I was given the lovely @oda-princess as a giftee for the Spill the Tea OC Gift Exchange, so here’s another drabble involving your OC. I hope you enjoy!
Pour Decisions
Kenshin liked to believe that Kasugayama’s parties were unmatched, but Marie knew from personal experience that Azuchi was more than up for the competition. Case in point: someone had gotten Ieyasu drunk enough that he was laughing along to whatever Mitsunari said; Hideyoshi had managed to pin Mitsuhide down and was currently tormenting him with a headlock; Keiji and Ranmaru were flitting about the room, having some sort of ninja skill competition, repeatedly bumping into everyone else. It was chaos and a lot of people making decisions they would regret come morning, and Marie wished Kenshin was with her to experience it. She could easily picture him and Masamune starting a “friendly” fight.
Speaking of Masamune, Marie caught him making a beeline toward her, gracefully swerving around the mass of warlords strewn about the room.
“Uh oh,” she said aloud, glancing around for help or an escape route. She knew what he’d ask of her-it was the same thing he requested at every party, and Marie wanted no part of it. Nobunaga snickered from his seat next to her, having caught sight of Masamune as well. Marie glared at him. “Oh, hush, you,” she admonished.
Masamune approached their table at that exact moment. “I haven’t even asked yet,” he grinned, feigning innocence.
“But you did plan on asking?” Marie arched a brow.
“Every party needs some music.” Masamune winked. “And no one has a voice quite like yours-or knows the words.”
“Tarah should,” Marie argued.
Masamune flapped an arm dismissively, “Ah, you know she doesn’t have a fondness for those ancestral songs like you do. She’d be too worried about butchering them.”
“I’m not a singer,” Marie said. It was a half truth: she wasn’t trained in any fashion. She’d just gotten into the habit of singing to herself whenever she was feeling homesick, and had a fondness for the music she’d grown up on in her home world. It was always a hit whenever someone here in Japan overheard her, so Masamune’d developed the habit of asking her to sing, particularly when she was drunk enough to accommodate him.
Marie was not drunk enough today.
“You’re going to deny everyone here the joy of your voice?” Nobunaga teased, not missing an opportunity to join in on pressuring Marie into doing something embarrassing.
“Don’t even think of it, Ani,” Marie warned.
Nobunaga and Masamune shared a look that Marie distrusted. They turned to her with matching mischievous looks on their faces before verbally barraging her.
“You won’t do this one request from your dear uncle?”
“Listen to your big brother, Marie.”
“I’ll make your favourite meal if you sing for us.”
“I won’t give you any more konpeito unless you sing.”
UGH. Marie reached for her drink, downing it in one long gulp. There went her intention to take it easy this time; she was going to have to get very drunk very soon if she wanted this to be over.
I was given the lovely @oda-princess as a giftee for the Spill the Tea OC Gift Exchange, so here's a drabble involving your OC. I hope you enjoy!
You and I (and a Million Bunnies)
“Hello my sweeties,” Marie greeted the horde of fuzz balls disguised as bunnies crowding around her, crouching on the floor to pet them. Ume, Take, and Matsu, the most energetic trio, took advantage of Marie’s position to clamber all over her. Marie laughed and cupped them close, hands buried in plush, snow white fur.
“They missed you.” Kenshin laid a hand on Marie’s back as he took a seat next to her. “As have I.” A few of the rabbits, once they were done welcoming Marie back, moved to swarm around him, jumping and climbing over him with as much eagerness as they had met Marie with.
“I missed you too,” Marie said, soft and sincere. Kenshin’s broad, familiar stature was comforting to Marie, and she couldn’t resist leaning against him. This was the longest she’d had to be away from her home here in Kasugayama, caught up in handling the political aspects of running her fiefdom in Enora, training new recruits, and-ugh-hosting a ball for nobles that lasted way too long and involved far too much postering. Everything she did was necessary and she was happy to do it for the betterment of her grand-duchy, but it was incredibly refreshing to be able to let her walls down and relax. “How were things without me around?”
“Dreadfully boring.” Kenshin pouted, shifting to accommodate Marie’s weight on him. Marie laughed as he complained, “No one wanted to liven things up by starting a war. Shingen was chasing women too much to join me for a good drink. Kanetsugu has been busy rebuilding the school. Even Sasuke kept disappearing on me for some reason.”
“For some reason, huh?” Marie hummed sarcastically. “Let me guess, he always disappeared when you very generously offered to spar with him, am I right?”
“Yes,” Kenshin emphatically confirmed, catching one of the younger rabbits when they tumbled down the front of his cape and setting it safely on his shoulder. “I don’t understand. He’s not as strong a sparring partner as you, but he would still pose an interesting opponent. He should be eager for the opportunity to face me, yet he runs off as though I have asked something unreasonable. And I am not as good at finding him as you are-I cannot tell which ceiling tile hides him.”
Marie snickered, endlessly amused by Kenshin’s failure to realize just how terrifying he was. She felt bad for Sasuke, but it was funnier to see him suffer, and Kenshin wouldn’t push him too hard . . . probably. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m back then,” she said, half joking, half truthful.
“Yes,” Kenshin agreed, too serious for the mood that had been previously established. He framed her face with his hand and rested his forehead on hers. “The next time you are gone for this long, bring me with you. I would rather not spend this much time without you again.”
“Oh, Hamsi,” Marie murmured. She cupped his cheeks in her palms and vowed, “I will never leave you alone for so long ever again.” The warm, blinding smile Kenshin gave her in response was more than enough to make up for all the time missed during her last trip.
Prompts: "I prefer honey" and "Blue skies, birds chanting"
It began with a necklace. Not simply any necklace. No, this necklace, this confection of flawless stones in an exquisite setting had been the most expensive piece of jewelry ever to come to auction in Rhodolite. Leaving nothing to chance, Silvio attended the auction in person, prepared to glare down anyone presumptuous enough to even consider purchasing it for their wife (… or their mistress. Silvio recognized that many of the auction’s attendees were renowned for their unfaithfulness).
Glaring turned out to be unnecessary. His presence alone was enough to frighten away any potential competition – in fact, he’d also acquired a new belt chain simply by entering the opening bid. The proprietors of the auction house heaved a sigh once the wealthy prince retired from the floor with his acquisitions. For them, this sale had netted less than their projected profits.
Then, on Schatze’s birthday, he, along with the others (he refused to acknowledge them by name… and in truth some were not even human) gathered to present their tokens of love to Schatze. Her joy was apparent, and the others were all thanked with hugs, kisses, whispered words in their ears. Silvio’s anticipation grew. Surely, she would be impressed by the necklace.
“Oh!” Schatze said after unwrapping the package and opening the velvet jewel box. “It’s lovely. Such beautiful craftsmanship.”
Silvio preened.
Then…
Then…
She patted his cheek.
!
While he stood there fuming, she’d blithely breezed off with one of the others, leaving him uncharacteristically tongue tied.
Later, after he’d retreated to Rhodolite castle to lick his wounded pride in peace and qui-
“What do you want?” The mutt had entered his room… without knocking. He held a tray displaying a glass of rose wine.
“You ordered Emma to bring you a drink.” The mutt glared at him, his free hand twitching like he was restraining himself from punching him. “You called her a wench.”
“What of it? I call every woman a wench. I ain’t heard anyone complain.” In fact, Schatze had liked it. He grabbed the glass off the tray, mostly to prevent the mutt from flinging it in his face.
The mutt just stood there staring at him. In fact, Silvio had a dark suspicion that there was laughter somewhere in that gaze.
“Now what?”
“Let me guess. The necklace was not a successful gift?” Yep, that was amusement in there. Before Silvio could ask how Rio knew that, the mutt continued. “Nokto.”
Enough said. Nokto’s spy network was enviable, and his friendship with Rio was… incomprehensible, but that was their business.
“In fact, Schatze said it was beautiful.” The cheek pat, he’d keep to himself.
“Do you want my advice?”
No. Hell no. Never. “What do ya wanna say?”
“You can afford anything you want, so an expensive necklace doesn’t reflect thought or effort.” The mutt tugged on his earring… an earring that years ago, Silvio had made for him, a long-ago childish act of fraternity. “Emma likes to read, so I have fun picking out books she will like.”
Not particularly helpful as Silvio didn’t think he’d ever seen Schatze sit still long enough to read a letter, let alone a book, but the mention of books did put him in mind of Akatsuki, the owner of the bookstore who was more than just that. Perhaps that man would be the key to finding a more unusual gift.
And that decision is what sent him into the fog.
Literally.
When Silvio came up with the idea of having a dress designed for Schatze, Akatsuki noted that he knew of a wonderful seamstress, one who could create anything Silvio imagined. Designing a dress took effort, did it not?
What Akatsuki had not mentioned that finding said seamstress involved an usual guide who had introduced himself as ‘Sasuke, a moderately awesome ninja’ (whatever the hell that was) followed by a trek through a rainstorm, a fog bank, and a ceiling tunnel into castle in a land that reminded him of Kogyoku, but clearly wasn’t.
Then Sasuke led him to a pretty woman name Mai, and via translation (as this Mai did not speak any of the languages Silvio knew, and Silvio did not speak hers) and a hastily sketched out drawing he’d managed to communicate the nature of his commission. True, Mai’s initial effort had been too plain, and Silvio had insisted she add more decoration. The resulting confection of feathers, fur, embroidery, and sewed on jewels she’d given to him, murmuring something in her language that had caused Sasuke to wince.
“What? What’d she say?” From her tone of voice, Silvio surmised it was none too complimentary.
The ‘ninja’ coughed and after a pause, replied, “Er, she thanked you for your patronage but requested you not tell anyone who made it.”
This was followed by an impassioned conversation between the two foreigners that was not translated, and Silvio had not asked. No matter. He now had his gift, had managed to get back to the correct time and place (he hoped, as Sasuke’s explanation of interdimensional time travel was so full of random five syllable words that Silvio was half convinced the man was joking) with Schatze’s dress wrapped loosely in rice paper.
Then, Silvio’s flight to his room was interrupted mid-gallop by Yves, who gazed in horror at the multicolored feathers poking out from the package. “What, and I shudder to ask… is…? That.”
None of yer damned business had been his mental response, then Silvio thought better of it. Yves was proud and finicky, but it was well known that he was considered the best dresser in the country. It wouldn’t hurt to get another opinion. “It’s for my fiancée.” Silvio emphasized the word fiancée proudly. She had picked him (and… a… few… others). “A dress.”
When Yves simply reached out imperiously, Silvio unwrapped and handed over the dress. “I designed it myself.”
“Clearly.” Yves held the dress out from his body, allowing only his index fingers and thumbs to touch it. “I have simply one suggestion.”
Dramatic pause.
Eventually Silvio gave up and prodded. “Which is..?”
“Burn it. Then salt the earth.” He handed the dress back to Silvio. “I’m aware that Schatze has garis- er, colorful taste, but this is too much… for any woman.”
Hmph.
To prove his point, Yves stopped one of the castle maids. “Would you ever wear this?”
The maid quit on the spot.
Hm, maybe he had added too much embellishments? “This leaves me again without a gift.”
“Have you considered making something with your hands?” Yves looked down at his own smoothly manicured fingernails. “My brothers seem to appreciate it when I bake for them.”
BOOM!!!
And that is how Silvio found himself banned from every kitchen in the capital city. Officially banned. Sariel and Leon issued the proclamation publicly.
Yves, his face smudged with smoke, his pristine clothes in a condition few had ever seen, turned to Silvio, who was holding a pan of what might… charitably… be considered charcoal. “Have you considered poetry?”
He had not. But… he could write reports. Official letters.
How difficult could it be to throw in a rhyme every few words?
Why had no one ever told him there was no rhyme for orange?
Holed up in his guest quarters of Rhodolite castle, Silvio crumpled up another piece of paper. He tossed it behind him where it landed on a mound of previous rejected efforts. Eventually, he ended up face down, asleep, drooling on another unfinished effort, dreaming of giant killer oranges.
“Oh, orange hair like carrots in a stew, I want to give you daisies in a shoe.” In his dream, Schatze was reading his poetry to him.
Wait...
He was awake.
Schatze, who had somehow sneaked into his room, was reading his poetry. Out loud.
Quickly, he sat up and wiped his face.
She uncrumpled another one. “Your locks are a sunset, Your eyes, a sun rise.” As Silvio made a leap for the paper, she laughed. “That was rather a decent beginning. It was accurate at least.” She batted those sun yellow eyes at him.
“Ya really don’t want to be reading those.” He winced when she uncrumpled another paper.
“Oh, I do. I really, truly do.” With a wicked grin, she struck a dramatic pose. “Blue Skies, Birds Chanting, Your face is so enchanting. That I almost feel like ranting.” She paused and seemed to think about that. “Hm. Granting? Oooh. Panting! You do appear to be panting a little.”
“What sum of money would it take for ya t’forget ya ever saw these?” He gathered as many of the poetry attempts as possible, and stuffed them down his pants.
“You don’t know me very well if you believe that would stop me.” She reached for his belt, and then just as he jumped away, she pivoted and grabbed the last poem off the desk. “I prefer honey, Schatze, not the sap of a tree. Your bee stung lips still call to me. Sweeter than sugar, a love there is no cure for… Awww, I like this one. Where was it going?”
“I… don’t remember.” He collapsed back in the chair, hoping that this was still part of the dream with the murderous citrus fruits. “How did ya get in here?”
“Oh, your brother sent for me. He was worried.” She plopped down on his lap, and the papers that were still stuffed in his pants crunched loudly.
“I doubt that.” More likely the mutt was having a laugh at his expense.
“Silvio.” She twined her hands in his hair. “I’m very touched that you went to all of this effort on my behalf.”
He peered into her eyes, searching for the joke, bracing for another cheek pat. “Ya are?”
“All I wanted was for you to try. To do something more than throw money at me.” She kissed him, and he hurried to bring his arms around her waist.
After a long moment during which the only sounds that could be heard was indeed panting… and paper crinkling, he said, “I could… write more of them.”
“Please. Don’t.” And she patted him on the cheek again.
Birthday Month Exchange! - Closed for lack of interest
November is my birthday month - no I'm not giving out the date lol.
I want to celebrate with an exchange!
So what does that entail?
I'll make you a graphic, you make me a graphic!
You give me a comment, I'll give you a comment!
Rules?
You fill out this handy little form.
You send me your gift.
I send you yours after I receive mine.
For comment exchanges:
If you're requesting comments, please be prepared to give comments in return. If I'm reading your fic, it's only fair you read mine.
If you request a comment and submit something else, I'll reach out to you to ask what alternative you'd prefer.
Please also ensure your fic is under 5000 words per chapter - this is for ease of reading for me and my ADHD ass.
Links to my fics:
Learn to Fly (Marvel, Sam Wilson x OC, part of the @mara-vel-cece-matic-universe)
Key Change (Marvel, Peter Quill x OC, part of the @mara-vel-cece-matic-universe)
First piece of the year! ✨ I made this for @artists-guild-of-exandria's Winter OC Exchange this year for @smolgremlinn! Really was so fun to work with Hycis and plant him in a fantastical scene! 🌌💫
We do a little Wintersend exchange on the Dragon Age OC server & I wanted to share the pieces I wrote!
The first was my assignment for @melisusthewee’s Quinn Trevelyan - a man caught up in a new love affair leaving a confusing but satisfying fling behind. https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DA_OC_Winter_Exchange_2023/works/52639819
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
And the second was an extra treat I wrote for @sandalinbohemia’s Roe Trevelyan who is a beloved character to me! I love Sandal’s updates with beautiful art of Roe and I had a free afternoon to write and had her on my mind, so I wrote this little exploration of Josie’s feelings as she’s falling for her. https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DA_OC_Winter_Exchange_2023/works/52677496
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Both rated T, nothing spicy.
Check out the rest of the collection and fall in love with some new dragon age OCs for the new year! ✨
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
So @thealmightyemprex once gave to me OCs that she wasn't using anymore, but didn't want to simply throw away.
Over time, there were I created OCs who came and took space from the ones I created before.
So after this experience with my friend, I had this idea: OC exchange.
I give you an OC I don’t use anymore, of your choosing, and in return I choose an OC you for some reason doesn't use anymore or has dificulty developing.
