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jackiearbs · 3 years

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things that rwrb characters have said that i will never forget, a thread:

alex claremont-diaz, giving off dumbass™ energy (he has the most on this thread, for obvious reasons)

- "put them in my room, put them in my room, put them in my room-"

- “Jesus Christ, it’s like they can see into your soul. cornbread knows my sins, Henry. cornbread knows what I have done, and he is here to make me atone.”

- "do it for the 'gram"

- "leading member of korean pop band bts kim nam-june"

- "whatever, fine. henry is annoyingly attractive. that’s always been a thing, objectively. it’s fine.”

- "see attached bibliography"

- "i said, you look great, baby!”

- "yo there’s a bond marathon on and did you know your dad was a total babe"

- "awesome, fuckin' love doing things out of spite.”

-”Huge Raging Headache Prince Henry of Who Cares”

-”it is amazing you can sit down to write emails with that gigantic royal stick up your ass.”

- “who names a dog David? He sounds like a tax attorney.”

-” “Do I go on your side of the cubicle and turn off your Dropkick Murphys Spotify station, no matter how much I want to?” Alex demands. “No, Hunter, I don’t.”

- “for fuck's sake, man, you just had my dick in your mouth, you can kiss me good-night.”

- “Bake Off makes Chopped look like the fucking Manson tapes.”

- “THEY KNOW. THEY KNOW I HAVE ROBBED THEM OF FIVE-STAR ACCOMMODATIONS TO SIT IN A CAGE IN MY ROOM, AND THE MINUTE I TURN MY BACK THEY ARE GOING TO FEAST ON MY FLESH.”

- “You’re from Boston, Hunter. You really want to talk about all the places bigotry comes from?” (he really hates hunter goddamn)

-”so, what? you want me to quit politics and go become a princess? that’s not very feminist of you.”

hrh prince dickhead😎 - "the moment you first called me a prick, my fate was sealed. O, fathers of my bloodline! O, ye kings of olde! Take this crown from me, bury me in my ancestral soil. If only you had known the mighty work of thine loins would be undone by a gay heir who likes it when American boys with chin dimples are mean to him.”

-"“I’ve been gay as a maypole since the day I came out of Mum, Philip.”

-”i will turn this car around.”

- “yes, the cocaine, alex.”

-”i am a delight!”

-”have i mentioned lately that you’re a demon?”

- “are you psychoanalyzing me? i don't think royal guests are allowed to do that.”

- "i can't believe even mortal peril will not prevent you from being the way you are.”

-“the phrase ‘see attached bibliography’ is the single sexiest thing you have ever written to me.”

-"i just mean to say, you know, Philip is the heir and I'm the spare, and if that nervy bastard has a heart attack at thirty five and I've got malaria, whither the spare?”

- “they wanted something less fruity than the truth, but truly, what is gayer than a woman who languishes away in a crumbling mansion wearing her wedding gown every day of her life, for the drama?”

- “You are a delinquent and a plague. Please come?”

- “fat and sexually conquered, snuffed out in the spring of my youth. Here lies Prince Henry of Wales. He died as he lived: avoiding plans and sucking cock.”

june: “- that is a clear quartz crystal for good vibes do not @ me.”

- “He’s just so frail, it’d only take one good push-”

- “ugh! men! no emotional vocabulary. i can’t believe our ancestors survived centuries of wars and plagues and genocide just to wind up with your sorry ass.”

nora:

-”sorry, are we not? did i skip ahead again? my bad. hello, would you like to come out to me? im listening. hi.”

“prince henry is a biscuit. let him sop you up.”

- “you’ve been, like, Draco Malfoy–level obsessed with Henry for years.”

- “i don’t know, man. I was in my junior year of high school, and I touched a boob. It wasn’t very profound. Nobody’s gonna write an Off-Broadway play about it.”

dahra:

- “You need to get back to fucking England now, and if anyone sees you leave, I will personally end you. Ask me if I’m afraid of the crown.”

- “both sides need to come out of this looking like your little slap-fight at the wedding was some homoerotic frat bro mishap, okay? So, you can hate the heir to the throne all you want, write mean poems about him in your diary, but the minute you see a camera, you act like the sun shines out of his dick, and you make it convincing.”

-”come on, you backyard-shooting-range motherfuckers,”

ellen (should i say PRESIDENT claremont)

- “Diaz, you insane, hopeless romantic little shit"

- “I had Planned Parenthood send over all these pamphlets, take one! They sent a bike messenger and everything!”

- ”where? Are you hiding a turkey habitat up your ass, son? Where, in our historically protected house, am I going to put a couple of turkeys until I pardon them tomorrow?”

-“As your mother, I can appreciate that maybe this isn’t your fault, but as the president, all I want is to have the CIA fake your death and ride the dead-kid sympathy into a second term.”

PEZ !!!

- “frolic naked in the hills, frighten the sheep, return to the house for the usual: tea, biscuits, casting ourselves onto the Thighmaster of love to moan about the Claremont-Diaz siblings, which has become tragically one-sided since Henry took it up with you. It used to be all bottles of cognac and shared malaise and ‘When will they notice us’-”

-”-and now i just ask henry, ‘what is your secret?’ and he says, ‘i insult alex all the time, and that seems to work.’”

**extra: nicer quotes from alex and henry

alex heartthrob diaz - "never tell me the odds"

-"we were not afforded that liberty."

-“I hate this so much. I know. But we’re gonna do it together. And we’re gonna make it work. You and me and history, remember? We’re just gonna fucking fight. Because you’re it, okay? I’m never gonna love anybody in the world like I love you. So, I promise you, one day we’ll be able to just be, and fuck everyone else.”

- “On purpose. I love him on purpose.”

- “history, huh? Bet we could make some.”

- “But the truth is, also, simply this: love is indomitable.”

-“Take anything you want and know you deserve to have it.”

- “Someone else’s choice doesn’t change who you are.”

- “I am the First Son of the United States, and I'm bisexual. History will remember us.”

- “America: He is my choice.”

- “Give yourself away sometimes, sweetheart, There's so much of you.”

- the entire list of the things he loves about henry. i would die

henry:

-”i’ll be damned but i miss you.”

- “when you rang me at truly shocking hours of the night, I loved you. When you kissed me in disgusting public toilets and pouted in hotel bars and made me happy in ways in which it had never even occurred to me that a mangled-up, locked-up person like me could be happy, I loved you. and then, inexplicably, you had the absolute audacity to love me back. Can you believe it?”

- “it sounds like you did your best.”

- “I’ve bloody well had it. I’ve sat about long enough letting you and Gran and the weight of the damned world keep me pinned, and I’m finished. I don’t care. You can take your legacy and your decorum and you can shove it up your fucking arse, Philip. I’m done.”

- “Should I tell you that when we’re apart, your body comes back to me in dreams? That when I sleep, I see you, the dip of your waist, the freckle above your hip, and when I wake up in the morning, it feels like I’ve just been with you, the phantom touch of your hand on the back of my neck fresh and not imagined? That I can feel your skin against mine, and it makes every bone in my body ache? That, for a few moments, I can hold my breath and be back there with you, in a dream, in a thousand rooms, nowhere at all?”

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #casey mcquiston #rw&rb #alex claremont diaz #prince henry of wales #june claremont diaz #nora holleran #ellen claremont #rwrb shitpost

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little-candy-store-of-horrors · 3 years

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Unhinged opinion but I feel if Philip II had just a bit less of a stick up his arse he might enjoy black nail polish 🖤💅

#POV: you are about to receive extremely painfully specific instructions on putting down the Dutch revolt #Except that 70% of it is irrelevant details like why he needed his 6th cup of coffee and how it was. Also 90% of it is completely illegible #philip ii of spain #Philip ii #tudor history #History art #History #king philip ii of spain #Also. Suppose he's the only Spanish Habsburg king I haven't drawn yet!!1! Here he is now o guess #Cursed debut #((philip iii WHO sorry 😞✌️))#My art #Anyway im now a firm believer that you can divide historical figures into 'would wear nail polish' vs 'would not'#And then further into 'would only wear black' and 'would wear funky colours'#Elizabeth I in my mind is a dark red sort of person #Idk much about her but i know the tudor people here are crazy about her #So i might draw her to go with this hhhh

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thepaperpanda · 5 years

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Late Evening || Alfie Solomons x Reader Smut

Summary: You visit Alfie at his office and things get pretty steamy.

Warnings: Smut

Words: 1297

Request: @ihavealwayslovedcass

Authors: Cass & Rouge

A/N: Hope your girlfriend will enjoy it! 💖🐼

It was late evening and Alfie was still stacked in his office, busy with his own businesses. He didn't expect any visitors, it was until you knocked on the door oto his office.

You stepped in without waiting at reply, you looked around and let out a sigh. "Good evening, sir."

He looked at you briefly from over some papers. "You start with this "sir" shit again? I think we talked about this already, Y/N," Alfie muttered and returned to looking at the paper in his hand.

You scoffed loudly, taking a seat at chair in front of his desk. "I try to be polite. Later I hear I have no manners," you summed up, crossing legs.

"You never had any manners, being polite now and calling me sir won't fix it, darling," he summed up without looking at you. Even when you both were in a relationship for quite a long time now, he still was harsh sometimes.

"I thought I told you to not come here? Is it so hard to understand that you have to sit home and wait at me?," Alfie asked and then looked at you.

"Yes. I got bored. I roamed through city and decided to visit you and check if my man is fine," you stated angrily. Why he was always so tough to deal with? You still loved that block, no matter how huge arsehole he might have been toward you.

Alfie put the paper away and leaned back in his chair, observing you carefully. He noticed that you had your new dress on, so for sure you weren't here just because you were bored. "You put on new dress," Alfie pointed softly and pat his lap. "Come here, darling."

You shifted in your chair, you rubbed your thighs together as his voice already made your core twitched.You got up but instead joining him, you walked to the window and peeked outside, at the dirty street. "You sit here for hours, all alone. Or maybe shall I start be worried that you meet someone here during all that long evenings, when our bed is lacking your warm?"

Alfie rolled his eyes and got up, he knew you were teasing him. He walked to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you tightly against his chest. "Are you seriously accusing me of a fucking affair?," Alfie growled against your ear. Suddenly, a hard slap landed on your ass. "You are a bad girl right now."

You bit your lip and slipped out of his grasp with quick movement. "Look at you," you stated, "You're such a handsome man. You think I am deaf? I heard not once and not twice how girls were gossiping about you in bar," you walked to his desk with swing in your hips and bend over it.

Alfie growled annoyed. "Are you fucking kidding me? I don't care about some bloody whores talking in the bar."

He muttered and walked to the door and locked them. "They talk about everything," Alfie summed up and moved to you, he grabbed you and sat you on his desk properly, standing between your legs. "I hate how fucking long that thing is," his hands grabbed the skirt of your dress to lift it up.

"You didn't deserve it," you said grabbing his hand and pushing it off your legs. "You were an arsehole, leaving me alone in house for hours!"

Alfie grabbed your wrists tightly and pinned them to the desk. "Listen to me now!," he growled at you. "I risk my skin every bloody day so you will have every fucking dress you want, so you can go to your fucking friends and brag about your new shoes or this fucking makeup. So don't you fucking dare to tell me what I deserved and what I didn't because when you sit in home pampered, I risk my life making businesses."

Your legs wrapped around his hips, you pulled him closer to you and kissed his bearded jaw. "That's why I love my fierce block that much," you whispered right into his ear.

"And your behavior is highly annoying, you are like a spoiled brat. I think I need to stop buying you so many things. What time it is?," Alfie asked and looked at his pocket watch. "Fuck this," he said before pushing your skirt up to give him access to your soaked pussy. "I can tell you are wet for me, woman," Alfie smiled and unbuttoned his pants before slipping your panties aside."Sadly, I don't have much time for you sweetheart,” he whispered into your ear before pushing harshly into you.

You rolled head back parting your lips as you weren't slick enough to take him fully. "Oh God," your arms wrapped around his waist and legs tighter around his hips. "Fuck, just like that, Alfie," you prized him, nodding.

"Don't prize me like I don't know what I am doing," he said and thrusted hard into you. He kept his harsh pace, one of his hands wrapped around your neck, squeezing it lightly. "You can be a really good girl but sometimes I have to remind you about your bloody place."

You looked at him with wry smile, your hand moved to his arse to squeeze it when he slipped his entire length into you. "I like to be your bad girl, and you like it too," a giggle left your lips.

After moment you pushed him strongly back, so his cock slipped out of you. You got off desk and turned around, sticking your bun to him.

He grabbed your hips and pushed back into you, fucking your roughly again. "Wonder who told you that. You risk losing a lot of stuff by pissing me off, girl," Alfie growled into your ear and used his body to pin you down to the desk. "You are always so fucking tight,” he muttered pushing even harder in you, his arm wrapped around your abdomen and his hand traveled to your clit.

You moaned his name, closing eyes aa first waves of unbearable pleasure started to hit the right spot. Your breasts pinned down to counter of his desk hurt but you didn't mind it as long as he was doing all those things to you. "Only for you, once and for all...," moan escaped your parted lips as you tried to meet his thrusts.

"I hope that only for me. I wouldn't appreciate my woman fucking whoever she wants,” Alfie muttered more to himself but loudly enough for you to hear. Soon, his thrust became more sloppy. "Come on, little one. Come for your man," he purred into your ear.

You slipped hand between your thighs, giving yourself messy rubs, also trying to tease his length every time he was moving backward. Soon, your inner walls started to clench around his cock, slick juices streamed down your thighs as you cum hardly around him, his name was the only thing you were moaning about.

"Fuck," Alfie growled loudly pushing his cock deep inside of you and filling you up with his seed."Such a good girl," man muttered and kissed your nape and then your neck. "But now you will have to go," Alfie informed you quietly before moving away from you.

You tugged hems of your skirt down, trying to improve your clothes as much as you could. With rosy cheeks burning of blush, you looked at him. "Are you expecting someone?"

He nodded, improving himself and his pants. "One of those fucking Shelby’s have to come and talk with me. I don't want any of them to even look at you."

You gave him a nod and kissed him briefly before leaving. “Don't overwork yourself," you asked before you had closed the door.

Pandies🐼: @imidarogerson @grossograsso @thewildgardensstuff @leven-and-ashley @la-verdura @bearded-steve-rogers @sebbystan-plantlover @atuckyismylife @krispyjellyfishzombie @personality-within @haseki-huricihan @choppedgardenwhispers @vroobelek @lattimelka @chris-beamz @hidden-secrets69 @purepearls @volcanoxxx @kastrup-sofie @mikkal-akasaki @withoutashadowofhope @radbluebirdeagle @marvel-fan-site @smutloversblog @buquete @super-psycho-love69 @tanglesss @peter-sommer @baysidewest @vegemania @philip-stan @chodiusmmm @subwaystunnel @tykorclint @dagger-dragger @kurant @nothing-can-least-forever @oxfordkipem @deliciousbouquet90 @tuptuptup @hellenna80 @karina-marina9 @latimeriaaa @bratko @wurld89 @scott-evans @kiss-me-rouge @ovonel-espaniol @dancing-tacco @ratugadhi @white-tiger-shangrila @axn69 @eternal-life-awaits @mrs-laura-harmon @artsy-inside @gleeeeees @darkllaama @jatut @agawux @fuzzy-tigrrr @jrjohnsson2 @cassandbeast @maaargoshaaa @dontgetmewrongman @einexx @nwmtagsb @anini71 @secretlygrantaire @kyloren-supreme-ben @infinity-stones-seeker @thehappyspider @wings4life @huxyluxy @dontbeafraidchild @misafiryanki @electronicpatrolcollective @thisismysecrethappyplace @aulika @hidden-secrets69 @a-happy-wolf @creative-seahorse

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons smut #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x reader smut #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons fanfic #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders fic #alfie solomons fiction #tom hardy #reader insert #smut story #smut

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rhysnrivers · 4 years

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Odyssey to becoming a Published Author

(Note: with Odyssey being in the title, this is quite a long post. The link to the facebook page that leads to where my novel can be bought from can be found at the bottom of the post, as can some of the initial artwork done)

So, despite never been a ‘blogger’ per se before, I’ve decided to write this article about my journey from having dreamed about writing and having my own works published, through to actually writing my ideas up and publishing them myself, as I’m sure that there are many an indie author and authoress out there who can relate and have been through the very same journey I have.

First thing’s first. Rhys N Rivers is not my real name. It’s a pen name. There’s something in being anonymous when it comes to writing, almost like a sense of freedom. This day and age of social media means that almost everything we do is recorded somewhere on the internet, and an opinion or action from ten years ago can be drudged back up to be ridiculed by the Facebook jury and/or the Karens of the internet, in line with the fashionable opinions of the day. A pen name grants anonymity and to some degree, security. The only people who know my identity are my immediate family and a few close, trusted friends.

When people embark on a new venture; be it a new hobby, learning a new language, travelling the world, changing jobs etc, the journey actually begins long before said venture starts. Quite often, the journey always begins in the classroom, at home, in bed, in daydreams. It begins as a state of ambition. A plan that one day, will be put into action.

My authoring journey was no different. Mine actually began around the age of eleven. I was of the Harry Potter generation where I was the same age as the main characters in the early years when a new film came out each year. J.K. Rowling got me into reading beyond in school, and I - being one of the cool kids, clearly - read a lot throughout my early and mid teenage years. It was admittedly predominantly fantasy based, (Tolkien, Pratchett, Philip Pullman, Garth Nix) or Bernard Cornwall’s historical works before I branched out into people like Wilbur Smith and others. When I was around 14 or 15, Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code took the world by storm and I also ended up reading all of his works. School provided a sophisticated reading list, which included Dickens and Golding, and so growing I had read through a rich and broad variety of fiction.

Where actually writing was concerned, I think it was about the age of eleven or twelve that I realised that I wanted to write properly. I think it was actually after reading William Nicholson’s Wind Singer when I decided, and I set to task in writing coming up with a fantasy novel. I didn’t start writing the plot straight away; I actually started coming up with characters and places, even drawing out a world map. That was really fun to do. It had a sense of total control to it. What I decided was what things were. Where a kid may not feel in control of things in other parts of life (insecurities of school, friends, growing up, relationships etc), this was something totally different. The ability to create your own fictional world, in whatever genre you go for, is a form of escape and release in which you can develop your talents and ideas.

There were lots of elements to what I was planning out - which included ideas from Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, The Legend of Zelda, The Wind on Fire among others. To be honest, I’m actually glad that ‘project’ didn’t get very far. Poor Christopher Paolini, the author of the Inheritance Cycle quadrilogy of books, was slated by certain groups and reviewers for his alleged lack of originality and using of ideas from other stories. In Paolini’s defence, he was only fifteen when his first book was published, which is something that most fifteen year olds don’t achieve! But I think that had I completed mine, it might have faced the same criticisms - not necessarily from reviewers or publishers, but perhaps friends and family reading through it first.

School, in particular, provided me with a lot of enthusiasm and inspiration to write (clearly, I was one of the cool kids). My GCSE English teacher was a great bloke (probably still is) and gave great, honest and constructive feedback to the entire class’ work. Our first piece of English Literature coursework was a piece on creative writing and I elected to do a piece on the topic of an opening chapter/opening chapters to a novel. Having just read Dan Brown I did my piece in his sort of style: bloke copping it at the start, trying to prevent some conspiracy from going ahead, then the reluctant hero of the story gets dragged in to solving it. My piece didn’t revolve around religious groups or secret societies, but around a historical artefact.

Out of 54 marks, this scored 52. I was more than happy with that. I had no idea where the story was going to go but I was determined that I would one day finish the story. To this day, I still have no idea where the story is going, but I am certain that it will be the last novel of a set of three, dragging the main character, a desperately-can’t-wait-to-retire detective, through painstaking research, learning about history that he wouldn’t usually be arsed about and running away from people, of whom he’s becoming more and more of an embuggerance (word-invention credited to Terry Pratchett) to.

For some reason, I really can’t remember why, but about a year later the option was given to my English class to rewrite that piece of coursework (we were about four out of five coursework pieces done by that time). I was of course happy with my score but I saw this as an opportunity to try something new and see what ideas could again come spewing from my mind.

This time, again sticking with the opening chapter(s) option, I wrote about a start of a medieval conspiracy, beginning around the Battle of Crécy and going…err…I still have no idea where! But this piece resonated better than the previous piece, earning full marks from my English teacher, along with the comments “…should come with an 18 rated certificate.” Again, I vowed that I would complete this story one day and see it published. This one I think I will try to make into a three-book story.

The summer after completing my GCSE exams I did the normal stuff: went on holiday with family, chilled out with friends, even attended the World Scout Jamboree that year. But I also by then had a set of ideas in my head that I wanted to turn into novels, and wrote that list onto a computer, and saved it to my USB memory stick. I have no idea where I last saw that USB stick…

After I left school I joined the British Armed Forces. I’m not going to write too much about what I did, where I went etc (not because I was part of some uber-top-secret unit, but more-so that it just doesn’t contribute to this post) but my priorities changed. I read a lot less and writing properly in the near term future just was not a possibility, or something that I wanted to concentrate on at that time.

In early 2017 I was considering a career change, and during that time I joined fanstory.com, under my real name. The purpose of doing this was to put myself into an environment with other amateur writers, gain inspiration from other budding authors (and hopefully give some inspiration back), and be in a place where my works could be read among ‘peers’, giving me a good steer on things.

It was on this website where my first novel, Payment, was conceived. There was a competition going for short stories up to 7000 words long in the horror genre (“Put your readers on edge or terrorize them”) and so I thought this was a good place to test out to see what people think and to develop my writing style.

It took me a couple of weeks to put Payment together and submit it. I had never considered writing horror before but this, again, was an ample opportunity to try something new and see what I could come up with. I decided to go with a 19th Century narrative; much like Mary Shelley and Bram Stoker. I prefer to think or the horror genre as the old neo-gothic styles of writing - the old ghost stories. Horror, in recent years, both in writing and film-making, has taken more of a gore and shock factor turn. Personally, I think that will turn horror more into the thriller genre. To me, horror should be about ghosts, vampires, witches - the occult and the supernatural. And that’s that I have tried to achieve with Payment.

What surprised me the most during the writing of this were my decisions to use the first-person narrative - something I used to despise growing up, and the use of a one-word title. For some reason it used to bug me no end that it was becoming more and more common that artistic projects, be they novels, films, dance, visual art etc, would use one-worded titles. I used to think that was a cop-out. But here I am with Payment - a novel told in first-person narrative…

I have always thought that my writing style was/is closest to Terry Pratchett’s. I’ve never tried to emulate him but his style of using irony, dry humour and satire, whilst also plummeting to some very deep philosophical ideas. But I couldn’t do that whilst writing Payment. The thing is with writing horror, is that you have to be able to maintain that macabre atmosphere all the through. That actually isn’t easy. I found there always has to be a sense of the character’s isolation, a sense of doom and gloom, and a sense of something about to happen.

I didn’t win the completion that I entered. I don’t think it even made the top three. The votes are cast by the other entries’ writers and maybe a few other people. I can’t remember if you could vote for your own project but I think you could. The entries placed above mine, although I thought their storylines familiar with ideas already done, were admittedly much easier to read than my entry. A 19th century style of writing will always lose to simplicity when people have a number of works to read.

But that didn’t deter me. I’d created a fictional work and was determined to show it to the world. I didn’t go ahead with the career change at that point but decided to fully review Payment, at get it out there as a completed project.

Fanstory is a good platform, it really is. I’m not sure why, but after only a couple of months and having written a few competition entries, I came to stop writing on it. My old job was getting in the way and to be honest, I was getting impatient with writing on it. I had the mentality that I wanted to be published right now sort of thing.

A couple of years later, I did go ahead in a change of direction career-wise. This provided the opportunity to fully revise Payment and make it into a ‘novelette’, more than 7000/7500 words but fewer than 17,500. I would then prepare it for editing, get the artwork sorted and then publish it online for maybe a couple of quid.

I was actually in Tanzania at the time when I thought that Payment had been expanded enough to put out as a novelette. Once I’d finished writing, I showed it to a couple of the volunteers I was working with and they both enjoyed it. Although I was pleased about that, I still wasn’t satisfied with it. I had touched on quite a few themes in the work but I don’t feel like I had explored them all as much as I could have. Although complete, it felt very much incomplete. At the same time I wanted to expand the work into a full novel and also I didn’t - mainly because of the challenge of maintaining that horror atmosphere.

I decided that, in order to put more meat onto the bones and develop this short story/novelette into a full length novel, I needed a goal to work towards; something that has an end achievement that will make me work to expand on what I had already done. And so I set about looking for horror writing groups and/or competitions on the internet.

In not much time at all I came across the Horror Writers Association (HWA). They are a group that cater for all things horror and occult in fiction. There, you can advertise your works, read or recommend other people’s works and learn about events - namely the StokerCon.

But what attracted me to them the most was their sponsorship of the Bram Stoker Awards (“for Superior Achievement”). These are awards that are given out to authors and authoresses who have had their works judged in certain categories. The one that has caught my eye is the ‘First Novel’ category. A quick reading of the rules informed me of the minimal word limit: 40,00 words. Perfect. There’s something to work towards, with a chance at winning what is described as ‘the Oscars of horror writing’. When I returned from Africa I set about the task of bolstering a 17,000-ish novelette into a 40,000 word minimum horror novel!

I have read Edgar Allan Poe in the past, and even bits of Mary Shelley. For more inspiration in keeping that spooky, Neo-Gothic atmosphere, I read some parts of Bram Stoker and H.P. Lovecraft. Despite all of that, I initially found it difficult to write again on the same piece of work that I started almost three years previously. It was only after reading Susan Hill’s The Woman in Black, where I became inspired by her power of description to turn chapters, paragraphs and sentences that belong in quick short stories to ones suitable for a long read.

In January, this year, I had finally finished. I expanded heavily on the ideas that I was before concerned that I was rushing through and before I knew it, my word count was well over the 40,000 words I wanted to achieve! I read it all again myself, edited out any spelling or grammar mistakes that I had seen, and sent it out to beta testers (readers) for opinions and editing.

Following the last edit - of which there wasn’t relatively much to do - my debut novel stands at a word count of 53,850 words! That isn’t considered very long by today’s standards. To give a point of reference, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone is estimated to be around 77,000 words long (depending on who is doing the word count). But my novel is longer than The Woman in Black as well as other novels such as The Great Gatsby and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and considering it came from a short story of 7,000 words I am still happy with it.

Concurrently with writing the novel came the task of finding an artist/illustrator for the cover. That was a more difficult task than I expected.

Not only did I want to find someone who could create a suitable cover, I also wanted that someone to be able to do ‘scene art’; by which I mean a picture at the start of certain chapters. The reason for this is that I see a completed novel itself as a form of art, and scene pictures add to that completed projected. In fact, I actually wanted a sort of teamwork between the writing/art found in the Edge Chronicles books by Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell.

I combed Facebook for a very long time, joining all sorts of groups and pages for amateur artists to show off their works, hoping to find someone who I thought was suitable for my work. To my dismay, there was very little, I thought, that I could go off.

Around October time I put an advert on a freelancing work website, just for an idea of who else is out there and possibly able to take this up. I did receive a fair few responses but, again, there wasn’t really anyone whose work suited what I was after. A couple of them, one of them being an art company based in Central Asia, actually got quite nasty about it. They were expectant

It was when I was on a course in Spain that it was suggested to me to look on Reddit, as Reddit “literally has everything on it.” I had never actually been a proper Reddit user before; I’d clicked the odd link from Facebook but had never really interacted with it before.

The guy who suggested Reddit to me was right - Reddit has literally everything on it. There’s so much information to be found on so many topics it seemed unlikely that I wouldn’t find what I was looking for on it, and so I combed through a few sub-reddits dedicated to (freelance) artists and checked some of them out.

So I once again posted out an advert looking for artists and this time the response were much more positive, and enthusiastic! It really was quite uplifting to see and hear from so many people who were interested in taking up the project and I received so many messages. Everyone who commented on the post and/or messaged me with links to their portfolios, I checked out their work. I honestly don’t think there was a single person whose works of art that I wasn’t impressed by. There is so much that can be found at deviantart.com and artstation.com and so much talent to be viewed and be in awe at! Everyone who directly messaged me got a return thanking them.

One of the people I got talking to was a young lad from Sweden called Daniel Percy, whose artwork I also checked out. My preferences came down to him and another guy from Germany, and after speaking with Daniel he agreed to take on the work.

Daniel does a lot of freelance art work, predominately doing concept art work for electronics companies (I want to say video games but don’t take that as gospel), but he still found the time to do this properly, compiling several drafts of the cover and inside sketches. We collaborated quite often on what to change, ideas to put in etc.

The finished artwork is incredible! I’m showing some of the initial first-sketch ideas here along with the final book cover, along with a couple of since-altered scene pictures, just for an idea of his talent. You’ll have to buy the book to see all of the finished sketches ;)

And the final thing to think/worry/mull over until stupid o’ clock in the morning, was the publishing aspect. Luckily, ever since I’ve thought about writing (as an adult), it has become increasingly easier to get your works out there. The rise of the internet and social media age has made self publishing so much more accessible, and that is the route I have gone down.

At first, I wanted to go down the traditional printing route. I - again showing cool I was as a kid - always liked the idea of a fresh and printed book in my hands. But, there are two reasons why I haven’t done this:

The first one is environmental. Even before the climate change debate became a fashionable thing to signal your virtues about, I was uncomfortable about the idea of trees being cut down for my creation, unless I could be 100% certain that exact same area would be immediately replanted. It’s true, there are forested areas specifically for this kind of thing but the amount of bureaucracy involved, along with the middle-men, wouldn’t make it an immediate thing.

The second reason is that the majority of writers who send their works in get rejected by so many publishers. Yes, people refer to J.K. Rowling’s story of being rejected twelve times (and again later by one of the same publishers when she first wrote as Robert Galbraith) before Harry Potter became a hit, but as the option of the internet is there, it makes sense to negate that possible rejection. In the event that my works do get noticed and attract the attention of publishers, then great! But if they don’t, at least by online publishing, I’ve still achieved putting my novel out to the world.

Finally, today, Friday the 13th (intentionally - it is a horror novel after all ;p ) of March 2020, I officially became a published author. It is a fantastic, monumental feeling. My story, my novel, my creation, is out there for people to buy, read and hopefully, enjoy.

If there’s any advice that I can give for anyone aspiring to be an (indie) author, it is this: just write your ideas down. Sounds simple, if not downright obvious, but it really is incredible that so many people don’t achieve their dreams or aspirations simply because they don’t do them. The world of authoring and indie writing is so much more accessible now than it was even fifteen years ago, that is takes a great lot of effort not to find at least one platform to get your works out onto.

It is also incredibly easy to find every excuse in the book to not write at all. School, work, family etc, being the big ones, and they are legitimate reasons. But they are only obstacles themselves to an extent, before you yourself make them obstacles. Start small. Set yourself half an hour on an evening. No more, no less. Half an hour to start getting your ideas onto paper and then after a week, you’ve spent three and a half hours writing. You’d be surprised at how much you’ve achieved after three and a half hours of concentrated effort.

If you need motivation, there are plenty of people out there, particularly on the internet, who give great examples of motivation that apply to all disciplines. Joe Rogan, for just one example, has plenty of people on his podcasts who talk and give advice on self-betterment, and it can apply to anybody. If you want to write, you will find the time and means to do it. It doesn’t matter how long it takes; everybody finds their ways at different times.

As to my next works, what am I going to be writing next? Well, shortly after writing Payment as a short story I thought of another idea to write about, and use that particular project to actually develop my writing style. This next one, of which the first ‘act’ as such does already have a skeleton outline to it, is a light hearted yet philosophical at times medieval adventure, combining humour and seriousness together. I’m not going to divulge ay more information the storyline because, although it’s a simple idea, I believe it’s one that no-one’s done before and some smart-arse with more time on their hands than I can easily bash something together using my idea!

The school coursework pieces? They are still on my ideas list and will no doubt be developed into their own proper projects and they hopefully will also be published just as Payment is! The fantasy that I started aged eleven? Absolutely no idea. Whilst I would certainly like to do fantasy, going for originality is going to be difficult, as the standard format (young hero finds out he’s the ‘chosen one’ and goes on a long quest) has been done to death, as have a lot of fantasy ideas already. George R R Martin had the idea of using the idea of old English houses warring against other in the past, and that was used to great effect even before he threw in the ice zombies! So that one is going to be a case of properly allocating some time to sit down, think and decide how I’m going to go about, but make no mistake, I will go about it!

Thank you all for taking the time to read through this! I hope its provided at least some entertainment or light (ha!) reading, and I hope you’ll feel interested to buy my debut novel!

My Facebook page can be found at:

https://m.facebook.com/Rhys-N-Rivers-Writing-101015961412385/?ref=bookmarks

All the places where Payment can be bought from can be found there. I thought it better to post one central link than the individual ones.

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tyrustrash · 5 years

Text

Today- A Red White and Royal Blue fic

It’s taking every thought of his abuela and vision of not making congress to make Alex get rid of his raging boner right now. He’s currently trying, and miserably failing, to not stare at Henry’s perfectly round ass that’s showed off in his well fitted trousers. Henry’s costume made suit showcases every part of his body as if it were trying to seduce Alex. The suit is a new shade of white called “Pure Holy Light White”, which is somehow whiter than the average frat house. That name itself is ironic since he is not as pure as his ancestors were when they were coronated. It is encrusted with jewels of every color of the rainbow that are aligned down the jacket’s lapels. The back of the jacket has a peace sign with the US, UK, Mexico, and gay flags inside of it. The trousers have gold roses stitched up the sides. And now back to that ass. The fit of the trousers lifts it and it so tights that the outline of his boxers could be seen. He’s wearing Alex’s necklace of the key and ring so that way he has a piece of his heart on him. Everything about the suit is perfect, just like he wanted. He also plans on wearing the suit at his wedding. They’re currently in the middle of Henry’s coronation. The Queen and Henry’s mom passed a few weeks ago, Philip got arrested, and Bea got married without consent of the Queen, so that means Henry is the only one left in the line of succession. He would have never thought this day would come, the day he becomes the King. The thought never occurred because he was sure Philip would beat him to it, or at least have kids by now, but no, he had to fuck up his life and land in jail. Bea has always been the wild child of the group, so it wasn’t that shocking when she eloped with Nikolai, Prince of Denmark. The two make a really cute couple, and their son inherited every possible gene that attributes to cuteness. Anyway, the time has come for Henry to take the throne. He’s scared more than anything. Scared of being the worst leader in history. Scared of being the most hated. Scared of trying to live up to people’s expectations. And worst of all, scared of losing Alex. He keeps worrying that the new role of being the king will be too much for Alex. They’ve talked about it since they found out Henry would take the throne, but the conversations mainly consisted of playfully insulting each other, which would then lead to sex. However, Alex always assured him that no matter what, he’ll be by his side every second of it. That he’ll always be able to give his support and anything else he needed. Henry holds the scepter with both his hands as he kneels, nearly ripping his trousers from the tightness. He looks up at the archbishop, who is holding the crown. After reciting the oath, the crown is slowly placed on top of Henry’s head. It fits perfectly. Henry gets back up and turns to face the spectators, and he waves. Alex approaches him and takes his hand and leads them to the balcony of the palace. The doors open and the two stand over the country. Although it wasn’t, but it looks like the entire country is standing outside, cheering for their new king. Some are holding up poster that say “History, Huh?”, others are holding up rainbow flags, and some are holding up unity signs of both their countries. Henry thought that no one would even support him since he is the first openly gay ruler, but this proves him wrong. He waves to the people, receiving an enormous cheer. “Today,” Henry begins to say. He takes a deep breath and his mind his able to calm down. He looks at Alex, who is still holding his hand. He takes his free hand and pulls Alex’s head in for a kiss. The crowd cheers even louder. His first kiss as the king. It’s passionate, thrilling, and most of all, sexy. He wants to keep going, but remembers he was about to give a speech. He pulls away and wipes off the drool. “Today, we made history. Today marks the begging of a new era. Today is the day anything is possible. Out of all the positions I’ve been in, I’ve never imagined myself in this one. Whenever someone would ask me what I would do if I were king, or even thought about being king, I usually shrugged it off because I kept assuring myself that time would never come. But here we are. I can’t promise anything specific right now, but what I can do is assure you that times are changing. Rules will be changed. We will live in a society without discrimination. Most of all, I will marry this gorgeous, charming, sexy piece of man right here and we will rule in style!” Loud screams from the crowd nearly made the two of them deaf. It was all worth it though, they knew that this is the sound of a new generation. Later that night when everyone left and they were alone, Henry dragged Alex all the way to the throne. Henry took the seat and brought Alex to sit on his lap, Alex’s feet hanging off his own. They start making out, more heated than before. Alex starts grinding his hips. The friction is already getting both of them hard. “I’m so used to fucking a prince.” Alex says as he runs his hands through Henry’s blond hair. He’s having to gasp for breath because he doesn’t want to stop kissing him. “I’m going to enjoy fucking a king.” Henry smiles and bites his bottom lip. He grabs Alex’s ass and gives a firm squeeze. He gets up and switches their positions. Now Alex is the one sitting on the throne with Henry in his lap. “Right here, right now.” “You sure?” Alex asks teasingly. “I mean, you already have a scepter, but you can have mine too.” Henry slaps his chest. “Shut the bloody hell up already and do me, you little pain in my arse.” “There’s nothing little about me and you know it. And you’re about to feel a pain in your ass, but I don’t see how since it should be loose by now.” Alex unbuttons Henry’s pants and slides them down to just get his ass out. Henry does the same to Alex, but manages to pull them down to his ankles. Alex takes off his own shirt, leaving him only in his light blue American Eagle boxer briefs. His erection standing straight up, slighting touching the tip of Henry’s. Henry pulls down his American flag boxers, revealing himself to his boyfriend. Alex reaches into Henry’s jacket pocket and pulls out a condom and the small bottle of lube. Before he could do anything, Henry swats the items to the ground. “Not yet.” The King tells him. Henry slowly, and seductively, makes his way onto his knees, stopping where his face meets his lover’s dick. He plays with the waistband of the boxer briefs for a minute. Lifting them up then snapping it onto Alex. Hearing the shriek of enjoyment in his voice sent electricity down his spine. After snapping the waistband a few more times, Henry pulled it up, causing more friction than Alex wanted, but didn’t complain. Now pulling it down, Henry stops just before Alex’s dick could spring out. He rubs it a little, just to be more of a fucking tease. He stops and finally pulls his underwear down, letting his dick hit his stomach then stick straight up in the air. Henry admires all nine inches of it. “Blow me already.” Begs Alex. He’s already sweating from all the teasing. “I need to cum so badly.” “I need you to stop whining like a little bitch.” “You obtuse motherfucking asshole.” “Never gets old.” Henry massages Alex’s dick until he can feel Alex about to cum, then he stops. Alex whines, of course, but Henry like doing this to him. He likes having control for once, which is also ironic since he was a prince, and now the king. He slowly licks up the shaft until he reaches the tip. The moans of pleasure coming from Alex was enough to let him know that it was working. Henry presses his soft lips on the tip and gives it a kiss. Alex couldn’t take it anymore, he needs Henry’s mouth on his dick now. He grabs the King’s hair a holds it with a tight grip. He pushes him down to where his dick is all the way in his mouth, hitting the back of his throat. Henry loves when Alex gets this dominate. Alex starts moving Henry’s head up and down, really feeling the sensation. Henry hollows his cheeks to allow better suction, which warrants more moans from Alex. The slurping sounds really set Alex off and causes him to thrust his hip and face fuck Henry. Henry looks up at his boyfriend and recognizes that face. Alex is about to release. The way his breathing gets more scattered, his mouth forming into a goofy grin, and the way he curls his toes and the way his body tenses up. Henry smiles knowing the pleasure he’s causing, but also knowing the torture that’s to come. Henry pulls away to stop sucking, earning a whine from Alex. A line of spit from his mouth to the tip of the dick is formed. Henry wipes it away as he stands. “Come on, baby.” Alex whines. He has the biggest puppy dog sad eyes as he quivers his lips. “Why did you stop? I was about to cum.” Henry chuckles. He removes his trouser and boxers and tosses them to the side. Alex stares at Henry’s seven incher and drool drips from his mouth and onto his chest. He takes of his shirt and jacket to hang them on the back of the throne. Alex attempts to grab his own dick, but Henry slap his hand. He sits on Alex’s lap, his ass pressing against Alex’s erection. “I know. I’m not done with my fun yet.” “Bitch, if I don’t cum right now, we’re not fucking until the rest of time.” “You wouldn’t last until dawn. You can’t resist my sweet ass. And I can’t resist your nice bubble butt. Face it, we’re horny creatures.” “I don’t want to face it. I want to fuck it.” Alex tries to grab the condom that’s on the floor, but Henry grabs his arm and places it on his ass. Alex smiles and rubs it in circles. He gives a hard smack, causing it to jiggle. Just the way he likes it. The moan from Henry is enough to cause there to be precum for Alex. “Please, baby. I love you so much, and I want to show it.” Instead on responding, Henry leans down and kisses Alex. Instead of the kiss being rough, it’s soft yet passionate, just like their first kiss under that tree in the garden. Alex rubs Henry’s back as Henry does the same to his chest. As Alex is about to reach for Henry’s dick, Henry stands. Another whine from Alex. “Not fair. I can’t touch myself, I can’t touch you, I can’t cum. You, sir, are a very bad king.” “I’ve been bad, have I? Maybe a little bit naughty. And what are you going to do with me?” Henry asks teasingly. He teases some more by perking out his ass, granting a lip lick from Alex. The curve of his ass is so plump and spankable, giving Alex an idea. “Get over my knee, now!” He demands, making Henry even more hard. Henry obeys with a smile and positions himself over Alex’s knee. He ass up in the air ready for what’s coming its way. Alex kneads Henry’s ass like it’s pizza dough. Giving it a firm squeeze, Henry knows what’s going to happen next. Alex raises his right arm and brings it down on his ass. The jiggle was about too much for Alex to handle with cumming already, but he keeps it together. A small red spot has appeared on Henry’s ass from where it was spanked, but he knew it would get redder. Alex repeats the process for about three minutes. Each spank sent an even greater amount of electricity through both of their bodies. Ever since Henry said he has a spanking kink, they’ve made sure to include it just about any time the get it on. Other times Alex likes to spank Henry when they’re passing each other as they’re walking. Whenever Henry had to bend over, Alex took the chance to smack his ass. Any time that Alex randomly spanks Henry, he knows Henry will return the favor and do something to him, which is usually a blowjob in the most random places whenever they get horny. When Alex finished spanking the naughty king, he pulls him up and sits him back down on his lap. The king laughs as he runs his hands through Alex’s now sweaty hair. Henry leans down to Alex’s ear and gives it a little nibble and says, “Now.” Not even a millisecond later, Alex already has the condom in one hand and tears it open with his teeth. The sight of it makes Henry eager for it. Henry takes the condom out of the packet and places it on the tip of Alex’s dick. He slowly rolls it down, making sure to tickle the shaft as he makes his way down. Finishing unrolling the condom, Henry teases even more by hovering over the dick and barely touching the tip, then moves away. “If you don’t stop that teasing, I’m not going to go easy on you.” “When are you ever easy? You know I like it rough. I like it when you pound me like no tomorrow.” “Talk dirty to me, you filthy cock slut.” “You mountain biking vampire witch from the future. Fuck my pussy with a rake.” “Oh, god.” That was it. The final straw before Alex completely lost it. He grips Henry’s hips and brings him down onto his dick. The sheer scream of pleasure that Henry made is music to his ears. He starts thrusting harder than ever, going in and out, also bringing Henry up and down as well, causing both of them to release sounds of erotic love. Henry is loving every second of this. He kisses Alex again, this time harder. He bites his lip. “Harder, daddy.” Fuck it. He couldn’t resist it when he called him that. He has such the biggest daddy kink. He was unsure of how Henry would react to it, but turns out the king is completely into it. He was so into it that there were times he called him that in front of family and press. It was embarrassing as hell, but it completely turned Alex on and he gave it to Henry later on in bed. “You like this, baby?” Alex asks in between thrusts. “I do, daddy.” Henry leans forward and looks Alex straight into his eyes. “Dámelo, papi.” After that, it doesn’t take long before Alex blows his load, mainly because of that goddamn tease of a boyfriend. However, he manages to give one final thrust to hit Henry’s prostate, causing the loudest moan ever. It managed to have an echo. They both cum at the same time. Henry releases his load all over Alex’s chest, some even getting on his face. Alex pulls out and wipes his face, licking the cum that was on it. He pulls off the condom and waves it in front of Henry. “This is because of you. Damn, this is the most I’ve ever produced.” Henry takes the cum filled condom and slaps Alex’s face with it. “You’re welcome, daddy.” Henry gets off Alex and stands on the floor. He walks over to his underwear, but is walking as if he has a limp. Alex grins, knowing that he’s going to have trouble walking and sitting for a while. As Henry bends down to pick up his boxers, Alex doesn’t miss the chance to give him one last spanking for the night.

#red white and royal blue #rwrb #fanfic #fanfiction #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #gay #lgbt #bisexual

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qqueenofhades · 5 years

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I don’t think any of us would say no to a glimpse into the escapades of the notorious Gabriel and Garcia DeClermont from back in the day. Ahem.

France, 1196

It is raining outside the tent, a slow, steady drizzle that is going to be just enough to turn the field to mud and make it a pain in the hindquarters to get their chain mail to dry later. Garcia stirs at the tramp of passing boots, listening for any telltale roaring, or worse. Things have, for once in King Richard Coeur-de-Lion’s life, not been going that well on the field of battle, and he is smarting over Philip’s bastard trick with his nephew, Arthur of Brittany, whisking him off to Paris before Richard could secure him instead. Richard is insisting that they spectacularly punish the Bretons, though Garcia isn’t entirely sure what that’s going to do; the boy is already out of Richard’s hands. But Philip must be made to pay for this duplicity and to be sharply warned against repeating it in future, so here they are.

Garcia rolls over, breathing the sharp, clean scent of the predawn air, and fumbles for his tunic, tabard, chainses, and braies. He gets dressed, shrugging on the clothes and buckling on his sword, shaking his shaggy dark hair out of his eyes and tying it back with a leather thong. Then he pushes aside the tent flap and emerges into the misty dimness; it’s early enough that most of the camp is still abed. Which is fine, because no matter the fact that they only got here last night and the entire duchy hates them, Garcia has a sneaking suspicion that Gabriel did not spend the night alone.

He crosses the damp grass, which squelches beneath his boots, and reaches the tent across the way, wondering if he should cover his eyes before venturing in. All he can see is an entangled, indistinct mass of blankets, which upon further inspection proves to be his brother, satisfyingly asleep with a woman in each arm. There’s still a trace of a smirk on Gabriel’s fine lips, as if to say that only chumps spent the night cold and wet and alone, and Garcia clears his throat as loudly as possible. When this does nothing, he bends down and shakes the nearest limb, which belongs to one of the women. “Excuse me.”

She wakes up, blinks confusedly, sees him, and looks alarmed. There’s a sort of odd chain reaction, which eventually culminates in Gabriel cracking an eye, seeing his younger brother looming over him with a disapproving expression, and letting out a gusty sigh. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Get up,” Garcia says. “The messengers are back.”

“Oh, are they?” Gabriel does not look as if he feels this constitutes a crack-of-dawn disturbance of him and his two lovely demoiselles (perhaps Garcia should be lucky it’s only two, there have been more). “Are we fighting right now?”

Garcia shuffles his feet, trying very hard not to look at the elegant bare breasts that one of the women has revealed by sitting up and making rather a production of tidying her hair out of her face. “No.”

“Well?” Gabriel makes an inviting motion toward the blankets. “Go ahead, then. Sibylla and Clemence won’t mind. Neither would I.”

Garcia feels his ears turning bright red, which is a trick for a vampire to manage, but still. “Pay them and send them on their way. I suppose it’s not even worth asking how you managed to find them so quickly – and if they’re Breton spies, you’re really going to be – ”

Gabriel gives him an insulted stare, as if to ask why on earth Garcia would think he would need to pay to get any woman to spend the night with him. Then he leans over and kisses Sibylla (or possibly Clemence’s) bare shoulder. “As usual, darling,” he informs her, “my brother is being a useless stick in the mud, so I’m afraid that is all for now. Run away far from here, there may be fighting later.”

Sibylla and Clemence get up and dressed, Garcia claps his eyes shut thus as not to be indelicate, but hears Gabriel’s very loud sigh anyway. Once the women are decent and have darted out into the rain, Gabriel stands up and gets dressed himself, with more pointed looks at Garcia. Then he follows him out into the stirring camp, toward the royal pavilion with the three lions flapping from the top. If Mercadier and his men are back, Richard will be hearing him out, and will expect the de Clermont brothers there to advise. As they walk, Garcia says darkly, “If they’re Constance’s handmaidens, or – ”

“Just because you have an uncommonly dour and suspicious mind, little brother, does not mean everyone does.” Gabriel claps him on the shoulder, hard enough to make Garcia trip over a tent peg. “What is it going to take, I ask you?”

Garcia avoids answering until they reach the tent and bow themselves into the king’s presence. As usual, Richard acknowledges them with a nod, shaking his red-gold hair out of his eyes and sipping his breakfast wine, and they sit to counsel and agree how exactly they will hammer the Bretons into submission later. It’s really Philip whose arse Richard wants to kick, as ever, but he’s safely removed in Paris, and examples will have to be made by proxy.

That, therefore, is exactly what they do. The battle is hardly a fair match – a battalion of ragged Breton men-at-arms vs. Richard Coeur-de-Lion and his two vampire generals, and it’s over before the bells of the village church call Sext. Gabriel and Garcia stroll among the detritus of the field, wiping the blood off their swords and comparing their successes, and Gabriel raises an eyebrow. “You know, I imagine the lovely ladies may still be around somewhere. I could – ”

“No,” Garcia says hastily. “No, I don’t think.”

“You,” Gabriel says, draping an arm around his shoulders, as the ravens descend to investigate the dead and Garcia, despite all his complaining, does not ever want to be anywhere but here, with his king and his brother and the scent of blood and victory fresh on the spring wind. “Are utterly hopeless.”

#timeless ff #gabriel x garcia #the alchemical wedding #prairiepirate #ask #taw asks #all souls au

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shianhygge-imagines · 7 years

Text

{The Difference} Chapter 4: A Brief Respite [A Witcher Story]

A rest for the tortured protagonist...

|Masterlist|

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crow’s Perch, Velen

[Six days later] 29 Blathe, Year 1272

At approximately the seventeenth hour of the day, a short figure made their way up the path to Crow’s Perch. The person looked to be no taller than a boy in his early adolescence, but carried a single sword in their left hand. The two guardsmen posted atop the path and at the entrance of the bridge had to squint their eyes to see more detail of the small traveler. The stranger was slumped forward, shrouded in a black cloak, and had a medallion hung around their neck. The medallion, however, is what caught the guards’ attention. After the recent events that took place within Velen, nearly all guardsmen under the Bloody Baron’s employment knew that a silver medallion shaped in the resemblance of a fierce beast meant that the carrier was a witcher.

“Eye, Todd, look’ere. ‘Tis another freak.” one guard whispered to the other, the two guardsmen sneering openly at the approaching witcher. It didn’t matter that the White Wolf was helping the Baron, a mutant was a mutant, and a freak was a freak, no amount of good deeds would change their opinions. After all, the reputation on witchers would never be sparkling clean. And witchers were known to be tough sons of bitches, men lacking of emotion, and doing business in a morally grey manner.

So it came to their mutual surprise that once the witcher in question had reached them, they’d muttered a small cheer, voice croaking but very clearly feminine, before collapsing at the foot of the bridge, the cloak hood falling and long dark hair flew out. The woman witcher fell to the floor with a dull thud as the two men stood staring in shock.

For a long moment there was silence as the two guards stared at the fallen woman, then…

“Ploughing arse. It’s a girl!” With the reveal of the witcher actually being a small woman, the two northern men changed their tune quickly enough. After all, one couldn’t resist the opportunity to assist a damsel in distress… even if they were a mutant.

The other guard, Todd, rolled his eyes at his partner’s observation, “Like I didn’t know that, you fucking idiot. Now help me bring her to the Baron.” Todd crouched down next to the young lady and gently slid his arms under, barely making a grunt as he lifted her up, the medallion clinking. Turning to cross the long wooden bridge, he nodded at his partner, “Come on, Gav. You carry the sword and pack.”

Gav gave out a cry of protest, believing it beyond unfair that his partner got to carry the woman like a princess, but his protests dissolved into nonsensical and incoherent sounds as Todd walked further and further away, ignoring the outrage from the man. Huffing indignantly, Gav bend down to gather up the sheathed sword and leather sack in his hands before turning and making his way across the bridge as well, signalling the tower guards to go replace them at the beginning of the bridge.

Once the younger soldier caught up with his friend, Gav slowed to a brisk walk, his eyes trained on the woman’s face as they made their way past gaping townsfolk and raised brows. “I didn’t know women could be witchers. Ey, Todd? You think that they kidnapped her and made her into one of ‘em?”

Todd gave a noncommittal grunt, green eyes flickering down and up to keep an eye on the woman as well as to not run into anything on the path. “They might have, Gav. But she’s the first female witcher I’ve seen.”

Gav didn’t seem too pleased with the answer, but stayed silent knowing that not many people actually knew about witchers. No one liked the monster hunters, but Gav wasn’t stupid enough that he didn’t realize the most rumors about the witchers weren’t true. Still, Gav stared openly at the unconscious girl while Todd dared to only take fleeting glances. “She don’t look like she’s from the North. Why’s that?”

“Eyes and nose are small.” Todd answered, stating his observation from the short trip up the dirt path. They were only just reaching the castle gates where the two soldiers were let in, the iron gates opening up with groaning gears. “High cheekbones… she’s probably from the south… or not. Face isn’t long enough. Too round.”

“Y-you think she’s from the east? Past the Blue Mountains?” Gav wondered in awe, staring at the female witcher with a new found interest.

Todd didn’t get the chance to answer Gav. As they made their way into the Baron’s courtyard, they noticed that the Baron was already outside of his large estate, pacing the courtyard. For a moment, neither guard said a thing, eyeing their lord with unsure eyes before Gav cleared his throat. “My Lord?”

Philip Strenger was a portly man, tall, as was common for the people of the Northern Realms, and might have been fairly ruggedly handsome in his prime. Now, however, the man stank of hard ale and beer. The rotund lord turned and halted in his steps, amber eyes narrowing as he stared down the men. “What do you want?”

Long tired of their lord’s rudeness, but not being able to do anything about it, Todd spoke up with his usual impassive voice, meant to betray no emotion. “A woman collapsed at the crossroads.” The guard held out the unconscious woman’s body, “She wears a witcher��s medallion.”

The Bloody Baron stared down at the woman for a long while as Todd and Gav shifted uncomfortably. Then, with a great bob of his head, gestured to his manor and commanded, “Bring her to the guest room and have one of the maids tend to her. Let me know when the girl wakes.” With that command, the Baron resumed his pacing, hands clenching at his sides when thinking about the news that Geralt had brought about his wife.

Not at all surprised that the Baron would grant the woman shelter, Todd and Gav quickly gave their acknowledgments before practically running into the manor and setting about making the fallen witcher comfortable.

[Ten hours later]

Crash. BOOM

“Damns it all, dun disturb ‘er, you dumb creature!”

Jazz groaned and shifted in the bed, “Dun wanna wake up….” It was warm and soft, the pillow underneath Jazz’s head, a comfort, and the blanket covering her, a warm embrace. The exhausted woman didn’t want to leave bed in order to address the sudden noises and struggle inside her room. Wait… bed… room…

Her brows furrowed, though her eyes remained closed, and she muttered, “This isn’t right.” Jazz cautiously turned to lay on her other side before gingerly popping a tired eye open. Although she didn’t have her glasses on, Jazz was able to make out the blurred shapes of a man dragging a… struggling something out the door, the wooden door shutting with a slam.

With how tired her mind and body was, Jazz hummed thoughtfully at the sight she’d just witnessed before turning back over to her previous position to bury herself in the blankets, letting sleep take her once more. “I’ll deal with it later….” Sleep came first.

[not even four hours later]

Jazz regained consciousness not four hours later, well rested, but unwilling to open her eyes. It feels like it’s been years since I’ve slept on a bed. The asian woman thought in deep contentment, happy with the way the blanket warmed her, even happy for the somewhat scratchy material of the mattress, knowing that memory foam didn’t exist yet. The thought that she was in the Bloody Baron’s estate warmed her the slightest, knowing that, as a girl, she’ll not come to any harm within the walls of Crow’s Perch. Such a welcome change.

It had been hell during the six days traveling from where she was attacked by the leshen. After that incident, Jazz had been scared to travel at night, sticking to the main roads by day, and taking shelter in the barns of various strangers at night. Everything went well for the first three nights, enjoying a routine with sleep and food included. However, everything good must eventually come to an end.

On her fifth day of travel, Jazz reached the beginning edges of Crookback Bog. Even during the day, the place scared the hell out of the girl. If she could think of one place in all of the continent that would be the worst place to end up, it would be in the bog. Jazz had weighed her options at the time, to go into the bog, or to walk around it. Walking around would take more time, and she wanted to reach Crow’s Perch as soon as possible, but a quick glance at the silver sword in her grip, Jazz winced and began her trip around the bog. She couldn’t even lift the sword long enough to take a proper swing, there was no way that Jazz was stubborn enough to walk through the bog.

Not even a few hours into her journey around the bog, when the sun had begun to set, Jazz encountered an archgriffin. She’d been walking with the sun setting in her face, and therefore could not see that she had the attention of the beast flying above. The winged creature stalked Jazz for a great few minutes before it gave out a mighty cry, alerting her to its presence. And with it being a hunter, it was delighted when Jazz had glanced up with wide and shocked doe eyes. And like an unthinking fool, Jazz ran as fast as her legs could carry her, the archgriffin shrieking as it dove after her, wanting to play with its food.

Oh God. Oh FUCKING GOD. Let there be some sort of divine miracle! Jazz had practically screamed in her head, intending to speak, but only a shrill and strangled sound left her throat. She was foolish to pray, to wish for a miracle, to wish for her luck to change. There was no god looking after her, there were only fates and destinies. And if there was a god, then it would have been no friend of the Earth-girl because it wouldn’t have taken Jazz from her homeworld to begin with.

In the end, Jazz ran until the archgriffin became bored of her, and by then, she’d been running blindly, ending up further than she wanted to be and back to where she had stopped to look at the bog. With the sun nearly gone for the sky, Jazz had been forced to travel back up the path to a small area clear of shrubbery, sitting down against a tree and forced to wait through the night, forced to stay awake in case of danger.

The following morning, Jazz stood from her resting place and decided to brave the bog, knowing that her witcher’s medallion would notify her of any immediate danger. But the medallion only just managed to save her from danger, shaking just as the drowners and waterhags rose from the shallow waters to attack, or just as the occasional foglet started to stalk her. And in those occasions, despite not having eaten in a day at least, Jazz found the strength to run and continue running even as she left the bog. She was weak and tired, running on pure adrenaline. Eventually, her body would give out, and when they did, Jazz wanted it to be as far away from Crookback Bog as possible.

When and where she had collapsed, Jazz didn’t remember, only knowing that she had been woken from her sleep by the screams of a certain cursed individual barging into the room.

Crow’s Perch. Jazz scoffed in disbelief at being so fortunate as to be brought to the very place wanted to be. Unbelievable, but Jazz would take any good turn of events at that point. It’s a nice reprieve. Jazz curled up further into the blankets, relaxing a bit more.

“Ti’s been a day, why won’t the girl wake up?” Jazz’s eyes startled open at the voices approaching her room door. Both were men, but she didn’t recognize either.

“It’s been only half a day. For all we know, she’d been traveling for longer without sleep.”

“Poor girl, trav’lin all by ‘er lonesome. An’ from far eas’ too. Bet you that she ‘as the cat eyes.”

“You’re assuming things, Gav. Just like when you assumed she was half elf.”

“Wot! But ‘er face!” the exclamation was cut short when the men, soldiers, Jazz amended, entered the room and froze in place, suddenly face to face with the very awake ‘witcher woman.’

“Uh….” the man on the left could only open and close his mouth, at a loss for how to approach the woman, who, now that she was awake, was very obviously not a witcher.

Jazz’s expression, ever set impassive, slowly morphed into resting bitch face at being gawked at. “Well? Are you coming in? Or are you both going to stare at me from the threshold?”

Gav, or at least Jazz suspected his name to be Gav, what with his very distinct manner of speech, frantically scrambled to push his companion through the threshold and shut the door behind them, practically screaming his apologies, which had Jazz raising her brows in surprise at the sudden increase in volume. He was a tall man, as was characteristic of a northerner, but was a bit more on the lean side, a bit gangly whilst clad in the steel armor, but easier to look at than expected. Especially his face. Jazz thought in amusement, An adorable shade of baby blue for eyes, sharp nose, and a fair complexion unlike the blotchy red. Definitely younger than me. “M’sorry, ma’am!” When his companion said nothing, Gav slapped his arm, “Todd… apologize…” Gav hissed, attempting to be discreet, yet Jazz heard him nonetheless, and she couldn’t help but approve. Hn.. he’s got manners, too. His parents raised him well at least. Better than most men in the 21st century.

Todd gave a deep glower at Gav, who despite his shaking legs, didn’t hesitate to stare his partner down. He was a bit shorter than Gav, more broadly built, but still a good head taller than Jazz. Like Gav, Todd was unexpectedly different than what Jazz had seen. He’s remarkably handsome… in a bad boy sort of way... He had a narrow face with decent cheekbones, defined brows, and thin lips with fierce green eyes, which softened slightly when they turned to glance upon the bedridden woman. “I’m sorry.” His voice was a smooth tenor, on the lower spectrum and contrasted heavily with Gav’s higher tenor, and in any other situation, Jazz would have swooned.

Jazz, at the two men’s apology, bowed her head in embarrassment, ashamed of losing her temper. Her dirtied black hair, disheveled, fell to frame the sides of her head, “No… I’m sorry for yelling.” She muttered, not liking having to apologize, but she knew when she’d also erred.

An awkward silence filled the room for a long moment, something that Jazz had long since become accustomed to from her time with her relatives, and again while traveling alone. In fact, Jazz could go a long time without talking if she had to. Gav, evidently, didn’t have the same aptitude for withstanding silence as she did, filling the silence with loud gulps before he spoke in a kind yet curious voice. “I ‘ope you’re feel’in better. Todd an’ I were worr’ed abou’ ya when ya collapsed a’ the crossroads.”

The woman’s brown eyes lifted to settle on the two men still standing in the room, a warmth filling her gaze at the concern. And try as she might to give the slightest of smiles like she’d seen ladies of wealth and status give, she couldn’t help the full-blown and bright smile that was a trademark of hers, straight top row of teeth showing and all. “I’m fine, just suffering from a bit of exhaustion from traveling from White Orchard. Thank you for asking, Gav.”

Jazz wasn’t sexy, she knew that much. She wasn’t drop dead gorgeous with a tall and lean build with curves. She wasn’t a Yennefer of Vengerberg, a Triss Merigold, or even a Ciri. She was nothing of what men desired, and it made her sad at times, but more often glad. Jazz, despite envying the bodies of multiple women, actually liked that she was short and all curves, that she had a cute face and looked younger than she really was. In the end, Jazz was unique, and she didn’t really care if certain men didn’t find her attractive. Yet still, when Jazz noticed the slightest blush on Gav’s face, and Todd’s stare, she couldn’t help the thrill and satisfaction that filled her.

“N-no! I-it-’tis my pleasure!” Gav’s face lit up and a crooked closed eyed smile decorated his facade. From next to him, Todd snickered at the dopey expression, and Jazz could only gaze at the taller man with a twinkle in her eyes, oddly reminded of a happy puppy.

Still smiling, Jazz gestured towards the seats in the room, “If you two have questions, I’ll be happy to answer them.” Her grin went crooked and playful, “But you’ll have to indulge a few of my own in return.”

The curiosity that toiled within the two men fueled their obedience, both nodding their assent to the mutual questions.

Todd was the first to ask a question, “Are you a witcher? A monster slayer? And from where do you hail?”

Be honest. Don’t start lying again. You’re doing too well to go back into your habit. Jazz reminded herself lightly before taking a deep breath and answering the questions directed at her. “I’m not from the Northern Realms, nor am I from East of the Blue Mountains. I’m not a witcher, and I’m not a monster slayer.” she grit her teeth in embarrassment, “In fact, I’m not strong enough to swing a silver sword.”

Gav gestured wildly towards the medallion that hung around Jazz’s neck, “But the medallion! Only witchers ‘ave that!”

Glancing down at the griffin medallion, Jazz brought a hand up to lightly caress the beak. “Oh… this… I uh… stole it off some witch hunters. They killed a witcher and took the medallion as a trophy.”

Green eyes narrowed just the slightest, “You’re not a wanted woman, right?”

Jazz merely shook her head, eyes getting a little glazed over, “Not anymore.”

“Not anymore?” just the slightest shift in his body language, and Jazz saw Todd reach for the sword at his side. “What did you do?”

“Didn’t do anything.” Jazz muttered, hand shifting to brush against her right arm, the arm that broken when the leshen threw her from the black mare. “The leshen got to them when they were chasing me.”

“LESHEN?” At the mention of such a ferocious creature, Gav nearly leapt from his chair, “You were attacked by a leshen?” When excited, it seemed Gav lost all traces of his distinct speech.

Jazz nodded, eyes still far away, thinking back to the attack. “I ran when it killed my mare.” It wasn’t a lie, she only omitted several details.

… “You’re n’t much of a talk’r are’t ya?” Gav mused, evidently disappointed in the lack of details within Jazz’s answers.

“An introvert?” Todd questioned, leaning in his seat with a little difficulty due to the heavy armor.

“I speak enough when asked.” was the bedridden girl’s response, “I don’t like long explanations when the question is simple. And people don’t like it when someone is long-winded… I know I don’t.”

“So you’re not an introvert. Extroverted?” Todd seemed baffled at the possibility.

Another embarrassed grin, “Contrary to how I appear, I usually can’t shut up if you catch me in a good mood.”

Todd snorted, teasing, “And what is an extroverted little girl doing collapsing at the crossroads anyways?”

One blink, then two. “I’m not a little girl. I’m probably older than Gav.”

“Wot!? NO YOU’RE NOT!” Gav screeched, “THERE’S NO WAY!” and there went his accent again.

“I just passed my twenty-first spring.” Jazz smiled at the stunned expressions. “I don’t look my age, I know.”

Gav, meanwhile, only paled in disbelief, “... two springs older…”

Todd guffawed at Gav’s expression, nearly bent over and in tears at the younger man’s reaction, before turning to Jazz and snorted, “Okay. What’s a lady like you doing in Velen?”

Fond of how normal the situation was when compared to what had transpired over the past few days, Jazz shook her head and answered, “I’m tracking down someone, and thought that I might find some information here.”

The curiosity in the two men came back, “W’ho are you look’in for?”

Jazz bit her bottom lip nervously before answering, “The White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia.”

Chapter 3 < Here > Chapter 5

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-fi!

#shianhygge #shian imagines #geralt of rivia #the witcher 3 #the witcher #the witcher imagines #wiedźmin

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arse-crack-thistle · 9 months

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i would watch a ten-part documentary series on the hanover-stuart royal family tree. i must know the lore behind this name. from james vi/i to henry. the tea must be piping.

#there must be so much drama!!!!#rwrb #rwrb movie #henry fox mountchristen windsor #princess bea #stick up his arse philip #nicholas galitzine #stephen fry

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what-is-sibling-test · 5 years

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I don’t think any of us would say no to a glimpse into the escapades of the notorious Gabriel and Garcia DeClermont from back in the day. Ahem.

France, 1196

“Get up,” Garcia says. “The messengers are back.”

“Well?” Gabriel makes an inviting motion toward the blankets. “Go ahead, then. Sibylla and Clemence won’t mind. Neither would I.”

“No,” Garcia says hastily. “No, I don’t think.”

from 'RittenhouseTL' for all things Timeless https://ift.tt/2K522PL via Istudy world

#IFTTT #'RittenhouseTL' for all things Timeless

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