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marlynnofmany · 1 year

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Tactical Artwork

I paused work with my hand tools in order to watch Glowing Coals buzz an intricate pattern into a small rock with his. He worked quickly, turning the rock like a gray Easter egg and completing the pattern without any flaws I could see, then setting it down and moving on to the next. The pattern for this one was just as complex, and just as freehand. He was easily the most talented at the table.

“How much practice did it take you to get so fast?” I asked, raising my voice to account for the breathing mask. Mine was pretty comfortable, but it muffled sounds a bit. Coals hadn’t complained about his, though he didn’t complain much in general.

“I had an artisan apprenticeship back home,” Coals said. His mask flexed a bit with the motion of his lizardy jaw, and was a stylish gold on top of his brick-red scales. “The creating was nice, but the people weren’t.”

“Yeah, I’ve had jobs like that.” I would have said more, but Painted Sunset finished an art piece and held it up for approval.

“Ta-da!” she said, displaying a three-legged shape made of sliced-up and reassembled mushrooms. Wait, two legs. That was a tail.

“Very nice,” I said. “How long do you think it will last without shriveling?”

Paint set it on the table. “Any shriveling will only add to its charm,” she said firmly.

I had a sudden memory of mushrooms that melted away into black goo instead of drying up, and was deciding whether or not to mention it when Trrili grabbed a fresh log and showered all of us in wood chips.

Paint shielded her mushroom doll; Coals ignored the shrapnel; I flinched, then sighed and gathered up a few bits to use in my own art. I was gluing together pieces of other people’s material into tiny sculptures. Maybe I could make a porcupine out of the flakes of wood.

Trrili was sure giving me plenty to work with. She attacked the log with all the intensity of a chainsaw carver in the midst of a painful breakup, and who also happened to have blade arms like a praying mantis. I wouldn’t have thought that those pinchers were exactly suited to woodworking, but the wood was soft and Trrili was angry.

She’d been there when the pirates stole our payment, and she hadn’t been able to stop them. Granted, I had too, but I wasn’t a large terrifying bug alien with a warrior’s pride. Her shiny black blade arms moved quickly, red patterns flashing like warning flares, and everyone gave her lots of room.

There was plenty of table space to go around — this was something like a local picnic area with one long table set on top of a low wall. Enormous chunks of crystal served as stools, which only some of the crew were using. Trrili certainly didn’t need them, though on the other side of her I could see that Mur had actually stacked two, to raise his squidlike body up to near table height. It looked like he and Captain Sunlight were both carving that horrible smelly soap into fanciful shapes. Hopefully the locals would take a liking to it in flower form. I was all for leaving the stuff behind whether they bought it or not. Nobody on our ship wanted it. It had been mislabeled at a market several planets ago.

This planet, as far as I knew, probably used soap. Probably. The locals were made of green-white crystalline material instead of any flesh I’d encountered before, so who knew? The air here was low-grade toxic. The social eating areas were strung out in long lines. The juvenile locals behaved more like puppies than children, with the four-legged frolicking and loud barking to match. They easily could have not used soap; there were stranger things about the place.

“Are you going to use those leaves?” Paint asked me, pointing at a stack of orange ones. “They’d make great scales for my little person here.”

“Sure, go for it,” I said. “There are more by that tree over there.” I jerked my head to the side, busy focusing on the porcupine body I was assembling out of acorns. Was it bizarre that this planet had people so alien, but plants so familiar? Yes it was. Maybe there was a reason for it — someone doing interstellar traveling to collect and relocate alien flora, or maybe some genetic engineering was at work, or sheer coincidence. I’d seen more unlikely things that that before too. And, as had become my mantra for this sort of minor curiosity, I’d either find out or I wouldn’t. We had higher priorities today.

Like making enough sellable art to unload at the market across the street and recoup at least most of the money we were out. The local guard force had promised to search for the pirates, with hopes of recovering what they’d stolen, but nobody seemed very optimistic about that. We hadn’t even seen what type of ship the pirates had, just their powerful hand weapons and full-body jumpsuits. My guess was that the species under all the pink and brown camo was something like the jumpy chipmunk people we’d met some time ago. I could easily have been wrong. So, there wasn’t much to go on. They were probably long gone already, the next best thing to anonymous.

Or, I thought at a flash of pink, They could be here hoping to exchange the local money for something easier to spend off-system. I leaned hard to see past Coals and into the crowd of crystal-green locals, where two very familiar shapes were walking from stall to stall.

With our bag of gemstones. Like the absolute rookie imbeciles they apparently were. They weren’t holding the guns; those must have been in the bag too.

They hadn’t even seen us yet.

I grabbed two of Coals’ rocks and bolted from the table. “Trrili! There!”

Trrili whirled at my shout, and was right behind me, but I was in range first. Just close enough to fling a rock with all the speed of a good ol’ Earthling throwing arm.

The thieves had turned at our approach, with the closer one reaching into the bag, but that was the one I blasted in the facemask first. He went down hard, taking the bag with him. The other dithered a moment between going for the gun and just running for his life. His bobbing around made my shot bounce off his shoulder instead of his face.

He yelped and ran for it, dodging between startled crystal people with Trrili in hot pursuit.

Locals were yelling for the guards. So was Captain Sunlight, behind me. And unless I missed my guess, so was the thief.

If Trrili had been on my heels, I probably would have too.

I picked up the rocks and stood watch over the groaning thief who probably had a concussion, though lucky for him, no crack in the faceplate. Captain Sunlight caught up and claimed the bag, pawing through it to check the contents. Mur came out of nowhere with a tentacle tackle that held the thief more immobile than I ever could.

“The guards are coming,” said Captain Sunlight. “You three go be tactful.” She pointed at me and at the Frillian twins just now jogging up, then in the direction Trrili had gone.

“Got it,” I said.

The twins nodded, and we took off. Crystalline locals gave us space. The yelling pirate gave us a trail to follow.

He didn’t sound injured yet. We might be able to calm things down into a capture-and-turn-over-to-the-authorities. Or he might deserve what he got. Or he could have another gun hidden somewhere. Or the guards might get the wrong idea and target us. Anything could happen.

I’ve got customer-service diplomacy and two good throwing rocks, I thought as I ran. Bring it on.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!

#my writing #the Token Human #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #haso #hfy #eiad #humans can throw #art for everybody

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loonfromq · 11 months

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Genloss was amazing. I already made a post about it when it happened, but I have so much more to say. Like I think this is going to be my longest post yet kind of more to say.

So, first of all, Ranboo's character design. I'm going to call the Ranboo before the urn broke and he awakened(?) before!boo, or just b!boo. b!boo is very interesting. For starters, the moment he woke up and noticed that he was wearing the mask, he tried to pry it off. which i found strange, though i don't know why. the mask itself, also, wasn't all glowy before he awakened(?). The glowy level of the mask, I think, is measuring how aware he is of his situation and, frankly, the strangeness of it. Maybe it's just Ranboo being Ranboo, but it is a bit strange that he just went along with whatever was going on and adapted to his surroundings. b!boo was just trying to leave. back to the glowy mask. It was off for b!boo and on for Ranboo and was flashing during the TV bits. And when the urn was knocked over, the button we pushed was "haunt." like there was some kind of spirit turning off Ranboo's awareness. And the hand that actually pushed it over had something green on it, that I see after rewatching some segments (now available on the ranboovods channel!). Like slimecicle or his ghouls. In addition, when the urn fell, b!boo didn't seem to notice it at first, even though it did make a sound he should have heard right away. The showfall media logo on the back of the mask I found interesting too. this may just be a little easter egg or marketing, but it may also be implying that showfall media is in some way canon to the genloss universe. plus the little glowy lines on the mask are kind of reminiscent of cat whiskers, which was probably not intentional or at least not important but i find adorable. The mask, also, probably serves a purpose other than being a mask and possibly more than measuring his level of awareness as previously theorized. his voice is muffled under it and it frankly doesn't look very comfortable, making it inconvenient as a mask. also it seems somewhat odd to me that the aforementioned measuring device and the mask are the same object.

when b!boo touched the ashes that were in the urn, he panicked and shouted "no" repeatedly and awakening(?). when he saw the ashes at first though, he merely remarked that "that wasn't supposed to happen." almost like he realized that touching the ashes was going to awaken(?) him and he didn't want that to happen, he didn't want to lose his awareness. and when the newly awakened(?) ranboo was looking around, he gestured to the camer and referred to it as a "weird painting." and when he looked behind the curtain for the keys, a demon figure was visible. this might have been slime, but the horns seemed bigger and the whole thing odd of slime to do. although ranboo seemed surprised by the demon (or perhaps the thunder and lightning that showed simultaneously) he didn't seem to think it was odd at all. the tape of doctor jekyll and mister hyde was of course suspicious, and i don't think I need to tell you why.

I found it odd that the house seemed to be arranged in one long line. likely just for ease of filming, but the arrangement seems to be canon thanks to camera moving through the wall during the period where ranboo was. sleeping. this in addition to the "basement" being at one end and the "attic" at the other. and then there was the dollhouse in the basement. some people were saying things about jerma? i don't know that much about him, honestly, or that stream he did (no offense intended i am new to the internet) but it's intersting how the lock was it the bed and the cabin is arranged like a dollhouse too. I also find it a matter of interst that RAnboo desdribed the basement as "well-lit."

the boss fights were weird. like i know they could have made the fighting more realistic and all, but with the layout of the house and the INCREDIBLY strange cooking show and the finidng the keys to open the door in the first room, it just looks like a video game. and just the way everyone acts and everything.

but one last things (i will almost definitely make additions to this)

during the cooking show, when ranboo was bieng threatened with pocket dimentiosn, he mentiosdf that hed been to the forest bvefore. a forest oly b!boo went too. so i dont know what to make of that, frankly. bye.

#ranboo #generation loss #genloss #genloss spoilers #loons toons

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kirstinetheartist · 3 years

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I am having an absolutely fantastic and art inspired evening, so I want to post this piece a bit early!

It feels so fulfilling to really bring this chunk of my Dragon Age DLC project to a close, simply because I learned so much from it. Mellan’s bedroom was my guinea pig for testing out and learning so many other new things, and it feels great to show it, and know it exists, and actually walk around in it (well, an npc can, but semantics.)

I got to learn so many things about 3D rendering, modeling/sculpting, new painting techniques, kitbashing, etc. It has been such a process, but I’m so excited to move forward with the project’s next stages and show you all more behind-the-scenes of how this bad boy came to be! (Check below the cut for some extra nerding out about the different highlighted objects in her room)

Mellan’s makeshift laundry hamper, likely donated from a Chantry sister, features a small Easter Egg for the player character to find should they go digging around in her space. I’ve always been a fan of those “hidden in plain sight” clues, and though not every Inquisitor looks in every nook and cranny. Those that do might just be a bit more suspicious of Mellan after finding that little statue hidden amongst her things. Her laundry itself is modeled after her own clothes, as well as pieces seen worn by other Dalish npcs throughout the series.

Mellan’s desk contains more hints to her character’s personality. Her candle is placed on the opposite side of her scrolls, just in case it topples out of her clumsiness. Her feather quill is a raven’s feather, homemade from a molted feather from one of Leliana’s ravens. The smallest scroll, laid neatly on her open book, is another Easter Egg: a reference to her unused Romance Tarot Card with Solas, in which she is holding the exact scroll. I thought it would be a fun little tie-in to include (even if the two are not an item in this DLC), and also just a further hint to where her loyalties lie.

Here you can find the base texture samples for Mellan’s blankets, pillows, rugs, and canopy. All of them are historically (of both the medieval and renaissance periods) accurate brocade pieces and tapestries from areas of Europe that inspired Thedas. I scoured several different museums to find just the right patterns for her, making sure they fit her color scheme, as well as included imagery that aligned with her story (including, but not limited to: fresh blossoms, the night sky, unicorns (a common victim of two-faced maidens), and wolves.)

Hundreds of years ago, soaps were often carved in the shape of seashells! I thought this would be a flavorful, historic detail to add to Mellan’s space.

Mellan’s mismatched “vanity” is something that I wanted to look like she threw together and didn’t feel the need to have “look pretty.” She isn’t one for vanity, no pun intended, so the space only contains the bare necessities, with most tools for combing and such stashed away in a small box. However, some bottles of Orlesian soaps and healing tonics (both featuring “logos” based on in-game graphics for Healing Potions and the Orlesian crest) can be seen there, probably welcoming gifts from Josephine. Her mirror is a small, traditional hand-mirror that is leaned against the wall and stacked up on a tinderbox for height. Her other jugs are broken mosaics; once damaged, but now put back together. A metaphor that Mellan both greatly enjoys, and can personally relate to.

Featuring jars of ground herbs, such as Felandaris, Royal Elfroot, and Deep Mushroom (all jar designs inspired by the actual plants in game), Mellan’s incense area suggests several unknowns about her. Is she a healer? Some sort of hedge witch? A Dreamer, perhaps? All of that is unknown; for now, at least.

With all of the crates stacked around, and the lack of a fireplace, I wanted to give the impression that Mellan’s room was once a storage room, or at least somewhere unused/unoccupied in Skyhold. That being the case, there are no fireplaces in the room for heat. To combat this, and add to the turquoise/aqua aesthetic that I want to surround Mellan with, I decided to implement two Veilfire pits (one in the washroom, and one in the main room.) By both, she has an emergency bucket for water, in case a non-mage should need to extinguish it, and in the main room’s there is also an open text. The book is meant to be a book banned in-universe by the Chantry, titled: ‘Veilfire: A Beginner's Primer with Numerous Teachings, Exercises, and Applications’ by Magister Pendictus. On the open pages, one can find the codex entry The Lost Art of Veilfire from Dragon Age: Inquisition.

Mellan’s staff rests by the side of her bed closest to the door in case an attacker may try to enter during the night. It features a birch bark base, as well as glass bobbles and sea-glass; an aesthetic dichotomy that is meant to be yet another example of how she appears to be both city elf and Dalish. The stretching and twisted of the bottom glass is meant to mimic the look of sea-glass and sand when it is struck by lightning, as Mellan is a lightning mage with an affinity for the colors of the ocean. The top of her staff is, in theory, quite similar to other mage staffs, containing a religious figure or god carved at it’s peak. However, Mellan’s features an unconventional deity: a howling wolf, with it’s tail bit off. This is, of course, a reference to the Dread Wolf, who in one particular Dalish legend, bit off his own tail to flee from a Dalish Courser dog (this is a story told by Merrill, the First of the Sabrae clan, most known for her role in Dragon Age 2.)

At first glance, Mellan’s room is meant to evoke the idea of “organized chaos” (books scattered across the floor in piles, a chamber pot stool held level by a block of wood, pillows strewn about for easy sitting, etc.) An Inquisitor who does not often seek her out, or does not explore her space, will likely only see her as a helpful, if not eccentric, scholar; another quirky mage to replace the one they so recently lost. However, a more inquisitive Inquisitor who really takes a look around and explores the deeper meanings behind her quarters will come to see that perhaps there is more to this elf than meets the eye.

That perhaps, much like her friend Solas, the warning signs were there all along.

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asterjennifer · 2 years

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Gif used with premission from @starcrystalrose

P.1 Don't believe it

Fandom: Mystic Messenger

Pairing: Ray x Reader

Category: Fluff

Warnings: X

Word count: 2389

Author's Note: This is a little unregulated series of chapters~

Summary: The hacker of the beautiful Magenta complex watches over his new resident as she's playing the game he created with all her innocent passion.

He adores her, the way she's trusting him unconditionally.

Ray knows that, sooner or later, the truth will reveal itself. He learns the moment his other half manages to come up to the surface. Causing her confusion and to worry even more about him.

And he's desperate to hide the evil within, no matter the consequences.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room of yours inside this fairy-tale castle's painted in the most romantic colors, from a pastel pink which kept the white decent, to the passionate red decorations, hidden as small easter-eggs for you to discover the more you searched around. Every time your eyes opened to make out your surroundings, there's always something completely new to find, since it's only been two days in the mysterious walls of Magenta for you. A castle like building hidden inside the highest of mountains, covering the front just as the mint painted roof. Like the place wanted to stay a big secret from the outside world, a little space on earth that only chosen souls were allowed to enter. And you're one of these people, somehow it let you feel more special as you're sitting inside one of the many guest rooms that were available. And even thought a boy dressed as a prince assured you that strangers are allowed to come into these walls, it felt very empty for that fact. Of course, no ordinary person without map would ever be able to find this place, and if, it's pure luck. However, you've been invited, so there's no way to tell how it could go for another stranger who'd ask to see what's hiding inside. No, your presence has been claimed by a man your age, might be a year or two older, his white hair that kept on being a mess no matter how clumsily he tired to fix it. He introduced himself as Ray, a name that left you imagine the sun's light warming the soft skin of yours. Someone with a big heart that's mostly made out of gold as he presents the brightest part of nature. At first, all you could feel's fear the moment a man with blindfold ask you to get into the car, keeping it on for the sake of protecting information. As you began to get uncomfortable inside the car seat, wondering what would happen to you once you arrive at the man's office, the car came to an hold. You got greeted with a voice just as decent, a bit softer in real life than over the phone. He asked you to hold onto him, because it's not time to give you back the sense of seeing yet. The heartbeat inside your chest began to rise, louder than the trees that must've grown around wherever you are.

"Oh please, don't be afraid. I will take you to your room, so feel free to hold onto me as I escort you."

The fear of the unknown was to feel around his presence while you did as he asked, holding onto him to not trip over and fall. A slight blush appeared on your cheeks since he found the uncertainty inside your mind without words. The man called Ray lightly chuckled by your embarrassment, it only caused the blush to run until it successfully reached your ears, coloring your face to match the guest room of yours.

"Thank you for waiting, (N). Here, let me take off the blindfold, I hope you like your room."

His fingers are long, covered by leather while brushing your cheek, taking off the black fabric to give you back the ability to look around. The brightness of the room's much at first, leaving you to think this might be what it felt like when arriving at heaven's gates. But the four walls in front of you were so much prettier than any painting of the paradise above planet earth. Immediately inviting you to live like a Disney princess. He watched your shiny eyes widen with unbelief, proving you must've felt comfortable from the very first moment. By that thought, Ray let one relieved sigh escape his lips, after all, he's been the one preparing it just for you. The chandelier's glass bathed in silver, very big chairs compared to the small table in the middle of the room. Thier color a bright pink, slowly fading into orange as the sun's going down somewhere in the distance. The bed engraved with many patterns that resembled flowers, and above all, three windows at the other side which are as big as the walls. Giving nature the opportunity to show off what's capable of by presenting not only most of the blue sky, but also revealing a breathtaking garden right outside the door. A garden to walk in, enlivened with the most diverse flowers you've ever seen, creating a new play of colors now and then, depending at what angle the sun or moon stood. So many shapes that it's almost impossible to focus on one category longer than a minute. Your breath's taken away with this sight of pure beauty, which almost had to be created by a dream rather than reality. Never in your live have you seen such passion combined with the ideal of perfect romance.

"My dear God... This is so beautiful."

Your voice's small, all the air inside your lungs already sacrificed to the gasp of unbelief you let out when Ray opened the door for you.

"Ah.. I'm so glad you like it. I think it suits you, I hope you will be comfortable in here."

For the first time, you decided to turn your head to meet the person who gave you the opportunity to arrive at this castle in the first place. There's a sweet face with warm smile lowered down, so the eyes covered in turquoise are able to look at you. The room had taken your breath away before, but having the developer face to face stole the last remaining air of yours. Ray was a beautiful man, it's been the first thing coming to your mind after admiring his presence. The young man wore a magenta colored coat, a blue rose embroidered into the expensive looking fabric. His figure's tender, just like his voice, face, everything that defined Ray. You could see a template in his iris, as if mint colored stars are shining bright around his pupils, skin as white as paper and being dark underneath to create small eye bags. His white hair obviously straightened, although it didn't work out like he might wanted to, it's still a slight chaos, bangs very close to cover these phenomenal eyes and actually hiding his forehead. After taking a closer look, you saw the tips of his hair weren't completely bleached and left in a calm pink, almost red color. The outfit, the voice, the face filled with happiness as you arrived by your own will, it made Ray look like the perfect prince. Someone who had to wait so, so long for his princess to arrive. He titled his head as you broke the eye contact, feeling ashamed for thinking in such an inappropriate way, as he's still a stranger to you.

"Thank you so much, Ray. It's really beautiful.. What do I have to do now?"

Trying to not reflect the embarrassment inside your words, Ray lifted his hand to point at your poket. You noticed his glove's only covering half of his palm, not shutting the skin off completely. It left the impression he isn't all willingly hiding his fingertips away.

"I need your phone, (N). So I can install the game for you, but don't worry, I won't touch anything. I download the app and you can have it back."

He assured, added the last sentence quickly to not alarm you. It made you smile. Glad to be of help for someone who appeared this sweet, you handed over your device which's protected by your favorite phone case. You watched Ray analyzing it, suddenly his eyes reach another shimmer, causing the illusion they're glowing. He must've liked the picture, and if that's the case, you might never take off the phone case ever again.

"I am done. Here, I explain what exactly you're suppose to do."

The thin boy offered you to sit down by moving his hand along the bed, giving you time to admire him from behind and see that his back's quite defined, even with the coat covering it. Another short second of silence before you allow yourself to sit down onto the bed, surprising you by how soft the mattress is and how light the blanket felt. You expected him to sit down beside you, instead he placed a hand over his chest in a polite manner while pointing down to your phone.

"It's a dating sim, where you can chat with AI's in chatrooms that open at set times. You can talk to them in there and raise your intimate meter, or even accept calls from them. You are the Party organizer, meaning it's your goal to hold a party at the end with as many guests as you can invite."

"Oh wow, you must have put so much work into this game!"

The words left your lips with an impressive tone, making you wonder for how long Ray worked on the game to give it all these different features and even record phone calls for every single character. He stared at you with big puppy eyes, back becoming straight after the compliment left him all flattered, also adding a slight pink blush on his cheeks to color the paper skin.

"T-Thank you for thinking so, even though you didn't start yet. Um.. S-See, I created these characters after observing and doing research at human behavior and mental health. So these AI's might feel a bit too realistic, I still hope you play the game."

He stumbled over some of his words, clearly caught off guard by your way of openly admire his effort. You found it cute as he tired to concentrate on the display while explaining, doing his best to not make eye contact again in the fear of leaving an uncomfortable impression. While he explained about the realism of these dateble characters, you found yourself even more impressed. Which app developer's able to say that their game's this realistic to the point where it could turn out as a problem. It's very hard for him to not focus on your stare, explaining the game mechanic even though he's not certain the words reach your mind to be processed. Often enough Ray found himself being stared at by the Believers all around Magenta, giving him nightmares where he fears they're talking behind his back about how weak he is and much of a problem in the long run. He's plagued by the stare of human's wihtout names but numbers, it's like a disease having eyes on him, just to overshadow his body with shame. But he could tell your stare's much different, even out of the corner of his eye he could tell there's something soft in your way of looking towards him. A kind warmth he hasn't felt on him in many years, it's throwing him off track, much against his liking.

"S-So.. All you have to do is leading the game forward and hold the party. And don't trust the characters, they all appear nice, but they will hold suspicions against you. You cannot tell them anything about this place, me, or the world in general."

"That sounds pretty hard, to be honest. But I'll give it a try. Also, what should I do to gain their trust?"

There's a little smile coming back to his face, he seemed so pleased by your curiosity, as if your questions felt like entertainment to the young man with mint eyes. Ray's hand had been so close to your head, for a brief moment you think he'll place it on your head. A slight arch filling your chest since it's not the case and he took a step back.

"Just be yourself and don't reveal anything about this place. That's all you need, I am sure they will trust you eventually when you start inviting guests."

Knowing the basics of his game now, you looked back down onto the icon of the app. Wondering why he picked you of all people for testing. The time ran, you couldn't find yourself to ask, may do it another time when the sun's still above the earth and not replaced by the moonlight. Your pink room now a colder purple with a bit of white as the stars shone through the window. Ray bowed down, the more he acted, the more you're in a make-believe of him having royal blood rushing through his blue veins.

"Thank you again, (N). You're a great help, now I can start working on the bugs and problems the games brings."

Seeing him standing under the light of the night gave a sad touch to his appearance, sad but still beautiful. You smiled wide by his gratefulness, making you feel even more important now that he's sharing how much you can do for him.

"No, thank you Ray for making me a part of your work! I will test the game and give you feedback as much as you want."

His head snapped back up, the shock written in every feature of his face, including his eyes. It pulled out a silly giggle from your throat, rasing your phone to cover the grin as much as possible as a result. Ray exhaled loudly, seemed like you took great pressure of his shoulders, and returned the smile.

"I'm so so happy you came here today, (N). I will do everything to keep you entertained and comfortable. You cannot leave this floor yet, but soon you also can roam around this bulding as you like."

"I look very much forward to it, I'm sure there are places in here that are worth visiting."

You watched him taking steps to reach the door, opening it carefully to not disturb the empty hallway and its melody of silence. It's quite unexpected when he looked over his shoulder and back into your face. Somehow you felt caught, vulnerable by the way he managed to see through your eyes and inside your mind. You're aware it's nothing but a lie of your thoughts, still, you're not able to shake it off. The grin on his face wide enough to witness.

"For now you should get some rest. If something isn't right, don't hesitate to let me know. I wish you a good night, (N)."

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volantium · 3 years

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your doorstep calls my name aka soft boys painting each others nails

for @venomondenim 🖤

also available on ao3

The thing is, Peter’s noticed, is that Harley’s always got chipped nail polish.

It begins out as a fresh coat, clean and without a single mark marring the shiny surface. But it doesn’t take long—usually only a couple of hours—before it starts flaking off. Harley never seems to notice, or mind. It chips because Harley’s so hands on, no matter what he’s doing. The likely cause is the fact that he’s always in the lab, and both of them know you aren’t meant to be wearing nail polish with all the state-of-the-art tech Tony lets them play with.

But Peter’s noticed when Harley’s tapping his fingers against the kitchen bench, and it chips off in small terrazzo pieces. Or how Harley will pick at his fingers when he’s nervous, and it peels back underneath the curve of his nail. Peter doesn’t know what any of this means, that he has this knowledge lurking in the back of his head. It’s just another Harley-ism he’s taken stock of, analysed and put into the drawer of everything else he knows about his best friend, and thusly resolutely and absolutely not thought about again.

He almost always wears black nail polish. Peter can count on one hand the amount of times Harley’s had bright yellow or red fingernails. It follows, logically, that this only occurs whenever Harley’s looking after Morgan.

The thing is, Peter thinks, as he watches one such time, Morgan painting careful lines of bright purple half on Harley’s thumb nail and half on his skin, is that he wouldn’t mind if that was him instead.

Peter’s never had nail polish on before.

He wonders what it’s like.

This thought sits with him for the next few weeks, as he watches Harley chip his black nail polish without a care in the world. Would it be okay if he asked Harley? Would it be okay if he asked why it’s always black? Would it be okay if he asked Harley to paint his nails, maybe, just once, so he knows what it’s like?

They’re hanging out after class one day, supposedly studying for their upcoming midterms, but Harley’s sat at his desk with a bottle of black nail polish and is slowly rubbing off the remnants of his last paintjob with a cotton pad. Peter’s leaning with his back to the wall on Harley’s bed, watching him from across the room, his biology exam notes spread around him.

He watches Harley carefully tip the bottle of acetone upside down so it soaks the cotton pad and presses it to his nail. Peter knows he’ll leave it for a little while, so the chemicals break down the polish, he’s watched Harley do this often enough that he knows black’s hard to get off.

Peter takes a breath, steeling himself for reasons he doesn’t even know.

“Harl?” He calls, just slightly louder than the music playing from Harley’s computer.

Harley doesn’t look back when he replies. “Yeah, darlin’?”

It’s been years of Harley calling him darling in that honeyed accent of his, Peter’s used to it, but like everything else that Peter resolutely and absolutely doesn’t think about, this time it makes something swoop low in his stomach and butterfly settle high amongst his rib cage.

“Can I ask a question?”

“You just did,” Harley says, and even from across the room Peter can see a hint of a smirk flirt across his face. “But you can ask another.”

Peter isn’t in the mood to deal with smarmy Harley James Keener attitude right now. Too focused on the fact that this is finally his chance to figure out Harley just a little bit more.

“Why do you wear nail polish?”

He can tell Harley wasn’t expecting that particular question in the way his shoulders tense and he goes still.

But this is Harley—Harley should know why he’s asking.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” he rambles anyways, because Harley still hasn’t said anything. “I just wanted to know, you don’t have to tell me, like you’ve done it the entire time we’ve known each other, I think it’s cool—”

“Peter, darlin’,” Harley interjects, fond amusement colouring his voice. “Calm down.”

Peter takes a breath, lets it out. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologise for, I just wasn’t expecting you to ask.”

Peter’s shoulders slump when Harley remains quiet for the following minute, only for Harley to get up from his desk and make his way over towards the bed, settling in amongst Peter’s textbooks and worksheets and the green bedsheets.

“Because my dad always hated it,” is what Harley eventually says.

“Oh.”

It’s kind of half the answer Peter was expecting. He knows enough, between Tony and what Harley’s told him, to connect the dots.

“I’m sorry.”

“Darlin’,” Harley says, looking at him with those sea-blue eyes. “You gotta stop apologising for stuff that ain’t your fault.”

Peter flushes. “Do you think you could paint mine? I’ve never done it before.”

“I’m guessin’ you wouldn’t want black though, right?”

“Do you have any pastels?” Peter asks, in a smaller voice than he means to.

Harley nods. “I’m sure I’ve got some somewhere, I usually save ‘em for Morgan or Abby.”

Harley stands up to go find them, and Peter starts nervously playing with the fraying hem of his hoodie. It’s a faded red and too large and has Rose Hill High scrawled across it in big block letters and not his hoodie at all.

This is when it clicks—the oh moment in his head, that maybe he likes Harley just a bit more than friends should.

Harley returns in the midst of this revelation, setting the handful of coloured polishes down on his bedside table, clinking as the glass bottles knock against each other.

Peter wonders how his world hasn’t been tipped upside down and come to a grinding halt, too.

“This was all I could find,” Harley says, sitting across from him on the bed. “Gonna look like you dipped your hand in a bag of Easter eggs.”

He’s right—there’s pale pinks and blues and yellows like right out of a candy store, but Peter loves them.

“No, it’s fine. They’re nice colours.”

Harley smiles at him, bright and beautiful, and Peter has to marvel, just a bit how he didn’t realise before the depth of his feelings.

“Give me your hand.”

Peter holds his hand out for Harley to take. They’ve held hands before—Peter’s a tactile person—but there’s something new about this, the way Harley gently twists his fingers around so he can paint them comfortably and correctly.

“What colour do you want me to start with?” Harley asks, quiet, his voice barely a rumble in his chest.

Peter looks up at him. Harley’s looking down at his hand and back at the colours on the table every now and again, like he’s thinking of the perfect pattern for Peter’s nails. It’s late afternoon, and the sun is starting to set; it floods the room in a wash of orange-gold, and in the sunlight Harley glows. The freckles across his nose, the faint blonde in his hair gilded and shining, and the clear crystal of his eyes, hidden ever so slightly beneath gold eyelashes. It makes Peter a little breathless, just looking at him.

“You chose,” Peter finally says, maybe a little but too long after Harley asked. “You know more than me.”

Harley sweeps the pad of his thumb over Peter’s fingernail, just enough that it catches amongst the groves of his fingerprint.

“Yeah, okay,” Harley says, and reaches for the yellow.

They sit in silence as Peter watches Harley paint his nails. Yellow on his thumb, then egg-blue on his forefinger. The pale millennial pink goes on his middle finger, then blue, then yellow again.

Harley’s moved onto Peter’s other hand by the time Peter figures out how to say it.

“Harley?”

Harley hums in acknowledgement, too busy concentrating on painting his nail blue without leaving streaks.

“I really like you,” Peter confesses.

Harley gives a short laugh, still doesn’t look up. “I’d hope so, we are best friends, right, Parker?”

“No,” he says, and waits until Harley stops painting and lifts his head. “I like you like you.”

“Oh, okay,” Harley gives a simple shake of his shaggy blonde head, and goes back to painting Peter’s nails with careful concentration. “I like you like you, too.”

Peter blinks. “Don’t just say that.”

“I’m not.”

“Harley.” “Peter,” Harley parrots, finally looking up at him. “Have you met you? Of course, I like you, dumbass.”

“You’re the worst, Keener.”

Harley smirks once more. “No, I’m not. You like me like me.”

“I—” Peter starts, cutting himself off, because Harley’s leaning closer.

“Peter,” Harley says, his voice soft and low. “Can I kiss you?”

Peter nods, unable to speak, and then—

Harley kisses him.

It’s soft and it’s sweet and it’s not at all how Peter imagined his first kiss with a boy would be. But it’s Harley and that counts for something. Harley’s hand comes up to cup his jaw, light and tender, and Peter has to remind himself he currently has wet pastel paint on his nails and can’t sink his hands into Harley’s hair without tragedy occurring.

Harley tilts his head, thumb sweeping across Peter’s cheekbone, deepening the kiss just enough that those butterflies in Peter’s stomach all fly off at once.

“So,” Harley says, after they pull back and the both of them smile like fools. “Do you wanna paint my nails?”

“They’ll look bad.”

“No they won’t,” Harley disagrees, and, because he knows that Peter likes him likes him, says, “They’ll be perfect, ‘cause it’s you.”

Peter leans forward to brush a shy kiss to Harley’s cheek, and reaches for the black nail polish.

#parkner #parley #harleypeter #harley keener #peter parker #i've written like 6k in the past week for fics and NOT my thesis someone make it make sense #drabble #u: mcu #p: parkner #f: fire escape verse

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Chase the Shadows Away (Taywhora) - Juno

Summary: It’s April 2020, the UK is in lockdown, and Tayce gets a hand-delivered letter from her neighbour Aurora which may change her life.

A/N: So this is set during lockdown and does mention covid, so please bear this in mind when reading if this will be a worry, but otherwise I hope you enjoy. CWs in place for alcohol, mental health mentions, and non-adherence to lockdown rules at one point.

Otherwise it’s quite fluffy with some h/c. I hope you enjoy.

The first letter Tayce got was in early April.

She hadn’t had much post since the whole country had been locked down, no one allowed to move outside their front doors for more than once a day for threat of fines and penalties and even getting sick. Most of the letters she was getting this week had been birthday cards for her absent housemate. She’d put the various brightly-coloured cards and Amazon boxes in a pile outside Viv’s bedroom door, and gave the pile the middle finger every time she walked past it.

But today there was a plain, white envelope, with “Hi” written on it in glittery red pen, and when Tayce opened it, she found a piece of notebook paper that had been folded at least four times, and Tayce nearly threw it across the room with the effort it was taking to open.

This had better be worth it.

When she got it unfolded, she read the three lines in the same glitter pen, then again, and once more just in case.

‘Hi, I’m Aurora. I’m on my own in my flat 7D because my housemate moved home because of lockdown, and you seem to be alone too. Want to write to each other? X’

And Tayce couldn’t hold back the rush of emotion, as much as she tried - but she was alone, and she took comfort knowing only these four walls would see tears stream down her face.

——

Tayce was on her own in the flat.

In the day time she opened her work laptop, thanking god she was allowed to work from home; throwing a hoodie over her pyjama top just in time for the 9am meeting where her boss grinned at everyone and told them all to keep swimming and chin up and whatever other self-indulgent bullshit she had read in her How To Motivate Your Teammanual in the chapter about Managing Pandemics.

Tayce was still surprised at how much bullshit her workmates seemed to swallow; all of them with the same broad smiles and straightened hair and shaved chins and eyeliner, for fuck’s sake - but Tayce copied them, knowing that not painting her own smile and her own eyebrows on was damning herself for the inevitable call and the simpering It’s Good To Talk conversation, followed by u k hun xx to be flashing repeatedly in the work WhatsApp group from all the team.

In the evenings, the only noise was the clink of the glass bottle against the wine glass. One glass was enough to make her a little sleepy, two was enough to make her dance, and three was enough to make her post something cryptic on her insta story and see if anyone DMed her.

Sometimes they did.

Joe liked to crack a few morbid jokes about how it was the apocalypse and we were all going to be dead by 2021, which didn’t help Tayce in the slightest. Ginny would message “You alright, bab?” at three in the morning, but never reply to any other message. Tia would send Tayce a picture of the banana bread she’d baked as if that would cheer Tayce up.

And Cherry sent her a message one time, telling her to look after her mental health, and then Tayce felt bad because Cherry worked for the NHS and only seemed to work and sleep right now, her insta photos showing her looking more and more gaunt, with #ClapForHeroes and #ProtectTheNHS appearing at the bottom of all her posts.

Nothing curbed the gaping black hole in Tayce’s chest, sucking everything that was good from her body and leaving her a shell.

Until the letter arrived.

——

Two days after she’d posted her own letter back to 7D, another letter arrived, in the same glittery red pen, this time addressed to her, with Tayce written on the front of the envelope this time.

‘Hi Tayce (sp?) nice to meet you, don’t worry I don’t know what to say either! Where in Wales are you from? I’m from Nottingham but I came to London for uni and didn’t leave! Are you still working rn? I got furloughed which is a bit shit. And my housemate is staying with her boyfriend so she can’t move back. Have you been clapping for the NHS? Someone on my floor was banging a pan or something!! Hope your ok? WB Aurora xx’

“I’m making a new friend,” Tayce had said to her mum on the phone later that night.

“In lockdown?”

“She’s delivering me letters.”

“How?”

“By hand, mum.” Tayce forced a laugh. “You know. Through the letterbox like a normal letter.”

“I hope you’re washing your hands before and after you open them, are you?”

“Yeah, of course,” Tayce grimaced as she said it.

“Good. Stay safe. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

One of these days, Tayce thought as she disconnected the call, she might be able to say it without her voice breaking.

——

By mid-April, a full month since lockdown had started and two weeks after the first letters between them, Aurora had given Tayce her instagram handle, and Tayce had given hers in return. Tayce found herself spending all of her Good Friday skimming down the page on moreauroramore, looking through all of her new pen pal’s photos and trying desperately not to look like an idiot by accidentally double-tapping any that were obviously over a year old.

Tayce had pictured Aurora in her mind as being over-excitable, short, with dark hair and lots of dusty pinks and baby blues and other pastel colours as her aesthetic, maybe with pot plants and cat pictures and cutesy little slogans surrounded by hearts. Instead she’d found a smolderingly attractive woman with a ridiculously versatile and sophisticated sense of fashion; one photo in a rococo-inspired summer dress, and the next in a cerulean blazer, matching trousers, and stilettos. Her hair was platinum-blonde, but it was hard to tell her eye colour as she seemed to own a never-ending plethora of colour contacts; and the eyebrow ring in the early pictures was replaced by a silver septum ring in later ones.

Her own insta looked quite plain in comparison, Tayce thought to herself. The landscapes she liked to post were interesting to her but probably not to the magnificent person on Aurora’s insta. The last picture Tayce had taken was of herself with her brother and niece in red rugby shirts just before the Six Nations was on; the last selfie before the last time she’d gone home which was … only February, she realised.

February felt like years ago.

When Tayce had awoken the next morning, she was greeted by the doorbell, and an Amazon driver sprinting away the moment she opened the door. A letter was on the doormat, in the familiar red glittery pen, and a single chocolate Easter egg.

‘Happy Easter Tayce. Don’t know if you celebrate but lol thought you would like some chocolate anyway! Don’t eat it all at once. Aurora xx’

It made Tayce’s gut wrench with guilt that she hadn’t thought to get Aurora one.

But it made Tayce even more pained, once she had clicked onto her instagram, to see that moreauroramore had liked all thirteen of the pictures she’d posted this year.

——

The zoom call at the end of April with the others from her uni group, saw not just Cherry missing, but also Ellie and Veronica.

“Ellie’s moving this week,” Lawrence nodded at the screen, “but that was all she’d tell me. She didn’t say where. Or if she’s staying in Dundee or anything. I just know she’s still trying to get her internet set up and I think she’s a bit stuck.”

“What about Vee?” Ginny asked in a low voice.

They all recognised the somber tone. They’d all taken it up. A change in their voices that all of them recognised in a kind of collective telepathic awareness. A hush in the calls, as if someone were dying, or had just died. Whenever anyone was missing, it was always the same worry circling all of their minds: what if it’s covid what if it’s covid what if it’s -

Tia was shaking her head. “It’s not covid,” she said, reading the minds of everyone through the internet, but her voice was still solemn as she continued. “I spoke to her mum. She’s -“

“Say depressed, Tia, it’s fine.” Bimini spoke gently, but not all of them were as open as Bimini was. Especially when it came to Veronica, who was a brick wall when it came to showing what she was feeling.

“She’s - not in a good place.”

“Say mental health,” Bimini said, shaking their head. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna make her feel any better, Bim.” Tia rolled her eyes.

“We’re all feeling this,” Pip nodded. “We all need to talk to each other.”

“Veronica won’t. Not yet. We just need to be there for her when she does. Anyway, who’s done anything interesting? Anyone else been trying banana bread? Everyone managed to find bogroll from somewhere now? No one is having the same problem that Joe had when she -“

“I don’t think we need to go any further with that one, love,” Joe muttered.

“I’ve made a pen friend.”

Everyone sat in stunned silence at Tayce’s sentence, mouths open like fish at feeding time.

“A pen friend? What is this, 1986?”

“Shut up, Ginny. I think that’s kind of cute, actually,” Tia mused, tilting her head to one side.

Tayce nodded. “Something a bit different. She lives in my block of flats. Two floors up from me. Been nice, to talk to someone, ever since Viv buggered off to her boyfriend’s house. Seriously, as soon as Boris announced lockdown she was jumping in her car and off to Liverpool.”

“You said she was a bit flaky,” Tia said sympathetically. “What’s your new pen pal’s name?”

“Aurora.”

“A-what?” Ginny raised their eyebrows. “Can we just call her Rory?”

“No.”

“We should get her on a call with us when Veronica’s back. Ronni and Rory, sounds like Ant and Dec will have some stiff competition when they get wind of that.”

“Ginny -“ Tia began, but Tayce was trying to hold back a chuckle.

——

‘Someone is talking about a street party on the 8th of May. Are you gonna go? I was gonna stay indoors but if you’re gonna go outside i will too xx’

Tayce knew she shouldn’t be thinking of meeting strangers outside her flat while the pandemic was ongoing, but she hadn’t seen a familiar human since March other than on a zoom call screen.

‘Hi Aurora, yeah i will go outside for a little bit. Look forward to meeting you properly instead of over letters! Tayce’

And Tayce finally stopped hesitating, adding two kisses on the end for the first time.

The weather was meant to be lush for a May bank holiday, as Tayce knew because her colleagues wouldn’t shut up about it. Almost eight weeks of lockdown were beginning to show the cracks in all their faces - no more eyeliner, and even Linda in Accounts had stopped posting boomerang videos of her kids doing Joe Wicks workouts while she waved her arms behind them.

So Tayce was over the moon when Friday rolled around and she could slam the Dismiss button on her phone alarm, turn over and sleep in until noon. Once she woke up though, she sat up with a jolt in her bed and realised she’d have to get ready; somehow it was important that she looked right today.

It was a power play, she knew it. An armour. But there was just something about clothes that made her mood turn in an instant. Her favourite leather jacket was probably a bit too heavy for the warm sunshine - warm sunshine? In May? - so she opted for the black denim instead and a skirt that hugged her slender figure, leaving her hair loose and wishing she’d gone for a trim before the lockdown. Maybe she should take her scissors to it?

She held the only scissors she had to hand - a pair of craft scissors - and wondered what her hairdresser mum would say if she knew that her daughter had taken non-styling scissors to the 30-inches of hair that she had.

No - better not. Her mum could give her a go over once the lockdown period had ended.

Someone was playing tunes on a speaker already when Tayce came down the stairs, dragging the garden chair Viv had left behind and brushing the digestive crumbs off it. One of the neighbours she recognised from her floor handed her an ice-cold can of Fosters which she sipped, not really enjoying the taste but relishing the freedom of it all. She knew to keep two metres from everyone, and she knew Cherry would absolutely murder her if she disobeyed that rule.

As soon as Aurora came into view from the block of flats, Tayce knew that keeping to the two metre rule would prove a little harder than she had first thought.

Aurora’s insta pictures showed a fashion model trapped in a little box on a screen, striving to get out - but in the flesh, she looked as if she had just rolled out of the living room after a Tiger King marathon. The grey jogging bottoms paired with the crop top and zip-up hoodie were probably too warm for today - 23 degrees, the radio kept repeating - but she made them look so effortless and stylish that Tayce suddenly wanted to buy some. Her platinum hair was piled in a messy bun, dark brown roots showing but the lackadaisical nature made it seem like Aurora meant it that way.

On her insta page, Aurora was way out of Tayce’s league; but here in life, she seemed a lot more accessible, a lot calmer, a lot more real.

Maybe it’s armour for her too. All this perfection in the photos. God. Why did I wear this?

She dropped her own deck chair down a reasonable distance from Tayce, taking another can of Fosters from the same neighbour and cracking it open. She took a swig, wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, and waved.

“Hi, Tayce. Here we are, then!”

“Yeah,” was the only thing Tayce could think of in response. Really cool. Very clever.

But Aurora was talking animatedly about how much she’d missed the sun, as she pulled a pair of sunglasses from her pocket and leaned back against the deck chair, claiming “Tesco are having them on sale - two for £12, so I got two - what else am I gonna do on furlough other than sunbathe!”

And the more the Fosters flowed - their neighbour’s 24-pack almost completely gone before 5pm, he seemingly wanting to give a can to the whole block - the more Aurora opened up her life history to Tayce.

How much she wished she was still in Worksop and could go on the long walks into the forest. How she’d give anything to hug her mum, a care-worker, and how she FaceTimed her shielding grandad every Sunday at 6.30 just after he finished his tea.

But most of all, how lonely it was every single night being alone in a flat in a huge city. Aurora dabbed her watery eyes with her thumbs as she described how much she loved everything that London had to offer when it was full of people, not dead to the world like it was now - and in this hollow place that lockdown was, she’d discovered that a city - any city, however exciting - was just a built-up area if you had no one to share it with.

Tayce hadn’t expected to cry. She’d cried maybe once or twice this whole time in lockdown, still too numb to have taken everything in that was happening. But the moment she’d opened her mouth, suddenly the Fosters had started talking for her too, and she was spilling out her worries onto the pavement below them as Aurora rubbed her back.

How her mum was furloughed from the hairdresser and her dad was always out in the lorry up and down the country. Her brother and sister-in-law, and her niece, were all still fine in Newport, but Tayce had missed her niece’s birthday, having to settle for blowing her a kiss down FaceTime and promising her through gritted teeth and cold fear that she’d give her the biggest cwtch ever as soon as this was over.

But now Tayce was in tears again, this time on Aurora’s shoulder, releasing her sorrows onto this woman who she had only exchanged written words with; now seeing her true soul laid bare in emotions that just refused to stop once she started. Aurora’s gentle hands ghosted through her hair, but then gripped Tayce tightly to her chest, planting a long, tender kiss on her hairline.

How had this happened? How had social distancing become this? Two people, thinking they were islands, clinging to one another for dear life?

Tayce held her for too long.

Aurora’s hands froze as she realised what she had done at the same moment Tayce had.

Cherry is gonna kill me.

Aurora walked with Tayce back to her flat as the sun was setting. It was nine in the evening, the heat finally starting to break, and both of them were aching and tired, spent from their tears. Aurora gave Tayce’s hand a gentle squeeze but said nothing else, her eyes red underneath her sunglasses, and Tayce had felt herself harden once again, turning the key in the door and closing the outside world back to where it should be.

——

After two weeks had passed, both of them not developing any symptoms after their contact, Tayce had an idea.

She put the letter through the letterbox in 7D at midday when she broke for lunch, and had a reply by half past one, a new record for Aurora.

‘Tayce, I’d love to form a support bubble with you. I thought you would have one already thats why i didn’t ask! Want to put on a film tonight and just chill? Bubble bud? Aurora xx’

So Tayce saw inside Aurora’s flat for the first time that same evening. After work, she practically sprinted up the stairs, thankful to get away from more of u k hun xx and her still-simpering colleagues.

It was very clean, as if it had only just been cleaned that day - freshly-washed surfaces, hoovered carpets, a sparkling bathroom - and Tayce marvelled at how tidy and orderly things were, a stark contrast from her own living space which had evolved into a nest of mess by now. Aurora’s living room and kitchen space were one area, with a mismatched sofa and chair facing the tv screen, hooking up a PS4 - Tayce hadn’t counted Aurora as a Dishonoured player either. The wall opposite the window was filled with small pictures of past fashion models - Kate Moss, Agyness Deyn, Cara Delevigne - all with matte black frames which had obviously been painted in lockdown, as one was on the coffee table drying over a copy of Hello magazine.

“My housemate’s not coming back, I can see it happening now,” Aurora shrugged, “so why not make the house the way I like it while I look for someone else to live with?”

Aurora poured Tayce a huge glass of wine, and that was followed by another; while she topped up her own glass liberally and kept shifting on the sofa as if trying to get comfortable. Tayce, for her part, took the chair instead, while Aurora tapped on the PlayStation controller to try to get Netflix up. The more she drank, the more cumbersome the controller seemed to become in her hands, until Tayce leaned over and took it away from her, Aurora’s fingers lingering a little too long on it before relinquishing.

When Aurora got up, meaning to pour them both a fourth glass of wine, she slipped on something and tumbled into Tayce’s lap in the chair, tittering something that sounded like “god I’m clumsy” through the giggles that came from her, unable to stop. Tayce slapped her on the back as she started coughing, but as that died down, Aurora straightened up, picking up Tayce’s hand in hers and drawing her up and away to join her on the sofa.

Lockdown had been so fucking lonely.

Aurora’s hand in hers was all Tayce needed to dissolve every wall she was still rebuilding from May Bank Holiday.

Aurora’s eyes were on her, she knew; through her peripheral vision as she tried desperately to cling to her focus on whatever episode of Tiger King this was.

When Tayce finally met her gaze, she averted it, turning her face to the window opposite them. Almost … playfully.

So Tayce looked back at the TV screen, but Aurora’s hand squeezed at hers, thumb in her palm pressing right in the centre, the pressure somehow travelling all the way to her gut. Tayce turned back to her, and this time Aurora did not look away.

“God, you’re gorgeous.”

Aurora looked at her through her eyelashes, lips parted in a smirk, curiously searching Tayce with her gaze as if wondering what her next move would be.

Tayce blinked incredulously. “Me? Like this? What do you mean, I’m gorgeous? Have you seen yourself?”

“And that accent, oh my days -“

“Go to Newport, we all sound like this.”

But the wine was hitting hard now and oh god lockdown is so fucking lonely and Tayce’s feet on the floor suddenly felt unsteady and Aurora was so fucking close to her on the sofa -

——

Once the hangover was gone, the memory of rest of the night felt like a dream, or maybe a nightmare. Tayce wasn’t entirely sure when she’d gone back to her flat, but she had, long before night had fully fallen and long after she was sure the burgeoning friendship she was finally making with someone lay in tatters two floors up from her.

The wine had washed away the strength she’d had, leaving her raw and vulnerable, and all the affection that had been growing since Aurora had first held her bubbled and burst into life. And Aurora must have felt the same magnetic pull, drawing them together across the sofa, nail marks still present in Tayce’s back that she could see in the mirror, a bruise forming on Tayce’s collarbone as Aurora had dipped a little lower.

It had been Tayce who had halted it - not because she hadn’t wanted to, but because she couldn’t decipher how much of this was affection and how much of this was just two lonely people, starved of company, starved of normality, seeking and clinging to it in any form.

And now it was the following day, and Tayce still didn’t know.

The group call at the end of the day was interesting. She stretched over the back of the sofa in her living room to grab her water, and that must have been enough to flash a sliver of skin.

“What’s that?” Lawrence asked loudly, prompting everyone else to go quiet. “Tayce? What’s that on your chest, hmm?”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“You’re not wearing your glasses, Ginny, you can’t see shit. What’s that on your chest? Why d’you have a bruise there?”

“Hi!” Ellie’s voice as she joined the call unexpectedly saved Tayce any further embarrassment; everyone shrieked when she came on, having missed the last two zoom calls following her move. “Thank God my internet is working now, I’ve missed all your faces!”

Tayce silently thanked Ellie’s timing and contentedly listened to the rest of them as they chatted about everything and nothing that they’d all missed. All of them were there; even Cherry showed up about twenty minutes in to wave at them and blow them kisses, her face even more pallid than before; before ducking back out to go to bed.

Only Veronica was still missing.

“She’s been messaging me,” Tia explained, “and she said she’s feeling a bit better, but since she got furloughed, she’s feeling like there’s no point getting out of bed or getting ready because there’s nowhere to go.”

“Send her some love,” Tayce said, but Tia snorted.

“You send her it! She’s gonna feel better if she knows we all miss her.”

It was true though, Tayce realised after they all disconnected. They all seemed to be drifting apart, no more energy to continue with these online gatherings, even though there were so many virtual meetup groups and apps that there almost seemed to be no excuse now.

She looked back through her phone messages. She hadn’t messaged Veronica since early April, taking her silence as a sign that she wanted to be left alone; but what if it wasn’t? Veronica was a closed fist, everyone knew that. And Tayce’s brother? Again, early April, and a quick call the week after for her niece’s birthday.

Lockdown, and self-isolation, seemed to be one and the same.

So Tayce spent the rest of the afternoon sending messages to everyone she had neglected since then. Maybe they would reply, and maybe they wouldn’t - but there was no harm in reaching out, no negative consequences.

By the end of the day, she was fielding messages back and forth from everyone she thought she’d lost through lockdown, the grey cloud over her head starting to lift, the fuzzy feeling disappearing and clarity settling in. She felt light, lighter than she had in weeks; and warm as the summery days they were getting in this late-May spring.

Towards the end of the day, she got a message back from Veronica at last.

Veronica: I’m doing ok. I got up and went for a walk today just to the park and back. It’s really nice although my hay fever sucks. Thanks for checking in on me i appreciate it x Veronica: Oh also Tia said you had a hickey on the group call haha tell me what her name is x

Tayce was surprised to realise she was grinning at the phone as she read Veronica’s message, her fingers stroking the mark on her collarbone as if to savour the vivid image that it sparked in her head.

——

It was three days after their drunken kiss on the sofa that Tayce had another letter through the door. The same red glittery pen, the same scrawl, but the writing a little smaller as if Aurora wanted to diminish herself.

‘Hi Tayce. I’m really sorry if i came on too strong this week. Can we go back to friends? Want to hang out tonight, bubble bud? Aurora xx’

Tayce swallowed down the part of her that immediately rose up and cried that she … didn’t want to just be friends.

Then it hit her.

God. I only met this girl properly this month. What’s wrong with me?

But she replied and immediately started clearing the house.

She put the pile of Viv’s birthday cards and presents from the hallway floor into a cupboard under the sink, giving it the middle finger again; put the six-weeks worth of laundry on to wash; cleaned all the dishes; and dragged the hoover out of the tiny airing cupboard and got to work on the carpets. The hard floors she swept, and carried the bin bags out to the communal bins, all before midday.

“Who needs Joe Wicks workouts?” She muttered to herself, panting, as she tugged some marigolds over her hands to sort out the rest of the kitchen.

By the time it was six, and time for Aurora to arrive, Tayce thought the house looked much better, and honestly, she felt much better too. The little spring clean she’d given the place had cleared a little clutter from her head as well.

It’s nothing to worry about. She’d just coming over for food and -

Tayce grimaced as she realised she hadn’t thought of what to do for food. She thought back to the beans on toast she’d had at four and kicked herself for not thinking of that. Dominos was still delivering, so she brought up the app and busied herself looking through the list of pizzas.

Aurora hadn’t arrived by ten past six, and Tayce started to worry.

Maybe she’s changed her mind.

But Tayce refused to let that thought take any root. She looked at the clock, which of course seemed to slow down from having eyes on it, and firmly told herself that she would message Aurora at quarter past if she wasn’t here before.

With a minute to spare, Aurora turned up, grinning merrily and waving the bottle of rose in Tayce’s face.

“Hey bubble bud! Sorry I’m late, well I’m always late, sorry in advance if you expect me on time for anything!” Aurora took a step inside and her jaw dropped. “Wow, your place is well nice!”

“Thanks,” Tayce grinned, although she wasn’t sure what Aurora was looking at. Tayce wasn’t allowed anything on the walls from what her landlord said, but Aurora wouldn’t stay still - checking out the titles of the handful of CDs Tayce had brought down to London with her; scanning a nail along the books on the shelf above the TV.

“It’s nice to hold a book sometimes,” Tayce shrugged, “rather than just read it on the kindle app.”

When Aurora got to the kitchen, Tayce cringed. She’d have to confess.

“I haven’t got in anything to eat. Only - only some bread.”

“And pot noodles,” Aurora added, opening a cupboard and helping herself to the contents as if she’d lived here her whole life.

“And pot - oh, are you thinking, maybe …”

“No way!” Aurora slammed the cupboard door and grabbed her keys again. “Be right back!”

Ten minutes later and Tayce was at the hob over the oven with Aurora, dicing onions while she cut up a red pepper, mince that Aurora had grabbed from her own fridge was out and ready to go in too.

“I needed to use that up anyway,” she shrugged. “Please tell me you don’t just eat bread and pot noodles, Tayce, please. I need to give you a cooking crash course if you do! Didn’t you learn to cook at uni? Or didn’t you do much cooking before you went? Oh my days - no fry the onion off first, with the garlic - I’ll chop the mushrooms, Jesus Christ pot noodles …”

“I know how to cook, give me some credit!” Tayce murmured, but she couldn’t stop smiling. “I just haven’t been to the shop yet, it’s been a long week.”

Aurora closed her eyes and hummed in appreciation. “Just keep talking to me, please.”

“What about?”

“Anything! Your life, your family - I don’t know, house prices, I don’t care - but that accent, ugh -“ Aurora shivered.

“Yours is cute, too,” Tayce smirked.

Aurora looked at her reproachfully. “You’re lying.”

“Yeah, I am.”

It was no use. The air was full of electricity, static around them, and before Tayce knew what was happening, suddenly they were kissing again, this time stone-cold sober, while the onions burned shadows into the bottom of the pan.

——

Viv gave her notice on the flat at the start of June.

“I just can’t afford to live here anymore,” she explained, sighing, when she got back and started to pack up everything in her room. “I’m gonna see if I can get some work back home.”

Tayce was numb, although she knew Viv didn’t mean it personally. It wasn’t her fault that she’d been made redundant straight after the lockdown ended, and it made sense that she wanted to be near her family. It was now four months since Tayce had seen hers, and she missed them every day, although she had been sticking religiously to her new routine of calling her parents every Saturday night and her brother’s family every Sunday afternoon.

“I’m sorry that’s putting you in a tight spot, Tayce,” Viv muttered, hugging her, and Tayce hugged her back.

“Can’t be helped,” Tayce replied, which was all she could think to respond with that wasn’t an inarticulate growl in frustration.

Viv was adamant she would pay her final month’s rent, and pay her half the utilities even though she wasn’t there. But she had to go home.

“How was your move?” Tayce asked Ellie on the next group call on zoom.

“Shite,” Ellie replied, “but partly because we struggled finding someone to move us. There’s plenty of places around, plenty of places to rent and stuff, because everyone’s moved back to where they came from.”

“You’ll find somewhere else to live, bab,” Ginny murmured in a soothing voice to Tayce, stroking the side of the laptop screen as she liked to do to show affection now that she couldn’t hug anyone.

“I know,” Tayce sighed. “It’s just a pain in the arse.”

She wasted no time. One of the spare room websites was always open in the background, and she was refreshing, looking maybe a little further out from central London to see if anywhere was cheaper, but nowhere was.

Then she spotted the dot in her own block of flats, and clicked the advert.

That’s - that’s Aurora’s flat.

Now she remembered. Aurora had mentioned something about her housemate moving out! It must now be official.

She read through the advert - how was it £50 cheaper than what she was already paying? - and looked at the contact name for the housemate, and there it was in black and white pixels: Aurora Martin, use form below.

Grabbing a piece of notebook paper - one of the last bits left, she’d been ripping them all out to write to Aurora - she penned a letter, one of what might well be the last ones, and jogged upstairs to post it through her letterbox.

The response came back to her in less than an hour, a new record for Aurora.

‘Tayce! I’d love it if you wanted to move in here! OMG. My landlord will want references from yours, but if you can get them quick then he can approve you really fast, he’s working from home. OMG you made my day. Come up at 7pm xx’

“Work contacted me today too,” Aurora beamed as she settled with Tayce on the sofa. “They want me to start back next week! Can’t wait. Need to get that coin again now! I mean, I’m dead grateful, you know, that I still have my job and I was on furlough so the government paid most of my wages, but it will be nice to have the full package again!”

“What is it you do again?” Tayce asked.

“Oh - I work as a fashion buyer. But because fashion’s kind of stopped right now, most of the designers are shut. Reopening now, especially the ones in mainland Europe! Can’t wait to be on the phone to them all again.”

“Wait. You speak to designers in other countries?”

Aurora nodded. “I speak French and Spanish.”

“You -“ Tayce was dazed. “I didn’t know that!”

“Well why would you? I mean you’ve only known me a couple of months!” Aurora laughed, and leaned back closer to Tayce, her perfume overwhelmingly sweet in the air. “You’re not gonna know everything about me yet, bubble bud.”

“No,” Tayce purred, “but I can’t wait to find out.”

——

By the Monday after the move, early July, Tayce was all set up to go. She’d moved the bed into the corner as she liked it, arranged her books into a rainbow as she liked them, and unfurled the posters she’d been unable to hang in her last flat, mostly punk bands that she liked, Bimini’s band’s poster, and the noticeboard with all the tickets tacked to it of all the gigs she’d been to. The vanity with the mirror that she’d brought from home fitted perfectly next to the window so she could do her makeup with natural light; and it was large enough for her work setup, which was where she was now.

The flat layout was almost identical to the one she’d just left, and the room was the same one - Aurora having the slightly bigger room - but it felt a lot more comforting, knowing she wasn’t alone here any more, knowing she had a little more freedom in decorations, and knowing that the hollow feeling in her chest was starting to slow down for good.

She turned off her work laptop at five as normal, which was when Aurora came in. Tayce pulled her in, giving her a peck on the lips.

“They’re gonna love you, I promise.”

Aurora just made a moan in the back of her throat and put her face in her hands, shrinking away from the vanity.

Tayce turned on her personal laptop, logging into zoom and connecting to the group chat. Her monthly uni call was set to half four today for some reason, and everyone else was already all there.

“Tayce! We wondered where you’d got to!”

It was Veronica’s voice, and Veronica’s face was in the top left. She still looked a little tired, and the shirt she was wearing looked suspiciously like a pyjama top, but she was here with them all, and this was a big step for her.

Tayce beamed at her. “So good to see you!”

“The move went alright then, bab?” Ginny asked.

Tayce nodded. “And there’s someone you should meet.” She pulled Aurora into frame, who still looked uncharacteristically shy for a moment before waving at the people on the screen. “This is Aurora.”

“Aurora!” Tia squeaked. “Like the princess!”

Aurora rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“So we’ve got Rory and Ronni here together at last!” Lawrence exclaimed, while Veronica gave the camera two fingers.

But Tayce just grinned at her friends on the screen, far apart but together in this strange way. Aurora’s nails dug into her shoulder, still a little nervous, but even that was fading as she got more comfortable.

Aurora had been right - the city was just a lot of bricks in intricate patterns without someone in it that made it a home.

And this just might be becoming one.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #tayce #a'whora #taywhora #ginny lemon #lawrence chaney #veronica green #tia kofi #ellie diamond #uk2 #lesbian au #fluff #hurt/comfort #juno #tw covid lockdown #tw mental health mentions #submission

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naralanis · 4 years

Text

To learn to want (and to love)

“What is it that you want, exactly, Hermione?”

Hermione has to blink, bleary-eyed and not entirely alert. She’s been reading the same paragraph on Transfiguration Today for the past ten minutes or so, and her reading glasses are practically dangling off her nose she’s so out of it, so Ron’s question takes her by surprise.

“I--uh, what?” she stutters, pushing the spectacles up and turning to face him. The lamp on his side of the bed is still on, and it illuminates the circles under his eyes, his slightly receding hairline, and, most importantly, his frown.

“What do you want out of this, Hermione? We’re not--” the words seem to elude him for a moment, so Ron opts for just vaguely gesticulating around the space between them, a gulf in their bed that has been steadily widening for the past decade or so. “We’re just going through the paces here. What are we doing??” He finally huffs out.

It takes Hermione by surprise, but it also doesn’t. She’s not an idiot, she knew the signs were there; she had just chosen to ignore them because they didn’t necessarily bother her at all. She hadn’t thought they bothered Ron either, because he certainly never thought to bring them up -- not when the sex stopped, or when their casual, affectionate touches seemed to fizzle out, not even when they went most of their days not saying anything other than ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’ to one another.

Maybe she had been a little too willfully ignorant.

She wants to answer him honestly, she does, but instinctively she knows that’s not exactly what he wants to hear. So Hermione shrugs her shoulders and blows out a weary sigh.

“I’m not unhappy.”

Ronald visibly deflates, as she had predicted. He runs a hand over his hair -- it’s mussed and sticking out at all angles -- and he sighs so low and defeated Hermione can’t help but feel terrible about it. It isn’t his fault -- it isn’t hers, either, which somehow makes this worse.

His gaze meets hers and he looks so sad, but there’s a little smile tugging at his lips, like he’s trying to be happy for her sake.

“But you’re not happy.”

Well.

The divorce comes easier and quicker than anyone ever expected, and Hermione is simultaneously surprised and a little bit miffed that it doesn’t seem to catch any of their friends and family off-guard. Even Rose shrugged when she and her brother came by during Easter, saying something along the lines of “honestly, I saw it coming” and going back to her crème eggs.

Hugo, on the other hand, had been inconsolable and angry, and he unfairly directed all of that emotion towards his father, who did nothing more than take it and tell Hermione they would deal with it. Hugo returns to Hogwarts still acting a little cold, but he gives Ronald a hug at the platform and deep down Hermione knows they’ll be OK.

She lets Ron keep the house, because she never really felt any huge attachment to the place and knows he has some pride in the brick walls he erected himself, in the picket-fence he painstakingly paints over every summer or so. They still meet regularly for family dinners, they go out with their friends, and somehow it’s easy, like pressure had been lifted.

Ron helps her move into her new flat in the heart of Muggle London, grumbling all the way about the five floor walk-up where magic is not allowed. Rose enjoys the little reading nook Hermione made for her in her room, and Hugo thaws considerably at the brightly decorated bedroom full of Chudley Cannons posters.

It’s better, for them. Different, but better.

Hermione finds herself enjoying her work more. With no husband to come home to, and the kids away at Hogwarts for most of the year, she stays later, looking over complex runes and equations with more gusto than she’s experienced in years. She almost feels like a student again.

Sometimes -- when Ron goes on dates, or maybe when Ginny needles her enough after a round or three of Butterbeers at the Leaky Cauldron -- Hermione wanders if there’s anything she should be wanting. She’s content, she’s fine. She’s not exactly thriving, but she can’t figure out what on Earth she could possibly want, so she pushes it aside and laughs along whenever Harry jokes about her settling for things too easily.

It’s random and undeniably odd, when it happens. Hermione’s focusing hard on a tricky little rune she came up with while mildly intoxicated with Ginny last week, and now her sober brain cannot make heads or tails of it. She’s so entranced she misses the three insistent knocks, her door swinging open and a harried woman rushing into her office.

“Goodness’ sakes, Miss Granger! Hello!”

She jumps when a hand is impatiently waved right in front of her face, and then she almost falls out of her chair when she finally sees Narcissa Malfoy staring up at her.

Hermione has no time for a greeting, because suddenly Narcissa tosses a loud, buzzing object at her and practically hissing as she speaks. “Please make this bloody thing stop!”

Hermione’s reflexes barely kicked in time for her to catch...

“Is this an iPhone??” She manages to squeak as the device buzzes and trills, the screen going absolutely nuts with colours.

“I don’t care what it is, will you please silence it without destroying it?”

Eyebrows shooting up and jaw snapping closed, Hermione dutifully turns it off, and Narcissa’s breath of relief is loud and heavy.

“Thank you,” she says, taking the thing back from Hermione between thumb and forefinger, as if touching it disgusted her. “Draco gave me this bloody thing, I have no idea...”

Somehow, Hermione hears the whole story about how Draco is “in” with Muggle technology and gave his mother a smartphone to help her “keep up with the times,” a statement that offended Narcissa to no end, and Hermione laughs as the blonde tells her. Somehow, she forgives Narcissa’s blustering intrusion and even teaches her how to turn the contraption off when walking into heavily warded areas such as the Ministry, because that can make some Muggle technology go haywire. Somehow, they end up talking for about an hour and Hermione forgets all about her runes, because wouldn’t you know it, Narcissa is a surprisingly easy person to talk to.

And so, Hermione accepts her offer of lunch the next day as a thank-you for the whole iPhone incident.

They meet in a swanky little bistro at Covent Garden and Hermione almost walks right past Narcissa, because the woman is wearing dark wash jeans and a bloody t-shirt, with her hair up in a sleek ponytail and cat-eye sunglasses perched on her head. She does a double-take when Narcissa waves her to their table, and Hermione teaches her a bit more about the phone, genuinely impressed to learn that Narcissa has now got FaceTime down pat.

Hermione doesn’t remember how exactly they end up making plans to meet again the following week, but it happens. And then, the next week, and the week after that, until Hermione just blocks out her lunch-time every Wednesday on her calendar. Ginny comments on the meetings with a laugh and a raised eyebrow, but Hermione brushes that off.

They talk, a lot. About everything and nothing, all at once, and Hermione comes to find that Narcissa is not only smart, she’s wicked smart. Like, knows complex arithmancy smart, like ‘I invent potions for fun’ smart, like ‘yes I know basically all the constellations, what of it?’ smart. Narcissa has a wealth of knowledge to share and seems happy to do so with Hermione, who soaks it all up like an eager sponge, leaving their lunches happy and sated from more than just the food.

That isn’t to say Hermione doesn’t teach Narcissa a thing or two, either, iPhone incident aside. Hermione talks her ears off about Muggle authors (Narcissa is absolutely enamored by anything of Agatha Christie’s and the thought tickles Hermione to no end), and she also teaches her all about the Muggle painters of centuries past (Narcissa is inexplicably fond of Vermeer). Once, on a whim, Hermione presents two tickets to Les Misérables in the West End, and Narcissa just sobs the entire time while Hermione just hands her tissue after tissue.

Narcissa learns that Hermione puts her milk in before her tea and they have a spirited argument about it, because the blonde is simply affronted, and it ends with Hermione not-so-begrudgingly vowing to switch it around. Hermione learns that Narcissa has never been on a roller-coaster, so Hermione takes her to The Big One in Blackpool and learns the hard way that Narcissa gets motion sick very, very easily.

Before she knows it, this thing with Narcissa has lasted over a year, and both Rose and Hugo ask her if she’s planning on inviting the woman over for Christmas, and that’s when Hermione’s thoughts grind to a halt, because she had not even considered it, but now that the idea has been planted in her head, she wants, wants, wants.

She wants to invite Narcissa over, so she does, and the Slytherin comes bearing gifts that make Hermione’s children and her ex-husband squeal in delight (to be fair, the dragon-ivory chess set Ron received was lovely, if a bit excessive). And as they eat their roast and drink wine, Hermione gets lost in the vibrancy of Narcissa’s smile and the glimmer of her eyes in the candle-light of her dining room and suddenly she wants, wants, wants.

She wants their parting hug to last a little longer, she wants the kiss Narcissa bestowed upon her cheek to be a few centimeters to the left, she wants to hold on tighter and ask Narcissa to stay the night because she can’t bear to part with her just yet.

And, like that, something suddenly just clicks in her head; a feeling slots itself into place inside her chest and Hermione is a bit overwhelmed, because she’s never quite wanted so much before and she doesn’t know how to deal with it.

It’s Ron who helps her, in the end. She calls him up (on his brand new iPhone -- Merlin those caught on fast) and he comes over immediately, finding her pacing her living room thrumming with manic energy, and once she relays her predicament he just laughs until he can hardly breathe.

“‘Mione,” he says, shaking his head with fondness. “You fancy her. Of course you want to snog her senseless; frankly we’ve all been waiting for you to do something about it.”

Oh.

‘We all’ entails, apparently, literally everyone Hermione has ever met, including her landlady with whom she hardly talks but who somehow knows all about how often Narcissa comes by her place.

So Hermione makes a plan, because she wants, wants, wants to tell Narcissa about her recent discovery at New Year’s. She prepares accordingly, because she’s Hermione Granger and she won’t do anything by halves, so she writes out her confession in about sixteen inches of parchment and carries it nervously with her all through the party.

And Narcissa is absolutely radiant, enough to make Hermione forget all about those thoughts carefully penned to parchment. Hermione wants to dance closer and closer to her, she wants to rest her hands on her waist and sway with her, she wants to tilt her face just so and breathe the same air until their lips brush together.

Narcissa looks at her like she can read Hermione’s mind, and maybe she can; maybe she can see all the want shimmering through Hermione’s eyes, because Hermione never had a great poker face to begin with. And, to her surprise (not to mention relief), Hermione sees that want reflected on beautiful, beautiful azure, so she follows Narcissa beckoning finger until they’re pressed together and the dance-floor fades away to nothing.

Hermione wants, wants, wants, and finally, finally, Hermione gets it.

#cissamione #hermione granger #narcissa malfoy #harry potter #harry potter femslash #word vomit #i may have burned dinner slightly while writing this #surprise Ron is Not a Dick #Hermione figures shit out

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awkwardbluefish · 3 years

Text

Moments Captured in Time

Bruce was tired. Exhausted really.

Despite the burning behind his eyes and the damp drapes of curtains that were his eyelids he continued to work, continued to gaze at the luminescent blue screen before him. It was quiet in the cave, yet the migraine continued to pulse behind his eyes and tighten in their sockets. Some would argue Bruce wasn’t really working, they’d be right in a way. Technically he was working, but the only reason why was in avoidance of something he did not want to go through.

Sleep. He was avoiding going to sleep. Because Bruce knew when he let the curtains fall and the false peacefulness usually bought by darkness then the nightmares would kick in. The memories would burn, flickering in his head like a burning candle despite how desperately he tried to make it to stop. He didn’t want to remember that night. He didn’t want to remember the boy he had failed, the boy he told himself he would protect. He didn’t want to remember the night he had failed his own son, just because he wasn’t fast enough, because he wasn’t clever enough.

For a second, he closes his eyes, let his shoulders sag. The memories begin like a broken record and his heart burns because he knows he was too slow. His heart thumps in the cage he calls his ribs as the visualising begins. There was nothing left that night, nothing left besides a broken boy. There was nothing there of that building but ash and smoking debris. His chest aches because he remembers there was no pulse but checking anyway. He remembers broken ribs shattering under his palms as he pumped, desperate for a single breath. Desperate for five more minutes with his Robin, his son. It hadn’t have worked, his boy remained dead. He stayed a corpse, a life snuffed out far too soon by a psychopath. He was gone.

“Bruce,” the voice forces his eyes to peel a part, cracking them open to see a darkened screen. A sigh escapes his lips as he rolls his shoulders, hearing the bones crack and groan like a hollowed-out house with only the abandoned ghosts left in those walls.

“I’m working Alfred.” His voice is rough, low, as if it’s been through a grinder and barley made it out. He’s not working, a plain as day lie. Alfred doesn’t say anything to that, staying silent.

Bruce forgets sometimes that he isn’t the only one who lost Jason that night. He’s not the only one mourning the boy’s loud absence. He brows wrinkle but no words escape chapped lips. He won’t apologise. Cant. He’s the reason Jason’s gone. He doesn’t deserve to cry, to mourn, when it’s his fault.

“I see.” His father murmurs, and the sadness behind his words slice at his heart, leaving a gaping wound that bleeds sluggishly. Bruce stares at the dark screen as Alfred sighs and in the reflection of a crystal-clear screen he can see the sagged shoulders, the weary tilt of the brow. Out of all of that he zeroes in and the thin envelope cradled in his fingers. Bruce doesn’t ask but Alfred answers. “Master Timothy gave this to me. He noticed you were upset and believed you would enjoy this.”

The envelope lays on the keyboards. Bruce doesn’t reach for it, lowering his head as he thought of the small and brilliant boy. The boy who wiggled his way into his life, made himself such a home that Bruce couldn’t even bare to imagine forcing him out off. He’s failed Tim. Not like he’s failed Jason, god forbid, but he hasn’t been kind to the boy as of late. He’s snapped at Tim, the ocean eyed boy who gazed upon Bruce with such awe he never quite knew what to make off it. He’s taken his grief out on him, the kid that absolutely adored him. That loved him.

“He’s a good kid.” Alfred says. He doesn’t stay after that. But the words echo in Bruce’s head. He knows the words left unsaid. Don’t lose him too. Don’t push him away like you’ve done with Dick.

Eventually Bruce reaches out, lifting the envelope into dried up and broken skinned fingers. Carefully, gently, he opens the letter, watching as paper breaks as it clings to glue. Carefully he pulls the slim piece of something out of the paper cage, breath catching and throat clamping tight as the picture shimmers in the dim lights of the cave.

It was Jason. It was Jason, in his bright costume, alive and happy. It was Jason laughing, his wiry and far too thin arms wrapped tightly around his stomach, doubled over and Bruce can hear his laughter, loud and booming echoing in his ears. Its Jason, laughing at Bruce. Bruce, dressed up as Batman, egg yolk slipping down his cowl. The lighting of the alley shadows his features but Bruce knows he’s smiling because he knows this moment, remembers this moment. It had been nearing Easter, and Dick had created a competition that night to see who could egg Batman the most. Jason had caught him by surprise and Bruce remembers, despite the slimy yolk sliding down his back, cold and thick, he had been so proud of this boy for the surprise attack.

Tim. He had taken this photograph.

Bruce licks his lips, ribs caging in his heart tight. His heart is warm, blood bubbling in his veins. A small laugh breaks free from his lips, his eyes crinkling and heart clenching. He cradles the picture, a moment frozen in time and he smiles, pretending there wasn’t tears clogging up his eyes. A hand cradles his lips and he ducks his head, caving in on himself. In this picture Jason was alive. In this picture Jason was happy. In reality he was neither.

Swallowing down the tears he blinks his eyes, revelling in the fact it was just a tad easier this time despite the tears dampening the curtains even more. He shakes his head, unwashed bangs tickling his forehead. Body aching, heart hammering he forces himself to his feet, photograph clutched gently in his hands. The walls that usually held him up, made him strong, made him invincible, made him Batman, collapse in a pile of debris. Moment by moment, they fall. Salty drops fall down his chin, drenching a grey, sweat damp shirt.

Steadying himself he presses his palms to the black leather chair, focusing on breathing. Vaguely he realises he’s trembling. There was a rawness to it, like the pain was still an open wound, all of this forced out of him by a picture. The sobs were stifled at first as he attempts to hide the grief from the world, from himself, then, overcome with the wave of emotions he just breaks. All the defences he built up those upcoming weeks wash away by salt tasting tears. It was pathetic, the picture he was painting, one of grief, loss and broken devastation.

He had to pull it together. He had to see Tim. He needed to know if there were more, he needs to see these moments frozen in time. He needed to see Jason alive, even if it was just through a picture. He inhales sharply, unfolding himself from the curved form over the chair, picking up the debris of his walls and building them up all over again. The shutters come down; his emotion being walled off behind a mask of coping. He’d wear it around Tim, he had too. He just had to keep it up a little bit more.

Slowly he focuses, roughly scraping his balled-up fist against his cheeks, ridding away the evidence of his loss. Tim took this photograph. Could he have more?

He finds the boy resting on the couch. His face is scrunched up, eyes screwed up, creating wrinkles as he bites at his lips between his mutterings. He’s sitting there, mouth moving a mile a minute as he shifts through contents in an old shoe box. Bruce can’t make out the words, he never could when Tim murmurs like that, voice trying to catch up with his mind. He never minded it though, knowing this was how Tim sorted through his thoughts. He never does it during a stakeout, fingers always taking over and tapping along his knees and up his thighs so Bruce never had a reason to complain.

“You’ll draw blood,” Bruce’s voice echoes in the room. His voice is thick, deep and absolutely wrecked with grief. He swallows, tries to force a smile to his lips when the startled boy jumps, much like a startled cat. It falls short, watching Tim’s eyes fill in panic as he zeros in on the picture still clutched like a prized possession withing Bruce’s fingers.

Tim opens his mouth and Bruce can see the impending apologies about to spew from his lips, so, he steps forward. His lips clamp shut, tight as a clam and Bruce fiddles with the white edged border around the delicate photograph. God forbid, he was scared. He shakes his head and he knows he looks absolutely terrible and wrecked and he knows Tim can see it and he knows he thinks he’s done something wrong. But he hasn’t. Tim has done something absolutely perfect.

“Do you have more?” He asks and his chest burns but it’s nothing compared to his throat, coals stuck in the back of it.

Tim gazes at him, analysing. Then he nods, small and soft. His small, frail body shuffles over, cradling the shoe box tight to his chest. When Bruce doesn’t move, too scared too, he pats the cream cushion next to him, not meeting his gaze as he stares into the box with acute determination.

The weight shifts when he sits down and a small smile twitches at his lips when Tim’s raised along with the pillow. The boy isn’t bothered, smiling his small triumph when he finds whatever it is, he’s looking for. Carefully he pulls it out and holds it to his chest, eyes flickering to Bruce’s desperate expressions and nodding. He licks his lips, holds out the photograph at arms length.

Bruce nearly snatches at it, afraid that it would disappear into thin air. Despite the urge he’s slow, fingers twitching hesitantly a second away before Tim gently, forcefully, passes it to Bruce. His gaze flickers to the other picture, lips twitching by the way Bruce crinkles the edges with his grip. He makes no move to take it away and Bruce is grateful, knowing he wouldn’t be able to give Jason away again.

It takes a while for him to look at it, watching Tim give an encouraging nod at him that contrasts with the terror hidden behind those ocean orbs. He was scared he was doing something wrong, that he’d just hurt Bruce more. He could see the hidden worries behind those eyes. He was scared Bruce wouldn’t like it and Bruce could not stand that look on his childs’ face. He smiles, numb as it is, and trails his own blue piercing eyes to the photograph lying on his palm.

His eyes rake over the picture, devouring all the little details in a second. Despite that all he truly makes out is Jason, his boy alive and happy. There’s a huge grin on his face, mouth full of glimmering teeth. The domino covers his eyes but Bruce is brought to tears at the mere thought of how bright they are, how bright they were.

Any resolve crumbles and the pictures tumble out of his hands. He reaches out, desperate to cling to reality. His arms cradle around the boys’ shoulders, bringing him to his chest with a yelp muffled into his shoulder blade. Limbs are everywhere, bones digging into his thighs, arms and chest. A nose is pressed deep into his breast but it was nothing but good. The tears begin sliding down his cheeks again and Bruce was always and ugly crier but at this moment he couldn’t care less. Gently he cuddles the boy to him, burying his face into coconut scented locks, swallowing thickly, coals burning in his throat and his chest as he cries. He makes no sound, chest heaving and he feels oh so small hands weaving themselves around his back. His boy hugs him back, hesitant and nervous and Bruce brings him closer, having half the mind to place the brown shoe box digging into their waists on the crystal coffee table.

“Thank you,” he murmurs and the boy he manhandled onto his lap stiffens in surprise and if that doesn’t hurt Bruce than he has no idea what will. “Thank you, Tim, these are brilliant. Thank you for showing me.” He whispers, like it’s a secret only Tim is allowed to hear. The boy slackens in his hold, slowly and then he’s digging his cold nose into his shoulder blade and Bruce is laughing, tears streaming down his cheeks, eyes staining red the more the tears willingly spill.

“You can keep them,” Tim murmurs into his chest. Bruce’s voice is too wrecked, too broken to even speak. He swallows around the coals logged in his throat and manages to hum. Tim hums back and Bruce chuckles wetly, hearing Dick whisper in his ear about Tim being a Bruce translator.

“I’m so proud of you,” his words crack as tears begin to dry and crust on his cheeks and stubbled chin. Tim hums again, seemingly content with the silence. “I knew you knew our secret. But taking pictures of us? Absolutely brilliant, little ninja. You’ve done good. So good.”

Bruce says nothing after that, not when the arms tighten almost painfully around his waist, not even when his shirt dampens. He doesn’t tell Tim this is the first time he’s willingly cried in front of anyone without resistance. He doesn’t say this is the first time he’s laughed, smiled on the day of Jason’s death. He doesn’t tell Tim he’s the only reason why Bruce is keeping together. He doesn’t tell Tim he’s the glue keeping this small and broken family together. What he does tell Tim, is that he loves him.

#I’ve never felt so inspired before and you can thank Niul for that!!#tim drake #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #dc #my writing #mine #angst

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years

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Holy Obedience | Feeding Habits Update #4

Hey People of Earth! Today we’ll be chatting chapter five of Feeding Habits, aka Holy Obedience. TW: animal cruelty, blood, suicide, toxic relationships.

This chapter is the last in Lonan’s POV and a direct continuation of chapter four. I was getting a little burned out as this was toward the end of my 10k word week a few weeks ago, but overall, it definitely achieves what I was hoping for!

Scene A:

Eliza and Lonan chat about secrets which gets intense when Eliza prompts Lonan to burn Harrison’s guardian angel necklace & a few polaroids that were taken as a small easter egg from one of the mini stories!

Lonan grabs everything out in time with minimal damage

Scene B:

Lonan finally burns down his father’s darkroom.

Scene C:

Lonan emerges from the woods and approaches the cabin. Eliza sits on the veranda tending to a dead rabbit she claims she “found”. What happened in the previous memory in ch. 4 of Lonan and his father utilizing the ikijime technique to kill the fish mirrors with the rabbit, despite it actually being dead.

Lonan and Eliza take a drive and talk about the very different lessons they each learned from Lonan’s father

Eliza hits the accelerator and drives the car into the lake. Her fate is left unspecified, whereas he gets out relatively unscathed.

Excerpts:

Here’s this very tender romantical description because I indulge myself obvi:

The last time he saw Harrison, he knew they would not see each other for a very long time after. Sun haloed him. Pinged of his eyes so they shone like gemstones. The earring he’d gifted him from his mother’s collection twirled, mindless, like the surface of a mirror ball. He didn’t forget that image—his lover a painting of the sun, an offering he was lucky to have, if only temporary. As he gurgles at the face of the fire, he doesn’t forget that feeling—the warmth not against his face, but in the pith of his throat, jittering like the wings of a hummingbird. As he shifts forward, closer to the fire, a hand secures around his shirt collar. At first, he’s convinced what he’s seeing will be the last he ever sees—the magnificence of heat. But it’s when he feels its heaviness with a clank against the stone as the clasp comes undone that he understands.

When he turns around, Eliza holds Harrison’s guardian angel in her palm. The chain noosed carelessly around the angel’s throat.

This kind of epic sequence of Lonan yeeting away the darkroom ft a subtle Houses With Teeth reference??:

Lonan will burn down the darkroom one-handed. He hustles through the rain and forest brush with the gas can, the flashlight pricked between his teeth. The woodland seems so irrelevant at night; moonlight pares through clumps of deciduous trees; rain blisters from the opaque clouds; a ground animal, perhaps a raccoon, or squirrel, scampers up a redwood and into its hollow. It’s lost its energy, replaced with irrelevant, forgettable details. But still he moves with conviction, weaving between tree trunks like he’s the one who put them there.

His second reunion with the darkroom is not something of the fantastic. He’s done his time staring at it like it’s got teeth, strong incisors that will nick him if he looks at it the wrong way. When he arrives at its pathway, rain prowling down his cheeks, his left hand wrapped hastily in the eucalyptus towel, he has not come for reconciliation.

Gasoline could substitute the Pacific, he thinks as he unscrews the bottle’s cap and lugs liquid onto nearing brush, smothering the wildflowers needling through the shed’s concrete platform. It moves the same, sounds the same, does the same thing—spreads. He leaves no square foot untouched with fuel. He douses the doorway, its shattered windows, even the individual holes in its hardwood floor. He dresses the darkroom in gasoline and doesn’t blink when he pulls his lighter from his pocket and sets it on fire.

Here’s when Lonan approaches the cabin and first sees the dead rabbit:

Lonan arrives back at the cabin a half hour later, smelling like soot and wet earth. He expects to see Eliza inside, turning over the last bits of scorched wood with the fire iron. Drinking a bottle of red wine turned to vinegar by herself, the cork neatly pushed in the centre of the hearth. But when he approaches the cabin, tracking up rain and dirt, Eliza is not inside.

She sits on the veranda, stooped over the glass worktable, her hands fumbling against the head of a rabbit. There is no question the animal is dead. It’s small, just bigger than the length of her palm, its grey fur gone cobalt with rain. Its head lolls against the frost of the glass. There is no bringing it back to life.

“Where did you find that?” Lonan asks. He wrings his hair of rainwater knowing it will get soaked again before another minute passes.

“It washed up.” She strokes its ear, examines its fur with her thumb and middle finger, as if tending to cashmere.

Lonan impales the rabbit in the same way he impaled the previous chapter’s fish and this is what happens after that. We also get a hint at why the chapter is called Holy Obedience:

“Do you do everything in the name of your father?”

“Obedience is an act of love.”

“Burning down his darkroom is not what he would’ve wanted.” Eliza pulls her arms close to her chest, gnaws on a bloody hangnail.

“That’s what I wanted.”

“Then you have two conflicting agendas.”

“Isn’t killing the rabbit what you wanted? Aren’t you vegetarian, Eliza? Aren’t those two conflicting agendas?”

Eliza taps the hilt of the knife, fully upright in the rabbit’s skull. Her lips purse. Her posture straightens. She wipes her mouth with the clean plane of her forearm. When she deescalates the veranda’s steps and walks past him, he doesn’t follow her at first. He watches her back, the way her hair flutters before sinking with the rain. How blood drips off her fingertips and onto the dirt driveway, pinkish, like the colour a child might want their wall.

And the fateful drive begins, ft. a scene I repurposed from the old ch.2:

Loam gives under the car’s wheels, sputters up onto the windows as she backs the car onto a dirt path. He does not ask where she’s going. Even as they drive deeper into the thicket of trees, branches combing the windshield, paths he’s never been, he does not ask.

“What other things did your father teach you?” she asks after some time dozing through the woods.

Eliza’s hung a lucky rabbit’s foot from the rear-view mirror, tannish fur that whitens when Lonan reaches and turns it over.

“This isn’t vegetarian,” he says, scales the foot with his fingernail, bloodying it just as the rabbit on the veranda. Its ball chain clatters with every brush of his finger, the sharp jut of its cap, neatly carved into the head of a rabbit, prickling against his finger. Rain clatters against the window, each drop’s shadow inking his jeans, arms. “Genesis. How to kill a fish. The easiest places to be caught when you run.”

Me leaving the city haha:

They parse through trees, bushes, and Lonan knows each species even without looking, and the longer she doesn’t answer, the more insistent he becomes at stating them aloud. “Red alder. Pacific dogwood. Cascara. Ponderosa pine,” he says.

Here are the final two paragraphs. Fun fact, I stole “holy vengeance” from myself which appears in one of the later chapters in Rewired.

The next time Eliza presses the accelerator, it’s with a holy vengeance. As if something guides her, her heel gorging into the pedal. They move so quickly, Lonan doesn’t know when the forest ends and where the beach starts—it all melds, a mosaic of vague landscapes. He doesn’t know when he reaches for the rabbit’s foot hanging from the mirror and holds it to his chest, like he knows what she’ll do. Even before she says, “I always wanted to be buried by cattails,” even before the car’s wheels whir over sand, driftwood, strings of kelp, even before they dive head-first into the lake, he knows.

Crashing into water sounds like rising to heaven. He doesn’t know why this is the first connection he makes, or why all he visualizes as the car sinks is the wisp of white clouds, the balmy lift of air that hikes him through the sky. Even though the water is dark, all he sees is light, crisp and glittering from above. As he ascends, he turns to look for Eliza, and there she is, slumped over the wheel, a stroke of blood dripping into her mouth. He is weightless when he stabs the cap of the rabbit’s foot into the corner of the window so it splinters. Weightless when he inhales and pushes through the broken glass like it’s Peter’s gate and he’s a step away from salvation. Weightless when he paddles through the water like a sunfish, his body ready for this, good at this, as he holds his breath. Weightless when the car sinks, and his head breaches the water like an orca, weightless when he opens his mouth to the storm and exclaims his hallelujah, his new beginning, his ultimate baptism.

That’s it for this update! I will be back sooner rather than later as I recently completed chapter six, but that’s a wrap on Lonan’s POV y’all!

--Rachel

#writing #amwriting #writeblr #writerblr #writingupdates #fostered #mothwork #feedinghabits

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6v6taeminisloveshineeworld · 4 years

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Homme Fatale -Dentist!Vampire!Taemin X Reader

homme fatale

i. e. An undoubtedly seductive and dangerous man. One with a smile that would be too cruel not to kiss and a cherubic face with a temperament that’s anything but innocent.

Summary: He was cloaked by the smell of death and wore it as armor. His life had little meaning, he pillaged through the world only to beguile and destroy as his veins hummed with bloodlust and selfish need. Nocturnal creatures should not be swayed by the beating hearts of the living but when Taemin catches a glimpse of you, a mortal in possession of a treacherous supernatural gift, he is faced with the temptation to claim you as his own. At his mercy, you discover a darkness in yourself that you’ve never dared to explore and you never imagined it could taste so sweet.

Genre: Smut, Romance, Dentist AU, Vampire AU, Supernatural, Horror, Lyric fic inspired by WANT MV and other Taemin song lyrics (easter eggs abound)

Rating: M for sexual content, death, and blood

Pairing: Taemin x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.5k+

You’d always had an unhealthy fascination with death. With autumn winds and the way the colors seemed even more vibrant just before everything fell and turned cold. When you were a child you’d been scared of the dark just like everyone else, until the day that same darkness befriended you.

Your parents always said you’d had an overactive imagination growing up. That you’d kept invisible friends far longer than your classmates and that maybe this was due to the fact that they had never given you any siblings but they were wrong. Your friends were not imaginary, they were just unable to communicate with anyone else.

It was on your tenth birthday that you first had a full conversation with a ghost. The little girl with blonde hair and green eyes was named Pomona and she seemed to like the same games and books you did. She loved building tree houses in the woods even though she couldn’t carry anything herself. She took sips of the green tea you served her by leaning into the cup with her tongue.

Even though your visitor glided through walls with ease she was still able to keep down a meal. You’d laughed at her manners and held her hand. To your surprise, you felt the touch of her smooth skin as you never had been able to before. It was then that you knew you were truly different, you would never be able to unsee the spectors that appeared every day before you walking in the streets beside you. Not only was the veil lifted from your eyes unlike others around you but you seemed to be a part of their world as well and it had made Pomona’s departure from you as she ascended to join her family that much harder.

When your parents had died in a car crash right on the outskirts of town you had thought that maybe this was why you’d been born with these gifts, that maybe your life of living like a pariah was all so that you could have this chance to communicate with your parents even in the afterlife. But there was no apparition. No voices that called for you from the curtain that separated the living from the dead. And with that hope of communication gone you were left with a gaping hole inside of you but you continued on living in the world as invisibly as you could. It wasn’t hard to do in the small town of Ampleforth where everyone knew their neighbors but still kept to themselves and their clicks. The crowd around your age kept at a distance and the elders that passed you by in the grocery store looked at you with sympathy or rather through you at the poor orphan who never made friends easily.

During your teenage years you’d had your share of otherworldly lovers. They came eagerly when you called to them while your parents refused to answer you from beyond. It didn’t matter how many candles you lit in your loneliness or how many beautiful fantoms kissed you with lips cold as hell. You never let them possess your soul. You never gave away the reigns of control to anyone.

That isn’t to say you hadn’t tried making living friends. However, most people in Ampleforth didn’t want to think about anywhere beyond Lastshire the next town over. You wanted to travel, you believed that to see the world was to live and you wanted to leave once you had enough money to do so. The townspeople were stuck in their roots and their old ways and even technology was a bit rustic. You often found yourself using the library wifi outside laying on the lawn with Emma, the only friend who really understood you even without knowing your secret in full beyond your morbid curiosities. And today, like any other Friday night was no exception.

You looked away from your book to glance at her as she laughed aloud and continued to scan her phone. You bookmarked the page where Mr. Rochester disguised as a gypsy woman tells Jane her fortune for what must have been the tenth time you’ve read it over the years and move closer to Emma.

“What are you reading?” You asked her curiously. “Fanfiction of course,” Emma said smiling. You joined her, reading along and smiling at the fact that someone was so comfortable around you even when you remained silent.

The graveyard was especially chilly at sunset. You placed your freehand in your pocket to warm it and clutched the bag of glazed donuts and bouquet of white lilies to your chest with the other. Your parents graves resided on the grounds of St. Samael church, though the grounds hadn’t been tended in ages. After enemy troops from the Battle of Cymadd two-hundred years before took refuge in its walls it was seen as a sacrilege to worship here. Your mother and father however had lovely memories of picnics and stolen kisses on these grounds where no one would look for them and so when their will had stated that they were to be buried here in the desecrated church you hadn’t batted an eye though the tongues of Ampleforth had wagged.

You knelt before their graves and blew off the dried leaves. You divided the flowers evenly between them and placed a donut on each of the stones as you sat beside them and ate the rest. The anniversary of their death always washed you with a flood of anxiety. It was foolish to think that maybe on this day the abyss driven between you and them would be broken and they would appear before you. On the other hand you chided yourself for such selfish wishes. They were happy in their own paradise and only an ungrateful daughter would wish them to visit the earth once more, even if it was to say goodbye.

The tears came then, unbidden. You lay on your back and shut your eyes. Shutting the pain away simultaneously for crying never could erase the scars. At least here in the darkness you knew yourself even when your own thoughts were frightening and loud to your own ears.

Your mind was filled with the epitaphs of the graves that stood tall here around you, phases passed your eyelids like shooting stars.

Life is but the whisper of death, in sleep we are merely participants of a new condition.

To have loved and lost I know this, there is no greater torment than to love that which parishes.

Just as the last strokes of light were painting the sky you felt the cold hands of death embrace you at your shoulders. You opened your eyes quickly to find a young girl looking down at you in concern. Her wide blue eyes fringed by long lashes reminded you of a porcelain doll. The frigid bite of her fingers and her flawless features confirmed she was a ghost and one most likely buried here in St. Samael by the look of her outdated lilac petticoats. A giant bow rested at the back of her head, holding her raven hair away from her face as it cascaded over her shoulder.

“I miss my parents too.” the girl said quietly.

“What’s your name? What’s keeping you from passing on and joining them.” You ask softly.

“My name is Callitae, and I stayed so that I could visit my father who still roams this earth visible to the living.”

“That’s not possible, if your father were still on earth he would be a ghost same as you.” You said in confusion.

“My father is very much dead but it is not his time to turn to dust either. However, the wheel of time seems to be running quickly for you, it comforts me to know that in your heart it is not death you fear but loneliness.” And with those bleak words she vanished into the mist of dusk.

You made your way along the path to your car, careful not to trip over rocks and the overgrowth of the untamed forest as all the while you felt the eyes of an unfamiliar presence upon you wolflike in its intensity. You moved a little faster and didn’t look back.

~ One Year Later ~

Aldermire castle was at the very edge of Ampleforth, it was so named for its seemingly endless grounds of alder trees that swayed in honeyed light green shades against the sun. It was more of a manor than a castle but according to gossip that became legend, the man who once lived there with his wife and servants had the tastes and charisma of a king. He’d been a general during the battle of Cymadd with many honors to his name praising his valor and ferocity on the fields. This granted him favor in the eyes of many of the council but some were wary of him for he seemed to possess an almost inhuman tolerance for pain.

He’d survived the torture masters of the enemy when he was captured and taken prisoner as none before him had. When he’d come back home to Aldermire and his wife he’d seemed like a living corpse. He recovered quickly under his wife’s care however, and by spring their first and last child was born for the mother died soon after.

The master of Aldermire grew more reclusive in his grief and never took in visitors. He raised his daughter on his own but she was a delicate creature born before her time and prone to sickness easily. When she died of the plague that ravished Ampleforth faster than forest fire he lost the last anchor to life that he had and in his sorrow, it was said that he burned the castle locking himself inside as well. Even so, Aldermire was spared complete collapse as servants rushed to put out the flames but his body had never been found.

As you drove past the alder trees and took in the overgrown vines that clung to the castle like the brambles of Thornfield Hall in Jane Eyre, a sense of excitement washed over you. You’d tried to catch glimpses of the castle before in your childhood but the forest had been so thick and the barbed wires attached to ‘no trespassing’ signs had looked so menacing you’d given up until that morning when Emma had called to say that “the creepy castle” you’d always wanted to explore as a child was now sold to the new dental surgeon in town who had renovated it as his clinic.

It seemed the surgeon had appeared overnight, so quick were these renovations and appointments from patients in towns even farther than Lastshire but supposedly he’d been fixing the place a year in advance before ever stepping foot in Ampleforth. You supposed it was quite odd for a man of his profession to move so often but really what did you know of wealthy people and their judgment.

The grounds were beautiful with crimson roses and golden apple trees. It was like something out of a fairytale when you pulled up at the driveway and walked up the stone path. You knocked on the heavy wooden door with its brass knocker, your heart racing all the while as you tidied your appearance and took in the words in bronze lettering in Latin above the door that read: VENI, VIDI, VICI. I came, I saw, I conquered. An intriguing surgeon indeed.

A middle-aged woman opened the door with a smile, her red heels and black mini skirt made you feel a bit self-conscious in your jean shorts and white blouse as you followed the sway of her hips inside. You noticed the white gauze bandage at her neck and wondered at if for a moment before turning your attention to the interior of Aldermire.

You were happy to see that though the new owner had renovated the castle for a clinic he seemed to want to keep the atmosphere of what the estate might have been like before. While some rooms had been entirely rebuilt to resemble a white-walled art studio, others seemed untouched by time and filled with bookshelves, upholstered chairs, and artwork against the old stone walls.

You stopped in the hall to look at the paintings. All of them were memento mori’s displaying the reminder of mortality in its depictions of flower-filled vases, candles, fruits, and skulls.

You peeked into room after room till you came to one with a small shooting range. The door was wide open as all the others had been. It seemed the owner loved showing his collections to the public though you felt that this room should surely be locked. Guns lined the far wall along with other combat gear. Well, at least the weapons seemed secure behind the glass cases.

“The master of the house is an excellent hunter,” The receptionist said, turning to look at you. “I do believe it is one of his favorite hobbies.” You nodded, taking one last look at the room before continuing to follow her down the hall to yet another room with stark white walls.

“You may wait in this room,” the receptionist said with another bright smile as she motioned you forward into what looked like a surgical lounge chair with mirrors facing you on all sides. Before you could protest that you weren't planning on having any teeth extracted she was out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

The room was far too cold. You shiver under the thin material of your blouse as you take in the smell of cleaning chemicals and fruity furniture spray. Your spine tingles at the waft of air that assaults you from the vent above your head, the metal chair you are seated in presses against the back of your thighs like ice.

Along the walls of the room were bookcases, carefully filed papers, a small world globe, and to your trepidation an entire metal table covered in a white cloth that was filled with instruments. Some of which you wondered if they really were for teeth or something else entirely. Your stomach twisted with apprehension as you took in the empty syringes but before you could make your way to the door you heard footsteps approaching and you quickly sat down again.

The door rattled open and you shifted your attention to the man who walked in. To your amazement, he was younger than you imagined. He in his mid-twenties maybe. He was very attractive which was not to be taken lightly in your mind for you had seen a great deal of beautiful spirits and judging by the way he held himself with such confidence in his stride he full well knew it too.

If you’d seen him anywhere else you would imagine he was a model or singer instead of a dental surgeon. He was dressed in the most strikingly bright red suit you had ever seen and his blond hair was combed back revealing his forehead in a contradictingly neat but disheveled manner as if he had just run his hand through it before walking in.

“Hello, are you Dr. Lee?” You said.

His smile was bright enough to be plastered on every teeth-whitening poster in the lobby. “Please call me Taemin,” he said with a pronounced accent. You remember reading that he had transferred ownership of his successful clinic in South Korea to travel abroad setting up clinics from state to state and renting out large houses. Again you wondered why a surgeon as successful as he would travel so much. But then maybe he just liked the change of scenery. Certainly if you had the opportunity to see the world you would take it. Your brain was trying to piece the whole thing together rationally but under his very direct gaze, you felt exposed and flustered as you never had before.

“What is your name?” He asked as he went to a drawer at the side of the chair and pulled out a white apron that fastened at the hips. His leg brushed yours as he closed the drawer and you shifted in your seat. His proximity making you nervous and excited even. The way his familiar blue eyes seemed to pierce you as he asked such an ordinary question made you wonder if what he really asked for was so much more. Where had you seen eyes like his before? You felt a bit lightheaded the more you tried to remember.

At this moment you believed that if this total stranger asked anything of you, you’d give in without hesitation. There was something captivating about his aura, possessive even. For the first time in your life, you found yourself enjoying the feeling of being so inexorably won over, it was more than a little intoxicating.

You mumbled your name aloud, thankful that your voice didn’t shake.

Taemin proceeded to put on elbow-length black gloves made of soft glittering velvet. Definitely not something anyone would want to use on a patient, you thought. They were more fit for a goth cinderella at a Halloween mask ball than anything else. This image would have made you laugh if it wasn’t for the fact that he looked so damn sexy putting them on. He held one of the gloves between his teeth as he pulled the fabric slowly up his arm.

When he finished he came so close to your ear you could smell his cologne full of spice and gardenias as he whispered, “I think you know I’m not the kind of dentist you’re used to” his hot breath against your earlobe and his words made your heart race and your legs squeeze together. Your curiosity overriding your fear as you answered,

“I’m more than okay with that.”

He pulled back and smiled warmly, seemingly satisfied by this answer. He brought his gloved fingertip to your collarbone and moved his hand slowly till his fingers clasped your chin pulling it up to look at him. His eyes changed from blue to crimson and before you could fully process the fact that yet another one of your lovers was undoubtedly inhuman, his plump lips were at your neck kissing a trail down your chest as he effortlessly unbuttoned your blouse and unpinned your bra, throwing each to the floor.

Your entire body was on fire now and he hadn’t even begun. You felt your body arch into his kisses on your skin and you gasped as you looked down to see him unzipping your jeans with his teeth. He pulled the material past your ankles and tossed them aside as well.

His gloved hands spread your knees apart as if you were a book he so desperately wanted to read. His lips moved to the inside of your thighs, nipping at your skin lightly as he went and purposely skipping over where you craved him the most. It was torturous till he blew on your already embarrassingly wet underwear, sending a shiver through you.

“You have no self-control,” He said with amusement. “We can change that,” he lifted your hips and removed the last article of clothing before kneeling before you. And then he was painting butterflies against you with every skillful stroke of his tongue. Your small whimpers escalated to moans as you disheveled his hair further.

“You want it more, don’t you?” Taemin said, pulling away and licking his lips. “And you’ll always be left wanting more, thirsting for more of me.”

“Yes, I do want you,” you said boldly surprised by your own shameless actions as you pulled him closer.

“My patients are usually so boring,” he said with a devilish laugh. Handsome devil. You thought as he continued. “Usually a syringe of blood is all I take and I tidy their minds so that they forget any unpleasant feelings but with you, no. Compulsion is not necessary, I want you to savor every moment till you fall for me without limit, beyond all instinct or reasoning just as I have fallen for you.”

He moves to your neck again and this time you could feel sharp teeth graze your skin. He gripped your shoulders before piercing your flesh with his fangs. Your initial gasp of pain soon turns to pleasure as he drinks heavily from you. In a world overrun by ghosts why did the existence of vampires surprise you? You gazed into the mirrors that surrounded you and watched as blood trickled across your skin. Taemin’s reflection was nowhere to be seen, light seeped through him as if he wasn’t there at all. An airy groan escapes you again when he pulls your hair back to allow better access to your neck.

You move from the chair to stand and raise one leg to his hip. He loosens his grip on your hair then, taking you by the waist and lifting you effortlessly, mounting you against him. “What sweet forbidden fruit you are.” He says as he licks the droplets of blood left on your neck and circles the two small punctures with his tongue so harshly you’re sure it will bruise.

“I’m all you will see now, I’m your new world,” Taemin said before sealing that promise with a kiss. His lips claim yours hungrily and you responded just as fiercely, your tongue probing his in a battle for dominance as you moved against him. The taste of him and the mingling coppery trace of your blood made you realize you’d been starving and only he could satiate you now.

He carried you across the room, opening a door in the back that led to what must have been his bedroom. He gently set you on the floor and you took in the room. It was dimly lit with beautiful candelabras, an armour, and several paintings. The bed with its intricately carved mahogany headboard and satin white sheets was at the center.

“Get on the bed, love.” He says as he moves towards the corner of the room.

You do so nervously, laying back against the pillows and watching Taemin open a cage. Your eyes widen as black snakes slither free. They seemed to stop and look to him for guidance and Taemin looked them in the eye and said, “be gentle with our new pet.”

Your heart beats wildly as the snakes come toward you but you dare not move. This was some sort of test you knew and even though a small part of you wanted to bolt, a larger, more insistent thrum of curiosity and anticipation overwhelmed you. The snakes were each quite beautiful in the way that some lovely things are terrifying. Their glossy scales shone under the candlelight as two furled around your ankles and two more held your wrists bound against the bedposts. They were long enough that their bodies circled the posts several times. Their pink forked-tongues seemed to taunt you as they watched you squirm. Another glided up your stomach and between your breasts only to coil itself around your neck and fall asleep against the warmth of your skin.

“You are a prisoner to it all now, my love,” Taemin said as he removed his right glove with his teeth and slipped two fingers inside you. You engulfed him greedily, blissfully surrendering to the slow movements of his fingers and the way you lost control of your hips as you writhed against your restraints. “You’re a prisoner to this heat, to my touch, and to my voice.” He said in a singsong that encompassed your senses.

“I’ll tease you slowly,” Taemin said as his gloved hand rubbed circles against you, the velvety fabric sending shockwaves coursing through your body to the tips of your toes as they curled. “-Until the only name you taste against that pretty little mouth of yours is mine.” Your shuddering climax is met with erratic breaths as you will yourself not to beg for more. Here you were bare and shaking sweatily before him as he stood, still fully clothed and collected looking down on you with that deceitfully cherubic face. It sent daggers to your pride and yet how willingly you accepted your fate.

Sensing your thoughts he began to undress as calmly and languorously as he did everything else. He seemed to take delight in the show he was putting on for you. His eyes glowed with mischief as he undid the last button of his suit and you found yourself unable to look away. He was muscular yet grace filled his form. He was a walking paradox, lithe and powerful all at once.

“My very existence is a sin,” Taemin said as he climbed onto the bed. “An unholy predator whose thirst will never be satisfied. And you love, are my prey.”

He kissed you again and suddenly you found that the world was no longer monochrome but dripping with color. You felt alive as you never had before. The grey world died as his naked body danced with your naked soul and you felt as if you were drenched in light. Vulnerable yet safe, adrift in a pure deep sea. You wanted to drown in this time with him, you crashed into one another as waves on a moon-white shore.

You want to trace the valley of his arms, you want to touch him though you can’t reach him. That is when you feel the snakes release you. You embrace him fully and in this moment, words aren’t necessary.

You surfaced breathless and entranced as you took in his eyes again, they melted into deep blue once more. Your hearts beat to the same rhythm as Taemin moved to lay beside you. It was at that moment as he held you in his arms that your memory resurfaced, his eyes were the same as the raven-haired girl’s in the graveyard you’d seen a year before. She had her father’s eyes you realized.

He seemed to read the question in your eyes for he said, “Yes, Callie is my daughter. She was born here and she died here within these walls just as her mother did. It was my fault she died.” He said, shaking his head. “My wife couldn't bear to see me suffer, when the enemy commander turned me into a monster I turned against them and after that massacre I refused to follow my new instincts and feed. I was stubborn and prideful and when I came back to her arms I was weak. She gave me her blood without care for herself and like a beast, I drained her slowly and gave in to what we wanted most: a child. She couldn’t have known how baring a Child of Night would cause her to suffer but I should have known better. If I hadn’t weakened her so, if-”

“Shhh,” You drew your fingers to his lips to silence him and pulled him to your breast, wrapping your arms around him firmly. “She loved you and she did what she wanted to do for you and for her beautiful daughter. I know that she wouldn’t have wanted anything more than to have her no matter the consequence.”

He took your wrist and brought it to his lips, then he traced your blue veins with the pad of his thumb before he said, “I knew from the moment I beheld you laying in the graveyard under that brilliant amber sunset that your soul was seeking mine. I pursued you shamelessly afterward as if you were tethered to me and I couldn’t let you go. You haunted my thoughts and made me care as I never thought I could again. It is a lie that the Children of Night are soulless and heartless, ours are bound to this earth as much as any mortal and they burn just as brightly.”

You entwined your fingers with his.

“In your eyes I saw that we both shared the same spirit.” Taemin said brushing a kiss to your forehead. “We both fear being trapped but most of all we fear the way we isolate ourselves, there is no life, no death for us but rather a long and lonely road filled with people who see straight through us.”

“I know what you mean,” You said. “We are alone in ways no one else can begin to understand and yet I want to know you better than I know myself.”

“I never want to lose the one I love ever again,” Taemin said earnestly, he took your hands in his and squeezed them. “Would you spend forever with me till the earth itself crumbles with the weight of falling stars? Would you give me your soul to hold as my equal? All that I ask of you is to love me, respect me, obey me and I will be your slave for all of eternity.”

“Then I am yours completely, in heart, body, and soul, I am yours just as you are mine.” You said.

“It won't be painless,” He said with worry written in his eyes.

“Death is earned is it not?” You said, looking at him confidently. “I trust you.” You said more quietly.

“You scare me a great deal.” He said. You laughed at that, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

“Why?” You asked.

“Because you make me want to be a better man. My love, I am no angel. I am devious.” He ran his free palm against your cheek and you leaned into his touch. “My hands are stained from murder, and yet you trust them completely. I am selfish to want you and cruel to take you into darkness with me. I am a demanding creature but I am your servant.”

He took off one of his rings and slipped it onto your finger. It was gold inlaid with sapphire jewels the color of his eyes in the shape of a laurel crest. “This will protect you from the sunlight once the transition is completed.” Taemin said, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles and over the ring. “Never take it off, promise me.”

“I promise.”

He brought his right hand to his mouth, his fangs elongated once more as they had when he’d feed on you and in one swift motion he pierced his wrist. His deep purple-red blood spilled like wine across the sheets. He took the blood into his mouth before bringing his lips to yours.

His blood scorched the walls of your throat and trickled at the corner of your mouth. It singed the skin of your heart till you felt so full of him that you didn’t know whose body belonged to whom anymore. It was a dizzying kind of love, hypnotic and consuming in its luster. Sometimes love is sweet, You thought. You were drunk on this emotion and the taste of him. He was under your skin, he was flowing through your veins.

He licked the blood that had dripped at the corner of your mouth clean and pulled away to look at you. “Until we meet again, love.” Taemin said, before placing a satin covered pillow over your face.

Sometimes love is brutally soft. You thought as you lost consciousness.

~ Epilogue ~

His scent tickles your nose and calls your limbs to arise from the ashes of your former self.

“Welcome to hell my queen.”

The voice in the darkness was sweet to hear. Your eyes open, light purple and full of lethal newborn lust for the blood of your sire, your soulmate, your king who smiles above you.

The impulse to feed is like a maelstrom consuming your senses. All you want is him, his blood, and his body against yours. He lays on the bed beside you and tilts his head in invitation.

You crawl towards him, straddling his hips and piercing your fangs to his throat eagerly. You nibble and mewl against his collarbone when his skin does not break beneath you. He laughs at your frustration and gently strokes your hair. He reaches for your chin, lifting it to eye level and brushing the pad of his fingers against your small fangs till the tiniest drops of blood fall and you lick his fingers clean.

“You're like a newborn kitten,” Taemin says in your mind. His voice inside your head sends a ripple of joy through your body. You'd thought you’d learned what true unity felt like but you’d never experienced this, an all-consuming warmth and wholeness. “Try again innocent one, this time tilt your head upwards as you elongate your fangs.”

Your desire to please him was almost as vigorous as your hunger. You moved to his neck again and did as he instructed.

“That’s my kitten,” he said. You beam under his praise as you quench your thirst. You find it’s not enough and you move to his lips instead. You kissed him like nightfall devouring the sun, an eclipse under a diamond sky. You were dangerous now you thought with glee as Taemin pulled you closer, closer towards the whisper of forever. And then you smiled when he said in your mind, When we align, will you or I be the moon? You bit his bottom lip and tugged it playfully in reply.

#taemin smut #taemin fanfic #taemin senarios #SHINee FanFic #taemin #lee taemin #want #vampire au #my writing #kpop fanfic #fanfiction #homme fatale #dentist au #shinee senarios

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nad-zeta · 4 years

Text

A Kitsune Easter

Hey, there loves! I can't believe i just hit 100 followers, like whaaat. I just wanted to say thank you so so much to all my followers for the support and love! I love each and every one of you! I made this lil Easter story as an appreciation post for all of you and cause i realized Mitsu's route is basically being released on Easter! Once again thanx to everyone i have no words to describe how happy i am!

Also, take note this is my first real story story/drabble/fanfic I’ve ever written so it might be pretty shit lol oooh well you live, and you learn

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Daddy!Mitsuhide Akechi x Mommy!reader

Genre: Romance

Word Count: 1227

Date: 6 April 2020

You were sitting in the shade of your favorite tree outside in the garden of your palace, watching your two little kits play in the sun. The two boys were the spitting image of their father, and just as playful and mischievous as he is. The only thing your children seem to have inherited from you is your imagination and creativity. Although this, combined with their playful nature, has proven quite troublesome. These two critters of yours and Mitsuhide would get up to all sorts of nonsense together, from painting little scribbles on the bedroom walls to drawing little doodles of butts on Mitsuhide’s important documents for laughs.

Thinking of all the shenanigans, your two children, have gotten up to in the past, sparked a kind of nostalgia of your own childhood. You thought back to the memories of you and your own siblings getting into all sorts of trouble for all the pranks you used to play on your parents. You and your sibling were probably responsible for your parent’s early greying. Perhaps Mitsuhide was right in stating that the children had gotten the mischievous streak from you rather than him. Thinking about your childhood had made you come to the sudden realization that an important holiday was fast approaching. Easter. You couldn’t believe you had almost forgotten.

That night as you and Mitushide tucked your two loves into bed, you decided to tell them a bit more of your childhood and the special holiday you used to celebrate. Their ears perked up at hearing the mention of a new bedtime story and scooted closer to their beloved mother, each laying their heads down on your lap. You and Mitshide would often tell the twins’ bedtime stories while gently tickling their backs to coax them to sleep. Mitsuhide was curious about this new story, his little mouse was to tell. He took his position behind you, snaking his arms around your waist and placing his head on your shoulder to join in on the family storytime. You gently started rubbing your children’s backs, closed your eyes, and started your story.

“Once upon a time, there was a fluffy bunny named the easter bunny……”. You told your sweet little kitsunes all about the Easter you had celebrated as a child. From painting and decorating rocks in the garden, to the magical bunny that would bring you candy as a celebration to the coming of spring. You told them that you had especially loved the eaters egg hunts you used to have with your siblings to find the hidden candy all over the garden. You couldn’t help but smile at your sweet childhood memories all flooding back as you told your story.

Once you were done with the story, you looked down to see your sweet children had fallen asleep. You and Mitsuhide carried them to bed, tucked them in, and kissed their foreheads, while slowly making your way together to your own room to retire for the night.

Curled up together in the futon, you and Mitsuhide had started to plan your own version of the Easter holidays to celebrate with the children. You loved how accepting your husband was about the strange traditions of the future. The two of you cuddled up together while basking in your shared warmth and gently drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms.

In the morning, your sweet slumber was distributed by two noisy kitsunes snaking you and Mitsu awake. “Mommy, daddy, waaaake up!”. When Mitsuhide threw the blanket over your heads to attempt to get a few more minutes of sleep and peace, the two boys started climbing on him “Come onnnnn, wake up, daddy!”. “We want to paint and decorate the house in time for the Easter bunny.” Mitsuhide couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. Mitsuhide slowly started getting up, dropping a sweet kiss on your forehead, nose, and finally lips. “Very well, them, however, let’s make some breakfast first and give your mother some time to get dressed and ready.” At the sound of their dad’s agreement to the plans of the day, the two kitsunes bolted out the room full of energy to get dressed and help their dad make breakfast.

Once everyone was dressed and fed, you gathered up all the paint and supplies needed to make the decorations. You and Mitsuhide couldn’t help, but exchange smiles at the cute decorations the two kitsunes were making. “My dear, I believe its time for us to slip out and source some Easter candy for the children’s hunt tomorrow.” You gently grabbed his hand and squeezed it. The two of you snuck out to the markets, leaving the children in the care of the head maid.

When the two of you arrived back home, you were met by a messy room and two sleeping kitsunes. “It seems they have tired themselves out, making this mess.” Mitsuhide just shook his head and carried to boys to bed, while you got started on making little candy parcels to hide in the garden.

At the crack of dawn, Mitsuhide slipped out of the warm futon and quickly hid the little parcels around the garden for the children to find. He nodded to himself at a job well-done and smirked while turning to get back to his beloved in the nice warm futon. He slipped back under the sheet and pulled you closer to him by the waist. He nuzzled into your hair, taking in your sweet scent and warmth. You turned around in his arms and stared up into his golden eyes that you love so much. You place a sweet little kiss on his nose, “Good morning, love.” “Good morning, little mouse” Mtsuhide tightened his grip pulling you closer to him while giving you an Eskimo kiss.

The two of you could hear the faint sound of your two kitsunes sprinting their way to your shared room to wake you, and you husband up “I do believe our gremlins are awake and ready to hunt” you smile and” Never a moment with of peace with those two trouble makers.” You chuckled as your two kitsunes burst through the door and jumped onto the futon. Two pairs of golden eyes stared at the two of you while excitingly bouncing up and down, “Mommy, do you think the easter bunny came to visit this morning?” You looked at Mitsuhide, who gave the little kits his trademark grin and said: “Well, I do believe we should look around the garden to find out.” The two of you chucked; you had never seen your children run out the sliding doors so fast in your life.

Lazily you and Mitsuhide got up and stood on the porch overlooking the garden. Mitsuhide draped his hoari around your shoulders and pulled you into a hug and watched as your children ran around the garden, jumping for joy every time they had found a new parcel. You stood there in each other’s arms, smiling at the pure looks of joy on your children’s faces. You smiled up at Mitsuhide and kissed his cheek, “Happy Easter love.” Your children ran up to the both of you, showing off all the candy parcels they had found. They were so happy with the little treasures left by the mystical easter bunny. After seeing the happy smiles on your children’s faces, the two of you decided to make it a new family tradition to celebrate Easter together. Mitsuhide gave you the sweetest smile and kissed your temple,” Happy Easter, my dear, and thank you for introducing this wonderful to us.”

Thanx so much, everyone! I hope ya enjoyed it! @kickingasssince98 @templeofthesilverkitsune @towa-no-yume

#akechi mitsuhide #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #ikemen sengoku mitsuhide #ikesen fanfic #first fanfic #sneki boy #submission #templeofkitsune2020 #templeofthesilverkitsune #100 followers #appreciation post #thanx loves #mitsuhide x mc #mitsuhide x reader

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elliethesuperfruitlover · 3 years

Text

yes i did this during my lunch break (and in english)

General:

How long will they last? - Mm, if not lifelong than like a good amount of years. They occasionally also see other people though (poly coded)

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - T had to think about actually dating Klaus before getting into it. She looked into his past, everything. She didn’t want to be hurt. Klaus, however was like “mm, personality, shes pretty, smart, im in.”

How was their first kiss? - It was pleasant, it was random, after T met Klaus’ siblings. It wasn’t out of nowhere, but she was like :Thank you for introducing me to your broken family. *smooch*”Casual, but not casual.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Klaus did. It wasn’t big either, he was just like “do weddings appeal to you?” and she’s always been on the fence about getting married, but she figured to might as well do it.

Who is the best man/men? - Klaus had Diego as his best man actually.

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - T had her mom as her maid of honor.

Who did the most planning? - They both did equal planning. They’d talk it over and everything, but T likes to have everything exact, so she looked over everything, over and over until she found it fine enough.

Who stressed the most? - Klaus, actually. T enjoys putting things in order, and planning, but Klaus was worried about how everything would go. He wanted to make sure everything went right, and that most of all, T was happy.

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big. It was a forest wedding, so kinda big, but small enough as to where it felt special.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding?- Anyone that even remotely made T feel uncomfortable. If they were gonna cause issues, they can do it elsewhere. The trees didn’t want to hear arguing. (her one aunt who didn’t want her marrying a white man)

Sex:

Who is on top? - Topazi Um, they’re both switches, but it honestly depends on the mood. If one of them had a rough day, then the other would be the top.

Who is the one to instigate things? - Either of them, it depends.

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now. One look and the clothes are off (or on they’re kinky fucks)

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head. T’s fairly kinky, and so is Klaus, so they combine it to create just *sighs*. Their closets have a specific section for sex toys, spicy clothes.

How long do they normally last? - It depends. If they start when they’re high energy, it’ll be for longer, but if it’s later in the day, or after work, it’s for less time. an hour or so.

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - Mm, sometimes. If T gets frustrated with herself, and she might be in a bit of a tizzy, Klaus’ll step in and she’ll focus on his pleasure instead of her own. But T usually has more than Klaus, usually 2 more.

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it. If the mood calls for it, Topazi won’t hesitate to absolutely ruin Klaus. She really likes it rough, and so does Klaus, but they like being gentle every now and then.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory. T is touch oriented, and rarely ever doesn’t want to be touched in some way. She wants all of the hugs during aftercare, and Klaus is very happy to give it to her.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - None. T thought about having kids, but she doesn’t trust her body, or herself, so she just doesn’t do it.

How many children will they adopt? - They have pets. (a snake and two kitties)

Who is the stricter parent? - T. She’ll be like “Miko, I told you not to jump off the counter.” but Klaus is like “let him be, he’s just a little shaken up.” but no like water bottles, just a mild scolding.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - T used to do a lot of cooking, but Klaus also tag teams her. Especially if it’s a huge meal.

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - Klaus won’t do oatmeal, or anything mushy. But T is like “if this even looks wrong, I’m not eating it.” It doesn’t matter who cooks it though, she’ll eat from anyone, but if something looks or tastes different than how she’s used to eating it, she’ll eat some out of respect, but in the end may just get more safe things like water, fruit etc.

Who does the grocery shopping? - Both of them. T writes the list (bc she’s very detailed), and they both get half of the list and tag-team. But T has told Klaus what’s safe, what’s not, all that.

How often do they bake desserts? - Almost every weekend. They’re both a bit impulsive, Klaus more than T, so they have an entire fridge dedicated to baking items.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - T rarely ever eats red meat, and Klaus’ll eat anything, so it’s a big mix between the two of them. She tries to get everything balanced, then she gets cravings and everything is thrown out of the window.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Klaus. He likes repaying T, and whenever T tries to do something nice, something pops up and she can’t. It’s also best for him to do tiny things, not big things, so she doesn’t feel like it’s a competition between the two of them.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Klaus. Topazi wants to go out and everything, and she’s impulsive, but never really does anything about it.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - Klaus because he almost fucked the kitchen up when he was high and forgot to put his blunt out (the paper towels caught fire, yada yada)

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - T does a lot of cleaning. Not that she feels like she has to, she just enjoys it, plus it gives her a sense of completion.

Who is really against chores? - Klaus sometimes. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, they usually just creep up on him when he really doesn’t want to do them.

Who cleans up after the pets? - Both of them do it equally. Klaus moreso than T though, because one wrong inhale and she’s ill.

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Klaus. He can forget about something and it’s just gone. His object permanence is shitty.

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Neither of them. T likes company, and people over, but she does try to make sure no naughty things are left out for people to see.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - T almost threw it away, (it was balled up), but she was like “hmm my brain is trying to tell me something” so she was like “oh hells yeah money”

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Depends, but mostly Klaus, because he does his thinking in the shower (like his dad). T, however, knows she’s gonna look like a fucking cherry when she gets out, and she needs to keep her skin not flaky.

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - Um-. If they had a dog, it would be either one of them, but Klaus more often than T, because when she’s painting or gardening, she can’t be bothered to focus on anything other than what she’s doing at that moment.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - Very lack-luster. For xmas, they have a tree, but T puts stupid shit around the house. For Easter, she painted an egg pink and labeled it as “the easter bunny’s left testicle” and for Halloween, they have a spooky corner. She can’t do pranks though, she understands them, but she’ll scream then immediately kick to defend herself.

What are their goals for the relationship? - T wants to enjoy what life she has with Klaus. She just wants someone to love her and keep her company.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Both of them. Topazi likes cuddles, and sometimes the sleep is so good you have to just stay down. Plus, she’s her own boss, and their animals are smarter than they initially thought, but if she hears the fucking snake tank open, her eyes are wide fucking open.

Who plays the most pranks? - Even though she gets a bit frustrated from them, T likes to do cute pranks. You know those toys that you throw and they stick to something, she’ll do those. And Klaus throws like sticky tack at the wall. Those she can handle. But she doesn’t understand the purpose of someone fake sneezing on her. (like me, please dont do that shit, i dont like it)

#topazi marshall

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make-it-mavis · 3 years

Text

Homesick (Entry #38)

(cw: fire, car wreck, implied death) ----------

01/29/88 1:30 AM

Hey.

Today’s entry is a big one. Significant.

There have been a lot of these letters, or entries, or whatever you want to call them, that I’d anticipate pages in advance. I’d dread writing them and reliving the unpleasant or even horrible moments, so I’d spend days putting it off or figuring out just what to say. I’ll be honest -- I have been dreading this entry since the very first page. And I needed a few days to mentally prepare, once I arrived at it. But now that I’ve finally come to write it, I feel... calm.

Doesn’t mean my heart isn’t aching.

I spent a good amount of this unpleasant bedtime story searching for something. That something took on a few different forms, but at the root, I think they all meant the same thing.

Answers.

I wanted to know if you were still alive. Where you went. What you were thinking. If there was anything I could have done. If it was somehow my fault. If I’d failed you.

Today, I’ll tell you how I found… some of the answers. Not all. But certainly some of the ones I had been wanting most dearly. I didn’t understand them all at once. Some just spawned even more questions. And I can’t say that the truth I found didn’t wound me in its own, new way.

I think you’ll see what I mean.

So… let me tell you what I saw play out so pristinely clear in my mind, after the last explosion went off and I fell away from present reality.

August 7th, 1987 played out before my eyes.

The day your story ended.

The day this story began.

It was the day after our weird fight in your trailer, with the cut on my cheek, and the promise, and the kiss... and I couldn’t get you off my mind. Although we had said… so many things the night before, so many good, bad, and… strange things, we did not speak at all that morning. You’d left me in bed without so much as a note, and no time to find you before the arcade opened. I tried to think nothing of it. I figured you were embarrassed about last night and needed some space to think. But I still spent most of the day anxious over what I’d say the next time I saw you. I just kept coming up empty. It was pretty distracting, even as someone punched in my Easter Egg code and I was sucked into gameplay. But during said gameplay, something else caught my attention. Out in the arcade proper, past the gamer at controls, were a couple of kids playing Roadblasters. They were talking. I thought I’d misheard one of them, but then he said it again without a doubt.

“That looks like Turbo.”

That was weird, but it didn’t concern me too much at first. I was curious, but didn’t feel any reason to worry. Maybe a character in Roadblasters just happened to bear a passing resemblance to you, in the gamers’ eyes. Some Dev-made coincidence. Something like that. But as I strained to look while the gamer bounced me around, I caught a glimpse of what they were talking about.

You were there. You were in Roadblasters.

My stomach had never dropped so hard. I could only watch as the next few seconds unfolded.

You drove back and forth across the screen. You drove into the player character, and the screen erupted into shuddering, harsh glitches. Then one of the boys called Litwak over.

He was going to unplug it with you still inside.

It all hit me, one after another, like bricks thrown at my body. I felt my heart shrivel, threatening to detach and climb up my throat. “No,” I said out loud, possessed by dread, even with the gamer watching. “No, no, NO!!”

Program be damned, I tore myself out of gameplay before my ten seconds were even up. I didn’t care. I had to get you out of there. The fact that you were in immediate mortal danger was the only thing that existed to me in that moment. Everything else was a meaningless blur. I flew out of my game at breakneck speed, through the cord tunnel, out into Game Central Station, and made a beeline for Roadblasters, but I barely even made it to the game’s cord station before two cars shot out of it and the wind of their momentum whipped me out of the air.

Just as my head hit the floor, I heard the first resounding crash and chorus of sprites screaming.

I couldn’t think. The impact knocked the thoughts out of my head and filled it with pulsing shocks of pain. Dizzy and nauseous, I pushed myself up to my elbows and looked over at the commotion. Once my spinning, double vision focused, I saw an odd mangle of machinery. It took a second for me to understand what I saw. A big, armed Roadblasters car was smashed into the Game Central Station wall, and wedged beneath it, as if it had carried said car the entire way out of the game in order to publicly execute it, was your car. And in your car, I saw the distinctive color and shape of your helmet.

And then… BANG.

There was a second, blinding, deafening, heart-shattering explosion that shook the very floor beneath me. I threw up my hand against the light and my head lurched with the ear-splitting volume, but the moment those senses returned to me, I saw and heard what still haunts my dreams to this day. Sprites were shrieking and crying in horror. Many of them were on fire -- some being pulled away from the scene, some rolling and patting themselves, and others did not move at all. And where the two cars were before stood only a blazing inferno, shooting up a billowing tower of inky, black, deathly smoke.

No.

My blood turned to ice. For a second, I couldn’t move at all.

Then once I started moving, I couldn’t stop.

I sprang to my feet and ran full-tilt towards the blinding fire. It wasn’t too late. I could still save you. I was the only one who would. I dodged a couple sprites trying to stop me, and I do actually recall having to jump over a burning shape that may or may not have been alive. I don’t care if that was horrible of me. I didn’t care. You mattered more to me. Saving you mattered more than anything I had ever known in this world, and nothing would stop me. Not even hellfire.

So I painted myself a Shield buff, and I leapt right into the flames.

With invulnerability, fire feels like nothing at all. But it was still so damn bright. What I managed to see was that gravity had taken hold of the larger Roadblasters car, and yours was slowly being crushed beneath it as the metal softened and warped in the heat. You were trapped. Without a second thought, I crouched beneath the burning wreckage and wedged my arm into your driver’s seat, calling out your name. I called again and again, but you didn’t answer. I couldn’t even seem to identify you by touch -- your car had all the same code as you.

I kept calling, to no answer. I tried lifting the top car even a little bit, but it wouldn’t budge. I jammed my arm into the wreckage of your car looking for something, anything at all that could show me you were alive. Then my hand fell on soft fabric, and I nearly shouted in some sort of desperate excitement. I grabbed as much of it into my hand as I could, and I pulled. It wouldn’t budge at first, but I pulled, and I pulled, until it finally came free…

It was just your scarf and goggles.

My heart, my code, my binary, my everything… went cold.

That’s when both cars took on a blue, ghostly sheen, and their pixels started to discolor and glitch away into the air like embers.

“No,” I pleaded with nobody who could hear, “no, no, no, no!”

I reached out, trying in vain to keep your car’s pixels together, but I felt a sensation right then that I won’t soon forget again:

Your dying code drifting through my arms and out of reach into the smog.

And that very moment was when I had overstayed my welcome. My invulnerability buff wore off, and the heat of the wreck closed in on me like the jaws of a dragon. The metal of your car scorched my hands. I began choking immediately, and I could barely open my eyes against the heat. But I couldn’t just leave. I couldn’t give up.

I couldn’t just leave you there to die.

Just then, I saw a blue flash, and I felt Surge grab onto me and try to pull me out. But I thrashed against him. Even as my clothes caught fire and the heat seared my skin, I fought him. I screamed at him, pulling against him with all my might, “NO, NO, HE’S IN THERE! HE’S IN THERE-- HE’S DYING, HE’S DYING! LET ME GO! HE’S GONNA DIE-- LET ME SAVE HIM! MY BEST FRIEND’S IN THERE! LET ME GO!”

There was a flash of blue and a jolt of staggering pain as Surge shocked me.

Everything was sucked away into blackness as I fell unconscious.

And… that was it.

That was it.

As I regained consciousness in real time, the time in which I had blown up my cousin’s apartment, the first thing I noticed was horrendous pain. I opened my eyes, and from where I lay in the grass outside Niceland, I could see smoke billowing out of Fix-it’s window up above. A glance down my body revealed the sources of pain -- burns, a foot twisting in an unnatural direction, and, presumably, whatever other broken bones that might have come with falling out of a window. As much as it hurt, part of me was numb to it. I was in such shock from all I remembered.

And I remembered it all.

There was an eerie chill blowing through my pixels, like the wind before a punch. I was trembling, and my breath was coming in shallow. I just stared up at the smoke curling into the sky, with the image of your car’s flaming wreckage burned into the back of my eyes. I could hear the Nicelanders anxiously clucking nearby, and the hard clicking of bricks shifting under Wreck-it’s feet, but it all seemed so far away. So inconsequential, like a radio playing from one room over.

Similarly flat in my mind were the audible boings of Fix-it bounding over from wherever the cuss he was. He fell to his knees next to me, breathing hard, a few dark smudges on his face and a couple singes on the brim of his hat. He seemed so full of questions, but so frantic, not knowing where to begin. I’d clearly thrown him for a loop, maybe worse than I ever had before. He looked me up and down, hands repeatedly switching from touching his face to hovering over my wounds, mumbling to himself anxiously.

“Oh, Mavy-- Oh, gosh-- It’s okay, don’t move, it’s okay, just-- just relax and try to breathe, okay? You’re safe, it’s fine-- I can-- I can fix it,” he pulled out his hammer that shone audibly, looking over my burns and ankle. He just kept muttering, “I can fix it, I can fix it, I can fix it…”

I couldn’t stand it. Not for another second. The numbness encasing me snapped, and all the horrifying emotions I’d amassed exploded out of me in the form of misdirected fury.

“NO, Felix!!”

I sharply snatched the hammer right out of his hand. Touching such a densely coded item burned like hot iron, but I quickly threw it away from us and out of reach. Everyone audibly gasped, and I’d never seen my cousin so stunned. Seeing his face at all made me so angry, I wanted to tear it right off his skull. My body screamed in pain as I sat up as straight as I could, just so I could shove him hard in the shoulder. He grunted in confusion and fell back on his heels, but he didn’t get up.

“You CAN’T fix it!” I snapped, and then I shoved him again. And again. “You can’t fix it! It’s over! He’s gone already! There’s nothing you can do! You’re-- You’re useless! I’m useless! You can’t fix it and I-- I DIDN’T MAKE IT! I didn’t make it in time! I didn’t save him! I couldn’t save him! I messed up and I-- I LOST HIM! I LOST HIM!”

Then, before I even realized I’d moved, I twisted and, for the first time in my life, willingly hugged Felix.

Not just hugged -- violently, aggressively, desperately crushed him in my arms. It hurt. It hurt a lot. His code is so heavy compared to mine. But I didn’t care. It just blurred into the tidal wave of pain already crashing down on my body and mind. He was frozen solid as I clung to him, trying to shout through my thick, choking sobs.

“He’s gone-- Oh, he’s really gone-- and I couldn’t save him! I couldn’t save him! Why couldn’t I save him?!”

Felix must have finally accepted what was happening, because he cautiously put his arms around me, and then slowly squeezed tighter and tighter.

“I know,” he said, shaking with his own tears. “I know. You tried, Mavy. You tried so hard. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

#fanfiction #fanfic #wreck it ralph #fix it felix #make it mavis #turbo #original character #homesick #this is the last one until I write more

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game-boy-pocket · 4 years

Text

I just finished Banjo Kazooie: Jiggies of Time - a full length mod by Mark Kurko

I don’t normally do reviews because I find it hard to be objective... and this will be no different, so just think of this as me gushing. I’ll go ahead and put the long winded bit under a read more. But the short version is, fans of Banjo Kazooie and Ocarina of Time should play this FOR SURE. Banjo Kazooie fans may actually still love this if they’re not fans of Zelda ( but Zelda knowledge helps sometimes ). Zelda fans may not fare so well if they don’t love the Banjo Kazooie gameplay ( perhaps they should try the first game as a test if they haven’t played it? *nudge nudge* )

I’ve been aware of this project for some time but didn’t really know too much about it. There were a lot of Banjo Kazooie hacks that were just smaller projects that take less than an hour to finish. I was suprised to learn just a few days ago that this project was completed, and was a full length game with the same number of worlds and collectibles as the original Banjo Kazooie. Even better, it ran on a real Nintendo 64! I played mine on the real deal and it ran near perfectly ( there were minor frame dips and a few graphical bugs but nothing too distracting or too frequent )

I’m assuming you already know how Banjo Kazooie plays if you’re reading this, but just in case, Banjo plays a lot like Mario. You run around in little sandbox areas collecting things, the main collectible being golden jigsaw puzzle pieces called Jiggies, you find these out in the open, by solving puzzles, or by helping NPCs, the secondary collectible being golden music notes, both are needed to progress. Each level also has five different colored critters called Jinjos that award you with a Jiggy when you find them. Each level has two empty honey comb pieces, collecting six adds another unit of health to your life meter. There are also silver skull shaped tokens used to transform your character into another form in certain levels, and finally, other miscellaneous collectibles to restore health, abilies, and lives. Pretty basic stuff, you should be familiar if you’ve played any of the Sandbox Mario games, though in Banjo, you unlock your abilities as you progress.

As I said before the game has 10 worlds. You start in Kokiri forest just like Ocarina of Time. You learn your basic moves in the Lost Woods, though I question the practicality of that, I actually did a full two worlds without my three basic attacks. I got... lost... I just assumed I was going to learn the attacks elsewhere. Kokiri forest is actually the first world, with Lost Woods serving as a sort of “Spiral Mountain” area. Brentilda makes a return here offering three tips about the game each time you encounter her, as well as refilling your health. She appears in every world. Once you get some notes, you can leave to Hyrule Field.

Hyrule Field is the “Gruntilda’s Lair” ( Your Hub world for the uninitiated ) portion of the game, Everything is where you expect it to be, but it’s all sealed off. Instead you need to look for new areas containing jigsaw puzzles to open the locked areas. You will eventually learn a trick to simulate the Sun song as well, but it can only be done here. There’s 10 Jiggies to collect in Hyrule, 7 of which are contained within Lon Lon Ranch, I won’t spoil anything but Lon Lon Ranch has changed pretty drastically. The remaining 3 Jiggies are a bit more elaborately hidden. I’ll get back to those. When you’re here, Gruntilda will banter with you, just like the original Banjo Kazooie, but sometimes, other characters will talk instead, and there is some genuinely hilarious exchanges between characters here.

Castle Town is the second world, and this is where you get the idea that “oh this isn’t just Banjo in Ocarina of time” because you start to uncover a lot of areas that were not in the original game. It only makes sense that a character with completely different skills can reach places Link never could. Mumbo Jumbo returns in this world, all of his transformations are the same as the original game, but they’ve been reskinned to fit a Zelda theme... well... mostly.

Once you wrap up in there, you head to Kakariko village, the third world. And it’s pretty standard. You actually learn the final move in this world. This game utilizes all of the original game’s moves except for the wading boots... they were kind of lame anyway I suppose. This is also where you start to notice that this game is absolutely loaded to the gills with easter eggs. game cases and consoles are littered everywhere, Nintendo characters playing games are hidden away ( except for one ), and you may also notice some Golden eye characters spying on you ( they actually creep me out when I first catch a glimpse of them. They look ghoulish to me... )

Explore Kakariko enough and you should find the way to open Death Mountain, which is the fourth world. Now this part of the game drove me slightly crazy. Death mountain has lava. Lava is an instant death for Banjo. When you die, you lose all of the notes you collected, and all of your Jinjos too if you haven’t got them all yet. Here’s the thing, it’s another world where you have to turn into a small creature to get some of the notes, but before you do, you have to open the path for the creature as Banjo. And you have a LOT of ground to cover ( it includes Dodongo’s Cavern, the mountain trail, Goron City, and a few extra areas not in Ocarina of Time ), so it’s almost like you have to do everything in this level twice... I died several times, at one point all I needed was five more notes, I was about to blow a gasket. After you finish up there, it’s time to head to Zora’s Domain. The world actually starts at Zora’s River, I enjoyed the world a lot but it was also pretty taxing. It demands a LOT of resources I had previously been taking for granted. Namely the eggs you shoot. I was expecting Jabu Jabu to be replaced with Clanker the whale from the original Banjo Kazooie, but no, it’s just Jabu Jabu.. which is probably fine, this is Hyrule after all. Jabu Jabu is not actually a dungeon though, which is a little disappointing, but there is some very interesting stuff in there... and this is where I start having a little bit of an issue with the easter eggs, subtlty goes out the window here and we actually start leaving the Zelda theme behind for two pretty big areas in this world. It doesn’t bother me too much but I really wish this sort of thing was kept for secret levels instead of the main game... there’s a lot of tough platforming around Jabu Jabu’s area.

By now you should have stumbled across the means of opening the way to the Forest Temple. And this is one of the coolest parts of the game but also one of the most long winded and complicated parts. The game expects you to go back to the old days of taking notes on paper. You explore the temple looking for letters of the Hylian Alphabet and their English equivalent, you’re expected to to write these down as a chart and then use them to decipher some messages written in Hylian Text through out the temple... the thing is, a lot of the things the text asked me to do, I figured out on my own. There are also paintings on the wall meant to give clues, but I got mixed messages from one of these paintings that was meant to be used in tandem with the hylian writing. So I was trying the wrong thing over and over... But I will say this level is truly the most jam packed with Zelda easter eggs and It’s hard not to spoil any of it, because I lost my mind at some of it...

At this point I should throw in that this game doesn’t have any new enemies or bosses. Most of the enemies are reskinned to be Zelda themed. It’s pretty effective in selling the illusion... except in the case where it’s not.

Next destination is Lake Hylia. I’ve got to stop to talk about the music real quick because Lake Hylia has my favorite track in the game. This game has an amazing soundtrack. It’s mostly Zelda songs remixed in a way that makes it sound like a song you would expect to hear in Banjo Kazooie ( and some hints of Banjo Kazooie/Tooie tunes get mixed in as a medley as well ), very bouncy and fun. Not all of it is Ocarina of Time music. Lake Hylia actually uses an upbeat version of the Twilight Princess lake hylia theme. In any case, this level sees you explore the lake, the fishing hole, the water temple, and a new series of floating islands above the lake. As far as the Water Temple goes, it’s not too bad.

Next is the Gerudo Valley area, which includes the valley, the gerudo fortress, and the desert temple. Disappointingly, you cannot explore the insides of the gerudo fortress. You can enter them, but you just exit out a different door in the fortress, like some kind of warp maze. This area was also a real drain on my gold feather and blue egg resources, I almost had to leave to stock up on gold feathers, but I was sly and found a work around my problem and was able to progress. It was probably the least impressive area in the game if I’m being honest... also, Brentilda says that the hylian letters I wrote down were going to be useful here, but I couldn’t find anywhere in the dungeon that had Hylian letters... hmm.

With this, you head to the final world. The means which you use to enter this world are very cool. I won’t spoil it but it should be obvious to anyone who’s played already, assuming they haven’t completely forgotten one of the most important locations in the original Ocarina of Time... Now, the world itself? It’s cool thematically, but the usage of another small creature transformation really drags the world down. Not to mention another easter egg really kills the mood of this final world, but it’s easily forgiven.

The final world is also what houses the entrance to the final battle. But this game actually requires you to get ALL the Jiggies save for three in order to enter the final battle, so if you missed any jiggies at all during the normal levels, time to turn back and get them... unless you’re only short three, and wouldn’t you know it, there are three “secret levels” in this game with extra hidden Jiggies.

So, you would have no doubt seen this by now if you were playing the game but in Castle Town, there’s a museum you can reach by transforming into a small creature and crawling through the keyhole, and this museum houses clues to the location of these secret levels, as well as the secret jiggies within those levels. They’re pretty well hidden. The clues get revealed more and more as you collect notes. First, just a general description of the area, then a more exact description of the area, but written in hylian, then a photograph of the area you need to inspect to find the entrance, and lastly, a picture of the hidden jiggy in the secret level ( though if you wait this long, the nature of the secret level will be spoiled, and these levels are BIG easter eggs. ), so maybe don’t wait too long to find them.

The final Battle with Gruntilda is the same as it was in the original Banjo Kazooie, but the arena is just slightly altered to make it a little more difficult, but not unfairly so. Not much more to say beyond that. The game has a pretty cool credits sequence and ending that Zelda fans are sure to appreciate.

I do kind of wish there was a Quiz show like the original Banjo Kazooie, I was expecting to get my Zelda knowledge tested, but no such luck.

Playing this game was such a blast and it made me feel like I was experiencing Banjo Kazooie and Ocarina of Time for the first time again at the same time, which is a very strange but welcome feeling. I never would have expected these two games fused into one to work so well, but it really is remarkable how well it works, and it tickles my nerd fanboy bone for Zelda in many ways, as well as Banjo, Rareware and Nintendo in general too. I can’t recommend it enough for fans of both games... I can only recommend this to non Banjo Zelda fans if they’re willing to play the original Banjo first to see if they like it. But non Zelda fans of Banjo, I think you’ll just enjoy having a new Banjo Kazooie Adventure to tackle, though the lack of Zelda knowledge might make the road a little bumpy in a few areas.

I love these games to death but i’ve replayed them so much that they don’t entertain as much as they used to. This was a great way to freshen up the experience for both. I’m dying to play more like this. There’s a very interesting “Link in Mario 64″ mod i’m keeping my eye on. But that may take a lot of time, as it’s only released the first demo... for now... I actually kinda want to replay the original BK and OOT agian. Heh.

#banjo kazooie #nintendo #the legend of zelda #ocarina of time #Banjo Kazooie the Jiggies of Time #N64 #review

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antiquecompass · 4 years

Text

Untamed Spring Fest Day 7: Pastel

Wherein there is hair dye and easter egg hunts. Of a sort.

Mo Xuanyu had given his hair a rest over the winter. It’s something he did every few years, knowing that no matter how much product and head massages and professional shampoos and serums he used, dyeing his hair as often as he did wasn’t good for it, especially turning his naturally dark brown hair to his favored pastel colors. He still had some color of course. Hair chalk, little strands of hair tinsel, and even the old Kool-Aid method when he was bored, but by the time April rolled around it had been nearly six months since he’d dyed his hair. And to celebrate the coming of Spring, he decided to go full on mermaid hair.

At least, that was his intention when he’d left the house this morning for his appointment with Sunny.

“Can I try something new?” Sunny asked when he got there. “It’s called ‘oil slick.’ We’ll still give you the colors of the rainbow, but with less bleaching.” She ran her hands through his hair. “It’s just so healthy right now.”

“Your hard work,” he praised her.

“Yours too,” she said.

“Pictures?” he asked.

She handed him a tablet and he quickly thumbed through the references there. It was gorgeous and stunning and while not his normal pastels, still beautiful. He wanted it. Even if the coming of spring usually meant pastel for him, he could just paint his nails various easter egg colors. This was something different and exciting. He wanted to try it.

“Do it,” he said.

Sunny grinned at him, as bright as her name. “This is why you’re my favorite client.”

He was one of her first, back when they were both going through beauty school together. Her trying to raise a kid on her own and get her certifications; him trying to juggle beauty school and art school at the same time. They’d bonded over too much work and too much stress. He’d often volunteered to let her experiment with his hair and she’d always let him experiment on her with various make-up looks. It was a friendship that had grown from those early class days to years later; Sunny a renown hair stylist and Xuanyu an established part of the art scene, both in the theater and for his make-up looks. Make-up outside of his theater work was still more a hobby than anything else, but considering the company he kept these days, he’d ended up with a following on all his social media.

“Our lives are strange,” he said as Sunny nodded. “As soon as I get this done, you know you’re going to get people flocking here.”

“As long as I don’t fuck it up,” Sunny said.

“You won’t fuck it,” Xuanyu said. “And even if you do, we’ll make it work.”

**********

Sunny had not fucked it up. His appointment took far longer in the end, and even when she tried to refuse, he made sure to tip her double because they were friends, but this was still

business

and she’d done such an amazing job. She deserved to be more than compensated for taking up two entire blocks of her time. He couldn’t stop checking his hair as he waited for his ride to arrive.

Even if it had been two--nearly three--years since that summer, the one where everything changed, the Nies and most of Springfield Security had adopted Xuanyu as their own and were just slightly paranoid about his safety. With their impending wedding next-next winter, it had been decided by family council or, really, an entire group of stubborn assholes, that Xuanyu needed a driver. There were battles Mo Xuanyu would always fight; hills he would always die on; going against the over-protective instincts of the entire Nie family and most of its employees? Not even worth trying. Sometimes it was easier to give in.

The car that eventually pulled up was one of the standard Springfield Security fleet vehicles. When he opened the passenger side door, he was pleasantly surprised to see Zonghui behind the wheel.

“I thought you were still working a job,” he said as he settled in.

“Just finished this morning,” Zonghui said. He waited for Xunayu to buckle his seatbelt and then pulled out into traffic. “And I’m on another one now, or at least a family mission.”

Xuanyu glanced in the back and saw one of his overnight bags resting on the seat.

“Am I being kidnapped again?” he asked.

“Whisked away at the very least,” Zonghui said. “One last vacation for you two before the start of, what does he call it, hell season?”

Weddings. So many weddings. Golden Canary Events wasn’t even a wedding planning business and yet, because of his reputation alone, Huaisang had become one of the most sought after wedding planners in New England. For his own sanity, he only accepted seven weddings a year and most of those hit in either May or June.

One last weekend of peace and calm and nothing but the two of them? Yes, please.

“And this out of the way destination just so happens to be on your way to….”

Zonghui shook his head and groaned. “Not you too.”

“I’m just saying, considering the direction we’re going, I’m assuming it’s Huaisang’s favorite cabin, which just so happens to be in the same direction as the secluded mountain house Carson calls home, and, if I remember what my brother muttered over breakfast this morning correctly, Carson is currently on sick leave.”

Zonghui sighed. “He’s all alone out there.”

“No one to hear the screams, I suppose,” Xuanyu teased him.

“We’re just---we haven’t--I’m just concerned,” Zonghui said.

“Of course,” Xuanyu agreed. “Well, Jade Palace in the next town over has marvelous egg drop soup. If you’d want to get it, just to check on him, because you’re concerned and all.”

“Thank you,” Zonghui said. “You little brat.”

“Well, honestly, we’ve been in this car for nearly ten minutes already and you haven’t said a thing about my hair.”

It was nice to hear Zonghui laugh, his words muffled and broken as he tried to keep his eyes on the road and give Xuanyu the most saccharine sweet compliments through the wheezing breaks in his laughter.

*********

The cabin looked empty when he arrived. Xuanyu shrugged it off, figuring something had kept Huaisang in Boston. Xuanyu crouched down and shook the little turtle that served as their hide-a-key, palming the key and walking inside, quickly shutting off the alarm as he entered. He jumped back in shock as something crunched under his boot. He lifted it up and found a plastic easter egg there, a slip of paper falling out of it and its candy contents spilling out over the floor. He quickly gathered up the fallen Hershey Kisses and Hugs, before reading the slip of paper.

Huaisang’s beautiful calligraphy took up the entirety of the slip.

Come and see

Xuanyu dropped his bag on the couch and looked up in awe. The outdoors had been brought inside, the walls and ceilings decorated with greenery and flowers--fabric of course, but so lifelike. By the couch was a large, empty, pastel-colored easter basket and at the other end was another egg.

“I love that man,” Xuanyu told the room as he started his own little easter egg hunt.

Sixty-six eggs and another basket later (one egg for each month they’d known each other), Xuanyu finally found himself in the backyard. The deck was covered in hangings, lanterns, and twinkling fairy lights. And his fiancé sat there waiting for him, a large, ornate jeweled egg in his hand.

“How did you have time to plan all this?” Xuanyu said.

“There are entire binders devoted to our courtship,” Huaisang said. “You said you never got to participate in the Jin easter egg hunts.”

“This one is far more to my tastes,” Xuanyu said as he walked over to Huaisang. He left the full baskets of plastic eggs on the table and slid into Huaisang’s lap. “You’ve got me, you know. I don’t need the wooing.”

“I like the wooing,” Huaisang said. “You like it too, my golden pheasant, and you deserve it.”

Xuanyu laughed as he caressed Huaisang’s cheek. “I’m a golden pheasant today?”

Huaisang carefully put the jeweled egg to the side. He then rested his hands on Xuanyu’s hips. “With that hair of yours, perhaps I should call you my lilac-breasted roller?”

“No,” Xuanyu said.

“My nicobar pigeon?”

“Why do you know all of these?”

“My green-headed tanager?”

“Please, stop,” Xuanyu pleaded as he laughed.

“My blue bird of paradise?”

That sounded vaguely familiar, from one of the many nature documentaries they’d watched together.

“That’s the one the dances, isn’t it?” Xuanyu asked.

“Many of them dance,” Huaisang said.

“Right, but that’s the one goes all--” Xuanyu puffed up his cheeks and waved his arms about.

Huaisang cupped the back of his neck. “Not even a little bit, but I appreciate your mating dance.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” Xuanyu said.

Huaisang laughed softly as he ran a hand through Xuanyu’s hair, holding the strands up to the light. “It’s holo, bitch,” he joked.

“It’s iridescent, get it right,” Xuanyu corrected.

“It suits you,” Huaisang said. “Dare I say, I even prefer it to the pastels? The pastels are gorgeous but this almost reminds me of when we met. Your hair was indigo then.”

“I could barely speak a word to you,” Xuanyu said as he recalled that day.

“You spoke all the right ones,” Huaisang said. “Had me hooked from the start.”

Xuanyu had been worried, once, years ago, that it was just because he was pretty. That wasn’t an arrogant statement, he’d been told often enough in his life, since he was very young, just how pretty he was and it had always brought him attention--both good and bad. He hadn’t known much about Huaisang back then, but he knew of Nie Huaisang and how he liked to collect pretty things. He’d been worried that he was just another thing to add to that collection, but then Huaisang had started their slow and steady courtship. Made Xuanyu feel like an Austen heroine. Made Xuanyu feel appreciated in so many ways, all the big and little things.

And then he did things like this, when their time away was supposed to be for Huaisang to relax.

“You could’ve just ordered a pizza and left the lights on,” Xuanyu said.

“But this is so much more my style,” Huaisang insisted. He nuzzled Xuanyu’s chin. “And trust me, many of those easter eggs contain things that will bring us both some joy and relaxation.”

“And rest,” Xuanyu said.

Huaisang smirked. “Rest wasn’t my top priority.”

Xuanyu gaped at him. “There are sixty-five unread slips of paper in there.”

“Then we better order dinner and get started.”

#long post #verse: lahl #sangyu #fic: i will become what i deserve #fandom: the untamed #untamed spring fest #my ridic writing

18 notes · View notes