witch Knight. A class that combines swords and sorcery in the most literal way.

The Werebeast. A class that turns you into a half beast to destroy your foes.

The Beguiler. A spellcaster dedicated to illusions, enchantments, and general fuckery.

d'Artagnan's Adventurer Almanac. A compendium of races, subclasses, feats, spells, monsters and more!

[rachelscpsarts]

While executing the paintings, I mainly updated the progress on my snapchat rather than on here, so now I will be going back posting some of those images to reflect upon them.

- - -

The process for Raven was definitely the longest out of all four paintings – likely because it was the most ambitious composition and because it was the first one I began, so I was still trying to figure out what I wanted to express with it and experimenting with the paints and methods of applying it. For example, the pattern on the shirt was completely freehand, and thus ended up being less intricate. Originally I had wanted to use gold watercolor or ink for it, but all I had on hand was acrylic, which is a lot less flexible. It ended up working but not quite matching my expectations. I don’t think I quite consider this one finished, but somehow people seemed most impressed by this one out of the four when I displayed it.

[ryanycpsarts-blog]

[nailsofvecna]

Time for more community engagement. We’re canvassing to see what y’all think of a few different capstone options for the binder. Head down to the comments section and make your voices heard!

[dothesamnthing-blog]

Critical Binder Week 4, Entry 16:

I have sewn int he hair to the canvas! This is most likely the hardest hair I will have to sew into a canvas in my Capstone because they are not individual braids, but rather loose hair that then forms a braid. It is very sturdy and the braid turned out really well!