#this is an ode to random roll tables

[theresattrpgforthat]

Do you know of any solo RPGs that could be plausibly played using the tumblr polls as a mechanic?

THEME: Tumblr Poll Solo Games

Hello dear friend, thank you so much for your patience. Let’s see what I can rustle up.

What I tried to focus on in this post is solo games that have roll tables or similar lists. One of the easiest ways I can think of transforming a ttrpg game into Tumblr polls is to move the roll tables into options on a poll! Many solo games present a large number of options, or a series of roll tables that can be used to generate complex characters, locations and problems. In those games, the player may have to generate a few options for their followers to vote on before the polls can contribute to gameplay. To see what kinds of options are out there, let’s take a look at a few!

Sweaters by Hedgehog, by Haunted Oak Press.

You’re just a little hedgehog person trying to sell your little sweaters in your little village shop. This game is about recording a log of your most interesting customers.

Sweaters by Hedgehog is a bit unique on this list because it uses a card deck rather than roll tables. One way you might be able to use roll tables to your advantage is present the different card options on a poll, rather than shuffling the cards into 4 different decks. Alternatively, you could draw a series of cards to present a number of customers, and then present the pre-designed customers in a poll - voters are selecting which customer actually enters the store!

If you would like a cute little game about making sweaters for friendly animal-folk, I definitely recommend Sweaters by Hedgehog.

Taken by the Shadows, by Mundos Infinitos.

A plagued city, a rogue with supernatural abilities.

The County of Arthath has been struck by The Muridae Plague. Riots caused by the dying common folk have weakened the military power. Count Vikkus has decided to establish The Stability Decree to strengthen security, place a curfew and close the border. 

But rumors about someone with the necessary skills to break these measures arise... Someone gifted with mysterious supernatural talents... A Masked Thief capable of taking whatever she wants from anyone, without ever being caught... 

Taken By The Shadows actually has a Duet mode, in which one player is the Oracle while the other is the player. This might also be a good match for Tumblr polls! There are randomly rolled options to set up your character and world, as well as a number of tables to establish the Jobs available. I think it might be really intriguing to roll on the tables to present a list of Jobs, and then use the Polls to determine which Job your character takes!

If you want a game about sneaking, smuggling, and spying, you might want to check out Taken by the Shadows.

Headlines from Hell, by Zeshio.

A cabal of overlords from hell called the ‘Lizards of the Roast’ have set a plan in motion to overthrow the mortal ruling kingdoms. Instead of using an overt army, hell is slowly corrupting officials. The overlords plan to seize power when enough mortals have been corrupted.

As an investigative reporter, you sense something is wrong. However, no one will believe you without evidence! Find enough information to unite the ruling kingdoms against the overlords of hell before their seeping corruption becomes absolute!

HEADLINES FROM HELL is a solo Table-Top Role Playing Game (TTRPG). In the game, you are a news reporter attempting to sway public opinion against corruption. To win the game, you need 20 EVIDENCE points. You lose if hell gets to 20 CORRUPTION.

This game contains two tracks that race against each-other in regards to how quickly they fill. One is the evidence track, which your character wants to fill in order to reveal the corruption of the Lizards. The other is the Corruption track, which increases each turn and makes it more difficult for you to uncover new information. 

Tumblr Polls can be used to help you out with the Headline Generator. You could present each Roll table separately, or roll on the tables to create a number of headlines, then present them to Tumblr for the final verdict. With each selected headline, you’ll also have to roll for public opinion, which could also be turned into a poll! (Very thematic if you ask me!) If you want a game that’s very tongue-in-check and feels like a race against the clock, you might want to check out Headlines From Hell. 

Wonderfall, by Catscratcher Studio.

WONDERFALL is a solo hexcrawl RPG about exploration and community building in a post-apocalyptic world. Your people was separated, but playing as a WANDERER (a cute anthropomorphic adventurer!), you'll recover and preserve lost knowledge and culture, help your community heal, and help the world rebuild!

Wonderfall is full of random tables, great for option generation. However, it also has a hex map involved, so this might require greater dedication if you want continue a storyline completely on Tumblr, as you might have to draw and then upload images of the hex map onto your blog. However, almost all choices presented to you can be generated by your followers: Origin Perks, people, encounters, Quests, Problems, etc. 

If you like a challenge, if you love map-making, and if you like the idea of anthropomorphic animals wandering a post-apocalyptic fantasy landscape, you should check out Wonderfall!

ScareBnB, by Jacqueline Bryce.

You're a ghost. You're haunting a quaint little bed and breakfast, in the city or the middle of nowhere. Halloween is coming up fast, and both the mortal and natural communities are in a tizzy. What's your unlife like around such an important holiday, in such a liminal space?

ScareBnB is a solo journaling game that requires only 1d20, writing materials, and as much time as you care to devote to it. It comes with a sample week-long scenario, sixty prompts for people and events, and a wealth of potential names for characters.

The character options for ScareBnB are lists of various descriptions and details that help you establish your Bed and Breakfast. There’s also a guest generator, which can be used to present a number of guest options, as well as a sample itinerary, which you could include in each poll to set each list of options within a larger narrative. For example, in New Arrivals, you could generate a couple of possible first-time visitors with the theme of encroaching on your ghosts’s space, and then ask your followers who the most exciting visitor is.

If you’re looking for a Halloween-themed game, or a sliding-scale between goofy and scary spooks, ScareBnB might be for you!

Sapling Soul, by breathingstories.

You are a Sapling Soul. You belong to the Forest but the Forest does not belong to you. The Forest is bigger than you in more ways than one, and you regard it with awe.

Most days you lead an average life, not so different to your peers. But some days you hear the Forest call and you answer. Always you answer.

Tonight the Forest calls to you again. There are always mysterious creatures in the Forest, but tonight something is amiss. There is a newcomer who may cause trouble. You are a Sapling Soul, you are called to help.

There are a few different pieces of Sapling Soul that could be re-designed for polls. One way is determining your attributes: Nurture, Empathy and Unknowable. You can roll 3d6 three times and assign them to your traits following what is voted on through your polls.

The majority of the gameplay works somewhat like a choose-your-own adventure; you could potentially present each option through a Poll, and then document the results of each choice. 

If you want to document a potentially haunting and definitely mysterious story of slowly becoming embraced by a Forest that doesn’t want to let you go, you should check out Sapling Soul.

Last Tea Shop, by Spring Villager.

You run a tea shop on the border of the living and the dead. The recently deceased visit for one last hot drink before their long journey into the Great Beyond. 

Time is strange here. Days and memories blur. Nobody visited yesterday—you are sure of that. Someone passed last week, but you can't recall their face.

The fog thins. A figure approaches. You stoke the fire.  

Last Tea Shop is a one-page solo game about tea and conversation. Set up your stall and wait for visitors to emerge out of the mist. Over a cup of tea, chat to the visitor about their life and help prepare them for their trip into the Lands of the Dead. Record their thoughts, fears, dreams and hopes in your journal for posterity.

There are a lot of lists in this game, from where your shop is located, what kinds of visitors you have, the weather of the day, and the supplies you have to help you make tea. You could potentially present polls for your followers to vote on for each list, interspersing each poll with a description of what happens!

This game also comes with a stall sheet, which can be used to outline how long you’ve been running the stall for, and which visitors have come and gone. If you’re looking for a cozy game that has a lovely setting, I’d recommend Last Tea Shop.

Goncharov: Goncharova, by StickyHunter.

Goncharov: Goncharova is a short journaling game following you—a screenwriter, given Martin Scorsese's personal blessing to create a sequel to Goncharov. This sequel will follow Goncahrov's wife, Katya Goncharova, framing the events of the first movie through the lens of her own experiences.

What kind of script will you write?

What better way to play a roleplaying game on Tumblr than by adding to a myth that originated on Tumblr itself? Goncharov: Goncharova has you writing a sequel to Goncharov by interspersing your own scenes with scenes from the original movie.  

There are eight options on the Scene Table, which can be translated into a Poll if you want your followers to choose what happens first. Each new scene must be followed by an iconic scene from the original, of which there are 12 (to represent the hands on a clock, no doubt).  Once you write the Final Betrayal Scene, the game is over - and you are free to tie up any loose ends. 

If you want the most referential, in-joke game that you can experience on Tumblr, I heavily recommend Goncharov: Goncharova.

[quajzen]

I think I get one of the roles dice play in OSR games, that I didn't get before.

I used to think dice were for randomly deciding between things a human couldn't fictionally determine, or it would be wrong for one to do so: e.g. does an attack hit in combat? Hard to say in the fiction if all that is said is "I swing my sword" and not super fair for any one person (GM or player) to simply declare. I though this philosophy was also valid for random encounters, reaction rolls, open door checks... but I think there's something else dice can do.

I re-read this blog post, this one too, and watched this Bandit's Keep video. The first discusses "the oracular power of dice," the central point being that dice are "game oracles," giving glimpses of the abstract question. The second looks at random encounters and suggests you take an OD&D wilderness encounter roll, and turn it into an interesting situation on the fly, using the usual rolls (reaction, distance, surprise, etc.) as prompts for forming this. The last discusses what "getting lost" in a hexcrawl means: is it realistic? How do we fictionally justify this?

I think all of these point to the same idea: dice provide abstracted (in the game sense) answers to exploration questions, though not a full answer. The structure of rolls, the questions they answer, fill in blanks the GM might have about, say, an encounter, in a way that promotes creativity (by making compromises of apparent roll result paradoxes).

The natural conclusion of dice being oracles then, is that the GM is an interpreter, one who must make sense of the seeming paradoxes and deliver the news to a wider table. This will involve some improvisation, creativity, and a feel for the world and its inhabitants. It also sounds very fun. I can brainstorm a couple of reasons why a group of bandits might be friendly towards the party (did they mistake them for comrades? Are they on the lamb and looking for genuine help, or to exploit?).

GM-procedural dice rolls are then worldbuilding prompts, ready to be riffed on at the table.

I read once in a Marc Miller interview (creator of Traveller), that early on when making games, he didn't want someone else to do the imagining for him. I like this idea. Give me some leads, and I will make do with however many bandits, at any distance, with any sort of attitude.

[destronlok]

On Maze Rats

I've been looking for an RPG I could play for my work colleagues, with minimal dice and prep.

I think for me, that game is Maze Rats by Ben Milton.

The easiest way to describe this game is that it is inspired by OD&D, but it uses only D6s and is more or less classless.

You roll 2 dice and try and get a 10 for all of your saving throws, and the GM can allow you to roll with advantage 3d6 and drop the lowest die if the situation permits.

Attacking is just 2d6 vs armour values that range from 6 to 10 with the damage being the difference between your roll and your target's armour (assuming you roll higher).

The main reason people talk about this game though is the random tables. It has rules for random spell creation and random tables for everything in the game. You can make some very unique monsters with this game.

It's worth it for the tables alone. Costs about $5 USD and it's going towards an independent creator rather than a corporation. I'd recommend checking it out if you want to spice up the monsters in your current game.

[senslessblackness]

An ode to waiting

And when my time came, and life was supposed to flash before my eyes, first all I saw were the moments when I waited in supermarket queues. Then moments when I waited for the bus to come. Then when I had to wait before the hospital doors to let me in. Then when I waited for them to put my daughter into my arms. Then when I waited next to the pool table for my turn to hit the cue ball. Then I relived how I waited for my first potato to mature, and how I cherished every little growth I noticed. 

 The pictures started rolling in, in no particular order. Sitting in my car and waiting for my girlfriend to say something, anything. Waiting in line at the airport and noticing her, unbeknownst to us, for the first time in our lives. How I waited for her to catch up to me when we went hiking. The excruciating waiting at my father's funeral, hoping to do well for the first time without him being there to encourage me. I saw myself waiting in front of the store window, staring at that red fire truck, and how happy I was when I could unpack it during Christmas; it was my constant companion until the wheels gave out. I suddenly remembered all the times when I was waiting for school to finish, and all the times after that when I longingly thought back to those years.

I waited many times for my golden retriever to bring back the ball that I threw, or the random branch that he found. I waited anxiously to see whether there would be a rainstorm, or if the clouds would clear out and we could have a good view from our campsite. I remember waiting for the universities to reply to my application, and I remember the instant joy that I felt when one of them came back positive. I even remember waiting to get to the end of the book, and how surprisingly empty the feeling was. Now what?

 I'm not saying that waiting is everything. Or even that it is pleasant. But I think… now I think… that without waiting, life would be much more rushed, and there would be many things that we couldn't appreciate the same way.

[apocalypticgargoyle]

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐔𝐌 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ↟ 𝐓𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞

↠  summary: After receiving a few letters from your previous accomplice, your withstanding in Techno's home is questioned.

↠ fantasy au, slow-burn romance

↠  pairing: c!Techno x fm!reader

↠  tw: angst, mentions of blood, slight manipulation, fighting, language, knives, language, a lil fluff

↠  wc: ~2700

↠  previous chapter ↟ make a request ↟ create the next moodboard

this post contains an image of a letter. if you find it difficult to read, here is the transcript.

The wind howled against the cabin, snow beating against the shutters to make the structure trembled as if it was battling the cold like you were. The heavy blanket around your shoulders served as an anchor from your intruding thoughts as you attempted to self-soothe. The fire blazing in front of you was your only consoling friend as you debated whether or not Techno would make it back during the storm.

In your gross self-pity, you wondered if he even would want to come back. You had been living like a parasite in his domain for weeks, relying on him as your wounds slowly mended. How many times had he stayed up to cool your fevers, or told you to sit down when you had been on your ankle for too long? When would it be too much for him? When would he want you gone?

You had never had another person before. Sure, Dream was your friend and partner, but the two of you lived independently of each other. Techno had gained your respect and trust within a short amount of time and you hated to admit that you liked having him around.

But was it the same for him?

You pulled your knees to your chest, hugging the fabric tighter around you as you dug your nose into its velvety coloring. It smelled like Techno, a mix of pine and sage. It quelled your neediness for his presence. You debated whether or not your worry was because of your obsession with his impression of you, or the fact that he was the first person that had let you rely on them.

The blizzard grew stronger with each passing second, and you were a hairline fracture away from throwing on a jacket and searching the snowbanks for him. Your mind darted to if packing your belongings and getting out of his hair would be the option. Clearing out before he had to tell you to leave seemed almost like the better idea; the possibility of gaining back your independence secretly made you melancholy.

With that, the image of Dream came to you. In the summers when the two of you were hunkered down against a rotting log looking for one of the King’s enemies, you could practically smell the sunlight on his skin. His freckles would darken, and his blond hair would shine as if it were a ray in and of itself. If you let yourself, you could feel his green eyes on you, watching as you would dip your knife in a tranquilizing agent if your target were to be delivered alive. He would always wander into your root cellar, running his fingers along the hanging rosemary and strands of lavender.

He would always pitch the idea of poisoning the King and running away to grow mushrooms in the forest together. For most of your time as accomplices, it seemed like the perfect life but as his brain became infatuated with the poison of power and majesty, it seemed a distant fantasy only to be left for the wind.

The door opened abruptly, Techno stomping out his boots as he kicked the entranceway shut. He shook the snow from his clothing, and you pushed yourself to stand. He grabbed one of the candles, using it to light a few of the others beside the door and blowing into his cold hands for more warmth.

You approached him, leaning on the doorframe as he pulled off his cloak. “You made it back,” you chirped, hoping to mask the utter relief washing through your body. His ruby eyes flashed to you, a softness in them that warmed your heart.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, reaching one of his hands out to you to angle the cut on your face towards him. He inspected that cut at least three times a day and if you would let yourself indulge on the thought, it might have just been an excuse to touch you.

His fingers were cold against your jaw, but you had to restrain your urge to lean into his gentle touch as his eyes grazed over the cut. “Better,” you answered with a light sigh. He looked as if he were holding back something from you, something that was plaguing his conscience.

He pulled away from you reluctantly, digging into the bag he had tossed on the table. His knuckles were red from the cold, the stack of letters in his hands appearing almost pure white. There were specks of blood sprinkled on the edge of the stack. “We found another mercenary searching for you,” he let out a soft chuckle. “I know what to look for now,” he mumbled; a small ode to you. The pair of you stared at the envelopes in his hand. “These are for you,” he added, holding them out for you. There was a seal on the last one, the design mimicking the symbol on your shoulder as it wrapped around the letter ‘D.’

You swallowed, hesitantly taking them from him. He watched you carefully as you examined them, your hands shaking from the anticipation of what was in them and why there were so many. “Did you read them?” You asked; the pads over your finger tracing over the broken seal of the top one.

He shook his head. “Only enough to find out they were for you,” he assured. You trusted that fact. “I’ll leave you alone with them. I need to clean up anyway,” he illustrated, eyes scanning you as you stared down at them. He seemed to have a hesitancy to him as if he were reluctantly giving them to you, wanting to know what it meant for your future.

You nodded slowly, unable to find more words as you threaded the dark green ribbon binding them together through your fingers. Your stomach churned, knotting together as if you were awaiting punishment.

As you sank into one of the chairs, Techno left your side wearily, looking over his shoulder at you before closing the door behind him. You opened the letter he had already seen after counting at least eight letters in the stack. Your mind got fuzzy after eight. The seal was dusted with soft gold. You had always found random flowers to give the appearance of wealth and prestige to your letters when you were sending them back and forth to each other. You figured that it was real gold this time since the color didn’t stain your skin while you brushed over it.

Your heart hammered in your ears, thumb drawing against the blood that had seeped through as you read his words, his voice whispering in your ear with each curl of his handwriting.

The next letter sounded similar, detailing what had become of some of your old teams and idols. He had removed the mad King’s advisors, flushing them with his own. Each word you read weighed heavy on your heart until you figured you couldn’t take any more of the venom in his ink. The sickening nature of him begging for your return made your nerves flip. He was an old friend of yours, brought up through the orphanages as your twin practically, but that didn’t mean you trusted the man that he had grown into being. The boy you had once known was now in shreds, held together by the façade he was hiding behind.

You stood, throwing the letters into the fire and standing back, breathing rigid into your chest. Your ankle began to ache, but you couldn’t seem to bring yourself to look away. With Dream’s threats, you knew you had to leave.

“He calls you ‘hemlock,’” Techno mumbled, his voice coming out in a questioning tone, hesitant of overstepping the unspoken boundaries the two of you had set for each other. He played with his fingers, back pressed against the wall behind him as he avoided stepping into your space. He gave you an emotionless look as if refusing to show his true feelings on the situation. You weren’t sure what he thought of you after diving into that letter. “Almost like you’re some kind of…” he paused, chewing on his lip as his eyes fell to the hardwood floor and then back to your gaze. “Malice,” he finished.

Your mouth grew dry, feeling small and vulnerable in front of him. You inhale deeply, attempting to steady your nerves. “It’s always been some kind of joke for him,” you responded. You weren’t sure if you were defending Dream or fishing for Techno’s assurance.

He nodded. “It’s not very funny, is it?” You shook your head quickly, suddenly finding it difficult not to cry. It had been too long of a day for you. Techno watched you, surveying eyes waiting for you to ground yourself.

He took a few steps, sitting down and motioning you toward him. You silently took a seat at his feet, eyes trained on the fire in front of you as his scent surrounded you. You crossed your legs, taking a deep breath once again. His hands moved into your hair, softly running his fingers along the crown of your head as he separated your short locks. His touch was gentle and calming, brushing against your ear as he braided.

You closed your eyes, letting him relax you and bring you back from your frizzled edges. He was quiet while he worked, your mind silencing to only focus on his fingers. You could swear that you had never felt more at ease than you did then. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice barely audible, worry that if you spoke louder he would hear the extent of your distress.

His hands moved to your shoulders, finished with his words as his fingers rolled against the knots forming. You settled your cheek against his hand. “I’m not going to ask for an explanation,” he began, his thumb pressing between your shoulder blades in a sensitive spot. You focused back on the flames, eyelids feeling heavy. “But I need to know if you’re okay.”

You mulled over his words as he loosened the tension weighing on your mind. “I’m okay.”

⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫

The next morning, you were setting your plates on the counter, listening to Techno chop wood outside. The front door clicked open in a rush, a man stepping inside and throwing off his hood. His brown eyes bore into you with a wave of lingering anger you recognized in the eyes of someone when you had been on the other end of their blade. He was increasingly tall, like Techno, but his features were more child-like and innocent, apart from his eyes.

He went after you, lunging for your body as you swiveled out of his path, grabbing onto the knife beside you. Your fingers gripped onto the back of his collar, pinning him to the table with a loud thud. The blade was resting against his throat as the two of you panted, him from being caught off guard and you from being dormant for so long.

He gritted his teeth as you pressed the blade tighter to his neck. “Who are you?” You bit. His Adam’s apple bobbled against the metal as he swallowed, catching his breath.

“I see you two have met,” Techno called, a tired look in his eyes as he spotted the man beneath you.

The brunet chuckled, the sound coming out more like a frustrating example of fear than a true laugh. “I like your new guard dog, Tech,” he mumbled, spitting at you. You pursed your lips, striking the blade against his cheek to draw a bit of blood and making him wince.

Techno rested his shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms. The man’s hand reached to brush the collar of your shirt to the side, his eyes focusing on the branded symbol on your shoulder. His breath was warm against your chest as his expression changed. You continued to glare at him. “It really is her, isn’t it?” He muttered, betrayal evident in his tone. You searched his face as his eyes met yours.

“This is Wilbur,” Techno stated, moving towards the two of you. You pulled away from him, letting him up as Techno stood beside you. Wilbur’s hand reached up to brush away the line of blood trickling from his fresh wound.

Wilbur straightened up, digging into his pocket to pull out a wadded-up piece of paper. He unfolded it slapping it on the table where he had just been laid out by you. Bold letters spelled out the terms of your arrest and the price on your head. There was a crude drawing of what you used to look like staring back at you as you took half a step behind Techno’s arm.

Wilbur stiffened and it hit you. He wasn’t actually after you rather than worried for Techno’s safety. Concern was painted across his face at just how close the two of you were standing as he gestured to the Wanted poster. “I’m not sure what she’s told you, but I know I’m right,” he pleaded. It struck you that the two had previously discussed trading you into the authorities. You weren’t surprised, mainly because before you knew Techno, you would have done the same. “Think of the money. You could actually retire. Give up babysitting-“

Techno cut him off. “No,” he answered flatly, shocking you. “We’ve already talked about this.” You stepped back, leaning against the counter to relieve the weight on your ankle. Techno peered over his shoulder briefly, as if feeling you step away from him.

Wilbur shook his head in disbelief. “They’re going to continue to look for her. It’s not safe.”

Techno shrugged, indifferent towards the look Wilbur was giving him. It made you sick to think of the divide you were causing. “We’ll get her name changed then.”

You raised your eyebrows as Techno chuckled, moving to finish your job as Wilbur looked between the two of you. “Yeah, and how are you going to accomplish that?”

Without a beat, Techno replied, “I guess I’ll marry her.”

Your breath hitched, facing flushing a deep red, but before you could reply, someone else barged in; a blond panting slightly as he doubled over to catch his breath. The two men looked upon the boy, waiting for him to stop wheezing. “Tommy, go home. It’s not safe here,” Wilbur commented. His gaze shifted to you. “Techno’s harboring a murderer.”

So, this was Techno’s famous Tommy; a boy barely older than sixteen and tall enough that he could knock your head off your shoulders with a flex of his elbow.

“Wilbur, we can’t give her up. Who knows what will happen,” he groaned, standing up and putting his arms above his head. You wondered just how far he had run to get to Techno’s. “You weren’t there when we found her.” He looked to the side, giving you a half-wave as he attempted to steady his breathing. If they weren’t discussing such intricate matters, you would have giggled at him.

Instead, you cleared your throat. “I’m leaving soon anyway. There’s no need-“

Techno interrupted you. “No. No one’s going anywhere, okay?” He sighed. “Obviously, we can handle ourselves. If not, at least let her get back on her feet before you excommunicate her from my house, Wilbur,” he adjudicated, his tone quipping as if to suggest that Wilbur’s opinion on the matter wasn’t holding water. “Tommy’s right anyway. You don’t know what it was like.”

Wilbur chewed the inside of his cheek, glaring at you. You felt hot and uncomfortable under his gaze as if he were hexing you secretly. He sighed, grabbing onto Tommy’s arm as he brushed past you, knocking into your sore side. “One wrong move and I’ll kill you,” he stated. You could tell he wasn’t normally such an antagonist, and you respected his devotion to Techno.

You nodded. “I’ll let you.”

Tag List: (to be added, please follow this link :))

@udontneedtokno @cyanflowers @more-like-reyna @deepestofwaters @sparkletash @aroyaldarknessbr @camerondiaz48104 @madsbbg @victory-is-here @valkyrieidunn @cdizzlevalntyne @simpforblockguys @ribbitsworld @victoria-a567 @miiilliiee @thegirlwhowritesawksh-t @roryann04 @book-of-anarchy @lightdreamy @hiccupofttea @wreny24 @deepestofwaters @exenestea

[dmsden]

A History Lesson - Looking back at D&D’s history

Hullo, Gentle Readers. Well, this is the 5th Monday in March, and that means I get to write about anything I want! It’s also my birth month, which means it’s my anniversary of getting into D&D (42 years!), and that has me feeling nostalgic. Coupled with a discussion I had recently with some friends, I thought it would be fun to look back at the various editions of D&D and give you all a bit of history. I’m not going to get into Gygax vs Arneson or any of that. I’m only talking about the published game itself, not its creators or its storied origins.

The original D&D (or OD&D as it’s sometimes called) came in a small box. It had three booklets inside - Men & Magic, Monsters & Treasure, and The Underworld & Wilderness Adventures - along with reference sheets and dice. Each was softcover and roughly the same dimensions as a DVD/BluRay case. The game was pretty rudimentary - for one thing, it assumed you already had a copy of Chainmail, D&D’s direct wargame predecessor. It also recommended you have a game called Outdoor Survival for purposes of traveling through the wilderness. It had only three classes - fighting man, magic-user, and cleric - and nothing about playing other races. It did have the insane charts that 1st edition would ultimately known for, and it was possible to play a pretty fun game of D&D with it, as its popularity would come to show.

The game expanded through similar chapbooks - Greyhawk, Blackmoor, Eldritch Wizardry, Gods Demigods & Heroes, Swords & Spells. With the exception of the last one, each brought new facets to the game - new classes like Thief and Monk, new spells, new threats. It was clear the game was going to need an overhaul, and it got one.

I consider this overhaul to yield the real “1st Edition”, as so much of the game didn’t exist in those original games. The game split into a “Basic” game, just called Dungeons & Dragons and Advanced Dungeons & Dragons.

The basic game was a boxed set that included a rulebook, a full adventure module, and dice...or, well, it was supposed to contain dice. The game was so popular and new in those days that demand for dice outstripped production. My copy of D&D came with a coupon for dice when they became available and a sheet of “chits” - laminated numbers meant to be put into cups (we used Dixie Cups with the name of the die written on it), shaken, and a random number pulled out without looking. It was meant to introduce new players to the game, so it was a trimmed down version. Races were human, elf, dwarf, and halfling, and classes were fighter, cleric, magic-user, and thief. The box only included rules for going up to 3rd level, with the intention that players would then graduate into AD&D. This is where I joined, with the old blue cover box set and In Search of the Unknown, before Keep on the Borderlands even existed.

AD&D was the game in its full glory. Along with the races I mention above, we got half-elves, half-orcs, and gnomes. The four basic classes also had sub-classes, like paladin and ranger for the fighter, druid for the cleric, illusionist for the wizard, and assassin for the thief. There were rules for multi-classing, as well as “Dual-classing”, a sort of multi-class variation for humans only, which, when done in the correct combination, could yield the infamous bard...which didn’t actually yield any bard abilities until around level 13 or so.

This edition had 5 different saving throws for things like “Death Magic”, “Petrification & Polymorph”, “Spells”, and so on. It had the infamous Armor Class system that started at 10 and went down, so that having a -3 AC was very good!  It also had specific attack matricies for each class; you would literally look on a table to determine the number you needed to roll on a D20 based on your class, your level, and your opponent’s armor class. It was fun, but it was very complicated.

It also had some, frankly, shitty rules. There was gender disparity in terms of attributes, which my group totally ignored. Because the game designers wanted humans to be a competitive the game, and because non-humans had so many abilities and could multiclass, non-humans were severely limited in the levels they could achieve in most classes. In fact, some classes, such as monk and paladin, were restricted only to humans.

As the years went on, things got a bit muddled. It probably didn’t help that the rules in Basic D&D and AD&D didn’t perfectly line up. In D&D, the worst armor class was a 9. In AD&D, the worst armor class was a 10. All of this led to an overhaul, but not one considered a separate edition. AD&D mostly got new covers and new books, like the Wilderness Survival Guide and Dungeon Survival Guide, Monster Manual 2, and the Manual of the Planes. It got a number of new settings, too. In addition to the default Greyhawk setting, we got the Forgotten Realms setting for the first time, details of which had been appearing in Dragon Magazine for years, thanks to the prolific Ed Greenwood. We also, eventually, got the whole Dragonlance saga, which yielded the setting of Krynn.

In this new version, Basic D&D broke off into its own game system to some degree. Elf, Dwarf, and Halfling started being treated like classes rather than races, with specific abilities at different levels. Higher level characters could be created using progressive boxes - Expert, Companion, Master, and Immortal, each with its own boxed set and supported by Mystara, a completely different setting that got its own updates over the years. It was odd, because D&D essentially was competing for players with AD&D, and I remember arguments with friends over which version was better (I was firmly in the AD&D camp.)

In 1989, when I was in college, they finally brought forth 2nd edition D&D. This streamlined things a little. Armor Class still went down, but now attack rolls boiled into a single number called To Hit Armor Class 0, or THAC0. It made the whole process of figuring out what you needed to roll a bit less cumbersome, but it was still a bit awkward. The classes got a lot of overhaul, including making Bard its own core class. But what I remember best about 2nd edition was the boom in settings. This was the age of settings, and many beloved ones got started, including Dark Sun, Planescape, Ravenloft, and Spelljammer.

It was also the age of the “Complete Handbooks”. They brought out splatbooks about every class and race in the game, as well as books expanding several concepts for the DM, such as the Arms & Equipment Guide, the Castle Guide, and the Complete Book of Villains. There were also splatbooks about running D&D in historic periods, such as Ancient Rome, among the ancient Celts, or during the time of the Musketeers. The game got new covers for the rule books again, and a bunch of books about options started coming out. It was a boom time for books, but many people complained there was too much.

Without going too deep, TSR ended up in severe financial troubles. They declared bankruptcy, and there was real fear of the game going away. And then Wizards of the Coast (WotC) stepped in. They helped TSR get back onto its feet, and they helped produce some modules specifically engineered to help DM’s bring an end to their campaign...possibly even their whole campaign world...because something big was coming.

That something big was, of course, 3rd edition D&D. The game got majorly streamlined, and many sacred cows ended up as hamburger. AC finally started going up instead of down. Everything was refined to the “D20″ system we’ve been playing ever since. Races could be any class. There were no level or stat limits for anyone. After years of the game being forced into tight little boxes, it really felt like we could breathe. I had stopped playing D&D, but 3rd edition brought me back into the fold. I often say that 3E was made for the players who’d felt constricted and wanted more flexibility.

The trouble with 3E, and its successor 3.5, is that it was still a dense and difficult game for newcomers to get into. It’s been acknowledged that D&D essentially created many of the systems we see and know in other games - experience points, leveling up, hit points, etc. But trying to break into the experience for the first time was difficult. The look of 3E was gorgeous, but I understood that it must seem awfully daunting to someone who’d never played.

4E and its follow-up, Essentials, was an attempt to course correct that. They tried to make this edition incredibly friendly to new DMs, and, frankly, they succeeded. By creating player classes and monsters and magic-items that were all very plug and play, they did a great job of creating a game that someone who had never DMed before could dive into with no experience or mentor and start a game pretty easily. Encounter design was given a lot of ease, and there were promises of a robust online tool system that would help out with many of the more tedious aspects of playing.

There was also a lot of shake up in terms of choices. Suddenly, new classes and races were proliferating like crazy. We got the dragonborn, the tiefling, and the eladrin right in the core book, but we said good-bye to the gnome and half-orc at first. Suddenly the warlock was the new class everyone wanted to try. We got paragon paths and epic destinies that would really shape a character as time went on. The game went very tactical, as well, which some of us loved. The concept of rituals came into the game. Later books like the Player’s Handbook 2 and 3 gave us back gnomes and half-orcs, and also gave us minotaurs, wilden, shardminds, and githzerai. We got new psionic classes, brand new class concepts like the Runeknight and the Seeker...

But there was a tremendous backlash. People felt that, in making the game so very plug and play, they’d taken a ton of choice away from the players. Without the tools (which were never that robust, frankly), it was almost impossible to navigate the massive panoply of options. And, worse, it was harder and harder to develop encounters without those tools. People complained that the game had gone more tactical in order to sell miniatures and battlemats. Given that I have never played the game without miniatures and battlemats (since I started in the days when D&D was still half-wargame), I found this odd, but I also understand my style of play isn’t everyone’s.

The one argument I will never understand is that it didn’t “feel” like D&D, or it was somehow ONLY a tactical game and not a role-playing game any more. Again, given that the original game didn’t even call itself a role-playing game, this felt odd. Personally, I roleplay no matter what game I’m playing. If I’m playing Monopoly, I’m roleplaying, doing voices, and pretending to be something I’m not. I honestly enjoyed 4E, and I know a lot of folks who did, too. A lot of it may simply come down to style of play. But I also enjoyed all the games that came before, including Pathfinder. To paraphrase the YouTube content creator The Dungeon Bastard, “Does your game have dungeons? Does it have dragons? Great. I wanna play.”

As a sidenote, in the months leading up to 4E’s release, a lot of internet videos were released by WotC emphasizing the nature of change and talking about differences in the rules. They also released some preview books showing the direction they were heading. WotC must have anticipated that people were going to find this edition very different indeed. They also cleverly brought in some very funny folks - Scott Kurtz from PVPOnline and Jerry Holkins & Mike Krahulik from Penny Arcade - and got them to play D&D for podcasting purposes. Looking back, this must’ve brought in a lot of listeners who might never have played D&D and given them a reason to try it out.

After its release, WotC clearly noted that missteps had been made, as this edition of the game was losing them players. They began work on what they referred to as D&D Next, and, this time, they did massive amounts of playtesting, some of which I participated in.

I don’t feel like I have to describe 5E to any of you, Dear Readers, as you could go to virtually any store and pick it up. I am a big fan of 5E’s simplicity and elegance, and I suspect this is the edition of D&D we’re going to have for some time to come, especially given its popularity. Given the effect of podcasts like Critical Role (and I might save an article on Critical Role’s importance to D&D until my next Freestyle article), D&D is likely more popular now than it’s ever been, with a much wider and more diverse audience than ever before.

I know I’m painting with broad strokes here, but I hope this was, at least, entertaining, and maybe you learned something, Gentle Readers. Until we next meet, may all your 20s be natural.

[bellakitse]

No Fate I want No World

He’s twenty-six, he’s never heard of someone getting their soul mark five years after their 21st birthday. He stares at the name on his wrist with a mixture of happiness and dread. It feels like fate or destiny, or whatever fucking entity that controls this is laughing at his expense. Why else give him a soulmate after he’s had his heart crushed and almost died. Why now when he’s more of a mess than usual.

What can he possibly have to offer Carlos, whoever he might be?

* A re-telling of the first 3 episodes of the show where TK and Carlos are soulmates.

Written for Lone Star Week Day 7 - Anything Goes

When TK turns twenty-one, he doesn’t wake up with a soul mark as expected. As he searches his body for a name, he tries not to give up hope. Although rare, it’s not unheard of a person getting their soulmate’s name sometime after their birthday.

By the time his 23rd birthday rolls around though, he’s come to accept that he doesn’t have a soul mark because he doesn’t have a soulmate.

Not everyone has one; he tells himself to temper his disappointment. After all, a good thirty percent of the population walks around every day without a soulmate, and live happy, fulfilling lives. Hell, even having a name on your body doesn’t guarantee you happiness; his parents are glaring proof of that. Having each other’s names didn’t stop the fighting that ended in divorce court. His dad was even able to find happiness with his second wife, if only for a little while.

Having, or in TK’s case, not having a soulmate isn’t the end of the world. He reminds himself of that every time he catches a glimpse of someone’s soul mark. He stops thinking about it when he meets Alex.

Handsome, with a charming smile and playful glint in his dark eyes. He sweeps TK off his feet, and before he knows it, he’s in love.

The best part?

Alex doesn’t have a mark either, and TK is so head over heels for the guy, he convinces himself the lack of soul marks on each other is just proof that they belong together.

He didn’t need a name given to him by some unexplained invisible power to find the person he’s meant to be with; he does it all on his own. Take that fate.

It all comes crashing down on his head when Alex answers his marriage proposal with a rejection and a confession. He sits at the table frozen as he listens to Alex tell him about the man he loves, the fact that Mitchell has a soul mark that doesn’t say Alex doesn’t seem to matter. The apology he gives TK before he leaves is muffled under the roaring that is happening in his ears, and while the Oxy he scores off some random dealer mutes the noise, it doesn’t numb the ache in his chest.

Later, when his father asks him if he was trying to kill himself, he says no, but even he can hear the doubt in his voice. When he took the handful of pills, he wasn’t really thinking about anything else but making the pain and voices in his head stop. The ones that tell him the reason he doesn’t have a soul mark, is because he could never be good enough for anyone.

He met someone without a name on their body, loved them with everything he had, and they still fell in love with someone else. Having a soulmate wouldn’t go any better for him, and that’s why fate spared him from having one.

Except – he suddenly has one.

It takes him a few days to notice it, he and his dad are in the middle of packing their apartments, getting ready for his dad’s solution to his relapse when he spots it. Just underneath his watch in a small, neat script is the name of his sudden soulmate.

Carlos.

He’s twenty-six, he’s never heard of someone getting their soul mark five years after their 21st birthday. He stares at the name on his wrist with a mixture of happiness and dread. It feels like fate or destiny, or whatever fucking entity that controls this is laughing at his expense. Why else give him a soulmate after he’s had his heart crushed and almost died. Why now when he’s more of a mess than usual.

What can he possibly have to offer Carlos, whoever he might be?

He doesn’t tell his dad about the mark; his watch hides it well enough. The man has enough to worry about between trying to build a new firehouse and TK being a fuck-up. He tries to ignore it; he’s too raw to even think about what it means to have a soulmate now. Still, he can’t help but trace the name when he’s alone, or stop the trickle of hope that creeps through despite his resolve to forget about his mark.

People for centuries have studied the soul marks. Everyone takes classes on them and their history at some point in their education, and every scholar has a different opinion on the subject. The only thing they can agree on is that you can’t escape fate, whether you end up with your soulmate or not, at some point, you will meet them.

TK just doesn’t realize he would meet his so soon after the name appears.

He’s been dancing with the cop from the earlier emergency for three songs now; he feels himself lighter than he has in a while, his smile and laugh aren’t fake for once. Every time the guy brushes against him as they move to the beat, TK feels his body light up.

“Do I get a name?” he asks with a grin, they lean against the counter waiting for the bartender to come back with a beer for his dance partner, and a mineral water for him.

“Only if I get your phone number,” he gets told with a blinding smile, and TK finds himself smiling back, charmed as he holds out his hand.

The cop grins as he hands over his phone. TK saves his number into the cellphone before pressing the call button so that his own phone rings.

“Okay, so what am I saving you as?” he asks again. “Just calling you ‘the hot cop who can shake his hips’ feels like I’m being rude to your badge.”

The cop laughs softly in return. With a hand on TK’s waist, he leans into him, and TK finds himself swaying into his space, his eyes locked on the guy’s full lips, and he wonders if a simple touch of his hand sends his heart racing, what a kiss would do.

“I’m Carlos,” the hot cop smiles at him, and TK freezes at the name. He looks at him again, really taking him in. He’s beautiful, the kind of gorgeous that turns heads. In fact, he’s seen more than one person look in his direction with an interested gaze, and TK finds himself having to push down the sudden flare of possessiveness. Warm brown eyes look at him waiting, and TK takes a deep breath hoping that it will calm down his racing heart.

“I’m TK.”

 ֎֎֎

 By the time Carlos texts, asking if he wants to grab a bite to eat, TK has convinced himself that he isn’t his soulmate. The guy didn’t react to his name in any weird way; he just smiled as he told him it was nice to meet him. He spent the rest of the night getting to know the guy enough to know there was no way he could be his soulmate.

Carlos was sweet, charming, intelligent, and attentive; no way TK got that lucky, and no way did Carlos deserve a mess like him.

He meets Carlos for lunch, and there’s no denying that while he might not be his soulmate, there is some real chemistry there. The energy between them crackles and builds, and when Carlos suggests they head back to his place, TK has to stop himself from dropping to his knees for him right then and there.

They make it back to Carlos’ apartment, practically fused together. Carlos licks his way into TK’s mouth as he presses him against a wall, and he feels his stomach clench with need and desire. He helps him out of his shirt before he pushes him back on the couch, and he finds himself holding his breath as Carlos takes his shirt off before he covers him with his perfect body.

The next hour is a blissful haze for TK.

Carlos takes him apart with his hands and mouth, leaving TK a quivering mess before he finally pushes into TK’s body. TK holds on, meeting Carlos thrust for thrust, he’s never felt this complete while having sex with anyone, and he just wants more. He urges Carlos on, begging for him to sink deeper into him, to push harder, and Carlos gives him exactly what he wants. He kisses every inch of skin he can get his mouth on, his hands touch TK like he’s something precious. He whispers endearments into TK’s ear, calling him baby and sweetheart, telling him he’s beautiful. When he comes, it’s so intense that TK is practically sobbing from all the emotions crashing inside him.

It’s the first time he’s genuinely felt alive since his OD, so of course, it doesn’t last long. He’s catching his breath, laying in Carlos’ arms when he sees it. On his left side, right under his pec, Carlos has his real name written in his handwriting.

Tyler.

TK stares at it, but no matter how much he looks, the name doesn’t change. His name, the one he barely uses, but still.

His handwriting is on this beautiful man who just made him sees stars.

His soulmate.

He gets up in a hurry, half-dressed before he’s out the door, making excuses about work when Carlos suggests in a seductive voice he stick around for round two. He leaves before he gives in to the temptation to stay and bask in the discovery of his soul mate.

He leaves before he ruins him.

 ֎֎֎

 He spends his shift lost in thoughts of Carlos, of what it felt to be with him, and what it means now. He’s read countless articles and books over the years on the subject, all talking about the connection formed between soulmates even before they acknowledge their status.

It’s been romanticized in popular culture, that sex between soulmates is supposed to be like no other sexual experience. TK has always believed that to be bullshit, he’s had great sex without a soulmate, it’s something he excels at, but now, having been with Carlos, he has to reconsider his position on the subject.

Sex with Carlos is like nothing else he’s ever experienced, and just hours later, he’s already craving the feel of the other man’s skin under his hands. He yearns to hear again all the breathless sounds Carlos made when they were together.

This is why, even though he knows it’s a bad idea to go back to him without telling him it’s his name on his skin, and that he’s playing with fire. When Carlos calls him over after midnight, he can’t do anything but go to him.

He’s antsy when he gets to his place, itching under his skin to touch Carlos again. When he opens the door, looking gorgeous in that pale blue dress shirt, TK for a split second thanks whatever higher power decided to give him a soulmate so breathtakingly beautiful. Even if he doesn’t deserve him, and there is no way TK is going to be able to keep him, he’s thankful.

That thought turns sour a few minutes later when Carlos keeps him from kissing him the way he wants, and with a proud smile shows TK all the effort he’s put into the night for him. TK sits down at the table reluctantly as he tries to stop all the ugly thoughts already running through his head.

He doesn’t deserve Carlos. If he knew what a mess TK really is, he would run away. When he finds out they’re soulmates, he’ll be disappointed.

He comes off short, and then before he can stop himself, he comes off nasty. He sees the flash of hurt and confusion on Carlos’ face and feels gutted – so he runs. He gives Carlos a half-assed apology and leaves.

 ֎֎֎

 What happens between him and Carlos, plus Judd poking at him, leaves him angry, reckless and self-destructive, proving further what a mess of a person he is in his current state.

He ducks the first swing of the redneck’s fist and then the second, feeling a rush when his own fist connects with the guy’s jaw before his buddy jumps in, knocking him to the floor. The whole thing is over in a matter of minutes, and before he knows it, he’s being pushed into the back of a squad car.

He’s guided to a desk, still cuffed and told to wait for one of the officers to bring him his paperwork, and mumbles a thank you when he’s offered an ice pack. He’s not exactly surprised when Carlos is the officer that sits down at the desk. TK has decided that fate is indeed real, and it’s fucking with him.

“Seriously?” he can’t help but question. His heart beats loudly at the look he finds in Carlos’ brown eyes.

“Austin’s a small town TK,” he shoots back sarcastically. “Or should I say, Tyler Kennedy.”

TK’s breath freezes in his lungs, and he feels a painful thump under his chest when Carlos gives him a hurt look.

“Were you ever planning on telling me?” he questions quietly, shaking his head sadly when TK doesn’t answer, and all TK wants to do is touch him, to make it better somehow, but he doesn’t know what to say.

Carlos shakes his head again; he tells him no one is pressing charges, hesitating for a moment before he continues.

“I’m not trying to be your soulmate,” he tells him, his voice faltering slightly. “Or even your friend if you’re not into it, but you should talk to someone about why you felt compelled to do something so suicidal.”

TK stares at him; his voice still lost at how close to home Carlos hits with his words. He sighs sadly at him, and before TK can stop him, he’s grabbing his wrists to uncuff him.

He knows the second Carlos sees his name on TK by the gasp he lets out.

“The second I saw your full name on the file, I knew,” he whispers, still staring at TK’s wrist. “I knew you had to be my soulmate, it’s the only thing that explains everything I have felt since I met you,” he looks up at him, and TK can’t help the sound that escapes his mouth when he sees the hurt in Carlos’ eyes. “But I still didn’t believe it. You didn’t say anything, you saw your name on me and said nothing, why, Tyler? Was it because you didn’t want it to be me?”

“Because I’m a complete fucking mess,” TK blurts out, desperate for Carlos to understand that it’s him, he’s what’s wrong here, not Carlos. “I didn’t even have a soul mark until a couple of weeks ago.”

Carlos frowns at him, his confusion obvious. “What? How is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” TK says helplessly, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I didn’t get one when I turned 21 like everyone else, and eventually came to terms with the fact that you didn’t exist for me.”

“That’s my handwriting,” Carlos points at his wrist. “My name.”

TK nods softly, giving Carlos a half-smile. “It’s my handwriting on you too.”

“I don’t understand,” Carlos says, looking as lost as TK feels. It breaks TK’s heart, and he can feel the urge to fix it clawing its way inside him.

“I had a really bad break up in New York,” he starts, swallowing hard as he wonders how fast Carlos will run when he’s done explaining. “Like nuclear bad, and then I relapsed.”

“You mean with me?” Carlos asks quietly, looking away from him.

“No,” TK answers just as softly, the shame he feels turning his stomach. “I mean with substances.”

Carlos looks at him, his eyes going wide. “The champagne at dinner – ” he whispers, his face drops as he looks at him with remorse.“ – I’m sorry.”

TK shakes his head quickly, hating the guilt he sees in Carlos’ kind eyes. “You didn’t know, and I didn’t handle that at all. I'm the one that’s sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Carlos assures him with a half-smile, and TK shakes his head again.

“It’s not, I was a jerk,” he tells him.

“After my break up, I scored some Oxy,” he continues, taking a deep breath before saying the next part. “I OD’d, my heart stopped, and my dad and crew brought me back. A couple of days later, your name showed up on my wrist.”

He looks up at Carlos, having said the last part looking at the desk, and he feels his heart squeeze at the tears he sees in Carlos’ eyes.

“TK,” he whispers brokenly. “I –“

“You don’t have to say anything,” he pushes himself to say before Carlos can tell him he can’t deal with the mess of a person he is. “I don’t expect anything from you, not after the way I treated you, or now that you know the truth. Fate is an asshole to have saddled you with me. You deserve so much better – “ he cuts off, gasping when Carlos wraps his hand around his wrist, his thumb pressing on his name.

“Carlos – “ he whispers breathlessly, his body lighting up at the touch. There is no way they didn’t touch each other’s soul marks when they had sex, TK gets that now. The intense feeling of warmth and contentment is back, and TK feels whole.

“Are you going to try to make all the decisions in this relationship?” Carlos asks calmly, though his eyes are a few shades darker than usual as he runs his thumb back and forth over his name. “Because that’s not going to fly with me.”

“R –relationship?” TK stumbles, his insides feel like warm melting butter. “Carlos –“

“Tyler.”

TK lets out a soft sigh. “I usually hate when people call me that, but it sounds nice coming from you.”

“Well, I’m your soulmate,” Carlos smiles gently at him, his fingers are still touching TK’s soul mark, and he can feel himself caving.

“I’m such a mess, Carlos,” he says in a last-ditch effort to remind himself and Carlos why this is a bad idea. “You shouldn’t be with me because fate wrote our names on the other, you deserve better.”

Carlos looks at him, considering his words, and TK tells himself that he’ll be okay when Carlos agrees. He’ll find a way to survive Carlos not touching him after this.

“There’s a lot to unpack here,” Carlos answers finally, his voice soft but firm. “Let's start with this, I get to decide what I deserve, not you,” he holds up a hand when TK opens his mouth. “Two, you say you’re a mess – okay, I can concede that point, you haven’t exactly been easy to deal with.”

The corners of his mouth quirk upward, taking the sting out of his words.

“But guess what, TK, everyone is a mess in some way or another,” he continues. “You have baggage, and so would the next person I choose to be with.”

TK can’t help but make a face at the thought of Carlos with someone else; it makes Carlos grin.

“You don’t like that?” he questions with a teasing tilt to his voice. “Does the idea of me with someone else bother you? Do you know what the solution to that is?”

TK glares at him, pouting when Carlos chuckles softly at him.

“Now you mentioned fate,” he moves on, his voice still gentle. “Fate isn’t everything, we have free will, and if you don’t want to be with me, there is nothing I can do about it. But fate did decide for whatever reason that we are a good match, and the way my skin sings when I’m around you – I don’t believe it was wrong in its decision. I can’t make you be with me, TK, but I do think it would be a waste not to try to make us work.”

“Carlos, I – ” he trails off, covering his hand with his, feeling the warm skin under his fingertips.

“I know you feel it too,” he whispers, his eyes show such honest affection, his feelings for TK plain to see.

He was with Alex for two years, and he never looked at him the way Carlos is looking at him right now.

“We deserve a shot,” he pleads. “You say you’re a mess? Then let me help make it better; let me be there for you. All I ask is for a chance.”

“I might hurt you,” TK whispers, feeling a knot in his throat.

Carlos nods. “I might hurt you too, but I promise I’ll try very hard not to.”

TK bites down hard on his lip, feeling his eyes sting when Carlos’ expression goes painfully soft.

“I also promise not to leave unless you explicitly tell me to,” he tells him, his hand already wiping under TK’s eye before the tear even spills.

He gets to the root of TK’s fear so easily, for a second, he wonders if he can read his mind. This has been his real fear from the moment he first saw his soul mark; people leave TK; it’s what they do. He can’t even blame them, he’s the common denominator for every person that has walked away from him, so there has to be something wrong with him. He’s learned to live with it, but he doesn’t think he could live with finding his soulmate, loving him, and then watch him walk away, he’s just not strong enough for that.

“Do you promise?” he asks, his voice cracking painfully.

“Yes,” Carlos says with conviction. “I’ve known you for such a short time, and I already love you, and it has nothing to do with our soul marks. It’s you, TK, it’s impossible to know you and not love you. If you have me, I’m not going anywhere.”

TK closes his eyes as more tears run down his battered face.

“I want to kiss you so badly,” he hears Carlos whisper. He opens his eyes to see Carlos looking around; it reminds TK suddenly that this whole conversation has taken place at Carlos’ place of work. He feels himself blush even as his heart flutters under his ribcage with warmth and hopefulness.

“I can take you home,” Carlos offers with a hopeful look of his own.

TK frowns at him. “Don’t you have to finish your shift?” he asks, and he watches with confused enjoyment as Carlos’ face goes pink.

“I was actually already done when you came in,” he says with an embarrassed look. “I just stuck around because I wanted to be near you, and begged my coworker to let me be the one to release you, that’s when I saw your file.”

TK stares at him for a moment before he starts laughing, the tension of the night releasing, making the situation funnier than it actually is, especially when Carlos rolls his eyes at him.

“Come on,” he says, standing up from the desk. “You can laugh at me on the way home.”

TK is still chuckling as he gets up and follows Carlos out of the precinct, only stopping when they get to Carlos’ car. He puts a hand on his forearm, drawing his attention.

He comes to a decision and steps into Carlos’ space slowly, giving him time to step away. Carlos just watches him patiently, his eyes closing a second before TK brushes his lips against his, pressing against them softly. Neither of them moves to deepen the kiss for a moment as they bask in the feel of each other, but when they finally do, it’s like touching electricity. Everything inside TK lights up, and he thinks he must have been an idiot to believe for one second he could walk away from this.

He’s a mess of a human, that hasn’t changed because he met his soulmate, and yet he feels lighter than he has in the longest time just by being in Carlos’ arms.

Fate and destiny aren’t everything; not all soulmates make it, he knows that, but he also knows Carlos is right. They’ve been given a gift, and it would be a shame to waste it.

“Home?” Carlos murmurs when they break the kiss, a little out of breath, and a beautiful smile on his face. TK understands he means more than just his place by the word, so much more.

“Home,” TK answers back, and he knows by the way Carlos’ smile grows, he understands that TK means more too.

[demaury]

defying gravity (5.5k)

“I’ve lied. To you.” 

He turns his head to Eliott, who suddenly seems far too interested by the tobacco packet he exhumes from his pocket to look at him straight in the eye. Lucas watches as he tucks a filter tip between his lips and goes on to fill the roll.

“If that’s the moment you admit you’re a psycho who followed me all the way from Paris, it couldn’t have come at a better time, I’m ready to die.”

OR. Lucas hates everything, but perhaps not everyone. 

You know, it’s almost funny, when you think about it.

Three days ago, he’d never have guessed that there’s a single thing in the world that could be worse than the idea of his dad’s remarriage. And yet here he is. Hiding from the crowd of family friends and family members behind a grey Audi, dressed as a fucking penguin, constantly trying to loosen the knot of the shitty tie everyone has insisted for him to wear — all the while riding a spectacular hangover on what’s probably the warmest spring day ever.

It shouldn’t be this hot already. Not in fucking April.

His hand shoots up to wipe away a drop of sweat rolling down the back of his neck, just above the collar of his dress-shirt.

It’s a nightmare.

Everything is just so noisy and so- so peopley. He adjusts his sunglasses on his nose, and reaches for the water bottle he managed to score from a disbelieved waiter at the bar to take a sip. Wherever his gaze lands, it’s like someone is looking back and is ready to make conversation — hence why he sought refuge behind a fucking car, far, far away from the tent, because that’s just how much he needs to avoid people at the moment. They’re all so cheerful, chatting eagerly around a glass of champagne, and between the town hall ceremony and the huge-ass country house his dad has ranted for the occasion, he’s lost count of how many ‘Lucas honey you’ve changed so much!’ have been shot his way. Nice of them all to collectively ignore that although he’s not exactly tall, he still got taller since the last time he saw any of these people.

A few kids are scattered around, playing football, and he recognizes one of the ten-year-old girls as his now-stepmother’s daughter. Which probably makes her his stepsister, now that he thinks about it. Fuck. Call him slow, but it’s never really sunk in up until now. They are all playing like there’s no tomorrow, running and screeching and yelling and screaming some more, and he grits his teeth in a wince as a hammer pounds against his frontal lobe with every single glass-shattering sound they manage to produce. It’s probably for the best he doesn’t have a car here, otherwise he would have hopped in and driven back to Paris before his dad would even think about searching for him — although to be fair it’d surely take a while before that happens.

His eyes dart to the side when he hears footsteps approaching, already ready to tell whoever it is to go fuck themselves, when his stomach clenches brutally and his eyes widen behind his sunglasses. He has to do a double-take because it is not fucking happening, right?

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he hears himself mutter.

Problem is, he’s not the only one to hear it. The gorgeous-looking dude walking in fucking slow-motion on the gravel path near-by hears it too, and soon there’s a pair of grey eyes landing on him. Lucas mentally thanks the sunglasses on his nose — how else would he be able to handle that look, now that he’s sober? The guy’s pace falters about a meter away from the Audi Lucas is sitting against, a small frown of confusion making his brow furrow.

Lucas sighs and pushes his sunglasses up on his head. It’s always nice to know that whatever you do, the universe still has some jokes in store for your miserable existence. Of all the what-the-fuck experiences he’s had in his life, this one is probably a solid top-three.

Grey-eyes-dude stares back at him, and his gaze narrow when realization downs on him. “Okay, just so you know, I didn’t follow you all the way here,” he guy says, sounding almost defensive.

What’s his name again? Lucas racks his brain in search of an answer, but he’s not sure they’ve exchanged names at all in the first place. That being said he’s not entirely sure they didn’t. Nice job, brain. In the meantime, he makes a point to look unimpressed. Like it’s his daily lot to have one-night-stands, stalkers, and goddamn models following him around, hours away from the city.

“Didn’t even think of it,” he shrugs, hoping to strike casual.

The guy looks vaguely embarrassed as he drapes his jacket over his arm. Funny how he wasn’t so careful last night about literally any of their clothes. Lucas grabs his water bottle, maybe just because he needs to do something, anything at all, but as he takes a sip the guy’s still standing there, looking like that, with his navy slacks and light-blue button-up, and believe it or not but it’s surprisingly hard to make eye-contact with a guy who had his dick inside you less than twelve hours ago.

Like, seriously. When it’s not an exclusive relationship situation, it’s the epitome of w-

Hold the fuck on.

A weird feeling creeps up his spine.

What is he doing here? Not in a fuck-he’s-creepy kind of way, but in a fuck-this-is-family-only kind of way. He doesn’t know half of the people who’re under the tent. Let alone those who weren’t there for the pre-ceremony chit-chat. Fuck, what if he’s one of his cousins? Did he just bang one of his fucking cousins? He tries counting but he doesn’t even remember how many of them he’s supposed to-

Shit he’s started to talk, Lucas freezes as Mr. Fuck-Don’t-Be-My-Cousin is already mid-sentence.

“What?”, he calls out dumbly, cutting him off.

“The bride,” the guy says again, and he gestures towards the tent like Lucas can possibly forget there’s a wedding going on. “She’s my sister’s godmother.”

Oh. Okay. That’s better.

Not a cousin. Good.

Go-od.

He presses his lips together with a nod. “Small world,” he mumbles. It’s not like he’s actively trying to be sarcastic, but that’s just the way it sounds like. Whatever. There’s an awkward silence stretching, until his slow brain catches up. “That’s my dad,” he simply offers with a vague gesture of the hand. “The groom. Or whatever that’s called when it’s not the first time around.” He folds his legs and brings his knees close to his chest, letting his eyes wander away.

“Why are you hiding here then?”, the guy asks and Lucas rolls his eyes to himself. He’s really tempted to tell him that them banging last night doesn’t qualify as an obligation to make small-talks on cue at formal gatherings. “Shouldn’t you be like, celebrating out there?”

“I’m celebrating,” he counters, and when his one-night-stand-turned-shrink cocks an eyebrow, he waves his water bottle. He’s sitting flat on his ass on a patch of grass, desperately trying to let the world forget he’s ever existed — which is working spectacularly, obviously —, it’s quite noticeable he’s living his best life at the moment. “Fine, I needed a bit of quiet. Hangover and all. Happy?”

Praying that his dad chokes on the wedding-cake by the end of the day is definitely an activity that can keep it busy for a couple of hours anyway. Not that it’s his business. Or anybody’s.

The guy clears his throat. “Right,” he says, and he offers a small shrug. “I’m going to, uh, greet everyone.”

It sounds almost as a question and Lucas turns his face away, putting his sunglasses back on his nose with a noncommittal noise. He pretends to find an interest in the kids’ messy football game, which for some reason seems to have turned into a kickball game in the meantime, to avoid following him with his eyes as he walks away.

*

He has to leave his hiding spot, eventually. Not that he’s dying to.

The afternoon has already long merged into early evening as he does so, and the sun setting has made it much more complicated to stay outside in a simple dress-shirt without his teeth starting to clatter. He gives a few tight smiles as he makes his way under the tent, where everybody is cruising around and reading the nametags to find out about the sitting arrangements.

His name is two tables away from the main table, which he should be grateful about, he guesses. The last thing he needs is to end up squeezed in-between his dad’s already half-drunk witness and his stepmother’s sister. He might be an adult, legally speaking, but there’s a limit to the amount of adult-bullshit he can go through in a single day and he’s already dangerously dangling off the edge as it is, there’s no need to push any more than that. He lets his eyes wander on the other nametags on each side of him. There’s one with his paternal cousins’ name and another one he doesn’t recognize — Eliott.

Maybe it’s from Marjorie’s side, he thinks offhandedly.

Who cares.

He’s about to slouch into his seat when a small huff makes his head swivel to the side. His hook-up from last night is staring at him, hands shoved in his pockets like he’s just walked straight of an Armani campaign. “I’m going to start thinking you’re the one following me,” he says, cocking an eyebrow, and when Lucas frowns, he takes a step closer and pointedly draws the chair next to his own like it’s really no bother.

Eliott. So he’s Eliott. Great. Nice. Awesome.

“You wish,” Lucas retorts, and as much as this guy is triggering his fight-or-flight instincts, he tries to shove them back down as he sits down as well.

Hear him out. He’s not big on random hook-ups. He doesn’t do well with the whole no-strings attached bullshit, so throwing himself at a goddamn stranger isn’t something he does. He banged a random guy once.

Fucking once.

Jesus that will teach him to think with his dick.

Maybe it’s all that sunshine outside that grilled his brain but he’s sure he can feel him stare at him — probably just to test his nerves, like the rest of the world seems inclined to do. When he throws a quick glance to the side, Eliott nonchalantly looks away, his hands resting calmly on his thighs, and Lucas rolls his eyes to himself. No one has to know they’ve ever met each other anyway — and even then, ‘meeting’ is a bit of a strong word. Not that it’s such a problem or that he’s ashamed or anything, there’s just literally nothing to say. Sure, the sex was great. But that’s literally it. At this point he’s not even sure he remembers what they had to drink.

What are you concerned about anyway?, a voice snickers. He can be perfectly chill about it too. No problem. Why would that be a problem? Because on a scale of 10 Eliott happens to be a solid 15? Hell, he should be bragging about it, if anything. But there aren’t many people to brag about it with in the first place, so. The silence stretches between them and Lucas begrudgingly takes in his surroundings. A brunette in a floral-patterned jumpsuit rounds their table, and from the corner of his eye he can see her nudging Eliott in the shoulder. “Hey, mom wants us to take a selfie with Marjorie.”

“When did she become obsessed with those?”, Eliott grumbles without budging, but another nudge gets him rising from his seat with a sigh.

There’s an unintentional eye-contact as Eliott is leaving the table, but Lucas’ eyes automatically dart onto the three glasses sitting in front of him. It’s like they’re making fun of his hangover. Ah ah ah you should have gotten drunk tonight.

Well, maybe he’s gonna do that.

Maybe he’ll just steal a bottle of whisky or whatever they were offering at the bar and down it by himself in the bedroom waiting for him inside the house. He grumpily digs out his phone and starts scrolling through his IG feed and his twitter timeline. It’s already near impossible to drown out the noises all around, but it gets particularly complicated when the few cousins mentioned on the nametags come to his table to settle in their designated seats.

“Shit, Lulu,” his cousin Charline exclaims as soon as she’s done adjusting her frizzy red hair, “we’ve been looking for you for hours.”

He gestures vaguely. “I was there. Talking. With people.” Hiding from you all.

Her brother Nicolas sits next to her, and two more girls slide into the remaining chairs. He’s not good with faces but he’s 100% sure they are from his stepmother’s side. There’s a bit of an awkward silence at first and a few attempts at small-talk, only disturbed by the ‘thank you’ Charline chirps happily when a waiter spinning around the tables like a professional octopus drops a freezing cold water bottle and two bottles of wine at the center of their table, next to the centerpiece.

“Who’s Eliott?” Charline wonders, frowning, as she leans closer to peer at the nametag next to him, and Lucas reclines against his backrest with a mental huff when her hair hits him in the face.

One of the two girls in front of him grins. “Oh, we got Eliott? I thought we had Gaby. He’s her brother.”

“Marjo is her godmother, right?” The girl nods and Charline turns to him excitedly, hopping from one topic to another like she’s paid to do that. “Hey, we didn’t get to talk yet. How are things going for you?”

Awesome. I drunk like a moron last night and I almost missed my train because I couldn’t walk straight this morning. Oh, and the guy I slept with on an impulse is five minutes away from sitting his ass next to me for the next six hours to come. So exciting indeed. He doesn’t even know why it’s a big deal. Probably because he’s a man of principles. Yes. And the principle of one-night-stands is precisely not to stick around long enough to give the other person the time to regret their choices.

He gives her an unimpressed look and a no-less impressed shoulder raise. “It’s fine.”

He reaches for the water bottle to fill the biggest wine-glass at his disposal, when Eliott swiftly slides in the seat next to him. There’s a round of ‘oh hey’ ‘hi’ ‘I’m Eliott’ ‘it’s written on the nametag’ ‘oh yeah’ that Lucas is trying his best not to partake in, which isn’t made any easier by Charline’s throaty laugh that surprisingly enough (note the irony) gets really fast onto his nerves.

“I’m working in an art gallery,” Eliott says at one point.

There’s a whistle. “Shit, that sounds serious,” Nicolas observes.

Did he mention that Nico’s sense of responsibilities is non-existent? Last he heard of him, a few years ago, he was trying to pick a college with a good party scene. If he had been born American, he’d be your typical fuckboy lurking around the frathouse at 25 — Lucas himself is not exceptionally ambition-driven himself, but there’s a limit.

“It’s mostly sending emails,” Eliott huffs a laugh. “And running around before the automatic alarm sets off at night to get everything in order.”

Charline goes onto flaunting her degree in sociology, like she didn't move to Quebec because it’s easier over there, and Lucas is this close to roll his eyes — but instead he bites it down, because he’s survived this long without causing a diplomatic incident to let it all go to waste. The conversation picks up without him. He keeps himself busy with his phone and his plate, while everyone else chit-chats obnoxiously. They talk about family memories and Christmas mornings, about vacations at the beach, about missing swim-trunks stories and kindergarten tantrums, and with every single one of them he feels his grip tightening around his fork. A day to celebrate, my ass, he thinks bitterly, stabbing a piece of his food.

“Wine?”

His eyes meet Eliott’s, who waves the bottle of red wine.  

He shakes his head. “Thanks, I’m gonna stick to water,” he mutters, and suddenly it’s like everybody remembers he exists, for better or for worse. Eliott is busy filling the glass of one of the girls but he shoots him a glare anyway. It’s his fault. It has to be.

“You’re still a student, right?” Charline asks between two bites of the first course.

“I graduated last year,” he replies stiffly, travelling a piece of his fish terrine in his plate, and since she’s still not looking somewhere else he elaborates: “I’m on a six-month internship in a private cabinet.”

“Oh, yeah! Accounting, right?”

“Architecture.”

There are plenty of reasons why she wouldn’t remember his major, objectively he knows that, but it goes with the fact that she barely remembers his age and that he’s practically sure the last time they texted was for Christmas two years ago — it only fuels his desire to flee. His attention drifts away to the main table, where his dad and his new wife stand up from their respective seats to start greeting each table. They’re lucky enough (joke) to be from the main family, so it’s a given one of them will drop by their table in a little while, and he’d rather die than have his dad looking all pleased and cheerful asking him why he’s not having fun.

“I need some fresh air,” he mutters to no one in particular, as he grabs his jacket and his phone before leaving the table.

Not like anyone will care.

Not like he gives a fuck if they do.

*

Since he’s not a fan of losing himself in the woods near-by and that hiding in the improvised parking-lot has gotten a lot creepier now that it’s dark as a pit, he’s opted for the bedroom that has been assigned to him for the weekend. At first, when his dad and his stepmother started talking about the sleeping arrangements, they had talked about him sharing with at least one if not two cousins, but he had been petty enough to say that if he had to share, he might as well not come at all.

He didn’t mean it. Like, sharing was really no big deal. He was just trying to push until his dad eventually burst and so he got a reason to dodge this whole bullshit altogether. But his dad had not burst. He had not done much, aside from sighing, shrugging, and saying that he’d get a bedroom to himself.

What a fucking joke.

He’s sitting on the balcony, trying to calm his nerves with a cigarette, when there’s a small knock on the door. He turns half-heartedly, only to stare at Eliott standing in the doorway, one shoulder nonchalantly resting against the doorframe like he’s always belonged here.

“How did you find me?”, he grumbles.

Eliott offers a small smirk in return. “Trust me I’ve majored in finding quiet spots to sulk.” He seems to hesitate, before he takes a few tentative steps in the room.

Lucas swallows down a huff. He’s half-tempted to tell him that he isn’t about to explode, but he simply turns away. “I’m not sulking. And you didn’t have to come, I’m fine.” Even if he flings himself off the railing, it’s only the first floor anyway. The worst that could happen would be for him to break his back. Or a leg. In short, more shit to deal with. It’d deter anyone.

Eliott footsteps grow closer, and soon he’s stepping on the balcony. “Do you want me to go?”

Not really. Maybe a little. He can’t really make his mind.

“Whatever,” he shrugs, vaguely gesturing with the hand holding the cigarette, and it makes the smoke draw intricate patterns in the air.

He’s not a heavy smoker. He’s just your typical stress-smoker who needs some nicotine in his system to avoid a major breakdown — he always ends up breaking down anyway, but whatever. Eliott seems to ponder for a hot minute, and Lucas is this close to burst and yell ‘in or out’ when he eventually brings himself to sit down next to him. They stay quiet for a moment, the silence only disturbed by the loud conversations coming from under the tent.

“I’ve lied. To you.”

He turns his head to Eliott, who suddenly seems far too interested by the tobacco packet he exhumes from his pocket to look at him straight in the eye. Lucas watches as he tucks a filter tip between his lips and goes on to fill the roll with tobacco.

“If that’s the moment you admit you’re a psycho who followed me all the way from Paris, it couldn’t have come at a better time, I’m ready to die.”

“Nah,” Eliott lets out, his lighter flickering as he lights up the cigarette a moment later. “I wasn’t at your table. I switched the nametags when no one was looking.”

He doesn’t really know why but it draws a small snort from him, as he tugs on his cigarette. It’s not that he hates having him around, he just didn’t expect him to exist outside of the bar from last night. It was the deal, right? He’s pretty sure it was. He remembers flashes of skin and ragged breathes, he remembers fisting his hand into Eliott’s hair and he remembers creeping out of his flat in the middle of the night. There’s a reason he didn’t leave his number behind — but at the same time it sort of balances out with the rest, and he can’t pinpoint why.

Except that now Eliott is sitting there, and he exists, and the leather jacket has left way to a suit jacket, and his hair is all combed. It’s weird, Lucas decides.

“I wish you had removed mine instead of yours,” he mumbles. At least it would have kept the cousins away.

Eliott huffs a laugh, glancing at him. “Way too obvious. You’re the son of the groom, I’m sure they paid extra attention to where you’d be sitting.”

Lucas slowly shakes his head with a snort. “You’ve got a high opinion of my dad.”

Like everybody else, he almost adds. No one is really able to fathom how much that charming and easy-going man can be borderline cold and uncaring when he sets his mind to be — and that’s even without mentioning that he’s never even bothered acknowledging he’s gay. It’s just like Lucas never came out.

A group loudly erupts in laughter under the tent, and Lucas’ eyebrow twitches in exasperation as he puffs out a cloud of smoke. “Can I ask something?”, Eliott asks, thoughtfully considering the cigarette between his fingers. “You don’t have to answer.” Lucas shrugs, letting some ash fall into the empty plastic cup he found on the way up here. “Why did you come at all if you don’t like them?”

It draws another snort from him. He makes it sound like it’s… yeah, like it’s easy. “Peer pressure,” he says neutrally. There’s an ocean between not wanting to attend this wedding and making it plain, and actually getting away with not going. He heaves a sigh and rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not that I don’t like them. They just… You know. They’re all nice and fun until you actually need them.”

He brings his cigarette to his lips and tries to focus on the gulp making its way in his chest to avoid thinking about his eyes and the way they’re starting to sting. He presses his lips tighter. “My mom. She’s schizophrenic. Half of the people you see here were once part of her family too and I can count on one hand how many of them actually offered to help whenever shit would go down.”

And that includes my dad. Between those who clearly didn’t want to deal with it and those who kept acting like she was a ticking bomb whenever she was in the same room as them, there weren’t many left to spend Christmas with or throw birthday parties. Shitty annual family gatherings stopped when he was 14 and no one really tried to push for them to be maintained. Every kind of relationship needs work on both parts to function, even family, and he’s not the only one to blame for shutting them out.

Eliott doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t know if it’s good or bad. He doesn’t really care anyway. It’s not like he’s expecting anything from him. He puts out his cigarette against the ground and drops it in the plastic cup.

“I know what it feels like,” Eliott muses, exhaling a puff of smoke. Lucas gives him a questioning look, and Eliott answers with a twist of his mouth. “The ticking-bomb thing. People dropping you.” He has a sigh, looking away as he brushes invisible specks of dust off his pants. “It sucks big time. Even when you think you’re over it, it still stings.”

It stings. “Yeah.” They fall silent again, and Lucas folds his legs against his chest to try and warm himself a bit, resting his chin on his knees. “You should probably head back anyway, my mood isn’t gonna improve in a matter of seconds.” It’s not because he’s dreaming to be literally anywhere else on the planet at the moment that he has to ruin the party for everyone, he guesses.

“Don’t worry, I’m not expecting anything else,” Eliott scoffs. Lucas shoots him a half-surprised, half-offended glance. “I mean, I offered you a drink last night and you straight up went ‘no names no talking’ on me.”

It should make him feel self-conscious. Embarrassed. But instead he finds himself huffing a laugh and the smile on Eliott’s lips broadens. “Is that a laugh I’m hearing?”

“Fuck off, you’re not that interesting.”

Eliott hums with an eyebrow raise and puts out his cigarette. He keeps the smoke trapped in his mouth for a second, then he tips his head back and releases it in a long puff swirling away in the darkness. It shouldn’t look so good and yet. It’s probably easier to look sexy while smoking when you look like an Armani ad printed on glossy paper.

“It kinda bummed me out that you didn’t leave a number,” Eliott says, quietly, and for a moment Lucas is too confused to put 2 and 2 together. He turns his head eventually, meeting Lucas’ eyes, and his only response at first is to twist his mouth a little.

“I’m not really an expert in one-night-hook-ups, but isn’t that the point?”

Eliott ponders the answer, and eventually gives a casual shrug. “Dunno. I’m not good with those either. I get attached, things get messy.” He punctuates it with a wrinkle of his nose before looking away, right in front of him.

Lucas’ voice sounds a little rough when he braces himself to ask. “Is that what’s happening?”

Why would someone like Eliott even get attached to someone like him anyway? That’s fucking surreal. It feels like he’s being trapped in a prank show. Will hot-dude-Eliott manage to make regular-Lucas believe it in the next two hours? Stay tuned to find out! Eliott glances at him sideways, and the way he ducks his head, it seems like he’s purposefully trying to make himself smaller. “Will you freak out if I say maybe?”

“A little, probably,” he admits. About your taste in men, definitely. Eliott doesn’t reply anything, and for some reason he finds himself leaning to the side a little, and gives him a slight nudge of the shoulder. “Relax I’m joking.”

“A laugh and a joke?” Eliott deadpans. “Turns out you’re quite the life of the party after all. Can’t wait to see you run downstairs on the dancefloor.”

As if. Lucas lets out a snort and shakes his head. “I’m not moving unless they play Emile & Images.”

As soon as the name dangles off his mouth, he knows he could very well be screwed. Knowing what crappy DJs like the one currently working in the backyard like to play, it’s a given that Jusqu'au bout de la nuit is on the track list. Eliott seems to have followed the exact same train of thoughts, because he starts laughing, his shoulders relaxing and a large smile brightening his features.

“That’s literally two tracks away, no take-backs,” he snickers, but when Lucas rolls his eyes and huffs a laugh, it comes out shaky. Eliott pauses, frowning. “Dude, you’re freezing. C’mon, let’s go inside,” he says, immediately rising on his feet.

Dude. Is he fucking serious? Lucas stares at him with wide eyes from his spot on the ground, not budging. “Did you really just ‘dude’ me?”, he scoffs, lifting himself off the floor. Seriously, if it’s his way of friend-zoning all of a sudden, hello whiplash.

“I was trying to be casual, thanks for ruining it,” Eliott retorts. He heads inside the bedroom without looking back and Lucas closes the bay-window behind him as he steps in. “Plus, I thought names were off the table anyway.”

Lucas waves dismissively as he sits down on the bed. “That was before you showed up here and we both had a nametag attached to our plate.”

Maybe he’s just not made for one-night-stands. Maybe that’s just the universe’s way of telling ‘you suck at those, get a grip’. Yeah. Probably. After a while Eliott joins him, settling at the foot of the bed. There’s a silence stretching a little, and he doesn’t know what to think of it now. They can hear the music coming from under the tent, distant and muffled but far too present for either of them to be able to forget about it.

He presses his lips together and glances at Eliott. “Lucas,” he says eventually, holding out a hand still tingling a little from the cold, “22 years of daddy issues crammed into a surprisingly muscular body.”

It gets him a chuckle, rough but sweet. “Eliott,” he says, squeezing his hand. “Your local, problematic dubstep fan with a gravity problem.”

“Dubstep,” Lucas repeats, raising an eyebrow.

“Dubstep,” Eliott nods, unabashed, almost defiant.

He hasn’t let go of his hand yet.

Lucas isn’t quite sure he wants him to.

*

He stirs awake with a small grunt when the mattress starts dipping. It’s weird. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep in the first place. A rustle of fabric accompanies Eliott’s movements while he sits up to sweep his phone unlocked, still clad in his button up and his dark slacks.

“Sorry,” Eliott whispers sheepishly as he glances at him. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Lucas pushes himself onto his back, drowsily reaching to rub a hand over his face. He’s slept with clothes on before, but never with a suit — and it sucks. The sleeves of his shirt are too tight, his pants feel like sandpaper and his belt is digging into his midsection.

“What time is it?”, he mumbles approximatively, but it turns out a bit more muffled and with fewer words than that.

The room is completely dark, aside from Eliott’s phone, and he no longer hears any music outside. Last time he remembers checking the time was… maybe around 2? 3? He didn’t do it often though. There was surprisingly enough of Eliott to keep him busy, conversation wise. That’s probably why they are laying down the way they are, in the middle of the bed.

“Almost 6. I have to go,” Eliott says, sitting on the edge. The look of confusion Lucas sends him apparently prompts him to add: “Marjorie rented a cottage for my parents, and my sister’s looking for me.”

Everything is a bit blurry, though, and what he gathers at first isn’t exactly a full sentence. But the moment Eliott’s starting to move, he reaches out, hand winding onto his hip a bit haphazardly. It’s too dark for him to be able to see anything, so he has no way of knowing what Eliott’s reaction might have possibly been when he mumbles: “Can you stay?”

Please. He doesn’t add it, for some reason, which is weird because his mom raised him well in the end, but Eliott doesn’t seem to mind that it’s lacking. “Yeah, okay,” he says after a moment. There’s another outpour of bright light that makes Lucas squeeze his eyes shut and bury his face into the comforter, when Eliott unlocks his phone to type a quick text.

That’s absolutely not something he should ask for. That he shouldn’t even be in a position to ask for.

But he wants to be selfish — just this time. The light goes out as quickly as it arrived, leaving him completely blind as Eliott lays back down, and it feels almost wrong not to be able to look at him when he just knows they’re so close. But again, his eyes are heavy and his mind a bit fuzzy. He’s almost drifting back asleep already by the time he feels gentle fingers grazing his cheekbone.

“Lucas,” he whispers, so softly that he almost thinks it’s not meant for him to hear at first. “I think I’m falling for you.”

“You and your gravity problems,” he mumbles with a small huff, but he leans into the touch anyway.

Maybe something good can still come out of this, is the last thing he thinks before sleep takes over.  

[lemonflavouredspatula]

hi! what are some of your favorite christmas things?

hello!!!!

ooooo christmas, i love christmas so apologies if this becomes a long mess -

- call me cliché but i love presents, giving other people something they really want and playing a little part in their day of happiness? amazing

also (insight into my crazy family here lmao, apologies) but we (and i don't know why or how this started but it's just a thing) all write our names and a colour on a piece of paper and randomly pick one each, and then fill a stocking up with 15-20 random little cheap bits we find in shops in that colour and wrap them in ridiculous ways and we can honestly end up with anything from really shitty cheap little plastic cocktail sticks to 11 individually wrapped pens (which yes i did to my dad. twice.) and everything in between and it is genuinely a very good laugh

- i'm going to start this off by reinstating that my family is crazy. like really. so, again unsure why or how this started, but on christmas eve we all get together and make mince pies. roughly 90. and no i'm not kidding. there's usually 11 of us on christmas day, two can't even eat mince pies and yet we still spend an entire evening drinking and singing along to christmas songs and making so many mince pies we run out of room to cool them. we do end up giving a lot of them out to family friends and in hampers for others but we do go through a lot ourselves. who doesn't love a homemade mince pie right?😂

- going to the christmas tree farm and walking in and amongst a forest of trees and pine cones and feeling so incredibly at peace. and then finding the perfect tree and chopping it down and bringing it home is just, i love it

- decorations. i LOVE decorating for christmas. putting the tree up and decorating that is so fun, bringing out all (and when i say all, i mean all) the little characters we have sitting around in and outside the house (which, yes, i have named them all) and lights!!! god i love christmas lights, everyone's houses just look SO pretty. we're really the only house in my little street that do more than one set of lights (and we really do do more than one, turning them all on/off is a task™) and tbh we're like a bright little beacon of light on the corner and i think it's joyful

- bringing out and decorating the castles my grandad made quite a few years ago. he was a crafty man (like my whole family tbh) and made each household a christmas castle out of old toilet rolls and cereal boxes/tablet boxes and matchsticks and sprayed them gold. he made my sister and i one each about a year or 2 before he died, with our names in old english stuck on the front, and they are the one decoration we all cherish deeply in our hearts and light up with pride.

- giving my dog presents. yeah. and yeah i do buy him more than i buy anyone else. i love him and he's my world and i know he doesn't know that they're for a special occasion but i still spoil him nonetheless.

- my family all descend on my nan's house on christmas morning and we don't leave until the new year has rung in, even though we only live 5 minutes from each other and i love it??? it's the one time of the year my family just forget all their toxic opinions and we just get on and have a good time.

- my nan started a tradition in my town many many years ago where the high street shuts down and all the shops stay open late and there's the local brass band playing carols, staff from banks and pubs and restaurants all stand outside their respective buildings serving mulled wine and homemade mince pies. Charity's and local guide/scout groups sell homemade crafts and bakes for charity/to fund an excursion. Local crafts people sell things they've made on little stalls, santa sits on his sleigh with his reindeer, choirs (one which i'm part of) sing christmas songs in the street, halls and community spaces open up for more stalls and it is a wonderfully joyful start to christmas. It was started as an ode to the victorian times and people would often dress up in dickensian outfits, not as many people do these days but the whole town comes out for the lighting of the lights and our town's beginning of christmas.

- performing in christmas concerts. The choir that i'm part of usually does a christmas concert each year (supposed to do one in an old cathedral a few towns over this year but ya know, 2020 happened) and they're always a load of fun too, because we do not take ourselves too seriously.

- attending the local brass band's christmas carol sing along. My grandad wrote a few pieces of music for them and my nan is vice president for them and very much a friend and my family has been going for as long as i can remember. They play carols, we dress up incredibly festively and sing along. There's mince pies and a raffle and a lot of very silly fun.

- boxing day because we all just wake up at some point nearing afternoon (after going to sleep at around 3/4am the night before probably) and eat left over food from the day before, meaning we have mince pies for breakfast and turkey sandwiches for lunch and endless christmas pudding for dinner and we spend the entire day playing board games and just genuinely having a laugh.

- talking of christmas pudding, we make them too. We all get together at my nans in around october every couple of years and make enough christmas pudding mix for roughly 8 puddings, using the same recipe my nan's nan used when she was young. We don't eat all 8 in one day though lmao, we tend to get through 2 between those of us that can eat it on christmas day and boxing day. We then have another on new years eve and another at easter (i yet again do not know why but i am also not complaining). The other 4 get doused in brandy every few months and come out the following christmas and tbh by the time we eat them, we don't need to pour brandy over them to light them on fire, they are flammable enough themselves😂 and thankfully we made enough last year that we didn't have to this year because, ya know, 2020.

- christmas morning. I know it sounds cliché and all but no matter how old i am and how far i've strayed from childhood, i wake up with giddy excitement for the few days of genuine joy i know i'm going to experience. I wear a ridiculously christmassy outift that is just pattern after pattern after pattern and a santa hat and ridiculous earings and wake up to the smell of the turkey cooking in the oven that my mum got up at stupid hours of the morning to prepare. And then we all go up to my nans and shout merry christmas at each other and all easily fall into roles of putting presents under the tree and finding enough mismatched chairs for everyone to sit at, trapesing through the garage to get the extra table, covering them all in many christmassy table cloths, setting the table, preparing the food, folding the christmas napkins into christmas trees (yes i do do that, it makes us laugh), giving everyone a cracker and putting the santa salt and pepper shakers on the table, roles that we wordlessly assigned ourselves years before we realised we had.

I just, i love christmas. And i apologise for just throwing a load of words at you but here is a very very crazy insight into what it is about christmas that i thoroughly enjoy and thank you for taking time to even ask <33

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Thirty-Six

Table of Content or Part Thirty-Five

Read on wattpad here.

Word count: 3.3k

Warning(s): Explicit language, drug abuse, explicit sexual situations

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LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED

"If you weren't such an asshole, he wouldn't have to take up for me!" I bark at Nikki as he tipsily stumbles around, ranting at me about my "fucking friend not minding his own god damn business" nearly a week ago, as the guys and Doc just look on, not knowing what the hell either of us are talking about.

"I'm an asshole?! Like you don't get me riled up and then play victim?!" He throws at me.

"Like it takes very much to get your tweaked-out ass riled up!" I point at him.

"Bitch!" He sneers out.

"Fuck up!" I hiss back.

Duff wasn't even out of line with Nikki. He had kept calm and advised Nikki to cool down and then come back and talk to me instead of getting himself and me upset.

Nikki hadn't let on if he minded Duff's intervening to defend me, until a week later, because he was taking it as Duff trying to tell him how to be married to me as if he knew me better than Nikki did, which wasn't at all Duff's intention.

Compared to the number I've seen Duff do on guys during a fist fight, Nikki was lucky he didn't lay him out in the driveway. However, he would eventually know what it felt like to be punched in the face by Duff during the "Girls" tour.

Duff was good at keeping his cool until the people he cared about became involved, and if he had been drinking a lot--which, towards the early 90s, that was the case--his temper could surpass mine, and he worried less about legalities and just started decking people as hard as he could.

I knew he struggled with the band, they weren't as close, Steven had been replaced by Matt Sorum, Izzy got sober and began distancing himself to stay sober, and to top off the disconnect from each other, Axl had become God in his own mind, which caused the fans, the band, and the people around him to suffer.

Once I realized his drinking and drug use became so overzealous, our agreement which was arranged out of court, that each of us have two weeks with Monroe a piece, became an arrangement that I had sole custody but took Monroe to visit his father for a few days out of the month. Duff was struggling so badly to keep it together with his mental health, addiction, and ailing of his band, that he didn't really notice I had our son more than he did.

If he had been a baby and wouldn't remember his father throwing back Solo cup after Solo cup of vodka, putting cocaine in the end of his cigarette and smoking it, and not acting like himself, I would have just left Monroe in the care of Tansy (since she was fully sober then) and let him stay around for two weeks.

But he was four when Duff started speeding down hill, and he was picking up on when his dad wasn't talking right and when he was acting weird, everything he saw that no one knew he was paying attention to...then he'd come back to me and Nikki after visiting and tell us about everything he had absorbed like a sponge: uncle Izzy traveling separately from the band, Dad being really cold and shivering until he got some water, uncle Axl not singing until a lot of people went home...that's when I decided to cut back time spent with his father and accompany him through his visits.

At first I thought I would be fine staying the two weeks out of the month with Monroe, but Axl and I couldn't quit fighting a majority of the time (because he was a jackass) and I came to the conclusion that Duff had enough on his plate and didn't need me to add to it by trying to punch Axl every chance I got for two weeks straight. So I cut it back to about five days out the month while they were on tour. When they weren't touring and I didn't have to be around Axl, Monroe and I would stay with Duff for about a week and a half.

Being that Nikki was more conscious than Duff, he took up where Duff had left off in the fathering department from '92-'94. This isn't me bashing the dad of my first child, either. Duff is and always will be a phenomenal father, but he stumbled for a few years, leaving Nikki to become the father Duff was supposed to be until Duff got his shit together, like Duff became the man for me that Nikki was suppose to be until Nikki got his shit together.

"Um..." Vince says, causing the both of us to glare at him. "...Can we rehearse now?"

He, Tommy, Mick and Doc were all patiently waiting for Nikki and I to finish our quarrel.

"Yeah." I sigh out. "Have a good rehearsal. I'll be at Tansy's." I head to the door.

"I hope you crash." Nikki gets one last jab in.

"I hope you OD." I leave them with the slamming of the studio door and step to my car.

Of course I didn't actually want him to OD, I just wanted to hurt him. And I did.

By the time it was time for the U.S. tour of Theater of Pain, our hands were being pinned behind our backs, and Doc was giving us a "get along or there's no Vivian Sixx on the tour" promise.

Although we were in the middle of a small battle and wanted nothing more than for the other person to wave their white flag and beg for forgiveness, Nikki didn't want to imagine going months without seeing me, and I was scared if I wasn't on tour to keep an eye on him, he would take his issues too far.

So we made up for the sake of each other's sanity, but again, never discussed what exactly happened to make us fight to begin with, and just harbored resentment we didn't realize we were holding onto until we started taking it out on each other later on.

The tour starts in upstate New York, then to Connecticut, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and all went great...until Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

Nikki's coming to the side of the stage where me and his tech are standing, and I think he's reaching for some water while Tommy plays his drum solo, but before I can reach down and grab a bottle from the cooler behind me, Nikki's saying words I always dread hearing.

"Help me, dude." He tells his tech, starting to pull his arm out of his navy and white polka-dotted costume.

"What?" I ask Nikki, before my face pales, seeing him pull a needle out of his boot, and a spoon before handing the lump of tar to him. "You cannot be fucking serious?" I spout over the booming of Tommy's playing.

"Nobody out there can fucking see me, Viv, chill out." He tells me as a piece of tar is melted down with a lighter underneath the spoon.

The fact that it's so casual for him to do this in front of me, is startling.

"Nikki, this can't wait?" I try to reason with him as the spoon is discarded to the floor once the gold is sucked up through the needle.

The syringe is handed back to him, and Tommy's solo is nearly over.

I have to squeeze my eyes shut and turn my head as Nikki plunges the needle into his skin, throws up, then stumbles back on stage, nearly missing his cue.

When the drugs started to override his need for a great performance, I knew he was gone.

I get out of the shower, ringing my hair out and running my fingers through it, hearing the phone in the hotel room ring.

When I go to answer it, Nikki and Tommy are grabbing at it, shewing me away.

"Hello?" They both obnoxiously say and I roll my eyes.

The person on the other side of the phone says something.

"Oh, hey, Duff." Nikki smirks, glancing at me and I give him a "you better be fucking nice" look.

"Hey, Buddy." Tommy adds.

"Viv? Yeah, she's here." Nikki tells him and I step to them, reaching my hand out to grab the phone, thinking he's going to give it to me. "Well, she can't really talk right now with my dick down her throat."

My eyes bug out of my head as I tackle Nikki and yank the phone from him while he and Tommy laugh loudly.

"Hello?" I ask.

"Hey, s-sorry to interrupt but I was just gonna call and check how it's been going." Duff replies.

"It's great." I assure him, leaving out the heavy drinking and drug binge Nikki and Tommy have been on.

"How's Nikki been? Is he still pissed at me?"

"No, no, he's been..." I think of what to say. Shooting heroin on stage? Coked out and shooting Jack Daniels with Tommy? "...great." I finally say, seeing Nikki and Tommy biting each others ankles like dogs.

"I'm sorry again if I overstepped, Viv. I didn't mean to, I just got a little pissed." He tells me.

"Duff, he's fine, I promise." I state, seeing Tommy and Nikki start wrestling, completely oblivious to my conversation. "It's fine. I'm use to his tantrums."

"I don't think that's healthy, Viv." He tells me calmly and I let out a breath.

"He's just stressed out, they all are. It'll get better once this tour is done."

"And what happens next tour?" He asks me.

Nikki's affair is outed on television, I try to kill him, your band comes on tour with them, and you get me knocked up...

"I'm hoping he'll be over this hellion phase by then." I admit, Tommy and Nikki each have handfuls of each other's hair, yanking on it, still not paying me any attention.

"Maybe it's not my place, but from outside looking in, I'm worried about you, Viv."

"I know, I know, but there's no need to." I reassure him.

He let's out a breath, knowing he can't win, and gives up for now.

"I feel like the fucking brick wall you argue with." He tells me and I smile, rubbing my lips together, before seeing Nikki and Tommy finish their play fighting, standing up, looking like they're about to leave.

"Hey, I gotta go but I'll call you when we get to the next city, alright?" I tell him.

"Oh, yeah, that sounds good." He replies. "Goodnight, love you."

"Love you, too." I reply before hanging up just as Nikki and Tommy sneak to the door. "Where do you two think you're going?" I ask and they freeze.

"Uh, well..." Tommy stutters to come up with an excuse, but Nikki just doesn't give a shit.

"Score some stuff." He tells me and I cross my arms over my towel.

"Nikki--"

"Tommy, can you give us a second?" Nikki says it like the answer can't be "no."

Tommy just raises his brows a little and nods.

"Sure, man, I'll be in my room when you're ready." He tells him, stepping out.

Nikki shuts the door behind him and I wait for him to start a fight, my brow raised, an expression of "can't wait to hear what audacious bullshit comes out of your mouth this time" is plastered all over my face when he turns around.

As far as I can tell, he hasn't snorted, shot up or smoked anything in the past hour and a half, which means I'm not facing the absolute devil that goes by the name "Sikki" and is Nikki's evil, drug loaded, irritable, mean, scary, abusive, demonic, sadistic, cruel, vindictive, disgusting alter-ego.

Nikki rolls his jaw a little with each step to me, but I don't cower back, waiting for him to say whatever it is he is going to say.

His hands bunch at my towel, pulling me against him.

He doesn't say a word, and I keep my arms crossed until he holds back the inkling of a smirk, leaning down to press a small kiss where my shoulder and neck meet.

I know what he's doing, because I do it to him all the time: using sex to get what he wants.

I bite my tongue to keep from moaning when we realizes I'm not budging and ups the anti, the tip of his tongue making slow, figure-eights in the same spot.

I feel like someone's knocked the back of my knees loose with a baseball bat, and I have to uncross my arms and hold tightly to him to keep from falling down.

He completely engulfs me in his arms at the sound of me letting out a whimper, my fingers grabbing at his hair, my legs rubbing themselves together to aid some relief.

His hands pull at my towel, discarding it to the floor, pressing his lips along my chest, over my breast, running his tongue around my nipple skillfully.

Hands run themselves between my legs while teeth carnally tug and bruise my skin, sending a wave of heat from my chest to my dripping core.

His mouth moves to my other nipple, but my real undoing is when his teeth trail down to the rib below my right breast, and bite down.

I gasp out, arching into him, my head tips back as he adds a bruise to the skin there that's already scarred with his teeth imprints collected over the years.

He smooths his tongue over the bite before trailing down my stomach, pressing to my pubic bone.

He pulls one of my legs over his shoulder as he gets on his knees, pressing gentle kisses down my inner thigh.

My chest is heaving with loss of breath as he looks me in the eyes and runs tongue from my entrance to my clit.

I dig my nails into his hands that hold steady at my waist as the slick sound and euphoric feeling of his tongue lacing back and forth and side to side against the sensitive nerve endings.

He pulls away for a moment, only to spit between my legs and suck it off my pussy, making my one standing leg go numb at the sensation.

Shallow pants leave my mouth as I start moving in rhythm with him, one of my hands reaching for his hair, pulling at it.

He takes one of his hands from me before rubbing it against my folds, getting his fingers wet, and sliding them into me.

The thick, fullness has my walls tightening around the two digits, eager to please myself as his tongue massages my clit, and my fingers come up to play with my own nipples.

"Nikki." I let out shakily, his fingers curling inside of me, pulling back out, pushing back in only to repeat. "Fuck, you do it so good." I praise hoarsely, one of my hands going back to his hair.

His tongue picks up it's pace, sending my heart rate into overdrive as his fingers keep up with the pace.

He knows exactly what he's doing, smirking up at me when his fingers hit the spot, my throat unable to contain the loud but curt moan that the people in the room next to us can probably hear as I milk his fingers as if they're his cock and my orgasm gets closer and closer.

He pulls his mouth away, licking his lips, before using the pad of his thumb from his other hand to rapidly rub at my swollen flesh.

I grip around his fingers so tightly it falters his ability to move them as well, and he lets out a little groan.

"I wish I could be three places at one time." He comments.

If he could be three places in me at one time I would be wrapped around him 24/7.

"C'mon, Viv, I'm getting really thirsty here." He says gruffly, that fucking smirk pulling at a corner of his mouth, as I throw my head back, letting out another loud moan, so close to my end I can taste it.

His hazel eyes looking up at me in adoration as I curl my toes and come so hard I see black dots.

He's taking his fingers out of me, grabbing at my ass with both hands, pulling me into him and licking every last drop of cum from me before I collapse on top of him, the both of us landing on the floor.

He let's out a laugh as I try to catch my breath, my chest pressed against his, my hands holding at his biceps.

"Are you okay?" He asks me, proudly, and I nod.

"I just need a minute..." I can barely get out in a rasp.

After about five minutes, I'm getting off of him and pulling myself onto the foot of the bed.

He stands up, too, stepping to my suitcase, tossing me one of his shirts he gave to me.

"Thank you." I say to him quietly and pull it on and when he pulls his jacket on, I know he's about to go out to get some more smack.

This terrifies me and tears come to my eyes.

"I'll be back in..." He stops talking, furrowing his brows, looking at me. "...Viv?"

I shake my head a little, waving him off.

"I'm fine, babe." I try to tell him.

"Vivian, why're crying." He asks me.

"I-I think I'm about to start my period." I lie, sniffling. "I'm just being over-emotional."

"Are you sure?"

I nod.

"I'll be back in a couple hours, alright?"

I nod again.

"Alright, I'll see you later." He tells me, wiping my tears with his thumb before pressing his lips to mine for a few seconds, and walking out the door.

When I envisioned my life when I was little, getting married at nineteen, having three miscarriages by the time I was twenty-one, having an addict husband, and spending a majority of my nights sleeping alone—which is one thing I absolutely hated to do—was not at all how I dreamt of my life being when I grew up.

But there I was.

Night after night.

City after city.

Alone.

In pain.

Broken.

Silent.

With not a single soul knowing about it.

It's been four hours and Nikki still isn't back.

Restless, I turn over to read the digital alarm clock.

4:02a.m.

Sighing out, I get out of the bed and go to my suitcase to grab a pair of panties and slip them on, before grabbing one of Nikki's shirts from his bag that smells like him.

I leave the hotel room and head next door to Vince's room, knocking on the door.

After several attempts, the door opens to reveal a very confused, half asleep, blonde girl that isn't Sharise—who's baby is due any day now.

"Hi." I say, hushly, pushing past her. "Did you guys do anything in the bed?" I ask her once I'm standing by the bed and she rubs her eyes, still in a haze.

She mumbles something that sounds like "the shower" and I hold out my room key to her.

"You can go sleep in my bed. Room 223." I say.

She doesn't ask questions, she just wants to go back to sleep.

Once she shuts the door, I'm patting around the mattress to avoid laying on Vince.

I slip in where she was, Vince's back to me.

I seperate his naked body from me by laying on top of the sheet, just letting the comforter guard me from the cool air from the vent, and actually snuggle closer to him, my forehead pressing against his back as I hold Nikki's shirt close to me like it's my sacred baby blanket, and drift off.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hello! I’m looking for a game where you play as dying gods in a world that has mostly forgotten them. Do you know of such a thing?

Thank you!

THEME: Dying Gods

Friend, I am holding your hands lovingly. How did you manage to ask about a very specific game that I designed? 

(Don’t worry, it won’t just be shameless self-promotion).

Forgotten Gods, by quinnntastic.

you are gods.infinite, all encompassing,Forgotten.

Forgotten gods, trapped,adrift in the cosmos,left behind by a societythat no longer wanted you.

but you weren't Forgotten alone.

~*~

FORGOTTEN GODS is a game about otherness and clutching each other tightly in the face of the uncaring.

write letters to each other. remember who you were, who you are, who you will become. 

This is a single-page, slightly abstract, epistolary game. It gives your characters a beginning set-up: that you are gods, forgotten by your people, who have only each-other to talk to. A game that works very well for two players, it’s a great start for pairs of friends who may find it difficult to keep in touch across time zones. There is very little in terms of game structure; however, if all you need is a premise by which the two of you can write little pieces of fiction for each-other, this might be a neat little place to start.

If you bought the TTRPGs for Trans Rights in Texas, or the TTRPGs for Trans Rights in Florida bundle, you already own this game!

Mischief by Moonlight, by Mint-Rabbit (me!).

You are small gods, stolen away by colonizers inside the everyday items of those whom you loved. Your artifacts have been repainted, refurbished, and reconstructed until you hardly resemble your former selves, and you have found yourselves among other relics, closed up in glass cases,  temperature-controlled archives, or stuffed on top of a collector's shelf. 

However, some small remnant of your old magic remains. It is not grand or powerful, and it doesn't last nearly as long as it used to, but it's enough to do something about your current situation - whether that be haunting the museum, aiding other small spirits, or moving your artifacts to a different location. 

Mischief by Moonlight is an ode to all of the artifacts sitting in places like the British Museum that have no right to be there. You play as small deities, separated from the peoples who venerated them, bound to everyday objects that a museum has put on display. You’ve been separated from nearly everything and everyone that gave you power - but you haven’t diminished into nothingness. 

This game uses the VRBS system, by David Garrett, which consists of assigning action words to your characters, along with three tally-boxes per word. Failure will propel your character forward in that each failed roll allows you to either add a tally to a verb of your choice, or to add a new verb to the list of things your character can do. Your small gods will navigate different rooms of the museum, in an effort to help out other deities, haunt the staff, or whatever else your heart desires. 

If you like random roll tables, easy-to-learn rules, or if you just like the idea of poking fun at the British Museum, this game might be for you!

The Dying of the Light, by Keith D Edinburgh.

You are a God. 

For millennia, you have been worshipped faithfully, your powers striking awe into the hearts and minds of your followers. 

But something is changing. Your Followers have heard of a new way. The Age of Reason is dawning. Can you keep the flame of your divinity alive in the face of this unknowable threat?

The Dying of the Light is a one page roleplaying game for 2 or more players.

This game is only one page, and carries a simple collection of rules. It uses d4’s, d6’s and d8’s, and tracks the popularity of gods over a century. There’s not a lot of flavour for this game, so I think it might be a good companion to a larger game, especially if the game decides to check in on the world (and the effect the Gods have on it) over large periods of time. Otherwise, your group might have to work a bit to add a larger story - describing each act of the gods, inserting events that cause followers to fall away, etc.

[halstudandruz]

Opinions

*Not my gif*

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Requested? Yes

Prompts: #1: “I shouldn’t be in love with you” & #34: “It’s a real shame nobody asked for your opinion.”

Warnings: None

I had not been in the intelligence unit long, only about 7 months, but was quickly thrown into things once Erin Lindsay left. Jay was not the most pleasant partner after that. He was very closed off, and that made things a bit hard at first. However, to my own mistake I kept pushing and little by little Jay returned to what everyone referred to as “his good old self.” Little did I know that would open a whole different side of Jay. A charming, fearless Halstead that I found myself slowly falling for. I kept myself in check though. Nothing good could ever come out of dating your partner right? And I highly doubted he would ever try that again anyway. Luckily for me I could keep myself occupied. As long as I was with other guys I didn’t have to worry about swooning over Jay. Tonight we were at Molly’s all having a drink after a tough case. Well a tough case for me in particular since it involved girls my age getting kidnapped and raped. You probably wouldn’t know that by the way we were acting though. Slightly drunk and goofing around.

“Alright well it’s nearing 1am I can only keep up with you youngins for so long, I’m gonna take off.” Antonio said heading out as we bid our goodbyes. Not long after the only ones left at the table were Adam and I. Now I’d be lying if I said Adam wasn’t attractive. I think we both knew that Adam in particular. So of course Adam was full of his flirty self.

“How you holding up?” Adam asked sincerely smiling at me.

“Not bad. Feeling like I should probably stop ordering these.” I laughed gesturing to my beer.

“Yeah I feel ya.” Adam laughed sliding over next to me. “I don’t want you to feel awkward saying no or anything but want to keep this fun rolling at my place?” Adam whispered into my ear. I don’t know if it was because I was drunk or what, but I nodded yes smiling as I slide out of the booth, and that night was indeed full of fun to say the least. The next morning I waltzed into the unit feeling refreshed although slightly hungover. I made it clear to Adam that night was one time thing, but that didn’t stop his smirks and winks at me from across the room. Which in turn caused me to blush and laugh to myself. As subtle as I thought we were being apparently I forgot we worked with a bunch of dectectives. Not long after arriving Hank walked in informing us of another case.

“Three ODs in the last 24 hours. Reach out to your CIs. Get me information.” Hank informed us. A short time later Antonio came back with information leading Jay and I to stake out a group of drug dealers. Upon getting in the car I could feel the tension. Jay didn’t look or say a word to me the whole way.

“Okay what’s your issue?” I asked annoyance clear in my voice after what seemed like hours of silence.

“Nothing.” Jay snapped back.

“Well, I would say it very clearly doesn’t seem like nothing.” I crossed my arms leaning back in my seat.

“Well, it’s a real shame nobody asked for you opinion.”

“Alright Halstead whenever you want to stop being a dick I’ll talk to you then.” I huffed turning away from him. The day continued on not much different. Tension obvious between Jay and I. We hadn’t gotten much out of the case yet so we were sent home to get back early in the morning. As soon as I got home I showered and got ready for bed setting down to eat as I watched TV. I heard someone knock on my door. I smirked getting up to answer it, “Adam, I told y-“ I shut myself up myself quickly when I realized it wasn’t Adam standing at my door, but Jay. I blushed opening the door gesturing for him to enter. As I turned to face him after closing the door I seen a mix of hurt and anger washed over him.

“Seriously [Y/N]? Are you fucking kidding me?” He asked the anger side coming out of him.

“What are you talking about Jay?” I asked clearly confused.

“Adam! That’s what I’m talking about. Stop acting all innocent. I’m not blind, [Y/N].” He yelled at me.

“First of all stop yelling at me you know that’s not okay. Secondly, since when do you care who I hook up with? I’m pretty sure that’s none of your business.” I practically yelled back. Jay looked torn before he stepped over grabbing my face to kiss me. It took me a second to realize what was happening, but as soon as I did I quickly melted into him as my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. Jay backed away looking down at the ground.

“I shouldn’t be in love with you, [Y/N], I know that. But I am. You healed me. You got me back to the person I was before. The person I am now, and somehow in the meantime I fell for you. I never wanted to date someone in the unit again, let alone my partner. Even though I shouldn’t be in love with you, I am.” Jay whispered continuing to look at the floor. “It made me mad whenever you were hooking up with random guys, but whenever I found out you did with Adam it drove me crazy. Like seriously crazy.” Jay finished looking up at me to respond with begging eyes.

“Wow..” is all I could manage to get out.

“I figured you wouldn’t feel the same way..” his face fell.

“Well you know Jay it’s a real shame you never asked me for my opinion.” I laughed reaching up to kiss him.

[avintagekiss24]

From Morocco With Love

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Original WOC! Female Character

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: minor violence, mention of blood, fighting

Summary: It's been a while since you've seen Bucky. You didn't think that once you saw him again, you'd have him by gunpoint in your kitchen. 

Word Count: 3161

Link: AO3

Square Filled: B2 - AU: John Wick

A/N: This makes a bingo! Yay me! Written for @buckybarnesbingo

     Open Contract  

     Bucky Barnes  

     $14 million  

 You let out a quick laugh as your eyes scan the text message. You set the iPhone down, next to the cutting board, and turn your attention back to the tomato in front of you. You cut a few more slices, but slide your eyes back to the screen of your phone, reading and then rereading the simple, short message.

     Open Contract  

     Bucky Barnes  

     $14 million  

    What in the fuck has he done now? You wonder, pushing some of your hair out of your face as a deep sigh exits your mouth. You lift your eyes, focusing on the tree that sways gently in your backyard for a few seconds. You’d thought that maybe he had retired. He said he was going to anyway, lying bastard. He never did know how to keep his word. You should - your train of thought is broken when your phone chimes again, another message from a different number coming through.

     You game? 

     You stare down at the phone. Winston. He’s trying to drag you back in. He’s trying to poke the sleeping bear, but you’re out. You’ve been out, and you want to stay out. You had asked for your freedom long ago. You were given an impossible task, one that no one in their right mind would take, and not only did you complete it, you did it with style. The story still lives throughout your community, even after all of this time. You’re a legend. You’d like to keep it way.

     Nope.  

      You set your phone back down and scoop up the diced tomatoes, turning on your heels to throw them into your tomato sauce. Your phone chimes again. You ignore it. You stir your sauce, grab a pinch of basil and sprinkle it in. You bring the wooden spoon to your lips and hum in delight at the taste. Perfect. That’s what Bucky used to say about it. Perfect babe, just perfect. You shake your head, dismissing the memory. Your phone chimes again. You grab two plates from over your head and grab the tongs, placing strings of spaghetti on each plate. You pour some sauce over both, then pad toward the wooden table, your bare feet softly thudding against the hardwood floor.

    Your phone chimes again.

     “Daciana?” You call loudly, “Dinner!”

     Daciana. It’s a hard -ch sound, like church, he told you. You loved the name as soon as it spilled from his lips. You know, he continued, Roman Dacia was a province of the Roman Empire. It fell, like everything else back then, but later, it became modern day Romania. You figured it was an ode to his birthplace, but, you also liked that he was full of random information like that. So, Daciana it was.

    You move back into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge to pull out a Fiji water and an apple juice. You grab your phone on your way back to the table and smile brightly as your six year old comes bounding into the room.

     I know Bucky is a little close to home for you, but you’re the only one who can do this  

     Bucky Barnes is a tricky bastard  

     You still there?  

    You flip your phone face down beside your plate of food. You pour the cold apple juice into a small cup and push it toward your chatty little girl, leaning back in your chair as you watch her dig into her plate. She talks your ear off, she laughs, she gets tomato sauce all over her shirt. She is the absolute best part of you. She’s the best thing you could have ever done. She’s why you stay out.

     There’s a reason why you keep this phone turned on…  

     Deep down, there is something in you that just has to know what’s going on. It takes a special kind of person to do what you do. You can’t just turn that off because you get pregnant. You did try for a while, a long while, to stay completely off the grid, but you went stir crazy. Even if you aren’t actively participating, you still like to know the rules of the game, just in case. Your phone chimes again.

     Freedom comes with a price, Hawkins. You’re the BEST. You shouldn’t try and run from it. It’s who you are...  

     “Finished mama!” Daciana proclaims proudly.

     “Great job! Meet you in the bathroom in five, okay? We gotta wash that hair tonight.”

     I already paid for my freedom, and then some. Call Wick.  

     Can’t. He’s out too  

     Your lips quirks up at the edges as you read over the message, “Good for him.” You mumble.

     You turn off the phone.

     Hour pass. The darkness outside matches the current state of your quiet home in the middle of nowhere. Daciana is cradled against your chest, her hand dug into your hair, her mouth open as she sleeps on top of you. You hear a creak from somewhere in the house, and your eyes spring open out of instinct. You roll your head slightly toward the window, your eyes zeroing in on another tree as you listen for another disturbance in the stillness. Your lips part, the minuscule hairs on your arms standing up as your breathing becomes shallow. You see? It never goes away. Your instinct. Your training.

    There’s another creak. Most people would think it’s just the house settling. Houses make noises all the time. But not you. You know better. You slip out from underneath the small girl and set your feet on the ground, slowly, one by one. You stand, pulling her up into your arms and move briskly toward the walk-in closet. You lay her down on the pre-made pallet and move back toward the reinforced, soundproof door, locking it behind you. You sink to your knees once you’re by the bed, reaching for the 9mm handgun and hunting knives you keep stashed. Another creak sounds deep in the house. You spring back to you feet, gun pointed toward the threshold of your bedroom door.

     You move slowly out into the hallway, your eyes darting around the darkness. There’s a change in the atmosphere. You can smell it. You take the stairs quickly, turning the corner into your kitchen, your gun leading the way. You step past the table but halt suddenly, lowering your arms and turning your head slightly to the left. Without warning, two arms encircle you from behind. You elbow the person hard, creating a small space for you to be able to turn and land a kick into their chest. The intruder stumbles back as you rush him, throwing a barrage of punches and kicks, him blocking most but you get a few good ones in.

     You pull your knife from the rim of your yoga pants and bring it down with such a force you can hear it cut through the air. He sidesteps you, but you’ve already anticipated that move. You whirl around, dropping the knife from your right hand and catch it with your left, stretching out your arm and pushing the knife toward the assailant. He’s quick, but not quick enough. He grunts loudly as the knife rips through his flesh.

     He stumbles back again, cursing loudly as he covers the wound with his hand, “La dracu!”

     You rush him, faking him out with a right hook, and swing as hard as you can with your left. Most of your targets are stunned by the fact that you can fight just as effectively with your left hand as you can with your right, but not this one. He catches your left wrist before your punch can connect and whips you around, your back now to his chest. You struggle against him, bending over quickly and using most of your strength and your hip to flip him right over your body, sending him crashing into your hand carved dinner table.

     The man grunts loudly, grabbing at his ribs as you recover with your gun, pointing it at his head, finger beginning to squeeze the trigger, “Ash! Ash, it’s me.”

    You stop dead in your tracks. You know that voice. Your eyes try to scan the owner, not wanting to believe it is who you think it is, “How do you-”

     “It’s me, Ash. Holy shit.” He groans as he rolls over onto his side slowly.

     You keep your gun trained on him, adjusting and re-adjusting your grip as your mind races. It can’t be. It’s not- “Bucky?”

     He stands, stumbling over the broken table as he tries to get his balance. He holds up a hand, before dropping it quickly as rushed breaths push through his teeth audibly, “How many men do you know that can speak Romanian?”

     “Plenty.” You spit, gun still trained on him.

     He eyes you cautiously in the dark, careful not to make any sudden movements, knowing how deadly you can be, even when you know the person in front of you, “You can put that down now.” You throws his eyes toward the gun.

     “Can I?”

     He nods his head, “I’m not here to hurt you, Ash.” When you don’t respond, he chuckles a little, “Come on, you’re making me nervous with that thing.”

     You lower the handgun, slowly, but keep a defensive stance, “Why are you here?” You ask lowly.

     He takes a beat, grabbing at the napkins on the table and pressing them to his bleeding shoulder, “I can’t stop by to say hi?”

     “I haven’t seen you in two years. I don’t think so.”

     “Has it really been that long?” He asks, his face screwing up in genuine confusion, “Time flies.” You stare at him, “It was a joke.”

     He’s still an idiot. You shake your head, pursing your lips, “You have to go. Now.”

     “Come on babe.”

     “No. There is no babe, not anymore. Get out.”

     He sighs, dropping his head, “I’m in trouble. I’m-”

     “Excommunicado.”

     “You know?”

     “I keep my ear to the ground. That’s why you have to go, Bucky. You can’t be here.”

     He nods slowly, “Precious cargo, I know.” You peak up toward the ceiling where the precious cargo lays, none the wiser to what’s happening around her, “Can I see her?”

     The seriousness in his voice pulls your eyes right back to him. His hair is longer now, reaching his shoulders. It’s wavy. You like it like this. You like it any way he wears it if you’re being honest. Long, short, buzzed, blonde, he made it all work. You stare at each other for a second, blinking, remembering. It was his blues eyes that caught you off guard way back when. They were so mysterious but playful. You’re not even sure how one could pull that off, especially someone as dangerous as he was. But he did.

     You don’t say anything. You just turn and move back toward the long staircase. You feel him behind you the whole way, keeping a small distance as you climb the stairs and move down the hallway. You move into your bathroom, running your hand underneath the counter until your fingers glide over a small, silver key. You pull it out and step past him as you unlock the closet door. You step aside. He pushes past you, making his way toward the small girl laid out on the mountain of blankets and pillows. He bends to pick her up carefully, grimacing as pain rips through him.

     You watch as he moves back into your room and takes a seat on your bed, cradling the child to his chest. The faintest smile spreads on his lips as he looks her over. It’s strange. He was never this vulnerable when it was just the two of you, but then again, you’re both assassins, could you ever really trust one another? He runs his fingers down her gentle face, like he’s etching it in his min, like he doesn’t want to forget. It might be a long time before he sees her again. It may be the last time he sees her again.

     “I love her so much.”

     His voice is barely a whisper. You drop your head, biting the inside of your cheek, “I know.” You answer.

     You had both made the decision, when you found out that two was becoming three, that he needed to stay away. He’d be there, as much as he could, mostly in the shadows. It was just too dangerous. If anyone found out about her, she’d be a pawn in a game that she didn’t sign up for. You couldn’t have that. Bucky wouldn’t have that.

     You remember one of your last nights together in the Continental Hotel. You’d snuck in through the back, with the help of Charon, and rode the elevator to his floor. You kept your face and prominent baby bump covered with a hoodie and baseball cap. You pushed through the door with the keycard provided to you. As soon as the door clicked behind you, and the two of you locked eyes, he fell to his knees. He placed both hands on either side of your stomach, he lifted your shirt, planted feather light kisses on your tight skin. He was excited. He really was.

     The two of you made love. You bit your lip as your eyes roamed along his face as he laid next to you, his fingers playing with your hair. You wanted him to get out too. The two of you could make a life, you really could. Plenty had done it before. He just looked back at you. He smiled slowly as his eyes shifted between yours. He ran his hand down your face, made some stupid joke and pulled you close to him. He whispered into your ear as you fell asleep. When you woke up, he was gone.

     “What did you do?” You ask.

     “I killed someone.”

     You roll your eyes. Still a cheeky bastard, “No shit, Sherlock.”

     He chuckles, but never takes his eyes off of the precious cargo in his hands, “I killed Santino D’Antonio in the Continental Lounge.” You gasp, prompting him to shake his head and sigh, “He was gonna kill me, Ash.”

     “You know the rules Bucky!” You hiss angrily, “No killing on Continental grounds, you know that!” You rack your hands and fingers through your hair, “God, you’re so stupid!”

     “And reckless, I know.” He chuckles, “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

     He leans down, kissing the small girl on her forehead. He closes his eyes and breathes her in, whispering something in Romanian before he lays her back down on the bed. He stands, grabbing the throw blanket from the end of the mattress and covers her sweetly. He runs his hand down her arm and smiles at her again, before turning back to you, “I have one last favor with the Director. I’m gonna see if she can get me to Casablanca.”

     “And then?”

     He shrugs, “I don’t know. I’ll figure that out when I get to Morocco.”

     You stare at each other again. He pulls you to him, crashing his lips to yours in one final kiss. It’s deep, and passionate, making your knees weak. He wraps an arm around your back and pulls you as close as he can to him, needing to feel you against him just one last time. When he pulls away, you stand there, staring at him with wide eyes, your mouth slightly open as your brain races. Your bottom lip quivers, very slightly, but it quivers. You don’t need to say that you love him. He nods his head gently. He knows.

     “I love you, baby.” He knows that you need to hear him say it.

     He steps to the side and brushes past you, his fingers reaching out to slide up your arm as he leaves. You don’t turn around. You just listen as his footsteps grow further and further away from you until you can’t hear them anymore. You try to blink back the tears that threaten, but they fall freely, hot against your skin as you stare into your dark bedroom. You’re not ready for a life without Bucky Barnes. You like having him in the shadows.

     Morning comes very quickly. You zip up some bags, throwing them over your shoulder as you skip down the stairs and out into the garage. You throw them into the back of your 1970 Chevy Chevelle, and then head to a tool cart, pulling open the top drawer. You grab your favorite pearl handled 1911 handgun and shove it into the back of your black jeans. You pull out a small .22 and push it into your ankle holster and start throwing clips and ammunition into a smaller bag. You pull out another drawer and stuff your jacket pockets with throwing stars, and tuck a few knives into the hidden pockets in your jacket.

     You run back inside and collect your still sleeping child, placing a hand firmly on her back as you hold her to you, and make your way out of your home. You lay her down in the back of your car and jump into the driver's seat, squealing out of the garage. It’s a short drive to your destination. You’re now standing on the front porch, Daciana against your chest as you knock, turning your head to glance up and down the street.

     “Ash,” your long time friend says, wrapping her robe around her body, “It’s early.”

     “I know,” You nod, handing over your little girl, “Listen, I have something I gotta do. I have to help a friend. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone but, I need you to-” Your friend nods, silencing you. You pull out a debit card from your wallet and a folded up piece of paper, “Use the card for anything that you need for her.”

     “Okay.”

     “If anyone comes here, looking for me, asking weird questions, or anything suspicious, you go to this address. Ask for Charon, he’ll keep you safe until I can get back. Okay?”

     She nods, scanning her eyes over the handwritten note, “Okay. I got it, I promise. I’ll keep her safe.”

     “I know you will.”

     You lean in and place a kiss on Daciana’s head, smoothing her hair down with your hand before you turn and move back down to your car, “Thank you.” You call after slamming the drivers door closed.

     You pull away from the curb before you hear a response. You smile widely as the wind whips through your hair as you hit the on ramp to the highway. Bucky Barnes owes you a new dinner table. You’ll see to it that he gets you one. You pull out your phone and type out a cryptic message before turning it back off and tossing it into the empty passenger seat.

     I’m in... but not in the way you’d hope dear Winston.  

[fght-ff-yr-dmns]

Quarantine Questions!

I was tagged by @runyons6 to answer  my own questions. So let’s give it a go…

1.        A song that’s not usually your style but you love it anyway Lene Marlin <3 – Sitting Down Here

2.        Favourite website to waste time on? Reddit, I rarely post but spend hours mindlessly scrolling.

3.  Favourite fictional detective? L from Death Note is amazing, either him or Dr. Mark Sloan from Diagnosis Murder.

4.  Favourite cartoon from childhood? Sooo many like Ghostbusters, Bucky O’Hare, Thundercats and TMNT.

5.   Favourite Blink-182 song? Online Songs, it’s not their best but it’s my fave

6.   You can watch one film and read one book for the rest of your life, what are they? The Goonies and The Great Gatsby, both of which never get old to me.

7.  You win the lottery, what’s the first thing you buy? I’ve always wanted to own a pool table. I don’t have the space or really play pool…but I’d like to lol.  I'm so rock n roll.

8.   Sega Mega Drive (Genesis) or SNES? I was always a Mega Drive kid

9.   Favourite flower, tree or plant? Magnolia

10.   You can resurrect one TV show from the dead, what is it? The O.C. forever and always

11.   What was your Myspace, AOL or MSN name tag? Death Cab for Lukie on Myspace (RIP) and on MSN it was Last Stop Suburbia after the Allister album

12.   Favourite guitar solo? Nirvana – In Bloom, there’s just something about it that I love, so damn raw. I’m not much of a guitar player but this is one solo I’d love to learn one day.

13.   You can have ONE person over for dinner (living, dead or in character) who, why and what do you feed them? I originally intended this as a celeb but everyone’s real life answers have been really touching. So I’m going to choose my Grandad, he passed away when I was 15 and I’d love to have a conversation with him as an adult. Him and my nan were basically 2nd parents to me. I hope he’d be proud of the man I've become.

14.   Your favourite album art Sonic Youth’s Goo is the epitome of cool

15.   You can live in a film for one day, what is it? Back to the Future, I’ve got a big thing for time travel. So as long as I have the Delorean and someone to drive it for me. Scratch that, I can just do the same in Bill & Ted and get to hang with Keanu.

16.   Tell me a random fact about you? I have pretty much no idea what I’m doing, I’m just winging it both personally and professionally. I have a serious case of imposter syndrome. Bonus Fact: I once chatted up Tina from S Club 7.  I blew it when I asked for a photo with her.

17.   Ninjas or Samurai Ninjas are cool but samurai are just another level, check out the show Samurai Champloo.

18.   What’s your favourite anime and why is it Cowboy Bebop?            Style, substance, killer characters and one heck of a soundtrack. This show just has it all. If you haven’t seen it, I couldn’t recommend it more. Bounty hunters in space, what more do you need.

19.   Literary hero Fictional - Atticus Finch from To Kill A Mockingbird   Author – I wanted to opt for a cool answer but in all honesty it’s J.K. Rowling. The Potter world and those books mean so much to me and had me on the edge of my seat the entire time. I still miss that world very much.

20.   Weirdest childhood hobby Making handmade match day programmes for my fictional football (soccer team) Luke United.

21.   Recommend a song There’s this song called Ode To Billy Joe by Bobbie Gentry, I once heard it on BBC Radio 2 and fell in love.

I tag @automatyc @playcrackthesky @d0nutfearthereaperback-up

[prokopetz]

Ok so, I am in the process of learning how to DM and I really like the world of dnd, but I wanted to know if they are other ttrpgs that have simpler mechanics (like, not as much calculating is needed and keeping track of things is simpler?)

Oh, plenty of them; apart from perhaps for some of the earliest pre-First Edition material, even the most rules-light version of Dungeons & Dragons is pretty firmly on the medium-heavy end of the spectrum.

(Some people will insist that D&D5E is “rules light”. Do not listen to them; it’s one of the lighter iterations of D&D in particular, but it’s still quite rules-heavy by the standards of tabletop RPGs in general.)

If our only criterion is “lighter than D&D”, I could probably name a hundred games in my personal collection alone that fit the bill, so we’re going to have to narrow it down! In the absence of further guidance, I’m going to assume that we’re still aiming for D&D’s general idiom – i.e., games about a bunch of wandering misfits killing monsters and taking their stuff in a vaguely Western European fantasy milieu (as opposed to, say, games where you play as a living city arguing about politics with a robot patent clerk from outer space) – and that we’d prefer a traditional roll-the-dice-to-do-the-thing framework.

First off, if you want to stick as close to the conventional D&D experience as possible, you might have a look at Beyond the Wall and Other Adventures. It’s a simplified variant of OD&D (i.e., from way back before they started numbering the editions) with a novel “zero prep” approach that combines character creation with setting creation. Basically, instead of picking a race and a class and whatnot, you have a set of “playbooks” (six in the core rules, with more available as free downloads) that walk you through a series of questions and random tables that define your character’s personal history. Your abilities and stat modifiers and such come from your answers to those questions. Certain stages in each playbook also instruct you to add a location or NPC of your own devising to the village map; once the whole group has finished creating characters, you’ll also have collaboratively described and mapped out the town they live in, and set up several adventure hooks for your first session.

On the other hand, maybe you’re not much for this newfangled collaborative worldbuilding stuff, and you’re more about D&D’s “multiplayer chess with exploding pieces” approach to combat. In that case, you could check out Hero Kids. Though it’s designed as an introductory title for younger gamers, it’s also a pretty effective pick-up-and-play game for any group if you’re looking to run a casual dungeon crawl. It’s actually pretty remarkable how it manages to boil the complexities of D&D’s battle grid down to something a six-year-old can understand while retaining most of the subtle positional tactics. The big caveat is that, as the game’s title suggests, your group has to be cool with a YA fantasy tone, rather than the more fashionable dungeonpunk stuff.

(If you’d prefer to split the difference and go for a rules-light game that has both a more mature high fantasy tone and a tactical combat focus, you might instead have a look at Tiny Dungeon 2nd Edition. I’m not putting it on the main list because it’s written with the assumption that anyone running it is already an experienced GM, and consequently it’s very light on GM guidance in many areas; this makes it a somewhat steeper learning curve than either of the preceding titles. Still one to keep in mind for later, though.)

Finally, to range further afield, you could have a look at Dungeon World. This one adopts a fully modularised approach, whereby each character class takes the form of a self-contained playbook that includes all of the rules for that class. The dice and path are thus almost entirely player-facing; as a GM, you never roll, and apart from a handful of basic moves – which are brief enough that you can print them out and keep them on the table in front of you – you generally doesn’t have to keep track of numeric resources or complex rules toys. It’s pretty much perfect for GMs who never want to do math ever again.

(A caution, though: while Dungeon World is mechanics-light and math-light from the GM’s perspective, it is not rules-light as such. Instead of dice and numbers, the GM has a complex set of narrative principles and guidelines that shape how you describe the outcomes of players’ actions. It’s very different from running most other dungeon-crawling RPGs, and folks with a D&D background may find it a challenging adjustment. I’m not saying this to discourage, but to advise: if decide to give it a spin, resist the urge to skim the text, as many of your existing assumptions about how to run the show may not be applicable. On the plus side, its instructions regarding how to run the game are very detailed, far moreso than anything else discussed in this post, and those instructions don’t make many assumptions about prior GM experience.)

[hystericalrogertaylor]

Reconnecting (Chapter Ten)

Pairing: Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor X Reader

Word count: 1890

Summary: (Y/n) and Roger have been friends since the cradle. When they’re suddenly pulled apart and reconnected years later, they both can tell that the relationship has evolved. They lead very different lifestyles now. Can they continue what they had, or go for something more, with this gap between them?

Warnings: Vomiting (?), drugs, drug OD 

A/N: This chapter seems really short for some reason? I don’t know, whatever. Enjoy! 

Master list

Spotify playlist

~~~

Roger had driven you home, speeding in an effort to beat James there. You hurried in, but not before thanking Roger for the night, even though it had been cut short. You lay down on the couch and threw a blanket over yourself, pretending to be asleep.

James stumbled through the door half an hour later. He ran into the wall five times before entering the living room, indicating to you that he was even more drunk than usual, and you were desperately hoping he hadn’t driven home. He walked over to you, hovering over you for several minutes, saying nothing. You didn’t dare move or open your eyes; you didn’t want to talk to him about seeing him at the club. After a while, he poked your cheek several times, trying to wake you up. When that didn’t work, he stumbled into the bedroom, slamming the door shut.

You took a deep breath, throwing the blanket off your body and dashing into the kitchen. Your anxiety was eating you alive, and you vomited into the sink. You turned on the faucet, washing everything down the drain while you wiped your face off with a paper towel. A few tears slipped down your cheeks, but you tried your hardest to stay silent. You didn’t want James to know you were awake.

You went back to the couch, wrapping yourself up in the blanket like it was a cocoon. It almost felt like a hug, and there was one man you were wishing was there with you to actually hug you instead.

---

“Roger, you’re smothering (Y/n), please come play the drums,” Brian stood off to the side, tapping his foot.

Roger had been taking care of you at the studio all morning. You had thrown up several times during the night, indicating that you weren’t only anxious, but likely also sick. Roger brought you water and a blanket, making sure you were comfortable on the couch. He felt bad that he’d brought you out and then you’d gotten sick; the least he could do was take care of you while you were both at work.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, just give me a minute.” You’d called him earlier that morning, telling him about your probable illness, which prompted him to bring a mercury thermometer to the studio. He placed it in your mouth for the third time that day, waiting for the red line to move to a number. “Thirty-eight point five. Hey, it’s a little lower than it was a while ago.”

You coughed. “Good.” You patted him on the arm. “Go record, I’m fine.”

Roger gave you a sad smile, kissing you on the forehead before heading into the recording room. He sat at the drums, twirling his drumsticks, which you were finally able to admit to yourself, was really hot. “Let’s go!” he called out, playing a random beat as way of warming up.

The day seemed to drag on, but you continued to get better as it progressed. You only felt nauseous once and were able to eat a little bit of lunch. The boys tried to be quieter while you took a short nap and were still able to accomplish most of the goals for the day.

As it became time to leave, Roger wrapped an arm around your waist, walking you to your car.

“Rog, I appreciate it, but I have a fever, I’m not on fall risk at a hospital,” you said jokingly.

“I know,” he said, smirking before kissing your temple. “And wow, yeah, you do still have a fever, I can feel it.”

You laughed. “You’re being extra brave after just one kiss. I am still technically dating James.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but I don’t think he’s dating you.”

You shook your head. “Yeah...probably not.”

Roger opened the door to your car for you, letting you step in. You looked back up at him, smiling. “Thanks for taking care of me,” you said, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze. “I really appreciate it.”

He nodded, grinning back at you. “Any time.” He stepped back, closing your car door before heading over to his car.

You drove home slowly, partially because you were nauseous again and partially because, as always, you dreaded dealing with your boyfriend.

You walked in the door and immediately ran into the bathroom and threw up in the toilet. You brushed your teeth and washed your face before heading back out into the living room. James was gone again.

You lay down on the couch again, trying to fall asleep when the phone rang. You let out a long, loud groan of annoyance before standing up and picking up the receiver. “Hello?”

“(Y/n), darling! It’s Freddie.”

“I knew that after you said ‘darling’, but continue.”

Freddie let out a hearty laugh. “Well, I didn’t get a chance to talk to you before you left, but I was wondering if you’d want to go shopping with me and Roger!”

“Shopping? Where?” you asked, leaning against a wall.

“Oh, I don’t know! Roger and I like clothes, probably some crazy clothing shop.”

You giggled. “Freddie, I’d love to, but I just threw up again.”

“Oh, darling, I’m sorry.” Freddie sighed. “How about...today’s Tuesday, let’s go Friday. That gives you time to recover.”

“I’d love to, Fred,” you said, smiling.

“Splendid! See you tomorrow!” Freddie hung up before you could say your goodbyes.

---

Friday finally came, and you were feeling much better. Maybe it was the prospect of doing something fun outside of work, maybe it was the fact that you’d be hanging out with Roger (mostly) alone again. But you were excited for recording to end for the day.

Freddie managed to dismiss everyone early specifically for his plans, and Roger drove the three of you to this expensive clothing store half an hour away from the studio. Freddie, being the amazing friend he was, had offered to pay for everything. But, after looking at one price tag, you’d decided to not buy anything.

“Darling, look at this!” You turned around to see Freddie with a faux fur shawl draped on his shoulders. “Doesn’t this look fabulous?”

You giggled. “Yes, Fred, you look great.”

“I could wear this during a concert! Excuse me, do you have this in more colors?” Freddie walked away, chasing after a store employee.

You laughed, pretending to finger through and consider some lacy shirts next to you. Roger was a few racks down, looking at some button-up shirts. You kept looking up at him, admiring him from afar. What you didn’t know was that when you looked away, he looked over at you, enjoying the view.

Freddie came back several minutes later, various shawls and other exuberant shirts draped over his arms. “(Y/n)! You must try this on!” He managed to slip a skimpy shirt off of his pile and into your hands. It had spaghetti straps and cut off around where your mid-stomach would be. It looked more like a bralette than a shirt.

“Fred, I don’t think it’s me. Besides, James would never let me wear th--”

“Blah blah blah. He can’t dictate your clothing choices, he’s not you.” He nudged you toward the changing rooms with his elbow. “Besides,” he whispered, “Roger would think it’s sexy.”

“Watch it, Mercury.” You gave him the hairy eyeball before disappearing into a changing room.

You slipped your sweater off and put on the tank top-like shirt. It was a bright pink color and considerably tight. You rolled your eyes, pushing back the curtain to show Freddie. “Fred, I look ridicu--”

Instead of finding Freddie, you were met with the sight of Roger standing there, waiting for a changing room to open up. His eyes went wide when he saw what you were wearing.

“S-see?” you asked, trying to keep your composure. “Don’t I look stupid?”

Roger slowly shook his head, not breaking eye contact with you.

“Can you talk?” you asked.

“Uhhhh...yeah,” he said. “Yeah, um, you look great.”

You scoffed, looking down at your feet. “Whatever.”

“No, really, it looks nice,” he said again.

You shook your head. “If you insist. I’m going to take it off.” Roger turned away and pretended to be preoccupied with something else while you went behind the curtain again. When you reemerged a few minutes later, wearing your sweater from before, he was gone.

You found Freddie, him having found even more ridiculous items of clothing. “Darling! I’ve found more things for you!”

“Did you plant Roger outside my changing room?” you asked, hands on your hips.

Freddie paused for several long seconds before ignoring your question. “Go try these on, they’ll look amazing!” He dropped into your hands more shirts that were barely more than squares of fabric.

“Fred, I’m not here to try to seduce Roger, I’m here to enjoy myself with my friends.” You set the clothes back in his arms and walked away.

After avoiding both men for the rest of your time at the store, Freddie payed for what he and Roger wanted and you all walked back to Roger’s car.

“You could’ve bought something, (Y/n),” Freddie said from the backseat.

“I didn’t want anything,” you said, turning so you faced out the window. You were hurt that this whole thing was a plan by Freddie to set you up with your best friend. Sure, you’d kissed, but Roger wasn’t the type to get into a long-term relationship. You and Freddie were both wasting your time for hoping otherwise.

After an awkward, silent drive, Roger finally stopped in front of your house. He and you sighed simultaneously as you opened the car door. “Bye guys. See you when I see you.” You slammed the door before they could reply.

Walking into your house, you couldn’t find James. You assumed he’d just gone out again, which he’d been doing the past week. You didn’t mind, it meant you didn’t have to deal with him as much. But that thought immediately went out of your head when you saw white powder on the coffee table. You knew it was cocaine. James wouldn’t just leave his drugs out like that. So where in the house was he?

You slowly walked around, looking in each room. You weren’t too scared; he’s probably just fallen asleep on the floor somewhere.

As you walked past the bathroom, you heard several things fall to the floor, creating quite a racket. You flung open the door, and screamed. There was James, convulsing on the floor, laying in his own vomit, only the whites of his eyes showing.

You sprinted into the living room, dialing the emergency number on the phone. Once an operator answered, you tried to make your sentences coherent, but you mostly sounded like a blubbering mess. You were able to get your address and the words “ambulance” and “overdose” out, but that was about it. The paramedics arrived only minutes later, storming through the door. You pointed them frantically to the bathroom, where James was still seizing. They put him on a stretcher and moved him out the door. A female paramedic guided you to the ambulance, letting you ride in the back to the hospital. You didn’t remember any of the ride, you only remembered your tears.

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