Discover Top Posts Tagged with #sc&p

Mad Men, 2015

#mad men #peggy olson #elizabeth moss #lost horizon #2010s #roller skating #2015 #tv #television #sc&p #roger sterling #john slattery #piano #giphy #gif #gifs #dbm

17. More Heroes

𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘯𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘐 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘔𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 @stone-xiv @dragons-ire @yellowrose-ffxiv

#Junelezen #Junelezen 2022 #Severine Pictures #SC&P #Otolin #Breandan #Yellow Rose

What Would You Like Me to Say?

The following story contains some mentions of blood, gore, and harsh language.

When Emelyn rises, the others are gone.

It’s been perhaps thirty minutes by Otolin’s somewhat educated guess. He uses the shafts of moonlight peeking through the holes of the dilapidated ceiling above, noting how they strike the tiled floor. The colors beneath them of slate gray and purple shift and change into different shades while he waits.

If someone had just happened upon them and didn’t come closer, it would be difficult to tell that quite a battle had just occurred.

Her rest had looked peaceful, if not for the pool of blood that rested below her face. Oh, how it soaks the stone, seeping through the old and weathered cracks and crevasses. But her face, as she pushes herself up with a shaky shudder, doesn’t look so peaceful between her bloodshot eyes and her nose, which looks askew.

Off-kilter. Broken, courtesy of the broadside of Breandan’s lance.

“You…” She breathes, a nasally sound that only contrasts her usually gravelly tone.

“You’ve lost a fair amount of blood…” Otolin cautions, still standing above her.

“And why does that fucking matter? I’ll live,” Emelyn snaps back at her son, looking up to him. She’s on her knees now and has to duck her head, eyes slamming shut. It may be because of a concussion, or perhaps it’s just an acceptance of the harsh new reality. That, or Silvestre had knocked her off her feet more than once with precise lance strikes.

No, no.

She’s lost.

When her eyes open again, the glare is obstinate and stubborn. Emelyn lifts her head up to Otolin. “And where are your friends?”

“They’re gone. They didn’t need to see this,” he answers with a little sigh. “Give me your hand.”

“Fuck you.”

#writing #sc&p #events #otolin stone #emelyn stone

Isrun has a blast at the first annual SC&P hosted pool party.

@entropytea, @sporebat, @captainswingbeard, @thanidiel, @tea-and-conspiracy, @autochthonousone, @nineprotons, @dyalani, @stuckonstones (plz let me know who else to tag, thanks!)

#Screenshots #SC&P #HoC #Savage Crag and Pike #Horizon Contractors #Pool Party

Savage, Crag, and Pike @severine-savage , @otolin-xiv , @geimhleag

#SC&P #Severine Pictures #otolin #breandan

The Hero in Your Head

The following story contains some violence and harsh language.

He’s been awake for hours.

Sleep always eluded him in their grasp. Not much has changed there.

“He’s… he’s still up.”

Youthful voices. They can’t be more than eighteen, or maybe even nineteen?

Hard to place in the darkness.

Otolin doesn’t really struggle much. He’s not actually bound, but instead has been left to sit here in this old cell. The sound of running water continues, a steady stream that shifts through and over moss-covered rocks. It gives him an idea where he might be.

Not far from where the ambush had occurred, where their ambush had been… ambushed? Is “counter-ambush” even a word? A phrase?

It’s these thoughts that keep him company.

That, and those of his companions. His… friends. Closer than that.

Keep him from going mad.

It’s not the first time she’s done this, kept him locked off from the others and in the lack of company of his own thoughts, or whatever was in his head in those days, whatever they had taught him.

“She’s coming!”

The youthful voices pick up, a quick beat, and then drop out. The silence is death, broken by the rust-covered creak of a metal door opening inward into his cell.

He doesn’t move, keeping still in a sitting position on the floor, legs crossed underneath him. But his mind works, starts to churn through options: how easy would it be… to…

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says in that familiar low tone.

Otolin doesn’t respond.

#writing #emelyn stone #severine sauvageot #breandan ducaille #valka rosewood #SC&P

S A V A G E

C R A G

P I K E

@severine-savage @geimhleag

#SC&P #severine sauvageot #breandan geimhleag #screenshots #ffxiv

Empty

Everything had gone wrong. It was going well. The plan - the ambush, Valka’s playacting, it was all effective. She thought. But Severine had made her missteps early. She’d made herself too much of a target. When she’d been drug out of the cart kicking and screaming the sound had barely left her mouth before she slammed into the hard-packed dirt of Thanalan and the air left her lungs. Otolin had interceded, attacking her attacker and Severine had barely made it to her feet to throw a messy healing spell towards Valka who already had an arrow sticking out of her. Severine had seen Otolin’s face when the woman had arrived. Knew without asking that it was his mother. She barely had time to process the words exchanged before that figure was a blur in front of her and something cracked her across the collar. Her vision had gone white. The next thing she knew, Breandan was checking her pulse. Severine keeled to her feet, struggling to stand, her head throbbing. She saw remnants of exploded cart and the streak of gore where Breandan had put someone to the lance. And she saw Valka slumped in the dirt. She’d staggered across the road to her friend, all the while wildly searching. He was gone. Otolin was gone. Not left, Breandan had told her. But taken. It had all been a blur after that.

Getting Valka stabilized had been her priority. They borrowed a cart from the Flames checkpoint up the road and got Viera back to the office so the Doctor could tend to her. The little Xaela checked over Severine, warned her she’d probably have a vicious headache and told her to stay hydrated. She drank more than her share of wine that night. Hydration achieved. Fear sat cloying in the back of her throat, souring every breath she drew and every word she spoke. She paced and flitted, checking in on Valka when she could, making sure word got to Adrian. They needed Valka’s help but Severine couldn’t bring herself to ask the Viera to track Otolin like she’d done before, not while she was still bedridden and healing. They needed to find him and Severine didn’t know where to start. Eventually Breandan told her to go home and she went outside for the first time in two days. Walked across the yard already back in order after the party they’d had the week before. When they and their friends had sat around the fire and floated in the hot springs and none of this had happened. She walked up the stairs and to the house next door. Otolin’s house. She let herself in and stood in the doorway, half expecting him to be there. Sitting at the kitchen table or in one chair by the fire, reading a book. The house was cold. Empty. She locked the door and moved through it in a daze. Like a ghost. She wondered why this had happened. What she’d done wrong. She wondered why they hadn’t all just been killed. Valka nearly had been. Emelyn easily could have killed Severine as well but had stopped at merely incapacitating her. If Otolin had gone down in a single hit from the pale-skinned Roegadyn woman that had subsequently hauled him away, then obviously he could have been killed there as well. Breandan had tried parlay and had been warned away. Surely Emelyn Stone had to know they would come for her. They would find where Otolin had been taken. Why would she leave them alive to do it? Without realizing it, Severine had walked through the quiet rooms of Otolin’s empty house. The little closet in his bedroom stood with one door half open, and she reached inside, pushed her hands towards the back. Going by touch alone. Tears had been constant ever since they’d returned from the failed ambush and she could feel her eyes stinging as her fingers closed around familiar fabric. She pulled and drew her arm back, patterned cloth draped over her arm. Otolin hadn’t worn his poncho much since he’d gotten his new coat. She’d thought maybe that he had gotten rid of it but there it was, curled in her dark hands. The patterns were faded into each other with wear, the trim around the collar limp with age. But it was clean. And soft. Severine bundled the poncho into her arms and carried it to the two reading chairs clustered in the corner. She folded herself into the left side one, legs drawn up beneath her. The last time she’d sat there Otolin had been in the chair next to her. She remembered the books they’d been reading - her an intensely dry history of Limsa maritime laws and him some gormless crime thriller that he kept snorting at between sips of tea. He wasn’t there, though. And she didn’t know where he was. She balled the poncho up and tucked it beneath her cheek as she settled into the chair. The bed was across the room but that was the kind of empty that she didn’t think she’d be able to bear just now. Severine closed her eyes knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Instead she willed her mind to that place she could send it to. She walked through the sun-dappled grove that housed her memories and experiences and sat by the stream. With her eyes shut she pulled memories up like blades of grass, flipping through them like picture books. The first job she’d worked with Otolin. The room in the Quicksand they’d shared for months. Each job, each story they’d told each other. She could tell herself she was looking for clues. For some idea of where he might be right now. But really she knew that what she needed was him. Her partner. She couldn’t go out and search for him so she’d have to find him in one place she knew he would always be. As fleeting as it was she would have to take comfort in that.

#severine writing #sc&p #Breandan #Otolin #valka