#randomized dice set

[everythingdice]

ℝ𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕫𝕖𝕕 𝔻𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕊𝕖𝕥𝕤 ✨ A little bit of this, a little bit of that, a unique array with no repeats | webstore link

[gobs-o-dice]

Dice Set #366: Kingfisher

[octahedral-chaos]

Hehehhee dice...

From top to bottom:

Ring of Splendour

Phoenix Prism

I'm not too sure, but I remembered that it was from DND dice-

Bonus picture of them in the dice box-

[dragoniangirl]

Finally

A place to display (most) of my dice

[lillybean730]

btw i found out my dad is a regular 4chan user...

[zkretchy]

I've also every now and then been having some fun doing solo D&D and this is my main for that- Yaheel

...don't...don#t worry about the mass of writhing flesh behind them it's fine

could this cute face ever be involved in anything horrifying and hellish beyond mortal comprehension?

[paragonalenko]

i jst counted i have 194 dice, dnd and otherwise

[desert-anne]

very rarely have i seen a Tumblr(TM) complaint about d&d that wouldn't be resolved by switching to Fate

[slutzforbueckers]

when things change

♡— pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

♡— warnings: smut

♡— synopsis: when things change between you and paige on a random friday evening.

♡— a/n: it wouldn’t let me respond normally for some reason so hopefully you see this anon!

❥•°❀°•༢

“what time does the movie start?”

you stood at the counter in the kitchen cutting strawberries to mix into your fruit salad. paige has been staying at your apartment for a couple days now. it started with just a sleepover but then when the next day came neither of you wanted her to leave.

paige was probably at your place more than she was her own, not that you had a problem with it. you looked down at your watch to check the time and paige walked up behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her chin on your shoulder. her scent invaded your senses and you had to mentally insult yourself to get those thoughts out of your head. “uhm—it’s—uh— it’s in like 4 hours.”

“that’s so long.” paige groaned and stepped back. she moved to stand beside you instead, her fingers tapping on the counter in a rhythmic pattern as she watched you start back slicing fruit. you could feel her watching you and it was making you more aware of everything. she leaned in a bit closer, her eyes flickering between the side of your face and your fingers holding the fruit. “can i help?”

you looked up at her and smiled, shrugging your shoulders with a small breathy laugh. “sure. the knives are over there, and there’s some mangoes in the fridge. cut those.”

“yes ma’am.” paige smiled and pushed off the counter, her hand grazed your waist as she passed to grab a knife. you tried not to think anything of it, paige was naturally clingy—handsy—but for some reason you were reacting to it differently today.

while paige got out another cutting board and got her “station” set up next to yours, you wiped your hands on a towel and pressed play on you and paige’s shared playlist. the music played low in the speakers but still loud enough you could hear without any problems. neither of you said anything for a while—just enjoyed each other’s presence while you shared a simple task.

she didn’t fill the air with unnecessary words; she hummed faintly under her breath to the beat of the music, her shoulder bumping into yours every now and then as she diced the mango. you tried to focus on the strawberries in front of you, but it was impossible to ignore how close she was.

the way her hip brushed yours, the way her fingers worked with the knife—precise, focused—and how her body naturally leaned in toward yours without even realizing it.

“is this small enough?” she asked, holding up a piece of mango. her voice was soft, innocent, but her fingers were sticky with juice, and your brain chose that exact moment to imagine her licking them clean.

you swallowed the lump in your throat and forced your eyes off her fingers. “yeah. that’s perfect.”

maybe paige caught the way you stared at her, a subtle smirk pulled at her lips and she went back to cutting. she moved a little bit closer and she emptied the mangoes into the bowl. she didn’t pick back up right away, instead she placed her hand on your hip and gently tugged you towards her.

you paused and looked up at her, your eyes searching hers for a answer to a question you didn’t even know. paige didn’t say anything and neither did you, but her eyes got a little bit softer and filled with something a little more deeper. you had to look away after a few seconds—paige had always been better at eye contact between you two, she always managed to make it feel more intimate.

“stop looking at me like that.” you muttered, your body getting hot from the inside out. paige threw her head back in a loud laugh but you couldn’t figure out what was funny when you were five seconds away from jumping your best friend's bones. she squeezed your hip gently and let her hand trail across your lower back as she pulled away.

“what, i can’t look at you now?” she asked, turning around and leaning back on the counter, her arms crossing over her chest. you glanced at her and rolled your eyes before emptying the last of the strawberries into the bowl. the fruit salad was complete now, all the fruit mixed into one big bowl, all you had to do was put it in the fridge.

paige watched your every move—her eyes traveled over the curve of your ass when you bent over to place the bowl on the lower shelf in the fridge. when you stood back up and looked at her she was biting her lip, her eyes still low.

“no—i mean you can but when you touch me like that and look at me like that—its a lot for a girl.” you laughed to deflect from the fact that it really was too much for you. you walked towards her and stopped in front of her, leaning against the island to keep some distance.

“you make me feel—” you stopped before you said something stupid, turning your head to avoid looking at her. paige smirked and stepped closer to you, caging you in against the hard surface. she placed her hand under your chin and directed your face back towards her, her eyes dropping to your lips.

“say it. how do i make you feel?” her voice was low, teasing–but you could tell she really wanted to know how she affected you. your breath caught in your throat, the space between you feeling impossibly tight. you shook your head, your hands dropping to your sides. paige stepped closer and now her body was flush against yours, her thigh sliding between your thighs. “c’mon, just say it. tell me how you feel.”

“you make me feel like giving myself up to you—letting you do whatever you wanted.” your voice was small, quiet, shaky in a way that you knew she heard it too. paige’s tongue wet her lips and your eyes followed its every move, she ran her hands down your sides. you met her eyes again and it was like the truth was being sucked out of you, your words spilled out before your brain could stop them. “i want you to kiss me, paige.”

paige didn’t need to be told twice—in a split second her hand was wrapped loosely around your throat and she kissed you like she’d been waiting for this moment her whole life. it wasn’t slow or hesitant, she was sure about this and now she knew you were too. your hands flew to her waist, fingers pressing into her skin as you pulled her closer—your hips rolled forward into her.

the kiss turned messy fast—tongue, teeth, the sound of heavy breathing and soft, desperate gasps filling the room. her hands slid under your shirt, cool fingers meeting hot skin. they traced the sides of your ribs, brushing under the band of your bra.

“you’re shaking,” she murmured into your mouth, not giving you a chance to speak before she was kissing you again. paige decided in that moment that kissing you had to be her new favorite thing—your lips were so soft against hers, you tasted like the fruit you’d been occasionally eating and the vanilla from your chapstick.

as much as you would’ve loved to keep kissing her, you needed a breath of air before you passed out. her lips dragged down your neck, sucking gently at the spot just below your jaw until you moaned. “i’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

“really?” you panted. paige grabbed your hips and lifted you onto the counter in one swift motion—like you weighed nothing. your breath hitched as the cool surface met the backs of your thighs. she stepped in between your legs, hands spreading your knees apart as she looked up at you, eyes blown wide.

“you don’t know how much i’ve been holding back—every time you walk out the bathroom with nothing on but a bra and panties, every time i want to let my hands go lower—.” paige stopped herself, closing her eyes for a brief second before leaning in and resting her forehead against yours. she let out a deep breath and ran her thumb over your jaw. “i need you so bad right now.” she whispered.

“take me—take me paige, right now. please.” you rushed out, not needing to think twice about it. your arms wrapped around her neck and you leaned into her. paige looked up at you with low eyes, her eyes searching yours for any sign you might’ve been kidding. when she didn’t saw that you were being serious her hands were under your ass immediately, pulling you off of the counter and carrying you to your bedroom.

she sat you down on the bed, immediately crawling over you and laying you down. her mouth was back on yours—hot and messy. her hands were a little rougher now, pushing your shirt up and tugging your bra down until your tits spilled out. her mouth kissed your collarbone, sucking bruises that’ll remind you she was there every time you take your clothes off.

your fingers tangled in her hair when she reached your breast, her lips wrapped around your hardened nipple—wet and warm. your breath came out ragged and fast, your back arching slightly as she swirled her tongue over your nipple. her hands cupped the other, her fingers pinching and rolling your nipple between her fingers. she switched sides after a while and gave the other the same amount of attention.

“fuck, paige,” you whispered, barely able to get her name out. she looked up from your chest, her mouth swollen and wet, eyes dark with want. your body was already trembling beneath her, hips instinctively rolling up into hers, needing more—needing her everywhere.

“you sound so pretty when you say my name like that,” she murmured, dragging her lips down your sternum, kissing each inch of skin delicately. paige took her time working her way down, she took her time with you. her hands were rough with callouses from basketball but somehow they still felt soft on your body. “you’re so damn pretty, i can’t believe it.”

you turned your head when her gaze lifted to your face—you were flustered, nervous, and completely comfortable all in one. paige trailed her fingertips down the dip of your stomach, a light touch that had your breathing getting heavier. your nails dragged along her scalp gently as you tilted your hips towards her. “touch me, please.”

paige knew that you were on a time crunch so even though she wanted to take her time with you, she went ahead and worked your shorts down your thighs. “i’ve dreamt about this—about tasting you, feeling you come apart on my tongue.”

your thighs instinctively pressed together, not from hesitation, but from how turned on you were. her words had you pulsing, aching with need. “then stop dreaming,” you whispered, voice breathless. “and do it.”

paige didn’t hesitate, she kissed the inside of your knee, trailing her lips up the soft skin of your thigh, biting gently as she got closer to where you wanted her most. her hands slid under your ass and tugged you closer, your legs falling open for her automatically. her breath ghosted over your soaked panties, and she groaned softly at the sight. “fuck, you’re soaked for me,”

“this is what you do to me.” you admitted softly, not caring about what you said anymore because you’d already crossed the line. her fingers hooked around your panties and she slowly pulled them down—her breath caught in her throat when she really saw you. she didn’t say anything at first—just stared like she really couldn’t believe that you were there, laid out for her to touch.

her thumbs brushed the inside of your thigh as she lifted your legs and placed them over her shoulders, her head dipping low. you held your breath as you could feel hers on your cunt—hot and quick.

“you’re so beautiful—so mine.” she cracked a lopsided smile and let her lips brush over our mound, not quite where you needed her but she was getting there. paige didn’t need you to tell her you were hers, you've known that for a while but now it was solidified—set in stone. you let out a breathy laugh and nodded your head in agreement.

her mouth was on you in the next second—warm and wet and consuming. she groaned the second her tongue met your cunt, your slick coating her taste buds and making her head spin like she’d just taken a drug, the sound vibrated straight through your core. her tongue slid through your folds in long, slow licks that had your eyes fluttering shut before she even really got started.

“jesus—paige,” you gasped, your hip lifting off the mattress as she moaned into you. her hands slid under your ass, keeping you close like she was scared you’d pull away. her tongue circed your clit slowly at first, then she got faster, messier. her lips wrapped around it and she sucked until you felt like your soul was leaving your body.

your thighs tried to close around her head but her hands held you open, strong and sure. she pulled back just enough to speak, her mouth glistening, her voice rough and low. “you taste so fucking good.”

she was back on you in a split second,not wanting to waste any time,and you took a chance and looked down at her. you moaned at the sight of her—blue eyes blown with lust and a certain hunger that had your stomach tensing, her face was slick with your arousal—she looked like a sin shaped into a 6’0, blue-eyed, blonde.

even though it was her first time touching you like this it seemed like she knew just how to work your body. where to touch, to kiss, to press—she knew it all like it was second nature. she licked through your folds like she was starving, like she needed you to survive.

paige slipped two fingers in without warning and your hand slammed down on the mattress, fingers curling into the sheets.

“fuck—paige—don’t stop,” you gasped, your voice breaking around the words. your body arched off the bed as her lips wrapped around your clit again, sucking like she wanted to pull the sound right out of your throat. her fingers pressed deeper, prodding at you until she found the spot that made your thighs tremble. she moaned against you again, louder this time, and the vibrations made your walls clench, your breath catching in your chest.

“you’re shaking,” she murmured against you, her fingers curling on the drag out, slow and lazy. “you close?”

“so close,” you moaned, your hand shooting down to her head. your thighs started to squeeze around her head, back arching. “don’t stop, please—please.”

paige squeezed her thighs together, groaning into you because your moans we’re like music to her ears. the ache between her own legs was starting to get too hard to ignore, she moved her hand down and shoved it down her shorts and boxers. she sucked harder on your clit as she pressed her fingers against her own.

your head fell back, hips rutting into her mouth, chasing that orgasm that was so close. her fingers hit that same spot perfectly each time—it was overwhelming, so much heat, pressure. “paige—im gonna—fuck, i’m—“

your voice cracked as your body curled in, you didn’t even get the full sentence out before your orgasm hit you like a freight train. she moaned into your cunt as you came, her tongue and fingers never relenting. paige’s eyes were locked on you— memorizing every face you made, every moan that came out of your mouth.

paige didn’t stop after you came, instead she pulled her fingers away and held your thighs apart. you whined as you tried to lift yourself up, your hips stuttering from not knowing whether to pull away or move closer. you called her name with a shaky voice but she didn’t let up, she whined and moved closer.

“please—one more. give me one more, baby, please.” her arms hooked under your legs to hold you in place. you try to squirm, try to lift your hips, but her grip is vice-like. she’s gone—completely pussydrunk, eyes fluttering shut as she eats you out like it’s the only thing keeping her alive. “you taste so good—so fucking good. can’t get enough.”

her voice was broken, desperate, and there’s was no way you could make her stop now. you gripped her hair tightly, keeping her head between your legs. you’re already coming undone again, tears prickling at your eyes from the overstimulation, your thighs twitching in her grip. “oh my god—don’t stop—“

your thighs were full out shaking now, your body buzzed with pleasure from your head to your toe, a pressure building up in your stomach that was soon to release.

“i’m gonna cum,” you warn, voice ragged, broken. “paige, i’m gonna—”

your back arched deep and you nearly screamed, your cunt gushing in her face. paige let out a noise that was low enough to be described as a growl, your cum flooded her face and she tried to suck up every last drop.

you were trembling under her, overstimulated and soaked, your body twitching as paige finally, finally lifts her mouth from your pussy with a gasp. her lips are swollen, chin glistening, and her face is flushed pink with arousal and effort. she looks wrecked— absolutely obsessed.

“i think—i think that was the hottest thing i’ve ever seen.” she panted. paige pressed a soft kiss to your clit before trailing them up your stomach. you laughed, your body feeling hazy as you came down. when paige reached your face she had a satisfied smile on her face. you wrapped your arms around her neck and pulled her into a kiss. she pulled back after a second and kissed the tip of your nose, smiling big when you scrunched your face. “you okay?”

“m’okay. although…you tried to take my soul.” you playfully slapped her back. you leaned forward and kissed her again, slower this time, the kind of kiss that said everything without words. when you pulled away, her forehead pressed to yours, and everything felt right.

you stayed like that for a moment, quiet, letting the silence say everything for you.

[prokopetz]

This feels like a basic question, but it was inspired by your recent post about 2dX tables and, really, I don't know who better to ask.

I've been pretty into AD&D 2e lately, which encourages the use of d8+d12 tables for random encounters, with a range of 2-20 (obviously). I was wondering: how does d8+d12 differ from 2d10? They have the same minimum and maximum, but I'm guessing the bell curve is different or something. I don't know how to calculate this--I am not greatly skilled in the nuances of dice math.

(With reference to this post here.)

Using a dX+dY lookup table rather than a sum-of-2dX lookup table is one of the classic Stupid Dice Tricks for a very specific reason: sum-of-2dX has an A-shaped distribution (i.e., there's a sharp peak at one specific number, with the likelihood of other results falling off linearly toward the extremes), while dX+dY, where X and Y are different, produces a distribution with a plateau: that is, a flat bit in the middle where all results are equally likely. The bigger the difference between X and Y, the bigger the plateau.

For example, sum-of-2d10 has a distribution that looks like this:

.. whereas 1d12+1d8 has a distribution that looks like this:

This has particular utility for stuff like random encounter tables where you have one set of "common" encounters and another set of "rare" encounters, since you can just stick the common encounters on the plateau and the rare encounters on the slopes rather than having two separate lookup tables.

(These graphs are generated by AnyDice, a dice-calculator tool which is not a substitute for getting a proper grip on the stats, but can be a pretty effective stopgap if you know how to ask the right questions.)

[kedreeva]

Super curious, what do you mean by genetic deterioration? Why does that happen if in theory you are breeding with the same genetics? What makes generation 9 different from generation 15? How do you or the people to initially discovered it know when that to outbreed? Are they more likely to be ill/have physical issues after so many generations?

"deterioration" is a bit of a misnomer or maybe just not meant the way you're probably thinking. It's less that dna is "breaking down" (it's not. Well it's probably not, but we're not talking about cloning species), and more "diversity is deteriorating."

The thing is, there's no way to know for sure you've removed EVERY "bad" gene, and some bad effects are either mild enough not to be a problem in an otherwise healthy bird, or only a problem if there's not enough or the right other genes to prevent it from being a problem. And without removing all of them, eventually the population of inbred animals will lose enough genetic diversity that genetic drift can cause a deleterious gene with a weaker phenotype (ie, a non-lethal phenotype but still not a good one) to become fixed in a population with no (or so little as to virtually be no) diversity left to breed away from it, and while 1 things might not be a problem, if it's compounded with other things, it can be. The length of time this kind of thing takes can vary. Maybe you won't catch it until generation 15 or 100. Or, maybe you'll get lucky and happen into a perfect line with no bad genetic variations left- and then random mutation will get your ass and you still don't have enough genetic variety left to fix it. Or, enough homozygousity in things you may not necessarily see in the phenotype outright can start to cause a loss of fertility you can't really get back in a home breeding operation- partly because you generally can't know which gene is the problem or can't know which animals have it and which don't until it's a problem, which is made worse by the smaller and smaller groups of offspring to choose from, and the continuance of genetic drift.

So, yeah, if you had a 100% perfectly healthy bloodline with NO deleterious genes at all AND that line never ever had a deleterious de novo mutation pop up (and no DNA damage occurred in gametes or anything) in theory you could inbreed forever without a problem. But in practice, no one has that line. There's always something, and it WILL eventually rear its head, it's just a matter of how long you can maintain some/enough diversity to avoid it, if it's not obvious enough to cull out at the start or self limiting enough to kill off any carriers.

As for how you tell when to outcross- it's kind of subjective. When you notice less vigor, health problems that seem persistent, fertility problems, growth problems, etc, it's probably time for an outcross if you have been breeding a line to itself for a while. There's not a set "when" and it would vary hugely between species. When you talk to some more practical rodent breeders, they'll say you can go 100+ generations with a healthy line of mice. A horse breeder would perish at the thought of that for a horse because they're already having to do genetic tests to check that they're not doubling up on Shit That Will Kill Or Maim Offspring because there is no healthy line. Quail tolerate inbreeding more than horses. Probably worse than mice there are research mice from lines that have been going longer than I've been alive and they're fine despite being genetically identical. Generation 9 isn't different from 15 unless there's a de novo mutation, which they probably cull out anyway because they CAN do genetic testing.

So it's not that there's some hard line of "this animal WILL show x issues after this set number of generations" it's more "you can only roll the dice so many times before you lose." If you slowly make every number on the roulette wheel the same, you're going to hit it eventually. Even if you do manage to do everything right, you can't prevent new mutations from popping up. The longer you go without adding more numbers to the wheel so to speak, the higher the chance of hitting the wrong genetic lottery result.

[txttletale]

hello...what is this "eidolon playtest". i thought it was perhaps some kind of MTG since you like that and "playtest" but then i keep seeing like.....random character art. is this a tabletop thing. is it mtg and i just dont understand mtg. i know i can probably google this but jt seems like something you wnjoy and id like to hear you talk about it :^)

eidolon playtest is an actual play series in which the creators of the ttrpg 'eidolon: become your best self' and their friends -- as the name implies -- playtest aforementioned TTRPG. it has a pretty interesting format in which the same GM runs two separate campaigns for two different parties which slowly become more and more intertwined until they start crossing over directly. so far they have two pairs of campaigns finished, eidolon POP and ROCK (seasons 1 & 2) and eidolon SKA and DISCO (seasons 3 & 4), and season 5 (eidolon VGM and EDM) currently ongoing. they also have a couple of short mini-campaigns of 3-4 sessions each, which i'm not going to list all of because there's a lot.

eidolon playtest is really good for so many reasons i can't possibly provide a comprehensive account but here's some:

the tables are really, really good at taking something and running with it. the number of goofy, seemingly one-off jokes that get called back to and built up and end up becoming extremely serious and plot-critical has to be in the double digits by now

there is very much a lack of... for want of a better word 'preciousness' to the play -- like, one of the things i really don't like about dimension 20 is that because there is an entire production staff making all these little minis and sets, right, there is an investment and a need to put the money in front of the camera, it's basically impossible for e.g. combat encounters to be skipped or for anything to go too 'off the rails'. meanwhile in eidolon everyone will get excited when someone pulls a fucking insane plan out of nowhere that radically reshapes an encoutner, or when someone rolls/draws badly and something awful happens -- i fucking love that kind of play, where everyone is excited to see cool shit happen whether it's bad or good, and the eidolon playtest team do it really well

the characters are really good and bounce off each other really well. something i commented recently is that i love diska for the fact thaqt nonoe of the players are afraid to have their character just be a huge cunt sometimes. every campaign has some amount of interpersonal drama and it always seems like the players are really excited to have it, too. there are conflicts, some get resolved, some don't, some spiral into irreconcilable differences, some pave the way for extremely close bonds.

eidolon, the system (especially the 2e version that's used for diska onwards) is a great system which encourages fun and cool things to happen. every character has a jojo-style extremely specific power, which means that fights aren't boring slogs of people rolling dice (i hate combat in actual plays that use wargames, lol, even games with well-balanced combat systems that are fun to play often make horrible audio) but instead wacky and consistently dramatic encounters where the players make clever and creative use of their powers to take on a freak-of-the-week

the cast is just really damn good! i mentioned how the characters on all the shows have ineresting and complex dynamics, but even apart from that there's just so many characters on this show that i'm genuinely attached too, so many memorable and interesting pcs and npcs.

the show is funny as fuck!! constant laugh out loud bits throughout every campaign, often alongside the extremely heartfelt or dramatic ones. i've been refernecing a bit from eidolon disco so much recently it's been driving oen of my gfs crazy (you can buy rat poison for free at the store)

i, yknow, go back and forth on whether to mention this when recommending it bc i'm sure that the eidolon playtest folks don't, like, want to be pigeonholed as A Trans Podcast or whatever, but, like, when it feels like every AP podcast that advertises itself or is advertised as 'super queer' is like, two cis gay people and maybe one transmasc if you're lucky at an otherwise super cishet table -- it is such a breath of fresh air to listen to an actual play with a legit preponderance of transfem and nonbinary players playing all kinds of trans and queer characters.

tldr: its like homestuck but good

[urhoneycombwitch]

frozen like an angel

Eddie Munson x shy!Reader holiday edition.

foreword: ohhhh I’ve missed them!!! and you all!!!! happy holidays to those who celebrate, and for those who don’t, have a cozy winter fic <3 here is the masterlist for shy!reader, some references may be made to previous fics in the series but no beforehand reading required here. 

cw: Christmas activities, bittersweet fluff, Elizabeth Munson memories, mentions of Reader’s familial backstory (intentionally a bit vague, hoping to expand in future fics!)

wc: 2.8k

___

You’re not even trying to snoop- the paper flutters to the carpet all on its own, freed from the stack of Eddie’s notebooks you’d lifted to dust under. 

Expecting it to be something D&D related, you scoop it from the carpet with the intent to slip it back between the leaves of a random book- when the title catches your eye. In neat, looping black ink across the top: Christmas Apple Cake. 

There’s a pencil-drawn sketch of an apple in the top corner, faded and yellowed with time like the paper it’s on; your thumb runs over it as you scan the ingredients. 

This’ll be perfect, actually- Wayne is coming over tonight for holiday drinks with you and Eddie, a Munson family tradition that’s included you the last six or so years, and you haven’t sorted dessert yet.

The recipe is simple- a hearty, apple-filled spiced cake base, brown sugar glaze to pool on top. After hunting through the kitchen cupboards (sometimes it’s glaringly apparent you live in a former bachelor pad- the baking soda sourced from under the sink and a layer of dust), you get to work baking.

A pound of apples is peeled and diced, meticulously, to the tune of a Bing Crosby record- Eddie bemoans the cheesier aspects of holiday music, so you get your fill while he’s at work (though you’ve caught him humming along to White Christmas on more than one occasion). 

Not that either of you need the money after the generous nest-egg from various government agency pay-offs, but the part-time mechanic schedule has been good for Eddie. Wayne’s pretty much set to take over when the garage owner retires next year, and Eddie is happy to help- keeps his mind and hands busy, sorely needed after so much recovery downtime. 

And you’ve been busy, too- the apples are set to soak in cold water while you prep the batter, thinking of post-winter break classes already. You passed your first end-of-term exams with flying colors, like Eddie knew you would- never mind that they were all 101s, and that your college plans seem a little directionless- at least you’re moving. Able to do something other than waiting to get better.

Eddie’s proud of you, deeply so. That’s really all that matters for now. 

With the batter mixed, you lift handfuls of apple chunks from the water to dry on the rows of flat kitchen towels. There’s a burst of static from the living room speakers; you flick water from your hands and cross swiftly to flip the record to its B-side.

Let It Snow! rings out cheerily while you stir the apples bit by bit into the batter, Deck the Halls by the time you’re pouring the mixture into a greased baking tin. After twisting the counter timer to tick down for an hour, you clean the kitchen in good spirits.

Eddie will be home, soon- Wayne’s closing up shop, which gives his nephew plenty of time to beat him home and cook you all dinner. There’s a tender strip of beef marinating in the fridge with something Eddie referred to yesterday, ominously, as “Grinch Juice”. (The pale green of the sauce is likely due to the rosemary. You think.)

Eddie’s got the meal covered, regardless. (Plus there are always frozen pizzas to fall back on.)

The air swells with warmth from the oven, taking on a sugared, nutmeg and applesauce smell; the little window over the sink fogs over with sweet steam, making the white-snow world outside look even dreamier. Lights twinkle from the front banister, winking at the strip of sister lights across the path at the Mayfield’s door.

Plucking behind your back to loose your apron strings, you realize- for the first time in years, it feels like Christmas. Last year, you were all still learning how to be human, still nursing wounds (both external and in), stepping cautiously onto the thin ice of what it means to survive and be alive.

This year, though? You’re out in the middle of the frozen pond of life making snow angels. Ice skating over the bumps. Twirling around hand-in-hand with Eddie as you both figure it out, together.

Later, the front door creaks open then slams shut, a rhythmic thump of boots shedding snow onto the hall mat. From your vantage point on the couch- sock feet tucked underneath your body to keep warm, dog-eared Tolkien in your lap- you see Eddie before he sees you.

His back is turned as he toes off his work boots, hunched against the cold still in a hand-me-down winter coat of Wayne’s. Stray curls escape the half-up bun of his dark hair, twisting around his face, which lights up with a smile when he sees you.

“Well, well, well,” Eddie says, adopting a faux-serious, low tone as he hangs up his coat and shakes the snow from his hair. “Looks like we got an escapee from Santa’s Workshop.”

You snort, setting the book aside to roll your eyes fondly- if a red flannel shirt and jeans spells elf, you’re willing to play the part. 

Eddie approaches with menacing intent, grin so wide the corner of his lip meets the line of scarring at his cheek. 

He’s still in his work coveralls, pinstriped and oil-stained; Eddie leans his weight into his hands on either side of your head, close enough to bump noses, couch emitting a squeak of protest. 

You flick at the embroidered patch over Eddie’s heart, the one that currently reads JERRY. “Someone’s been naughty today.”

Eddie clicks his tongue, dark brows pulling together in his best approximation of someone who is very sorry. “Yeah. Guess so. You gonna tell the Big Boss on me?”

”Wouldn’t dream of it,” you sigh, tired of playing, ready to loop your arms around Eddie’s neck and kiss him silly (an action he’s more than willing to give in to).

He tastes like sharp mint, and faintly of the cigarette he probably had on break; Eddie mumbles something between kisses and you pull back just enough to hear him say, “You taste sweet.”

“Mmhm. Had to make sure the batter wasn’t poisoned,” you reply, more concerned with dotting kisses along the line of scar that disappears behind his jaw. 

Against your temple, Eddie’s lashes flutter in surprise- “You baked something?”

Pulling away fully now (with one last parting kiss to his forehead), you narrow your eyes as you shift to hold his shoulders at arm’s length- “Does me baking come as a shock to you?”

“No!” Eddie says, quickly, brows lowering from where they’d shot up just a second ago. “No, of course not. You just don’t usually… I mean, I like being the one in the kitchen.”

”I know you do.” Your hands trail to cup his elbows, briefly, before you disentangle yourself to check on the oven. The timer is just about to shriek its warning chorus- with a twist of your hand, it dings pleasantly instead. “I wanted to make something special for our Christmas dessert tonight. Hopefully it’s not actually poisoned.” 

Based on the delicious smell that wafts from the oven, you’ve got nothing to fear- the tines of your testing fork come out from the middle of the cake clean, a pair of mitts snagged to pull it out and set on the stove.

Clouds of steam rise from the fresh pastry, spiced and golden under the overhead lights- it smells like Christmas in a pan. Eddie approaches to watch over your shoulder, his hand steady on your low back as you explain the glaze that needs to be made next- he takes a lungful of fragrant air, and then his hand stills.

Eddie isn’t in the habit of interrupting you, so it’s strange when he does, voice sounding strained as he stumbles through the start of a few different sentences. “How did you- this is- that’s apple cake. My mom’s apple cake. What…”

It must be the smell, transporting him back, and for a moment, your heart sinks. Eddie hasn’t had a flashback in so long; the last one was months ago over the summer when a car backfired and sent his mind spiraling for hours after. 

You turn in his arms, speaking carefully, ready to soothe- “Shit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, honestly, the recipe just fell out when I was moving your things, and I-”

Eddie’s eyes are brimming with tears when he interrupts you again- this time, to kiss you; there’s a slip of his tear that tracks down your own cheek as you kiss him back. 

He’s holding you, now, mirroring you from earlier, thumbs squeezing at the inside of your elbows, forehead resting in a slow roll against yours as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Don’t apologize. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I didn’t know… I didn’t think any recipes of hers survived the move from Tennessee.”

“It was in one of your old journals,” you murmur, reaching to wipe the wet track of tears from his face even as he moves to do the same for you. “Did your mom used to make this for you?”

“Yeah.” Eddie laughs, wetly, kisses the palm of your hand where it rests against his face. “Every Christmas until I was five or so. Got the recipe from her mom, some Appalachian tradition. Wayne would know better than me.”

Eddie’s looking at the cake again, a familiar hazed-over stare that makes your heart hurt in sympathy, memories flooding back in at an overwhelming degree. You’re quiet for a few moments, pressing your face into the side of Eddie’s coveralls, letting him find his footing before asking, quietly- “Wanna help me make the topping?”

In another life, you and Eddie would run a mean kitchen together- years of learning the distinct ways in which the other moves comes in handy when you need to share cooking duties. 

He ducks under your arm effortlessly to grab vanilla while you whisk the sugars and butter, adds splashes and dashes of things to your bowl periodically until the mulled glaze is formed. 

The top of his (Jerry’s) coveralls were shoved down earlier, your help enlisted to tie the long sleeves around his waist in a makeshift apron; good thing your boy runs hot- means he’s comfortable enough to cook in a white cutoff undershirt that’s thin as a napkin. Underneath, Eddie’s all alabaster, lean muscle, black ink tattoos dancing with the corded ripples of scar tissue as he flits around the kitchen.

Between getting the steak ready to sear, and tasking you with prepping the hill of potatoes, Eddie talks about his mother- holidays of years past floating to the forefront on a wave of recollected smell. 

Along with Tennessee apple cake, Elizabeth Munson would wrap chestnuts in tin foil to roast low and slow in the embers of a Christmas fire. One year, she penny-pinched enough to buy part of the neighbor’s turkey for her and then-five-year-old Eddie.

You soak up all these memories, asking questions periodically, immersed in Eddie’s storytelling. It’s rare to hear Elizabeth’s name, and you wonder, suddenly, if that could be changed.

“You know, I really like hearing about her,” you tell Eddie gently, after a gleeful retelling of the time she crashed his sled into the big stump of maple at the edge of their woods. You give the chopped potatoes on your cutting board a push, and they tumble into Eddie’s proffered bowl. “If there’s something I can do, to help… I dunno, make it easier to bring her up- you’d let me know. Right?” 

Eddie considers this as he gathers jars from the narrow spice cupboard, lining them up in a neat row. “Yeah. Thanks, sweetheart. And it’s not… you’re easy to talk to. It’s just hard, sometimes, to learn how to remember her.”

You nod, thoughtful, watching him layer spices and olive oil into the bowl; he uses a wooden spoon to make sure all the potato sides are coated before saying, “And sometimes, it feels downright braggy. I got six whole years with her- most all of ‘em good ones- it’s not something I take for granted. And your mother-”

Eddie cuts himself off, abruptly, knuckles glistening with oil as they tighten into fists. Something inside you wilts, stretches desperately for its light source; you budge up under Eddie’s arm, place a hand to the middle of his chest where his breaths meet you with a shuddery kickstart.

“I know. But you were a kid too, Eddie. Six is just a kid.”

He does his best to hug you back with one arm as your nose seeks the notch behind his ear, a perfect fit, enveloping your senses as you breathe in the spot that smells most like him. “You can share however much or however little you want, of her, with me. Just ‘cuz my parents sucked doesn’t mean I don’t wanna hear about your one good one. Let me live vicariously, okay?”

You give Eddie a teasing little shake, a flash of teeth against his neck that has him chuckling, shaking off the anger before either of you can be derailed. The potatoes are moved to a baking sheet while Eddie preps the meat, and you send a river of brown sugar glaze over top the cake so it has time to cool.

If Wayne notes the missing piece from the corner of the dessert, later, he doesn’t mention it- the whiskey he’d brought over pairs perfectly with the rich, spiced cake. 

One bite in and Wayne’s head turns, slow, to his nephew sat beside him. Without looking up from his spoonful of melting ice cream, Eddie nods. “Yup. Mom’s cake. Don’t look at me, though.”

Wayne blinks down at the bowl in front of him, then to you, like someone’s woken him from the middle of a dream. “Tastes just like how she used to make it.”

Were it possible to bottle and live off someone’s praise, you’d like to find a way; instead, you tuck the compliment away for a rainy day and give him a warm smile. “I’m glad. I’ll make it next year, too, if you want.”

After dinner (totally delicious despite Eddie’s best attempt to scare you both off with increasingly weird holiday-themed adjectives), Eddie pulls out his acoustic guitar to try his new capo, a gift from Uncle Wayne that’s immediately put to good use.

This autumn, on the same week you went to college for the first time, Eddie taught himself how to play guitar again. A year on from the attacks, his left hand was still stiff, a deep scar across the bridge of his abductor that made more dexterous movement near-impossible.

But your boy, smart and strong and determined, found a way. Eddie surprised you over Thanksgiving break with a cover of Fleetwood Mac’s Hypnotized, though with multiple false starts since both of you cried most of the way through it.

Less tears, this time around, but no less emotional- you steal glances under the pretense of wiping down the table as Eddie sits wide on the couch, black guitar propped on his knees while he adjusts the capo. 

In a nearby armchair, Wayne takes a sip from his whiskey glass- at the first few notes of Edelweiss, his eyes slip closed, lost in memory.

“This was one of her favorites,” Eddie says to you, grinning while his fingers pluck the pattern smoothly.

You lean a hip against the table, wiping abandoned, taking in the gentle movement of Eddie’s hair, his arms, while he plays. He gets so lost in the music, sometimes- a soft look that usually only shows when he’s sleeping peacefully. 

You wonder if Elizabeth looked the same, all those years ago- bent over her special Christmas cake, sneaking tastes on the back of a spoon to the set of dimpled hands that reached for her apron. 

In your back pocket, the recipe card in her handwriting is tucked safely away. While Eddie plays, your fingers brush the outline of the pencil-etched apple, sending a prayer or a wish of some sort to the snow angel in your head.

He’s doing great. He’s so loved and cared for, with me. I hope you know I’m taking care of him. Merry Christmas. Thanks for the cake. 

___

for more shy!Reader content: masterlist

[freshstitches]

I finally published the project for my dice roll scarf that went viral last month. If you love dice games, you'll enjoy knitting this pattern.

The color work in this project is determined by an algorithm, a set of rules that determine the final outcome. There isn't an exact set of instructions for this project. Instead, the knitter uses four 10-sided dice or a random number generator to pick the length of the colorwork in each row. 

The result is a staggered stripe sequence along the edge of the shawl. There are trillions of unique outcomes, so no two projects turn out exactly alike. The pattern uses about 500 yards of yarn in total, but the amount of each color that you'll need is randomly determined. Before publishing, I wanted to find out the minimum and maximum amount of each color required to make the project and the probability of each outcome.

The knowledge needed to calculate the yardage was a bit beyond my skill level, but my friend Mary W. Martin helped me gather this info. I used an online probability calculator to find out the probability of each unique stitch count. The results are slightly different depending on whether you use four 10-sided dice (blue) or pick a random number (yellow), but 99% of all possible results fall within a very small range. 

It was an interesting little tangent, but not hugely important to the actual knitting pattern. I can, however, confidently say there is a >99.9% chance that you'll need a 2nd skein of the main color. If you want to know more about the math, you should check out my project notes on Ravelry. 

The thick and thin striped colorwork is created with a super simple "long stitch" technique. The pattern looks great in fluffy mohair or contrasting colors of basic wool and the instructions include some basic tips for substituting yarns or changing the gauge.

Finished Size: 18 x 68” (46 x 172 cm) rectangular wrap.

Yarn: Approx. 315 yards (288 m) of MC and approx. 264 yards (241 m) of CC. Yardage may vary, see notes on yardage below and yardage chart in photos.

• Main Color (2 skeins) - JMR Studio Worsted Weight Mohair, 245 yards (225 m) per 4 oz; 78% Mohair, 13% Wool, 9% Nylon.

• Contrast Color (1 skein each, both yarns held together) - JMR Studio Fingering Weight Mohair, 320 yards (293 m) per 100g; 63% Silk, 23% Kid Mohair, 11% Nylon, 3% Polyester Held with Lavender Lune Yarn Co. Suri Alpaca, 328 yards (300 m) per 50g; 74% Suri Alpaca, 26% Silk.

Yardage: The amount of each color used for this pattern fluctuates based on the random numbers used to determine the stitch pattern. MC uses approx. 233 to 315 yards (213 to 288m) and CC uses approx. 182 to 264 yards (166 to 241m). 99% of possible results fall within a much smaller range. The Yardage Chart shows the distribution of all potential yardage outcomes.

Needles: Size 8 (5 mm) straight needles, or size needed to obtain gauge. NOTE: Straight needles work best with long stitches. Circular needles with a thin cord allow the long stitches to tighten and stretch, making them harder to manipulate.

Gauge: 12 sts x 14 rows = 4 x 4” (10 x 10 cm) square in pattern.

Other Materials: 10 sided die or random number generator, stitch marker, scale, tapestry needle.

Generating numbers: In my sample, I used four ten-sided dice (D10) to choose a number between 4 and 40 sts. If you don't have dice, you can use an online app like RANDOM.org to generate your numbers. If you follow this link, you'll get a list of 63 integers between 4 and 40. NOTE: Each time you visit the link or refresh the page, the list changes. You can also just choose numbers as you knit.

Pattern is available on my website and on Ravelry.

[iliothermia]

Before I sleep.. Everythingdice was kind enough to commission me to design one of their dice vaults. It's gold foiled and very pretty. The vaults are random/assigned to dice sets that match them the best. But! You can request a certain illustration with your set and we do our best to honor that. I was told on etsy you can request it in the notes section of their order and through the website they can just email support separately with the order # and request. Unsure if any DND people on here are passionate about my work but wanted to let y'all know 💗

[twilightkitkat]

how long do i have to wait for the poolverine fandom to reach the stage where it just starts making random shit up because it ran out of ideas? like the stage in fanon content where it stops being canon-centric and just completely builds on itself

don't get me wrong, i love canon poolverine, but how long until i can write a historical isekai transmigrated into an otome game dating sim poolverine fic and have people into it? how long until the serial killer x serial killer psychological horror fics? how long until i can make a zombie apocalypse survivor au where wade is the only one immune to the bites because of his cancerous healing factor? how long until i can roll them around in my hands like dice and spit them out in a random setting and people will read as long as they're in character?

i have ideas.... but now is not the era to write them. the world is not ready. but know i will be waiting patiently in the shadows clutching my insane wildly different from canon fics to my chest until the right moment comes...