#tabletop fire fit

[tabletopfireshop]

5 Key Tips for Choosing the Perfect Small Fire Bowl:

#smalloutdoorfirebowls #outdoorfirebowls #smallfirebowls #tabletopfirepits #smallfirepit #portablefirepit #tableswithfirepits #tablefire

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Simon fingering you under the table during a night out at the bar with the Taskforce.

The feeling of rough fingers grazing against your clothed thigh is not uncommon, not when seated next to Lt. Riley. His precious plaything, his best kept secret, he is always trying to steal little moments any chance he can get and tonight’s no exception, even if it is risky. Fuck, that heightens the need for him to prove he isn’t afraid to jeopardize everything just to make sure he keeps his pretty little thing at his mercy.

The bar is busy, crowded with loud, inebriated people there to drink and have fun. You find yourself sitting around a group of tables that have been pushed together to fit everyone in the taskforce from Captain Price to the newest recruits around. Everyone is in a good mood even being squashed in tight together, all going about laughing and drinking away as they enjoy a well-deserved night of freedom, none the wiser as to what is beginning to happen right under their noses just below the tabletop. 

And neither do you, not yet.

Simon keeps his hand firmly on you, letting it rest there possessively on your thigh as he lifts his mask from time to time to take sips off his glass of bourbon, massaging the muscle for a while as he listens at the edge of the conversations going on around that you are also barely paying attention to. Round two and then three happen the same as before until there is a shift in that burly military man’s demeanor.

Those fingers that had been content to lay on your lap start to wander, fueled by the liquor flowing through his veins, making rational thought fly away, and soon you can feel his hand moving upward and inching itself closer to the waistband of your pants. There is a sudden warmth at the side of your head as you take another swig from your drink, letting the liquid spirits run down the back of your throat like fire as you keep your eyes forward. 

“Open your legs,” the gravelly, heavily accented voice at your elbow growls in a hushed whisper into your ear through the smoke of his cigarette perched between his fingers. Simon reaches the top of your pants with the opposite hand and slips his fingers between the fabric and your balmy skin. 

He has to be ever so slow or risk the movement of his arm giving him away to anyone who happens to pay enough attention in that moment as he carefully undoes the button of your jeans and slowly lowers the zipper all the way down until it stops. Risking a glance up into his face, you are met with a devilish smirk that makes your heart skip a beat and instantly lets you know you are in deep fucking shit now; he’s in the mood to play. 

“Really?” you whisper back as you hold your drink to your lips to keep up the act, cheeks flushing fiery hot and not from the alcohol. Discreetly you try squeezing your legs together slightly, having just a bit of sense left to know that he should stop, you could get caught red handed, but at the same time not really wanting him to. “Not here. Wait till later; we’ll have fun when we get back.”

“Yes, here. Open. Your. Legs.” he repeats more firmly this second time as his hand slips inside the opening he’s created and right down between your thighs to pry them apart with the width of his hand. “Need ta feel ya, pretty girl.”

The alcohol heightens that feeling of giddy excitement, the rush and euphoria of doing something so insanely risky, and as you look around at the distracted faces at the table you can’t resist, not when his hand is already inside your pants. You move in your seat so that you can open your legs as wide as you can without it looking strange.  

Even with the imminent threat of detection growing by the second, there is no stopping him as Simon’s tough, calloused fingers search around until they locate the crotch of your panties and lace themselves through the seam, pulling them to the side until your pussy is exposed to his hand. There is a subtle heat that hits his fingertips, inviting him in further now that there is nothing to block it and he can feel his cock throb as it hits his hand. You swallow hard, breathing heavily out of your nose to help calm yourself as you clamp your lips shut to stop from audibly moaning at that first contact.

Another calm drag off his cig and he side-eyes you as he parts through your petals to slip a finger inside near the source of the heat against your clit and begins to stroke that sensitive bundle of nerves in slow, concise circles. So soft, so warm, nothing has ever felt more amazing. His head is buzzing and grows more hazy with each flick of his finger through the gathering dampness between your legs. All that delicious frictions at the tips of his fingers, fuck was he in it now.

You aren’t fairing much better, that fog rolling through your head, the minutes ticking away as that ecstasy gathers in the pit of your stomach. Soon you can barely see straight and you crave to do more. Setting your glass down, you let one of your arms rest on top of the table to create more shadow over your lap, but the other hand wants to get in on the action too. 

You lower it below the table and reach out towards him, wanting to rub him over his jeans, feel his cock pulse against the palm, but he stops you before you can even get over the bulk of his wide thigh. His cigarette dangles from his lips as his hand shoots down and grips tightly around your wrist to keep you from going further, his finger on your clit stopping and resting there a moment.  

“Keep those greedy hands to yourself,” he breathes near your ear as he pretends to look over his shoulder at something on the other side of the bar. “Ya don’t want me to stop, do ya sweetheart? Cause if ya can’t fuckin’ behave I’m gonna have to. Can’t have anyone gettin’ suspicious and endin’ my fun early.”

“No,” you snap back quickly, breathing in and out to calm the thudding in your chest, desperately needing him to continue. “Keep going. Please.”

He releases your hand back to you and you keep it on the tabletop next to the other to hinder yourself from trying to touch him again; you need him to keep going. Satisfied, the rubbing along your clit picks back up to that steady rhythm that it was before. Little beads of sweat speckle across your forehead as your body heats from the inside out the more his finger draws around that sensitive bundle; so depraved, yet absolutely perfect. 

Through puffs of smoke, brown eyes constantly sneak hungry glances as he enjoys every single fucking second of watching you simultaneously fall apart and try to keep it all together all at once. You pick up your drink a few times, pretending to take sips from it, but the way your mouth hangs open as you pant behind the glass he knows it’s all for show.

His jeans are growing tighter as his cock strains against the zipper, throbbing with each beat of his pulse as it races. Your thighs keep squeezing together to trap him against your now swollen clit; the ache is so bad you can hardly stand it. No one has ever looked better a complete and utter mess and Simon is determined to keep you in a constant state of euphoria, especially if he gets to appreciate all that beauty. 

“Move back, wanna get deeper,” he orders.

Subtly you adjust yourself in your seat, leaning back ever so slightly, and spreading your thighs open just enough that that large hand can fit further between them. Your eyes clock those around the table without you moving your head, but everyone still seems to not notice. His fingers move back from your clit towards your entrance and without warning two thick, bulky fingers spread you open as he shoves them up inside your wet cunt. Your body takes them in perfectly, gripping around the digits just as he hoped to suck him in.

You clear your throat to mask the moan desperately trying to escape at the feeling of those warm fingers of his filling you up. “Breathe sweetheart, don’t want ya to pass out,” Simon chuckles under his breath as he curls in fingers inside you. “That’s a good girl. Christ, ya feel good tonight, baby. I can feel you taking in my fingers like it’s nothing.” 

Fuck do you want to grind your hips into his hand, but there’s no way in hell you can hide something like that, not with everyone sitting so close. You’re nearly vibrating in your seat trying to keep still as the sensation of his fingers stretching out your already overstimulated body consumes your every thought. Simon uses his wrist to help snap his fingers up into you faster and faster without causing him to move his arm.

“Goddamit,” you groan in a breathy whisper as he pounds up into you.

Shivers run up and down your spine as he begins to rhythmically work at your G spot with rough and intense movements. The blaring rock music blasting over the speakers keeps the time with the pulsing of your walls the harder he works. At one point you shove your pelvis down into his hand to make as much contact with him as possible, body feverish to the touch. You need more, you need it all, you need him to make you come.

“Please, please,” you whimper almost silently, begging for something that is already being given to you. There is no way he is going to stop; he needs you to come for him now as much as you need him to do it.

“Look at ya takin’ it so fuckin’ well, cheeks all flushed,” he murmurs with a smirk. “Don’t even fuckin’ care ‘bout anything other than keepin’ me happy.” 

Minute after minute, his full attention is focused solely on you, each stroke drawing you increasingly nearer to that razor’s edge and threatening to violently throw you off. Your toes are curling against the soles inside your shoes as you push your feet into the flooring. Goddammit, he is insatiable, but when it comes to you there is nothing else he can be.

The dampness is now covering his fingers and dripping down onto the back of his hand and sticking to the inside of your thighs. Your walls are fluttering something fierce around his fingers, swelling and engorged. He knows you’re close and his pulse races to feel it, that moment you come. No single sensation ever gives him more pleasure than making you fall apart completely. 

Simon compromises giving this little ruse away by leaning in against your ear; he needs you to hear this fucking well. “Come on, pretty thing, finish for me. Come on my fingers.”

This is the point of no return. Those fucking words are all you need to let go.

Suddenly, like a wave washing over you, that warmth gathering in the pit of your stomach reaches its peak and shoots through you as you fall over the edge. You clamp your mouth shut hard, biting your tongue until you taste copper to stop from crying out, but it's not enough. You mewl in your throat and it is loud enough that even Simon reacts to the sound. 

“Shh, shhh,” he coaxes gently as his fingers slow down until they finally come to a stop. “Ya did so well for me sweetheart. Just breathe. I gotcha.”

Quickly you bring your drink back up to your lips and fake a cough to try and cover the noise as you steady your body that wants nothing more than to writhe as you ride out your ecstasy. Unfortunately, the sound catches a few eyes, though they quickly turn back away after only a second, all except one. It is the Scottish sergeant sitting directly across the table from you both that speaks up about it.

“Ya alright there lass?” Johnny asks with a raised eyebrow as he turns his attention to you curiously.

You clear your throat, pretending to accidentally choke on your drink. “Yeah, fine, just went down wrong,” you stammer out in your calmest tone, hoping he buys the lie long enough to go back to what he is doing. Your face is on fire, cheeks flushed warm as Simon’s fingers still rest inside your pussy, your walls still pulsing against them. Maybe you can pass the heat in your face off as a product of the liquor, but something in the sergeant's skeptical lingering gaze makes you not so certain if he’s buying it at all.

“Ya sure there?” he questions again.

You nod, trying not to fully meet his eyes as you come up with your next lie when a pretty thing from across the bar who has been eyeing the sergeant all night walks up out of nowhere and taps him on the shoulder, pulling him directly from this conversation before it gets any more awkward and you feel like you can relax fully again.

Licking your lips, you turned your attention back to Simon who is eating up every last second of you almost being caught with his hand in your pants. Those auburn eyes are giving you sideways glances as he raises his glass to finish off the last of his drink, removing his fingers achingly slow, wiping them against the crotch of your panties to remove your juices, all with a subtle smirk that dances at the corner of his mouth. You wait till he’s done and sits back fully in his seat with the glass back on the table before you dig your fingers into the bulk of his thigh. 

“Restroom.” you demand and immediately get yourself in order so that you can get up from the table. “Now.”

He knows what you want and he’s ready to accept the consequences of his actions. There is no way you are waiting until later to continue this. Simon wanted to start this here, it’s going to have to be finished here. He gives you a headstart before following right behind, slipping through the crowd as quickly as he can without being detected; there is a tenting at the crotch of his pants that is hard to hide properly.

You are waiting for him just on the other side of the restroom door so that before he can fully get in you are already on him, ripping his mask up and off his head with greedy hands so that your hot, aching lips can desperately meet for the first time tonight. A tangled mess of limbs intertwined and bodies molded into one another he pulls you into the nearest stall and slams the door shut, locking it without ever removing his mouth from your own. God, if these walls could talk they’d have so many salacious stories to tell about you two sneaking away here to screw each other. 

Feverish hands are ripping off clothing at breakneck speeds as flesh begs to connect with flesh. It’s like striking a match in a room filled with gasoline; the moment you two get started, it’s hard to stop without at least parts of you getting naked.

His cock-hungry slag, your pussy-ravenous superior; it is a match made in erotic heaven.

“Finish what you started, you bastard,” you plead agitatedly.

His lips upturn against your mouth. “Ya don’t even have to fuckin’ ask, sweetheart,” he replies as he shoves your jeans off your hips while taking your soaked panties with them, pushing them onto the floor before picking you up so you have to wrap you legs around his waist, followed by a bang from your back hitting the stall wall.

[sassylegshayne]

buff baby

hi hello I'm finally gonna start talking ab dad!Shayne!!! this man has me in such a chokehold and the thought of him with a mini him makes me want to explode. idk if I'm gonna make this a series or anything, but I'll probably be posting more dad!Shayne soon 🫣 I hope y'all enjoy and lmk what you think!! mwah xo lees

1.1k words!

masterlist

Standing silently in your bathroom, staring down at trio of positive tests, an idea popped into your mind.

Your smile spread wider as you wrapped your arms around yourself, the smell of your boyfriend still lingering on the sweater of his that draped off of your shoulders. It felt like your heart was about to beat out of your chest, your stomach filled with butterflies.

You glance to your phone, realizing Shayne would be home shortly, shocking you back into reality. You're quick to shove the tests back into their box, and then shove that box far, far into the back of your dresser drawer.

For the first time ever, you're really hopeful Shayne doesn't try and keep up with the laundry.

"Honey, I'm home!" Shayne called out playfully, wandering through the front door, setting your nerves on fire.

You jump a bit as he bursts through the doorway to your bedroom, quickly grabbing your waist and pulling you into him. You can't help but laugh, letting your head rest against his chest as he holds you tightly, pressinga soft, chaste kiss to your forehead.

"Hey, baby." He began, the nickname that normally comforted you now had your heart in your throat as you look to him with raised brows.

"I love you, this is really nice and don't wanna nterrupt it, but I might shit myself if don't." You couldn't hold back a small groan as you roll your eyes, shoving him away playfully as he chuckled, a grin on his face. Shayne grabbed at your hands, quickly pulling you back to press a peck to your lips before heading into your bathroom.

You couldn't help but laugh softly at the thought on your mind- that's the father of your child.

"Might wanna light a candle, I'm sorry!" Shayne called out, laughing.

"I can't be the dad because that baby has one blue eye and one brown eye, just like her ex!" Shayne yelled out, slamming the card on to the the tabletop as everyone cheered him on.

"And another thing," He continued through laughter as you gave him a faux shocked look. "She just wants me to be the father because I'm a YouTube celebrity!"

"Are you gonna take that, Y/N?" Angela called to you, perched on the edge of her seat as your group was nearing the end of the game.

"Fine, I didn't wanna do this to you, Shayne, but..." You laid down your card slowly, keeping your eyes on the man sat across from you as the room grew quiet. "The lie detector test determined that is a lie."

Shayne gasped, placing his hand to his chest before moving his popularity down on the board, the final blow of the game.

"Okay, and with that, we are ready to look at our test results, so if everyone would pass their packets to the person on their right." lan called out, Shayne leaning forward to hand you his as you passed yours off to Angela.

You slowly went around the group, everyone exaggerating their relief at not being the father. You tangled your fingers with Shayne's, gripping his hand tightly as Angela pulled your card.

"Y/N.. you are... not the father!" She squealed out, hugging you quickly as you grabbed Shayne's packet from your lap.

"Shayne.. I think we know how this is gonna end.." You began, laughing softly as you glance around, everyone else ending with the same result as you.

He nodded solemnly, taking a deep breath as he sat back in the seat. "I'm ready..."

You tried your best to hide your shakey hands as you pull out the card, the bright red box staring back at you.

"Shayne, you are going to be a father!" You called out, Shayne immediately jumping from his seat. He began storming off set quickly in a fit of exaggerated yelling and anger.

"Wait, what?!" Angela screamed out, her eyes wide as she registered your words.

"Did you say...?" lan began, the grin on his face was unmistakable as everyone began piecing it together, while Brennan was still following your boyfriend on his faux rampage.

You feel arms wrap around you tightly as Courtney and Angela begin to congratulate you, your cheeks blushed brightly as Shayne's yelling can be heard from off set.

Shayne chuckled as he cut the bit, turning to the camera behind him, the man behind it giving him a confused look.

"Did.. did you hear her?" Brennan asked, his brows furrowed— Shayne was way too calm to know what was happening.

"Yeah, I.. oh, fuck!" The brunette spoke, his blue eyes wide as he finally processed your words, sprinting back through the doors just as quickly as he left.

You barely have time to register his return before you're swept off your feet, finding yourself in a fit of laughter as you cling to Shayne's biceps.

Shayne felt like his face was about to split with just how big his grin was. He couldn't help but pull you closer, peppering your face with kisses before finally setting you back on your feet.

"You're serious, right?" Shayne finally asks, a bit out of breath from all of his screaming and running, his eyes searching your face as his hands gently cupped your cheeks.

"Yes, I'm completely serious!" You speak, barely able to contain your laughter as Shayne wraps his arms around you again, squeezing you gently against him.

You quickly slip from his grip, earning a pout as you grab your bag from off set, procuring the box of tests.

Shayne's hands began to shake as you brought the tests to him, the proof now sitting in his hand has a second wave of realization rushing over him.

He's quick to wrap you into his arms again, whispering his gratitude and love for you. You look up to him, his blue eyes brimming with tears as he presses a soft kiss to your lips.

You sniffle, tearing up a bit yourself as you reach up, wiping Shayne's cheeks as he laughs softly.

"Holy shit, that's a much more dramatic ending than expected.." lan laughed as he wrapped his arms around the two of you, squeezing you gently as he offered his congratulations.

"I can't wait for us to start making baby merch!" Spencer called from off camera, another fit of laughter erupting.

"Smosh's first baby!" Angela gasped, clutching her heart as her and Courtney coo'ed at the idea. The love, warmth and excitement in the room was better than you could've imagined.

"Well, uh, thanks for watching.." Shayne chuckled awkwardly, running a hand through his hair as the other stayed wrapped around your waist, holding you close to his side.

"You guys are gonna have a buff ass baby." Arasha mumbled, her eyes a bit wide at the idea as you chuckled, giving the camera a small wave.

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 9

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

Dr. Miller’s voice snapped my eyes open. The setting was perfect. It felt like a movie. What could possibly be better than this? 

The fire, the dim light, the luxurious living room, the champagne. It all felt too perfect to take it someplace else.

Before I could even protest, Dr. Miller was taking my hand and towing me away from the enchanting scene he had set. Certainly there was more to this amazing residence and I did want to see it - really, I did. But right then I could only focus on one desire.

He glanced over his shoulder once with the tiniest smirk and we soon climbed up a stairwell that was enclosed on both sides by the same stone structure that the house was made of. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. 

I stopped mentally counting after five steps when the staircase winded, rounding upward to the next level. Te swirling stairwell added to the dreamy atmosphere. I half expected to awake in my own bed the following morning not knowing if I had been in a dream or reality.

Okay, I was more curious now. What did the second floor entail? There was a charming and, contradicting, dark mystique to Dr. Miller's home. It was almost as enticing as his persona; a perfect fit.

A faint glow illuminated a room straight away as we reached the top of the stairs. On our whisk by, I got a quick flash of a modest-sized room and could tell it was his home office.

Trailing off to the left we passed by two closed doors until reaching the master bedroom at the far end of the hallway.

Dr. Miller reached for the dimmer on the wall a step inside the door and a dim glow gradually took on the oversized space. 

“Wow.” I couldn't keep the word from my mouth as I crossed through the threshold. Now I knew why he wanted to relocate. 

The bedroom was lavish with a fireplace of its own and a flatscreen that sat atop a stone mantle. A king-sized bed was positioned directly across it. Odds and ends filled the spaces, and ceiling-to-floor curtains hung over what I assumed were a pair of windows against a far wall.

Dr. Miller casually strolled in and loosened up the buttons on his collar. I continued to marvel in the enchanting nature of the room that was only comparable to those I had seen in fancy catalogs, or lavish movie settings.

But that wasn't what had me awestruck. It was my professor. It was my enticing, sexy, older professor who was staring right at me as he slowly began to undress himself in the near-darkness.

“Come here.” Dr. Miller’s strict demand forced a shallow gasp from my lips. Once my eyes were locked on his again I felt like a wolf honed in on its prey.. only that prey was a bigger, badder wolf. What a paradox.

The walk to him was only comparable to what I could describe as dice dancing on a tabletop at a casino. What would happen once they rolled to a stop? That was the type of thrill we all secretly chased. The anticipation of what was to come in the most intense situations; your heart pounding, hands unsteady, face hot and a tingle running throughout every facet of your body. 

Our lips met and I tasted the champagne on his tongue. Naturally, Dr. Miller's hand rested gently on the front of my neck. It made me pursuit him harder, kissing him with a heat that forced him to take a breath.

His hands snaked up under my sweater and he ran his warm palms the length of my torso from the bottom up until the shirt was thrown up over my head.

I was expecting him to pull me into his arms, for our lips to connect in the same fiery way as before. When I reached for him, his hand gripped my wrist so tight that an ache immediately spread in both directions up and down my arm. Without warning he shoved me down onto the oversized bed and I let out a deep breath as I stared up at him in his fully aroused state.

The clank of his belt buckle as he began to undo it was enough to make my bottom lip separate from my bottom one. My tongue danced across my lips. I couldn't wait to devour him - or let him devour me. Either way, I didn't care.

With his pants off his hips just enough to get a glimpse at the tented bulge in the front of his boxer-briefs, Dr. Miller leaned down, placing his hands on either side of me as he spoke against my lips.

“I'm going to fuck you now.” His voice was stern. His dark eyes locked on mine. He wasn't asking for permission, though he knew by now that I wouldn't deny him; I couldn't. 

My eyes closed when I felt his fingers against the skin by my waist, swiftly undoing the button of my jeans in a craftily, effortless manner. 

I didn't know if I sighed or moaned when he began to glide my pants down before fingering my panties and taking them along for the ride.

When I failed to respond  to his racy demand he let his nose brush against mine and kissed me so firmly on the lips that it hurt.

“Say, okay Dr. Miller,” he demanded now.

I swallowed hard.  “Okay, Dr. Miller.”

“Good girl.”

The world might as well have stood still when our bodies were entwined. Never, not once in my life, had an intimate encounter left me feeling so out of touch with the rest of the world. 

Explosions of passion transpired in every kiss, every touch, every careless whisper only to be shared between the two of us. I felt it. I knew Dr. Miller felt it, too.

At times he was patient, numbing me with his fingers as he slowly and carefully turned my thighs to Jello. Other times he was forceful and hard, leaving me unable to even choke out a moan because my body was tense and tight and I was on the verge of exploding. He stopped each time he could tell I was close to my climax, controlling the pace of the foreplay, the lovemaking and everything in between.

Fuck, the stamina on this man!

Details of the night would be forever ingrained in my mind. The squeezes of his hands against mine. The firm hold on my throat that I encouraged through a chorus of moans each time he did it. The look in his eyes that alternated between dominant and desperate as he thrusted hard on top of me.

I had no idea how much time had passed when we finally laid quietly together with nothing but the sounds of our own breathing to fill the air. For several minutes I laid there with my eyes closed holding him close. Dr. Miller was a hot, sweaty mess on top of me. I was certain I felt and sounded and looked the same way.

If there was one thing I worried about it was the aftermath of a sexual encounter. Would the man want to cuddle? Would he ask you nicely to leave? Was it just about the sex? Did men worry about any of that stuff?

Dr. Miller’s arm was locked around my naked waist. It was possessive, and from him, alone, I craved that. I wanted to be his. I wanted him to be mine. That may have been wrong, or too intense for the length of time we had been in each other's lives; but that's how I felt. I realized, now, that I couldn't do this once. I couldn't do it twice or three times. I wasn't going to be the girl he called on occasion for a random hookup. None of that was possible - not for me. There would be no getting enough of this. The chemistry that existed between us was on a level I had no prior experience with.

My chest heaved up and down with a deep sigh. It prompted him to finally loosen his grip on me as his head lifted from the pillow we were sharing.

Moment of truth, I thought. I could usually read what a man's intentions were; at least I thought I could. Was Dr. Miller as into me as I thought he was? I couldn't be reading this all wrong, could I?

I wasn't about to let misplaced doubt kill the moment. I bit down on my bottom lip and slowly smiled, prompting him to do the same. When a low chuckle escaped him I echoed it with a giggle of my own.

He propped himself up on his forearm now and hovered above me with pillow-tossed hair. Such a beautiful, rugged mess he was. For a moment neither of us said anything; though did we really need to?

I let out another flustered breath as he leaned down and touched his lips to mine, staying there as if it would be the last time. Simultaneously, my hand found his bearded cheek, the other gently roamed through his messy hair.

We sighed together as the kiss broke off and I knew something had to be said.

“Dr. Miller-”

“Call me Joel,” he cut me off, referring to himself in such a different way than he had in the verbal foreplay that had kicked off our encounter.

I knew it would be difficult referring to him by his first name. In my quiet thoughts, fears and fantasies he would always be Dr. Miller; but I certainly couldn't continue to refer to him in that way.

“Joel..” I smiled again and sighed. That was it. That was all I had. I couldn't think of a coherent sentence. Not when my body still ached for all we had just done and more.

“(Y/N).” His gravelly voice ignited something inside of me - even more so when the weight of his body still blanketed mine.

For a moment I just held him. With our current, uncertain circumstances I had no idea if I would ever truly get this chance again. My hand rested on his cheek and then I leaned my head forward and kissed him again.

His next question made me feel safe and secure - a contrast to the hot-and-bothered, reckless way I had been feeling all night. “What side of the bed do you want?”

I was sure the diameter of my smile stretched my face to the limits. He officially asked me to stay.

“Either side.” I didn't care. I would have slept in the stiff, decorative chair in the corner of the room if he asked me to.

With a chuckle, he pushed himself away and slunk out of bed, slipping just his boxer-briefs back on. “Well decide. I have to go put the fire out downstairs.”

I let out a light flutter of laughter and agreed to his terms, watching him as he exited the room. I was alone with my thoughts, now, smiling at the ceiling. The sheets felt cool against my hot skin. 

I could still feel a sting on the right side of my buttocks where Dr. Miller had indulged in perhaps the most pleasurable spanking of my life. My hand fell over the area and I smiled again, covering his hand print with my palm to feel the warmth he left there.

“Fuck..” I whispered the word to myself in the tastefully, exhausted state he had left my body in. If I died right then, I would die happy.

When he returned, my eyes drank in his physique. Chest hair trailed down the center of his rugged form down below his belly button. A lone scar decorated the top of his left arm and his typically perfectly-styled hair had been tugged in all different directions, leaving him with the most adorable fashion faux-pas.

Dr. Miller pressed the dimmer all the way down and closed the door, replacing the picture-perfect image in front of me with just a silhouette. When he slid back in behind me, my body naturally melted into his.

“Hope you don't mind the right side of the bed,” he said quietly in my ear, slipping one of his feet between mine as he pulled me against him even tighter.

“Mmm..” My eyes closed, “I don't mind.” I was exhausted, but I didn't want the moment to end. Despite the heaviness of my eyes I fought it. It wasn't until I heard Dr. Miller's quiet snores in my ear that I finally gave in. In the warmth of his bed with his body wrapped securely around mine, I got the best sleep of my life.

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @amyispxnk @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog

[starlitprism]

Prepping for a Tabletop Game: Who Should Do It?

So some of you are probably reading the title and going "... the game master or whatever. They should prep. Obviously." And generally speaking, that's correct. Unless they are an absolutely kickass improv type who has enough confidence to set something important on fire because you "know what you are doing" you're probably going to want to prep!

Now, much like some of the other stuff I have written, I am not here to advocate for one thing over another but I do want to talk about my own habits that may or may almost certainly not be unique. If you want a quick and easy "what do you mean" check out this little post for an example. Plus it's funny

So yeah, I prep for games even as a player. Sometimes it means bringing music for specific scenes or making up mechanics for party games or more. Oftentimes it means sitting down with my character playlist before games, finding the song to fit my characters mood, and blasting it before session to get me in the zone. This is all prep in a way.

So how else do I prep when I am not GMing?

Oh that's simple!

I just... oh wait I had a whole post on this. Ok maybe not so simple.

You can consult your GM, talk through changes as your character develops. Keep them updated on where they are at (this is very important, btw, when you tell your GM to "make you bleed" as I have found out repeatedly). Other things you can do is talk about character direction, the character's mindset, and possible pitfalls due to that mindset. These are ALL a form of prep and you don't even necessarily need to tell your GM; especially if they aren't interested in engaging like that. Some aren't. Some are busy. Me though? GM or player, that's my jam.

I have been engaging in such a way because my most recent character is kind of extreme in her reactions. Her feelings are big both in a positive and a negative sense and they can tend to overwhelm her and her thought processes which means, sometimes, I consult with my GM to come up with ideas on how to steer her towards the rest of the group instead of away. Towards ummm... shall we say a productive outllet for that energy.

Now some of you might go "or you could just make the harmonious choice anyway regardless of what she would do" and to those who can do this, I applaud you. I cannot.

This might be an autistic thing where not being true to the character just makes me feel like I am not playing them anymore. By which I mean that is exactly what I feel and therefore such choices are actively unpleasant to make. I know I am getting caught up in the details and the specifics because that is just how I work. However, that doesn't mean my solution is just wallow in the "problem." Because I see this conflicts not as a problem but an opportunity.

It's the "yes and-" portion of the bit so to speak. And insofar, despite playing a character who started very abrasive and disconnected, it's ABSOLUTELY ROCKED to play her because of this attention to detail and conversations about the character. Thank you @trishyeves for your constant amazingness as my GM. Little shoutout. We've never come up on a problem that was so impossible that we couldn't come up with a solution. Not once. Problems and disconnects are opportunities for narrative!

So for those of you who read this I am most curious to hear how you all prep either as a GM but especially as a player. HELL, if you got some fun stories involving the same please share that as well!

But anyway, who should prep? My personal favorite answer is anyone who feels up for it and wants to. Creating is very rewarding and every time we do it, it's a step towards bettering our own understanding of our process. PLUS, it make sit ways easier on the GM if they working with you. Every step of this refines it, sharpens it, and allows you to better figure out how to create something amazing. And not to harp on an old point, but when you work with your GM or your players, you start refining your ability to understand what others are thinking and where they are coming from.

And for me? Favorite part of collaborative storytelling

[scuttlingcrab]

After rereading the last two installments of the Tailor Tav™️ saga, where Raphael crosses paths with her at a ball and where he reaffirms his desire to commission another piece from her, and the unrelated (I'm assuming) piece where Raphael tries to gift Tav something, I can't help but picture how Raphael would react to Tav teaching him a bit of her craft—at least the non-magical parts of it. Maybe she can use an offer to teach him as part of a bargain with him to free her from the stipulations that ban her from creating for anyone other than Raphael himself? (also I just love the idea of this devil and his a mortal having something like a shared hobby together and/or Tav being a gracious teacher who doesn't belittle Raphael's early efforts when they inevitably aren't quite as perfect as he'd hope, but I'm getting ahead of myself here; just wanted to let you know that your writing is living rent free in my mind)

Tailor Tav™️ is back! I've been looking forward to this one for awhile and really hope you enjoy! Thanks for filling my inbox with gems like this! x

Summary: Tav makes a proposition for Raphael, offering to teach the Devil her craft of sewing in exchange for him relinquishing her creative ban. Raphael finds stitching a wee bit harder than he initially expected.

Notes: Based on A Perfect Fit, Dressed to Kill, Shadowy Deals, and Dance with the Devil. Tailor Tav™️ has also appeared in a few other one-shots, hehe.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

Trial by Fire

(Image via red-dead-sakharine)

“Will you hold still?” Tav asked, her voice on the edge of frustration. 

She quickly put out the growing flames with a spell, stopping the fire before it began to overtake the rest of the table. 

Raphael sat sourly beside her, completely out of place in her tent. He had humiliated himself, feeling like an outright fool for the first time in over a thousand years. He held a charred piece of clothing in his hands, the fine material ruined due to his shoddy needlework and rising temper. Somehow Raphael not only failed to join together the fabric, but had created a stitch so crooked and tangled that nothing could be done to reverse his mistakes. The Devil would need to start over. Again. 

He shifted in the wooden seat, raising his hand as he prepared to snap his fingers, hoping to erase the day’s mortification permanently from his memory. Just looking at the wretched garment left a bitter taste in his mouth. Tav cleared her throat, her own scolding gaze rivalled Raphael’s disposition, causing him to lower his hand back to the table. 

Raphael’s seat was still smoking, the top of the wood charred from his last outburst. He impatiently drummed his fingers on the tabletop, small scorch marks growing blacker with the increasing tempo as he waited for Tav to continue.

“No magic, Raphael.” Tav said, the exasperation had disappeared from her tone, only kindness and patience remained, which pained Raphael more. “Now please, try not to melt this needle. It’s my last one.”

Tav placed the needle in her open palm, extending it towards Raphael. 

“I will do my best, but I cannot make any guarantees.” Raphael responded through tight lips, carefully retrieving the needle.

They’d been at it for hours, each minute that dragged on grew heavier on Raphael’s shoulders; weighing him down more than his increasing responsibility to secure the Crown of Karsus. Raphael had watched Tav carefully, making precise notes and calculations on how to anchor a thread and initiate the first stitch, yet his infernal hands could not grasp such a simple mortal notion. 

He must’ve burned over a hundred articles of clothing since he began, slowly depleting Tav of her resources as he struggled to amend his previous errors. He vowed to himself not to leave Tav’s tent until he conquered sewing, until he successfully made himself a basic tunic devoid of any flaws. He would never dare let that little mouse beat him at anything. 

Raphael was practically perfect, he wasn’t afraid to admit it. If he could, he would proclaim it from the highest mountain top for all living beings to hear. The Devil was a master connoisseur, and above all, a jack of all trades. He had to be in this line of work; after all, how else did he get so far without even an ounce of assistance from his beloved father, Mephistopheles? 

He prided himself in his studies, in the relentless work and countless hours of preparation done to lay the foundations for his future. He shadowed only the greatest painters, memorised the intricacies of politics from every realm, and even went so far as to read all the noteworthy books that have been published throughout the millennia; but nothing prepared him for the horrors of being a tailor. The job required an old fashioned sensibility, a delicate handmade approach to see any design through to completion. 

Tav leaned towards Raphael, lightly placing her hands over his in an attempt to guide him. He stiffened slightly at her soft touch as she began to lift his hands. Raphael discretely tilted his head, hoping to get a better look at Tav without bringing anymore attention to himself. 

The Devil needed to concentrate, but he found himself momentarily distracted as his eyes fell on a small pale scar that decorated her chin. Raphael’s high standards for his own appearance allowed him to grow obsessed with others’ imperfections; finding more beauty in mortal flaws than in their perfect physiques or conventional facial features. Tav had a peculiar allure about her that made Raphael’s attraction flourish the longer he spent in her presence.

She brought a dark piece of thread to her lips, wetting the tip of it with her tongue before placing it in Raphael’s hand. He carefully watched the act, something so mundane had a hidden layer of intimacy attached that caused his heart to unexpectedly flutter. 

Raphael took a long deep breath to calm himself, there was a risk Tav might feel his body temperature rise as his heart continued to slam against his chest, beating faster and faster like a cursed infernal engine. He slowly took in Tav���s scent, savouring the notes of cloves and roses, now mixed with just a hint of perspiration.

“OK…” Tav whispered, causing Raphael to unwillingly pull his gaze away from her. “Thread the needle, just like we practised.” 

Tav’s grip tightened as she helped Raphael push the thread carefully through the eye of the needle. She let out a loud sigh as it went through with ease, shocking them both.

“I will pretend I didn’t hear that.” Raphael responded, dryly.

“You nearly burned down my tent, twice, in the last hour! Please allow me this moment to celebrate.”

Raphael’s nostrils flared as his seat began to smoke underneath him.   

“No offence, of course.” Tav added, quickly taking the thread and needle away from Raphael, “you’ll get it, eventually. Practice makes perfect, right?”

“Bah! Petty mortal idioms are of no use to me. We will continue, I have yet to learn what lies beneath the expertise of your craft.” 

Tav hesitated, cradling the needle and thread in her hands. 

“Listen, how about we take a break, yeah? I’m spent. With any luck you’ll finish this first piece within a fortnight.” 

“And is that how long it typically takes you to complete this type of labour?”

“Gods no! Half a day, maybe one at most. Of course, it depends what else I’ve got going on when I’m not fighting my way through Faerûn.” Tav grinned back at Raphael. 

The Devil held back a gasp. He had wasted an entire day catering to Tav’s ludicrous games and didn’t have a single piece of clothing finished to prove himself. Mortals cannot be trusted, even when their very souls were at stake they’d be foolish enough to risk it all if it meant satisfying their own agendas. 

“I’ve had enough of this blatant display of tomfoolery.” Raphael stood dramatically, pushing back the chair as he walked towards the tent's entrance.

The instant Raphael learned Tav went against her word, having the audacity to craft clothing for anyone but him, he nearly sent a torrent of Hellfire down on her camp. He had discovered the little mouse’s betrayal from Korrilla’s reports, his resentment spreading as he read through the detailed descriptions again and again. Tav had gifted all her companions garments ranging from nightgowns to luxurious capes, outfits that belonged to him. Tav went so far as to give out her clothing for free to random mortals she encountered on her travels. The little mouse had truly taken Raphael for a fool.

Raphael released his blistering rage on Korrilla, blaming the dwarf for her ineptitude and Tav's errors. For every piece of clothing Tav made in breach of contract, he added an extra day to Korrilla’s penance; temporarily stripping Korrilla of all Warlock powers and forcing her to train his latest apprentice, Dolofina. He even denied her use of his healing baths until she truly learned her lesson.  

When Raphael summoned Tav to his House of Hope, demanding an explanation, he was instead met with another proposition. Tav would teach him her craft in exchange for her freedom from the stipulations of their agreement, relinquishing the creative ban Raphael had set in place.

“Just give it another chance. You will soon appreciate the work that goes into making garments, I promise you.”

“These idle promises are waning, little mouse. The terms have yet to be honoured.” 

“Gods, don’t you understand? You will still get exclusive clothing. You think I would dare make another doublet like yours? That was my greatest work, and I only hope to do better with your next piece.” Tav paused, rising to meet Raphael at the entrance. “But I need to make a living.”

“You think life will just return to normal after the Elder Brain is destroyed? A foolish fancy.”

“I have a shop waiting for me in the Lower City, collecting dust. I’ll be damned if I let it go to waste when this is all over.”

“Your little shop is meaningless against what I can offer you in exchange.”

Tav nodded, almost considering the possibility, the future they’d share together.

“As nice as that sounds I’d get bored eventually.”

Raphael titled his head, a smile slowly loosening his lips. He was surprised at how little anger he felt at that moment; in contrast to the fury he experienced throughout the day, a growing warmth rose in his chest. He took a step towards Tav, towering over her as he admired her grit. The little mouse was mighty, ferocious, and would not back down so easily. The Devil was very much looking forward to this fight.

“Mortals, ever so fickle.” 

He placed a hand on his hip, studying the tent that was close to shambles. But of course. It only made sense he failed learning to sew on the first attempt, such mortal professions were beneath him, unbefitting for his station and ability for comprehension. It would require more thought, more time. 

And what more did Raphael need to do in order to impress that creature? He held all the most important cards close to his chest, allowing no one else to peek behind the curtains. Perhaps there was something else he could dangle in front of her? Something more enticing, causing her to drop everything in allegiance to him.

Every great hero has their foibles and Raphael would discover Tav’s soon enough, as he did with all the others that came before her. Not only would he acquire the proper skills of her craft, but he would crack her open, dissecting every inch of that soul in the process.

“Very well. We will continue again at first light. And this time, I expect to leave with a finished tunic.”

[littlebosslady7]

AHH! The Callowmoore opening scene.

I know? I love how flustered and badass they both were at the same time.

I didn't expect Ashton to be as playful as they were. I also expected Ashton to play it cool in terms of flirting. But they were just so excited, shy, and sweet.

And not stated, but I presume Fearne was blushing or her cheeks were heated in her fire form.

And the "I'll accept your greatness." line. Taliesin delivered again.

I love how cute and dorky they were.

Oh my Gods, out-of-character Ashley and Tal trying to send everyone's favorite resident 13 year old, Laura Bailey into a fit of laughs.

I do wish they could've actually hugged or sat closer, but I know. I know, a lot goes into table seating order. It's just an above tabletop thing that makes the practicality of Ashley and Taliesin acting at opposite ends of their section less awkward visually, in my opinion.

Anyways, it was great.

[chasmbloom]

Time for my next set of mechanic observations for the new tlovm episodes! My last post is here.

To reiterate, this is me taking a look at how they translated the tabletop mechanics to the screen!

I'm not adding absolutely everything, because noting every advantage or saving throw gets a little stale.

Episode 4:

First of all, Revivify of course. It was great seeing Pike chipping in as a nod to how Matts runs revival spells. I like that Kash carried it out by carving the runes, so I'll be keen to see what Pike's version is.

Classic Warlock spell, Summon Greater Demon (even if Zahra used an item for it) - except it succeeded on its charisma save and no longer had to be obedient.

Some Action Surges from Percy, shooting multiple times

Reckless attack from Grog - attacking powerfully at the demon but leaving himself wide open to get slapped by the tentacles.

Vex shooting multiple arrows at once: Ranger Extra Attack?

I would also like to think that Trinket not acting in this battle for ages is a nod to Laura forgetting Trinket is around sometimes.

They have combined Vax's Boots of Haste with the Deathwalker's Ward, which makes sense because a lot of its original abilities aren't very visual i.e. AC bonuses. Though we can see the AC bonuses we can see in how well he dodges those attacks.

And finally another Scrying, this time from Ripley and with an item.

Episode 5: Not a mechanics note but what an incredible moment for Marisha. Janet Varney, the voice of Korra from the avatar franchise playing her mother when Keyleth was so inspired by the avatar.

Dimension Door with Allura and Kima to grab the gang,

A few Guiding Bolts from Pike,

And of course a Cure Wounds,

Not sure if it's what they are going for in the show, but Wild Shaping into a Fire Elemental is SO cool for this moment, especially as a nod to the avatar state.

I'm wondering if the symbol Cerkonos draws on Keyleth's head is a reference to the Igni rune in Witcher?

Episode 6:

Produce Flame to keep them warm,

ASTRAL SEA?? IS IT??? ARE WE THERE??

I love that Scanlan gets Mythcarver and immediately loses it - sums up Sam never fucking using it pretty well.

And seeing Mythcarver fit the size of the bearer is a nice way of showing attunement.

The Plane Shift and rolling on the d100 to see how well you get the exact place, dropping Grog and the Gnome gang.

Anything I missed?

[hexedwinchester]

Hi, do you write smut?

If so, could I request a Sam x fem! Reader smut, with an established relationship

Could be pretty much anything you want

Thanks!

hi anon! I don't write a lot of smut but I'm taking your request as a challenge. Also why it took me 4 days to respond. It may not be perfect but I had fun writing it. let me know if this was a hit or a miss? Thanks for the ask.

This is what I went with: Sam bakes the reader a cake for her birthday. There's chocolate and sex. You can either read it below or on AO3:

The gentle whirring throughout the corridor of the bunker is normal and comforting. It's as if the bunker is alive and breathing and it probably is, based on all the interesting stories Sam has told you. 

Being underground, the air is stale but you don't mind; it's as close to home as you could get. Orphaned and moving between foster homes will do that to you. And who said home had to be a place? Wherever Sam was, it was home. 

The long walks along the corridors were calming. Most of the rooms were locked and unoccupied, and it was common for the Winchester men to either huddle together in the main room with the gigantic table with a world map for a tabletop or in Sam's favourite place: the library.

As you whistle your way to the main room looking for Sam, the sharp, bitter smell hits you first before you turn around the passage to see the end of the hallway filled with flimsy gray smoke. 

Holy mother of God!

You break into a run following the smoke just as the fire sensors go off. Any minute the sprinkler will flood the bunker. 

"Sam!" You scream, barging into his room only to find it's dark and empty. Not wasting another minute, you continue to rush through the smoke, coughing as it burns your throat.

"Sam!" You try again but there's still no answer.

The fire alarm is too loud, he probably can't hear you. You reason with yourself but the anxiety and panic is getting to you. Or he's choking on the smoke, minutes away from death. No! You banish that thought.

The smoke grows thicker as you reach the kitchen and you can barely see inside. Taking off Sam's shirt that you stole from him last night, you flap it around to clear the cloud of smoke.

"Sam? Sam!" The shirt is hardly helping but at least the smoke isn't choking you. As if your prayers have been answered, the vents on the ceiling speed up, sucking the smoke out of the room.

It take a few minutes before the room comes into a clear view.

"What exploded in here?" You wonder out loud as you turn off the oven which seem to be a cause of the fire. The inside of the oven looks like a Leviathan exploded in there and it's best not to open it until you know what died inside for sure.

The entire kitchen is a mess. The floor is dusted with, well, flour. Sticky pots and spatulas are piled up in the sink and broken eggshells are sitting on the counter reeking the whole place rotten. There is a half-empty bowl of batter that's clearly curdled and a piping bag with frosting that looks like it has seen better days. The only edible bit on the counter are neatly sliced strawberries.

This couldn't be Dean. He is just as meticulous with the kitchen as he is with the Impala. But the strawberries are a biggest clue. Dean is hearty when it comes to cooking. He chops and dices and throws in the ingredients to fit the vibe. This isn't Dean. Other glaring clue is, he is out on a hunt since yesterday morning. Which only leaves Sam. Sam cooks but it's usually a salad or a sandwich. Between the brothers, Dean is clearly the one with better culinary skills.

"Y/N" You whirl around to find Sam in the doorway, a plastic bag in his hand. From the shape and the semi transparent opacity, you can see a small cake inside.

"What happened here?"

Looking nervous, he steps inside and places the bag on the counter between the curdled batter and broken eggshells.

"Uh," he smiles, dimples denting into his cheeks. "I was baking a cake for you."

A blush creeps up your cheek. He baked you a cake. No one's ever baked you a cake before. They didn't even care to remember your birthday. 

"But..." He starts and looks behind him at the charred contents of the oven. "Guess I don't know how use an oven."

Oh. Ooohh..

"Oh Sam", you rest his shirt on the back of a nearby chair and cup his face. It's the thought that counts, right?

"The batter looked off and the cake wasn't rising so I quickly went out to get one from the store. Obviously, I forgot to turn it off before leaving..." 

One quick peek in the bag shows a small, round sponge cake in a plastic container and a few bars of chocolate.

Sheepishly, he explains, "Umm.. Dean used to do this for my birthday. Buy a muffin and decorate it with icing."

It breaks your heart. You never had a birthday but you are glad that Sam had Dean and whatever it was that came close to a birthday celebration for the brothers. 

"What did you do for Dean's birthday?"

"Well, Dean doesn't like cakes, so I always bought him a decent slice of pie."

Ah, that sounded exactly something Dean would enjoy.

"Well, so much for the surprise," Sam says, rubbing your shoulders. "Why don't you take a seat here." He maneuvers you to the high table, seating you down. "And I will make you a cake that won't set the bunker ablaze."

Sam is off to work and watching him work is a therapeutic experience in itself. He fills a pot with water and sets it on the burner bringing it to a boil. Grabbing a stainless steel bowl big enough so that it doesn't sink in the pot, he sets it on the rim. 

The chocolate bars are cracked in two and dumped in the double boiler. Much easier if he chopped them finer, but you keep that advice to yourself. Sam discards the eggshells and wipes the counter clean. The batter sees the same fate as the eggshells and he puts all the dishes in the dishwasher. Despite, the neat job, you wonder how the kitchen was so messy and on the verge of going up in flames just a few minutes ago.

Then it occurs to you, Sam knows this. He has always been sharp and steady with what he knows best. Clearly, baking from scratch is something he attempted for the first time. For you.

And he had a back up plan ready. He is really going all out for your birthday, an event that has never been of significance to anyone around you. Oh Sam!

While you are busy pondering on how amazing Sam is, he has already set the sponge cake on the cake stand and is pouring the melted chocolate over it, letting it overflow down the edges.

From where you are sitting, you have a great view of him. The overhead lights accentuates the muscles in his back beneath the snug, gray tee shirt as he works on the cake. He reaches for something on the top shelf, the hem of the tee shirt riding up, giving you a sneak peek of his slim waist. The black sweat pants are a loose fit all over and do no justice to the bottom half of his body.

Sam turns around and brings the cake to you. He sets it in front you and lights the candle. It's a plain vanilla sponge cake covered in melted Milka, a dash of sprinkles and HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N in a crooked writing.

"Make a wish", he says, his usually green eyes glinting golden in the candlelight.

What more can you wish for when you have everything you ever wanted in Sam: a home, a love and a sense of safety.

Not wanting to disappoint, you close your eyes, make a wish and blow out the candle. He wishes you Happy Birthday with a kiss on your cheek and hands you a knife. Cutting a thin slice, you feed him the piece and he does the same. 

"Can I lick that?" You ask eyeing the bowl with melted chocolate that looks like you can still swipe the chocolate off the side. 

Sam laughs and nods, "Be my guest."

You bounce over to the bowl and stick your finger in the warm, gooey chocolate. "Mmmm..." You moan as you lick it off your fingertip. "Thanks Sam."

Sam clears his throat and croaks a 'welcome'. You turn around to see him twisted in his seat looking at you with a peculiar expression. His mouth opens as the tip of his tongue swipes across his bottom lip.

Is he... Is he aroused by me licking chocolate? Only one way to find out. 

You slowly dip your finger in the bowl, letting the chocolate coat it before pulling it out. The chocolate slides down your digit as you bring it up to your lips and hold it for a few long seconds. Closing your mouth around it, you suck deeply, moaning around your finger.

Sam curses under his breath and scratches the back of his head looking away from you. Thrumming his long fingers on the table, he takes two deep breaths before rising and walking over to you in quick, confident steps. 

"Wanna try?" You offer the chocolate dipped finger as he invades your personal space, towering a good one foot over you. He doesn't answer but closes his warm, wet mouth around it. The soft feel of a tongue sliding up your finger sends goosebumps down your arm.

Large hand grabs your wrist as he sucks on your finger, even after the chocolate is long gone. 

"Sam...?" You whisper his name.

He pulls the finger out and runs his nose along your wrist, inhaling deeply. A hand wraps around your waist as he draws you flush against his body. You can feel all that hard, worked muscles under the thin fabric of his clothes. His heat easily penetrates into your skin exciting you.

He grabs your chin between his thumb and his finger, tilting your head up. For a second, you think he is going to kiss you. So, you close your eyes briefly and wait. But instead the feel of his buttery soft lips, a thumb swipes under your lip and then the warm touch is gone. When you open your eyes, Sam is still in your personal space, sucking on his tongue.

"Mmmm..." He moans. "Chocolate tastes good."

Oh that sound he just made, fills your belly with a liquid warmth just like the chocolate. You want him to make that sound again. 

"Can I taste the rest?" A mischievous glint in his eyes makes wonder you if that was an innuendo.

"Yes..."

The edge of the counter digs into your thighs as he pushes his body harder on yours. His mouth is at the corner of your lips, kissing a trail down to your neck. The kisses are soft but urgent. Their softness and the heat of his mouth are a delicious contrast against your supple skin.

"Ah!" You bite back a moan when his teeth sink into your neck. A hand rides up from your waist and into your hair. He tugs on your hair, exposing your neck sucking on the spot there.

Raking your fingers through his hair, you pull his face back to yours, crashing your lips into his. Parting them, you take that opportunity to suck on his bottom lip. 

Sam hooks his hands behind your knees and hoists you up on the counter. Your legs wrap around his waist drawing him closer. He obliges by pressing his body against yours and kissing your lips harder. 

A smile stretches on your lips. He tastes like chocolate and you are tempted to taste more. You fumble in the back trying to reach the bowl. It's challenging when Sam is kissing you like there's no tomorrow but you manage to get a hold of it. Dipping two fingers in it, you smear the chocolate on Sam's cheek as you cup his face to deepen the kiss.

"Oops!" You whisper into his ear as he nips your neck. Cradling his face, you lick the chocolate off cheek and you are rewarded with a guttural moan and a hard push between your legs. 

"My turn."

Sam trails his chocolate coated fingers from your cheek down to neck. His wet tongue follows the path of his fingers lapping up the chocolate. 

The hot breath against your skin is dizzying. Sam slides his fingers under the thin strap of your spaghetti top and pulls it down baring your shoulders. He presses a soft kiss on your shoulder tip.

Your body is aware of all the places he is touching you: his lips peppering kisses across your collarbone, hands skimming down your arms and settling on your waist, his hard-on rubbing between your legs. 

You shiver as his fingers slip under your top, the hard knuckles brushing against your stomach. Grabbing the hem of the top, he yanks it over your head. He smiles as his lips catch yours, brushing against them, sucking on them.

Rough, calloused hands squeeze your waist and ride up to your chest. His fingers graze under the swell of your breasts before cupping them. The touch is far from gentle and you tip your head back and let out a pained moan. His large hands paw at your flesh, fondling them. Sam slips his thumbs inside the lacey cups of your black bra and exposes your nipples. The cool air hits your tips, hardening them.

One swipe of his thumbs draws another set of moans. All your attention is focused on the fingers rolling those hard peaks. You let out a whimper when his mouth closes over your nipple and the quick swipe of his tongue on the bud makes you cry out his name.

The betrayal of your body is evident as you push your chest towards him. In return, he suckles deeply, milking the pleasure out of you. Your fingers bunch into his hair but you are unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. 

He turns to your other nipple and clamps his mouth over it. Each flick of his tongue makes you tremble and shiver. Your head is resting on the cabinet behind as you push your body towards Sam. He reaches back and unhooks your bra. Taking it off your bare body, he casts it behind him where it lands somewhere near your top.

Gaining some strength back, you lift his t-shirt over his head. Discarding it, you lock your fingers behind his neck as you pull him closer. The feel of his hard, hot body on your tender one is amazing. 

Kissing him deeply, you let your hands roam and explore the planes and ridges on his torso. The skin is soft to touch but beneath that, the muscles are hard and firm just like the rest of him.

You slide lower so that your center aligns with his erection. Grinding on him, you suck on his neck hard enough to leave a mark. 

"Y/N..." That sound raw and guttural sound echoes through the kitchen.

He bends down to kiss you again and your hand slips between your hips, brushing on his hard-on. You palm his dick and slowly rub it, feeling it grow under your touch.

Sam breaks the kiss to let out a curse. You watch in fascination as he tips his head up and bites back a moan. You trace the shape of his dick and roll your finger over his head. He whispers your name like a prayer and a curse.

Before you can take this futher, his eyes snap open. Lust swimming in those ocean green eyes as he command, "Get off the counter."

You know better than to challenge him and jump off the counter. The moment your feet land on the cold tiles, he grabs your waist and flips you around. Pulling your body close to him so that your back is pressed against his chests, he cups your jaw. Forcing your face up, he bends down to kiss you, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

Your hands lock behind his neck trying to get a grip as you return the kiss. Goosebumps pop over your skin when he trails his fingers from your arms, down your sides, to your waist. 

The telltale sound of your zipper followed by the pop of your button rings loud in your ears. The denim shorts are now loose at the waist. Sam's hand dips inside shorts and cover your mound. 

You know the moment his fingers graze your panties, they are going be slick with your wetness. The fingers rub over the crotch of your panties soaking up more wetness. Then his touch gone for a brief second only to return the next moment. This time, there's no fabric between your sex and Sam's hand is inside your panty. He rubs your mound back and forth before parting your folds open with his fingers.

Ohh... 

It's great that your mouth is occupied kissing Sam Winchester, otherwise you would be a moaning mess right away. Especially with the way Sam is touching you. He alternates between rubbing your clit back and forth and rolling his finger in circles. The other hand is fondling your breasts, teasing your peaks.

Your knees are giving out and the only thing holding you upright is Sam's hard body. You lean heavily into him as he fingers you and you cry out his name when he pushes a long finger inside you.

There is no time to adjust to the feeling because he gives you none. Oh that damn finger is long enough to reach the depths of your vagina that you couldn't with yours. He pumps his finger faster adding another one and you can't do anything but ride it out until Sam decides to give you your release.

He does this thing where he fingers you hard enough to build the orgasm but stills his ministrations before you can hit the peak. 

"Sam!" You cry out in frustration. You need that release. You need it now.

"Yeah, baby?" He feigns innocence.

"I need it." You beg.

"Need what?" His fingers are still thrusting inside you, hitting that sensitive spot over and over again. He grinds the heel of his palm on your sensitive bud. You whimper in response. He asks again, "need what, baby?"

There are tears in your eyes. This is too much and yet not enough. "Sam, please... Please!"

"Use your words, babygirl."

"I need to come!" You groan. "Please, make me come... Pleaseee.."

"Shhhhh.." he hushes you but to your dismay, draws his hand back too.

"No..."

As you are about to turn to face him, he places a hand on your back and pushes you forward so that your head is resting on the countertop. Running his hands down your sweat-coated back, he hooks his thumb on the waistband of your shorts and tugs them down along with your panties. 

Grabbing your hips, he pulls them out and kicks your legs apart. You feel exposed but right now with your ass on display but the only thing you care about is riding out your orgasm. If Sam wants to tie you up and screw you until the sun comes up, you are more than willing as long as you get to come. 

You don't hear the soft shuffle of Sam's sweatpants hitting the floor but you feel it when his dick rubs against your wet slit. He rubs it over your sex, coating it with your slick before lining the tip with your entrance. 

The pinch sensation hurts as he pushes the head inside you. "Sam.." the moan spills from your swollen lips. You feel the head slipping inside. He draws back and then slams into you with force that drives his dick all the way inside you. 

Grabbing your hips in a bruising hold, he rams into you. The feeling of fullness is exquisite and the penetration is so deep, you can feel his dick reach your throat. He humps faster, gaining speed. The kitchen air is heavy on the scent of sex and the sound of your moans, his grunts and the wet noises of skin rubbing on skin.

Like his finger, his dick hits the spot over and over again, building a dam that is so close to breaking. He bends over you, covering your back with his body as he thrusts harder. His movements are choppy and you know he is close too. The harder he humps, the tigher you clench around his dick.

Your insides are sensitive, you are oh so very close. All you need is something to send you over the edge. It happens when Sam pulls all the way back only to slam back into you as he bites down on your neck. Stars explode behind your eyes as your body shatters into throes of orgasm. It feels like it goes on for eternity and probably it does. Your body trembles and threatens to collapse. But you are still impaled on Sam's dick and he is still chasing his own release.

Three deep thrusts later, Sam collapses over you as he empties himself inside you, filling you up. His grip on your waist is gone, instead he is combing his fingers through your hair.

It's only after a few seconds pass and he asks again you realise that he is talking to you. "Y/N, are you okay?"

You are more than okay. You are in heaven. An eternal bliss. But you resort to a single nod.

Sam pats your head and slips out. You groan at the emptiness and crave to be filled again. 

When you don't move, he quickly hold you up. Grabbing his shirt that you wore last night, he drapes it over your shoulder. How could he screw you like an animal one minute and then be so chivalrous that he covers your naked, freshly screwed body in an empty bunker?

"Let's get you cleaned up." He offers a hand and it only dawns on you that he somehow had the time to put on his sweatpants. Unfortunately, before you can take up his offer or ask him about the sweatpants, your jelly legs buckle.

"Woahh", he chuckles, holding you in place and saving you a fall. With one hand behind your knees and the other across your shoulder, he lifts you up bridal style and pads in the direction of the bathroom.

Hmmm.. bathroom with a good shower pressure and a wet, naked Sam? Sounds like a best birthday ever!

[theexaltedbride]

Dead Island 2 Slayers X National Guard Reader (Gender Neutral)

(Art is not mine. Its taken from the old, and sadly dead, zombie Tabletop RPG “All Flesh Must Be Eaten” by Eden Studios.)

You were part of the failed attempt by the military to wipe out the seemingly endless hordes of the undead in Los Angeles. After its failure you were re-tasked with aiding in quarantine for Hell-A and evacuation procedures for the remaining survivors of LA before Zero Hour. The moment when no one, alive or dead, would be allowed to leave the city to stop the risk of infection spreading to the rest of the country, the continent...the world. 

You’ve seen so much horror, so much suffering and heard so much screaming, but you still strapped on your boots like everyone else. Some may have gone too far, others not far enough, in trying to stop the infected, but you did everything possible while still keeping your soul. 

Not all of you were even originally from LA, but the outbreak was so bad that National Guard units even from as far as Texas were being called up to come in and reinforce the quarantine zone around the infected regions. Not even a single zombie could be allowed to escape and cause outbreaks elsewhere. All options were on the table, and everyone had to go above and beyond the call of duty to save humanity, which for some (like your unit) meant going in and destroying clusters of the infected where they seemed to strangely be congregating in areas that would keep them safe from artillery and airstrikes. 

This is how you discovered you were secretly a Numen. You were immune to the infection. One of those things got too close and ripped off your mask before your pistol went under the monster’s chin and fired off a round.

Some of the infected matter got into your eyes, your nose, your mouth, you knew that was when it happened...deep down you knew you were infected. But you were too scared to tell anyone. So, you covered it up, and while you managed to pass out somewhere private, you woke up as yourself. The disease which turned others into monsters had given you new strength, made you feel younger, stronger, faster, healthier. Were it not for the occasional head splitting headaches, you probably would call it the best thing to ever happen to you. 

It certainly made the coming days easier as you fought through countless swarms of the undead, saved who you could, and even gave up a seat on an evacuation plane so that others could get to safety. 

You were there at the failed attempt to burn out the undead from around the Hollywood Sign, you can still smell the roasting corpses, before finally falling back with the others to the last evacuation flights out of LA. Somehow you ended up as part of the security detail for the same flight as Emma Jaunt. But then her husband turned out to be infected, and it spread like wildfire inside the plane.

You survived the plane crash by assuming the crash position, only to wake up being carried out by one of the other survivors, who saw you writhing in your seat, this same person...a fellow Numen of all things, would eventually become your lover.

Amy:

-At one point Amy’s prosthetic slipped and she landed on the ground, your training kicked in and you grabbed her and carried her to safety, all the while firing round after round from your pistol into the oncoming swarm, driving them back just enough for you to get away. You swept Amy of her feet figuratively and literally. 

-Amy and you both share the same story of having given up a flight to safety so that others could get out first. You’ve bonded over this and its not uncommon to hear Amy call you Superhero for it, even though she did the same thing.

-She’s not normally one for uniforms, but likes the way your PT gear fits on you when you both hit the gym at Emmas Mansion. Though her regiment is more designed for stamina while yours is an all purpose strength builder. she still loved to see you sweat all the same and hit the showers with you.

-As a sign of trust, you let her carry your dog tags, and she keeps it tied together with the little cross she sometimes prays to when she’s afraid. She even went so far as to look into a prayer for soldiers, so she can pray for you when things get tough.

Bruno:

-Tends to keep thinking you’re in the Army despite how many times you explain how the National Guard works as his only experience with anything military was the evacuation, movies, and videogames. 

-He loves to joke that the footage he gets of you could be used for recruitment videos, or how you already are a super-soldier, even without the Numen part of you.

-He happily shoots guns Gangsta style until you teach him the right way to do it. The entire time you had your hands on him and helped Bruno shoot straight, he was just blushing and nervously nodding. It would take several tries for the lessons to stick, which gave you plenty of material to tease Bruno with later on.

-Likes to watch you flex your muscles when you’re alone together, and when you sleep in bed, he tends to idly play with your dogtags enjoying the sound and feel of them, while committing the details in them to memory. He kind of wants to get a set of his own now, only far more tricked out than yours. 

Carla:

-Loves to arm wrestle you because she knows you can take it and sometimes likes to play the knife game with you. (Carla wins most of the time and your poor fingers would be covered in bandages, were it not for your Numen abilities healing you up faster). Carla has also been a bit rougher with you in sparring matches and wants to learn what you know, half of the time its so she can really learn to fight like a soldier, but the other half of it is just so she can spend more time with you working out and pushing your bodies to the limit.

-Can’t keep up with you during PT runs around the mansion and makes excuses about leg cramps, or that she does it so she can check you out as you run. In truth it’s really that you run faster than her, but at least she gets a nice show out of it. 

-She thinks you look good in your uniform, but thinks it would be a little tighter.

-Tends to be disappointed when you explain real military life isn’t like the movies, but appreciates you being honest with her. 

Dani:

-Surprisingly good with firearms once you taught her the basics, you soon discovered she was putting in extra practice with Curtis to impress you and to look good for you while shooting. She’s also the most serious about trigger discipline out of everyone in the group.

-Loves to swear and drink, and tends to challenge you to a contest of one or both of those things since soldiers do both in ample amounts. Or at least that’s what she learned from movies. 

-Tends to take your camo-cap, beanie, beret, or helmet, from off your head and put it on herself. If you want it back you gotta pay the toll. Or you could try to put her in a friendly headlock, whichever works.

-Geeks out over deciding which military focused tattoos would look great on you and which ones she can get for herself so you both have a matching set.

Jacob:

-”Yes Captain, my Captain!” Is a common phrase from Jacob when he’s messing around with you. It was annoying at first, but the sincerity and positive energy he puts into it brings a smile to your face...of course its also led to some confusion as others think you’re a Captain now.

-He can’t stand all the pomp and circumstance of a regimented lifestyle like the military, always taking orders and having to obey etc etc. But he has to admit, you make it appealing in your own way. 

-Jacob’s not into any of that PT and weapon drills you run for the other survivors, but he does like watching you do it while sitting back with a cigar. He can also be found cheering you on when you have a sparring match with one of the others. 

-He might occasionally make a comment about soldiers or military being mindless drones who kill, but he won’t say it to you or around you. 

Ryan:

-You actually remembered Ryan from the airport and kept referring to him as a firefighter, until he (in one of his first displays of affection to you) shared the truth that he wasn’t really a firefighter. Just a male stripper who used the costume to get past the guards. Something about that sent you into a deep fit of laughter, and 

-You’ve both had shirtless (or even fully naked) flexing contests in the mirror to see who has the best body from all their training and working out. Ryan always says you look better than him no matter what.

-He jokes about perhaps dressing up in a uniform too and taking on the role as your CO, which you tell him no because you’ve grown to really like his Firefighter persona. (Especially since impersonating a soldier like that is disrespectful and in a crisis situation might be even more illegal than impersonating a firefighter.)

-Ryan has a keychain that reminds him of his brother, and so you gave him one of your tags to add to it, so he can think of you whenever you are separated for a while by your missions.

General Interactions and Headcanons:

-Due to your position, duty, and uniform, survivors tend to call you ‘Trooper’ ‘Guard’ ‘Soldier’ or by the rank you are wearing at the time.

-You have a growing collection of dog tags from every undead soldier you put down. They might have been monsters when they attacked you, but before that each one was someone’s father, mother, brother, sister, son, daughter...someone’s lover. Its only right they get some kind of closure when all of this is over. 

-Your bayonete is slowly becoming your lucky charm. Its always there when the swarms get big or when the ammo runs dry. Its also pretty intimidating to hostile survivors and when stabbed into a zombie it gives you some good distance to catch your breath and figure out your next move.

-You are the best at handling Grenadier Walkers, and can sometimes re-arm from them if you manage to take them down without igniting their explosives.

- Thanks to Ryan and you both wearing uniforms that seem to indicate you are in positions of authority, random survivors defer to you both for help and guidance. You are starting to become somewhat of a team leader because of this.

-Surviving military personnel, like those at the beach, are a little more lenient to you and the Slayers if you speak first. They might be willing to part ways with some extra supplies if you ask nicely or can offer something in return. Teh extra bit of firepower is going to really help out in the days to come.

-You made sure that everyone learned proper gun-safety and trigger discipline. Emma, Andrea, and Michael nearly shot someone by accident when you first arrived at Emma’s mansion. There are no hospitals, so accidental shootings are even more dangerous now than before. This is a crisis situation and everyone needs to know how to handle a firearm, even at its most basic level, without hurting themselves even if they don’t like guns. Out of the whole group Bruno and Luciana appreciated the lessons the most. While Amanda is absolutely not allowed to handle a gun ever again.  

-Andrea looks to you for guidance as an authority figure more so than the other Slayers and taught Amy a soldier’s prayer to say for you.

-Carlos is happy to help you do maintenance on your firearms, and even watch as you explain certain things so he can help repair the group’s equipment.

-You’ve taken to occasionally having shooting competitions with Curtis.

-Luciana was excited to learn from you that in their off time a lot of soldiers indulge in nerdy hobbies like miniatures, tabletop RPGs, or Anime weaboo stuff. Its not always just guns and marching and chest thumping. 

-Dr Reed was initially worried about your presence, as not everything about his operation is actually approved of by the CDC, but you presented more valuable data and were of too low a rank to know the full truth and be a risk to his plans. 

-The Other Numen of the Eschaton group don’t exactly like you. They see you as an agent of the old order, one which must die out (along with the ‘unevolved’ parts of humanity). But so long as you don’t get in their way (and because you have six other Numen on your side/one devoted lover) they hold off on trying to harm you. Someday your two groups may come to blows. Not now, but eventually.

-Sam B did not initially trust you as he’s been burnt by the authorities too many times. But after everything you’ve all been through together, he trusts you as much as he does the rest of the Hell-A Slayers. He may not have much love or trust for anyone in authority, but in his eyes, you are one of the good ones, maybe even the best.

-Patton initially saluted you, old training taking over as he mistook you for an officer, and then was a little hostile to you. Like many veterans abandoned after their service, he has a bit of resentment towards the military for using him and tossing him away. But when he sees you being an action hero and saving people, that will quickly turn around. 

-The Nightmares can get bad sometimes. You can remember the screams of people you considered your brothers and sisters, you can still hear the calls over the radio:

“Ghouls are climbing over the fence, we’re hanging on by a thread!”

“3 O’ clock! One of those big fuckers just flipped a humvee!”

“The Earthquke cracked open the sewers, we got...we got fucking monsters spilling out of the ground!”

“Oh God we just lost the civvies! The quakes knocked over the evac bus!”

“The quakes just knocked over the artillery over by the hill, I repeat, artillery battery is unable to engage.”

“This is the boardwalk FOB, we’ve taken 90% losses! We need a ride out of here or we’re all going to die!”

“Get those Little Birds out of here! The fucking ghouls are jumping on them!”

“Ghouls breaking through the...shit...we cannot hold this position any longer. Broken Arrow! Broken Arrow! Broken Arrow! Turn our position to glass! I wanna die quick by the bombs....6-4 signing out...God help us...”

You’ve been left twitching in bed or reaching for a weapon, only for your lover to calm you down. They brush away any shame or fear you might have. They’ve fought through swarms of the undead, killed monsters alongside you and stood up to the Eschaton Group for you. They won’t abandon you because you have some chronic night terrors. They love you and once all this is over, they will do whatever it takes to get you the therapy you need, and be by your side to support you no matter what.

[limerental]

ficletvember 2024 - day 3

letho/iorveth mid-tw2

After a king-slaying alliance forms between Letho and the Scoia'tael, Iorveth brings the Viper to stay in his personal hideout in the forest.

The Scoia'tael camp was a many-headed beast, not one great gathering of Elven warriors but dozens of scattered camps hidden in the ruins, caverns, and wild brush that surrounded the outpost of Flotsam.

“So that one camp discovered may give early warning to the rest,” Iorveth explained as he led the way through the thickening undergrowth toward his personal lodgings.

“You mean so your enemies can't guess how few of you are left,” said Letho, following soundless behind him. 

The location of each little camp was plain as day to his mutated senses. He could hear which bird calls were shaped by Elven mouths, could smell sweat and oiled leather, the ash of their cooking fires, could see clearly the faint impressions of footsteps in the scattered leaflitter that marked the path. 

Iorveth abruptly led him through a narrow gap in the rock wall beside them, looking back over his shoulder in the dim light of the cavern that opened to them to watch him follow.

“Did you think I'd get stuck?” Letho asked, having swiftly shed the swords strapped at his back to fit easily through the opening. Once inside, he could do nothing about his body filling a great deal of the space, but despite his size, he knew there was nowhere at all he couldn't slip in or out of if need be.

Letho was simply glad Iorveth hadn't beckoned him into some precarious treetop shelter. There he may have had some difficulty.

“Welcome to my humble home away from home,“ Iorveth deadpanned, gesturing with a broad sweep of his arms. The dingy cave was lit by a shaft of evening light falling from above. It boasted no obvious amenities beyond a pallet in the corner, a few dusty crates, and a low tabletop littered with parchment and oft-used candles. “You have your choice of several patches of dirt to sleep on. May I offer you a rock as a pillow?”

“I've slept worse places,” said Letho, even as Iorveth cracked open a chest and lay out a perfectly serviceable bed roll for Letho to sleep. 

“I considered letting you sleep with the arachas, since you must be immune to its venom, but since you might be useful, I'd rather keep you close enough to keep an eye on.”

“Pity,” said Letho in a flat voice as he watched Iorveth light several candles with a long match, a warm glow flickering across the earthen walls. “Quite amenable creatures, once you've tamed them. Very cuddly.”

“I'm certain you've had worse bedfellows.”

Iorveth’s green eye caught the light, having been shrewdly sizing him up, piecing his true intentions together from the moment hours ago when Letho had offered himself as an ally. An assassin.

As clever as the sly elf was, he wouldn't be able to sniff out Letho's true loyalties. The Lodge, Nilfgaard, the Scoia’tael– all of it tangled together into a complex web, but at the heart of it, it was his brothers alone he was loyal to. He would carve out a home for them somewhere in the world, even if it killed him.

Settling in for the night, the elf began to strip himself of weapons and armor, slender beneath it all. He had always heard it said that Iorveth was a hideous, deformed creature, but it seemed that was only true by Elven standards or by the account of enemies who had seen his sneering face contorted with hatred.

In the candlelight, he was beautiful, skin a tangle of green ink, body leanly-muscled. Whoever called Iorveth hideous would have to invent new words to describe Letho's appearance.

Iorveth eyed the one-handed grip Letho had on his twin sword sheaths, and he deliberately set them aside, leaving the rest of his kit on. The swords were the only possessions of any note that he had left, and he'd long slept in his armor like a second skin. Mirroring the elf, Letho settled down on his bed roll, though he'd be unlikely to sleep more than strictly necessary, if at all.

Iorveth extracted an apple from somewhere and tossed one Letho's way. His stomach yawned with hunger despite his meal earlier, but a mealy fruit wouldn't satisfy. He took small bites, familiar with the empty pangs of his stomach. He'd hunt tomorrow morning, gut some poor beast and eat it raw, torn into bloody pieces easy enough to swallow. 

The Scoia’tael lived like their animal namesake, burrowed in the earth and scratching out an existence as vermin, but Letho truly was an animal. At the very least, he suspected he'd die like one. 

For now, he was alive, slithering from one trap to the next.

In the nights that followed, with bottles of forest-brewed mead and stolen vodka cracked open to share between them, Letho recognized the way Iorveth began to watch him, could scent the bodily tells of lusty interest. For all that elves haughtily claimed to be above the messy rutting of humanity's ilk, they weren't so different. Iorveth warmed more and more with curious arousal. 

“Have you got two of them? Like a true viper?” slurred Iorveth one night, the drink coloring his unscarred cheekbone, the other lost to shadow. “And of course, I don’t mean the swords.”

“Come and find out,” said Letho and beckoned to his lap. Iorveth did not hesitate, moving before he'd finished the gesture. Both knew better than to deny themselves a pleasant moment in a life filled with unpleasant ones. “I'll only bite if you ask me to.”

In response, Iorveth's dull teeth sank into the skin of Letho's bared throat.

[skullchicken]

How to optimize your tabletop character with minimal headache

This is a tool for building and equipping ttrpg-characters. It might be helpful for people like me who struggle with weighing options intuitively and easily start to feel like they accidentally built their character to be less interesting or effective than other characters at the table.

1. decide on the category you want to comb through

It can be skills to put points into, gear, feats/talent options, whatever. For my example I picked magical items.

2. make a table

First column: name of The Thing (e.g. weapon, item, skill...). Write down all of the instances of The Thing that you want to compare.

Second column: joy - this will denote how much joy it sparks in your heart to have/be able to use The Thing, without taking into consideration how sensible it would be.

Third column: RP - this will denote how well The Thing fits your character concept, be it from an aesthetic point of view, because it fits into your character's backstory, whatever.

Fourth column: practical - this will represent how often you assume you will be able to use The Thing in-game.

Fifth column: effective - this will represent whether this is the best way to achieve whatever The Thing is good for or whether there's better options.

Sixth column: score - this one calculates the end result.

The table then might look something like this:

3. add numbers

Now score each item in each category (joy, RP, practical, effective) from 1-3

1 = not really / no

2 = okay/ it's alright / so-so

3 = yeah!

e.g. I'm playing an orc paladin and I'm checking which of the items I should get for her. She grew up in the city and she aspires to be a knight in shining armor.

Item: Lighter (a magical stone that can make fire).

Doesn't really spark joy, so that's a 1.

Fits her character concept so-so, since she would have had little reason to get one before the adventure starts and she's not very outdoorsy, that's a 2.

Pretty practical, I can imagine it becoming relevant in almost any adventure, so that's a 3.

Finally it's not very effective, because in the setting we're playing, we have many choices for how to make a fire and, most importantly, we'll have an elemental mage in our group, you can snap a fire into existence anytime he likes, so that's a 1 again.

Count it all together and the score comes up to 7/12.

I repeat the scoring until the table looks like this:

Which means that from all the options listed, I would be best advised to get a large light quartz, followed by the lighter.

The closer to 12, the higher in priority it is, the closer to 3, the more easily I can discount bothering to get it at all.

4. notes and acknowledgements

What I like about this system is that it allows me to split a big and hard decision into many small and easy ones, so if I score diligently, I'll arrive at a sensible result that's not just min-maxed, but also takes rule of cool and roleplaying into account.

It might also help with "character build envy" because you didn't overlook any options and made sure to consider everything to the best of your ability. So I hope it's helpful to someone else out there.

... or you might look at this and have the same reaction one of my buddies had, which was:

"you put a number on joy???"

Either way, thanks for reading ^^

-

If you use excel or libre office calc, you can use a formula to automatically calculate the score, which would be

=SUM([first cell with a number]:[last cell with a number])

e.g.

=SUM(B2:E2)

which would automatically add together every number from B2 to E2. Alternatively you can just select the cells and it should show you the result in the down right corner.

[silverwings22]

Take Me to Church Chapter 3: Fire

Series warning: 18+, flashbacks, smut, major injury, torture, death, experimentation, canon typical violence, Hozier lyrics

Previous Chapter: Water Next Chapter: Earth

***I was born sick, but I love it***

Kya sat at the long banquet table, at her father’s right side, while Zara served dinner. It had been the same for a months now, whenever he was home. He’d ask her to join him, and the conversation would stretch out interminably long and awkward. He’d ask her small questions, approaching her like a stranger he was getting to know instead of his grown child. Maybe it was easier that way, to pretend the history between them didn’t exist and start again. She held her simmering feelings in check as she always had, but it was harder now. She’d opened the lid for Fives’ and now it took all her strength to try to close them back away in their jar inside her heart. 

She told him about what she’d done on Coruscant, about her apartment and the neighbor with the flowering plants on his windowsill, or the two little Iktotchi boys that squealed and ran around in the small shared corridor with their Carosi puppy that yipped and licked her ankles every time she was outside at the same time. He was surprised to find she’d played violin for a fundraiser concert Bail Organa had organized, and that she donated some weekends to a tooka rescue. She’d liked bottle feeding the tiniest kittens most of all, and the organizers had been really nice about her not coming in on weekends when Fives was on shore leave.

“I didn’t expect you to like animals so much. I never allowed you a pet as a child.” Her father mused over his wine. 

“Mother liked animals.” Kya brought her soup spoon to her lips. “I remember her asking you to let us have a hound.” 

“You were four years old. I can’t believe you remember that.” He blinked at her. 

She shrugged. “I wanted a puppy too.” 

He watched her face for a moment, taking another sip of wine. “You remind me more of her each day… it occurs to me that I may have been much harder on you than need be, over the years.” 

Kya lifted her eyes hopefully, waiting to see if the conversation would deepen. She needed it too. He was smiling slightly, expression softening. He was treating her as a daughter rather than an apprentice… “I’ve only ever wanted to make you proud, Father.”

“I know.” He set his glass down. “I pushed you for perfection, and in my haste I pushed you too far from my side. And you ended up in the arms of that clone-”

Kya froze, dropping her spoon and splashing blumfroot bisque across the pristine tabletop. “What?”

“I spoke to my Master a few days ago. He told me all about what led to your display of impertinence and his ill-advised threat against you.” The Count shook his head. “You were right, I never should have sent you to Coruscant where you could be so tempted. I know it was a painful thing, for the clone to die the way he did. Shot in front of you, and you being so young and inexperienced…” 

Kya hurriedly dabbed split soup from her lap. “You… aren’t angry with me?”

“No, Kyatsa. This experience only highlights how close I came to having you stolen from me.” He said quietly. “I’m sorry for what you must have experienced… but it was for the best. You could have never been with a clone in any real way.” 

“After the war, we could push for clone citizenship as a gesture of goodwill-” She started, but he waved his hand and cut her off. 

“That’s far from the trouble. You can’t take up with someone else, when I’ve already found you a husband.” 

Her head snatched up so fast her earrings rattled audibly. “I beg your pardon?” 

“My Master is willing to overlook your fit of temper on Coruscant. It will be a wise political match, and bring the war’s end that you’ve already said you want so much. And after taking up with a clone first, you could do much worse.” He raised an eyebrow at the incredulous look on her face. 

“Sheev Palpatine is the worst being in the galaxy. Bar none.” She snapped, the mask slipping. She’d gotten too comfortable, too relaxed letting Fives see her every emotion. She couldn’t hide them now. She didn’t even want too; she wanted her father to see the loathing painted in her eyes.  “I would rather swallow my lightsaber than marry him.”

“Kyatsa-”

“No! I won’t!” Her hand slammed onto the table before she could stop herself, voice echoing through the mostly empty banquet hall. “If you force me to marry him, neither one of us will survive the wedding night. I promise you that. I will kill him and myself before I let him touch me!”

The Count stared at her, like she was speaking another language. “Kyatsa Cho Dooku, what has come over you? I am your father, and your Master. You will obey-”

“Mother would never have allowed you to marry me to that monster.” She dropped her voice but the words hit somehow harder when spoken at a reasonable volume. “I won’t do it. Even if I didn’t detest him with every fiber of my being, I don’t love him. I won’t marry him, not even for you.”

“Do you not love me? At least enough to obey?” He frowned. 

“I’ve obeyed every instruction you’ve given me for the last sixteen years out of love.” She said seriously. “I followed you to the Dark Side. I trained, I suffered, and I have blood on my hands I will never wash away. I did that for you. For sixteen years, you chose Darth Sidious and your war plans over me. Just once, Father, can you love me back?” Her eyes were begging, and he felt his gut twist. She looked just like her mother for a moment, full of fire and spirit.

She stared him down, golden eyes narrowed, and he was the first to look away. “We can discuss this later.”

“Discuss all you like. I won’t do it.” She sat back in her chair and picked up her water glass. 

“I will discuss it with him. I… there are other eligible girls that would be just as suitable and meaningful in the name of peace. Padme Amidala-”

“Already married to Anakin Skywalker.” She shook her head. “... Fives was in his legion. It was the worst kept secret in the 501st.”

The Count wrinkled his nose. “There’s no accounting for taste, I suppose… I’m sure we can locate a willing and politically suitable young woman who has connections in the Republic and Confederacy. I’ll see him tomorrow. We’re staging a kidnapping to try to deal with Skywalker and Kenobi.” 

“Again? How often can he be kidnapped before no one in the Republic believes it anymore?” She shook her head. “Father, why can’t we just solve this our own way? If we present an end to the war that the Republic and Raxus senates approve, it goes over his head. He’ll have nothing once the emergency powers are revoked, and if we out him as a Sith to the Jedi…”

“No, Kyatsa. We do not betray our allies.” He gave her a hard stare. 

“He’s no ally. He’s a hydrosnake waiting to strike, and it’s only a matter of time before you’re bitten.” She took a deep breath and put her hand over his on the table. “Father, please. Reconsider. He cannot be trusted. We can build our own better galaxy, without an Empire. The way Mother would have wanted.”

He sighed, taking her hand in both of his. “I wish it could be so. But it can’t.” 

She sighed, hand falling into her lap when he let it go. “You’ll leave tomorrow?”

“Tonight, after dinner.”

“... be safe, Father. But please, think about what I said. Before it’s too late.” She stood up. “I’m sorry, Zara. But I’m not very hungry right now.” Without waiting to be excused, she turned and trudged out of the room with her head hung. 

Zara looked worriedly at her employer, who rubbed his temples. “The little Countess loves you very much, sir… She’s afraid for you.”

“I know… I’ve made many mistakes with her, but she hasn’t given up on me. I’m beginning to think it should have been Kiyo who lived to raise her, instead of me.” He waited for the sound of her piano, but it didn’t come. “... take her some supper in a few hours?”

“Yes sir.” 

***Command me to be well***

Kya sat on the floor between her bedroom and the wall. A trundle was rolled out half from under the bed, a IV drip hidden by the curtains of her four-poster. Laying still and quiet was Fives, out of bacta but refusing to wake. It had been months since he’d been shot, with her tending to him as best as she knew how. “I miss you.” She whispered, climbing into the trundle and laying down next to him. Her body shielded his from the cold wall, fingers smoothing delicately over his cheek. His hair was growing much too long, his goatee turning into a beard. She needed to trim him up, but she was getting handed more and more responsibilities on Serenno while her Father attended to his miserable war. 

“I did something spontaneous today, like you used to tell me too. I hope you like it when you wake up.” She brought his chilly hand up to her forehead, brushing back her bangs she’d had parted to carefully conceal her right temple. She peeled off a bacta patch and traced his fingers over a newly healed tattoo, an Arubesh 5 in gold. “It matches yours, Fives. Pantorans get clan tattoos in gold… I never got any, but this could be ours. If you wanted… I hope you’ll forgive me when I tell you everything. But if you don’t, I’ll still love you. I'll let you go if it makes you happier, but I never want to forget how important you are to me.” Ttears threatened to fall, but she fought them back and nuzzled into his palm. “I don’t want you to go, though…” 

He didn’t respond, of course he didn’t. He hadn’t since the bacta readout showed stable vitals and no lasting damage but a horrible scar in his chest. Elya said sometimes, when someone was barely breathing for as long as Fives had been, the brain put itself into a kind of stasis. She had to wait for him to come back. It was the longest, most painful wait of her life. 

“Please come back to me.” She whispered, tucking her head against his shoulder, pretending the hand she was still holding was squeezing back. “I love you. I’m sorry I lied to you for so long, but that part was always true. I love you. I love you. I love you.” 

She hoped he could hear her, and scrunched a few inches closer when she heard footsteps pass the door. It was locked, no one would come in without her permission. Still, she feared anything could take her tiny shred of hope away. “You saved me, Fives.” She breathed. “Let me save you too. Come back. We made it this far…” 

***Amen, Amen… Amen***

“Countess! Countess Kyatsa!” Etsel came running around the corner as fast as her venerable legs could carry her, into the music room. Kya was sitting by her harp, plucking the strings delicately, and looked up at the kindly old maid. 

“What’s the trouble, Etsel? Is everything alright?”

“There’s a recorded holo being sent to the Master’s private terminal, but it has your name on it.” 

Kya jumped to her feet, reaching out to steady the maid as she all but crashed into her. “The one in his sitting room?” Her father conducted business all over the galaxy on that terminal, and she couldn’t imagine why anyone would send her a message through it. But it wasn’t overly suspicious-

“No, ma’am. The one in his study. I was dusting…” 

The young Countess’ blood froze in her veins. The terminal in the Count’s study… only one person ever contacted him from there. His Master, Darth Sidious. If he was sending her a message… “Something’s happened to Father.” She let Etsel go and went flying as fast as her feet and the Force would take her, scrambling into the wood paneled and austere study. The comm was blinking, a pre-recorded message. 

The commotion of her running down the halls brought Zara, Elya, and a few younger staff members to the doorway by the time Etsel caught up. “What’s the trouble?”

Kya squared her shoulders. “Nothing good.” She turned on the message, fists clenched. If Palpatine had double crossed her father, the Count was likely in a Republic prison. He’d likely try to manipulate her, force the much-hated idea of marriage back on the table. He’s assume she’d do nearly anything to save her father’s life… but probably didn’t take into account that she was willing to land in front of the Jedi Temple itself and reveal him as a Sith before she’d marry-

“My powers have doubled since we last met.”

“Twice the pride, double the fall.” 

Her father was fighting Anakin Skywalker, the duel as graceful as it was vicious. The murmuring of the servants behind her faded into a dull background fuzz. Skywalker was stronger now than when she’d dueled him in her father’s stead on Geonosis. How long ago had this been…?

One of the younger maids screamed when Anakin took her father’s hands off at the wrist, and Etsel sat down on the floor with a cry. Kya stood, shaking, as she watched her only parent, her only family, forced to his knees. 

“Kill him.”

“I shouldn’t…”

“Do it.”

The sound of a lightsaber hum had never been so loud. His own sat across one side of his neck, Skywalker’s blue blade on the other. He looked stunned, head turned towards the camera. It must have been a lapel cam on Palpatine’s chest, and he was so close that Kya could see the slow realization in his dark eyes. 

It was too late, but he had to be thinking of what she’d said that last night at dinner. That he’d be betrayed, that Palpatine couldn’t be trusted. That his daughter was right, and he would never see her again. 

And then the two lightsabers snapped together, and his head was separated from his shoulders and rolling to the ground. Kya’s hands slapped over her mouth, breathing through her nose to fight the urge to vomit as the holo turned off. The others in the room were wailing, horrified, but the little Countess just kept staring at the spot her father’s face had been for the last moments she’d seen of his life. 

She was orphaned, and now the defacto leader of Dooku Castle and Serenno. Count Dooku was dead, and it was no accident that the recording of his execution had been sent to his own private terminal, with her name on it. Darth Sidious was sending her a message. 

He was of no further use. You are next. 

She closed her eyes tightly, a sickly feeling blooming in the pit of her stomach. She’d thought he’d kept her alive to manipulate her father… but had it been the other way around? Had her rejection of the proposal gotten her father beheaded? 

“Countess?” Zara whispered, a gentle green hand coming to the crook of her elbow. Kya’s eyes snapped open, glassy and tearful. “Sweetheart… I know you’re hurting. Sit for a moment-”

“There’s no time.” She rasped, vision blurring as the first tears fell. She fumbled into her dress pocket, getting out a handkerchief and wiping her cheeks. “Send for all the staff to meet me in the ballroom… quickly.”

“But, Miss-”

“Please, Zara. There’s very little time, and many lives on the line.” Kya gently shrugged her hand off her arm and squared her shoulders. The cook nodded, eyes widening when she saw the familiar resolute expression on the younger Dooku’s face that she’d been so familiar with on the Count’s. She nodded and turned to the others. 

“You lot heard the Countess. Everyone up to the big ballroom, hurry! Get the others from the servant’s quarters and the kitchens!” 

Everyone scrambled, and Kya waited until the study was empty before she sat down hard in his chair and braced her hands on the polished wood. Slowly, she reached down into a small drawer hidden on the underside. It opened at a flick of the hidden mechanism, a small velvet box sliding out into her waiting hand. She brought it up and opened it, facing her father’s signet ring and a round locket with a blue gemstone and delicate looking engraving of music notes around the edges. Her mother’s locket… she hadn’t seen it since she was a child and always assumed it had been buried with Kiyo. 

She slipped her fingernail into the seam and opened it, a tiny holoprojector displaying a portrait. The Count himself, hair more black than gray and a real smile on his lips, had his arm around the waist of a beautiful Pantoran woman. Her rosy-pink tresses, many shades darker than her daughters, were twisted into braided buns and picked out to resemble flowers. There was a gold headpiece delicately nestled on her head, her smile bright as summer. Held in her arms, tucked between her and the Count was a chubby-cheeked baby Kya in a white presentation gown, her hair in adorable ringlets and a smile on her face. Her father’s free hand was resting on her little leg, and her tiny blue fingers were wrapped around his thumb. 

Her resolve cracked, and she doubled over clutching the locket and ring as a ragged sob tore itself out of her throat. They’d been so happy then. Before Kiyo died. Before the Sith, and the war. Now they were together again in death, and she was all alone to bear the storm they’d left behind. She’d been so sure things would be different….

“I loved you both so much, you know. Force, I hope you knew…” 

***Take me to Church***

Fifty pairs of eyes looked at her as Kya stood in the ballroom, hands clasped tightly in front of her. The Count’s signet ring was on her thumb, the late Countess’ locket around her neck. She took a deep breath as she steeled herself. “I must regretfully inform you all that my father is dead. From now forward, I am the Countess proper. I assure you all, my orders will be few and brief.” 

A few quizzical looks were cast her way, and Etsel and Elya exchanged concerned looks. “What do you mean, Miss?” The twi’lek raise a hand.

“My father’s death means the Clone War will very soon end. The only acting military leader remaining in the Confederacy is General Grievous. Bluntly, he’s sloppy and easily provoked. He’ll be dead in a month, minimum. The war will be over, and what will come after… the Empire will come for our blood.”

“Blood?!” Gasped one of the valets, clutching his chest. 

“You won’t be here to pay that toll. None of you.” Kya shook her head. “Here are my orders. Initiate the Serennian emergency broadcast frequency, and order off-world evacuations. Offer payment to the public spaceports to wave all ticket fees, and begin moving citizens to Raxus. Contact Senator Singh and have him prepare to receive and assist, quote him the Confederacy Refugee Act. He signed the bill, he’ll put up or shut up. Open the War Chest, and leave it for any citizens who require money to fund a new life. Take whatever you all need…” Her lip quivered as she got to the end of her prepared speech. “Once this is done… you are all dismissed, with my gratitude… I wish I had the means to thank you all as much as you deserve, for your kindness and service…”

“Where will you go, lass?” A long-serving butler who used to sneak Kya candy from his pockets when she was small frowned worriedly. 

“I can’t evacuate off world… some of you already know, my beloved is injured and hidden in my rooms. I’ll have to find us shelter on Serenno until he can be moved, and try to find passage then.” 

“My sister and I have a house a few klicks from here, Countess! If we evacuate, you could shelter there!” A maid called. 

“My mother’s got three seasons worth of canned goods we can give you!” Someone else called. 

“I’ve got a generator and power cells!” 

“I’ve got a skiff trailer to move medical equipment!”

Kya was overwhelmed at the help offered so freely, and tried her best not to choke. “Thank you… thank you all so much.” 

Elya sighed deeply. “So much trouble over a man. I don’t even care anymore he is a clone, but men are such a headache. Sleeping while his pretty Countess saves him?”

“He saved me first.” Kya breathed as the servants started scattering to follow her orders and to help arrange her escape from the castle. 

“He better still be grateful, Countess.” 

***I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your life***

The house they were sheltering had a cellar, so Kya tucked herself and Fives there. He was resting in a slightly more comfortable bed than a hospital gurney, with his IV and a medical monitor. She had anxiously gotten her hands on an emergency respirator, a generator in case they lost power, a handful of power cells, and counted the canned goods and IV supplies the evacuating citizens had been kind enough to donate to them. They could theoretically stay here for a year if needed, though she hoped Fives would wake up before then. 

Everyone had bid her goodbye, and the sound of shuttles taking off had become fewer and farther between over the last few days. She listened to the Republic public broadcast networks for news now. It wouldn’t be long before something happened, though which side would officially be counted victors didn’t matter anymore. Palpatine had been playing both sides. Nobody won this war but him.

Her questions were answered with a broadcast from one of the wartime radio-comm channels: General Grievous killed on Utapau by Obi-wan Kenobi. 

“Hear that, Fives? The war’s over.” She whispered, sitting at a tiny desk eating a couple spoonfuls of jelly from the jar. She tried to sound happy about it, but the dread that killed her appetite wouldn’t go away. She’d never asked her father how the Empire he’d dreamed of was supposed to come into fruition, or how the Jedi would be accounted for. “The Republic won. Isn’t that great?” She couldn’t force herself to eat anymore and put the lid back on the jar, setting it down. 

The desk had her few distractions on it, her datapad and lightsaber mostly. She ignored them for the moment and dragged the chair over to Fives’ bedside. She filled a basin with water from the sink and soaked a clean cloth, setting them in the chair so she could reach it easily. Carefully, she wiped his face and checked him over for any sign of discomfort or bedsores. “There aren’t a lot of shuttles left, and I don’t know if we’ll be able to get to the castle by the time you wake up. But that’s okay. We’ll make it off Serenno somehow… maybe one day we can come back. It’s actually really beautiful here sometimes… My mother used to take me to this place near the mountains with a meadow full of yellow flowers. The butterflies migrate there in the summer. Big ones, with blue and purple wings, and spots that look like eyes. She used to have this holo of one that landed on my nose and the spots were right over my eyes… it was her favorite, she said…” She swallowed hard, finishing cleaning him up for the day and put the basin aside. Then she settled into the chair and took his hand, resting her head on her folded arm and closing her eyes. “We’re going to be okay. I promise… I don’t know how, but I promise.” 

***I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife***

Kya tried to talk to Fives as much as possible, hoping for an answer one day. She relayed the radio-comm news mostly; the end of the war, the rise of the Galactic Empire when the Republic fell, the extermination of the Jedi. She couldn’t help but cry some when she did, knowing her role in the horror. She’d been blind and foolish when she’d begun. She wished she’d told Fives everything, confessed and helped him tell the Jedi the truth so they could stop     Sidious before he destroyed everything. She hoped Fives would forgive her when he woke, and told him that too. 

She’d fallen asleep in her chair by his bed, upright and stiff, when a distant high pitched whistling woke her. She frowned, squinting, and sat up. “... What’s that?”

The sound kept getting louder and closer, the air vibrating around her until it felt like her brain would rattle out of her skull… and then the ground shook with a deafening boom. She jolted to her feet as another whistle and boom struck. She’d never been in a pitched battle, not like the ones that Fives had seen, but it didn’t take her long to figure out what the explosions going off all around her were. The planet was being bombarded from orbit, the way Ryloth had been besieged. The way some news channels whispered about Kamino, right before they quit broadcasting. 

The Empire had come for Serenno, and for her.

She climbed into the narrow bed and draped herself over Fives chest, doing her best to protect him with her body. “We’re okay. We’ll be okay.” She whispered, tucking her fingers under his skull to protect the back of his neck. She wanted to be brave, to tell him she wasn’t scared, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him anymore. “I’m afraid.” She finally whispered, cheek pressed up against his. A piece of the ceiling broke off, smacking into her back and she flinched. “I’m afraid the roof will collapse. I’m afraid a bomb will crash through the cellar doors and blow us both to smithereens. I’m afraid we’ll be buried in here and starve to death. But more than any of that, I’m afraid you won’t wake up. That the last time I saw you awake, you were dying. That I’ll never get to tell you the truth. I’m scared of dying a Sith, instead of being the person you believed I was. I want to be her. And I want you to be there…” She swallowed as another bomb hit, closer now, and squished herself tighter to the clone. 

It went on for hours, buildings crumbling and falling around them. The ceiling continued cracking, but didn’t collapse even as the power shorted out and left Kya clinging to Fives in the darkness. It was well past midnight when the seemingly endless bombardment stopped, and she waited breathlessly for Imperial troops to wrench open the door and kill them both. 

But the boots on the ground never came, and eventually terror lost out to sheer exhaustion and Kya fell asleep holding tightly to her blissfully unaware ARC. 

***Offer me that deathless death***

***But good god, let me give you my life***

“Morning, Countess.” 

Kya was picking her way through scrap and broken parts of the wreckage that had once been her planet. This evening’s treasure hunt was for power cells to keep her generator running, and any kind of medical supply she could find. “Good morning, Romar. How are you?”

Romar Adell was a kind enough neighbor, who’d been keeping an eye out for her since they’d both emerged from their hideouts after the bombardment. He’d refused to evacuate, though he was more fond of the younger Dooku than he’d been of her father. She couldn’t blame him, and they swapped resources when they could. More often than not, they watched Imperial ships coming and going laden with spoils looted out of the castle together. He was a cross, grandfatherly figure with the same appreciation for the arts Kya herself had. 

“I’m well enough. Looking for parts to work on that datacore I found. It’s Serennian music. I think you’ll like it, once I get it open. Some of your mother’s concerts were recorded, there might be one of them on there.” He clapped her shoulder lightly. 

She smiled, though her knees were a little wobbly. There were dark circles under her eyes now, her once immaculate hair now in a listless braid down her back. She was dressed in scuffed boots, her black clothes covered in a thin layer of brick dust. “I’d like to hear her play again, one day.”

“You don’t look so well, ma’am… is everything alright?” He frowned. 

“Our water went out last week.” She sighed. “I’m running out of bottles… I’ve been using it for the IV nutrient powder. But I can’t clean anything, and Fives is running a fever now from the IV site…” She rubbed her palm across her face, wincing when she caught sight of how dirty under her nails were. “.... I don’t know what to do, Romar. I can’t move him through this terrain while he’s dead weight without risking getting caught, and all our supplies are there. I don’t know what to do. I thought he’d wake up by now…” 

“You’ve got those powers like the Jedi had. Can’t you pull him back or something?” Romar frowned. 

“I can sense him, but it’s like he’s wandering the Force intentionally. He’s deep beneath the surface, and diving away. I don’t understand it.” 

“What about that speeder you had? Does it still work?” Romar frowned, offering her a swallow of water from his own canteen. She took it gratefully. 

“It does. But the muffler is broken and it’s so loud, I worry it’ll trigger a patrol to come around. I already know what they’ll do to me if they catch me, but I can’t imagine what they might do to Fives.” 

Romar nodded. “I’ll see if any of my old tools survived the bombardment. They were in a shed out back. If so, I’ll come by and see if I can get your water running. It might take me a day or two.” 

“I appreciate it, Romar.” She passed back his canteen, looking up at the slowly setting sun. She frowned when she spotted what looked like a cargo container whizz by on its re-entry thrusters. “What in the Sith’s hell…?”

“Looks like stuff outta your daddy’s War Chest.” Romar snorted. “Good riddance.” 

“You could have taken some from it yourself and evacuated, you know.” She put her hands on her hips, watching it spiral out of control towards the cliffsides. 

“Why should I run? It’s my planet, and my home.” He huffed. “I’ll see you when I come look at the water, alright?” 

“Alright. Thank you again.” She patted his back when he turned away. “I’m going to go take a look at that crate.”

“That’s dangerous, Countess.” 

“I’ll have to risk it. Maybe they looted the infirmary. Fives needs bacta, and quickly.” 

“Be careful.” He gave her one more pat, then handed her the canteen again. “Here. You need this more than me.” 

Her smile was fond as the crotchety old neighbor tramped back to his home. He was kind hearted, no matter how grumpy he tried to sound… in another life, she would have liked to sit on his porch and listen to the music in his datacore while they talked. Maybe she could have even brought him to the castle and let him explore her music room. 

She strapped the canteen to her hip and climbed through the wreckage of homes until it became more wooded and less destroyed. She stayed in the tree cover, just in case the Empire had already begun recovering their lost crate, when she heard voices. One was female, the other excessively formal, but the third was familiar and they all shared an accent she’d know anywhere. She peeked out from behind a tree to find herself looking at two men in armor and a little girl. 

The one in white armor with orange paint was limping, leaning on the other. That one, at first glance, she thought was a droid when she spotted the scomp link replacing his right hand. She crouched, trying to stay out of sight, as she listened to them bicker. 

“What about the War Chest?” The girl sounded upset. 

“We have other priorities now. Tech’s hurt, we’re separated from Hunter and Wrecker, and we need shelter.” The scomp-bearer sighed. He was a clone, Kya would know that voice in an instant. But she’d thought the clones had sided with the Empire….

“We could sit him here and dig out some of the stuff…”

“That would be inadvisable.” The limping one sighed. “The Empire knows we are on Serenno thanks to the diversion in the hangar of the castle. We cannot risk capture. My femur is broken, I will be of little use in a fight.”

Kya’s brows knitted together. They weren’t with the Empire… Maybe they had some supplies she could trade them for shelter. Or maybe even a way to get Fives off the planet even still unconscious. She cleared her throat and all three of them jumped. “Excuse me. Are you clones?”

Two blasters and an energy bow pointed at her, and she held her hands up to show she was unarmed. “Who are you?” The one with the scomp arm demanded.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” She apologized, putting every bit of her manners as a Countess to the test. “My name is Kya. I overheard you needed shelter? I have somewhere you could rest for a while.” 

“... Why are you helping us?” The injured one, Tech lowered his weapon slowly. 

“Well, you’re clearly not Empire if you’re traveling with a child.” She gestured to the little blonde girl, who smiled and unstrung her bow. “And it’s the right thing to do.”

“You don’t want anythin- Omega, get back over here.” The one with the scomp huffed as the girl walked over to Kya. 

“Hello, little one.” Kya smiled and crouched down to be eye level with the girl. They inspected each other’s faces for a moment before the blue woman smiled. “You’re a clone too.”

“How could you tell, Miss?” Omega blinked. 

“You have the same eyes he does.” Kya’s expression softened. “I’m in love with one of your brothers. He’s back home, but he’s sick right now.” She looked over at the two men behind the girl. “I wouldn’t turn you away if you said no, but if you happened to have some bacta or a med pack in one of those gear bags, I’d be very grateful.” 

“I have three.” Tech murmured. 

“You have a clone back home with you?” The other asked, clarifying.

Kya nodded. “He’s unconscious, but I’ve been trying to keep him safe.” 

The two men exchanged looks again before nodding. “Then we’d appreciate the shelter, and we can spare a medpack. I’m Echo, he’s Tech.” 

“Pleasure to meet you.” She smiled and stood upright, offering Omega a hand. “Follow me.” 

***If I’m a pagan of the good times***

Kya gave up her little desk chair for Tech to sit and let Echo tend to his leg, walking to the back of the cellar to the little “bedroom”. Omega trailed after her curiously with the gifted medpack, mimicking the way she walked heel to toe and with her shoulders back. “How did a little one like you end up with two soldiers?” Kya asked. 

“They’re my brothers. They rescued me off Kamino when the Empire first started. There’s two more on Serenno somewhere, looking for us.”

“Do you have a ship?” Kya asked curiously. 

“Yeah. It’s a modified Omicron-class.” Omega beamed. 

“I’d have to see it. I’m sorry, I know the Separatist ships better than Republic.” Kya wrinkled her nose, taking Fives’ arm and withdrawing the needle from it. She worriedly opened the medpack, putting her hand on his forehead. “The fever’s gotten worse since this morning. I hope this helps…” 

Omega peeked over at him, her brother she’d never met before. “What’s his name?”

“Fives. He’s an ARC trooper.” Kya pulled out a sterile wipe and started cleaning the injection point. 

“What happened to him?”

“He was shot in the chest.” Kya reached into her pocket and handled Omega a little ball. “This might take a while, but a friend of mine gave me this. It helps to pass the time.”

Omega looked at it. “... what is it?”

“A kaleidoscope. Have you ever played with one before?” 

The girl shook her head. “No…” 

Kya smiled fondly. “Put it to your eye and twist it, while looking at the light. It’s pretty.” 

“Does it do something?” Omega frowned. 

“It makes you happy for a little while. And that’s worth more than anything in that War Chest you were after.” 

While Omega explored different light sources with the kaleidoscope, she went back to tending Fives. She bandaged his arm, gave him some medication to clear the infection, and a fever reducer to make him more comfortable before returning to Tech and Echo. 

They’d taken their helmets off, Tech more angular and with redder hair than she’d anticipated. Echo’s head was shaved, studded with cybernetic implants, and much paler than any clone she’d ever met. “How are you two feeling? I’d offer you tea, but I don’t have running water right now…” 

“You’re living rough out here, miss.” Echo said mildly. 

“It looks like you’re familiar with that.” She gestured to his scomp gently. “I don’t want to pry, but… what happened.”

“I got blown up on the Citadel on Lola Sayu.” Echo shrugged. “I was a POW for about a year before I was rescued off of Skako Minor.” 

Kya’s eyes widened. She’d heard something about an algorithm from Skako being disrupted, but she’d already been home and hiding Fives by then so she hadn’t dug any deeper. “... Wait. Lola Sayu?” She dragged herself back to the beginning of his sentence with a jerk. 

“Yeah. Why?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“You’re Echo. Oh Force, you’re Echo from Domino Squad and the 501st, aren’t you?”

“How do you know that?” He glanced at Tech, then behind Kya to Omega. “Did she tell you-”

“No, Fives did. Come here.” She reached for his wrist, pulling him to his feet. 

“Wait, what? Fives?” Echo stumbled after her. 

“He talked about you all the time. You’re twins!” Kya was almost giddy with excitement as she dragged Echo to the bedside. “Fives, Fives it’s Echo. He’s here. If you won’t wake up for me, maybe you’ll wake up for him.” 

Echo was stunned as he looked down at the goatee-wearing, tattooed face of his twin. Fives, who he’d grieved as lost after Rex told him the man died in his arms. “Y-you’re the refugee girl he was seeing?” Echo cleared his throat, looking at her. 

She nodded, eyes still on Fives’ face. She took his hand in both of hers, and Echo’s eyes tracked the movement. “I brought him here when he got-”

Click.

Kya froze when the muzzle of a blaster pressed to the side of her head, eyes widening. Dimly, she heard Omega and Tech raise their voices in alarm. 

“Then why are you wearing Count Dooku’s signet ring?” Echo’s voice was gravel, icy fury flooding the Force around him. “Because right now, I see a Separatist with an unconscious clone on a hostile planet. The last time I saw this setup, I was the clone out cold. I don’t like seeing it happening again.”

“I’d never hurt him.” She felt the panic rise, but her face fell into the familiar mask of stoic emptiness. “I swear, I’d never hurt Fives.”

“Then why won’t he wake up. Is he drugged?”

“No. You can check everything. It’s just IV nutrition. The cans are sealed, so is the bottled water. Before that he was in a bacta tank, that’s all.” She pointed towards the corner, where the supplies were. “I’ve been trying to wake him up for months.”

Echo glanced at Omega, who hesitantly brought him one of the cans. He scanned the seal and label with a scrutinizing eye. “Why’d you bring him here?”

“I had friends who could help me.” 

“Why the ring?” His tone didn’t soften. She couldn’t even blame him. This was his twin, someone he loved more than anyone else. She understood, she loved Fives too. 

“It was my father’s. My name is Kyatsa Dooku.” She closed her eyes and waited for him to pull the trigger. “I was a Separatist spy during the war, but I couldn’t… I quit giving intel. I didn’t tell Fives who I was, but I fell in love with him.” 

Echo gazed back at Fives. He remembered Fives talking about the girl he was nuts about, sneaking out of the barracks so often Rex just tagged along one night and demanded to meet her himself. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because I stayed.” She breathed. “When he lost you. After Lola Sayu, he came back to me… he was heartbroken. He grieved, he cried for days… I couldn’t help him, but I stayed with him. I hurt with him because it was all I could do. And then Umbara, and every other nightmare mission, until he called me slurring and confused. I never did find out what happened, but I watched him die in Captain Rex’s arms. Then I went to the morgue and he was alive. So I brought him here, and when I ordered Serenno to evacuate he was in no shape to travel. So I stayed. Through the bombardment and occupation and everything else, I stayed.” 

Tech limped over, gently pushing Echo’s blaster to the side. “I believe she is telling the truth.” 

Echo looked at her, the woman’s knees shaking like a leaf in a gale while her eyes fixed dead ahead. When he holstered his blaster, she slid to her knees. “... some spy.”

“I didn’t ask to be a spy any more than I asked to be trained as a Sith.” She mumbled. “I prefer music to murder.” 

Echo sighed and leaned over Fives, poking him lightly in the ribs with his scomp. “Oya, di’kut. Only you would end up dating Dooku’s daughter.”

When the infirm clone groaned slightly, Kya’s head shot up. “He hasn’t made a noise since he came out of bacta. Fives?” She reached for his hand again, but Echo lightly smacked hers away. 

There was another weak groan, and Echo poked him again curiously. “Wake up.”

“... fivemerminnits.” Fives mumbled. 

Kya looked at Tech like he might have an explanation, but the brilliant and broken clone just shrugged.

She looked at Echo. “.... You’re what he was looking for in the Force, aren’t you?” She breathed. “The brother he thought was dead… but he couldn’t find you because you’re alive.”

“I don’t know enough about the weird Jedi-Sith stuff to make a comment. Go sit down somewhere, I’m talking to him first to make sure you didn’t do something to him.” He grumbled. “We’ll decide what to do with you after.”

***My lover’s the sunlight***

***Keep the goddess on my side***

Fives was sitting up, awake, while Echo and Tech filled him in on the fate of the galaxy and the Republic. Kya had been ordered to a corner, sitting with her knees drawn up listening to them talk. She supposed she was lucky not to be in cuffs, and she really couldn’t blame Echo for his harshness… but this wasn’t the reunion she’d dreamed of. She’d been protecting Fives while he slept for months. He was supposed to wake up and smile for her. She was supposed to tell him the truth herself, not listen to it relayed through the experiences of the most jaded clone she’d ever met. 

She didn’t cry. She didn’t even speak, just slipped back into the hollow shell she’d lived inside of before she’d met Fives. She put the wall back up brick by brick in silence. If Fives chose to, he could knock it right over with a smile. If he decided to leave her here, though… it may be the only way she’d survive. She’d have no hope or way off this planet… maybe she wouldn’t. 

She’d been sitting there for an hour when she realized someone was calling her name and lifted her head from her knees. “Yes?”

“Come over here?” It was Fives speaking. She could have told Echo or Tech no, maybe, but not Fives. So she got to her feet slowly and walked over, hands clenched and pressed tightly to her chest. Every step felt like a countdown to the end of her world. 

With his eyes open, Kya could see the changes in his face since he’d been shot. He looked thinner, of course, hair too long and goatee not as neat as he kept it himself. She’d tried, but there had been more important things to contend with. She stood in front of him, feeling more exposed than she ever had when she was naked, and just took in the planes of his face for a minute. There were probably witty things to say, something clever and heartfelt that would endear her back to his heart. She’d been trained to be intelligent and charming since she was a child, alongside all her other skills. None of that had ever seemed to matter around Fives, who could turn her into a giddy schoolgirl with a smirk. “Hello…” She rasped pitifully. 

Fives cocked his head to the side, considering her. “... So you’re really Count Dooku’s daughter?”

She nodded, gaze sinking to the floor. “I’m sorry…” 

“You never asked me anything about Rex’s playbook. You knew I was in on it.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and rested his chin on his knuckles. He was scrutinizing every inch of her, she knew he was. He was her funny, bright, joyful love but he was still a soldier. An exceptional one, she’d always known that. She was just a shadow, a weapon, hiding in the dark until he’d found her and believed so hard that she was something more than the Dark Side had made her. 

“You weren’t a part of the mission. You… you mattered. You were the only thing that did.” She closed her eyes and struggled to right her breathing. The little voice in her head, the one that questioned everything, demanded to know why she put herself through this. Why did he matter so much when he was just one man? He hadn’t even known the real her. Why did this hurt so much?

A tiny voice from her heart answered back. Because it’s real.

“So why didn’t you tell me?” His voice softened. “Kya, look at me.”

She had no defense when he said her name, so she slowly lifted her eyes up to his. “I wanted to.” She murmured. “But I was afraid… that you’d hate me. That I’d lose you, if you knew who I was. You were the only good thing I had…” 

Fives cocked an eyebrow. “Not the money and power, or the fancy castle?”

She gestured faintly around the basement between them. “When that ran out, I took what I cared about saving.” 

He looked around, at the medical supplies intended for him. The shelter she’d hidden in because he couldn’t be moved without someone noticing he was an unconscious clone. The floor she’d slept on beside the bed he’d been occupying. He looked at Echo with a sly smile. “She’s got a point, vod.” 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. You really think Count Dooku’s Sith daughter- you’re practically dating Asajj Ventress here.” 

Kya’s lip curled, distaste painting itself across her features. “How dare you.” 

Fives broke out into snickering and waved Kya to take a step closer, catching her by the hand and pulling her to sit between his parted knees. He dragged a knuckle across her cheek, watching her eyes flutter shut at the touch. “I heard you. I couldn’t make out what you were saying, but you were talking to me. And playing music.” He smiled. “I believe you. It’s gonna take a minute for me to trust you again, but I believe you.” 

She nodded, giving him a weak smile. “I understand.” 

“We’re going to leave with Echo and his team. Get your stuff.” He patted her shoulder and dropped his hand, crushing any hope she had of a welcome-back kiss. But she probably didn’t deserve it. She just nodded and got up, gathering her backpack with clothes, her datapad, and a few small personal items. She had one for him too, with some armor she’d gotten her hands on for him and some spare clothes. As she reached for the third one, the survival pack of credits she’d stashed, she looked around. 

“.... Where’s little Omega?” She frowned. 

Echo and Tech stiffened. Fives raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Little sister. Shit.” Echo got up.

“My rappelling kit is missing too.” Kya glanced at a hook on the wall. “She must have gone back after that crate from Father’s War Chest.”

“Shit.” Echo repeated. “That place will be crawling with Imps by now.” 

“Then I guess there’s no worry about a speeder being too loud and attracting them.” Kya pulled a tarp off a speeder in the corner. It had a cart attached to the back. “Tech, Fives… I think you’ll need to ride on the back.”

“I’m driving.” Echo huffed. 

“You have one hand. Use it to shoot.” She helped Tech up, then Fives, and put the three backpacks with him before hopping into the speeder seat. “You can ride behind me or on the cart, but we need to go now if we’re going to save your sister.”

Echo hadn’t liked her much before, but he had to admit she was tough and good to have in a pinch. He climbed behind her and wrapped his scomp around her middle. “I’m starting to see why my twin likes you.”

Kya gunned the engine and they rattled up the cellar stairs and out into the open. “Let’s hope that stays true, Corporal.”

***She demands a sacrifice***

Rescuing Omega hadn’t actually been that hard. Echo tied a rope around himself and climbed down into the crate, Fives taking controls of the speeder to pull them to safety. Kya covered them with her lightsaber, deflecting shots, while Tech limped his way to a mounted gun and cleared out Imperials. They held their own until a gunship arrived, shooting down Imperial air support and opening the hatch for them. Omega quickly pleaded their case to the leader, Sergeant Hunter, who seemed to have a soft spot for the child and just nodded. 

They were allowed to board, Fives quickly hitting it off with Wrecker and Hunter with a handshake and a smile once they were out of the atmosphere. “Nice to have another ARC around.” Hunter chuckled. “And you are, miss?”

Kya blinked, squirming slightly. “.... Kyatsa Dooku. You can just call me Kya.” 

“Countess?” He eyed her, and when she nodded he glanced at Tech. “That explains some old evacuation orders Tech intercepted when we reached Serennian airspace.” 

Tech nodded, in the middle of putting his own leg in a brace. “Your preemptive action likely saved many civilian lives.” 

Hunter glanced over at Echo, who was still shooting suspicious glances at Kya. “I’m going to have to ask you to hand over any weapons for now, Miss. Just til we get to know you a little better.”

She agreeably pulled her saber off her hip. “Would it be alright if I let Fives hold it? These are personal…” 

“Fine by me.” 

She picked up one of the backpacks and walked over to the Domino twins, Fives reclined in the co-pilot seat listening to Echo telling him all about his rescue from Skako Minor and how he’d ended up becoming a big hero on Anaxes and joining in the Bad Batch. She quietly handed Fives her saber. “Sergeant asked me to hand over my weapons. Would you mind taking this?” She asked softly. 

He glanced at it as she pressed it into his hand, then nodded and dropped it in his lap. He’d been more than a little uncomfortable watching her fight with a red lightsaber after his experiences in the war, anyway. He had to break the tension somehow, so he settled for a wisecrack.  “General Skywalker said something about a lightsaber being like a Jedi’s underwear. Are you flirting with me or is this something else?” He couldn’t resist a smirk, and she had to resist the urge to groan and swat at him as her cheeks flushed indigo. 

“That’s a massive oversimplification and I am not flirting. I just… yes they’re personal and you’re the one who should be holding onto it.” 

Fives grinned. “Alright, alright. I got it.” 

She sighed, handing the bag to Echo. “What’s this?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“You came for the War Chest and got nothing. I had this to try to build some kind of life after we left Serenno… but you should have it.” 

She scuttled out of the cockpit before she could find a way to put herself in bad graces with him further. Echo heard Omega offering to let Kya bunk in her room ‘away from all the boy stink’ and then show her to the fresher so she could get a much-needed shower herself.  He lolled his head over to Fives, still not totally sure he wasn’t dreaming that his twin was still alive. Fives was inspecting the lightsaber again, lips pursed. “You okay?” He asked quietly. 

“A little overwhelmed.” Fives admitted. “You’re alive. And I’m not dead. The Republic’s gone, I was right about the inhibitor chips, and my cyar’ika is a Sith, Separatist spy who had me fooled for literal years. And now we’re on the run, and your reg manual-quoting ass is running with a group of non-standard clones and a kid as a mercenary. Oh, and a lot of you is metal now. You hear how stupid that sounds when I say it out loud?” 

“Yeah, I get it.” Echo glanced at his scomp arm. “You’ll adjust. You always did better with change than I did.” 

Fives turned the lightsaber over in his hands. “I gotta figure out how I’m going to adjust to this.” 

“You love the girl, don’t you?” Echo gave him a knowing look.

“Stars, yes.” Fives breathed. “But damn it, Echo… how do I wrap my head around this?”

Echo’s scomp settled on his arm. “The same way I did with this.” 

Fives gave him a smile over his shoulder. “Fair enough… I’m glad to have you back, Echo. I don’t think I could do this without you.”“I’ve always got your back, vod.” Echo glanced down at the bag Kya had handed him, unzipping it. It was packed full of credits. “... And I think you’ll end up forgiving her faster than you think.”

[caffetato-the-caffeinated-potato]

Hi there! Omg I love ur Tabletop Turtles au, however I haven’t seen the original post with the idea of what it is so I’m sorry if you’ve answered this question before but like is this like just their characters for a d&d game? Is that them actually? Are they like stuck in the game and have to finish the campaign to get out? Idk that’s why I’m asking. Also DONNIE MY BELOVED I love Artificier Donnie anywho that’s all thank you for your time!!

Thank you! I'm really happy you like my Tabletop Turtles AU!

You can find the post with my initial ramblings here, but if you want a more concise summary now that I have more of my thoughts in order, it's as follows.

TTAU is a separated AU meets D&D inspired fantasy, where the turtles (plus April, more on her in a minute) are adventurers in a fantasy world. They are essentially the player characters one would play as in a game of D&D, as opposed to being the ones playing, if that makes sense?

Donnie is an artillerist artificer (as you saw), Mikey is a light domain cleric, Raph is a way of the astral self monk, and Leo is a swashbuckler rogue.

I didn't mention April in my initial post, because I didn't know what I wanted to do with her. I've since decided that she'll part of the main party and will be a college of lore bard. I feel like this class suits her since bards have a lot of skills, and it's a running gag in the show that April keeps getting fired from jobs, so it would make sense she would be good at a wide variety of things. Plus, college of lore bards are all about learning information and spreading truth, which seems fitting for an aspiring investigative journalist.

[beepofsleeplessdreams]

not sure if i'll fit into this site too well, but hey, why not. twitter's on fire and i've long since given up trying to get anything of substance from /vg/.

touhou, gundam, and project moon are the current big hyperfixations. but i do like other stuff, mostly videogames, tabletop rpgs, and misc. old anime. this'll probably most be reblogs, though.

[jackalopedread]

OC's in Threes

tagged by @omgkalyppso (sorry this took so long I couldn't remember how to login to Tumblr on my laptop fdjklgfkljgf)

I tag @cazador-fruit-pie @wolfsskull @valcubust-main @kingoftealeafs and my Dad if he wants to

"Rules: Post three pictures or images you feel relate to a character. They can be face claims, famous artworks, photos, or anything you think fits the Vibe™."

OC: Othello (Fire Emblem Awakening)

Image 1: Prognosticon (image from this blog post) (Also Cambridge Journal of Archaeology)

Image 2: Leonardo Da Vinci's Anatomy of the Neck and Shoulder (Wikimedia Commons)

Image 3: Othello and Desdemona by Daniel Maclise (Wikimedia Commons)

OC: Desvernine Tearyweld (Tabletop/BG3)

Image 1: "The Fool" tarot card from the "Dreaming Way Tarot", art by Kwon Shina

Image 2: Teo Verman (instagram)

Image 3: Orchid Mantis (wikimedia commons)

OC: Kura Everstep (Pillars of Eternity)

Image 1: Okay so this is saved to my computer as "Klimt the Flowers 1907" but I actually. Can't find a resource for this image?? Klimt painted a lot of flowers

Image 2: Sculptured Head and Ivy (Mary Makirae Spring Dreamscape)

Image 3: "Follow the Roots" from Marko Drazic (ArtStation)