welcome to my interactive fiction side blog! my main is @vilnapdf. i will follow & like from there. this blog is 18+ only.
❀ i love a du mortain and think about the love triangle route a lot. also a big fan of infamous and o quinn. i like to talk about my ocs and chat a lot.
❀ here are my ( ocs ), feel free to ask about them or send prompts, i will kiss you on the mouth if you do, actually
❀ i don't rly tag my nsfw text posts, so keep that in mind!
❀ i write sometimes! my writing tag is #vilna writes / #vilna's wips
❀ like this post if you want to be notified when i post fic!
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no but sometimes it feels like ub seriously shared like one brain cell before the detective came around like how they got anything done or are the second best unit in the whole agency is beyond me
its so fucking funny when the detective says something absurdly obvious and A and N just go 👏👏 good job detective 👏👏 what great observation skills 👏👏 like lmao I can't 😭😭
the wayhaven chronicles / nate sewell x f!detective (charlotte langford) / stardew valley AU / general / 1.2k words
notes: written for day 7 (sunset) prompt for @summerinwayhaven !
Nate chuckles softly at the way his chickens immediately scatter with an excited cackle when he throws the last of the barley grains on the ground and wipes his dusty palms to his jeans.
"Gertrude," he scolds after watching their antics for a moment. "Leave some for others as well, please."
Gertrude, the self-proclaimed queen of the coop, has the tendency to hog all the feed. She is an old (but extremely temperamental) lady and probaly doesn't have a lot of time left, but she ought to have some consideration for others nonetheless.
Gertrude, of course, ignores him entirely and Nate sighs shaking his head, something fond in the line of his mouth.
He lifts his head to look at the orange sky under the wide brim of his woven sunhat. The sun is setting behind the thick emerald green fir trees surrounding his small farm, but it's still warm enough to fare without a long-sleeved thicker shirt. Summer is so close he can already taste its sweet sap on the tip of his tongue; the grasshoppers have started singing in his flower fields and Farah tries to sell him melon seeds every time he visits the General Store. He is pretty sure that she has put it together that Nate's daily visits have another reason entirely: the new pretty face in the town called Charlie whom Nate is already utterly captivated by.
the wayhaven chronicles / nate sewell x f!detective (charlotte langford) / stardew valley AU / general / 1.2k words
notes: written for day 7 (sunset) prompt for @summerinwayhaven !
Nate chuckles softly at the way his chickens immediately scatter with an excited cackle when he throws the last of the barley grains on the ground and wipes his dusty palms to his jeans.
"Gertrude," he scolds after watching their antics for a moment. "Leave some for others as well, please."
Gertrude, the self-proclaimed queen of the coop, has the tendency to hog all the feed. She is an old (but extremely temperamental) lady and probaly doesn't have a lot of time left, but she ought to have some consideration for others nonetheless.
Gertrude, of course, ignores him entirely and Nate sighs shaking his head, something fond in the line of his mouth.
He lifts his head to look at the orange sky under the wide brim of his woven sunhat. The sun is setting behind the thick emerald green fir trees surrounding his small farm, but it's still warm enough to fare without a long-sleeved thicker shirt. Summer is so close he can already taste its sweet sap on the tip of his tongue; the grasshoppers have started singing in his flower fields and Farah tries to sell him melon seeds every time he visits the General Store. He is pretty sure that she has put it together that Nate's daily visits have another reason entirely: the new pretty face in the town called Charlie whom Nate is already utterly captivated by.
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Andy presses her shell carefully into Farah’s palm and gently curls Farah’s fingers around it, cradling their treasure in the space between them.
“Then by the powers vested in me by me”–Andy swallows thickly around the rough feeling growing in her throat and Farah’s nose scrunches as she giggles–“I now pronounce us wife and wife.”
Farah’s smile is so bright and beautiful. She reaches out with her empty hand and cups Andy’s cheek, drawing their faces together into a kiss. It’s slow and sweet and so heartbreakingly tender.
When they pull apart and Andy stares into those eyes–the same rich gold of a sunset–that are so dear to her, love so intense that it hurts swells up within her.
“I’ll love you forever and ever, baby,” Andy whispers. Her voice breaks, but Farah just rubs her thumb reassuringly over Andy’s cheekbone and looks at her in love. “No matter what.”
“I’ll love you forever too,” Farah promises just as solemnly. “No matter what.”
excerpt from the seven weddings of farah hauville, chapter 4
A beach wedding 😍 This all seems so very romantic! Those pics immediately had me in beach mode and then there was Andy's voice breaking, Farah's smile and that tender kiss. Oh my heart, this was lovely
i just wanted to share photos of the ocean 💜 first two are from my secret spot, second two are from cuba a few years ago
***
"This is terrible," Morgan grumbles as she slinks further into the shade of the umbrella, grimacing at the feeling of sand between her toes. It's hot and far too grainy, sticking to her ankles even after she rests herself delicately on the beach chair.
Raven turns to her, the wooden beads in her hair clattering with a familiar sound, grinning that stupid adorable smile she always gets whenever she gets excited. What about this experience she could possibly be excited about, Morgan doesn't know.
"It's beautiful," her girlfriend says, stretching her hands up towards the sky, "everything is so warm."
"I feel like I'm in an oven."
Farah laughs quietly, and though she knows it's good-natured, it only sours Morgan's expression further. She fumbles for the pack of cigarettes Nat had weakly protested her bringing and quickly lights it up, desperate for some respite from…everything.
"I'll be right there," Raven shouts to Farah — who is running enthusiastically towards the water — before turning towards her, face etched with concern.
"If this is too much, you don't have to stay," she says gently, stepping into the shade. Morgan blows a plume of smoke in her face, smiling softly when she wrinkles her nose, snorting to clear the haze from between them. But her expression stays gentle, one hand reaching out to Morgan before hesitating. Did she think the touch would be unwelcome?
"No, I'll…" She sighs, leaning her cheek into the human's waiting palm, "I'll stay."
"Let me know if you need anything, alright?"
Just you. The thought comes unbidden. It's been popping up more frequently, something deep within her awakening at the prolonged presence of this cheerful woman.
Morgan doesn't voice that, though.
"Okay, sweetheart." She kisses Raven's palm, "now go have fun, or whatever it is. Don't make Farah come back and see me like this."
"Soft?"
"…Clingy."
Her answering giggle is crystal clear as the water lapping at the shore, sending the same shivers down her spine that she's become familiar with. Raven leans down to kiss the crown of her head before prancing off to join Farah in the water.
Morgan takes another drag of her cigarette, eyes locked on her girlfriend's retreating backside, swaying temptingly. She's wearing a red swimsuit that shows off her curves nicely, and she is very aware of the meaning behind that choice.
She doesn't look away until Raven is in the water, talking animatedly to Farah beside her. Glancing across the beach, she spots Ava and Nat walking side-by-side across the water's edge. And yet they say they haven't fucked in all the time they've known each other.
Another inhale of sharp chemicals to soften the smell of the ocean, another cloud of smoke to make the brightness of the sun more tolerable. It's still unpleasant, everything grating at her senses, but a tiny bit more bearable. She much would have rathered coming at night.
Raven's bright shriek of laughter draws her gaze back over to the pair, locked in some sort of splash battle. Even from this far, she could see the big, cheesy grin that split her face in two.
…Maybe this wouldn't be as terrible as she thought.
Such beautiful photos! And this snippet is peak summer. Morgan leaning into Raven's touch is the sweetest thing, it's good to see that Raven's presence makes the whole beach excursion more bearable for Morgan. And I, for one, love to see Morgan soft and clingy!
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weaving: the currents will shift (glide me towards you)
summer in wayhaven | day two | prompt: ocean
nate sewell x f!mc (surina batra) | 1.1 k words
this is based on the idea of the weaver (a supernatural that can weave and manipulate time to their whim). it is the part of a series of alternative timelines where nate and surina meet each other for the first time, without the looming threat of murphy
She stands at the End [of the Hurricane]. He stands at the Sunlight [Through the Clouds]. For however long, neither of them knows; the passage of time is measured by the passage of others. People hurrying around them through the gallery, some pausing for a quick glance at the artworks and a quicker note of the artists, one or two excusing themselves to slot in between the pair of strangers to read the stories on the plaques beneath those names, most others taking a shortcut through the space to attend the month’s featured lecture.
From the museum’s atrium, piano notes fade and the speaker is introduced.
They stand alone now. He feels the slightest shift of air before she turns, breaking him out of his gaze, rupturing deep concentration and study of painted light bursting brightly through dimmer, parting clouds. Clicks of her heels echo in the small room (gentle steps sharp to his ears), and she is moving in his direction but towards the Sunlight. A polite prompt nudging him to move and he obliges, his footfall far quieter as he strides along the terrazzo floor. When they pass, he catches the scent of her perfume (quite keenly, individual notes of roses, jasmine, summer-ripe apricots and peaches), and their eyes meet in another fleeting moment.
In their exchanged places, she is startled by his abrupt, swift intake of breath.
[These paintings were not the reason for their visit to this museum. He had been anticipating the art education series, today’s discussion on the technique and application of honey-based watercolors by the locally-lauded artist, Beau Byron. She had planned for the the same, on personal invitation, and waited in this exhibit - the impermanent permanent collection - recently updated with this pair of paintings. Composed by different artists, in different decades, with different mediums, representing the before and after of a singular, similar event.
When she had looked out to check the arriving audience in the atrium, he happened to walk straight into her line of sight. Their eyes fixated on the other, his dark and brown, twinkling gold as though under their own spotlight; hers deep and green, shining like the gems and display in the adjacent room. Her smile drew him further into her orbit, a coy and enticing thing, and with the bite of her lip and tilt of her head, she’d returned her attention to what was in front of her. The End. He followed her invitation, finding himself in front of the Sunlight.]
Now that warmth about him, in his eyes especially, discerned by the continued stolen glances out of the corners of hers, has cooled. He appears more dulled, pallid. The End of the Hurricane is harsh, foamy and billowing waves crashing against crags and rocks, tossing errant and innocuous things onto the shore. Violence of nature through rough, sharp, inelegant brushstrokes under a placidly smooth blue sky. One more final thrust of the ocean before returning to calm. He is mostly still, mostly unmoving save for his hands, tense but his fingers fold in upon themselves and release, again and again. His lips are parted slightly, and he is entranced, frozen in horror.
Her body angles towards his, and she steps closer - they were only a foot apart.
A small sound, the beginning of some word or phrase, escapes from her mouth, and it is like a lifeline. A rope for him to take hold of, to bring him out of the trance of tragedy. Another part of him finally moves, the blinking of his eyes.
“Would it be alright,” the first time he speaks to her, his voice is hoarse, tight and rushing to catch up with himself. He cannot yet look away from the art, but he wills is hands to relax at his sides as he takes a long, healing breath. The next time he speaks, it is in a whisper, “If we were to switch places once more?”
She gestures to the expanding space between them.
“Why don’t you stand next to me, instead?” Her question matches the hush of his, a delicate coaxing towards her, bringing him to the surface he so desperately needs. “We can look at this one together.”
He joins her. Close enough to feel her warmth, feel the safety of this beautiful women whom he would like to know (that he may have known in another lifetime).
“Are you alright?”
The tensed muscles in his body loosen, and he attempts to set himself to rights, to appear as outwardly charming as he finds her entirely enchanting.
“Yes. Thank you. I will be.”
The thrill of this moment, near enough to him that the back of her hand or her fingers could brush against his - if so desired - begins to overwhelm her, has her pressing her palms to her chest. Luckily, the room doesn’t hear how hard her heart beats (he does, though, and its force and rapidity drown out the noise from the atrium).
A smile, pretty and unpracticed, widens on her face, and she ventures to look up towards him, this tall and handsome stranger. She takes a deep breath, and schools her focus back to the painting.
She tips her chin at the Sunlight Through the Clouds, at the rays from the sun bathing the land and water beneath in a early-morning light, it is a serene scene. “Each day is a luxury, one that gives us a chance to start over or just keep going and trying. It’s a privilege to see the sunlight again.”
A soft hum punctuates her analysis. He regards her words, the sincerity of them (and the irony), and his shoulders relax further. He resists the urge to hide his hands, instead running them through his hair, tussling what he’d spent no insignificant amount of time styling.
“Hi,” she turns to him now, taking time to fully notice that his glow has returned, illuminating his face, and he is returning to her a breathtakingly pretty smile of his own. “I’m Surina.”
“A pleasure to meet you. I’m Nathaniel. Nate,” he replies, his voice now syrupy-smooth and decadent. “I had originally planned to attend the lecture today but I do wonder if instead, I could treat you to a cup of tea or coffee?”
Oh, Nate is just as Surina hoped he would be, and hoped he would ask.
“Tea or coffee would be lovely. We can go to the cafe upstairs, and I'll catch you up on what we're missing."
End of the Hurricane, Marsden Hartley, 1938
Sunlight Through the Clouds, J. Carleton Wiggins, 1890s
Title lyrics from Ocean, Pearl Jam, 1992
@summerinwayhaven
blake winter x f!mc (juliet radcliffe) / mature / 928 words
tag list: @xx-toto-xx, @loreofyore, @turtleybeachin, @agentnatesewell, @orianaquinn, @thee-morrigan, @nokstella, @wayhavenots, @lalizah, @blu-ewraith (no pressure! <3)
notes: birthed this last night when i couldn't sleep <3 blake winter you will always be famous
She wakes up with someone's face mushed against the back of her sweaty neck and an unfamiliar pair of arms around her bare waist, clutching her tight.
Juliet blinks for a moment. This isn't a strange occurence in truth. It has happened a few times during the tour by now, but it always leaves her feeling a little out of sorts. (Probably because it has been the same person every time.)
She doesn't allow herself to lie around for more than a few minutes before untangling herself from the arms imprisoning her and getting up, putting on a white standard hotel bathrobe and tip-toeing to the bathroom.
Afterwards, Juliet boils water for one of the packets of instant coffee the hotel room provides and as she waits, she watches Blake Winter's sleeping form on her bed.
Juliet would like nothing more than to claim that Blake is just a momentary lapse of judgement – a mere notch in her bedpost or an itch she couldn't help but want to scratch. Just a meaningless after-thought swimming in her brain when she tries to sleep at night, easily forgotten in the light of day.
That would be a horrible lie.
Because she watches him now and realises that the truth is, of course, that she is endlessly, and incredibly unwisely, curious about this man. She wants to know him. She wants to see what makes him tick. She wants to study every cell of his body under a microscope lense. She wants to pull his leash tight and see if he will bark for her.
it's me again!! still working on my orion/niki/seven threesome fic. i'm rly enjoying writing the seven pov in this, it's fun being in his brain, even if it's kind of depressing at the same time, rip. i'm 2k words in and it's just a scatter of out of order moments for now, but this one is one of my faves so far. when you're trying to have a fun no-strings-attached threesome with your ex and his new boyfriend, but accidentally realise that you never got over anything ever 😩
tagging: @agentnatesewell, @hopewiseman, @serenpedac, @thee-morrigan, @orianaquinn, @turtleybeachin, @orianaquinnlover, @loreofyore !! brain is a mess this time of the night but consider yourself tagged 🫶
"Niki," Seven breathes, awed. He is aware that Orion is watching their every interaction like a hawk. "You're…"
Amazing. Beautiful. Breathtaking.
And then, suddenly, with all these impossible adjectives in his mind, it hits Seven like a bolt of lightning.
He is still in love with him.
He never stopped.
He never moved on.
He never forgot about him.
Nikita Rose is still under his skin and will probably stay there for an eternity.
Invisible lichtenberg figures spread all over Seven's body, and suddenly he is all goosebumps and self-inflicted cuts. How could he be so damn stupid? How could he not notice it before this moment? How could he let this happen? How could he –
Seven squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head. Niki cups his jaw and rubs his thumb across his flushed cheek.
"What's wrong?"
The whispered question clenches at Seven's heart.
"It's…" Seven says through his breaths. "Just… You're…"
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it probably won't ever show up in any actual fanfic, so a behind-the-scenes look at me working through Adam's perspective and thoughts during a forever-WIP of the between-book-one-and-two fanfic for Noelle. This would be during chapter 2, a scene of Nate and Adam talking about Noelle.
tagging my lovely lineup (and please remember you can always ask anytime to be add or removed): @lovetriangleroute @blu-ewraith @agentnatesewell @mornynge @thee-morrigan @serenpedac @kurczakmarty @xx-toto-xx @ohmypawsandwhiskers @nevira-names @orianaquinn
