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aenramsden · 1 year ago

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The following is not my idea; it was the original brainchild of a friend of mine named Omicron, with help from various others including EarthScorpion, TenfoldShields, @havocfett and ShintheNinja:

So, you know what I want to do one day? Run (or play in) a D&D campaign in which the Big Bad Super Dragon that is fuckoff ancient and unfathomably powerful and whose actions have shaped history and bent the course of nations and had repercussions on the whole culture and society in the region where it's set; the Bonus Special Boss for some endgame optional quest after you defeat the direct BBEG and win the campaign...

... is a white dragon.

To explain this for people not deep into 5e monster lore; D&D dragons are sapient beings, and known for their instincts and tendencies, and whenever you meet an big evil dragon that's really old it's usually this ancient creature of terrible intellect Smaug-ing it up all over the place.

Except white dragons are fucking stupid. Like, they're still capable of speech and thought! They're just… feral, hungry morons. And you almost never see them portrayed as ancient wyrms for that reason; they lack majesty. Critical Role did it, yes, but even then, Vorugal is explicitly the most bestial member of the Chroma Conclave, and the others are the more intelligent planners and long-term threats. An ancient white as a nation-defining endboss, though; not a thug for a smarter master but as the strongest and biggest threat around is just not the sort of thing you tend to see.

Adventurers: "Oh wise Therunax the Munificent, gold dragon of Law and Good, what can you tell us adventurers of the evil dragons which rule this land?" Therunax the Munificent, 500-year old Gold Dragon: "Good adventurers, know this: this land is torn apart by the evil of Tiamat's spawn. The eastern marches are the dwelling of Furinar the Plague-Bringer, black dragoness whose hoard is a thousand sicknesses contained in the body of her tributes. The southern volcanic mountains are the roosting of Angrar the Wrathful, the fiery red dragon, who brings magmatic fury on all who do not worship him. And the northern peaks are home to Face-Biter Mike, the oldest and most powerful of all, of whom I dread to speak." Adventurers: "F-Face-Biter Mike???" Therunax: "Oh yes, verily indeed; two thousand years has Mike lived, and his eyes have seen the rise and fall of five empires, and a hundred and score champions have sought to slay him; and each and every one he bit their fucking face off."

Like... I want to see a campaign where Face-Biter Mike is genuinely the most powerful dragon in the region, if not the entire world. Where sometimes he descends on a city to grab himself some meatsicles and causes a localised ice age by the beat of his vast wings and the frigid wastes of his mighty breath and by the chill his mere presence brings to everything for miles around him, and everyone just has to deal with that for the next decade. An entire era of civilization comes to an end, an empire falls, tens of thousands starve in the winter, all because Mike wanted a snack. Where his hoard is an unfathomably vast mass of jewels and artefacts and precious stones frozen in an unmelting glacier, except he is a nouveau riche idiot with fuckall appraising skill, so half of his hoard is coloured glass or worthless knicknacks, and he doesn't give a shit.

"Your Draconic Majesty, this crown is… It's pyrite." "Yeah, well, it's brighter than this dusty old thing made out of real gold, it's my new best treasure. Throw the other one away." "…throw the Burnished Tiara of Bahamut, forged in the First Age of Man, your majesty???" "See? I can't even remember its fucking name." "But my lord-" "DO YOU WANT TO BE A MEATSICLE" "…I will fetch a trash bag, your majesty."

But at the same time, he's not stupid, he's just simple, and in some ways that makes him more dangerous than the usual kinds of scheming Big Bad you see in these things, while simultaneously justifying why Orcus remains on his throne (because he's lazy). Face-Biter Mike doesn't make convoluted plans or run labyrinthine schemes; he just has a talent for violence and a pragmatic, straightforward approach to turning any kind of problem he struggles with into a problem that can be resolved with violence. Face-Biter Mike has one talent and it's horrifying physical power, so his approach to any complicated problem is "how do I turn this into a situation where I can fly down and bite this dude's face off?" with absolutely no regard for the collateral damage or consequences of doing so, because those are also things he can turn into face-bitable problems.

"My lord, the dread necromancer Nikodemion is using his undead dragons to attempt a conquest of the eastern kingdom; his agents are everywhere, his plans are centuries in the making, what can we do against such a mastermind?" "I'm gonna fly over the capital and eat the eastern king." "M-my lord???" "The kingdom will collapse without leadership, Nikodemion will win his war, he'll take the capital and crown himself king." "And that helps us… how?" "Once he does I'll fly over to the capital and eat him." "…" "This is why you advisors all suck. You're all about convoluted plans when the only thing I need to win is know where my enemy is so I can fly down there and eat him. Stop overthinking things."

And, like, yeah, it's a simplistic plan, but when you're several hundred tons of nigh invincible magical death, you don't need brilliant strategy; the smartest way to win a war is, in this case, the simplest. He's not even all that clever at figuring out the consequences of face-biting, he's just memorised the common consequences of doing so.

(If you want to go all in on Mike being the major mover and shaker in the region; Nikodemion only even has a pet zombie dragon because Mike killed the last dragon to show up and contest his turf but wasn't going to eat a whole dragon by himself. Nikodemion got to stick around and amass that much power because Mike ate the Hero of the Realm while he was adventuring because he figured the Hero would come and try to slay him at some point. Nikodemion got started because Mike ate half the leadership of the Academy of High Magic who typically keep evil wizards and necromancers in check. And then eventually this product of Mike's casual, careless actions becomes a big enough problem to bother Mike personally, at which point Mike eats him too.)

He doesn't even really fail upwards, either! He is regularly reduced to nothing but the glacier he stores his hoard in, but he's Face-Biter Mike so nobody wants to commit to actually ending him forever lest they get their faces bitten the fuck off. And his hoard's in a huge-ass magical glacier so nobody can get to it without running into the Invading Russia problem; it's hard to wage war when everything is frozen over and you're both starving and freezing to death. Once he's been beaten back to his central lair and has lost all his holdings… I mean, he's still a problem, but he's a far away problem. So he loses his assets and spends a decade in a cave brooding it up while no one dares risk trying to actually kill him, and then a generation or two later he flies down to a kobold colony and gets himself some minions, or a dragon-worshipping mage comes to offer his service against a pittance from his hoard, or a particularly stupid cult starts thinking they can get in good with him and leech off his power, and then he's (hah) snowballing again.

He's also got a very… well, the kind of weird Charisma that Grineer bosses do. Like Sargas Ruk, who's a malformed idiot, but oddly charismatic. As he's a dragon, that makes him a natural sorcerer and thus Charisma is all he needs. He's pretty relaxed when he isn't in a face-biting mood, and he's kind of infectiously optimistic, because his life has taught him that he will succeed as long as he perseveres. So he just believes it.

And sometimes that's really refreshing to work for, as an evil minion of darkness! It's like, you're coming to your Evil Dragon Lord with terrible news; you've worked for evil overlords before, you know how it goes. You fall to your knees weeping and tell him that you've failed to seize the incredibly powerful magical artifact, you think your life is forfeit. And he's just like "Eh, it's okay, these things are all over the place. Better luck next time. You remember the guy who took it, right?" and you go "Y-yes, oh great lord!" and he's like "Sweet tell me his name later and I'll grab it" and then eats a frozen adventurer he kept around as a snack.

His followers tend to quickly realise that if they fail him, bringing some temple's silver or a sack of brightly coloured beads or a couple of dead cows means he's super forgiving because at least he's got something out of the day. "Oh boy, cows? It's been forever since I had those, ever since the Orc Steppe Nomads took over it's all about goats and onions. Today is a good day." He's a master of delegation by dragon standards, in that he just tells you "Just go get it done, I don't care how" rather than micromanaging you and constantly appearing as an image in smoke or taking over your campfire.

The key part of Face-Biter Mike as a threat to players (because he exists in the context of a D&D campaign) works well in that you can rely on several known quantities:

He will not pull sneaky shit that you don't see coming

He will not make convoluted plans that you must work to unravel

He will consistently attempt to come down and wreck you personally if he finds the opportunity and you are a threat to him

You cannot fight him head-on (at least not until the last leg of the campaign, and ideally as an optional boss rather than mandatory)

So as long as you are good at staying under the radar, thwarting his minions (whom he gives broad orders to with almost zero oversight) and not putting yourself in face-biting range, you can deal with him. If you succeed, it won't be the first time Mike has lost his assets and had to go brood in his glacier for a decade or two before rebuilding. It happens; he can deal with it. And that's a win for you within the context of a single campaign, so take the win.

And if you're not going to use him as an enemy, he works pretty well as a quest-giver, too! The costs for failure are obvious and straightforward, and "do whatever, just get me mine" means that players have a lot of freedom in accomplishing their goals. As far as evil overlords go he is actually one of the least dangerous to work for; his pride is relatively subdued by draconic standards, his goals are simple and typically achievable, and he is easily pleased.

(There's also a good chance he is the forefather of any draconic sorcerer in your party, because Face Biter Mike is a deadbeat dad.)

#d&d #face-biter mike #I want this #writing #gaming #advice #funny #criticism #fandom

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effkaytales · 2 months ago

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EFFKAY FIGHTING GAME CONCEPT 3: MYNK!

Melissa Hydra, otherwise known as Mynk, was a normal girl with a heart defect living a normal life, when her best friend (who was a mime) invited her to sneak into a cave full of mime rocks. Long story short, she has video game powers now!! She's had many adventures simply playing her favorite games in real life. Keep cheering her on~

P1: MYNK. Melissa "Mynk" Hydra! Her default clothes, her iconic clothes, the clothes she's always ding-dong wearing! If you see her wearing these clothes, don't forget... Don't Be Mean!

P2: DIGICATCH. Digital Card Game that everybody loves! Her sister Anaranjado got her into Digicatch and she hasn't been able to stop~ This costume was originally designed for the first timeskip in Got the Point?!

P3: ULTRABLU. A popular game about running around, jumping, and shooting cherries at robots! Be careful, her mastery of various weapon styles can definitely find YOUR weakness!! This costume was originally conceived for the Effkay Tower Two arc of Got the Point?!

P4: DRAGO HUNTER. A multiplayer video game about hunting dragons! While she can use many fighting styles in this game, she's chosen to stick with sword and shield to make my life easier. This costume, along with the other previous costumes, makes up the Four Mynks, an idea I had since high school!

P5: A MYNK TO THE PAST. This is how Melissa looked the day she lost her life... the day she became the Mynk. Her heart condition kept her from too much strenuous activity, but she felt safe with her best friend and soon-to-be girlfriend, Monique LaBeau.

P6: EASTERNER. In another time and place, Melissa Hydra was a member of a team of adventurers! Or maybe she was a member of two? Records are fuzzy. Regardless, she also seemed to be another version of the original version of her too? There's a lot of mysteries regarding this Melissa...

#reearts #furry art #furry #sfw furry #Effkay Fighting Game #Effkay Corp #Melissa Hydra #Mynk

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simplegeneral · 2 months ago

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5012 AS: Post-War Pyrrhia AU Part 2/2

The Mud Queendom was without a doubt the biggest loser of the Great War, its territory was invaded by all sides, the MudWings suffered the highest casualties in the war, with the SeaWings being a close second. So rarely in its history had such tremendous amount of orphans and siblingless dragons that entire sibling groups were formed to the point none of the dragons were related whatsoever.

Leading the effort lies Queen Moorhen, often known as the matriarch of Pyrrhia, at her 217 years old and ruling for over 204 of those, the elderly dragoness had seem too much in her life to be surprised at all. Unlike other younger and ambitious queens, Moorhen firmly believed healing came from taking a proactive effort to the lives of the MudWings to restore her land to its prime, such example would be the Diamond Spray delta, scorched was once the breadbasket of eastern Pyrrhia, behind its intent, to starve the enemy.

The MudWings begun restore the soil, planting new seeds, cultivating. Where many saw destruction beyond healing, they saw an opportunity to grow something new, new families moved there and imported materials, soon the first village was restored, then the next, within a year the soil would grow vibrant once again.

Queen Moorhen didn’t demobilized her economy so quickly as the other queens were so eager to, she knew such mass of conscripted soldiers would lead to mass unemployment and revolt against the monarchy. Soldiers were now employed on the fields, in community projects and engineers once building fortresses now were exceptional at building housing.

Where the MudWings saw solidarity in the simple aspects of life, the rest of Pyrrhia didn’t. From Burn’s military zeal to Ruby’s lack of leadership, from Glacier’s cryptic silence to Tsunami’s volatile anger, dark clouds of war haunted the continent, where wounds seemed to never heal.

First the Sky Queendom fell to civil war, then the Sand Queendom, Moorhen’s two allies were now dealing with internal issues and suspecting foreign activities, the Mud Queendom now stands alone, all things considered, though Moorhen would find an unlikely ally in the Sea Queendom, now ruled by one of the formerly DoD, Tsunami.

The day Tsunami seized power was the day of her descent to madness, defeating Coral amidst an invasion of Burn’s forces, she abandoned the defense of the Summer Palace, an orderly retreat only as such because they all swam in the same direction. Where Tsunami found abundant food to never starve, she also found a queendom mostly against her.

Coral’s web of lies spread further deep than the deepest abysm under the sea. Her propaganda machine mastered an early version of mass media and consumption, new drugs out of pufferfish venom were widely available to the populous and the SeaWing Council was all but conformative with Tsunami replacing their beloved and easily controllable ruler.

Queen Tsunami begun sweeping reforms immediately, she fired all members of the former council, and have yet to find suitable dragons for the vacant positions. She dismantled Coral’s powerful propaganda machine, and used when it suited her, of course, for she was an outsider in the eyes of the SeaWings, she needed approval to destroy Coral’s powerbase, and banned all the extraction of venom from pufferfish.

Her measures could indeed heal the SeaWings, if only they didn’t caused the collapse of the structure and chaos through the queendom. Unrest became common through the queendom, with several SeaWings joining the “Save Coral” movement against Tsunami, spearheaded by the very members of the council she fired, with many calling for her abdication and the coronation of Moray, daughter of Shark and devoted Coral lover to the cultist degree.

It was in moments like these that Tsunami wished Blister was there, at least she could have told her ways to win the minds and hearts of her subjects, but at least the military was overall on Tsunami’s side, under commander Piranha, the protegee of former commander Tempest, replaced by Shark during the late war because of her brutal treatment of soldiers, emotional abuse and waste of lives in pointless offensives, a great ally… for exceptionally terrible times.

Right now, Tsunami’s council is made out of Anemone, her 2 years old adviser, Auklet and her teacher, and Piranha, who Tsunami keeps a fixed stare at all times. Her advisers go from insanity to absurdity, from Anemone’s punishment of the protesters to Piranha recommending the mass execution of dissidents. Bizarrely enough, the first sane advise came from Auklet as she begun to speak her first words with the help of her teacher, “slow down fish, come here!”, slow down, this is what Tsunami needed, slow down her immediate results’ pursuit in favor of a slow burn through Coral’s machine.

While Tsunami rethinks her strategies, in the rainforest, princess Glory is also now an adviser of Queen Grandeur, which she helped to restore the throne after proving the kidnapping of RainWings by the NightWings and the disregard for life from the former queens. Glory now was at the difficult task of modernizing the Rainforest Queendom.

For starters, the RainWings had no scrolls, an overall practical method of writing Glory had learned from elsewhere in Pyrrhia. Instead, they carved their history in ancient tree barks, for destroying the local plant life for any purpose other than the fulfillment of one’s basic needs was a great crime against the nature’s spirits.

Such technologies as printing machines and paper were seem as a perversion of the rainforest, a tool against the very essence of itself and its inhabitants. Glory had failed to convince Grandeur and the RainWings to modernize their methods, now she sought different solutions, above all else, a way to connect the culture she just started learning about now, her own dragons, and new technologies that were required for the RainWings to not completely fall behind the rest of the world, as they once did.

A compromise was to be made. The RainWing writings in the tree bark should be standardized through the queendom, and a curriculum to be based from the Jade Academy that would be used in all the learning centers of the rainforest. Glory also had RainWing dragonets sent to the Jade Academy, they were more well versed in their culture than she was, thus they would be displayed to a vast range of technologies, methods and practices they would judge worth to bring back to the rainforest, Tamarin and Kinkajou especially, both had already brought their new discoveries, Tamarin’s love for horticulture would help build standardized practices in the queendom, while Kinkajou had a very beginner-friendly writing lesson to help fixate the oral practices of the RainWings.

Princess Glory’s affairs were so far successful, in contrast to her friend in the sea, she had to learn a lot about the ways of her subjects, realize her venom was not the all-problem solver she previously held it as such. Now, the gap between the rainforest and the rest of Pyrrhia was closing down, RainWing healers were now working at many healing centers and hospitals through Pyrrhia in the face of tremendous medical shortages, bringing back to them a diversity of the rainforest knowledge as well.

While the Rainforest, unaffected by the war begun spreading its message of cooperation and solidarity through Pyrrhia, their new neighbor, settling down in Renewal, at the Talon Peninsula, had issues of its own.

The New Night Queendom was so young yet faced so many ancient problems, Queen Battlewinner had abdicated the throne, in her place, Greatness assumed the throne and immediately political chaos followed.

Greatness’ daughter, Hope, had been caught in an affair with a RainWing prince, Jambu, whom they would have a dragonet, Peacemaker. Jambu however, was later discovered to be in a romantic relationship with Pineapple, assuming his feelings for another male and a commoner no less, Queen Grandeur had banished them for the diplomatic crisis they had created to a scale never seem in the rainforest for many generations.

While Jambu fled to Possibility with Pineapple and Peacemaker, Hope had returned to the Night Queendom, where Greatness assumed she fulfilled the demand to kill Peacemaker, for the NightWings would not repeat the mistakes from Darkstalker’s era once again.

Worse than that, the crisis had threatened the so abundant supplies coming from the rainforest, food, seeds and tools that had became the backbone of the forming society in Renewal, and an interruption of such supplies would prove the undoing of the yet very fragile nightwing society. While angry voices still called for a military action against the RainWings, the moment was all but lost the moment the NightWings and RainWings had made contact and a passage deal.

Facing the superstitions that plagued them for generations to no end, Greatness led the NightWings back to their ancient home, the myth of Darkstalker was gone, dead under the mountain, Renewal became not only a fancy NightWing name as they always gave things, it became a symbol of a new age of prosperity of as the NightWings reconnect with the Pyrrhian continent.

#wof #wof au #rewrite #wof rewrite #pyrrhia #wings of fire #wings of fire au #rainwings #nightwings #mudwings #seawings #wof tsunami #tsunami #greatness #pineapple #jambu #wof headcanon #headcanon

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kavdragun · 1 year ago

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~[A commission for @/FunneeBee , art by me]~

A big ref sheet of their new eastern dragon lady character, Gaya! character originally designed by me

#dragon #dragoness #eastern dragon #anthro #anthropomorphic #character #reference sheet #art #commission art #commission

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phyripo · 14 days ago

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Hello! I'm very late but from the prompt list, would you be able to write EstLiet with prompts 3 and 33? No worries if you're not up for it or no longer accepting asks though! <3

3. "Kiss me." 33. "You're cute with glasses."

No problem! Luckily, I didn't read the entirety of Return of the King before writing this, like I did a couple of years ago, so no high fantasy :) Instead, here's a romcom, featuring a Wacky Supporting Cast™ consisting of almost all of Eastern Europe, more talk of budgets than I expected, and a play I made up!

Names are pretty straightforward, I guess, (I write about these characters often enough) but since they almost never show up: Kveta is Czechia and Zdeno is Slovakia. I hope you like it <3

Send me a pairing and a number and I'll write you a fic!

“Join the community theatre, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.”

As Tolys enters the theatre’s modest kitchen, he identifies the source of the grumbling as Eduard, who is scrubbing his hands at the sink and doesn’t seem to have noticed him.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t ask the sound guy to paint, Borisov,” Eduard continues to himself.

“I see you’ve started monologuing too,” Tolys says, smiling when Eduard jumps in surprise, splashing water around. There is, somehow, a streak of red paint in his pale blond hair.

“It’s tempting,” Eduard tells Tolys while he walks over to make some coffee. “Is Raivis still going?”

“No, Dragos is doing his weird accent again and Erzsébet is yelling at him, as usual.” Tolys shrugs at Eduard’s incredulous look, with his eyebrows disappearing behind his hair. “It’s part of the charm.”

With a laugh, Eduard dries his hands. There is still some paint on his long fingers, flecks of gold and white over an old ink stain.

“And what do you do, Tolys?”

“Hm?”

“Well,” he says, leaning a hip against the kitchen counter and adjusting his glasses, “Raivis monologues, Erzsébet yells at people, Stefan keeps telling me I’m bad at painting. What’s your thing?”

Tolys doesn’t think he has a thing, but he tucks his hair behind one ear and says, “I guess you’ll have to find out,” so that Eduard raises an intrigued eyebrow and leans a little closer to him.

“I look forward to it,” he replies. “Any chance you can help paint the sets?”

Picking up his cup of coffee from the awful coffee machine he himself donated to the rickety community theatre building years ago, Tolys gestures for Eduard to lead the way. They pass through the main hall, where they speedwalk away from Erzsébet trying to drag them into her argument with Dragos about his ridiculous fake accent, and into a side-room turned workshop. The air is heavy with paint fumes.

Immediately, Stefan Borisov pushes a paintbrush into Eduard’s hand, all the while telling him he sucks at painting.

“I’m an accountant!” Eduard protests indignantly.

“Good, maybe you can find out why I have almost no budget.”

In response, Eduard rolls his eyes, and turns to a large plywood slab that must be a background, half-painted in some abstract pattern.

“What exactly… Is it?” Tolys asks him, and gets a grimace in return.

“I’ve been told it’s art deco, since the play takes place in the twenties.”

“Alright.” He tilts his head. “Well, I’m sure you have other talents.”

Stefan snorts on the other side of the room. Eduard narrows his light eyes at Tolys, who smiles into his coffee. It’s been nice, having someone new in the group who’s not yet used to the general chaos that is the theatre. Especially nice since Eduard has taken all the weirdness in stride so far. And, of course, since Tolys was immediately mesmerized by the man’s eyes when they were introduced, and Eduard has seemed more than happy to let him explain things so he could see much more of them—of all of him.

“I have plenty of talents, Tolys,” he says now. “I guess you’ll have to find out.”

“Hm. I look forward to that.”

Just then, Erzsébet storms into the room, agitatedly waving her hands.

“This is all your fault, Borisov!” she shouts. “You let him do his stupid accent one time—”

Stefan blithely continues measuring plywood, so Tolys sighs and tells her he’ll come talk to Dragos.

Not that it will help.

Now that they’re a good while into preparations for this autumn’s play at the community theatre, there are finally things to do for Tolys, and for Eduard. The two of them are in charge of lighting and sound respectively, but have mostly been helping Stefan with the sets until the cast’s blocking was close to finished.

This evening after he got home from work, Tolys had been quite eager to get to the theatre if just to spend time in his control box with Eduard, but he hasn’t been able to find the man anywhere.

Not, at least, until he walks into a dressing room.

“Not to interrupt…” he starts slowly. “Feliks, you know he’s not in the play, right?”

In a corner of the room, Eduard is sitting stiffly in a folding chair, blond hair pulled back from his face with a bandana. He’s squinting in Tolys’s direction, his sea-green eyes even more striking than usual because they’re, for some reason, framed by dark eyeliner. Something has surely happened to his eyebrows as well, but Tolys has no idea what.

Feliks swivels to him on his saddle chair, pointing a thing of mascara his way.

“No, but!” He gestures at Eduard, who squints some more. “He’s got a very similar complexion to Raivis and I need to know what works, and Raivis is too busy doing stress monologues.”

Raivis is currently, as far as Tolys is aware, trying to teach Zdeno to longboard in the parking lot, much to Erzsébet’s dismay, but it’s a fair point otherwise.

“Are you done now?” Eduard asks Feliks faintly.

“No! Sit still.”

Tolys tries to shoot Eduard a reassuring smile but gets no reaction, and that’s when he realizes that the man isn’t wearing his glasses. And that, even more than the eyeliner, is what’s making his eyes stand out so much. He watches with fascination while Feliks puts the mascara on Eduard, who looks terrified the entire time. Having been part of several plays now, including as an actor, Tolys has come to realize that more makeup always seems to be needed than he expects beforehand.

“Is mascara really dependent on complexion?” he asks nonetheless. Feliks just grins and winks at him over his shoulder, and then tells Eduard he’s finished. Standing, he snaps his fingers.

“Tolys, what do you think?”

“I think…”

Eduard seems terrified to blink.

“Well, he looks very handsome.”

With a dramatic sigh, Feliks elbows Tolys in the side and rolls his eyes when he looks over, obviously amused.

“Can I put my glasses back on?” asks Eduard.

“Yeah, sure. I’m gonna go see if Raivis has some time to spare!” Feliks waltzes out of the dressing room with a jaunty salute.

“If Raivis has time, why did you need—” Frowning, Eduard crosses his arms.

Tolys walks over, spotting the man’s wire-rimmed glasses sitting on a table. He picks them up and hands them to Eduard, who smiles gratefully as he puts them on.

“I feel like an idiot,” he says morosely, standing up and looking in a mirror.

“Don’t worry, Feliks putting makeup on crew members is basically tradition. That’s his thing, I guess.” Even when, as they do, the roles change and someone else is in charge of the makeup. “Besides, I do think you look nice.”

“Nice, hm?” Eduard pulls the bandana from his hair. “That’s a step down from handsome.”

“I believe I said very handsome,” Tolys replies, feeling his face heat.

“Is that your thing?”

“Huh?” Handsome, tall men? Those certainly are. At least some of them.

“Compliments.” Eduard smiles, a slight mischievous edge to it that is exacerbated by the eyeliner, which makes him look roguish. Tolys didn’t realize that was his thing, but he has to admit, it’s working. He blinks, Eduard’s response filtering through to him. Compliments?

“Only when I mean them.”

“Alright, good to know,” Eduard says softly. And then, “Hold on, how am I going to get this off my face? I don’t own any makeup remover!”

“Surely there’s some around here?”

They both look at the array of bottles and brushes Feliks has left behind. Eduard pushes his glasses up and squares his shoulders.

“Right.”

They find the remover and some cotton pads quickly enough. Sighing, Eduard takes his glasses off again and leans very close to a mirror to start to wipe the makeup off.

“How did Feliks rope you into this, anyway?” Tolys asks, sitting down on Feliks’s chair.

“He said he had ‘experiments’ to do.”

“And you just went along with it?”

“Well, I didn’t know! And I’m not afraid of experiments.”

“I guess that’s good to know.”

Eduard chuckles. As he leans on the table with one hand, Tolys’s eye is drawn to the lean muscle in his forearm, moving under the pale skin. He wonders at it; surely, an accountant shouldn’t have such nice arms.

“You’re left-handed,” he observes, clearing his throat. Eduard hums as he scrubs furiously at one eye with a cotton pad.

“Yeah. Oh, I wanted to ask you something.” He picks up another cotton pad. The eyeliner has smudged everywhere, which is also very distracting.

“Yes?”

“Do you play any instruments?”

“Oh, not really. Learned to play the recorder in school, like everyone 20 years ago, but nothing since. Why do you ask?”

“I had this idea.” He switches to his other eye. Cringes. “Oh my god, that is very unpleasant.” He’s tearing up, and Tolys can’t help but laugh a little. “No, shut up. I hate when things are in my eyes. I swear I nearly had a panic attack when I tried contact lenses.”

“I’m sorry, that’s fair,” Tolys says, even if he’s still a little amused. “Anyway, I think… I think you’re cute with glasses, so that’s alright.”

For a moment, Eduard is silent, although Tolys can see him smiling in the reflection even as he scrubs makeup away.

“It’s cute now, is it?” he eventually asks, and picks up yet another cotton pad.

“Better or worse than nice?”

“It’s all great,” he says earnestly, still smiling.

“I’m glad.” Tolys pushes a hand through his hair, suddenly quite warm. “What was that about musical instruments?”

Wiping a last, clean, cotton pad across his face, Eduard puts his glasses back on and leans back against the table. Feliks would probably call it a vanity, but it really isn’t; it used to be a set piece, several years ago. When Eduard crosses his arms, the muscles in his arms move again, distractingly.

“I was thinking about background music. Or at least some musical stings. But I barely have the budget for stock sound effects, after getting that new microphone.”

The old microphone broke during the spring play’s last showing; Erzsébet needed to shout all her lines. Luckily, she’s very good at shouting.

“So you want us to do the music?”

“If there are enough instruments among everyone. I play a couple myself, and I can compose some things…”

“So those are some of the talents you mentioned?”

Eduard laughs, uncrossing his arms to grip the edge of the table. His hair is still a little wilder than usual, when it is very straight down his forehead, and the scrubbing at his face has left him flushed, and Tolys would love to see more of that. He’d also love to know just how strong his arms actually are. If he could push them down, maybe, if just to watch the muscles work.

“What instruments do you play?” he asks instead.

“Mostly piano, or keyboard.”

With those long fingers? That makes sense. Oh, that might be where the muscles come in.

“I think Feliks plays the piano.”

“Organ, actually,” Feliks interjects from where he’s appeared back in the doorway, Raivis trailing behind.

Eduard jumps, rattling the table. Feliks snaps his fingers at the both of them.

“Get out of here. I’ve got experiments to conduct.”

“Godspeed, Raivis,” Eduard mutters. Raivis shrugs, and Feliks winks at Tolys again as he leaves the dressing room.

When Tolys enters the theatre, Iryna is singing. Apparently, she’s still upset they’re not doing a musical. This time, however, there is someone singing with her. It isn’t her sister, or Raivis, who is a great singer, but this voice is too deep to be his. Tolys knows Stefan can sing but just doesn’t, and so he has no idea who to expect until he opens the doors, leaving the summer heat outside, and sees that it is Eduard, who’s also playing the keyboard that’s somehow always left unattended somewhere in the building.

He has a very pleasant voice, a steady counter to Iryna’s nearly operatic vocals. It takes a moment for Tolys to realize that the song they’re singing is about the play, although most of the lyrics are pretty nonsensical. Are they making it up on the spot?

“Ah, Tolys,” says Kveta, apparently unimpressed as she enters the hall behind him. Eduard glances over and smiles, but his hands don’t falter on the keyboard.

Tolys greets Kveta. She taps his arm, and he reluctantly looks at her instead of at Eduard’s elegant fingers, or his arms. They’re very nice.

“Can I borrow you for a moment?”

“Are you doing experiments, too?” he asks her warily, eyeing her sharp eyeliner as she rolls her eyes.

“I just need a hand. I know you can sew.”

He can, so he follows her to the side room that’s been designated her workshop. It’s a little overwhelming in here, to be honest. With Kveta in charge of costumes, it was bound to be. Technically, she and Feliks share responsibility for makeup and wardrobe, and they are, from a creative standpoint, the best choices among them by far. Tolys does think the look of the play may end up outshining the actual play, though.

Kveta tells him to sew a trim to a dress that he thinks is for Nadzeya’s villain character, which is easy enough, so he sets to work at the sewing machine.

After a while, both Iryna and Eduard wander into the room, chatting amicably.

“Great!” Kveta says happily. “Iryna, I’ve finished the modifications to your suit.” She gestures her over, leaving Eduard to wander to Tolys’s corner of the room. Tolys looks up when he’s finished the trim.

“So, you sew,” Eduard says, sounding… Impressed.

“And you sing, apparently.”

Eduard shrugs, pushing his glasses up.

“That’s another talent. I can see why you volunteered to do the sound.” Tolys cuts the thread and flips the dress right-side-out.

“Well, I don’t think any of my many other talents would be useful at a theatre,” Eduard says, deadpan. He looks around at the explosion of fabrics and colors in the room. “Actually, I think I know where the budget went.”

“Yeah, we really shouldn’t have given Kveta free rein. There should be someone overseeing everything. Maybe for next year’s spring play.”

Iryna emerges, and Kveta makes a delighted noise that makes everyone smile.

“Maybe a little free rein,” Tolys amends. Iryna truly looks as though she’s stepped out of the 1920s. He holds both thumbs up at her, and she beams, and then he turns to Eduard, asking, “Do we have something to do?”

“Right, yes! Erzsébet wants to do the big reveal scene with Nadzeya and Raivis, and I think it will need lots of dramatic lighting.”

“Exciting.” He follows the man out of the dressing room. Eduard looks over his shoulder, curiosity in his eyes.

“Any reason in particular you know how to sew?”

“I, ah…” Tolys pushes a hand through his hair. “I do historical re-enactments. It’s very useful for that.”

“Really?” Eduard pauses in front of the door to their sound-and-lighting box, which is sure to be unbearably hot in the summer evening. He looks with something like wonder down at Tolys, which isn’t the reaction he’s used to receiving. “You know, I’ve always wanted to try that, it’s fascinating!”

“Yeah?” Tolys smiles. “Well, you know, everyone’s welcome. I’d be happy to help out.”

“What sort of time period do you… Re-enact?”

“Late medieval, mostly. I, ah, I’ve done archery since I was a teenager, and that’s the main reason I went in the beginning.”

“Archery,” Eduard says wonderingly, looking down at Tolys’s arms. “That’s very nice.”

“Any reason in particular you know how to sing, Eduard?”

“Ha!” He opens the door to the box, which does, unfortunately, feel like a sauna, so Tolys puts a chair in front of it to keep it open. “Mostly dumb luck.”

Fair enough. That reminds Tolys, though…

“Are you having any luck with the music thing?” he asks as they take their places behind the control panel overlooking the hall. Despite the general state of the building and possible misdistribution of the budget, the box is quite well-appointed. Tolys has never done lighting before, but he understands now why Zdeno was doing whole laser shows last spring; it’s very tempting to press all the buttons.

“Yes!” Eduard says enthusiastically. “Have you ever heard Dragos play the violin? He’s very good.”

“Really?” Tolys had no idea.

“And I wanted some jazz elements in there, you know, since it’s the twenties,” he continues. “No one has a trumpet, sadly, but Luca plays the saxophone, so that’s great.”

“Ah, yes, everyone knows about Luca’s saxophone. Dragos won’t shut up about it.”

Eduard snorts, putting his headphones on one ear so he can hear what’s happening on stage.

“He’s just proud of his brother.” Abruptly, he takes his headphones off again and swivels to Tolys, expression serious. “I have to ask. What’s the deal with Kveta and Zdeno? Are they related or married or what?”

Tolys laughs out loud, leaning back in his chair. “They do it on purpose, I swear! Every time someone new joins, they get confused. They’re siblings.”

“Real family affair around here, isn’t it?” Eduard asks, lips twitching with laughter as he puts his headphones on once more.

“You’re here because of your cousin,” Tolys reminds him.

“Yes, and she’s yelling at Dragos again. Also, I hope my brother never joins; he’s a horror fanatic.”

Oh no, that’s a bad idea. Tolys spent ages washing fake blood out of rented costumes a few years ago. Damn Dragos and his obsession with vampires. And Stefan, who had let him do his outrageous accent.

“Okay, ready,” Eduard is saying over the loudspeakers, so that it echoes through the empty hall. Tolys puts his headphones on as well and gets ready to push buttons.

“That looks really nice, actually!” Tolys enthuses, stepping back from the stage to take in the whole set.

“There’s no need to sound so surprised about it,” Stefan grumbles even as he gazes proudly at his work. Much like Kveta and Feliks, Stefan is the right person for this role, and he can actually work within a budget.

“Well, he saw me painting,” Eduard rationalizes. He’s sitting on the edge of the stage and typing on a laptop.

“I’ve heard you have other talents,” Stefan says dryly. “Right. Erzsébet! Give me a hand!”

She stomps onstage from the wings. Tolys hops up to sit next to Eduard, peering at his screen, from which he gleans nothing. It’s either accounting or music production, both of which might as well be magic to him. There are lots of colors.

Eduard glances at Tolys, the screen reflecting in his glasses, opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything, and then he shifts ever so slightly, until his thigh presses barely into Tolys’s. It’s a small, seemingly innocent movement that has Tolys’s heart skipping a beat anyway. Ever since the first time they met, he thinks they’ve both been aware that something could be there. It feels very much like it’s a matter of time, and he’s happy to let it play out.

“Anything I can help with?” he asks, knowing it’s probably futile.

“You can take a listen later and tell me what you think.”

“I don’t know anything about music.”

“That’s nonsense.” Eduard smiles at him. He’s close enough that Tolys notices he smells pleasantly like baked goods.

“Hey, Ed, can you come over here a second?” Erzsébet asks from behind them. “I have some questions.”

Nodding and throwing Tolys an apologetic smile, Eduard puts his laptop aside and clambers to his feet to go with his cousin. She’s the only one who calls him Ed; Tolys wonders if the man would mind if he did.

Feliks comes walking up to the stage, looking at his phone until he spots Tolys. For some reason, he’s wearing one of Luca’s costumes. One for when he’s a villainous henchman. Luca has a lot of roles; they really need more people to join.

“How’s it going with the new guy?” Feliks asks. He puts both elbows on the edge of the stage so he can lean his chin in his hands and look up at Tolys.

“He’s doing great, I think!”

“Sorry, I should’ve been more clear.” Feliks gestures with one hand. “How’s it going with your seduction of the new guy?”

“Seduction?”

“Courting?” he suggests, grinning, and then grinning even wider when Raivis, who is also wearing one of Luca’s costumes, comes up from the other side and says, “Wooing, surely.”

“Ooh!” Feliks snaps his fingers. “Romancing!”

“Guys,” Tolys says, looking back over his shoulder. “What is this, high school?”

“It feels like it sometimes,” Raivis says.

“You must’ve done a lot of very long presentations, then,” Feliks replies. Turns back to Tolys. “And I was homeschooled. Anyway, I’m not blaming you. He’s cute.”

“Very tall,” Raivis puts in, nodding sagely, as if that isn’t the first thing anyone would notice about Eduard. Well, aside from his eyes. Tolys puts both his hands over his warm face.

“No, like, really! I support you!” Feliks insists. “I just want to know how it’s going!”

“You want to gossip about it with Erzsébet, is what you mean,” Tolys mutters into his hands. “Look, it’s… It’s going. I’m not sure where yet, but it is.”

“Cryptic,” Raivis comments, while Feliks just sighs dramatically, although he’s grinning when Tolys looks at him, not unkindly. They’ve been friends for a long time, and he supposes it’s nice to know Feliks approves. Over the years, he’s proven quite insightful when it comes to his taste in men.

“Hey,” comes Eduard’s voice from behind Tolys once more, and one of the man’s hands lands gently on his right shoulder, “is there a reason everyone’s wearing Luca’s clothes?”

“Experiments,” Raivis just says, which makes Eduard chuckle warmly. He puts his other hand on Tolys’s left shoulder, long fingers gently pressing down, and Tolys bites his lip when Raivis quirks his eyebrows at him.

As Eduard thanks Feliks for his help with the music, Tolys leans his head back a little bit, and he can feel Eduard shift in response, until one of the man’s thumbs swipes over the collar of his T-shirt and across the bare skin of his neck. Surely, he must be able to feel Tolys’s pulse thundering?

“Right.” Eduard clears his throat. He pushes down briefly, so Tolys tilts his head further back to look up at him, meeting those sea-green eyes. What little hair Tolys has left out of his ponytail falls away from his face.

Eduard blinks, fingers curling against Tolys’s shoulders. Then, he smiles.

“Want to listen to some musical stings?” he asks, leaning down just a little bit.

“Sure.”

Stepping back, Eduard offers a hand to Tolys to help him up, which Tolys takes and uses to step close to him. In response, he only gets another smile, and Eduard bends down to retrieve his laptop, then gestures for him to come along.

“It really is going, huh?” Feliks asks. Raivis snorts, and Tolys laughs softly.

“It is,” he confirms, and follows Eduard to their box.

Somehow, things manage to get more chaotic as opening night approaches, but Tolys is certain it will all come together in the end, as it always seems to do. Luca’s doing all his costume changes in time now, Raivis has stopped his nervous monologuing, Dragos isn’t doing the accent anymore, and Iryna has remembered she’s supposed to act, not sing.

Nadzeya and Zdeno were already doing well, even if they both seemed disinterested at first.

All the budget going to costumes was worth it, Tolys thinks. Obviously, Kveta is just as concerned with historical accuracy as he is when it comes to his re-enactments.

It’s a shame, though, that Eduard won’t be wearing one of those nice suits Raivis has; Tolys has taken to imagining him in a waistcoat.

“Can I offer you some cake in this trying time?” the man in question is asking now, holding a Tupperware out to Tolys. Though he isn’t in a waistcoat, he has a nice blue shirt on, the sleeves distractingly rolled up to his elbows.

“Huh?”

“I made some cake,” Eduard elaborates. “Nothing fancy.”

Tolys gratefully takes a slice of cake, smiling up at him.

They’re in the foyer of the theatre, watching people come in—mostly family—to watch the dress rehearsal. There really isn’t any reason for there to be an audience during the dress rehearsal, but it’s a tradition started long before Tolys joined that everyone’s family and friends would show up to watch. This is also the reason, he thinks, that they have a relatively large number of siblings at the community theatre.

He waves at his mother as she arrives, and she blows him a kiss.

“Your mother?” Eduard asks, sounding amused. Tolys refuses to be embarrassed. Sure, he’s thirty-one, but he loves his mom.

“It’s for good luck,” he says.

“That’s nice. My brother gave me the finger.”

Tolys laughs at Eduard’s pained look, narrowly avoiding spraying cake crumbs everywhere.

“This is very good,” he says instead, swallowing. “Another talent, is it?”

“What, baking? I think that that’s more of an acquired skill.”

“There are people at re-enactments who make all these old recipes, over a fire and everything,” Tolys tells him, and Eduard lights up.

“That sounds so interesting!”

“Yeah, it’s…” Tolys smiles helplessly, a little taken aback by the full force of his enthusiasm. “I’d be happy to take you. You can borrow something of mine, even.”

Eduard’s gaze sweeps down Tolys’s body in a way that’s certainly not assessing if his clothes would fit, and Tolys shoves the last bit of cake into his mouth.

“That sounds great, I’ll have to take you up on that.” Eduard checks his watch. “We should go get ready now, though.”

They make their way to their box, the entrance to which is in an empty corridor outside the theatre hall. Tolys takes a deep breath, and Eduard turns to him, hand on the door handle.

“Are you nervous?” he asks with genuine curiosity.

“Not… Really. Not for myself, at least.” Tolys pushes a hand through his hair and looks up at Eduard to catch him blinking somewhat dazedly down at him. “I suppose I could always use…” He trails off, suddenly embarrassed.

Eduard raises his eyebrows, stepping closer and touching his arm briefly.

“What?”

“I was going to say… I could always use some more luck.”

Parting his lips, Eduard gazes down at him, until he smiles slowly.

“Well, certainly I could help with that. I have so many talents, after all.”

“You—” Tolys laughs, and then decides, might as well—it’s where it’s all been going—and reaches for Eduard’s collar, which reveals the dip of his throat, to fold his fingers into it. The man’s eyes widen, but he is still smiling. He touches Tolys’s arms again, this time lingering.

“Maybe I could sing you a song,” he muses teasingly. “Or write a piece of—”

“Eduard?”

“Hm?” He leans down when Tolys gently tugs at his collar, fingers trailing up his forearms.

“Kiss me already.”

He does, leaning down until Tolys meets him halfway, turning his face into the gentle slide of his lips. It’s soft, but it sparks through Tolys nonetheless, especially when Eduard pulls him closer by the waist until their bodies are touching.

“So…” Eduard starts, straightening just slightly and looking down with half-lidded eyes. “Another talent?”

Tolys grins. “That’s pretty presumptuous, Eduard.” He slides his hands up and around his neck, pulling him down again while he laughs.

This time, he catches Eduard’s bottom lip between his own briefly, which gets him a surprised little sound, Eduard’s fingers flexing on his waist, before the man tilts his head and parts his lips. It’s definitely going, Tolys thinks, pushing his fingers into Eduard’s hair.

He can’t tell how long they just stand there in the warm corridor, kissing slowly; all he knows is that Eduard looks beautifully flushed when they finally part, and somehow his glasses have been knocked askew. Tolys untangles one hand from his hair to right them.

“Yeah, cute,” he mumbles. Eduard laughs, eyes bright.

“Is that enough luck?” he asks.

“I suppose we’ll have to see.” Tolys blinks. “Uh, we really should get in there.”

“Right!”

They untangle themselves hurriedly. Tolys fixes Eduard’s collar, which makes him grin.

“That’s the thing, isn’t it?” he asks as they enter their dimly-lit box and take their places. “Your thing. It’s being helpful.”

“Eduard, I have many things.” Tolys quirks his eyebrows at him, and puts his headphones on.

“Oh my god, they’re both doing the accent,” Eduard says, distraught. “Tolys, is it normal for dress rehearsal to be such a mess?”

“Not… This much,” he replies, mostly very amused. Dragos and Nadzeya, who play the main villains, somehow sound both more menacing and absolutely ridiculous at the same time.

Earlier, Zdeno tripped over nothing and took Iryna down as well, and that apparently had been distressing enough that Raivis started stress-monologuing until they shut down both light and sound to end the scene. Then, Eduard had played one of his jazzy stings but somehow much too loud, and even the two of them had heard Erzsébet yell, “What the hell?” in shock.

At least, it’s almost time for the intermission. It won’t be as long as when they do actual performances, the next few weeks, but it’s something. The audience, at least, seem to think the accent is hilarious.

“They probably won’t do it again,” he tells Eduard, who is by now standing up and leaning forward over his control panel as if to see the stage better.

“No, because Erzsébet will murder them.”

“Could be.” Tolys changes the lights for the last scene, which is, unfortunately, one where Raivis speaks a lot and therefore has a high chance of monologue.

Honestly, it’s pretty impressive, the way he stays in-character as the prince the whole time.

“There he goes,” Eduard muses, gesturing.

Tolys decides to center the spotlight on Raivis, and Eduard laughs, glancing his way.

“I guess it wasn’t enough luck.”

“Well.” Deciding not to think too much about it, Tolys stands. He’s delighted when Eduard turns around eagerly, slouching against the control panels so that he can easily crowd close to him and kiss him again.

Now, Eduard pushes one hand into Tolys’s hair, and Tolys grasps his hips where they rest against the table, slotting their legs together. Eduard makes a hoarse noise in the back of his throat when Tolys swipes his tongue over his lips, and he puts his hand on the control panel as he pushes back. Tolys presses his own hand over Eduard’s, and they’re definitely pushing buttons but he’s not sure he cares, not when Eduard’s long fingers are tangling in his hair frantically and the edge of his glasses digs into Tolys’s nose and he gasps into his mouth when Tolys slides his other hand up until his fingers brush heated skin.

Tolys lets his hand linger when he pulls back to look up at Eduard’s flushed face. Then, he glances at the stage, where lights are swirling in a pattern he’s sure he never programmed and Raivis is still speaking over a rising wave of sound, somehow steadily.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Eduard asks, lips against his temple, his breath hot on his skin.

“Oh no,” Tolys replies, grinning up at him. “It’s very good.”

With both hands, he pushes every single slider down as Raivis’s monologue crescendoes, and then he tugs Eduard away from the control panels.

“I think we need a lot more luck for after the intermission.”

“It’s going, huh?” Feliks asks.

“It’s going,” Tolys confirms with a grin.

“Yeah, I thought so. Your shirt is inside-out.”

fin.

#I get annoyed listing human names so I'm glad a lot of this group has well-established ones #estliet #hetalia #scarlettlillies #quaestiones #Phyripo writes things #I tried writing this from est's pov first and idk what it is about him but somehow it never comes out quite right when it's estliet #it's very odd #aph estonia #aph lithuania #I was looking at my ao3 stats and literally my third most popular fic by bookmarks AND kudos is estliet #which I wasn't expecting!#I'm very fond of that fic

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