Rowans VN

If you've seen my Twitter, you've probably seen the guy above floating around.

Currently, I'm of the mindset that I want to create a short vn experience and am working on his script as we speak.

A lot may change in terms of his story line, but I figure I'd share some of my process and the earliest first drafts here.

Thank you all so much for your continous support. 💙

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December 23rd, ???

Your pictures are spread out around him on his king sized mattress, fanning out from his shoulders and hips like the wings on a moth, some fluttering off the side and onto the floor below.

Where the fallen pictures lay, one can see more of your memorabilia underneath his bed:

Art taken from your booth at the artist alley;

Old crumpled up high school poems smoothed out and collected into a binder;

Expired ID's;

Your favorite chipped mug that one of your fans gave you as a gift.

All proof of your existence in this world.

All proof of his undying love for you.

If you were to see this…would this convey how powerful his feelings for you are?

He's keeping every single discarded belonging of yours because he loves you.

Because he's fucking devoted to you.

Other people…

They've never caused this strange blossoming sensation in his heart.

Not his previous relationships.

Not his friendships.

And certainly not his unrequited loves.

Only you.

Just you…

He sighs and picks the picture at his side up, holding it up against the light.

He sighs and picks the picture at his side up, holding it up against the lig

Ah. He remembers this.

It was your third HueCon and your first time running a booth.

You were so shy back then, always keeping your hands tucked between your legs, nervous when passersby paused to check out your art.

You were so cute.

It made him burst at the seams when you turned towards your friend with that smile.

He couldn't help but want to commemorate it.

To commit it to memory.

And now he has. Permanently.

God…

He misses you so, so much.

If only he could bury his face in your neck and inhale your scent.

The only thing he has to quell the need is an old shirt of yours that he keeps wrapped around his pillow.

It's a ratty thing, practically a rag at this point, but it still carries your sweetness.

Like strawberries off a vine.

He buries his face into it.

Inhales deep, then exhales with a shuddering breath.

God, you smell so good.

And you probably taste even better.

Just thinking about you spread out before him…his face buried between your legs…

He grinds his hips into the bed to ease the ache pulsing at his thighs.

Mmn.

Just imagining himself digging his nails into your cute ass…

Teasing you.

Making you squirm and gasp.

Oh.

Shit.

He's getting worked up now.

But he needs you so badly.

He's so desperate for you.

He buries his face into the pillow, flushing with embarrassment, forcing his hips to stop thrusting.

He can't do this.

Not now.

It wouldn't be right.

He can't-

A thump comes from somewhere underneath him.

In the basement.

He waits.

Another thump.

Tch..

The man shoves himself away from the bed, careful to avoid ruining any of his precious keepsakes.

He heads to the closet and flicks the light on with a simple tug of the string.

There's a couple of boxes in the way and he stacks them against the wall with skilled proficiency.

Underneath them lies a large square indent in the floor.

If you didn't look close enough, one might miss it.

But not him.

Not something this important.

He kneels down,  putting his fingernails between the grooves and lifts the door upward, revealing a room hidden underneath.

A secret basement of sorts.

The thumping stops at the sound of the trap door being lifted.

Hea waits one moment.

Two.

Then three.

Complete silence.

So now they want to play the role of the good little captive?

Fine.

Two can play at that game.

He flicks on the light, illuminating the small space in a wash of yellow.

He blinks.

Before him sits a small shadowy figure, their head bent, arms and legs still wrapped in chains.

Chopped locks of hair frame their shallow face.

A haircut he gave them after inspiration struck.

He did quite the bang up job considering their last haircut hardly suited them.

As he approaches them, his foot bumps into something plastic that scrapes against the ground.

He looks down, confused at first, before he realizes what he's looking at.

Oh. Right.

He left a dog bowl down here.

He scoops up the cheap red plastic and inspects the faint traces of grime.

Saliva maybe?

Gross.

For someone who complained about eating canned cat food, they sure as hell did lick the bowl clean.