#my poor comms sheet looks so plain

[mariyaki]

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[halfblood-fiend]

Star Trek Bingo 2020: Vertical Prompt 3

Chess/”Board” Games

Show: Voyager

Words: 1,841

Rating: General Audiences

Warning(s): shenanigans

Dungeons and Bandwagons

When Giana attempts to organize her first D&D campaign onboard the Voyager, it turns out to be a bit more complicated than she thought.

Read it on AO3

We’d been going around and around for most of our lunch break. I did not think that introducing twenty-third century people to D&D would be so difficult.

After another explanation, Harry Kim stared at me with his hands folded beneath his chin for too long a while. “I don’t get it,” he said finally, picking his fork back up to resume playing with his food. “How is that supposed to be better than a holodeck program?”

“Uhhh… it’s interactive and adaptable?”” I offered. “Your DM makes the story up for you as you go.”

“An adept programmer could make the holodeck function in the same manner,” Vorik chimed in from my right. I had to keep from rolling my eyes.

 “Hey! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

He shrugged without looking at me. “I am on the side of logic.”

I ignored this, shaking my head and insisted to Harry, “There are scenarios you just can’t plan for.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Like…”

God. Like deciding to bang the first NPC you meet. Why? Eh, just ‘cause. Like deciding as a group to put on a spur-of-the-moment chili cook off to grant the deed to the town’s tavern to the winner because, obviously a chilli cook-off is the most fair way to make decisions. Or like deciding to betray your entire party for your character’s freedom, and then betraying those new allies and running off alone. Or like solving every kidnapping or murder problem by rolling the unwanted body up in a rug, and then lying to so many people about your rug selling business that your party all decide to petition the city for an actual business license, thus derailing the campaign for weeks as you all turn in your paperwork and get in touch with a real estate agent within the fantasy city in order to find a place to house your Totally-Not-Fake Rug and Carpeting Business.

But how to explain all that?

“Man… you just gotta trust me,” I sighed. “There are way too many variables to be able to make a program that will adapt to all of them. You have no way of knowing what could happen during a D&D campaign. Trust me.”

“Eh, I’m down to try,” Lyssa Campbell said. When Harry gave her a doubtful look, she shrugged. “Hey, it’s gotta be better than that poker everyone is always playing. And as long as we’re all relaxing and talking and having fun, then it sounds like it’ll be just fine.”

“Sounds like a rip off of my Grendel program,” Harry muttered. “And not even as interesting because we aren’t fighting holographic monsters. We’re just—what? —imagining everything happening?”

“Aha! I got it,” I said with a snap of my fingers, cutting off whatever he was talking about. “Dice!”

Harry raised his eyebrows and Vorik said, “Explain.”

“You can’t roll dice on the holodeck.”

“So?”

“So! Rolling the dice to try and see how well you do things is the best part!”

“If you’re telling me that’s the best part of this game, I’m really doubting how much “fun” you claim it to be.”

“Aww, come on, Harry! Let’s just try it!”

He shook his head again, but a smile started pulling at his lips. “Fine, but I’m not going to have fun and I will complain the whole time.”

“Doubt that,” I replied with a wink. “But I’ll take it for now.”

“Giana! If you can spare a moment, I have an inquiry regarding your role-playing game.”

Similar sentiments had been asked of me by most of my friends and future players, but Vorik was the last person that I had expected to have any trouble with character building. Yet here Vorik was, appearing at my shoulder before I could enter the turbolift to leave Engineering.

“An inquiry? Now is that more or less important than a plain question?”

He gave me a puzzled look as we entered the lift together and I smiled.

“Nevermind. Shoot.”

“What?”

“Ask me the question. Deck two.”

The turbolift slid into motion and Vorik began, “I was looking over the documents you sent those of us who required characters for your Dungeons and Dragons—”

I smiled at his use of the name but nodded.

“—and I noticed that ‘Human’ is among the other more fantastical races that one can play. It gave me an idea that I wished to discuss with you.”

“Oh, yeah… I mean, I wouldn’t worry about that. It’s just an old Human-made game, remember? Don’t take it too seriously. I, like, literally never actually played a Human before. That would just be like playing myself and, sure, you always kinda do that but who wants to be so obvious about it?”

Vorik blinked. “I would.”

It was my turn to ask, “What?”

“If Humans can exist in this world, then I would like to role-play as a Vulcan.”

I chewed my lip, my heart sinking because I felt like Vorik was missing the point. Here I thought he was going to do something interesting when he asked to join the party. I was excited to see what he would come up with. But, then again, it wasn’t like he role-played very much when we played Skyrim together on the holodeck either. His inflexible and aloof attitude usually confused all the Nords until I stepped in to use the “proper” language. Made him useless at price haggling.

Since he wanted to play at all, I conceded to myself, that had to be close enough. I didn’t want to totally control his play. I never liked it when my DMs had done that in the past.

He a little confused, but he got the spirit.

“Okay,” I relented, “I’ll see what I can do about homebrewing a ‘Vulcan’ stat-block for you, just…promise me one thing?”

My Vulcan companion quirked an eyebrow at me. “Yes?”

The turbolift stopped and opened its doors. I could hear the sounds of soft chatter and laughter coming from the mess hall. Whatever Neelix was cooking wafted up the corridor and smelled really promising. My stomach grumbled in response.

“Just don’t play yourself,” I said as we both stepped off the lift and the doors slid closed behind us. “If you show up with a character named ‘Vorik,’ I’m going to kick you from the game. And then, literally kick you in the shins.”

“An extreme reaction, don’t you think?”

I put up my fists as if I was gonna fight him. “Oh, I can get more extreme.”

Looking at my poor guard dubiously, he said dryly, “I’m sure. Your Human penchant for hysterics?”

“Hysterics?! Oh! Well how about your high drama, mister??”

“I do not know to what you could be referring.”

The line at Neelix’s kitchen counter was somewhat long, which gave Vorik and I plenty of time to debate the “logic” of Vulcan fashion choices back and forth. I insisted they were dramatic for no reason and Vorik tried to act like real thought went into all the high collars and zig-zagged diagonal clasps. Neelix’s pasta dish actually did look as promising as it smelled, which was a nice surprise.

“Ah, Miss Giana, I almost forgot,” Neelix gasped as I turned away, drawing me back. “Ensigns Swinn and Jurot wanted to ask you about—ah—something called a ‘character sheet’?”

I thanked him with a smile and motioned for Vorik to help me pick them out of the crowded hall at dinner hour.

The day had come to start our campaign and not a moment too soon. I was excited as all hell. I’d hardly slept at all the night before, choosing instead to expand some NPC backstories and prepare a few more monsters. Just in case.

All of my players’ character sheets were checked and filed on my PADD for reference. I couldn’t help but laugh when Vorik sent me his and I saw the name at the top of the sheet. He had listened to me and wasn’t playing himself…but I was very curious to see how Surak the monk was going to handle my adventure. I was pretty pleased with everyone’s character concepts, actually. I had a pretty balanced group.

I’d decided some time ago that a grand total of six players was all that I could conceivably handle. But that hadn’t stopped everyone else from trying to ask for a spot. Dozens of requests had flooded my inbox from all corners of the ship (Neelix’s doing, I assumed) and I had spent a good chunk of time yesterday writing personal “sorry, maybe next times.”

Even Chakotay had sent me a note! Not to, like, join or anything, but still! He mentioned that he was familiar with the old game and wanted to tell me that he thought it would be good for morale and crew unity and other things commanders cared about.

I practically sprinted away the second my shift was over, bolting to the door before Lieutenant Carey had even said goodbye.

I was the last player on duty, and my group’s attitude towards D&D had changed dramatically once they’d built their characters. They all made me promise not to keep them waiting for too long.

And speak of the devil.

The communicator badge on my chest chirped before I’d made it halfway down the corridor. Harry’s voice crackled over the comm.

“Uhhh…Giana?”

I tapped the badge to answer. “Yeah, yeah, Harry. I’m on my way as fast as I can, okay?”

“Oh… No, no. It’s not that…”

Was I hearing things, or did I detect the hum of a lot of voices in the background?

“What is it?”

He sounded uncomfortable. “I think we need to find a different venue to play. Your quarters are going to be a little cramped…” Muted voices spoke rapidly but I couldn’t catch any words. “Meet us in the Lounge instead. Vorik says he has a code and he’d grab the PADD with your notes. I made him promise not to look.”

Nervous laughter bubbled from my mouth. “Uhh…why?”

Vorik’s voice resonated over Harry’s comm. “There are thirty-six other people who would like to spectate our game. At first it did not seem inconceivable to accommodate a few of them when they asked…”

“But all of us told a couple people that they could come and now there’s thirty-six of them,” Harry finished. “Sorry, Gee…”

Thirty-six… That’s forty-two people…

My jaw actually dropped.

“Okay,” I said in a small voice. “See… S-See you all there…” I killed the line by tapping on my badge again and wobbled.

I was shaking when I boarded the turbolift.

I’d never DM-ed a game before in my life, even though I’d talked about doing so on several occasions back home. So, without experience, or my old friends to ask for tips, I was already starting out nervous.

But now?

Holy shit.

What was I gonna do??

I blinked and the turbolift doors slipped shut on me, whisking me away to an uncertain fate.

[ilovemygaydad]

Friends in Dark Places [ch 6]

pairing: eventual moxiety, eventual logince, background eventual remile, background eventual remy/emile/deceit

WARNINGS: food mentions, eating, nightmares, crying, swearing, a poor excuse for the “sharing a bed” trope, anxiety, depression, possibly something else but it really is mostly fluff this chapter

tag list: @hufflepuffgirl01 @cocobearthe4th @cas-is-a-hunter@band-be-boss-blog @theunoriginaldaisy

a/n: so i have to repost all of these in a different format! yay fucking me!!!! please consider reblogging these if you’re a fan of this series because it’s all fucked up now

first - previous - next - companions

consider buying me a coffee (please)

-

When he’d agreed to stay with Patton’s family, Virgil really hadn’t thought about the fact that they would have dinner together every night, but here he was, sitting in their kitchen with a heaping plate of chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans as they talked about anything and everything. He absently ate his food, not really listening to their conversation. It felt like he was intruding, even though they’d offered to take him in.

“So, Virgil. We hear you go to school with Patton. Do you have any classes with him?” Mrs. Shea asked. Virgil nearly choked on his food with the shock of being addressed so casually.

“Um, no. I don’t,” he responded quickly. He might’ve had some in the past, but high school was just one big blur to him. No use in keeping memories if there aren’t any to save.

“I see.” Mr. Shea hummed thoughtfully. “Do you have any fun classes this semester? Pat’s taking child guidance and he really enjoys it!” 

“I have Graphics III and a Theatre independent study where I basically make sure everything's running smoothly for the shows.” Virgil pushed the remaining food around on his plate, determined to not make an ass of himself in front of people he barely knew.

“You do theatre? Pat, isn’t Roman trying out for ‘Cinderella?’” Mr. Shea seemed to be determined, too; however, his determination lied in a need to ask as many questions possible.

“Of course he is! He’d never pass up an opportunity to be on stage, especially if he can be a prince,” Patton said with a touch of platonic love in his voice. Virgil was shocked that Roman was trying out for the show. It wasn’t like the kid gave off a constant aura of drama or anything.

“I don’t act, just to be clear. I’m set designer and head of sound, so I deal with all of the sound effects and mics.” He’d never try out for a show. First, he had no interest to put himself on stage in a dumb costume in front of all of his peers, and second, he really, really didn’t want to have to spend more time with the snobby actors than he had to.

“Well, that’s fun!” Mrs. Shea said with a large smile. Virgil just nodded and took another bite of his mashed potatoes. The conversation luckily turned back to Patton’s other friends, and he was able to enjoy his dinner in the comfort of the defocused static of voices.

---

Somehow Virgil did manage to finish all of his homework the next day and also help Patton finish his. The happy-go-lucky teenager seemed to have some trouble with the more technical subjects like physics but had absolutely no issue with the more creative ones like comm arts. That made sense to Virgil, however, since Patton was much more emotional than logical. It was as if he channeled his emotions into whatever he did without really thinking it through as a step-by-step process.

Sunday night, Virgil went to sleep completely exhausted from the mentally-taxing work that he’d done that day. At around midnight, however, he woke up to the sound of someone knocking on his door. Virgil grabbed his phone and turned on the flashlight, leaving it on his nightstand face down so it would partially illuminate his bedroom, and walked to the door. Unsurprisingly, Patton was on the other side with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Surprisingly, wet tear tracks were staining his cheeks.

“Woah, Pat. Are you okay?” Virgil asked.

“I had a nightmare,” Patton softly cried. “It was really vivid, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Hey. It’s okay. I’m all good, see?” Virgil patted himself on the cheeks as some sort of weird assurance. “Do you want to sleep in here? I’ll sleep on the floor, and you can take my bed.” 

The crying boy shook his head. “I don’t want you to have to give up your bed for me. I’ll sleep on the floor.” Patton made a move to go lay his blanket down, but Virgil grabbed his shoulder, easily stopping his movements.

“Okay, since you obviously aren’t going to make this easy for me, how about we just share the bed? There’s plenty of room for two people.” Virgil hesitated on that last part, still not completely comfortable with sharing a bed with someone he’d only met a week ago, but... he knew that Patton wasn’t going to let him be uncomfortable. Pat just nodded and waddled to the side of the bed where the sheets weren’t disrupted and sat down. Virgil followed, but flopped himself down on his own side.

“G’night, Pat. Sleep well.” He turned off his phone’s flashlight and pulled the covers over his head.

“Good night.”

---

When Virgil’s alarm woke him up at 6:30, he found himself with an arm on his waist and his legs tangled with someone else’s. He yelped and accidentally threw himself off of the bed; idly, he realized that his legs still partially hung on the mattress. It took him a few seconds to realize who was in the bed and why they were there, but that still didn’t explain why he’d ended up entangled with Patton.

He sighed and did a backwards somersault to right himself and stood. It probably would be appropriate to wake Patton up so he wouldn’t end up late to school. He sleepily traversed to the other side of the bed and began gently shaking his friend.

“Pat,” Virgil whispered. “Patton, it’s time to get up.” The still-asleep Patton groaned but rolled over, shielding his eyes from the sun filtering through the blinds. It took a little more shaking to actually get him out of the bed, but it was eventually done.

“I’m gonna go take a shower and get changed, so I suppose you should do the same,” Virgil said as he went to gather some clothes from his suitcase and walked into his own personal en-suite bathroom. Still pretty fancy.

Virgil took a short shower, spending just long enough under the water to thoroughly wash his hair and body, and got changed, smudging some dark eyeshadow under his eyes. He pulled on a pair of socks and laced up his favorite black high tops, being careful not to get any of his skinny jeans stuck inside. That was an uncomfortable mistake he’d learned to avoid after one fateful day.

He left his room at the same time Patton did, who was wearing another light-blue t-shirt with a grey cardigan tied around his waist. Any signs of his nightmare had been completely washed away.

“Hey, kiddo! Your outfit looks awesome!” Pat had a giant smile on his face.

“Uh, thanks… Your… shoes… look good?” Virgil didn’t know if he was supposed to return the compliment, so he tried. It didn’t work too well.

“Thanks! Let’s head downstairs and get some breakfast.” The duo made their way down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Mrs. Shea was waiting with scrambled eggs and toast.

“If either of you need more food, I put the extras in the fridge in the red Tupperware container.” Mrs. Shea walked out of the kitchen, but Virgil had no idea where she had gone. He still hadn’t been in any of the rooms besides his and Pat’s bedrooms, and the whole layout of the house was a bit of a mystery. The adults obviously had a bedroom, but it didn’t seem like it was upstairs.

Each of the boys took a plate of food and sat down at the kitchen table. Virgil began to munch on his plain toast, idly messing around on his phone. For a few minutes, the only sounds in the kitchen were crunching toast and silverware on ceramic.

“How did you sleep, Virge?” Patton asked before shoving a giant forkful of eggs into his mouth. Virgil could see how Roman described Pat as a “food vacuum” while they were in the hospital.

“Pretty good. How about you--after your nightmare, of course?” Virgil took the final bite of his toast and began on his own eggs.

“I slept great!” Patton replied, but his voice became slightly more sheepish. “Thanks for letting me stay in your room.”

“Don’t worry about it, Pat,” the other reassured. It truly wasn’t a bother to Virgil; he’d slept better than he had in a long time. He switched off his phone to retain his full attention on his friend.

“Well, still. Thanks.” Patton glanced down at his watch. “We should probably finish up eating soon. Logan and Roman should be here soon to pick us up.”

Virgil nodded and scooped some more eggs into his mouth. It only took him another minute to finish and hand his plate to Patton, who had already began to rinse the dishes and load them into the dishwasher. Virgil ran upstairs to grabbed his backpack, making absolute certain that all of his homework and supplies were packed before bringing the whole thing down. Patton did the same, and they walked outside to sit on the porch together. Just a few minutes later, Logan’s beat-up Intrepid pulled into the driveway blasting “A Girl Worth Fighting For.” Virgil couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the sight of Roman dramatically singing along and Logan’s “I am so fucking done with your shit” expression.

It was going to be a really great day.

next

[lionesshathor]

Of Lekku and Boxer Shorts

It started with a Hera reference sheet, and @pomrania calling her headscarf...thingy “head underwear”.

Welp, “Head underwear” really got to me. Like, what if Hera ended up wearing one of Kanan’s boxers on her lekku at some point? Either out if desperation, as an attempt to flirt, or maybe she lost a bet? It would be even funnier if the fabric had some dorky heart pattern or lettering. Can you imagine her wearing some space-Hawaiian themed shorts with ALOHA printed across the ass(or in this case, brow)? Wouldn’t they be a bit loose, considering that a head and lekku are smaller than a waist and legs? Does Kanan own any sexy underwear?

And then I started headcanoning HARDER. (And fanfictioning!)

~~Desperation~~

“Just WHERE in the Nine Corellian Hells are my headscarves?!” Hera bellowed.

Kanan froze. It had been his night for laundry; had he forgotten to bring up everything after sorting? “Hold on, I’ll get your stuff out of the cleaning unit!” He called back, dashing to the cubby near the cargo hold. Yes, there was the barrel-shaped washer/dryer, full to the brim with clothes. Except...the usual “cycle complete” light wasn’t lit. In fact, now that he looked at it, the clothes seemed to be exactly the way he’d left them when he put them in. Panic crawling up his throat, he checked the chutes for soap and softener. Neatly filled, undisturbed...

“Ka-naaaaaan!” Hera yowled.

Oh, she was going to be PISSED. He’d forgotten to turn the stupid thing on, and a full cleaning cycle lasted hours!

Kanan reached for his comm, bracing himself. “I...uhm, the laundry isn’t ready.”

Silence, deadly silence...

He gulped and held it as far away from himself as he could while still picking up his voice. “I kinda...forgot to...turn the machine on?”

“You WHAT?!” Not good. The last time she’d been this angry was when she’d discovered a hidden bottle of booze in his cabin. “I need a headscarf, Kanan! I can’t exactly pilot the Ghost from my bunk! You’d better come up with one, even if you have to sew it yourself!”

The commlink was shaking, whether from the force of Hera’s rage or Kanan’s dread was unclear. “I’ll, ah, see what I can do...” He managed.

Ten minutes later, he appeared at her cabin with a replacement. Hera glowered at him, and then regarded the clothing in his hand.

“Are those... boxer shorts?” She asked.

Kanan pressed his face against the bulkhead to hide his blush, holding the white underwear at arm’s length. “They’re clean, I found the most pristine pair I could, and it’s the closest thing I could find to what you wear...” He mumbled against the metal.

A hand brushed his, taking the offered boxers. Kanan fled to the cockpit.

When Hera joined him, boxer shorts neatly threaded over her lekku and under her pilot’s cap, he did his best not to stare.

“The laundry’s in progress.” He offered quietly.

Her only response was to growl and start punching buttons on the console, getting the Ghost ready to fly.

~~Flirting~~

“C’mere, Luv. I’ve got a surprise for you tonight...”

Kanan flicked on the lights in her cabin, the door whooshing shut behind him. Hera was lounged on her bunk, sporting her usual thermal sleep-suit except...

He gawked. Hera’s head and lekku were draped in pastel pink fabric, with palm trees and stylized waves patterned across the lot of it. On the elastic adorning her brow, bold lettering of “STUD” (or ‘DUTS’, since he was reading it upside down.) glared back at him.

“I didn’t even know you had something like this.” She continued, enjoying his befuddled yet aroused expression. “When did you get it? I don’t recall any tropical gift shops on our various adventures.”

Kanan swallowed hard, regaining enough brain power to speak. “I, ah, may have charmed that off a barmaid on Rion...” he said. “She offered me a night of fun, I declined, and then she tried to bargain with the shorts. Said it’d be so good I would need something to remember it by, that she could get me whatever I desired from the tourist shop overstock. But I said no again, so she threw them at me.”

Hera laughed. “You kept these? Ever since we went to Rion? Have you even worn them?”

“Not really, no” He said sheepishly. “They tend to remind me of the carouser I used to be, of when I would take up offers like that at every turn.”

Hera sobered. “What changed?”

“I met you, Hera Syndulla.” Kanan smiled. “There’s never been another woman for me, not since the day I blundered into you on Gorse.”

“Well, then,” She said, standing and coming up to caress his face. “Perhaps this can become something more than a mark of shame.”

Kanan leaned into her touch, but halted as he became level with the lettering once more. He sighed exasperatedly at the pink fabric and ridiculous pattern.

“Oh, gimme those.” he said, yanking them off her lekku. “I can’t take you seriously in tropical boxer shorts. Not even a revolutionary of your caliber can make these things meaningful.”

~~Losing a Bet~~

Long hyperspace jumps let to boredom. Boredom led to numerous improvised games, and poor judgement. Poor judgement led to making bets that the rational, calculating Captain Hera Syndulla would never have considered, had she been sane.

Losing said bets meant wearing a pair of white boxers under her usual headgear, hoping the rest of the crew wouldn’t notice. For a full day cycle aboard the ship.

Ezra seemed to buy her lie about “trying some looser, more casual headscarf”. Sabine just looked at the plain fabric, declared it too boring, and offered to paint it. When told no, she gave it another, more critical look, but otherwise kept her mouth shut. Zeb did his best to smother his laughter, knowing full well what he was looking at but trying to help his captain save face. He also offered to maul Kanan, but Hera politely declined. She thanked him for the gesture though, oddly pleased by the Lasat’s desire to defend her dignity.

Chopper didn’t say a word, likely because Hera threatened to pull his battery for the entire time. He had been conspicuously absent, likely giving Kanan an extra dose of his usual antics in retaliation.

Finally, the day was over and she could take the stupid thing off. She tossed it contemptuously in the laundry, and flopped into her bunk with a relieved sigh.

The next morning, she woke to her commlink beeping. Sleepily pawing at the cylinder, she finally got it in her hand and sat up to answer.

“Spectre two here, what is it?”

“Uh, it’s Kanan.” Came the reply. “The kids must’ve been angry about yesterday, because... Ugh, you better come see this.”

“Alright alright, gimme a minute.” She groused, reaching for her clothes. She quickly dressed and went to Kanan’s cabin.

The Jedi was surrounded by laundry, a blanket wrapped around his waist. Neatly sorted piles of clothes dotted the room, Sabine’s here, Ezra’s there...

Kanan was currently sifting through his own clothes, occasionally dropping a damaged article in a small heap. Hera looked closer, drowsiness making it hard to grasp what she was looking at. Mostly small, white things, obviously burnt.

It clicked. Someone had gotten ahold of Kanan’s underwear, and burnt enormous holes in each pair, rendering them useless. Memories of Chopper being gone most of yesterday returned; he must have taken his electro-prod to the whole lot in spite.

“Oh my stars...” Hera murmured, not sure if this was funny or tragic.

“It gets worse.” Kanan grumbled. “Remember that pair you were wearing? He spared it, and it looks like maybe he took it to Sabine...” He held up a pair of white boxers, with Property of Hera Syndulla written across the waistband in neat green letters. A copy of her lekku pattern had even been stenciled over the legs.

Hera couldn’t help herself. She sat down on his bunk and laughed, pity giving way to the sheer absurdity of his predicament. Oh, Chopper and whoever else he let in on it would get a scolding and be sent off to buy new underwear, but for now she could enjoy watching her hapless partner realize he had no choice but to wear the offending boxers.

It was going to be an interesting day...