#It feels good to finally put my Found Kin design on paper

[reksink]

Kin, now found, waves to another. As to who, remains unseen...

[ruthoakenshield]

Thorin and the Gem Carver (Part 14)

Thorin heads out of your chambers and goes to the business district of Erebor. He finds Bofur’s and Bifur’s toy shoppe and enters. He chuckles when he hears a few pebbles squealing “Melhekhul!” (My King!!!) when they see him. They drop to the bows or curtseys that they had been taught from a toddling age to do when they saw any of the Royal family. “Rise little pebbles. What have you been up to in here?” he inquires of them.

They spend a few minutes showing him the latest toys His friends have created, and he smiles warmly at the little dwarf children. He chuckles and buys them each one toy to go off and play with. They are speechless and it takes them a full minute to process that the King just bought them toys to play with. They forget themselves, rush to him and hug his legs and then run out the door with their new toys thanking him as they do so. Bifur chuckles and asks him what he is doing in his humble toy shoppe.

“I wanted to talk to you and Bofur. Jade is back on bed rest and is getting agitated at not being able to move around. She apparently is an excellent artist, and I was wondering if the two of you could come up with some device that would allow her to draw while laying on her back. Something that would let her lie on her back, and support her arm as she draws, and would hold the paper in place with a hard backing so she could draw with ease.” Thorin explains. Bifur nods and tells Thorin that they will get to work on it immediately and will bring it up to her chamber once it is completed.

Thorin thanks him and gives him some coin for the project. Then he heads out and goes in search of a nice drawing journal and pencils for you. He enters a few shops looking around for them, but doesn’t see what he is looking for. He inquires where would be a good place to find them and is directed to a shop off in the corner of the mountain. He approaches it and finds an elderly dwarrowdam there with ghostly white hair. She greets him respectfully and inquires how she may be of service to him.

Thorin explains to her what he is looking for and why and she grins. “I have just the thing for you, Melhekhul! (My King!)” she tells him and hobbles over to the counter. She reaches down and pulls out a beautiful blue velvet bundle. She hugs it, then sighs and hobbles nervously back to her King and with a bowed head hands him the bundle with trembling fingers.

Thorin opens the blue velvet and sees a beautiful leather-bound book with elegant gold and silver designs on it. Thorin grins and nods. “A Gem carver’s journal fit for royalty.” She says caressing the delicate and quite intricate leather tooling embossed with the gold and silver leaf.

Thorin goes to hand her coin and she shakes her head. “No, my King, I have kept it for a long time, too nervous to give it to you. I made it many years ago, before Smaug attacked, when your Father spoke of finding you a wife. I had intended to give it to you when you wed, as a gift back then; but it did not happen and I am old now, and wish to give it to you before I enter Mandos’ halls. I had heard you had found your One finally and were courting her. I had hoped to be able to give it to you before I departed this world. Do with it as you wish, Melhekhul!” She tells Thorin.

He sighs. “Please. Let me give you something for it, for I intended to give my One a book to put her drawings into for when she can carve again. For me to be able to give it to her as a courting gift I must purchase it or make it myself.” He tells her.

She chuckles. “Ah, I see.” She says. “If it is not too bold of me, you may purchase it with a kiss to this old, wrinkly cheek. Will that suffice?” she asks. Thorin chuckles and nods. “Aye, that will suffice.” He tells her. He leans down and gives her a kiss on the cheek. She blushes and nods. “I wish you well in your courting, my King. May the book bless your One with many fond memories and much joy.” She tells him, gently patting his arm as it rested on her shoulder. He nods, gives her a warm smile, and thanks her again, then heads out. He enters another shop looking for drawing pencils and finds some in the back corner of the store.

He is hidden from the sight of those entering the store and freezes in his tracks when he hears some dwarves gossiping. “I heard she is a cripple… can’t even feed herself, from what I hear. Why would anyone want to court someone like that?” One dwarf says. “I heard she is incredibly beautiful though and is a Master Gem Carver.” Another says. “How can she be a Master Gem carver if she is a cripple and can’t even feed herself! And how would it make our kingdom look to have a cripple for a queen?!? He could do so much better than her!” the first one says, “So what if she is a sight to see, what use is that to us if she can’t contribute to the community?” the first dwarf says.

Thorin is growling quietly, listening to them talk of his beloved like that.

“What are you saying, Dolrac, that just because someone can’t move by themselves, that they are of no use?!? She can still talk and grace us with her beauty and her presence! And it would not reflect poorly on our kingdom if we had a cripple for a queen! It shows our king sees beyond the physical and admires what true beauty is. That which is on the inside. Besides, I hear she has a good sense of humor and is a bit of a tease when she is in the mood. There are other ways to contribute that she can partake of, Dolrac. Give her time. From what I hear, she is still trying to find her way now that she can’t carve. I’m sure she has other untapped skills she isn’t aware of that she will be able to do once she recovers from her injuries. Who knows, perhaps she is an excellent negotiator, like Balin is! Did you hear he adopted her?!?” The second dwarf scolds.

Thorin silently steps behind the two dwarves and clears his throat, drawing their attention. The two dwarves’ eyes get huge and they drop to their knees apologizing profusely.

Thorin growls. ‘Dolrac, it is not your place to put judgement on my One without even meeting her! Before her injuries she was as skilled as any Gem Carver here, perhaps more so. It is indeed unfortunate that she is unable to carve and suffers from her injuries, but Mahal assures me she will one day walk and carve again, that it will just take time for her to heal and regain her strength. So, I’ll thank you to keep your trap shut in regards to my One unless it is in praise or defense of her and her character.” He thunders.

He turns to the other dwarf and says more calmly, “I thank you for defending my One. You are indeed correct in what you said of her. She indeed is beautiful, inside and out. She has a good wit and can be a tease when in the mood. And she is trying to figure out life now that she can’t carve at the moment. We are exploring other skills with her to see what interests her and what she is able to do.” Thorin tells the dwarf.

He bows to Thorin. “Please, Melhekhul! (My King), will you give her my well wishes and tell her I hope she finds new skills she can enjoy until she is able to carve once again. I look forward to seeing what all she is capable of carving.” He says.

“If you wish to see her skills with carving wood, travel to Rohan and ask the King and his kin to show you what Jade the Gem Carver has carved for them. They will happily show you.” Thorin suggests. “She is as skilled with carving wood as she is with carving Gems.” He adds. “She has also carved much for Lord Elrond and his elves as well as for Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn and their elves.” Thorin informs him. “Any of them would be happy to show you Jade’s work.

The dwarf nods. “Thank You, Melhekhul! I will remember that when I am in those areas again.” He tells Thorin. Nodding, Thorin motions for them to make their purchases.

They do and quickly leave. The business owner apologizes for the disrespect they showed towards the One of the King. Thorin thanks him and pays for the purchases. “Please tell her I wish her well and I pray to Mahal that she is able to find new skills to keep her occupied until she can carve once more.” He says. Thorin nods and heads out.

He wanders around for a while, thinking of you and he sighs. He heads down to the heart of the mountain once again and kneels before Mahal and Yavannah’s statues. Unsure what to do or say. Not sure to voice how he feels and his concerns.

Yavanna’s statue shifts and she appears before him sensing his uncertainty. “What troubles you dear Thorin?” she asks. He looks up and bows his head. “Many things, but I do not know how to put them into words to describe them.” He says and sighs, sitting on his knees before her. “Walk with me, and let us talk of it, perhaps you will find your words.” She says.

They walk along the nearby lake and Thorin tells her what has been going on with you since your injury and with your recovery thus far. He tells her about the two dwarrow he overheard in the one shop, and how depressed you are that you can’t seem to get ahead in your ability to walk and how much you are struggling with not being as independent as you were.

Thorin explains how every time you seem to make headway a few steps, something happens that yanks you back to square one again. “Yavanna, all she has ever known is carving and drawing her plans for her carving projects. She is used to traveling and the simple life. She says she feels caged like a beast on display and is not happy here. How can I ask her to marry me when she doesn’t want to stay here and isn’t happy?” Thorin’s heart aches at the thought of you leaving him.

Yavanna is quiet for a few minutes. “Thorin you said she was regaining feeling when there was traction on her spine?” she asked. He nodded. “And you said Lord Elrond made mention that something must be blocking the path for communication between the nerves in her legs and her spine?” she inquires. Thorin nods again. “Stay here a moment. I will be right back.” She says and disappears.

Thorin sighs and looks down at his gift for you. He pulls the book from the velvet, then sits on a boulder and examines the book closer. He opens the book, and something falls out of the book’s first page. He frowns and picks it up.

It is a note. “May this book bless you as you fill it’s pages as it blessed me making it for you. May the Peace and blessings of Mahal and Yavannah, be forever with you.” Thorin sighs and places the note back into the book. He flips the page and notices it is written on. “To Prince Thorin and His Lovely One. I wish you all the happiness in the world and many blessings of Yavannah and Mahal. May the gods bless you both with peace and joy.” Sincerely, Miranda Goldenleaf, daughter of Erebor, Royal book binder.

Thorin smiles seeing the blessing bestowed to his One and himself from the old Dwarrowdam. Just then Yavannah and Mahal appear before Thorin and he startles, dropping the book.

Mahal chuckles and bends to pick it up. He grins seeing the cover. “Ahh, I see Miss Miranda finally worked up the courage to give it to you.” He says as he examines the cover. “She has had this in her possession for a very long time.” He tells Thorin.

Thorin looks at him confused. Mahal chuckles. “She had a crush on you for many, many years, Thorin. She made this for you when she was learning her craft. It was a test her mentor gave her to create the most intricate and detailed work she could. “Something fit for a king.”

She came to us in tears and prayed, asking for our help and blessing on her project. We blessed her and she became one of the best book binders in the dwarven kingdom. Your Grandfather appointed her as the Royal book binder before the Gold Sickness began to affect him.

Her work fills your library. Her only wish was to get a kiss from you. ‘Just one,’ she said, ‘and I’d die a happy dwarrowdam.’” Mahal recalls. “She never married and dedicated her life to creating beauty for Erebor’s royal family and it’s libraries.”

Thorin’s eyes get huge. “SHE made all our book’s covers?!?” he says surprised. Mahal nods with a smile. “Yes, Thorin. And you have made her a happy dwarrowdam by giving her the kiss she always yearned for. She will enter our halls soon, as her time here is drawing short. Mahal informs Thorin.

“I wish I would’ve known of her sooner. I’ve always wondered who made the beautiful covers for the books I had read. Her skill is becoming a lost art. Ori would’ve loved to learn from her how to do what she has done, I’m sure there are others as well who would’ve loved to learn how. Had I known, I would have asked her to take him on as an apprentice.” Thorin says sadly.

“I will grand her enough time here, Thorin, to teach Ori what she knows so the knowledge is not lost. I know he will record it in detail and faithfully for future generations for when she is gone.” Mahal says. He looks at her creation and enchants it so that it and its contents never fade and never wears away.

He hands it back to Thorin who reverently wraps it in the blue velvet with the package of Pencils at it’s side.

“Now, Yavanna tells me your One is having troubles with getting her back to heal properly, that it is hindering her progress in recovering?” Mahal asks. Thorin nods and explains to Mahal what they figured out so far. He nods.

“When Lord Elrond comes, he will use his magic to fix what the problem is. Once that happens, I will visit her and make it so she has no more problems with the bones shifting out of place there. It is a weak spot for her right now, like a crack in a stone foundation. I will fill in the crack and strengthen it so it is no longer weak, and it will be as it was before her fall. From then on, she should be able to progress with the recovery unhindered.” Mahal tells Thorin. “You have been a blessing to her, Thorin. Without your support, she would have given up.” Mahal adds.

“She will need to stay in bed for one week after Lord Elrond and I heal her back. To give the body time to adapt to the healing and to give the nerves time to reconnect properly. If she does not abide by this, she WILL NOT walk again.” Mahal warns. Thorin sighs. “I will do my best to keep her in bed. She already is wearied by it and feels caged. I worry this will put her into a deep despair.” He sighs.

“Stay by her side, Thorin. Give her the gifts you have bought for her. Continue to encourage her. I have given her other gifts besides the wood, metal and gem carving that she has yet to discover. Help her to find them.

Bofur and Bifur already have plans for the project you have asked them to create. Jade will need it soon to lift her spirits and to give her hope.” He says. “Have Fili take over ruling, temporarily until Jade is able to walk again on her own. She will need you at her side during this time coming up.” Mahal warns Thorin. “I will do as you instruct, Mahal.” Thorin says with a bow.

“Thorin, give Jade this as a gift from us.” Yavannah says. She hands him a green Jade box.

When he opens it, his jaw drops. He looks up at her and she just giggles. Inside the box, nestled in lush green velvet, are two tubes of silver and a silver ring. On each of the long hair beads are three small iridescent stones that he has never seen before. “The Stones are called ‘Yavanna’s tears’.” She explains to him. “They form when I cry as I beg my husband to help someone, usually a dwarrow. If he decides to help them, the stones are given to them as a token of the promised aid.” She explains further.

Thorin looks down at them and caresses them reverently. Surrounding them are carved the runes stating, “Mistress Gem Carver of the highest degree, favored of Mahal, honored by Yavanna.”

The same stone sits on the ring, only it is larger, with the same runes surrounding the stone only in reverse. Carved into the stone deeply are the braided pattern Thorin’s courting braid had made when the maid put it into the diamond design on the side of your head.

“This is Jade’s signet ring, gifted by us to her. That no one any longer doubts her skill level nor her talents. The hair beads are to be placed above your courting beads for now, and once you marry, they are to be placed above your wedding beads to her.

Jade’s hair is never to be cut other than to trim the split ends off. She and any future Mistress Gem Carvers are to wear the diamond patterns in their hair that Jade’s handmaid placed into Jade’s hair when she used your courting braid to create the pattern. You and the line of Durin will be given and taught a new courting braid pattern for the line of Durin by Yavanna when the time comes for them to need it. Remind Balin that he needs to make Jade beads signifying his adoption of her. He has forgotten it with all that has been going on. Have him braid his family braid just behind her courting braid, under the diamond pattern.

When Jade readies to leave her chambers from now on, she is to have her courting and eventual wedding braids in this diamond pattern, so that the beads are able to be seen and recognized and not drag on the floor.

The diamond pattern will now be the symbol for Mistress Gem Carvers Guild and as such they are to be recognized as equals to the Master Gem carvers Guild, who now will be the male counterpart. Any dwarrowdam reaching the skill of a Master Gem Carver will be given the title of Mistress Gem Carver and are to be shown the same respect as a Master carver.” Mahal tells Thorin. Repeating it twice in two different ways to emphasize it’s importance that both the guild as a whole as well as the dwarrowdam both be given equal respect and honor as their male counterparts.

“Have Balin draw up an edict stating this and that it is by order of Mahal and Yavanna. We will put our seals onto it that none will ever question said order. Then call your kingdom and the other kingdoms of Middle Earth to come to a celebration and there you are to formally announce this edict but not until Jade is ready. Then at this celebration, announce her as the first Mistress Gem Carver by order of Mahal and Yavanna. Present her with the beads and the ring in front of your kingdom and all the other kingdoms of Middle Earth, that none will further question her skills and abilities nor the dwarrowdams who come after her in these fields.” Mahal instructs.

Thorin is speechless and simply nods, then looks down at the gift. “Thank you.” He whispers. He hears Yavanna’s giggle and Mahal’s low rumbling laugh and when he looks up, they are gone. There is a light shining out from the blue velvet and Thorin looks at it puzzled. He unwraps the book once more and opens the cover. Inside is an additional note that wasn’t there before. It states:

“My dearest Jade, this book has been blessed by Yavanna and myself so that it and it’s contents never fade from memory, will never wear out and will survive till the ending of the world. Use it to preserve the talents of the Mistress Gem Carver’s guild (the dwarrowdam’s new counterpart to the Master Gem Carver’s guild). You, My Dear Jade, are the first dwarrowdam we name as Mistress Gem Carver. Your skills and talents being honed by your Father from infancy. You carve better than any dwarrow I have ever created or ever will create. None will compare to you. Teach others what you have learned, you WILL carve again, both in wood and in gems and precious metals. Do not despair, my sweet Jade. You have not been forgotten by us. We are proud of you and all you have overcome.”

~Mahal and Yavanna.

Below each of the signatures were the seals of both gods burned into the parchment. Thorin smiles and says quietly, “Thank you once again for giving us hope.” He slips the notes into the page with the note from Miranda Goldenleaf. Then carefully wraps the book and the box of pencils into the blue velvet. He picks it up along with the jade box and leaves the heart of the mountain feeling lighter in heart and happy knowing there is still hope for you.

More Chapters to come.

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[arianaofimladris]

A place called home

An escaped prisoner faces the mistrust of his kin and seeks a place that would accept him.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20375554/chapters/64439761

Part III

 "You should be more careful with that stranger."

Alcarino turned and saw a guard still watching the door suspiciously, his hand on the sword grip. Oelon was one of the Sindar who had decided to join Maedhros. Never had Alcarino seen him so wary and displeased, though their acquaintance was rather brief.

"Mistoron?" Alcarino feigned mild surprise, even as he already suspected where this was going to lead. "I don't think he would have the strength to actually do something, least of all intentionally. He's famished and worn out."

"He may be a spy." Oelon puffed and folded his arms on his chest. "You know of his lot. It would be regretful to see you harmed. We all value your skill."

"Yet you don't seem to trust my abilities," Alcarino observed coldly. "Lord Maedhros hasn't deemed any company necessary, nor does he see Mistoron as a danger."

"The lord's judgement in that matter is biased and you know it."

"Is it?" the voice behind Oelon was so cool it could freeze the air. "Why didn't you come to me to voice your concerns instead of bothering Alcarino?"

The Sinda turned on his heel and faced Maedhros, for it was he who had approached them so quietly. "I only mean...” Whatever he intended to add, the words seemed to stuck in his throat.

"Speak no more." Maedhros's eyes blazed brightly. "I have heard about these concerns. And I know Mistoron has already experienced the hospitality you speak of." He spat out the last words with disgust. "I will not have anyone call Himring uninviting. Everyone who wishes to dwell here is welcome to do so and to be a part of this fortress. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, my lord," Oelon bowed his head, but mistrust did not leave his features. Alcarino hoped he would wise enough not to voice his unfounded doubts again.

***

But the matter returned and sooner than Alcarino anticipated. The evening had not yet come when Oelon reported that Mistoron was missing from his room. He dared not vocalize his doubts in front of Maedhros again, but he had no such trouble talking to the healer.

"I told you! It wasn't wise or safe to let him move freely around the fortress and now he's gone somewhere!"

Alcarino sighed inwardly. He believed when Oelon claimed that their new companion was not in the room he had been offered. He also doubted Maedhros would act rashly towards a former prisoner of Morgoth, more likely towards Oelon, yet he wished to be present nonetheless, so he followed the guard to the great hall, where Maedhros was likely to be found among his people at this time of day.

As they entered, Alcarino looked around. There were fewer elves than he expected, and the lord was absent as well, so perhaps there was some additional training or meeting he wasn't aware of. Yet there was no need to disturb Maedhros, whatever he was doing.

"Do you really regard Mistoron as a threat?" Alcarino asked Oelon and pointed to the right.

There, curled on one of the benches standing alongside the wall opposite to the windows facing the inner yard, slept their missing guest. Whatever had chased him from his room, clearly had not got him here, as he seemed to be at peace. He was wearing the fresh clothes he had been given, but as he slept, he kept what little he possessed pressed against his chest.

“I wouldn’t disturb the lord if I were you,” said Alcarino. “And let Mistoron stay wherever he pleases, since he is not our prisoner.”

***

Alcarino settled for making sure their guest was well fed and his wounds and sores tended to, but otherwise kept his distance and watched him from afar. Mistoron rarely hid within the walls of the room he was given. Most often he could be found in the hall. He mentioned briefly that the bustle of normal life around him made him feel safe and most of the Noldor didn’t mind him joining them if he wished. Alcarino asked no questions and did not return to the matter of resetting his hand.

On the third day it was Mistoron who sought him out. He came to have his wounds checked, then hovered as the healer cleaned his tools.

"My hands yearn to pick the tools and for once make something of my choosing," he blurted finally and stopped as abruptly as he began, looking at Alcarino with sudden fear what his outburst would bring.

But the healer nodded in acknowledgement. "For that you will have to wait till you are healed.”

Bracing himself, Mistoron looked up. “Do it. If it is as you say, please fix my hand.”

“Thank you,” Alcarino offered him a gentle smile. “Is there anything you would like to know beforehand?”

Mistoron opened his mouth, but the words seemed to have left him. “You... You said you would put me to sleep?” He asked finally. “That I will not...”

“You will not be awake. You will sleep for several hours afterwards,” explained Alcarino and motioned Mistoron to sit back again. “Your hand will probably bother you for the next few days, until the swelling goes down, but I have means to help. You will not be left alone in this.”

Sinking in the offered chair, Mistoron heard little of what the healer said later as he explained the details of the surgery. There. He did it. He would let this strange Noldo touch... hurt him. The idea paralysed him, though he tried to convince himself that the healer was right. He could probably still refuse and run away, but he had no one else to go and talk to. Nobody here was close to him, though the few he had made acquaintance with seemed to care about his wellbeing. And the only person who knew what he had experienced...

“If you ask him, he will come to assist me and stay,” the healer offered him a kind smile. “Lord Maedhros. If you want. He will understand.”

"No, no," Mistoron shook his head fervently. He wished not to bother the lord. "If only..." he stopped, a wave of shame forcing the words back down his throat.

"I cannot offer you what I don't know you need," Alcarino reminded him gently.

"I... CanIhavemorefoodfirst?" Eyes shut, he didn't dare as much as draw a breath, feeling his bluntness was too much.

But the healer was nothing but kind, though he shook his head in denial. "For what I am about to give you, it's best to have an empty stomach, lest you feel ill. But if you wish so, there will be food for you waiting when you wake.”

"I-I'm sorry.”

"There is no need. Please wait here for me.”

***

It went better than Mistoron expected. Just like the healer had promised, he remembered nothing from the surgery and woke in his own bed as the sun was already setting. Alcarino had given him medicines and left more food than necessary, but Mistoron didn’t feel like eating. He laid and rested, so a sudden knocking startled him.

"Enter," he called, wondering who wished to see him, since the healer had promised to come again in the morning.

The door opened.

"My lord-" Mistoron sat at once, ready to rise, but Maedhros motioned him to stay seated.

"I just wanted to see how you fare," he said, his flamed eyes examining the new member of his household. He had a scroll tucked under his right arm, which made Mistoron wonder whether he had come straight from some meeting.

"Oh, please," Mistoron awkwardly pointed at the only chair in the room and, despite earlier dismissal, he sat straight in bed.

The lord must have realised how imposing he was standing there, towering over Mistoron, for he sat casually, as if it was common of him to step into his people's quarters for a chat. "How do you feel?"

Mistoron blinked in surprise. "Umm... Confused," he admitted. He wasn't unwell and the freshly re‑broken hand didn't bother him, but his mind seemed foggy and some thoughts seemed to escape him before he managed to grasp them. He felt weak and Alcarino had warned him to be careful, since the procedure of re‑setting his hand had been taxing to his malnourished body, but otherwise he was doing far better than he had expected.

Maedhros glanced at the concoctions left by the healer and nodded in understanding. "Oh yes, these things tend to do that with your mind. It will pass. Meanwhile, if you feel up to it, I would like you to have a look at this." Maedhros unrolled the paper, which turned out to be a plan of a chamber. Mistoron moved closer to have a better view. "You said you were a carpenter and I have a commission for you. We need a set of chairs and matching shelves for my council room."

"Oh." What the lord spoke of was a representative place then, one where he probably met the King's emissaries and other important guests.

Seeing that he had Mistoron's attention now, Maedhros continued, his own interest visible. "I rarely have the pleasure of designing anything these days, but at least I sketched the room for you with vague ideas where I would like to have the new furniture placed. It desperately needs refreshing. I know you are not up to work yet, but I am curious to see your ideas."

"Of course, my lord," Mistoron uttered, overwhelmed by the amount of trust he was being given. The Lord did not even consider that Mistoron's work might not be to his taste. He seemed genuinely interested in possible new ideas and designs and Mistoron remembered what he had heard of Feanor his father and of the Noldor, as well as their love for crafts. The few times he had seen Maedhros so far, he had first and foremost been the Lord of Himring. Now it seemed their meeting was private and the lord allowed himself to enjoy the idea of designing and planning, even if he himself would not participate in the process of crafting.

"I believe you have met Istime," Maedhros continued. "She agreed to work with you, but also to show you our ways around here. She will join you when you are ready. Just don't overdo yourself. Alcarino is a good friend, but he is a better healer and can be stern for your best interest. It is wise to heed his advice." Maedhros left the sketches on the desk and stood up. "You are welcome to join us whenever you wish, if you feel up to it," he reminded Mistoron again.

“Thank you, my lord.”

[eddiessecondfannypack]

Better (Reddie)- Part One

Also available on my wattpad here (ao3 coming soon): https://my.w.tt/ctR7a0grI5

RATING: PG-13 lol

PAIRING: Reddie

WORD COUNT: 1621

Trigger warnings: depictions of eating disorders

When Eddie Kaspbrak is diagnosed with anorexia, he is sent to the painfully cheesy Sunflower Meadows Clinic to “get better”, where he meets the incredibly charismatic Richie Tozier and the rest of the Losers Club. A story of recovery, friendship, loss, and love. 

Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! 

Eddie Kaspbrak sat alone at lunch. Again. Not like that was anything out of the ordinary for him. Maybe it would have been, several months ago. But now? The empty seats surrounding him were part of the routine. He welcomed it. Eddie preferred solitude.

The loud cacophony of the cafeteria blurred into a nonsensical blend of high school chatter and the hum of the machines as the staff hurriedly prepared for the round of hungry teenagers that would file into the cafeteria after this bunch cleared out. Why hadn't Eddie gone to the library? It would be so much quieter there. Eddie knew why, though. He truly didn't think he could make it, as silly as it sounded. The library was all the way on the other side of the school, and Eddie was exhausted. He needed to conserve energy. After all, he had a bio test next hour.

Eddie stared at the textbook on the table in front of him, occupying the space where a lunch was meant to go. Of course, that space had been empty for quite a while as well. Not as long as the seats around him had stood empty, but long enough.

It had been a long time since he'd last eaten. And it'd been even longer since he'd last had a proper meal. How long was he going on? It was a few days at least. Eddie had sworn off food. He could eat again once the stomach fat was gone. Which, at this rate, it looked like it would be quite a while.

He was so close to being healthy. So close to finally being incomparable to his mother, the dreaded Sonia Kaspbrak. But the fat was still there. Whenever Eddie managed to get rid of fat in one place, it would show up someplace new. Someplace that was so glaringly obvious, that he'd wonder how he'd managed to overlook it before. Edward Kaspbrak was far from perfect. But he could get there. He would get there. Or he'd die trying.

Eddie couldn't remember when it all began.

Was it during health class, when the teacher warned against the dangers of obesity? Or could it have been one of his interactions with his mother- the ones where afterwards, he sobbed into his pillow and vowed never to be like her. Maybe it was when Greta Keene had laughed loudly when seeing the insane amount of food his mother packed in his lunch.

("I can't have my Eddie-kins going hungry, I just can't bear it!" Sonia would screech as she piled snacks into his already bulging lunchbag)

The brown paper sack she gave him each morning usually ended up somewhere in the bushes on his route to school. He felt bad about the waste of food, sure. But it was better than facing the barrage of questions Eddie would get if he brought home an untouched meal.

That would get him busted for sure.

He'd gotten the whole thing down to a science. He came home late, when his mother was already sitting in front of the television, usually passed out. He would get a glass of water, and go directly up to his room. It was easy enough to avoid dinner. Not like he was missing anything- Sonia Kaspbrak was only able to cook various casseroles.

The bell rang, almost breaking him out of his mental fog.

Eddie stood up too fast. The room began spinning like the tilt-a-whirl at the Derry summer fair, and he leaned forward, attempting to steady himself. He missed the table though, and immediately crashed down to the floor, his head hitting the hard linoleum floor with a thwack. Someone- probably Greta, that attention whore- screamed.

And then it all went black.

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

Sonia Kaspbrak sat in a hospital room, her son lying comatose in the bed, and a doctor standing across from her.

"What do you mean, he's underweight? He's perfectly healthy! Besides his asthma, of course. I feed my Eddie very, very well." The woman squawked, trying to defend her parenting skills. Sonia always put Eddie at the top of her priority list- where had she gone wrong?

"Well, ma'am, the tests show that your son is severely malnourished. His nutrient levels aren't up to par, and his heart is beating slower than it should be. He will need to have his vitals monitored for a few days, at least." The doctor spoke smoothly, having had to deal with Sonia since the day Eddie was born. He made his way out of the room, telling the flustered woman that he would be back later to discuss a future course of action.

The voices stirred Eddie out of his deep sleep, waking up to Sonia's hot breath in his face, an orchestra of beeping machines creating a symphony around him.

"Eddie! Oh, my dear Eddie-kins. Are you alright? What happened? As soon as the school called me, I demanded they send you to the hospital. Only the best care for my Eddie. I came as soon-"

Sonia's incessant screeching was cut off by a woman in a white coat entering the room.

"Edward Kaspbrak?" The woman's voice was calming and practical. Eddie simply nodded to confirm his identity, too confused by the unfamiliar surroundings to say much. Only one minute ago, he'd been in the stuffy cafeteria of Derry High School.

"And I'm assuming you're his mother-" The woman began, but was cut off.

"Yes. I'm Sonia Kaspbrak. Who are you? You aren't his normal doctor." Eddie's mother sniffed, shooting a glare at the other woman.

"I'm Dr. Krynn. My full name is Stacy Krynn. And, full disclosure, I don't actually work here." The woman- Dr. Krynn- smiled, making crinkles form around her eyes. With her salt and pepper hair and sun kissed skin, she looked like someone who smiled a lot.  

"WHAT? I demand that a real doctor is sent in this room IMMEDIATELY!" Sonia's face had grown red with anger, vaguely reminding Eddie of an Angry Bird.

"I'm still a real doctor, ma'am. I just work at a different kind of facility," Dr. Krynn cleared her throat. "See, I'm from the Sunflower Meadows Clinic, in Massachusetts. I was here to do some post-stay checkups with some patients, and the hospital also alerted me about your son's case."

Eddie had heard about Sunflower Meadows. He didn't know very much, but he knew enough. They specialized in teens there. Teens who were crazy. And Eddie Kaspbrak definitely was not crazy.

"I'm sure Eddie's doctors have already told you that he is severely underweight, and his heart is beating much slower than normal. They have good reason to believe your son is struggling with an eating disorder- I recommend that he comes to the clinic as soon as possible."

"MY Eddie? Anorexic? That can't be- I take such good care of him! And only girls starve themselves- my Eddie is perfectly healthy!" His mother protested beside him. "Besides, Massachusetts is just so far away. I simply couldn't bear to be so far away from him!"

"Mrs. Kaspbrak-" Dr. Krynn began.

"It's Ms. Kaspbrak."

"Ms. Kaspbrak, at the end of the day, it is your decision.  But Edward will need some sort of monitoring, as he is considered at risk. That can be here, or at the Juniper Hill Asylum. But Sunflower Hills is designed for children like your son, and I'm confident he would receive the best care there," Dr. Krynn took some brightly colored pamphlets out of her lab coat pocket and handed them to Sonia. "Feel free to look these over, and if you decide it's a yes, our phone number is on the back."

As the doctor exited, Sonia Kaspbrak turned towards Eddie with tears in her eyes.

"Are they right, Eddie-bear? Have you been-" She sniffed, and Eddie could hear the snot in her nose. "Starving yourself?"

Eddie thought for a moment.

"No mommy. I'm not."

"Stop lying! I know you're lying. Oh, I'm an idiot for not seeing sooner. You must think I'm a horrible mother." Sonia cried, and Eddie watched her shake.

"No I don't." (Yes I do)

"Well.. I guess there's only one answer then, hm? You'll have to- you'll have to go to that clinic that Dr. Krynn was talking about." She sniffled, looking like a helpless puppy.

"No! Mommy, you can't send me there. It's for crazy people. I'm not crazy!" Eddie protested, all of the alarm bells going off in his head, his gut filling with fear. He couldn't go. What if people at school found out? What if they made him gain weight? Eddie would have to go back to school fat, and even more of an outcast than he'd already been. "Please don't make me go."

"I have to, Eddie. You have to get better." His mother's bottom lip trembled, and Eddie knew his fate had been sealed. There was no use arguing with it.

"Yes mommy." Eddie whispered, and Sonia immediately burst into hysterics, pulling her precious "Eddie-bear" to her bosom.

A few days passed, a couple phone calls were made. And then it was official- Eddie would begin his "recovery"  at Sunflower Meadows as soon as possible. Preferably by next week.

In the meantime, Eddie spent his days flipping through the pamphlets and looking at the website on his phone. Everything was brightly colored and full of stock images of kids smiling so wide it looked like it hurt. Barf. Eddie was certain this place was full of hippies who wouldn't be able to do anything to help him.

It was relieving to know that he should be able to carry on as normal.

[justanoutlawfic]

Back To You: Chapt. 3

Story Summary: 5 years ago, Belle left Storybrooke and became a New York Times Bestselling Author. Now, she's returning to Storybrooke to try to convince her husband to finally give her the divorce she's been begging for. However, the longer she spends in town...the more she realizes...maybe that's not what she wants anymore.

Chapter Summary: Belle visits her parents and gets quite the surprise.

Also on AO3

Belle pulled up in front of her parents’ house, letting out a small sigh. They had moved to the states from Australia when Belle was 5 and she always considered Storybrooke “home”. Sure, they had visited Australia once since then, but when she was in New York and envisioned her childhood home…she thought of the small white house just off of Main Street. Her parents were botanists, so of course there was a rose garden out front. She knew that was her mother’s handywork, Moe was far too busy with the shop and beer to care about the maintenance of their home.

 She got out of the car and headed up the steps, a part of her wondering why she was even bothering with this. Sure, maybe her husband would actually discuss divorce after she saw them, but there was a chance he wouldn’t. Oh well, it’d save her money on having to stay at the bed and breakfast. Using her key to walk inside, she called out into the void.

 “Is anybody home?”

Colette walked out of the kitchen, raising an eyebrow. “Belle?” She walked closer to her. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a daughter come see her parents?”

“Well…yes, of course.” She pulled her into a hug, kissing her cheek before quickly pulling out of it. “Just wasn’t expecting you is all.”

Belle shrugged. “Still trying to tie up that loose end.”

Colette bit her lip and nodded. “Right, right.”

A booming voice came from the living room. “Is that Belle?” He walked into the hallway, kissing the top of her head. “How long’s it been, sweetheart?”

“Awhile, I guess. I sent you guys those plane tickets to come visit me.”

Colette patted her husband’s arm. “I told you, it just…wasn’t a good time.”

“Right.”

 An awkward silence fell over the entry way as all three of them knew what had happened. Moe got drunk and called Belle on a rant about how if she wanted to see them, she could just come home. It lead to a huge argument with the tickets never being used and Belle being pissed off.

 “So, are you hungry?” Colette asked. “I was just about to make lunch.”

“Shouldn’t the two of you be at the shop?” Belle asked, realizing the time of day it was. There was another beat of silence. “What’s going on?”

Moe looked disgusted. “A whole lot of good you marrying the landlord did. I swear he evicted us out of spite.”

Belle looked directly at her mom. “Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve helped.”

“It is not your job to bail us out of messes, Belle,” she said, firmly.

“That flower shop meant everything to you. At the very least, I could’ve talked with Sampson…”

“Look, it’s probably just as well anyway. Your father can’t stand for very long these days and I got a job at the market. Not much, but it pays the bills.”

 Belle wanted to scream. The flower shop had been Colette’s baby, her dream. She loved being able to create arrangements and make things look pretty. They had always been a little behind on rent, but somehow turned it around. What had to happen for it to get so bad that not even Colette could save it? A part of her wanted to be mad at Gold, but it wasn’t his fault. Maybe if she had stayed with him, he’d be more understanding but…no. It wasn’t his responsibility to make sure that her father was wise enough to spend his money on the necessities.

 “And Dad?” Belle turned to him. “What are you doing to contribute here?”

“That’s none of your damn business,” he said. “We’re fine, me and your mother.”

“Right, of course you are.” She bit her tongue. “I’m assuming it’s no problem if I stay here until I get this mess sorted?”

“You can stay as long as you like,” Colette said, lightly, looking at her daughter with pleading eyes. The same eyes she gave Belle time and time again.

 Just be patient with him. He’s your father.

 Belle didn’t say anything further. She hiked her designer duffel further up her arm and headed straight back into her room, which was like walking into a time warp. She spent her summer breaks at Sampson’s for the most part and moved in with him as soon as he proposed. Her room hadn’t changed much since the day she moved out to go to college.

 She ran her fingers over the pictures of her and Ruby, knowing it wouldn’t take long before her best friend found out she was back in town. They had traded e-mails and phone calls over the years, but it’d be nice to catch up with her. She loved Ariel and Jasmine, but there was nothing like someone who knew you, the real you.

 She flopped back on her bed and felt something behind the pillow. She reached under and pulled out a pink knit beanie. Tears gathered up in her eyes and she quickly shut them, thinking it’d make the thoughts go away but it only made them more prominent.

 Biting into the cupcake, seeing the pink and practically knocking Sampson over with her hug. Going to Granny and asking for help learning how to knit. She figured a beanie would be a good first project, after all, her daughter was due in the dead of winter in Maine. A hat was practical.

 She had misjudged the size of what a newborn’s head would be, however and it turned out huge. Sampson had teased her for it.

 “Poke some holes into the bottom, we can use it as a diaper when they get big enough.”

 After everything went wrong, she had kept it in her bag, as a reminder. It was something that helped her feel close to Nellie. The day she left town, when she went to say her final goodbyes to her mother, however, she had hid it in her room. She didn’t need any more reminders of Storybrooke than she already had.

 Her eyes flickered open and she set it down. She didn’t want to be in Storybrooke any longer than she had to be. The sooner she could get Sampson to sign the papers, the sooner she’d be able to go back to New York and move on with her life. Even if Jefferson wasn’t in the picture.

 She hadn’t spoken to him since the failed engagement and she was afraid to. Whatever his feelings, they were well warranted. She had spent 2 years lying to him about her real name, her marital status, everything. It wasn’t fair to him. Yet, she hadn’t wanted to lose him, so she kept it up. Oh, what a mistake that had been.

The next afternoon, Belle walked up to Gold’s door and knocked, only to get no answer. She looked in the driveway, but there was no car or anything either. That was strange, normally he’d be home around that time. Using her key to let herself in, she decided to look around the house.

 Not a lot had changed. He had let her decorate when they got married and she had livened up the place with color. A part of her was surprised to see that he hadn’t gone back to his cold and sterile ways, she knew he never parted with the furniture. Her eyes flickered to the mantle place, with the pictures of them from their wedding and their travels. There was a time when they had been so happy. Why did all of that have to stop?

 She noticed that there was something missing and couldn’t put her finger on it at first. After a quick glimpse in the fridge, however, it dawned on her.

 The liquor cabinet was gone. Not only that, but there was no drop of alcohol anywhere. She found a small clay pot, maybe made by Henry, and found chips inside. The first few were the day ones, but it seemed that he had wracked them up all the way to 4 years.

 Sampson Gold was sober. Why did he never tell her?

 “What are you doing back here?”

Belle jumped and spun around, finding him standing there. “Wanted to talk to you.”

He nodded and came closer, noticing the chips in her hand. “And you had to go through my stuff to do it?” He grabbed the pot away and threw it down.

“You’re sober.”

“4 years and going.”

“I…I didn’t know that.”

“You haven’t been around now, have you?”

“Does that have anything to do with your leg?”

“Cut to the chase, Belle, I know we’re not here to discuss me.”

She sighed, running her fingers through her thick curls. “You didn’t tell me about my parents’ shop.”

“Figured they’d do it for me.”

“I would’ve fixed it, if you just called.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”

Belle’s eyes narrowed. “That shop was my mother’s pride and joy, sometimes I wondered if she loved it more than me. I would’ve done anything to help them keep it.”

“You think I wanted to do that to Colette? No. I love her, she’s a very sweet woman. Your father, however…well, he was the one who signed the lease. He’s the one that owed me the money.”

“And again, I could’ve bailed them out.”

“That isn’t your responsibility.”

“It’s not up to you to decide that!”

“Your mother told me not to let you fix it.”

Belle paused. “Excuse me?”

“She said that she knew you’d come down here and save the shop, but it wouldn’t teach your father anything. He’s her responsibility, not yours.”

“She never said that.”

“I’m sure she never said a lot of things.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Fine, whatever. I went and saw them, wasn’t that our agreement?”

“I said we’d talk once you did.”

“Sampson!”

 She pulled the papers out and tried to hand them over, but suddenly his cane needed two grips to hold it up.

 “How’d you hurt your leg, anyway?” She asked.

“None of your concern.”

“We’re still married, shouldn’t I have been called?”

“I made Neal my next of kin after you left. You can’t have it both ways.”

“We’re living as though we’re divorced! Can’t you just sign them?”

 Gold’s phone beeped and he fished it out, smirking a bit.

 “I only came home to grab my gift for Emma and Neal, it’s their anniversary tonight. Party at Granny’s.”

“Sampson.”

“Emma said you’re more than welcome to come.”

 With that, he was gone. Belle rolled her eyes up to the ceiling.

 “Guess I’m going to Granny’s,” she mumbled.

The diner was in full swing when she arrived. Mary Margaret and David were taking turns making a sappy speech about love and marriage, Henry was being sent upstairs to the inn so the real fun could start. It seemed like everyone from high school was there.

 “Belle?”

She turned around and found Ruby standing there, wearing the same uniform she had throughout their teen years. Red streaks flowed through her hair and she was smiling wide. “Ruby, hey!” She quickly hugged her. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“Same here. I heard you were in town, but I never saw you.”

“It was just supposed to be a quick trip, but things keep getting delayed.”

“Please tell me you brought that hunky boyfriend you’ve told me all about.”

“Shhh,” she held a finger up to her lips. “No one else knows about that.”

“Why don’t you just tell Gold about him? I’ve told you, that’ll get him to sign those things for sure.”

 Because it’d hurt him. Because that’s not the way our marriage should end. Because I need closure in knowing I’m doing the right thing.

 “Please tell me there’s alcohol,” Belle said, instead.

“Yes, now that Henry’s going to bed, we can break out the good stuff.”

 Belle grinned and followed her friend over to the counter, passing a few familiar faces along the way and waving. God, it seemed like even less had changed when it came to her old friends. Ashley and Sean Herman were still going strong as ever, in fact the former had a baby on her hip as she drank a beer. For some reason, someone had invited Belinda Blue and she was judging everyone within a twelve mile radius. Regina Mills was still Emma’s right hand woman, her second in command. Apparently, she was the town’s youngest candidate for mayor, which also didn’t surprise Belle in the least. She had been class president from 6th grade to their senior year.

 Ruby poured Belle out a shot and she knocked it back, looking around at the crowd. When Ruby got her another, she downed it just as quickly.

 “Might wanna pace yourself there, Belles,” Ruby warned, knowing her friend’s alcohol tolerance.

“I’m fine.” She gently tapped the counter. “Give me another.”

 She was six shots in when she noticed that Sampson, Neal and Graham were playing a game of darts. She walked on over, Ruby trailing close behind. Graham turned to Belle and grinned.

 “Hey Beauty,” he said, using his old nickname from high school on her. “Where’ve you been?”

“New York, published a few books.”

“Well, we all know Graham didn’t read ‘em, he can’t even read the reports we get,” Emma heckled from the crowd to mess him up.

Graham rolled his eyes and threw the dart, just barely missing the bullseye. “Close.”

“Close only counts in horseshoes, my boy,” Gold said, tossing his own, which was only a few off from Graham’s.

“Let me try,” Belle said, taking Neal’s dart from him.

“You sure that’s the best mix?” He asked, looking at his father. “Belle plus alcohol plus pointy things will probably equal disaster.”

Gold shrugged. “She’s not my problem anymore.”

Belle tossed the dart, making it in the middle. “Bullseye! See, I can only do that while drunk.” She paused and started giggling. “Just like the only way Sampson could get me pregnant.”

 An awkward silence fell over the crowd. Gold’s eyes narrowed.

 “Why don’t you just go public with that shit?”

“Oh come on, not like anyone could ever keep a secret around here.” She spun around, pointing at Ruby. “’Cept Ruby.”

Ruby raised an eyebrow. “What’d I do to you?”

“You never did anything to me sweetheart, which is less than probably what half of the other girls in Storybrooke would say.”

 The crowd around them ooo’d and Ruby’s nostrils flared.

 “Belle, stop it,” Emma said, giving her a warning look.

“What?” Belle shrugged.

“It’s fine,” Ruby said. “I’d be bitter too if someone called one of my books less than mediocre.”

 That got everyone laughing and heat fell across Belle’s cheeks. She had told Ruby that in confidence, though to be fair…it wasn’t as if she was being any better.

 “How’s Dorothy? Oh wait, weren’t you too scared to make a commitment?”

“Coming from the girl who’s trying to get a divorce.”

“Hey, I made a commitment. I made vows and I followed them!”

“Doesn’t seem like that to us,” Emma mumbled, sipping her soda.

Belle let out a tiny scream. “None of you know what happened! None!”

“Belle, honey.” Mary Margaret was suddenly by her side, rubbing her arm. “This isn’t the time or the place. Maybe you should just leave.”

“It’s not fair! I’m not the bad guy here! I didn’t do anything wrong and all of you are here judging me!”

“No one’s judging you. You’re just…a bit too drunk to be here.”

 Belle rolled her eyes and stalked out of the building. She heard someone following after her and assumed it was Ruby, but was surprised when she found herself face to face with Sampson.

 “God, can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I’m not letting you drive home like this.”

“Oh, as if you didn’t a million times?”

He bit down on his lip. “I seem to recall you not liking that.”

“You invited me to this damn thing.”

“Not to make a fool of yourself.”

“Everyone here is on your side. How did that happen?”

“Sweetheart, no one has taken sides. You just nearly outed your best friend and tried to ruin a 10 year anniversary party.”

“Better than a marriage itself. Why won’t you just sign the papers? Why can’t you just do this one damn thing for me?”

 Before he could answer, Belle was already halfway gone, trying to find her car. He went to follow after her, but Regina came outside, promising she’d get her home safe. He walked back inside and found Belle’s clutch sitting on the counter, her phone next to it. He picked it up to bring it out to Regina, when he saw her lock screen.

 It was a selfie of her and another man. He was kissing her cheek and she was smiling like an idiot. He looked up at the window, watching as Regina persuaded Belle to get into her Mercedes. He swallowed, putting the phone into her clutch. He’d drop it off at the French’s, pretend like he never saw it.

 Her showing up made sense. He thought that if she came back, it’d be easier to persuade her, show her how much things had changed. Instead, she was there because there was no going back. She was moving on. The man in the picture was young, handsome, probably didn’t have a drinking problem.

 “They’re meant to be engaged, you know.” He looked up and found Ruby standing in front of him with blood shot eyes. “He proposed to her, it went viral. She turned him down, because I guess despite being a bitchy drunk, she’s not a polygamist. That’s why she came here. She wants to get married to someone else.”

Gold swallowed. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because if my secret was nearly exposed tonight, then hers can be too.”

 With that, Ruby walked away, not knowing the landmine that she had just dropped.

[thecitysorrowbuilt]

Ms. October’s Oven

As it so often happens, Ms. October was the last person to find out about the unexpected delays going on in her kitchen. Robert the meat-slicer had seen the writing on the wall when the oven began making sounds, and he had swiftly shared it to the rest of the cooks. Larry the smoker had been enjoying a cigarette out back when he saw Jeff the delivery boy cycling by, and he’d flagged him down just to share the pertinent info. Scratch the dog had been sniffing around the trash cans so when he heard Larry and Jeff talking he couldn’t help but perk his ears up to catch any interesting gossip. As soon as the conversation ended, Jeff immediately took off to finish delivering his, in all probability now quite chilly, order, and Scratch circled around to the front of the restaurant. Arriving almost out of breath even from such a short spring, Scratch explained the situation between wheezes to Maddie, the front-house smoker, who said “Well I’ll be,” and threw down a half lit Newport, so great was her desire to go inside and spread the news. At the exact same time, Jeff had arrived at Mrs. Hendricks’ house, and had passed on not just pizza but also that vital information. Mrs. Hendricks, for her part, momentarily considered rushing off to the restaurant, but decided instead to instead run to her telephone and start alerting the neighbors. She could already tell that this was on a ‘need-to-know’ basis, as people were prone to say, which to her understanding meant that basically everyone needed to know. 

While all this was going on, had you lifted off the roof like a dollhouse and went to find Ms. October, you would’ve found her in her office making sure that everything was organized and that the payroll was exactly as it should be. Fastidious to a fault, Ms. O believed, not incorrectly mind you, that the restaurant would collapse around her ears if she were to pay it any less than her usual degree of attention. Sometimes it came very close even when she did. Finding everything to be in shipshape, she now went out to the waitress station and put on her apron, and then went out to talk to the diners. This was how she first heard this news that we have all been waiting for her to receive. “I heard that Ms. October’s oven has the hiccups.” “Well I heard that it’s deathly ill, on its last legs even.” “Someone told me that it was refusing to make all food, and that it had insisted on alerting its next of kin. Said that it had, well, Oveningitis.” Being no stranger to gossip herself, Ms. O went right to the table where the three busybodies, the illustrious Mrs.’s Smith, Schultz, Parker, and Young were seated to set the record straight. “On the contrary my dear madams, I’m not sure where such a rumor started, but I must inform you that every appliance in my kitchen is in perfect health and working its absolute hardest to ensure a pleasant dining experience for our patrons.” This well formatted reproach had an immediate effect in assuaging the concerns of the Mrs.’s, and was greeted with sage nods all around. Unable to restrain her curiosity however, Mrs. O felt it prudent to prod just a slight bit more. “My only concern is not my oven, but where such a fiction might even have originated from.” Even without the design of a question, this statement was as thorough an interrogative as could ever be administered, and after a few sidelong glances, Mrs. Parker elected herself speaker and responded. “Well, I heard it from my niece, Shannon. You know she’s a server here, and she said she heard it from Maddie, the one who always smokes, and she said Maddie had heard it from Scruff the dog, who heard it from who knows where.” Internally Mrs. O thought that when she caught Scruff next she’d seriously consider tanning his hide, but externally her demeanor remained unflinchingly pleasant. “Well, I’m sure that no account beggar probably just wanted to stir up a little trouble. Maybe he’s been nursing a grudge on account of that time I told him I needed the bones for soup and he couldn’t have them. Why, I’m sure he didn’t think twice before barking up a storm.” “Oh I’m sure that might be,” Mrs. Smith interjected, “but I didn’t hear it from Shannon. I heard it from Teddy the paper boy. He said that he heard it from Mrs. Hendricks when he was mowing her lawn, and she heard it from Jeff, the delivery boy, who heard it from Larry, the cook who’s always outside smoking.” At this moment the gears in Ms. O’s head really began to turn hard. A no account dog was one thing, but a cook, even one who, she must admit, seemed to spend more time on break than on shift, was another thing entirely. Perhaps there may even be some truth to this rumor, although surely it couldn’t be so dire as the ladies had proclaimed. “Well-“ she began, before continuing with more strength, “I’m sure that whatever Larry said to Jeff, that flighty boy probably just misheard it. You know how he is, always dropping his bicycle right in a flowerbed, or taking a wrong turn and bringing you a pizza you hadn’t remembered ordering. Why, he’s got a good heart, but I wouldn’t put too much stock in his interpretation of events.” To this assurance the ladies again nodded sagely, and Ms. O felt that she had finally defeated the newfound menace. All parties’ good feelings were interrupted however, when Simon, the busboy appeared behind Ms. O and, tub and rag in hand, asked if he might be allowed to interject. “Well Simon, as you can see we’re quite busy with a conversation.” “Well of course Ms. O, but well, June told me that it was very important that you came back to the kitchen to attend to something.” This turn of events stopped Ms. O in her tracks. Her niece, June, was not at all inclined to fancy, in stark contrast to nearly everyone else in this town, and was so thoroughly practical that Ms. O had made her kitchen manager, despite the initial cries of favoritism from some of the more tenured, but admittedly flighty, employees. With a managerial nod that would have pacified the Queen herself, Ms. October excused herself from the conversation with the assembled Mrs.’s and backed away from the table before sharply turning and walking down the long hall to the kitchen, her nonslip shoes clicking sharply on the floor. 

Upon entering the kitchen, Ms. October was confronted by a sight that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a renaissance painting. To one side, June stood, her practical chin resting in her capable hands, clearly rapt in thought. On the other side, Larry and Robert and Cynthia and Murray stood, looking very nearly like the monkeys who are incapable of seeing, hearing, or speaking evil, with the addition of not even thinking about it. In between them, stood the oven, a tall double decker figure who was hiccupping uncontrollably. Ms. O couldn’t help but gasp. “Well, I’ll be! What is the meaning of all this?” “I have the hiccups, quite clearly!” the Oven announced. Turning to the evil-avoiders, Ms. O cast a gaze of furious confusion. “Well- as you can see-“ “We’ve done all we can –“ “He’s never even spoken before!” “If it is indeed a he-“ “We really shouldn’t assume.” “But calling it an it just seems demeaning!” “But, well, they are not feeling well,” “And we can’t make it stop!” It was now Ms. O’s turn to place her capable chin in her practical hands. She looked next at June, who had yet to speak in defense of this situation. “Everytime we try to put anything in, he just hiccups it right out. We still haven’t been able to bake those pizza rolls that were supposed to go out to the Morris’s nearly 37 minutes ago.” “And you only found it fit to tell me now!” “Well, I thought that perhaps we could have it handled, without your needing to worry.” “That course of action seems, for lack of a better description, very impractical!” Ms. O’s hands now went to her hips and she glared at the Oven itself. “And you, has this ever happened before?” Despite being much taller and heavier and made of stainless steel, the Oven felt itself cowed by its boss’s disapproving gaze, so that it averted its knobs shyly. “Well, I’m, hic, normally just the picture of health, b-but, hicc(!) today I just can’t stop these derned, hic, hiccups!” For all of her frustrations, Ms. O was not unreasonable and to this reply she nodded understandably. “Well, first things first, would you like to be called he or she?” “He, if you please. I, hic(!), have to say I’m rather surprised no one tho- hic- thought to ask previously.” “That’s all water under the bridge now. On to the hiccups, have you tried drinking a glass of water?” From all around the kitchen the assembled personages chattered excitedly. “Well Auntie,” June began, “of course that was the first thing we thought of, but as soon as we opened his mouth and poured the water in, it evaporated! It’s simply too hot in there.” Having considered this possibility herself, Ms. O was emotionally prepared for the slight disappointment. “Did you have him stick out his tongue?” “Not yet,” Robert volunteered, “although I told them that that’s what I always do.” “ I don’t think that really works though.” Murray replied. “Well it’s certainly worth a shot, it can’t make things worse!” “We have no way of knowing if it can or cannot make things worse! I don’t think any of us are qualified to say what will or will not make things worse.” “Fine then,” June began, “we can just put it too a vote, all who think that sticking out your tongue really works, raise your right hand, all who think it doesn’t, raise your left hand.”

Ms. O was honestly uncertain if she thought it worked or not. Hiccups, especially those afflicting appliances, were really not her area of greatest expertise, but she just couldn’t see why that that could possibly help. She raised her right hand halfway to indicate a willingness to try. To ensure a good voter base, Simon the busboy and Warren the dishwasher were asked to yell out either right or left, and their votes were tallied as well, with the final vote being five and a half in favor, two opposed, and one abstaining, the Oven deciding it would resemble conflict of interest if he himself voted on what to do. Democracy having been successfully implemented, the motion passed, and the Oven was commanded to stick out his tongue. First he opened both of his doors, then he extended each of his grill racks, one after the other until all were stuck out into the middle of the room. A heavy silence reigned while everyone waited anxiously for something to happen. “I hink it’s wherking!” the Oven exclaimed, “Waiht, hactually, I sthill have to- HICC” With an enormous hiccup the Oven retracted all of his grill racks and slammed his doors, shaking back and forth slightly in his spot. So close to success yet so far, Ms. O put her hand on her forehead and shook her head with frustration. Again a heavy silence hung over the kitchen. At last Ms. O broke the quiet. “Does anyone have any further ideas?”

[cyjprojectarchive]

accidentally | youngjae

a cyj fic fest 2017 entry prompt: birthday - piñata in which you’re at a mutual friend’s birthday party and it’s his turn to hit the pinata but you really wanted some more food so you pass by what you thought was fast enough but you get hit with a golf club instead. genre: fluff, college!au  words: 5705

i hope you enjoy the first fic i wrote for this fest! it’s quite long but i had fun writing this for a couple of days, it was a cute concept in my head and i hope i did it justice. 10 days more ‘til youngjae’s birthday! c:

It was stupid, really. Since Jackson didn’t go back to Hong Kong for spring break, he still wanted to celebrate his birthday at his apartment. For the three years you have known the Chinese man, he always returned home during this time, so you already had a set routine for yourself  for the two weeks he’s gone. It would’ve been a waste to go home yourself since you have work, and a lot of people request day offs so they can spend their vacation not working, so you had always stayed.

Not like you have anything else to do at home, anyway.

You had developed a quick friendship with Jackson when you met him at an International Welcome Week as he was assigned to your care, and you clicked instantly. He was already fluent in English, and more importantly dead set with learning a lot from you seeing your credentials. Thinking he would be too much of an extrovert compared to your quiet demeanor, you actually experienced a lot of new and exciting things from Jackson as well. You two balance each other out, and the fact that you and him are still friends up until junior year of university says a lot.

You had just arrived at your own apartment from an early night shift, excitement bubbling inside as you can finally continue watching Weightlifting Fairy: Kim Bok Joo. You’d ask Jackson to watch with you, but he was probably off doing whatever social activity he hasn’t checked off his bucket list yet. All of your other friends had gone home, sadly, so it was only you, a bag of chips and eight one-hour long episodes of fresh, fun and not to mention heart fluttering K-drama.

As soon as your hands prepare themselves to hear the air deflating out of the unhealthy bag of junk food, your phone rings. Rolling your eyes, you set aside the chips and grab your phone from the coffee table.

You already know who it is.

“No, I am not coming with you,” you tell Jackson immediately, propping your legs on the table, making yourself comfortable. “Drag Mark along, or Bambam-- he hasn’t flown back to Thailand yet, right?” Interestingly so, most of the close friends you have formed were the people you met alongside Jackson during that welcome week for international students.

“I haven’t said anything yet!” Jackson whines, and you can already imagine his doe eyes and pouting lips.

“I already know what you’re going to say, Seun. And I don’t have the money for it.”

“Aren’t you working?”

“Some of us have loans to pay off before we die,” you counter. “So, what are you doing this time? Kart racing? Surfboard classes?”

“Actually, you butthead,” Jackson replies, a teasing tone to his voice. You groan at the pet name, but let him continue. “I’m hosting a party tonight-- for my birthday! You’re invited, duh,” he exclaims, probably flailing his arms in joy. You raise an eyebrow in suspicion--a birthday party?

“I thought we were just going out to dinner tonight with the others? You promised you would make it simple and private,” you defend, remembering that one conversation you had with him on how to spend his birthday this year that he’s staying. He already had a ton of things planned for his birthday week which you were excited about--for him, that is. You had to beg him not to include you in any of the (expensive) festivities he booked. You and him are already attached to the hip on a daily basis, he should understand when you need time for yourself--and your wallet.

“I did...before everyone else encouraged me to throw a birthday bash instead!” Jackson protests, and you roll your eyes at how easily he can be convinced when the word party or  bash is mentioned.

Everyone else was the organization he had joined specifically for international students, and he’s living in one of their designated dorms so he is pretty close with almost all of them. Jackson, and your few mutual friends, usually hung out at your place since they had the transportation available and you were just running on your feet, the free shuttle system or your worn out bike.

But it was understandable--Jackson was more on the fortunate side, in terms of finance. Most of the international kids were enrolled with scholarships in their name, so you could see how they wouldn’t spend that much money on airplane tickets just for less than two weeks of break.

Sighing, you give up in reasoning out that you would much rather enjoy a peaceful evening with the friends you’re close with. Remembering this was Jackson’s birthday, and not yours, you comply.

“Fine, what time should I--”

“Great! I knew I can count on my best friend!” Jackson cuts you off, then you hear him call out someone’s name in Chinese, and you had a hunch on who it was. He comes back to the phone and adds, “Mark will pick you up in about thirty minutes so get ready. Don’t forget my gift!”

And there goes the line.

Some minutes past thirty goes by, and you are smoothing out the pastel blue faux leather skirt you decided to wear. A small black and white patterned paper bag rests on the table and you made sure to put your name somewhere on it. You hear the familiar sound of the KKT ringtone pop, and you read the text from Mark saying he’s parked right in front of your door when you were already making your way outside, gift in hand.

Mark nods his head in acknowledgement, and you salute back. As soon as you close the door for the passenger seat, he starts driving off.

“What’d you get him?” Mark interrupts the quiet, increasing the volume of the radio at the same time. You look down on your present, pretty pleased with the outcome after only so many tries. You hadn’t used your watercolor materials in a while, so painting Jackson the landscape of the Hong Kong skyline gave you the much needed practice, anyway.

“Why? Stealing my idea before he finds out you haven’t gotten him a gift yet?” You chide playfully, side eyeing the Taiwanese man with a grin. Mark scoffs, shaking his head in amusement before saying, “Yah, I bought almost everything he needed for the party. And besides, I wouldn’t be able to recreate what you made him in less than a few hours.”

You gape at him. “How’d you know I made his gift?”

Marks glances at you, lips smirking that makes the female lowerclassmen you pass by on campus swoon over. “Oh, I know.” You huff a breath, turning your head towards the window to hide your flushed cheeks. You hear Mark laughing to himself before saying, “Jackson is going to love it,” pertaining to your small painting.

Your smile grows on your face.

You weren’t expecting this many people at the party.

Apparently, Jackson was friends with almost everyone, especially the Chinese, Japanese, and Korean students since he was pretty good at conversing with all of their languages. You kind of envied the dude since he has been exposed to a life of different colors and cultures early on, but you know how tiring it can get for him always being the life of the party.

When you saw him waiting for you outside the clubhouse, though, he seemed relaxed and laid back. Arms wide open for you to embrace him back, Jackson looks...happy.

And you’re glad--the only reason he has always been adamant in returning to Hong Kong was to be with his parents again. Being the momma and papa’s boy he is, you always catch him staring absentmindedly at his lockscreen--that is a picture of his parents.

So when he told you he wasn’t leaving this time, you were slightly worried. But not anymore, as you can tell from the carefree smiles he has been wearing since you arrived at the scene that he felt comfortable.

Mark had swiftly hidden your gift among the others because both of you knew he wouldn’t be able to wait to open it. Surprisingly, he didn’t even ask for it as he started introducing you to friends you have only heard of from his own recollections. Your hand feels dry and your confidence deflated after meeting so many people at once, so you ask Jackson where the food was, and he points out a long table full of different kinds of dishes as he kisses you on the cheek before hurrying off to interact with new guests arriving.

You spent almost forty five minutes hanging out by the concessions table, trying out each and every type of food available. You really liked the takoyaki with an excessive amount of sauce spread all over it. You also had a bowl of tteokbokki, and mustered up the courage to try some chicken feet--which was the bomb, by the way.

Most of the guests were at the main hall either dancing silly or playing some games, and you preferred making yourself full for three days in the spacious area of the dining hall. You found Bambam earlier, beating everyone at limbo, and you had met his best friend, Yugyeom, who was killer on the dance floor. While finishing up your feast, Jinyoung had approached you with a quiet Jaebum in tow and you had a lovely conversation--more like nostalgic rants--on Jackson’s energetic vision for life, and how you guys have been partners in crime for most of them in separate occasions.

You went back to the living room to watch people try and destroy the piñatas attached to the ceiling, and you asked Mark what was inside. He chuckled and zipped his lips, refusing to tell you what they were. You smack him on the shoulder lightly, but proceeded to watch with amusement anyway as people attempt and fail most of the time.

Jackson was the host, per se, “volunteering” people to join and encouraging them all the way--Mark gave you a clue in saying that Jackson did most of the stuffing of the party prop, so you can only imagine what kind of goodies he has in store for his guests tonight.

You were quietly enjoying your bingsu, cubed mangoes with condensed milk flavored shaved ice freezing your mouth with pleasure. You had debated whether or not to get more drizzle on your dessert, and seeing as the piñata game had paused to find new members, you ought to make your way past the center of the room to get back to the dining area.

Everyone was crowding around the piñata, so you had to squeeze in bodies of people and scurry out of the noise, making sure your frozen treat was unharmed. Students around you start chanting for a certain name to finally crack open the massive bird-shaped piñata overhead, so you quicken your pace. Back hunched with both hands holding onto your bowl, you quickly make your way through.

Hollering and flailing arms proceed to distract your way out, but before you notice a certain gap emerging from where you were standing, you had already dropped the bowl and feel yourself falling onto the floor with a loud thud, head spinning all of a sudden.

The lighting from the ceiling becomes a gradient of white to gray to extreme blackness. You notice the green piñata was nowhere to be seen from up there, so you turn your head--which you groan outwardly in retaliation (you don’t hear it clearly, so you think you only imagined yourself crying for help)--to inspect your surroundings, watercolors washing away the clarity of your vision. It takes a string of voices to strain your line of already disorganized thinking, and you will yourself to speak up, reach out, breathe normally, but you succumb to the sudden invitation of sleep in the end.

“I don’t want to go back to Korea now!”

“What the hell are you talking about, Jae?”

“Oooh, good bye music scholarship, hyung!”

This is all you hear--or understand for the matter--since the next words being uttered by a range of different voices become incomprehensible. You feel yourself waking up, though your eyes are still shut  due to the brightness hitting the back of your eyelids, only causing your forming migraine to grow more quickly. You try and listen in to the conversation, putting in certain phrases you have heard from someone before--Korean, it’s Korean.

Finally, you identify Jackson’s low and concerned voice, spewing Korean and English messily in his sentences. Another person answers him, more calm and organized in his speech--even though it was in Korean--and you surmise it may have been Jinyoung as you vaguely remember speaking to him sometime today before…

Before what?

“She’s awake.” That was Mark, and you don’t know how he managed to notice your consciousness, but you do begin swatting Jackson’s arms wrapped around you in a frenzy.

“Don’t die on me yet! What about your loans?” He shrieked, managing to keep you in his grip.

“J-Jackson, I c-can’t--what--” you squirm in place, that seems to be a… plush mattress.

“She just got injured, Jackson-ah. Let her breathe,” Jinyoung warned, and you strain your eyes to look for him in the room. As you spot him on your left with crossed arms, Mark is seated next to him on the chair, and Jaebum standing idly behind, eyes focused on his phone. Jackson finally lets you go, and you capture Bambam and Yugyeom’s worried expressions standing at the foot of your bed.

Your eyes wander to your very right where a woman in all white is watching you with a friendly gaze, chart in hand and a glass of water in the other. Another guy--probably a student your age--fidgets next to her, head full of thick black hair in your sight as he refuses to look at you. His pale fingers intertwine and release simultaneously, and you wonder who he is.

“How are you feeling, butthead?” Jackson asks, this time with a more relaxed demeanor. You shift your gaze towards his presence, nodding your head carefully before muttering, “I’m… uh… what exactly…” You couldn’t even finish your train of thought as your migraine continues hammering your head. Squirming outwardly, Jackson tries to reach out to your fragile being but someone holds him back.

“Don’t try and strain yourself, you’re still feeling weak,” the woman in white chimes in, walking closer to the bed. You lift up your hand with the little strength you have and place it on your forehead, only touching a rough texture preventing you from doing so.

“You have a bandage wrapped around your head. You experienced a mild concussion from getting hit on the back of your head a few hours ago. Your friends, well, Jackson specifically, carried you all the way here to get it checked out immediately--not like it’s a far walk, but that’s not an easy feat for someone carrying another person,” she explains, and although it may have been information overload, her voice was mellow and slow--which made you understand the situation a bit more.

“I’m Sana, by the way, your attending nurse! Here’s some painkillers and water to gulp it all down. I expected you’d wake up by now, so I called all the boys in--if you don’t mind,” Sana adds, placing the medication on the palm of your hand which you swallow in a second. You gingerly take hold of the glass and drink in the water in three gulps.

“You may be feeling faint tonight, and out of your element for a few more days, but after spring break you’re sure to recover completely. Just don’t overexert yourself for now, okay?” The nurse tells you, and you frown at her last statement.

“We already called your work, they’re willing to give you the days off,” Mark informs you and reflexively you shoot Jackson a look who shares you an innocent grin. You don’t think you’re allowed to argue right now, heck, your eyes are starting to droop once again.

“I’m going to have her stay in the night and when she’s a bit more capable, I can let her go tomorrow morning. I’ll just call either one of you, is that okay?” Sana asks the boys, but your head slightly turns to the right, wanting to know who the other one is who still had his head down.

“Call me first! I’m on her official emergency contacts list, and I already cleared everything for tomorrow so I’m free to help her out,” Jackson exclaims.

Someone scoffs and says something in Korean which made Jackson whine in response. Everyone starts leaving and you catch Mark asking Jackson if he’s fine on his own with you, then Bambam asking about the party, then Jinyoung wishing you a safe recovery but you’re too exhausted to wave your hand and say your thanks for now.

Eyes half closed, you watch Sana approach the guy in a black sweater and gray sweatpants, patting his shoulder and whispering in his ear at a safe distance. He lifts his head up ever so slightly, eyes red and brimming with fresh tears. He sniffles them away and with his sweater paw, rubs the side of his cheek vigorously to which Sana responds with a reassuring smile. She looks at Jackson one more time, then you, and eventually heads out of the room.

“Who…” you croak out, attempting to sit up. The guy in question perks up, shoulders tense and ears flaming red.

“There was an accident at the party--when we were trying to destroy the piñata,” Jackson explains for you, but you dismiss him with a slight wave of your hand still resting on the bed. You’re slowly figuring out what caused for you to suffer slight head trauma and make you technically jobless for the rest of spring break. You wanted to be frustrated knowing you went out today for your best friend and in turn, have a good time--not end up in the infirmary.

“In Youngjae’s defense, I suggested we use the golf clubs no one ever does for a stick, and I did spin him too many times before letting the club swing.”

“Youngjae?” you repeat, testing the name in your tongue. Again, his breath hitches and you see his twiddling fingers tremble. “Did you hit my head with the golf club?”

You don’t know whether he spoke fluent English or not, so with much desperation you wanted to ask Jackson to translate for you, but after a few moments he finally spoke up, eyes big and watery staring right into you.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t--you… You you were there the moment I stopped spinning and the golf club was so heavy in my grasp so I wasn’t able to properly hold it and the next thing I know I just swayed it in whatever direction and I-I heard a loud noise and so I dropped the club and I-took the blindfold off but it was t-too late..you… You were already on the floor and Jackson hyung already carrying you and--”

Youngjae’s voice was on the verge of cracking, dark brown orbs aching with regret and so is his tone, sweat trickling down his temples and onto his collarbone showing, the oversized sweater on him too constricting, too hot for his body running on pure desperation for forgiveness.

If he wasn’t this troubled (and cute) in apologizing, you would have sued. No, you’re kidding-- it’s the meds. EIther way, he seemed apologetic enough, and assuming his one of Jackson’s friends you really didn’t want to go hard on him.

“It’s okay, Youngjae,” you manage to mumble, the painkillers engulfing you in its effects too soon. “I appreciate you coming here to see me.”

“I-I had to. I wanted to! I wanted to know you’re okay and not badly hurt. I’m really, really sorry,” he continues on, a voice so smooth like honey tainted with drops of sadness. Now you feel bad for making him worry.

“Really, Youngjae. I’m--I’ll be okay. Just need...s-some….rest.”

And then you pass out again.

The second time you wake up, the room was dimly lit. Headache gone, you are finally aware of your surroundings, maybe even hyperaware. You sit up in panic, breath heaving in long and loud intervals, the beating of your heart and thumping of your veins ringing in your ears.

“What-what happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Should I call Nurse Sana?” A familiar voice calls out to your panicking figure, and you whip your head to the sound. It was Youngjae, his face illuminated by the moon shining above his head out the window. It was like he was glowing, radiating in front of you--or maybe it’s the side effects of having a concussion.

“Youngjae? What- what are you still doing here?” You ask abruptly, gulping down the anxiety that attacked you. Only then did you realize Youngjae had held onto your hands as one of his own scratch the back of his neck in embarrassment. You are still entranced with the way the moon’s glimmer accentuates his soft features to feel his hand squeezing yours.

“I-I stayed. Jackson’s party continued on after we--he carried you here. He wanted to keep you company the whole night but he had people to thank and he also felt guilty letting the others clean up afterwards. He was in great conflict, but I told him I can watch over you,” Youngjae relays to you, voice a bit hoarse and dry but you didn’t mind--it still made your stomach churn in confusing delight to hear him speak. You know he’s trying his best to speak English with the way he carefully rolls the letters out of his tongue with words either too tricky or too long--it was cute.

“I see,” was all you could reply, feeling the heat flushing your cheeks. You make the mistake of glancing downward to your entwined hands, and so Youngjae abruptly retracts his grip, but you pull it back in.

“No, I..um.. I like it that way. If it’s okay,” you mumble, bringing his hand back down to your side, cupping his palm with your cold fingers. You feel him stiffen at your touch, but as his shoulder relaxes so does his hand before reconnecting the gaps between your fingers and his. You feel at ease again.

“I’m sorry if I startled you. I got alarmed when I realized the lights were out,” you confess, looking around as your vision adjusts to just the availability of natural light hitting the room.

“Do you want me to turn the ceiling light on?”

“No, no. This is fine. I can see you perfectly fine,” you reassure him, debating whether or not to smile at him to know you were really content with your situation. If you did, you might just blush harder at his concerned expression; if you didn’t, you don’t know how much you can take in the the waves of whimsical emotions coursing through you.

“Oh, I refilled your glass,” Youngjae points out, taking the cup from the bedside table. He offers it tentatively, but you nod your head in approval as you purse your lips towards the object. Youngjae tilts his head in confusion, not quite understanding what you wanted from him.

You giggle softly. “My hand is kind of preoccupied right now,” you remind him, eyes momentarily narrowing at your intertwined hands before bringing them back up to see Youngjae grinning bashfully at you.

“You have another one over there,” he plays along, pursing his full lips to your free hand which you hid underneath the sheets. You raise your eyebrows knowingly, and it’s the first time you hear him chuckle--throat still scratchy from being awake at probably three in the morning, but a beautiful sound nonetheless.

“It’s a bit unavailable at the moment,” you conclude, shrugging one shoulder.

Shaking his head, Youngjae laughs breathlessly this time before closing in on you, body mere inches from yours and the glass of water ready for you to intake. Opening your mouth slightly, he dips one corner downward, a stream of distilled water going down your throat as you gulp. You try not to notice his eyes watching your every sip, even his lips mimicked your own and you swore you saw his tongue dart out for a second too long.

You finish the glass, and Youngjae sets it back down the table, other hand never leaving yours. You mutter a soft thanks to which he grins with his lips, eyes crinkling and your heart fluttering even more.

“So, uh, you’re not mad at me anymore?” He asks you. You shake your head. “I never was, Youngjae. Well--I was frustrated when I first woke up but it was more due to the fact of losing consciousness. Other than that, I didn’t get angry. It was an accident,” you confirm.

“It was my first time trying to wreck a piñata, actually. I admit I got too excited. Hyung has always celebrated his birthday back in Hong Kong, so I was really happy he decided to stay this year,” Youngjae admits, and you nod in understanding. It was cute that Youngjae kept Jackson’s honorific despite speaking in English; you wonder why the Chinese man never introduced you to him before.

“Not to offend you or anything, but why have I only met you now? I mean, I don’t talk to the other as much as I do with Jackson, Mark, and Bam but Seun had personally introduced me to them before,” you comprehend.

“Oh, I guess we never got the chance to. I always hang out with the Music major kids like myself, and Jackson hyung and the others coincidentally go to classes close to each other,” Youngjae says sheepishly. “And as far as I know, you rarely hang out over here and I usually spend time with them more back in the dorms.”

“That sucks. I would’ve been interested in hearing you play the instrument you’re focused on,” you say quietly. “If you were comfortable with that, of course!” You feel like you had to point that out, with the hand holding at the moment and what not.

“No, yeah. I’m still a bit shy with playing the piano by myself, but I’ll be glad to show you a piece or two that I’ve been working on,” Youngjae simply admits, and you glance up at him to see his eyes shimmer in the incandescence of the night. He sounds genuine, and nervous-- but you appreciate the honest show of emotions for you, too, are a hot and flustered mess right now.

“Who do you normally play with?” You ask instead.

“Sometimes, when I want to hear the guys’ opinions, I have Jaebum hyung to help me sing some part while playing the piano. It eases my nerves, but I know I have to learn how to perform by myself, and not shrivel up in a ball every time I do so.”

“That sounds like something I’d do,” you say, lightening up the mood. “But I’m sure you’ll get there, Jae--” you place your free hand on your mouth, not believing the nickname slipped out so… effortlessly. Youngjae doesn’t seem to be bothered as he gives your hand a light squeeze. “You can call me, Jae,” he reaffirms as your hand back track from your lips.

You spend the rest of the late night chatting and getting to know each other more, but you had seen Youngjae yawn a few times in conversation, and you were too afraid to tell him that your migraine was coming back. Fortunately, he noticed when your hand involuntarily creeps up onto your bandaged forehead to massage the area only to find out the barrier keeping you away from it.

“So, I literally kept telling him I didn’t want anything grand on my birthday, but lo and behold what shows up on my doorstep? A puppy! A freaking puppy--oh my god, how are you doing that?” You were in the middle of recalling the first birthday you celebrated knowing Jackson when a foreign yet calming sensation runs through you from your entwined fingers. Youngjae was still looking at you, intently listening to your stories before realizing you had asked him a question. He stops rubbing his thumb over the sweet spot, and you frown.

He laughs with the sound you had instantly fallen in love with (already, you think) and says, “It’s a technique I learned from a class I took last semester. There’s an area on the back of your hand that is somehow connected to headaches or migraines, so if you put just the right amount of pressure on that specific spot it helps with the pain.”

“That’s--that’s useful information,” you sigh comfortable, leaning into your bed. “I’m sorry our conversation has to be cut short.”

“We have time to catch up.” Youngjae chuckles, letting his thumb push into your skin and you yawn for the nth time that night. You don’t know how many hours had passed since you woke up for the second time. You don’t figure it out as you enter sleep for the third time in less than twenty-four hours with Youngjae’s warm touch sending you to dreamland.

You wake up comfortably this time, expecting the same hands resting themselves in between yours. But as you collect your conscience, you feel… bare.

“Good morning, butthead.” Only one person in the world called you that and was ever allowed to. Your eyes flutter, seeing Jackson in a tank top and basketball shorts hovering next to you, a tray of savory smelling breakfast food in hand. “Nurse Sana said it was complimentary,” he adds with a grin.

Sitting up gingerly, you rub your eyes with the hand that lost its warmth. You pout, wondering where Youngjae went-- probably home as he wasn’t obligated to stay with you for that long, right?

“I’ve been holding this breakfast tray for so long now, so if you’re not eating then I will!”

You roll your eyes-- Jackson already at his element so early in the morning wasn’t a rarity, but someone’s absence was really making you all kinds of confused and frustrated.

But you hear your stomach growl quietly underneath the white sheets, and Jackson notices before placing the tray on your lap, demanding you get your nutrients for the day. You decide to distract your mind with food--it usually works.

You share breakfast with Jackson, asking him what went on at the party after you left. Everyone seemed to be worried, he recalled, but someone was finally able to crack open the piñata and the energy resurged. You asked him what was inside and he made you guess, twinkles in his eyes.

You snort, thinking of the best yet impossible thing he could ever put into those piñatas. “Organic green tea bags?”

Jackson stops biting his scrambled eggs midway as he looks at you surprisingly. You give him the same look, swallowing before letting the laugh escape your lungs. You were right--of course.

After you finish eating, Jackson returns the tray outside while Nurse Sana returns to check if everything has been going well for you. She instructed to take the pain medications when you feel it is at a level seven, giving you the paper bag with the prescription inside. Repeating her warning about not overworking yourself, you nod vigorously.

You are ready to head home. You already feel icky with your clothes, so you want to take a shower as soon as possible. You receive a text from Jackson saying he is waiting outside with Mark, ready to drive you home. Thanking Nurse Sana yet again, you make your way outside the patient room.

Opening the door, you don’t look when you advance head first, someone in your way. Luckily, they grab you by the shoulders to push you back, avoiding another collision. Are you really that careless to get another concussion?

“Easy,” Youngjae chuckles, and it takes you a second to realize he’s back. He’s here… with different clothes?

“I don’t want to give you another concussion,” he jokes, letting go of your shoulders. Blinking rapidly at him, you shake your head and gush, “No, no. This time it’s my fault! Sorry.”

Giving him a quick scan, his black hair was damp and face looking fresh and cleaner. He notices you staring, embarrassingly, but he explains, “Oh, I-- I went back to my dorm this morning to shower and change. You didn’t seem like you were waking up soon so I thought I had time before you did.”

Putting a hand over your mouth, you’re suddenly conscious of your own hygiene--you haven’t brushed since last night, good lord. It was also a way to hide the blush warming your cheeks, but talking to Youngjae in the morning was a different sensation all over.

During the moonlight, his presence was a calm sea of waves washing over you. In the morning, he was bright and blooming--making the sun drop to its knees at how vibrant Youngjae appeared to be.

“So, are you going back to your place?”

“Y-yeah. I need to shower too,” you blurt out, voice mumbled from your hand. He nods, stepping back so you have space to come forward.

“I saw Mark hyung’s car outside with Jackson hyung. They’re probably waiting for you,” Youngjae surmises. You frown behind your hand--you don’t want to go, better yet you want Youngjae to stay with you.

“Do you want to come with?” You say in a small voice, removing your hand but making sure he can hear you. “I mean, the guys are probably going to hang out at my apartment for a while, so do you want to join us?”

You really didn’t know what he would say, considering that you did just meet a day ago. But the conversation last night made you long for more, and you have high hopes Youngjae feels the same.

“I guess this is us catching up,” Youngjae beams, sending your mind in a frenzy with a flash of his smile. “I’d love to come with.”

And that is just the start.

[theonyxpath]

As our Changeling: The Lost 2nd Edition Kickstarter finishes up the Spring season, and we prepare to turn the KS site into the Summer motifs of our last seasonal change, I’ve gotta say that everyone’s response to the new edition has been fantastic, and we’re thrilled at the continuing momentum and the interest during this Spring week. Thanks to everyone who backed, and looking forward to the thoughts of those holding off until they see the last chapters coming tomorrow!

Is it weird to talk about Spring while we are in December holidays mode?

Nah, I don’t think so, we’re roleplayers after all, and used to imagining one thing while something else is going on. Plus, we have our holiday presents to look forward to! For my Christmas presents, the one I’m really looking forward to is the DVDs of the new Twin Peaks season. Certainly a precursor to the “dark secrets under the surface” settings we’ve all been enjoying for years, and I have danced around to avoid spoilers for what seems like a year now!

Feel free to share the present you’re most looking forward to in the comments!

(He says, opening himself up to “Wraith20!” and “Scion2!” responses…)

      Aaron Riley art for C20 Ready Made Characters

    Thanks everybody, for letting me use this space last week to wax nostalgic. This week, I’d like to go over our game book creation process (which is very close to any project’s process, but specifically for game books) because we get questions about this all the time, and I hope we can link to this for when folks need to know. Satyr Phil Brucato did a run-down of this in his M20 Art of Mage book we recently released, and it is pretty darn accurate:

Satyr Phil sez: Lots of fans have asked about the process behind these books, and so – to give a context to the work an illustrator does – I’ve included an overview of the process we go through when crafting a book for Mage.

As a general rule, the stages involved in creating, say, a roleplaying game sourcebook, are as follows:

• Brainstorming, during which the line developer (essentially a project manager for the series in question) decides what the book should cover, determines the themes and approach involved, hashes out the contents of the book, and figures out how large, detailed, and extensive the project will be when it gets published. (RichT here: Satyr also has a group of folks he calls his “brain-trust” that he bounces ideas off of. Not every developer has a formal group like that, but many solicit input during this phase from colleagues and friends).

• Outlining, wherein the developer drafts up an outline for the text. The author(s) use(s) this outline as a blueprint for the book, its chapters and contents, and so forth. If the book has multiple authors, the outline assigns sections and chapters to the writing crew, giving them rough instructions to follow while they’re writing it.

• Writing, the stage at which the author(s) produce(s) the written text. Generally, this stage involves two drafts: the first one, that lays the foundation for the final work, and the second, which polishes it to a professional sheen.

(RichT here: As you’ll note below in our weekly project progress report, we break this phase into First Drafts, Redlines, and Second Drafts, as the writers are sending in drafts and the developer(s) are giving them back notes on what needs to change. Those notes are the Redlines, as they were originally written in red ink on the paper text pages).

• Development, during which the developer puts the personal touch on the text. In my case, this usually involves a large amount of additional writing and rewriting, as well as conferences with my brain-trust in order to catch and improve elements that I might have missed. Every line developer, however, handles this stage according to their personal style and desires. Mine just happens to involve a lot of writing and revision!

• Editing, when the developer hands off the polished text to an editor for proofreading. Although the developer and brain-trust have, ideally, proofed the text before this point, the editor brings a fresh set of eyes to the project. Usually, that editor will spot mistakes the developer and other collaborators did not catch.

• Art direction, which generally occurs as the text goes into editing. The developer hands the art notes off to the art director, who then chooses a group of artists who’ll be working from those notes in order to illustrate the book. Based on those notes, the availability of freelance illustrators, and the suitability of the freelance artists in the art director’s stable of talent, the art director – who, in the Onyx Path era, is generally Michael Chaney – hires a group of illustrators for the project, gets them the art notes and a prodigiously underlined copy of the pre-edit manuscript (underlined to indicate potential illustrations that will suit the text), gives them a deadline, and waits for the artwork to come in so the book can be laid out once the editing and illustration stages have been completed.

• Illustration, during which time those artists create their work and send it in. As mentioned earlier, those artists used to send their work in via a postal-delivery service; since the late 1990s, thanks to the innovation of high-speed internet services, those illustrations have been delivered digitally. (RichT here: Much like with the writing, illustration occurs in multiple phases; typically rough sketches, tight sketches and/or color sketches, and finished art. The art director, as well as some folks with special appropriate knowledge like the Creative Director or developer, review these phases and get comments back to the illustrators.)

• Layout, which occurs after the text has been edited and the illustrations have been sent in and approved. A graphic designer takes the files, lays them out in a publishable book format, (RichT here: and designs logos, page design elements, parchments, etc…) and sends them back to the line developer for…

• Proofing / corrections – a stage that can involve between two and six drafts of the work. The line developer takes the layout file, prints it out, and goes over it looking for things to correct. Once the corrections are finished, the developer sends the corrections back to the graphic designer, who (one hopes) inputs those corrections and sends back a corrected draft. This process ends when most (though not, inevitably, all) of the flaws are found and corrected.

• Indexing occurs once the book has been laid out. The indexer – who might be a contractor hired specifically for that task – creates a list of terms to index, then goes through the entire text, finds the appropriate terms, and inputs them into a file that will be laid out, upon completion, by the graphic designer. Given the massive amount of time and labor involved in creating a high-quality index, this stage gets used for only the biggest and most important projects. For context, the index for Mage 20th Anniversary Edition demanded almost three weeks of high-intensity labor.

• Approval, during which the owners of the IP (intellectual property) go through the project and approve it for press, require changes, or withhold approval completely. When you’re working with a licensed IP, as Onyx Path Publishing does with the World of Darkness and Chronicles of Darkness books, (RichT here: And Exalted!) there can be several steps in an approval process: concept, text, and layout approval. This isn’t a stage you need to go through if you own the intellectual-property rights, or work for the company that does; it’s inevitable, though, when you do not.

• Once the appropriate stages are complete, the book goes to press. Even then, there’s a final proof stage, during which the printer sends an advance copy to the publisher in order to (hopefully) catch any new or lingering mistakes. During the Mage 20 press-proof stage, we found a formatting glitch that would have screwed up the color balance in the book. Once this stage has finally been passed as well, the printer rolls press and the files become a finished book.

      Jeff Laubenstein art for C20 Freeholds

    Finally, just a note about the DragonMeet meet-up that Eddy Webb, Dave Brookshaw, and Matthew Dawkins were able to do at the convention in London over last weekend. I’ve only heard scattered reports from them, but it sounds like there was a lot of good shop-talk about development best practices, upcoming projects like Deviant and They Came From Beneath the Sea!, and other projects we can’t go into now.

With our Onyx Path creators spread out around the world, it is really hard to get that sort of sharing of experiences that really help creators formalize their work habits effectively, and expand their ideas, even with internet chat rooms and such. I expect to hear more from the guys about what they were able to go into, but if you’re interested in some of it, here’s a link to a Darker Days Podcast breakfast interview that the three of them participated in: http://ift.tt/2idYB8s Deviant, Contagion Chronicle, Mage 2nd, Pugmire, They Came From…, and even some V5 talk occurred, set to the delightful background music of their breakfast establishment.

Because, of course: Many Worlds. One Path.

  BLURBS!

KICKSTARTER:

A week and a half-ish left of our KS campaign!

Our story so far: We funded in about a day, and have already blown through 14 Stretch Goals! The goals include three novellas: Autumn, Winter, and Spring, an art budget increase, a CtL2 Jumpstart, a new virtual CtL2 dice set added to the Onyx Path Dice App, three new sections for the Kith and Kin book that we’re calling the Book of Kiths, the first sections for the CtL2 Companion: Entitlements and Freeholds, and we added another 2 PDFs to our CtL 1st Edition PDF reward. With many more Stretch Goal rewards to come!

We’ve also revealed excerpts with notes from the developers, and three-quarters of the book text has been shown to backers so far.

Come along as the seasons change and we reveal the final chapters of the core book text to backers!

Next, our Trinity Continuum Kickstarter will start in early January!

  ON SALE NOW:

As we try and find ways to enable our community to more easily play our games, the Onyx Dice Rolling App is now 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 both rolling and rocking! Right now, they’re working on implementing multi-dice and die previews in the store, after adding in a lot of requested upgrades and tweaks, which is going along nicely but is a ton of work. Here are the links for the Apple and Android versions:

http://ift.tt/2zjnD0c

http://ift.tt/2hhT5Fk

Three different screenshots, above.

(The Solar Anima special Dice)

    ON AMAZON AND BARNES & NOBLE:

We’re delighted to announce the opening of our ebook stores 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). Our initial selection includes these fiction anthologies:

Vampire: The Masquerade: The Endless Ages Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: Rites of Renown: When Will You Rage II (Kindle, Nook)

Mage: The Ascension: Truth Beyond Paradox (Kindle, Nook)

Chronicles of Darkness: The God-Machine Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Mummy: The Curse: Curse of the Blue Nile (Kindle, Nook)

Beast: The Primordial: The Primordial Feast Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

  And here are six more fiction books:

Vampire: The Masquerade: Of Predators and Prey: The Hunters Hunted II Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: The Poison Tree (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: Songs of the Sun and Moon: Tales of the Changing Breeds (Kindle, Nook)

Vampire: The Requiem: The Strix Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Forsaken: The Idigam Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Mage: The Awakening: The Fallen World Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

  Andand six more more:

Vampire: The Masquerade: The Beast Within Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: W20 Cookbook (Kindle, Nook)

Exalted: Tales from the Age of Sorrows (Kindle, Nook)

Chronicles of Darkness: Tales of the Dark Eras (Kindle, Nook)

Promethean: The Created: The Firestorm Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Demon: The Descent: Demon: Interface (Kindle, Nook)

  And even more books are now on Amazon and the Nook store!:

Scarred Lands: Death in the Walled Warren (Kindle, Nook)

V20 Dark Ages: Cainite Conspiracies (Kindle, Nook)

Chronicles of Darkness: Strangeness in the Proportion (Kindle, Nook)

Vampire: The Requiem: Silent Knife (Kindle, Nook)

Mummy: The Curse: Dawn of Heresies (Kindle, Nook)

    OUR SALES PARTNERS:

We’re working with Studio2 to get Pugmire 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!

http://ift.tt/2w0aaEW

    Looking for our Deluxe or Prestige Edition books? Here’s the link to the press release we put out about how Onyx Path is now selling through Indie Press Revolution: http://ift.tt/1ZlTT6z

You can now order wave 2 of our Deluxe and Prestige print overrun books, including Deluxe Mage 20th Anniversary, and Deluxe V20 Dark Ages! And Screens…so many Screens!

And you can now order Pugmire: the book, the screen, and the dice! http://ift.tt/1pOsnTb

    DRIVETHRURPG.COM:

The world of Pugmire comes alive in this full cast audio drama experience “Thank You, Darcy Cat” available Wednesday on DTRPG.com!

The police dogs have called Alistair Afghan to discuss the crimes of his valet, Darcy Cat. But this misunderstanding leads to the discovery of a deadly secret deep in the heart of Pugmire society. Will Alistair and Darcy be able to save Pugmire from this threat?

Created by Audioblivious Productions in conjunction with Pugsteady. Check out Audioblivious at http://ift.tt/2jPsQ61!

    We unveil Vampire: The Requiem 2e‘s Half-Damned as an Advance PDF on DTRPG.com!

http://ift.tt/2imeGt5

I love her, she’s family, but I don’t love what she is.

– Antonio Ramírez, dhampir

This book includes: 

• An exploration of what it means to be one of the Half-Damned, dhampir, revenants or ghouls.

• Mechanics for creating Half-Damned characters.

• Information for creating and running chronicles using the various Half-Damned character types, both with vampires and alone.

• Information on Half-Damned antagonists for vampire chronicles.

      Legacy of Lies, the V20 Dark Ages Jumpstart, goes undead in PDF and physical book PoD versions on DTRPG:

http://ift.tt/2k981ql

TWO PRINCES. BITTER RIVALS. AND A COTERIE CAUGHT BETWEEN THEM. 

Marcus Verus, the vampiric Prince of Chester, secretly prepares to go into torpor. Should his plans be made public, the Prince knows the wolves — both real and imagined — would launch an attack, threatening all within his domain.

That’s where you come in.

Legacy of Lies includes:

Basic rules for players and Storytellers

Introduction to the Vampire: The Masquerade Dark Ages setting

Introductory adventure

Characters for players and Storytellers

      Appearing on DriveThruRPG is the Advance PDF for Arms of the Chosen for Exalted 3rd Edition! http://ift.tt/2A0ga4f

Take up the panoply of legendary heroes and lost ages, and awaken the world-shaking might of their Evocations. Before the dawn of time, the Exalted wielded god-metal blades to cast down the makers of the universe. In an ancient epoch of forgotten glories, Creation’s greatest artificers forged unimaginable wonders and miracle-machines.

Now, in the Age of Sorrows, kingdoms go to war over potent artifacts, scavenger princes risk everything to uncover relics of the past, and the Exalted forge great arms and armor on the anvil of legend. These treasures are yours to master.

Discover the mystical power of the five magical materials and the secrets of creating your own Evocations. Wield weapons of fabled might and don the armor of mythic heroes, making their puissance your own. Claim Creation’s wonders: the miraculous tools of the Chosen, living automatons, flying machines, hearthstones, and more. And unleash the mighty warstriders, titanic god-engines of conquest and devastation, to once more shake Creation with their footfalls.

          What dark secrets do the eldest vampires hold? Find out in Thousand Years of Night for Vampire: The Requiem! PDF and physical book PoD versions available on DriveThruRPG.com. http://ift.tt/2sV8lZR

You may think that with a multitude of people coming, going, dying and running away, we’d be tired, done, or ready to give up. Instead, I find myself restless, looking for the next thing.  There’s always a next thing, and I for one am not yet ready to die.

– Elder Kincaid, Daeva Crone

This book includes:

• Detailed instructions on creating elder vampires, including how to base chronicles around them

• A look into the lives of elders, how they spend their nights, who they work with, and why including their roles in both their clans and covenants

• New Devotions, Merits, and Rituals for elder vampires

• The kinds of creatures that pose a threat to elder vampires, including Inamorata, Lamia, Sons of Phobos, a new elder conspiracy, and more!

      Is a life of running and hiding a life worth living? We say yes. There’s always something between the running and the hiding, and those moments of grace make it all worthwhile.

The Huntsmen Chronicle Anthology is a perfect companion piece to Changeling: The Lost, 2nd Edition. These stories spin tales of the Lost, of those abducted and enslaved by fairies. Those who escaped, but whose captors will stop at nothing to find them. These fairies summon forth the Huntsmen, primordial hunters who understand nothing but pursuit and capture. The Huntsmen are unstoppable monsters, and the Lost can only look to each other for respite, rare comfort, and rarer trust.

The Hedge has parted and you can get the Advance PDF of The Huntsmen Chronicle Fiction Anthology for Changeling: The Lost 2nd Edition at DTRPG.com! http://ift.tt/2z4uZnU

          A Land Where Legends Walk

Drawing enthusiastically on Greek mythology, the revised and re-imagined Scarred Lands nonetheless retains its place as a modern fantasy RPG setting. This is a world shaped by gods and monsters, and only the greatest of heroes can expect to be counted among them. The most populous continent of Scarn, Ghelspad, plays host to vast unexplored regions, hides unsolved riddles from ancient cultures, and taunts adventures with the promise of undiscovered riches hidden among the ruins of older civilizations.

Yet the myths of the Scarred Lands are relatively recent events. The effects of the Titanswar still ripple through the world, and the heroines and villains of many of these stories are part of living memory, if not still living.

The Award-Winning Fantasy Setting Returns

Scarred Lands has been a favorite fantasy setting since the release of the Creature Collection for the d20 System in 2000. In subsequent years, over 40 titles were published for Scarred Lands, making it one of the most fully supported fantasy RPG settings ever and the premiere product line of Sword & Sorcery Studios.

Available in both 5th Edition and Pathfinder compatible versions! PDF and PoD formats available NOW!

http://ift.tt/2fEO9YJ

http://ift.tt/2fELqyx

  Heroes, Villains, and Others in Between! 

This tome is a revision of the original book by the same title, originally published for use with 3rd edition rules for the world’s most popular roleplaying game. In this revised edition of The Wise & the Wicked, all the same characters have returned (and we’ve added some new ones, too!), for use with the Scarred Lands Player’s Guide. 

Champions of Gods and Titans 

The Wise & the Wicked introduces a rogue’s gallery of the Scarred Lands’ movers and shakers, characters who carry out the will of the gods or the fallen titans. These non-player characters can be friends, enemies, or simply convenient resources for the player characters in your game.

Inside, find villains such as King Virduk of Calastia, the Black Dragon, along with his wife, the beautiful (and black-hearted) Queen Geleeda; the Grand Vizier to King Virduk, the wicked warrior-mage Anteas; and the sinister general of Virduk’s northern armies, Archduke Traviak the Steel-Fisted. At the other end of the spectrum, meet the gracious Lady Ariniel, the Swan Knight, champion of Madriel; Kimer the Shatterer, bearer of the Earth Sword of Scarn and tenacious foe of the titanspawn of the north; and King Thain the Just, the Aleking, ruler of Burok Torn. And many others beside!

Here you’ll find a fascinating compendium of characters from the Scarred Lands, but easily transported into campaigns set elsewhere. In addition, find multiple appendices full of new magic items and artifacts, class archetypes and prestige classes, new feats, new creatures and races, and more.

Available in Pathfinder and 5th Edition versions! PDF and PoD formats available NOW!

http://ift.tt/2zdVHXS

http://ift.tt/2zeEpd8

            CONVENTIONS!

Planning ahead for 2018, we’re heading back to Midwinter Game Convention in Milwaukee, January 11-14, where we’re going to be bringing a big crew of many of your favorite Onyx Path designers and we’ll be running demos and making some special announcements at the show!  http://midwintergamingconvention.com

    And now, the new project status updates!

DEVELOPMENT STATUS FROM ROLLICKING ROSE (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)

M20 Gods and Monsters (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

M20 Book of the Fallen (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

C20 Novel (Jackie Cassada) (Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition)

Deviant: The Renegades (Deviant: The Renegades)

  Redlines

Hunter: the Vigil 2e core (Hunter: the Vigil 2nd Edition)

They Came From Beneath the Sea! Rulebook (TCFBtS!)

  Second Draft

WoD Ghost Hunters (World of Darkness)

Tales of Good Dogs – Pugmire Fiction Anthology (Pugmire)

Exalted 3rd Novel by Matt Forbeck (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Monarchies of Mau (Monarchies of Mau)

  Development

Signs of Sorcery (Mage: the Awakening Second Edition)

SL Ring of Spiragos (Pathfinder – Scarred Lands 2nd Edition)

Ring of Spiragos (5e – Scarred Lands 2nd Edition)

Scion: Origin (Scion 2nd Edition)

Scion: Hero (Scion 2nd Edition)

Trinity Continuum Core Rulebook (The Trinity Continuum)

Trinity Continuum: Aeon Rulebook (The Trinity Continuum)

GtS Geist 2e core (Geist: the Sin-Eaters Second Edition)

Night Horrors: The Tormented (Promethean: The Created 2nd Edition)

  WW Manuscript Approval:

  Editing:

Ex Novel 2 (Aaron Rosenberg) (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Pan’s Guide for New Pioneers (Pugmire)

Kithbook Boggans (Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition)

The Realm (Exalted 3rd Edition)

  Post-Editing Development:

Changeling: the Lost 2nd Edition, featuring the Huntsmen Chronicle (Changeling: the Lost 2nd Edition)

Dragon-Blooded (Exalted 3rd Edition)

  Indexing:

    ART DIRECTION FROM MIRTHFUL MIKE:

In Art Direction

Cavaliers of Mars – New art getting assigned.

Ex3 Monthly Stuff

Scion Origins

Ring of Spiragos

Changeling: the Lost 2

Trinity Continuum – It’s a goin’.

Pugmire – Vinsen’s Tomb

Ex3 Dragon Blooded

Pugmire – Pan’s Explorer’s Guide (or whatever) – Sending notes for this over to Laubenstein, Syme, Loboyko, and Alida this week as soon as I finish going through them.

  Marketing Stuff

  In Layout

Pugmire/Scarred Lands Community Content – working on the logo.

Book of Freeholds – To Mark

DtD Enemy Action – Re-uploading some files to Josh

Pugmire Fetch Quest – Working on sample designs for more playtesting.

  Proofing

Wraith 20 – Final layout proof to WW.

W20 Changing Ways – First proof.

Beast PG

  At Press

Beckett Screen – Shipped to shipper.

Scarred Land PGs & Wise and the Wicked PF & 5e – To fulfillment shipper. PDF and PoD physical book versions on sale at DTRPG.

Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition (Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition) – Deluxe Edition cover and Screen in the works. Waiting for Deluxe cover and the Screen proofs.

Prince’s Gambit – Print and Play version updated. Getting specs from printer.

M20 Cookbook – PoD proofs ordered.

CtL Huntsmen Chronicle Anthology  – Layout waiting for errata.

V20 Beckett’s Jyhad Diary– Working on PoD files.

C20 Ready Made Characters – Ended Backer PDF errata gathering.

Ex 3 Arms of the Chosen – Ended Advance PDF errata gathering

Pugmire Artisan Cards – PoD proofs ordered.

Pugmire Shepherd Cards – PoD proofs ordered.

Pentex Indoctrination Manual – PDF out to backers last week, errata gathering.

  TODAY’S REASON TO CELEBRATE: Wow, December already! The butt-end of the year with the sparkly lights and elves and stuff. It’s a crazy time of the year, everybody is stressed and just nuts, and that’s worth a bit of cheer, at least!

[theazurerat]

OTD - XII “The Cursed Empress”

(If you have any questions, feel free to check out the about page in my sidebar!)

+++ Ordo Tartarus Inquisitorial Datatomb Lexob accessed  +++ +++ Awaiting Inquiry… +++ > Retrieve OTD - XII +++ Retrieving… +++ +++ Datatome Found. Clearance granted.+++ +++ “Success is measured with blood – yours, or your enemy’s.” +++

OTD Number: OTD – XII

Designation: “The Cursed Empress”

Threat Level: Malleus Extremis

Status: Captive, in stasis.

Conditions of Containment: OTD – XII is kept in a medically induced coma in a Polyphemus pattern stasis tank, within a 20m x 15m x 10m holding chamber. The chamber is equipped with 3 redundant plasma generator subsystems to minimize the chance of power failure. The control room for the OTD – XII holding chamber has cogitators for communing with the machine spirits of the stasis tank, and the chem administration systems. Tech adepts controlling this chamber are to administer Elixir – XII, a chemical mix consisting of Tyche’s Kiss, Amnecium, Pherlyxa, and [INTERDICTED], every 12 hours. There is to always be enough component chems in storage to maintain the being’s stasis for at least 5 terran years without re-supply.

The Polyphemus pattern stasis tank is heavily modified. Ordo Malleus daemonologists and psykers have inscribed 3 complete pentagramic wards on the outside of the tank. In the event of OTD – XII awakening and attempting to breach containment, a Truesilver Sarcophagus is has been constructed into the base of the tank, that will emerge from the floor and seal in the tank completely. Should the need for this contingency arise, on-site Astropaths are to send out an encrypted emergency signal to any nearby Ordo Tartarus cells and retinues with psychic capability. Simultaneously, Levy-XII-Primus, led by Primaris Psyker ██████████, is to be immediately deployed to pacify and re-contain  OTD – XII. Astropaths are instructed not to send out any signal indicating tranquil status until complete repairs of  the being’s stasis tank and holding chamber are completed, and OTD – XII is returned to a comatose state.

All armed forces responding to an attempted containment breach by  OTD – XII are instructed to engage entirely with non-lethal force. Despite OTD – XII being an immediate threat, terminating the being’s life functions would be tantamount to a complete containment breach. Levy-XII-Primus is to utilize their psychic personnel to assist in disarming and subduing OTD – XII. Any lethal blows struck against OTD – XII will be punished with immediate execution.

Description: OTD – XII is a Serpent-XI class daemonic entity bound to the body of a human female. The vessel OTD – XII inhabits is no longer identifiable due to extreme mutation caused by OTD – XII. The lack of any semblance of human soul within OTD – XII indicates that it is a daemonhost, as opposed to a possessed individual. The mutations have changed OTD – XII into a 2.8m tall being with very prominent musculature. Its flesh has become a porcelain white color, and the subject’s eyes are entirely black, with no visible whites or irises. In addition, the being’s right arm has mutated to resemble the claw of a large arthropod, and several violet colored horns have grown out of the subject’s shoulders and face.

OTD – XII is highly prone to violence, and has suicidal tendencies. The being will intentionally seek out battles it knows it will be defeated in, and charge into combat with no concern for its well being. When attacking, it will either slash and crush with its claw, or slash with the talons on its left hand. The talons are sharp enough to cut through carapace, and the claw can crush with a force of up to 600 Pascals. OTD – XII is also capable of sustaining hits from most solid projectile and las weaponry with little to no damage. OTD – XII has proven to be vulnerable to weapons crafted of Truesilver, psionically charged ammunition, blessed armaments, and direct psychic attack.

OTD – XII has been interrogated, and has revealed that it is currently under a curse from ████████████, an Eagle-IX class daemonic entity it encountered █ centuries before its containment (See Interrogation-XII-I). OTD – XII has expressed an intense grudge toward this being, and has expressed a desire for vengeance. The following are the conditions of the curse.

1) Upon vessel death, OTD – XII will be barred from passing into the Warp.  OTD – XII will then manifest within the body of another human and be permanently bound to them. There is no determined range for this process to occur, which leads Ordo Tartarus Inquisitors to believe that it could occur anywhere in the galaxy. 2) OTD – XII is to be laid low in battle six times, before its full daemonic form will finally be restored to it. At that point, the seventh human OTD – XII manifests within will instead serve as a means for OTD – XII to pass into the material realm.

OTD – XII has died four deaths in battle already. With each death, and subsequent binding, OTD – XII’s vessel mutates into a stronger form. If OTD – XII were to be terminated, locating the entity would be nearly impossible. Because of the battle tendencies of OTD – XII, it would likely suffer its fifth and sixth death before we could locate it. This would result in the complete manifestation of a Serpent-XI class daemonic entity, which would result in [INTERDICTED] leading to the potential destruction of an Imperial World, or [INDICIUM PURGED]. The following interrogation was recorded by an optical Servo Skull.

+++Interrogation XII-I+++

Subject: OTD – XII

Interrogators: Inquisitor A█████, Telepath Deetris Arbolo

[Inquisitor A█████ and Deetris approach the holding chamber. They are flanked by Inquisitor A█████’s security detail, five Tempestus Scions on each side, for a total of ten. Deetris reaches out and places her palm on the stasis tank holding OTD – XII. There is a silence for two minutes, before Deetris’ head is seen jerking back. The popping of bones can be heard as her spine bends backwards, before she freezes, and her eyes open. They are entirely black, similar to OTD – XII. Deetris’ face becomes a smile as she rights herself]

Inq. A: It looks like you’re ready to talk, warp-spawn.

OTD – XII: It’s something for me to do. Keeping me in this can of jelly doesn’t make for good entertainment.

Inq. A: These wards keep you in this can, and the Truesilver sarcophagus ensures that you can never leave even if you did wake up. You should be grateful I allowed for the lowering of your cocktail dosage so we could have this little chat. But enough of your condition. When you’re slain in battle, your spirit is freed from its vessel, is it not? Why did you not return to the Warp? Why did you immediately possess another vessel after being slain?

OTD – XII: Wreaking havoc is just that fun!

Inq. A: I wonder if you’d jib at my questions if I adjusted your cocktail? I know how I can paralyze you, but keep you conscious. And then, I will keep you in this can for three centuries, and forget about you. And you’ll find, daemon, that time moves far slower in our reality.

[Deetris’ face falls. She has an expression of mild agitation.]

OTD – XII: What, then, wretch? What do you want from me? Tell me what you want to hear, so I can tell you, and have you out of my face!

Inq. A: Why do you transfer from victim to victim instead of returning to the warp?

OTD – XII: ████████████. A daemon of ████████. They did this to me. They cursed me.

Inq. A: Did you just give me a daemon’s true name? Is it the way of daemons to betray their kin so flippantly?

OTD – XII: Apparently, yes! Seeing as how the tentacled son of a whore did the same to me, first! The delightful children of ████████. Typical.

Inq. A: What is this daemon, exactly? And what did they do to you?

OTD – XII: ████████████ is a ████ ██ ██████, a greater daemon of ████████. It was during one of those wonderful events on Cadia. One of the earlier ones. He always talked about his precious plans, and always acted like it was him and ████████ that wrote the book of fate. Like everything we did was at his bidding. So, during an attack on what you call Kasyr Valan, I stepped on one of his little pets. I looked right at him as I twisted my foot and felt their bones crack under my heel,  and the Warp pull him in. It turns out, that little thing was a ██████ belonging to ████████████. He was not amused. [INDICIUM PURGED] he started letting out this chant in his arcane tongue, and I felt the warp itself turn on me! Helpless, I couldn’t stop him before he drove his spear through my chest, and blackness washed over me. When I awoke, I was in the frail shell of a human. One of your soldiers.

Inq. A: And thus began your curse.

OTD – XII: I was enraged! Do you know what it’s like, for someone of my power to be confined to the shell of one of you ants!? So, I did the only thing I could think of doing. I ran towards the nearest human and killed it. Then another. Even in my diminished strength, the vessel was augmented by my power somewhat. It took a while to destroy it. Then, a firing line formed and opened up. Death.

Inq. A: Or so you thought.

OTD – XII: Or so I thought. I awoke again, this time, some man in a prison. Apparently I had interrupted something. Everyone in the cafeteria was staring at me, terrified. I looked at my vessel, and it had changed a little, and It felt just slightly less confining. So, I repeated my course of action. I killed everyone in that cafeteria. Then, and only then, did those burly men with shotguns come and finish me.

Inq. A: That massacre was here, in this sector. On Striss. It’s remembered as the Nightmare of Tower 8.

[Deetris’ body laughs]

OTD – XII: My! That was a while ago too! You remember it?

Inq. A: The Ordo Tartarus doesn’t fire and forget, as other Inquisitors do. Everything of note to us is put to paper and data.

OTD – XII: Wise. I’m a little impressed even. So, then you knew exactly what was happening when I came back for round 4, as you would say.

Inq. A: It was a church you appeared in. One of the Choir girls. You [INDICIUM PURGED]. We had to purge any survivors we couldn’t wipe with Amnecium.

[Deetris’ body sighs and nods wistfully]

OTD – XII: I never thought I could have so much fun in a vessel. I’ve been around for many millennia, but that memory isn’t going anywhere.

[Inquisitor A█████ stares. Her expression is unchanging, and Deetris’ body starts to chuckle. Her chuckle gradually turns to a cackling laugh.]

Inq. A: Deetris, I’ve heard enough. I’m stopping this. Now.

OTD – XII: Oh, but just a little longer, Inquisitor! I don’t want to hang my flesh phone up just yet. There were other parts of that story I never got to tell you!

Inq. A: Deetris! End the séance!

OTD – XII: [INDICIUM PURGED]

[Inquisitor A█████ flinches. Before OTD – XII could finish its tale, Inquisitor A█████ draws her shock maul and strikes Deetris across the face. Deetris falls unconscious, but her body continues to jolt with electricity. Inquisitor A█████ stands silently for 6 seconds.]

Inq. A: Interrogation’s over… I said it’s over! Get some men and pick Deetris up off the floor and take her to Medicae! I wa-

[The recording cuts out]

Addendum XII-I: All parties present for Interrogation, with the exception of Inquisitor A█████, are subjected to Amnecium therapy. Deetris regains consciousness, but the sudden ending of the séance irreparably damaged her psyche. Inquisitor A█████ had her sent to Terra on the Blackship Scale of Anubis for purification.