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snowbellewells · 1 year

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Self Promo Sunday: “She’ll Be Back”

This week’s Self Promo rerun may not be everyone’s cup of tea as is more Huntsman Believer (if that’s a thing?) and Swan Believer themed, and Killian isn’t even in it, but it’s one I’ve always been pleased with - and it now has cover art! ;p I've always loved Graham and find it sad that he's never mentioned, especially considering the parallel between how he died in Emma's arms and how Milah died in Hook's. Anyway, I see this as fitting in way back at the beginning of OUAT's timeline, near the pilot. There are some imagined missing pilot scenes here, but nothing that I would call wildly AU. I just still miss Graham, I've read some great fics with him in them recently, and this plot bunny just hopped right into my head and stared at me until I wrote. Angst and fluff and feels abound – Enjoy!

Also available on ff.net and AO3

“She'll Be Back”

by: @snowbellewells

His footsteps echo heavily as he trudges up the carpeted stairs, a twofold sense of dread near-strangling him at what awaits in either room. Sighing, he rakes a hand through his disheveled mop of wild curls, almost growling in frustration as his fingers tangle and pull at the mussed, honey-colored strands. Blowing out a short breath, he braces his hand for a moment against the cool wood of the door on the left of the spacious, silent upstairs hallway in the mayor's mansion. He doesn't know where Regina has gotten to, and he hopes he can get out of here tonight without knowing, but his conscience simply will not allow him to leave until he knows the boy is alright.

Knocking hopefully on Henry's bedroom door, his accent thick with concern, the Sheriff enquires, "Henry, are you okay? It's Graham. May I come in?"

He waits, not wanting to intrude on the boy's privacy, knowing how it feels to have very little space or power to call one's own.

After a moment, there are sounds of footsteps shuffling across carpet and then a rattling before the doorknob turns and Henry peeks out the partially opened door. The boy's eyes look so big in his pale little face; the charming grin he sometimes levies at Graham in the rare good moments the two of them are afforded, is entirely absent. Loss and disappointment are written all over his expression, even with just half his face showing around the wooden barrier. Those entirely too old and wise brown eyes gauge Graham for a moment, making the sheriff want to shift nervously from foot to foot, officer and adult or no. He can't decide if Henry is trying to divine his motives, or to make sure his adoptive mother is nowhere around, but finally the boy drops his gaze, says listlessly, "Sure, come in. Why not?", and steps back, opening the door fully.

Graham enters, glancing around the boy's small private domain with curiosity. He has always had a soft spot for the lad, felt for him since he seems so serious and oddly unhappy for one so young. As long as he has known Regina, and frighteningly enough, he can't really pinpoint how long that has been, he has been amazed at her brainy, precocious child. Given the chance, he always takes a moment to speak to Henry, to hear about his day or bring him some odd trinket, and – if he is lucky – make the boy smile that guileless, gap-toothed grin.

There are Legos, and a toy chest, a book shelf crammed full and overflowing, a beanbag chair, and his bed covered by blue sheets emblazoned with knights and dragons. Graham's brow furrows, an odd twinge running through him at the glimpse of a few pieces of aged parchment peeking out from under Henry's bed, looking as though they have been ripped from an old, rather beautiful storybook. Something about them pricks at him, but he brushes it aside, knowing the sensation makes no plausible sense. Instead, he draws in a breath before asking softly, tentatively, "Are you alright, Henry?" He doesn't want to push, knows he is nothing to Henry really, and that the boy has no real reason to trust or confide in him. Still, once again, he only knows he has to try.

"She's gone," Henry laments, his tone desolate enough to snag at Graham's insides, echoing around hollowly in the sheriff's chest. Anger flares within him that Regina is not up here herself, comforting her son, soothing his pain and confusion, instead of downstairs gloating that she has run off the birth mother Henry risked so much to find and bring back. He wants to be angry at the blonde stranger – Emma – too, for leaving even after Henry's wrenching pleas, but he can't quite work up the indignation. He senses that there is more to that tale than he currently knows.

Henry walks slowly, head down, shoulders slumped, to his bed, sitting heavily on the edge. "She was supposed to stay," he continues sadly. "I brought her back. We need her here."

Graham hesitates a moment, then comes to sit beside Henry. He resists the urge to ruffle the boy's hair or wrap an arm around his shoulders, not wanting to seem overly familiar. He sighs, wanting to say something – anything – to bring Henry comfort, but he feels hopelessly out of his depth. He gathers that Henry feels alone, scared, and misunderstood, and that he desperately believed finding his birth mother would change that. Graham is not privy to the specific details, but he can sympathize acutely with feeling lost. He has no family, cannot remember ever feeling anything other than alone. Obviously, Henry's hopes have been crushed, and Graham wants to shore up his spirit.

"Henry," he finally offers, endeavoring to make his tone one of encouragement and understanding. "I realize that I'm just a friend of your mom. You don't know me that well. And I don't pretend to know what you wanted Emma to do here. However, she didn't seem like one to scare easily. Have faith. I have a feeling she'll be back." He doesn't have much else to offer, but he can honestly say his sense is that they truly have not seen the last of Emma Swan.

Henry's response makes his small gesture worth it. The boy doesn't speak, but he looks up at Graham, eyes crinkling with the first true smile he has worn since his mother left. A light is back on his face, and he sounds pleased when he asks, "You really think so, Sheriff?"

"I do," Graham avows, dipping his head in a slight nod of affirmation, even giving Henry a playful wink.

For one quick moment, Henry wraps his skinny arms around Graham, squeezing tightly with relief and thanks, and taking him by surprise. When he lets go, he is grinning more broadly than Graham has ever seen. "Thank you," he beams.

"No problem, Henry," Graham offers, standing again. "I merely said what I believe."

A mere few minutes later, the former Huntsman steps silently back out into the hall, leaving Henry to get ready for bed and closing the door behind him gently. He thinks for the briefest of moments that he will be able to sneak out without running into Regina. But it is not meant to be.

He turns to steal back down the stairs, only to find himself face-to-face with the Evil Queen. She reaches out her hand, beckoning him to follow, and to his utter dismay, Graham finds that he has no other choice. His limbs no longer obey his will, but hers. Horrifically, it has been this way many times before, and yet he can never understand why. The moment he sets foot in her bedchamber, Regina waves her hand to shut the door firmly and sends him flying back into it, holding him in place as if by magic. His brow furrows as he struggles to understand how this petite woman is able to trap him in unbreakable bonds without even seeming to struggle.

She crushes her lips to his, forcing herself on him in a way that makes his blood run cold, but that at the same time his body seems helpless to resist. He tries to gather the strength to push away, something inside of him ripping and tearing when the effort proves as futile as ever.

Suddenly, his cell phone buzzes, ringing from the holster at his hip and startling Regina enough to make her pull back. She nods to him that he may answer, straightening her clothes and smoothing her dark hair, and he feels himself freed to move again, as if released from some spell.

"Hello, Sheriff Humbert speaking," he answers brusquely, listening to the urgent voice on the other end of the line.

When he hangs up, Graham looks across at the Queen to explain. "There's been an accident out at the town line. Someone crashed into the sign, looks like a DWI. I'm needed at the scene."

He neglects to tell Regina, as she disgruntledly agrees he must go and allows him to leave, that the wrecked vehicle is a yellow VW Bug, and that his encouraging words to Henry have already proven true. Not only is Emma Swan back in Storybrooke…she never left.

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0

Graham watches the blonde in holding from his desk – much more intrigued than he would like to admit. She is just starting to stir, having been out cold since he found her slumped over the steering wheel of her Bug out at the town line. He is still puzzling over what to tell her exactly; sure, Regina told him to call it just what had been assumed – DWI – but he suspects, with the same niggling suspicions that he often experiences, that there is more to it. She had seemed fine when she left the Mayor's house – and strange things did seem to happen to people on that particular stretch of road.

She – Emma...Emma Swan, he reminds himself – sits up slowly, her hand going to what has to be an aching brow, her face scrunching up in confusion. Her entire posture and expression radiate a "Where am I?" that she doesn't speak aloud; yet he hangs back, listening to Leroy and Marco picking at each other and talking to her, before he steps in himself.

"I wasn't drunk. There was a wolf," she states belligerently when he tries to offer his explanation of how strong Regina's drinks are.

"A wolf?" he blurts in obvious disbelief, not understanding why her words cause a quickening within him, even as he tries to discount them. Strange pictures flash behind his eyes of a white creature with one red eye, and he blinks back the odd familiarity.

Emma Swan steps forward to lean against the cell bars, hands poking through. Without understanding just why, Graham feels the urge to reach forward and twine his fingers with hers, to squeeze reassuringly, if only to say that he understands the confusion she must be feeling. Instead, he meets her serious, determined gaze straight on, knowing instinctively that he is in for a fight where she is concerned.

"This may have been somewhat of a blessing in disguise," he offers slowly.

Her eyes flick up, giving him a doubtful, challenging look, but she doesn't speak, clearly waiting for him to explain himself.

"I just think that perhaps you shouldn't leave town yet. Your boy took a huge leap of faith to bring you here…" Graham hesitates, knowing he is overstepping his bounds with someone he has only just met, but he can't seem to stop himself. He rakes his hand through his hair, clears his throat, and throws caution to the wind, plunging ahead. "Maybe you should get to know him a bit."

She narrows her eyes, not liking his meddling, and he can tell that if she weren't in the holding cell, she would be backing him toward his desk, pointing an accusing finger right into the center of his chest. "Look, Sheriff," she somehow emphasizes the word in a way that makes it sound derogatory. "Don't pretend that you know me, or that you have any idea what I need. I'll be just fine on my own…once you let me out of here anyway." But her outburst loses steam as she realizes that she doesn't want to get too haughty with the person deciding her freedom. Beyond that, Graham wonders if he also sees a flicker of doubt, of curiosity…maybe even longing. He is struck again by the sense that he does not know her whole story, that she is afraid to see Henry now, but can't help wondering about the little boy who is her own flesh and blood.

She bites her lower lip uncertainly, and he hesitates too; neither of them know quite where to go or what to say next. Then, Regina storms in, and they are looking for Henry once more. Emma Swan offers to help, and Graham finds himself growing surer of his instincts with every passing minute. He had been right when he told Henry the night before that it wasn't the end. This mystery birth mother already cares more than she means to reveal. Something stirs deep in his chest at the realization. He feels sensation where there has been a dull, blank void for so very long. It isn't just for Henry's sake that he hopes she will stay a little longer.

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

Three Years Later

The autumn breeze is cooler than normal in the evening as Emma and Henry enter the cemetery through ornate wrought iron gates and walk slowly toward the back corner, kicking their feet through the crisp carpet of yellow, orange, and brown leaves as they go. The below-average temperatures have finally begun to right themselves as Regina and Emma have both taken turns counseling, mentoring, and befriending Queen Elsa of Arendelle, and the frightened young royal begins to bring her emotions and powers back under control. Still, there is a definite nip to the air around them.

Henry is quiet, and Emma studies her son's profile as he walks at her side. She cannot believe how much he has grown and changed in just the short few years that she has been in his life. He's a young man now, not a little boy, though the pained, solemn look on his face makes her want to gather him up close in her arms all the same. She can't help being ridiculously glad she has this chance to know him at all, that she stayed in Storybrooke for him, despite how hard it had been for her at first. "Are you sure you want to do this, kid?" she asks, unable to help brushing a quick hand through his soft, brown hair.

Henry just looks at her for a moment, not stopping their forward motion, and then simply nods in confirmation. Emma finds herself following his lead, but growing more anxious with every step. She clutches the bunch of mums and black-eyed susans in her hand that much tighter and tries to focus on supporting Henry instead of the trembling going on inside of her. Still without a word to break the silence between them, Henry takes her hand, as if he senses that they both need the other to hold onto.

A lot has changed in the three years that have passed since his death, and as they near Graham's grave, Emma thinks sadly that there should be more than just the two of them here to remember him today. When they finally come to a stop beneath the low-hanging bough of a weeping willow tree beneath which the simple slate stone is sheltered, Emma kneels to place the bouquet propped against the marker's front. She stretches out her left hand to rest atop the cool stone for a moment, seeing the lace from his boot that still adorns her wrist and recalling warm smiles, kind brown eyes, bear claws, and wicked aim with darts. She sighs softly, wishing the previous sheriff had gotten his second chance along with everyone else.

"He was always good to me," Henry breaks into her thoughts with a contemplative voice. "Sheriff Graham was at our house a lot, and he listened to me. I always felt like he wanted to make me smile. Is that crazy?"

Emma shakes her head, wrapping an arm around her young man's waist and pulling him into a hug. "No, it isn't. I'm sure you're right. He could sense when people were sad or lonely, and he wanted to help. When I first came here, he did the same for me."

They both simply stare at the headstone for a few seconds more, taking at least some small comfort in the peace and beauty of this, his resting place.

Henry's voice is small and raspy when he speaks again. "Why'd she do it? …My mom. She and Graham always seemed to be close. How could she…" he swallows hard, then grits out. "How could she kill him? He was good…and she crushed his heart."

Emma's breath steals from her lungs. There is no good answer to Henry's question, and all this time later, she doesn't really understand it herself. She has never broached the topic with Regina. At first, she had not believed it could be true, then she had been afraid of her own anger at what she might do to Regina if her suspicions about Graham's murder were confirmed. Now that she and Regina are enjoying a tentative peace, and that Regina has somehow managed to find some goodness once again, Emma simply cannot bear to bring the one crime she will never be able to forget to light between them.

Graham is gone, along with his goofy jokes, his acceptance when she had desperately needed a place and a purpose, his assurance that she was right to stay and find out about Henry. She does belong here, with her son, her parents, and their weird, unbelievable extended family. It had been her destiny, but she might not have stuck around long enough to see it if he had not offered her the deputy job and his friendship, been the first one to choose her instead of pushing her away for the greater good.

Her fingers trace over the metal star at her waist, which once belonged to him, and she looks Henry directly in the eyes. "I don't know, kid. It wasn't right, or fair. I ask myself why he couldn't get his heart back and be here with everyone else all the time." She shakes her head, feeling as if she isn't giving him enough of an answer. She feels incredibly guilty now, as she has countless times before. If she had taken Graham seriously when he started talking about his missing heart… If she had believed Henry sooner… Would she have been able to stop his death?

Henry is the one to hold onto her now. "It's not your fault," he says, his voice honest and steady and of infinite comfort. "You didn't know. You did what you could."

She nods, then gives her son a watery smile. "I'm glad he was there for you back then… that he cared for you when I wasn't here…when I couldn't."

Henry's responding grin is a bit wobbly as well, but genuine. "Me too," he affirms, turning once more to place something atop the smooth stone. It's a small, carved wolf figure, and Emma marvels at how exquisite it is for something so tiny and simple. "He gave it to me once," Henry offers by way of explanation. "I thought maybe he should have it back now."

She agrees with him, then stands, preparing to head back into town for supper at Granny's. "Bye Sheriff," she whispers fondly, letting her fingers trail over the letters of his name one more time before moving away. "I haven't forgotten you."

"Thanks Graham," Henry echoes, not knowing exactly what he is thanking the man for specifically, just knowing that when he had felt unloved and misunderstood, and so very small and lonely, the poor Huntsman with no heart in his chest had always shown him kindness. The boy's eyes glance to his mom, a few steps away waiting for him to finish, but giving him a private moment to speak with his old friend. She is here now – for good – and she loves him. She had always wanted him, only given him up for his best chance. Henry remembers that night three years ago, when he had felt so crushed and defeated, how Graham had told him that Emma would be back. Eyes twinkling now, Henry leans in to whisper, as if Graham's spirit still lingers nearby to hear. "You were right," he admits happily. "She did come back. And she stayed."

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jrob64 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @jonesfandomfanatic @xarandomdreamx @cosette141 @stahlop @sotangledupinit @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @xsajx @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @thislassishooked @drowned-dreamer @wefoundloveunderthelight @zaharadessert @caught-in-the-filter @ineffablecolors @let-it-raines @motherkatereloyshipper @scientificapricot @tomeandflickcorner

#self promo sunday #ouat one shot #huntsman believer #swan believer #ouat missing moments ff

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skellebonez · 3 years

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Happy Birthday Winter!

Hey @winterpower98 it's your birthday! I really hope you enjoy this, I know I had a ton of fun writing it for you! Actor AU is one of my favorite AUs you've made and coming back to play around with it again was a blast and a half!

Painter MK cackled, taking the brushes filled with bright pink paint into his fists.

“Yes, yes!” He exclaimed, brushing them against his cheeks and bringing another to run up the center of his face. “The art is-OW! OW, THE ART IS IN MY EYE!”

“Cut!” The director yelled, bringing the entire film production to a halt in an instant. “Xiaotian, what happened?”

The young actor dropped the paintbrushes into the hands of a stage worker to rushed over to help him, one hand covering his right eye as he tried to keep himself from laughing. “I think some of it splashed when I waved the brush at my face. I guess the art really IS-”

“Don’t say it,” Heshang said from the other side of the set, doing his best not to join his co-star in laughter.

“-seeping into my pores!”

The entire cast and crew groaned as Xiaotian cackled again, with a few added ows, before another stage hand came by with a bottle of water.

~3…2…1~

“Uh…” Xiaojiao pulled, attempting to pull the prop sword from above her head out of the wall only to be met with… a lot more resistance than should probably be there. “UH…? It’s stuck?”

She stood, attempting to pull it out normally only to be met with just as much resistance.

“It’s stuck!” She laughed, out, bracing a foot on the wall with no change.

“Let me try,” General Ironclad, or rather Red in the costume of General Ironclad for the episode, offered, attempting to do the same with the exact same result as his co-star. “What did you use to hold this in place? Cement!?”

“It should have only been stuck in with force!” A stage hand yelled as Xiaotian and Heshang joined in, both failing to pull the sword out from the false wall and Heshang nearly toppling over backwards with his additional costume pieces.

“Whoever stuck that in there needs to be moved to making sure the safety equipment stays connected!” Xiaotian offered, watching as even more people tried to remove the sword. “That is not coming out.”

~3…2…1~

Heshang held Mo in his arms, waltzing around the set as he waited for places to be called for with the shockingly content feline in his arms.

~3…2…1~

“You are selling beautiful vegetables today?” Pigsy said, leaning over the the display to give an awkward smile to the disguised Spider Queen.

Tang looked over the produce from where he knelt, looking back up at his companion with a concerned and confused look. “Are you… a-are-PFT-FUCK.”

Everyone on set burst into laughter as Tang did, both of his fellow actors holding back from laughing themselves.

“Why is it this line!?” Tang yelled in frustration as he continued laughing. “It’s not a hard line! I wrote this line! Why do I keep laughing at the last word!?”

“Maybe if Ganglie wasn’t making goo-goo eyes at me you’d keep straight face,” Zhi-Zhu Jing managed to get out through her laughter.

“That’d be the only thing straight about me.”

~3…2…1~

Dicky Cheung, or the actual Sun Wukong disguised as a human actor in full costume of himself, took a running leap and jumped onto the counter of Pigsy’s noodles, sliding to a perfect stop with a wink toward the camera.

~3…2…1~

“MK, there’s something I wanted to tell you…” Mei said, looking at MK with sparkles in her eyes before snickering. “Stop looking at me like that, it’s hard enough to keep a straight face during this scene!”

“Sorry!” Xiaotian yelled to the camera. “I can’t help it! How are Jin and Yin this wrong about these two in the show?”

“Himbos!” was the shouted answer from Tang at the other end of the set.

~3…2…1~

“One of the rare talents that no one knew the great Sun Wukong possessed…” Xiaojiao said ominously, camera panning over to Mr. Cheung in full costume. “Surprisingly good peach juggling!”

“Gotta keep myself occupied somehow!” The actor laughed out, catching two peaches in either hand while the last one was caught perfectly in his mouth to the applause of everyone watching.

~3…2…1~

“Thanks for the Key los-AH!”

Red flung his arms wildly, key flying into the air as Tie Shan rushed forward and caught him just before he face planted into the ground.

“Mine!” Mr. Cheung yelled as he caught the key mid air and rushed through the frame.

“YOU’RE NOT EVEN IN THIS EPISODE!”

~3…2…1~

“Thank you… for giving me all o-ooh, whoa!” Lui Er Mihou, or unbeknownst to nearly all Six-Eared Macaque in disguise much the same way as Sun Wukong was, yelped as the cable that was supposed to gently raise him and make him look like he was floating yoinked him as good 4 feet off the ground way too fast. “That’s too much power!”

“SORRY!” The line operator shouted, fiddling with the controls. “Someone loaded the weight setting for Xiaotian into your line instead of yours.”

“I already feel bad enough treating him like garbage and beating him up in this role, this is just rubbing salt in the wound,” Liu Er muttered, leaning back and swinging limply much to the amusement of everyone who couldn’t hear him before raising his voice. “When will my beloved friend Sun Wukong come to rescue me?”

“SPEAK MY NAME AND I SHALL APPEAR!”

Liu Er yelped in surprise as Mr. Cheung rushed in and grabbed him from beneath to hold him bridal style with a shit eating grin. He couldn't help the flush on his cheeks in response.

“HOW DO YOU KEEP SHOWING UP IN SHOTS WHEN YOU AREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE THERE YET!?” The director yelled with more than a little amusement in his voice despite the disruption.

~3…2…1~

“You!” DBK said, rounding on Red Son. “You have brought me nothing but failure! Time and time again! I keep telling you I… shit, I can’t remember the next line when you look that sad, I am so sorry.”

“Nothing but disappointment?” Red offered helpfully, immediately breaking out of his downcast somber gaze to the floor with a wide smile.

“It is scary how fast you get in and out of character sometimes, kid,” Niu Mowang laughed out, clearly resisting the urge to ruffle the younger actor’s hair lest he ruin the styling job that took far too long every time they got dressed.

~3…2…1~

The White Bone Spirit stood at the entrance to the Silken Web Cave, looking at the camera before far too much time passed from when she was supposed to say he line. She moon walked backwards out of the frame without changing her expression one bit as the other actors devolved into cackles.

~3…2…1~

“The Year of the Spider starts tonight!” Spider Queen proclaimed from her high vantage point before she muttered something under her breathe, narrowing her gaze and then looking off to the side. “Or next year ‘cause I don’t remember my line.”

~3…2…1~

Huntsman slowly lowered into frame, upside down and gripping the rigging holding him up like Spiderman.

~3…2…1~

“Oh yeah?” Sun Wukong said, appearing in frame as he walked down the wall MK was embedded in. He grabbed his staff, yanking it out of the wall and jumped down and smacked the wall with it.

… only for it to go through the wall once again and crack it. Or, rather, the false wall that was on a tilted angle to make it look like he was talking down it, rather than a heavily slanted floor.

“I’m sorry!” Mr. Cheung yelled, looking at the damage he caused. “I must have hit at weak spot!”

He hoped no one noticed that when MK offered to get the prop staff for this shot and put it into the wall… he grabbed the real one by accident.

~3…2…1~

Nui Mowang held the little bird that was Wukong’s transformation stand in for one of the final scenes, gently petting the little head with a big goofy smile on his face.

~END~

The entire cast sat around on various travel tables right outside the small Lunar New Year Festival set they had set up, various extras that had answered the open invitation for the shoot going about and getting the free food that was available at the functional stalls provided by the catering they had hired.

It was an odd sight to see Red Son and Spider Queen and Sun Wukong and everyone else sitting around together, but Liu Er Mihou being there outside of his Macaque costume broke the illusion a little bit.

It was the final day of shooting for the season 2 opening special to Monkie Kid, Revenge of the Spider Queen, and everyone was there. Even people who didn’t have to come in wanted to give a temporary farewell to Tie Shan, Nui Mowang, and Red before season 2 proper began shooting. There was still a chance they could bebcalled in for bit roles, the scripts weren’t entirely finished yet, but as far as anyone knew the Demon Bull Family wasn’t going to be returning properly any time soon.

Maybe in season 3, Tang had teased, holding the begun scripts for that in his little tablet away from prying eyes. And they were always welcome to help out in bit roles, background characters or voice over or to use their other talents to work other jobs that were needed around the set.

But even before then it would be a while.

And so that’s how Red found himself sandwiched between Long Xiaojiao and Qi Xiaotian, with the newly added member of their quartet in her full White Bone Spirit costume hanging over his shoulder to watch the compilation that Xiaojiao had expertly edited on her phone for them all.

“The director gave me permission to use whatever I wanted and I though that… maybe we could all have it for ourselves,” Xiaojiao offered, pulling up the wireless transfer option on her phone. “To watch when we miss each other being on set together. I know we’re going to probably be back together with Red Son eventually! But…”

“I’ll miss shooting with you too,” Red said smiling softly as he pulled out his own phone to accept the file. “Hopefully Mr. Tang isn’t just teasing us about season 3.”

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #fanfic #gen fic #actor au #ensemble cast #shadowpeach #(hinted)#scheduled

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pookiepoodle · 3 years

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Finding out you’re a Little ft. Inarizaki

I don’t own any art (except the lovely swirly thing). Please check out my masterlist and send in requests. This is an age-regression piece, so expect that kind of content (all non-sexual). Aran’s involves diapers as a medical need.

Suna

You wanna watch cartoons after a long day of studying for your upcoming university exams.

Suna smirks a little but doesn’t say anything, shrugging as he pulls you up against his chest, the screen flashing with bright colors.

You don’t even notice the smirk and you can feel yourself growing smaller, your eyes shining as you giggle at the silly antics of the characters.

Now, Suna has a faint idea of what’s happening. He’s always on his phone so he sees a lot of different communities and right now, you’re reminding him of something.

“Ya know Princess, you’re acting really cute right now,” he begins, his hands wrapped around your waist as you stare at the TV. You feel rather small and you can’t help but giggle, snuggling back into his chest. Suna always makes you feel so safe, especially when you feel like this. Though, you don’t tend to regress in front of your boyfriend as he (at least in your mind) doesn’t know anything about your tendencies to do so.

“You feeling small?”

That question makes you sit up straight, the cartoons forgotten as you realise what Suna said. Suna knew. He knew you were an age regressor. There was no way he asked that and didn’t understand the implications of it. But… he wasn’t freaking out. He wasn’t grossed out or asking her to stop. So shyly, you nod, holding your breath as you wait for his response.

“Alright, how about we order some pizza for dinner and we just cuddle, keep watching your show?” he hums, making you smile brightly at the thought of having delicious pizza. But, even more so at the fact that your boyfriend knows you so well.

You’ll talk to him more about your age regression tomorrow, when you’re feeling bigger, but for now?

You simply cuddle him, watching your show with a happy heart.

Kita

You can’t stop staring at the coloring books during your weekly shopping trip at the grocery store.

Kita doesn’t say anything, letting you look over them all. He notices you keep going back to a specific one and will suddenly grab it, putting it into the cart.

You jump a little, blushing brightly when you realise that a) he caught you staring at children’s coloring books and b) he’s put it in the shopping cart, clearly intending to buy it for you.

Kita isn’t aware of what age regression is per say, so he simply thinks that you want to color.

“They also do adult coloring books, Y/N,” Kita says, pointing at some of the other ones, but you shake your head no. Those ones are too detailed, too finicky for when you’re little. You’ll only get frustrated and cry, so instead you prefer to use the ones meant for kids.

“That’s alright, do you need crayons or anything?” he continued, acting as if his girlfriend/boyfriend/partner wanting a kids coloring book was normal (AN: totally is).

“Kita, don’t you think it’s… weird?” you finally said, your voice small as you met his eyes. Kita was a straight-forward man and you expected him to be brutally honest with you.

“Why would it be weird?”

“Well… it’s a kids coloring book and I’m supposed to be Big-” you began, cutting yourself off at the last word. You’d meant to say adult.

“Big? Y/N, is everything alright?” Kita asks calmly, moving closer to you. You can feel his hand against the small of your back, a comforting gesture.

“Can… can we talk about it in the car?” you ask, trying to keep yourself calm. You knew it was time to tell Kita (you’d been dating for years now) but even so, it was a scary thought.

“Of course, we’re nearly done with the shopping,” Kita nodded, taking your hand as he led you to get the last few items. Throughout the process of paying and leaving the shop, you didn’t say a word to him, trying to figure out how to best tell him the truth.

“Just sit in the car, darling, I’ll load the shopping,” Kita insists, leaving you to twiddle your thumbs in the front seat, until you hear him get in next to you.

“Y/N, I don’t want to force you to tell me what’s going on, but I want to let you know that you can trust me.”

And with those words, you began to tell him everything about your little side, how you love to color and drink apple juice from your sippy. As you speak, he will ask questions as a lot of the terms you use are unfamiliar to him, but once you’re done, he gives you a small smile, reaching across to grab your hand.

“Y/N, when we get home, may I color with you?”

With a bright smile, you nod, relieved at how accepting your wonderful boyfriend is.

Aran

He finds your “protection” when he’s in your room.

He was really confused and tried to act like he didn’t see it, simply nudging the packaging further under the bed.

But you saw his eyes widen, his face grow red and you know that he knows.

With tears filling your eyes, you push him out your way as you run into the bathroom, locking the door as you sink to the ground, sobbing.

Immediately, he panics, trying the door handle but to no avail.

He has no idea what’s going on, but all he knows is that his beloved girlfriend/boyfriend/partner is upset and he just wants to comfort you.

You were a mess behind the door, sobbing your heart out as the events just kept replaying in your mind. He saw your “adult protection” which, let’s be honest, were just diapers. The fancy name always made you feel a little bit better when buying them, but now, it was just that. A fancy name for a humiliating product. There was no way that Aran wasn’t going to dump you.

“Y/N, please let me in!”

“No! J-Just g-go…”

“I’m not leaving until we talk about this, okay?”

Aran could be stubborn when he wanted to be and you realised that this was going to be one of those times. He wouldn’t leave until you talked to him, even if it took hours.

“C-Can we talk through the d-door?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” you heard him say, his tone gentle and reassuring as you try to pull yourself together.

You then proceeded to very shakily explain about your little space. Aran had his phone out and if he didn’t recognise a word, he quickly googled it as to not have to make you answer his questions. In little space, you sometimes had problems controlling your bladder at night and after waking up with wet sheets far too often, you’d decided it was best to get some form of protection. Once you’d finished speaking, there was a silence.

“I-It’s okay if y-you don’t w-want this, I g-get it…” you whispered, tears filling your eyes once more as you waited for Aran to agree.

“Why would I not want you?”

You immediately sit up, shocked.

“Y/N, I love you, a lot. I think it’s amazing that you’re able to find a way to relax and be happy, not everyone can do that. I think you’re adorable already, I can’t imagine how cute you are when you’re little. I’m so lucky, shoot, I’ve got the cutest girlfriend ever…”

“But what about… ya know…”

“The protection? Sweetheart, that’s not your fault. You’re so brave and smart and kind and amazing and I would be a jerk if I dumped you because of something as silly as that. Heck, I used to change my little sister’s diapers all the time, I’m not bothered by it.”

“I-I’m not asking for your help!”

“Ah, wait, I didn’t mean- like if you wanted or needed it, I’d love to take care of you, even if you need help with that, but only if you want to,” he panicked, bright red as he realised that he was probably being a bit too forward.

There was another pause before the bathroom lock clicked and the door opened.

“L-Let’s t-take it slow… but I’d l-like to watch a movie with you.”

Osamu

You were crying because your mom said she thought she accidentally tossed out your lovie/stuffie.

He was really confused because you were at Miya Onigiri and you just kept crying, so he immediately pulls you into the back room, glaring at the staff to keep them out as he just hugs you. You know that you’re regressing but you’re just in such a panic that you can’t really care, clinging to him as you babble, tears streaming down your face.

Instinctively, he wraps his arms around you, gently bouncing you on his knee as he pats your back, mumbling that,” Everything’s gonna be alright, Y/N, okay? Yer alright, just take a deep breath…”

After a while, you manage to calm down, though you’re still trembling in his arms as you catch your breath. Of course, Osamu isn’t the type to just let things like this slip and he will immediately ask if he can talk to you about it.

“Alright, we need to talk about what happened, Angel,” he sighs, shifting you on his lap so that you’re facing him properly, though he refuses to let you go.

“It’s not that big of a deal…” you mumble, your face now pink and tear-stained as you look away from him. You’d always tried to keep this side of yourself private but hearing that your Mom might have tossed out Bunny… Even thinking about it again was enough to make you tear up, which your boyfriend noticed immediately.

“It seems like a big deal to me,” he replied, moving to wipe away the fresh tears,” C’mon, Y/N, you know I don’t care if it’s embarrassing or something. Remember when I had to call ye because I got food poisoning and that bastard used all the toilet paper?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the memory, nodding as you let his thumb rub against your cheeks lovingly.

“So, please, I just wanna know,” he finished, giving you a pleading look.

So, you told him everything. He obviously had questions, interrupting you when you used terms he was unfamiliar with and when he just needed something clarified. You grew sadder when you started talking about your rabbit plushie, explaining what had happened and he hugged you to his chest gently.

“That’s awful, Angel, I’m real sorry,” he mumbled,” Listen though. I’m gonna learn more about this and if ya let me, I wanna be a part of it. I like taking care of ye already, so if yer willing to give me a chance, let me try, m’kay?”

You were so happy, you nearly started crying again as you nodded.

“How about helping me look for Bunny after work?”

And with a nod from Osamu, that’s how he became your Daddy.

(afternote: Bunny had fallen behind the bed and was found!)

Atsumu

You accidentally open the door with your paci in your mouth.

He notices it and smiles, wrapping his arms around you without even saying something, though he makes sure to close the door quickly so other people don’t see.

You don’t even realise that you’re wearing your paci until you move to give him a kiss, his hand moving to pull it out before giving you a small peck.

Immediately, you pull back, eyes widened as you try and grab the mouth piece back, humiliated.

Atsumu knows that look in your eyes and immediately gives it back, but not before grabbing your hand and dragging you to the living room, where he pulls you onto his lap for snuggles.

“So… nice paci,” he begins, watching you blush adorably as you hide it in your pockets.

“Thanks,” you mumble, unable to meet his eyes as you wish you could disappear right now or that a coconut would fall from the ceiling and hit Atsumu in the head. Just hard enough to wipe his memory of the last 10 minutes.

“Do ye use it a lot or just sometimes?” he asked. He wasn’t teasing you (as you had expected), seeming to be genuinely curious about your little habit.

“Umm… just sometimes, when I feel like it,” you continue, blushing, nervously playing with your hair as you try to keep calm.

“If ye wanna keep using it, go ahead,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“You don’t think I’m a freak?”

“What? Has someone said something to you about it?!” Atsumu suddenly exclaimed, his eyes filled with fire. If anyone had teased you about this, he was ready to kick their ass.

“No, no! I was just wondering, most people think stuff like this is weird for an adult…” you mumbled, feeling self conscious. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t even feel Atsumu reaching into your pocket and grabbing your paci. At least, not until he gently pushed it into your mouth, making your eyes widen. You went to pull it out, but he stopped you gently holding it in place as he spoke.

“I think yer adorable, Y/N. I’m gonna do some more research n stuff, since I think I’ve heard about this, but only if ye want me to.”

You pause, thinking it over before gently nodding, making him smile brightly.

“Alright baby, lets just relax for now.”

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #little space #little reader #little space headcanons #haikyuu little space #suna x reader #kita x reader #aran x reader #osamu x reader #atsumu x reader

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nohoney · 3 years

Text

fix it yourself

notes: Jealous by Eyedress low key inspired this work, I surprisingly got this done pretty quick considering that I first typed this up back in September and sorta just held onto it for a while

warnings: 18+, pretty angsty, slight codependency, implied/referenced abuse, implied/referenced assault, murder, PTSD attack

summary:

Blood on your cheek, bruises around your neck, hands dirty with dried blood, you’re unnervingly calm.

“I did something…” you tell Dabi, the paramour that you easily just accepted into your life since that first dirty fuck in that alley.

“Let me in doll.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ✧

Dabi’s not necessarily the most affectionate of lovers or the nicest but he looks out for your wellbeing. He plucked you from your shit circumstances of abuse, something that he could very much relate to, and taken you to a place that he deems suitable enough for you. You’re not exactly looking for luxury, just finally a place to escape the screaming, the hitting, and the boozing. In a way, you owe Dabi your life since he had found you at just the right moment when you were ready to give up on the world.

He had first seen you outside of a club, shit faced right outside the entrance, the bass of the music still achingly loud as you threw up into the street. You were no different than any other broken face he had come across, his own including when he looked into the mirror, but you made looking sad and broken into a fucking art. To him you were like a fallen angel, wings dragging in the mud of the earth as you searched for something else to take the pain away. More booze, maybe a fling for the night, maybe a narcotic if you sought out the right people.

Dabi could see that you were corrupted long ago and he imagined in his own mind how innocent you may have been before the world threw you to the ground and pressed your face to the dirt. Were you sheltered at first, not knowing anything about the cruel reality before being thrust into it? Or maybe you were raised in toxicity, doing your best to remain pure and gold hearted before you eventually began to die inside. It’s not always like in those cheesy movies where the main hero can keep their cheery constitution in the face of adversity; in reality someone has to break. He had to know who you were, what shitty home did you drag your feet to, and he just had to have you to himself.

Never mind the story of how he was finally tired of observing you, just plucked you off the street as you were walking in the dead of night, how you eyed him up and down and liked what you saw before pushing your dress up over your hips and pulled your panties to the side for him. Dabi just fucked you in the most nearby alley, just barely able to make you keep your voice down as he thrust into you roughly from behind while pinching your clit. Never mind how he was addicted in just a matter of seconds when your pussy clenched around him and how your first words to him were, “Don’t tell me your name, just fuck me the hardest you can.”

Oh he liked you right away; not only were you broken but you were a slut too?

Dabi could have been like any other scumbag who would just finish and leave you to stumble your way back home. No, Dabi decided that you were his and that it was his duty to make sure that you made it back safe to wherever it was you called home. He wanted to be sure he would have more chances to fuck you. You didn’t look back the first time he had dropped you off in front of a decently sized house, opening the gate to let yourself in and closing it behind you.

Yelling, the shatter of a bottle, a groan of frustration with a door being slammed, he could hear it from where he stood outside the gate to your home.

An abusive father maybe? Perhaps a shit boyfriend that you’re playing girlfriend/mother to?

You don’t tell Dabi anything what goes on behind the doors of your home. The only thing you tell him is how you want to be fucked when he decides to present himself to you on his own time.

He finds out eventually on his own and he has half a mind to take matters into his own hands. No one hurts you unless it’s by his own hand, and only when you ask in that cute pitched voice he likes when you’re about to come undone. Your sanity is just barely hanging off the edge of a cliff when Dabi had arrived to your home in the middle of the night just to check up on you. You stand on the other side of the gate just as he steps to the front. Blood on your cheek, bruises around your neck, hands dirty with dried blood, you’re unnervingly calm.

“I did something…” you tell Dabi, the paramour that you easily just accepted into your life since that first dirty fuck in that alley.

“Let me in doll.”

The place you once called home catches fire and you’re reported as missing.

Dabi takes you to the League’s headquarters and they quietly accept you.

The League doesn’t pay much attention to you unless Dabi allows you to sit with them, and that’s only if he’s with you. Most of the time you’re secluded away from them and the main interactions you get are primarily with Dabi. You’re a mysterious entity to them that had one day just arrived in tow with Dabi, blood streaked on your face, dirty hands, and bruise marks around your neck. They didn’t suspect it to be his doing, not with the tender way he touched your cheek, rather careful like he’d break you, and sent you up to his room. There was clearly a story to your appearance but whatever happened, it remained between you and Dabi.

Some are curious while the others believe it’s best that they not know; either way, your mouth is kept shut about the day you arrived in the League’s headquarters.

It seems that they don’t mind but you can only guess that Dabi may have something to do with them allowing your presence.

The only friendly ones are Twice and Toga, probably the most rambunctious of the entire group. Twice’s conflicting personalities provide an entertainment you’d never seen before and Toga cozies up to you, calling you big sister and sometimes braiding your hair. She asks what your blood is like but you refrain from answering her question. When you’re allowed to interact with the League, Twice and Toga make you feel quite comfortable until Dabi stows you away again.

The rest of them are polite, save for the strange leader who seems wary of your presence.

You watch the news report of the fire of your old home and your missing person’s report from the television provided in Dabi’s room. Bad memories of that night haunt you sometimes and you touch your neck, your body remembering for you how rough hands tried to choke you that night but you want to forget. That life is gone, it’s behind you now and you don’t ever have to worry about it again except your stupid mind won’t stop replaying that night for you. Dabi’s not nearby, he’s not available to give you comfort, sent out by the leader to do who knows what for their organization.

There’s a bottle of dark liquor that Dabi didn’t bother to take back down to the bar from the day before.

You reach for it and hope the amber liquid will numb you.

When Dabi returns, he finds you kneeling in front of the toilet with a glass of water nearby your feet. You’re groaning as you reach for the glass of water to help gargle some of the rancid taste off your tongue, your body purging the foul alcohol you consumed with no food in your stomach to cushion the effects of whatever you drank. Whiskey or cognac or bourbon, you don’t know what it was but it hit you good and hard until it was harsh on your tongue and then your body was punishing you for consuming too much.

You lift your head up and see Dabi standing at the entrance of the restroom. That same broken expression from when he first laid eyes on you, from the many times he’d watch you from a distance, and when you’d just stare forward when you’re lost in your own thoughts. You wear it so well, you really are like a melancholy piece of art to him. You’re his pretty, broken little doll and he’ll do as he pleases with you, the best part being how willing and compliant you are.

To be honest, Dabi would like if you at least had a little fight in you sometimes. He’d get such a thrill in fucking you into submission and breaking your will, but you are who you are and he won’t be ungrateful as to what he’s getting from you now. Maybe one day a fire will light within you and you’ll dare yourself to defy him, but in the meantime Dabi is more than happy to have you so obedient to him.

“Stand up doll, back to the room.”

You take the glass of water with you and go back to the room you share with him, the door closing quietly to give you privacy.

“I want to see it Dabi, show me.” you tell him rather curtly as you sit on the edge of the bed, an edge to your voice. You’re still a little drunk so you’re not really being mindful of how you’re speaking to him, alcohol still coursing through your veins and body still trying to metabolize however amount of liquor that your body absorbed into your bloodstream.

“Use your nice words doll.” Dabi admonishes you but there’s not much bite to his words.

You sigh before asking in the way that he wants you to, “Please can I see it Dabi?”

He reaches his left hand forward and creates a small blue flame in the center of his palm. The sight of it calms you down and the anxiety of that night fades in just a few seconds. It’s not an arm around your shoulder or curling into a warm body that eases your nerves; it’s the hot blue flames that burned your old life to the ground. The hands that tried to choke the life out of you are gone, the knife you used to free yourself from your tormentor burnt to ashes, and the blood on your face and hands washed down the drain, it’s all gone but you’re haunted still.

Dabi understands, it can be difficult to find catharsis and he can’t say what method will be best for you to find relief.

He has his planned out long before he met you, he’s just waiting for the right pieces to fall into place. Whether or not you’ll be around for that time, he’s not sure himself.

The flames dissipate and you’re calm now, your head still swimming a little but you’re sober enough now. You delicately hold his left hand in your own smaller ones, the tips of your fingers carefully moving from the harsh contrast of his untouched flesh to the gnarled skin being held together by the surgical staples. It’s so ugly, so ghastly and all over his body, yet you’re not put off by it at all.

You’re not afraid to look Dabi in the eye as he pulls your clothes off your body and roughly pushes you onto the surface of the bed. Your head aches slightly but not enough to complain about it. Your breath hitches in your throat as his mouth closes over your pussy, licking you sloppily and he pulls back to spit onto your clit. He smears his spit all over and chuckles as the tips of his fingers tease over your opening, your body tensing and reacting so beautifully to his touch. When he curls his fingers inside you after pushing them inside, you struggle to hold in your sounds, you don’t want the others to hear.

It’s not like he cares that you’re trying to stifle yourself, you always end up making noise anyway.

“F-Fuck… y-you’re gonna make me cum!” you whine up to the ceiling.

“Where you wanna cum then?” Dabi asks you, his fingers still working intensely but his eyes looking bored at you. The bulge in his pants gives away that he does indeed the position you’re in now, he just likes being the only one composed as you lose yourself. “Tell me.”

His cock, you want to cum on his cock.

Last time he had you sit on his face, licking and eating you out until you were too sensitive and sobbing for him to just let you rest.

So he lies back and has you on top, he’s tired from being out today and is going to make you do the work. Your head lolls back as you sit on his dick, appreciating the fullness for a few seconds before you brace your hands nearby his head, widen your legs for your comfort and begin to fuck him. Dabi’s hands touch the back of your thighs, huffing quietly as he watches you from below, you’re surprisingly enthusiastic when not too long ago you were puking your guts out.

And now here you were, trying to get your guts rearranged by him.

“Come on, this cock is yours… fuck me like you want it. You want it don’t you?”

“Yes! Yes I want it!” you sob out, pushing back onto Dabi’s cock and just desperately trying to chase the ghosts away of your trauma by losing yourself in this carnal moment.

I want to forget, make me forget.

Harder and harder you chase after your high, the only solace you get since your old life burned to the ground, no trace of evidence of bottles of alcohol and walls with punched in holes or even the creaky floorboards you hyper focused on when certain footsteps walked the hallway. All gone, it was gone, and yet it lives on still in your mind and you don’t know what it will take to move on.

You choke up both from the memories and when Dabi begins to thrust up into you.

He’s your savior, he wasn’t necessarily an angel by any means nor the nicest to you, but he saved you and you were entirely grateful to him. So you have to do a good job and please him, you owe it to Dabi to make sure he gets off. You don’t mind that he uses you like this, it’s what he approached you for in the first place when you walked alone in that dark night after leaving a bar. He looked like trouble when you first saw him but you didn’t care, your life was an almost constant stream of chaos and stress, what more could this one man bring to you?

When you’re on round the clock torture, how much more can you step it up?

Dabi brought pain to you, slapping you in sensitive areas as his cock rearranged your guts, but at least it was a wanted pain that had you clenching and gushing around him.

You gasp as Dabi’s cock slips out of you, whining at the emptiness.

“Put it back inside, fix it yourself.”

Fix it yourself.

Fatal words that you spoke that pushed everything over the edge.

‘F-Fix it yourself…! I won’t do it!’

‘What the fuck did you just say to me?’

A hand at your throat, the knife on the chopping board clattering to the floor as you tried to back up, a haphazard slash when you were able to just barely grasp it, blood dripped onto your face before you desperately pushed off the heavy body on top of you. Anxiety, relief, regret, fear, it all coursed through your body in that moment and when you heard a groan, you plunged that same knife in the body to assure that they wouldn’t get back up.

If you had let them live, you were sure that they would make sure you didn’t.

And you sat in your kitchen, knees hugged to your chest, enough time had passed for the blood on your hands to dry and you thought, ‘I need to turn myself over.’

To your surprise Dabi was at your gate when you walked out and instead you numbly asked him for help.

Fix it yourself.

It’s like a shock of cold water and you hop off of him, curling into a ball on the other side of the bed and you’re wracked with sobs.

It’s just not that easy to forget.

Dabi’s surprised how quick you got off him but he understands quickly that he must have triggered something within you. He’s not good at comforting, is unsure what to say as you press your face into a pillow to muffle your crying. He just fixes his cock back into his pants and stares at you, unmoving. He eventually lays down beside you and just rests his hand on your head, still quiet but he figures it’s a good sign that you take his hand and hold it.

Broken, you look so pretty like this, you wore it so naturally unlike others that made them look ugly.

It’s what attracted him to you in the first place.

His pretty broken doll.

The occupants on either side of Dabi’s room can hear it, idly wondering what had happened. First they could hear your wanton little moans and then the next you’re sobbing, not the pleasurable kind but the heartbroken kind. Things must be okay because it quiets down eventually, though not a word spoken between the two of you as far as they could hear. Whatever happened, it’s between the two of you.

Despite the society you lived in, the reverence of heroes and their system of ranking, no one had ever rescued you from your circumstances. It wasn’t a shining hero, it was Dabi that came into your life, you won’t talk about it, he doesn’t want to know.

But he fixed it for you.

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #dabi #bnha x reader #bnha #tw abuse #tw assault #tw ptsd #tw murder

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gay-ghosts-committing-crimes · 3 years

Text

But the Way That You Act Isn’t Good for Your Health

AO3 link here

Summary: Once upon a time, Alex's parents were cool. They cared deeply about him and his friends. Once upon a time, Alex hadn’t come out yet. OR Five times Alex’s parents were there for him and his friends, and the one time they weren’t.

Warnings: Homophobia, swearing, mention of conversion therapy

Words: 3,899

taglist, just ask to be added or removed: @barrel-of-cat-mituna @completekeefitztrash @tiergan-andrin-alenefar @lemontarto @hershis-kotlc @genesiscaveat @everything-else-and-mars @juline-dizznee @chaotic-basics @an-absolute-travesty @classyfunnyquotesmuffin7 @iamstealingyourgenderaswespeak @itstiger720 @introvertedscarecrow @sunset-telepath @an-idiot-in-a-trenchcoat @cowboypossume @anaccidentwaitingtohappen @sofia-not-sophie @fire-sapphics @dr-alan-grant-blog-blog @real-smooth @juline-dizznee @it-tastes-like-lizard

Alex's stomach twisted and his fingers twisted into the hem of his shirt, tugging and pulling at it like it was a lifeline. The yelling outside continued. Beside him Luke patted his arm, his nine year-old face screwed up in concern for his friend. On his other side sat Reggie, leaning close and fidgeting with Alex's free hand. He was solemn too, but in a different way than Luke, closer to Alex's anxious tap-dancing heart.

Alex's chin jerked up as his dad opened the driver's seat door and stepped in, and he subconsciously tightened his grip on Reggie's hand.

"What's going on?" He asked, when his mom finally got in as well. It was supposed to be a fun outing for the boys; The day was warm and the beach was open, and the three nine year-old boys were tired of being cooped up inside. He stopped twisting at his shirt and his fingers moved to tapping at his leg when his parents shared a look.

Reggie pressed closer to his side, and Luke did his best to put his arm around them both.

"I've got you," He said gravely, his soft voice offset by the slight whistle caused by the gap left behind where a top tooth had once lived.

Alex's parents finished their silent conversation and Mary, Alex's mom, turned to face them.

"Sometimes people get angry and don't act well, but that doesn't mean it's right, okay? That man out there is one of those people right now, so you boys and I are going to stay in the car for a little bit while Mr. Mercer gets out and makes sure the man doesn't hurt that young lady, that sound good?"

Alex nodded and his breathing evened a little bit. The yelling was scary, but he knew his dad could handle it, his dad was the strongest man in the whole world.

Reaching across the console, Mr. Mercer gave Mrs. Mercer's hand a light squeeze.

"I'll be alright, Mary." Alex's mom gave a soft smile and nodded, but the crinkle in her brow stayed in its place.

"I know Paul, I love you." A quick kiss was pressed to her knuckles and then he was out of the car, the door closed behind him.

The three boys waited with bated breath as the shouting paused, started up again and then stopped abruptly. There was a low discussion, and even through the car Alex could tell the words were angry. He took Reggie's small hands in his own -he knew how his friend got when people yelled- and rubbed it with his thumb. Reggie gave him an appreciative smile, and Alex smiled back, glad that the action had helped calm them both down. A man rushed past the front of the car, pausing a moment to aim a kick at it before running off, swearing profusely. The three boys jolted and Mary's hand flew to her mouth with a gasp, but he didn't come back and they relaxed a fraction.

After another minute, Mr. Mercer returned to the car, slipping into the driver's seat silently and sitting there for a long moment. Finally he moved, putting the car in reverse and getting ready to pull out, then stopped abruptly. He turned to the backseat, studying the boys' faces.

"Boys?"

"Yes, Mr. Mercer?" they responded in unison.

"Always respect women. Treat them decent and keep them safe, okay? And the same goes for you, if someone isn't treating you right, get out of there, you deserve to be safe." The boys shared wide-eyed glances as Mr. Mercer started pulling out again, but they nodded anyway.

It took a long time for the boys to start talking again, but eventually the silence was broken by Luke, who elbowed Alex in the ribs.

"I think your dad is a superhero, 'Lex."

Alex thought of the girl his dad had protected, her face shiny with tears when he had managed to twist around in his seat to look, shiny but relieved, and he agreed. His dad was a superhero.

"Hey 'Lex? Is it... Is it okay if I come over to your house for a sleepover? Bobby can't and Luke-" Alex was already asking his mom before Reggie even finished his stumbling words, his voice tinny through the Mercer family's Nokia, knowing after a few years of friendship that his voice only wobbled on days where it was too much for him to be alone.

(Alone with two people. Two people who never stopped fighting for long except to criticize the kid that did everything to make them happy. Everything except be enough, apparently. Alex sometimes wished it was okay to want people to go to hell, but Reggie didn't want that, and his mom said that was bad... Still, Alex was Not a Fan of the Peters’ parents.)

And if Bobby wasn't available...

Bobby had shown up about a year prior, and Reggie had immediately decided that he was going to be a part of their friend-group. To Bobby's credit, he seemed to be fond of Reggie, and that was a quick in to the group in Luke and Alex's book. After a while, Bobby grew to be the one Reggie went to when he needed someone, but couldn't handle being around everybody. He'd go over to Bobby's and all of the other boy's gruffness would melt at the sight of him, and Bobby would make it okay.

Bobby was Reggie’s go-to, but Reggie was coming to him, so Alex needed to be there for Reggie.

"Mom?" He waited patiently as she finished putting the casserole she had been preparing in the oven, her blonde hair shimmering and haloed in the evening light coming in through the kitchen windows, and he was reminded of the art of Mary, Jesus’ mother, and how a golden halo had adorned her head too. His mom brushed her hands off and peeked in the oven one last time before tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear and turning to face him, eyes smiling.

“What’s up, bug?”

“Can Reggie come over?” And then her eyes were softening even more, and for a moment Alex wondered if Mary was as kind as his mom. His mom who always made sure to give Reggie an extra hug, to praise Luke on his singing, and to press a kiss to Bobby’s head and laugh when he twisted away and pretended that he hated it, even though a smile tugged at his lips. His mom who always knew just how to cheer his friends up. Alex thought about it for a minute more and then decided no, his mom was the kindest and prettiest out of all the moms, even Jesus’.

“Of course he can, I’ll even make my special macaroni and cheese!” Alex’s mom gave a small grin and ushered Alex back out of the kitchen. “Now scooch! I’ve got to finish the casserole.”

He giggled and let Reggie know that he could stay, that it was gonna be okay, that Reggie could probably even bring over the guitar he was starting to learn how to play, and they could jam together.

He glanced back at his mom, her hair still gold in the light, and grinned at her soft, tired, and slightly sad smile. She blew a kiss and tucked a strand of gold behind her ear, and then Alex was away again, cheering his friend up over the phone while he gathered some stuff for their sleepover.

Alex heaved a sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face; He had a terrible headache, and the way practice was going? He wouldn’t be surprised if the rest of the band did too.

“Okay Luke, I get we want this perfect, but it’s hot and I have a headache, is there any way we could take a quick breather?”

Luke, surprisingly, just gave a loose nod and flopped onto their couch, face in a weak scowl, more brought on by frustration at the music than any anger towards Alex. It had been a rough week at home for him, and in his mind their struggle with this song was probably one more confirmation that his mom was right, that his music was only dragging him and his friends down.

It tore Alex apart, to see Luke like that, so he slumped onto the space beside Luke, elbowing him slightly before relaxing into the cushion, making sure to “annoyingly” slouch against Luke. The couch was big enough for all four of them to squeeze together, and had taken three of them to carry it into the Mercer’s garage the day they had found it at some estate sale the summer before, and now it was a regular occurrence to find the boys gathered together, bodies tangled together haphazardly on the worn piece of furniture.

Soon, Bobby joined in, grumbling about how sweaty Luke was, but taking the time to ruffle his hair before settling in, patting the spot beside him for Reggie to take. Luke swatted at Bobby’s hand and rolled his eyes as he half-heartedly tried to shove Alex away, inevitably giving in to the crushing affection of his friends and sighing heavily.

They sat that way for a stretch, silence strung between them like unlit Christmas lights; Noticeable, and somehow liminal, waiting for something to flick them on. The thick air felt like an inverted weighted blanket, just as heavy but the direct opposite of comfortable, and Alex lazily found himself wondering if they should add Christmas lights to the garage.

“Alright, enough of the moping guys, we’ll get this!!” And then Luke was hopping up off the couch, so what if it was clear that the pep in his voice was fake? He turned back to the boys and swung his arms wide, “We just gotta take a short break and come back and whip this song.”

His smile was achingly wide (and painfully put-on) but Alex found himself smiling back. Luke might be a hardheaded dumbass sometimes, but they were still friends, and Alex wanted Luke to see that he wasn’t the failure he thought he was.

“Sure, because we were the ones moping,” Alex rolled his eyes and heaved himself up, tugging Reggie up behind him, and headed to the door, yelling back over his shoulder-

“Last one into my parent’s kitchen gets the armchair!”

The rest of the boys launched after him, knowing the stakes of being forced to sit alone on the Mercer’s uncomfortable armchair versus being able to crowd together on their couch was more important than whatever claims of friendship came before. Bobby attempted to shove Luke behind him, only managing to allow Reggie to get a head start, and scuffled at the doorway, Luke pulling at his shirt and biting at his hand.

“No fair man, I was already farther away!!”

Alex only laughed, throwing open the door to his house and making a break for the couch as the other boys tumbled in after him.

“Hey mom!” He called out, “The boys are trying to kill m-” He was interrupted by a decorative pillow to the face and a crow of laughter from Luke as Reggie gave Bobby a high-five.

“Oh hi boys, I didn’t know you’d be coming in today! Reggie, it’s so nice to see you again, how’s your sister?” Mary Mercer walked in smiling from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.

“And Luke!! I haven’t seen you in weeks besides creeping into our garage to play that marvelous music of yours. When do you plan on giving us a concert? I expect a friends and family discount of course,” She winked and gave a small chuckle.

“Paul and I have loved hearing you boys practice, and you’ve developed so much just this summer! Of course, I’ve always loved your music, but lyrically? Why, you’ve become a genius when it comes to lyrics. We’re so proud of you.”

She squeezed Bobby’s shoulder and gave him a fond smile before heading back to the kitchen.

“I made some sugar cookies and lemonade; I’d planned to bring it out to you boys, but since you’re inside now… Well, might as well enjoy the air conditioning.”

Luke, who had practically bloomed like a flower previously wilting, followed her into the kitchen, his smile now genuine and brighter than the sun itself, and the rest of the band followed.

“Say Mrs. Mercer, do you think we really could do a concert?”

The boys had sat down at the kitchen table, quickly downing most of the cookies, and Luke had taken the pause in eating to probe what Mrs. Mercer had said earlier. She stilled from where she stood at the sink and hesitated before turning to look at the boys with a gentle smile.

“Of course I do, Luke. Mr. Mercer and I have always admired your talents, and all of you boys are amazing musicians. I would love to see you build your skills even more, and I’m certain other people would adore your music.”

Alex watched as Luke grinned and tucked into another cookie, warmth filling his chest.

And later, when his mom pulled him aside and asked if Luke was doing alright, he pulled her into a tight hug and replied, “I’m pretty sure he’s doing a lot better, thanks to you.”

Alex wasn’t sure what to think when his chest started tightening and his breathing became erratic and painful. Maybe he was dying. Maybe he had a terrible hidden sickness and now something had triggered it and, oh God maybe he was dying.

He was dying and he didn’t tell his mom that he loved her that morning, and Luke didn’t know that he was one of the most incredible songwriters Alex had ever known. He couldn’t breathe and Reggie didn’t know that he meant the world to Alex, and Bobby didn’t know just how fucking much Alex cared and how much he loved it when Bobby gave him one of his rare hugs.

Because now Alex was dying and he couldn’t breathe and everything was foggy and maybe he was sobbing but his chest was so tight that he couldn’t see how he could breathe in enough to cry, let alone sob. And this was it, wasn’t it? Alex was dying alone and it was so fucking stupid because how did he go from writing his essay for English homework to this? To this sobbing panicked mess, rocking on the floor?

He was fucking dying and it was on his kitchen floor. And he was freezing and sweating and God, his stomach hurt too and maybe he wasn’t dying, maybe Alex was just going to lay there and be tortured. Nope, he was going to die, and holy fuck he wasn’t ready for heaven. His heart was going a mile a minute, and of course this was going to be how he died and-

His death was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder and Alex tried jerking away but he couldn’t move. He could only shake and suck in for breath as the hand carefully pulled him into a sitting position and a low voice started pushing through the fog in his brain.

“Alex? Alex, bud… breathe with me, okay? It’ll be okay.”

But how could he fucking breathe? How could Alex breathe when it felt like his heart was going to explode at any second, his lungs captured in a vice, when his mind couldn’t hold onto a single thought for more than a second-

“Alex, you gotta work with me kid, you just gotta breathe, okay? Breathe in for as long as you can, and then hold that breath. You got it ‘Lex, c’mon, breathe with me. Alright, slow breath out now- you got it-”

And then the hand was his father, and the voice telling him to breathe was his dad, telling him he loved him and that it was okay, that Alex was okay.

Alex kept breathing, and his dad kept holding his hand, and telling him he could do it, that he was proud. Eventually Alex’s heart rate slowed, and while he felt nauseous and exhausted, he could breathe now.

It was okay, he was okay.

“Dad?”

“Yeah ‘Lex?”

“I… Thank you.”

“Always kiddo. And Alex?” Alex looked up at his dad and gave a weak hum. “If you have another panic attack, tell me? You don’t need to be going through that alone.”

Alex nodded and sagged back into his father’s waiting arms.

He was okay.

“Alex! C’mere really quick, I need your help with something!”

Alex looked up from where he sat cross-legged on the floor of his room at the sound of his dad’s voice. He sighed and pushed himself up, ruffling Bobby’s hair on his way out. The band had been brainstorming which songs to perform at their next gig, not that it was going to be very big, but Alex figured that Luke and Reggie were more of the brains of that particular operation, so he set off without a complaint.

Bobby swatted at his hand and rolled onto his back, closing his eyes and leaving Reggie and Luke to be the only one’s actually going through their songs.

“Yeah dad?” Alex leaned over the staircase railing, eyeing the way his father sat hunched over at the table, a scratch piece of paper in front of him, and a pencil tucked behind his ear. Paul Mercer was a tall man with piercing blue eyes, soft brown hair, and a wry smile. Alex liked to think he took after him, aside for the blondness of his own hair.

“Ah, Alex. Can you come over here? I’m making a list.”

Alex raised an eyebrow at that.

“O….kay?” He hopped off the last step and pulled up a chair beside his dad, taking a closer glance at the paper.

Extra blankets

Extra pillows

(extra clothes??)

Pool money for mini fridge

Add loft

“Dad, what’s all this for?”

His father scrubbed a hand over his face, pulling his hand down to rest his chin on his palm.

“I’ve been thinking, well, your mother and I have been, and… your friends…”

“Yeah?” Alex’s voice was sharp, but his dad was acting weird, and he was protective of the boys.

“They don’t have the best home life, so your mom and I were thinking about making the garage more your space. The couch is already in there, so we figured, if you boys wanted, to give it fully to the band. Blankets and pillows for when one of them needs to stay over, a fridge, which, granted, you boys would need to pay for part of it, some odds and ends you boys might need. What do you think?”

Alex turned his eyes up to his father’s and worked his jaw, his throat tight.

“Dad… That’d be great, yeah.”

His dad’s face broke into a relieved smile, and he clapped Alex on the back.

“Alright, well then. You can go back up, but if you think of anything to add, I’m drawing blanks for anything else.”

“Yeah, okay, thanks dad.”

When Alex walked back into his room a few minutes later, Luke and Bobby in an arm-wrestling competition on his bed, Reggie egging them on, he rolled his eyes and smiled.

He was grateful that his parents cared as much for these dumbasses as he did.

“Alright boys, break it up!” He sat on the bed with them, giving a yelp when Bobby launched at him and put him in a headlock before rubbing his knuckles on his head.

He smiled.

+1.

“Supper’s ready!” Mary Mercer called from the dining room, and Alex took a shaky breath and rubbed his sweaty palms on the front of his shirt before walking into the room and sitting at the table.

His dad wandered in next, pressing a kiss to his mom’s forehead, and settling hard into the chair across from Alex.

“Ah! Chicken pot pie! Delicious.”

Alex gave a half-hearted nod of agreement, his stomach churning as he eyed the food in front of him. This was usually one of his favourite meals.

“Well, shall we say grace?” The family of three held hands, Mr. Mercer saying a short blessing while Alex sent up his own frantic plea.

Just let them accept me, God, please.

“-Amen.”

Mrs. Mercer began serving the food and Alex waited anxiously until all of their plates were full to interject.

“Hey mom, dad?” His stomach twisted harder, and he felt his face already heating up. His parents waited expectantly, his mom smiling encouragingly and his father giving a nod. He could do this.

“I’ve been thinking about this, and… I’ve been really struggling with it. It’s been this way as long as I remember, it’s not a big thing it’s just- I’m gay.”

There. It was out.

Alex’s shoulders were hunched, and his eyes tightly closed. A piece of silverware clattered on a plate, a gasp. Good sign or bad sign? Good sign or-

An awkward throat-clearing.

“Son.” His dad’s voice was low and oh shit, Alex had misjudged this and his dad wasn’t happy and-

He opened his eyes.

Fuck.

His father’s eyes were full of anger, and his mother… Alex’s mom sat in shock, her hand covering her mouth, the tablecloth in front of her a mess of food, her abandoned fork lying prone and vulnerable. Alex found himself relating to it.

“Alexander…” his mom tried, pausing a moment before giving a small unbelieving scoff. “Surely you’re joking. You know our family isn’t like that.”

“And!” Mr. Mercer added, “It’s not funny either.”

Alex’s stomach dropped even further.

“No, dad- mom- I’m actually gay. That’s just part of who I am! I’m still Alex, I just. Can’t make myself like girls.” And he should have stopped. He should have stopped before he even said anything, but he was anxious and why weren’t his parents saying it was okay? Why weren’t they saying they still loved him? And-

“I… like boys instead.”

If words could be knives then they could also be nails, and Alex had just successfully finished the construction of his very own coffin.

A chair slid across the floor, and then his father was pointing angrily and telling him to “get to his fucking room” but Mr. Mercer didn’t yell, and he didn’t swear. Mr. Mercer helped Alex through panic attacks over school, and told him stories about the ocean, and Mr. Mercer never, ever swore.

Except Alex was stumbling, shell-shocked and heartbroken, up the stairs and to his room, and his dad was turning back to his mom and saying “How the hell did we raise him to be a homosexual?” and Alex’s eyes were filling with tears, his chest was tightening up, and he couldn’t breathe.

He shut the door behind him, leaning against it and sliding to the ground as his breathing became even more ragged. Alex wasn’t okay and his parents weren’t okay with him, and as he felt another panic attack coming over him, he used the breathing exercises that the very same man who was now talking about kicking him out, had taught him.

Alex fell asleep to the sound of raised voices.

He woke up to a conversion therapy camp’s pamphlet being shoved under his door.

#alex #Alex Mercer #alex mercer's parents #bobby #bobby shaw #luke #luke patterson #Reggie #Reggie Peters #jatp #jatp fanfic #julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #felony writes shit

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thatgamefromthatad · 3 years

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3 more games like Merge Mansion - the genre is evolving!

More and more games like Merge Mansion (two-item merge games) are being released and I can hardly keep up, but I’m glad because I find this genre so satisfying! Here I’ll review three more relatively new games, which are all unique in that they break off quite a bit from the original Merge Mansion, and include their own mechanics not seen in the other Merge Mansion-esque games I’ve covered!

You can see my original Games like Merge Mansion review here, although it’s quite outdated as many of those games have made significant changes since I wrote that in early March. I’ll try to add some updates to the original post sometime in the near future to better reflect that current status of each of those games. You can also find links to the other two-item merge games I’ve previously reviewed in my final ranking at the end!

Read my full reviews of Plantopia, Merge Adventure and City Boom below:

***

Plantopia: Merge Garden (Early Access)

Developer: Voodoo

Release Date: May 7, 2020 (Early Access)

This game is an interesting one because I only found it recently and started seeing ads for it recently although it’s apparently been around for about a year. I’m thinking it was soft launched and only recently made available in my region. The title screen indicates it’s still early access so that would make sense.

An initial release/soft launch date of May 2020 would actually make it older than Merge Mansion, which I believe was released in Sept. 2020. However I’m not sure about the exact timeline as they could have been in development/soft launched around the same time and the games are actually quite different overall so the basic similarities could be a coincidence.

This game truly amazed me because although it has the basic elements of what I would consider a Merge Mansion-like game, that being the two-item merge mechanic on a two-dimensional grid-like board viewed from the top, with item generators and item collection objectives, it’s otherwise very different from the other two-item merge games I’ve played. There are at least three separate boards, possibly more considering the tool shed and flower lab unlock a bit later in the game, and instead of completing objectives by getting items right off the board, you use items from the greenhouse and tool shed boards to start growing plants and then harvest the resources. The flower lab adds an additional step, as you can take the plants you’ve harvested to that board and merge them further to create bouquets and oils etc.

This game is probably the most complex and challenging out of all the two-item merge games I’ve played, which I think makes it more fun but less relaxing. Basically if I want something to play mindlessly while chilling out and watching YouTube videos I would play Merge Mansion or Merge Friends, but when I want to play something more advanced and for a longer period of time I play Plantopia.

🌼 Art: 3/3 (although I mostly prefer all 2D art, this game does the 3D/2D mixture better than some other games and I just love the colors and style of the different plants, boards and products. It all feels very “cottagecore” as the kids these days would say lol. The 2D character designs are also OK and pretty cute)

🌼 Story: 2/3 (it’s definitely a step above the “moving into this old mansion with my grandparents” story, I did get to know the characters a little better and some of the objectives are plot-related, such as growing aloe to help another character with his sunburn, or growing a special flower that reminds another character of her late husband etc. But I wasn’t really feeling like I wanted to learn more, and the storyline didn’t have a huge influence on my overall experience)

🌼 Gameplay: 5/5 (definitely the strongest game in terms of gameplay in my opinion, like I said it is more challenging and there’s more to think about but it makes for a really fun and varied experience!)

🌼 Variety: 2/3 (although there are three whole boards and you unlock different plants as you go along, there isn’t as much variety in the merging part since you basically just merge seeds into sprouts, sprouts into younger plants etc. until you have the full plant to place in a plot. You know exactly what you’re merging up to and there’s no thrill of discovering a new item by merging up. The items also come from boxes or from preset, unmovable generators so there’s no fun in discovering new generators either. But it is cool that each plant has its own planting requirements like more water, more fertilizer, more light etc.)

🌼 Playtime vs. Wait Time: 4/4 (another huge advantage of this game, there’s no energy system so you can play for very long, the only time constraint is waiting for plants to grow)

🌼 Overall Enjoyment: 4/5 (I’m definitely very impressed with this game but the things I mentioned in the Variety section are probably the biggest thing that prevents me from giving it a 5/5 overall. It is exciting when you unlock something new by progressing through the game but I especially enjoy moving up item ranks and discovering new generators, so in that area this game didn’t really do it for me. But otherwise it’s really a great game and a very unique entry within this genre!)

🌼 Total: 20/23

Merge Adventure - Dragons!

Developer: Ludigames

Release Date: March 25, 2021

First of all, even though the full name of this game includes the word dragons, I haven’t seen a single dragon unless one was mentioned in the written adventure logs, which I don’t usually read.

With that out of the way, this is another very unique game in terms of merge games as it is also an RPG. Some of the items you merge on the board are used to equip your hero, while others are used to unlock new adventures that yield different loot upon completion. You don’t actually get to engage in battles since the adventures themselves run on an idle system where you just get an adventure log to read to how your hero is doing and then collect the loot after a certain period of time. It is definitely something new for two-item merge games and deserves credit for the unique concept, but execution-wise it unfortunately fell short in a lot of ways.

🗡 Art: 1/3 (the art here isn’t necessarily awful but it is on the uglier side compared to a lot of the other games in this genre, specifically the board pieces. Maybe I’m biased because I prefer fun and colorful items, and these items involve a lot of wood and metal and such, but the board often seems so monochrome I can’t even tell certain items apart or remember which item track they belong to. Some of the level 1 items are just differently-shaped scraps of metal. The hero design isn’t bad but I only have one character to base that opinion on. We’ll get to that later)

🗡 Story: 2/3 (I honestly can’t remember if there’s an overarching plot but I will give it a point for the adventure logs, even though I usually don’t read them, it is cool that you can read what your character’s doing and how they obtained the loot they ultimately bring back)

🗡 Gameplay: 2/5 (I want to give it more points for being unique but despite the interesting concept I did have trouble with the gameplay. First of all, it has one of the smallest boards out of all the games I’ve played and a lot of different generators, which guarantees your board will become clogged very quickly. The numbers in the corners of each tile are supposed to help you keep track of what level items you have I presume, but they only make an already cluttered board look more cluttered, and the fact that I already couldn’t tell some of the item designs apart means having all the items crowded and jumbled makes for a very confusing and frustrating experience. Getting new items through loot from adventures seemed cool but then led to more frustration with more items to squeeze onto my fully packed board. Also I have no clue how to get more heroes, I’ve only had one this whole time playing so far, so there’s not much more to the RPG experience other than equipping more powerful items)

🗡 Variety: 2/3 (technically there’s a wide variety of items but as mentioned previously the very monochrome nature of the items makes the experience feel less varied and you can barely enjoy discovering new items when you’re just trying to find space on the board 90% of the time. Also, most of the item tracks just go: item, bigger item, bigger fancier item, biggest fanciest item, or, piece of item, more pieces of item, mostly put-together item, fully assembled item)

🗡 Playtime vs. Wait Time: 1/4 (your time is limited by the energy system, generators needing to refill AND waiting for your hero to return from an adventure)

🗡 Overall Enjoyment: 2/5 (sadly I didn’t really enjoy this game, although I guess my favorite part would be merging up weapons and other equippable items to make my hero more powerful, which isn’t something I could really do in any of these other games)

🗡 Total: 10/23

City Boom

Developer: Playwind Ltd.

Release Date: April 9, 2021

This game is very interesting as it’s the only merge game I’ve personally played that has you compete against other players. This game actually works pretty much exactly like a game I played loooooong ago called Coin Masters, where you gain coins by attacking or raiding other people’s bases while spending coins to build up your own base. The main difference here of course is that the other way to get coins is to merge items and complete requests, while in Coin Masters it was like a slot machine thing. I checked and they are not made by the same developer.

Anywho, the multiplayer aspect of this game was exciting since I definitely have a competitive streak, and I’ve been playing every day to try and climb up the leaderboard (I’m in the top 1,000 so far lol!) However this game is still new and pretty wonky, and it aggressively tries to get you to buy things, much more than any of the other two-item merge games. Also, this game is one of those games that’s very reliant on a constant internet connection so if you don’t have great internet (which I don’t) you will have a lot of issues with the game freezing, just a heads up.

💰 Art: 3/3 (I got to admit I’m a sucker for the cute, colorful and cartoony, and I just can’t get enough of the silly little cats in this game 😂 I appreciate that the 3D art style in this game is very consistent in all parts of the game, and this game also has 3D animated sections: for example, when you go to attack another player a cat rolls up in a little tank and rockets fly around)

💰 Story: 2/3 (there isn’t really a linear story but I give it a point for the different themed areas you progress through as you grow your town, plus the personality put into the cat characters)

💰 Gameplay: 3/5 (I do enjoy this game, especially the fact that I get to compete against other players, but there are a few issues. This game has a lot of limited time events, there’s seriously like 2 or 3 running at a time and seem to change every day, which does add some fun and variety, but creates a unique problem of having event-specific items on the board that I don’t know what to do with when the event ends. I don’t know if that event will come back again or if those items are just completely useless and should be sold now. Currently they’re just keeping my board very clogged. Also, this game really aggressively pushes overpriced microtransactions, which can get very annoying, but I will say that I was still able to play and enjoy the game a fair amount without paying anything. Lastly, the items make a really off putting clunk sound when they merge. May not seem important but it makes the merges less satisfying for me personally)

💰 Variety: 2/3 (There is a variety of event items but as far as the main items there’s very little variety, basically just four categories of items, so I put this in the middle)

💰 Playtime vs. Wait Time: 2/4 (what I like is that there are a lot of chances to get extra energy but what I don’t like is that rather than having energy refresh one at a time every few minutes, you have to wait like half an hour for all the energy to refill at once)

💰 Overall Enjoyment: 4/5 (honestly despite all my criticisms of it I kept coming back to this game, I really enjoy the competitive aspect and none of the problems with it are to the point where it seriously impedes my ability to play. That’s why I kind of have a separate category for overall enjoyment to begin with, because even if a game scores well or poorly in specific categories that won’t necessarily reflect my overall experience)

💰 Total: 16/23

Rankings

Plantopia (scored the same as Travel Town but after playing Travel Town for a while I’ve gotten more bored with it. Plantopia is the new reigning champion! 🎉)

Travel Town

Merge Design

Mergedom: Home Design

Merge Friends

Miss Merge

Merge Mansion

City Boom (scored the same as Merge Mansion but I preferred it less)

Merge Life (note: the linked review is outdated as the game has undergone a lot of updates since I wrote it, I will update it at some point but take the current version with a grain of salt)

Merge Matters

Merge Villa

Merge Adventure (scores the same as Merge Villa but I think I was a little harsh on Merge Villa to begin with, this game is much less playable)

Thank you so much for reading!!! I hope these reviews helped you if you enjoy merge games as much as I do! 💖 You can find more of my full game reviews here and follow me for more stuff about mobile games. Have a great day 🥳

#mobile games #merge games #plantopia #gardening games #merge mansion #merge adventure #city boom #rpg #mass multiplayer games #cat games #full review #casual games #weapons tw #image descriptions in alt text

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a-lil-perspective · 3 years

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The Bad Batch and Axe/Knife Throwing

A/N: Uhhh I’ve had this in my drafts for weeks. I don’t actually know what this is. Just funky bro stuff that spiraled into like 2.5k words because I just don’t know when to stop, do I. The working title for this was “Bullshit and Bullseyes”, if that puts anything into perspective (I nearly made that the actual title haha). Anyway. Enjoy?

Technically, no; they didn’t need to spend credits on booking the space. By all accounts, there’s nothing wrong with chucking weapons against the Havoc Marauder’s hull. You wouldn’t believe the damage it’s withstood over the years.

Nevertheless, its walls had been taking quite the beating lately (honestly how many times has it actually been said “no weapons in the house”?) and quite frankly, Hunter was getting sick of grousing about the fact.

But when you’ve been cooped up in the vacuum of space for days as the Bad Batch has, you become acutely aware of the perpetual sensation of losing your mind—and of the stagnant air beginning to fester.

Let’s put it this way: Intelligence work is not kind to four Super Commandos, who’d just as soon wrangle a herd of Gundarks than allow anymore strategic analysis to keep them huddled around a comm system for days on end with no intermission in sight. It can’t be stressed enough the way this work was far, far beneath them. They’d just as soon tell High Command to get on with the invasion already (where their skill sets actually applied) and that if they want Clone Force 99’s help, they had best find a better way to hold their attention, because “tapping into enemy comm channels” ain’t worth a damn.

But, until then: there were other things that would do the trick.

Back within the planet’s gravitational pull once again, the Bad Batch prioritized their short timeframe of respite by not actually participating in the act of respite at all, instead seeking out the nearest weapons range. It felt something like freedom upon discovery.

The axe throwing establishment was practically empty when they arrived, which was the driving force in their eagerness, having booked the last session of the night. More room to work.

And, no one to tell you you can’t bring your own arsenal.

Hunter removed the strap of his weighty knife bag from his shoulder and set it down as the boys settled in their designated lane. While Wrecker and Crosshair dove for the bag like deprived womp rats, Tech had more gracefully found a spot on the nearest bench and planted himself to it, tapping away at the little box atop his vambrace. Predictable.

“Don’t even give me that look, Hunter,” Tech didn’t even look up, already privy to the quizzical gaze while fixated on his slew of technology. “You knew good and well I would be taking notes and collecting data during this session for the purpose of enhancing our overall performance going forward.”

As if he hadn’t been taking an infinite amount of notes the past five days.

“How ‘bout you take some notes on how to have fun,” Crosshair mumbled through the toothpick he anchored to the corner of his lip (Hunter always felt nervous when he worked out or trained with that thing in, just waiting for the day he finally chokes). The sniper didn’t bother looking back at Tech as he rummaged through Hunter’s bag in search of knives he deemed fit. He grinned wickedly at a particular set of five, all of them airy and tapered and perfect for his nimble fingers to sidle around. They were similar in size, if only a few inches wider, to the darts he usually threw in his quarters. He considered them with a sleight of hand, quickly piecing together an accurate projection of air velocity and the weapons’ overall weight.

Crosshair would make his mark. He always did.

It further came as no surprise that the Sergeant excelled in his turns from the get-go. He wasted no time in nailing bullseye after bullseye with a variety of weapons big and small. It was comical, the way Tech would make sounds of marvel and adjust his recording lens accordingly when Hunter would nail a pair of axes with a backwards throw or something of dramatic flair.

And Wrecker, oh, Wrecker.

Let’s say his turn was cut rather short—as were the rest of his brothers—when his very first throw, bearing as much care a demolition expert could muster, drove straight through the target in its entirety and brought the entire structure down wall-to-board. Hunter shuddered, grimacing instinctively at the harsh clang of colliding metals and wood that ended in a timbering heap.

Wrecker merely flashed a sheepish smile.

Hunter bit back his frustrated sigh, but the one expelling behind him was unmistakable. He whirled around to find the sensation to be correct, and that the expression marring the Devaronian’s features was unsightly.

Great. The owner of the establishment.

“I’ll pay for that,” Hunter offered immediately, gesturing awkwardly to the ghastly pile of materials. It was an auto-pilot response, really; Hunter was used to cleaning up after his rowdy bunch by now.

“Got that right,” the Devaronian rumbled, cracking his brooding knuckles as a statement that seemed more mindless than anything; he must’ve realized it foolish to get into it with four Super Clones. He turned around and stalked off, but not before grumbling something about the Clones being “mindless rank weeds” and “no better than droids”.

Wrecker must not have heard thank the Maker, otherwise the entire building could’ve been brought down on their heads in nothing short of an emotional outburst. Crosshair simply threw a crude gesture to the Devaronian’s retreating backside. It was either that or the knife in his hand.

“Cross, put your finger down dammit, we’re trying not to cause trouble here,” Hunter hissed. “You really wanna piss off a Dev?”

“You really wanna piss off a Crosshair?” Wrecker interjected with a wicked chuckle, always at the ready to tango with Crosshair and trouble.

He had a point, though.

Crosshair made a deep scoffing noise in his chest and simply turned his attention back to the dilapidated target. The sniper with no fear. Or so he’d like everyone to believe.

“Sorry, Sarge,” Wrecker rubbed at the back of his thick neck, having gone back to anxiously surveying the damage.

“Let’s just switch lanes,” Hunter countered coolly, helping Tech gather up their weaponry and move over one. It’s not like the owner would let him (or his pocket) forget, so there was no use worrying about it.

With a fresh target and a fresh turn at the ready, Wrecker eagerly began to ask for a re-do with the axes he skewered with moments ago only to be let down—gently, of course. Hunter wasn’t a mean brother, for fierfek’s sake.

He felt a bit guilty over limiting Wrecker’s turns but honestly, what was he thinking, bringing them to a place like this? It’s too... normal for Commandos—whatever ‘normal’ is. They would’ve been better off back on the Marauder.

No they wouldn’t have.

Maybe that’s why Hunter willingly ventured out on a weekend evening in the Coruscanti Districts for that sense of normality for he and his brothers; as if it could actually be found in the bustle of city life and whatever resided within.

It’s not that he wanted them to fit in, per se—Hunter can speak for the four of them in that they’re secure in their abilities and standings. But it’s as if he wanted something... grounding. In the middle of a war. Certainly a foreign term to both soldiers and citizens alike.

Grounding. Something to give the boys a sense of fulfillment and a taste of youth, even if only for the night. No expectations, no methods. Just Serotonin and sibling rivalry. Fulfillment.

Wrecker was certainly feeling fulfilled over the knives he opted to throw instead, much lighter and more controlled than the axe—which was a shame, really; he was very good at them. You haven’t quite lived until you’ve seen Wrecker at full capacity in his brute strength. The axes were just an inkling of his potential. Despite the fact that the majority of knives completely disappeared in his wide expanse of palm, he could still stick them with deadly force. Tech especially made relevance of the fact, insisting he show Wrecker a recap of his feats later.

When he wasn’t recording and plugging in data for the other throwers, Tech went a few rounds with Hunter’s smallest knives: quick and sleek and agile, much like the goggled member himself. The preference of axe or knife was divvied between the group: axe’s were more Hunter and Wrecker’s thing while knives were more Tech and Crosshair’s.

It took a bit of encouragement for Tech to actually complete his turn, as he was more concerned with the preliminaries and technicalities instead of the actual throwing. He’d stand there for what felt like several minutes, considering and trying to incorporate the use of his tech until Crosshair—how dare he—cut through his concentration with a sharp demand to “Just. Throw.”

It was rather unfortunate that there was only one target available to four people wanting to use it simultaneously. It seemed the members of the elite Commando squad still hadn’t mastered the art of patiently waiting their turn.

Hunter couldn’t help but find the hilarity in that Tech managed to land several of the knives as ‘butt sticks’: handle side in. He chuckled to himself. Only Tech.

The engineer claimed the act was wholly intentional. Hunter thought his witty brother was just trying to excuse a simple over-rotation. Tech had the aptitude for speed under his belt, but sometimes he had trouble controlling his speed. But if you thought that hindered Tech’s ingenuity or prowess in the slightest, you were sorely mistaken.

It’s times like these Hunter felt that familiar swell of pride in his chest as he relish his brothers’ unique array of strengths, weaknesses, and opportunes. All of it played a monumental part. The Sergeant in him couldn’t ask for a more proficient squad. The brother in him couldn’t ask for more unique siblings.

In no time, all four men had each accumulated their own sheen of sweat, the byproduct of a solid hour’s workout—no, two hours (Hunter should know by the way he grudgingly dumped another handful of credits into the Devaronian’s on the hour), their allotment extended all because the bros refused to be done, reduced to acting like petulant children because of.

Speaking of petulant.

“Who’s in the lead now, Tech?” Crosshair asked through a lingering pant, breaking from his turn as he took a seat next to the human scoreboard. He accepted the cool rag Tech handed him with a curt nod and slung it over the back of his neck to soak up the sweat, rolling his toned shoulders and shaking away the thought of potentially having to break from the rifle tomorrow because of how much he overdid it with the knives. Sore shoulders made for shit shots.

Tech chewed his lip and shot a single, timid glance up to Cross, who suddenly realized that maybe the gifted rag rapidly warming behind his neck was actually just an act of grooming for the disappointing news to come.

Tech cleared his throat. “In the current overall standing, it appears that Wrecker takes the lead, with Hunter a very close second, me of course making the ranks, and you being last—”

“Aw hell no,” Crosshair yanked the rag off and threw it to his feet as he pulled the toothpick out from between his now grit teeth, jabbing it around the room in emphasis. “I’ve easily got the best aim around here, I ain’t the one who destroyed an entire target and I didn’t miss one damn time—”

“It is not about missing, Cross; there are many factors to consider in the overall performance,” Tech answered matter-of-factly, with maybe the slightest hint of sympathy (more like irritation) laced within.

“And that includes humility,” Hunter chimed in, crossing his arms.

Wrecker and his lack of knowledge on appropriate social cues left him cheering over his victory, and Hunter forced himself to swallow the smile tugging at his lips. Few things in life filled him as much as Wrecker’s youthful exuberance. It was infectious.

He gave a light shove to the solid mass of man. “That means you too, Wreck.”

“Bullshit...” Crosshair sulked, numbingly processing his loss. He found himself leaning into Tech’s supportive pat on the back, suddenly too tired to care about his dwindling dignity or even any of his prior winnings in the past. He’ll forever be consigned to his dangerous competitive streak and that’s that.

“You’re just a sore loser!” Wrecker was grinning wide again, all teeth and triumphant. Crosshair scowled further and yes, he was actually pouting up from his spot on the bench thank you very much. Blackmail him later.

“The only thing that’s gonna be sore is your ass when I shove my foot up it.”

“Hey.” Hunter’s cue to intervene. “Settle it down. We had a good run tonight, blew off some steam, got a nice workout and stretched the legs. Let’s head back home, yeah?”

Hunter received murmurs of agreement save for Crosshair, who responded with silence, which was his answer.

The Bad Batch gathered their things and headed out, with Hunter paying the owner for the property damage on the way (reaching up to smack Wrecker in the back of the head just for good measure), and the alien made no attempts at subtlety in his relief over the way the chaotic bunch were finally departing. Apparently, the Bad Batch showcased some of the more poorer examples of decent clientele.

Funny that one might assume ‘decent’ and ‘Coruscant’ actually go together.

As they emerged back into the flow of the planet-wide city, the near-midnight breeze quickly catching in all of the sweat spots, Wrecker stopped in his tracks, having been eyeing a dejected Crosshair on the way.

“Hunter?”

“Yeah, vod?”

A timid pause. “Can we get ice-cream? I think Cross here could use some. With sprinkles and a starcherry on top, just how he likes it.” Wrecker scooped up the lanky brother in question, who squawked in protest. “And a nice, squishy Wrecker hug.” He pet Crosshair’s head. “That always helps him feel much better about me winning.”

#wrecker is so thoughtful XD #lol idk I’m sorry guys #star wars #the bad batch #clone force 99 #do y’all actually want this idk #I will happily take requests on things you DO #requests are always open for blurbies or whatever :)#butt sticks are a real thing btw #that’s how I land mine XD #my writing #it’s a lil thing

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queenmagnusao3 · 3 years

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All In a Day’s Work - Chapter 1

AO3 Link - Lin Beifong is the worst patient

I like to beat up my favorite characters so this fic has been creating so I can get it out of my system. Once I finish this part I want to write a companion piece with a separate oneshot for each one of these situations and Lin got herself into them

Healer Sora Yueng had seen a lot in her many years as a healer for Republic City’s largest and busiest hospital. She had trained under arguably the greatest healer in the world and now was a well-respected mentor herself. Tonight was pretty average, not too busy nor quiet. Another new intern had started training under her and they spent the better part of the last hour removing small shards of glass from a poor woman who had fallen through a glass door.

Now, the healer was taking a break while she had the intern manning the new intake desk. Sora downed the rest of her tea, overhearing a conversation her intern was having with a new patient. She instantly recognized the voice and cursed the spirits for not giving her just one nice, calm and normal evening.

“I’m fine. It’s just my arm.”

The voice hitched as it sucked in a breath of obvious pain. Sora rolled her eyes as she started making her way to the front desk.

“Maybe a cracked rib.”

“Don’t forget whiplash.”

The new voice was also familiar to the healer but she was surprised. It had been quite some time since she had heard the two together.

“Shut it, Tenzin. Why are you even still here? Just get a healer over here and then I can leave.”

There’s her cue. Sora plastered a falsely sweet smile on her face as she rounded the corner to see one of her favorite patients; Republic City Police Chief Lin Beifong. The woman’s face contorted as she groaned.

“Of course you’re working tonight. I’m fine.”

I’m fine was the usual story and often meant that she was anything but. Sora couldn’t help a small chuckle as she saw Master Tenzin subtlety shaking his head at her over the Chief’s shoulder.

“On the off chance that you’re not completely fine why don’t you come on back and I’ll check you over?”

Lin grumbled something and Sora just smiled to herself. Getting Lin Beifong to submit to any kind of medical attention was a fine art and she was satisfied that she hadn’t lost her touch in said art.

“You can go home if you want, Master Tenzin. I assure you she’s in good hands.”

A look flashed across the airbender’s face.

“Or… you can wait down the hall unt-“

“Go home, airhead. I’ll be fine. And I’m sure your wife is worried about you.”

The healer couldn’t help but notice that the earthbender was making great efforts to avoid making eye contact with him. Apparently they’re relationship was still complicated after all these years. He really should be at home with his family. She had witnessed enough of the pair’s lives to feel a bit protective of Lin. Especially with that look he was giving her.

“Chief, the usual room is open if you want to head in.”

Without a word she turned and walked around the corner. Tenzin watched her as she left and Sora stepped directly into his line of vision.

“You should probably leave now, Master Tenzin.”

He looked at her and blinked rapidly as if coming out of a daze. He looked down, his cheeks reddening. He mumbled some sort of departing well wish before quickly making his retreat. Sora let out a sigh as she turned to her intern.

“I’ve got to take care of this one alone, hold down the fort while I’m in there.”

He nodded to her. There was a look of curiosity in his eyes that made her sigh again as she walked away. It was the look they always had when the Police Chief ended up there. She’d deal with his inevitable questions later.

Yosuke had been training under Master Healer Sora for about 3 weeks and tonight was easily the most exciting night so far. Seeing the son of the former Avatar and the Chief of Police was like seeing a couple of real life celebrities. He was immensely disappointed when his mentor had told he would be sitting out on the healing session with the Chief.

It was about an hour before he caught up with his teacher again. It was the middle of the night now and she looked exhausted. He was pretty tired himself but his excitement and curiosity about their current patient was enough to keep him wide awake.

“How is Chief Beifong? Was she hurt too badly?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, sitting down in a chair. After a moment she opened her eyes again and handed him a file.

“She’s lucky her broken ribs didn’t puncture a lung. Again.”

Her tone was exasperated but his eyes widened. A punctured lung was a very serious injury and the Chief of Police had survived one in the past. She obviously picked up on his expression and shook her head, waving a hand.

“Just go put this file away. And then I think we both need to get some sleep.”

He didn’t need telling twice, practically running down the hall to the room where they kept patient records. The records room wasn’t exactly organized. In fact, it had taken him several days to get used to the filing system. Some healers filed patients by just their first name since that was the only name many of their patients had. Others filed by last name first, when a last name was available. It wasn’t uniform and it took him a long time to figure out that he needed to stop trying to make sense of it and just check both places in the alphabet.

He quickly went to where the “B”s were stored and was excited when he quickly found the name Beifong. “Beifong, Lin” was first and his eyes widened again at how big the file was. He also caught a glimpse of an even larger file directly after, labeled “Beifong, Toph”. He felt goosebumps prickle his skin. He sometimes forgot that the legendary benders he heard about growing up were actual, real life people.

He pulled the current Chief Beifong’s folder out and opened it to put the newest file in it. He knew he shouldn’t but curiosity finally got the best of him and Yosuke flipped through some of the older files. He only picked up quick words and notes scribbled in the familiar handwriting of Sora.

Mild concussion… fractured ribs… broken ribs… significant and inevitable scarring… rare form of poison…

The poison one immediately piqued his interest and he pulled the file to read more.

“Chief Beifong was brought in, unconscious, by Master Tenzin with textbook symptoms of poison from-“

His reading was cut off by someone clearing their throat loudly. Yosuke turned around quickly to see Sora standing in the doorway with a knowing and somewhat amused look on her face. His face reddened as he closed the file and put it back in the folder. He quietly put it back in place and closed the drawer.

“Sorry, Sifu. I was just cur-“

“-ious. Yes. I gathered as much. Learn anything interesting?”

“That I do not want to get on Chief Beifong’s bad side.”

Sora laughed at that.

“You’ve got no idea, kid.”

She started to say something else but they were interrupted by another healer running up to her, out of breath.

“Sorry to interrupt, Master Sora. But Chief Beifong isn’t in her room.”

Yosuke looked away, trying to hide a smile as his mentor cursed loudly. She let out a frustrated groan before walking quickly back towards the patient rooms. He quickly followed after catching bits of the healer’s grumbling.

“That stubborn idiot!”

They came to an abrupt halt outside her office door. She walked in and around her desk, sitting down and pulling out a piece of paper. She furiously scribbled a note before opening a drawer. She took out a prepared small package and tucked the note inside the edge of the wrapping before holding it out for him to take.

“Would you please send this to this address? And be discreet about it.”

He took the package and waited as she wrote down an address on another piece of paper. He took it from her and she leaned back in her chair, hands clasped and resting on the top of her head. He immediately turned to leave but stopped abruptly as she called out.

“And Yosuke! I mean it about being discreet. I’ve spent many years earning Lin Beifong’s trust. And make sure the note doesn’t fall out!”

He started to move again but had to stop as the note in question slipped from the package. He quickly picked it up and couldn’t help but take a peak before shoving it back inside.

Lin,

Don’t move your arm too much and try to lay down so the ribs heal properly this time. You know where I am.

-Sora

#legend of korra fanfic #lin beifong #my writing

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lakelewisia · 3 years

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A Lewisian Year

Presented in partnership with the Lewisia Communications Board and Lewisia Public Library

Sponsored by The Historical Society

Hello, readers, listeners, and psychic osmosizers! Welcome to A Lewisian Year, a monthly showcase celebrating the rich culture here in the Lake Lewisia district. Each month, we'll highlight some seasonal events, local celebrations and interpretations of national and world holidays, and historical tidbits.

JUNE

Midsummer Bonfires

It's Midsummer Day, and you're headed to the park through the noonday heat. But this time, it won't be to cool off in the shade of the trees or around the fountains where children splash in the water. No, it's only going to get hotter, thanks to a dozen or so large bonfires burning on temporary platforms dotted around the park. As you walk, you carry with you a stone, about the size of your outstretched palm and fingers, softly rounded in a way that suggests it might have spent a few eons in a riverbed long ago.

In the park, the air is thick with wood smoke, which spirals up in grey towers over each of the bonfires. The bonfires are heaped high with fallen limbs gathered from the forest over the past year, and it took weeks to assemble them all here. Each fire has an attendant watching over it so the burn stays safely contained. As always for such events, there are booths selling food and local crafts scattered between the fires. Maybe you'll grab an ear of roasted corn or a s'more later (though these are never cooked using the bonfires, as that's seen as depleting their power and thus bad luck). But most people quickly drift back to one particular fire or another. Their eyes stay fixed on the platform under the bonfire and the ring of stones assembled there--on their stone, wherever it may sit in the circle.

You find an empty spot around a fire and, with the use of iron tongs to save your hands, nudge it into place around the flames. As the sun beats down and the fire crackles, the stones bask in all that heat, soaking it up. How long this goes on depends on the year, because what you are waiting for is true midsummer, the moment when the day stretches as long as it will all year. This year, 2021, that won't happen until 8:32 PM in Lewisia. So the fires burn until then, standing in for the sun for the short time after it sets in the evening.

When midsummer arrives, the stones are pulled out away from the fire to cool. Some people wrap them up in blankets when they are ready to go home, the insulation more symbolic than practical. You just wait until it is cool enough to touch barehanded, and then you carry it back to your home. It will sit in the house--sometimes on mantles, or on bedside tables, or tucked at the back of the kitchen counter--all through the year. In the depth of winter, it is said, the midsummer stone in a house will keep the people warm against all odds. It is a little piece of summer sunlight and the promise of warmth to come, sustaining people through darker, colder times.

Pride

The annual Gay Pride events in Lake Lewisia seem to lack some of the wild flair of the event in other cities. Previous years have seen themes on outreach, community history, and representation of marginalized voices both in the wider world and within the community itself. The events are characterized more by volunteer hours than parades and more by art exhibits than merchandise booths. (I hear the community dance and fireworks display, though, is a very good time if you're the outgoing sort!)

This year's theme--"Season the Soup, Raise the Roof"--focuses on food and housing insecurity for QUILTBAG individuals throughout the nation. Members of the community are far more likely than the general population to experience homelessness at some point in their lives, often as a result of abusive family circumstances. Plenty of Lewisia residents found their way to the town for the first time during their own experience with homelessness born out of rejection by their former families and communities.

Observances this year include a number of volunteer opportunities around the community and outside it. The mixed-use building at Prism Place, which houses the largest queer collective within the town boundaries and the retail space they run to support themselves, is raising funds for repairs to the roof and heating systems of the building. Sea Mink Pastries needs help with baking bread to take to soup kitchens around Marguerite County and surrounding counties. Also, trips are being organized to distribute the latest prototype from Shipwreck Repair Collective for a pop-up living space to help shelter the unhoused in those areas. This iteration of the tent-like structure boasts more legs than previous versions for faster rescues and escapes, as well as an improved guiding intelligence (about which the representative from the Collective was rather cagey--industry secrets, I suppose).

Summer Art Walk

Toward the end of the month, the downtown area will be bursting with even more art than usual as exhibits go up for the Summer Art Walk. From still-lifes and landscapes to portraits and abstracts, new pieces created for the event and some old favorites brought out of galleries and private collections will all be made available to the public to walk. Taste the chalk pastel fruits and walk the shaded paths of pointillist forests. Slip between the brushstrokes and into worlds real and imagined within the frames.

Don't worry if your sense of direction seems insufficient to the task of such an exploration. Expert artists and adventurers both will be on call in case anyone gets a little lost. There is, I hear, a whole team of guides available to help people navigate an Escher-inspired pastoral piece this year, where infinite flocks of sheep graze up gravity-defying hills.

I was lucky enough to be treated to a preview of one of this year's pieces, something a little different even for those who are regular attendees of the Art Walk. Studio Tallaios, the bronze work partnership between sisters M'kayla and Soriya Johnson, has created an interactive sculpture. Without revealing too much of the surprise, I can say the piece took inspiration from both sea caverns and the architectural traditions of the Doorway Maximalism movement. I only took a short tour of the piece, and even that much required me to don a harness and rope to ensure I could find my way back. It was, I promise, worth the possible risks.

This Month in History

On June 2, 1921, the Sunglow Distillery, then only a backyard operation, exploded in a shower of high-proof liquor and spirits of a more supernatural sort. Only a year and a half into Prohibition, Charles Fojt had been making a good living brewing and distributing his moonshine throughout much of the west coast. It was during this time that the multigenerational rivalry began between the Fojt family and the Espinoza family, vineyard owners intent on maximizing the legal loopholes that existed in the Eighteenth Amendment regarding grape juice and wine.

However, in his eagerness to outdo Pedro Espinoza, Fojt had been expanding his operation into land abutting his small farm. As it turned out, several human graves existed on those lands and the spirits of the place considered the moonshine brewing over their final resting places to be partially theirs. Letters written by Fojt at the time indicated he suspected the haunting around his stills but chose to ignore it. The explosion--which created a soft and highly intoxicating rain for several miles around--seems to have been the last resort of the frustrated spirits.

Following the explosion, Fojt relented and began making regular offerings of moonshine in the general vicinity of the gravesites. After that, and the rebuilding of his equipment, he saw ever-increasing success throughout the duration of Prohibition.

That's a taste of what June has to offer us. See you next month, when July brings heatwave hatchings and a convention for every occasion.

#fiction #microfiction #magical realism #holidays #history #June #Lake Lewisia #demifiction #A Lewisian Year #bonus material

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katemarley · 4 years

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fanfiction: fugue in a minor

Fandom: Hetalia Pairing: SpAus (Austria/Spain) Characters: Austria, Spain, Belgium, Augsburg, Swabia, Bavaria, Holy Roman Empire, Saxony Rating: E

Summary: 23 October 1520. Spain and Austria get married. The Imperial Estates and their guests while away the evening with music and courtly dances, celebrating both the union and Charles V’s crowning as “elected Roman emperor” in Aachen Cathedral. But what is expected of the newlyweds? And what is in for them on their wedding night?

This story has been written for Hetabang 2020. It’s a collaboration project with @aph--lietuva who was my Beta and who created wonderful art for this story that you can find on her tumblr. With her permission, I also inserted her art into this tumblr post. It’s been a pleasure working with you! ❤︎

Also available on AO3 (see the link in my profile).

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This story also is the sequel to “Prelude in A Minor” that you can also find on AO3 and that I have been talking about, but not written, for almost four years, oops... xD Both stories can be read independently from each other.

Preliminary notes: Augusta – Augsburg: brown hair, green eyes, elegant low bun Hilde/Hildegard – Swabia (Reichskreis/Imperial Circle, Reichsritterschaft/Imperial Knighthood): blond locks, green eyes, some resemblance to Switzerland and Liechtenstein Léa – Burgundy: our canon Belgium before she came to be called Belgium

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“Roderich!”

Austria turned slowly. He was wearing a cumbersome ceremonial robe that was far heavier than his usual formal attire. It had been made especially for today in order to dress him in the latest fashion and he didn’t want to rip any fabric by accident—and definitely not before the wedding.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” said Burgundy, not sounding sorry at all as she pried him from the clutches of a dozen courtiers. He didn’t mind—courtly talk was stressful because it contained a dozen pitfalls, and Léa was a straightforward woman. Also, in a moment like this, he’d much rather be with someone comforting and familiar rather than navigate the sea of faces and names of humans he had probably only met once but was to remember regardless. Usually, he had no problem with that; he was actually very skilled at the diplomatic game. But right now, his head was too full of other thoughts.

“I need some moments alone with my consort, my partner.” Burgundy gave off an air of sovereignty as she spoke to her court who all accepted without question that this was business for the immortals to tend to. Roderich sighed in relief and let her steal him away into their bedroom.

She was fussing at his outfit, straightening it and picking imaginary lint off the velvet before making him sit down on a chair in front of the dresser. She took a brush and took off his black beret to run it softly through his hair, obviously just to have something to do while they talked.

“Liefsteling, I think we should have a little chat before you and Antonio exchange rings.”

“Didn’t we talk about all I need to know already?” Austria frowned. He was unable to keep in all his pent-up frustration and around her, he wasn’t too scrupulous to show it. “You and Charles want to strengthen the unity of the empire, so I am to marry Spain. I understand that. I don’t like it and you know I don’t like Charles, but I can see your point that marriage is a useful device to strengthen the empire.” He huffed indignantly. Sometimes, it was annoying to be “a sensible lad”, as Charles had once dubbed him, but he knew too well how these things worked to waste his time on rebelling. She let him pour it all out with a patient smile.

Finally, he quieted down and added more demurely: “I just wish it wasn’t me, and I wish I didn’t have to marry another male personification. It seems … indecent.”

“I know, dear. It’s a bit … unorthodox.” Burgundy touched his arm and squeezed it in an attempt to comfort him. A smile played on her lips that already showed her intent to lighten Roderich’s mood. “Well, listen to you complaining! You get to marry Europe’s newcomer, a surprise uncovered from Al Andalus. A shiny, new, mysterious knight, a devout catholic, and dare I say … a fair countenance. I’m sure many of the ladies here envy you. But it seemed more important to strengthen relations between two important parts of the empire that are further away from each other, rather than between him and me.” She sighed wistfully, but a bit theatrically.

“Burgundy, if you talk like that I’d swear you want to wed him!” He feigned indignance. “I wish you were the one to marry him,” he added glumly. “And the ladies can have him, for all I care.”

“Now! To think you’d give me away that easily. I’d want my husband to be jealous and fight for me!” She then stopped the theatrics and, with a soft smile, put her arm around him, just like an older sister would do. “I am a little jealous to give you away … I’m going to miss our library talks.” Roderich’s smile softened and he touched her hand.

“There is another thing I must discuss…” She seemed to hesitate. “Remember our wedding night and what we left unfulfilled?”

“Ah.” Austria tensed. “So this is what we’re talking about.”

“It is indeed.” Burgundy paused. “We didn’t complete our union that night and while we did later, it did affect us. Charles and I believe it is vital to strengthen the union of Spain and Austria as much as possible, and for that…” Her arm around Austria tensed. He could feel the topic was uncomfortable for her.

“And for that, the marriage needs to be consummated,” Austria said flatly. “That doesn’t exactly come as a surprise, Léa.”

“Yes, but it’s not the only thing we discussed…”

Roderich now felt his cheeks redden “What? The insolence!” He sighed. “That imprudent man was actually discussing the technicalities of a coupling between two men with you? ”

“He only wants to ensure that the strength of the union…”

“Don’t defend him!” Austria snapped. Léa flinched.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a quieter tone. “It’s just that he has no idea how things actually work at my place. I don’t like how little interest he takes, and now he focuses on the anatomy of the personification rather than on the resources of the land…” He sighed. The duality of beings like them further complicated everything.

Spain and him were “mere manifestations of the political body shaping them”, Charles had told him not long ago. Manifestations of the body politic—not men. That meant the laws of the Church regarding marriages between humans didn’t apply to them. Archbishop Hermann of Cologne had agreed and had added that the biblical example for a country was to be the heavenly Jerusalem, which further expands itself to gain as much territory as possible and to help the spread of Christianity all over the world. To strengthen their holy empire like this was to behave exactly as the Bible dedicated.

“The fact that we’re human personifications really is convenient to the likes of him: Whether they consider us human or not ultimately depends on what’s more convenient to them. Two men couldn’t marry, but the human-shaped, but not human, personifications of Spain and Austria can. It doesn’t matter to him that our anatomy is exactly the same as that of two male human beings.”

“I know. I agree with you, I’ve seen kings and bishops use scripture as a justification rather than as a guide many times. As a woman, I have often felt what it was like to be an exception to the rule”, said Burgundy firmly, reminding him of her own position. “However, there’s another message those cowards have made me the messenger of” She stopped brushing his hair, seemingly looking for the right words.

“Yes?” Austria waited. He had no intention to help her with this.

“The king and bishop believe that because this is already infringing on normal matrimony, everything else should mimic a normal marriage as closely as possible.” She interrupted herself, She looked at Austria as if she was hoping that he would understand it. He did but he was going to have her say it.

“Well, you know. Have the position of the wife be taken by the—by the—more gallant one of the two.” Even her silver tongue couldn’t phrase this more delicately.

Austria was speechless. Charles—this morally rigid, exceedingly religious person—not only insisted two men marry for political reasons, as an unpleasant but ultimately bearable formality. No, he had also insisted these two men actually consummate their marriage and had elaborate thoughts on the mechanics of it. Austria was seriously tempted to rush off, grab Charles by the ruff and give him a piece of his mind. Including the rhetorical question what he thought their private parts looked like.

Burgundy saw the face he was making and spat out the rest. “And only the accepted position, all else is fornication. So you’re to lay on your back.” She let out a small whimper and looked faint. Austria realized that he shouldn’t direct his anger at her. She had always been his friend.

“Cowards, the both of them. In treating you as a country, they are indeed forgetting you’re a lady. Your nature is far too delicate for such crass messages.” He stood up and took her hands gently. He didn’t want to fight with her.

She embraced him, held him for a moment and then stepped back.

“I have something for you.” She opened a chest with a key from her belt and produced a box. “Open it, I’d like for you to wear it today.” Roderich did so and found an ornate golden chain with the Golden Fleece in it.

“Your order…” Roderich smiled at her.

“When you united with me, you obtained the right to be a part of the Order of the Golden Fleece. When you’re out there, I’m with you.” Roderich felt a tightness around his chest as he recognised the curls on top of the ram shaping the letter B for Burgundy.

He wasn’t in this alone.

She placed the chain around his neck with an air of ceremony and made sure it lay evenly over his shoulders. She smiled at him and kissed his forehead, after which she traced the sign of the cross on it with her finger. After the tender gesture, she rather forcefully put the beret back on his head and chuckled. “There, you’re ready!”

Oh, he wasn’t ready. Far from it, but it was happening now.

---

The procession departed from the house he shared with Burgundy in Aachen. Usually, the bride was led to the house of her new husband, but Spain did not have a house there. Out of convenience, they were using the cathedral, which had already been prepared for the coronation of Charles V, and the city hall for the festivities after that. In the procession, all the nuptial gifts Austria had received were carried along and displayed. Some of them were made of strange, exotic-looking gold brought from the new world that gleamed ostentatiously in the afternoon sun. Roderich could feel the presence of Spain through everything surrounding him. Even the new coat had been paid for by him.

The marriage itself was overwhelming in terms of pompously clad courtiers and country personifications, but rather underwhelming in terms of anything else. Roderich’s feelings were a mixture of nervousness because so many people watched him and carefully veiled anger at being one of the two pawns in Charles’s and Burgundy’s political plans.

The truly annoying thing was that he saw the logic behind their actions. He just didn’t like how they affected him.

They were met by the second procession coming from the opposite direction with Spain at its centre. Roderich sought out his eyes, but he was still mostly obscured by the crowd. Both processions reached the cathedral and filled the front part of the space. The nave and choir were reserved for mass, after all, and weddings were worldly affairs. So, leaving the late Gothic choir unoccupied, everyone gathered in the octagonal Palatine Chapel at the very front of the church, leaving the centre open for the couple and the priest.

Roderich’s eyes had to adjust to the relative darkness of the church in contrast with the bright afternoon outside. Two young boys were made to hold long torches over Spain’s and his head and above them, a plethora of little candles were lit in the giant octagonal candelabra. For a moment, he was captivated by the little lights and a realisation dawned upon him: The small structures on the chandelier represented gates. It was a direct depiction of Heavenly Jerusalem. The architecture mimicked the octagonal shape of the chandelier and thus that of Jerusalem as well. The words of the archbishop about the biblical duties of a country echoed through his head. He realized that his duty was literally hanging over his head.

As his gaze war already turned upwards, he saw that the upper gallery was filling with people as well, all of them waiting while a small shadow was passing in front of them. The figure walking around the upper gallery barely reached over the coiled cast-iron balustrades when he finally halted and stepped into the light. The Holy Roman Empire wore the Imperial Regalia and made a gesture of blessing. He was their witness, as it was his empire they were fortifying. The ancient child climbed onto the bare marble throne that had once belonged to their forefather in order to oversee the wedding. Roderich would have laughed at the image of Karl der Kleine playing at being Karl der Große, had he not felt a chill run down his spine at the image of Karl on his throne. Among everyone here, he was the one that belonged there. His spirit had been there when these walls had been built and through his presence, through his breath, the spirit of history slowly filled the space.

When the priest asked them to say their vows, Austria obliged, speaking flatly and without emotion. Spain’s intonation was much livelier, but from what little he had learned about the other country in the past months, that was the way they were: One who usually remained calm unless you crossed him one too many times; and another who seemed to be ever vigorous.

The priest produced a small dish on which Spain put a piece of gold, a piece of silver and a ring.

Roderich extended his hand meekly for Antonio to put on the ring, but then noticed something. The ring was of a German type. He wondered if this was Spain being thoughtful or him purchasing one at the last minute. Spain held up the ring and clicked it open to be two separate rings. To Roderich’s surprise, they were gimmel rings …

Spain explained in a hushed voice: “Because we are both men, I felt I couldn’t just put a ring on you. We should both wear one. I liked these because of what they say.” He was referring to the words around the band, which he read out in horribly accented German: was Gott zusammen fueget soll der Mensch nicht schneiden. They were a purplish ruby and an emerald. Antonio carefully put the half with the emerald on Roderich’s left ring finger and then handed him the ruby to do the same. This was thoughtful of Antonio—had he come up with this himself or was this the council of Karl advising him? Austria was very aware of the new weight around his finger and his resolve to remain cold started to waver.

When the priest asked them to kiss, Austria’s first impulse was to do it as unemotionally as he had made his vows. Then his eyes caught the pleading look in Spain’s, and his resolve faltered.

Spain was a pawn as well. He didn’t deserve Austria’s coldness. If anyone, it was Charles who deserved coldness.

They settled for a chaste but tender kiss. There was relief in Spain’s eyes when they separated, and Austria was glad his softer side had got the best of him.

They didn’t deserve to be pawns.

They were in this together.

They were then taken to the altar to kneel and be blessed. Austria stole a glance to Spain halfway who had his eyes shut tightly and was fervently praying. Thoughts were drowning out Roderich’s own prayers as well as the words of the priest. Worries about everything—about whether God could really approve of their union, about how his life was going to change after this, even about the impending consummation. They all seemed to lump together in an all-encompassing buzzing noise in his head.

He barely registered the “Amen”.

Then they were hoisted back on their feet and, with much loud music and cheering, led out of the church for another procession to the city hall that had been readied for further festivities. For a moment, Roderich stood there like a deer facing a hunter. Then, almost as if it was the most natural thing ever, Spain took his hand and pulled him into the cacophony of the crowd, but the act did make Austria’s thoughts quieten down.

Remember, Austria thought to himself.

They were in this together.

---

“Austria.”

Austria turned to the speaker. He had recognised her voice instantly.

Augsburg bowed, albeit not very low. She was an imperial city, much smaller than him in terms of her land and yet so much wealthier.

“Augsburg.” Austria bowed on his part, anxious not to incline his head lower than she had. He could at least keep up appearances, if nothing else.

It was her who took his hand for the basse danse—almost imperceptible, but the transgression was there. She swept her eyes over the people that had gathered inside Aachen’s town hall: Most of them were members of the high nobility and imperial estates who wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to show themselves for Charles’s crowning and the establishment of the Austro-Spanish union alike. There were guests from other kingdoms, too, moving in the slow and elegant sequence of steps so characteristic for this dance. Not all of those people had come to Austria and Spain’s wedding ceremony itself.

It makes them uncomfortable, Austria thought. But who was he to complain? It made him uncomfortable, too.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Augsburg said with the attitude of a self-satisfied host. “Don’t you think the banquet was quite decent, too?”

Hand movements, steps, hand movements—they all came naturally to Austria. He didn’t need to think with his brain when he danced. His feet had memorised the steps, going through the motions without his conscious thought.

“One could almost think it was your marriage,” Austria replied in the politest tone he could muster.

Stop it, Aunt Augusta, this isn’t your marriage.

Augsburg understood him very well. She pulled them aside before they were to change partners, giving him her piece of mind. Someone like Augusta didn’t even need to raise her eyebrow. One look was enough.

“Oh, I much prefer to be the merchant who pays for all of this,” she said bluntly. “I pay; you do my bidding. That’s how things work these days, dearie. It’s the same for your Charles and my Jakob Fugger.”

He’s not my Charles. Austria bit down on his lips. It would have been unwise to wear his heart on his sleeve in front of her. You never knew what she might do with a delicate piece of information such as this. How she might profit from it. For this seemed to be what the world of merchants was all about: Profit; personal gain.

“You’ve become cold,” he said eventually. The irony wasn’t lost on him: Augsburg seemed cold because she focused on monetary gain; Charles seemed cold because he focused on political gain; and Austria acted cold because he did what needed to be done.

Still, marrying someone he barely knew felt daunting. So did the uncertainty of how other people thought about his marriage: Did they perceive it the way Charles had presented it to everyone—as a political union only? Were they secretly disgusted because both personifications who had exchanged vows inhabited male human bodies? Did they expect them to consummate their marriage?

“I’m not cold, dearie,” Augsburg interrupted his train of thoughts. Her voice was warmer and darker now; a tone he remembered from his childhood. “I’m only trying to achieve the best for my people, as we all do—or should be doing, at the very least.”

That was undoubtedly true. It was the truth at the very core of all country personifications: You are the land—or, in Augsburg’s case, the city. Do what is best for the land and those who call it their home.

You could go against that, but not for very long. It drove you insane. There had been examples of that, too…

Swabia had told him to be the land, time and time again. When she had vanished, everybody had thought her dead. Then she had returned, telling everyone she would always be there as long as there was one soul who remembered her name and called themselves Swabian. Histrionics, they had thought, and yet…

Perhaps there was some grain of truth in it. Perhaps the key was to believe in it yourself.

“You look far too serious, darling,” Augsburg said into his thoughts. “Cheer up, it’s your wedding day!” She patted his cheek in an almost motherly gesture. “It’s all new to you now, but you’ll get used to being his husband.”

“Will I?” he said flatly. His anger was still there, bubbling under the surface. “Will I ever?”

She ignored his despondent answer and studied Spain from across the room before leaning in with a conspiratory grin. “So, what do you think: Is he or isn’t he?”

Austria was confused. “Is he what?”

She answered as if she was discussing the latest court scandal. “Moorish, of course! He spent so much time under Muslim occupation. Perhaps he obtained some Moorish blood or strange habits! Hmm, his skin is pale, but his curls are dark! If he’d grow a beard, he’d look the part.”

She had achieved her aim. Roderich had been fighting the Ottoman Turks at his eastern border for a while now, and he was thoroughly scandalized.

“I sure hope you’re joking!”

“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter, as long as he has no more Muslim tendencies. Take a piece of advice from someone who’s been around for one and a half millennia,” she told him, glancing meaningfully at Spain’s back once she had spotted him among the dancers. “You could have had it worse. At least he’s handsome.”

“He plays the vihuela.” Austria hadn’t even intended to give her this piece of information; it had simply slipped out.

“Does he?” Now Augsburg did raise an eyebrow. “That’s even better. I may know less than you about arranged marriages between rulers unless we’re only talking about ceremonies, but I believe it’s always useful to have some common ground.” She glanced at Spain again. “And like I said, he’s nicely shaped.” Her hands made curving motions, forming two semicircles.

“What?” Austria looked at her in puzzlement.

It took a few seconds until the penny dropped.

“Augusta!” Austria hissed, blushing furiously. “How very indecent!”

“You’re the one who’s going to see it without all those layers of clothing,” Augsburg deadpanned. “Most likely, in any case.” She shrugged. “Unless Charles told you not to make inquiries in that direction. But if I were you, I’d still try to squeeze it, no matter what Charles says. I feel tempted to do it even now.”

“Please don’t!” Austria felt very hot all of a sudden. Until now, he had pushed thoughts about the technical side of consummating a marriage out of his mind. Trust Augusta not to let me get away with it. Augsburg’s words planted mental images in his head that he really didn’t want to think about just now.

“Hmm...” Augsburg threw a calculating glance in Spain’s general direction. “No, I won’t squeeze it. But tempted I am.”

They joined the basse danse again. At some point, Spain gave a little yelp, looking around himself in puzzlement. Austria was entirely unsurprised to spot Augusta quite close to him, looking just as surprised about the sound as anyone else.

Austria sighed.

She was a good actor, he had to give her that.

---

“Roderich!”

Third time’s the charm, Roderich thought, turning toward the person who had uttered his name in a mixture between a hiss and a rough whisper.

Swabia took him by the arm—not a very comfortable experience from an old warrior with an iron grip. Austria winced.

“Sorry,” Swabia said casually, not sounding sorry at all. Austria inwardly rolled his eyes. Why was half his family like this?

She dragged him in a corner suitably far away from spying eyes and ears. Only then she released her grip. Austria rubbed his protesting upper arm.

“Listen to me, boy,” she said urgently. Her voice was dark, almost masculine. When Austria had been little, he had thought she was a man, and she had done nothing to discourage that notion. Then the Duchy of Swabia had been no more, and for all people knew, she had vanished from the face of the Earth. It was only when she had reappeared a few decades ago, from Heaven knew where, that she had been open about being a woman.

“What is it, Hilde?” He couldn’t help it; he sounded unnerved.

“I do realise that everyone wants you to do or be something for them today,” Swabia said gruffly, “but that is precisely the reason why we need to talk. What do you know about bedding ceremonies?”

“Oh no,” Austria groaned. “They wouldn’t, would they.” His tone was too flat to count as a question. They would, he knew that. Or at least certain people would.

“I discouraged them from actually witnessing the consummation,” Swabia said in the tone of the long-suffering. “But Burgundy will guide Spain and I will guide you to your chamber.”

Austria smacked his head against the nearest wall. He did it with caution, so as not to accidentally hurt himself, but the message was clear. As soon as he leaned back, Swabia patted his back not very gently. He suspected it would take several minutes until it recovered from this onslaught.

“We’re going to leave as soon as we’ve finished escorting you,” she reassured him. “I, for my part, have no intention whatsoever to watch the actual consummation, whether it actually takes place or not.” Her voice sounded affronted at the mere suggestion, one clear indication, Austria thought, that someone had indeed suggested she stay and watch.

“But others might have fewer qualms,” Austria said. Swabia had always appreciated straightforwardness, a no-bullshit attitude and, last but not least, people who thought for themselves. That was one thing that hadn’t changed between before and after.

“Precisely,” she said darkly. “Don’t look at him, but you know who I mean.”

Bavaria, thought Austria. Out loud, he said: “He has always been a bully.”

“He has been a bully towards you from the very moment Redbeard and I decided to make you a duchy independent from him,” Swabia specified. “Which, even though it is all water under the bridge now, it is a major reason why I feel responsible to protect you from him in a moment when you will be vulnerable.”

Austria’s heart softened. Thinking back, she had always had an impressive ability to put herself in other people’s shoes—oh well, nothing special there; think like the enemy was one of the first things Bavaria himself had taught him. But Swabia had always had a motherly streak towards him, Austria—and that made all the difference, even though he hadn’t realised it when he was little.

“In any case,” Swabia swiftly returned to the matters at hand, “Bavaria will probably try to sneak up on you. If you don’t want that—and I’m sure you don’t—I urgently advise you not to start anything until he has made the attempt. I don’t know, sing some merry songs instead. Play a nice board game with your husband, for all I care. But see to it that there will be nothing for Bavaria to see. Alright?”

“Alright,” said Austria, “but how can I be sure that he won’t come back for another attempt?”

“I will see to that,” Swabia said gloomily. Austria had to pull himself together so as not to take an involuntary step back. She could be menacing when she set her mind to it.

An old warrior, they said. Better with the sword than with the head. But that wasn’t true; Austria knew it wasn’t. In order to be as good with the sword as her, you had to be a quick thinker, too. The difference was that she was no schemer at all—nothing like Augusta. But she was no schemer because she had an aversion to scheming, not because she was fundamentally unable to think in such a way.

“Thank you.” He gave her a genuine smile. She smiled back, in her own firm and earnest way, insofar as you could smile earnestly.

“You will remain in the corridor?” he asked.

“Don’t worry, I will keep my distance.”

“I did not worry. In fact, I’m glad it will be you who stays there.”

---

As the festivities progressed, Swabia came over once again—this time for everyone to be seen—took Austria gently by the hand—the hand, not the arm—and guided him away. He did not see Burgundy approach Spain, but they arrived in front of Spain and his chamber at the same time.

“Have fun, boys!” Burgundy said with a cat-like smile before she left them alone.

Swabia exchanged a meaningful glance with Austria. Then she nodded at them both and went away. Her footsteps echoed in the corridor—still a soldier’s steps despite the elegant dress she was wearing.

“Who is she?” whispered Spain in Italian as soon as the footsteps had died away.

“Swabia.” My guardian angel, he thought. And she is still here.

“The one who—” Spain craned his neck as if he could catch another glimpse of her that way.

“Who what?” Austria pretended not to know what Spain was asking about.

“Who spent her time in that mountain—you know, the same that Emperor Frederick II went to?”

“The Kyffhäuser, you mean,” Austria said.

“And said she had returned because it was a time of need for her children?” Spain continued, still craning his neck to see what was not to be seen anymore.

Oh dear, my husband is naïve. Roderich sighed.

“For all I know, Frederick II died in Castel Fiorentino in 1250,” he said drily. “For all I know, she has never been gone. Probably kept her head down because her children wanted so many different things. But as soon as aforesaid children think it best to unite, she’s there again, as head of their league. Head of the Swabian Circle now, too.”

“I hear grudging respect,” said Spain.

“At some point when I was little, I used to look up to her,” Austria explained. “She was the leading power of the empire back then. I wanted to be like her. Wanted to earn the empire’s crown.”

“So you did.”

“So I did,” Austria repeated sourly. “And look what good it is doing me. I’m nothing but a pawn in a game too big for me to play. She has never been a pawn.”

“Oh no,” Spain said earnestly. “She has always been a knight.” He paused. “So are you. And so am I.”

There was a small silence before Spain opened the door.

“Shall we go in?”

The room was pleasant and warm. Roderich noticed he’d been gifted a marriage chest. He had no time to look at it, though. Instead, he was looking for the right words to say.

For the first time after their wedding ceremony, Austria looked directly into his husband’s eyes. Play a nice board game with your husband, for all I care.

Then, to his dismay, Spain stepped closer to him and leaned in, inclining his head for a kiss.

“No! Wait.” Roderich’s voice came out more shrill than he had intended. He stepped back and tried to compose himself.

“May I challenge you to a game of chess?”

Shock and hurt manifested in Spain’s eyes. Austria could read him like an open book.

Oh. So this is important to you, Austria thought. Who would have thought.

“But…” Spain whimpered.

“I do not intend to eschew my marital duties,” Austria reassured him in his most formal tone. “I do, however, intend to postpone them for some more minutes or, as it may be, hours.”

Spain looked at him in confusion.

“You will see why.”

Spain thought about that.

“Chess it is, then,” he decided in the end.

They had barely lit all the candles in the room, taken off their shoes and laid out the chessboard in the middle of their four-poster when a long-haired blonde barged into their chamber.

“Austria!” he barked.

“You know, Saxony, there is such a thing as a door,” Austria said gently, placing his first pawn to e4 on the board. “The concept might seem novel to you, but it is for knocking.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit!” The blond man’s blue eyes bored into Austria’s purple ones. “I’m here to warn you! Your brother wants to be an asshole once again and spy on you…”

“Spy on me playing chess with my husband?” Austria asked sweetly.

Saxony visibly deflated.

“I should have expected you to know.”

“No harm done. But, Saxony—” Austria paused.

“Yes?”

“Next time you intend to warn someone of potential bedding ceremonies, do knock before you barge in. You might, you know … cause the exact thing you aim to prevent.”

“Sorry, Austria.” Saxony hung his head.

“Chin up,” Austria said jovially. “Like I said, no harm done.”

There was silence after Saxony had trudged out of the room.

“So this is why you suggested a game of chess,” Spain said eventually, moving one of his own pawns to e5.

“Exactly.” In a split-second decision, Austria moved a second pawn to f4. Spain whistled.

“Classic! Did you read Francesch Vicent’s book on chess?”

Austria gave him his best enigmatic smile.

---

They hadn’t played for long when the door clicked open one more time, and Augsburg put her head inside.

“Chess?” she asked in disapproval. “How boring!”

“It is a very interesting game!” insisted Spain.

Augsburg pouted.

“Your butt is far more interesting to me, young man. One should have thought seeing it was included in the price I paid for this wedding, but this seems not to be so. Good evening, gentlemen.”

With that, her head vanished, and the door clicked shut. Spain stared after her, open-mouthed.

“What was that?”

“The question is: Who was that, dear Antonio,” said Austria patiently. “The answer is: Meet Aunt Augusta, the moneybag who pays for everything you have seen so far, except for the fixed interior of this building. Then again, you have already met her or, rather, met her thumb and forefinger when she pinched your behind earlier this evening.”

“That was her?” Spain stared at the door.

“I’m afraid so.”

With that, Austria returned his focus to the game.

---

“Do you really think this is appropriate—”

Everyone was surprised when they first heard the child’s voice that sounded so very old. Austria’s first thought now was bafflement.

“Let me down!” the voice clamoured. “Let me down this instant! I don’t want—”

Then their camber door was kicked open with a bang, revealing Bavaria with a struggling Holy Roman Empire in one of his arms.

Something within Austria’s mind clicked. He stalked towards Bavaria in his stockings, putting his hands on his hips.

“What do you even think you’re doing?” he hissed. White-hot anger coursed through his veins.

“Roderich!” Bavaria said in what he had clearly attempted to be a jovial tone. It slipped. “We just…”

“We?” hissed Austria. “We?” His voice rose. “You dragged little Karl here against his will and you have the nerve to suggest he was in any way involved in the idea of seeing his guardian in a compromising situation?” Austria was still growing and only wore socks, but somehow, he managed to tower over Bavaria regardless.

“Erm…” Bavaria did one sensible thing and put Holy Rome to the ground. Austria grabbed him by the collar, still seething with anger.

“Roderich?” the young, old voice said calmly. “Theodor?”

Both countries looked at him.

“I think we should all calm down now, and then Theodor and I will return to the festivities. Is that not a good idea, Theodor?”

“Yes,” Bavaria said glumly. Then Holy Rome took his hand and guided him away. Austria closed the door after them—with deliberate care. Antagonising Karl was never a good idea. It made you seem childish.

“Alright.” Austria let out a long sigh. “After this, I think they will leave us alone at last.”

Then he saw the look in Spain’s eyes. There was a flicker of reverence in them as well as a distinct spark of—interest? Austria’s stomach did a tiny flip.

“So…” Spain was brushing his hand alongside the nape of his neck; a clear, if somewhat clumsy, sign of nervousness.

“So.” Austria was nervous, too. He tried not to show it; tied to muster the stoic bravery he always associated with Swabia.

“I rather think there will be no more disturbances now, and … I think we both know what is expected of us.” Damn. He was sure Swabia’s voice would not have been quavering.

“Have you ever done this before? I mean, with…” He didn’t know how to continue the sentence. With another man? But were they men? They weren’t human beings; that he was sure of. But their bodies were built like those of two male human beings, and the fact that the church itself had made it official today that human law did not apply to them… To him, it seemed like cheating. It appeared that kings and popes would always decide what they were on the basis of what was most convenient to them.

He looked on the chessboard. Were they pawns in this game of kings?

Spain followed his gaze. He picked up the chessboard from the bed and placed it carefully on the floor.

“You’re thinking too much.” Even Spain’s voice was gentle.

“I always do.” Austria looked away, on the cushions of the large four-poster. So, he thought once more. This was when…

“Will you let me guide you?” Spain said in the same quiet voice he had used before. “Because I actually have done this before.”

“You?” Austria’s head whipped up. He stared at Spain incredulously. “I thought…” He didn’t know how to continue. “Religion…”

For a split second, Spain appeared to be flustered but then answered with an aloofness that seemed almost like he was overcompensating:

“I know what the authorities say on the matter, and in the beginning, I was confused, too. But … it’s not really all that different, you know.” He shrugged. “I’m not a theologian, so I might miss a few points, but if the bishop approves of it, I can’t find fault with it either. Especially when it’s about our kind, who don’t have children the human way anyway.”

“Hm.” Austria thought. “That seems to be the main point, doesn’t it?”

Spain didn’t reply. Austria didn’t know if Spain really thought what he suspected—what he would have thought in Spain’s stead, in any case: Think like that if it makes you feel better about it.

He would try to, anyway.

“What do I need to do?”

“Stop looking like you’re going to face down an enemy, for starters.” Spain smiled as he was inching closer to him.

“I’m trying to.” Austria relaxed his features. Perhaps thinking How would Swabia handle this? wasn’t a good approach in every situation.

“First of all, I’m going to kiss you,” Spain declared. There was an edge to his voice Austria couldn’t quite place. “Then … just follow my lead. And push me away if you want me to stop, okay?”

Austria nodded.

Then a gentle, calloused hand cupped his chin and warm, slightly chapped lips captured his lower lip.

This really was no different to being with a woman, Austria thought involuntarily. At least so far.

He opened his mouth to let Spain in when his tongue demanded it. Spain was a good kisser, at the least; Austria had to give him that. He made an involuntary, small sound at the back of his throat and could feel Spain smile against his lips before he started to kiss Austria’s cheek.

“That is a fine coat you’re wearing but it’s in my way.” Spain deftly pushed the fur-lined coat down Austria’s shoulders and let it fall to the floor with a heavy thud. He kissed down Austria’s neck where the wide necked undershirt left him ample room for kisses. While kissing he got at the laces and points that held Austria’s doublet closed down his side and carefully started undoing them.

Austria’s hands were much more clumsy as he tried to open Spain’s belt that held his sayo gathered at the waist. It was an action dangerously close to the codpiece that peeked from between Spain’s skirts. The kissing had made him light-headed; he refused to accept thinking of himself as aroused yet.

Spain was progressing rapidly and now moved to the laces that tied his doublet to his hoses, it wouldn’t be long or he’d be in his shirt. Austria believed it his duty to do the same, but it was hard to think with Spain’s lips and hair touching his skin, and he had to get Spain to remove his coat and say first before he could get at any laces himself…

Spain sat back and laughed.

“We should have changed into our nightshirts before we started this, shouldn’t we?”

“Probably,” Austria said breathlessly. His mouth twitched upwards, too. “I always underestimate the time it takes to change out of ceremonial clothing.”

Spain flashed back a grin.

“Especially when you’re dead tired after some tedious reception, isn’t it?” He chucked off his own heavy coat and then pulled off the sayo over his head, leaving him in just his jubón and very short breeches and stockings, a state of undress that was already quite scandalous. Austria watched him before he realised that now would be a good time to start unfastening what Spain hadn’t unfastened yet. He took off his doublet and was left in just his undershirt and his breeches.

There was just one problem: The moment he untied the codpiece that was closing his breeches, Spain would see that… Well, that the kissing hadn’t quite left Austria unaffected. And wasn’t that too early…

Meanwhile, Spain had loosened his jubón from the shorts and undid just as many laces as needed to hastily pull it off. He accidentally pulled his linen undershirt along and got a bit stuck. With a little determination he had freed himself and stretched, his upper body was now completely bare. Austria stared. Where he was soft and a little skinny, Spain’s body was covered in hard planes of muscle. He suddenly felt self-conscious about his own body.

Then, Spain pulled loose his garter bands and loosened his codpiece and pushed down everything he wore on the lower half of his body. It was tight so he had to work it down a bit before being able to pull it off. The man was stark naked now. Without conscious thought, Austria’s eyes were drawn to his half-hard cock.

“But you didn’t even…” Austria had no idea how he wanted to finish this sentence.

“It’s basically been like this since we entered the bedroom,” Spain admitted frankly. “But it got a little harder when you put your brother in his place.”

“But … why?” That probably ranked pretty high on a list of most stupid questions ever uttered, Austria realised, so he clarified: “I mean … it’s not as if we had much of a choice…”

“Simple,” Spain said. “You look good. You’re graceful when you dance, among other things. I knew kissing you would feel good, too, and it does.”

“You’re the one who looks good.” Austria knew he was simply stating a fact. “I, on the other hand…” He pulled his wide linen shirt, over his head, leaving himself shirtless. He was trying not to think too much about how he looked.

Then he caught Spain’s stare.

He blinked.

“You know the saying,” murmured Spain, walking over to Austria’s side of the bed. “Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.” He raked his eyes over Austria’s, as Austria thought himself, rather scrawny chest. Spain’s broad, warm hands followed, and that did feel good…

Then Spain had managed to untie Austria’s knee breeches. He pulled them down.

“Oh.” Spain stared at Austria’s cock—a rather unbecoming thing, Austria thought; pale with some angry red at the tip.

“And here I was actually worried your body might not react, no matter what I do.”

Was that before or after you kissed me breathless? Austria wanted to quip, but then Spain was on his knees and—alright, that was something he had experienced before too, but Spain had swallowed him whole, and…

He cried out and swore in German, in words he would otherwise have denied he even knew. So much for keeping this to ‘the approved position’ Burgundy had demanded of him this was definitely fornication. He liked that idea, yes there were so many things he had to comply with about this marriage. But there were parts of it that no one could control except for the two of them, no matter how much others might want to.

Spain pushed him on the bed, getting rid of Austria’s breeches and socks while he was at it, never stopping with his mouth…

Rational thought escaped Austria, and that was probably just as fine because he wasn’t keen on evaluating the sounds he made anyway.

Then one of Spain’s hands held down his hips. Cold air hit his cock as Spain sat on his knees, raking his eyes over Austria while he was stroking himself.

Austria stared. He hadn’t felt so aroused in a long time.

“Want to touch me?” Spain asked. Austria nodded. He ran his hands over the muscles on Spain’s chest before he let one hand dip down into Spain’s soft flank. His other hand wrapped around Spain’s cock.

It was a new sensation to hold a cock that wasn’t his own, but Austria knew how he liked to be touched … if he twisted his hand just like this … Spain’s hips bucked under his hands.

“Okay, okay, you’re making me come!” Spain pushed his hand off. “Not yet.”

Oh yes… So far, it had been easy. But that had just been Spain’s way of making the whole thing more bearable, hadn’t it?

Austria rolled on his stomach. Better get it over with…

Broad hands started to knead his … backside, for want of a more becoming term. He felt a puff of air between his cheeks, and then…

He didn’t know if he had bucked or flinched. In any case, he hadn’t been prepared for Spain’s tongue … there.

At first, the sensations were just confusing. Then Spain’s tongue started to work him for real, darting in and out and caressing his inner walls. He started to pant again.

“Hmm…” Spain hummed against his arse. Austria’s hips bucked out of their own volition. “And I didn’t even need to tell you to relax.” The puffs of air against his hole made him buck his hips again.

“That’s good,” Spain continued. “I’m going to work you open now,” he explained. “That might get a bit uncomfortable. You need to tell me if it gets too much, alright?”

“Yes,” said Austria. It was hard to think through his arousal, but he had understood. On the other hand, he had no intention whatsoever to tell Spain that anything was too much. Grit your teeth…

Spain leaned away from him, taking something from his clothes. Austria looked after him.

“Olive oil,” Spain explained as he opened the jar. “The very best.”

Then Spain started, using his tongue and an oil-coated finger to stretch Austria from the inside… It didn’t feel good, but it was also not the horrible feeling Austria had expected: A mixture of pleasure—yes, it was still there—and the uncomfortable sensation of being stretched in a place that hadn’t been made for stretching all that much. Austria’s hips still bucked when Spain inserted two oily fingers and his tongue, moving them in and out, but his moans were now half pain, half pleasure.

“I think you’re ready,” Spain said eventually.

Am I? thought Austria. He wasn’t ready at all; not mentally, at the least.

Something warm and spongy that had also been coated in oil nudged his arse, and then he had to bite his lips hard not to cry out in pain because that was definitely bigger than…

“Oh, shit,” Spain swore. A number of Spanish expletives followed as he rolled them both to the side, arms flailing. At least it distracted Austria from the unpleasant feeling.

“What…?” he started to ask.

“Damn. Sorry. I almost lost control… Did I hurt you?”

“Not much,” Austria said, more or less truthfully. “Is there something I can do to help?”

“I’d better … hold my legs still. Can you, uh, move against me?”

Austria understood immediately. He tugged one of Spain’s arms across his chest.

“Alright. Hold me.”

Spain did, muscles quivering from the effort not to move while Austria pushed his ass against him again and again, panting in the effort of moving.

“This doesn’t work,” he concluded. “On your back.”

Spain did as he was told. Austria took the jar from Spain’s hand, rubbing more oil on his dick and between his ass cheeks. Then he sat on him, face to his legs because Spain really didn’t need to see the grimace he pulled. He gave himself no time to think about the fact that suddenly it seemed to be him, not Spain, who controlled the situation. Instead, he used his weight to push Spain’s dick inside of him in slow thrusts that strained his leg muscles

When he was almost inside, Spain’s hips jerked upward, knocking the wind out of Austria’s lungs.

“You can turn me around now,” Austria panted as soon as he was sure his voice wouldn’t come out an octave too high. Spain did so, trying to hold his dick inside of Austria as it was. It wasn’t really possible because Austria could feel every little movement, and it wasn’t a pleasant sensation at all.

In the end, they were on their sides again, Spain’s arm once again slung across Austria’s chest.

“You’re so tight,” Spain panted. “Too tight. Can you try to relax?”

Austria did his best. He thought about Spain’s hands on him; the moment he had touched Spain; Spain’s lips around him… That had felt good.

“Better,” Spain grunted. He rocked his hips, keeping Austria in place with his arm.

It actually was better. The stretch was still unpleasant, but the oil did its job quite nicely now, and the pace Spain set suited Austria well: Not too fast, but not too slow either; not too hard and not too soft. He felt his cock that had become softer in the past minutes harden once again.

Then Spain’s hand brushed down Austria’s chest, gripped his cock, and—oh, that was more like it.

Spain’s mouth started to pepper kisses on his neck. Austria understood what he wanted, turning his head until Spain could kiss him. The kiss was open-mouthed and clumsy. Spain moaned into it as his hips moved harder and faster. At last, Austria’s hips started to jerk out of their own volition, torn between the thrusts from behind, the hand around his cock and the tongue in his mouth.

Suddenly, Spain brushed something inside of him that sent a shock of arousal through him. He cried out. Spain’s hand that had only held his cock before twisted up and down. Before Austria had registered what was happening, sticky wetness hit his stomach. Then Spain brushed the same spot as before, and another spurt of come followed the first.

Spain pumped Austria’s cock in a frenzy while his hips jerked up fast and erratically. Spots started to dance before Austria’s eyes. Then Spain’s hips stilled, and Austria felt hot fluid inside of him.

So this was penetrative sex between men, Austria thought with the part of his brain that never seemed to shut off. He pumped air between his lungs in long gasps until the spots in front of his eyes vanished.

The next things he registered were how sensitive the skin on his thighs felt—again, something that was not entirely new—and that he felt unable to move his legs even an inch.

“Austria?” Spain asked in a small voice.

“Hmm?” He couldn’t bring himself to say more.

“Are you … I mean, did I hurt you?” Spain sounded worried.

You mean, when didn’t you hurt me, a malicious part of Austria wanted to quip. He reined it in and settled for the truth.

“It stung when you spread me and it did hurt in the beginning,” he admitted. “But I don’t mind that you were chasing your own release at the end, which is what I think you are referring to.”

“I’m sorry.” Spain sounded sincere. “It gets easier if you do it more often.” There was an unspoken question in that statement, but Austria chose to ignore it for the time being. He had done his duty—the marriage had been consummated—but he didn’t know yet what he wanted for the future.

“Still,” Spain said. Austria felt the bed dip as he stood. He heard him move, but couldn’t bring himself to lift his head. “It was your first time. I should have been gentler.” Spain’s upper body entered Austria’s field of vision, holding a wet piece of cloth. “Allow me to clean you up, too?”

“Please.” Austria realised his own switch back to a formal tone. It seemed to have an effect on Spain: The way he cleaned him up was meticulous and efficient. Austria noted he had warmed the piece of cloth with his body—an act of care he appreciated.

“Tell me,” Austria asked, “if we hadn’t been ordered to consummate our marriage properly, would you have done all you did tonight?”

“No,” Spain answered at once. “I wanted you to enjoy it. I’d probably have stroked us off together, and that’s it. And you can keep caressing each other while you do that…” His voice trailed off. “Look, I think you’re clever and brave and beautiful, and I want to touch you. I’d want it if we weren’t married. But I’m worried I thwarted my own chances before I had any because we were doing what others expected of us.”

“Don’t be cross with me, but I believe I’m unable to think about that just now.” Austria only realised how true this was as he said it: He was exhausted; his legs felt like jelly; and he needed a good night’s sleep anyway after the dances, the chess match and Swabia’s and his own valiant efforts to thwart all spectators.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” he hurried to say as he saw the disappointment on Spain’s face. “If I say I need to think about it, I don’t mean no. I mean that I need to think about it, but I’m about to fall asleep. So … come to bed with me?”

Spain nodded. Then he doused the candles and went to bed, putting the blankets over them both as well as he could. Austria made a point of taking Spain’s hand.

It had been a long day, and he really needed to think. He also needed his legs to work again, but he assumed that problem would have solved itself by tomorrow.

#hetalia #hetabang 2020 #spaus #aph spain #aph austria #historical hetalia #aph belgium #aph bavaria #aph holy roman empire #aph saxony #hws spain #hws austria #hetalia fanfiction #aph fanfiction #aph #fanfiction #my fanfiction #katemarley #there be citrus fruit

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doctor243 · 4 years

Text

The Girl Who Cried Wolf Chapter 9

Firstly, I'm so sorry it took me so long to update, the world has been kinda out of whack. But seriously, thank you to everyone who has been messaging me and commenting and checking in on me. It means the world to me and it motivates me to get off my ass and write. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Summary: 5 times MJ says ‘I love you’ and 1 time Peter says it back.

Characters: Michelle Jones, Peter Parker, May Parker, Ned Leeds

AO3

Fuck. “No.”

“Oh come on, this is gonna be awesome!” Ned laughed, holding up a pamphlet. “Queesnborough Community College Art Show,” he read, but MJ already knew what was written. “Listed artists: Michelle Jones. Yeah, we’re totally going.” Fuck.

“No,” she repeated, threatening his cunning smile with her cold stare. “You’re not.”

“How’d you even get a spot at the art show anyways?” Peter asked through a mouthful of sandwich, and she desperately wanted to pin his lips shut. “I thought they were only showcasing their own students.” Double fuck.

“I am one of their students,” she sighed reluctantly, pointedly staring at her book and avoiding all eye contact. Why couldn’t they just leave it alone? Showing her art to random strangers was one thing – she’d never have to see them again. But her friends? She wasn’t ready for that. “I’ve been taking classes with them part time.” She popped another French fry into her mouth before turning the page on Goodnight Mister Tom. Art was a revelation of the soul, and she didn’t know if she wanted her two friends to see that yet.

“WHAT?” she heard Ned cry out, oblivious to her inner turmoil.

“Oh we’re so going to this show,” Peter piped up.

The conversation immediately descended into chaos as her best (only) friends started yelling about injustices at the same time. It was difficult to keep track of what both of them were saying, so MJ just shut her book with a thud and looked up, effectively silencing them. “No,” she spoke.

“Okay, okay,” Ned laughed. “We won’t go.” She believed him.

“Oh, we’re totally going,” Peter argued, and unfortunately, she believed him too. Triple fuck.

“In fact,” he continued, as only he would dare. “We have to get the flashiest brightest suits we can find to pretend like we’re important art buyers-”

“Art collectors,” MJ interrupted in frustration.

“-you know what I meant-”

“And art collectors don’t necessarily wear flashy loud suits to art shows.” Please just shut up and don’t come.

“Still gonna do it,” he grinned deviously. Fuck.

“The art pieces aren’t even for sale,” she made a final attempt at resistance. “It’s just an exhibition to showcase the school’s students!”

“Still. Gonna. Do. It.” Damn you, Peter Parker, and that goddamn grin that makes my heart do funny things.

She sighed and pinched her eyebrows. “I’m gonna be so embarrassed,” she grit out. She ignored the flop that her heart did at the sound of Peter’s triumphant whoop. Fuck.

::::::

MJ plastered a smile on her face at the polite visitors who spared her work a glance. Behind her back, her fingers were nervously finding new ways to imitate spaghetti, and she held her breath in hopes that one would just stop and look carefully. Artists were, after all, contradictory in that manner. They desperately wanted someone to look at their soul on the canvas and understand them, but the chance was so small that they often dared not reveal the art. Please look at my art, they often cried out inwardly. Even though I’m afraid to show it to you.

Where the hell is Peter? She thought furiously, glaring at her watch that read 9 o’clock. Again, another contradiction. She had dreaded his presence at the expo, but now that it seemed he wouldn’t show, MJ felt the disappointment pooling in her gut.

She watched University recruiters and photographers talking to a few of her classmates, and others with their families, smiling and taking selfies with their works. Taking a deep breath, she looked at her watch again, albeit almost in vain. 9:10. There was 20 minutes left, so he probably wasn’t coming after all.

Her neighbours started taking down their canvases, and she saw Professor Latham helping some students clear up. Well, this was an absolute waste of everyone’s time. An evening down the drain. MJ sniffed softly as she felt her eyes sting from the warning of tears. Don’t cry. Not now.

“Aha! There she is! MJ!”

Her breath hitched and she dared herself to hope again. She turned around.

“Peter?” She whispered, almost in disbelief.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he finally stopped, looking up to catch his breath. “There was a huge thing with the police and a baby and-” she could barely hear him over the thumping of her heart, but she assumed it was Spider-Man business. “Ah I’ll explain it to you another time.” You’d better.

“You came,” she tried to hold back her smile, but it turned into a sort of grimace.

“Of course we came!” He replied excitedly. “We came to see amazing art!”

Wait. Hold up a minute. “We?” MJ wondered out loud. Did Ned come too?

“Hey MJ.”

She spun around again to see the epitome of motherly love beaming at her with pride. “Aunt May,” She breathed. “You came too.”

“Of course, sweetie!” May laughed. “This is important to you right?”

“Well…I mean…Um…” she struggled out a stutter.

“Oh hush,” the older woman pulled her into a hug, and MJ would never admit it, but she always yearned for an Aunt May Hug. “We’re all really proud of you. Now why don’t you start showing off to us?”

“Ok,” she mumbled, eyes stinging even more than before, but her heart infinitely warmer.

She turned to explain a few of her paintings, but Peter was already staring intently at them.

“Holy crap you did oil paintings?!” He whistled. “This cannot be cheap.”

“Yeah I-” How do you know that?

“Dang, these are pretty amazing! Aunt May! Look, it’s Queens! You could see our apartment from here!”

“It’s not-” It is. That’s exactly what I was trying to get.

“How did you get such detail with oils? I just make a messy blur and call it interpretive art.”

“You-” You are overwhelming me with these compliments.

“And this one’s Midtown! You even painted the school?? I thought you hated school!”

“I-” I did, but now I love it because I get to see my favourite people every day. And my favourite person.

May placed a gentle hand over Peter’s mouth. “Let the poor girl talk, you’re overwhelming her.”

MJ just stared at the corner of the Midtown portrait and struggled to regulate her breathing. Be still, my heart, she scolded herself. One, two, three, four…

“Excuse me, sir, ma’am.” Oh good, Professor Chang.

Peter and May turned to regard her teacher. “The exhibition will be closing in 5 minutes. Can I help you with anything before we close?”

“Yeah!” Peter chirped up, the wonderful idiot that he was. “Is purchase of these art pieces allowed?”

Professor Chang smiled again, and was that a wink? “Purchase of the art pieces are between you and the artist,” she replied. Oh no, Professor Chang. “The purpose of this exhibition isn’t for the sale of art, but if the artist agrees, who are we to hinder their budding career?” MJ wished that the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Now she had to go over to the Parker’s residence and see her own work permanently? Talk about being mortified.

“Now, wait just a minut-” she tried to protest weakly, but for the second time that day, to no avail.

“Aunt May! Can we buy one please?” Peter interrupted, eyes shining.

“Okay, Peter,” she smiled. “Just one though, ok?” She warned. Was she allowing Peter to buy candy?

“Peter, you can’t,” MJ protested weakly. “These aren’t any good.”

“What’re you talking about?” He laughed. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re the best artist in this entire gallery!”

“I’m just a high school kid in a college exhibition,” she mumbled.

“And that’s what makes you amazing,” he replied, and she could tell that he meant every word. He turned around to choose while Michelle quietly struggled to process the sudden influx of emotions.

“This one. I want this one. How much d’ya want for it, Ms Jones?” He teased. She looked up and smiled weakly. Of course he’d choose that one. The New York skyline that she’d painted from her rooftop. From there, she could see Peter’s apartment building, and sometimes, she’d wonder if he could see hers too. The sun was setting, and she’d tried her best to incorporate every colour that had been present, but her oil paints were limited, and the sky was just too beautiful to be captured. Too free and wild to be held still in the four walls of a canvas frame. Too beautiful for one to do it justice. Just like the little spider in front of her.

“Nothing.”

The word popped out of her mouth before she could shut it, and she hugged him before her mind could deny her body. Here goes nothing. “Because I love you,” she whispered. She felt his body stiffen and she and immediately regretted her words. He didn’t speak for five seconds, and that was five seconds too many. Her throat seized up and her heart dropped. The buzzing in her gut turned into a scream and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Abort mission. She pulled away and flicked him on the forehead.

“I’m kidding, loser,” she smirked, even as her chest ached and the colours on the canvas looked sadder than they had before. “It’ll be 50 bucks. Do you have any idea how expensive oil paints are?”

“Yeah, I do,” Peter replied, clearly a little nervous. “Good thing I asked Mr Stark for some cash before coming here.”

“In that case, it’ll be 70.”

“Hey!” he gasped in mock offence, but she’d already hopped forward and given May a big hug.

“I love you, Aunt May,” she said, distinctively more audibly. And she meant it. Peter didn’t love her that way, so it was better if she didn’t give him any ideas that she did. The truth didn’t matter, as long as he was happy.

“Aww honey!” cooed May. “I love you too!” and while the words comforted her, she’d have preferred to hear them in a different voice.

Previous Chapter: Here

Next Chapter: Coming Soon!!!

Masterlist: Here

Tags: @jmsjssc @you-guys--are-losers @spideychelleforever @spideychelleee @spidermaninlove @tonystarkissist @spideychellefics @spiderxboy @spideychelle-4-ever @spideyxchelle @thespideychellelibrary @here-be-spideychelle

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#spider-man #homecoming #far from home #mcu #spideychelle #michelle jones #peter parker #mj #marvel #fanfiction #tgwcw

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pestopascal · 4 years

Note

how do you go about commissioning someone? i want to but i hear a lot of bad stuff every so often and ive seen you mention certain artists being behind on contact so im not sure what to expect

quite frankly commissioning someone is absolutely terrifying and needs to have a high level of communication from both the person you are commissioning as well as yourself. the one major artist i have said something about and to, turns out, have had a long history of disappearing for months at a time or not being good and running off with money. found out that after i finally got something from one of them, but the other who i’ve been waiting since january on a response from... im emailing every second week and @ ing on twitter constantly by this point considering it was an upfront payment. and like i said about the first one... if commissions are your primary source of income... there is a level of expectation. i know from social media the second one has been involved in a lot of public work and whatnot, which i do support, but all i need is one email to be like “hey sorry im busy with other work”. some people don’t tell you that. or you find out through their tumblr their laptop is broken. it can be very frustrating. or they run donation and commission sale posts in between not doing your commission. so...

and as for you the person commissioning i think people vastly underestimate what you need to provide vs what ppl actually do provide. if you have some specific pose in mind provide photo refs/explain it. you dont need to do a characters backstory, 3 pages, no line breaks. summarise. clear cut on colours and clothing. and if you leave it up to interpretation then you’re gonna end up with something you may have to be like hey sorry lets correct this, which wastes time and effort and money on everyone’s behalf. like spend time going through god like pinterest or whatever to actually source what it is you are looking for. you’d be amazed that people rly to appreciate it, and also esp when artists run limited spots, the ones that are actually providing references and so on are the ones that do get picked because it makes it easier to then provide a higher quality product. its not about remembering urls and favouritism that some people like to claim, its so that they can spend more time on something for you.

that said, commissioning someone and seeing something you have in mind come to life is brilliant. personally i do have a preference for commissioning friends, because well 1) communication (sophia is so good for it), 2) its so funny dropping into the dms like kicking down their door and throwing money at them to draw something for you (something i do to hoiist and daisy regularly) and 3) idk love and support friends!!! (always all of them) also with friends too i do ask people if theyre trying something out like animations, new painting style, etc. if they wanna test on my comm i dont mind because in some instances it also helps them like work out if they wanna use it as an offer on a comm yknow?

when it comes to artists (or writers in some instances) that you dont personally know, if i cant exactly find the information on their tumblr (which happens quite rarely but does happen) i just ask. what do they need. what do they want. also turnaround time. there are people out there with art/writing styles that you do adore, or something specific theyve done in the past you want to almost have recreated for yourself. talk to them! ask if they’re okay redoing like idk a deconstructed helmet or a watercolour tarot card or a 3k word third pov fic revolving around reconnecting 5yrs later (plummmmm). but like too ask about payments, if you can potentially do half and half (a lot of artists are honestly open to this but you just have to ask), what are their routines like with providing sketches and changes (most tend to have information available on their tumblr but... still), etc etc. and dont be surprised if you ask for some heavy tattooing and jewellery and flowers that the price goes up? ive seen people be genuinely shocked like youre asking for heavy detail... hello.... but communication is key and its also on you to ask and tell the things you want and need.

as for writing commissions, personally, kind of almost in the same boat? if theres a particular scene, a visual reference helps to be like a guiding key to get to that point, but also specific words, like talking about hands, the colour purple. personally too with writing comms i have done, i do sometimes go and search for like oc tags for more visual stuff and then translate it to text. some of my favourite pieces have been exchanges more than commissions, with crashed-down through the dragon age pieces we’ve done, and utilising the tags there. also like i ask if you want the pov to follow someone specific, do you want first, second or third, any particular time of day, etc etc etc. like this does affect tone and flow. also with mine i offer snippets as i move through to see if the phrasing is right, am i doing something appropriate to the character/s, as with art you have the. pose and emotion in one position as such yknow? with writing its a movement and kind of links through it all. if like one sentence is off, the tone could be wrong, and changes everything.

also, if something is out of your price range, i have seen an upswing in people asking that just let someone know. inquire, work it out, but if its too much just politely turn it down. yes, emails get lost and tumblr is notorious for not flagging messages so there can be unintentional ghosting but yeah i think thats a good habit to get into.

tldr; dont be afraid to commission people, seriously, its very rewarding for everyone around. be polite, ask questions, keep on top of the communication. dont be an asshole, be clear about what youre after, be kind, enjoy

#replies #got long so under a cut #but yeeee hope that helps #ive commissioned a lot more in the last two yrs than i have before #like got over my fear of commissioning after having a few bad ones during 2015/16 period #and its been overall rly good like #you also find that one artist you keep going back to #like xla-hainex is someone i always recommend love maria #and also like take into account if someone runs like kofi commissions #and u cant afford their bigger pieces #theres no shame in doing kofi ones #its how i commissioned vika a few times #Anonymous

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girls-scenarios · 4 years

Text

Ocean Muse

Idol: Miya (GWSN)

Prompt: This is probably pretty unique but can I request a fic for GWSN's Miya with a female reader? The reader works as a rescue diver and Miya is an artist. Miya surprises the reader with a painting of sea life + her diving and Miya confesses at the same time? Feel free to change up what you need to lol. A fluff piece, non-idol!AU. If you do this one thank you! And make sure to take care of yourselves this blog is amazing!

Writer: Admin Kiwi

A/N: I love GWSN, they seriously have no bad songs and are all super sweet and fun girls. I really recommend you all check them out! They also upload covers and short videos of themselves that have English subs, so you can get to know them well! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

♡ Tip Jar♡

It was frustration that originally drove Miya to that cliff by the sea that overlooked the beach. For a month, she’d holed herself up in her studio, working to no avail. Hundreds of pieces of paper and canvases littered the floor, painted and then trashed out of frustration. During her most successful year yet, she’d hit a wall: she could paint nothing she was satisfied with and had no inspiration for anything new. Frustration took over, and it was that frustration that led her to pack up her things and head to Jeju, ready to give up forever.

Jeju was exactly what she needed. It was summer, and the air was warm, kissing her skin and relaxing her sore muscles. The picturesque scenery and the peaceful atmosphere even encouraged her to pick up her paintbrushes again, ebbing the anger and annoyance from her shoulders. But it was the cliff that truly changed everything.

She found it while she was out driving, looking for a good spot to sit and relax, and perhaps even paint or draw a little something. It was located near a busy beach and, further down, a dock, where fishermen were always going in and out. But up on the cliff, it was quiet, the wind carrying up the faint sounds below. There was a small bench located near the edge, as well as a metal fence, and that was why she stopped her car and walked over. The air was clear and salty, the sun warm, and somewhere nearby, birds chirped. Down below, she could see families coming and going, and it made her smile.

This was the perfect spot.

She settled down on the ground near the fence and pulled out her sketchbook but left it closed on her lap, breathing in the clear air and closing her eyes. When she opened them again and looked down, something near the cliff bottom caught her eye, and she leaned over to look. Divers, all in black diving gear, were walking out of the water. She had heard about the female divers here, but this didn’t seem to be the same thing. In fact, they seemed to have some sort of health or emergency symbol on their suits. Fascinated, she watched as the group began to take off their equipment and masks, talking among themselves.

As she watched, a gentle wind brought a laugh up from below that seized her heart as the wind ruffled her hair. You pulled off your mask and revealed your face, knocking the breath out of her as you ran your fingers through your wet hair and smiled, saying something to your friend that she couldn’t hear. Despite how far away you were, Miya couldn’t take her eyes off of you. There was something so... alluring about you. About the way you skillfully took apart the equipment with a smile on your face, all while seeming to lead the team. She’d never believed in love at first sight, but what else could this be?

When you walked off towards the pier, carrying your equipment, the spell was broken and she could breath again. Turning around, she stumbled back to where she’d left her art supplies and quickly opened her sketchbook, sitting down on the bench. Your smiling face still ingrained in her mind, she began to draw, full of inspiration for the first time in months.

The sketch turned out wonderful, a still of you looking out towards the ocean and smiling, and she hung it up in her new, makeshift work space in the studio apartment she was renting. A thrill rushed through her veins again, and she itched to paint you, to get a closer look at your smile, and to see you again.

So she ended up back at that cliff, her sketchbook in hand, eyes trained on the sea. She had a reason to paint again.

Sometimes, you showed up on the beach. Other times, she waited only for you not to appear. Through her watching, Miya started to understand your schedule and your job. You were a rescue diver, that much she’d gathered from overhearing your conversations when the wind was right, and this beach was a practice site where you trained new divers, which explained why you weren’t there every day. Her sketchbook filled up with drawings of you: you coming out of the water, you laughing with your trainees, you diving into the ocean. Alongside those drawings were sketches of ocean life, the beach, and the view from the cliff. Everything seemed to inspire her now, and she loved it.

Eventually, she worked up the nerve to go down to the beach one Monday when she knew you’d be at the beach. Sure enough, you showed up thirty minutes after she did, leading your team towards your normal spot. She watched in awe as you suited up for the dive, taking note of all of the different types of equipment in her sketchbook. This close, she could hear you explaining them all, so she jotted down notes, wanting to make sure her paintings were as realistic as possible. It was interesting, too, how much work went into diving. It fascinated her that people could remember all the rules.

When you went underwater, she busied herself with drawing a group of seagulls and a two nearby fighting crabs until you resurfaced once again. As you chatted with your group and took off the equipment, she took a deep breath and psyched herself up. She had to talk to you. It was now or never.

Thankfully, you always had a habit of walking behind your group, so she wouldn’t have to stop you in front of everyone. As you picked up the last of your things, the rest of the group already going ahead, she carefully approached you.

“Um, hello. I’m sorry to bother you, but could I ask you something?”

You looked up, a bit startled, before smiling, standing up straight and nodding. “Hello, and sure, I don’t mind!”

“Can I ask what you guys are doing out here? With the diving, I mean.” She felt embarrassed as she spoke, her cheeks heating up. This was dumb. What was she even doing?

“Oh, I’m training some of my trainee rescue divers! The water is deep in this area so not many families come over here, but it’s still a relatively safe dive spot, so it’s a good training area.” You tucked your wet hair behind your ear, looking at her curiously. “I hope we aren’t getting in the way of anything.”

“Oh, no!” She waved her hands quickly before gesturing to her sketchbook. “I’m just an artist and I’ve been coming to this beach for inspiration. Since I see you here a lot, I started to get curious. It’s really fascinating to watch you dive.” Did that sound weird? She was sure, but you didn’t seem to think so, your smile widening.

“Oh wow, I’ve never met an artist before, but I’m glad you find diving interesting!”

“Can I ask what a rescue diver does?”

You thought for a minute. “Well, we do a lot of things. A lot of times we get called in to help with sinking boats but really we’re called for any water-based accidents. And sometimes we help with collecting things from sunken boats or cars that might help if there’s an investigation.”

“Wow,” Miya said, eyes wide in awe. “You have a really important job. Isn’t it stressful?”

“To be honest, yes,” you said with a little laugh and nod. “But it’s my passion so I don’t mind it.” You held out your hand. “I’m (Y/N) by the way.”

“I’m Miya.” She shook your hand and smiled. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Can I ask you something in return?”

That took her by surprise, and she raised her eyebrows. “Oh, sure! Since I asked you so many, it’s only fair.”

“What do you do? As an artist, I mean. I’m not really familiar with that kind of stuff.”

“Mostly I paint, but I like to do sketches before I start my paintings. Especially if I’m painting something real. Like the ocean, for example. I want everything to be right.” She shrugged. “It’s nothing impressive but I enjoy it.”

“No, I think it’s impressive! I can’t paint so I’m always amazed with what artists can do. I’d love to see your work sometime, Miya.” You smiled brightly, and internally, Miya panicked. How was she supposed to explain a sketchbook full of, well, you? Swallowing, she quickly flipped through the book, finally landing on the sketch of the crabs from earlier.

“Here’s one of the sketches I did today. It’s nothing special, though, it was a quick drawing.” Her cheeks flushed and she wished she could show you something better. But you, on the other hand, let out a little gasp when you looked at the page.

“What are you talking about? That’s a great sketch! If this is just a quick drawing, your paintings must be amazing!”

She blushed even more, laughing nervously. “I don’t know about that.”

“I’m sure they’re wonderful.” You checked the watch you had on under your sleeve. “Hey, I’m off after this, so if you want, why don’t we grab some lunch? You can tell me more about your art, and I can explain more about diving to you.”

Was this really happening? Miya felt a little dizzy but she grinned, tucking her sketchbook under her arm. “I’d like that.”

“Great! Then let’s meet at the noodle place up by the pier. I have to get dressed, but I know the owner there. She’ll give us a good deal.”

“I’ll be there,” she said, hardly believing what she was saying. Out of all the things she’d been expecting to happen, eating out with you was not one of them. But she wasn’t about to complain.

Despite the difference in jobs, it turned out that the two of you actually had a lot in common. You had the same music tastes, the same tastes in food, and the same favorite books. And, of course, both of you loved the beach. It was easy to chat and laugh with you, because you felt like a friend already.

When she left the noddle shop by the pier, Miya had her muse’s number in her phone and a smile on her face. She couldn’t wait to get back to work.

“Can I sketch you?” This was probably something she should have asked you before, but it was only now that she had the courage. She was sitting on the side of a boat, her legs dangling over the side and arms resting on the metal railing, watching as you got ready for yet another practice dive. When you smiled at her, she was overcome with affection and courage. The words just came out on their own.

“Me?” Your cheeks colored as you pulled your face mask up to look at her. “I-I mean, are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Whenever I see you getting ready, it gives me a lot of inspiration.” She had never seen you flustered before, and it was kind of cute, making her smile as she watched you busy yourself with tightening your vest.

“I don’t mind it,” you said, voice soft as you pulled the mask back down to hide your face. You were ready to dive now. “I’m flattered, actually.”

“Thank you. I’ll show you the sketch when you come back up.”

Whenever you jumped into the water, Miya got a rush of adrenaline, as if she was the one in the suit. Your head bobbed back above water for a moment and when you looked up at her, she couldn’t help but to smile and reach her hand out to you.

“Good luck.”

You didn’t say anything in return, your mask and oxygen mouth piece already in place, but you reached up to touch her hand, giving it a little squeeze before pulling away and giving her a thumbs up. Then, you were underwater, and she watched for as long as she could see you before you disappeared into the deep blue, leaving her with a pounding heart and a pencil in hand.

She could always tell when you’d had a long day. You would text her late in the evening, asking if she wanted to go get late dinner or meet up at a bar to chat. Sometimes, you would even invite her over, or she would, on occasion, invite you over to her place (after desperately cleaning up, of course). Your texts would be a little shorter than usual, and once the two of you got closer, you started to include little sad faces. It was cute, and she found herself doodling them in the corners of her pages.

On long days, you just wanted someone to chat with, so that you could forget the events of the day. She always made time to go out, putting off her art in order to meet up at your choice of a place. It was a little open-air bar and seafood place that became your go-to. From the benches outside, the two of you could see the beach. A light wind blew through every night and dark waves lapped against the sand and rocky cliff sides, providing a soothing background noise while the stars shined brightly above, twinkling as the two of you quietly talked, ate, and drank. Sometimes, it was cold, and the two of you huddled together for warmth. Other times, it was warm enough that the bench was hot to the touch.

Tonight was a cold night, so it didn’t surprise Miya when you leaned your head on her shoulder, letting out a sigh. The wind played with her hair and whipped against her face, but the noodles she had were warm, and she touched her hands to the bowl, warming her skin.

“Hey, Miya?” Your voice was light and airy. She figured you were already a little tipsy as she turned her head slightly, only to find your face inches from her own. You were looking at her with wide eyes, and her breath caught in her throat.

“Y-yes?” She managed to get out. You let out another sigh and turned away to look up at the stars.

“What do you think happens when we die?” Your question caught her off guard, and she froze, not knowing how to answer. You shook your head, still leaning on her shoulder. “Never mind. I’m sorry. That was a heavy question.”

She took a deep breath, then reached over to gently put her hand over yours. Deep inside, she knew why you were asking that question, and she wished she could make it all better. “All you can do is your best, (Y/N).”

For a moment, you were silent. Steam curled up from your untouched noodles. “I guess you’re right.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Once again, you shook your head, sitting up straight. “Not really. But thank you for the offer.” You stood from the bench and she watched as you walked over to the railing that separated the eating area from the road and rested your arms there. “Sometimes, I wonder why I do this job. Especially on days like this.” You tilted your head back and looked up at the sky. Your hair caught in the wind and your eyes fluttered closed as you breathed in the ocean air, half in the shadows cast by buildings and half illuminated by the mosquito lights and the stars.

“You do it because you’re passionate and you love to help people.” Miya paused, trying to find the right words. “Sometimes you can’t fight fate. But you have more successes than you do failures. You’re an inspiration to me.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

You turned back to her and smiled, a soft, sad smile, and there, with your head framed by the stars and the ocean lapping at the beach behind you, you looked almost ethereal. “Thank you, Miya. I always feel better when I talk to you.”

This was a moment she wanted to ingrain in her mind forever, so she took in the lighting and the way you looked, etching the memory into her brain. “I’m always here for you when you need me.”

You stepped back to the bench and let out a long breath, body falling into Miya’s and your shoulders sagging. She caught and held you, hugging you close, and you seemed to relax a bit in her arms, eyes closing once again. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

“No, I’m the lucky one,” she said, looking out at the ocean. You chuckled and she swallowed thickly, closing her own eyes. If only you knew how truthful she was being.

“Come on, let me teach you how to dive.” You were grinning widely, as if you weren’t proposing the scariest thing Miya could possibly think of. She could feel the blood drain from her face as she stepped away from the boat and back onto the pier, slowly shaking her head.

“I-I don’t know about that.” It was no secret that she was easily scared, but diving was a whole other level of terrifying. Even with all the equipment, the idea of being deep underwater made her heart drop. “I mean, I’ve never done anything like it before.”

“I’m a certified trainer,” you said with a laugh, reaching out your hand. “I won’t let anything bad happen. I promise.” When she didn’t take it right away, you raised your eyebrows. “Do you not trust me?” Your voice was playful, as if you were teasing her, and she groaned, taking your hand.

“I do trust you, but I’m not sure I want to be underwater.”

“Then how about this.” You pulled her onto the boat, the one you usually used when going out diving. It seemed much more intimidating today than it was when Miya just went out to watch. “We don’t have to go very deep. We’ll go to a more shallow area with roping to follow and I’ll stay right by your side the entire time. If you ever get scared and want to surface, all you have to do is give me this signal.” You pointed up, and she nodded, her heart pounding.

“I’m just really nervous,” she said, pressing her hand to her heart, and you smiled.

“That’s normal. I was nervous on my first dive too.”

The boat began to move and Miya swallowed, looking out at the deep blue ocean. Then, she took a deep breath and looked back at you. “Can I ask you to do something for me in return for me diving with you?”

“Sure.”

“I need photos of ocean life for painting. Do you know where to get a waterproof camera or something?”

You laughed. “I already have one of those, so we can do that today! Come on, let’s get you suited up.”

Miya sighed and let you tug her over to where the equipment sat. There was no way she could get out of this now.

The ocean was beautiful. Miya had seen plenty of documentaries about the ocean and underwater exploring, but seeing it up close somehow made it even more beautiful. When she first dove in, the water was cloudy and it was hard to see. But then, as the water cleared, she found the rope and grabbed on, looking around in awe. Already, she could see fish. She didn’t know the types of fish, but there were plenty, schools of them quickly swimming away from her. Where the rope sat, algae and seaweed was growing, and further up ahead, corals.

There were so many wonderful colors that it almost made her forget all of her fears. She studied everything closely: the green seaweed and the purple coral growths on the rocky sea bottom, the striped fish, the green, slippery eel, blue and red corals and hidden crevices with crabs inside. There was even some pink and tans mixed in, making a rainbow paradise under the ocean.

By the time she resurfaced, her heart was pounding for a different reason. That trip had led her to an artists paradise, and although she wasn’t sure she’d want to do it again, she was so glad she’d agreed to give it a try.

“That was amazing. You see that every day?”

You beamed and shook the water from your hair, looking proud. “More or less. It’s usually further out so there’s bigger fish and stuff, but yeah.”

“You have an incredible job.” Miya gasped and laid back on the deck, looking up at the clear blue sky. “But I’m not sure I could do it. You’re incredible, actually.”

Laughing, you laid down beside her. “It takes a lot of energy, but I love it.”

Turning her head, Miya looked at you, feeling her heart swell with affection. You looked so happy and satisfied and beautiful, and her feelings bubbled up, threatening to burst out of her chest. She wanted to say “I love you,” but she forced it down, looked up at the sky, and closed her eyes. She wasn’t ready to confess. Yet.

Painting was a slow process, because Miya wanted it to be perfect. All of the sketches, all of the photos, and all of the colors and moments she’d collected over her time in Jeju with you combined to make her final painting. Purples, blues, pinks, reds, blacks, and greens swirled together as she tried to recreate her feelings: the thrills, the ups and downs, the love, and the happiness she felt around you. She locked herself in her studio and painted with a passion she hadn’t known in months, pouring her all onto the canvas until, finally, it was perfect. It took her two weeks to finish the painting.

It took another week before she worked up the courage to give it to you.

-Hey, when can you come over? I have something I want to show you.

-I can come over now! Is that okay?

It was now or never. Miya took a deep breath and looked at the painting one last time. It sat on its stand in the middle of the room, everything else cleaned up and put away around it. It was as perfect as it could be, so she placed a white sheet over the top, and busied herself making sure everything else was perfect.

By the time you got to her studio, she had changed clothes, now in a fresh pair of jeans and one of her nicer button-up shirts with her hair perfectly in place. She was so nervous her hands were sweating, so she quickly wiped them on the jeans before taking another breath and opening the door.

“Hello there.” Your smile made her heart skip a beat. You were also dressed nicely, at least nicer than you usually dressed, looking like you were about to go into town. “Have you finished with whatever piece of art made you disappear on me?”

She flushed and rubbed at the back of her neck, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry, I tend to disappear when I’m really focused on something. I didn’t mean to ignore you or anything.”

You laughed, touching her arm and making butterflies appear in her stomach. “It’s okay, I was just teasing you. I’m excited to see what you created!”

Her mouth felt dry, but she knew she had to do this. So she smiled and closed the door behind you, gesturing towards where the painting was. “Come in, then, and I’ll show you!” She led you to the front of the stand and then left you there, moving beside the painting and raising her eyebrows. “Are you ready?”

You nodded, bouncing a bit on your feet. “So ready!”

This was it. All of her months of Jeju had led up to this moment. All of her months of sketching, the time she spent taking photos, the laughter she shared with you, and the inspiration she’d felt since she first saw you, up on that cliff. After a moment of hesitation, her nerves making her hands shake slightly, she pulled off the sheet.

There, on the canvas, was a painting of you. You were diving, heading for the seabed, swimming as gracefully as a mermaid. Around you were fish, corals, seaweed, and plenty of other sea life, all of the things she’d seen when diving with you. A rope ran along the seabed, and on the sleeve of your wet suit was your rescue diver symbol, proud in the deep blue of the ocean. A crab looked up to you, raising a claw in greeting, and bubbles gently floated up towards the surface, some of them curved in the shape of a heart. The colors of the ocean swirled together with care, bringing the entire painting together and pointing back to the most important part of the painting: you.

You gasped, bringing your hands up to cover your mouth as your eyes grew wide. For a moment, you stood still, before you moved forward to look closer at the painting, blinking away tears.

“Oh my god, Miya,” you said softly, voice breaking ever so slightly as you looked from her to the painting. “It’s... It’s so beautiful. I’m so touched.”

“It’s for you,” she said with a smile, making you gasp again, waving a hand.

“No, I couldn’t take it, really. You worked so hard on it, there’s no way!”

“I worked hard on it so that I could be proud when I gave it to you.” She wet her lips, clasping her hands together. “When I came here, I was totally lost. I couldn’t paint anything and I had no inspiration. But then I saw you, and that all changed. I had never seen anyone I was so fascinated by. You inspired me in a way that I hadn’t been inspired in a long time. I could draw you forever. You really became my muse.” She took a deep breath again before continuing. “Then we got to know each other and.... I realized that I really liked you. With you I experienced so many new things and felt so many emotions. I felt passion again. All because of you.”

“Miya....” You stepped closer to her and she quickly continued before she could lose her nerve.

“(Y/N), I like you, much more than as a friend. And I’m giving you this painting to let you know my feelings. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, but I wanted to tell you.”

You smiled, and before she could register what was happening, you were wrapping your arms around her in a tight hug. “How could I not love you, Miya? You’re incredible. I was hoping you felt the same way.” At your words, she let out a sigh of relief and hugged you back, making you laugh softly. “I’ll treasure that painting forever. I promise. I love it.”

“I’m so glad.” She felt a bit like crying, but smiled instead, pulling away to look at it. “I made sure it was perfect. Just like you.”

“I’m far from perfect,” you said, shaking your head, “but the painting is absolutely perfect. I can’t believe I’m dating such a talented artist.”

Her cheeks flushed with pleasure. She’d been wanting to hear those words for a long time. “Oh.”

A playful smile came to your lips, one that she recognized well now. “We are dating now, right?”

“I don’t remember ever asking you to start dating me,” she countered, just as playful, making you laugh again. She loved that sound.

“Then I’ll ask. Miya, will you be my girlfriend?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Great, now we’re dating!” You tilted your head, smile softening. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

Miya was reminded of that day, the first day she really met you, with the tide rolling in and the sun high in the sky, sand in-between her toes and her heart in her throat. She might have already been in love then. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Can I kiss you?”

She laughed, leaning her head against yours, her heart overflowing with happiness and affection. It was desperation that first drove her to Jeju. But it was love that was driving her to stay.

“Always.”

#femifics #gwsn #girls in the park #miya #gwsn miya #gwsn scenarios #miya scenarios #girl group scenarios #kpop scenario #girl groups #kpop girl groups

26 notes · View notes

ohcoolnice · 5 years

Text

Late

It’s a full story, I swear it’s just...I can’t figure out a title so we’re gonna just title each chapter. Also, each chapter’s title may seem like it connects to an insignificant detail, but it has deeper meaning. I’m known for my especially angsty works. MWAHAHAHAHA.

SUMMARY:

Marinette seriously just cannot afford mistakes, so, naturally, there are so, so, so many. First, four of their models call in sick, thanks to the lovely flu going around, meaning they don’t have anyone to model for most of their women’s pieces. Then, Adrien’s bright idea to have Marinette model her own pieces gets approved by Gabriel, and, obviously, it all backfires spectacularly-on him.***This is set in the future, The character’s are 19 and 20-ish. it’s all messed up tho bc i can’t figure out timelines so whatever.

(THIS CHAPTER IS A BIT BAcKSTORY, But also plot yay :)

-----

Marinette could not afford to have anything go wrong today.

The new Gabriel HERO™ Collection was going to launch in two days, and with the delay she’d experienced last week with the fit models, she’d only gotten Gabriel’s approval on the final designs three days ago, stayed up all night to do the flats and came in the next day, sleep deprived and sure she’d have a heart attack with the amount of caffeine she’d consumed.

The department had been a great help. Ellie had agreed to touch up some small errors Marinette had made will working on the flats at four in the morning, enlisting Jonah, who was a wizard with Illustrator, to help her.

Samantha was great with construction, she knew every single stitch, and Marinette was sure she’d invented at least twenty of her own. She could work fast without making any errors, all the while making the rounds and helping anyone and everyone.

Marinette oversaw everything. Technically, on paper, she was an Intern. But she had been working with Gabriel for three years now, and not even out of Fashion School yet. At seventeen she’d begun interning, still surprised she’d got it, though she suspected guiltily that Adrien Agreste may have had some influence over the matter once he’d congratulated her when she’d never told him in the first place. They barely even spoke. Every so often she had nights where she felt so bad, maybe taking some other more talented girl’s spot only because she had gone to school with the designer’s son, that she would cry and sob until she passed out from exhaustion. It didn’t help she heard it often.

She learned to ignore comments and overtime the public perception of her grew more positive as people began to see her designs once Gabriel became her Mentor and put her in charge of design for several collections. She knew people knew her name as she often accompanied Gabriel to shows, taking notes on the pieces but also making notes on every work that came from Gabriel’s mouth, but she didn’t want to be too known. Even in fashion school, most of her classmates, obsessed with knowing everything about the fashion world, didn’t know who she was, just that she interned with Gabriel, perhaps. Marinette liked it that way. She wasn’t a big fan of too much attention. She preferred if she could wait until she graduated to make a name for herself.

Gabriel had admitted, in an awkward moment once two years ago, that he wasn’t overly sure as to why he decided to become a mentor to the baker’s daughter, but he remarked on the similarities he saw in his younger self and her.

She didn’t really believe him. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him smile, not once, even when she knew he was kind of proud of the work she was doing. Over the years she’d come to notice it wasn’t hard to read his expressions- okay, it was hard, just not impossible- once you’d spent enough time studying him. And Marinette took note of everything he did. Alya often wondered aloud how the designer wasn’t creeped out by her.

Marinette didn’t know how she could possibly be like Gabriel. He showed no emotion on most occasion, but she was the complete opposite. Another reason why the media often wondered what it was he saw in a seventeen-year-old intern. He knew her designing and construction skills from the competition she’d won three years prior, but that was really all he’d seen up until her portfolio, which she’d snuck onto one night before the leaving on what was supposed to be the last day of her internship. The eight days after that where she’d heard nothing had been the most depressing days of her life. Then she’d gotten a call from Nathalie, Gabriel’s assistant, asking her to come in, and she almost passed out. She’d cried so hard after that Alya had thought Marinette’s parents had died. Sometimes she wondered how Alya came up with the conclusions she did.

Everything afterwards hadn’t been smooth sailing, but it was all incredible. Every stressful task was worth it. She was being paid as an intern, since there weren’t technically any positions available at the time. There since had been some, but she didn’t dare ask for a raise. She liked being able to do everything without being confined to the title of “designer” or “dressmaker” or whatnot. She liked doing all of it. The customer service, the finances in accounting (she was terrible at it, but overly grateful), and obviously out of everything, the hands-on fashion was her favorite, but she was getting to experience working in every single aspect of one of the most successful Fashion Companies in the entire world, under the tutelage of Gabriel Agreste himself. She really didn’t think she deserved to be that lucky.

Of course, there were times where she’d broken down at two in the morning, struggling to finish an assignment while balancing school as well. Gabriel had the sort of connections where she was able to miss classes and take them at home thanks to a recording of the class, and while she utilized it, she didn’t really prefer it. She liked being in the class and learning hands on, in an environment electrified by the excitement of young adults itching to get out there and create art. She also knew she did tend to do the work for Gabriel before her studies, and it often resulted in stress and a rush the complete assignments and projects.

If she’d ever felt stress before, it was nothing in relation to the stress of the last two years. And even that was nothing in comparison to the stress of being late to a photo shoot that needed to be perfect because the entire goddamn collection would be public in two days and if she wasn’t ready, no amount of fondness Gabriel had come to feel for the girl would be able to save her job. This was a HUGE deal.

Her car pulled into her spot and she grabbed her things and breakfast for the crew. Next to her, Alya, who had taken the day off to help her best friend, took the trays and boxes from her hand and pushed her towards the entrance. “You’re already late girl, get out of here!”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She pressed her hands together, blessing her friend for being so helpful, before rushing inside, hands full with the last pieces she’d finished last night before, thankfully, getting a good night’s sleep. She was glad the people from Vogue wouldn’t have to see her when she looked as if she’d been attacked by a bear and hit by a train. She didn’t want to wear makeup and risk the chance of feeling anything uncomfortable enough to distract her from her work.

She struggled with the door, grateful when she saw a glimpse of Adrien walking past inside from behind the garment bags covering her view. She knocked on the glass and the door opened a few seconds later.

“Thank ymph.” Her voice muffled behind the garment bags were met with a chuckle from Adrien as she felt the weight in her arms lessen a bit.

“Let me help you, Marinette, you look like you’ve got your hands full.” She gave him a blank look.

“That wasn’t even good. I don’t even know if that can be counted as a pun.” They were almost at the dressing station now, people rushed about, voices mixing as people rushed to prepare the stations and models. Chloe Bourgeois was the only superhero who had shared her identity, so, unfortunately, she would be modeling for the Queen Bee themed women’s pieces. Thankfully that was not until later.

“It can so be counted as a pun. But I’ll spare you because you’re so busy today. I’ll just have to write down my puns and attack you with them later.” She laughed softly, shaking her head as she gently let the bags rest on a table, hanging them up one by one as she took them out of the bags. Adrien’s eyes widened. “Oh wow. These are incredible Marinette. This is- wow.” He looked at her, his eyes sparking with…admiration? She wasn’t sure, but either way she didn’t understand his reaction. She was proud of her work, yes, but she hadn’t expected Adrien of all people to be so impressed by them.

“Thank you.” She replied, ducking her head to hide her blush. No, she had work to do. Focus, Marinette.

“So y-” She shushed him, placing a finger to his lips as he widened his eyes, face warming as he stared, cross-eyed at the finger on his lips.

“Nope, no talking. Let’s go, Hair and Makeup Chat Noir.” His face paled and he stammered and she raised a brow. “Adrien! Your father wants you as Chat Noir, so please don’t make me tell him you can’t do it and we have to find someone else because we really don’t have the time and I really don’t want to have that conversation with him.” He seemed to relax ever so slightly, the color returning to his face. Odd.

“Yeah, sorry, sure. I’ll go be Pat- I mean Chat!” He huffed in frustration and dragged a hand over his face tiredly, emerging with a weak smile that, despite getting over her crush ages ago, still sent her stomach into a frenzy. She pushed down the feeling and giggled. “Sorry, I’m tired.”

“We all are don’t worry. You’re just lucky it doesn’t show because this only can be done today. Now go before I kill you because I am very busy.” She scolded him and pushed him off as he tried to speak, hitting him with the papers in her hand. He laughed and stumbled out, turning to watch her walk back to her station, lost in her work, with a smile on his face.

As he turned to make his way to Hair and Makeup, he narrowly dogged Alya and she ran her way to Marinette, calling, “Hey, Blondie!” as she ran past.

“Who am I to you, Rapunzel?” He called back, eyes following her and landing back on Marinette, smiling with relief as her best friend arrived with food for the crew and Marinette’s purse.

She’d really seemed to come into her own skin these last few years. For at least three years it was so hard for them to hang out. She was so awkward and stumbled over her words around him. Slowly it began to change and improve, and he found himself spending more time with her and his own mood began to improve as he did. He’d spent lots of time with her before, wearing the mask. He would steal her food and they would talk, laugh, play video games, board games. He loved watching her design and sketch. It was peaceful for him, hanging out with her as Chat Noir. It never was as Adrien. It bore down on him, kept him awake at night, not that he realized that until things changed, and he found himself able to hang out with her both in and out of costume. He realized how awful it was when he wasn’t sure if Marinette hated him or not. She was so different with him in his different personalities that he’d worried about it constantly, without even knowing it. It was all so confusing.

Looking at Marinette now, he felt a smile tug at his lips and a flutter in his heart.

She really was special. He couldn’t ask for a better friend.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #angies writing crap #THE UNTITLED SERIES #i'll call it that sure #Adrinette #marichat #ladrien #ladynoir #love square #this is more of a backstory chapter #sorry #kinda filler i guess

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