#and the dice are just there to make it interesting

[honourablejester]

My thought for Numenera’s Ninth World setting was an automated ferry terminal from a previous civilisation, because I was inspired by the ‘Gateway’ novel by Frederick Pohl. Basically the idea is that you find an abandoned transport hub containing a number of pre-programmed ships/trains/shuttles/whatever you like, so that once you’ve explored and investigated the facility itself, you then have the option to potentially get in one of these vehicles, turn it on, and roll the dice that its pre-programmed route is going to bring you somewhere interesting and/or survivable. If its something like a rail or subway system, you also have the option of manually exploring the connected tunnels as well. A fun way to chain dungeons together, the first one linking out to others. Depending on the size of the vessels in the hub, like the ships in the ferry terminal example, or space ships if you found, say, an asteroid deployment base or something, they might also function as their own little mini-dungeons as well.

For science fiction in general, absolutely anything that’s been automated and then abandoned. Factories, supermarkets, theme parks, hospitals, literally anything. Because the thing with something that’s automated and running on remorseless, unchangeable programming, is that even if it’s the most harmless thing in the world, if you don’t know the procedures, then you’re stepping inside a massive operating machine with no knowledge of how to traverse it safely. Like, you’d think no one would make an automatic supermarket that would kill you, but then maybe they just never expected someone to try to use it without what they considered the absolute base-level know-how for someone in their society, such as, for example, the ability to read their language, or the knowledge that their tech is voice-activated, or the cultural understanding that payment comes first, or the ability to recognise the visual indicators for an emergency stop. Everyone’s had the experience of trying to navigate the most obstinate automated menu. That, but physical, and possibly in an alien language, and possibly arranged in such a way that if you push the wrong buttons, grievous bodily harm can result. Lots of modern industrial set-ups have ways to do hideous damage to you, because they assume that if you’re going to be operating outside its usual parameters that you know the procedures to turn things off to do so safely. But if you’re say, 200 years late to the party, don’t read the language, and possibly didn’t even know you were in a machine in the first place, well …

And that’s leaving aside the idea that the programming has decayed or run into other issues while operating for an extended amount of time unmanned. I’m not even talking about AI here, I’m talking about a machine that’s been running dry for 80 years because no one was putting materials in but no one turned it off either, and now its dangerously close to exploding and one wrong sneeze in its vicinity will do very bad things to a significant chunk of the surrounding landscape. The final boss of this dungeon is the dangerously overheating stationary behemoth on the lowest floor that the players have to disable without blowing the whole dungeon sky-high in the process.

Problem with making sci fi dungeons is coming up with places that aren't just military tech bases, research facilities, mines or abandoned space stations.

I have the entirety of modern life to pull from and I come up blank somehow.

[paceprompting]

a new curriculum

written for ‘new’ wc: 517 # | rated: e | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: established relationship, light bondage, use of d&d dice during sex, eddie "the tease" munson

@steddiemicrofic

“C’mon baby, I know you know this one,” Eddie teased from his perch on Steve’s lap. Between two fingers, he held one of his dice where Steve could see.

Steve wasn’t allowed to touch, his hands tied with a scarf to their headboard. Just look, from a good enough distance to recognize.

Steve was naked. Eddie wasn’t.

“D12?” Steve answered hesitantly, scrunching up his nose.

Steve had gotten two right so far, although the triangular D4 was kind of a gimme. Eddie had rewarded him with a hickey and a handjob until Steve nearly came for them—but he hadn’t told Steve in any detail what would happen when he got one wrong.

When, because Steve had only just started to show an interest in D&D—if that happened around the same time Eddie enticed him with sex for learning types of dice and spells, then that was just a coincidence. Really.

Eddie had started Steve’s education only a week ago.

Today was his first pop quiz.

Eddie hummed, leaning forward until their lips nearly touched. Steve craned his head for an anticipated reward.

Eddie didn’t let him.

“D10, Stevie,” he said. “Very close, though.”

Steve’s eyes fluttered closed as he realized the mistake. As the realization that the free reign Eddie had on him in the moment was about to come to fruition. The implied promise that came with Steve being tied to the headboard and Eddie not removing a single shred of his clothing until he decided to.

Eddie slid off Steve and the bed, padding over to their box of tricks sitting open on the dresser. He set the die with the rest beside it, grabbing another and a length of fabric from the box.

He turned and found Steve watching him, neck extending to try and sneak a peek at Eddie’s decisions. Eddie let him in on one with a grin, raising his hand and letting one end of the black silk blindfold hang loose.

Steve let his head fall back against the pillow with a soft groan. He did and didn’t like the blindfold. It dialed his sensitivity up to eleven, but Eddie pushed and pushed until he had to beg.

Eddie returned to his perch, and Steve sighed under his weight while Eddie tied the blindfold over his eyes. Sitting back up, Eddie traced his fingers through the dark hair on Steve’s chest, humming softly.

The handcuffs clinked as Steve stretched his fingers, arching slightly into Eddie’s touch. A shaky breath left his lips when Eddie traced further down. When he sat up onto his knees and shifted to slowly stroke the hard line of Steve’s cock, Steve bit hard on his bottom lip.

Eddie brought up his other hand and pressed the die to Steve’s flushed skin.

“You tell me what this one is, and I’ll make you cum, baby. No matter your score,” Eddie promised, rolling the die across Steve’s stomach.

Steve nodded, thrusting blindly up into Eddie’s hand.

Eddie couldn’t wait to tell him that he’d have to guess with the blindfold on.

A D20 would be too easy, otherwise.

[randomfoggytiger]

Mulder's Alien Baby Baby Trauma In-Depth (Part XVI): Testy Territorialism

Vienen is… quite the follow-up to Empedocles: an infinitely better MOTW (an old classic's return) meshed with the traditional X-Files episode conceits (Mulder in the basement, Scully slicing and dicing, Skinner holding back warily, Kersh barely restraining himself from beheading everyone) and a twist-- Doggett’s presence. 

However. There are also a few… issues. Namely, that the episode doesn’t do the best job explaining important character beats: we are merely left with fleeting glances and half-spoken dialogue (par for the course for Season 8, really.) But there are important details baked into the dialogue, details that are at least substantive enough to point to greater implication. Mulder and Scully’s relationship remains intact and just as in sync as the previous episode. Mulder himself is crawling back into the saddle with a vengeance.

Yet, Mulder and Doggett’s budding friendship… seems to flail. What happened to their exchange in Empedocles’s hospital hallway, when Mulder opened up in an attempt to reassure Doggett’s turbulent emotions? Why is he back to critical acrimony?

Well. We’re given brief, fleeting bits of dialogue that say a lot while showing very little-- an inevitability likely brought on by having too much to do and too little time to do it. (At least everyone had a part in the episode, I suppose.) Those dialogue pieces are vital to this discussion; and, therefore, we must begin at the very beginning.

“Betrayals” and Boys Being Boys

Vienen opens on a strikingly similar parallel to the Pilot: the skeptic making his way down the bowels of the FBI, heading towards the basement office and finding Mulder alone and entrenched in his files.

Doggett, not having expected anyone in the office, turns from wary expectation to deliberate caution: an excommunicated Mulder scurrying around the forbidden fruit could mean a myriad of things-- things Doggett doesn’t want to be tangled up in and painted as the enemy for. 

Mulder looks up, caught; but takes his sweet time pawing over the files, stacking them together, and addressing his replacement as nonchalantly as possible. His shoulders are set, his eyes are fixed, and his mouth is placed in an innocently relaxed, straight line-- he’s paying attention, playing at breezy confidence; and guarded against Doggett’s by-the-books motives and possible actions.

In short, both men are startled and aware that Mulder’s actions point to some silent message about his read on Agent Doggett’s character. Doggett, who keeps trying to get off Mulder’s bad side, sees this as a possible omen; Mulder, who took Scully’s advice in the last episode and was disappointed-- we’ll get to that-- is unrepentant and a hair shy of blatant dismissal. 

"Am I interrupting anything, Agent Mulder?"

"Nothing you'd be too terribly interested in, Agent Doggett," Mulder sloughs off, tone flat.

In the days that have followed Scully’s release from the hospital, the goodwill Mulder extended has been revoked. The olive branch still hangs between them-- an act of respect for his partner’s opinion-- but any open emotion expressed to one John Doggett has been quickly yanked back and just as quickly hidden away.

Doggett picks up on his mood; and, after dropping the office keys to the left, approaches with a straightforward, though softer, question. "Agent Mulder, what are you doing down here?"

"I'm looking into the recent death of an oil worker," Mulder responds, handing over the folder he's holding freely.

Giving it a cursory glance, Doggett affirms, "Yeah, I got a heads up on it from you a couple days ago."

Hands on his hips, Mulder reiterates, "That's what I'm doing here"-- a very telling reminder.

And there it is: a quick, there-and-gone reply that establishes Mulder’s behavior throughout the episode. Mulder went out of his way to pass along vital x-files information a few days ago; and when Doggett dismissed the black oil case, set it aside as not worth his and Scully’s time, Mulder felt the other man came up short-- that his replacement didn’t have the natural curiosity to suit the files; and that, in conclusion, he had betrayed the integrity of the work.  Worse still, this is the first time since his return that Mulder has extended his own research and efforts to someone outside the core group-- to a newcomer, to him, that arrived on the scene by happenstance and who, somehow, became enmeshed with Mulder’s friends and partner. While Scully was recovering from her abruption, he reached out to his replacement; and was met with silence and dead ends. 

Again, Doggett catches on-- the dig does not go unnoticed. Pausing, then stiffening his own stance, he attempts to assuage the grievance. "Agent Mulder, I understand you have more than a proprietary interest in these cases. But I can't help it if you're not assigned to this unit anymore."

The X-Files co-founder doesn't respond. Doesn't move an inch; doesn't so much as flinch or blink. Reading the impenetrable posture of judgment correctly, Doggett turns aside to drop the file somewhere else.

"I didn't see any reason to pursue this oil worker case."

"Ah, well, maybe you missed the fact that this victim's corpse washed ashore in Port Aransas, Texas. Massive flash burns on 90 percent of his body," Mulder reminds, inflexible.

"I read the report, Agent Mulder, if you're insinuating I didn't" Doggett smoothly bristles, turning back around in mild offense.

"Then you must also know that this man was not the only man to disappear from the Galpex-Orpheus platform that night, but one of two men." Mulder's voice begins to rise as he stresses an odd word here or there, emphasizing the key parts he believes his replacement carelessly overlooked. "The communications officer is also missing--"

"The company attributes that--" Doggett cuts in, not willing to take anymore lecturing, determined to prove he's done his research "--to an explosion on the rig. A 'blowout.' Which they say caused Simon de la Cruz's burns."

Mulder nods dismissively-- nearly rolling his eyes (which he will do later.) "Burns the M.E. said in his report were not inconsistent with exposure to high-levels of radiation."

"'Not inconsistent'," Doggett stipulates, less tense now that the facts have been established between them. "It's not what I'd call a ringing endorsement."

Working up to a paranormal explanation, Mulder's voice rises another level while he points to an arm demonstratively. "These files include the same kind of radiation phenomena. Tissue destroyed by exposure to--"

And here a magical thing happens: Doggett surprises Mulder-- takes Mulder’s profiling and personal assumptions and turns them on their head. While the VCU’s Golden Boy is correct in technicality, the motives he’d ascribed to his rival's dismissive work ethic are not. 

"--Black Oil," Doggett cuts in. He advances after Mulder's nod. "5 years ago you and Agent Scully investigated a case of a WW II plane salvaged from the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. Where a substance was brought to the surface which you describe--”

As Doggett continues to whip out factoids from the files, Mulder is pulled up short: his shuttered, protective veneer falls from his face in shock. His eyes narrow, his eyebrows lower then pitch, his body freezes, and his focus lasers in as he soaks up the other man’s prowess. He’d written off his replacement as a malevolent actor, then as a rival, then as a blind and deaf fool; now, he realizes Doggett is researched and capable.

"--as a highly contagious virus of extraterrestrial origin--"

Mulder smiles, unable to catch himself at Doggett's description. Despite the bite of cynicism lurking in its corners (similar to the one he gave Agent Reyes, here), it is a true, uncalculated grin as well-- the joy of hearing someone else, anyone else, repeat what he has been howling about for years. And respect: a tiny glimmer at the bottom reflecting his growing admiration that Doggett says what something is, and plainly.

“--that has radioactive properties and can take over a man's body. And is part of an alien conspiracy to colonize the planet, if I'm not mistaken."

"And you'd like to help, but you left your light saber at home," Mulder quips-- an acknowledgment that Doggett had read his mind like a jedi master; but that he, too, is capable of the same tricks.

Doggett responds in kind, raising his eyebrows, squeezing his eyes, and shaking his head comically. He's quite proud of himself, and he's not ashamed to be figured out quickly and easily. As long as they’re getting along and getting the job done. More importantly, as long as Agent Scully’s happy. 

In an edgier tone, Mulder asks, "How'd you end up down here, Agent Doggett?" Waiting for Doggett to look back, inquisitively open, he adds, "Kersh catch you peeing in his cornflakes?"

Doggett doesn't know what to make of this question. On the one hand, Mulder is drawing an "us versus them" line, Kersh on one side and both x-files-adjacent inmates on the other. The malevolent distrust, then, is gone at least-- a carry-over from working alongside each other in Empedocles. On the other hand, Mulder's tone is indiscernible. Is he poking and prodding; and to what end? More importantly, it betrays that Mulder is largely ignorant of how Doggett was assigned, or why-- which means Scully hasn't told her old partner about her new partner. And if Scully hasn't relayed that information to Mulder... why hasn't she, and for what purpose?

So, he keeps silent, unable to figure out where to go from here (and Mulder clocks that silence.)

At least the air is cleared between them, Doggett figures, despite their difference of opinion. 

Or so he thinks. 

ENTER SCULLY

The office phone rings. 

Mulder and Doggett lock eyes, studying each other. Both are caught in indecision, wondering if the other will make a territorial lunge to establish dominance; and what that would mean afterward.

Arm extended, Mulder inches to the jack first, looking between Doggett’s hovering, halted hand and restrained, frozen posture. With a sudden bitter twist, he dips his head to the left, looks up, and claims the phone-- acting on a thought that must have passed through his mind. 

Doggett remains still, not asserting his rights in this strange dance of seniority. When Mulder passes the phone over, turning it up with an expression of plastered invitation, he misses the latter's impossibly placid mask completely, a smile curling over what he perceives to be the former head of the files’ generous, symbolic hand-over. 

How wrong he is. 

As Doggett answers, Mulder hangs back, a more natural smile of enthusiasm slipping transiently onto his face-- a tell that he knows it's Scully on the other end, and that he can guess what conference she's currently trapped in.

It's plausible, then, that he suspected (or knew) there would be a call and hung around the office hoping to intercept it.

"John Doggett."

"Where are you?"-- it's Scully-- "The Deputy Director's waiting."

"Yeah. I'm just on my way up."

"Agent Doggett-- why didn't you tell me you were pursuing this Texas oil worker case?"

"Because I'm not."

Eyebrows raised, she explains, "Well, there's an exec from the oil company here who says he was contacted by a man in our office."

"No, that was Agent Mulder."

Looking up from his busywork pretense (fiddling with his coat pocket), Mulder slowly, subtly, unrepentantly pouts.

"What are you talking about?" Scully pushes.

Doggett, realizing that he’s been pacified and partially duped, decisively ends the charade once and for all, roping the instigator into this mess and taking an unambiguous back seat. 

"Gonna let him answer that."

Mulder isn’t bothered in the least: he’s surprised and intrigued by this turn of events. Was it more than he hoped for, or more than he expected from Doggett? Either way, there’s a puzzled emotion in his expression, something he is rapidly working out. 

Mulder’s entrance into Kersh’s office is theatrical... for him. The script describes his behavior as "enjoying his old role as agent provocateur", and it truly fits. Face aglow, smug smirk firmly in place, he advances into the room, gentling slightly after spotting Scully waiting unwittingly by the desk. 

Sliding right up in front of her, he gloats, “Just like old times."

This is a little moment that the episode half-builds on later: the knowledge that he’s open to sharing his conspiratorial meddling with Scully (e.g. breaking onto a prohibited research site in War of the Coprophages, sneaking into an autopsy bay for evidence in Fight the Future, and stealing sensitive information from the government’s archives, thrice, in Three Words) and had probably planned on roping her into this case sometime soon. He’s more openly delighted whenever their paths cross this episode (even though he is doing a lot of solo work behind her back-- a tactic Scully uses, too, throughout their career. Both are cut from the same rebellious cloth.) 

Scully, shocked, stays quiet; but she is not outwardly disapproving-- not at all to the degree she might be (or would pretend to be) if she and Mulder were alone. She remains rooted, nods, and cycles through minute alert, cautiously hesitant expressions until Kersh's patience breaks ("Now it's all making sense.")  

Mulder exaggeratedly sighs, hunching his shoulders up as if facing the big bad in a play. When Scully-- taking the opportunity to escape Kersh’s attention-- skitters off to the sofa, his eyes follow her, fondly, whispering a quiet, "Tough crowd," her way. Mulder is checking his partner's reaction to see if he's taken things too far: not that that would stop him; but he's actively clueing himself back into her moods again, publicly, and trying to alleviate her anxiety for him.

It's a tiny detail that I'm immensely thankful to David Duchovny for-- a reversal of Mulder's averted, jittery eyes in Three Words; a second act to his ease and lessening strain in Empedocles. Another small hint at his return to his former self.

An interesting dynamic begins to unfold here-- or, more accurately, the audience becomes witness to a planned demonstration of the show’s dynamics going forward:

Scully takes a seat, bowing out from the immediate proceedings whilst lobbying questions from her perch-- a position of controlled removal, one which allows her one foot in and out of the files. Her maternity leave is coming up soon; and we know she hadn’t intended to return (Alone), not with a newborn who needed her to come home each night. (The FBI provides excellent family support; but its more mainstream work is also a lower and much safer risk, by and large, than the X-Files division.) However, that doesn’t stop the pull, the allure, of the basement-- “Get out while you still can, Agent Doggett,” she says in Alone: what she means is, before you catch it and can't leave. 

Doggett now stands off to Mulder’s side, arms crossed, lips pinched, expression serious. He has become the new skeptic, the fill-in for Scully’s old role. Not surprising, since the show needed someone to fill her shoes while she filled Mulder’s, but it's undeniably pointed. 

Mulder is the only one from the old times who hasn’t changed-- more accurately, who has but hasn’t wanted to admit it. He’s relishing in poking old hornets’ nests and brandishing forth for old truths, but he hasn’t realistically assessed whether he can, or even if he should, anymore.

Vienen, then, is a case that strips away Mulder’s last self-deception: an unrelenting reminder that life has moved on, that priorities have changed for him; and that, though he might think this unwise, unfair, or even dangerous to his old work, the truth is no longer wholly tied up in the X-Files. As he tells Scully in Essence, “This isn’t about the x-files-- this is only about you.” 

By the close of Vienen, Mulder has realized what is at stake. He is stretched too thin, and worn too weary, to juggle the world and his abduction experiences and his impending fatherhood, let alone like he used to (to be discussed.)  He takes the blame for another man and walks away-- the old self-sacrificial wound coming to the fore-- but that departure is more bitter than sweet: resignation instead of peaceful resolution. Alone prods his feelings about leaving-- his avoidance of those feelings-- and ends with his acceptance of Doggett as the new head. Essence picks up that thread and Existence weaves back through it (i.e. Mulder putting his family completely at Doggett and Reyes’s mercy once he loses faith in himself.) But it’s not until Existence’s close that Mulder fully realizes that he gambled away his last chance at happiness, and almost lost. It’s not until he holds his son in his arms and marvels at HIS and Scully’s miracle that he realizes that the decisions he and his partner were forced to do weren’t at odds with who they are and what they can still do, together. The X-Files might no longer be theirs, but the truth is out there; and they gained a truth of their own besides. 

Mulder’s demeanor switches from professionally flippant to antagonistically serious when Kersh threatens, not agrees, to order an x-files agent out to the Galpex-Orpheus. 

"We're talking about an oil rig, 150 miles at sea. You can't send a pregnant woman," he nearly spits, head twisting from his boss to his partner.

Scully doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react except for a slight eyebrow twitch acknowledging her former partner’s statement. It’s true, she can’t fly; and if Mulder weren’t there railing at Kersh for her, she’d likely be poking at the same stream of logic issuing from her superior's mouth (a behavior she, perhaps, picked up from Maggie Scully, post here.) 

Kersh cuts off all protests with a conniving, “I’m not sending Agent Scully”; and it takes only a second or two for Mulder to work out who he is sending: Agent Doggett, Kersh’s (formerly) cherished potential. The doubter. Shot down and irritated, Mulder rolls his eyes, turning to catch Doggett’s implacable, knowing look. 

We’re not shown Scully’s reaction, but it’s likely similar to her new partner’s: dogged professionalism and an intent to do things right. 

NO MORE MR. NICE GUY

Of course, Mulder completely upstages Doggett’s investigation, beating him to the rig in plainclothes and sitting down to catch an interview before the rightful man shows up. 

And, of course, Mulder, anticipates a reaction-- be it a kick back or an outright challenge-- from Kersh’s errand boy. Slickly, he brushes aside the other man’s thinly-veiled confrontation ("Agent Mulder. Can I have a word with you?") Instead, he wedges him into an impossible position: "If you give me a minute-- I'm just getting filled in on the details of this investigation. Why don't you pull up a seat and introduce yourself so Mr. Taylor won't have to repeat himself."

Doggett, rightfully frustrated, is presented with two options: either assert his authority and destroy Mulder’s credibility with the crew-- in effect, throw a fit-- or let things slide, for now, in an effort to prove he’s not here to fight a petty turf war. At the same time, he's also aware that he is being unequivocally, and unashamedly, maneuvered: treated like a second-rate follow-up to a better and cleverer act. 

And while the wheels spin donuts on the asphalt in his head, Mulder continues to pin him with a rigidly territorial stare from across the room. A warning only Doggett can see: one which states he won't go down without a very loud, very embarrassing fight. 

Professionalism and grinding, instilled respect-- for the oil worker, if nothing else-- beats pride; and John Doggett sits, tamping down his immeasurable frustration with effort. 

During the interrogation, Mulder lets Doggett lead most of the questions, observing him here or there to see how he reacts to the witness's answers. Both men know the worker is lying; but before x-files defacto agent can ask another question, Mulder suddenly wraps up the interview.

"Well, I guess that's it. In a nutshell. Thank you, Mr. Taylor."

Without another word-- and in a move that could easily be mistaken for, or coincide along with, a show of dominance-- he stands abruptly and stalks off, leaving Doggett to trail after. The latter's frustrated "Agent Mulder!" is resolutely ignored-- a silent command to keep up and play along. 

Is it fair of Mulder to act out, continually, on Scully’s new partner? No. But Mulder does have a history of poor behavior when in emotionally compromising states. He rebuffed, then toyed with, then opened up to Scully in the Pilot; and since then, he's treated her with far greater respect than anyone else he's worked with. Mulder has no tolerance for anyone who tests his patience with their blind or willful disbelief-- he won't wait on them to make sweet or kiss it better. He expects them to earn their keep: prove their place, win his respect, catch on and come along. Brush him off or lie or belittle his theories, and he will do the same in return-- pettily in two-fold. Throw in PTSD from his abduction and a sense of being disrespected and swept aside, and it makes for a nasty combo. 

Further still, Mulder is also testing how much of a pencil-pusher Doggett is. He uses irritation to reveal hidden motives: make them angry enough and you will hear how they truly feel, or what thoughts they're harboring but don't want to admit. In the script, Agent Doggett is a confrontational figure, more willing to push back against Mulder's claims on the files, more likely to remind the former head that he and Scully lead the investigations now. In short, this approach worked on paper. It plays out differently in the series, however: Robert Patrick acts the character with more circumspect politeness and awareness. John Doggett's not here to make a fuss unless you poke him about his son. But exploding over Luke is one thing, and standing up to Kersh for the x-files is another. By pushing his buttons and indirectly forcing him to keep up, Mulder is also giving Doggett the opportunity to step up (which we shall hear straight from Mulder's lips pretty soon.)

Is it fair? No. Is it Mulder? Yes.

CONCLUSION

Doggett, whether intentionally or not, shot himself in the foot by dismissing Mulder's first overture of trust. However, he is not the only one to blame for this situation-- if he even is-- because Mulder is returning that perceived wrong with a double dose. 

What will result from their upcoming confrontation: reestablished footing, or equally exchanged doubts and dismissals?

The episode’s almost a third of the way through, so I doubt it will be smooth sailing.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!  

[jackwolfes]

ooh i'd be interested in show!wesper and “You fucking lied to me and wasted my time, yet you have the audacity to cry about it and make it seem like it’s my fault things ended badly?”

oh I had FUN working this one out 👀

Their bedroom door swings shut with a thud just heavier than the silence it breaks. Jesper perches against their dresser, crossing his arms over his chest. Wylan refuses to look at him.

“So.”

Silently, Wylan peeks up at him. The ruddy flush that first started burning when Kaz spilled his little secret still lingers on his cheeks.

“I don't want to talk about it, Jesper.”

“What is there to talk about?”

Wylan's brow pinches. “Jesper…”

Jesper puts his hand on the dresser, fingers drumming over the wood. There's a knot at the centre of his chest, and whatever is hiding inside it feels ugly.

“I'm just saying, what's the point in talking to each other when I can just wait for Kaz to drop a bombshell bit of news about my own boyfriend?”

“I'm sorry, but—”

“Some things are better coming from Kaz fucking Brekker?”

Sharply, Wylan exhales. “Can you stop being so difficult about this, please?”

“Hey, you're the one who's been lying to me, merchling.”

Although Wylan doesn't acknowledge the derivative nickname verbally, Jesper sees the way it rankles him. “I didn't lie,” Wylan insists. “You never asked.”

“Yeah, well, is your father the richest man in Ketterdam isn't usually my go to method for picking up a one night stand.”

A hurt look dances across Wylan's face, and too late Jesper realises what he said. A one night stand. As if a man so brilliant can be reduced to something so paltry. He wavers.

“Wylan—”

“No, you're right. I wasted your time.” Wylan turns around again, digging through the mess their life has grown into in search of his things. He's already grabbed his rucksack, heaving it onto the bed like he means to take everything when he leaves.

Jesper's lungs squeeze, equal parts panic and an itch to run to a dice table. Only one thing has soothed that itch better than a gamble, and the distance between them grows like a wildfire.

“So, what, you're just going to run away from me like you ran away from your cushy life and your father?”

Wylan turns, chin raised and a petulant frown on his perfect lips. “The reason I left my father's home is not your concern.”

“Then what is, Wylan? I thought we had a good thing going—”

“And you don't think that'll change now that you know I'm a useless Geldstraat brat? I'm damaged goods, Jesper. That's why I left.”

Wylan tracks his gaze up and down Jesper’s frame, then shakes his head as if to clear a bad thought. Lifting his rucksack over his shoulder, he hunches into himself. It's obvious, the way he tries so hard to make himself small, and upsetting that he's so damn good at it.

“It doesn't matter,” he mutters, making for the door. “You'll figure it out for yourself soon enough and won't want me around once you do, so maybe it's better that I leave now.”

“Don't make it my fault that you're choosing to leave,” Jesper bites out. “You're running.”

“Maybe you just don't know when to walk away from a bad hand.”

Before he can stop himself Jesper shoots out a hand and grabs Wylan's wrist, grip tightening around the frail bone. Sharply, the boy inhales. Jesper feels the air dance between their faces; Wylan’s breath on his chin.

“You aren't a bad hand, Wylan. Believe it or not, you're the best damn thing that's ever happened to me.”

Jesper's voice is low, rippling with a thousand unsaid promises he'd been too scared to admit to before this very second. He's still scared, honestly, but more scared about a world where Wylan isn't here.

It was always too good to be true, what they had, but Jesper's a greedy, delusional fool and he wants Wylan so fucking badly.

“I'm not going to cry about it and make it your fault when this ends badly,” Wylan whispers.

Jesper swallows. “You want this to end?”

Whatever guarded fear Wylan had in his eyes melts, slowly but surely. “Ghezen, no.”

Carefully, Jesper squeezes Wylan's wrist. Tension leeches out from the boy’s joints and, slowly, he leans his weight into Jesper's body. Unsure how he could ever stop himself, Jesper ducks his head and presses a gentle kiss to the top of Wylan's head.

“Stay, merchling. I want you to.”

Wylan's voice cracks. “For how long?”

And there's nothing to say to that, really, that would soothe the hurt etched deep into either of their bones, but that's the Barrel.

Jesper shrugs, smiles, and is entirely satisfied by the soft smile Wylan gives him in return. “Long enough to take you out for waffles, at least.”

Softly, Wylan laughs. He lets his rucksack slide to the floor, laces his hand in Jesper's, and follows him out the door.

They have waffles to eat.

[theredconqueror]

The lighter conversation is a welcome relief after the tumultuous storm of a day that it's been. All of his fault, he realizes now. But they are mistakes he won't make again. He's been warned. An easy smile slips on his lips, if only to leave the casual prophecy unbroken. That he might kill a few more gods... the sun would sooner fall from the sky than that. "Oh, only that? He won't ask for the Maker next, will he?" He tsks, with equal playfulness. The next question should be met with just as breezy a sentence, like beach air. But it excavates too much of the past. By all accounts, he is a man who should be married by his age, though fortunately the embarrassment is lessened slightly that they seemingly have an even older bachelor among them. But Emmrich isn't bound to the same chains of society as he is. There is only one way that he would have ever married... "A heart," he answers with a heavy sincerity and muted smile as the drowning gaze takes in the other's face, and then lets the topic die. That is the only thing that he and Lucanis will be unable to give, and so they are safe from each other. He feels it before he sees it, the song of crimson, only a single note, barely a tune. He looks at the blood with a fascination, before he snaps his head over to some other wares, as if he's interested in them. He's sorry for what he said... though doesn't bother to offer apology; he knows such words of condolence will mean nothing to a mourner. The transaction is completed, the melody faded, as he looks back to the assassin. It's not an unreasonable question; normal people have families. Their little group is a rather unlucky bunch, for the most part. He supposes that it might have explained why he'd been willing to risk his life to stop the ritual of an elvhen god, which might have destroyed his city, though of course the world, as well. What kind of a man so recklessly rolls the dice on his life, if not for the sake of others? "No," he answers simply, not out of lack of grief, but out of disdain for any potential pity. He gives a shrug, "Perhaps it is better that way. There is no one who will have to mourn me." In this, he knows Lucanis will understand. A fate worse than death: to grieve another.

Dusk begins to percolate through black leaves of trees and gaps of eaves, the buildings of Treviso erected in designs that would best reflect the setting sun across the city. Stained windows turn radiant, painting the streets colorful. Warm and inviting, opposite to the crows flitting about in the shadows. Countless hours were spent amidst the rooftops across the years; there was spot not too far from the markets where he and Illario would perch, goading one another to try and steal the most well-guarded goods on display. Foolhardy antics reserved for teenage boys who thought the world easier to understand. It's difficult, he realizes, to recall the last time he heard his brother's laughter. Not the practiced reaction employed to sound appealing, but the ridiculous hyena-cackle that pulled his lips back and showed his teeth, the crooked incisors.

[ The potential is not the actual. We dismantle thought. There is no edge sharper than. What we wish to see. ]

Cold. Calculated. Lucanis is supposed to embody the poetry of the kill. Instead, he snorts. A grin pulls into view, features easing from the onslaught of old memories — the sensation of each raw and tender as salt against the wound as he walks these streets once more. "Aren't you down selling yourself too much? Well, if a humble mage were to ask after slaying a few more gods, then the answer might be more favorable," he responds, tone glib. A brief foray into something playful. "For the sake of clarity, do you require any goats? Or is a dangerous artefact or two more reasonable?" Or perhaps it's something more priceless than that; heirs to carry on the name. At the mention of a grandfather, Lucanis tempers his expression as reality reminds him the (pragmatic) duty of progeny to continue the legacy. The quality of one's blood-lineage is of most importance in Tevinter, he knows it well after spilling enough of it to be decried as demon. Executioner.

Fitting for a Dellamorte to bring an end to other's houses. [ Grandfather's voice was. Acrid. A gentle collapsing. The removal of the insides. ]

He picks up the dagger this time, eyes half-lidded as he inspects the details and tests the sharpness of the blade by pressing thumb to edge. Blood beads. "No. She's not." And in the end, gold exchanged for something impractical, the act itself becomes a gift received. A knot forms in his stomach, feeling as if a knife's at his throat with this belligerent action. "Do you... Have family in Tevinter?" Do you miss them?

[duck-newton]

I feel like i might be in the minority on this but I really don’t care if d&d podcasts like. follow the rules. I enjoy my fun little podcasts for the story i don’t give a shit if they’re not rolling dice right

[s0ckh3adstudios]

I REALLY JUST SAT DOWN FOR THE LAST TWO DAYS TO MAKE REGRETEVATOR NPC DESIGNS AND FALL DEEPER DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE. WHAT IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING TO ME

Considering the goofy nature and the endless potential and possibilities that seem to come with Regretevator and its characters, I thought it would be really fun (and a good character design exercise) to make some NPC designs! I tried to remain as faithful as you can get to the Regretevator "standards" with these. Tried to be goofy. A few of them do have lore that goes a bit deeper in my head despite their goofy designs :)

[calciferstims]

day 1 of @deadboystims’s 300 follower event

a board based on your queer identities! (mine are nonbinary, bisexual, and queer as hell!!)

(I know I’m joining this pretty late but who cares, this isn’t high school)

sources: 🩷💜💙 | 🏳️‍🌈☀️🏳️‍🌈 | 💛💜🖤

[akkivee]

AND THEIR SAUCE????????

[breezere]

people dont draw kokichi wearing silly lil capes/cloaks more often and i think thats so tragic

[mic-check-stims]

Walkshipping board for that one anon from forever ago who asked about my ships

X-X X-X X-X

[vorestarr]

the saves for persuasion rolls when you're trying to convince a companion to use the astral tadpole:

Astarion: 15*

Gale: 18

Karlach: 7, then 14**

Lae'zel: 18

Minthara: none lol

Shadowheart: 15

Wyll: 18

*Astarion doesn't require a persuasion roll. you have to talk him into it through multiple dialogue choices instead of a persuasion check, and then it requires either wisdom or intimidation at 15 for him to finally agree

**Karlach requires one persuasion roll at 7 and then a second persuasion or intimidation roll at 14

(note these are all from my games, not any meta data, so i don't know if there are conditions that may change the rolls, but the numbers have seemed consistent through multiple games)

[todayisafridaynight]

So what are you gonna franchise are you gonna do after Yakuza? Like you did the DB

if i knew my contract liking rgg was expiring soon then id probably have something lined up but fuuck man i dont know. maybe theyll give me an extension to keep liking rgg until i find something else

[ilovettrpgs]

What's ttrpgs?

I just stared at my screen like this

[dlstmxkakwldrlarchive]

the way members are stereotyped even in the year 2024 makes me INSANE. Minho homophobic jock. Kibum gayer than he actually is like they want him to be a white gay so bad and he really isn't like hes actually just normie gay. Taemin either uwu audhd quirkbean or gay as well meanwhile he's giving aggressively heterosexual. Jinki boring old chicken yoga. Jonghyun I don't even wanna speak on because the way he's talked about and stereotyped these days is a big fat MESS

no bcs you would think a group that has been around for 16 years wouldn't have to deal with something like this but WRONG and it's not only new fans that do it like old fans do nawt joke abt making up shit lol. 'I'm a debutwol so i know x and y 🤓' FAWK OFF bcs these are the same ppl who started labeling minho as violent bcs of some inside joke during that vlive with the other members and joked that he was the one who broke kibum's arm in hard era or are conviced that actually the reason jinki doesnt strip is bcs he likes to 'tease jjinggus'

and jjong being reduced to #taeminniesmom pisses me off so much im sorry

[haze-of-hyperfixations]

Hi! 👋 Do you have any lgbt+ hcs for asoue or atwq? 🌈 :)

Hi! 👋

Thanks for the ask!! Here's some of my headcanons:

ASOUE:

Violet - bi. also i think it'd be funny if she had crushes on both Isadora and Quigley, and made some comment about "hey, maybe i have a type. or something." meanwhile her siblings are like. violet. they are identical.

Carmelita - aro. doesn't realize this until way after canon (assuming the entire unfortunate gen survives for the sake of both the post and my feelings) because she genuinely never considers that romantic attraction is like. a real thing. she thinks everyone's just being weird about dating because they're just weird like that. and she's totally better than them anyways, so she doesn't really give it any more thought for a while. she basically avoids the entire self-questioning stage like that, and it isn't until a while after canon, once she's kind of had a redemption arc and kind of formed some kind of connection with other characters, that she's just arguing with someone one day about something to do with romance, and the other character is like. uh. actually that's not universal and i think you might be aro. and she kind of has to process that for a few minutes. but she ends up basically going "oh, so it's not everyone? it's just me? that's awesome." also modern AU Carmelita would make those posts that are like, pink hearts and sparkly, elegant cursive saying stuff like "romance is dead and i killed it." (i just googled it, it's called aro lovecore.) anyways, post-canon aro Carmelita. :)

Isadora - trans girl. and she's unsure of her specific orientation, but knows she definitely likes girls.

Quigley - ace. questioning both gender and romantic orientation, but probably somewhere under the nonbinary umbrella. and possibly bi. listen just let the kid figure stuff out post-canon. where's that post that goes "i'm probably nonbinary but i have a job so idc about that right now". that's Quigley but the job is not dying and processing childhood trauma.

Sunny - post-canon, older Sunny also gets hit by the aro headcanon beam. i just think it'd be really neat.

not a lot of thoughts on the sugarbowl gen, except possibly pan Beatrice Baudelaire and aro Sally Sebald? idk, I think about the unfortunate gen a lot more, ha.

ATWQ:

Moxie - possibly arospec? okay, admittedly i just thought of this headcanon now. but arospec Moxie would add an interesting layer to her dynamic with Ellington and Lemony. especially if you interpret the Lemony/Ellington as onesided, with Lemony being the one with the romantic feelings. because like. platonic jealousy over your best friend's crush (who doesn't reciprocate, but maybe she does, but who even cares? not Moxie.) is an interesting dynamic. because Ellington Feint contrasts her in a thousand narrative, thematical ways that other people could write about better than me. but Lemony's also kind of infatuated with her, and she gets that slightly romanticized place in his narrative that Moxie doesn't. and of course that could lead to additional resentment. and some of it's jealousy, some of it's anxiety, some of it's frustration, but the whole thing could lead to really interesting internal conflict. especially after Lemony leaves, and the other kids have to figure out a new sense of normal after all that. idk. interesting thought.

Ellington - lesbian. also just thought of that one now, so idk. but i've been kind of on the fence for a while about the Lemony/Ellington thing and all it's ambiguity. my current headcanon is that it was onesided on Lemony's side, and that Ellington didn't have any romantic feelings for him. and i need to reread the books, i love them so much and it's been a little while, but yeah, Ellington being gay is a neat concept, i think.

in conclusion, i think basically all of these characters are Very Much Not Straight, but the ones listed were just the first ones i could think of!

thanks again for the ask!! have a great day, and happy pride month!! :)