A Tavern at Night: Firelight will be releasing on 24 April, 2024!
That's right!! We get to annoy the living daylights out of our big green boy again!!!
I'm so thankful for all the love and support A Tavern at Night has received (and continues to receive!)--and of course for the demands for more. Well, I heard you loud and clear, and here he is.
Firelight picks up after A Tavern at Night's "good" ending. There will be multiple endings, chooseable pronouns, and... some kind of card game! Sorry, Azram. There's no escape.
And of course this game is ace-friendly as always :)
You smile.
It's a brittle one. Cracked around the edges. Plaster peeling and your skin with it. You don't touch it this time around, like you did in the club. Afraid to find it slick again. To find blood coating it and your teeth. The top of your hand.
When you glance down there's nothing.
chapter three.
expect looots of dante/delilah & royal
more drama and fights
some revelations that could shock you happen
meet the vipers! and immediatly antagonize them!
the warnings at the beginning of the game have been updated so please pay attention to them! sensitive subject matter is alluded to later on in this chapter
general info.
as of this week, echo is a RO and romance options have been added to the previous chapters they have appeared in
that means that you'll most likely be reset to the beginning because I made some bigger changes to the code and added a couple new scenes in chapter 001. & 002.
Fandom: Wayfarer
Ship: Cassander Inteus/Melchior Larkspur/Kathan Sero
Characters: Cassander Inteus, Kathan Sero, Melchior Larkspur
Rating: Explicit (minors don't read)
Words: 1771
Spoilers: None // modern au
Huge thank you to @melusinedreams for borrowing her most feral babygirl Kathan to me <3
He comes home earlier than usual. I didn’t hear him, with how loud the music plays in the kitchen; I have an article to write about this new up and coming band - given to me because I’m apparently good at my job and because, and I quote, “they talk about the gay love.” Fair enough, though I’m bisexual thank you very much, the gay stuff is still something I’m familiar with. Maybe she’d seen my podcast about it. Either way, their music’s good - largely pop, but that’s as neutral as having ears is - and it sounds far better than the noises of cooking right now.
Chopping veggies isn’t as appealing of a noise when I’m right in the head as it is when I’m not. Arguably, I’m never right in the head, but there’s degrees to this shit, okay? Sometimes making phone calls is scary. Sometimes the boss sends me home because I’m biting people like an overstretched chihuahua. Sometimes silence is an oppressive weight that feels more like chains than a weighted blanket. And other times, silence is simply annoying and I’m turning the music on and functioning like a normal fucking member of society.
With some extra meds, but hey. Who the fuck keeps count anyway?
So yeah, I don’t see him coming, haven’t even anticipated him coming this soon, so when I suddenly feel hands around my waist and lips on my cheek, I let out a startled yell and only to find he’d paused the music for a second and is laughing. The audacity.
“Hello, my little songbird,” Mel chirps, and I sigh.
“Hello, spymaster.” I chop the last of the tomatoes and put them in a bowl with the rest of the vegetables. “You’re.. Early? Did Kit kick you out for being too harsh on some line performance?”
Mel laughs and kisses me. He tastes like coffee and mint. “On the contrary! They performed superbly and I finished early.”
“You think it’ll be perfect by the premiere?”
“Unless someone fucks something up extremely badly, which I highly doubt, then yes.” He buries his head in my shoulder and breathes in. Granted, cooking is a good scent half the time, so he’s smelling some really tasty stuff, probably. “Your wryness is rubbing off on me.”
“You’re too old for that. Seen too much. I think I just make it juicier. More acerbic. I’m bittering this old lemon again.” I shake my head and laugh. “Or a blueberry? Are blueberries acerbic? Hold on, I have to google that now.” I look around to where my phone is, but end up hitting my cheekbone into his temple. He is a warm pressure against my back, and his hands are sliding up and down my sides. “I do think this particular blueberry has a case of… blue balls.” Pause. “Please don’t laugh at that. It’ll shame us both.”
Then, another voice rings from outside of the kitchen. Kathan sounds as fake about it as I do when I try to speak like my mother does. “Cassander, you are an embarrassment to this household. I would like to think I had thought you better than this.”
“Don’t worry, Kathan, he’s having a taste of those blueberries later,” Mel shouts back and I stare at the counter like it will save me from my partners ganging up on me like this. I open my mouth, consider saying whatever the fuck my brain cooks up at this point to save my scrawny ass, and throw all caution away like an ugly t-shirt.
“Kathan, if you have issues with my jokes, then you should take it up with the clown university where I got them from. Their worksheets. They’re in my room somewhere, right beneath my clown degree.”
Mel shakes with laughter. “You’re a delight, Cassander,” he says between laughs, and warmth spreads all over my chest. Some days I can hardly believe my luck that I met the two of them, and that we’d be here, living together, cracking silly jokes in what feels like domestic bliss. Not that I have anything to compare it to, but still. Then, Mel’s voice goes low, though still chipper. “Do you know how you’d be an even more of a delight?”
It makes me swallow. “Tasting the blueberry?”
“Hmm, not quite yet. I don’t think you’ve been a good enough boy for that, with all your offenses against language in the last 20 minutes.”
I fight the urge to squirm. “You’re really not holding back, huh,” I whisper and he kisses my cheek. His hand slides to my belly and promises to dip lower, but doesn’t. I look down to where his fingers are toying with my shirt. “So, however will I atone for my sins, Daddy?” I know, I know, I shouldn’t sound so derisive about it, but it comes out as a half-mocking. Oops.
“What are you making?” he asks firmly and his tone offers no room for ignoring. The doors slide open and Kathan stands there, arms crossed, watching with avid interest.
“Just some pasta with veggies,” I say, looking at the bowl. “Haven’t started the pasta yet.”
“Good. You won’t for a while.” For fuck’s sake, I’m such a goner now. “Cover the vegetables with something and come with me to the bedroom.”
“Aren’t you hungry after a long day of work?” I try, holding onto the counter. He doesn’t look tired. If anything, he looks about ready to do whatever the fuck he wants to do with me. Food’s the last thing on his mind right now.
“I can cook the pasta later, after we get that vibrating cock ring we’ve gotten recently,” he simply says.
“No. You’re fucking with me right now.” Last time we used that fucking thing, he made me cry from denial. Cry. Big, fat, ugly tears, no thought, only desperation and… blue balls kinda cry. I bury my face in my hands and laugh. I suppose I am into it, if the fact I’m half-hard from all of this already is any indication. And I suppose I should’ve stopped at some point, but hey. At least he’s so hot like this, all in charge and in control, king of the castle or whatever. All he needs is a crown. For the aesthetic of it all. I’m bending like a wet napkin already.
“Should’ve considered your words, baby,” Kathan says with intention. “No use crying over spilled milk!”
“I hate you so much, actually. I swear to anyone who’s listening, I’m moving that music degree up the wall.”
“You’re not helping your case whatsoever, sweetheart,” Melchior says, and moves a hand to stroke up my neck. “She’s not at fault here. If anything, you’re just adding more reasons for that cock ring.” He then looks me in the eye. His gaze is smoldering. “But you want it, do you not? You want it so desperately you are willing to act out to get it?”
Breaking eye contact is a struggle. The room falls down to us, to his hand on my skin, to the tips of our noses touching. He’s cutting off room to breathe, almost; but I don’t need air, not when he’s looking at me like that, not when that question hangs in the air. Kathan makes a noise in the background. The counter is my only refuge against the tension under my skin.
Melchior has a way of doing that when he wants to, in a way nobody else does. When he traps me, it feels like safety. With him, the gates of the cage are wide open, but I want to stay inside the bars. A lifetime ago, I would’ve run away from that. Now, I don’t really feel like I need to.
“Kiss me, please,” I say, unable to verbalize any of that. “Before the– the monster contraption, can you just kiss me? Please?”
“Of course,” he says softly. The kiss is deep, yet gentle; his touch is less constricting, and it feels like a warm cocoon despite the fact that he’s about to be very fucking mean to me. The combination makes my head spin, a cocktail of hormones, feelings and hardons, and I hold on tight as his tongue plays with mine and guides it to where he needs it to be. Melchior’s hand slides down to cup my cock - a small, casual squeeze that has me moaning into his mouth before it’s gone far too soon.
“You’re so responsive, darling,” he says and seals the words with a chaste kiss. “Too bad there won’t be any relief for you for this anytime soon.”
And thus the softness of his presence crashes down and I tilt my head back and groan. “Are you sure I can’t write ‘I’m a good boy’ or something 100 times instead?”
Melchior laughs. “I am.” He places a hand on my ass and squeezes. “Let’s go.”
“By the time I’m back from work, will his punishment be done?” Kathan asks, and she sounds far too happy about it. Suspiciously happy, even.
“And when do you come back from work?” Melchior asks Kathan, sounding entirely too considerate of the possible answer himself. Uh-oh.
“What time is it..” She reaches for the phone in her pocket. “In about 5 hours? I’m coming home earlier today.”
“What do you say, Cassander? Should Kathan see you orgasm when she comes back from work?” Melchior turns to me with the sharpest grin I’ve seen in months. His fangs are on display, murder weapons all four of them, and his hand squeezes my ass again.
“I say I hate you both with the passion of a thousand suns,” I bite out, without any real heat. Five hours seems like an awful lot of time, but there’s some.. Fucking excitement! Anticipation! For all the suffering he’s going to inflict on me for the next five hours! “But fine. Fine.” I try to sound as unaffected as I possibly can, but it’s a laughable and miserable attempt. “Will my punishment not affect access to veggie pasta?”
“I will make you the most delicious veggie pasta,” Melchior laughs. “Hand-feed you, should you care for that. I even bought ice cream for later. We will save some for Kathan, of course. It’s hard work she’s doing, after all. We might as well give her a show, hm?”
And since my mouth is actively conspiring against me, I reply, “Don’t forget the blueberries.”
Melchior laughs yet again, gorgeously messily, and guides me to the start of the five hours of personalized, sexy hell, as Kathan waves us goodbye and leaves for work, laughing still. Hurray.
I commissioned Hael art for my birthday from @just-eyris-things and she did such an amazing job. Look at them. My beautiful, insane child. So chill and so unhinged.
I commissioned Hael art for my birthday from @just-eyris-things and she did such an amazing job. Look at them. My beautiful, insane child. So chill and so unhinged.
The Wrath of Sekhmet is based on the 1999 film ‘The Mummy’ and follows the original story of Sekhmet to the best of my research abilities, but also includes highly fictionalised elements.
DEMO (31.08.23) | CHARACTER APPEARANCES
As the archivist of the Museum of Antiquities in Cairo, you’ve collected a lot of knowledge over the thirteen years you’ve worked there. Yet, there has been nothing that fascinated you more than the story of Sekhmet.
A goddess of love turned goddess of war with a bloodlust so deadly that her father, the sun god Ra, was forced to fashion a necklace that Hathor could wear in order to contain Sekhmet.
The necklace glittered with gold and diamonds, but it was the single ruby that sat nestled at her throat that was the real treasure.
Said to contain a drop of Ra’s blood, it was a gem so powerful that it could grant lesser creatures invulnerability when the necklace was worn.
And now, your brother thinks he’s found the legendary Temple of Sekhmet. A temple that was supposedly built to house the necklace.
This could be the adventure of a lifetime and you refuse to be left behind.
This is an 18+ wip due to violence, depictions of blood and gore, optional sexual content, death, elements of body horror, and abduction.
FEATURES
✧ Play as a female, male, or nonbinary mc with cis and trans options. Choose your pronouns and titles separately.
✧ Romance the suave archaeologist, the stoic leader, the bubbly best friend, or the calculating adventurer. Poly routes are available.
✧ Skill stats: intelligence, charm, sword fighting, and agility.
✧ Set features of the mc: as an archivist, mc is intelligent, studious, and knowledgable about history. While they can be grumpy and indifferent, there will not be the option to be unnecessarily cruel.
CHARACTERS OF INTEREST
Maddox [Surname] [M]
The bane of your life and one of the only people you trust to always have your back. He’s more of a lover than a fighter and has a silver tongue that could get him out of any situation, but don’t underestimate his protectiveness over you. Older brother prerogative and all that.
Elijah/Elodie Caddel [M/F] [RO]
El is charismatic, quick-witted, and familiar with the temple of Sekhmet making them the perfect companion on your quest. However, for all their charm, they are notorious for keeping everyone but Aksel at a distance, so it is a surprise to all when they quickly seem to develop a deep fondness for you. As well as a wicked protective streak.
Menna Bakir [M/F/NB] [RO]
As a Medjai Chieftain, Menna is responsible for the lives of many. For that reason, they have learnt to show little emotion, although it is noted that they soften around animals and now it seems, you. Once their trust has been earned and they become more comfortable with your group, you’ll see a much more relaxed and even teasing side to them.
Nakia/Nubia Hassan [M/F] [RO]
N can be utterly ruthless when it comes to getting what they want for the museum, but with you they're almost always very bubbly and friendly. They're your childhood best friend and your biggest supporter, and without them, you wouldn't be taking this trip across the desert to discover the secrets that lie in wait.
Aksel Madsen [NB] [RO]
While they seem lazy and unbothered, it doesn’t take long for you to realise that there’s something not quite right about them. They’re too observant, too intelligent, and too calculating. Despite this, you wouldn’t class them as a bad person, especially not when you’ve seen the way they look out for El and, on occasion, you.
I know, I know. It took 2 months to write the second drabble from the poll but...this is not even a drabble anymore. Instead, it's more of a collection of scenes mostly because if I do write how Orion found and began managing the band it would be an entire chapter.
I will say that I condensed this due to that, but if I ever do write the whole thing it might look a *little* different. I had to cut corners and shorten scenes for the sake of length. Still, hope you like it! (This is 4, 363 words btw. what is wrong with me) I should probably find a more efficient way to share such long works but whatevs.
As always, ignore any mistakes or typos or wordy sentences or sentences that probably make no sense upon reading it a second time. I don't edit drabbles and I always just publish the first drafts. haha.
“…Love me and hate me, I don’t mind as long as you take me—”
A low grumble rises in Orion’s throat when the song pauses, the car falling into an unfamiliar silence just as it slows in front of a red light. His large hands tighten their grip on the wheel, and his eyes glide to his co-worker, Marty, just as he’s pulling his hand away from the PAUSE button on the console.
“Is there a reason you’re touching my stuff?” Orion asks, his voice carrying its usual calm that holds a level of ice that has even his superiors shuddering when they think he’s not looking.
Marty licks his lips, his face twisting into its usual expression of guilt. Orion softens his face for his friend’s sake.
Orion Quinn knows the impact he has on people. The rumors that plague him have reached his ears on multiple occasions; he’s a shell of what he once was, never having gotten over the one who got away. He’s detached, the merciless worker that the boss goes to when he’s in need of someone who can do the firing.
He’s the one people are afraid of crossing or talking casually to in fear of letting something slip. People fear him more than they fear the execs.
It wasn’t always like this, sure. Once, Orion used to smile freely, used to talk openly and wear vulnerability like a favorite coat. But then the divorce happened and sides were taken. Suddenly, the armor he didn’t know he had was reinforced, dented and bruised from a battle he didn’t expect to fight, but reinforced nonetheless.
Never date your co-workers.
“The song is terrible, man.” Marty sighs, running a hand through his oily brown hair when he plops back in the seat. The same seat he pushed back at a 120-degree angle. Admittedly, it makes Orion’s nerves flare up. He says nothing; he has enough self-awareness to know that complaining about his seat is a bit too much, even for him. “I was doing both our ears a favor.”
The light changes and Orion absently drums his fingers on the wheel as he drives on ahead, eyes gliding outside to soak in the densely populated street underneath the rising sun. “Yeah.” The word comes out in a resigned breath. “I was hoping it’d get better.”
“We were on the bridge,” Marty throws back. “The only way it could get better is if it ended.” Orion’s lip twitches and of course, Marty can’t let it go. ”Oh! That was an almost-smile.” He leans forward to poke Orion’s rib.
Orion lets out a laugh before his face quickly drops.
Marty grins, plopping his elbow on the ledge of the car door. “All I’m saying is you’ve been listening to demos nonstop this whole month. Not once have I seen you even mildly excited for any of them.”
Orion grits his teeth. “I haven’t had anything substantial to show the team in ages. Our last artist pulled out on signing with us last minute. Our established artists aren’t selling as well anymore. The industry is getting oversaturated—“
“—and we need to be ahead of the curve. Yadda, yadda.” Marty rolls his eyes. “Do you ever just relax? Damn. That stick up your ass is ten-feet lon—“
Marty chokes on his words when Orion’s eyes cut to his. “Say anything else and I’m kicking you out of my car.”
Marty pouts but relents anyway, choosing to change the subject. “What about dating?”
Orion keeps his eyes on the road but quirks a brow. “What about it?”
“You know…” Marty starts, gesticulating vaguely as he searches for the right words. “Maybe putting yourself out there could help you relax. Or even inspire you—“
“No.”
“What? Okay, but—"
“Not interested.”
“You didn’t even know what I was going to sa—“
“Don’t have to.”
Marty huffs and says nothing for a long moment. Neither of them rush to fill the silence; normal for Orion but unusual for his infinitely more talkative friend. It’s only when he pulls into Carolina Records’ parking lot that Marty speaks again and Orion realizes his silence was really just contemplation.
“I know the divorce was difficult,” he starts, delicate, “but—“
Orion’s jaw clenches.
“— that doesn’t mean you should give up.”
Orion sits there a moment, fingers clenching into fists. “It’s not giving up if I never tried in the first place.” He swings open the door and steps out, the car door slamming with a hint of finality.
. . .
Carolina Records boasts a twenty-floor skyscraper made up of floor-to-ceiling glass windows and sleek, dark marble floor. Orion has been here since he graduated college; going from a measly intern to an A&R representative responsible for finding two of the most promising artists in the company.
That was a year ago. Since then, the well of new talent has dried up and Orion doesn’t know what to do.
Of course, he was offered higher positions, all of which he quickly denied. Orion always had a knack for numbers and trends, discovering what new genre is going to come to the forefront, seeing what kind of music the general public is listening to. Music: he understands it better than people. His understanding is almost clinical: while people listen to it for enjoyment, Orion seeks the patterns, the feelings that every beat and scale and vocal run they invoke. He takes it apart and puts it together like a surgeon does a patient. It just makes sense to him.
He could do so much more, he knows that, but none of that interests him.
The music—that’s what he likes.
Discovering new talent is what excites him. Which is why this odd dry spell has him walking with gritted teeth and tension between his shoulders-blades. He has to do something.
“Mr. Quinn.”
Orion nods at a woman who passes by the hallway, ignoring the way Marty does a whole spin when he tracks her retreating frame down the hall.
Another one. This time a man from the marketing department. “Good Morning, Mr. Quinn.”
“Morning.”
Marty scoffs when the man continues walking, not sparing him a glance.
“Am I chopped liver or something?” Marty complains.
“Mr. Quinn, hey!”
“Hi.” Orion nods his head once and presses the elevator button. When his eyes land on a frowning Marty he says, “You’re just not sociable.”
“Huh?!” Marty then lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched sputter of a laugh. “And you are?”
Orion frowns. “Yes.”
Another laugh. “You’re smart, dude, you know it’s more because of that”— he gestures vaguely at him—“than your social skills.”
The elevator doors open with a cheerful bell and they step inside. “What?”
“You know.” Marty shrugs. “Your face. You look like you should be on a billboard advertising overpriced cologne with your shirt unbuttoned and your hand in your hair talking about your luxurious life or something.”
“That’s…specific.”
Marty shrugs. “I read a lot of GQ.”
Orion wrinkles his nose when they spin to face the doors. “While it is true I would be considered objectively handsome by societal standards—“
“Oh, fuck off.”
“—I don’t think that’s the case.” This time Orion lets out a small smile. “Or maybe it is?” He quirks a brow at his co-worker. “Should I send a gift basket to my parents? A ‘thank-you-for-the-superior-DNA gift?’”
Marty shakes his head. “You know, when you do try to be funny you still sound like an asshole.”
Orion hums, the joke tickling him enough for him to let out his first smile of the day.
The elevator doors sing their arrival and they bid farewell once they part to go to their respective offices. Orion strides to his corner office where another one of his co-workers, Kass, is standing with a box in her hands.
“This week’s demos.” Orion is just putting his arms out when she plops the boxes on them. “You should really stop requesting unsolicited demos. It’s such an outdated way of doing things.”
Orion ignores her and unlocks his office door, turning the knob and pushing it open with his hip. His office is barren but spacious, with high windows overlooking the city. Marty told him once that people would kill to have his office, but really it’s just like any other space. What’s an office without a productive person to work in it? Orion hasn’t done anything of meaning in weeks.
Sighing, he drops the box on the table unceremoniously, picking up the first CD on the top of the pile. GROUNDED IN REALITY reads the title, and it’s so apt that he almost chucks the CD in the trash on that very fact alone. Still, he’s nothing if not fair. Another sigh escapes him and he gets to listening.
. . .
Helpless.
That’s how he feels.
After hours of listening, the music has long since blurred together in a portrait of uninspired melodies and generic, radio-friendly lyrics. Nothing stood out, nothing made him want to dig into the song in search for more, nothing made him feel.
Is it me? Am I the problem?
Jaw clenched, Orion fishes out his phone, the usual flinch coming to him when he sees the background. He forgot to change it, and it’s always an (unwanted) surprise whenever he sees a picture of them together.
One year ago. The beach. Happy.
Shaking his head, he sends a quick text to his mother telling her that he’ll have to raincheck on their dinner. He still has half a box of songs left. Looks like he’ll be staying late.
“Yo, Orion!” A knock. “Let’s go! I want to driiink.”
Or not.
Marty strides in without waiting for an invitation, a grin on his face. “Tab is on me.”
“Do you ever work?” Orion asks, eyes half-lidded in equal parts annoyance and indifference.
His friend frowns. “This is work.”
“I don’t think getting drunk is in the job description.” Orion looks down, absently clicking on the button of his mouse in an effort to busy his hands.
“Wah, wah. Don’t be a fucking party pooper.”
“Too late.”
Marty shoots him a look. “A few artists are playing tonight. Call this recruitment.” He uses spirit fingers. “Maybe you’ll even loosen up for once.” When Orion looks at him, a brow raised, Marty drops his hands. “Yes, I do my job sometimes. Don’t look so surprised.”
“It’s not that,” Orion starts. He doesn’t immediately continue. Instead, they simply stare at each other. Marty wiggles his brows as Orion narrows his gaze. “When you say the tab is on you—“
Marty whips out a black card. “Company card, baby!”
Orion palms his face with a long groan as Marty begins to moonwalk across Orion’s office. “I was perfectly fine staying inside.” Even though he says this, a moment later he stands and grabs his trenchcoat from the back of the chair. “And you’re driving.”
“What!” Marty stomps his foot as he follows him out. “Nooooo.”
. . .
The bar sits in a livelier part of the city, a part that Orion doesn’t often find himself in. It’s less about the scene and more about the memories associated with every damn corner of this place. Orion can pluck a memory from his mind like a petal from a rose garden: the diner they went to and fought for fifteen minutes over who would get to pay the bill, the park they spent their lunches at.
The shop where he bought the ring.
“This place is golden,” Marty says, breaking Orion out of the string of memories he wishes he could erase forever, “it’s like a real gritty, underground hole-in-the-wall vibe.”
“Sounds like fun,” comes out of Orion in a dour tone that has Marty rolling his eyes.
They stride through the neon glow of the brick hall until it opens up to a dimly lit bar. The space is humble; the sparse crowd is compensated by the energy of the performers on the stage.
“Stacy, do you remember when I mowed your lawn…?”
“Is the band really covering Fountains of Wayne?” Orion says through gritted teeth.
Marty bites his lower lip, his obvious attempt to stifle laughter only making Orion’s faux horror flare even more. “Maybe.” Marty spins around, shimmying his shoulder. “You don’t agree that Stacy’s Mom Has Got It Going on?” Marty then realizes something and laughs. “You know, I dated a Stacy once. Weirdly enough, her mom wasn’t that bad looking—“
Orion sighs and quickly moves to the bar. “I need a drink.”
Whatever hope Orion had of finding new talent is gone in the face of the line-up. It quickly becomes obvious that the performers are composed of people who aren’t taking the ‘gig’ seriously or patrons that are half-drunk and stumbling on the small stage.
Worse that the place is pathetically empty; it’s only them two and three other stragglers eating stale fries and bobbing their heads to the music, more out of obligatory politeness than anything else. Orion is suddenly regretting taking Marty up on his offer.
Orion drinks his lager through periodic gulps, his desire to forget this night growing with every person that performs. The memories of this area coupled with his lack of work lately make him dizzy. He wants to escape. Quit. Scream. All of it.
“Get me another,” Orion says, much to Marty’s delight.
More and more people perform until Orion has lost any focus on the stage. Instead, he entertains himself by watching the game on the TV, having long given up on finding any new promising talent in a place like this.
“Next up we have”—the bartender stops, her eyes narrowing as she tries to read something off an index card—“er, [band]. Yeah. Give them a round of applause.”
With how few people are in attendance, the applause is less applause and more awkward clapping that quickly dies after two.
The people on stage are younger. Immediately, Orion notices that they’re equipped with actual instruments instead of relying on the karaoke machine in the corner. A decisive point in their favor, he decides.
“You said this was a gig…” He hears one of them say to what appears to be the lead singer. The boy wears a red hat, as well as an assortment of chains on his neck. Three other band members set up their instruments, trying not to look too disappointed by the turnout. Still, even with the lager creating a slight fog in his head, Orion knows that look. The moment when hope dies, burning like a napkin to a flame.
“No,” the lead singer says pointedly as they adjust their mic, “I said this was a favor.” In that moment, the singer nods their head at the bartender, who shoots them an appreciative thumbs-up. “A paid favor.”
The boy shakes his head but snorts. “I guess.”
Once they’re set up, the singer looks ahead, gazing at the bar. Their eyes briefly settle on Orion as they gaze at the few faces in the room. “Hey!” they say, chirpy. “We’re [band]. Thanks for coming out!”
A chorus of muttering replies.
Marty taps on the bar. “Wanna head out?”
Orion, unable to look away, shakes his head. “No. I want to see this.”
The next few minutes feel like a dream. Orion is in a daze as the song plays, the beats piercing through him. The voice sends goosebumps up his arms, the instruments weave together in a perfect harmony that has Orion’s heart racing. When the song ends, it’s too soon. He wants it to keep going. He doesn’t want it to end.
He wants more.
“Thanks!” The singer says to a smattering of slightly enthusiastic applause. This is the most energy everyone has had all night. They turn, grab their things, and disappear through the curtain. Orion bursts up….
…spilling his drink on the table.
“Oh!” the bartender squeaks as Marty hisses.
“Aw, fuck.” Orion curses, and then flinches. “Sorry. Uh….sorry.” He doesn’t know what his apology is for. Dropping the drink, cussing, or speeding away before he could help clean it up in order to catch the band backstage?
“Hey!” Marty calls. “Where are you going?”
Orion ignores him. He has a one-track mind right now, one focused on finding the band that just made him feel like he hit the jackpot. This. This is what he’s been looking for.
The door swings open, and the band stop mid-conversation to look at Orion, who busted through the door without so much as a plan or script in place. Instead, he simply stands there.
“Uh.” One girl, flaunting bright blue hair, says. “Yeah?”
Orion reveals his card, feeling a bit like a robot. He moves on automatic, working through the many thoughts in his head to utter the rest of his words. “Do you have a manager?”
. . .
“You want to manage us?”
The din of the coffee shop sings with the sound of plates and aimless chatter. It’s been two days since he heard them perform back at the bar, and Orion has been running through his pitch the way one does before an interview. He’s never been this…nervous? Uncertain? In his life.
“Yes,” is Orion’s only response. He sits on one side of the table while the band sits on the other; an invisible wall between them. He can see it, their apprehension. He is not one of them.
Not yet, at least.
“Wait.” The boy Orion learned is named Rowan leans forward, fingers on the table. “How do we know this isn’t a scam?”
“I’m not asking for money. All I ask is for you to show up to play for my boss. That’s it.” Auditions are a lost art. Nowadays artists are recruited through viral internet songs and connections. Two things that always exhausted Orion. It hasn’t been just about the music in a long time.
Their eyes widen. They all exchange looks, equal parts excited and wary.
“Why?” [MC], who he learned is the sole singer of the band, asks.
Because you made me feel something. Because listening to you is the first time I felt human in a long time.
He imagines himself waving off those words like mist. “Because you’re the first band that has caught my attention. And it’s not easy to catch my attention.”
The band member named Iris snorts.
“I’m not trying to be arrogant,” he says blandly, leaning back in his chair to fold his arms over his chest. “It’s the truth.”
“Where do you work?” Another member, Devyn, asks.
“Carolina Records.”
Multiple pairs of eyes widen.
“Holy shit.” Jazzy laughs. “The Carolina Records?”
Orion nods, used to this kind of reaction. Starry-eyed artists are pretty much the same when it comes to Carolina. “Yes.” He leans forward, his heart racing. “Just one audition. That’s all I ask.”
He watches as they all exchange looks; a silent language only they share. After an agonizing moment, [MC] turns to him and nods. “When?”
. . . .
Orion has been pacing for the last half hour.
He stands outside Carolina’s humble theater space, chewing on his nails as he waits for his boss, Jacob Hill, and a smattering of other executives and shareholders that will be the final word in whether Orion can work with [band]. He hasn’t asked for something this big in so long that Jacob Hill immediately said yes, more out of excitement and surprise than anything else. Orion did produce two of their most profitable artists in the company.
The elevator doors open and Orion stops in place, head whipping up to see them walking through the hall in a wave of black suits and greased hair. Orion brushes down his shirt, trying to dampen his nerves. Jesus. Nerves? Get a grip, Orion.
He doesn’t know how to stand as he waits for them to approach. Hands in pockets? Arms crossed? Orion is so indecisive he just resorts to standing straight, arms at his sides.
“Mr. Hill.” Orion shakes his hand, clearing his throat. He makes his polite greetings to the rest of the team and says, “Thank you for making time for me.”
“Always, Orion.” Jacob slaps a large hand on his back. “You’re one of my best. You should ask me for favors more.”
Orion lets out a small, slightly nervous laugh. “Ah, you know. I like to—“
“—do things on your own,” Jacob finishes, a soft smile on his face. “I get it.”
He slowly looks up, meeting Jacob’s eyes. In them he can see the familiar pity he’s gotten since the divorce.
It’s Orion’s fault, really. If he didn’t isolate himself and turn into what he is now, people wouldn’t look at him and assume he’s broken inside.
Would they be wrong in their assumption, though? Am I broken inside?
“Shall we?” another executive says, and Orion bobs his head in a nod, pushing away the image of Jacob’s face.
Inside is a small theater, the stage just big enough for one artist. The seats are plush leather, the lights dim but blue. Jacob always likes the spectacle, and he catered this space to feel like a real performance for possible signees. Orion decides against sitting, too nervous to do anything but stand in the back, giving them the signal he taught them in his pep talk before they came.
[MC] nods. “Um. Hi. We’re [band]. I’m [MC] and this is Iris, Rowan, Devyn, and Jazzy. And um…this is [song].”
Orion flinches at the lackluster introduction. Doesn’t matter, he thinks, unfamiliarly optimistic, the music will do the talking.
And it does.
But not in the way he thought.
All throughout the song, Orion peeks at Jacob and his team. He wants to celebrate when he sees them bobbing their heads, wants to curse when they get on their phones. Orion has never worried this much in his whole career. He’s never wanted something so bad.
He’s never allowed himself to want. Not after the divorce.
He didn’t think he was deserving of getting what he wanted.
The song ends, and Orion lets out a breath. There’s muffled chatter between the men, and on stage the band crowd together, hopping in place as they let out their remaining nerves.
Jacob stands, the rest following. Orion speeds ahead, wanting to see the thoughts on his face. Instead, Jacob simply regards him with thin lips.
“They were…good,” Jacob whispers, putting a hand on Orion’s shoulder and guiding him out of the room and to the empty hall, “but I think we’re going to go in another direction.”
Orion’s positivity leaks out of him like an open faucet. “What.”
Jacob inhales through his nose. “Look, the singer is talented. They all are. I understand why you like them but…” He shakes his head. “I don’t think the guys see it. And plus,” he shrugs, “they don’t have what we’re looking for.”
Orion’s brows furrow. His stomach drops in itself and his mouth dries. “They have another song. They could play it—“
“Orion.” Jacob gives him that pitying expression again. Fucking hell. He wants to smack that expression off his face. “I know you’ve been…off, since the divorce. You haven’t been on top of your game, and I’ve been giving you your space. It’s not easy, especially since you worked together—“
“I’m fine,” he says tightly.
“—but you can’t…fixate on something to get over it. You need to do it the healthy way. The old Orion would’ve brought me someone with pizzazz. With that unique Orion touch, you know?” Jacob pulls him close. Orion is reduced to a scolded child, unable to do anything but listen. “This isn’t the Orion I know. You usually bring me diamonds.”
“I—“ Orion swallows. “I’m trying.” And it’s the most honest thing he’s said in ages. He’s trying. And it’s not working. He’s been trying the day he signed that fucking divorce paper and signed the only life he’s known away.
“I know you are,” Jacob says, squeezing his shoulder. “Sometimes we miss, and that’s alright.”
The rest of the group filter out and both Jacob and Orion step back, trying to hide any sign of their tense conversation. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Orion nods slowly, the lump in his throat growing as he feels multiple eyes on him. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are downturned. He can hardly look at his boss.
He stands there, frozen, forced to listen to their careless chatter as they walk down the hall. The moment they stepped out of those doors, they forgot about the band. The same band that made him feel something, the first time since his divorce. The same band he can’t get out of his head. The same band that proved he is not broken. He can still feel.
And they don’t even fucking care.
“I quit,” Orion says, the words coming out of him before he could even think. Jacob and Co turn around, twin expressions of shock on their faces. Orion looks up, straightening, trying to look even an inch of the Old Him.
“What?” Jacob blurts.
“I quit.” Orion swallows. “I’ll formally hand in my resignation tomorrow.” He bows, trying to muster up the little respect and professionalism he has in him. “I’m sorry.”
“Orion—“
He spins around, walking back inside.
The band is still on stage, this time all packed up and ready to go. When the door closes, they all look up, their hopeful and wide eyes on Orion as he walks down to the stage.
He stops in front of it. He puts two palms on the stage, looking at the members of the band he will take to the top. He promised it to himself…two minutes ago.
“I’m going to ask again,” Orion says through his teeth, his heart racing with the adrenaline of his quitting. What the fuck is he doing? And why does it feel so good? “Do you still need a manager?”
When he looks up, the band stares at him in silence.
He witnesses [MC] look behind him at the door, where Jacob and his team left. As if realizing something, they look back down. “Yeah. You okay with another artist in your roster?”
As of May 26, 2023, brand-new Episode III content is available to play on Wayfarer’s alpha build.
✦ Overview
Part 1 includes 5 playable routes based on your Episode II ending. They are: Aeran’s romance reconciliation, Aeran’s friendship reconciliation, breaking off your MC’s friendship or romance with Aeran at the apartment, Aeran’s low romance (if you do not go to Melchior’s party), and Sleeping with Veyer.
Other routes, such as Melchior's and Kit’s endings, as well as the drunk route are under construction and not available at this time.
370,000 words of cumulative content
An average playthrough is 21,000 words
✦ Story Features
Episode III picks up the morning following Episode II and includes:
The aftermath of the big fight!
A mission going ahead, whether you like it or not
Boat rides
Promises made (or not made) to a questionable person
Reckless and unchecked behaviour
Obliterate your relationships (or try to save them)
A special object of great personal importance
Consequences for your actions and dialogue options
Always remember: you can always make things worse. Whether this is a good thing or not is up to you.
A huge thank you to my patrons for supporting me over the past year while I developed this next section of the game. I hope you all enjoy it.
Episode III will remain a Patreon exclusive until Episode IV is developed and released. You can play it by supporting me at any tier through on my Patreon at patreon.com/idrellegames.
Wayfarer’s next public build patch will release next Monday on May 29, 2023. Patch 2.6. will fix a number of ongoing bugs and issues.
All players must start their playthroughs fresh with a new save once the patch releases, otherwise they will encounter continuity and approval errors.
To fully test Episode III’s new material, I am expanding Wayfarer’s playtester team. If playtesting is of interest to you, please check out the information below.
✦ What Does Playtesting Entail?
Playtesters play the alpha build in search of bugs, continuity errors, and typos. They are essentially an extra set of eyes on the game for new content. They get updates and patches before anyone else does.
Because Wayfarer’s gameplay includes hundreds of choices and many, many variations that build on each other, playing multiple times and checking out different options is essential for testing to make sure each area of the game functions as intended.
✦ Details
You must be 18+.
Playtesting is a volunteer position.
You will be credited in-game as a playtester (this is opt-in).
You must have an active Discord account.
All communication with the playtesting team is done through a private playtester Discord server. You must be willing to be active in that part of the server and submit your bug reports through the designated channels. I do not accept playtester bug reports through any other method.
Playtesting is not free access to alpha content. If you are not active and do not contribute to bug reporting, you will be removed from the playtester role.
You must keep the playtester build link and password private. As a playtester, you are trusted not to share the alpha build’s content. Breaching these terms will terminate your role as a playester and you will be banned from all of Wayfarer's platforms and social media.
If at any point you are no longer interested or do not have the time to be involved, you can opt out, no questions asked!
You must be available to playtest throughout the summer as I develop the next stage of Episode III.
✦ Application Form
Your answers on the application form are kept strictly confidential.
The form is open until June 9, 2023. I will contact chosen playtesters via email by June 11, 2023.
To apply, see the application link below:
Thank you so much for your interest in being a playtester! To apply, please fill out the form below. Your answers are confidential.
The fo
Fandom: Infamous IF
Ship: Swan/Orion
Characters: Swan Ellis (OC), Orion Quinn
Rating: Gen
Words: 684
Summary: Swan wants their morning coffee so very badly. If they could trade their feelings for their manager for it, they would.
Nero’s note: Felt like this fic needed to be let out of my google doc drafts. Swan has eaten enough of my braincells for it. Please enjoy my breach into a new fandom!
Someone’s car honks in front, another honks in the back. It’s 8am on a Sunday, there shouldn’t be so much honking, in front of Starbucks, of all places. Childishly, Swan considers adding in a sorrowful little honk of their own - if cars can be sorrowful, which they highly doubt. They’re not using their voice before they’ve had their morning coffee.
There was no coffee at home, they reason. There was no coffee at their place so now they have to buy the Starbucks one. Why wasn’t there any coffee? Well, they forgot to buy it yesterday. Their phone sits with its screen darkened on their lap. By their calculations, they have about 45 seconds to figure out a logical excuse as to why they’re late for rehearsal. Orion’s gonna be on my ass about this, Swan bemoans internally as they tap their nails against the wheel. The line isn’t moving. Their head is screaming for caffeine. The phone screen is dark and nasty and evil and filled with Orion’s quiet frowns that cut into their very soul.
On the 43rd second mark, it comes to life. Orion’s name clouds the photo of the band, tightly wrapped in a group hug. Their manager’s name sits directly over Swan’s head and they can’t help an aborted, miserable snort. Where are you?, the message reads. We’re waiting for you.
Swan sighs and opens the message. The line’s long, they reply to the background vocals of an annoyed shriek of yet another honk. It’s fucking Sunday. I’m decaffeinated.
Don’t you have coffee at home? Swan can hear the disapproval. It makes them tap their nails of their free hand harder against the wheel.
Forgot to buy it yesterday.
Irresponsible, if you’re going to have an addiction to it anyway.
Swan frowns and adjusts their glasses. Vocal parts will have to come later today unless Devyn wants to start before I’m there. I refuse to sing without caffeine in my system. Then, finally, the line moves! They almost drop their phone as they move a few inches closer to ambrosia. Now, it’s only 4 cars ahead of them. They can almost feel the smell of it in the car.
Be as quick as you can. And do remember to buy coffee next time. I don’t think you guys are making instrumental music. Swan’s joy deflates like a puffed balloon. They hate it when Orion scolds them like a child. All the more since the unfortunate discovery of a little crush on him a few months ago, which has already ended up in several songs they don’t want to show anyone yet.
Whoever said that having a crush was fun and games lied. Orion would never consider them as anything other than a client, maybe a friend. It’s stupid and there’s no end goal in feeding their hopes of ever getting past that. But there are songs and singing about Orion is miles away from writing breakup songs.
There are three more cars ahead now. Swan has tied and retied their hair into at least seven different types of buns as the lady ordering hashes out her wishes to a barista. They feel like kicking their feet against their seat, but they’ll have to clean it up later. Dad’s always liked a clean car, after all.
Two more. They reread Orion’s message and bang their forehead against the wheel. It echoes in their mind like a spank. Humiliating, or would be if Swan hadn’t been a dumbass who forgot to buy coffee yesterday. Disappointing Orion feels like the worst possible punishment, perfectly adjusted to the crime committed.
One more. It’s almost within their grasp. A bald guy’s arguing about his order. Their annoyance is almost as palpable as Soft Violence’s music on the radio.
When the coffee - delicious, black, bitter, perfect for 8am on a Sunday - is finally in their hands, Swan sighs contentedly. It’s kinda funny how fast it’s gone, considering how long they waited to get it, but they feel revitalized and ready to face Orion’s frowns now!
Mirror in the Creek isn’t an instrumental band after all.
Ever wanted to know more about the Night Market? Join my Patreon or Ko fi for access to the lore entries. This week, we learn about the Gates with a focus on trying to understand how they work. Also, anyone else feel like the Velvet Guard has their hands in a bit of everything?
I wanted a rehash of the final scene of The Night Market, Book 1, set from Ember’s perspective.
In other words, I felt like being sad. Which means Ophelia from Hamlet.
It’s too short for me to post on AO3, imo, so it’s just going to be here.
Hope you enjoy, and check out The Night Market if you haven’t already. It’s worth it.
