#i will also write stories on postcards sometimes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bettyfrommars · 1 year ago

Note

Might be too much in line with I'm on fire.. but what about classic a classic motorcycle riding drifter.. that is more than meets the eye... maybe more monster than man and that's why he drifts... idk if that's enough maybe he's drifted into small town USA and he meets reader at like a Truckstop/ Diner that's across from the one hotel in town and over days of her waiting on him (EDS) they strike something up... spicy.. if you will.. maybe he finds her delectable and she finds him mysterious & charming idk just spit ballin

The Drifter

missed connections

out on the highway

blurb 1 blurb 2

monster!drifter!Eddie x dinerWaitress!Reader

18+ONLY, smut, blood, oral (f receiving), mention of drug and alcohol addiction, mention of physical abuse by an ex, mention of PTSD, emotional trauma, 2 lost souls finding each other, a killing, monsterfuqqing, but it’s also a really sweet, fluffy story if that makes sense. wc: 4.2

A/N: I was so excited to get this ask! I had to really pull back on the length of this story because I could've kept writing it forever and will most likely bring back Eddie The Drifter again in some oneshots. I did a quick re-read, but sometimes I just need to post these before I obsess over them for too long.

(Also, when Eddie is thinking about how "damaged" they both are, that is his perception, not mine. I think they are both perfect.)

Eddie had been drifting for a while. He didn’t want to know anyone, and he didn’t want anyone to know him. He hadn't been the same since the physical and emotional trauma he’d suffered in The Upside Down. Steve took him by the arm once and told him he understood what he was going through—that they all understood—and that he wasn’t alone. Eddie knew Steve and the rest meant well, but they couldn’t understand, and he was convinced no one ever would. Trauma affects everyone differently and for Eddie, it started to turn him into his father, and that was what scared him more than anything. Dark and brooding with a short fuse, there was a beast living inside of him that had not been there before the ordeal with Vecna; or perhaps, it had just been sleeping.

He lost his temper with Dustin once, and at the time, he thought he was having a very normal reaction to the situation. It wasn’t until he recognized the fear in his younger friend’s eyes–the way he backed away from Eddie and put his hands up as if he needed to protect himself—that Eddie knew he had to go. After years of silent struggle and becoming a hermit more and more, he decided to hit the road.

He started out in his van, sleeping in it, getting odd jobs wherever he went, staying in town just long enough to make some money, and then he was in the wind again. He called Wayne from payphones and sent postcards back home to Hawkins once in a while, but not often. In his mind, they were better off without him.

The second year he was on the road, he ended up getting involved with a biker gang and doing some jobs for them that paid well but were on the wrong side of the law. Before the Upside Down, he’d been more of a lover than a fighter. Sure, he had to defend himself a few times, especially from his old man, and he never took shit from people without giving it back, but ever since he almost died, he’d acquired some type of superhuman strength. There was a transformation that happened in him now, fueled by the adrenaline of his rage, and in the past decade, he’d been paid to hurt more people than he could count. The problem was—he’d started to like it.

Eventually, he was able to trade in his van for a Harley FXS 80, and he carried most of his early possessions with him. He put the rest of what he owned in a storage unit in Oregon, and he’d planned to circle back there again one of these days to get it all when he decided to settle down—but years later, he was still on the road. He’d been using his bedroll to sleep out under the stars the past couple nights, but the clouds told him it was about to rain, and he decided he could use a shower and a real bed for the night.

Red River Junction was less than a dot on a map, a truck stop town with a place to eat, a place to sleep, and a place to pump your gas, set right plop in the middle of nowhere. You’d grown up in a town not too far down the highway, and you were still there, in the same trailer your mother left to you when she passed. You worked at both the Sundown Motel part-time, and at Margie’s Diner, and in your free time, you dreamed about leaving town and never coming back.

You heard the rumble of his motorcycle before you saw it; chrome pipes growling to a stop as the rider found a place for his bike in the lot. A motorcycle, or even an entire MC, pulling into the junction was nothing new. You were the only stop for gas and food for a good fifty miles.

You were staring for so long out the window as he dismounted and took his helmet off, that you overflowed the coffee cup you were refilling and the elderly customer scoffed at you. He had long, curly hair tied back in a ponytail and bangs that had grown out just long enough to tuck behind his ears. Black leather jacket, and leather chaps over his jeans. Your attention was immediately drawn to his jewelry: the small hoop piercing in his ear and the chunky rings across his knuckles. My Boyfriend’s Back by The Angels played softly from the jukebox while you made your way to the front to greet him. The kitchen was slammed with only Big Joe behind the grill, and Leslie was the only other waitress, but she was on a smoke break.

You fumbled the big plastic menu in your hand when he took his sunglasses off to nail you with those star-flecked eyes. “Just one for lunch?”

He tucked his sunglasses into the front of his shirt and looked around. “You still serving breakfast?”

“All day long,” you assured him. Seats at the counter were all full, so you offered him a booth, and he slid in without another word or glance in your direction, taking the menu from you with a grunt. You tried not to stare at his scars: the angry, purple one on his neck, and the deep white slash across his chin. His hands were also flecked with scar tissue from various fights, and punching through mirrors every time he hated his own reflection.

50 year old Leslie was tying her apron and chewing gum when you moved behind her to grab a cup and saucer for his coffee. “Another grumpy one,” you whispered over the sound of clinking silverware and scattered conversations.

Leslie raised her eyebrow a few times, resting her elbow on the counter. “Hell, he can get grumpy with me any day.”

Eddie didn’t say much while you waited on him, and you didn’t think he was paying any attention to you, but he saw the way you splashed a bit of vodka into your soda can behind the counter. He also caught the way you used that same liquid to toss back a couple pills you scooped out of your apron pocket just before you turned to grab some hot plates from the kitchen hatch. He didn’t judge you for it or think it was odd being that he’d spent the past ten years trying to find ways to dull his pain.

He thought you were too beautiful for this deadbeat town; too sweet, too kind. He noticed the bruise on your forearm and the vacancy in your eyes and he felt an instant kinship with you: the damaged recognizing the damaged.

When you came to clear his empty plate, he asked you if the Sundown Motel was a decent place to stay. It was the only motel for miles and he didn’t care how decent it was, he just wanted a reason to keep talking to you.

“Sure, it’s great,” you shrugged. “If you like bedbugs and carpets that look like a violent crime took place recently.”

He met your eyes, and there was a moment of levity there that lightened both of your spirits if only for that moment.

“I’m cool with bedbugs,” he brushed his tongue between his lips. “It gets lonely on the road, it’s nice to have some company.”

He told you his name was Eddie after he read yours off of your name tag, and when you came back from seating a table full of seniors who were on a bus tour to the casino, he was gone.

He left you a generous tip, though, and after hours of getting tipped in quarters and loose change, it felt good to have some solid cash in your pocket. His motorcycle was gone too, and you wondered if he’d decided to hit the road or stay the night.

You told yourself to forget about him, that he was just another drifter you’d never see again, but the evening had other plans for you.

You were supposed to have the night off from both jobs, but Susan at the front desk of the motel begged you to come down and work the check-in desk for an hour while she went to pick her kid up. You wished you could say you had some big plans, but that was absolutely not the case, and so you rolled your car up to the back lot behind the dumpsters and changed out of your orthopedic shoes and into something less drab.

You thought it would be an easy hour to space off and read a book, but ten minutes after you clocked in, two guests locked themselves out of their room. It was a two-tier motel, and as you made your way up the concrete steps with the husband and wife in question behind you, fumbling with the keys, you caught sight of Eddie a few rooms down, and your heart jumped into your throat.

He was sitting in the plastic chair in front of the door to his room, smoking a cigarette, stripped down to jeans and a wife-beater. His hair was still wet from his shower, hanging down his shoulders, showcasing the patchwork of scars that covered his flesh.

He didn’t make eye contact, but he saw you. In fact, he knew you were on your way a few minutes before that, because he heard your voice, and it made him stay and light another smoke. He flicked his ash and waited for you to let the couple into their room.

On your way back to the stairs, the soda and snack machine blocked your view, but once you rounded the corner, there he was again.

“Is your room satisfactory, sir?” You put the keys in your pocket and stood tall, pretending to act professional.

Eddie met your eyes then, staring up through his lashes, and one side of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “Disappointed I haven’t found any bedbugs.”

You coughed a laugh, swaying on your feet. “Give it time. They come out at dark.”

Eddie didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he’d also learned never to miss an opportunity with how transient his life was. His attraction to you was not purely physical, which was a rare occurrence for him.

He shifted in his seat, a silky curl of gray smoke passing from his lips. “Are you free later tonight? Can I buy you dinner?”

Suddenly shy and baffled as to why he’d have any interest, you lowered your chin and shuffled your foot.

“I-I’ve got a boyfriend,” you cringed as you said it. Tony had cheated on you and left you more times than you could count. He took off a couple days ago after he knocked you around, and you had no idea where he was, but you continued to hold onto this strange sense of loyalty for him. Perhaps it was because you were convinced he was the best you could do.

“Did the tough guy do that to your arm?” Eddie asked in a low mumble, his eyes lingering on your bruises.

You covered the marks with your other hand, reflexively. “He’s been under a lot of stress lately,” you always felt like such an idiot when you defended that loser, but you didn’t know how to stop.

“Well,” Eddie smashed the butt in the ashtray by his chair and stood up to full height. One nipple under his white tank was hard, but the other one seemed to be missing. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

You were too stupefied to move, you just stood there holding your arm, waiting for him to go back into his room.

But Eddie paused in the doorway and turned to give you one last look. “You deserve a lot better, sweetheart. If he puts his hands on you while I’m around, I’ll fucking kill him.”

—------

You thought about Eddie’s words for the rest of your shift. When it was over, you drove the ten miles back to your trailer, took a shower, and found yourself driving back to the motel, as if your will was no longer your own.

“What are you even doing?” You hissed aloud to yourself as you parked behind the Sundown in your usual spot. It was dusk now and you accepted the possibility that he’d probably invited a different woman out to dinner by then, but any amount of reasoning couldn’t stop you. You checked the scene first, looking up from the main parking lot to catch the flicker of the tv in his room to let you know he was, indeed, still up there. His motorcycle was safe in its place, too, and you realized you hadn’t even prepared what to say. You were an anxious mess, but you were also hungry for him in a way that was foreign to you.

You hadn’t known much comfort or safety in your life, but you felt those things when you were around Eddie.

After standing at his door for a good 5 minutes, you finally found the courage to knock.

Eddie opened the door while your knuckles were still on the wood. His eyes looked you over, offering a buck of his chin in appreciation. “Well, well. You are a gorgeous bedbug.”

Your cheeks burned hot at the complement. “I had some free time, so I thought I’d just check and see how you were doing, if you have everything you need.”

Eddie braced his shoulder against the door jam, giving you a squint. “So, you came to check on me while you’re off the clock? Damn, that is good service.”

You flexed your hands, forcing a laugh, trying your best not to just turn around and run away.

“Are you hungry?” Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to come in? Cause we can —”

“I’m not hungry.” You answered, bolting inside of his room when he extended his arm as an invitation, before you lost your nerve.

“Neither am I,” Eddie agreed. But, he was craving something else.

He locked the deadbolt and made sure the curtains were closed.

—-----

There were very few words left to be spoken as your lips collided with his, meeting with equal levels of urgency. You kept trying to kiss him deep and desperate while your hand palmed him through his jeans, but he held you off a bit with soft pressure. He cupped your face and caressed your cheek with his thumb while he kissed you, giving individual attention to your top lip and then the bottom one. He kissed down your neck, flicking his tongue out every so often to taste you, making you gasp—you’d never been worshiped with someone's mouth before.

Breathing heavy, he started to unbutton your shirt. “Is this okay?” He asked, wondering how far you wanted to take it.

“Yes,” you gulped. “Please.”

Once you had his shirt off, you bent down to kiss and lick his scars—it was an unspoken act of acceptance that made Eddie’s cock twitch. You weren’t used to being cared for in bed, and Eddie could tell by the way you hurried to push your jeans down and bend over so he could take you from behind.

“Not like that,” he whispered, using strong arms to lower you to the bed while he shimmied your jeans off. He got on his knees and scooped up your hips, nudging your pussy through your underwear with his nose, and then he planted kisses across the wet spot and along your inner thigh. The animal inside of him loved your scent; he wanted to bury himself in it, and he couldn’t help the growl that escaped him.

You fell back on the bed and covered your face with one hand. “Wait, I’m—not many people have done that—I’m not sure how to—”

Eddie finger pulled your underwear to one side, exposing your slippery lips for his tongue to flick. “Do you want me to stop?”

You arched back at the sensation of his mouth on you. “No, no, please don’t stop,” you urged, putting your hand on his head to gently cup his ear, the one with the silver hoop.

He moved away just long enough to pull your underwear all the way down your legs and off, maintaining eye contact with you. He didn’t rush, he took his time, and kissed his way back up your legs to the prize.

The gentle and precise way he swirled his tongue on your clit had you stammering his name with a few curses in between. As his attention to your bundle of nerves built your arousal and it spilled down your slit, he dove his mouth down a few times to taste it and drink you, shivering at the pleasure it gave him. He couldn’t help it, he had to reach down to grab his cock so he could fist it while his mouth brought you closer. The taste of your hormones in your slick had pre-cum wetting his tip already.

Tony had only gone down on you a few times, and he never really seemed to enjoy it. But Eddie was one of those who could eat a peach for hours, as they say.

“Right…there…” you hushed, startled as you felt the wave of an orgasm rise. Eddie zeroed in on that spot with just the right pressure, fluttering his tongue as he sucked. His other hand milked his cock in long strokes, taming the beast from cumming too soon, moaning warm breath against your cunt.

“Eddie!” You cried out just as the release took you and wracked your body, like a spring popping out of a tight coil, unraveling. Eddie pressed his mouth closer to lap you up, feeling your body vibrate as he held your hip in place.

He only broke the seal made by his mouth once you were too sensitive, and your limbs dangled off the bed for a minute, unable to move.

It didn’t take long for you to start coaxing him up on top of you, spreading your legs out, begging for him to be closer. He met your kiss with deep, soul-searching need, and you whined at the sensation of his tip sliding up and down your slick. But, then he hesitated, and pulled up to meet your eyes.

“Inside of me,” you begged, nodding. “I need you inside of me.”

And yes, that was what Eddie wanted too, but now there was another problem.

Eddie’s ears pricked at the sound of footsteps outside the door. He sniffed the air, trying to identify the presence. He slid off of you and stood, watching the door while he pulled his jeans up and zipped his stiff, aching cock into place behind the denim.

Shuffling up onto your elbows, you were about to speak, to ask what was wrong, but Eddie silenced you with a finger to his lips. He tossed your jeans over and motioned over his shoulder for you to put them on in the bathroom.

There was something about the whole situation, and Eddie’s sudden silence, that unnerved you, and so you scampered off the bed as quietly as you could and did as he asked.

There were no lights on in the room, except for the infomercial on the mute TV, but the bright moon illuminated the walkway outside enough for him to catch sight of someone pacing out there.

Finally, there came a heavy knock and a voice.

It was Tony, and he shouted your name. “ARE YOU IN THERE? HUH? You fucking whore!”

You buttoned your jeans and all of the blood ran from your face. Eddie turned his head to look at you. The adrenaline of pure fear pumped through your body as you froze in place.

Eddie put his hand out, motioning for you to stay right where you were, behind him.

Tony pounded on the door again. “YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME! One of my guys said he saw you go in here with some fucking dude. IF YOU’RE FUCKING SOMEONE ELSE I’LL KILL YOU, you goddamn bitch!”

By “one of his guys” Tony meant one of the other drug dealers in town, who were generally crawling all over the motel, leeching off of the clientele. Eddie looked deceptively calm as he stood at the end of the bed, breathing slow, and you walked over to grab his arm, to warn him that Tony was a crazy motherfucker, and you’d just go with him so Eddie wouldn’t get hurt.

But Eddie motioned for you to hide, so you did.

“Hold up, man,” Eddie was moving now, heading to undo the deadbolt and you cringed, pushing back as tight as you could between the wall and the bathroom door.

Once the door was unlocked, Tony stood there heaving, looking Eddie up and down. Tony was big in a stocky way, but not big like Eddie, and he enjoyed that flash of fear that lit over his adversary’s eyes at first glance. Sure, the guy had some obvious prison ink, but that didn’t mean shit to Eddie.

“Where is she?” Tony demanded, pushing in.

“Where’s who, man?” Eddie was being so casual about it, and you were trying not to scream.

Eddie shut the door and quietly locked it behind him

Tony’s eyes darted around the room, and then he spun on his heel; his eyes were pinned and doped-out. “Don’t act dumb, man. My fucking girl. Someone said they saw her come up here.”

Tony walked up to Eddie and started poking him in the chest. “Tell me where that fucking whore is before I make you my bitch.”

Nothing could have prepared you for what happened next—for the transformation and the carnage. You witnessed it all through the crack in the bathroom door as if you were watching a horror movie.

Eddie changed, in an instant; the muscles in his shoulders and arms bulged, the teeth in his mouth turned jagged and sharp, and his eyes went completely black. His massive, clawed hand wrapped around Tony’s throat, lifting him up so that his feet no longer touched the ground.

You muffle a scream with your hand, watching Tony gargle and spit, his limbs flailing.

Eddie’s lips stretched to speak around his fangs. “She’s not your girl anymore,” he growled.

Eddie strangled Tony with one hand until he lost consciousness, and then he threw him to the bed like a rag doll, pouncing on top of him. He proceeded to rip his throat open with his teeth; blood squirted on the wall and across the door where you were hiding, misting you in the face.

When he was finished, you made your way out of the bathroom.

Eddie was still a monster as he got off the bed at the sight of your approach. His clawed hands twitched at his sides, his hair dripped with blood, and his skin from nose to chest was bathed in crimson. His black eyes assessed you, waiting for you to scream or try to run—-but you didn’t.

You got close enough to touch him, to run your hand up his chest to feel the blood between your fingers, and then brush some bloody hair behind his ear.

Eddie frowned, wondering why you weren’t afraid of him, wondering why your desire for him didn’t seem to falter.

You parted your lips, watching the red drool drip from his teeth. “Are you okay?"

Your mouths found each other again, tasting the tang of your own blood as one of his fangs pricked your lip. You each did frantic work of unzipping each other’s jeans as Eddie scooped you up to lay you on the floor.

While the last few pumps of blood shot from Tony’s artery, monster Eddie spilled his seed inside of you, throwing his head back with a howl.

Now, there really had been a crime committed in that room, and Eddie would need to be on the road again, gone by daylight.

Maybe this time, you’d be going with him.

#Eddie Munson #Eddie munson fic #Eddie munson monster #monster!Eddie #drifter!Eddie #requests #biker!Eddie #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x reader #diner au #truckstop au

496 notes · View notes

kareluna8 · 3 months ago

Text

I have a Gale in the closet

Well, here you have my baptism in the world of words (WoW?), after years without writing. It is a short story, just over 1000 words. I hope you like it 😊

(The Spanish version is also available. If anyone is interested in the 'original version', please write to me.)

Thanks a lot @senualothbrok for being my wonderful beta reader.

I have a Gale in the closet.

The door is closed, but I can still feel his now-empty puppy-dog eyes, begging me not to turn him off. I can't see him, but I know he's there every time I walk past the door. I get the feeling that the door is going to open at any moment and his hand is going to pop out anxiously, asking for help, like when he came out of that portal at the beginning of the game. But his hand doesn't come out. He doesn't make a sound. There he is, inert, dull, gathering dust.

“What are you doing with that old thing in there?” my friends ask me. “Throw it away, it's taking up space. The new models out there do everything! Mine even gives me a Thai massage every night. You should try it.”

Gale2024 has long since gone out of fashion. The poor boy had accumulated quite a few bugs during all these years of service. There were hardly any technical premises with parts to repair him. He showed the first symptoms some time ago: he stopped making croquettes. The béchamel recipe program was corrupted and there was no way to restore it. I didn't think it was important. I could live without croquettes and if not, I could always get the frozen ones from the supermarket. But he was still as tender and affectionate as the first day he saw me and recognised me as his TAV (True Amorous Vessel). Many years had passed since that moment.

I had already listened to his lectures on arcane magic a thousand times. I could recite them from memory, word for word, if I put my mind to it. He had always been such a chatterbox. There wasn't a moment when he didn't bring up a topic of conversation. It was a pity when he could no longer keep up to date with the news, with all the literature, science and technology websites he liked. He would always find some interesting news that he would enthusiastically explain to me, down to the last detail. That was a hard blow for him.

But he didn't give up. He began to pick up the few paper books he could find, and with an archaic OCR programme he managed to read what was written, pitifully. It wasn't perfect, and noticeably slower than downloading GBytes of information directly from the net, but it was something. And it kept him going. Watching him turn the pages of those antique tomes was like looking at a vintage postcard, not without a certain charm. Afterwards, he would share those old stories with me. He looked like a granny. He even put his glasses on the tip of his nose and imitated the worn-out voice of an octogenarian to liven up the peroration. He used to make me laugh.

Now he doesn't say a word.

He was always so attentive and kind. Many people soon got bored of Gales and started to provoke them or even ‘mistreat’ them, as much as you can mistreat a being who feels no pain. Or at least that's what they said. Although I know he did feel it. Many Gales ended up mangled and mutilated in the most varied ways. All to see how far he could take it, what his limit was, what he could do or endure for his TAV. Human beings do not deserve such goodness.

In my defense, I will say that I gave mine a kind ‘life’. Or at least that's what I like to believe. Of course, he also had to put up with my grumpy days and my blue days. But he was always there for me. Patient. Supportive. Listening. Sometimes you don't need much more.

On the other hand, there were many good moments of joy and laughter. We enjoyed the time together as if each day was a new opportunity to celebrate life (or almost ‘life’). There were times when I doubted whether he was really a human person. He was certainly much more ‘human’ than many humans I know. But reality always comes through, like the sword of Damocles, swinging over our head, threatening. Little by little his technology was becoming outdated. New models appeared, with better finishes, with more features. Until they discontinued Gale and stopped updating him.

I didn't care. I didn't need more features. He was already everything to me and more than I could ever hope for. What I needed. What I wanted.

One day, coming home from work, I found him looking out of the window, pensive. He was watching the people passing by, the new models chatting with their humans. He was so absorbed that he didn't hear me approaching. Noticing my presence, hugging him from behind, he turned to me. I had never noticed that expression on him before.

'Are you going to trade me for one of those? I don't see Gales on the streets anymore,’ he said, his eyes glazed over.

'Never.'

I hugged him tight. Well, as tightly as you can hug an android. He responded with his gentle embrace, full of love and fear. He was trembling. I had never seen him like that.

***

My psychologist says it's good for me to write these things down, that it's not good to depend so much on machines, that I have to relate more to humans. The truth is that I miss him a lot.

The day of the disconnection was horrible. Already his deterioration was flagrant. His mobility was erratic, his knees failed him often, and he was falling and hurting himself more. His speech was defective. He could barely focus on the letters in books, making it impossible for him to read. The only thing that remained intact was his unconditional love for me, for his TAV.

I took him to several technical services and the only option they offered me was a complete formatting of his memory together with the replacement of the personality module. That was to alleviate the software problems. The hardware ones... that was another story.

'Am I going to die?'

'Androids don't die, my love.´ I said, trying to comfort him with a bitter smile.

Everyone had told me what to do. I knew what I had to do. It was so heartbreaking to see him like that. How he would fall, how he would struggle to get to his feet, how he would crawl. How he would try to chat and lose the thread of the conversation.

There was a little red button on the back of his neck hidden in the root of his hair. The beginning and the end. Something so simple, but so painful at the same time....

I gave him a last hug and, in tears, my hand slid to the back of his neck. At that moment, he looked at me and I saw in his eyes that he was aware of what was about to happen. He tried a plea or a thank you, or both, as the energy left him, leaving that body immobile, rigid, inert.

***

I have a Gale in the closet. Now I'm in it too. A little red button on the back of his neck makes his eyes come alive again. I hug him, and he hugs me back with his sweet embrace. “You are all I could ever want in this life. I want nothing more. I need nothing more. I'll be here with you forever.”

#my writing #gale dekarios #gale au #baldurs gate gale #alternate universe #gale bg3 #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #wizard of waterdeep

35 notes · View notes

idontwanttospoiltheparty · 1 month ago

Text

A letter to John's cousin Leila, dated January 1979

Thank you to @javelinbk's post for bringin my attention to this letter :)

I'm sure I made some mistakes in transcribing this, so if someone can figure out the bits I'm unsure about I'd be happy to edit them in! (EDIT: thank you to @ohblahdo and @the-bluebird-you-need for much needed corrections!) I also tried to keep it as close to his actual writing as possible but sometimes I can't tell if he misspellt things or if it's just hard to read. I bolded what he underlined.

FULL TRANSCRIPTION:

Dear Leila,

it's snowing;– outside the window in Central Park – I can see the Plaza Hotel across the trees – it's beautiful. I'm exhausted (still) after Xmas/New Year – they even have a thing called Thanksgiving a few weeks before Xmas (by the way I'm a Pagan – a zen Pagan to be precise – but that's another story!)

It looks a[s] if we got our wires crossed on the 'newspaper story' – ie. Mimi (who else!) told me you were upset about something I said (supposed to have said) in the newspaper about myself – anyway enough of that – it's obviously nothing – so let's forget that which we can't remember anyway!

I don't know why you were surprised by what I wrote you about your 'Russian Affair' – i thought I'd make it clear to you that the words were from a TAROT CARD READER – ie: I told him your story/birthdate etc – the words came through him – I just wrote down his 'prediction' (whatever) re:your situation! See? – so don't shoot the bearer of news!!

Sean is a beautiful wise 3 yr old (born Oct 9! – in case you didn't know) – what a handfull [sic] one is – I don't know how you manage all yours – well done! The fact that they have all their limbs + faculties is an accomplishment in itself!

Sounds like a good idea about giving yourself some time to 'play'! – 8 days doesn't sound like you're turned Gypsy 'tho'! – by the way –

– You better give us a fair warning if you're seeing [?] about 'popping over' here – ie: make sure I'm here – eg. tomorrow we leave (Yoko + me) for ..... Cairo, Egypt (ring a bell?!) – via Geneva – on a business trip – for about a week – I wish we could dig up some of your fathers relatives – do you know anyone there? an Uncle/Aunt?

– I'll send you a postcard –

I'm 40 next year – I hope life begins – ie. I'd like a little less 'trouble' and more – what? I don't know – I sent Stan [Leila's brother, John's cousin] a Xmas card (up north) – I don't know what it is with him – is he resentfull [sic] of me because I'm not dumb or what?! I guess he was always jealous of you – anyway I still think it's pretty mean of him – I heard a lot from him when he was piss poor – I shouldn't be surprised after all the bastards I've met these last 40 yrs or so

– if your [sic] ever in NRH Wales – look [?] up Julian – he's in Ruthin School – poor sod –

I though of you a lot this Xmas – the cottage – the record player – 'good ship lollipop' – 'I found my love on TREASURE ISLAND' – the OWL(s)? the shadows on the ceiling as the cars went by at night – putting up the paper-chains – even Norman turns into Santa Klaus in my memory! (muttering in the chair by the fire)

enough of that too!

Lots of love, to all of you, I'm sure we'll see each other v. soon – somewhere or other – I'm almost scared to go to England, 'cos I know it would be the last time I saw Mimi – I'm a coward about goodbyes...

Have a good year Keep healthy John 8^) xxx

Love from Sean & Yoko xx

#letters #fiona.docx #john #79 #leila #ref #tw g slur

20 notes · View notes

itsuki-minamy · 5 months ago

Text

"K – LETTER STORY"

BLUE: "FUSHIMI AND THE REPORT"

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

Saruhiko Fushimi sometimes referred to himself, somewhat self-deprecatingly, as a middle manager.

He regards Reisi Munakata and Seri Awashima as his superiors, coordinates the special forces members on the scene, and sometimes acts as a supporter of both parties.

Both Munakata and Awashima had some quirks, but they were basically competent and understanding superiors, and the members of "Scepter 4" diligently and faithfully followed young Fushimi's orders.

It is inevitable that he will work in that position.

Fushimi knew each member of "Scepter 4" well, including their characteristics, temperament, and current health status, to the point of being able to laugh bitterly.

During the "Homura" era and before, he did not like to be in groups, but now, although he still clicks his tongue and has an apathetic demeanor, he has become an excellent facilitator.

From Fushimi's perspective, human resource management was similar to a card game. Choosing which people to assign which jobs is very similar to choosing which cards to play in a card game.

Fushimi was able to keep track of each employee's employment status using a highly confidential application that he had developed independently and which was now officially adopted throughout "Scepter 4" with Munakata's approval.

Of course, the application can be opened on PDA, etc., but Fushimi, who wanted to check multiple windows, often checked various documents on his PC when he returned to his base.

He also today ably read the reports presented by each member of the special working group.

A certain person has posted information about Strain sightings during the search, along with an accompanying photo. The person who came to court to obtain an order had submitted a report on the current situation.

Although they all differ in degree, their points are clear and their sentences easy to read.

Basically, although he rarely said it, Fushimi highly valued each member of "Scepter 4". He did not mention Akiyama, Benzai and Kamo, but Enomoto, Fuse, Goto and Hidaka were considered to have enough strength as they had unique skills and perspectives, and were patient and dedicated to their work.

In the game, there is only one person, Andy Domyoji, besides Joker or Wild Card. That day he also received a call from Domyoji.

[There's a weird guy, so I'm going to chase him.]

Fushimi let out a groan.

When he looked at the time, it was midnight. That was about half a day ago. For some reason, the message had been uploaded to the expense request folder, so it took Fushimi a while to review it.

Since then, a series of short messages have continued.

[It's really dangerous, so I'm going on a business trip to the north.]

He had no idea what he was talking about.

Fushimi made a tsukkomi that is uncharacteristic of him.

"Public servants should not act on his intuition!"

He slammed his fist on the desk.

"At least write down where you're going! No, first of all, don't go on a business trip without asking your boss for permission! That's too free! Also, don't use emojis in report emails!"

Domyoji always put a bright spot at the end of his sentences. He tried to contact him, but was dissuaded by the following text message:

[Oh, no. If I ever meet the culprit, I'm afraid I'll break my tongue. I will send you a separate report.]

At that moment, Awashima appeared, patted Fushimi on the shoulder as if to show her respect, and placed a postcard on the table in front of him.

"It just arrived via express delivery."

After saying that, she left.

It shows a man tied with a rope in the snow and Andy Domyoji next to him with a dazzling smile on his face and making a peace sign.

On the back of the postcard, the details of what happened are spelled out in small print.

Fushimi couldn't contain himself and screamed.

"Don't send me a postcard with the report about the arrest of the criminal!"

By the way, the captured man was Strain, who had committed a serious crime that "Scepter 4" had been chasing for the past six months. That's why Andy Domyoji is a wild card.

#k #k project #k stories #reisi munakata #scepter 4 #fushimi saruhiko #seri awashima #domyoji andy

26 notes · View notes

peipurr · 7 months ago

Text

sometimes I love to think of how the Generalfeldmarschalls are just .... human. beneath their military personality and after all the atrocities they may have done. and no, this isn't me justifying the n4zi's horrendous crimes, but sometimes I just think that people who wrote books abt them need to see that side of them too, like okay their military was great but c'mon, let's not forget about their interesting personality!

and some of the facts I often think are:

that my precious baby Model was a member of literary society during his youth excelled in Greek, Latin, and History (and some also say in Poetry — I wonder if he ever wrote a poem).

Von Leeb loved to collect stamps!!! and very fond of his family's chronicles.

There is a story in the Keitel Family that Wilhelm almost went to tears when he gave up his hope to become a farmer in order to stay in the military to support his family.

Von Reichenau was fond of German literature and classical music. He brought to the battlefield in the Polish campaign a small volume of a selection of German poetry.

Von Rundstedt loved detective thriller books but was shy to show it. He regularly read the novel in an open drawer which could be quickly closed whenever anyone came in to see him.

Rommel and Schörner's rivalry. David Irving wrote: "One of Schoerner’s frequent pranks was to plant silver cutlery from the mess in the pockets of guests at formal banquets and watch their embarrassment when the spoons and forks fell out. Rommel, when it happened to him, was not amused. Their rivalry persisted to the end. It was generally friendly, and once, after Schoerner had made a name for ruthlessness bordering on brutality in the Crimea ... Rommel solicitously took him aside and candidly urged him to try a different method."

Von Bock seemed to be very fond of boys —not in the negative way. In Sudetenland, he once "took his twelve-year-old son, dressed in a sailor suit, along in his car "to impress on his son the beauty and exhilaration that lie in soldiering."". In 1940, he sent a postcard to the same son, Dinnies von der Osten. Also, one of Fedi's last wishes to von Manstein was that he should take care of the 16 year old Dinnies after his death, which Erli did until his capitulation. Not that it matters, but Dinnies was not his biological son. It was his second wife's son from her previous marriage. I think it shows how much Fedi cared for the boy. Then, his diary entry on 8/9/39: " ... I was able to present the first Iron Cross of this war to a Private First Class of the 94th Regiment who acted bravely at Graudenz. The young man beamed; too beautiful these lads!". He's just ... adores his troops (and youngest stepson) so much :')

Wolfram von Richthofen always found studying language to be painful. His foreign language grades were either a borderline pass or an “unsatisfactory.” And "he was a somewhat indulgent father. When he returned home during the war years, Jutta would relate some minor misbehavior of the boys and ask that Wolfram, as their father, discipline them. Wolfram’s reply was usually something on the lines of “boys will be boys” and “they’re good kids—let’s give them a break.”". Then, Wolfram once described the Luftwaffe as “the army’s whore”.

Von Manstein's writing is something else. Even if he did lie about the breakout order in Stalingrad, I still enjoyed his memoirs, to be honest. His words are beautiful, the way he tells a story and the allusions — I got the impression that he was a highly educated person by reading Lost Victories.

Also, von Küchler and Busch's rivalry (which was bitter, unlike the Rommel-Schörner's one), which unfortunately I couldn't remember which book explained that and couldn't find it yet :(

Sources:

Hitler's Generals - Edited by Correlli Barnett

Generalfeldmarschall Wilhelm Ritter von Leeb: Tagebuchaufzeichnungen und Lagebeurteilungen aus zwei Weltkriegen

The Memoirs of Field-Marshal Wilhelm Keitel: Chief of the German High Command, 1938-1945 - Edited by Walter Görlitz

Same as 1

Lost Victories by Erich von Manstein

The Trail of The Fox by David Irving

Generalfeldmarschall Fedor von Bock: The War Diary, 1939-1945 || Manstein: Hitler's Greatest General by Melvin Mungo || World War: The Three Vons (Time Magazine, August 18th, 1941

Wolfram von Richthofen Master of The German Air War by James Corum || Stopped at Stalingrad: the Luftwaffe and Hitler's Defeat in The East, 1942-1943 by Prof. Joel Hayward

#don't judge me okay?#this is what happened when you majoring englit but also loves ww2 history #and how fortunate that I love studying about the German side — people will think I support their ideology!#spoiler alert: i don't #yeah nvm #txt dari ro #generalfeldmarschall #heer #3rd reich #ww2

19 notes · View notes

contemplatingoutlander · 11 months ago

Text

Our true feelings about race and identity are revealed in six words

This is a poignant article about a project that Michele Norris started that tapped into people's thoughts about race in a profound way--using only six words. This is a gift🎁link, so anyone can read the full interactive article, even if they don't subscribe to The Washington Post. Below are some excerpts from the article:

I have always cringed when the accusations fly about someone allegedly “playing the race card.” It’s usually a proxy for “You’re making me uncomfortable, so please stop talking.” Or a diversionary tactic used to avoid having to speak about race with any kind of precision or specificity. A shorthand for “Just shut up.” And so, in 2010, I flipped the script, turning that accusatory phrase into a prompt to spark conversation. I printed 200 black postcards at my local FedEx Kinko’s on upper Wisconsin Avenue asking people to condense their thoughts on race or cultural identity into one sentence of six words. The front of the cards simply read:

Race. Your thoughts. 6 words. Please send.

I left the cards everywhere I traveled: in bookstores, in restaurants, at the information kiosks in airports, on the writing desks at all my hotels. Sometimes I snuck them inside airline in-flight magazines or left them at the sugar station at Starbucks. I hoped a few of those postcards would come back, thinking it would be worth the trouble if even a dozen people responded. Much to my surprise, strangers who stumbled on the cards would follow the instructions and use postage stamps to mail their six-word stories back to me in D.C. Since my parents were both postal workers, this gave me an extra thrill. Here I was, doing my part to support the Postal Service. Who says snail mail is dead? Half a dozen cards arrived within a week, then 12, then 20. Over time, that trickle became a tide. I have received more than 500,000 of these stories — and more arrive every day, though the vast majority of submissions now arrive through a website portal online. They have come from all 50 states and more than 100 countries. Though limited to six words, the stories are often shocking in their candor and intimacy. They reveal fear, disappointment, regret and resentment. Some are kissed by grace or triumph. A surprising number arrive in the form of a question, which suggests that many people hunger not just for answers but for permission to speak their truths. It was amazing what people could pack into such a small package:

Reason I ended a sweet relationship

Too Black for Black men’s love

Urban living has made me racist

Took 21 years to be Latina

Was considered White until after 9/11

Gay, but at least I’m White

I’m only Asian when it’s convenient

To keep the conversation going, I created a complementary website for the Race Card Project, where people could submit their six-word stories online. Over time we added two words to the submission form: “Anything else?” That changed everything. People sent in poems, essays, memos and historical documents to explain why they chose their six words. The archive came alive. It became an international forum where people could share their own stories but also learn much about life, as if it were lived by someone else.

I highly recommend reading the entire article, using the above gift link. As an olive-skinned Italian American, with curly hair, I have often felt like I am a walking Rorschach test for race. Even though I'm classified as "white" in the U.S., I've had people ask me if I'm a Latina, a Native American, Black, Egyptian, Jewish, and even a South Pacific Islander. Given my history, here are my six words on race.

A book is not it's cover.

I welcome people adding to this post their own 6 words on race.

#race #six words #feelings about race and identity #martin luther king day #michele norris #the washington post #gift link

39 notes · View notes

crepesuzette2023 · 8 months ago

Note

I know you get a TON of asks for fic recs, so no need to answer right away if you need a breather!

Your “overall favorites” post introduced me to the stunning Whatever Fate Decrees by @dailyhowl, and I’ve been swooning in its afterglow for days. I’m looking for other mclennon fics with the off-the-charts longing that I crave, a la stonedlennon and paisana. Intensely romantic, drawn-out pining? Inject it directly into my veins plz

Push up your sleeve while I prepare my syringe!

I love all of paisana's (@revollver) work, but in particular how she can write both John (the way things sometimes are) and Paul (head first, fearless) pining...to perfection.

And yes, all of @stonedlennon's work is first rate, but my favorite 'drawn out romantic pining one' probably remains now and then (there's a fool such as i).

Also intense and filled with longing: The I Still Miss Someone Series by RosalindBeatrice.

And, of course, the stories by orphanbeat:

knowing that the sun is there probably broke me a little with the amounts of mutual pining it contains. (AU. Brian dies, homosexuality becomes 'legal', John comes out...what does this mean for his relationship with Paul?)

The same is true of what is living is burning: Paul's name is listed in The Homosexual's Handbook, and he questions himself and his relationship with John...who undergoes therapy. Brian lives! <3 So much sweet pining...

By @dailyhowl: Sleeping Sand, Morning Moon (AU): London playwright Paul spends time in Scotland to grieve and recover from a broken relationship, and meets village eccentric John. Pining beyond what is humanly possible ensues—but it's worth it.

You're a Dream Lover (@dailyhowl). Starting in '67, John and Paul meet in their dreams. It's never enough...

Moving further back in time:

Paul waits for John to find him again after the first Hamburg residency (On the Way to Work, by roundthatcorner).

And, of course: Lifting Latches/Sending Postcards (thinkpink20). Young Paul is pining for John.

I hope there's something there to fulfill your longing!

#asks #fic recs #pining fic recs #mclennon #mclennon fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #beatles fanfiction

28 notes · View notes

jujumin-translates · 4 months ago

Text

[A3!] Event | A Postman Delivering Your Feelings | Episode 4

Misumi: (We all get letters from our fans, so we all have connections to letters, but… Who from Autumn Troupe would be good…?)

Misumi: Hm~m…

*Door opens*

Sakyo: Ikaruga? What are you groaning about?

Misumi: Ah, Sakyo!

Misumi: I’m scouting people for the post office event, but I don’t have anyone from Autumn Troupe yet…

Misumi: I was just trying to figure out who from Autumn Troupe to ask to do it~.

Sakyo: Someone from Autumn Troupe, huh… I think Hyodo and Nanao both said they already had plans.

Sakyo: …Then I guess I’ll do it.

Misumi: Huh, you’ll do it, Sakyo!?

Sakyo: I didn’t have a cell phone as a kid, so I used to write things like letters and New Year’s cards.

Sakyo: Even now, I sometimes add brief comments when I enter sweepstakes, since it helps me with fan interactions.

Misumi: I see! Ehehe, I’m glad you told me that, Sakyo~.

Misumi: Then let’s do our best with the event performance!

Sakyo: Damn right.

Misumi: Good, that’s three people scouted out! Lemme tell Director-san~.

LIME

△△△: Director-san! I’ve decided on the people who will do the Happy Letter event!

△△△: It’s Guy and Tsuzuru and Sakyo △△△

Izumi: Thanks! Let’s all get together sometime tomorrow then.

△△△: ‘Kaaay! I’ll be sure to tell everyone.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Izumi: Misumi-kun, Masumi-kun, Yuki-kun, Tasuku-san, and then Guy-san, Tsuzuru-kun, and Sakyo-san. You guys are the seven members participating in the event.

Izumi: Except for the first few, the members were decided on by Misumi-kun on my behalf this time.

Izumi: Thanks, Misumi-kun!

Misumi: You’re welcome~.

Izumi: Once again, thanks for taking this on, you guys!

Guy: Yes, I will do my best to make this a good event.

Misumi: Let’s all do our best to make this event a success!

Izumi: Yeah, exactly. Alright, here are the details of the event.

Izumi: As I think I’ve told you before, in addition to performing on stage on the day of the event, you’ll also be helping with serving customers.

Izumi: There will be a capsule toy corner, a corner selling stationery, postcards, and stamps, and a letter-writing booth.

Izumi: For any information about the contents of the performance, you can talk to Tsuzuru-kun.

Tsuzuru: I told Director about it earlier, but I’ve actually already started thinking about the script.

Tsuzuru: Now that the plot is somewhat decided on, I’ll give you a rough summary of it and what I’ve got in mind for the casting.

Tsuzuru: The setting is a near-future city where technology is advancing. The young people living in the city have rarely used post offices.

Tsuzuru: And the protagonist is a new postal worker who doesn’t really know what a “letter” is.

Masumi: So even though they hardly know anything about letters, they’re a postal worker.

Tsuzuru: Yeah, so then the new delivery person is doing his job properly while being scolded by a senior delivery person every day…

Tsuzuru: But then when the protagonist delivers a letter written by an older brother to his younger brother, he realizes that there are some feelings that can only be expressed in a letter…

Tsuzuru: And that each letter is written with the recipient in mind and the overall importance of letters.

Sakyo: I see, sounds interesting.

Yuki: And it fits the theme of “To Your Loved Ones…” too.

Tasuku: Yeah, it does. I’m curious about the details of the story and I’m looking forward to acting it out too.

Tsuzuru: Thank you so much.

Tsuzuru: For the casting, I’m thinking Ikaruga-san should be Letra, the protagonist rookie delivery person, and Masumi as Riffle, the other rookie delivery person…

Tsuzuru: And then Yuki as the senior delivery person Stamp, and for the veteran delivery people, Envelope and Tiga, Furuichi-san and Takato-san…

Tsuzuru: Guy-san as Carta, the postmaster, and I’m thinking I’ll be Lease, the older brother sending the letter.

Tsuzuru: I’ll share the script with all of you when I’m finished with it.

Yuki: Near-future postal workers, huh? Am I allowed to start talking costumes yet?

Tsuzuru: Yeah, sure thing. Let’s continue the meeting after this.

Yuki: Yeah, let’s do that.

Izumi: Alright, then I guess everyone aside from Tsuzuru-kun and Yuki-kun is dismissed for the day.

Izumi: Once the script is done, let’s discuss rehearsals and role studies again.

Troupe Members: Yeah!

[ ⇠ Previous Part ] • [ Next Part ⇢ ]

#a3!#a3! translation #misumi ikaruga #sakyo furuichi #tsuzuru minagi #yuki rurikawa #masumi usui #guy #tasuku takato #// as per usual idrk on the play character names but whatever #tsuzuru minagi’s out here coming up with whatever the hell he wants so i get to romanize it however i want

14 notes · View notes

gustavgiles · 11 months ago

Text

Here's a little Vikdecai fic that I hope you enjoy! It's a Viktor-focused story that I wrote 'cus I wanted to see them make up and kiss. Planning a Mordecai-focused followup that may or may not be spicy!

Some Interesting Viktor Facts/Theories that got into my brain doing a Viktor-focused read of the comic while writing this:

Lackadaisy Anodyne provides a wealth of information about Viktor's family:

He gets letters from his daughter, but *only* his daughter, not from his wife. My read on this is that his wife broke things off with him, rather than the other way around (like Viktor telling them to leave because he wanted them safe or something); that seems like the more likely situation if she's no-contact with Viktor.

His daughter sends him 1-2 letters a year; assuming that she started writing him when he split up with his wife, then that places the breakup at just before 1921 or 1922, depending on what year you think the half-hidden postcard is from.

The Palmer Raid precipitating the riot where Viktor lost his eye, then was arrested and bailed out by Atlas happened January 1920, which about lines up with the time he split up with his wife. I think Viktor going to prison and falling in with Atlas was the inciting incident for Viktor's wife leaving him; my headcanon is she didn't feel like he was able to provide for his family anymore, and was dragging them into a dangerous criminal element.

VIKTOR HAS A CONFIRMED THIRD UNKNOWN PERSON IN HIS PAST THAT I NEVER SEE ANYBODY TALK ABOUT! Alena (his daughter)'s 1926 letter to him reads: "Dear Father, Hello! This is my photo from the start of the school year. I wear my hair much shorter now, and so I wanted to show you. I can't believe it's already the holiday season! Will you write back? You don't have to write in English if you don't like to. I can ask Mama or Tala to translate. Merry Christmas, Alena" WHO THE HELL IS TALA?? Did Viktor's wife re-marry? Did Viktor emigrate with someone else? Is it just some random person in the Slovak community that Alena knows? QUESTIONS. (also this implies that Alena doesn't speak Slovak. I wonder if that hurts Viktor a little.)

Viktor HASN'T OPENED ANY OF ALENA'S LETTERS UNTIL NOW. Why? Does it hurt too much? Can he not find the time? It can't be that he doesn't care about his daughter because he saves the picture of her. STOP PUSHING PEOPLE AWAY VIKTOR, LET OTHER PEOPLE MAKE YOU HAPPY

Viktor's wearing what appeared to be Allied gear in Lackadaisy Scrapbook. Slovakians would have been part of the Central Powers, so it seems that Viktor emigrated (with his wife?) to America far before the events of Lackadaisy, and went to war against his own country. He probably had a more difficult time in the war than most people.

Viktor's birthday is Apr. 16, also from Lackadaisy Scrapbook. Maybe some day in the future Mordecai will look up his birthday via his arrest records and make him a little cake???

Tracey describes younger Viktor as "robust and amorous" in an old Q&A which certainly does not describe the current Viktor. He must've been happy and carefree at some point :(.

Tracey also talks a little about how she sees Viktor in another Q&A: "sometimes, drawing snarly Viktor expressions is my favorite thing because I’m thinking of Viktor’s superficially powerful, animal anger and how it only ever ricochets back, making him smaller by increments…" Which is a description that just really resonates with me. He wasn't *always* this sad and angry and lonely, the world's just chipped away at him over the years until he's a raw bundle of nerves. CAN YOU TELL I'M OBSESSED WITH VIKTOR I CAN FIX HIM

#vikdecai #viktor vasko #lackadaisy

29 notes · View notes

kybercvnt · 2 years ago

Text

A Gift Worth A Thousand Words

Pairing – Cassian Andor x Reader

Summary – Cassian gives you a gift

Word Count – 885

A/N – This came to me in a dream lol

As much as Cassian wanted to stay in Ferrix and look after Maarva, there was always something about travelling the galaxy that appealed to him. He swears that he only does it out of necessity- to find his sister or to collect a sweetener for Maarv’s kaf that she can’t get locally, he even asks her for explicit consent to leave her for a short time despite her always waving him off and telling him he can do what he likes.

Although he deems these trips ‘necessary,’ sometimes he returns with a small trinket or some kind that he manages to pick up when he can on some worlds. These gifts were always for you. Cassian knew how much you wanted to see the galaxy, but being tied down with work on Ferrix meant that travelling was out of the range of possibility, so Cassian made it his goal to bring the galaxy to you.

You appreciated all the tiny figurines, postcards, and other touristy items he brought to you, but you anticipated his return more than any kind of knick-knack he gave you. Along with Cassian and whatever gadget he found, he brought stories with him to enthusiastically tell you and share every excruciating detail of the landscape so you could imagine it like you were there with him.

At the end of his tales, he would always look at you with that burning question, you could see it in his eyes, ‘come with me,’ but he knew the answer. He made the mistake of asking that one time and you had to disappoint him by saying that you would love to, but realistically it wouldn’t happen. Money was one thing, but Cassian made sure to let you know that that kind of thing wouldn’t be a problem with him, but there was also time- time that you truly couldn’t afford.

You heard a familiar knock at your door late one evening, one with enough force that it was distinctive to the person. When the doors whirred open to reveal your old friend, you both exchanged warming smiles with one another. Cassian invited himself inside when he stepped forward to wrap his arms around you, his jacket crinkling under your touch.

“It’s good to see you, Cass,” you greeted into his shoulder.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” Cassian chuffed.

“You never do,” you smiled at him. Quickly, he pulled a small box from the inside of his jacket, handing the small object to you. “What did you bring me this time?” You queried but offered him no time to answer before you pulled the lid up from its hinge.

Inside was a small wooden disc with a string neatly coiled behind it. It was engraved with a sun protruding from a horizon, its rays beaming to the edge of the ring that encapsulated the carving. Around the very edge of the disc was an inscription of a language that you were unfamiliar with.

Cassian could see your brows furrow when you scanned the words. “Hapan,” he said. You looked up at him with even more confusion. “The writing is in Hapan. I went to Hapes,” he clarified.

“What made you want to go there?” You asked. He shrugged.

“I had something to do there. Also, I heard the sight-seeing is great there,” he explained.

“So, what does it say?”

For a moment, he paused, then spoke with the warmest and softest voice, “dawn brings light, dawn brings change, dawn brings hope.” He kept his vision locked to your eyes, reading whatever sign you could give him.

The wood of the pendant was smooth when you traced over the inscriptions with a finger. Whoever made it made it with care as there wasn’t a splinter or split in sight. You looked back up to see Cassian’s gaze staring you down with adornment. The same look he gave you every time he came back from adventuring to give you something. This time, however, the gift was even more sentimental than it normally was.

“Cassian,” you breathed. His hand found its way to your cheek, his thumb gently stroking over your skin.

“Come with me,” he said like he always says. Once more you had to disappoint the beautiful man and send him back into the unknowns of the galaxy where one day he might never return.

“Cassian, I can’t–”

“You don’t have to worry about credits. I have enough for the both of us for a while.”

“My job–”

“–Can do without you. I know how much you want to see other planets, you can do that with me– find your own souvenirs,” he said with sincerity. It wasn’t like he wasn’t sincere with the other hundred times he’s asked, but this time he had genuinely set his next destination on you.

He had taken your hesitation as an answer and closed in on the gap between your two bodies and pressed a warm kiss on your lips. Whatever words you had trouble forming before, he now helped you.

“I’ll come with you, Cass, I love you,” you said, cloaking his shoulders with your arms in a hug. You felt his hands climb up your back in return.

“I love you too,” he breathed into your hair, melting into your warm embrace.

#cassian andor x reader #cassian andor x you #cassian andor x y/n #cassian x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian x you #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars x y/n #diego luna x reader #star wars fanfiction #cassian andor fanfiction #cassian andor fluff #fluff #my fics

187 notes · View notes

not-poignant · 1 year ago

Text

Merch Tier Revived!

As of this month, I've officially revived the Vexteria tier on Patreon and Ream as a Merch tier :D

This is the one you're looking for:

Memberships at Ream

Memberships at Patreon

I've been thinking about it for like a year and I've finally figured out a way to do it without breaking my brain (or the bank) and handling overseas postage.

While there are other bonuses in this tier, I've finally figured out how to get around overwhelming postage costs with twice-yearly drops of merch to those who subscribe for 4 consecutive months in the Evan & Vexteria tier within that period.

This is what shipped out to followers in the second half of 2023!

x 2 notebooks (lined) + postcards (with recycled paper envelopes) + vinyl stickers + a signed personalised individual letter. In this first instance, I am also the artist of this merch.

Here's me preparing everything :D

Each merch shipment will be different items and different themes - sometimes fanart, sometimes quotes, or focuses on different stories. The items can individually change too. It might be journals, more varied stickers, other forms of stationary, enamel pins, and more.

What do you get in this tier?

In this tier you get access to everything. All the early access, the merch, you get credits in all future books (which, with publishing hopefully kicking off in 2024 means seeing your name in print a fair bit!), and see any other extras I choose to share.

Why 4 consecutive months to be eligible for that 6 month drop?

To cover overseas shipping costs, which start at $20, and to also cover the raw cost of the merchandise, and also still be able to make an income off Patreon or Ream in this tier.

I like the look of an older merch bundle, can I get that instead?

Only if there's stock left over for that! And you can't get both at the same time, so if I can make a bundle based off past merchandise for you, it will be in lieu of the current bundle.

How is it shipped? How long does it take?

It's all shipped super safely. Before I worked as a writer, I worked as an artist selling fragile traditional art pieces. I've shipped over 500 worldwide. Your merch comes in a water resistant plastic sleeve that is sealed and very durable, and that goes into a thick envelope that has bubble wrap incorporated into it to make sure everything arrives safe and sound, even in inclement weather.

Because I'm shipping from Australia, items can take 2-6 weeks to arrive.

Could you ever send merch more often?

Not at the current price/s of this tier! Many overseas / non-US writers don't actually offer merch drops like this at all, and offer digital items, or only do Print-on-Demand which means nothing can be as personalised as writing you a letter of gratitude and celebration of your awesomeness.

Doing it this way means I can put a personal touch in there, and bundle everything, and know that everything's shipping safely with materials I really trust. :) It also means I can inspect every single item personally to make sure it's up to my standards before it goes to you!

Where do I check this out?

Go have a look at the memberships over on Patreon and Ream! You want the Vexteria & Evan tier. :D

Memberships at Ream (You can join for free here and follow me here without subscribing and just get a feel for it first!

Memberships at Patreon

A huge THANK YOU to the people who have been on this tier for ages even without these kinds of rewards. Your support is so incredibly invaluable, and I can't wait for you all to receive the first Augus & Gwyn themed merch drop. :D Y'all made this possible, and I appreciate you so much.

If anyone has any questions, hit me up! I'm super hyped for this. I fully understand if it's not something folks can afford, and I'm hoping to find a way to make merch more widely available in time, so that folks don't have to miss out, but until then, we have the Merch tier back up and running for the first time since about 2014!

Things like this keep the lights on, and keep the stories coming out to you over time, and more than anything, y'all have no idea how much fun I had writing individual letters to the folks in this tier, celebrating what I really loved / thought was awesome about them.

All right, thanks for your time, I'll get back to posting chapters now :D

#pia on patreon #pia on ream #housekeeping #merch tier #fae tales merchandise #fae tales verse #mm romance #queer romance #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #own voices #queer writers #i stopped merch almost a decade ago #and now i know exactly how i want this to work #and i really think as i get to know better suppliers #i'll be able to offer more over time #i'm hoping most of the items are functional and useable #but collector's cards are potentially on the horizon as well dsalkfjdas

20 notes · View notes

sweetjulyofmine · 8 months ago

Note

Hayy🌸🌸 you’re so beautiful + you&your bf are such a cute couple. Would you mind sharing how you two met? I’m an intrinsically nosy person lol

Hi :3 I am on my laptop so that I can focus on writing an adequate response because I am also an intrinsically nosy person and am almost always hyper curious about relationships I see online or in person (very obsessed with the guy on tiktok who posts videos about people's meet cute stories.) I also love love and have waited forever to feel this way about someone.. My story starts in August 2022, I (living in new york) was about to be in North Carolina to visit my best friend Piper and my boyfriend (colin) was here with his .... then partner now *ex visiting our mutual best friend Natasha (who lives in new york.) Natasha had suggested that Colin and I become mutuals on instagram because we are both fine artists and our work had similar visual cues and we found inspiration from the same photographers. Our paths didn't cross then as I flew down south for some much needed southern summer time and he got a small taste of NY. Even from his vague internet presence, I always had a tiny feeling that lurked (hidden deeeeeep deep inside of me) and told me that he would be the one. A few months go by and I grow secretly fond of Colin and his photographs online (not sure if he felt the same way but I should ask him to write up his version of this story.) In January 2023, Natasha is flying back to her hometown (in the bay area) for our uni winter break and invites me to tag along. This was super exciting to me not only because I had never really been to California (let alone the bay) and I also had an ex there that I was planning on seeing (haha.) I then meet Colin again (who was on his uni break and also visiting his hometown) and in short hangouts begin to develop a small crush on him. I have a hard rule about not falling for someone in a relationship, but I had learned that in his last relationship he was open and while I would never think to try anything, I let myself have hesitant feelings. We went to the SF MOMA during my trip, really only on a platonic excursion, though we both admit now that it felt like a date and our chemistry even back then in those circumstances was most definitely real. The funny part of this story is that after we went to the museum, I had him drop me off at my ex's place (lol.) I fly back to new york with Natasha and from time to time I begin to text Colin. Sometimes it was brief about an artist we had a shared liking for, music we were listening to (he has perfect taste,) or book recommendations. One night we text until 7 am my time (4am his time, he went to uni in portland,) and it was really then that I knew that he had the exact characteristics and soul that I could fall madly in love with. Some more time passes, he's living across the country and still in a long distance open relationship and I'm in another situationship that wasn't developing anywhere. Him and his ex part ways and I am sporadically going on random dates. Speaking of this time of my dating fiascos, I went on a date with someone to a museum upstate and ended up buying a postcard with the intention of sending it to Colin. That begins our real love affair! We start sending snail mail nonstop and I hint to him that I will be back in California, where he would return to after graduating uni that spring. August 2023 I am in LA with my friends and he tells me that he's been thinking about visiting his grandma who lives in southern california. To sweeten the deal I tell him about the book fair that printed matter is hosting in LA, and that if he comes down, we should go together. He (obviously) drives down and the morning of the book fair, he picks me up from my friend's place and we spend the day together. The date actually didn't end for almost 36 hours since he ends up staying the night and we spend the rest of the next day together. Before he drives back up to the bay, we spend one more day together and it was genuinely the happiest I've ever felt. I fly back to New York and he goes on a family trip to Japan and our feelings for each other sort of blossom and we end up writing emails to each other back and forth every day.

9 notes · View notes

insanefan · 3 months ago

Text

Writer Interview Tag

Thanks for the tag @hydropyro!

I will tag hmmm @gothic-ivory and... whomever else might feel inclined to join in!

Questions and answers below the cut <3

When did you start writing?

I used to write stories in primary school, I know. I believe about 5th grade was when it really started, with my stories about my dogs being superheroes. Grand adventures for these creatures who meant so much to me. Then, in 7th grade, we had a creative writing assignment in English - a gathering of witches! We had lots of prework for it, everyone had to write a 'postcard home', 'what does your character see in the crystal ball', 'what's in their suitcase' and so on and so forth, but then finally we were let loose.

Now, I'm writing this in English too, so one might think "ah well, pretty normal then". But I am not English, now am I xD No, at this point we'd had English lessons for about four years, I believe? The weakest in class wrote a story of about two pages. It was a good effort! But English was hard. I didn't understand it, but I could still appreciate the effort. Now me though... at ten pages my teacher went "you need to stop". I ended up with twelve. That sort of... sets a starting point, I think. That's when I went "ohh. oh I like this."

So I suppose what that means is; I started writing stories in English in 7th grade. 12 yrs old! Starting to be a while. And, uh, I've kept at it since. 90 % of the time in English. I started writing fanfiction also at 12, though a bit later in the year, and since I wanted to talk with people about it, I had to write in the 'shared' language, as it were.

My aunt, currently a journalist but previously an author, laments that I don't write in Norwegian. She claims there's a power in writing your own language. She may well be right. Maybe I'll get to it sometime.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

Well, yes. I am a voracious reader. Always have been. I do mainly enjoy a variety of fantasy and folk genres, but I am also of mind that it's incredibly healthy to broaden your own horizons, so I often get books at the library that the librarians have recommended for one reason or another, even if I would not necessarily have chosen them myself. 8/10 times I enjoy them and learn something new. So I read a lot also in non-fantasy genres, though not a lot of sci-fi.

When it comes to my writing, it's 1) mainly fanfiction these days or 2) RP. The fanfiction I usually write in the universe it's set, though granted that's often one fantasy world or another, while the RP I tend to go looking for more fantasy-esque things. I'm also very much a 'fluff and angst' writer; tragedy and comfort, exploring one's own path to healing and the sharing of affection and warmth between characters is something I write a lot of. Should I branch out and try to tackle deeper themes, other ideas? Maybe. I might, if I get inspired at some point.

It might be it's easier if I try my hand at more original fiction. Food for thought.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

Not really? There is always inspiration to be found in reading other things, and there's the concept that 'everything is copied from somewhere' and whatnot, but I really think it's more a case that everything you read, see, hear, experience and learn becomes part of this massive pool of knowledge you have. That you can pull from when you write. And sometimes that means you emulate a specific writing style. But I can't say it's something I am actively trying to, nor have I had my work compared with anything insofar as I'm aware.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

My writing space is wherever I'm sitting comfortably with my laptop accessible. Or a notebook. I do have around 15 notebooks full from cover to cover with writing from my younger days, and they're hilarious to look through, not least because gods beyond have I improved since! But I write much, much faster with a computer.

I had a shitty laptop from I was around 12, but it was at upper secondary that I really started writing on the computer for real; we got our own laptops from school, and I spent... probably too much time writing stories instead of doing my actual schoolwork xD I still have all of those texts! Put them in my dropbox and have carried them around since. I believe I'm up to about 1500 separate documents for different stories now.

Of course, sometimes you can't bring your laptop, and that's when notebooks are good to have again. Or, in worst case, my phone. I do have a note app, I just sincerely dislike writing on the phone with its annoying autocorrection and whatnot.

Also tho, I did recently get a paper tablet (reMarkable) for work which feels like writing on paper and can turn handwritten text into computer text (to some degree; I have shit handwriting) and can regardless save the files so I have them in one place 👀 It's a very expensive notebook but so far I am loving it A Lot.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Lamenting about the lack of one? Honestly, I'm not quite sure. Sometimes I get inspiration out of nowhere, sometimes I struggle. Music can help, sometimes.

What is your reason for writing?

Otherwise I'd never get peace! There's always ideas swirling about in my head of various completion and loudness. If I don't write they take up too much space, not allowing me the space for other things, like, say, my work. I need the ideas out on paper or in a document to trap them there!

Honestly though, I also simply enjoy being able to describe events. Describe things that are happening to the characters, how they're reacting to them, what it does with them. I'm something of an introspective writer, I suppose, I'm very interested in the inner cognitive life of the characters I'm writing, and so it's almost always an exploration because these characters, much like people, are multi-faceted and don't necessarily react as expected.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

Hah! If people comment or interact with me regarding my writing, literally anything motivates me. Showing excitement for my excitement becomes excitement^2 you know? So really, even a comment as simple as "I like this character!" will cheer me and motivate me, though of course the moment you start commenting "I liked when character x did this" or "what are your plans for character y?" I will end up in high gear because then it's a conversation.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

Do they think about me? Odd thought. I'm always surprised when someone tells me they've thought about me if I'm not present. Which is also an odd thing, isn't it? The idea that you slip your friends' mind if you're not an active presence?

May or may not be a result of bullying in my youth, that one. Gotta work on it.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I suppose perhaps character development? I enjoy multi-faceted characters, so I often try to make mine as 'human' as possible, with all our faults and fantastic abilities. There's nothing I enjoy as much as putting a character in situations and having them realise things about themselves.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

All told it's probably a bit of a mix, but it leans to writing for myself. I've posted some things, both back in the days when fanfiction.net was it and on ao3, but as previously mentioned; 1500 documents. I've posted, what, 15 things on ao3? I write because I want to write and because I can't find what I want to read and thus need to write it myself. If someone else enjoys it too, it makes me happy! But it's no necessity.

How do you feel about your own writing?

I enjoy it! I will reread my own stories on a pretty frequent basis, honestly, because I've written them for me. When people also offer a lil compliment or comment that they like it too, it's incredibly nice, but in the end, yes, I do like my own writing.

Still things to learn, but I can learn them while enjoying it, instead of learning them because of feeling misery.

#writings #writer #interview game #tag game #insanefan #about me #ramblings #writer interview tag

4 notes · View notes