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alphabetboyluvr · 10 months

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something borrowed | jjk

VIBES | first loves, a lil angst, a lil... infidelity (don't scream at me!!), no smut (a little teeny lips to kitty moment but no actual smut) jungkook's nose be doing things (smelling <3) cause when is it not?, mafia au

SOUNDTRACK | moth to a flame - swedish house mafia, the weekend ; mirage - elina

HOLLY'S NOTE | (originally posted april 2023) was in a tiktok hell hole of moth to a flame edits, and this is the product of it loool. posted on wp first!!

WORD COUNT | 2.8k

GLOSSARY OF TERMS | all relating to korean gangs

Gyeongsang - the ancient name for what is now known as the Yeongnam district of Korea. It includes Daegu, Busan, Ulsan, and both Gyeongsang Provinces. It's essentially the South-East of the country.

Honam - the district of Korea which includes Gwangju and both Jeolla provinces. Essentially, it's Yeongnam's counterpart - the South-West of the country.

Pa - the term for a 'mob' in Korean, often affixed to regions or identifiers of specific gangs

Jopok - a term for someone involved in a gang

THEY SAY you never forget your first love; that it's some sort of earth-shattering, universe-bending, life-debilitating experience. You learn from it; how to behave, how to act, how to break a heart, and - sometimes - how to heal one, too.

They're a funny thing, first loves.

Virginities are given and taken in all aspects of life; sex, declarations of affection, scathing remarks in the midst of arguments.

Jeon Jungkook has all of your firsts, and you all of his.

It had been a too-hot summer, and you'd been rebelling.

Fresh-faced, and terribly bored of the confines put in place by your father, Jungkook had seemed like a safe bet.

Jungkook had always been a rebel. You made no change to that.

You'd gone to Busan looking for trouble. Like father, like daughter. He usually went there to fuck with Gyeongsang-pa goonies who didn't know their left from their right; to remind them that what Honam-pa may lack in their underground history, they made up for in their sheer moxie.

You'd gone there to fuck with Gyeongsang-pa goonies, too, just in the literal sense. You were on the cusp of nineteen, and still being held prisoner to Honam-pa hierarchy, or so it felt.

An easy target was found in the form of a boy skimming rocks against a settled bay. Leather jacket and a face of thunder, Jeon Jungkook had wanted nothing to do with you. Heard the tone of your dialect and knew you were one of them.

"Ain't no place for Honam bitches," he'd told you. Had made you laugh.

"And who are you?" You'd replied, voice condescending, eyes innocent. "Too scrawny to be Jopok."

He had smirked. Shook his head. "Yeah, and you're too vapid to be asking questions like that in a city that ain't yours." The pebble he sent hurtling into the ocean skipped once, twice, three times before sinking. He turned to look at you. Sighed. Figured you were at least a little bit more interesting than pebbles. "What's your name, Honam?"

As you stand in front of a mirror, seven years since that summer, you know Jeon Jungkook will be getting all of your lasts, too.

You're smoothing down a dress; white, lace, and everything a girl dreams of.

Well, everything a girl who wants a traditional wedding with all the bells and whistles wants.

You've always considered yourself an elopement kind of girlie; last-minute charity shop dress for you, and second-hand tie for your groom, in a city worlds away from 'home'. That's what you would have liked.

But you're Honam's Princess.

This was always gonna be the way.

You'd never expected yourself to have a Gyeongsang-pa groom, but sometimes life works out in funny ways.

"It's bad luck," you say quietly as Jungkook approaches the doorway. It's a little before noon. Nuptials are at two. You've sent away your ladies in waiting, favouring these final moments alone.

"To see the bride?" he questions. He's not even started getting ready yet. Still in a pair of sweats and an old shirt that you remember from that very first summer. You wonder if he's wearing it deliberately now; if it makes him feel like he's young again.

He'd been so fresh-faced back then. His broad back hadn't yet been tarnished by a dragon, and his eyes had seen far less violence. His hands, too.

You nod. "Remember? I told you. You shouldn't see the bride on the morning of the ceremony."

Jungkook just shrugs. Pushes the door to, and walks further into the room to stand behind you. It's warm, but his presence gives you chills. It shouldn't do. Not when you know him as intimately as you do.

His fingers reach up to toy at the vintage clasp of your necklace. He asks, "Something old?"

You're silent as you study him in the mirror. He's not aged a day. Not really. Not in his eyes. The scar on his cheek looks a little deeper from his face filling out, and he wears his hair differently - he doesn't subscribe to the Gyeongsang-pa standard of short sides, long top anymore - but his eyes are just the same.

"Something old," you nod.

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, and lets the very tips of his fingers trail down your spine, until they reach the fabric of your dress.

"Your Grandmothers," he says. "I remember it."

You don't hide your surprise.

"What?" he smirks, when he notices the tiny little hum of confusion you do. "Was that first summer. You left it in my car once. Was karma for you chatting shit about your sister inheriting the opal ring."

"It was too small for her fingers!" you immediately protest, still standing by the fact it would have been cherished by you - though you do have an opal ring, now.

It normally sits snug on your fourth finger, awaiting a dainty silver band to keep it company, but it's off today. Symbolic. Your wedding band is to be threaded on first, held in place by your opal forevermore.

"The necklace suits you," he offers.

Thinks it really does; a small silver chain, links twisted with a single teardrop pearl resting on your chest. It goes back generations. Is a status symbol. Losing it in Jungkook's car had left you terrified for you both, no matter who would have found it - Gyeongsang-pa goonies or Honam-Pa. Would have been fucked either way. Fraternizing with the enemy was one thing - but fucking them?

Your father would have had Jungkook's head on a butcher's block within an hour of finding out.

Funny, how things change.

He strides over to the dresser, where a white shoe box sits open. Tissue paper sprouts from the packaging, and nestled inside are a pair of heels that he thinks are befitting of you. They're white, to match your dress, with ornate silver leaves trailing up and around the heels. You'll be a good few inches taller with them on, but he'd still dwarf you if he were to stand across from you.

A little taller than he was that very first summer, Jungkook is far more confident, too. Not in a brash, false bravado kind of way, but in such a way that he's learned his worth. Knows where he is in the pecking order. Works so much harder than you ever will, and yet will never be of equal status. Not in Honam Pa, not in Gyeongsang-Pa.

He sits on the chair beside the mirror and holds a shoe in each palm. His legs are spread, smile arrogant, as he taps the shoes together.

"Something new?"

"Careful," you say, not looking at him, tweaking a little bit of your hair back. "Yes. Something new."

He raises one of shoes, and nods to where the skirt of your dress pools on the floor. "May I?"

"Shouldn't even see-"

"See the bride, yeah, yeah, I know," he says softly. "Next time I see you, you're gonna be one of us. Let me at least spend a little time with you while you're still Honam."

"You've always hated that I'm Honam," you remind him.

He doesn't deny it.

"Just let me help you get ready for your party," he says, stern but gentle. He's always been like that with you.

He calls it a party, because he refuses to call it a wedding. Wedding is too romantic. Too foreboding.

You don't want to smile. He's so abrasive at times, so frustrating. You wonder how you ended up here; eyes full of adoration as you nod. "Alright then, Prince Charming."

You lift your leg just a little bit, but Jungkook knows your body, so doesn't give it a second thought as he reaches down to leverage it up. He strokes at your ankle, the heel of your foot, the arch. Smiles to himself when you shudder a little when his fingers ghost across the tiny ticklish section.

"Don't," you smile. "I'll fall."

He just shrugs. "I'll catch you."

That's the thing about Jungkook; he always does. Trusty, dependable, reliable.

Sure, maybe occasionally he would be the one to tie your laces, but he would always catch you.

You've no laces on now. Any falling? All of your own doing.

Jungkook doesn't let the sentiment linger. Asks, "Something blue?"

You look down at him as he slides the second shoe onto your other foot, and wonder if showing him really will be pushing your luck - but hey.

He's already seen the bride.

What harm would it do if he sees a little more?

He holds on to your ankle for longer than he really should. Strokes his thumb across the top of your foot. Smiles. You press the pad of your now-heeled foot into the tiny space between his spread legs, keeping it elevated, and give him a look that grants him permission to explore.

Both of his hands stroke up your raised leg, smooth and silky, the fabric of your dress moving to reveal what's hidden beneath. He reaches your knee. Leans forward a little. Presses those lips you know so well against your skin. Keeps stroking upwards, hands spreading across your thighs before reaching a roadblock. Chiffon and lace intertwined, a baby blue garter is hooked around your leg.

Jungkook's lips trail from the top of your knee to just shy of the material that stopped him from venturing further.

"Something blue," you whisper.

He nods. Lets his nose rest against it. You've sprayed it with your perfume. He fucking loves your perfume. You've been wearing the same one since he met you, and it always gets him a little heated at times he shouldn't be.

Isn't his fault though. He thinks you conditioned him.

And yeah, maybe you had sprayed it in his car vents on more than one occasion, and maybe you had deliberately layered a pheromone-infused oil beneath it that entire first summer. Not your fault he happened to like it a little too much. Not his fault the scent always takes him back to those stolen moments with you.

Jungkook's teeth sink into the material. Draw it back. Let it ping against your skin.

"Kook," you whisper, as if your hands aren't in his hair.

His hands push further up your legs. Both of them, now. They reveal the lacey white underwear you purchased especially for the big event. It's a matching set.

"Thank God it's not a Church wedding," he husks, a sigh exhaling. His breath tantalisingly chills your now-wet folds. So inconvenient. "You'd burn the second you stepped inside."

Jungkook's lips trail further. Leave little evidence. He's learned how to do that over the years. Has left no traces of himself, well, ever.

There's hustle and bustle in the garden out of the rear window. A traditional-style wooden screen preserves your dignity; hides your Gyeongsang-pa goonie from sight.

The venue wasn't your choice. It's Gyeongsang territory, for a start. Your father had said it would be good. Would help with the treaty. Very little about your 'party' has been planned by you. Like most of your life, your father has an iron vice on proceedings.

Your underwear was the one thing you had total control over. Had even considered wearing none at all, as a bit of a 'fuck you'.

Jungkook pauses. Takes in the sight of you. Grips the flesh of your upper thighs. Curses to himself.

It feels like he's staring at your lace-covered cunt for an eternity before his lips finally press against it. Your grip in his hair tightens.

You'll need to change your underwear before you walk down the aisle. That's fine. This underwear was never intended for anything other than this, regardless.

Because while yes, the groom shouldn't see the bride ahead of the ceremony, it's not like that matters here. Jungkook was always going to see you before the wedding.

His lips are slow as he withdraws, and simply says, "Something borrowed."

The implication is heavy; heart-stopping. Cataclysmic.

"By you?" You whisper, as his deep dark eyes meet yours.

He looks so pretty in defeat. It pains you - but you both know this is the least painful outcome for you both.

Jungkook shakes his head. Let your dress gather by the floor. Smooths it over. Reclines into his chair.

"By Min fuckin' Yoongi."

Neither of you speak for a moment. Hearing his name, especially uttered from Jungkook's lips, makes your blood run cold. For so long, you've avoided the topic.

It's impossible, now.

See, it doesn't matter if Jungkook sees you before the ceremony.

He's not your groom.

Yoongi is.

He's your counterpart; the son of the Gyeongsang-pa King. A marriage born out of a sacred treaty between the gangs; the promise that together they'll obliterate Sudogwon's unruly mobs that have been making their way south in recent years.

"It's not too late," Jungkook whispers.

But it is, and you both know it. You've come too far to back out now.

Negotiations have been made. Peace treaties signed. Deals across clans finalised.

You're Honam's Princess, but one day you'll be Gyeongsang-pa's Queen.

Jungkook will only ever be a pauper chasing after the big boys.

So you'll say your vows and exchange your rings, and Jungkook won't object.

He'll sit quietly, like a good boy should, and watch you seal your fate.

Will watch Min Yoongi slide a wedding band onto your ring finger.

Will smile to himself when notices your engagement ring holding it in place a few months from now.

Will remind himself of the old tales that go hand in hand with opal engagement rings. If the legends are anything to go by, you'll be a widow within four years. He can wait that long. Has waited far longer, already.

And if, by four years, his time still hasn't come?

Kings can be overthrown. Jungkook is as Jopok as they come. He'll fight dirty.

For you?

He thinks he'll fight to the death.

"You're too good for Gyeongsang," he tells you, neck stretched, the crown of his head resting between his shoulder blades. You're scratching at his hair, looking at him.

With a smile, you shrug. "I'll still be Honam. For you, I'll be Honam."

Jungkook nods. Closes his eyes. Leans into your touch.

"My Honam girl," he says quietly, and it makes you wish that you had just run away with him that very first summer. You'd suggested it after you first thought you had lost your necklace. Thought it would be the only way to keep one another safe - until Jungkook found it between the seats.

You'd thanked the God that you don't believe in at the time. Clutched the necklace over your heart, head tipped to the heavens, all while Jungkook looked only at you. Lucky, he'd said, unaware that it was the worst possible outcome for you both.

You should've run.

Should've fuckin' run.

"Go," you whisper, knowing it's too late for any of that now. "We've got a party to attend, and you can't show up in a pair of sweats."

He likes that you don't call it a wedding, either. Nods. Also knows he can't be caught sneaking from your room. There'd be hell to pay.

Jungkook gets to his feet. Kisses your cheek. Tell you how pretty you look. Slowly walks to the door, then turns to look at you one final time. Spares you from a final remark that could make you feel even worse about the situation.

"Kook?" You call, just because you can't bear to let him leave. Not yet. It's too soon.

He hums a response. Doesn't open the door just yet. Waits for you to speak.

"I wish we never met."

Jungkook looks at his feet. Smiles. Nods.

"Me, too, babe." And then, just because he needs it to be known, "I love you."

You don't turn to face him.

"I love you, too."

#jungkook fanfic #jk ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #mafia!jungkook #mafia au #bts fanfic #jungkook mafia #jungkook mafia au #looooool #i hate tagging so much #it's just jungkook being sexy what more do u want ???#byholly

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dissociativepouter · 2 years

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FAMILY VIDEO. EDDIE MUNSON.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: soooo much fluff, eddie being an idiot in love at first sight, swearing, drug mention, slight sibling rivalry, maybe ooc eddie?? i tried my best leave me alone, made eddie a one-time senior because it's easier for my little pea brain to write, i hate reading the word 'y/n' in fics so i don't use it here

synopsis: your job at the local video store is dreadful, made slightly more tolerable by your coworkers, robin and steve, and sometimes a joint or two. but when none of the three are there to accompany you on your closing shift one evening, your only source of entertainment is the frizzy-haired, cigarette-smelling, admittedly-cute guy who walks in with a flyer for his band's gig on satuday, and who also happens to be the captain and founder of your brother's stupid dnd club.

a/n: i've never written anything specifically for the internet before soooo bear with me here. also! i originally posted this with reader as a wheeler, but after getting a few comments letting me know that making reader a wheeler/henderson/harrington etc, i would be excluding readers of color and making it difficult to self-insert in the story. so i made some edits and i really hope this is better!!!

you stood leaning against the counter, mindlessly dropping a slinky between your hands, phone tucked between your ear and shoulder.

“yes, ma’am, i understand. i know. but the goonies isn’t available right now, someone took it out.” you begrudgingly explained to the middle aged mom yelling at you over the phone. “i’m sorry, ma’am, you’ll have to wait. okay. okay, have a–”

the mom hung up, and you slammed the phone back onto the receiver. “fuckin’ psycho.” you mumbled, turning back to pay the rest of your attention to the multi-colored plastic slinky, pulling it apart and pushing it back together. you was about to lurch back onto your feet and turn the sign on the door to read ‘closed’ when you heard the godforsaken ring of the bell above said door, signaling that a customer was afoot.

fifteen minutes before closing.

you rolled your eyes and continued playing with the slinky, not making eye contact with whoever walked in while letting them know in your best (weakest) customer service voice, “we close in fifteen minutes, you’re not gonna find anything.”

“not looking for a movie.” assured a voice you hadn’t heard before. you turned your head to see the frizzy-haired, puppy-eyed, leather-jacket-adorned boy stalking up to the counter holding a crumpled paper. you inhaled a breath that you would unintentionally hold for the next few seconds. he seemed to stop or slow in his tracks when you looked at him. he was caught off guard. you didn’t blame him, you’d never met as far as you could remember. he was cute. in an arrogant, smartass, i-wanna-kiss-you-just-so-you-shut-the-fuck-up way.

“um… hi, there.” he greeted awkwardly, taken aback, as he leaned against the other side of the counter. the smell of stale pot and leather wafted your way. he smiled crookedly.

“...hi. can i help you?” you weren’t having any of it.

“yeah, i was wondering if i could get this on the thingy over there?” he handed you the paper across the counter as he nodded towards the general direction of the corkboard on the wall covered in advertisements, his rings clinking against the wood, still smiling. so smug. you put the slinky down and took the paper from his hand, breaking eye contact to skim the text.

“corroded coffin?” you questioned, half-judging him, raising an eyebrow.

“‘s my band.” he smiled a dopey smirk, twisting one of his rings with his finger.

“yeah, i see that.” you nodded, looking back at the paper, taking it with two hands now and leaning back against the counter, then looking back up at him. “i don’t know. you any good?”

“we’re… decent,” he scratched the back of his neck. you laughed. “you like metal?”

you shrugged. “a little.”

“yeah, well, not to brag, but we usually get a crowd of about four old drunk dudes.” he knocked a short beat on the counter, cheeks flushing. you laughed harder.

“impressive!” you joked.

“i know,” he added as he came down from laughing. “i’m try’na get people to come see us, but i don’t think they care that much.” he scrunched his face like he was delivering bad news.

“i can’t say i blame them.”

he clutched his chest dramatically. “how dare you?”

“not my fault!”

“yeah, yeah.” he shook his head, looking around the room for a moment before turning back to you.

“i’ve never seen you around here. you look familiar, though.” he furrowed his brows, scanning your face. you shrugged.

“i don’t go out that often.”

“is that right?” he tilted his head. something about him. he had this charisma, this charm that almost outweighed how so obviously lame he was. like he didn’t know how to flirt in any way whatsoever, but it… worked? “that sucks.” he pouted, bringing a piece of his curly, overgrown hair to his mouth to cover his smile.

you felt your cheeks warm up, looking down at the floor, catching a glimpse of his shirt in the process. hellfire club. that’s your brother’s nerd thing.

you nodded at the shirt. “hey, hellfire club. that’s the thing my brother’s in.”

“oh shit, who’s your brother?” his metaphorical puppy ears perked.

“chris.”

“oh my god, williams?” he smiled, eyes widening, pushing away from the counter by his hands then pulling back in. “you’re his sister?” disbelief twisted his expression.

you nodded, laughing again at his excitement. “yeah, unfortunately.” you could feel the sizzling feeling of frustration dissolve in your chest with every smile he gave.

he clapped before pointing frantically at you, his head lolling to the side, stepping back in realization. “that’s who you look like! i knew i’ve seen that face somewhere. wow, that’s crazy.” he mindlessly stalked a few feet from the counter then came back, resting his forearms back on the wood.

you giggled, shaking your head. “ew, no, i do not look like him.”

“oh, no, you definitely don’t.” he shook his head, smiling. “that kid could never.”

you chewed your cheek, your neck growing hotter. “what’s your name?”

“eddie. munson.” did he really just stutter over his own name?

you gave him your name.

“thought so.” he smiled, dropping his hand back onto the counter.

you kept eye contact for what felt like hours but what was only a few seconds before you broke the silence.

“so you go to hawkins, then?”

“yeah, unfortunately.” he repeated your words.

“senior?”

“yup.” he popped the p, nodding.

“same.”

“that’s weird. i’ve heard a lot about you, but i’ve never seen you.”

“oh? you’ve heard about me?” you tilted your head.

“yeah, the infamous williams sister. he likes to complain about you a lot.”

“of course he does.” you rolled your eyes at the anecdote.

“says you’ve been – his words, by the way, not mine – an ‘absolute heinous bitch’ since your weed dealer left town.” he pulled his mouth into a nervous, bracing expression, pulling his hair back towards his mouth.

“did he actually say that?”

he nodded.

“that fucker. i’m gonna kill him.”

“well, is it true?”

“what, that i’m a heinous bitch?” you raised an eyebrow.

“no!” he laughed. “you’re definitely a little scary, but no. that your dealer left?”

you laughed too, a funny sensation running down your spine at the knowledge that he found you scary.

“yeah, it’s true. why? do you know someone?”

“what makes you think i know someone?” he asked, mock-surprised.

“i know you know someone. because you reek of weed.”

he leaned his head close to his shoulder and inhaled. “shit.” he flushed, dropping his head onto the counter, embarrassed.

you giggled. “did i guess right?”

he smirked devilishly. “yeah, i do. i’ll give you his address if you want.”

you nodded, ripping a piece of paper from the notebook on the counter then grabbing a pen from the cup and handing both to him. “yes, please. i haven’t had a smoke in weeks, it’s been hell.”

“oh, poor you.” he spoke with his eyes to the paper, scribbling an address in almost incomprehensible writing. you rolled your eyes as he slid it back to you tauntingly, finally locking eyes again. those eyes. “go there tomorrow. 6 p.m.”

“got it.” you pushed the paper into your back pocket after reading his almost illegible handwriting. forest hills trailer park, third trailer on the left.

“i gotta say, i did not expect chris’ sister to be so…” he opened his palm in front of him and circled you in the air, looking specifically at your necklaces, your band t-shirt, your jacket. “the way you are.”

“‘the way i am?’ what the hell’s that supposed to mean?” you questioned in mock offense, unable to stifle your smile.

“just– i don’t know.” he dropped his hand back on the counter, giving up. “cool. or whatever.”

“cool or whatever.” you raised an eyebrow.

“shut up. you know what i mean.” he dropped his head back down, embarrassed again.

you laughed harder. “no, i don’t think i do.”

he looked up and scanned you again, then covered his face with his hands.

you chuckled, then looked at the clock. 4:58 pm.

“shit. i have to lock up now, we close in, like, two minutes.”

“oh,” he looked disappointed, not mocking this time. “okay.”

“i’ll put this up on the board for you, though?” you looked back at the ad for his concert once more. may 10th.

“yeah, thanks.” he turned away for the door before stopping in his tracks and turning again, snapping his fingers. “hey! do you need a ride home, actually?”

you chuckled at the obvious searching for any excuse to spend just a little bit more time together.

“nah, i’ve got my bike,” you pointed to the parking lot where your dark purple bike was resting on the rack.

he looked over to it, then chewed his cheek, nodding. “oh. alright. well, i’ll see you… i don’t know when i’ll see you, actually.” he ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up further, searching for something to do with his hands.

“how about i come to your show?” you tried to reassure him that he’d see you again, but it was mostly just reassuring yourself that you’d see him again.

“really?” his eyes brightened.

“yeah, why not?”

“okay. okay, i’ll practice extra hard, then.”

“you better, ‘cause i’m gonna leave early if you sound like shit.”

“challenge accepted.” he raised his eyebrows through his bangs, his rings clinking against the metal of the door handle.

“bye, munson.” you giggled. he’s so dumb, it’s adorable. you couldn’t remember what it was you were so upset about when he first walked in. “hey, by the way, you know the corkboards are public, right? you didn’t need to ask to put your paper on it.”

he flushed harder at the sound of his name in your mouth, turning around with his back to the door, looking you in the eyes one more time. “i know.”

and before you could even be shocked, he was already out the door, hollering, “say hi to chris for me!”

“wow.” you whispered to yourself, shaking your head and chuckling in disbelief as you watched him stalk over to his beat-up, dark red 1969 pontiac firebird.

this guy’s gonna be the death of you.

#eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #down astronomically for this man who i know has not eaten a vegetable in years #help im in love #lux brain worms #joe quinn #st4 #eddie munson hc #joseph quinn #stranger things 4

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rpgsandbox · 8 months

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kickstarter

Cryptid Creeks is a tabletop roleplaying game using the popular Powered by the Apocalypse engine and is 'Carved from Brindlewood', a term for content based on Jason Cordova’s award-winning Brindlewood Bay. In this supernatural mystery, you'll play river scouts, a crew of young adults setting out to stop a rapidly spreading curse with the help of ancient cryptids of your own invention.

Creeks has many inspirations including Gravity Falls, Hilda, The Goonies, Lumberjanes and Night in the Woods, representing a genre we feel is surprisingly lacking in RPGs. Through this game, we hope to see themes such as friendship, discovery and community explored by gaming groups and summer campers of all ages and backgrounds.

Cryptid Creeks will feature 150+ pages filled with the beautiful full-colour art you have come to expect from Hatchlings Games. Content will include robust safety tools, character creation, intuitive dice mechanics, a guide to running the game as Navigator, a collection of sample curses, and an appendix of rolling tables and handouts.

The standard edition hardcover can be carried easily and will feature smyth-sewn bindings, a matte laminated cover for durability and recycled paper throughout. The special edition will feature an alternate cover with foil-stamping to make it shimmer, a ribbon bookmark in a spooky shade and an additional chapter with designer notes and concept art.

The game begins with the town you call home becoming cursed. This malediction has occurred many times throughout history, most recently in the Autumn of 1962. The nature of the curse is completely down to you, however it always springs from an object sold by the Peddler, an enigmatic demon with hidden motivations. The curse is of particular concern to the Watcher, a benevolent cryptid who has existed in harmony with the townsfolk for centuries. Your crew of scouts must stop the curse before it overwhelms the community and spreads to the neighbouring city.

Your scouts must investigate for Clues to the accursed object while trying to prevent the darkness from spreading! These dual tasks will form the basis of your roleplaying sessions (episodes). The game is best played over several episodes (series), but we have provided rules for one-shot play (pilots).

Once the Watcher visits your clubhouse to inform you of the curse, you'll begin to discover Eeries around your hometown. These minor cryptids act as the eyes and ears of the Watcher and will observe your crew as they travel Clawfoot Creek attempting to find the object. The Eeries are a neutral - sometimes chaotic - presence in the game, but will intervene under special circumstances.

As episodes play out, the curse will spread and grow in strength, its potency measured on a Curse Clock ticking slowly through four phases towards calamity. Your actions during episodes will earn you Clues, and when you believe you've collected enough, you can attempt to destroy the cursed object forever!

Before episodes conclude, you'll be shown a list of milestones that, if met, will reward the crew with Cryptid Keys. These mythical items can be spent to upgrade your clubhouse and boat, factors essential to your progress in the game.

In Creeks, you'll create scouts using playbooks. These templates are provided to ensure character diversity and are ideal for those new to RPGs. Playbooks are named after boating roles, with Skipper, Shipwright, Lookout, Stowaway, Journaller, Negotiator, Medic and Conduit to choose from. The final game will include rules for you to create your own playbooks and select from a pool of special moves we've called Badges.

In most Powered by the Apocalypse RPGs, moves are used to determine your actions. In Creeks we have basic moves, which can be used at will, such as The Crew Move (used to clear misfortunes) and The Eerie Move (used to gain support from cryptids). Each playbook also has Badges, which can influence a wide range of mechanics.

The game uses two six-sided dice (2d6) where every roll progresses your story regardless of the outcome. Only players roll dice during sessions, so it never feels like a competition with the Navigator. Instead, they'll be your biggest fan, willing you to succeed as they represent the characters you'll meet and the challenges you'll face.

If your rolls fail (6 or below), the Navigator has an opportunity to react. They might drop misfortunes on your scouts to slow your actions, split the party so you can't rely on one another, or even progress the Curse Clock!

To stop the curse, you'll travel Clawfoot Creek visiting landmarks and inspiring locals to fight alongside you. To achieve this, you'll need a boat. Name your trusty vessel, then upgrade it to reach new locations on the map or welcome Eeries aboard, like the treasure-hunting Goldtooth. We're encouraging Navigators to incorporate creeks, coves and beaches into their adventures to ensure players use their boat often.

Having worked for a Deaf charity for twelve years and raising a disabled child, making Cryptid Creeks accessible to everyone is really important to us. To honour this commitment, we have hired Chris Hopper, one of the most experienced consultants in the industry with credits including Tal'Dorei Reborn from Critical Role and most recently Tales of the Valiant from Kobold Press.

The digital PDFs will accommodate screen-readers and feature alt text and chapter hyperlinks as well as plain text versions. Both hardcovers will have colour-coded page edges for intuitive navigation. Our website will also host form-fillable handouts for both players and Navigators.

Kickstarter campaign ends: Thu, October 5 2023 2:59 PM BST

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