#before i started working on my manuscript i was at rock bottom | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

what-the-witch-stuff · 3 years ago

Text

Landings Through the Grapevine

Chapter 2: Unfulfilled Expectations

Masterpost: here Go to: Ch.1 | Ch.2 |

_________________________

"I have news for you. One good, one bad" Shane said hours after the dance, when everyone was busy cleaning the place up. "Wait! Help me with that table first...Allright. Shoot". Shane grabbed the other side of the table and together they heaved it off the ground to carry it back to Marnie's farm. The path that led to the narrow bridge which divided the forest clearing from the rest of the village, was not large enough for them to carry the table side by side. So Shane volunteered to walk backwards while Riley gave directions. For a few moments Shane didn't say anything but occasionally looked at something over her shoulder. Then he lowered his voice:

"Ok, so...Mr. Darcy" – that was code for Elliott – "has been mingling with my aunt for almost the entire festival and now they both keep looking over at you".

"What?"

"Don't look! I didn't want to say it earlier, because I wasn't sure. But given how Marnie has been really chatty today, I bet she's playing matchmaker again"

"Oh for fuck's sake! What about Elliott?"

"Don't know, maybe he finally figured out that you don't understand his poems, or something"

"Shane!"

„I'm kidding. Don't act so horrified. Also, it's true!"

„No! It's not."

„Okay. Remember the poem he 'gifted' you at the Feast of the Winter Star? What was that about?"

Riley was preparing to answer him in a know-it-all manner but soon realised that she had actually no idea what to say. She hoped her death glare would shut him up for good. Alas, it didn't.

„You can give me the evil eye all you want. I already cringed to death when he started performing it in front of the goddam tree."

„Maybe a few metaphors and references go over my head sometimes, but that's because I never read much poetry before.

„Or maybe his writing is as inflated as his ego"

„Stop! For Yoba's sake, just tell me what's up with him!

„How should I know?"

„Then why tell me?"

"I thought you would want to know these things"

"Well, what does he look like? Does he look upset or anything?"

"Ehm",– at that Shane peeked back over her shoulder, looking rather pained as he tried to awaken his interpersonal skills: "Well he looks like a schmock, so nothing new there. Maybe that's just his –oh shit!"

"What?!"

"He's coming"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Stop! Jesus, Riley have you never been to highschool? You don't look at people you're talking shit about."

"Ok! ok, act natural !"

"You're the only one acting like a headless chicken", he hissed under his breath.

"Well, maybe I would be calmer if you –"

Shane dropped his side of the table. It came to the ground with a soft thud and Riley almost lost her footing from the sudden yank it caused on her side, forcing them to an immediate stop shortly before the bridge. This interrupted Riley's tirade and in hindsight saved her some embarrassment, as Elliott appeared by her side soon after, brushing a strain of hair behind his ear : "Good day, you two. I am so very sorry I didn't get to chat with you sooner. Can I help you with that?", he asked, having seen them struggle but obviously mistaking the situation at hand. Before Riley could even say anything, Shane intervened again : "Glad that you ask!" he said in an overly friendly manner while stretching theatrically and making a face: "My back is killing me! If you don't mind, I'd rather go see if I can help with something else" and with the blink of an eye, Shane and Elliott had switched places.

"You're welcome!", Shane murmured while brushing past her and he was gone. Meanwhile Elliott was getting into position and testing the table's weight while Riley could do nothing but watch him dumbfounded. When he noticed her staring, Elliot winked: "Shall we then?"

"YES! I mean, sure. Thanks for the help", If Riley's face looked as flushed as it felt right then and there, Elliott was gentleman enough to pretend not to notice. "Please, don't thank me! I should have been more involved with the preparations to begin with. I was just so caught up with my newest draft, that I had forgotten all about the dance until a few days ago. Oh, also, I hope I wasn't interrupting anything between you and Shane?", he added, leaning slightly towards her in mock-conspiracy.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it did look like you've been arguing, before I came over. I hope it was nothing serious"

"Ehm... I was just worried. His, eh... his 'back pain' is quite bad, but he didn't want to bother Harvey during a holiday", Riley lied between her teeth, as they made their way over the narrow bridge.

"Poor fellow, no wonder he seemed rather miffed today. But he danced like a champ!", Elliott stated sympathetically.

"Yes, he knows how much it means to Emily and didn't want to let her down"

"See, I was wondering about that a little. I did expect the two of you to be dancing today"

At that, Riley tripped over nothing, looking at Elliott with such astonishment that she almost forgot to warn him about the slight slope the path would be taking, shortly after the bridge.

"Sorry, who?"

"Well, you and Shane….?"

"Huh?"

Elliott then must have come to some sort of realisation, for it was now his turn to look flushed and embarrassed.

"Oh, Let the greater part of the news thou hearest be the least part of what thou believest." he exclaimed ruefully and smiled at her apologetically: " I should have known better than to make assumptions. I am sorry, Riley. It was something I overheard, please pay no mind to it!"

Riley suppressed the urge to ask him if he had been quoting Shakespeare again, as in 5 times out of 7 she had already been wrong. And by now, she had the nagging suspicion that Elliott chose anything but Shakespeare, just to mess with her. Instead, she stammered: "N-No, it's fine! Shane and I are close, but we are just friends...'', and almost Riley would have given into the temptation of adding something like: '...just as you and Leah, if I am not mistaken?'. But she discarded that idea as soon as it came to her. Too obvious. Though Riley was dying to get her hands on any piece of information about what kind of relationship he and the artist were cultivating, she had to be careful. The last thing she needed was the awkwardness of unrequited feelings or the loss of a friendship because of it. However, remembering Shane's assumption regarding Marnie, she continued : "...Though I do believe Marnie wouldn't mind me as her niece-in-law. But neither Shane or I see that ever happening,". She then laughed. But, following her gut instinct, she kept an eye out for Elliott's reaction, who, still dealing with his own embarrassment, couldn't help but wince slightly.

Bingo.

Shane's words were practically echoing in the back of her mind: I bet she's playing matchmaker again.

– ‘Yes she is and you won't like to find out with whom exactly', Riley thought grimly.

To say this was news to her would be a lie, sadly. Last year it had been just a few questions, if Riley was seeing someone, or if she fancied someone from the village already. Before long, Marnie had gotten more obvious about her actual motivation: "Have you met my nephew, yet? Shane. He is from Zuzu-City too. Oh, I need to introduce you to each other, next time you visit."

But said introduction flopped big-time. It had been difficult. Well, Shane had been. But Riley now knew that this wasn't anything personal. She had involuntarily witnessed his downward spiral until the fateful day at the cliffs, where Shane had finally hit rock bottom. Since then he was getting the help he needed and they could manage having a conversation that wasn't ending in a disaster. Nevertheless, as she and Shane clearly never hit it off, Riley thought that Marnie had moved on and was satisfied with talking her up to some other bachelor instead. Apparently, she had been wrong. "Please, do not believe that I usually engage in petty gossip." Elliott exclaimed and Riley knew, if his hands were free, he would probably underline his words with some dramatic gesture: " This is not why I wanted to talk to you. I would never bother you with such shallow conversation!". They finally reached Marnie's farmhouse and were greeted by Gunther and Clint, who were busy sorting Marnie's belongings back to where they belonged. Soon Elliott and Riley were relieved of their task and hurriedly shooed away. "Riley, you did enough! You've been here all day and surely your farm does not run itself", Gunther called over his shoulder as he and Clint disappeared into the house, leaving Elliott and Riley to themselves. „Well, I don't want to keep you from your duties..." Elliott eventually said rather deflated, after some seconds of them just standing there.

„It's fine! Really. I have time to chat."

„Are you sure? I would hate to inconvenience you", though Riley could easily tell that Elliott was just saying that to stay polite.

„You aren't, believe me. What did you want to talk about originally?"

Elliott immediately straightened his posture, his demeanour getting more relaxed as Riley's question offered him the chance to return their conversation back towards familiar territory.

He suspensefully cleared his throat.

"I wanted to thank you, for you have played a significant role regarding my latest draft. Well, draft is a bit much. It's more of an outline, actually."

"Really?!", Riley could not believe her ears. This was like the beginning of some obscure fever dream, where Elliott would finally announce her as his muse and declare his undying love for her…. Totally hypothetically of course, because Riley would never fantasize about such a corny situation! Ever.

"Yes! For as much as I frequent the library, I just recently noticed the marvellous collection of exhibits you have been providing to the museum. I would've never thought for our tiny valley to be such a place of wonder and history! I must be honest, my latest works were getting nowhere and I dreaded starting a new manuscript. I had gotten quite far with my latest piece. But all these treasures have ignited a new spark within me. Now I can hardly put my pen to rest. But I need more inspiration!". Elliott got more excited the more he talked. It was no longer just polite enthusiasm but an almost childlike delight that made his eyes sparkle in a way she rarely got to see on him.

"Oh that's wonderful! But how can I help you with that?" Riley was getting somewhat confused. If Elliott needed more information on the artifacts, he would be better off talking to Guntehr instead. And following that line of thought, Riley couldn't really fathom what Elliott needed of her, to fuel his newfound inspiration.

"It's about this Adventurer's Guild..."

The answer was: absolutely nothing.

"Oh", Riley tried not to sound or even look unhappy about this revelation and Elliott seemed too fixated on his own issues to notice anything, for he continued talking: "I have seen you standing next to that older gentleman, today. What was his name again?"

"Marlon?"

"Yes! He is the guild's leader, I suppose ?"

"Eh, yes, you could call him that."

"I would like to ask him a few questions. I would love to hear some of his adventures. He looks like a man who has many stories to tell. However, I struggle to get a hold of him!

Surely, I tried asking around. But before today, I didn't even know whose company he keeps. I have never seen him in town either, other than during holidays, which is why I had hoped to talk to him today. But shortly after the dance I lost sight of him and he was gone! I could tear my hair out, Riley! That man is like a ghost. How am I supposed to write about fantastic tales of danger, when I have no authentic experience to write from?!" Elliott had talked himself into such a frenzy, that he ended up being short of breath. While he needed a moment to collect himself, Riley used this pause to talk some sense into him.

"Well, you will be happy to hear that the guild building is actually very easy to find. It's right next to the entrance to the mines.", she informed him, trying to push away the feeling of disappointment. "Office hours are between 2 pm to 10 pm. Normally, entrance is only allowed for adventurers only, but technically you would be considered a potential client. And If you really cannot get in, then Clint, Willy and I see Marlon often enough that we can relay a message to him." "Is that so? Thank you so much, I knew I could count on you! I will seek him out first thing tomorrow!". With that he made his goodbyes and hurried back towards the meadow, presumably to find Leah and share his progress with her. She looked after him until his silhouette disappeared from her sight and with a groan Riley decided that it was indeed time to head back to her farm. The gleeful excitement she had felt at the prospect of being alone with Elliott, had vanished to sober disillusion. She wasn't even in the mood to get worked up over the whole Marnie-situation. Therefore, she decided to no longer think about whatever had transpired today. That would be future-her's issue to deal with. When Riley entered the premises to her own farm, the sight of the seemingly endless plot of land filled her with awe, like it did everytime. Proudly, she watched her cows, chicken and ducks peacefully napping in the sun and listened to the faint rustling of leaves above her head, as she finally made her way towards home.

#stardew valley elliott #stardew elliott #stardew valley #sdv fanfic #sdv farmer #elliott stardew valley #elliott x reader #sdv elliott #original female character #stardew valley farmer #elliot sdv

27 notes · View notes

boxesandrings · 3 years ago

Note

Hello!! I just recently got into the stardew fandom and I'm notice a severe lack of Elliot content ;-; could I please get something fluffy and/or explicit with him and an afab or gender neutral farmer?? Hope you have a good day!!

Hello! It took me a while to decide if I wanted to do a smut or a fluff, but ultimately I decided a fluff, just because I love Elliott so much and wanted to see his soft and lovey side (also, I just published a smut of him on my AO3, and if you want to read it you can click here). Hope you enjoy!

Title: Dedicated

Rating: G

Summary: Elliott dedicated his novel to the Farmer, but the Farmer gets confused and thinks it's for someone else. Reassuring fluff ensues.

Characters: Elliott, nb!Farmer, Leah, Maru, Lewis, Gunther

Words: 2741

Elliott was not a nervous person. There never really was a reason for him to be— things tended to work out for him. School came naturally to him, and any poor grades were often changed for him after pleading his case to his teachers. Elliott only applied to his dream school and was accepted easily, and excelled within his program. He slept with the people he wanted, because they always wanted to sleep with him too, and when he decided on a whim to move to Pelican Town, the breezy seaside town he frequented on vacations as a child, the cabin was already there, almost as if waiting for him. Things worked out.

The Farmer, however, made him nervous. They arrived a little over a year after he did, and Elliott couldn’t help but find the newcomer intimidating. They’d spend long days out in the sun, tilling the earth or wrangling chickens. Elliott would often step out of his cabin early in the morning to enjoy the stillness of the beach, only to find the Farmer already there, holding a fishing pole. They were non-stop, powerful. Elliott couldn’t help but feel inadequate around them, his stomach fluttered every time he spoke to the new Farmer.

Their short, shoulder length golden hair and long, muscular legs didn’t make anything easier either. The first summer after the Farmer had moved to town, Elliott had been so mesmerized by the way the Farmer’s back muscles looked as they helped Willy move some barrels on the dock that he hadn’t noticed the firepit in front of his house and tripped on the rocks, breaking his wrist.

He’d never had trouble flirting with other people before; Elliott knew he looked good and drew people in with his artistic vibe, and who would be able to resist his 10,000 megawatt smile? But for some reason the Farmer was different. He’d get flustered anytime the Farmer spoke to him, but for some reason the Farmer kept coming back.

He kissed the Farmer almost two months ago now, their stomachs both burning and heads dizzy from the homemade pomegranate wine the Farmer had made. Elliott had been bold and messy, and instantly had regretted how he had pulled the Farmer in, but they just smiled and kissed him again, over and over until the night sky grew bright. Elliott had bought a proper bouquet the next day, and the relationship had been going well since.

Elliott scanned the museum now, looking for his partner. After his book had been picked up and published by a proper agency a month ago, Mayor Lewis had insisted upon a proper book reading and signing event. The Mayor had told Elliott it was to honor his accomplishments, to celebrate Pelican Town’s first proper author, but Elliott had the feeling it was more about the potential revenue the tourists might bring in.

The Farmer walked into the museum, their arms linked between both Maru and Leah’s, the three of them laughing as they shuffled in. Elliott waved, and the Farmer waved back, face beaming with pride. The group slipped toward the back of the crowd, leaning against the display shelves. As if on cue, the Mayor walked up to the microphone on the makeshift stage Gunther had set up in the museum and addressed the crowd, introducing Elliott and reminding the tourists of all Pelican Town’s many amenities. Elliott rolled his eyes at the Farmer who giggled with their friends, and made his way up behind Lewis.

“Thank you all, for coming today. It truly is so exciting to see that in the short time my novel has been out how many people it resonated with, how many of you traveled to see me.” He bit his lip and scanned the room, attempting to gauge the interest of the crowd. A young woman up front threw him a look Elliott could describe as bedroom eyes, and he coughed, quickly looking away.

“Well, I’m certainly excited to start this, as I’m sure you all are.” A small laugh from the crowd, agreement. “The book, as some of you may know, is Camellia Station, a romance about a stewardess who falls in love with a travelling architect, and the great distances each would go for their love.” He picked up the book. “Shall we begin?

The crowd let out a small cheer, and just from listening, Elliott could tell it was mostly from his friends in town. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ears, and cracked open the cover.

“Camellia Station.” A small smattering of cheers, this time from a larger section of the crowd. He flipped the page, his breath hitching.

To My Love.

He had forgotten he had written that, almost eight months ago when he had sent in the final draft of his manuscript. The love in question, of course, was the Farmer, who hadn’t known how maddeningly in love he was with them at the time, and still hadn’t heard the words from Elliott himself. It was so quick, and they had only been on a few proper dates.

Elliott realized he had been silent staring at the page. Only for three, maybe five seconds, but long enough. He looked up, flashing a sheeping smile. “Sorry, it’s just hard to believe this is finally happening.” Some members of the crowd laughed, and Elliott cleared his throat.

“To my love.” He flipped the page quickly, and heard the young woman in the front row sigh dreamily. “Chapter One. 'Your ticket, sir?' Ticket collector Gozman extended a gloved hand towards the young commuter. 'Ah, yes. I have it right here,' he replied, reaching into his coat pocket. Mortified, he discovered that the ticket was missing..."

********************************************

The rest of the reading went off without a hitch. At the end of the second chapter, Elliott closed the novel and looked up at the crowd, a playful smile on his lips. “As much as I’d love to continue, we must return the museum back to its generous owner, who provided us the space to conduct this event. Thank you all so much for coming to listen and share this day with me.”

The audience began to clap, some more enthusiastically than others, and Elliott blushed as he heard the Farmer’s group being especially rowdy from the back. People began to line up to purchase copies of his book or to have him sign ones they already owned. After 20 or so minutes of signatures and well wishes, Elliott looked up to see Maru, Leah, and the Farmer smiling back down at him.

“Ellie! I’m so proud of you!” Leah practically leapt over the desk to get to him, pulling him into a hug much tighter than he would have ever expected.

“Leah! Thank you. I’m so glad you all came.” He wiggled his way out of her arms and smiled at Maru. “I’m glad you were able to make it.” Maru smiled back at him and nodded.

“Of course! Wouldn’t miss it.” Maru had been a surprising addition to their friend group. Before the Farmer, it had been just him and Leah, two aspiring artists against the world. It wasn’t that they didn’t like or get along with her, they just didn’t run in the same circles. The Farmer had quickly bonded with Maru after arriving, though, and as they moved their way into Elliott and Leah’s lives, Maru came along for the ride. Now, Elliott could barely picture the group without her.

“Congrats, El.” The Farmer walked behind the table now and wrapped their arms around him, planting a kiss on his cheek. Elliott smiled, wrapping an arm around his partner.

“Were you hoping to get an autograph as well?” The Farmer pursed their lips and looked up, a pantomime of thought.

“Actually, I know the author, so I think I can just get one whenever I want.” Elliott laughed.

“Certainly.” He looked back up at the two women. “Seriously, though, I’m so glad you were all able to come today. It really means a lot to me.” Maru nodded, but Leah came right back up to the couple and wrapped them both in her arms.

“Of course! I wouldn’t have missed it for anything!” Leah brought the couple into her, her arms around both, tears in her eyes. “I love you all so much! Maru, you too! Get in here.”

Maru sighed behind them but smiled and made her way into the huddle, Leah’s arms encompassing her as well. She stood for a moment, humming quietly as she held her friends.

“Leah? Not to be the buzzkill, but almost everyone has left and Gunther is staring directly at us.” Elliott shuffled uncomfortably as the rest of the group spotted the curator. Leah let go of her friends, and began to make her way toward the door, apologizing as she went. Maru followed quickly after, and the Farmer and Elliott made their way out hand in hand.

“Yeah! I think it went super. You sounded really good up there.” Elliott stepped ahead, opening the door for the Farmer.

“Do you think it went well?” Elliott looked down at his partner. The Farmer nodded, looking at Elliott through the corner of their eye.

“Thanks.” Elliott appreciated the praise, but something had seemed off in the Farmer’s tone. Was it not actually good? Did they hate the book? Elliott felt nervous.

“Everything okay?” The Farmer paused, then turned to face Elliott, a weary smile on their face.

“Yeah! I just had to get up a little earlier this morning to make sure I had everything taken care of before the reading.” Elliott nodded, but the pit in the bottom of his stomach remained. “Are you still down for dinner at mine tonight?”

Elliott cheered up almost instantly. How could he have forgotten dinner?

“Of course! Let’s go, straight away!” He grabbed the Farmer’s hand and began to strut, his chest puffed out in a caricature of strength. The Farmer laughed, almost tripping as they tried to keep up with Elliott’s stride.

Once at the Farmer’s home, Elliott pulled up his hair and began the task of preparing dinner. Without a proper kitchen in his cabin, Elliott’s culinary prowess was wasted. In the Farmer’s renovated kitchen, however, he relished any chance to show off his skills. The Farmer opted for a shower while he prepared their meal, claiming to be covered in grime from the morning on the farm, but something in Elliott’s stomach twisted again, unsure if his partner’s words were true.

Lost in his thoughts, Elliott didn’t notice when the Farmer appeared behind him, wrapping their arms around his stomach as they peaked around his shoulders to watch the action on the stove. “Whatchya cooking?” Elliott twisted to kiss the Farmer’s head and inhaled deeply, promising to commit the smell of the Farmer’s shampoo, cedar and smoke, to memory.

“I’m just putting the sear on some snapper that I bought from Willy this morning, would you be a dear and get the wine from the fridge?” The Farmer nodded, and their arms slipped away as they padded to the fridge. Elliott heard the pour behind him; the ting of the neck of the bottle against the glasses. The Farmer walked back up beside him, holding one glass between them.

“Do you want a taste?” Elliott nodded, expecting the Farmer to hand him the glass, but was surprised when the Farmer lifted the glass to his lips, a serious and intent look in their eyes. Elliott drank from the glass without breaking eye contact, attempting to play it cool, even as he gripped the handle of the pan tighter. He felt another tinge in his stomach, but this one wasn’t from nerves.

“Why darling,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “it’s not yet time for dessert.” The Farmer smiled, their lips still pressed together and kissed Elliott’s cheek and turned, making their way to the table. Elliott turned his attention back to the fish and turned off the burner and began to plate, unsure now if the meal would be eaten right away after all.

As he carried the plates over to the table, the Farmer smiled and scratched their head. “I feel bad, I really should have cooked tonight. It’s your big day after all.” Elliot sat next to the Farmer, kissing their forehead quickly on his way.

“Nonsense. I love to cook, and any day I get the opportunity to only makes the day better.” The Farmer smiled, but Elliott noticed that their leg continued to bounce quickly underneath the table. He bit his lip. “Darling-”

“El, did I— oh.” The couple paused, eyeing each other.

“I just wanted to ask if everything was okay.” Elliott pursed his lips. The Farmer chuckled nervously and ran a hand through their damp hair.

Elliott blinked and set down his fork, confused. “What?” The Farmer leaned forward, regret in their eyes.ing your reading today, did I… was I the other person, like did my presence impact your last relationship?”

Elliott blinked and set down his fork, confused. “What?” The Farmer leaned forward, regret in their eyes.

“I’m not saying something happened or that you cheated or anything, I would never imply that, but I know when I came here I was kinda flirty and obviously you were into that but I thought you were single.” The Farmer was animated as they rambled, their hands waving about. “And I mean I’m happy to be with you, I prefer it this way, but I’d feel terrible if I somehow caused stress in your relationships at all—”

Elliott grabbed the Farmer’s hands and pulled them in toward him, drawing their attention back in. He shook his head, confused.

“Darling, I don’t— What are you talking about?” The Farmer bit their lip and looked down again.

“At the reading, the dedication… I mean, it was sweet, but you sent in the final draft, what, almost a year ago now? And the story was very good, you know I think that, but I couldn’t help but think about that and how�� if I was some kind of topic of stress in whatever… you know.” The Farmer looked back up, eyes misty.

Elliott laughed. He couldn’t help it. This is what the Farmer had been stressed about? He could understand if, certainly, but their own nerves almost seemed silly compared to his. The Farmer tilted their head, waiting for Elliott to answer.

When he finally calmed down, Elliott shook his head and picked his fork back up, studying his food as he cut off a piece of the fish. “No, it’s been… my last true relationship was many, many years ago, long before I came to the valley.”

“Oh.” The Farmer nodded, but Elliot could hear the confused tone in their voice.

“The dedication was for you.” He looked back up at the Farmer, smiling. The Farmer blinked and opened their mouth to speak, but Elliott cut them off. “I know, but… in all honesty, I truly think I’ve been in love with you for a long time, dear.” The Farmer smiled now, the misty look returning to their eyes.

“Oh, El.” They giggled and moved their chair closer to his, and slid a hand around the back of his neck.

“I really do believe from the moment I first saw you, I fell for you,” Elliott continued. “You had my heart.” The Farmer let out another small giggle and leaned forward, pulling Elliott’s head in toward theirs for a kiss, deep and soft and tender.

When they pulled away, the Farmer leaned their forehead against his. “I love you too, Elliott.” They chuckled and bit their lip, eyes scanning his. “I know I don’t have some grand gesture or… beautiful speech to tell you with, but I do.” Elliott nodded, and kissed his partner again.

Elliott stood up, his arms still around the Farmer, pulling them up with him. He pulled the Farmer in flush against him, their bodies pressed together as he tried to continue to kiss them, unable to maintain the connection as he fought his smile.

“That’s alright darling, your love is grand enough.” The Farmer laughed as Elliott tried to pull them into an even tighter embrace..

“My Love.” The Farmer smiled as they studied Elliot’s face. Elliott’s hand made its way to the Farmer’s cheek, stroking the skin with his thumb.

“My love.”

#elliott sdv #sdv elliott #stardew elliott #sdv fic #fic request #requests open #sdv requests #stardew fluff

38 notes · View notes

kaibacorpintern · 4 years ago

Note

hi i forgot the ship name but would u write something thats seto and ryou? (platonic or romantic) where they play a ttrpg together or somethin idk

“or somethin idk” give me an inch, i have run a mile. a mile of 4.7k words.

platonic euroshipping. post-canon. ryou applies for a game writer position at kaibacorp and makes it to the final stage. contains: dragons, swords, some very sexy things about solidvision and the virtual world, kaiba covered in blood and having a great time, me the writer having a great time, hopefully you the reader having a great time, and ryou, not covered in blood, having a very, very, very anxious time

tw for some fantasy violence

++++++

Ryou inhaled, taking a deep breath of: the fresh, sweet smell of grass, the coolness of river water, something dry and grey in the wind, slightly rotten - smoke? And sulfur. The grasses were filled with the restless susurrus of the wind, each blade quivering with anticipation. Above him, a hawk tilted in lazy, wide circles, tracking the hidden paths of its prey. He stood on a dusty path halfway up the long slope of a steep hillside, the farmlands of the valley behind him peeled back to reveal the burned, blackened devastation beneath. The village from this distance looked like the charcoal remains of a bonfire, the air still shimmering with heat.

The sun itself was hot, making him sweat in the thick, coarse silk of his mage’s robe, every purple thread saturated with light and heat. Mopping sweat from his brow, Ryou opened his options menu, the holographic display falling open, in the guise of an illuminated manuscript, and hovering at waist-height in thin air, perfectly tilted for reading. The parchment was old and yellowed, almost velvet to the touch, the edges frayed with age, and he couldn’t resist the urge to smell it, leaning in cautiously to take an experimental whiff. Strong notes of dust, old ink, age; an undertone of knowledge, of the forbidden kind.

He selected Player Appearance and the page turned, with weight and heft, to reveal another. Kaiba didn’t miss a beat. Ryou had no doubt if he knelt down to drink from the stream that flowed down the slope, folding in clear ribbons past the rocks, the water would run cold over his fingers until they pruned. And the magic effects?

He swallowed. It was not just the sun that was making him sweat.

He’d just changed into something more practical - a short-sleeved green tunic, a pair of white breeches, leather boots that had just a bit of bite to the fit, like the player had to wear them in - when a chime pealed out from six feet away, as though someone had rung an invisible bell. The air tore apart, in odd, geometric anguish, like a broken mirror twisting into itself -

and there was Kaiba, standing in the knee-high grass in his customary black turtleneck and tight pants, frowning with his arms crossed.

“Hello,” Ryou said. “It’s so nice to see you again. Your technology is... this is amazing. The attention to detail is incredible. The player screen, with the parchment - it even smells like - ”

“What is this? Medieval?” Kaiba said, glancing around at his clothes, the distant village, taking no notice of his praise; Ryou bit his tongue in self-rebuke. As if buttering him up with compliments was going to help.

“Western Europe. From the mid-11th century to the 12th. The age of knights and chivalry,” he said, deciding that maybe his best strategy was to simply be straightforward.

“I’m familiar with basic history, thank you. How... classic,” Kaiba said, in a tone that screamed disinterest, and Ryou’s heart began to plummet - already starting from behind? No, no, no, he reminded himself, straightening the slouch out of his shoulders. Yuugi had warned him about this. Kaiba was fantastically tough to impress, in general, and the Virtual World was his world, a realm he'd built with sweat and tears, and stolen back with blood. So he hand-picked every writer that wrote for Virtual World games, refusing to squander a single pixel on conventional nonsense and uninspired cliché.

The last step - before he brought the axe down - was a short, playable demo, as proof of concept, written by the applicant and executed by the Virtual World team.

Ryou had come this far in the application process. Trust that, Yuugi said. And trust yourself.

Kaiba was looking at him, eyebrows arched with expectant curiosity.

“Er,” Ryou said. “Let’s get started, then. You’ll need to change.”

He pulled up the menu, revelling in the hovering parchment once more, and changed Kaiba’s appearance, like - like magic, the lines of Kaiba’s silhouette rippling like a sine wave from the bottom up, his modern-day clothing becoming a knee-length tunic of chainmail under a belted dark blue surcoat. Kaiba held still throughout the entire transformation, in smug admiration of the effect, his arms held out in a ballet dancer’s pose as chainmail draped down his shoulders to his wrists.

In his right hand appeared, with a sharp, diamond flash of light, a long arming sword, the edge nicked with age and bloodspill. The hilt was black, with a sapphire gleaming in the pommel. A plain shield dropped onto his left forearm.

He gave the sword an experimental spin, testing the heft with practiced ease, and slid it back into the leather scabbard on his belt.

“A knight, the charred, smoking remains of a village… I’m assuming I’m on a quest to kill a dragon?” he said, pushing back the hood of the chainmail so that it draped off his shoulders, and nodding up the slope to where the grasses tattered into rocky shale.

“Yes, you can assume that,” Ryou said politely.

On cue, a child no more than twelve years old staggered up the dusty path from the village, her small torso heaving with breath, sweat and tears running in clean streaks down her soot-stained face.

“Sir Knight,” she choked out. Flashing a look at Ryou that said cheap blow, but unable to deny his own fraternal instinct, Kaiba dropped to one knee and caught her, his hands swallowing her thin, shuddering shoulders. Playing along, at least.

“Calm down,” he said, steadying her. Ryou imagined his anxiety as a small, hard rock, packing in the twist of every fraying nerve, and leaned all his weight onto one foot, grinding the rock into the dirt with his heel. "What is it?”

“They sent me to warn you, about the dragon,” she panted. “They said only the Chosen One can truly defeat the dragon, and bring peace back to the land. Many have tried. All suffered the same terrible fate - a fate worse than death.”

“I see,” Kaiba said. “And who is the Chosen One?”

The girl glanced at Ryou over Kaiba’s shoulder, her eyes glinting with fear.

“No - no one knows,” she said. “But all the oracles say they’re coming… a knight with a pure and worthy heart. Sir Knight, don’t go. Come back to the village. It’s safe there. What do you gain from this? Our humble lands aren’t worth the danger!”

“I think they are,” Kaiba said, thumbing soot off her face, and frowning as her cheek pixelated, briefly, and resumed a skin-like texture. "Open master commands, user ID 000002510. Initiate master log. Begin recording: skin-to-skin contact glitch reappeared during writer play-test, candidate Bakura, R. Begin patch work immediately. End recording. Disperse to Virtual World team, flag Sawada, project manager. Close master commands. Did you know, one of the most compelling unsolved problems in physics is the lack of a theory that realizes both general relativity and quantum mechanics?”

The girl gave him a wary look, wide-eyed with faint alarm. Ryou sucked in a breath, grinding the anxiety rock down, down, down.

“You - you speak in tongues, Sir Knight," she said. "Are you also an oracle? Has your future-sight failed you? Don’t you see that only death lives on the mountain?”

Kaiba snorted and stood up, turning to Ryou. “A solid response to non-standard player input. Doesn’t ignore modern concepts, but re-contextualizes them in the setting of this world via a framework of prophecy, and redirects the player to the plot.”

“Um... thank you?” Ryou said. “I wanted this world to feel like it has a future, too, not just a history. I wanted to place it on a timeline, like it - ”

Kaiba’s attention swung back to the girl, still standing there with her eyes darting between them, full of bafflement.

“Return to the village, girl. Tell them my future-sight never fails me.”

The girl retreated backwards, warily, twisted on her heel, and fled down the path.

"If I go down to the village, what'll I find?" Kaiba said.

"More information about the Chosen One, and an outlaw who tries to recruit you to her band of thieves, with the option to join them for a stealth-based quest.”

"Hm. You have the imagination and the decency to offer me something other than blatant bait, which I don't always bite. The cliché of the Chosen One is boring as hell, it’s both over-done and deterministic, but I think... yes. Yes, I'll bite. Let's go see your dragon."

In the wake of this... compliment?, Ryou could only offer him a small, tentative smile, his heart clenching tight around Yuugi's advice.

Kaiba started up the path.

“Er, Kaiba - you might want to check your inventory before you encounter the dragon."

Kaiba’s hand padded around his waist until he found the small satchel that sat on his hip. Another parchment unfurled in the air before him, listing its contents:

Two full healing spells;

Two glamour spells, for changing the guise of a person or object;

Two transformation spells, for changing a person or an object into an animal;

Two scrying spells, for locating people or objects;

Two ignis spells, for commanding fire;

Two aqua spells, for commanding water; and

Two ventus spells, for commanding wind.

Ryou watched him as he read. He'd carved a small, thick groove into the dirt below his foot. Surely, that was enough for Kaiba to get creative?

Kaiba only closed the parchment with a brisk flick of his hand. Then he started up the mountain, Ryou following nervously behind.

***

The mountain path was rougher than Ryou expected, a tightly-coiled spring of switchbacks, leading to the curved lip of a high pass. After several minutes of trudging the dust in silence, he was panting for breath, his feet aching and blistering in their boots, and deeply regretting adding this little detail to the story. Next time, he was just going to put the dragon on a rolling, grassy plain, and he’d make it like an American autumn corn maze, because it still needed to be a challenge, and when the players got to the center they’d find the dragon’s decaying, rotting corpse and realize they’d been stuck inside the maze for five hundred years and everyone they loved was dead, and if they wanted to go back to their own time they’d have to find out how to resurrect the dragon, but only at a terrible cost, a sacrifice of some kind... Not his best off-the-cuff work, but there were usable concepts in there, somewhere. If there was a next time.

Despite being laden down with the chainmail, each tiny link flashing like fish scales in the airy slanting of the afternoon sun, Kaiba seemed unaffected by the demands of the hike, propelling himself forward with long, energetic strides. How?

Ryou thought about asking for a break. Or drinking water from the stream. Or changing his boots for something comfier, but he didn't have anything else in his outfit inventory except the mage robes, and the slippers might be even worse… he stopped, hands on his hips, gathering his breath.

From here the valley sprawled below them, a wide, velvety plain, its edges rising and scalloped by mountains. The village fit in the circle of his thumb and forefinger, a smoking black thumbprint. The team had done a fantastic job: the stream ran down the mountain, flattened into a river, and ran south, lazy and serpentine, a green-blue ribbon cutting through the yellow plains, just like he’d outlined in his initial description of the world….

Wait.

This was all virtual.

There was no such thing as air, here, or rivers or sunshine or grasses.

His real, physical body was half-asleep in a Virtual World testing pod on the 17th floor of the Kaiba Corp Tower, and his body here was just a series of algorithms, and if he didn’t want to sweat, he didn’t have to fucking sweat! Thank God!

Up ahead, Kaiba noted the absence of his footfalls and turned around, one hand resting easily on his sword hilt. From his position on the path, he looked down at Ryou from several feet up, which doubled the intimidation of his already formidable bearing.

“I’m fine,” Ryou said. “Just... admiring the view.”

“Are you having your Matrix moment? That’s what my programmers call it,” Kaiba said.

Ryou laughed. “I think so. I was tired but I don't feel it at all, anymore. Like all the fatigue's just melted away and I could run a marathon.”

“Is that something you enjoy?”

“Oh, no. I hate sports.”

Kaiba snorted.

“So, tell me. Why do you want this job?” he said. “At my company? Writing stories with my technology?”

“Er - ” Blindsided by the swerve in topics, Ryou tripped over his thoughts. Surely he must’ve read his application? Maybe he didn’t have the time. Stick to straightforward. “I’m sure you remember my performance in Battle City?”

“Yes, I remember,” Kaiba said, which was honestly more than Ryou expected of him.

“Well, I don’t play much Duel Monsters anymore,” he said, “but I still.. every once in a while, I turn my Duel Disk on and play a few cards, just to see my monsters come out, see them breathe… you know I run a Zombie deck, full of demons and dead things, but SolidVision makes them feel so - so alive. You took these fantasy monsters that exist only in our heads and put them in our world.”

“Virtual World game writers don’t work on SolidVision products,” Kaiba countered.

“Right, I know that. To me, Virtual World and SolidVision are the inverse of each other, or opposites that contain each other, like, like yin and yang - with SolidVision, the unreal enters the real, and becomes real. In the Virtual World, the real - ” Ryou motioned to himself - “enters the unreal, and becomes unreal. We like to put walls between imagination and reality, you know, taxes are real and unicorns aren’t, but with SolidVision and Virtual World, there is no wall. That’s the world I want to write stories for.”

“Hm,” Kaiba said, the corner of his mouth curving up in a smile. “Interesting take.”

And he waited, saying nothing more, until Ryou realized he was waiting for him; and trotted lightly up the path to join him.

***

By the time they reached the top of the mountain pass, the air had turned a clear, dusky gold. The mountains cast long, black shadows across the valley, like dark teeth, chewing up the farmlands. The mountain pass was saddle-shaped, one side sloping down into the valley they’d just come from, the other flattening into a smaller, higher bowl, cupping a pale blue-green lake between its rocky palms.

Kaiba scrambled onto the nearest large rock, his head swinging as he scanned the lake valley. Ryou wrapped one arm around his waist and bit his thumb. They had found a deep, penetrating quiet, the kind of wilderness quiet that was devoid of texture of any kind; no bugs or burbling streams or bird song. It was not even like holding your breath, waiting, because that implied a coming moment of exhale, a sigh of relief. This was a perfect stillness.

And hidden somewhere inside it was a dragon.

Ryou bit harder, until he remembered the pain was fake and did nothing, and he had to come up with something else to temper his anxiety, which was definitely, definitely real.

Kaiba's gonna flip his shit when he sees your dragon, Yuugi said, from the back of Ryou's mind, Ryou's demo manuscript in hand. In a good way or a bad way? Is it too derivative? What does it matter that he'll flip his shit for my dragon when he flips his shit for ANY dragon? He's a slut for dragons. Oh my god, you can't say that! Yuugi, please, help - nope. You got this. You know what you're doing.

Even the metallic shing of Kaiba’s sword coming out of its sheath seemed small, in an unnatural way, a pointless, petty defiance.

A shadow fell across the lake valley.

Both of them looked up -

and an enormous dragon hurtled out of the sky, landing with thundering force on all four clawed feet, flattening trees and boulders beneath its reptilian bulk. Ryou staggered backwards and fell, in an awkward, clumsy crab pose; Kaiba threw his shield over his face and dug in, undaunted.

"HAVE YOU COME TO KILL ME?" the dragon boomed. “MISERABLE WRETCH?”

Kaiba lowered his shield, just enough for his first full look at the dragon. From his spot, crumpled on the ground, Ryou saw, in the shadow below the shield, another slender smile. The dragon’s hide was a dark, luxurious blue-black, mottled like snakeskin but textured with the heavy crags and knobs of crocodiles. It lowered its head on its long, arching neck, gracefully bearing the weight of two massive, curving horns, and stared down at them with fathomless acid-green eyes.

Even Ryou, who had designed it, sat enthralled: every movement it made - the eager flick of its tail, the claws, curling into the dirt, glinting under a layer of blood and grime, the shuddering of its leathery wings as they folded into its long body - hinted at indomitable power. It was a true creature of legend, a titan from the youngest days of the world, demanding both reverence and terror.

“I have!” Kaiba replied blithely, despite announcing it in a ringing voice.

“ONLY THE CHOSEN ONE CAN DEFEAT ME,” the dragon said. “YOU ARE NOT WORTHY OF SUCH A FEAT. I SEE YOUR HEART, BLACKGUARD KNIGHT. I CAN TASTE THE BLOOD YOU’VE SPILLED WITH YOUR SWORD, BRIGHT AND PUNGENT. I CAN HEAR THE CRIES OF ALL THE LIVES YOU’VE LET EBB INTO THE DIRT AT YOUR FEET!”

“I’m here to avenge the village!” Kaiba shouted.

“YOU COME UP HERE TO DEFEND SOME PATHETIC SCRAPS OF BRICK AND WOOD, THINKING YOU CAN KILL ME, AND CALL THAT HONOR? REDEMPTION? YOU CALL THAT COURAGE? ITS TRUE NAME IS VANITY! EMPTY AND FALSE! IT WILL STRIKE YOU DOWN BEFORE I DO!” the dragon boomed again. “LEAVE. I WAS ONCE NAIVE AND VAIN LIKE YOU. COME BACK WHEN YOU ARE MORE THAN A MERE WORM, OR ELSE SUFFER MY FATE!”

Ryou had clambered to his feet and bolted for the safety of a low ridge, which gave him a perfect view of Kaiba, head held high and proud as he gazed unflinching at the dragon, several hundred times his size. He’d written those words in his notebook on the metro, leaning his head against the cool midnight glass, pausing every other line to ferret out another piece of sour candy from his bag. Then he’d missed his stop. That trundling, light-washed world of a train car seemed impossibly distant now - a rapidly fading dream, to be remembered only in flashes and silence. To hear the words come out of the smoking jaws of this dragon, each syllable flowing in a delicious, indulgent baritone from its shining teeth, filled him with a breathless exhilaration, his heart hammering in his throat - this was real!

“Only one of us is suffering fate today!” Kaiba shouted back, a laugh in his voice, and then threw a glance at Ryou. “‘Suffer my fate?’ Is that a typo?”

“VERY WELL. COME KILL ME! THERE IS PEACE IN DEATH, AND ONLY ONE OF US CAN CLAIM IT!”

“I - watch out!” Ryou yelled, as the dragon lunged forward, its jaws snapping shut on the empty air where Kaiba had been standing half a second before. Kaiba threw himself out of the way, a nimble tuck and roll, and scrabbled across the shale towards higher ground. Behind him, the dragon swung its massive head, nostrils red and flaring, mouth curled up in a savage draconic grin, glinting with the promise of violence.

No sooner had Kaiba flung himself behind a scattering of boulders, shield raised, than it unleashed a jet of fire so hot and scorching the boulders glowed red, their rough faces melting in sheets. Ryou felt the heat wash across his face, from several dozen yards away.

The fire died out. The dragon snorted in satisfaction, horse-like, a loud, wet huff of smoke. The boulders sizzled as they cooled into their new, bizarrely dripping forms.

Kaiba emerged from behind a boulder, sweating and singed, his face streaked with ash and his eyes shining. He tossed the warped, melted wreckage of his shield aside, where it bounced and clattered against the rocks.

“SO YOU STILL LIVE? A MISTAKE. WHAT COMES NEXT WILL HURT WORSE!”

“For you!” Kaiba hurled back, and threw his hand into the air, a gesture Ryou had seen countless times on a duel field - a lightning rod, a summoning. “VENTUS!”

The wind picked up, in a giddy, howling whirl, bringing with it a cloud of dust that descended gritty and blinding and pale across the valley. Kaiba and the dragon vanished from sight inside it. Mentally Ryou subtracted one spell from Kaiba’s satchel.

“THIS WON’T HELP Y - ” Cut off by a wet chop and an ear-splitting draconic scream, a raw, awful sound, torn out of an unwilling throat. Just below it, a glorious, cascading laugh. “WRETCH! WORM!”

The dust settled, revealing glistening, dark-green blood splattered across the rocks, and a single severed claw, its flesh still twitching. The dragon seethed, its wounded foot curled in agony. Kaiba was clear across the other side of the pass, by the dragon’s tail, grinning open-mouthed as he panted for breath. His chainmail and surcoat dripped with dragon blood; his hair was thick with it.

“COME GET YOUR PEACE, DRAGON!” he bellowed, and the dragon slung its head around, tail coiling in an ominous whip.

Again Kaiba lifted his hand, shouted “VENTUS - !”

And a second dust cloud barreled into the valley, as the dragon roared back, “THAT WON’T WORK AGAIN!”

It whipped its tail through the dust cloud, a scythe-like sweep - smacking something hard into the rocks with a thick, fleshy crunch of bone that made Ryou’s insides clench tight with terrified sympathy.

The dragon whirled around, clearing the dust with several storm-gathering wingbeats.

This was not real. This was just pixels, neatly arranged and running in rivers of algorithms - just a clever series of ones and zeroes - and yet Ryou gasped, the dragon laughing, at the sight of Kaiba lying in a crumpled, motionless heap in the rocks. He hadn’t considered Kaiba might actually fail to kill the dragon - all thoughts of jobs and game-writing abandoned - unreality aside, the mind had a way of making it real - what the fuck happened if Kaiba died?

“IS THAT ALL YOU HAVE, WORM?” the dragon said, nudging Kaiba’s limp body with its claws, rolling him over. His head lolled, his body twisted into a horrifying, broken-boned slouch. How on earth was Ryou going to explain this to Yuugi? Hell. “I TOLD YOU, YOU'RE NOT W - ”

Ryou almost didn’t see it - a hawk in a dive, arrow-straight, from the top of the sky, diving through a blinding flash of light several stories up - and out of the light came Kaiba, alive and whole, plummeting towards the dragon’s head, gripping his sword with both hands - plunging it straight through the top of the dragon’s skull.

He left the sword hilt-deep in dragon flesh as he pitched forward with the force of impact, rolling over the dragon’s brow, flailing to catch himself - on the massive horn. Clinging, victorious, as the great dragon swayed, its green eyes filming, and finally slumped, in agonized slow motion, to the earth, body first, head last, with a thundering, bone-rattling crash.

It released one last, rattling breath, the trees shuddering in the fetid breeze.

The valley descended into stillness once more.

Ryou sat down on his low escarpment with a limp thump, burying his face in both hands. This was just a Virtual World, where at one point everything would power down and they’d wake up safe and sound in the squishy, air-conditioned comfort of a pod, and he had, after all, planned on Kaiba killing the dragon, but Kaiba’s sheer nerve seemed beyond that. Yuugi was right. The guy was, maybe, a little nuts. Completely off his rocker.

“Ryou,” Kaiba said, above him, and Ryou lifted his head. Kaiba rested the sword jauntily across his shoulder, the rest of him filthy with dragon blood and human blood and dirt. “I have to say, I enjoyed your dragon. A shame it had to die.”

“Your strategy... You used a glamour spell? On a... rock? To make it look like your dead body,” Ryou said. “And then a transformation spell.”

“Correct. Is that all for your demo?” Kaiba said, cocking an eyebrow, both bloody and disdainful, and Ryou swallowed. “I was hoping for more of a cha - ”

His words stopped hard in his throat, a harsh, hacking sound. His free hand flew to his neck, mouth dropping open in pain and confusion, eyes widening. He coughed - or tried to, achieving nothing more than a thin, ugly retching, his face going white - and Ryou watched, in fascinated horror, as his gamble began to play out. There was nothing he could do to help; he’d written it that way.

The sword clattered to the stones, green blood dripping off the shining edge, as Kaiba staggered sideways, gasping for breath, both hands on his neck - what was the algorithm doing to him? Ryou had only written ‘a suffocating, squirming pain, concentrated in the lungs,’ and resolved to think more carefully about what types of pain he might inflict on the player characters, if the gamble paid off... But how interesting to know even the creator of the Virtual World himself suspended his disbelief - his knowledge of the truth - sometimes, and indulged in pain...

He collapsed to his knees, stretching one hand out, fisting it around Ryou’s collar and dragging him closer -

“What - ” he choked out, eyes glaring into Ryou’s, in baffled, furious agony - terrified - they rolled backwards, the blue sliding away to white, as he slumped over himself.

His hand went slack and fell. What life remained slipped away in a low, shaking sigh.

Ryou took him by the shoulders and gently lay him down, passing a hand over his eyes to close them. Dead, but not really.

“Just hold on a moment,” he said. The body had been vacated. The soul - the player - was awakening elsewhere.

He waited a few moments, absorbing the stillness, the detail on the leaves of the pine trees; the way the lake water shimmered in golden flecks with late afternoon light. It was maybe his last few seconds to enjoy the world he’d written, rendered in full splendor by the magic of technology, and he’d banished his anxiety from both his mind and body, to live out its exile in the real world. It didn’t belong here.

The great dragon body began to stir, drowsily, waking up from a deep, deep sleep. The deepest sleep.

Ryou stood up and slid down the escarpment to the dragon, pebbles and dust avalanching around his feet. The stab wound in its skull was knitting back together; the severed claw was crawling back to its slow-bleeding joint. There was an agonized hiss, forced through the dragon’s tightly-clenched teeth, and a vibrating groan, deep in its chest, as it gathered itself out of death.

Its eyes opened, in wary slits - not the bright, acid green, but a stunning, oceanic blue.

“OW. FUCK,” it growled, in Kaiba’s voice, magnified and twice as resonant. “OPEN MASTER COMMANDS, USER ID 000002510. SUSPEND ALL PAIN ALGORITHMS. CLOSE MASTER COMMANDS.”

He rolled upright, flexing his wings with experimental care. He arched his neck, looking down at Ryou.

“YOU TURNED ME INTO A DRAGON.”

“Yes,” Ryou said cautiously.

“NO ONE HAS EVER TURNED ME INTO A DRAGON BEFORE,” Kaiba said. ”SO I WASN’T WORTHY? IS THIS WHAT IT MEANS TO SUFFER THE DRAGON’S FATE? EVERYONE WHO KILLS THE DRAGON BECOMES THE DRAGON, AND ONLY THE CHOSEN ONE BREAKS THE CYCLE. IS THAT HOW IT GOES?”

“That’s how it goes.”

“HOW DO I FIND THE CHOSEN ONE?”

“You choose them,” Ryou said. “You decide what makes them worthy.”

"SO ANYONE CAN BE THE CHOSEN ONE? ANYONE CAN BREAK MY CURSE?"

"That's right."

Kaiba pondered that for a moment, flexing his claws idly in the dirt, the massive slabs of muscle in his shoulders shifting as he tested the strength and fit of his new draconic body. His gaze drifted out over the lower valley, eyes clouding briefly with memories of another story, another game, another man; one who had always seemed real and unreal, all at once, no matter what world he lived in. Ryou had heard it all from Yuugi.

Then Kaiba looked at him and started to laugh, a sound that echoed and rebounded across the small lake valley, the water shivering as each delighted peal of laughter rolled across. Ryou blushed as it buffeted him from all sides.

“IS THAT SO,” Kaiba said, with dry relish. “YOU’RE HIRED.”

#sibbinthegivengibbon #fanfiction #euroshipping #(platonic)#oh my goddddddd this was a blast to write i just enjoyed myself the entire time #thanks for the prompt!!#its 1 AM i'm going the FUCK to sleep

95 notes · View notes

sinsbymanka · 5 years ago

Text

I’m am dying right now. The wonderful, talented, amazing, BEST ARTIST EVER @schoute finished this commission for me today and I am just so. fucking. happy. I am crying. It is beautiful. These are my babies, Maria Cadash and Varric Tethras, from the Selkie!AU Depths of Desire. I love them so much. I love this so much. I cannot gush over it enough and I can’t stop staring. THANK YOU SCHOUTE.

There is a drabble that goes along with it! I’m gonna put it under the cut, enjoy.

Honestly, they needed to be getting back to the Belle Bianca. The sun, dipping below the horizon, still left enough light to see, but it had turned into shades of pink and orange, bright when it hit the water and scattered into golden flecks, but casting the shore of the cove in deep violet shadows.

But when Maria demanded to check one more of the little hidden harbors on this island before they made their way back, he acquiesced without much more than a complaint that if they ended up sleeping on the shore, she'd be responsible for gathering firewood. It had done nothing to change her mind, but had lifted the corner of her lips into a ghost of a smile.

He so rarely got any of those that he greedily shoved that little smirk into the box within his chest where he kept all the rest of his fond memories of her. The ones she would be startled to find, like their first meeting when she held him at sword point, and the ones she may suspect he cherished, in particular their shared laughter in the marketplace of Antiva city, when it tapered out and they both looked at each other, alone, lost in the moment.

Sometimes he wondered if magic was the only thing binding them together, but it was a treacherous thought. One based more on wistful wishing than cold, hard reality. So, Varric banished it, and kept nothing but these stolen moments for himself.

"Right." Maria directed, setting her own oars down. "Here's good."

Varric finally dropped his own oars, the muscles in his arms taut and sore. He rubbed at his bicep surreptitiously while Maria stood up, careful of the rocking dinghy beneath her feet.

He wanted to watch far more than he wanted to admit but this was the third dive of the day, and he knew what the command would be before she even said it. Instead of savoring the glow of her in twilight, he squeezed his eyes shut immediately. "Alright Princess, I'll just work on my tan up here."

She laughed, but Varric couldn't even open his damn eyes to watch the amusement dance in her eyes. He heard the rustle of clothing, cotton being discarded, the clatter of weapons she didn't need, but felt safer carrying.

His vivid imagination conjured what she looked like, dipped in golden sunlight. In his mind, the freckles on her cheeks mirrored the ones dotting her shoulders and chest. Her plump lips parted around his name, arms reaching to pull him flush against her curves…

The soft splash of Maria vanishing beneath the sparkling water drug him from his reverie in the nick of time. He opened his eyes, a hollow pang of grief replacing the lust in his chest while he looked at the ripples where she vanished. He brushed his hand harshly against his face and let out a ragged breath.

She didn't belong to him.

A mantra repeated near constantly, especially when he found himself alone in her glorious company. In truth, she was his captive, and Varric…

Varric hated it. He hated that she felt so bound against her will, detested that circumstances kept him from setting her free into the sea where she belonged.

Yet, despite his best efforts, he found himself wishing more and more that she belonged with him.

At least she no longer hated his guts. He’d take the small victory where he could find it.

He tried to pull his mind to other things, compiling list of needed supplies for the ship the next time they made port, which harbormasters needed the requisite bribes to turn a blind eye to their stolen cargo. Then, of course, the business of checking in with his contacts to see if any hint of Bartrand, the bastard, surfaced while they were at sea.

Nothing could darken his mood more quickly than thoughts of his backstabbing brother. He opened his eyes, glaring at the shore, but the deepened shadows there jolted him.

Sweet Andraste, how much time had he spent ruminating in his thoughts? His eyes skipped over the still waters of this hidden natural harbor, looking for a trace of Maria beneath the surface. Although he knew she could stay below far longer than any of his crew, there had to be a limit even for her. She had to be approaching it, if not even surpassing it.

So where was she?

His stomach twisted into knots and he reached up without thought to shuck his own coat, although the thought of saving Maria from drowning was laughable. His fingers still dropped to the sash he tucked his pistols into, quickly untying the knots while his eyes roamed.

Before he could remove his boots, the surface of the water broke next to the dinghy with a tiny redhead heaving for breath, tossing slimy mounds of something into the bottom of the boat.

And, suddenly, shaking her seemed the better option. He nearly collapsed in relief while she impatiently pushed wet strands of crimson back from her face. She blinked water from her gray eyes and frowned, puzzled, in his direction. "Why are you taking your clothes off?" She panted.

"I told you I was working on my tan." He lied, flippant and casual, before toeing the mess of saltwater and suspiciously glowing slime with his boot. "Is this what you were looking for?"

"Yes." She answered, hanging onto the side of the dinghy. "Deep mushrooms. Do we have time for me to haul up more?"

No, not really, but he simply sighed. "If you think you need more, Princess."

Silence greeted him, which was never a good sign when Maria was concerned. He looked back at her to find her face soft and introspective. She'd told him, once, there was more to this connection of theirs than the horrible chain of command he could yank at any time. Proven in multiple ways, like how she seemed to know where he was at any given time, or the way he ached sometimes in the middle of the night and would leave his manuscript to find her in nothing but her shift and tears pacing the deck.

He feared, sometimes when she paused to look at him, she really could puzzle out what he was thinking if she just tried hard enough.

What he didn't expect next was the wicked grin that stretched her lips and caused his heart to ache with her unexpected loveliness. She glowed, the sun painted her slick skin with the same gold brush that the Maker used to color his sky, water slicked her lashes to points and brought a flush of pink under her freckled face.

"You were going to dive in and rescue me, weren't you?" She taunted, pressing closer to the side of their tiny vessel. "Cause I was taking too long for your ulcers?"

"Wouldn't that be a laugh?" Varric asked, trying far too hard to maintain that casual facade. "My ass drowning while you dug out whatever this shit is?"

Another beat of silence while her smile faded and she considered him again, but without the trace of wariness that usually lines her features. "Varric?"

She hardly ever called him by his name, it was almost always captain or surfacer in various tones of scorn. The sound of it made him lean precariously over the edge of the boat, closer to those pink lips. "All ears and chest hair, Princess."

One of her hands clung to the edge of the wooden hull, but the other lifted to his jaw, tipping his chin down with the slightest pressure. Varric's breath caught in his chest when her eyes fastened on his lips.

His hand moved without his permission, reaching to cradle the sleek hair plastered to her head, heavy and cool in his palm, drawing her closer when she pulled herself up, a pull too strong to resist.

He chanced leaning forward further and was graced by the gentle brush of her lips against his, tender, sweet, hesitant. He froze, unwilling to break the moment, even as he ached to pull her closer.

Maria. Maria kissing him. Maybe he died of boredom waiting for her in this boat all day after all, and this was his reward from the Maker.

She pulled back too soon, eyes closed so he couldn't see any of the emotions he felt certain shined in them.

"Maria…" he began, uncertain where was going.

"Thank you." She breathed quickly, releasing her hold on him and the boat at the same time, and vanishing beneath the sea in a swirl of bubbles.

He didn’t know whether to start cursing or dive in after her, chasing his desire to the very depths of the sea.

#depths of desire #maria cadash #varric tethras #dragon age fanart #fanart #schoute draws #schoute #cadash x varric #selkie!au #pirate!au #dragon age #first kiss #feels #all the feels #beautiful art #varric romance #varric tethras fan club

192 notes · View notes

be-ready-when-i-say-go · 5 years ago

Text

Missin’ You is Terrible-Part 3: Fooled Around

Calum isn’t looking for deep feelings, just for some fun. But he’s pretty sure friends with benefits isn’t supposed to go like this. Black!Female Reader.

Enjoy my masterlist

Support me on kofi

_________________________

I am not even five feet away from you. You do not have to text me.

Calum looks up from his phone, to her--brown eyes, rich brown skin, black hair. She’s sitting in her backyard, at the small desk she set up outside, half her manuscript printed out next to her. The cursor on her screen blinking at her to finish the thought. But she is staring at him, her lips quirked into a bemused smirk. She is staring at him and Duke, who rest at Calum’s feet, enjoying the warmth of the wooden deck, soaking into his back. She is staring at the shy smile that takes over Calum’s face, the little scrunch to his cheeks and crinkle around his eyes. She listens to the soft chuckle that escapes his lips as he reaches out for her, wiggling his fingers. She is captivated by his shyness and allured by his softness.

“Then why did you text me back?” Calum quips, still signaling for her.

“Because I am working and maybe too lazy to turn around.”

“And yet, you did so anyway.”

She flips him off, turning back to her computer. Calum laughs at the action and pushes from the steps he’s seated, navigating around Duke. He kneads at her shoulders, kissing the crown of her head. It’s not like beautiful days aren’t a common occurrence in LA, but this past week has been too good to Calum. His days are spent watching her write, watching her edit, writing his own stuff. He gets to wake up next to her; gets to fall asleep next to her. He gets to cook for her. They do laundry together, clean while jazz blares over her speakers.

She melts under his touch, firm enough, but never too hard on her muscles. Plucking away at the keys, she tilts her head, cheek brushing up and down on his fingers. Calum chuckles at the gesture before pinching the fat on the side of her face. “You’re supposed to be writing,” she mutters, cheeks still between his fingers.

“I’m helping you,” he says, releasing the flesh. “Clearly.”

“Clearly,” she laughs. Duke barks, running down the steps of the porch, chasing after a bird. They watch him run in the grass until the bird wises up and flies off. Duke stops, watching, waiting. He watches the bird flying. She watches him and Calum watches her. He wishes he could bottle this moment, pack it nicely into a cube, carrying it with him everywhere. So he could never be down, so whenever things did get bad, he could pop it open and be reminded of her smile, of the way her lashes curl as she blinks. Be reminded of the way she inhaled, the way her chest rise with the action, the way her fingers curled around his. So he could always be reminded of her, though it’s not like he already wasn’t. The wind blowing a certain way made him swear he caught a whiff of her scent in his nostrils.

She turns back to her screen, fingers slipping from around his. Calum walks down to the grassy backyard, but not before grabbing the red ball. The second Duke spots it in Cal’s hand, he perks up, already on alert. Cal gives it a gentle toss, the pup sprinting after it. Yeah, if he could bottle this moment up, he would. If he could drown in it, he’d fight every instinct for oxygen. There’s nothing like this. Duke drops the rubber ball at Calum’s feet, eager for the next throw, eager to push his legs over the grass.

__ “I can’t believe this. You really--,”

“Yes,” she interrupts him, swiping her thumb under his eyes. “Yes I really did. Do you know how easy it was to get your family on board with this? All them extended their houses. I was flooded with emails--all eager to help you.”

Calum pushes up from the chair, pulling her over the table to him. She said that months ago--promised him on her living room floor that she’d take him to New Zealand. It’s not that he didn’t believe her. He just didn’t think it’d happen now. But it makes sense. Tour is done. All his other obligations are months from now. He finally gets a chance to breathe. She scoots out around from the corner of the table. He buries his face into her shoulder, arms wind so tight around her that they meet the other side of his chest.

Something is salty against his lips when he pulls back. His vision is a watery mess. He’s crying-no he’s weeping. Sobs are pressing, squeezing his chest. “Baby, it’s okay. It’s okay,” she soothes, grabbing napkins to clean his face. He knows it’s okay. It’s more than okay. He just can’t stop himself, there’s no words to express how overjoyed he is. She’s doing this all for him. Something he’s always wanted to do; all for him. He wraps her into a hug again. She gently rocks him side to side, trailing her fingers through the shaved sides and back.

“I’m always good on my word,” she chuckles.

“God, I’ve gotta pack. What about Duke?” he asks, pushing away from her. His mind races now. He needs someone to watch his house. So does she, or at least someone to come around and water all her plants. She’s such a gardener, if her plants were to die while away, she would be crushed.

“I thought of this. Just take a breath. Finish your pie, we got time. Flight’s in two days.”

Calum nods, exhaling and finally takes the napkins from her. He stares down at the plane ticket. His chest ignites again, his eyes water yet again. “You’re fucking incredible, you know?” he whispers to her. He doesn’t bother wiping the tears. They don’t matter to him, they don’t change meaning if he clears them away. His chest bubbles, his lips curls, his tongue presses into bottom row of his teeth with three words threatening to spill over his throat. But he stops himself, he pulls his tongue back, he straightens as best he can the wobble to his smile. He can’t say those words just yet.

It feels right, though, he could. He could say it right now. Should he? She starts wiping his cheeks again, pressing short pecks to his reddening cheeks. He grabs her face, pulling her into his lips. It’s salty, the meeting of their lips, due to his tears. But she smiles, that makes it sweet. He can’t say it right now. But he can show it. He can show all the love he feels, even if he’s terrified of the words spilling pasts his lips.

__ He knows it hasn’t been that long. A few months at the absolute most, but by God, the boy looks half a foot taller. Calum rubs his eyes looking at his cousin, laughing. “When did this happen? I blink and you’re sprouting like a tree.” He wraps the boy in a hug.

“Just trying to be like you,” the boy grins. The hug last a long moment, but no one minds. His aunt and uncle crowd around, eager to greet, but patient enough. This is a moment she wishes to bottle, though the air has a slight chill to it and her jacket is just thick enough to keep the majority of the chill out. But the smile on his face makes her chest warm. The way his family wraps him in close to their bodies, grins wide, laughs falling from lips easily. This is the laughter of reunion, the ‘oh my god it’s been so long and you’ve grown so much’ laugh. It’s the ‘the gods have lined up and I’m actually seeing you in the flesh and by god I am elated to see you’ laugh. It’s the ‘if you don’t give me a hug to make sure you’re actually real’ laugh. The awe on his cousin’s face let’s her know they needed this just as much as he needed it.

She’s the last to be hugged, and profusely apologized too. “We swear we’re not rude,” his uncle laughs, hugging her.

“It’s quite alright. It’s about him anyway.”

In the car, Calum watches intently at the rolling hilltops as they travel down the road. His fingers are thread through hers, thumb brushing over the skin of her hand. She watches him, watching the scenery. She wonders what he’s thinking. It’s breathtaking for sure. The air feels different in her lungs. But she wonders what is this is doing specifically for him. She squeezes his hand. Calum turns to her, a soft smile resting on the corners of his lips.

“It’s beautiful. Now that I can actually sit down and see it. I love it,” he says. She nods in agreement.

“Have you ever seen a Haka?” Calum’s cousin directs to her.

“Not in person. Just online.”

“Has Calum taught you any Maori?”

“Not yet.”

“Is he really as cool as people say he is? I know he’s a rockstar or whatever. But,” the boy raises his eyebrows.

She laughs, but nods at the question. Calum’s not paying attention, having turned his gaze back to the grassy hillsides. It’s soon replaced by city streets and sidewalks and the bustle of city life. But even if all the slabs of manmade infrastructure the trees are still powerful and towering.He inhales deeply as they exit the car. Yeah, here is different. Here is reaching through the depths of him, touching something he’s always felt distantly there. Always brushed his fingers over it but never firmly grasped it into his hands.

Is he ready to grasp it now? Can he? He feels a little like a fraud, he embraced it so powerfully before. But as time has gone on, he’s swallowed it back down. So many times he’s been called Asian, too many times he’s felt himself and others brush aside his Māori blood. Is he a fraud? Or is he just still that seventeen year old boy who’s had his trust shattered? Once so connected but battered down by time, once so trusting but hurt by the very arms he fell into. His lower lip wobbles.

Her voice is soft in his ear. “Hey, earth to Calum.”

He shakes his head, blinking back the start of tears. “Sorry, just thinking.”

Her nails run down his arm, threading her fingers through his. “Do you want to be left alone? I already put your bag inside. They’re prepping us some food.”

No. Maybe. “Just for a moment please?”

“Of course.” She kisses the back of his hand before unraveling her fingers. The door closes quietly behind her. Calum looks to his hand, his mother’s initials staring back at him. He wishes she was here. She’d tell him that it doesn’t matter how his journey of self-acceptance went, doesn’t matter if he feels like he’s regressed, as long as he still takes the journal. Maybe that’s true. Now he wishes she was here, she’d reassure him, she’d wrap him into a hug and rock him gently.

Calum turns to the front door and steps into the house. It’s warm, smells like home, feels like home. His cousin smiles at his entrance. He steps through the narrow hallway and standing there next to his uncle is his mother. His knees falter right then and there and he leans into the wall next to him for support. “Mum?” Calum’s voice is so quiet it’s barely audible.

She smiles, opening her arms wide. “I been waiting for you,” she laughs, striding over.

As they hug, Calum feels like a child again, he buries his face into her shoulder, letting the tears slip down his cheeks. “Oh my God. I’m so happy to see you.”

“Hmm, me too, Calum. Me too. Always happy to see my boy.”

“I love you,” he whispers, only for her to hear, only for her to latch onto.

“I love you too.”

Later, they sit in the living room, watching TV. Calum’s got an arm around both her and his mother. They recline into him on either side. This is what he needs. Just time to sit in quiet moments. He can tell by the deep breathes that she’s fast asleep, so he wraps his arm tighter around her body, gently rubbing at the base of her neck, right at the edge of her hair line. She loves that spot in particular. “Mum?” he starts softly.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not being more vocal like I used to be about us. I’m not ashamed. I want you to know that. I guess, I’m just, I grew tired of always been mislabeled. I grew tired of being different.”

She smiles at Calum, resting her head onto his shoulder. “We all grew tired. The trick is to find your energy again. Find a way to become reconnected. And I think that girl in your arms is the answer to that question.”

Calum looks down to the sleeping body snuggled into his side. Maybe she is the answer. “I love her,” he says. It’s easier to say to her unconscious body. She doesn’t have to say it back. He doesn't need her too. He’s not even sure he wants her too right now. He wants to linger in this moment, the reality of the words, but without the expectation for reciprocation. He will linger here, in the freedom of finally letting himself fall, knowing that there’s a net to catch him.

There’s a knock on the door. Calum snaps awake, instinctively pulling her body closer to him. The door creaks open and Joy pops her head in. “Sorry,” she whispers. “Still some sleepyheads, I see.”

Calum chuckles. “We can be awake bodies in a minute.”

Joy chuckles, waving at him. “Rest.” Then she shuts the door.

Calum rests his head back onto the pillows, eyes closing, right as a muffled voice whispers into his hear. “Think she noticed I’m not wearing a bra or a shirt?”

Calum chuckles. “We’re adults. It doesn’t.”

“I hope it’s not too lame, but there’s this museum I think we should check out.”

“Are you saying we but really mean you want to check out?”

“Maybe,” she huffs with a sleepy chuckle.

“Tomorrow?”

“Deal.” They hook pinkies, and then drift back to sleep. When they wake again it’s about one. They get dressed and head downstairs. Calum’s cousin is eager to show them around. So they bundle up before starting out of the house. Calum watches the way she asks questions, the way she tries the words on her tongue. They fall awkwardly from her lips, but after a couple tries she finds her way. He watches the way she takes in the scenery around her. He wonders wha his feels like for her. Is she imagining the battles that might’ve taken place right here on this very grass? Is she thinking about the Maori women and men that walked here before her, trying to piece together their story? What pushed them here? Were they just traveling? Did she wonder what business they attended to? He know he did. He wondered all those questions and more.

“So yeah, silver ferns are a big deal. But Calum’s got fucked up, so here we are,” the boy chuckles pausing at a bench in the park.

Calum lets the jab go with a shake of his head. He knows the tattoo was not executed well. But it’s the thought that counts. She settles onto the bench next to the younger boy. They talk, she asks about school, what his favorite subjects. He asks what it’s like to be in a publishing firm, still writing her own work. Calum doesn’t say much, watching the exchange, the ease at which she listens to the boy speaks, the way she listens to understand not just respond. They land on the topic of her most recent project, but she shies away from too many details. “Basically,” she starts, “I’m retelling events from the future perspective. So I’m telling a story as present me to past me with all the things we should’ve said or done to see how the events would turn out differently.”

“So you’re basically time traveling?”

She nods. “Yeah in a way. But it’s not fiction full fledge science fiction, or really fiction. It’s a weird mixture of creative nonfiction and elements of science fiction.”

“It sounds interesting. So are you then showing how things change with the information?”

“I thought about it. But that might push nonfiction too far into fiction, which is not what I want to do. I want to it to be a dialogue.

“Can I read some of it? ”

“If you really want to, yeah, sure. Just pretend you know nothing of course.”

The boy chuckles. “I swear to take it to my grave.”

They talk for a little bit longer before wandering back to the house. The second Calum steps through the door he finds his family lined wall to wall, standing, waiting to greet him. The first sound of a stomp echoes in his brain long after the last cry is shouted, long after the tears cloud his vision. He doesn’t consider himself worth of such a greeting, not a haka. Not him, never him. He doesn’t even realize how caught up he got until he realizes how breathless is, until he feels the sweat rolling down his back in his sweatshirt.

He looks to find her, to see if he really did what he just did. She always grounds him. She’s panting too, grinning, hugging Joy into her side. “I got roped in,” she laughs. “But god was it beautiful. Is it weird to say I saw a rainbow, like a literal rainbow? I’m pretty sure some might call it a hallucination. But I swear to high heavens, I saw a rainbow over you guys in the beginning.”

“She wanted to join. I could tell,” his mom grins, hugging her tighter. “She caught on fast.”

His cousin holds out his phone. “Caught it all on tape for you, Cal.”

“Calum?”

He turns to the sound of his baby cousin calling him, feeling her tug on his pant leg. He picks her up with a smile then turns to the boy. “I’ll watch later. Thanks.” His throat is dry, his voice sounds shot. What did he do? It’s almost like his consciousness left him, flew straight out of his head and only re-entered once he was done. He remembers nothing. It’s like someone else took over his body. Maybe someone else did. Maybe he needed the hand of some ancestor to reach into his soul and unlock him fully.

His mother smacks his hand. It’s not hard. More like a gentle tap, a warning that he really should remove his hand. “You keep stealing pieces and we’re going to have none left.”

Calum laughs but retreats. “But your rēwena is the best,” he pouts.

“I know it is. Now out.”

Walking out of the kitchen he hears the shouts from a phone speaker. One particularly loud shout echoes above the rest. It sounds like him. But also not like him. Peering over the huddled shoulders, Calum watches himself. It’s him he’s staring at, but his gut tells him that it’s not him. It’s something deeper than them on that screen. It’s more than just joining his family in their greeting for him. It’s everything he’s been afraid of spilling over his throat. It’s the fear of sixteen year old him leaving everything he once knew behind. It’s the frustration of feeling himself disconnecting, but feeling like it’s his only option. It’s the terror of being lost, brushed aside, never understood.

Calum watches himself, teary eyed but smiling, as he lets it all out. As he finally feels welcomed. He’s home. A place always yearned for, but now felt. Then he finds her, in the corner following along with his mother. He would’ve never had this moment of freedom if not for her. He would still be yearning, still be hurt. Not that he’s fully healed now, but it’s a start. Those words are bubbling again against his lips. He looks around the room for her, but then he remembers that she’s in the kitchen.

Calling out her name, he starts from the living room back to her. She meets him in the hallway, hands wrapped in a towel. “Is something wrong?” her eyes are a little wide.

The words are falling over his lips before he can stop them. He cups her face with his palms. He zeros in on the deep, almost black, brown to her eyes. “Kei te aroha au i a koe,” he breathes.

There’s a chorus of aww’s from his younger cousins. She waits, she thinks she knows what he said. “I am not sure what you said exactly. But I’m going to assume it’s sweet by the reaction it just got.”

Calum closes his eyes for a second, laughing at himself before kissing her lips. “I said I love you.” His lips brush over hers as he speak. It feels so right falling off his lips, over his tongue, pass his teeth. “I love you,” he says again kissing her lips. “I love you.” Kiss to her right cheek. “I love you.” He kisses her left cheek. “I love you.” One final kiss to her forehead.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this, he knows. He didn’t plan for this to fall in love with her. This was just supposed to be for fun, someone he could enjoy company with and slide beneath the sheets with. They were only supposed to be be fooling around. But he went along, fooled around, and fell right the fuck in love with her. He’ll be damned if he pretends like it bothers him. He’ll be damned if he lies to her or himself about this. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t say it to her.

“Teach me,” she utters softly. “Teach me how to say it back.”

Calum shakes his head, her cheeks still warm beneath his palms. “You don’t have to say it back in M.”

“I want to. Because I feel the same way. Now how do I say it? I want to learn.”

Calum breaks it down piece by piece for her, watching the way her lips curl to form the words. Her first attempt isn’t great. He fights to keep the chuckle from bursting through. “Give that one more shot,” he encourages, kissing her hands now wrapped in his.

“Kei te aroha au i a koe,” she whispers.

He’s never heard a better phrase falling from her lips. “Perfect, you nailed it.”

“Are you guys done? I’m hungry,” comes one of cousins. They laugh and move out of the way, letting the kids by. Calum hugs her to his chest, burying his face into the top of her hair.

After all the museums and nurseries are visited during their visit, Calum and her sit out under the stars the last night before they leave. It’s beyond cold, but they wrap up in layers and huddle together under a blanket snagged from the hall closet. Every breath exhaled is a ghost escaping their nostrils. “Thank you,” Calum says. “I don’t think I can even begin to describe the experience I’ve had.”

“You’re beyond welcome. It’s amazing here. Your family is beautiful and I love them.”

“They are enamored by you. Everyone loves you.”

“I watched the video of the haka again. I still believe there’s a rainbow.” He disagreed with her upon rewatching it. But he did state that he wasn’t fully conscious during all of that, so he’s not the best judge. Others don’t see it, but she refuses to concede. “But I’m pretty sure your soul like ascended or something. That’s what I believe. Watching you even in that moment, I could tell something was taking over you.”

He nods, humming in agreement. “That’s probably better than I could ever describe it.” Then there’s another moment of silence. Calum ought to say more. He wants to say more. He’s just not sure how to say more. So he squeezes her body and she looks up. “I don’t think I’d have enough tongues to tell you thank you enough.”

Her smile is soft. “It’s alright. You can always try.”

Calum chuckles, leaning down. She captures his lips, her cold and his chapped by the unforgiving chill. He grazes his teeth over her bottom lip, pulling on it. She moans against his mouth, arms tightening around him. Their lips don’t say disconnected for long before Calum kisses her again. She swipes the tip of her tongue over his lips. Releasing a sigh, Calum parts his lips for her. One of her hands slips down his crotch, holding onto his thigh. He shivers a little at the touch and because the blanket starts to slip from around them. He’s normally a warm person, but even this chill bites as his skin.

She pulls away, throwing the blanket back over her body. “It’s cold.”

“Let’s head inside, yeah?” he breathes against her skin, brushing his nose along her jaw, pressing butterfly kisses to her neck. “Think you can keep quiet.”

“I’m less concerned about me and more concerned about you keeping quiet,” she chuckles.

“You’re right,” he laughs, resting his head onto her shoulder. He knows he can be particular vocal. She holds him tight, occasionally brushing her nails over her scalp. Calum wraps his arms around her waist as she reclines into the railing of the deck for support. “But it’s way too cold to do anything out here.”

“Guess we’ll just have to wait. What a shame.”

Calum closes his eyes, inhaling her scent. “I’m okay with that,” he murmurs. He’s not even sure that the sentence is audible. He’s okay with just sitting in this moment even though it’s cold. She makes him feel connected, feel at home, feel loved. She makes him warm on the inside.

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fic #calum hood smut #calum hood imagine #calum hood 5sos #calum 5sos #5sos smut #5sos imagine #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer imagine #h writes #michael clifford #luke hemmings #ashton irwin

60 notes · View notes

prettyboybarzal · 5 years ago

Text

tattoos together (5) // tyler seguin

(Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3) (Chapter 4)

pairing: tyler seguin x reader

summary: it’s the off-season and tyler is off to canada to see his fam bam!!

(off-season in canada!! awkward friendships!!! and JAMIE BENN!!! yeehaw!)

word count: 1k+ (another shorty, but i’m trying to get to a certain point, so bare with me) ((there will be a part two to this chapter specifically, so you’ll get more off-season canada content))

author’s note: again, i’m sorry that i’m slacking with updating this. not feeling ~motivated~ so if you like this story, give me a lil holler so i know that someone’s enjoying it other than myself lol

warnings: a curse (literally i think 1 single curse?) and that’s all?? ((if you find anything else let your girl know))

July 2017

Tyler was satisfied with the way that you’d left things before he left LA. With the promise that everything would go back to normal, he felt okay again. And he wasn’t disappointed. For the weeks following it felt like you would talk every single day. But, as the months went by, and hockey season came to a head, Tyler started reaching out less and less.

He didn’t mean to fade from your life like that again, but things were a little hectic in Dallas. Besides, he was sure you were just as busy because you didn’t reach out any more than he did.

When the season came to an end, he booked his flights to head home for the off season. And then he booked tickets for Maisy to visit as well.

The first month at home was great. He got time in with all his favorite people, caught up with his sisters, snuggled his mom. It felt normal, until Jackie Seguin started prying.

“So, Ty,” she started as she made dinner one night. Tyler glanced up at her with a raised eyebrow, knowing where this conversation was about to go. “Have you spoken to my California girl lately?”

“Actually, no,” he answered. “Not really.”

“Well, why not?”

“Things have changed,” he told her. “Like, drastically. We’re okay now, but I don’t think it’ll ever go back to the way it was.”

“How come?”

Tyler stared at her for a moment, thinking about the proper way to answer her question. He knew that things probably could go back to normal, if he broke up with Maisy that is, but even then he wasn’t sure you even felt about him the same way he felt about you. It certainly never seemed that way.

“Because I’m with Maisy,” he stated. “And that means YN’s gotta be at an arm’s length. If Mais found out what happened between us and I was still hanging around her all the time, she’d be pissed.”

Jackie hummed in response, and then let the conversation die.

When Maisy landed a week later, Tyler and his sisters went to pick her up. They embraced her with open arms, like he expected them to, and suddenly you were pushed to the back of his mind again.

The week was spent doing all the tourist-y things during the day, and with his family at night. Maisy was great, so thoughtful about helping Jackie around the house and making sure to bond with Tyler’s sisters. He appreciated it, but it didn’t feel right. He didn’t feel right bringing her home to them, even though they’d been together for the entire season. He wished it felt right.

He dropped Maisy off a week later, kissing her goodbye before she wheeled her luggage into the airport and left him for the next two months. He drove in silence for the entire way back to his house, and disappeared to his room once he got there. Candace appeared in his doorway not long after.

“She’s sweet, but I don’t see it.”

“Huh?”

“I like her,” she said. “But you don’t light up around her. It almost feels like you’re settling.”

Candace left the room before Tyler could protest or argue with her, and Tyler sat there with all these excuses on the tip of his tongue and no one to share them with.

It was midnight when he saw a Snapchat story of you with a glass of wine, also watching Netflix. It was only 9 p.m. in California, a Friday night too, and he was wondering what you were doing in on such a nice night. So, he called you.

“Ty!” you exclaimed. Tyler’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of your voice. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he answered. He shuffled up to lean against the headboard. “I just miss you. My entire family has been asking about you.”

“Really? I miss them.”

The silence that followed held a lot of weight.

“You should come visit,” Tyler offered. The moment the words left his lips he was shaking his head at himself, but he kept talking. “Just for, like, a weekend or whatever.”

“Yeah?” you asked. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, I don’t know, Ty,” you murmured. “I wouldn’t want your girlfriend to feel uncomfortable.” Tyler shoulders dropped. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I get it,” he stated. “I just miss you, that’s all. Miss how things used to be. I miss Boston.”

“You don’t miss Boston,” you stated with a laugh. “You miss being young and unattached with a super hot, emotionally unavailable best friend.”

“Did you just call yourself super hot?”

“And emotionally unavailable,” you repeated. “Gotta build myself up and knock myself back down, you know? Keep myself humble.”

Tyler barked out a laugh, which only made you giggle a little harder.

“For the record,” Tyler said, “we may not be super young anymore, but you’re still very emotionally unavailable.”

“Mmm,” you hummed. His words, however playful they may have been, were honest. You were the most emotionally unavailable in that moment, more than you had been before the Tyler fiasco. “Isn’t it past midnight for you?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Go to sleep, Segs,” you said. Tyler sighed. “Thank you for the call, by the way. I like to hear your voice every once in a while.”

“Wait.”

“Yeah?”

“If Jamie came to visit, would you come?”

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” you grunted to Jamie who stood beside you at baggage claim. Jamie chuckled. “It’s not a laughing matter. This is bound to make things worse between Tyler and I.”

“I don’t know how things could get worse,” he stated. “Seems like you’ve already hit rock bottom. You can only go up from here.”

You responded by slapping him in the chest before grabbing your luggage to storm outside. He was hot on your heels, a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

It had been a month since Tyler asked you to visit, a month since you turned the invite down. Yet, here you were, in Canada, in the middle of July.

You stood with Jamie, in silence, waiting for Tyler’s car to pull around. When it did, Jamie nudged you roughly and you nudged him back. Tyler bounded out of the car to envelope you and Jamie in a group hug. He exclaimed, “I’m so happy you guys are here!” He pulled away to grab you by the shoulders and said, “My mom’s so excited to see you.”

“I’m excited to see her,” you responded. “And my girls. And the boys!”

“Your girls?” Jamie asked.

“My sisters,” Tyler answered. “They like YN more than they like me.”

Jamie wasn’t at all surprised by the way Tyler’s family greeted you. And all he could think about is how much it probably sucked to be Maisy. There was no way they interacted with her the way they did with you, even he could tell.

The moment you entered the house you were whisked off to have some girl talk in the kitchen, the dogs readily following the commotion. Jackie ordered Tyler to bring your luggage to the guest room and Jamie was left out to dry as well, except Jackie promised lunch after she got to chat to you.

“Your family loves her,” Jamie noted as he followed Tyler up the stairs. Tyler nodded. “I wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction for her arrival.”

“I was.”

There was a beat of silence until Jamie asked, “Do you regret this? Having her come?”

“I wish I could say yes,” Tyler responded. He placed your luggage down in the guest room and plopped down on the end of the bed. “Having her here feels like all the pieces are together, you know?”

“You shouldn’t be dating Maisy.”

“Well, I am,” Tyler said. “And I’m not going to break up with her because of some unresolved feelings I have for my emotionally unavailable friend. I’m not going through all that again just to get shot down. I’ll take what YN’s willing to give me.”

The plan was to stay for a week which was way more than you were willing to offer Tyler, but Jamie didn’t care. He wanted to go for a week, so you went for a week. The first two days were weird for you and Tyler, filled with shy glances and awkward silence. Every single time you found yourselves alone in a room, one of you left.

It wasn’t until the third day that Tyler worked up the nerve to get you alone. It was about an hour after dinner. You’d gone up to your room to get some work done, but left the door open in case anyone wanted to come distract you. Tyler walked by, shirtless with a pair of joggers on, then walked back to lean against your door frame.

“How’s work?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. You blinked at him, eyes shifting to find your California poppy near his shoulder.

“Boring.”

“Do you care if I come distract you?” he asked. You shook your head, patting the space beside you. He walked over and tossed himself down onto his back, arms laying out beside him. Poppy, star. “What are you doing?”

“Reading a manuscript that needs editing,” you answered. He nodded, shifting his body to lean his back against your headboard. “It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“It’s been a year now,” he stated. “Since you started there, since you moved to California.”

Since we last kissed, you thought.

“Yeah, crazy how fast time flies by,” you noted. He nodded. “It’s funny, they actually just opened up offices in Dallas. Did you know that?”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you answered. “It’s a small office, but I think they’re hoping to really blow it up out there. Some of my coworkers have moved to be a part of it.”

“Did they ask you?”

“No, not yet,” you said. Tyler’s eyebrows raised.

“Yet?”

“Well, I don’t know if they will,” you stated. “And I don’t know if I’d accept if they did. But, yeah, they asked some people. Not me.”

You were babbling.

“If they do ask, you should,” Tyler spoke up. You raised an eyebrow at him. “You should move to Dallas, if they offer.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

You stared at each other for a moment too long, you knew that. You really wanted to kiss him, really wanted to promise him that you’d move out to Dallas if they offered. But you didn’t like promising things you weren’t sure you could keep. Eventually, Tyler sighed and swung his feet off the bed.

“Well, if they offer it,” he said. “At least entertain the idea for a little bit. At least think about it.”

“Okay,” you said. Tyler leaned in then and placed a kiss to your temple, allowing his lips to linger for a moment before pulling away. “Goodnight, Ty.”

“Goodnight.”

#tyler seguin x reader #tyler seguin fic #tyler seguin story #tyler seguin imagine #mk writes #hockey imagine #dallas stars hockey #dallas stars imagine

158 notes · View notes

thatsawritingchick · 4 years ago

Text

Hi! I’m that SA writing chick, and this is my story.

My family and I have faced some extremely difficult times and overcome situations most would never even be able to begin to imagine.

We left the company we were working for. We did not agree with certain decisions being made, and chose to preserve our good name rather than be associated with a company like that. We lost our home, car, even our cats because we couldn't keep them in the smaller apartment we'd moved into.

We decided to immigrate, thinking this would be the fresh start we needed and the best option for our two year old son. We begged and borrowed to be able to afford the fees for an agent. After a year we’d made progress and all we were waiting for was the opportunity for my husband to fly over and job-search.

Then Covid happened.

A few hours before total lockdown was announced, I took a pregnancy test only to find that we were pregnant with our second son. Just like that, our plans started to fall apart before our eyes.

We were now pregnant, stuck in jobs we hated, barely getting by with a three year old at home all the time and mountains of stress that began invading every aspect of our lives.

It was the most difficult, lengthy situation I’d ever experienced, and one night I had a complete meltdown! I was in the shower, being alone with nobody to judge perhaps played a part in the sudden surge of emotions, and I began banging on the wall out of pure frustration. I cried so much, praying with all my heart for things to get better, for something to happen that would save us and give us the future we deserved.

The next day my husband received a call and went for an interview. Soon after he left they let him know that he nailed his interview. He landed his dream job with people that valued him and wanted to see him grow.

I was ecstatic! He deserves the world and it was incredible to see him change from someone just hanging in there, trying to be strong for his family yet visibly tired, to this energetic, motivated man that would crack jokes and give me random kisses throughout the day.

I must also admit that I was a little jealous (Hey, don't look at me like that, I'm honest, okay!) As I looked around I saw that here I was, now free of the life I’d suffered growing up, and I had nothing. Everyone had their thing, everyone but me. So I started asking myself, “Self, if you could be anything in the world, what would it be?” And I said, (Yes, I do speak to myself. Is that weird?) “I’d be an author.”

My heart swelled with excitement at the mere idea, my stomach flipped as I looked at my bookshelf filled with fantasy romance, paranormal and horror books. I pictured my own book there and smiled, but quickly laughed it off, dismissing the silly idea. After all, who would read anything from some writing chick in a tiny town in South Africa? I didn't stand a chance.

It plagued my mind for so long after that, eventually it started to disturb my sleep. I looked at my husband beside me, snoring away, and I nudged him awake. (Hehe, if looks could kill...) I told him what was on my mind and he suggested that I let him read the first draft of the manuscript I'd been working on.

Now, my husband doesn't read. He also tried teaching me how to drive and was overly dramatic, ended up scaring the bejingles out of me and putting me off any lessons for a long while after! He is also my best friend and as such is not afraid of being critical when it’s necessary; basically, don't ask a question if you don't want an honest answer!

I was terrified that he’d read it, hate it, and basically let me know that my writing crap, in a nice way. If that happened, it would just be another hope crushed; I got comfortable with just writing it, telling myself I’d do something with it one day.

But I needed to know, so I gave it to him.

He loved it! He read it in two days, every second he got. I tried so hard not to hover while he did, because (so like him) he didn't say a word until the end. He encouraged me to start querying and although I hesitated at first, I decided to try it out. Besides, the worst thing that could happen would be for them to say no, right? That didn't see so bad...

Then I got my first rejection letter. Phew! That killed me. I kept telling myself to have thick skin while crying all the while! (I’m a little mushy)

Later that same day I had this twisting feeling deep in my stomach, like something exciting was about to happen. That night I couldn't sleep again, it was around 2am here and for some reason I decided to check my email.

And there it was. The yes I’d been waiting for. It was an incredible feeling and I found myself just staring at the phone, kind of wondering if I was dreaming. After speaking with the lovely Jo and Richard, I signed my contract! It was, and is still, such a surreal feeling. I’m so determined to make a success out of my passion and encourage others to do the same. Don't become the only obstacle standing in your way.

This is the beginning of my journey up from rock bottom, I hope it’s one to remember!

#myjourney #newauthor #bottomup #followyourdreams #dontholdyourselfback #staypositive #everythinghappensforareason

4 notes · View notes

xandertheundead · 5 years ago

Note

reddie kinky smut with dirty talk ??

Here you go my friend!

Bev sat back on Richie and Eddie’s nice leather couch as she cracked open one of their beers grinning at the way Ben looked nervous as Stan started snooping through their cabinets. “Ben, Baby. Calm down, Richie would have done the same if we asked him to watch our place.”

Eddie and Richie were celebrating their second wedding anniversary with a trip to Greece and they had asked Ben to cat and house sit for them while they were gone for a week and a half. Of course Eddie had asked Ben, Bev knew Eddie loved them all but he was also smart and knew who was the most responsible out of them all aside from Mike. Mike, unfortunately, had been busy with a farm thing so the next best choice had been Ben.

Luckily, Stan didn’t have a farm thing like his boyfriend and Bill needed a break from writing his newest manuscript while Audra was out of town.

“But they are trusting me, Bev.”

She heard Bill chuckle a little as he started looking through Eddie and Richie’s selection of DVD’s the redhead judging all of Richie’s bad taste in movies and Bev shook her head a little at her boyfriend. “We aren’t going to throw a rave in here, Ben. Come on, have more trust in us.”

“I trust you guys- I just-”

“Richie has prescription deodorant!” Stan announced as he came back into the living room, thanking Bev as she handed him a cold one. He cracked it open with a look of satisfaction and took a large gulp. “Now I need to find something on Eddie.”

“Why do you guys hate me?” Ben whined, but stopped his protests as he moved to sit net to Bev and she immediately moved to snuggle in close to him. “I give up you guys. If Eddie kills me he kills me.”

“I’d never let that midget touch you, bab-” Bev was cut off by a loud shriek from Bill and everyone whipped their head around when they heard the words that came out of his mouth.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD! THEY MADE A SEX TAPE!”

After a moment they were all gathered around the coffee table as they stared down at the blank DVD case that simply read ‘Eating Ma Spaghetti ;)’ in Richie’s barely legible scrawl. Everyone in that room knew what that meant, they all knew one of the nicknames Richie called Eddie and they all silently wondered if Richie was weird enough to film himself actually eating spaghetti just to mess with them. Bev bit her bottom lip as Stan started tapping his fingernail against the table rapidly, Ben looked ready to pass out while Bill poked it with his finger.

“How much do we think this is a joke?” Bill asked quietly.

“With Richie, there’s no telling.” Stan replied seriously.

Bev took a deep breath and then decided with a nod to herself. “We have to watch it.”

“Bev!”

“Holy shit! Should we?”

“I agree.”

“Stan!”

“We have to!” Bev took the DVD and moved toward the TV, ignoring how the boys started arguing with Ben about how it was a must. They had to know if it was real or not and if it were real they had to see how bad they were in bed because…honestly? Richie was fucking six feet and three inches while Eddie stopped growing in highschool and the wonderful height of five feet and nine inches.

God, who topped?

Was it Richie? Or would they get to see what it looked like to watch a racoon mount a giraffe.

She slid it into the PS4 and immediately made a grab for the controller before Stan could, running and landing with a loud thump sound on the couch as the DVD loaded. Ben sat next to her, wringing his hands, while Stan sat on her other side and Bill took the floor, all ready for what would either be a hilarious awful home sex tape or a giant ass joke. Bev clicked play when the option came up, and then started to fast forward when it seemed like it was just Richie messing with the camera, hearing Bill groan about this actually being a fake.

“Wait!” Ben cried. “I see Eddie!”

Bev tried to stop it as quick as she could, pressing the X button to play the video, and sure enough there was Eddie. There was Eddie, completely buck ass nake, climbing onto the bed on all fours to hover over an equally naked Richie, who reached up to wrap his arms around Eddie’s neck.

“Bev, you went too far.” Stan complained, completely unfazed by his friend’s nude ass on the screen. “The intro to porn is some of the best-worst parts.”

Bev was about to sarcastically apologize with a roll of her eyes when she heard Eddie start to talk. It was soft, so they all had to be quiet to hear, but it was a voice that Bev had never heard from the smaller man before. It was low, husky and actually really fucking hot.

They all watched as Eddie reached up to take one of the hands that were wrapped around his shoulders and guided it back towards his ass, making Richie use his own fingers to push into Eddie completely. The pleasure drunk smile on Eddie’s face was unlike anything they had ever seen on their friend and it made Bev’s cheeks burn when Richie started to move his hand and Eddie leaned down so his mouth was close to Richie’s ear.

“You feel how wet and open I am for you?” Bev about lost it and Bill let out a weird sound when Eddie started to move his hips, fucking himself back on Richie’s hand. “Are you going to be good tonight? Make sure you follow the rules?”

Richie let out a low groan and Bev could tell every guy in the room hated that, while Richie wasn’t giant, he wasn’t very small either and her eyes widened when Eddie pulled Richie’s fingers out of him before pinning his arms up above his head. Eddie leaned down to capture Richie’s lips in a kiss that was far too hot for the absolute losers they were, before pulling away to give a nip to Richie’s neck.

“You know how this works.” Eddie called gently, moving to straddle Richie’s hips and grind his ass down against Richie’s cock, making the taller man groan. “Don’t touch me until I’ve finished. Don’t cum until I’m done using you to fuck myself into obvlion.”

“F-Fuck, Eds. I love it when you’re like this.” Richie gasped as Eddie ground down on him again. “God, fucking use me, baby. Use me all you want, I won’t touch you until you’re screaming my name. Let me fucking fill you to brim.”

Richie gave a small thrust and Eddie made a sound that made Stan let out a quiet fuck and Bev felt like the room was suddenly far too hot. They weren’t expecting this. They weren’t expecting Eddie to be a god damn Dom in bed and they certainly weren’t expecting Richie’s filthy motor mouth to actually be sexy. They all continued to watch wide eyed as Eddie reached back, lined himself up with Richie’s cock and then rocked his hips down like he’d been riding that cock all his life.

“Oh- Fuck.” Eddie gasped, before grinning and grinding his ass down against Richie’s hips a little roughly, something that had Richie squirming and panting. “I love riding your cock. Almost as much as I like bending you over the bed and fucking your brains out.”

“Jesus, Eddie.” Richie’s hands twitched, an aborted movement to grab onto those hips that kept moving on him. “Look at you. Your chest is just unfair. I wanna pinch those fucking nipples until they’re swollen and red. I wanna flip you over on your stomach and eat you out until your a fucking sobbing mess and are just dripping wet.”

“F-fuck, Rich!”

“Yeah, baby. Come on. Come on! Ride me! Ah! Fuck! Ah!”All of them jumped about three feet in the air where they heard a loud crash from the kitchen, Bev immediately pausing the video as Ben awkwardly ran to check on it. Stan, Bill and Bev all waited in embarrassed silence, cheeks red hot, for Ben to come back and when he did he had Cheeze Nip in his arms, Eddie and Richie’s large black cat.

“Ch-cheeze Nip knocked over a glass.”

Stan nodded. “Ah. Okay.”

Bill and Bev could only nod.

None of them ever spoke of the DVD ever again.

Send me some prompts!

taglist: @tinyarmedtrex @oldguybones @constantreaderfool @queen-sock @stylesmelon @appojoos @realstephenking @trashmouthnick @eddiefuckinkaspbrak @s-s-georgie @reddieforlove @moonlightrichie @eduardoandale @girasol-eddie @thorn-harvester-ven @pink-psychic @nancynwheeler @recycle-byn @marsisaplanetyall @lifesucksheres20bucks @edstozler @uppperteeeth

#my writing #reddie #notsfw #eddie x richie #Eddie Kaspbrak #Richie Tozier #It(2017)#It(2019)#IT Stephen King #Losers club #Anonymous

295 notes · View notes

teriwrites · 4 years ago

Text

the big manuscript search tag

I’m compiling a bunch of different tags from @cecilsstorycorner and @akindofmagictoo so this might be a long one!

My words to find: lonely, cup, drown, routine, deep, feather, rich, contact, kick, sun, pair, whisper, king, chord, chip, prove, mix, spin, water, color, need, fade, everyday

...yeah, that’s really long, so I’m going to throw the results in a read more to spare all your feeds from a wall of text

There’s a few words that don’t appear in one project or another, so I’m going to use both Castle on the Hill and Beneath Alder Creek! Because of that, the order won’t be quite the same

Castle on the Hill:

Lonely:

For the first day of break, Hans spent the entire day lounging around his house. His mother said nothing about it, except to suggest moving to a new spot every few hours so that he wouldn’t cramp up. She was in and out of the house a lot, which Hans took as a good sign. The harder days were those in which his mother spent most of it upstairs, locked away in her room. Hans had been allowed to join her, if he wished, but he’d preferred not to see her in such a state. Still, it had led to many a lonely afternoon.

Cup:

The following morning, Peter made the short trek over to the familiar cafe for his second date with Ursula. Despite having left five minutes early, Peter arrived to find Ursula already waiting at a table, with a cup of coffee in hand. He beelined for the table and tossed his blazer onto the back of the chair across from her. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” “No worries, I enjoyed the walk,” Ursula said brightly.

Drown:

“You seemed pretty smitten with this tutor girl,” Peter mused. The sounds of a dramatic breakup on the television nearly drowned him out. He fished the remote from the coffee table and muted the television. Klaus looked between Peter and Georg, who were both sending him matching smug expressions. Georg dramatically batted his eyes at Klaus, who shoved him in the shoulder and nearly sent him toppling over the side of the couch. “Come off it,” he dismissed with a snort. “I barely know her. She’s a fox, sure, but I’m not going to lose my head over a girl I’ve met once. Klaus Müller is always on the make.” Georg leaned forwards to look at Peter. “He’s speaking in the third person again.”

Routine:

“Alrighty, now that that’s out of the way, who wants to tell me what year the European Economic Community was established?” Prof. Dietrich asked brightly, shifting back into his regular routine of starting a lecture with an oral quiz. Josef avoided the man’s eye contact, choosing instead to pretend to be desperately jotting down notes. “Herr Weber? How about you give it a shot?”

Feather:

The rest of the class shifted their attention back to the lecture, but Josef’s face flushed as he fished out his notebook from his bag. He could practically hear the stories that would be circulating later. Josef Weber, the snobby inheritor to his father’s auto company, got scolded in front of a whole class. Wouldn’t that just put a feather in quite a few caps?

Rich:

“Tell me why I didn’t decide to work as a janitor,” Klaus muttered. “You’d never succeed as a janitor; you never even had to clean your own messes growing up.” One of Klaus’ arms snapped forwards and a smack that was aiming for Georg’s shoulder instead slapped smartly against the wooden back of his chair. With a sharp intake of breath, Klaus straightened in his seat. As he rubbed at his knuckles, Klaus shot back, “That’s rich, coming from a lawyer’s son.”

Chord:

“It’s a little complicated right now,” Hans said calmly. “Look, I’ve talked it all over with my mother, and she agreed that it would be best for me to stay here. It’s not that long, Josef, don’t look at me like that.” The doubt etched into Josef’s features was enough to warrant the comment, and he shook his head to try clearing it. Nothing in Hans’ demeanor pointed towards it being a lie, but something in the idea struck a false chord in him.

Water:

Though he'd managed to subdue most of his panic, Peter felt it all rushing back. A sudden pain at his hand drew him out of his thoughts, and he realized that he'd been aggressively stirring the pasta, and some of the water had splashed out of the pot.

Fade(d):

As Hans spoke, Professor Abend’s face lit up with recognition, which quickly faded into a solemn mourning. The exam lay on the desk between the two, forgotten. “I knew I had a Faust in one of my classes, but I never thought to make a connection,” Professor Abend said in a low voice.

Beneath Alder Creek:

Deep:

A deep breath, and then Winnie followed through, dragging her other foot into the creek. The water rose halfway up her calf, and continued to rise as she made her way forwards. To her thigh, then her hip, and finally up to her waist. It was the second dress she’d soaked that day, Winnie thought with a wry smile, and, in her distraction, she failed to notice a large rock in the creek bed. It could hardly be considered a fall. Winnie pitched forwards, plunging her face into the creek for only a moment before she caught her balance and straightened up. But she’d opened her mouth as she tripped, and her rise was met with a violent coughing fit. Loose strands of hair clung to her face, making it impossible to see, and Winnie pushed forwards carefully by feeling along the bottom with her foot. The progression was slow, but Alder Creek was by no means wide, and it wasn’t long before Winnie found the water beginning to ebb away. As she pulled herself out of the creek, Winnie brushed the hair from her face and finally opened her eyes. Looking to where she’d seen the fairy ring, she froze.

Contact(ing):

Contacting the fae was no easy feat; they only made appearances of their own volition, not subscribing to any convenient timetable. While it was said that certain holidays brought the mortal world closer to their realm, years had passed before any signs revealed their presence. By then, the couple had been so eager that they’d wasted no time in seeking out a deal. They were the fourth and fifth victims within the fifteen years. Nobody had been so hasty since.

Kick(ing):

Back into the bog. Winnie no longer worried herself with her skirts, allowing them to drag through the stagnant water. It was a mistake, she soon discovered, as the drenched fabric weighed her down and made the progress even slower. With an exasperated groan, she stomped at the ground, kicking up a spray and lodging her boot into the mud.

Sun:

Time steadily passed as they traveled, though how quickly or slowly it went by, Winnie couldn’t say. She could feel the blisters beginning to form on her feet, the slight ache in her shoulders where she’d slung her bag, the warmth that spread across her back as the sun’s ceaseless rays washed over them. When she fell slightly behind Taliesin, he was shining so brightly that her eyes began to burn, and she had to quicken her pace to keep in step with him.

Pair:

The first thing Winnie noticed was the boat they were standing in. It was like a skiff, sitting low in the water and directed by a pair of oars. The figure rowing seemed to be wearing some type of headgear, a hazy and elongated shape still a little too far to make out. Taliesin moved back from the shore, forcing Winnie to do the same to provide space for the skiff to breach.

Whisper:

“Don’t stare,” Taliesin reminded her in a whisper. He raised a hand in greeting, and the figure dipped their head slightly, though how they could’ve seen it without eyes, Winnie couldn’t say. “Hail, Ferryman!”

Prove(n):

Turning away from the Llion, the group soon found themselves returning once more to the thick fog of the wetlands. Winnie took the middle, knowing better than to have Taliesin and Enid side-by-side. In one hand, she took the long sleeve of Enid’s robes, and in the other, Taliesin’s cloak. He dragged his feet the whole time, still sulking, and it took all of Winnie’s self-restraint not to let go and leave him behind as punishment for his pettiness. Being proven wrong did not suit the golden man.

Mix(ed):

It was nearly a week later when Winnie found herself back at Alder Creek. The water level had dipped back to its usual shallows, which lazily drifted by. Winnie could see her face reflected as she stared down, features blurred in its [flowing surface]. The hem of her skirt had dipped into the water, which lapped at Winnie’s bare feet. Her shoes were somewhere behind her, abandoned, a sign of her troubled mind. For the most part, Winnie had abandoned the practice of walking about barefoot - how her mother would’ve shouted if she’d seen her. The thought of her mother brought a fresh wave of mixed humiliation and frustration as the events of the day replayed through her mind.

Spin:

A light flickered in the trees. When Winnie looked up, she stared at the sight. Taliesin was crouching on a branch, catlike, with his hands holding the branch between his feet. Somehow, he did not sway but remained perfectly still, patiently watching Winnie spin in circles to look for him, all with an amused half-smile.

Color(s):

The opening of the cavern shifted through several colors, like an ever-changing kaleidoscope of light through a prism.

Need:

She offered Enid no response, so after a stretch of silence, the statuesque woman continued. “This is out of some attachment to the Dusk fellow, then.” Winnie bristled at her tone. “Of course it’s not. I merely need him to ensure that my brother and I are able to depart the Fae safely.”

Not found:

King (Apparently my writing does not support monarchies lol)

Chip

Everyday

This was excessively long, so I’m going to leave it an open tag. The words for anyone who feels like it are king, chip, and everyday because I’m sure somebody out there has them, even if I don’t.

#tag game

3 notes · View notes

kittensjonsa · 5 years ago

Text

Final chapter. Fluffy smut. That's it, folks! Thanks for being here! Lol Xx

Summary: Sansa and Jon move forward with a step that would change their lives forever. Jon's especially. But he is more than willing, and ready. Now that Sansa had made her feelings known. Rated E.

Chapters 1 to 9

Otherwise, Engaged

I'm so sore,” Sansa whined, splashing water at Jon.

“Aww..I'm sorry baby. Don't hate me but..you were asking for it.” Jon smirked, wiping away the droplets with a washcloth.

“Hmm.. I did, didn't I?” Sansa recounted how she screamed for Jon to pound harder with each stroke he gave her.

Jon leaned forward and gave Sansa a deep kiss. One of many he had given her the night before. He regretted the bites however, now seeing the small dark marks turning up on Sansa's unblemished skin.

“Do you want some more warm water? Maybe it helps?”

Sansa shook her head and looked at the clock on the wall. She couldn't help but chuckle, it was already eleven and they had missed breakfast. No one had called for them, except for a text message that dinged, from Lisa to “keep it down in there” at two in the morning. Obviously, now everyone knew why they didn't turn up for breakfast. Sansa didn't think she could look them in the eye either, so just as well.

Her body ached a bit but nothing compared to the tenderness between her thighs. Maybe it was three years of unresolved, pent up attraction between them or just Jon having superhuman stamina, he had really given to her good. Too good, that Sansa couldn't remember much except screaming his name every half an hour. Just like her, the bed had been given a good pounding too, what with Jon driving her down the mattress and if the noises were any indication, it was probably time for a new frame.

They had only slept a few hours but empty stomachs after the sex marathon drove them out of bed. Thank god for texting.

Lisa, I'm sorry to ask but could you bring some breakfast up for Jon and I? We're really hungry but too tired.

Yeah and I know why. Goodness, what's gotten into you two? Thank god your parents and brothers are on the other side of this very large house. Lucky!

Hehe. I.. have nothing to say to that. You're the best, Lisa! Thanks!

LOL.. I'll put it outside your door. But you can't hide in the room forever. You said yes to a wedding remember?? You need a dress!

“Lisa's bringing the breakfast up. And Gramp's birthday party is this afternoon.” Sansa reminded as she got up to leave the bath.

“And..? You're forgetting something. Our wedding.”

“Damn it, you weren't supposed to remember that,” Sansa groaned, reaching for a towel and wrapping herself with it.

Jon smiled to himself, admiring the view before him as Sansa started her morning beauty routine. “It was unexpected, I'll give you that. But hey, what have we got to lose? We're already engaged.”

Sansa snorted, narrowing her eyes at Jon. “Yeah, a lot of 'unexpected' things popped up last night. I guess.. since we've already.. come this far. Imagine meeting the officer next week, huh?”

Jon winced. He almost forgot about the visa bit. But, he didn't need to pretend anymore. That was one thing off the list.

“We'll sort it out next week then.” It was time to get out the bath and check on his emails. He had been busy playing newlyweds that work hadn't cross his mind.

“Hey, Jon,” Sansa looked at him from the mirror. Jon responded with his arms wrapped around her from behind. “You do know, we have to talk.. about work? How this.. is going to change all that.”

Jon rested his chin on her shoulder and deliberated for a moment. He'd hate to lose her as an assistant but 'wife' was a much better gain. He had promised her Aliser's job once this was all over and maybe it would be frowned upon, but a deal's a deal. He would try at least. The plan was supposed to be easy. Go in, act a little and get out. He didn't count for things to turn out the way they did. Still, he couldn't imagine it any different. This was so much better. Whatever comes, Jon had Sansa, and, that was everything. He thought he had it all, but how foolish he was in thinking that. He'd give her everything, whatever she wanted.

“We will. But for now, we need to get out of this room. And air it… god, it smells of sex.” Jon gave a giggling Sansa a hard peck on the cheek as they both got ready for the day.

It was nice, having breakfast by the fireplace, with Sansa lounging on him reading a manuscript and him, with his arm around her and trying to read work emails. Admittedly, it was hard, his cock especially, seeing how amazing she looked in his arms. This scenario would look good at his house as well. Also, the office with no one around.

The Starks had left them both alone, thanks to Lisa who told everyone they needed to prep for the wedding, when actually it was really Sansa who needed time to recuperate a little. Lisa understood perfectly, after what Jon presumed was a short girl talk by the door when their breakfast tray was dropped off.

“So, I have to try on a wedding dress in a bit so you can't see me in it. And I think Dad will take you out for a fitting as well, I think.”

“Sounds like fun. Though I don't like the not seeing you bit.” Jon shifted his arm nearer to the waistband of her shorts.

Sansa peeked from the booklet, seeing what Jon's wayward hand was up to. She had to admit, how Jon expressing his insatiable need for her turned her on just as much as him touching her.

“Well, it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride and all that.”

“What time are you meeting Lisa then?” Jon whispered, stealing a glance at his watch and adjusting his growing cock at the same time.

“After lunch. Two, I think. Why?”

Jon pushed away his laptop and grabbed Sansa's waist. There was no time to lose. Sansa gave a playful shriek as she came face to face with him.

“That means.. we have time.. to do this.” Jon pressed his lips onto Sansa's neck as his hands frantically undid the buttons of her denim shorts. Sansa sighed as she reciprocated, her hands unbuttoning his Levi's and squealed when she realised he wasn't wearing any underwear. The soft, rock hard flesh spilled out into her waiting hands.

“Ohh.. I do love it when you do that,” Jon groaned as Sansa gave his cock a firm squeeze. She was full from her share of scrambled eggs and toast, but she'd never refuse Jon's cock in her mouth at anytime.

Jon let out a soft moan as Sansa's lips pecked at his erection. The warmth of her mouth as Sansa swallowed him whole - was enough to render him unconscious.

“I have created a monster,” Jon hissed, his lips curling into a smile, gazing at how deftly Sansa moved her tongue around his girth. Jon threw his head back, shuddering from pleasure.

I'm a lucky bastard, Jon kept repeating in his head, reaching round to grab her round bottom. Peeling off her already moist underwear, Jon slid a finger into her wet and waiting cunt. As always, primed and ready for the taking. Sansa hummed her approval and the vibration on his cock was enough to do the job. He had to have her.

“Go slow this time.. Jon, please,” Sansa pleaded playfully as Jon crawled onto his knees and had his fiancée spread eagled before him. Jon did notice a slightly angrier shade of pink greeting him, more so than before but the glistening folds were just as welcoming.

“As my Lady commands,” Jon obliged as his mouth clamped down on her folds. Sansa groaned at the contact, sucking in a breath. She loved his mouth and the talent he had with it. He could do this all day every day, screw the wedding. How she was still up for another round was a question she hoped she didn't have an answer for.

Another finger slid in and Jon wiggled his thumb on her clit. Sansa bit down so hard on her lip she could almost taste her own blood.

“Gods... You are beautiful,” Jon cooed, watching Sansa thrash and quiver, releasing herself to the blissful wave. Skin flushed pink and plump, her hooded beautiful blue eyes and her naked body clothed with mind blowing eroticism - Sansa was a painting. He didn't mind watching her like this all the time. In his apartment, at her place.. in his office. His couch was big enough. It had more space than the one they were on.

“Come fuck me then,” Sansa whimpered, pulling him to her, trembling as Jon's cock took over.

“Oh..wow.”

Sansa's heat was electrifying. Jon took great care as he made his way in, tingling all over as the view proved enough to send him over the edge again. Mesmerised by her folds that clung onto him and Sansa's breathy whimpers - a heady combination that inched him closer and closer to releasing himself in her again. Sansa's ragged breathing and the growing tightness around his length had him barely holding on, as they both inched closer to the edge. Jon grabbed at Sansa's sides, from under her, her legs grazing his cheeks as he pushed on, knowing he'd reach the edge sooner than he wished.

“Fuck gentle.. I want you,” Sansa seized the top of his thighs and shoved him further inside. He howled, as his swollen tip pressed against a hot wall, and the slightest friction was all it took.

This time, it was silent, save for a breath or two. A great height they both had soared to, where no howl or scream could match.

It was magnificent. How he melted into Sansa, emptying every bit of himself in her, in that moment right into the deepest parts of her, where all of time had stopped - and everything was perfect, just as it should be. It was a moment that marked Jon for life.

Panting and gasping for air, he laid down on her feverish body, her breaths matching his own. Perfection. Absolute perfection.

“I.. love you too.” Sansa finally answered back, as she kissed the top of his head, her hands tenderly brushing his sweaty curls away. He didn't need her to say it back, he didn't think she even heard him say those words - oh, but how they made his heart leap in unspeakable joy.

Jon looked up at Sansa as he rested his chin on her chest. This is it. The thing that people try to write about but never quite succeeded. Or perhaps, he never really understood. Till now. With her, he could conquer anything. A master of his own universe, with her by his side. They could conquer anything, whatever life brings.

The One. She is.

“Well.. Let's get married then.”

---

The End.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #fluffy smut #i am done with this au #feels good to have it completed #i feel so accomplished now lol #sorry and thanks for reading #modern jonsa au

29 notes · View notes

captainlilyuniverseworld · 4 years ago

Text

Happy Birthday Sam

Title: Happy Birthday Sam

Square Filled: CEO AU

Ship: Sam Wesson/Dean Smith

Tags: CEO AU, Smith/Wesson AU, CEO!Sam, HR!Dean, Sick!Dean, Based on It’s A Terrible Life with a few changes.

Summary: It’s CEO of Sandover Publishing, Sam Wesson’s birthday. Dean’s home sick and Sam got a few fires to put out at work, but they still manage to spend some time together.

Word Count: 2115

Created for: @spnaubingo

AN: I went over this thing about five times so any mistakes are mine. Enjoy!

Happy Birthday Sam

“Happy birthday Mr. Wesson.”

Sam jumped startled as Becky appeared in front of him with a card. “I took the liberty of having everyone in the office sign a birthday card for you.”

“Thanks, Becky…” Sam awkwardly took the card from her.

“Hard to believe you’re turning thirty-six today, you hardly look a day over twenty-eight,” she added.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “...How do you know I’m turning thirty-six?”

She blushed and tapped her headset. “Sandover Publishing House. How may I direct your call?” She gave Sam an apologetic smile before she hurried off back to the receptionist’s desk.

He shook his head and walked down the hall to his office. He flipped on the lights as he stepped inside and went over to his desk with the intention of turning on his computer and paused when he saw the flowers on his desk. It was a mixed bouquet and lavender and orange roses tied together with a bow in a clear vase.

Sam picked up the small card attached to the vase and read the small note. Happy Birthday was written on the card in neat calligraphy. He tucked the card back in amongst the flowers and looked up at the knock on his door.

“Morning Rowena,” he smiled at the older woman. “No Dean this morning?”

“Poor dear’s at home sick as a dog,” she answered. “He wanted to make sure you took a look at the candidates for the assistant head of IT position. Though we both agree Miss Bradbury is the best choice for the job.”

“Well at least he took his sick days this time instead of trying to work through it like before,” Sam told her.

He flipped through the files Rowena had given him and then handed them back. There was a green tab sticky on the second file, usually Dean’s indication who would be the best fit. Red was ‘No way in hell’ and yellow meant ‘with a little work they’d be good’.

“If Dean says she’d be a good fit, then give her a call and schedule a drug test and background check,” Sam told her. “I trust his judgment. He hired me after all.”

“Wonderful, we’ve already got her scheduled for next Monday,” Rowena told him. “Oh, and before I forget. I left you a little something in your second drawer. Happy birthday Sam.”

He started to protest but she was already gone. He sighed and opened the second drawer of his desk and saw a gold gift bag. He peeked inside and saw an assortment of various candles. He made a mental note to send her a thank you card.

Sam reached for his phone as it started ringing and leaned back in his chair

“Wesson speaking,” he answered.

“I can’t do it.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Can’t do what Chuck?”

"I can't do it. Speak in front of all those people, what am I supposed to say?" The man asked. "What if I say the wrong thing? What if they don’t like the new book?”

"You'll be fine Chuck," Sam told him. "It's a simple interview. Answer a couple of questions, announce the publication date for the new book. Take some pictures with a few fans, you'll be home by 9 pm to chat with Mistress Magda."

"Okay," the man took a deep breath. "Okay. Thanks, Sam...and Happy Birthday. I uh, I forgot to get you a gift."

"Don't worry about it," Sam answered.

He hung up and turned his attention to be his email to get started on work. He was tempted to shoot Dean and email and see how the other man was doing. Even if he was home sick, Dean was a workaholic at heart.

He grabbed his phone as it started ringing again.

“You’ll be fine Chuck, ” Sam said by way of greeting.

“...It’s Cas..” Castiel replied.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sam apologized. “Chuck called about his interview, but that’s not important. What’s up?”

“There was an issue with the printers,” Castiel answered. “The book covers, they’re uh…” he trailed off awkwardly.

“I’m on my way,” Sam told him.

He hung up and made his way down to the receiving bay. Castiel was at one of the tables with one of the large boxes of books open, a few stacked next to him, and packing peanuts on the floor.

“What’s the problem Cas?” Sam asked

Castiel wordlessly handed Sam one of the books and Sam snorted as he looked at the cover

“...At least it’s tasteful?” Sam added.

“We can not put these on the shelves, no matter how...tasteful,” Castiel replied. “Adler would have a fit. He’s still upset about that petition that went around a few months ago when we announced the reprinting of books 1-5.”

“Adler can suck on a lemon,” Sam said bluntly. “How many were printed?”

“Just a couple hundred for Chuck’s book signing on Saturday,” Castiel answered. “I tried to call the printers, but there was no answer.”

“Of course there wasn’t,” Sam sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. “Just...put these in my office for now. I’ll go over to the printers and see if I can’t give Lucifer a kick in the ass.”

Castiel nodded and started to put the books back in the box. “Oh, and happy birthday Sam. Did the flowers survive the night okay?”

“The roses? They weren’t delivered this morning?” Sam asked.

“Last night,” Castiel answered. “I saw them outside your door, so I put them in your office before I went home last night. Someone must like you.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“Well, lavender roses usually mean that someone has a crush on you. And Orange means that they’re proud of you. So whoever got them for you must like you and the man that you are. Or they just liked the color combination,” Castiel answered.

“Thanks...I think,” Sam nodded and went back to his office to grab his keys.

He drove to the printers and followed the sound of loud rock music to the offices on the second floor. He turned off the stereo and dropped one of the books on Lucifer’s desk.

“Real mature Lucifer. What’d you do? Find some fan art online and switch out the real picture we sent over?” Sam crossed his arms over his chest.

“Like it’s that different from the actual cover photo,” Lucifer smirked.

“You know this is illegal right? What if these had made their way to the bookstore instead? Sandover could’ve been sued by the original artist,” Sam told him.

“Cas would’ve caught it, don’t get your panties in a twist,” Lucifer rolled his eyes. “I’ve already got Crowley printing out the books with the right covers. You’ll have them tomorrow afternoon you fuddy-duddy.”

“You are a monumental pain in my ass you know that?” Sam said.

“Who? Me?” Lucifer smiled innocently. “By the way, this is for you.”

He set a wrapped bottle on the table and Sam picked it up cautiously. “What is it?”

“Just open it would you,” Lucifer told him.

Sam tore off the paper and raised an eyebrow at the bottle of tequila. “If you find your new age hard to swallow just add some tequila.” He read off the note that was taped onto the bottle.

“Consider it a birthday gift from me and Crowley,” Lucifer added.

"Thanks," Sam smiled a bit. "...and it was a little funny. But please refrain from trying to get my place of work sued."

"Yeah yeah yeah," Lucifer waved his hand dismissively.

Sam turned the stereo back on, on his way out, and drove back to work.

"Happy birthday Sammy." Gabriel thrust a small wrapped package into his hand. "Don't open it till you're alone okay." He winked and walked off.

Sam shook his head as he walked back to his office and set the tequila and Gabriel's present on the coffee table. He turned his computer back on and pulled up the website from the café that was down the street to order his lunch.

He looked up at the knock on his office door and saw one of the delivery people from the café.

"Turkey BLT and medium Caeser salad with a strawberry banana smoothie?" The guy asked as he read off the receipt.

"Uh...yeah…" Sam stood up and went to meet him. "But I didn't, I haven't even ordered yet."

"Looks like someone bought you lunch," the younger man said.

Sam took the food and tipped the guy before he went back to his desk. He looked at the roses, and at his lunch. He wasn't sure if he should be flattered or weirded out. He was too hungry to care and he dug into his lunch. He picked up Gabriel's gift and unwrapped it.

From the man that brought you Casa Erotica, the novelization comes a new series set in the steamy world of office romances. Featuring Dan Hanson and Sean Blythe.

Sam grabbed his phone and called Gabriel.

"Did you write an erotic novel about me and Dean?" Sam asked when the line picked up.

"Don't flatter yourself, Sam. Sure Dan's got your build and maybe Sean's got Dean's boyish charm, but that is where all similarities end," Gabriel told him.

"You realize if Dean sees this he is going to massacre you," Sam replied.

"Guess it’s a good thing Deano’s home sick today,” Gabriel mused before he hung up.

Sam hid the manuscript in the bottom drawer of his file cabinet and locked it for extra measure. He’d get rid of it later...after he read it. He pulled up the highlights from the previous night’s football game and used it as background noise as he ate his lunch and finished going through his emails.

He was getting ready to throw the trash away when he saw a message typed out in the notes section of the receipt for his lunch.

Enjoy the rabbit food Rapunzel. Don’t work to hard, it is your birthday after all.

He smiled and knew exactly who’d gotten him the flowers and his lunch.

--------------------------------------------

Sam hoped it wasn’t too late as he rode the elevator to the third floor. He had a bag of takeout in one hand and a few movies in the other. He stepped off the elevator once it reached the third floor. He shifted the movies to his other hand as he knocked on the apartment marked 3F and smiled when Dean answered the door.

He was wearing an old Led Zeppelin t-shirt with a pair of sweats and a large thick comforter wrapped around him.

“Sam?” He asked hoarsely. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to say thank you for the flowers, and for lunch,” Sam answered.

He couldn’t tell if Dean blushed or if his face was red because it was sick.

“Although you didn’t have to do that,” Sam added.

Dean shrugged a little. “I wanted to do something nice for your first birthday together...I would’ve baked you a cake but vertigo’s a bitch.” He broke off with a cough. “I’m glad you liked the flowers though. I almost went with red but it seemed a bit to cliché, and I didn’t want you to think Becky got them for you.”

“Shockingly Becky was pretty tame today,” Sam told him. “I went by that deli you like and picked up some of their chicken noodle soup. I also rented us a few movies, I would’ve liked to use the gift certificate Adler gave me for a way too overpriced steak, but we can go when you’re feeling better.”

“Sam...you really don’t want to spend your birthday night with a sick person,” Dean started to protest.

“Well, considering it’s my birthday, you don’t really get a say of who I get to spend it with now do you?” Sam asked. “Now get your ass back on the couch.”

“Don’t make me laugh, my throat feels like sandpaper,” Dean told him.

Sam walked into the apartment and shut the door behind him while Dean tried to clean up around the couch. Sam got one of the movies set up and grabbed a bowl for the soup, and joined him on the couch.

“Happy birthday Sam,” Dean told him. “I promise next year will be a lot better.”

“You know? All things considered, this one turned out to be pretty good,” Sam replied as he got comfortable.

“You wouldn’t happen to know why Gabriel asked me to pick between Sean and Sheene would you?” Dean asked as he ate his soup.

“Nope, no idea,” Sam answered.

“Such a weird little man,” Dean mused as Sam wrapped an arm around him.

#@spnaubingo #supernatural #Sam Winchester #dean winchester #sam wesson #dean smith #gabriel #castiel #lucifer #rowena #CEO!AU #CEO!Sam #Head of HR Dean #smith/wesson #sam and dean #sam/dean

7 notes · View notes

scandeniall · 5 years ago

Text

dive deep //ch.4

pairing: akaashi keiji x reader

Chapter 4: writing blues | prev | next | masterlist

wc: 1436

The days came and went as per usual. Try to write, trash said writing, a glass of wine, eat, sleep, repeat. This had been the writer’s life since the start of the project, and at this point the days seemed to all blur together. The only disruption to the writer's poorly designed schedule were the occasional intrusions of her friends. Kenma had dropped off food on more than one occasion, not even surprised when he’d come by to see her in bed. The awkwardness surrounding the writer and Kuroo dissipated shortly after he had dropped her off. An apologetic text from both adults brought them back to normal and he resumed his presence in her life.

The ending of the week neared, and so did another meeting with the newly found editor. A meeting in which no progress on the manuscript had been made. Monday had been spent uninspired and in bed. The writer had no desire to write, and promised to get to work tomorrow. Tuesday, the writer managed to get out of bed, set up her desk to write and nothing. Instead, she found herself rereading earlier chapters and criticizing every character. One character’s description was off, and she hated the name of another. Then the dialogue felt forced at one part. The critiquing prompted another headache, causing the writer to head back to bed.

Wednesday came with a text from Akaashi, confirming that they were all set to meet on Friday. That sparked the slightest bit of urgency as the writer attempted to crank out something. Something is better than nothing, is what she told herself. But it's useless if it's no good also plagued the back of her mind as she eyed the handwritten words and began to transfer them onto her laptop. A few paragraphs here and a few paragraphs there, until she forced out her second chapter for the day. Two chapters to make up for zero progress in almost a month. It felt fair enough. As she continued transferring the newest rushed words, the clock at the bottom of the screen read 2am. The sun had long gone down, and the world had long settled. Everyone except for her. It was almost sickening at how long it took her to come up with the newest words.

Thursday became another useless and unproductive day. The early hours were spent in bed, a possible side effect of having stayed until nearly sunrise. She attempted and failed to push out a third chapter, but the words just weren’t coming. However the writer welcomed the presence of Kuroo who’d stopped by in the early evening. This time the man had forced the two of them on a walk. “Seeing the sunset might inspire you.” He claimed following her out of the apartment. “I wish the sun was all it took for me to finish this book.”

“Well then you could use some vitamin D. Cheer up would you,” The pat he placed on the woman’s head caused her to recoil in annoyance, telling him he didn’t have to pet her like a dog. The two settled into a leisurely pace as soon as they hit the sidewalk. “How’s work been. I feel like we haven’t talked about you lately.” The writer prompted the conversation this time.”That's because you’ve been worse than usual,” Kuroo shrugged. “Clinicals are kicking my ass, but it's fun. Neurology, is pretty cool, but brains are fucking gross” The writer laughed as her friend slightly gagged at the memory. “I can’t believe you're actually going to become a doctor. Promise to take care of me when this agency fries my brain.”

“I think you're a little too old for pediatrics.” (Y/N) could only respond that it was a pity. The two continued the walk in silence only breaking on ocassion to point out an animal they’d seen along the way, or maybe a funny looking cloud. As the writer kicked a pebble along the pavement she felt at ease. Sure the feeling was temporary but her friend always seemed to know what she needed. “Hey, you're meeting with Akaashi this weekend right?”

The writer nodded as her friend took a quick glance at her. “Yeah, tomorrow. I’ve been trying to write all week.” The words came out bitterly, an indication of the failure she’d rather not voice aloud. A weight around (Y/N)’s shoulder caused her to shift her focus towards her taller friend. The male only returned a slight smile. “Come on.” With that the two of them were off their path. The walk had been longer than the writer bargained for as they strayed off their initial path. However, she couldnt find it in her to be upset as the two neared a place she hadn’t been in so long.

“Kuroo, what are we doing here.” The writer followed her friend’s motion as they settled onto a giant rock. “Figured you needed some peace of mind. Remember how much we used to come here after classes. Me, you and Kenma. Catching the sunset and just being happy.” Kuroo breathed out. The place in question had been a relatively secluded part of a lesser known park in the area. Two giant rocks, slightly hidden in the trees. However, beyond overseeing a beautiful lake. One where birds would come to play, and they’d watch the way the ripples in the water cause the trees' fallen flowers to just float. It had the perfect view of the sunset. During their university days, the three found themselves there to regroup, and hide away from the rest of the world and their responsibilities. The writer hadn’t been there in months, partly due to the snow that had covered the winter group, partly due to her own lack of action.

“Stop that. We can't both be emotional disasters.” The words were accompanied with a smile, and a silent thanks towards the man.

----

“Hey.” Another person’s presence setting in front of her caused the writer to jump in surprise. She quickly moved the sheet of paper she’d been scribbling across to the bottom of the stack, offering a curt hello at the editor as she removed her earbuds. The sound to the paper knocking against the table as she straightened the stack blended into the background of the coffee shop’s noise. “How long have you been here?”

The writer only shrugged, taking a glance at the wall clock past Akaashi. “Maybe like an hour. I felt like writing,” she spoke politely. She noticed Akaashi start fiddling with the bag on his shoulder taking out his own belongings. She couldn’t help but watch him in curiosity. “So you know Bokuto too huh?” The words came as she noticed a singular sticker on his laptop case. The mascot of the MSBY Black Jackals. Akaashi offered her a kind smile before nodding. “I take it you’ve met him too?”

“Yeah, a few times back when I was in university. He came down to visit Kuroo.” The editor nodded in understanding. Of course you knew Bokuto through Kuroo. “We played on the same team in high school. It’s how I know Kuroo and Kenma too.” He responded after (Y/N) asked about his association.

“So I read what you had so far,” the man started before pausing. “Well, it just seems different from what you’ve written in the past.” The words caught her off guard, and she couldn’t help but narrow her eyes only for a moment. “I’m just trying something new. That’s all.” The words came calmly however the editor knew better. He easily caught the quick reaction change. Something seemed off, however it isn’t his place to pry. At least not yet. The writer and editor relationship is a delicate one of trust, and as of now he didn’t know his writer at all.

Akaashi could only reassure her that the words weren’t bad, just not what he had been used to reading from the writer. “I’ve made some edits, however it seemed like someone had gone over it before.” The words were laced with confusion. Akaashi remembers when he’d gotten the files and how from an editorial standpoint, the work thus far was near perfect. If this writer was so good on her own, he wondered where he’d even fit in.

“I had another editor before you. Well a few of them for this project. Things didn’t quite work out.” The editor ignored the ice lacing her words as his own posture stiffened. If this writer had gone through multiple editors for a single project, just how hard is she to work with.

a/n: mwah im back after taking the past 3 weeks off from fics (but in my defense in between everything going on and needing that break and how i wrote 8 fic chapters in literally 1 week. i deserved. Just a reminder that my intention is for this to be slowburn so um yeah.

taglist: @alloverbutterflies @astronomyturtle @officiallykuute @beanst0ck @marvels-supernaturalsherlock

wanna be added? just hit a girlie up

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #akaashi x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu imagines #akaashi imagine #dive deep #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuuwritersnet

19 notes · View notes

inmyownlittlecorner5 · 4 years ago

Text

libera nos a malo chapter 9: At St Patrick’s Purgatory

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina Rated for Mature Audiences Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content Chapter 9/21

<< chapter 8+

chapter 10+ >>

libera nos a malo masterpost+

This was quickly becoming an adventure that Miranda had no intention of recounting to her pious mother. As she coaxed her boat, the patient Molly Brown, through the moonlit waters of Lough Derg, intent on excavation and theft, she was almost ashamed of herself. If her mother ever found out that she’d come to the holy site on Station Island as little better than a cat burglar, she wasn’t sure she would ever live down the shame of having disappointed Monica Rose so severely.

The bitter night wind whipped through her cloak, and she pulled the traveling blanket more closely around her shivering body, pushing all questions of morality aside for another day. She’d been hired to do a job. She’d see it through to the end—and let the priest sort it out in confession for her later.

“No perfume tonight, Topolina?” Dante Sanguini asked. The pale moonlight made his face shine with an unearthly glow, and his constant shifting in his seat bespoke his discomfort on the water.

“Not while I’m working.” Miranda’s attention was divided between her companion and keeping the little boat upright with all his squirming. “I don’t guess you could hold still until we get to the island, could you?”

“Over this lake? No. And if I liked you less I would not have agreed to pass over this cursed water in the first place. Let alone twice in one evening.”

“Sorry about that. But I think you’ll find that I kept that difficulty in mind when I set your fee for tonight.”

“Si, you were more than generous. But I will be happy to leave this place behind.”

“Agreed.”

The water was choppy, and by the time she landed the boat ashore, even her usually stalwart stomach was queasy. Dante stumbled as his feet hit dry land, and he shuddered visibly, apparently as uncomfortable on the island as he’d been on the water. Miranda flattened and folded the boat as quickly as her numb fingers would allow, and by the time she had it stowed in a tunic pocket, the vampire had recovered himself.

She braced her feet on the frozen ground to cast her disillusionment charm. An unpleasant, fuzzy feeling began in her toes and crept up her spine, where it settled at the base of her skull. It was disorienting to be unable to see her arms or legs as the charm caused her body to effectively disappear, but invisibility cloaks were as expensive as they were unreliable.

“May we proceed?” Dante asked impatiently, his voice emitting from a shapeless fog that hovered around her.

“Let’s get this over with,” Miranda replied.

In spite of the wind, there was a silence covering the island that felt accusatory to Miranda’s guilty conscience. As she trod over the dead grass, the soles of her feet pricked inside her boots. Over the tops of the barren trees, the cloister and the church gleamed in the moonlight; their modern renovations a sharp contrast to the feel of the ancient earth on which they stood. The arched sign emblazoned with St Patrick’s Purgatory reminded Miranda more of the entrance to a theme park than a hell-mouth. As they went under the sign, the stinging in her feet became impossible to ignore. Acting on some impulse she did not understand, she paused beneath the arch and pulled off her boots and socks. The earth froze to her skin, but at least the damned pricking stopped as she spread out her bare toes in the frosty dirt.

“What are you doing?” the vampiric fog demanded softly.

“I don’t know,” she whispered back.

She could sense Dante’s disapproval, but they did not waste time arguing. As they moved over the well-kept path, she stuffed her boots into her knapsack. The lake lashed at the shore behind them, and even though she knew they were invisible to any mortal inhabitants, she could not shake the feeling that they were being watched. Soon her feet were numb, but she could not bring herself to put her boots back on, as though her pain might make up for some of her sacrilegious intentions.

As they drew closer to the interior of the island, the lurking church and the surrounding trees blocked some of the wind. Miranda trotted silently over the path towards the curved labyrinth that was their destination. The vampiric fog kept pace with her easily, pricking her skin where it brushed her, even under the cover of the disillusionment charm. When they reached the edge of the maze, the fog solidified, Dante’s polished shoes crunching the brittle gravel into dust. Miranda released her charm, shaking off the magical invisibility and numbness as they darted through the twisting path towards its heart.

“Do you feel any better?” Miranda asked.

“No. Worse,” Dante replied.

They reached the center of the maze, and Miranda took the compass that Octavius Pepper had given her from her pocket. It was made of heavy brass, and etched with markings she’d been unable to decipher in the short amount of time it had been in her possession. Its arrow started to swing back and forth, moving languidly but showing no indication of settling anywhere. While they waited, Dante scuffed his shoe in the gravel, and his lip curled to reveal a single, pointed canine.

“Well?” he prompted.

Miranda opened her mouth to tell him to relax when the ground split open. Cursing, she reached blindly for Dante as she clung to the compass, even as the metal began to burn her hand. One of the vampire’s sinewy arms wrapped around her waist, hauling her roughly against his wiry frame. She put her arms around his neck, and though the rubble crashed over them, they glided slowly down into the darkness. The memory of the cave under the One Wood Church and its vengeful Spirit was at the fore of her mind, taunting her with its horrors. She buried her face in Dante’s shoulder and forced herself to breathe.

They landed lightly on a rocky floor. The moonlight filtered down through the gravel and dust that had been kicked up by the cave in, sickly and obscured by the depths. A tremor went through Miranda’s body as she realized how deep they must be, but she was determined to keep control of her mind tonight. Dante pressed his cool lips to her temple, and gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze before releasing her. She dusted herself off quickly, and pulled her wand from her sleeve.

“Lumos,” she cast.

Dante hissed and flinched back from the light. “Must you?”

“We can’t all see in the dark like you.”

“Figlio di puttana,” he muttered.

“What was that?” she asked archly as she watched the wildly spinning needle of the compass.

“I said, which way do we go now?”

“I’m working on it.” The needle stopped all at once, pointing into the darkness. Miranda lifted her wand to see a narrow cleft in the rock, barely wide enough for them to pass through. “Fuck. Why do I keep taking these underground gigs?”

He laughed and took her hand, tucking it into the crook of his arm as though they were going for a stroll in the park. “For the money. And the company.”

His good humor was contagious in spite of her discomfort with the enclosed space and the gravely dirt that cut into the soles of her feet. “Excellent points. Tell me one of your yarns so that I won’t think about being trapped in this pit for all eternity.”

“Nothing would please me more. Have I told you about the first time I was in France?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Excellent.” Dante let go of her arm to enter the passage before her, but his calm, melodious voice betrayed no concern about the danger inherent in their current situation. “It was in 1389. I remember, because it was the year I turned fourteen, and we were escorting La Contessa Valentina Visconti to finally be wed to Louis de Valois. She was as kind as she was beautiful, and whatever part of my heart that was not full of my path to knighthood was full of her.”

“You rogue. Did you steal her from Louis?”

“No. Everyone loved Louis, especially Valentina. It was enough to love them both from a distance, and to serve them. Life in Melun was good for a long time. I learned to ride, to fight, to write poetry, and to make love to the ladies of the court. I was quick at my studies and unimportant enough that I could slip away to explore on my own.”

“That sounds ideal.” The blue light from her wand cast dancing shadows on the wall, and there was a dread curling in the corner of her mind that one of those shadows would turn into a cat like the Spirit of the Mine. She pushed it down the best she could and listened to Dante’s voice. “Then what happened?”

“I saw battle and earned my knighthood five years later, in the year that Charles was born. I also met two men who were to change the course of my life, each in his own way.”

“Who were they?”

“One was a minstrel, a servant of Louis. His name was Herbelin, and I could have listened to him sing forever. We met in secret of course, but I was good at keeping secrets, even then. And it was amusing to watch the ladies swooning over his dark curls and merry laugh, knowing who it was he moaned for when there was none but the moon to see.”

“How delicious. And the other?”

“Was Nicolas Flamel, and of course his good wife Perenelle.”

“The man who made the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“The very one. A knight off the battlefield is little more than an errand boy, and there were many messages and manuscripts that flew back and forth between Nicolas and the royalty of France.”

“Did you ever get to see the stone?”

“I did. In fact…Cazzo!”

Dante disappeared, and Miranda had not taken a full step before she fell into the dank pit after him. She flailed once, but when she could not find the vampire in the darkness, she changed tactics, gathering her magic to cushion her fall and relaxing her body to be ready to roll when she hit bottom. The impact with the dirt floor knocked the wind out of her, and she coughed as she rolled into a crouch. Nothing leapt out of the darkness to pounce on her, except for a courtly vampire who graciously helped her to her feet.

“Are you in one piece, Topolina?” he asked with a dashing smile.

“I’m fine.” She wiped the dirt out of her eyes, and her hand came away bloody. “Mostly fine. Do you want to take care of that?”

His eyes turned completely black, glowing with an unearthly fire. “Ho un debole per te.”

He ran his tongue over the wound on her forehead, a feral growl rumbling from his throat as he lapped at her blood. The gash tingled, healing under his Undead magic. A familiar thrill went down her spine as he nuzzled the side of her neck, grazing her flesh with the cold pressure of his lips, followed by a single, teasing canine. Guilt and desire tangled together inside her, and she stepped back a few paces to give herself space to breathe. She and Dante had been skirting the line of what even her flexible morality would call decent since they’d arrived in Ireland the night before, and angry as she was with Severus, she still wasn’t certain she wanted to cross it.

“We should keep going. There’s no telling what all is down here,” she said.

He extended his canines to their full length, and lisped like an actor in a melodrama, “I think you know exactly what is down here. Children of the night. My friends.”

As if in answer, a swarm of bats swooped down from the ceiling, chittering as they buzzed their new companions. Miranda ducked as they passed close to her head, hoping they would not tangle themselves in her hair, while Dante lifted his arms, welcoming his familiars. The bats danced around the vampire until Miranda started to laugh, and then flew off into the darkness beyond.

“Va bene, there is the smile I like to see,” Dante said.

“It’s good to have something to smile about,” Miranda admitted, turning her attention back to the compass. The arrow was pointing firmly in the direction the bats had taken. “It looks like your friends know the way.”

“As they should. Andiamo.”

The path was rough with brittle rock that crunched and snapped under them as they followed its twisting progress. Miranda knew without looking that her feet would be bruised and bloodied when they made it back to the surface, but some instinctive part of her brain insisted that she continue as she was. The longer they walked, the rougher the terrain became, snaking upwards at a sharp incline. Pacing her breathing became more difficult, and her fears were ever at the edge of her consciousness, tempting her to panic.

“I think you were telling me about the Philosopher’s Stone?” she panted when the imaginings became too much to bear.

“Allora, the stone. I only saw it once, when I was assisting Nicolas and Perenelle with their travel preparations. There were many who would have liked to claim the stone for themselves, and it required both an Obscuro and to be tucked into Perenelle’s petticoats in order for them to slip away with it.”

“Where were they going in such a rush?”

“It was not the where that was the trouble, it was the who. Madama Bonne had a taste for the stone, and she was less than pleased when she was unable to put her hands on it.”

Miranda had met Bonne de Valois once. It had not been a pleasant experience. “I can imagine. How is madama these days?”

He laughed. “I would steer clear of Italy for another decade or so, were I in your shoes.”

“Thanks for the warning. What happened to Herbelin? Did he become a vampire too?”

“No. He did not.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Not as sorry as I was. But I should go back to Louis. He was the beginning of the end.”

All at once they found themselves in a tiny room of packed dirt, the ceiling of which was so low that both of them had to stoop. A flickering green flame coming from an unknown source lit the space, revealing a mattress of rotting straw, a decaying bowl and spoon on a sagging shelf, and little else. The walls were painted with faded pictures in the ancient Celtic style, and between the crosses and saints were letters spelling out texts too worn to read.

“This is the place,” Miranda said, sliding the compass into a pocket.

Dante’s canines were showing. “I was afraid of that.”

“We’d better work fast.”

She chanted the incantation that Mr Pepper had drilled into her a few days earlier, singing through its chromatic tones in a clear, silvery voice. A white light burst out of the tip of her wand, wrapped itself around the straw mattress, and lifted it off the floor. Another light joined the first, piercing the floor under the mattress until a thin crack appeared. Dante flexed his fingers as they stretched into evil looking claws, and crouched over the crack in the floor to dig into the dry dirt. Miranda’s body flashed hot and cold as she struggled to keep the bed aloft, sweat rolling down her face and neck. The green light began to spin, causing her stomach to lurch. A buzzing chatter droned in the room, and she felt fingers curling around her ankles. She looked down in horror, but saw nothing. Then she blinked, and saw the gnarled hands pulling on her legs; but when she blinked again—there was nothing.

She fought down the urge to scream as Dante jerked a heavy length of rusted chain from the hole he’d dug. He stumbled backwards, grunting as he landed on his backside. Miranda waved a shaking hand, sending a spell to push the dirt back into the hole, then she lowered the bed with a thunk. Still trembling, she opened her bag for Dante to shove the chain into. His teeth were bared with the effort, a red-tinted sweat covered his brow, and his hands look like they’d been burned.

“Are you alright?” Miranda asked as she closed the bag tightly around the chain.

“Never better,” he snarled.

“Are you going to need a drink before we go back over the water?”

He his eyes flashed with a black, hungry fire. “I appreciate the offer, but if I were to start drinking from you now I doubt I would be able to stop. The sooner we get off this island, the better.”

“No shit.”

Miranda took out the compass, stamping her feet in an attempt to shake off the feeling of ghostly fingers. The needle started spinning again, and showed no signs of stopping.

“You don’t think we have to go all the way back down, do we?” she asked.

“We are close to the surface now,” Dante replied. “I can dig us out if need be.”

She paced towards the far wall, unable to remain still any longer. A spiral drawn in a dull red caught her attention, undulating in the flickering light. She traced a careless finger over it, and the spectral flames engulfed her. A scream welled up in her throat, but when she opened her mouth she could only choke on the sulfurous smoke. Hands grabbed at her ankles and wrists; and there was a wailing and gnashing of teeth.

And then there was darkness.

*****

Miranda’s body was terribly sore when she opened her eyes again. She was lying on a narrow bed with clean, coarse sheets and a warm, quilted blanket; and she could feel that someone had taken the trouble to wrap her feet in bandages. The small room was plain, with a crucifix on the facing wall and a little window letting in bright, welcome sunlight. A desk with a lamp and chair completed the space, and her arsenal of pistol, knife, and wand was laid out neatly on top of the desk. Her knapsack sat safely beside the bed, apparently untouched. Wincing, she pushed herself up, meaning to check the bag for their night’s work, when the door to the room opened.

A man in a rough brown robe and worn sandals entered. His curly brown hair was tinged with gray, and his lined face wore a friendly smile. She guessed he was about her father’s age, and his green eyes were bright and kind. He carried a tray set with a teapot and cup, brown bread, and a steaming bowl of soup. Her mouth started to water and her stomach to growl at the homey aroma.

“Good morning, lass,” he said, placing the tray on her lap. “Welcome to Station Island. I think you’ve had quite a time of it.”

She gave him a bland smile. “Good morning, Father. It was about what I expected it to be.”

“I’m no priest, only a simple friar. Brother Ronan, at your service.”

“Thank you.”

Brother Ronan turned to pull the chair out from the desk and bring it to her bedside. While he was busy with his task, she quickly cast a silent revelio venenum, musing that she’d been spending so much time with Severus his habits were rubbing off on her. Her instincts told her that Brother Ronan was trustworthy enough, but his casual acceptance of her magical artifacts—along with her missing vampire—were enough to give her pause.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said between grateful bites of the hearty soup. “I’m Miranda Rose.”

“Rose you say? You aren’t from County Cork by chance, are you?” he asked as he sat down in the chair to keep her company while she ate.

“Originally, yes. But my line of the family has been in America for four generations now.”

“America? I was there once. It’s a fine country. I wouldn’t want to live there, but I’d not be sorry to visit again someday.”

His easy manner prompted her to be more direct.

“May I ask you how I came to be…wherever it is we are?” she asked.

“This is the pilgrim’s dormitory. I found you and your friend on my way in from Matins. There aren’t many of us here in the off months, but we like to say the hours together in the main church even so.”

“What happened to my friend?”

“I thought it best to give him a room in the basement.”

She raised her eyebrows, but kept her tone even, wondering if she was going to have to Obliviate the friendly friar. “Are you a wizard, Brother Ronan?”

He laughed as though she’d told a fine joke. “Me? No, not at all. But your friend is not the first vampire I’ve seen in my life, nor are you the first witch. He helped me bring you here, and I gave him a bottle of the sort of drink he needs, and a room in the cellar for the day. It was too close to dawn to risk taking you both off the island.”

“Why are you helping us?”

“It’s my duty to help those who need it. I suggest you eat and rest as much as you can for now.”

“Will we be allowed to leave tonight?”

“You’re not a prisoner, Miss Rose. You and your friend may leave at any time.”

His kindness prompted a new wave of guilt, but she carefully concealed her shame.

“Thank you Brother Ronan. We appreciate your help.”

“I’m glad I was here to give it. Is this your first time to Station Island?”

“It is. My first time to Ireland at all, actually.”

His voice took on a note of pride like a fond parent. “You should come back in the summer. Everything is green and you could do the actual pilgrimage then. I suspect you’re hearty enough.”

“The pilgrimage?”

“Three days of fasting and prayer, and the pilgrims visit all the old hermitages of the saints.”

“That sounds grueling.”

“It is. But people come by the thousands to do it. Have since the old days.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

She finished her tray, and Brother Ronan took it, wishing her a good day on his way out. She forced herself to wait to a count of fifty before opening her bag, where she found the rusted chains lying, unharmed. After she’d resealed the sack and warded the door for good measure, she slept again. Her dreams were strange and troublesome, but she could not remember them when she awoke later that afternoon.

Gathering her wand, she went down the hall in search of the loo, taking advantage of the communal showers when she found it. She managed to heal the scrapes on her feet with a few quick spells, and the hot water did wonders for the aches in her muscles. A quick Scourgify made her clothes once again fit for company, and she padded back to her room, refreshed.

Her fingers itched for a cigarette, but she decided she would rather find Dante before indulging in a smoke. After pulling on her boots, she gathered her things from the desk, made her bed, and left a generous tithe in Irish pounds on top of the pillow. The empty dormitory was as simple as her room had been, decorated with candles, crucifixes, and saints painted in the Celtic style. When she reached the cellar, she cast another revelio, which illuminated a door at the end of the hall in a faint blue light. She knew better than to startle Dante when he was sleeping, and she let her feet fall heavily on the floor as she approached. When she reached the door she rapped on it sharply.

“Come in,” came Dante’s voice from within.

The windowless cell was in total darkness, though she could feel Dante’s eyes on her. He flicked on the desk lamp in deference to her mortal vision as she closed the door. An empty bottle and a bloodstained cup sat on the desk near the lamp. Dante was lounging on the bed like a lazy cat, apparently none the worse for wear after their mishap. His clothes and person were clean, and the burn marks on his hands were gone. He rose as she came into the room, putting his hands on her shoulders when they met.

“You are well?” he asked earnestly. “When the hell-mouth overwhelmed you I feared you would be more permanently injured.

“I feel alright,” she replied, shivering at his touch. “A little sore, but alright. What happened?”

He was running the fingers of one hand up the side of her neck, and his eyes were turning black with vampiric lust. “You didn’t expect the chains to go without a struggle did you? Generally hell-mouths dislike being robbed.”

“That’s why they pay me the big money.”

“I’ve always admired your durability.”

His hand tightened on the back of her head, and he crashed his cold lips into hers. She returned his kiss with guilty fury, her body thrilling with the way that his lips turned from ice to fire as they absorbed her warmth. The tingling chill from his touch crept over her skin, causing her to tremble, and she clung to his shirt as he seared a trail of savage kisses down to her neck, where her pulse was beating wildly.

“Does your offer of a drink still stand, Bellissima?” he purred.

“Yes,” she gasped before she could think better of it.

There was a pair of sharp pricks, and then a heady rush of ecstasy as he drank from her. It was as intoxicating as she remembered it—but even as her body sang with pleasure, it was Severus’s name on the tip of her tongue, Severus’s arms she wanted to be holding her, Severus’s lips she craved on her skin.

Dante, ever the gentleman, brought her down carefully, ending the vampiric kiss and healing the wounds on her throat with his agile tongue. Her mental protections were useless against Legilimency of the blood, and she had no doubt that the vampire was well aware of the man whose name was lodged in her heart. He guided her to sit on the bed, and rummaged in her knapsack until he procured a bottle of Blood Replenisher, the contents of which he tipped into her mouth. She nearly choked at the taste of the elderflower and lemon—Severus had created this variant of the potion to suit her personally, and his care for her was yet another lash of guilt.

When she’d gotten it down, she sagged against the wall, wishing she could cry that she might gain some relief from the feelings balled up in her chest. Dante pulled out a pair of cigarettes for the two of them, lighting them with the touch of an elegant finger.

“Perhaps it is time for you to tell me about Severus,” he said wryly after they’d both taken a bracing drag.

She let out a dry laugh. “What can I say? He’s an ass. He’s good at chess, potions, and dark magic. He likes to read and has a voice like sin.”

“No wonder you like him. What’s the problem then?”

“The problem is he’s sunk so deep in the war that’s coming that it’d take a miracle for him to come through it alive. I don’t think I can stand to lose someone like that. Not after David and Isaac.”

“The war is already here. Why don’t you convince him to run?”

She shook her head. “No. I think leaving would kill him, or at least his spirit. He has to see this thing through to the end.”

“That’s a shame. You might have wished for a more sensible partner.”

“I might have wished for a lot of things. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

He took her hand and pressed his lips to it. “No, Topolina. No apologies are necessary between us. Allora, I was telling you about Louis.”

She was grateful for the change of subject. “Yes. Please finish the story.”

“Louis came to a bitter end,” he said, a sad smile spreading over his shapely lips. “His enemies in the Burgundian court sent assassins after him, attacking him in the middle of the street one November night. Valentina never recovered. She died of a broken heart not a year afterwards. Herbelin and I stayed with young Charles, intent on helping the boy regain some order and beauty in his court. And we were successful, for a time, until a fever took my Herbelin from me.”

She laid her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her. “I’m so sorry.”

“Life was bitter to me then, but I feared death too much to seek it from my own hands. And as Charles started to play at war, I believed that my time would come soon enough. I thought that it had after the battle at Agincourt. But there are scavengers on a battlefield, and one of them found me.”

“Was he the one who made you a vampire?”

“Yes, but not, I think, on purpose. As he drained me, I latched onto his wrist, biting him in my frenzy. He left me for dead, but enough of his blood had entered my veins for me to rise again.”

“Fuck. What did you do?”

He laughed and kissed the top of her head. “Just what you’d expect. I wandered the countryside in a rage until I found my way to Nicolas’s door. I might have killed him, and Perenelle too. But he tucked a bunch of mistletoe behind my ear, and it brought me back to my senses long enough for him to take me to Madama Bonne.”

“I wish he’d led you to a better Mistress.”

He shrugged. “There are worse, believe me.”

There was a light knocking at the door, and Miranda and Dante vanished their cigarettes before opening it to admit Brother Ronan. If the friar was at all surprised to find them together, he did not show it, for which Miranda was grateful.

“The sun’s down,” Brother Ronan said briskly as he handed each of them a dark bottle. “Best if we get the both of you on your way before anyone starts asking questions.”

“Thank you for your help,” Miranda replied. “I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything, lass. But if you’ll remember me in your prayers now and then I’d be grateful to you.”

“That I can promise you.”

He led them through a winding hallway that opened at last near the shore. The wind was quiet tonight, and the lake was like a mirror of black glass. Miranda pulled the Molly Brown from her pocket and murmured the spell to make her seaworthy. Brother Ronan whistled appreciatively.

“That’s a nice bit of magic,” the friar said.

“I’m fond of it myself,” Miranda replied.

“And if I never saw a boat again, it would be too soon,” Dante laughed.

Brother Ronan held the boat steady while the witch and the vampire climbed into it. When they were ready, he gave it a firm push, and his sandaled feet splashed into the lake as the boat began to cut through dark waters.

“God bless you both!” he called, giving them a final wave before turning and hurrying back towards the church and his brothers.

“As if I didn’t feel guilty enough,” Miranda sighed.

“You must learn to overcome such frailty,” Dante chided, opening his bottle and drinking deeply of its contents.

“You’re probably right.”

Miranda tugged the cork from her bottle and gulped down the cold water inside, parched from the effects of the Blood Replenisher. They were quiet for a time as the Molly Brown made quick progress over the calm lake. Every inch away from Station Island was bringing her home to the problems she’d left behind, and she felt no closer to solving them.

“Did you ever love anyone after Herbelin?” she asked suddenly.

The vampire gazed up at the clear, star-filled sky. “Oh. Many times, Topolina. Some I have left. Some have left me. Some I have laid in the grave.”

“But how can you stand it? Or does it stop hurting after the tenth or the twentieth or the hundredth time?”

He took her hands and his, and the expression on his face made her wonder if he knew her heart better than she did herself.

“It always hurts,” he said. “Every time.”

“But is it worth it?” she persisted.

His dark eyes were wise in his youthful face, and they sparked with a mirth that all his centuries of loss could not dim

“Yes,” he replied. “Every time.”

*****

Station Island is the location of St Patrick’s Purgatory, which has been a pilgrimage site from the middle ages. It is also supposedly and entrance to Purgatory or Hell, depending on the legend. The pilgrimage is as grueling as Brother Ronan describes, and continues to this day. It is performed barefoot, which is why I have the magic of the place prompting Miranda to take of her boots and socks in this chapter.

The adventure of the One Wood Church and the Spirit of the Mine is told in chapter 24 of Moonlight: The Tale of the Three Miners.

Dante is telling Miranda the brief history of Louis, duc d’Orléans (1372-1407) , and his wife Valentine of Milan (1371-1408). Their son Charles, duc d’Orléans (1394-1465) is the author of the Valentine’s Day poem that Severus was musing over back in chapter seven.

Matins is one of the hours of prayer, traditionally said in the middle of the night. It’s the longest of the hours.

Figlio di puttana: Son of a bitch (Dante is cursing at the light, not Miranda) Cazzo: Fuck Ho un debole per te: I’m weak for you Va bene: Good, okay, alright Andiamo: Let’s go Bellissima: Gorgeous Allora: So, then, well

*****

<< chapter 8+

chapter 10+ >>

libera nos a malo masterpost+

#pro snape #ocappreciation #snape x oc #severus snape fanfiction #inmyownlittlecorner5

2 notes · View notes

theonyxpath · 5 years ago

Link

WOW! What a weekend!

And it started with our Legendlore Kickstarter funding on Friday! Now we’re moving into Stretch Goals – so please, if you haven’t already, check it out! The link is below in the Kickstarter section!

And and, to get you started, here’s a review of the free PDF of the complete text for the book linked on the KS site: https://thetabletopalmanac.wordpress.com/2020/06/15/rpg-reviews-legendlore-manuscript-preview/

Of course, this leaves the rest of the weekend, which just happened to consist of the first-ever Onyx Path Virtual Gaming Convention!

What a fun time!

We really didn’t know how folks would respond, but now that the three days of panels and gaming are done, I can say that our community was in turns hilarious, supportive, giving, excited, and energized. And that energy really flowed right back into all the events and energized all of us!

I mean, we’re still tired as all get out – who’d have thought that a con I could attend from my own house would do that? – but pretty sure we’re all still feeling the love, too.

Just to pull the giving part out for a second, we are absolutely thrilled that our charity goals were blasted through sometime mid-con, and we’ll be donating over a thousand dollars to each of our excellent causes: The Bodhana Group, and the Thurgood Marshall College Fund!

Now, back to the whooped by the con part, we are and I am, so today I’m just going to pull out some impressions of the events from a bunch of us who normally would have had our Monday Meeting today – we rescheduled it for later this week.

SCENES FROM A VIRTUAL CON:

Matthew: The Onyx Path Virtual Gaming Convention was the first con I helped organise, and while it had its share of stresses in the setup, it came to excellent fruition due to the fantastic teamwork of everyone working hard behind the scenes and amazing engagement from viewers, panelists, players, and those who donated to our charities and took advantage of our sales on onyxpathcon.com

RichT: I started us off on Friday night with the Opening Keynote speech, and then just sort of chatted with Matt McElroy, Dixie Cochran, Eddy Webb, and Matthew Dawkins about what was coming with the con.

For me, I then rolled into my first game, I played one per day, which was the first Actual Play of Exalted Essence. It really did run both fast and smoothly, and all of the various Exalted types we were playing had their times to shine. I was able to put a different, more easy-going, pie-eating, spin on my bear-totemed Lunar who still wound up grappling with the big bad and bear-hugging them in place for Danielle’s Solar to practically one-shot the sucker!

Ian: Convention was great, despite a few hiccups. I was on two streams early on: one Friday evening and one Saturday morning, and then the rest of the con was “free.” Travis and the GG crew were all-stars. Travis couldn’t get Nightbot working for a bit so I took over the random prize drawing for a few streams. I was often juggling two different streams in different monitors to help keep dialogue going in chat. Kudos to everyone, especially those of you who worked multiple panels and games in a single day.

RichT: In fact, the panel Ian refers to on Saturday morning was the “What’s Up With Onyx Path?” panel that started off the day at 9am. This is a panel where a bunch of developers and I talk about upcoming projects for their lines, and answer questions. Eddy and I started doing them about a decade ago when it was “What’s Up With White Wolf?”, but changed the name for obvious reasons after Onyx Path appeared.

During that panel, a couple of things came up: Matthew teased that we might very well do They Came From (the Old West!, or something more flavorful that fits the genre) as the third They Came From game, and Ian talked about Trinity Continuum: Aeon Mission Statements, a book all about the organizations in the setting that aren’t the Psi-Orders. We also noticed that some folks in the chat were new to Onyx Path and what we create, so that was unexpected but welcome news!

Then, I played my second game of the con, which was a sneak preview of Scion: Demigod! Neall took us through a voyage to the Grecian Afterlife, using the Ready Made Characters from Heroes of the World and I got to play a stern Horace Farrow ala Sam Elliott, while Steffie cut up many, many things with Yukiko’s Grass-Cutter Sword. Then, another panel on Community Content and why it rocks wrapped up my Saturday.

Matthew: I didn’t encounter one instance of bad behaviour in chat or anything dubious discussed on screen in games or on panels, and I attended most that I could as a viewer, if I wasn’t an active participant.

Viewership of panels and games peaked at around 250 to 300 people at one time for a couple of the shows, and bottomed out at around 50 people. Those are good figures. Our subscriptions and follows on Twitch rocketed, with many subscriptions being gifted by viewers and even more just being purchased or acquired via Amazon Prime.

My own highlight is impossible to choose between the games and panels I ran or appeared on, though the “Create Your Best Character” panel, which I suspected would be a sleeper, turned into an excellent talk on not playing harmful stereotypes and break out of dangerous tropes.

Eddy: The convention was great for me. My scheduling was a little odd, and I ran into one minor technical issue, but otherwise it went smoothly and it seemed like people in the chat were excited and appreciative. I felt like we got to dig into topics we aren’t able to do in normal convention settings, and attendance was definitely higher than usual for panels at other shows. I also heard that people had a good time watching the games or playing in ad-hoc games all weekend. I know there were some problems on the back-end of getting this all together, but I don’t think any of our attendees noticed anything but a nice, polished experience.

RichT: Sunday started out just like Saturday, with the second “What’s Up With Onyx Path?” panel, although with a different set of developers. The big news was when Eddy ratted out that he was working on Squeaks in the Dark, the mice/rats supplement for Realms of Pugmire!

I then had my second panel on Sunday, the “Art of Onyx Path” one, where Mirthful Mike Chaney joined three of our freelance artists and I in discussing just how illustrators work for us: how they submit their work, how they are contacted, how art notes work, how artists work, and what sort of music do we listen to while doing illustrations. Lots of great questions from the audience, and a wide range of experience within the panel, made it really interesting.

RichT: Then my Sunday game was the first public playtest of They Came From Beyond the Grave! run by Matthew, and featuring Dixie’s Rose Thorne, a driven vampire hunter with attitude, and 70s hair. She teamed up with B. Dave Walters’ smoooth street investigator to blast the ever-lovin’ hell out of evil cultists, while Ian Mueller’s exorcist (sorta) shot the big bad between the eyes with Rose’s derringer, and my slightly odd professor tried to save as much weird-science lab equipment as he could. Science! We left the haunted house as the superimposed fire effect began to devour it, fortunately for all involved (except the dead 70s prog-rock star sacrificed by the cultists).

I immediately had to log into my last event, but what a special event it was! Added late in the proceedings as we had to work within a lot of people’s schedules, I was thrilled to sit down with a bunch of my old co-workers at the original White Wolf in a “Memories of WW” panel with Bill Bridges, Rich Dansky, Ethan Skemp, Mike Tinney, and my old go-to designer for graphics, Matt Milberger.

Much reminiscing occurred, interposed with questions from the chat, that pretty much focused on our time from the early 90s to the early 2000s, although we did chat a bit about the late, lamented WoD MMO, as most of us worked on that in one capacity or another. Mike talked about how he cozened us an arcade version of Dark Stalkers for our little lunchroom, and we had fond memories of the WW Blood Bowl League.

(My Children of the Khorne chaos team won the cup two seasons in a row, just sayin’).

And although I didn’t want it to end, it did, and my time at the first-ever Onyx Path Virtual Gaming Convention was over. Which was actually pretty good because my brain was on autopilot at that point.

Ian: Everyone on both sides of the screen seemed to have a great time, and the only real complaints I heard were that there were too many good things happening at once and people had to make a choice on which stream to watch.

Matthew: While many games had a tendency to overrun, I’d say they each ran to optimal length and didn’t cause too much disruption farther up the schedule.

RichT: Which are all good things to happen, actually, with your first online convention, so we’re going to review all the metrics we can gather ourselves and from the super folks at Gehenna Gaming, and see what we can learn from all that.

Will we do another one? We just don’t know yet, but whether we do or not, this one sure did what we wanted to do – folks who attended had a whole lot of fun! If you missed out and want to watch the games and panels, they are currently on the Onyx Path and Gehenna Gaming Twitch channels for subscribers, but will soon migrate over to the Onyx Path YouTube page for all to watch!

So, from all of us to all of you, whether you attended or didn’t, thanks for making it a real joy to walk with you exploring:

Many Worlds, One Path!

Blurbs!

Kickstarter!

The Legendlore Kickstarter funded right before we started the Virtual Con last week! A really great way to start things off! Now we’re building towards Stretch Goals: the GM’s Screen, and starting the Legendlore Companion book PDF!

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/339646881/legendlore-rpg-setting-for-5th-edition-fantasy-roleplaying-0

Grab your friends and escape to another world!

You’ve found an enchanted portal — a transition point — between worlds. The portal, called a Crossing, takes you to a world you thought only existed in novels and films: a magical land where dragons roam the skies, orcs and hobgoblins terrorize weary travelers, and unicorns prance through the forest. It is a world where humans join other peoples such as elves, trolls, dwarves, changelings, and the dreaded creatures who steal the night. It is a world of fantasy — of imagination.

It is the Realm.

It is Legendlore.

Onyx Path Media!

This week: the most exciting episode of the Onyx Pathcast ever, recorded live at the Onyx Path Virtual Gaming Convention!

As always, this Friday’s Onyx Pathcast will be on Podbean or your favorite podcast venue! https://onyxpathcast.podbean.com/

Hi all!

We’ll be back next week with our usual promotion of all the excellent games on our Twitch and YouTube channels, but for now, we encourage you to do what it seems a lot of people are doing right now, and hop over to our Twitch: twitch.tv/theonyxpath

While the convention has ended, but subscribing to our Twitch channel (which you can do for free if you have Amazon Prime), you get access to all the panels and games that ran on it over the convention weekend. So, if you missed a panel or game you really wanted to watch, head on to our Twitch, subscribe, and browse our back catalogue!

Other than our content, we would like to promote a couple more games for those without Twitch:

Occultists Anonymous continue their excellent Mage: The Awakening game here:

Episode 106: Friends & Minions The cabal combats the uninvited guest summoned by an Exarchal Supernal Being. The danger of the Exarchal attention prompts further investigations away from the Supernal. https://youtu.be/YSErlwnC7Nc

Episode 107: Making Promises Songbird reaches out to the Queen of the Vampires of New York about a divine blessing. Wyrd and Atratus hatch a plan to make a car… https://youtu.be/dueYYUl0FrY

And A Bunch of Gamers have just started up a two-part extravaganza of They Came from Beneath the Sea! right here:

The Crabby Lizard from the Murkey Depths

Episode 1: In the small east coast town of Chatham Massachusetts things are easy. The soda pop shop is ready for any of the locals. The city comes together for a bake sale to help their neighbors, and everyone knows each other. All that changes when a strange electrical storm and a booming voice can be heard over the jukebox. Tonight, the strange, the horrid, the damp creatures from beyond the stars and the depths of the sea rise up to meet the people of Chatham.https://youtu.be/UwxzdwVoYQE

The Tabletop Almanac has released a lovely review of Legendlore that you’ll want to see! https://thetabletopalmanac.wordpress.com/2020/06/15/rpg-reviews-legendlore-manuscript-preview/

Please check these out and let us know if you find or produce any actual plays of our games! We’d love to feature you!

Electronic Gaming!

As we find ways to enable our community to more easily play our games, the Onyx Dice Rolling App is live! Our dev team has been doing updates since we launched based on the excellent use-case comments by our community, and this thing is awesome! (Seriously, you need to roll 100 dice for Exalted? This app has you covered.)

On Amazon and Barnes & Noble!

You can now read our fiction from the comfort and convenience of your Kindle (from Amazon) and Nook (from Barnes & Noble).

If you enjoy these or any other of our books, please help us by writing reviews on the site of the sales venue from which you bought it. Reviews really, really help us get folks interested in our amazing fiction!

Our selection includes these latest fiction books:

Our Sales Partners!

We’re working with Studio2 to get Pugmire and Monarchies of Mau out into stores, as well as to individuals through their online store. You can pick up the traditionally printed main book, the screen, and the official Pugmire dice through our friends there! https://studio2publishing.com/search?q=pugmire

We’ve added Prince’s Gambit to our Studio2 catalog: https://studio2publishing.com/products/prince-s-gambit-card-game

Now, we’ve added Changeling: The Lost Second Edition products to Studio2‘s store! See them here: https://studio2publishing.com/collections/all-products/changeling-the-lost

Scion 2e books and other products are available now at Studio2: https://studio2publishing.com/blogs/new-releases/scion-second-edition-book-one-origin-now-available-at-your-local-retailer-or-online

Looking for our Deluxe or Prestige Edition books? Try this link! http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Onyx-Path-Publishing/

And you can order Pugmire, Monarchies of Mau, Cavaliers of Mars, and Changeling: The Lost 2e at the same link! And now Scion Origin and Scion Hero and Trinity Continuum Core and Trinity Continuum: Aeon are available to order!

As always, you can find Onyx Path’s titles at DriveThruRPG.com!

On Sale This Week!

Available this Wednesday, we are just a bit embarrassed to say that we’ll be releasing on DTRPG the PDF and PoD versions of Swine and Cheese Party, Et Al., excerpts from The Complete Duke Rollo, for Trinity Continuum: Aberrant!

Also available this Wednesday on DTRPG: the Advance PDF for Quantum Entanglement the Trinity Continuum: Aeon Jumpstart!

Conventions!

Though dates for physical conventions are subject to change due to the current COVID-19 outbreak, here’s what’s left of our current list of upcoming conventions (and really, we’re just waiting for this last one to be cancelled even though it’s Nov/Dec). Instead, keep an eye out here for more virtual conventions we’re going to be involved with:

PAX Unplugged: https://unplugged.paxsite.com/

And now, the new project status updates!

Development Status from Eddy Webb! (Projects in bold have changed status since last week.):

First Draft (The first phase of a project that is about the work being done by writers, not dev prep.)

Exalted Essay Collection (Exalted)

Adversaries of the Righteous (Exalted 3rd Edition)

The Clades Companion (Deviant: The Renegades)

The Devoted Companion (Deviant: The Renegades)

Saints and Monsters (Scion 2nd Edition)

Trinity Continuum: Anima

CtL 2e Novella Collection: Hollow Courts (Changeling: The Lost 2e)

M20 Technocracy Operative’s Dossier (Mage: The Ascension 20th Anniversary)

Redlines

Dragon-Blooded Novella #2 (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Hundred Devil’s Night Parade (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Novas Worldwide (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Exalted Essence Edition (Exalted 3rd Edition)

M20 Rich Bastard’s Guide To Magick (Mage: The Ascension 20th Anniversary)

V5 Children of the Blood (was The Faithful Undead) (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

V5 Forbidden Religions (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

Wild Hunt (Scion 2nd Edition)

Second Draft

Many-Faced Strangers – Lunars Companion (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Kith and Kin (Changeling: The Lost 2e)

Dearly Bleak – Novella (Deviant: The Renegades)

Mission Statements (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Contagion Chronicle Ready-Made Characters (Chronicles of Darkness)

Under Alien Suns (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

V5 Trails of Ash and Bone (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

Trinity Continuum: Adventure! core (Trinity Continuum: Adventure!)

Dead Man’s Rust (Scarred Lands)

Development

TC: Aberrant Reference Screen (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Across the Eight Directions (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Contagion Chronicle: Global Outbreaks (Chronicles of Darkness)

M20 Victorian Mage (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

Exigents (Exalted 3rd Edition)

N!ternational Wrestling Entertainment (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Assassins (Trinity Continuum Core)

Manuscript Approval

Crucible of Legends (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Post-Approval Development

Editing

Lunars Novella (Rosenberg) (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition core rulebook (Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition)

Player’s Guide to the Contagion Chronicle (Chronicles of Darkness)

Contagion Chronicle Jumpstart (Chronicles of Darkness)

TC: Aberrant Jumpstart (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Trinity Continuum Jumpstart (Trinity Continuum)

Masks of the Mythos (Scion 2nd Edition)

LARP Rules (Scion 2nd Edition)

Heirs to the Shogunate (Exalted 3rd Edition)

The Book of Lasting Death (Mummy: The Curse 2e)

They Came From Beyond the Grave! (They Came From!)

Scion: Dragon (Scion 2nd Edition)

Scion: Demigod (Scion 2nd Edition)

Post-Editing Development

City of the Towered Tombs (Cavaliers of Mars)

W20 Shattered Dreams Gift Cards (Werewolf: The Apocalypse 20th)

Cults of the Blood Gods (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

Hunter: The Vigil 2e core (Hunter: The Vigil 2nd Edition)

Trinity Continuum: Aberrant core (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Deviant: The Renegades (Deviant: The Renegades)

Monsters of the Deep (They Came From Beneath the Sea!)

Legendlore core book (Legendlore)

Pirates of Pugmire KS-Added Adventure (Realms of Pugmire)

Tales of Aquatic Terror (They Came From Beneath the Sea!)

Terra Firma (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

One Foot in the Grave Jumpstart (Geist: The Sin-Eaters 2e)

Indexing

Art Direction from Mike Chaney!

In Art Direction

Scion Titanomachy – Art coming in.

Tales of Aquatic Terror

WoD Ghost Hunters (KS) – Prepping KS assets.

Aberrant – AD’d. First new comic in.

Hunter: The Vigil 2e

Mummy 2

Deviant – Dividing up among current artists.

Legendlore – KS running.

Technocracy Reloaded (KS)

Cults of the Blood God – Rolling along.

Scion: Dragon (KS) – Waiting on art notes.

Masks of the Mythos (KS) – Some tweaking to art notes and hiring artists.

Scion: Demigod (KS) – Tweaking art notes, hiring artists. Splats in progress.

They Came From Beyond the Grave! (KS) – Finals coming in.

TC: Adventure! (KS) – Cover art finishing.

In Layout

Yugman’s Guide to Ghelspad

Vigil Watch

TC Aeon Terra Firma

V5 Let the Streets Run Red

Pugmire Adventure

Proofing

Trinity Aeon Jumpstart – New artist taking care of finishing missing art.

Lunars: Fangs at the Gate – Finishing Backer PDF errata.

Contagion Chronicle – Going to WW for approval this week.

Cavaliers of Mars: City of the Towered Tombs

Magic Item Decks (Scarred Lands)

Yugman’s Guide Support Decks (Scarred Lands)

Dark Eras 2 Screen and booklet

At Press

Scion Companion – Shutting down errata.

TCFBTS Heroic Land Dwellers – Prepping PoD files.

TCFBTS Screen and Booklet – Files at press.

They Came from Beneath the Sea! – Files at press.

Creature Collection 5e – PoD files uploaded. Traditional files sent to printer.

Pirates of Pugmire – Files at press. Prepping files for PoD.

Pirates of Pugmire Screen – Files at press.

Duke Rollo Aberrant Book: Swine & Cheese Party – PDf and PoD versions on sale Wednesday on DTRPG.

Pugmire Buried Bones – Gathering errata.

Changeling: The Lost 2nd Edition Dark Eras Compilation – Gathering errata.

Today’s Reason to Celebrate!

Today is feet up and dozing after the busy, busy, Virtual Con and celebrating its success!

#Onyx Path Publishing

0 notes