#I’m adding all my critical tags so no one can get mad

[macklemorrigan]

i thought veilguard was… fine my first playthrough. mainly incentivized by my curiosity and hopes. when the game ended it left me feeling disappointed in the state of the world. The narrative was all tied up in a nice little bow, so why did I feel like there was no closure?

I tried to play through it again with different races, factions, choices and could never make it past a few hours. there was nothing to look forward to for me.

seeing all the concept art of the game they could have should have would have made is a gut punch every time. and they’ll never get the chance to make a game like that again for this series. dragon age leaves a big hole to fill for me, and it just keeps bumming me out to realize that.

[accio-victuuri]

BJYX - Thursday Madness ( 12/7/23 )

I don’t know what’s with this date that they both decided to attack us with updates. We were prepared for WYB, because the event was planned tho he still surprised us with some bits. I swear when I saw the alert on my phone for XZS update I was 🫢🫢🫢. They are both feeding us so well.

Here’s my attempt at doing a recap of the candies ( and other things ) we got today. This may not be all inclusive, I only added the popular ones being talked about.

let this lovely boy invite you in….

Our day started pretty early when WYB posted on his Weibo. All of the attendees of the event were actually sharing some pre show photos on their accounts and some of us were waiting what’s he gonna post. Everyone else were sharing professional photos but then WYB goes ahead and shares a b&w photo that tells us he is still in bed 😂😂😂 this bitch. I also feel like he didn’t want to shoot outside the exclusive “town” cause there are people going around and they may crowd if he does opening shooting. The night he arrived, 12/6, everyone saw Lele / Yanyan around but no WYB. So he was really trying to not be seen unless it was time for the show.

The photo itself is kinda mysterious tbh. It’s like something you can send to your s/o and be — “im waiting for you” HAHAHAHAHA! Tho I think for WYB he can send a more explicit one to XZ 🫢🫢🫢 So we get the PG version. What we noticed is the channel he is tuned in is CCTV 5. He said this in an interview with XZ, that when he is alone, he keeps the TV open with CCTV 5 and Volume 3. So he’s still doing it! Also, this was taken using his Leica M11 b&w. I feel so happy knowing that! He is still on his photography hobby. Too bad he couldn’t go around the venue cause i bet there are lots of sights to see. The Leica CPN is only getting stronger. ☺️ ( I have already talked about the Leica CPN at length, so just search it on my blog ). Side note, even if the photo was so simple it went on HS #7 lol. His power.

Then it was time for WYB to make his appearance and he didn’t disappoint. First of all, he was in YELLOW. BXG color. Yeah, it could be a stylist choice or whatever. But this is a clowning space and I think we are free to interpret it as a sign for us.

But what’s more glaring is his hat. It looks so much like the one he wore at CQL concert & fan meet. Also reminds us of the whole One Piece CPN between them ( the post i’m linking is a starter but there has been more examples since like this one ).

To be fair, WYB is someone who loves a good old hat/cap. from his bucket hats & caps — that is more for anonymity. It also extends to his performances like 11/11 finesse or the initial photoshoot for ROMW. What i’m saying is, we should not forget the fact that this is his personal preference as well and not entirely because of candy. Tho I have to say that the style is interesting. Why does it have to be so close to that? It’s like he is bringing us back memory lane.

WYB is honestly so beautiful today. He always is but there was something about his aura. He is chill. He was genuinely interested and i found it sweet of him, during the boat ride, he was clapping for Rocco, like applauding him for the event i guess. In the meantime, on Weibo, the top hot search were people criticizing the “boat” thing on GQ ( literally something like GQ boat embarrassment was the tag ) As soon as the live started it went on 1 or 2. I don’t know if Bobo saw that but I just like how he showed his appreciation to Rocco, and by extension, his team. That’s just my interpretation and it could be a completely different thing but knowing WYB, he is very generous with acknowledging people.

I also want to address another “candy” some cpfs are laughing about, it’s a fancam where Rocco moves to sit with WYB before the boat sailed and WYB smiled and said no. They were interpreting that as WYB doesn’t want Rocco to sit with him. Speculating that as he doesn’t want to get close cause ZZ will be jealous. But if you look at it, he was asked if he wants to switch seats. WYB declined. He was okay with his position. I guess some people have some beef with Rocco & GQ and that’s fine. However, what we feel about certain things is not the same as what the boys would feel. I also think that at this point, It’s in WYB’s best interest to have a good relationship with people in the industry. For example him attending 10c Starlight, even if a lot of his so/os hate Tencent ( and with good reason ok sure ). He is only extending his reach and it’s better to not burn bridges.

That got serious, so here, have some comparison between the gremlin in 2018 to now. ⬇️⬇️⬇️

I was cackling at the comments that they should have invited XZ so they can be paired up and quarrel for 9 mins 😂😂😂😂

NEXT UP IS GG’s VLOG. I don’t know why it slipped my mind, they usually post on Thursdays, but anyway —

The first thing is the BGM for the exercise section of the vlog Hans Zimmer/Richard Harvey《Preparation》 which was used in the 2015 movie The Little Prince. A favorite CPN symbol among us. Another glaring one is Uptown Funk. Hello. Bruno Mars? That’s WYB’s thing. Yes, ZZ has his own team who edits these but I am one of those that believes ZZ approves the final cut. He is also asked about certain choices cause let’s be honest — his suggestions matter cause he knows what looks good. He is a professional in that aspect too.

Next is his hand held fan! It’s the same brand but a different design. They finally upgraded!!!! 🥹🥹

This scene (p1) with ZZ’s fondness for leaning on railings and balconies. It reminds me of the fake rumor before that WYB hates it when he does that.

XZ has a habit of lying on the balcony guardrail in a daze. Sometimes on a higher floor, WYB feels unsafe and won’t let XZ get close to the guardrail. Except for shooting, XZ is prohibited from approaching the balcony guardrail.

I would have loved to get some more day to day bits of his vacation cause there is usually more candy in that. I want to see him roaming around, like this part, these two love to mimic what they see and take a photo beside it. Tho this is mostly GG’s thing. They really have the same braincell.

LASTLY, Let’s discuss XZS 🤝 YBO.

XZS starts talking about the hot wind, which is most likely talking about the weather in Singapore. But then minutes later, here comes YBO talking about a comfortable breeze. Lol. The the hot could also allude to that “summer” since WYB decided to remind us all with his photo and hat. Then YBO’s caption, drawing more attention to his hat, knowing that CPFs are clowning over it.

and what time did they post their last set for the day?? 00:38. These clowns. Zhan Bo. 🫢

Some are saying it’s out of character for XZS to post stuff like this when there is an event going on. For example today, the hot search is filled with talk about GQ. Which I can agree on to some degree, but his team have been posting mostly on Thursdays and they are already “due” for a vlog. However, when they have a vlog ready, the fans can usually see it on Weibo, we know that there will be something coming and i didn’t see any talk of that today. Or maybe i missed it? Others are clowning that this is his “answer” to WYB’s strong candy today, i personally don’t think so but it’s all good for us cause we have so much content!!!!! 💛

BONUS: this transition 👀👀👀👀. Their editors are dating!!!!!!

[riverxsong-ao3]

20 Questions (for fanfic writers)

Thank you @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts for the tag! I don't know who else has been tagged/answered, but if you see this, this is your prompt to answer (if you want)!

how many works do you have on ao3 7

what’s your total ao3 word count? 366,485

what fandoms do you write for? Harry Potter and Phantom of the Opera

top five fics by kudos: Horcruxes, Death Eaters, Treasure, The Knights of Walpurgis, A Woman Out of Time

do you respond to comments? I… try. I was very particular about responding when I first started posting regularly, but fell out of the habit. I’m trying to pick that back up again now and am actually going back to some older comments to engage!

what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Hmmm… I don’t really write angsty endings, but I have a feeling Pity the Living is going in that direction. It’s either “Harry goes mad due to Voldemort living in his head,” or “Voldemort comes fully back to life and takes Harry away against his will,” so. Not great outcomes on either front.

what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Well, these are the endings I go for, but… I think the Vitae Redux series is leading towards the happiest — I mean, uh, spoilers?

do you get hate on fics? Nothing bad so far. A bit of constructive criticism, but overall it’s mostly positive.

do you write smut? Sometimes! Treasure definitely started out as a PWP oneshot, but I tend to focus more on the emotional side of relationships, with some added smut as an occasional treat.

craziest crossover? I haven’t really written any crossovers, though I do sneak in references to other works. The closest would be in the final instalment of Vitae Redux, not yet posted, when Tom and Harry end up hiding out for a bit on a cluster of magically hidden islands which are a direct element taken from the Sevenwaters Trilogy by Juliet Marillier

have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I’m aware of. I did however once find someone trying to sell a short story I wrote on Amazon as an ebook, and that pissed me off to no end.

have you ever had a fic translated? Someone went through and translated a few instalments of Vitae Redux, and that was very cool!

have you ever co-written a fic before? Not precisely, but I do bounce story ideas off my friends and rework things based on their suggestions!

all-time favorite ship? Tomarrymort, hands down <3

what’s a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Ugh, if I’m being honest, probably Treasure. That’s subject to change, though, at the moment I don’t know exactly where it’s going but who knoooows?

what are your writing strengths? Dialogue for sure, particularly in weaving in what’s happening in the story around the dialogue. I tend to play out scenes in my mind ad nauseam until I know exactly what, where, and why the characters are doing and saying things long before I ever put digital pen to paper.

what are your writing weaknesses? Worldbuilding? I’m actually pretty thorough with this, it’s weaving it into the narrative seamlessly where I struggle. Aaaand endings. Fuck endings lol

thoughts on dialogue in another language? Love it. Try to add it in as much as I can when I know enough of the language in question. I think it can go overboard, though, and have found it most effective when it’s short, to the point, and easily translated by another character so as not to leave the reader floundering.

favorite fic you’ve written? Vitae Redux, hands down. This story keeps me up at night. OTOH, I have a backlog of writing of favourite fics I can’t wait to get back to once I’ve finished up with this one!

[letitiaslabyrinth]

M A S T E R L I S T

Hey!! My names luxen!!

Feel free to leave constructive criticism/feedback! If you'd like, you can add me to your tag list or asked to be added to mine.

Rules:

1. I do not write for real people (Letitia Wright, Dominique Thorne), only fictional characters (Shuri Udaku, Riri Williams).

2. Any and all x readers will be POC.

3. I will not write incest, r/pe, or any kind of unconsensual sexual things.

4. I do not and will not write anything that has to do with Nashuri.

5. You can vent in my ask box if needed <3.

6. I only write for women(this may change).

7. If you ask for a certain fic and it doesn't get done in a certain time frame, please remember that I've got a life outside of Tumblr and that I will try my best to start or finish it!

8. I don't write smut. I’m too young for it.

9. As of now, I only write for Shuri and Riri.

10. Do not rush me to finish any pieces of work.

MY WORKS

SHURI UDAKU

Shuri Udaku headcannons

lovesick!shuri who's a softy. She loves you. You know she loves you, she knows she loves you and she'll be damned if she doesn't let everyone in all of Wakanda know, too. Shuri isn't afraid to show you off when the two of you are in public. She doesn't get too territorial when it comes to you because she knows that you're hers and she's yours.

Keep me close

"It's a promise ring," she says quickly, "I know you're not ready for marriage yet, my love."

You put the ring on your ring finger, a smile on your face.

Shuri kisses you on the forehead and places one of the onesies in your hands. "You take a shower and I'll make us something to eat, alright?"

Grief

Shuri sits up slowly. She breathes in deeply and unlocks the door. "Why're you here?" Her voice is low and raspy, surprising both of them. It had been a while since Shuri had actually said something out loud.

"I heard you weren't doing so good so I came to check on you," Riri says. She's worried. Shuri can see it all over her face and hear it in her voice but she doesn’t want to be a burden.

Addiction

There were times when you would get upset about her drinking while she was drinking and she would always talk you down. Not in a bad way, Shuri doesn't like yelling to resolve an argument or a disagreement. It doesn't solve anything to raise your voice, it only makes you and the situation more hostile. Shuri would wait for you to stop talking and then politely ask if you could lower your tone. She doesn't do it to guilt trip or make you feel guilty or anything, she just can't stand yelling. And if you do actually lower your tone and calm yourself down, the two of you talk reasonably for hours. You tell her what happened, why you're mad, and how the situation escalated to the point where you had to raise your voice.

★

RIRI WILLIAMS

Stay with me

You open the car door, smiling at the red and pink bouquet of flowers on your seat. You look over at Riri, who also has a smile on her face.

"Ri, when did you have the time to get these?" You finish your sentence while getting in the car, the flowers on your lap, "They are literally stunning."

"I got em while you were napping during your foot massage. Figured it was the only time I had to disappear for minute without you noticin'."

Something new

You stand there for another minute or two before deciding that since she wouldn't address her absence then you would. "So, we're not gonna talk about the fact that you just up and left, again, this morning?"

Shuri shrugs and sits down on the couch. "What sense does it make? You ask, I ignore you and the cycle repeats? No thanks."

"Why can't you communicate with me?" "For Bast's sake, y/n." Shuri groans and rolls her eyes. "Here you go, again."

Gf!Riri hcs

She falls asleep whenever you two are watching a movie or even when you two are just alone. She feels safe with you at all times so she knows to lower her guard.

She is 100% a homebody. She likes leaving the house but she also doesn’t. If she has to choose between staying home and going out, she’s gonna pick staying in and especially if you're staying home with her.

Nervous

"Tryna get drunk already, Ri?"

"Thats what we came here for, isn’t it?"

"You do know that shit is gonna give you a nasty ass hangover, right?"

Riri shrugs and chugs her drink. It only takes a few seconds before she starts coughing quietly. It was spicy and left her throat a little sore but she liked it. She filled her cup again while Shuri watched.

"Don't come to me tomorrow morning begging me to make you something to eat and drink, you know? I gave you your warning."

You haven't seen my girl

The way Riri always looked at you with love in her eyes made you melt. It’s like she’s a cartoon character with hearts for eyes. Whenever she talked about you to somebody she’d always say “My girl”. You liked that. Being called her girl was something you lived for.

There weren’t enough words in the English language that could explain how much love Riri has for you in her heart. Every time she looks at you, a love song plays in her head. It’s not a sexual love song. It’s a slow, romantic one. Sad Girl by Lana Del Rey. That explains her love for you. That plays in her head whenever you’re in her view, and honestly, it makes her fall even deeper in love with you each time.

Just seeing you smile, seeing you write, cook, draw, seeing you do things that she knows you love, makes her fall even more in love with you. It’s not the fact that you do things that you like, it’s the fact that you do them with a smile on your face. Cooking, writing, and drawing all bring you happiness, and for Riri to be able to experience that in real-time makes her heart flourish.

Trust in her

"Rianna?" She moves closer. "That's my name now?"

"I'm not callin' you Riri when you tryna play wit me." You put your lipgloss on and look at yourself in the mirror. You look good and you know it.

"You look good, mama," Riri says, coming behind you and kissing your head. "You sure you don't want me coming with you?"

"So you can beat the hell outta some nigga that look at me the wrong way?" You laugh, "Nah, Ion want no drama tonight, but if you promise to behave then you can come with me."

You see her smile. "Aight, I'ma behave."

★

SHURI X RIRI

At the end of the day

Shuri put her hand in chest and sank to the floor, crying. "Griot," she says softly.

"Yes, my queen?" The A.I answers.

"Call Riri. Tell her it's an emergency."

"Calling Mrs. Williams now."

Riri rushed into the lab, frantically looking around for her wife. She stopped for a second and heard crying. It was soft but she was able to figure out where it was coming from.

Riri kneeled down next to Shuri, "Baby, what happened?"

Roller skating

Riri wraps her hand around Shuri's waist to hold her upright. She's clinging on for dear life. They move slowly towards the counter. Once they've made it, Riri notices how Shuri is slightly less tense but still scared. Riri asks for the trainer and gives it to Shuri. Shuri feels embarrassed having to use a trainer to skate, like everyone's gonna be staring at her once she's in the rink.

"You're okay, my love." Riri says softly. "I know you're scared but I'm not gonna let you get hurt."

Shuri closes her eyes and breathes in deeply and opens her eyes. They're on the rink. She didn't even feel them move.

Riri stays behind her the whole time, hands on her hips, moving her forward when needed. "Keep moving, ma, you got it." She says proudly.

Vacation (coming ???)

Didn't deserve

“Are you hungry?” Shuri asked Imani from the kitchen. No response. Shuri rolled her eyes and went over to her girlfriend, standing in front of her. “Can you just tell me why you’re ignoring me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you should remember. It’s not my fault your memory is shit.”

“And it’s not my fault that you’re having this one-sided ass fight over something I don’t even fucking remember, Imani. We're dating, aren’t we? We’re supposed to be able to talk to one another when we have issues but instead you're pushing me away and ignoring me.”

Didn't deserve part 2

"Imani?" Shuri says, causing her to turn around. She looks… different. A good different. But Shuri won't let herself fall for that trick again. "Why're you here?"

"I came to apologize." Her voice is different, too. It sounds more mature than Shuri remembered. "I was tryna reach out to you last night so that we could actually schedule a day that you weren't busy so I could come by but you didn't answer so I figured an apology in person would be better."

Shuri keeps her guard up while Imani talks, her arms folded over chest. "I don't forgive you."

Imani stays quiet for a few seconds. "What? Shuri, I said I was sorry."

"Yeah, and I do not forgive you. You put me through hell, Imani, and I know you didn't seriously come here thinking that those two words would make you forgive you for everything. And, to be honest, I would tell you how fucked up in the head I am because of you, but knowing you, you'd probably use it against me in the future, if we even talk. So, why don't you just save both of our time and tell me why you're really here."

[rise-my-angel]

I am an avid fan of your work!

Seriously, the Dany fans are worse than militant Swifties sometimes lmao. (I also feel it necessary to point out that I’m referring to the deranged swifties) Don’t let them bother you (which is easy to say, I know)

It’s clear from some of the hate you’re getting that there is a particular culture of Dany fans who have no skills in engaging with texts critically - in that sometimes they have to consider both sides of an argument. If they see anyone disagree with their ‘absolutely right opinion’ then they throw huge temper tantrums.

There’s nothing wrong with people who like her and I’m not saying they’re stupid at all but that little microcosm of people who are obsessed with her and actively go out of their way to harass you clearly lack any sort of decorum and make it so very clear they don’t understand the series lol.

Or better yet, if they don’t like seeing posts that are anti Targaryen then perhaps they should consider not interacting with that post.

In my opinion, I think it’s daft to feel so passionately about a character who is clearly extremely power hungry, because if a Dany stan was magically transported to Westeros they likely would have been burned because let’s face it, she doesn’t care about her people to the extent people suggest she does, she only cares about power.

Basically, I think you’re great and your writing is beautiful and keep it up!

It sort of just baffles me at this point how often they feel the need to defend her against any and all criticism. I see criticism of characters I love, but I ignore it. I see a lot of Ned Stark criticism from Rhaegar stans but I simply instead make my own post about my own views and opinions on that matter rather than engage in arguing. I am fine with the fact that I probably haven't changed anyones mind on Dany as a character, I am here to just explore my interpretations and why I got to them. Not to debate her fans on their own personal enjoyment.

I've had a surprisingly high number of even random one off anons tell me to just "shut up about her keep her name out of your mouth" and it's like, I never tag her name alone. I only ever use anti tags so that people who disagree or like her don't have to see my stances against her but it's like they seek out ways to get angry when I never post my thoughts to the tags I know normal Dany stans will be in. I can be a snarky smart ass sometimes in my tags but I don't actually go out of my way to upset these people.

Blindly defending everything a character does to me, seems nonsensical when we are talking about a character with a violent streak for cruelty and uses her dragons as a threat for mass death. I feel like on a very surface level analysis, those are things which naturally deserve criticism about her as a character. Even with my favourite characters, I can explain WHY they did something negative but I won't blindly defend them as being correct or in the unquestioning right about the matter.

I had someone yesterday send me an ask claiming I was being disingenuous and blaming Sansa for something by pointing out a bunch of things I write literally did not say, because they were just mad they disagreed with my point.

It just doesn't make sense to me, going to someones blog or adding onto someones own post JUST to tell you they think your interpretation of something is backwards and wrong or stupid and mean.

That is not a productive way to convince someone that you have a point worth listening too.

[folkloreguk]

French Class [6]

A/N: You guys might want to whack out your love song playlist for this one…I cried writing this BYE I'm posting this from my grave!!

genre: optional bias (m) x reader (f), fwb, f2l?, college!au, fuckboy!bias, nerd!reader, ANGST, smut

words: ~ 3.8 k

✽series masterlist✽

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added!): @lovely-ateez, @runaway-fics, @mainexiii, @awfullytiredbuthealing, @erikyoong, @etherealuv, @staysuki, @justcuz-ican, @yeostars, @hyuckthangs, @teenloves, @mexious18-blog, @sunghoonied, @mailobjaeyoon

couldn’t tag: @chorizoek

You: can I come over? I kind of need u

H/N: you need me huh…you’re lucky I’m home alone

It always starts differently. Some other question, or a subtle message of telling him you’re bored, or a flat-out confession of being horny. The ending is always the same. You, naked in his bed. You just had to get there, and things were easy when you were already on his dorm’s doorstep.

The moment he had opened the door, you had fistfuls of his hair between your fingers and attacked his mouth in a feverish kiss. He made a noise between a laugh and surprise but reacted quickly. His lips parted right away, letting you in, and you tasted mint from the chewing gum he liked so much.

“Let me- at least- close the door,” he mumbled. “Jeez, what’s gotten into you today?”

You stepped aside and mirrored his grin. He was acting surprised, but the way he instantly locked your lips after he had shut the door told you he was enjoying this as much as you were. You ran your hands down his torso and along the side of his thighs. His happy hum only poured oil into the fire, and you saw no reason as to why you should have kept your clothes on any longer. In minutes, in the middle of heated kisses and clumsy chuckles, your clothes were discarded, and you were left in your underwear. You stumbled into his bedroom in a tangle of arms and legs and heads barely pulling apart.

“Will you tell me about the date you had today or are we skipping over that part?” he asked, as he pushed you down by the shoulders onto his bed. You groaned a little, not even knowing where to start.

“Didn’t go well, huh?” he asked. Only a few nights ago you had consoled him after his failed date, now the roles were reversed.

“That’s one way to put it,” you said. He was climbing on top of you now, and the weight of him between your thighs still did the same things to you it had done the first time. There was one of his random playlists playing quietly from the speakers, but you were both too occupied to even consider switching the music off. You weren’t in the mood for a chat, not when he was biting and sucking bruises into your chest, pushing aside your bra just enough. But you knew he wasn’t going to let it go this easily.

“Tell me about it or I won’t take one more piece of clothing off your body,” he threatened. You shot him an are-you-serious-look while he only blinked at you innocently, like he was awaiting your response.

“Fine,” you groaned. “But hurry, now.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, before unclasping your bra and throwing it to the other side of the room. “Go ahead, I expect a story.”

You had rolled your eyes at him, but when he sucked on your nipple all of a sudden, and his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud ever so perfectly, your eyes moved to the back of your head involuntarily. And, before he could complain, you started to retell today’s events.

“Alright. First of all, he acted all gentleman-y. Pulling back my chair at the restaurant, letting me have a look at the menu first, letting me order first, asking me if I was okay with our seats because they were in the sunshine, or whether he should have requested we get a different in the shade table, blah, blah, blah.”

With the lewd noises he was making, kissing your chest and fumbling with your breasts, you almost wondered whether he was paying attention to you at all.

“I’m waiting for the plot twist,” he chuckled. “If he had been this great, you wouldn’t be in my bed right now, would you?” He was now on his way to your lower regions. Your breaths came out shaky when he gripped your hips with familiar fingertips and placed a few kisses there, right above the material of your underwear. Nonetheless, you had to continue your story.

“Oh, it’s coming,” you said. “Because I suspect, the only reason he was acting that way was to compensate. For the fact that he was an hour late.”

He stifled a laugh, and you slapped his head playfully. “It’s not funny! I stood outside that restaurant on a busy street like an idiot for an hour. During exam season!”

“I wonder, if studying is so special to you- ,” he said. He tugged on your underwear, and you barely cared about his words when you were already imagining his mouth on your pussy. “Why aren’t you at home right now, doing just that?”

“Too frustrated,” you groaned, spreading your legs, practically inviting him in. “You don’t get it. That was only the beginning of the date. It gets worse.”

“Oh, damn,” he laughed, and you were going to slap him again. Harder, this time. But his tongue kitten-licked over your clit and you didn’t dare interrupt him further.

“First of all, he turned out to be boring. An economics major. And look, I’m not generalizing, I’ve met some cool economics majors. But when I said I never really understood the whole thing with inflation and deflation, I wasn’t asking for him to explain it to me. I know what it means, I just meant to say money is the root of all evil,” you said, little moans slipping inbetween your sentences. He laughed whilst sipping on your clit. You couldn’t be mad at his laughing anymore. In fact, at the sound of his chuckles, your own lips curled into a smile, too. God, he was so good with his tongue.

“But turns out he loved money. Like it was the sole reason he was doing anything. When he showed me his gold watch I almost yawned,” you continued.

“Dating a rich guy can have its upsides too, though,” he said, but you knew he was joking. He was running the tips of his fingers over your core, and you whimpered at how badly you wanted him to put them inside of you. You loved watching him, loved feeling his hair tickle the side of your thighs and having his free hand laying on top of your hipbone. The familiarity of it all, his little habits, made your heart heavy, so full of emotion, all of a sudden. But you had to snap out of it.

“Not this guy. He kept saying these lowkey sexist things I won’t repeat now. It’ll only make me mad again. He was one of those who thought money would buy him a girlfriend. And I was really trying to see the good in him…only there was none,” you said.

“Alright, I’m starting to understand why you needed some cheering up,” he said. “Good thing you’re at the right place. I know just the thing.”

At this, he slid his digits into you. You hummed and dropped your head into the plush pillow. Slowly, you exhaled, happy you finally got to relax after being so upset. But of course, he had to interrupt. Again.

“Did I say you could stop? Was that the end of the story?” he said. How did he expect you to form a coherent sentence? He fingered you gently, but the slowness of it all only drove you crazier. You felt every tiny sensation, every new bit of you he touched.

“No,” you sulked. “Fuck, it feels so good.”

“Go on, then,” he encouraged you, grinning because he was proud of your reaction he had caused.

“Fuck- okay. He was super shitty to the waiter. I’m talking about criticizing everything. This man had the audacity to complain about the food. I’m not a food critic, but I swear the food was amazing, there was nothing to fault at all,” you said, and then whined when he switched from licking your clit to sucking it between his teeth. You knew he was doing this on purpose. To make speaking harder for you.

“Oh my god, H/N. Wait, let me finish this. Not only was he horrible to the waiter in person, but he also made fun of the waiter’s appearance behind his back. And all along he expected me to find him funny. I used to think he had a sense of humor but not after today. Blech.”

“At least you got a free dinner?” he said, and without awaiting your answer, went back to work. Your head was spinning in pleasure, and you could only laugh sarcastically at his suggestion.

“Yeah. And after that train wreck of a date, he really thought he’d get to stick his tongue down my throat,” you said.

“Did he at least ask permission?” asked the boy between your legs.

“Mhm…but I told him I don’t do that on the first date,” you said. “Safe to say there won’t be another date, though.”

He looked up now, laughing more than before. You grinned, mainly because the sight of him was so cute. He folded his hands on your belly and put his face down onto your skin to giggle. In no way could you be upset or urge him to keep giving you head. In fact, you had forgotten about all of that for a while, as he seemed to enjoy your misfortune a little too wildly. You should have been hungry, eager to have the half-naked boy inside of you. Yet, you laughed at the way his breaths tickled your stomach and when he finally made eye contact, it was a wholly different sort of hunger which overcame you. Instead of the heat he usually made you feel, it was a comfortable warmth that was in your chest. It reminded you of a bonfire or of drinking your favorite hot drink on a cool autumn day.

“I want to watch you come,” he said, casually. “Were you close?”

You were so lost in his trustworthy, dreamy eyes, you almost forgot to reply. Quickly, you nodded and hummed.

“I would have already come, had you not pestered me to tell you all the details of my date,” you said. The way his cheeks beamed when he smiled made you feel as if your insides were turning into mush.

“I’m sorry. I’m your friend, aren’t I allowed to ask how your day went?” he asked.

“Of course you are,” you said. The word ‘friend’ echoed off every wall in your head until you wished you could have deleted it from the dictionary.

“I’ll make sure it feels extra good now,” he said, kissing your stomach. You shivered as you watched his gentle lips move lower, to your hips and the insides of your thighs. The touch felt like butterfly wings on your skin, and the tardiness of it made you impatient. When his tongue came in contact with your clit again, you sucked in a breath of surprise.

He tried to start slowly, but then you gripped his hair tightly, and carefully pushed him further. It was something you did often, a way to tell him you wanted more without having to use words. After all this time, he understood perfectly. Your clit was between his lips and his tongue flicked over the sensitive bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pleasure. It felt incredible, creating a funny sensation in the pit of your stomach. His fingers grazed over your slit until you were whimpering and shifting your hips, trying to make him hurry.

One of his digits slid into you easily, curling against your sweet spot, and it hit you only now how much you had missed him between your legs since he had stopped a few minutes ago. It made you feel as though you were suddenly overwhelmed with all of him, but you were willing to let the heat crash over you if it meant you could be close to him.

“Am I making it up to you now?” he asked as he pulled away merely for a breath. “I’ll turn your day into a good one after all.”

In a different tone his words would have sounded like the exact thing one would have expected to hear from a fuckboy in the bedroom. He could have boasted and bragged endlessly about how great he was with his tongue and fingers – he would have been right – but he didn’t mean it like that. You could tell from the uprightness and the authenticity in his voice that he really was doing his best because he wanted to make you feel better and turn your day around. Because you were special to him. Or so you desperately hoped.

Your legs wrapped around his shoulders as if you were trapping him between your thighs. But he was right there, and he would gladly stay for so much longer, and to say it puzzled you was an understatement. The boy who belonged to everybody, who was known by all of the campus, was treating you like you were royalty, and not the other way around. You moaned, his name inevitably falling from your lips. He added another finger and the slightest stretch made you lose your mind for a split second.

“That guy could have never made you feel this good, could he?” he suddenly asked. Your initial response was a helpless whine. You had been so close, and his talking had interrupted the otherworldly bliss for a moment.

“No, never,” you then whimpered shortly. ‘No’ was such a tiny word. It could barely encapsule what you truly meant to say. Which was that it would have never even gotten that far. That other guys couldn’t even have you at all. They didn’t get their turn to try and beat him. Not as of lately, at least. That you didn’t so much as dare to think about sleeping with other guys. That even before you had gone on the date, you had known it wouldn’t lead to anything. No guy could let you develop an interest on him in the same way the boy between your legs had done it. No other would be able to kidnap your brain like that. H/N was always there. Even when it was only you and your sex toys, you would automatically pretend it was him getting you off. You were so far gone that it was embarrassing how long it had taken you to admit it to yourself. But it was a colossal thing to confess to him, and you would never do that. Rejection would hurt a billion times more than whatever it was you two had now.

Your heart was racing as you closed your eyes. You had been so lost in thought, it was wondrous you hadn’t fallen yet. But you were right on the edge, making your breaths come out like puffs and a string of moans and swears sound from your lips. He too had stopped talking, concentrating on the task at hand, and judging by the way your back arched he was doing one hell of a good job.

“Oh my god- “ you whimpered. “I’m so close, H/N.”

This time he didn’t reply, which was for the best. Only a few seconds passed until you started to quiver and whine beneath him. You were going to outer space behind your eyelids as your high rushed through you. Your fingers curled and tightened in his locks while your legs clenched around his head. He was quick to pull your thighs apart again, still not being finished. For long seconds you swam in pleasure, with nothing on your mind but bursting stars. He was heaven, knowing precisely how far he could take it until you were too sensitive to take any more.

When you were at that point, he finally pulled away and looked up at your crumpled form. There was a lazy smile playing in the corner of your lips and your vision was hazy after having had your eyes closed for a while. He climbed up your body until his chest was against yours so he could really look at you.

“I get all of this without ever having been on a single date with you? I’m so lucky,” he said. You only smiled at him, at a loss for words. What were you to say? The two of you were clearly past the awkward dating stage already.

“I’m lucky you let me come over all the time,” you said. “I would have expected the campus fuckboy to be busier. To not have an empty spot in his bed every night.”

“Ah, shut up,” he said. “I’d rather have you here than a girl I don’t know at all. Look, I’m really tired so I don’t know how this will go…but can I?” He was on his knees, a tent visible in his boxers. With a questioning look, he was tugging them down his legs now.

“Of course,” you said. As you watched him roll on a condom, your ears perked up. Did that song have to come on shuffle just now? The coziest, most romantic love song you adored so much? You knew if you looked him in the eyes you’d be done for. But there wasn’t anywhere else to look when he settled between your legs and held up his weight with his forearms. His eyes were deep enough for you to get lost within a second. Distracting yourself was impossible. The one last thing you could do was to reach between the two of you and guide his length into you.

The song’s chorus came on, you looked at him once again, and suddenly you were all his. You didn’t need to tell him so. He thrust gently, almost carefully, like he had never done it with you. Your heart hammered against your ribcage so vivaciously, you wondered whether it had turned autonomous and was now trying to jump out of your body, onto his skin and through it, so it could nestle next to his own heart.

Neither of you spoke. Yet, there had never been so much chemistry, such a heavy amount of uncommunicated emotions between the two of you. You were ready to hang on his every word, should he decide to speak up. In your head rampaged a billion sentiments you needed him to know, but there was no option to express them adequately. Perhaps there were simply no words in the English language to declare your feelings for him.

Small whimpers and moans left your lips only for him to hear. Sometimes he moved a little quicker, gifting you with the most perfect sounds he could make. And to know you were the cause for it sent you into overdrive. His mouth was right above yours. If you lifted your head slightly, you could have kissed his sweet, sweet lips. But you were so afraid. What would he think? You had never kissed him during sex. Not softly, like you wanted it so terribly.

Even worse, you craved so much more than that. You wanted to pull him in, envelope his mouth in your own, crawl over the edge of his lips and reside in his chest for safety. Because that’s what he was. Comfort. Reassurance. Home. How foolish you had been, pretending this little fling would lead to nothing more. You really had told yourself this would work. No feelings. Just fun. You couldn’t deny having fun with him. He was the best company you had ever known, and he had become your most precious friend quickly. It was as if you had only been waiting for the silly, flirty boy to sit across from you in the library and make weak advances towards you.

The love song tuned out slowly, replaced by something more sensual and sinful. In accordance with the new background noise, he gripped your hips a little meaner and went faster. You barely noticed how his breathing had sped up as he was getting closer to his orgasm. A trance had overcome you, transfixing you on his godlike features and how much it hurt to know you couldn’t call him yours. In your head you were made for each other. They always said to date your best friend, didn’t they? You could try to turn back time, go back to your first meeting place, at the party. See if things would turn out different. But you knew they wouldn’t. As much as your fear tried to suppress it – you would take the same path again, stumbling head-first into his arms and letting him into your life like a crashing wave of laughter and heart-crushing conversations.

Now you reflected in despair, how he had taken your heart in a storm, without having to try too hard. And worst of all, you were okay with it. Your heart was secure with him, you thought. The feelings yearned to be spoken out loud, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“You feel so good,” he said. “Always, so fucking good.”

He snapped his hips against yours, burying his cock deep inside of you and all you could muster was a hum of agreement. This is what you got for keeping him at arms-length from the beginning. Wasn’t it you who had challenged him to be friends and only that? Perhaps you would be okay, so long as no one else called him theirs either. You could go on like this, letting him use you for sexual relief and making him laugh when he needed it. Gladly, you would take the pain of not being allowed to love him with your whole being if it meant you could see him whenever you wanted. Exposing those silly emotions would wreck your friendship and you wouldn’t let it happen.

He grunted and only then, when he lowered his head into the crook of your neck and moaned your name, you realized he was reaching his high. Softly, you cradled his head in your hands, as if it was the last time you could hold him like this. When he put his forehead against yours, he had his eyes closed and his chest was moving steadier than before.

“You’re the best,” he whispered. “Stay the night?”

Should you have gone home, and missed him all night? Would you have regretted saying no while you curled up in bed with no Cheshire-cat-grin-boy to hold? Or were you to remain in his bed, and pray you would survive the torture of not speaking your mind? His skin radiated the most wonderful warmth and you wanted to trace his lips with your eyes until you fell asleep. That’s how quickly it was decided.

“Okay,” you answered.

[dhwty-writes]

The Terribly Sad and Tragic Affair that Is the Fake Funeral of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss

Apparently, I am not only drawing for the Critical Role fandom, but writing for it, too. After months of nearly no progress I just vomited out 3k words this Tuesday and it only went downhill from there.

This fic is based on this post by @anne-o-nyme, I really hope I managed to capture the energy of it.

Have fun!

Summary: There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience.

After the sudden "death" of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, it is his brother Verin's job to empty out his towers. The Mighty Nein show up to help (and maybe steal a few things).

OR: Verin is grieving, Essek just wants his stuff back, and the Mighty Nein are the Mighty Nein.

Warnings: I didn't tag this with MCD, because Essek is technically alive and kicking. Since Verin doesn't know that though, and this fic is written from his POV, this is dealing with grief and includes depictions of depressive thoughts as well as anxiety attacks. For more explicit warnings, please mind the tags on AO3. Take care of yourselves, and let me know if I forgot anything.

Read on AO3

There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience. "Listen," he said with what little calm he had left, "I know that by returning one of our beacons you became heroes of the Dynasty and were placed under Es— My bro— his stewardship. But this here—" he gestured vaguely at the interior of Essek's towers that had always been too cold, too empty, but not like now, never like now— "This is a very difficult situation for me, so if you could please leave, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Yes, yes, it's very sad that Essek died," the blue tiefling said—Jester, her name was Jester; she had given him that already as she had offered him her condolences with a hug—and Verin could barely contain his anger. After the funeral he had quite enough of lying dignitaries, nobles, and heroes currying favours with him. That had always been Essek's thing, he would know what to do, how to make them regret even daring to speak up; Verin had never been any good at it.

"But we're his friends!" He grit his teeth at Jester's blatant falsehood. Perhaps his anger showed on his face, since the tiefling faltered. "And, uh— Fjord?"

"It's true," the half-orc with too-smooth words and too-smooth voice lied, too. "We spent quite some time with your, er— your brother here. Made some good memories. We thought we might take this as our chance to say goodbye, too."

"We are here to help as well. We wouldn't want to infringe upon your grief, though," the tall firbolg added. "So, if you'd prefer us to return at a later point, we'd be happy to."

Verin was still trying to process everything—from these strangers showing up unannounced to their overwhelming presence to the fact that his brother was dead—while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the halfling who looked like she might have sticky fingers. So, he latched onto the word that stood out the most to him: "Help?"

"Right," Fjord said, looking slightly embarrassed, "we probably should have led with that..."

"We should have called ahead, too," the scary-looking human in blue—they didn't even wear white for the funeral—added. "We always forget to call ahead."

"But Beau, how should we have called ahead?" Jester complained. "We didn't know Verin yet."

"Well, Essek—" the human was interrupted by the even scarier-looking woman next to her stepping on her foot unsubtly. She at least had the decency to act embarrassed. "Right. Sorry 'bout that."

Awkward silence fell across the room, the Mighty Nein looking anywhere but him. It took him a few moments to realise they were waiting for him to speak up. "Help how?" Verin could have kicked himself. By the Light, he could do better than that. He had to do better than that.

A beat of silence followed, then everyone seemed to talk at once. Verin wanted to weep. How was he supposed to deal with this? How had his brother dealt with this? 'He probably hasn't,' he thought. 'They're probably all liars, probably—'

Someone cleared their throat and all eyes turned to the other human who hadn't said anything so far and who looked properly miserable. Immediately, the Mighty Nein fell silent. "Word has reached us that Den Thelyss ordered these premises to be vacated as early as possible," he said quietly with an accent Verin has been taught that belonged to the enemy. "And while some of us may not look like much, I can assure you, we are quite capable."

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I supposed such menial tasks are beneath the heroes of the dynasty. There are servants—"

"Well, sure," the halfling with the probably sticky fingers interrupted, "but we know him. Knew him, I mean; sorry, force of habit."

"Besides, there's a lot of stuff," the lavender tiefling, who Verin was pretty sure was a known pirate, piped up. "Looks like you could use the help."

"If you want to, of course," the sad Empire human added.

Verin only wanted to scream, to give room to the torrent of thoughts raging in his head. 'My brother just died. My brother just died and he wasn't consecuted, so he's gone for good. He's gone for good and I didn't even know him; I didn't even know about these supposed friends he had because he didn't allow me near him in decades. I was a horrible brother and so was he, but I can't even be mad at him because he's dead.

'And now these liars show up and talk about friendship and knowing him, but those are all lies, horrible ones, because Essek had no friends. Essek was cold and cruel and lonely and do you even know how horrible that is? Dying alone with no-one who mourns you, just the favours you still owe them? Do you? I don't even know, and I'm his brother.'

Were he a weaker man, a less disciplined one, he might have said so. But he was Taskhand Verin of Den Thelyss and he had learned discipline before he had learned to talk. So, he said: "Your help would be greatly appreciated, thank you. I'll have the servants bring up some tea. There are, uh—" He straightened his back, summoning the composure that was befitting a Taskhand, even one with a dead brother. "There are boxes up there, they've been brought to the rooms already. Anything of value will be sold; the rest will be given to charity. The things— Well, if you find anything that might have sentimental value, something in his handwriting, perhaps, I think I should like to keep that, please."

The firbolg nodded sagely. "Of course. We will be careful with our selection."

With that, Verin turned around and— froze. Where was he even supposed to start? The towers had always seemed to huge for just Essek and he knew that there were very few personal belongings in them. Still, they would have to be scoured clean within the fortnight.

A large hand on his shoulder made him jump, although he'd never admit it. "Sometimes, when a task seems too large, you should start with the smallest part," the firbolg said. "If I were you, I'd start with the smallest room."

"Thank you, that, uh— that seems like good advice," Verin replied, still a bit startled and confused. "I, er— I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Caduceus Clay. I live in a graveyard, so I'm used to this," Clay said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Verin furrowed his brows slightly. A graveyard? It seemed highly unlikely to him that one of the heroes of the Dynasty would live in a graveyard of all places. Perhaps they were not only liars, but impostors too? But they had the symbols of the Bright Queen, so there wasn't much that he could say.

"Right," he mumbled. "I believe the smallest room would be the closet. Although it might be tied with the bathroom..." He trailed off again. He had never seen Essek's bedroom in his towers. Judging by how many times he had even seen the inside of the building; he could count himself lucky if he even found the way there.

"Why don't we split up?" Clay suggested. "One group takes the closet, one the bathroom and one the bedroom. We'd get done sooner that way."

"That is a great idea, Caduceus," Jester said excitedly. "I'll take the bathroom; I promised— er, I'm curious if I can find more of that hair oil, I got for Fjord that one time!"

"Ohhh, are you saying this is... an investigation?!" the halfling joined in.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Veth!"

"Seems like a case for Wildemount's best detectives!"

"Bye, Verin!" Jester called and he blinked and they were gone. Fjord joined them as well, muttering something about having to supervise them.

The purple pirate-tiefling shrugged, heading off in the same direction. "Well, I wouldn't mind rifling through some drawers. I'll have a look at that bedroom."

"Yeah, I don't need to see Essek's underwear, so I'll pass on the closet," Beau added tactfully—Verin was getting the sneaking suspicion that manners were not really her strong suit. She linked hands with the large woman at her side, pulling her along. "Come on, Yash."

"I'll go handle the tea," Clay said. "Don't worry about it." He vanished in the direction of the kitchen, his steps accompanied by the constant tap tap tap of his staff.

When Verin looked around, he realised that only the sad Empire human was left with him in the hallway. "If you wouldn't mind," he said, pointedly avoiding eye-contact, "I would love to have a look at the closet. I always, ah— appreciated your brother's sense of fashion."

Verin blinked at him a few times, then shrugged. "Sure." He began heading up the stairs.

"My condolences," the human continued. "I realise I didn't speak up earlier, but— I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," he said, letting the same numb feeling wash over him again that he had embraced since the news of Essek's death had reached him.

"I know that we seem like a bunch of, ah— forgive my language, but assholes, but we're really here to help. I will tell the others to tone it down a bit."

"Thank you," he repeated.

"If you'd prefer that we start in, ah— less personal rooms, we can do that also."

"If I'm perfectly honest, I don't even know what I should be doing there."

"Neither am I." The human laughed nervously. "I have dealt with grief before, but I've never had the, ah— how do you call it? Hang on." He pulled out a copper wire and whispered: "Beau, how do you say zweifelhafte Ehre in Common? You can reply to this message." A moment later he straightened. "Right. I never had the dubious honour of emptying out a deceased person's house before."

"Neither did I," Verin admitted. 'Usually, the deceased person comes back,' he didn't say. Instead, he opted for: "You're, er— What's the word in Common? You're weird? I'm sorry if that's insulting, I just— waele xanalressen [stupid languages]."

"I don't understand your words, but I think I understand the sentiment." The man grimaced. "And I've heard that one before. I hope we're not too much of a... too much."

"It's alright," he lied and opened the door to Essek's bedroom. 

It wasn't alright; Verin wanted to weep again.

The door to the bathroom stood ajar, as did several drawers and cabinets, although he couldn't glance inside. Considering that he heard glass shatter and a quiet "oops" followed by a hushed "Jester!" he was rather glad about that. Besides, what he saw was already quite enough to handle. Beau was currently rifling through Essek's nightstand, the tall woman tossing unread books on the bed carelessly, while the lavender tiefling seemed to make his way through his brother's collections of make-up and jewellery alike.

They froze when they spotted him and the sad human in the door. "Heeey, Verin," Beau drawled.

"These were all still closed, I swear," the lavender tiefling said immediately, gesturing at the jars in front of them.

Verin just sighed in defeat. "I don't wear any make-up, I don't care; you can have it. Put the jewellery in the box to be sold; the books are for charity if he hasn't read them. Just leave the earrings in front of the mirror, please. Those were his favourites."

Without another glance at them, Verin headed straight to Essek's closet, desperate to get some quiet. He took a few moments to collect himself, before closing the door and leaning his head against it with a heavy thunk.

He stayed like that for a minute or maybe two until he heard someone clear their throat. "I have been debating for the past fifty-five seconds, if I should just Dimension Door out," the sad human said and Verin very nearly jumped out of his skin, "but that would be loud and I didn't want to startle you. Not that I didn't startle you like this but—"

"Vithin shu," Verin cursed.

"Vithin shu ke," the sad human agreed, his accent in Undercommon even heavier than normally.

For a moment, they both stared at each other, equally startled by the course of events. Then, the human looked away again. "I, ah— have started learning Undercommon before, um— well, before." Verin tried very hard to focus on the way the human was scratching at his forearms; that way he had something else to focus on besides his nearing breakdown.

"This is a bit embarrassing, but, ah— I believe I forgot to introduce myself," the human continued. "I'm Caleb Widogast. Essek and I were... friends, yes, and ah— colleagues, of some sort. It's... complicated."

He scratched at his arms again before turning towards the shelves and pulling out a stack of tunics. He unfolded one, looked at it, then carefully folded it again, cast a cantrip to smooth out the wrinkles, and put it in the charity box. Then he repeated the procedure with the next. And the next. And the next.

Verin frowned, thinking for a moment about his words. There was something about them that seemed painfully familiar, although he couldn't quite remember. Then: "The transmutation specialist."

Widogast looked up in surprise. "Yes."

"Essek told me of you," Verin admitted.

The last time they had seen each other had been here, in these towers, just a few months ago. He had found his brother in his office, pouring over notes for a new spell, alive and healthy as ever. As always, he had entered without knocking. As always, he had pretended to read the notes. Not as always, he had noticed something wrong. "Whose handwriting is that?" he had asked.

"What?" Essek had snapped, his head whipping up. Then, however, his expression had softened. "Oh. A friend's. A colleague, of sorts. He's helping me out, a bit."

"With the spell?" Verin had asked incredulously.

"Yes. He's a transmutation specialist; you know that's not my forte. Now give it back, will you?"

"A colleague, huh?" He had grinned and held the paper out of Essek's reach. "Are you sure that's all?"

Perhaps Essek had been sick after all, for the strangest thing had happened: instead of using his floating cantrip to snatch the notes back, he had gotten a dreamy, far-off look in his eyes. He had even smiled with an expression Verin might have called dopey, if it weren't his brother they were talking about. After a few moments, he had snapped out of it, sighed, and said: "It's complicated."

"Did he?" Widogast asked tentatively. "Did he, ah— did he say anything else about me?"

Verin pinned him down with a glare, sizing him up. In hindsight, he should have noticed the thick spellbook at his hip earlier; judging by his slim frame alone, he should have known the man was a wizard. He supposed Widogast was handsome enough, although his brother had never cared much for that, with his copper hair and his striking blue eyes. Blue eyes around which crows' feet were gathering, as he noticed to his dismay. 'He's human,' Verin reminded himself. He might have a few decades left, maybe, whereas Essek had centuries ahead of him. The thought why his brother might condemn himself to more loneliness crossed his mind, though it hardly mattered. His brother had been the first to die, after all.

"Verin?" Widogast inquired quietly.

"I'm sorry," he answered with a thick voice. "I got lost in my thoughts there. He, uhh— he said that he trusted you." That didn't even begin to cover it, but these Mighty Nein had been lying to him since the moment they got here, so what was a little lie by omission? Besides, there were some memories that he wanted to keep just to himself.

"Essek," he had teased, still waving the sheet of paper out his reach. "Come on! Aren't we brothers?"

Essek had crossed his arms and pouted. He hadn't done that since they were both little. "Unfortunately. You are a menace. And a child."

"If you tell me about him, I'll give it back. Is he handsome? Is he a drow? Where's he from? How did you meet? When will I meet him? Can I promise to kill him if he hurts you?"

"Verin!" Essek had groaned and hid his face in his hands.

"What do you do when you meet? I bet you stay up all night, talking about 'arcane research' or something."

"We do, in fact. Are you done now?"

"Oh, is that what young people call it these days?" He had cackled at his own joke.

"Evidently not," Essek had muttered. "Might I remind you that you're younger than me?"

"Might I remind you that you're a buzzkill?" Verin had shot back and placed the note down. He had gotten bored of his own game.

Essek had taken the sheet of paper almost reverently and thanked him. "I would have hated it to rewrite that page." He had smoothed it down, stored it safely away in a folder, silent for a long time. Then, he had said: "Caleb."

"Excuse me?"

"That's his name," Essek had said. "Caleb Widogast."

Verin had frowned. "Hey, Essek?"

"Hm?"

"You must trust him a lot, to share a spell with him."

His brother had taken a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. Verin hadn't expected him to answer, yet he'd said: "I do, actually. It's not the first spell we've created together and I would be honoured to create a thousand more with him. I'd trust him with my life, my death, and beyond. I think—" He'd huffed. "I think I trust him almost as much as I trust you."

Verin watched Widogast as he was looking through his brother's tunics, placing most of them in the charity box, and he wondered. Wondered if the trust Essek had obviously put in Widogast had been misplaced. Wondered if it had extended to his friends, as well. Wondered if ultimately trust had been his downfall, as he'd always feared.

Then again, if Essek had trusted him... perhaps that trust had been mutual. Perhaps they had been friends. Perhaps there was another person mourning his brother after all.

"Do I have something on my face?" Verin had given up on counting how many times Widogast had now startled him out of his thoughts.

"No, no I—," Verin stammered. "I'm sorry."

He tilted his head to the side. "For staring?"

"No, er— For your loss." Liar or no liar, it only seemed appropriate.

"Oh." Widogast turned back to the tunics. Verin probably should get started, too, shouldn't he? "Thank you. Though I'd wager your loss weighs heavier than mine."

"Probably," he agreed and turned to the task at hand. At this point, Widogast had moved on from the simple tunics to Essek's court regalia. After a short moment of consideration, Verin decided to look through the pants; he also had no interest in sorting through his dead brother's underwear.

Out of the corner of his eye he kept watching the wizard, pulling out one cloak after the other. At a few he wrinkled his nose, at others he just stared before putting them with the tunics. After a while one made him pause; an elaborate, beautiful robe in deep purple. "This is what he was wearing when we first met him," he said.

'He hated that one,' Verin thought. Not that he could say that out loud. Instead, he cocked his head and asked: "Are you sure? He has a lot of those. Had, I mean. Had a lot of those."

"Yeah, I'm sure." He tapped his temple with a faint smile. "I have a good memory."

"As does Essek," he snapped, suddenly feeling very defensive about his brother's capabilities. "I suppose most wizards do."

Infuriatingly, Widogast only nodded. "Indeed. Or they're not very good ones."

Silently, Verin turned back to the trousers. The sooner he got done, the sooner he got these people out of his brother's towers, the better. He didn't know for how long they worked in silence, Verin reminiscing about the times he had seen Essek wear the clothes and wondering about those he didn't know. Eventually, he folded the last of them and forced himself to return to the present. "I think we're done here," he announced. "Do you have a preference for a next room?"

"Perhaps the library?" Widogast offered a tentative smile. "I think I might be of more use there than folding clothes."

"More use than I will be, surely."

"I take it the wizardry doesn't run in the family, then?"

Verin only scoffed and opened the door to the bedroom again.

He immediately spotted Beau leafing through one of the books Essek had never read, while the tiefling was chatting amiably with the aasimar while braiding her hair. He also noted the boxes neatly stacked in the middle of the room. Besides that, he noticed with a heavy heart, the room looked much the same. If anything, it looked less orderly and empty than before. Except for—

"Where are Essek's earrings?" Verin demanded to know.

"What earrings?" the lavender tiefling replied with a too-wide grin the same moment Beau said: "Dude, there's tons of them, why don't—"

"No," he said decisively. "Essek's favourite earrings; they're always up here. I told you about them. Where are they?" His hands curled into fists, his neatly manicured fingernails pressing almost painfully into his skin.

"Perhaps you should look in one of the boxes," the aasimar woman suggested "I'm sure they're—"

"You're lying," Verin interrupted her, barely containing his anger. "Why are you lying? If they're in one of the boxes, then only because you put them there. So: where are they?"

Widogast only now stepped out of the closet, wearing an amber necklace he hadn't noticed before. "Verin—" he said tentatively, but he'd had enough.

"Shut up!" He startled himself with how loud his voice was. But he was beyond caring. "I know they're not in there, because the only ones to put them in there would have been you. So, either you're lying about having them put in there, or you're lying about stealing them, I don't care. Just— please. Please give them back."

The four of them passed a guilty glance. "We can't," Beau replied finally.

"The fuck you can't," Verin spat. "Give them back!"

"Verin, love, we would really love to," the tiefling added, "but we can't."

"I don't understand; is it precious things you want? Here, have some!" He strode over to the boxes and ripped the first open, tossing the lid towards the bathroom door Jester was peeking out of. He reached in to grab a necklace—an ugly one, he had always thought, with a stylised beacon—and threw it in their direction.

Beau caught it. Of course.

"Have a whole box, actually, if you like them so damn much." He reached inside and pulled out a jewellery box, tears prickling in his eyes. He threw one of those, too, just for good measure. It gave him some satisfaction that Widogast had to dodge it. "Just give me back the bloody earrings that my brother wore at my fucking consecution!" He was properly crying now and could only imagine the mess he looked like, but he had reached his limit. And, in his opinion, he was allowed to with all that was going on.

At least they looked a little bit guilty. "Fuck man, we didn't know," Beau mumbled.

"It's just one pair, Beau," Jester called over from the bathroom. "I'm sure it will be alright."

"Yes, there's no need for this to escalate," Fjord agreed and strode over to them, his hands raised innocently.

"I don't even know you people," Verin muttered, looking at the people crowding into his brother's bedroom. "Why did I even let you inside?"

"Do you want the earrings back?" the aasimar woman asked, reaching into a bag at her hip. Had she been carrying a greatsword for the whole time? Verin suddenly noticed how overpowered he was, were he to face all of them. "You can have them back if you want. Here, you can have them back."

"For a moment," Widogast added, slowly drawing closer to him and taking the earrings from the aasimar. He held them out on his flat hand, almost like he had seen soldiers offer treats to horses. His whole demeanour reminded him of someone trying to calm a spooked animal. For some reason, that seemed hilarious to him and he couldn't help the hysterical giggle that escaped his throat.

"Verin, I need you to calm down," he continued. "I know that's easier said than done, but you need your head."

"I think we should all calm down," Clay said from the doorway. And despite being surprised again, he did. It didn't make any sense, but few things these days did.

"Did it work?" the halfling asked. Verin wasn't really sure what she was talking about.

"It did," Clay confirmed.

"Gut," Widogast said and pressed the earrings that had seemed so important a moment ago into Verin's hands. "I think we should maybe go somewhere else, ja? Will you come with me?"

Inadvisable as it might be, if Essek had trusted that man, he should, too. And out of all of the Nein, he seemed to be the most normal one. The one he could see Essek with most. So, he nodded.

"I'll get us back to the kitchen, quickly." Caleb held out his hand and Verin closed his eyes, steeling himself. 'I hate Dimension Door,' was the last thing that crossed his mind before the teleportation spell ripped him away, together with: 'We haven't been to the kitchen, yet.'

Evidently, there went something wrong with the spell. Verin didn't know much about magic, but he knew Dimension Door couldn't transport more than two people. So, when he heard Beau groan and say "Fuck, dude, warn us next time," he knew that something wasn't right.

"You knew about the plan, Beauregard," Widogast replied.

"It doesn't matter," Fjord decided. "Caduceus, do you think you could make tea again? I think the Calm Emotions is about to wear off."

Cautiously, Verin opened one eye, then the other. They were, in fact, standing in a kitchen, as far as he could tell. All of the Mighty Nein were surrounding him. The furniture seemed to have been made for people taller than them; Essek probably would need to float in order to avoid awkwardly climbing onto the chair. The firbolg, however, who was fussing with a teapot, seemed to fit right in. All in all, the interior was very rustic. And very much not in Essek's towers, not that he had ever seen that room, of course.

The panic hit him once more. Verin whirled around to the wizard, instinctively grasping for his sword. "Where the fuck—" he faltered, finding his hip bare. Of course, he hadn't brought it for the funeral. Instead, he opted for just grasping Widogast by the lapels and lifting him up a bit. It was supposed to be menacing, which surely would be more effective, were humans not so annoyingly tall. "Where the fuck are we?!" he spat out.

A lot of things seemed to happen at once—he heard a "Fuck, man, what-" from Beau, a "Well, Mister Thelyss" from the pirate, several hands trying to tug him away from the weak wizard—but he didn't pay them any mind. He just shook Widogast, who looked entirely too calm for his liking, and demanded: "Answer me!"

"Leave him," was all Widogast said. "He has every right to be angry."

Indeed, the people grasping at him retreated, still on guard and surrounding him. There was a creak outside the door and Verin desperately wished for his sword once more. Then, a voice cut through the tense silence that had descended over the kitchen: "Caleb, is that you? You're back early."

"Yeah, there were some complications. Best come and look yourself, Schatz."

There was a sigh that was entirely too familiar for Verin's liking. Then, the door opened with a creak and in walked a dead man. "Complications," Essek Thelyss said with a fond smile. "I was just a Sending away, what did you come here fo— oh."

The person wearing his brother's face stopped in their tracks as they saw him. A couple of complicated emotions passed over his face—confusion, surprise, regret, guilt. If he hadn't known before, Verin was certain now that they were impostors, all of them. His brother would never tolerate such a display of weakness. Still, the impostor said: "Hello, brother."

Verin whipped his head back around to the wizard in his grasp. "What the fuck are you playing at?" he hissed.

"I- what- Verin!" the Essek-impostor sputtered. "What are you doing; put him down!"

"I would appreciate that, yes," Widogast added.

"Not before you don't tell me what's going on."

"Going on?" The impostor sneered and shook his head in a perfect imitation of his brother. "Nothing is going on, Verin."

"You died," he accused him.

"Evidently not," Essek scoffed.

Verin narrowed his eyes, looking from the man claiming to be his brother over the other too calm wizard to the rest of the Nein, seemingly perfectly happy to let this play out. "Prove it," he demanded. "Tell me something only my brother would know."

"You've become paranoid," he noted and Verin couldn't decide if it sounded proud or disappointed. "Alright. When you and I were in our early thirties, you once got in trouble for scaling the outside of mother's mansion. Rightfully, I should have gotten in trouble, too, but I was hiding on the attic. And the reason you never told anyone, is because then you'd have had to explain that I, the wizard, had somehow outpaced you, the fighter, in a climbing competition."

Verin wrinkled his nose at that. "Well, my brother cheated."

"I did not cheat, thank you very much!" He huffed indignantly and crossed his arms. "You didn't say 'no magic' before we started."

He stared at Essek for a few moments. "It's you," he whispered.

"Obviously."

Verin dropped the wizard on the ground and looked over at his brother; really looked. The man looked nothing like the one he had known for most of his life. His hair was longer than it had ever been since he'd cut it off and his bare feet were touching the ground. His clothes were casual, a simple tunic and trousers. After this day, Verin knew for a fact that not even Essek's trancing clothes were that informal, and yet his brother looked more comfortable in them in another's house than he had in decades. On top of that, he kept glancing over to Widogast. And smiling. Essek was smiling.

No, this man looked nothing like the one Verin had known for nearly a century. But he looked a lot like his brother.

"You're alive," he said stupidly.

"Yes, of course I am," Essek said, as if Verin hadn't just attended his funeral.

It felt only right to tell him so: "Why are you alive? I was at your funeral."

"That's a long story," he sighed and floated onto one of the chairs that were slightly too tall for him. He accepted a cup of tea from Clay with thanks and turned back to Verin. "Why are you here?"

"Well, that's a pretty long story, too," Jester spoke up. "He kind of started freaking out about your earrings, I think? And he was crying and looking pretty awful and everything, right Caleb?"

"I, ah— didn't think he'd believe us if we told him about you," Caleb said. "So, we had agreed beforehand to bring him here, in case of an emergency."

"He thought we were lying," Clay added.

"I suppose it is my story to tell," Essek said. "Earrings, Verin?"

"They're your favourite," Verin said stupidly and held them out to him.

His face grew soft. "Oh," he said as he took them gingerly, "I didn't know that you kne—"

Before he could overthink and do something stupid like stop himself, he surged forward and enveloped his brother in a tight hug. After a moment Essek closed his arms around him, too.

It seemed so unreal, to be able to hold him after mourning him for what felt like years. All the worries, all the grief and anger that had crushed him in the past few weeks and for what? For the bastard to still be alive after all. It wasn't fair. Why had he had to go through all of that? And why did he feel the pressing urge to start crying again? He should be happy, shouldn't he, that his brother wasn't dead. So why did it make him feel so awful?

"I think this is our cue to leave," Fjord said. Verin felt his brother nod and heard the Mighty Nein shuffle out of the kitchen, the door closing behind them with a creak. 

Only then, Essek spoke up. "Verin," he asked quietly, "are you crying?"

"Shut up," he mumbled through the thick fog of tears and snot, definitely not crying. "I hate you, Essek. Do you know what I went through?" 

"Meeting the Mighty Nein? Yes, I can imagine."

"They're horrible," he complained. "They're loud and they're rude and they had absolutely no respect for any of your belongings! I thought I was going mad."

"They are. They also are my friends, you know."

"How?" he asked agonised.

"I know they don't look like it, but they are surprisingly capable. And I am sure that you've noticed most of them to be annoyingly charming. But I think their absolute worst traits are their infinite stubbornness and perseverance. They quite literally did not leave me alone until they had befriended me."

Verin glanced up at him questioningly. "And were half in love with the wizard?" he guessed.

Essek scowled darkly, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "Perhaps."

He snorted and disentangled himself from their embrace. Very calmly he said: "You're a liar." 

Essek looked genuinely startled at that. "What?"

"You said, you trusted me more than him. Why then, did he know and I didn't?"

"It's... complicated," he said.

"You wizards say that a lot."

"Verin." Essek closed his eyes. "I trust you. Implicitly. And I care about you. Which is why I chose not to burden you with the knowledge of my misdeeds. I didn't— I didn't want to put you in an impossible situation to choose between me and our queen."

He laughed nervously. "What on earth are you talking about? I mean, you didn't commit treason or anything."

Essek didn't answer, avoiding eye-contact instead.

"Right?"

Still, Essek kept stubbornly quiet.

"Oh," Verin breathed. He took a moment trying to reconcile what he knew about his brother with the fact that he was apparently a traitor. It all fit together ridiculously easy. "The beacons."

Essek looked up at him in shock and he knew he had hit the mark. "What?"

"You stole the beacons." Now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. Essek had been studying them at the time, one of the only people with frequent access to them. He had always been fascinated by them, yet his theories had been rejected for their heretic nature. As Shadowhand, he had also regular contact with counterparts from the Empire, albeit not officially. Then, a few years after Essek’s research had been denied, they had vanished. How had he never seen this before?

"Oh Essek...," he said softly.

"No, please— I don’t—Please don’t—” He seemed to deflate, curling in on himself. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you, I—”

"I don't care,” Verin interrupted his frantic ramblings.

"What?" Essek looked up at him, looking just as shocked as Verin felt.

“I don’t care,” he repeated, realising that it was true the moment the words left his mouth. For how could he care about something as trivial as treason when Essek was sitting right in front of him, alive and well. "You're my brother, I don't care. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a year. Maybe in ten. Right now, I only care that you're alive."

“I—What—I don’t—” Essek stuttered, lifting and then lowering his hands a few times. “I don’t know how— If I can—Fuck.”

There was a joke on the tip of his tongue, but even he knew that this wasn’t the right time for it. Essek was obviously trying to tell him something and it took him a minute to decipher that strange behaviour. “Are you asking for a hug?” he hazarded a guess.

An agonised expression passed over his face and for a moment Verin thought there were tears gathering in his brother’s eyes. Surely not. “I don’t know if I may. I don’t mean to overstep—”

Without further ado, Verin stepped forward and gathered a yelping Essek up and squeezed him tightly. “Of course you may!” he assured him, awkwardly patting his shaking shoulders. “I love you, Essek. I am very glad that you’re alive.”

“I’m very glad to see you, too,” Essek answered and squeezed him a little tighter.

[beetlebethwrites]

Hi! Sorry to ask this question to you but I'm pretty new to IF games, just get into it a month ago, and you've seem to reblogging about an IF author(? I think?) that related to racism? (If I'm not mistaken?) Can i ask what the cause of this? (Idk bout u but I'm in FNAF fandom and it seems this lately Scott also received the same backlash but more towards LGBTQ+ community and now I'm just curious to say the least) you don't have to answer this if you don't want! as this is just to appease my curiosity

I am not sure I'm the best person to come to for a full amazing take (that person would be Mila @milaswriting , who is a POC author of an incredible story, Golden and who is always incredibly eloquent and has taken a lot of shit from this IF author's fandom before)

But yeah, this is in relation to the author of The Wayhaven Chronicles and her lack of action with regards to addressing racism (this time) and other problems in the past. This is under a cut because it got really fucking long my dudes.

The social media manager, Nai, posted a picture on Instagram from the character of Morgan (who is a dark-skinned Greek person as shown here) with a white hand. People in the comments were rightfully angry about this and instead of combating it well, Nai deleted the post and made an apology that doesn't actually address the issue (and is also a little bit self-pitying). The comments of this apology went mad and people who were defending Nai were also being racist towards those who have issues with the way that the situation and original post were handled. I have also seen it reported that people used racial slurs, although I didn’t see this myself before the comments were deleted. Through this, the comments were not being moderated or addressed. Since then, the replies have been stopped but Mishka/Nai have continued to post and reblog things, in particular one choice post about their holidays.

They have not condemned the racism or even said anything about it as of right now.

This has continued into the main tag and into POC fans inboxes, but still there's nothing from Nai or Mishka (the writer of TWC). This could just be a poorly handled thing if there wasn't a past of racism and LGBTQ+ phobia within the writing, which there is including;

Putting the referenced skin colours and official art behind a paywall on her patreon, thus limiting who could see it in the first place until pressure meant she uploaded it onto tumblr.

Referring to M as 'animalistic' in an episode of their Q+A (which Mishka did apologise for)

In the same Q+A, implied that her pansexual character M is attracted to everyone, a harmful stereotype that stacks onto the fact that M is brown, and black and brown people are already stereotyped as hypersexual.

Likening A's demisexuality to a response from their trauma and implying it's a result of them being emotionally repressed (which I think she apologised for?)

Reblogging white-washed art of her characters with praise (which she didn't say anything about but after being called out stopped reblogging coloured art of the characters in question)

Added a god worshipped by southwest Asian people into her story as a character who is a slave (Anunnaki in the demo)

Made all of the werewolf characters we've met so far POC (here) which is a stereotype that's already been massively amplified by other works of fiction to do with vampires

Sidelined F (one of her own main characters), possibly due to settling into ‘best friend’ stereotypes of black people (here)

Has some very cis-straight ideals for the different versions of UB (including different heights, male!M wearing only eyeliner while female!M wears eyeliner, mascara, lipstick)

People are also critical of the portrayal of Rebecca, the MCs mother something I've never personally felt an issue with, but I can understand why people really do.

Mishka could have hired sensitivity readers with the money she makes from Patreon alone (£7.5k GBP a month as of today) and bc of taxes she wouldn't lose much at all IMO if she paid readers for their work.

This isn't even starting on the fandom and its attitude towards other Interactive Fiction authors, especially authors of colour, which is a whole other thing but I won't address that here.

I'm going to finish by saying that even though I've just made a fucking list, I don't think Mishka is racist on purpose, it stems from a place of ignorance and priviledge. However, when you have a fandom this size, who pay you so much, you have a duty to take care in the way you write POC and LGBTQ+ people.

[ickle-ronniekins]

tangled up

request: from nonnie! “love those sharing a bed tropes... not saying you should do it but you should definitely do it”

pairing: fred x fem!gryffindor!reader

word count: 2.3k

A/N: ummmmmm love this request, i'm in suuuucch a fred mood lately

warning(s): brief mention of war, ~implied sexual content~ i suppose

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @keoghans @dreamer821 @wtfweasleyy @62442-am @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle @mytreec @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @flyingserpxnt @auroraboringalis57 @godricsswords @jejegu @annasofiaearlobe @starlightweasley @alwaysasadaesthetic @thisismysketchbook @izzytheninja @imboredandneedalife @hemmoporro | message me to be added loves!

The cool October air had a bit of a bite to it -- it seemed as though Bill and Fleur’s wedding was ages ago. You wrapped a blanket around your shoulders to reduce the chill in your bones.

Suddenly two redheaded figures appeared with a pop! onto the field outside of your home. By what you could see, they’d apparated just before the line of protective enchantments -- a type of advanced magic only a very intelligent wizard could do.

“Bloody hell -- you’re a life saver, you know that?” George exclaimed as he finally reached you, wrapping you in a warm embrace. “I couldn’t be there for one more moment.”

Fred rolled his eyes and explained, “He means at Auntie Muriel’s. Being a bit overdramatic, are we, George?”

The elder twin shot his younger brother a look of amusement as George dropped his bag onto the floor and ran a hand through his hair. “Overdramatic? Tell me, Fred, would you like to go back?”

Fred then draped an arm across your shoulder and peered at his brother. “And reject our best mate’s offer to spend time at her lovely home? That would be so rude.” George swore he saw his twin shudder a bit, no doubt at the thought of returning to their Auntie Muriel’s to endure more yelling and criticism. George shot him a very sardonic look, and laughed lightly.

“Glad you two decided to come -- it’ll be nice having someone else in the house. I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep in months,” you waved your wand to pull three teacups from the kitchen cupboard and started the kettle. You felt a sense of ease at having your two closest friends here. “Should be alright out here, at least for a while.”

Fred glimpsed around your tiny little house. It was small, but exceptionally tidy with a very cozy feeling to it. It looked much different than the Burrow, but still emanated that feeling of home. “Lovely place you’ve got.”

“Thanks, Freddie,” you replied, handing him a steaming cup of tea. He gingerly took it out of your hands. “Just one problem.”

The twins chorused together, “What?”

“I’ve only got one extra bed.”

If the room hadn’t gone so eerily still at your comment, you never would have noticed the small jab to the hip George gave his twin. Fred grunted a bit and stifled a cough. “Oh, no worry -- George already said he’ll take the floor.”

Fred earned himself an eye roll and another jab.

You waved them both off and blew on your tea. “Don’t be silly! I’ll take the floor. You two’ve just got to battle it out for who gets the bigger bed.”

As if on queue, George immediately hoisted his bag back over his shoulder. He began walking away and pointed toward your very tiny spare bedroom off of the kitchen. “This one here, yeah? Thanks again, Y/N, really appreciate you letting us escape the wrath of our aunt -- I’m absolutely knackered, hope you two don’t mind if I turn in!” and with a quick wave to you and Fred, George closed the door and you both almost immediately heard very loud snoring. You and Fred exchanged a laugh.

You made sure everything was in order for Fred before leading him to your room. But you noticed he hadn’t brought his stuff with him -- you saw his belongings near your front door. With a wave of your wand, you brought it forward.

“I’m really okay to sleep on the couch,” he told you, pointing back toward the front.

“I’m not going to have you sleep on the couch,” you replied, shaking your head. “Besides -- you’re not staying out there. I might be a bit dramatic, but the couch is too close to the windows and the front door, and though I’ve been safe here for a while..” you voice trailed off a bit, and you swallowed down the nerves bubbling up inside of you. “Just -- we never know where the Death Eaters are. You take the bed, I’ll take the couch.”

You patted Fred’s shoulder, ready to head back out to your front room, when he took your wrist in his hand and whirled you back around to face him. “If I’m not allowed to take the couch, neither are you.”

You crossed your arms and swallowed. “Fine,” you replied with a grin. “Have got tons of extra pillows and a massive blanket here somewhere -- let me go and fetch it. Go on then, make yourself comfortable.”

“Merlin, you are being thick today,” Fred chuckled, and you noticed traces of the young boy you grew to love. He caressed small circles on the back of your hand. “Would you just sleep in your own bed?”

“But --” your breath caught in your throat. You glanced at your own bed, easily big enough for two, maybe even three, and went against your better judgement before you could overthink it. “Just share with me, then. Nobody takes the floor.”

A hint of nervousness flashed across his features before twisting into a cheeky grin. You continued on when he stayed silent, “What’s the matter, Freddie? You’ve been my best mate for the better half of the last twenty years. I mean, I’ve seen you in your bunny slippers, for Merlin’s sake --” Fred flinched uncomfortably at the memory of you catching him, late one evening in Gryffindor tower, in bunny slippers his mum had knitted for him as a child. You had never let him forget it.

His grin deepened alongside the crimson red colour of his cheeks. “Listen, woman, they are soft and keep me nice and toasty, alright?”

“Whatever you say,” you replied before sliding yourself underneath your warm blanket. You patted the other side of the bed in an accidental sensual way and realized how that must’ve come across. You quickly cleared your throat and turned off the light before you could see his reaction. “Erm -- there are extra pillows on the couch if you need.”

You felt his body slide in next to yours, and you could still make out some of his facial features from the faint light of the lightning strikes outside. He was definitely still grinning. “I’m fine, really.”

You figured out quite quickly that neither of you were able to sleep, especially because it was only eleven p.m. and because of the wild wind and rain that were howling outside of your window. The words were spilling out of you before you could help it. “Fred?”

He turned on his side to face you. “Yeah?”

You were laying on your back, looking up at your ceiling in the darkness. “Are you afraid?”

When he didn’t answer right away, you turned your head to face him too. Each time the lightning struck it was bright and vibrant, and highlighted his features in a more intimate way than ever before. He threaded his brows together and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I am.”

It was weirdly comforting hearing him say that he was afraid. The man who didn’t have a serious bone in his body was actually scared. It was strange and unnerving and brought a sense of solace to you all at once.

You sucked in a breath, worried that your normal evening anxiety would show solely through the look in your eyes. You turned away to glance toward the ceiling again when you felt Fred brush his fingers gently against yours under the covers. Your breath hitched at the contact.

“I think it’ll be okay though.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I suppose I can’t..” it was so weird, hearing him speak like this. He shifted again. “I just think.. we’re more prepared than before. Think there’s more of us this time. Besides, we’ve done our studying, and we’re all brilliant wizards.”

A smile tugged at the edges of your mouth. “You are kind of brilliant.”

“Wow,” he breathed, and it was almost a whisper. You noticed the way the edges of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Can I get that in writing?”

“Care to return the compliment first?”

“Hang on,” he replied, placing his hands behind his head in a bit of a relaxed state. “I need to bask in this for a moment.”

“Oh shove off, you git!”

You playfully swatted him before he retaliated. Soon enough you were both sitting upright, thwacking one another with pillows and laughing into the darkness of the night. Fred fell to the floor with a dull thump, and you stifled lots of giggles and shushed him as he slid back into bed next to you. “You’re going to wake up George!”

You weren’t sure how long the two of you were swatting at one another. It could’ve been hours, or perhaps days. But then the storm grew more fierce, and you found yourself scooting closer to him in bed. Fred always had a way of making you forget about everything going on around you. It was always surprising to you how you’d be able to drown out the rest of the world, as long as you listened to him talk, or as long as you watched him work on his inventions with gentle hands. Even in lessons, back in school, when he’d teasingly wink at you from across the classroom, you were pretty much rendered completely useless for the rest of the day. When it was just you and him, the rest of the world might as well not even exist.

He must’ve noticed how you zoned out, because he asked, “What’s on your mind?”

You turned on your side to face him fully this time. “Just reminiscing.”

“Yeah? About what?”

“Remember when we bumped into one another in the corridors during our fourth year -- I was sneaking sweets up from the kitchens, and you were attempting to sneak into one of the classrooms to finish working on inventions?” You smiled at the memory. “And then Filch was roaming around, and we nearly got caught?”

Fred laughed. You were happy that he remembered. “Never sprinted back to the common room so quickly in my life. That ruddy cat of his was clawing at my ankles.”

“Between the fact that I’d hardly gotten any sleep that night and the adrenaline rush, I was bloody exhausted.”

Fred snorted. “Yeah, you fell asleep in the armchair next to the fire almost immediately when we returned and began to snore rather loudly, if my memory serves me correct.”

You grinned, not skipping a beat. “Yeah, my snoring is almost as embarrassing as those slippers of yours.”

You expected him to groan and throw another pillow in your direction, but instead he just deepened his smile and reached out and placed his hand next to yours on the edge of his pillow, your fingers almost touching. “I dunno -- I thought it was cute.”

You really hoped the steady drumbeat sound of your heart was drowned out by the sounds of the thunder outside. You weren’t so sure though. “Yeah?”

He wet his lips and nodded. “I remember having to wake you up because it was nearly four a.m. -- fire had died out and you looked so uncomfortable in that armchair -- I just wanted to carry you upstairs. Except..” Yeah, jinxes by the professors at each respective staircase. Boys weren’t allowed in the girls dorms, and vice versa. You knew exactly what he was getting at.

You felt a swift surge of confidence overtake you, so you gently moved your fingers a few centimeters before you slowly intertwined them with his. He didn’t flinch. Your voice was softer than you expected. “What else do you remember about that night?”

It was an opening -- you didn’t want to be so blatantly obvious about it, but Fred could always read you like a book. You hoped he still could, after all these years. Luckily for the both of you, nothing had changed. He took the opening. “I remember wanting to kiss you.”

You bit your lip, hoping to suppress the nerves that were bubbling up inside of you like fizzy champagne.

Fred laughed cheekily. “Never got a chance, though.”

Before you could think more on it, you nudged his leg with your toes and scooted closer to him. You could see the steady rise and fall of his chest, you were so close. “Then kiss me now.”

His mouth parted slightly in surprise, but nevertheless he inched forward and caught your lips with his. They were soft -- softer than you ever could have imagined, and so was the kiss itself. He tasted faintly of mint, and and you found yourself breathing in deeper when he trailed one solitary finger across your jawline and down your neck. The feel of him against you warmed up your entire body in a way that the common room fire never could.

He sighed against your lips before reluctantly pulling away. “Mmm we should’ve been doing this the entire time,”

You laughed softly and brought your fingers to your lips, hoping to still feel that electricity. “Yeah, we probably should have.”

All thoughts of the war seemed to subside as he leant in to kiss you again. Somehow, being with him, your limbs entangled together -- it was enough to make you forget about the war on the horizon, everything that was about to happen. As far as you were concerned, as long as Fred was beside you, tangled in the covers of your bed, everything would be alright.

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. His voice was rough and sensual and soft all at the same time as he wiggled his eyebrows at you. “Thanks for inviting me to sleep in your bed.”

You grinned and raked your bottom lip through your teeth. “Yeah, well, like you said -- we should’ve been doing this the entire time. Figured I’d get a jump start on what we’ve missed.”

He laughed and wrapped his arms tightly around your hips. Goosebumps sprouted on your skin as he lazily trailed his fingers up and down your spine and told you, “Knew you were my favorite for a reason.”

[justthehiddleswrites]

Accidently Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 3 | And Miss Out on Mum Meeting the Girl You Married Without Telling Her? Not a Chance

A/N:  Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed).  It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will.  Keep your hate to yourself.  

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt.  Tom has an idea to solve all their problems.  Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts.  Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else.  In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: Molly finally gets to meet Luke and they try to convince him that this marriage is not some elaborate plot to manipulate the press.  And Tom makes a critical error.  We learn more about Molly and her past. 

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of:  child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED!  THANK YOU FOR READING!

–

Tom regretted drinking two cups of espresso the next morning before heading to Luke’s. He definitely regretted not eating anything more than a piece of toast with butter and marmalade. Even after Molly offered to make something for him.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to make you eggs, an omelette? I could probably manage some French toast before we have to leave.” Molly sipped her tea as she ate some oatmeal. 

French toast sounded divine at the moment as Tom’s stomach did somersaults. Molly’s knee bounced in the passenger seat on the way to the Prosper office. 

“Do you think Luke will yell at me?” Molly asked. “I don’t do well when people yell at me.”

Tom’s head snapped over at her. She sighed. 

“Foster parents are not always kind. Bio parents can be worse.” She wrung her hands. 

He reached over and squeezed Molly’s knee. “I promise I won’t let him yell at you.” 

“Thank you, Tom. Are we telling him the truth?” 

“Only if necessary.” 

“Then what are we telling him?” 

“That I went to Vegas, and I fell madly in love with you and on a whim we got married.”

“A fanciful tale.” Her head dropped to her chest. 

“Oh, I don’t know, darling. You sell yourself short. You’re bright, funny, caring and dare I even say easy on the eyes.”

Molly blushed. “Thank you. You are not so bad yourself. Although I seriously question your dietary habits.”

Tom chuckled. “I’ll work on it. And I hope after all of this we will be good friends.”

“Me too.” 

“Looks like we are here.” Tom parked the car on the street. He hustled around to open Molly’s door and help her out. “Time to face the firing squad.” Her eyes widened. “Kidding!”

By the time the meeting was done, Molly wished it had been a firing squad. 

-

“Luke, this is Molly Bishop, now Hiddleston.” Tom wrapped his arm around her waist. “My wife.” 

“My condolences.” Luke shook Molly’s hand. 

Molly’s brow furrowed. “I…” 

“Of all the stupid shit you have ever fucking done—” Luke started in on Tom. 

“Luke, watch your tone.” Tom jabbed a finger in his publicist’s face. “You are not to yell at Molly.” His bright blue eyes flashed and his fists clenched. 

Luke took a step back. “Right. Take a seat and let’s see if we can straighten this out.” 

They sat next to each other. Molly reached for Tom’s hand and he took it. Luke sat down behind his desk, staring at the two of them. Luke pinched his nose hard and took several deep breaths. Before speaking, he poured a glass of water and dropped two Alka-Seltzer into the water. Molly stared at the whole thing. Tom leaned over. 

“For later. Luke says I give him indigestion.” he whispered.

“And headaches.” Luke added.

“I can understand the feeling.” Molly muttered under her breath.

“I beg your pardon!” Tom twisted around to face Molly. “Et tu. Is this about the vegetables?”

“It wouldn’t kill you to eat one every so often. You’re not 21 anymore.”

Tom gritted his teeth. “I said I would work on it. Can we not talk about this right now?”

“You’re the one who brought it up. I was just making a comment.”

Luke’s head bounced back and forth like watching a tennis match, a smirk growing on his face.

“You two are good. Really good. Damn Tom, the lengths you will go to… hiring an actress to pretend to be your wife, that’s—”

“We got married, Luke. In Vegas.” Tom retorted. “Darling, do you have the copy of the license?”

Molly grumbled. “I do, but we are not done with the whole diet thing.” She rummaged through her purse and produced the folded piece of paper. “Show him the photos.” She whispered to Tom as she handed over the license. 

“I’m not showing him the photos unless I have to.” Tom hissed.

“Show me the photos, Tom.” Luke beckoned him. 

Tom side eyed Molly and handed over the license and his phone. Luke glanced at the license and then scrolled through the photos, eyes growing wider. He zoomed in on one and squinted. 

“Is that a spider ring?” he asked.

“His name is Clive.” Tom deadpanned.

Luke cuts his eyes at Tom. “Of course, you named it. You wouldn’t happen to have the ring, would you?” He turned to Molly.

She let loose a breath, exasperated. “Honestly,” she jabbed a finger at Tom and then Luke. “I was not expecting the Spanish Inquisition.” She dug through her purse again. “You are both lucky that I planned ahead.” Molly slammed the two Tiffany boxes on the desk. “There, here is your pound of flesh.”

Luke opened the boxes and found the spider ring and plastic gem ring. His eyes went to their proper rings and then ran his hands through his hair. 

“Holy shit, you got married.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “I have been saying that for the last 24 hours, mate. Can we move on?”

Molly giggled. 

“I… I… apologize. Sorry.” He sputtered, he turned to Molly. “I’m sorry, Molly. You have no idea the things this man has put me through.”

“I can imagine.”

“Hey! I—”

“Not talking to you, Tom.” Luke held up a hand. “I am talking to your bride. Clearly the reasonable one. Although she did marry you, so…”

Tom slumped in the chair. “Two of you. I thought you were on my side.”

Molly reached over and rubbed his arm. “I’m always on your side, honey.”

Tom smiled and leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, darling. Do you believe me now, Luke?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes, I do.” He slammed his hand on his desk, rattling his water. “Now let’s talk about these.” He held up several newspapers.

Forty-five minutes later, they finally ended the meeting. Tom was starving. Luke grilled Molly about her background. By the end of everything, Tom now knew that Molly spent the ages of 12-18 in foster care, went to college where she worked two jobs to make ends meet, and has no contact with her younger brother who was adopted. Tom felt a twinge of guilt listening to Molly tell her life story. He never really bothered to ask. 

Luke led them to the door but stopped short. 

“How did your mom take the news, Tom?” Luke asked. Tom froze and paled. Luke leaned in. “You did tell her?”

Molly glanced between them. “I thought you called her when we got home.”

Tom ran his hands through his hair. Little bits stuck up. His mouth fell open and his eyes widened. “I forgot. I was distracted by someone yelling at me.”

“You haven’t told your mother about us?!” Molly screeched. 

Luke chuckled, which soon turned into a full belly laugh. “You are so dead, Tom.” Molly gasped. “You will be fine, Molly, but pray for your husband. There is nothing scarier in this world than Diana Hiddleston mad at her only son.” 

Molly gulped. “I will keep that in mind. Now if you excuse us, we have some calls to make.” 

Tom nodded, still reeling from the fact he didn’t tell his mum, or his sisters, that he got married. Fake or not. He hoped she hadn’t seen any of the photos yet. But knowing Emma and Sarah, they sent her the links. “Right, calls.” 

Molly pushed Tom out of the office and towards the elevator. She waved bye to Luke as the doors closed. 

“That went better than expected.” Molly shifted her weight from side to side.

“Yeah, yeah!” Tom blinked and came back to reality. “You were brilliant. What made you think to bring the rings?”

“People have the tendency to believe you when you can present physical evidence. That, coupled with the photos, lends credibility. I mean, who gets married with a plastic spider ring?” She laughed and Tom joined in. 

“Genius, really. Luke would have never—” Tom’s stomach rumbled. He blushed. “You were right I should have eaten something.” 

Molly stretched to reach his cheek and gave him a quick peck. “You will soon learn I am always right. Let’s find you some food and then you call your mother.”

“Fine.”

-

They found a place for Tom to grab a sandwich since it was too late for breakfast and not quite time for lunch. Molly stared on as Tom inhaled the sandwich, a bag of potato chips, and a bottle of water. 

“Did you taste any of that?”

Tom glanced up at her as he poked the last bit of the sandwich into his mouth. “Yes.” 

She shoved a napkin towards him. “You have crumbs on your face.”

Tom swallowed. “Thanks.”

“Call your mother.” 

Tom slouched. “Can’t we wait until we get home?” 

“No.” She stared him down. “If you don’t do it, I will.” Molly lunged for his phone, but Tom was too fast and grabbed it first.

“I’m calling her right now.” He held the phone to his ear, praying it would go to voicemail.

“Tom!” Diana’s warm voice filled his ear. “How are you doing, love?”

“Doing good. A bit of jet lag, I was in Vegas over the weekend.”

Diana hummed. “And how is Luke?”

Tom chuckled. “Angry at me as always.”

“If you would just listen to him…”

“I like her.” Molly popped in.

Tom waved her off. 

“I know, Mother. Listen,” He fidgeted with his hair again. Molly realized it was an absolute tell when Tom was nervous. “I was wondering if you might like to grab some lunch this week. We can catch up. So much as happened since I last saw you.”

“I would be delighted, Thomas. Why don’t you come up to the house? Does Wednesday work for you?”

Tom mouthed “Wednesday” to Molly, who shrugged her shoulders.

“Like I’m doing anything? You and Luke are the only people I know here.”

“Right.” He returned to the call. “Wednesday is perfect, mum. Noon?”

“It’s a date. Don’t forget to bring that wife of yours, Thomas. I am quite keen on meeting her.”

All the blood drained from Tom’s face. “I… I… can explain—”

“I’m sure you can. On Wednesday. I have to go, love. It was good to chat.” The line went dead.

Tom stared at the phone. “I’m so dead. She knows about you.”

“Oh, she knows. You are her son. And didn’t you mention having sisters? They totally ratted you out.” Molly smiled at him.

-

Tom had some appointments on Tuesday which kept his mind occupied from seeing his mother the next day. Molly took some time to figure out how to change her name, get a new passport, and figure out how to maneuver life in a foreign country. Tom took her to get a phone that would work. 

“Here you go.” 

The first thing she did was snap Tom to add to his contact list. He was laughing in the photo.

“Don’t use that one!” Tom pouted. “Let me pose.”

“But I like this one. It captures your essence.”

But now it is Wednesday morning. Tom woke up early to go for a run. Molly was already up, sipping tea in the living room.

“Can I join you?” she asked upon seeing Tom in workout gear.

“I run about three miles…”

“Sounds perfect. Give me two minutes.” She bounded off the couch towards her bedroom. 

Tom fiddled with his headphones until Molly emerged in sneakers and workout leggings. Over the ear headphones around her neck. 

“Ready to go.” She tucked her phone into a pocket. “I will just follow you.”

“Let me know if you need to turn around.” Tom winked as they set off.

They returned home about thirty minutes later.

“Sure you don’t want to go another mile?” Molly bounced on her feet. 

Tom breathed hard. “Maybe another time. I’m a bit out of shape. You run?”

Molly nodded. “Most days I run. If I get up in time. I miss the gym.”

Tom chuckled. “We need to get you a membership. And I need to ..get into shape myself. Can’t let my wife show me up in paparazzi photos.” he half-joked. 

Molly coughed. “They take photos of you running?!”

“Sometimes.” He took a sip of water, his heart rate going back to normal. “Definitely now with you in the picture.”

Molly raised an eyebrow, stepping towards him, grabbing the water bottle from him. “Think they are out there right now?” 

Tom glanced around and sure enough, he spied a few cameras with zoom lenses down the street.

“Yup.” 

Molly wrapped her arms around his neck. “Maybe we should give them a more scandalous photo.” 

Tom leaned down. “What did you have in mind?” he smirked as Molly tugged his head towards her and her lips crashed against his. She sighed and Tom slipped his tongue into her mouth. Molly did the same. As he fisted the back of her shirt, Tom noticed one of Molly’s arms moving. 

“AH!!” He screamed as the cold water poured down on his head and Molly jumped back laughing.

“I thought you needed a little cooling off.” she laughed.

Tom lunged for her with a smile on his face, droplets of water falling from his hair. 

“You’ll pay for that!” Tom gave chase, while Molly dashed into the house, screaming and laughing.

She made it as far as the living room before Tom’s long legs caught up with her.

“Got you!” 

Tom grabbed her by the waist to pull her towards him, but their feet slipped and they ended up on the couch. Tom on top of her. Their eyes locked for a moment before Tom scrambled to his feet. 

“I’ll get you all wet.” he commented nervously. “I should…”

“Right.” Molly nodded, sitting up. “I’ll make some breakfast. Eggs and toast. I don’t know what your mother is planning on for lunch.”

“A light breakfast would be best.” Tom shook out his now soaked t-shirt and Molly caught a glimpse of his abs. 

“No problem.” She smiled. 

They both headed off in different directions. When it was time to leave for Diana’s house, Molly fidgeted with her casual dress and knee-high boots.

“Do I look okay?” she glanced at Tom in jeans and a sweater. “I’m overdressed. Look at you, casually gorgeous. I’m going to change. I have nothing to wear. Nothing to wear…” Molly’s face broke down.

Tom wrapped his arms around her. “What’s going on, darling?” She buried her head in his sweater. “You didn’t freak out like this when we went to go see Luke.”

“That was business. This is your mother. I don’t do well with families, particularly mothers. What if she hates me?” 

He kissed the top of her head. “First off, you look beautiful. Second, if my mum hates anyone between the two of us, it will be me. She is going to love you, darling.” 

Molly sniffled and dabbed her eyes with the back of her fingers. “Really?”

“I am 100% certain. Now let’s get on the road.”

Molly smiled and nodded. The fear wasn’t gone, but she felt better knowing Tom would be there with her. That fear came rushing back as they stood on the front step of the house of Diana Hiddleston. Tom reached for Molly first. 

“I’ve got you, darling.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek right as the door opened.

“Gross, Tom. And at Mum’s house no less.” Emma gagged.

Tom’s cheeks turned a bright pink. “Emma! I didn’t expect you to be here.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “What a surprise.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “And miss out on Mum meeting the girl you married without telling her, not a chance.” Emma turned to Molly. “Emma.”

“Molly B… Hiddleston.” She smiled and extended her hand. Emma shook it with a firm grip.

“The papers didn’t give a name. She seems nice, Tom. Clearly she doesn’t know the real you.”

Tom continued to blush. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Em. Can we come in or are we eating on the front step?”

Emma held the door open wide and stepped aside. They stepped inside. “Mum’s in the kitchen.”

As if on cue, Diana’s voice rang out. “Is that them, Emma?” 

“They just got here!” she yelled before turning back to them. “She’s been cooking all day.” 

Molly gulped. Tom squeezed her hand. An older woman with grey white shoulder length hair. She came up to Tom's shoulder, if that.

“You were supposed to tell me when they got here.” she scolded Emma.

“I was on my way to tell you.” 

“Go take the food out of the oven.”

“But…” Emma protested.

“Go, child. You’ll have the entire meal to listen to me yell. Right now I need a word with your brother.”

Emma pursed her lips as she walked into the kitchen but made a slashing throat gesture, mouthing the words “you’re so dead” at Tom before disappearing. 

Diana wiped her hands on her apron. “Now where is my new daughter-in-law?” 

Molly raised her hand. “That would be me. Molly, ma’am.”

Diana held open her arms and wrapped them around Molly tight. She realized where Tom got his hugging skills. 

“You are just a doll. Is my son treating you well?”

Molly nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“So polite and much shorter than the last one. Right at eye height for me.”

“Mother…”

Diana waved Tom off. “And please call me Diana or Mum or Mom. I promise I don’t bite.”

Molly giggled. “Yes, ma.. Diana.”

Diana hugged her again before spinning to face her son.

“Tom.” She crossed her arms.

“Mum.” Tom grew very interested in the rug on the floor. 

“Do I get a hug?” Diana smiled. 

Tom looked up and grinned. “Always.” The two of them hugged tight, Tom bending at the knees to wrap his arms around her. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Diana pulled back.

Her hand reached out and smacked Tom right upside the head. Tom cowered, covering his head.

“Mum!” he howled.

“You got married and didn’t tell me!”

“I was getting around to it. Luke distracted me!” Tom explained. 

Diana smacked his arm. “Do not blame Luke for this, he is a saint! You were keeping this lovely girl away from me.”

Molly beamed as Diana smacked Tom one more time. 

“You think I’m lovely?” she asked.

Diana turned to Molly. “Oh dear. You are perfectly charming. Unlike my wretch of a son.” Another smack to the chest.

“Really, Mum? In front of our guest?” Tom flinched.

“Molly is family.” Diana stopped, took a deep breath, and smiled. “Now with that sorted, let’s go eat.” She spun on her heel and headed back to the kitchen. 

Tom hooked his arm with Molly’s. “My mother.”

“I like her.” 

-

Emma and Diane pumped the two of them for every detail about this abbreviated courtship.

“A chapel in Vegas, Tom? Romantic.” Emma sneered.

“I thought so.” Molly added.

“Thank you, darling.” Tom leaned against her. 

“Awww.” Emma commented.

Diana stood to clear the dishes as Emma examined Molly’s ring.

“Let me help you.” Tom rose to help, taking the rest of the dishes. Diana grabbed his arm when they reached the sink.

“I really like her, Thomas. You did well.”

“Thank you. She is something.” Tom smiled.

“Much better than the last girl you brought home.”

Tom frowned. “Mum, I…”

Diana held up her hand. “I know. Don’t mention her. But I will say this. There was something about her that didn’t sit right with me.” 

“You never said anything to me.”

Diana smiled softly and cupped Tom’s cheek. “You seemed so in love and happy. And all I have ever wanted for all my kids is to be happy.”

“Oh.”

“But none of that matters. You have Molly now and the two of you have years of happiness ahead.” 

Tom glanced over to where Emma and Molly hunched over Emma’s phone. Tom’s heart twinged with guilt. 

“Right. Of course.” He smiled.

Molly burst out in laughter.

“What is so funny over there?” Tom called out, heading over to the table.

Emma giggled. “Just some old pictures.”

Tom’s face fell. “No, you didn’t…”

Molly giggled. “You were so skinny and that hair!” 

The two girls fell into a fit of giggles as Diane placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder.

“Yes, I like her very much.” she whispered. “Why don’t we pull out the old picture albums?”

Tom groaned. 

[wagner-fell]

I am still very new to this website and I don’t know how link a post but this fic is based on a post by @sandersgrey

(If someone reading this knows how to link a post please either explain it to me or link it in the comments because that post is *amazing*)

“Hmmm,” said Tessa, depositing Mina into Kit’s waiting arms and examining her buzzing phone critically. She shot a quizzical look in his direction.

Jem looked up from his novel. “What is ‘hmmm’, my love?”

Kit mimed vomiting but stopped dead in his tracks when she replied, “it’s Astrid’s mother. You remember her from parent teacher night, don’t you, my darling?” Kit swears they were being extra insufferable just to mess with him but he didn’t have the time to be annoyed when Astrid’s. Mom. Was. Calling. Tessa.

To understand why Kit was panicking as much as he was, you must know that Astrid’s mom was incredibly chill. She never got mad. The worst punishment she’d ever given her daughter was taking away her iPod for a week so she couldn’t listen to Mitski.

Was she calling about last night when Astrid, Mari and Kit threw eggs at the Shadowhunter’s that were giving Mari’s pack a hard time for no reason? No, that couldn’t be it. She’d given them the eggs.

Could the call be about the day before yesterday when Kit and Astrid got distracted doing homework and ended up snapping the coffee table clean in half while battling gladiator style with pool noodles? No, that wasn’t it. She’d just handed Astrid a twenty and told them to go to Kevin’s parents' shop and get a new one. Was she pissed because they ended up spending the money on ice cream instead? No, they ended up finding a table for free in the rubbing bin outside a fancy hotel.

Kit clutched his sister to his chest and prepared for the worst.

“Seo-yoon! What can I do for- Oh, hello Astrid!” Tessa paused briefly, presumably to listen to Astrid speak, and Kit sighed in relief.

“Kit is occupied at the moment but I can relay the message.” Another pause. “Oh don’t be frightened of me. I’m a tots rad mom. Your secret is safe with me.” Kit felt his face flush red as he heard his best friend’s laughter echo across the living room. “Okay! I’ll let him know. He has to get Mina to sleep before he can leave though. Lord knows he’s the only one who can these days.” Tessa chuckled at something Astrid said before wishing her good luck in her endeavour and ending the call.

She turned her attention back to Kit. “Astrid needs your help breaking into your teacher’s home to retrieve her cell phone.”

Kit blinked at her, dumbfounded. “You aren’t mad I’m going to go break the law?”

Because of course he was doing it. Astrid’s dad had bought it for her and he was extremely cautious about money. That was one of three things Kit knew about her dad. He was cheap, he lived in America and he loved the movie Fight Club.

Tessa ruffled Kit’s hair affectionately. “Please. I’ve raised two other Herondales. At least I know about this particular adventure beforehand.”

Mina began snoring softly and Kit handed her back to her mother. He grabbed his bag and started his journey to the door when Tessa added, “she also told me to say hi to a ‘daddy Kit’. Are you ‘daddy Kit?’”

‘Daddy Kit’ closed his eyes and wished for the sweet release of death.

“Why is Kit a daddy,” Jem asked, genuinely confused. “Aren’t I the daddy?”

Kit swung the door open so fast not even a speed rune could have aided him. But not before I heard Tessa reply, “Lily Chen certainly thinks so.”

Mrs. MacNamara clapped her hands together. “Why don’t we all go around and say a few things about ourselves?”

Kit buried his face into his hands. He’d been relieved when no other teacher had fulfilled the Disney channel stereotype of making every student introduce themselves to the new kid. But Mrs. MacNamara didn’t even seem to realize what she was doing.

All Kit’s fellow classmates groan. Expect one. Her hand shot up immediately. She was short, like smaller than Clary short. She wore a baggy pink shirt with the words ‘Queen Glimmer of Etheria’ sewed on with purple sequins and tight black jeans. Her colourful, choppy hair was in a low ponytail and she flew a few strands out of her eyes as her hand wiggled in the hair.

Mrs. MacNamara pointed at her. She stood up and smiled at Kit. “Hi. My name is Astrid. My hobbies include making my little cousin’s girl Barbies kiss, as it should be, and watching television shows where everyone is a terrible person so you can love all of them!”

“And what shows might that be?” asked Kit, already in the process of pulling out his phone and opening the Notes app.

“Grey’s Anatomy, Glee, Grey’s Anatomy again because it’s seventeen seasons as of right now. And to be fair it practically became a different show when they killed off Mark Sloan.”

“That’s enough, Miss Yang,” said Mrs. MacNamara. Astrid sat down and winked at Kit. Then she took out her phone and airdropped him a complete list of all her favorite shows, along with her number.

After Blessica’s pre-birthday birthday party, they went to Cirenworth and stayed up till four A.M. binging them.

They met outside a queer dry bar called Aries Not Welcome, the unspoken gathering place of the Merry Hoes. It was run by a poly lesbian couple in their mid-thirties. Quinn, Sydney and Aliyah may not have served alcohol but at least they were open 24/7.

“Did you bring the shit?”

Kit gave her a look. “The shit? How conclusive.”

“Shut up. You know, the shadowhunter thing.”

“The shadowhunter thing?”

“The, the, the glow stick that you draw with.”

“The glow stick that I draw wi-“ Kit closed his eyes briefly. “Do you mean a stele?”

Astrid snapped her fingers. “That’s it!” Kit shook his head in exasperation, smiling fondly. “I borrowed a torch from Quinn, let’s move.”

“Should I be worried that you know where Mr. Smith lives?” questioned Kit as he followed Astrid’s lead through the park.

“Should I be worried that your mom was fine with us breaking and entering?” she shot back playfully. Kit pushed Astrid and she fell off the path, laughing all the way.

“You called me ‘daddy’ to my mom’s face.”

She just laughed harder, slinging her arm around Kit’s shoulder. “It was over the phone, Christopher. And as I should.”

“Pffffttt. Why did you get your phone taken anyway?” She put her hands into her jumper pocket and looked at the ground. “Astrid.” She remained silent. “Astrid?”

She mumbled something under her breath. “What?” asked Kit.

“I WAS READING NINEJ FANFICTION!” she shouted.

Kit gasped. “I thought you were a die hard Kanej shipper,” he whispered.

“I’m a multishipper, okay?!” she replied, equally quiet.

“Does Blessica know?”

She shook her head. “And she will never find out.”

Kit saw the opportunity and he seized it. “She’ll never find out as long as you never call me daddy in front of either of my parents.”

She removed her arm from his shoulder and guided them out of the park, in the direction of the many apartments that lined this side of town. “I hate you.”

“Well, so does Mari. You're not special, Ast.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know Mari doesn’t actually hate you, right?! They’re just still in the enemy phase of your enemies-to-lovers romance. She only dislikes you because they feel something for you but they don’t know what so she interrupts it as loathing. In reality, her inner soul knows you’re hot and shmexie.”

Kit didn’t know how to process this so he just nodded and follow Astrid in silence to Mr. Smith’s house. (Plus, he was kinda glad that, according to his best friend, he had a little more time for Mari to ‘discover their true feelings’. If Kit screwed this up, he was out of countries to run off to.)

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What,” asked Kit, turning around to face Astrid and closing the drawer he was rifling through. “Did you find your phone?”

“Yeah. But I also found Blessica’s. She was Snapping Kevin. Platonic my ass. But he took the fucking trans flag out of her phone!”

Kit snatched Blessica’s phone out of her hand to examine it for herself. She was telling the truth. Where the glitter pride flag usually rested was just a clear purple case. Kit couldn’t believe his eyes.

“It’s one thing to misgender her every day.” Blessica had forced all four of the other Merry Hoes to sign a contract saying they wouldn’t do anything to harm him because of it. “But this is the last straw. You know what we have to do.” Oops.

“Yeah, but we don’t have any spray paint.”

Kit eyed Mr. Smith’s pink sofa, blue bar stool covers and white picture frames. “I think I have something better in mind.”

It would have been easier for both parties to just zip off the sofa cushions and tape them to the wall but by ripping them off in strips, they ensured he would have to buy new ones. And judging by the car he drove and the fiji water in his fridge, Mr. Smith could definitely afford it.

That reminded him, “I’ll finish up with this. Go put all his fiji water into my bag.” Astrid saluted him and ran off. “Wait.” She stopped and looked at him. “Steal all the remotes you can find.”

“How is he not awake?,” asked Astrid as they ripped the fabric of his seating from the stool.

He shrugged. “Don’t question it.” He shoved the bundle of cloth into her arms. “Glue this above the pink. I’ll handle the frames.”

“Say the magic word,” she sang.

“Please?”

“No. Lesbian. Come on, I thought you knew me better than that.”

Kit laughed quietly. “Can you lesbian glue this above the pink?”

She grinned at Kit. “It would be my pleasure.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Hello! Sorry I haven’t written anything in so long. School just restarted and it has been…a lot.

@adoravel-fenomeno @thechangeling @the-blackdale @the-wckd-powers @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @im-not-ruined-im-ruination @ithurielkeepsgettingkidnapped @noah-herondale-lightwood @arangiajoan @shelvesofgold @maxboythedog @book-dragon-not-worm @hardlymatters

Very sorry if I forgot anyone. Lmk if you want to be addEd/removEd from the tag list.

[drmmyrs]

The Way I Loved You (Poppy x MC)

Soo bear with me since I think this might be a long series. This part is mostly just establishing the story so there is little to no fluff yet.

But stiiill, let me know what you guys think and I’d really appreciate feedback/constructive criticism. Hope you enjoy and if not, thanks for reading anyways :)) 

tag list: @whackawriting @samanthadalton @crazzyplays @uselesslesbianfr (ithis is my taglist I thiiink, but if you wanna be added or removed just let me know)  

Pairing: Poppy x MC (Bea)

Word Count: 1650

Warning: Little swearing (at least for this part)

A/N: This is from the part before Poppy and MC were paired for a project

Bea had been at Belvoire for two months now, but she still wasn't used to waking up on a queen-sized canopy bed fitted with luxe sateen sheets in a bedroom which probably cost more than her family's house back at Farmsville. She glanced at the clock–11:30 am. She still had some time to spare before her first class. How people managed to wake up early on this luxurious bed made of clouds, she didn't know.

After a few more minutes of daydreaming, Bea begrudgingly pulled herself out of bed. She was preparing her outfit when the smell of heaven wafted through the bedroom door–bacon and pancakes. Like some kind of puppet on strings, Bea let herself be led by the delicious aroma to the kitchen where Zoey was expertly pouring pancake batter on a pan.

"I didn't know I was roommates with a master chef," Bea jested.

Zoey turned around at Bea's voice, and as she saw her, a smirk crawled up her lips.

"Well, don't you look sexy." Zoey eyed Bea up and down with an amused look on her face.

Bea glanced down at her outfit and saw that she was still in her pajamas. "Whatever Zo, not everyone can rock designer outfits even in bed."

"Hey, I'm not complaining. Besides, Spongebob PJs do have a certain charm."

Bea rolled her eyes while smiling. "So, what are we having for breakfast?"

"I'm pretty sure it's lunch. And aren't you supposed to be in class, like, right about now?"

"Nah, my Tuesday classes aren't until one o'clock."

Zoey stared at Bea. "Babe, it's Wednesday."

Bea's eyes widened at Zoey's words. "No, no, no, Professor Roberta is gonna kill me."

Bea rushed to her room and hastily changed her clothes faster than she thought was possible. She contemplated going to class au naturel, but ultimately decided against it. Bea was not ugly by any means without makeup, but in a sea of extremely contoured cheeks and false eyelashes, having no makeup was basically social suicide, especially since Poppy was in that class. Ugh, great. Of course, I'm late to the only class I have with Poppy.

When Bea thought she was presentable enough, she sprinted out the door but not before grabbing a handful of pancakes and shoving it to her mouth, looking like a chipmunk in the process. The T is gonna have a field day if someone saw me like this. Bea slowed her sprint to a stride as she swallowed the last of the pancakes.

Bea arrived in class forty-five minutes late.

"Look who finally decided to join us," Professor Roberta said in disdain.

"Sorry Professor, won't happen again."

"I'm sure it won't. And since you decided to join us so late, you're gonna have to work with Ms. Min-Sinclair over here for your community service project."

Oh hell no.

Sure enough, Poppy was sitting alone, glaring at her, and Bea could almost swear she could see smoke coming out of her nose.

Bea hesitantly sat down beside Poppy.

"Look Poppy, let's be civil about this and finish this project fast so we–"

"We're not going to do anything, Farmsville. I will ace this project and you will stay out of my damn way."

"Like hell I'm gonna let you take all the credit."

"Is there a problem here?" The professor glowered at Poppy and Bea.

"None professor, we were just calmly discussing the details of the project," Poppy responded with a fake smile.

Bea rolled her eyes. Kiss ass.

Once the professor was out of earshot, Poppy sharply turned to Bea. "Be ready on Friday, we're going to a foster home in Middletown."

"Middletown? But that's like an hour away!"

"I don't see you coming up with better ideas," Poppy hissed.

"I–I–"

"I thought so. Do not be late, Farmsville. I don't want you taking more of my time than you already do," Poppy said with a glare before she grabbed her Chanel purse and strode away.

***

Back at her dorm, Bea was resting her head on her hands on the dining table when Zoey arrived.

Upon seeing Bea, Zoey immediately took a seat beside her and placed her hand comfortingly on her shoulder. "Aww, babe. Was Professor Roberta that mad?"

Bea turned to face Zoey. "No, but it was much, much worse."

Zoey raised her eyebrow.

"I was paired with Satan for our project."

"Poppy?"

Bea nodded. "She even wanted to do the project in Middletown. Middletown. That's like an hour away! I mean surely there has to be another community that needs servicing that doesn't require an hour drive with Poppy."

Zoey pretended to think thoughtfully. "Hmm, maybe she finally found a way to get rid of you permanently?"

"I'm serious, Zo." Bea glared at Zoey.

Zoey laughed. "Okay, okay, sorry. But do bring holy water just in case."

Bea groaned and stood up from the chair before ambling to her bedroom. "I'm going to bed."

Before Bea was able to shut the door, Zoey called out after her. "You'll survive, babe! Give her hell for me."

***

Just a few minutes after Bea got back from her classes, she heard the sound of consecutive horns outside which she immediately knew were from Poppy. No one else is obnoxious enough to disturb an entire dormitory. With a sigh, Bea grabbed her things and trudged outside.

When Bea got outside, Poppy's Range Rover was parked at the curb. Bea walked to the passenger's side and opened the door.

"Be a dear will you and don't touch anything, I don't want your filthy hands staining my car."

Bea rolled her eyes. Hello to you, too.

The first few minutes of the drive were silent except for the light rain that started drizzling on the windshield, that is, until Bea asked Poppy, "why are we going all the way to Middletown anyway? There's probably some–"

"Remember that time when I asked for your opinion?"

Bea just glared at Poppy.

"Me neither. So, shut up, Hughes."

"How about you take a day off from being a bitch, Poppy. Seeing that you've had your whole life being just that," Bea rebuked.

The entire car ride was spent with both girls hurling insults at each other that it was honestly surprising that Poppy didn't kick Bea out of the car in the middle of the road.

After one looong hour, they finally arrived.

"Don't get in my way, Farmsville," Poppy warned as she approached the house and rang the doorbell. After a few moments, a middle-aged woman opened the door.

"Poppy! What a pleasant surprise. Come on in." The woman gestured them inside.

Hang on, how does she know Poppy?

The woman led Bea and Poppy to a couch and asked them if they wanted something to drink, to which both of them politely declined.

"So, Brenda. How is the family?" Poppy was wearing a smile that might actually be... genuine?

Bea stared at Poppy in shock. Not only were they on a first-name basis, but Poppy was actually nice to someone that doesn't involve sucking up.

"They're doing great! Thomas actually just got promoted recently so we're gonna take the kids somewhere nice sometime next week."

"That's amazing, send Thomas my regards."

Okay, what the hell is happening?

After a few more polite conversations, Brenda turned to Bea. "You haven't introduced me to your friend yet." Brenda extended her hand to Bea. "I'm Brenda."

Bea wore her biggest smile as she shook Brenda's hand. "Bea. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Poppy cleared her throat. "Actually, we came here for a community service project, and we were hoping that we could throw the kids a small party and maybe at the same time we can do a photography shoot that can be shared to prospective families. Do you think we can do that?"

"Oh, certainly! I'm sure the kids would love that."

"That's great to hear. Where are they anyway?"

"They're actually out there playing with the toys you sent them. Come on, I'll lead you to them." Brenda stood up and walked towards the back door.

Poppy started to follow her but turned around when she noticed Bea was still sitting down.

"If you're just gonna sit there like a half-wit, do us a favor Farmsville, and do it far away from here."

Still in disbelief, Bea stood up and followed Poppy and Brenda to the yard where Poppy was greeted enthusiastically by five kids. She watched as Poppy played with them with such kindness and compassion that she couldn't help but smile as most of her anger towards the blonde was replaced with warmth and some other indescribable feelings. After a few more games where Bea was basically manhandled by Poppy to join, all of them went back inside exhausted. As it was already getting late, Bea and Poppy said their farewells to Brenda and the kids with a promise of returning on Sunday for the party and went back on the road.

Bea had so many questions she wanted to ask Poppy but the look on Poppy's face implied that she probably won't be answering any of those. A few minutes later, there was suddenly a huge downpour of rain that Poppy had to park the car. Bea then received a text from Zoey, and as she read it, a look of dread flashed across her face.

Poppy frowned upon seeing the look on Bea's face. "What is it now?"

"There's a typhoon. We're stuck here."

***

Bea and Poppy managed to find a decent hotel nearby where they decided to stay until the typhoon passed.

"Two rooms, please. And make them as far away as possible," Poppy said to the receptionist while handing him her credit card, giving Bea a glare at the last sentence.

And here I thought we're finally making progress.

"I'm sorry Ms. Min-Sinclair, we only have one more room available for tonight."

[acerace]

tumblr user buildmartenjoyer did you hear dream's latest build mart rant made it onto reddit

I did hear! I read the transcript earlier as well to see more than just the random screenshots people like to vague lmao

Obviously I, Tumblr user buildmartenjoyer, quite like Build Mart! I think it gets a somewhat underserved amount of hate that has little to do with the game itself. That does not mean I think it is a perfect game. If multiple people have multiple complaints over multiple events about a specific game, then yeah there's probably an issue somewhere! Doesn't mean the game is bad and irredeemable and awful and needs to be removed or even retired.

Also whoops I rambled! Below the cut for general musings on Dream's recent Build Mart comments. This is not cc!Dream critical or neg, btw, most of my rambling is me considering his points from the pov of someone who really loves Build Mart and enjoys watching it. 

Man I wanna pick the green man's brain on MCC so bad like!! I don't think Build Mart is a bad game- in fact I think it's like A Tier- and I disagree with a lot of what Dream says about mcc in general, but he also makes good points! Like he's right- if you play 100 games of Build Mart of, let's say, orange 17 and cyan 17, orange is going to win 100/100 games, whereas with games like Sky Battle or Parkour Tag, for example, there's going to be more of a split, because the games have "pop off" potential as he says. See Grian being #1 individual in Sky Battle in 17 with one (1) tnt and good survival points. Personally, I think this is a fair point because part of the fun and charm of MCC is that it isn't set in stone and you don't know who the winner's going to be half way through the event like with twitch rivals or mcm.

In that specific post, Dream's main issue he describes is him struggling with memory and knowing what blocks he needs. Fair enough! The game stresses communication and memorization more than any other skill, and struggling with those is going to hurt your performance and how much fun you have. But imo there are in game strategies you could implement to help. And obviously I say all this as someone who has never Played BM/MCC in general so grain of salt lol.

If he's good at placing blocks but not collecting them, then have the team split into pairs- two builders taking a build each and two runners working with a builder each. Dream stays at the build and tells his runner what blocks to bring him, then Dream can build while the runner goes to work on the 3rd build, for example. Then maybe rush gold builds? Like if the issue is physically getting the blocks, then work with your team to get someone else to do it. For the first set of builds when no one has blocks, have one builder get wood and the other stone, while the runners work on the specific blocks for their pair's build, maybe, so no one's sitting around waiting. Like I feel like there's options, you know?

I also think that most of the problems with Build Mart comes from the fact it's the only "building" game. If you like pvp you can vote for Sky Battle or Battle Box or Survival Games, all of which are pvp games that test differing skills and have distinct strategies- you don't need to bridge in SG, for example. But if you want a building game you have BM and only BM, and it's barely a building game at that. Adding another option- I like the battle box inspired idea- would lessen BM's dominance, because non pvp teams almost always want BM and want it late, giving another option will shake up the meta here and expose the underlying issues with BM.

Also I feel like the thing people get most pressed about is when Dream brings up Grian? I think it's usually a fine comparison because they have very different preferred games and play styles while having similar amounts of experience, and Grian is the largest of the non dsmp streamers. Grian is one of the best Build Mart players and hates Parkour Warrior and says he won't play if it comes back; Dream was one of the best Parkour Warrior players and hates Build Mart and says he won't play if he knows it's going to be played. The difference comes up in specific contexts- when Dream said Grian could hate pkw but he can't say anything about bm because people get mad at him, for example, that was meh to me because yeah you have a point about how people attack you over everything but did you have to pick the one person who had an actual panic attack playing the game? In this specific post, Grian has indeed killed Dream in pvp before, but it's never been 1v1 when both are prepared for it and at full health lol. The closest you get to that is the original Dreamslayer moment in MCC9, but even then Dream was healing from a previous fight and Grian got the drop on him. Dream will kill Grian 99/100 times.

Dream was being pretty sarcastic with his comments on not needing to communicate in BM, and yeah Pete was being quiet but that's because he was listening to what Grian was saying lol. With Grian's BM strategy, the CEO is loud and in charge and constantly talking, the builders only speak up when they need something or have a gold build, and the floater is constantly talking to the CEO. Dream saying Pete wasn't talking much is true, because he was one of the silent roles! But he was still communicating- if he hadn't told Grian about the gold build or asked what was behind the duck build or told Grian to get more glass then they wouldn't have done as well. I also think it's interesting he chose Pete's pov to watch, because it seems to me he's looking at BM strategies and trying to find some that'll work for him? He can't be CEO or floater because those both rely on knowing what blocks everyone needs, so him watching one of the builders makes sense to me.

Most of my issues with how people (Dream included) talk about BM is when they're flat out wrong or subjective lol. Build Mart is not a slow game, you're just watching someone who doesn't know what they're doing. It's not a boring game, you're just watching a team that gives up before the game even starts. I feel the same intense excitement and stress about BM as I do about SG and SoT! Watching Grian play is intense and exciting and edge of the seat! People have a lot of misconceptions about BM, which I rambled about in the tags of this post here, which I still stand by. The tl;dr of my thoughts on what makes a good Build Mart player is that Grian is not good at BM because he's a good builder- he makes mistakes constantly in BM- but rather because he can communicate with his team so effectively it doesn't matter if he spends 30 seconds looking for a crafting recipe or collecting the wrong block.

So there are my thoughts anon! I’m not sure what you were expecting, because I like both Grian and Dream and think they both make very good points about MCC and game design in general (considering they both have experience running mc servers lol) and they tend to have very different opinions and experiences, so comparing them is interesting to me! I don’t necessarily agree with Dream’s points about MCC in general (the only people whose views I tend to wholesale support are H and Pete lmao) but Dream is allowed to dislike a game based on his personal opinions and feelings and he is allowed to rant about it in his own merch discord. Doesn’t mean he’s wrong or right, or that you have to agree or disagree. 

[samanddeaninpanties]

Title: Lion’s Share 

AO3 Link

Square Filled: Claiming 

Ship: Dean/Jack

Rating: E 

Written for the @winklinebingo 

Tags: Dubious Consent, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha Jack Kline, Alpha/Alpha, Omega Sam Winchester (mentioned), Anal Fingering, Rimming, Anal Sex, Knotting, Top Dean Winchester, Bottom Jack Kline, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Dean Winchester, Jealous Dean Winchester, First Time, First Kiss, Banter, Arguing, Violence, the violence is fairly mild it’s mainly just the set-up for the sex, Wall Sex, Age Difference, Barebacking, Mentioned Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Mentioned Jack Kline/Sam Winchester, Come as Lube, Porn, Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Heart-to-Heart, Manhandling, Claiming, Mating Bites, Loss of Control, Roommates, oh my god they were roommates, POV Jack Kline 

Summary: Jack is drawn to unmated omega Sam. His asshole alpha brother Dean is having none of it. 

(A.k.a "Knot the omega you are looking for") 

“What the fuck is this?" Dean snapped, throwing a bouquet of wildflowers at Jack as he stormed into the man-cave. 

Jack caught it but his bowl of Reese’s Puffs cereal spilled and tumbled to the floor. He scowled at Dean and placed the flowers on the arm of the La-Z-Boy recliner. "Don’t tell me you don’t know what flowers are.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. "Why were they in Sam's room?"

"Because I gave them to Sam. Why were you in his room?"

"Putting his laundry in there. That's not the point. I'm pretty fucking tired of you constantly putting moves on him."

Jack raised an eyebrow before turning his attention back to the TV. "Sam's an unmated omega.” 

"And you just conveniently didn't notice my scent marking?" 

"Is that supposed to mean something to me? Your scent is inescapable, Dean. It’s everywhere.” 

Dean snarled and grabbed Jack by his shirt collar and heaved him up out of the chair. "You’re too smart to be so fucking stupid. I meant on Sam."

Jack's breath hitched at Dean's fury but he raised his chin, stomping out any hint of weakness. "No, I didn’t notice."

"Well you should, Jack. Because it’s my knot that gets him through his heats. So I'm gonna tell you straight up: fuck off," Dean said. 

Jack swallowed a groan and tried to extricate himself from Dean’s grasp. "No. Your agreement is out of convenience, not love. Maybe Sam wants to explore his options."

Dean forced Jack backward and slammed Jack against the brick wall by the open door. Sam could come back from the supply run any second and - 

“Get off me," Jack panted and shoved Dean’s chest, hard. 

The push sent Dean off balance but he didn't let go of Jack. He thrust Jack back into the wall and pinned him there. "I don't care what you think you have going on with my brother. He's not available." 

Jack’s insides turned into liquid. "How do you know? Have you asked him what he wants?" 

"Sam is mine. My brother, my omega, mine." There was a pounding in Jack’s blood, a click in his head. Dean’s lips were rosy; fuckable. Maddeningly distracting. Really, Dean’s whole face screamed omega at first blush but Dean had been quick to put those thoughts to bed. 

"He’s never stated that. Can you blame me for trying? Sam's so pretty." Jack sounded needy and mindless rather than confident and in control.

"I don't blame you. I'm just telling you enough is enough.” 

Jack quit trying to escape. It was fruitless. Dean was bigger and stronger and he just couldn’t. "Did you really think that if you ordered me to stop I’d obey?"

"Maybe I should put you in your place then." 

Jack jolted, dick straining. Disgusting. Shameful. And so hot. His eyes wandered to the Foosball table, the unfinished bar, Dean’s toys, his whole domain. He was just another thing in Dean’s den to be used as Dean saw fit. "If you're trying to scare me it’s not going to work.” 

Dean snickered. "Thought so. You dirty boy. Moaning and whining like a bitch in heat while I touch you."

Jack was dripping inside his pants. It didn't even matter that Dean was laughing at him, his dick, his knot, knew what it wanted. "You’re not my type,” Jack lied because he wasn’t ready to inflate Dean’s overblown ego just yet. 

"Your type seems to be oversized omegas but we're going to fix that, aren't we?" Dean maneuvered Jack so he was facing the wall. “You want me to fuck you, Jack? Claim you?"

"Dean," Jack keened, canting his hips. His mind was stuck on claim claim claim. Such a derogatory word to use when playing with another alpha. 

Dean dragged his teeth over the nape of Jack's neck. A threat, a tease. So unfair. "Bet you wish you could get wet for me." He snaked an arm around Jack's body, found his cock. Squeezed it. "I should keep you both.” 

Jack groaned, rocking against Dean’s hand. Dean’s hand was fire, it was a brand. "You don't even like me." 

"Who said I don't like you?" 

"You did with your attitude. All the glaring and baring of teeth," Jack rasped and looked over his shoulder so he could gaze into Dean’s piercing eyes. 

"Yeah, well. Maybe if you didn't choose to sniff around Sam... “ Dean pushed Jack's shirt up and over his head and threw it on the floor. 

Jack drifted away from the wall, facing Dean to give him better access. "It was like that before I 'sniffed around Sam.'"

"Whatever." Dean started on Jack's pants. Once Jack was naked, Dean roughly grabbed Jack’s chin and consumed him with a heated kiss. His free hand stroked Jack. Slow. Torturous. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Dean let out a growl that shook Jack down to his bones, his innermost parts. He manhandled Jack back into position, nose facing the wall like he was a naughty child in time-out. And then Dean was sinking to his knees. 

“What are you - oh!” Jack’s body threatened to collapse when Dean pulled his cheeks apart and buried his face between them, forcing his tongue into Jack’s hole. A place he’d never let anyone. A place that was only Jack’s. 

Dean was deadset on barreling through any boundary Jack had ever had without bothering to ask him if it was okay. And Jack couldn’t even be mad, no one had ever made him feel this wanted, this desirable. 

“Two little omegas,” Dean purred against hot flesh. His tongue was slippery-wet, fucking in and out, making Jack’s toes curl. Too much, not enough. “All for me.” 

“Not an omega.” 

“You will be when I’m finished with you.” 

Jack wanted to laugh at the sheer idiocy of Dean’s statement. The certainty. Dean was letting his inner alpha run wild and dominate every part of their interaction and it showed. “You’re delusional.” 

“Nah. I just know a knot-slut when I smell one,” Dean said and went right back to destroying Jack with that wicked tongue. Dean’s hand found Jack’s cock again and pumped him expertly as he ate Jack out. “Come on, baby. Give up the goods, make a mess in my hand. You know I need it, we need it,” Dean said, using his alpha voice. 

Jack’s window of opportunity, his chance to fight tooth and nail, was long gone - not that it ever would’ve ended differently. Dean was too strong and Jack didn’t really want to get away, even if it meant the humiliation of being taken and claimed rather than being the one doing the claiming. 

Dean wanted him, a turn of events he wouldn’t have expected a few short weeks ago. Actually, he wouldn’t have thought it possible twelve hours ago - 

“Jack,” Dean said, nipping Jack’s ass cheek. Jack came with a soft whine into Dean’s hand, his sloppy, tongue-fucked hole clenching greedily. 

“Oh, baby. You can do better than that,” Dean purred. Dean waited a few beats before pressing two come-slick fingers into Jack. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“Gotta scream for me, Jack. Gotta beg me real sweet.” 

“Dean, no,” Jack said, his voice wavering as he fucked himself on Dean’s hand. 

“Nuh-uh, try again. Dean, yes.” Dean added another finger and Jack was afraid he’d break, that he was being pushed beyond his limit, beyond what his body could take. His hole felt so small with Dean inside him, how on earth was an alpha cock supposed to fit? 

“Can’t -” 

“Yeah, you can, baby. And you will. And you want it.” When Dean started to withdraw his fingers Jack tried to turn and see - but Dean was prepared for that. “No moving. Not yet.” 

Jack huffed and settled. “You’re really starting to get on my nerves, Dean.” 

“Welcome to the club,” Dean said, his giant hands using Jack for support as he returned to his feet. He only removed his hands long enough to rid himself of his clothes, tossing them into a messy pile, and then he was back to crowding Jack against the wall. And oh, Dean’s cock burned even hotter than his hands. He humped between Jack’s cheeks, making his home near Jack’s hole. Ready to claim it properly any second. “That’s how you make me feel all the time.” 

“So, I was right! You can’t stand me,” Jack said, trying to avoid the sting, trying to ignore the ache and embarrassment. He’d been told more than once he was too sensitive for his own good. His hurt was confirmation, proof the criticisms were correct. 

Dean kissed the nape of Jack’s neck, dragged his lips along it. Jack’s body was a treacherous thing because he arched into the contact like the slut Dean had proven him to be. “It’s complicated. C’mon Jack, don’t act like you don’t get it. Sometimes love can be hateful. We hurt people we love more than we hurt people we couldn’t give a damn about.” 

“Shut up, Dean.” 

“Aw, baby. I have what you need,” Dean crooned and began pressing his cock into Jack’s ass. 

The impossible stretch made Jack’s eyes water. “I can’t,” Jack choked out. He squirmed as Dean sank deeper and Jack’s inner alpha screamed at Jack to fight. To push Dean away. Out. “You have to -” 

“Relax.” Dean soothed his big, callused hand over Jack’s lower back. “You’ll work yourself into a panic if you don’t.” 

“No, Dean, you don’t understand. We were wrong to try. Alphas aren’t made to fit a knot,” Jack said, his last words breaking and twisting into a moan. 

“Feels right to me. Looks awesome, too.” Dean grabbed the meat of Jack’s ass. Spread Jack’s cheeks as he continued to glide in, punching the air out of him with each thrust. Jack could only ride the waves of discomfort in hopes he came out the other side relatively unscathed. “Your hole is doing the work it needs to do. I’ve got you.” 

“Okay, Dean,” Jack groaned. Nodded. He ached more than anything but Dean believed Jack could handle Dean’s cock - so Jack could trust him. 

“I wanna take you hard,” Dean panted, licking a hot stripe along Jack’s neck. 

“You really wanna mess me up, don’t you?” 

Dean laughed and shoved in brutally, cock pulsing with the need to knot. “Only in the best ways.” 

“Please shut up.” The pace was quick. Bruising. There was a choking relief at being fucked. 

“Oh, I got a ‘please’ this time? Gotta mark this on my calendar, write it down in my diary. ‘I dicked Jack so good he said please. Can’t wait to do it again.’” 

“You really are an asshole,” Jack said, face flaming from humiliation as Dean cackled like a lunatic. Dean was teasing Jack and it wasn’t nice - but he’d said something very important, too. Something Jack needed clarification on. “Do you wanna fuck me again, though?” 

Dean hummed. Kissed the lobe of his ear. Breathed into it. “Hell yeah.” 

Jack whined and yelped as Dean’s next shove hit just right. “Dean, you’re killing me.” 

“Better start working on your stamina, kid, because I have no interest in going easy on you. Ever,” Dean promised as he plunged deep into Jack. 

Jack came unexpectedly with a sob, lost as Dean fucked him through the aftershocks. “Dean - please. Please can we -” his voice cut off, moaning as Dean pulled out of him. His ruined hole clenched on nothing. An eager, hungry thing. 

“C’mon,” Dean ordered, tugging Jack away from the wall and over to the recliner. Dean sat first, patting his lap expectantly. “Sit on me, baby.” 

Jack didn’t need to be told twice. His legs were desperate for a break. He scrambled onto Dean’s cock as fast as his body would let him, moaning as he sank down, taking everything. His puffy, abused hole so happy to be filled with Dean’s giant cock. “You have to come, too, don’t leave me alone,” Jack finally rasped, rolling his hips.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be with you in a minute,” Dean purred. Squeezing the globes of Jack’s ass. 

When Dean’s knot started to inflate it was bigger than anything Jack had imagined, it filled up every empty space and then some, and Jack thought he’d scream or stop breathing altogether when Dean’s knot almost popped out and he dragged Jack closer to him, making sure his knot and come stayed in. “Told you. I’m too small,” Jack said faintly as more of Dean’s come shot inside. 

“I disagree,” Dean said in his smug alpha tone then bit down on Jack’s neck, leaving a raw, tender wound. A claiming mark. “Mine.” 

“Dean. I didn’t say you could do that.” There was a not-so-secret part of him that liked it, that just needed to be forced. Playing with Dean made him feel insane. 

“You didn’t have to.” Jack smacked Dean’s chest and he caught Jack’s wrist in his tight grip. 

“Need more training, huh? Maybe when my knot goes down I should tie your feisty little ass up in my room, keep you near me always.” 

Jack bared his teeth. “Dean, you can tease me all you want, it doesn’t change anything. I’m an alpha. Not an omega. I’m going to keep wanting what I want.” 

“You still want Sam.” Relief trickled into Jack. It wasn’t a question. Maybe they were getting somewhere, maybe there was hope this could end without too much drama or tears. “I get it. Anyone with half a brain does.” Dean faltered, fell silent again. Jack tried to give Dean room to think, tried to wait. For a few seconds, anyway. He wracked his brain for a solution. Couldn’t leave Dean alone. Coax it out of him. Jack tossed his head, gazed at Dean through his lashes, and milked Dean’s knot. Come on, Dean. You can do it. And then - success. Dean’s eyes softened and he let go of Jack’s wrist. “You got under my skin in a way others didn’t. Hasn’t done great things for me. I know Sammy loves me. But I could just stick with him the rest of my life and be happy - I don’t think the same could be said about him. So, yeah, maybe I was feeling a little, uh, threatened by you or whatever.” 

For a heartbeat, Dean looked so damned sad. Little boy lost. It was gone in a blink but Jack had seen it. Dean’s insecurities, his fears, laid bare for Jack. “You know he doesn’t need to choose, right? If Sam needs more than just you… he could have it all? We could share?” Jack placed a hand on Dean’s cheek. “I won’t try to replace you, Dean.” 

Dean hummed. His gaze roamed over Jack, making Jack’s heart jump. “Maybe you could have a supervised session. If you can earn it. I want you all to myself right now, though.” Dean didn’t give Jack a chance to pout, pulling him into another life-changing kiss. 

“If you want me all to yourself, fucking me with the door wide open was a bad idea. What if Sam sees?” Jack croaked when the kiss broke. Dean tweaked Jack’s nipples, growling playfully. Even if Jack wasn’t full of Dean’s knot, he had a feeling Dean wouldn’t bother locking them away somewhere safe and private. 

Maybe that was a good thing. 

Jack let himself melt into Dean and drifted off on his knot. 

[dancedance-resolution]

andi mack friendom, are you interested in some more thoughts about my andi mack / american girl crossover (which is actually just a thinly veiled info dump about american girl history and drama)? if so, you're in the right place!

the andi / buffy / cyrus doll set i designed would be a contemporary line.

CONTEXT (forewarning, this is basically just an ag info dump about the 2017 contemporary line) (also, tagging @kirstensleepey because i think this write up might be useful for the ag project you're working on <3):

so in 2017, american girl did a brand new thing. they released 3 dolls who were contemporary characters but not girls of the year. (prior to these dolls' release, which are called "the contemporary line" by the ag fandom, the only categories of ag dolls were historicals, girls of the year, and just like yous.)

the contemporary line was controversial for many reasons.

first, we have our main character, tenney grant. (tenney is basically taylor swift as a doll, if taylor were uncool and a r*publican lol.)

one of the reasons why tenney is so controversial is that she overshadowed the girl of the year (henceforth abbreviated as goty) 2017, gabriella mcbride.

tenney was released only one month after gabriella's release. ag's social media gave much more focus to tenney than gabriella. upon tenney's release, gabriella's store displays were downsized (which is unheard of for a goty). tenney even had a larger collection than gabriella!

why are we mad about tenney overshadowing gabriella? well, gabriella was ag's first (and as of 2021, ONLY) black goty. also, gabriella was ag's first doll to have an explicity confirmed disability - her stutter.

BRIEF INTERMESSION - SOME STATISTICS ABOUT DIVERSITY IN CHARACTER DOLLS:

only 7 out of the 22 total historical characters have been dolls of color. only 3 out of 22 historicals have been black (one of which is now retired). only 2 out of 22 have been aapi (one of these dolls, ivy, was just a best friend doll and is now retired; and the other doll, nanea, has a problematic face mold. i wrote an essay about why her facemold is problematic here!). only 1 historical doll, josefina, is hispanic, and ag has actually misspelled her name as "josephina" on their social media before.

only 1 doll EVER has been native american, kaya'aton'my, who is a historical character from 1764. (not even any of the just like you dolls have had kaya's face mold! kaya is truly the only indigenous doll!) in fact, ag has had more colonizer characters than indigenous characters. felicity and elizabeth are white character dolls from 1776, and their books fail to address the issues surrounding colonization and treatment of native americans. and kirsten is a swedeish immigrant to wisconsin in 1854. her book does acknowledge the existence of native americans, and kirsten has an indigenous friend named singing bird. (i haven't read kirsten's books and i'm not indigenous, so i can't comment on this storyline.) ag actually had a controversy about kirsten just this year - in 2021, the t-shirt design for kirsten said "settlers gonna settle", and ag actually ended up changing the design to "cabin sweet cabin" after backlash.

moving on to the girl of the year line - out of 21 goty dolls, gabriella is the ONLY black goty. only 6 out of 21 gotys have been dolls of color. there have been 2 hispanic characters (luciana, who is generally regarded as an excellent doll; and marisol, who is controversial because her book talks about how her family moved from pilsen chicago - a real area of chicago that is home to many hispanic immigrants - to a white suburb due to crime. this storyline involves racist stereotypes.) also, goty 2016 lea clark (slightly tan skin, blonde hair, light green eyes) is 1/8th brazilian, and some brazilian ag fans consider the emphasis on lea being 1/8th brazilian racial feticization. next, there have been 3 aapi gotys. one of these dolls, sonali, was one of two best friend dolls for chrissa (goty 2009) - yep, you heard that right, yet another doll of color that is a side character! sonali is the bully in chrissa's books, but she gets a redemption arc. to this day, sonali is ag's only south asian character doll. [additionally, there has been some criticism that all of the aapi gotys are mixed race - jess mcconell (goty 2006) has a japanese mother and an irish/scottish father, kanani akina (goty 2011) has a french/german mother and a japanese/hawaiian father, and sonali matthews has an indian mother and a father of unknown race/ethincity. perhaps notably, the only aapi historical doll who is not currently retired (nanea) is also mixed race (hawaiian mother and scottish father).]

as for the disability thing i mentioned - ag also has a disappointing track record regarding disability representation, lol. it was very lightly implied that mckenna (goty 2012) had a learning disability, but that was never confirmed. mckenna's tutor, who used a wheelchair, was ag's first big disability rep, but she was just a side character in mckenna's story. then, many ag fans were disappointed when mary ellen, a historical character released in 2015, was able-bodied (in canon, she had polio as a child, so it would make sense for mary ellen to be disabled and use mobility aids). finally, in 2020, goty joss gave us some disability rep - she has a hearing aid.

ag's lack of disability rep is very frustrating, especially considering that doll companies, like our generation, have made some really cool disabled dolls. and ag has been doing this ad campaign with the paralympics that feels performative to me - like, they want to seem inclusive by featuring dolls with prostetic legs, but they don't even sell dolls like that!!!

lastly, religious diversity - iirc, there are three jewish dolls (rebecca, goty 2001/2002 lindsey, and goty 2009 chrissa). the rest of the dolls are either christian or of unspecified religion. there has never been an explicitly muslim, hindu, or buddhist doll, or a doll who is a member of any religion other than judaism/christianity/unspecified. (there is some hope that we might get a muslim doll, though, since an outfit with a hijab was leaked, and ag trademarked a persian name that i can't recall off the top of the head at my moment. but take these with a grain of salt - ag trademarks a ton of stuff that they don't use, and the leak could be false or just a truly me outfit.)

END OF INTERMISSION - BACK TO THE TENNEY/GABRIELLA CONTROVERSY:

so, we get our first black goty, and she's being totally overshadowed by tenney.

here's where a conspiracy comes in:

we can track when ag trademarks their character names. goty names are usually trademarked early in the year prior to their release (by may). but gabriella mcbride wasn't trademarked until october, iirc.

and gabriella is a very underdeveloped character in comparison to most gotys. one of her main hobbies - dancing - was the same main hobby as both marisol (goty 2005) and isabelle (goty 2014). her store displays were underemphasized in comparison to tenney's, as i mentioned before. she was the first goty who didn't get a movie in six years (since kanani, goty 2011). and gabriella didn't even have a big ticket accessory item available until summer!

so, we get our first black goty, and she's underdeveloped, underemphasized, seems to have been rushed (due to her trademark date), and overshadowed by tenney just one month after her release. why is that?

well, some people think that tenney was actually supposed to be goty 2017! (i agree)

tenney was trademarked earlier, had more development, had a bigger collection, etc. we think that tenney was supposed to be goty 2017, but ag decided to do a doll of color (gabriella) at the last minute. (keep in mind the climate of 2015/2016 - ag probably wanted some clout for doing a black goty, and they also probably heard the ag fandom's demands for more dolls of color.)

so that's tenney.

next we have logan everett. logan was ag's first boy character doll. i'm glad that ag had a boy character doll, but logan kinda missed the mark for me. the main source of controversy surrounding logan is his face mold: he, a white boy, uses the kaya face mold. !! it kinda felt like a slap in the face to many indigenous ag fans - kaya is literally The Only Doll with the kaya face mold, and when we finally get another doll with her face mold, he's not even indigenous.

lastly, we have z yang my beloved <3. z yang was done dirty - she is yet another doll of color who is a mere side character, and also, she was available for only a total of 20 months before being retired!

so, that's everything i have to say about the 2017 contemporary line.

now i'm going to talk about the 2021 contemporary line :3

so, it's summer 2020. the black lives matter is becoming more mainstream. brands are now getting clout for appearing "woke."

so, admist this climate, ag is (as always) facing demands from its fandom/collectors to diversify its doll line. so they announce that they're going to be doing a new contemporary line, to be released in "the second half of 2021"!!!! and they promise that the contemporary line will have a black lead character

fast forward to modern day. thanks to ag's trademarks, we can safely assume that the new contemporary line will be called "world by us." we can safely assume that the line will have 3 characters. the 3 characters all live in washington dc and are best friends :) we can safely assume that the characters will be maritza ochoa, evette peeters, and makena williams. i talked about makena and maritza on that ask regrettable-username sent me about my andi mack/ag headcanons! personally, i'm excited for world by us, and i think it has a lot of potential!

alright sawyer, that's the end of the ag info dump fhjhdhfskf.

now for my andi mack friends:

i think the andi/buffy/cyrus line would be structured similar to world by us: andi is the main character, and buffy and cyrus are her best friend dolls :) all 3 dolls would be released at the same time. andi would have 3 books that have buffy and cyrus as side characters, and buffy and cyrus would have one book each.

the big ticket item for this collection would be andi's andi shack. i'm imagining its design sort of like kira's tent mixed with lanie's camper mixed with blaire's farm. andi the walls of andi shack would open up so that when it's fully opened, the four walls are on an even plane with the back wall and extended out like wings. you remove the roof before opening up the walls. the shack is tall enough that the doll can comfortably stand up even with the roof still attached, and wide enough that all three dolls (andi, buffy, and cyrus) can comfortably stand next to each other inside of andi shack.

andi shack would come with a ton of craft supplies inside of it. it would also come with a little flower box that has cece's african violets, like blaire's flower box. (thanks to regrettable-username for coming up with the african violets idea fdjfsj.)

alright i have to go now, so these are all my andi mack/ag thoughts for now, but i might be back later with more thoughts fhdfjs (hopefully not though, since typing this out took me over three hours [sweating emoji]).

sorry for any typos and sorry for how scatterbrained this is! also this may have some forgotten things/mildly incorrect things bc my only source is my brain (and a photo of all the dolls so i can count how many dolls for the statistics portion) and my brain is not the most reliable thing on earth lol.

[eldritchqueerture]

Point of View - Original Statement Fic

Point of View (5004 words) by LadyNikita Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Original Statement Giver(s) (The Magnus Archives) Additional Tags: Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives), Original Statement (The Magnus Archives), this was intended as the eye but evolved into the vast as well, happens, cosmic horror, attempt at Eldritch Madness, unreality, Discussions of pointlessness and meaninglessness, Canon-Typical The Vast Content (The Magnus Archives), from the eps about space, Mentions of Death, Compulsion, discussions of free will (kind of), Dissociation, Panic, Mentions of addiction, Leitner Book (The Magnus Archives), except it was not possessed by Leitner, Pretty Colours <3, Neurodivergent Protagonist, Queer Protagonist, because I can project a bit as a treat, Can Be Read Without Prior Knowledge of the Podcast (I think)

Summary: "Humans crave understanding. They strive towards knowing more and more, that’s what all science is about, isn’t it? To study, to learn and understand; to seek answers to questions. But are we really equipped to handle the answers we seek? Even if we were able to reach them, are our minds advanced enough to grasp the truths about the world we live in? What if there are things just beyond our understanding, lurking in the shadows of reality, peeking into our world just enough to feed on us, on our uncertainty and our pathetic scrambling towards answers that would only bring madness?" --- Statement of Lyria Ellison regarding a different point of view and the dangers of knowledge.

Notes: Hiiiiii <3 I've been reading Lovecraft recently and as much as I hate the dude, The Colour Out of Space gave me so much inspiration that I immediately sat down and produced this in one sitting. I've been meaning to play with the concept of eldritch madness for a while; something about this trope is really appealing to me and I'm really enjoying my attempts at shaping it with words. Lyria is a preexisting OC of mine, I will give some background on her in the end notes because I love her very much. This is a form of practice for me; I'm playing with horror themes and I'd like to get acquainted with them to better incorporate them into my overall writing. Therefore I will accept constructive criticism if anyone wants to give it, but only in the form of DMs, either on Tumblr (your-queer-vampire-dm) or on Discord, if we know each other through a server. All of the warnings I think should be mentioned are in the tags, but if you think something should be added then please tell me!

Date: May 10th , 2018

Name: Lyria Ellison

Subject of experience: A different point of view and the dangers of knowledge.

—

How do you start telling a story that changed your heart, your mind, and your soul so profoundly that you can barely still function in a society? How do you say all that without sounding borderline insane? Nobody knows what I’ve seen, what I’ve been through. I know they would all say I’ve hallucinated it all and should seek treatment. But I know it won’t help. I know… I know so much now. Too much and not enough. Never enough. I know what happened was real . I don’t have proof so I’m guessing you won’t believe me either, but I need to tell someone about it. So I might as well tell you.

My name is Lyria Ellison and I’m a neuropsychology major. Ex-major, I should say. I dropped out after… Yeah. I dropped out; there’s not much point in continuing studying things about the feeble, insignificant human brain. Utterly pointless venture.

Humans crave understanding. They strive towards knowing more and more, that’s what all science is about, isn’t it? To study, to learn and understand; to seek answers to questions. But are we really equipped to handle the answers we seek? Even if we were able to reach them, are our minds advanced enough to grasp the truths about the world we live in? What if there are things just beyond our understanding, lurking in the shadows of reality, peeking into our world just enough to feed on us, on our uncertainty and our pathetic scrambling towards answers that would only bring madness?

Just a year ago, I was convinced I was going to finish my degree. I was so passionate about it too, eager to learn more and more, to research and seek knowledge. Curious and fascinated by the world around us. What a foolish thing it was to give into that drive. My mind was open to the supernatural, although I always approached it scientifically; I never said the supernatural existed, but I also never said it didn’t. It was plausible; all in all, every scientist must accept that there is still a vast amount of knowledge we don’t have about the world.

The ignorance was a blessing. But I shall not get ahead of myself.

It started around December last year; my dad had died, and my girlfriend, Shawala, and I were clearing out his house. There wasn’t really anyone else to do it; my mother had passed a couple years prior, I had no siblings, and extended family was out of the picture as well; and my dad had gathered a lot of things in his adventurous life; he was a traveller, and he loved the world, loved learning about it, just like me. I was feeling pretty overwhelmed with it all; my dad meant a lot to me back then, and Shawala proved an excellent support at that first shock. She promised to do some first view assessments of the ground floor, while I went to scope out how things looked in the attic.

It’s always either basements or attics, isn’t it? I used to read horror, Lovecraftian was my favourite – how ironic, isn’t it? How stupid . How utterly ignorant. The hubris of the human race at its finest.

Anyways, the attic was half-lit from the small windows in the roof, and dust was swirling in the faint light of the afternoon sun. It was cold here, but I didn’t pay much mind; the house was old, and it wasn’t surprising that there was draft. To say the space was cluttered would be an understatement; I could barely walk around the numerous boxes, old furniture, crates, and overflowing bookshelves; all of which made something in my chest curl tight, bringing tears to my eyes. I steered my steps towards the nearest bookshelf; I’ve always been a bookworm, fascinated by nearly any tome I came across; I’ve been reading popular science books since I was eight. So naturally, I was drawn to the books, taking huge steps above the cardboard boxes and careful not to hit anything else.

The books were old, of course, and dusty. Some of them had loose pages, and I treated them very gently, almost reverently. I have a little bit of a bookbinder streak, and I decided I would take them home and try to put them back together. As I rifled through them, I saw they pertained to a vast variety of subjects, from poetry, drama, and history, to science, metaphysics, and maths. The deeper I looked into this stunning collection, the more reverence rose in my heart; at my fingertips I had the oldest and the biggest accumulation of knowledge I had ever seen. I saw some books dated back even two hundred years ago.

At that point Shawala called me to check if I was alright. I put the book I had in my hands back and my knuckles brushed against the black leather cover of the next one on the shelf. I felt pleasant tingling in my palm at the touch and my heart leaped at the prospect; I didn’t know why –  the book seemed ordinary enough on the shelf and there was no title on its spine.

I sometimes wonder if I could have just left it there and gone downstairs; chosen to come back later and then maybe, it wouldn’t have enticed me as it did. If, by that point, I had had any choice left on the matter.

Alas, intrigued by the book, I placed my palm on the spine and took it out. The leather was soft and smooth, probably sheep, with familiar subtle grains all over the texture. I remember it striked me as odd that it was warmer than the rest of the books in the drafty attic, but I shrugged it off. The front cover had a title, small but visible in the centre, etched in gold – Punctum Visus .

I, by all means, cannot read or speak Latin, but I figured it was something to do with vision. I opened the book, an unknown anticipation buzzing in my stomach. The pages were worn and old, their texture was slightly rough but pleasant under my fingertips; as I opened the front page, I saw the title again, this time in thick but still elegant, black letters, and the smell came up to my nostrils.

I tried to describe it in my head countless times after. I always loved the smell of old books, and I knew it very well, so it came to me as a surprise to realize it wasn’t the only smell I could feel from the book. It was… cold, somehow, distant but prickling at my nose, a little bit the way peppermint tastes. It reminded me of the night sky and distant stars somehow. The smell awakened an unease within me, as I couldn’t quite place what it was and why it seemed so weird , but it wasn’t by any means unpleasant. It was… enticing. Like a promise of a mystery.

I breathed it in again through my nose, closing my eyes, and for a moment I lost all feeling in my body. I was untethered and immaterial, somewhere in deep darkness that seemed to envelop me whole. It felt cold on my mind, stretching it thoughtlessly in the empty vastness, and I saw distant flickering lights of stars. Before I could form a coherent thought, I was back in myself, panting and shaking, staring at the front page of the Punctum Visus . I looked around with shaky breaths; the attic looked the same, and Shawala’s steps on the stairs reached my ears, with her voice calling my name. A shiver passed down my spine, causing goosebumps to bloom on my skin; was it the draft, the dread, or the excitement I couldn’t tell.

I knew I had to read this book, no matter what it took for me to do so.

I took it home, almost forgetting about the rest of the books upstairs. It had spent the next month laying in my room, as I dealt with the formalities and moving the rest of things that weren’t sold from the house either to my place or to charity. After the day we left the house for the last time, I collapsed in my bed, exhausted, but instead of closing, my eyes fell on the book unassumingly waiting on my nightstand.

A surge of excitement passed through me, waking me right up. I sat up and reached for the book. It was still warm; I couldn’t tell if it was good or bad, but warm it was. I think it made me subconsciously assign it more… being? Like, even before I knew anything, I somehow subconsciously accepted that it was more than just an object; that it was, in a sense, alive on its own. I brushed my fingers on the cover, feeling the texture of the leather and the etching of the letters. In the meantime during this month I had checked the meaning of the title – Point of Sight; a position from which a thing is or is supposed to be viewed. It makes so much sense now.

But then I didn’t know what dangers it held; or I didn’t want to think about them. I do remember feeling anxious, my hands trembling every time I opened the cover, but it was so mingled with exhilaration of the certainty I was discovering something important that I must have disregarded it. As I turned the pages, I wasn’t surprised to find the text in Latin; though I still felt a pang of frustration that it meant I couldn’t read it for now. I rifled through the pages, looking curiously at the letters that formed words yet unattainable to me. There was a hunger inside of me; a hunger to Know. As I turned the pages past various symbols, illustrations of the constellations, and of Earth, I determined it must be some sort of a metaphysical work. The point of view on the world around us.

Normally I just skim through works like this and leave them. While they are an interesting read sometimes, they’re not my favourite genre and, looking objectively, putting in the effort of learning a whole language just for the sake of reading a treatise on the meaning of cosmos by an unknown author seems strange at best. But somehow it seemed obvious to me that I had to read it. It called to me, sang into a part of my being that begged to be filled, promising knowledge that would finally leave me satisfied. I know now that it’s impossible. Once you’ve tasted the hunger for knowing, you will never find satisfaction; it’s like an addiction. You just crave more and more, and the knowledge never ends. After a certain point you know too much and when it all connects, when it starts to make sense… you slip. I didn’t know that, even though maybe I should have. I didn’t know what those things I was feeling meant then and I didn’t stop to question them; I gave into it as soon as it touched me. I was stupid.

What followed were a busy couple of months. Every waking moment that wasn’t spent keeping up the pretence of being interested in my major (back then I only thought it a brief hyperfixation, of course, and wouldn’t have called it a pretence at all), I was learning Latin online or staring into the incomprehensible words on the pages. This period of my life is a blur; I remember my friends checking up on me if I was alright, since I wasn’t particularly social anymore. Shawala got progressively more worried, but it fully escaped my mind to care. I know that staring thoughtlessly at the book took up more and more of my time; once, I remember, I returned from my classes at three PM and took the book out; when I came back to myself it was well past midnight. That’s when I started to feel truly uneasy about it. It was the second half of April; I looked back on what I’ve been doing these past months and this cold dread started creeping up to my throat. I realized I didn’t know why I wanted to read the book so much and I remembered the “vision” or the hallucination I had that first time in my dad’s attic. I had set it aside completely as unimportant, and I couldn’t wrap my head around why. I started shaking and theorizing in my head about the book being able to influence my mind somehow, to control it. Had my actions not been my own? How much of it was my own will and how much was the book? Was it even possible for it to influence me like that; could it be that it was supernatural in some way?

The house became cold, unnaturally so. It was dark and all the windows were closed, but a chill draft managed to find its way into the corridor I was in anyway. I sank to the floor and hugged my knees, trembling in panic. I was all alone in the flat, everyone I knew was surely already asleep in their homes, and I was small and weak in the face of something that maybe could have controlled my mind. I suddenly became aware of the leatherbound book in my hand, and I threw it along the corridor at the front door with a whimper, as far away from me as possible. The book thumped against the door, then the floor, and opened on a random page.

I’ve read enough horrors. I knew that the page would be significant, and that knowledge made me sob and hug my knees tighter. I didn’t know what was happening; I felt like I’d just woken up from a months-long dream… and perhaps I was right. The recent past felt alien.

I felt tears sting my eyes and that’s when the smell reached me. Again that mixture of old paper and peppermint cold, distantly sweet but freezing the blood in my veins. My breath came in ragged and shallow, and tears streamed down my face as I stared at the open book that was calling me in an inaudible whisper. The logical side of my mind was trying desperately to make sense of it, to assign the dissociative feeling to my father’s death and yeah, it was plausible, but somehow it just didn’t feel right. The whispers sounded again, swirling around my head, the golden sound almost touching the back of my neck, making me wince. It was enticing and promising, but this time, I felt terror instead of excitement. Disregarding how my mind was trying to rationalize the situation, I knew the book was cursed somehow. I knew that I was its victim. And I knew that I would not be strong enough to resist it.

I don’t know how much time I sat there, trembling, and sobbing into my knees, before I calmed down from the panic and decided I had to do something. I had to find out what this book was and how it found itself into my dad’s library. I couldn’t remember seeing anything in his diaries that would mention it at all, but then again, I didn’t read them all cover to cover. On wobbly legs I carefully made my way back to my room and searched the Internet until the sun started peeking out of the window; I found nothing about any book titled Punctum Visus . I tried all the libraries that I’d known of, that had their assortment online, all the research databases; nothing.

So, at the crack of dawn, with a fast-beating heart, I stood in the door of my room, staring out into the corridor, where the book still lay by the front door, unmoving. The golden strings of a wordless melody made it to my ears; it promised an explanation; that this time if I looked close enough, I would find what I was looking for.

What was I looking for?

Where else could I find the answers if not in the book itself?

I could feel its cold fingers slowly wrap around my mind, steering me to come closer. It called me with a hypnotising voice that awakened all the red signals in my brain, telling me to run and hide, but I didn’t. The voice meant danger, but I knew it also meant knowledge.

Dangerous knowledge. The pull dragged me through the corridor step by step; I hadn’t been fighting it as strongly as I could have had and I was about to start, since I was getting closer to the book, but suddenly I felt the chill of the influence let go, hovering close but out of reach. It was still compelling me to come, to Look, but I could move my own limbs. I had a choice to make.

Knowledge of danger. Did I believe my own warning thoughts that I would regret looking into the book? Did I take my own logical, rational side seriously? Was I ever good at resisting my own impulses?

I’ve never been addicted to anything, but then again, I never really had the opportunity, as it were; my friends were more of a no-alcohol types and I really ever smoked cigarettes once. I’ve never seen drugs in real life. So who’s to say if I’m not an addictive personality? And this, this was addictive. The thrill of mystery, the exhilarating process of learning, the anticipation of the answers.

Was it ever really my choice?

No supernatural force guided my steps that night; no cold fingers made me kneel next to the book and carefully cradle it in my arms, looking at the page with a shaky breath and tears in my eyes, as if I was coming back home like the prodigal son. But I’m sure it was by some paranormal means that this time I could understand the text on the pages.

I honestly don’t remember what it said. As I read the unfamiliar words, the meaning presented itself in my mind, not entirely unlike that first “vision” I had in the attic; as soon as I started reading I knew that I had made the choice and there was no turning back. That cold draft enveloped me, sat on my skin, and started to bite; I felt that smell again, stronger than ever before, something intangible but unmistakably inhuman . It was then that I realized that’s what had felt wrong to me about the smell since the beginning. It was inferior and alien. My hands started shaking as my eyes, glued to the text, moved now on their own down the page, drinking the words in. I was terrified out of my mind, but the pleasant tingling along my nerves was back, the anticipation of the promised understanding.

My mind was drowned with the tide of knowledge. This was just a prologue; a true discovery would require preparation, but I was almost ready. The voice said I was chosen, that I was a perfect candidate to bring It what It needs and that I would be rewarded. I cried tears of amazement and horror at the sheer scope of the voice – it seemed to encompass the entire world. I couldn’t comprehend it, but I didn’t know then that it was a blessing. I wanted to know, I craved to know what It was and how I could be of use to something so powerful, so huge. Divine. That was a word that crossed my mind, as much as I don’t like that. I don’t like many things, but I can’t change any of them.

The voice said I’m on the right path. I would Know and Understand. First, I needed to do something. As It told me what that was, doubt started to creep up to my mind. What was I doing? What was happening? How could this be real?

I came to on the floor by my front door, the cursed book in hand, with a tear-stained face and a bloody nose.

I knew what I had to do to get ready and, as I calmed down and went over everything in my head, I was surprised by how trivial it was. Honestly, by this point I was kind of afraid It would tell me to hurt someone, so I was glad this was just about reading a bunch of words in a specific location at a specific time. I was aware of the fact that this was most probably a ritual, and I was quite apprehensive. I kept arguing with myself in my head, over and over whether I should follow through, but deep down I knew that I would, no matter what I told myself. This part, I think, scared me the most; how compelling the promise of knowledge was, how reverently I’d found myself thinking of the book and its owner (which I assumed was the voice), how fanatical some of my thoughts sounded. I’ve never been religious, never really felt idealistic either. I was always focused on facts, on the here and now. Can knowledge be an ideal? Can you be a fanatic of Seeing and Knowing?

How much had I changed since I’d found Punctum Visus in that old attic.

I found a good, quiet spot, on the north-west side of the New Forest National Park near Southampton. I told no one about this, deeming it unimportant. I would come back after my big discovery, I would explain everything. I laugh at myself now; at my naivety.

The night of April 28 th was clear, and the starry sky looked back at me as I parked my car on the road in the forest and locked it. I tied a piece of a long red string to the wheel, not to lose my way in the forest, and started to walk forward. I held the book close to my chest, as if it could protect me from the dark, eerie outlines of the trees, swaying gently on the wind and whatever the darkness around me held. I didn’t light the torch; the moon was nearly full, bathing everything in its gentle light, and besides, for some reason it seemed that the crude yellow light would somehow break the sanctity of what I was about to do. I could see the ground in front of me and managed to lose sight of my car and everything else besides trees pretty fast.

I stopped when I found a small clearing. The moon was high in the sky, shining down on me like a big eye; I didn’t know why this comparison seemed the most fitting, but it did. I took a deep breath, feeling a chill plant little dots all over my skin, making my hairs stand on end. The wind died down and the trees froze, as if in anticipation. I felt something watching me closely; I was not alone here anymore.

The realization made my breath catch in my throat and the last streaks of sanity broke through my thick skull. Run! Drop the book and run! I didn’t. My hands trembled, my muscles tensed, and I stood there, frozen with fear as something stared at me, seemingly for eternity. Something bigger than me, bigger than anything I have ever seen was watching me, waiting. My eyes dropped to the book in my arms. The black leather was warm, as always, but this time I felt a pulsating sensation from it. A heartbeat.

I screamed. The book landed discarded on the ground, and I stumbled backwards and tripped, landing in the grass as well. It was cold and wet, and it glistened with something in the faint moonlight. At first I took it for water, but upon closer inspection I saw it was the grass itself that glittered – a shy rainbow, glowing iridescently in an impossible way. I froze, stunned, for I have never seen such colours before. It seemed utterly alien, something unfitting for the human eye to see; simultaneously beautiful and horrifying.

As I looked around, I noticed that everything alive in the forest – the trees, the grass, the bushes, the plants – had taken on that iridescent mixture of faint light that prickled my eyes and sent a shiver of terror down my spine. It was beautiful, utterly gorgeous in a way that nothing a human eye can perceive could be. It was horrifying in how different, alien, and other it was. My senses could tell this is not of the Earth; not of this reality, not of this world; everything in me that still had common sense tried to recoil from the inferiority of this magnificence and the danger it brought, but I had abandoned common sense a while back. Maybe even when I touched the book for the first time. I stared then, breathless and trembling, at this scenery as if from a fairy tale and decided to lock away my rational thoughts. I wanted to See, to Know; I wanted to experience and if this was the death of me then hell, it was a pretty good way to go. To behold such a sight, I thought, was a reward in and of itself.

Of course, I had no idea what any of it meant. I slowly rose to my knees and patted the ground down until I felt the book. It still pulsated with this heartbeat and the letters etched in the leather glowed with golden light. My hands were sweaty, and I didn’t know whether I was shivering from fear or the cold. I opened the book on the first page.

What I saw was not what I had expected. I remembered that the first page, after the titular one, was the beginning of the introduction, that much I had understood, but now it was a big picture in black and white; a night sky, with an almost full moon and strewn with stars. It was a shot from the ground and treetops could be seen at the edges of the picture. As the book swayed in my hands, the stars glittered, and the perspective shifted ever so slightly, as if it was in 3D. Stricken by a surge of dread and cold certainty, I looked up. My suspicion was right – the picture in the book depicted the exact image that was now above me. I gasped quietly and looked down at the book—

And this is where things started to really go horribly, horribly wrong.

The book was gone. What’s more, the ground was gone too and suddenly everything was not where it should have been. I blinked but it did nothing to ease the dizziness; and when I composed myself enough to register what I was seeing I froze, the most intense horror I have ever experienced crushing my body from all sides and inside out.

I realized that I was Seeing. I was finally Seeing, and I Understood it all.

I don’t know how to convey in words what I saw. I don’t believe it’s possible; humans were never made to see and understand such things. I should have never touched the book, I should have never asked for knowledge. All my life I believed that knowledge was the point; it was a tool, and it was power. I don’t know what I think anymore. I think some knowledge should always be hidden because we were not made to know everything. We can’t , it’s physically impossible for us to comprehend.

For one moment in my life. For one moment I became something else, and I saw the world in the way It sees the world. For one moment I shared a mind with an eldritch being, a thing that is Fear itself, and I saw the Earth through Its Eye. I can’t… I can’t tell you just how horrible it is. How… How meaningless; we’re all intertwined things, guided by strings of web that lead us through life, and we’re all connected in this maze of fear . We’re not individuals; we’re not special. We don’t have souls and none of our experiences matter. We’re just fear. These… These entities are a part of all of us. They’re our fear and they live inside of us, inside of every living creature that can feel fear. Can you comprehend that? How can you be sure you are yourself when there’s a cosmic entity, a power as old as life itself, living you ? And no one has any idea. Nobody knows and if I tell someone they’ll think I’m crazy. Sometimes I think I’m crazy. But deep down I know what I saw. I know it was real. And I’m terrified. I’m terrified because I know that this Being of eyes that I became a part of watches everything I do. I feel Its presence here very strongly, and I guess it makes sense. It will never leave me. It’s a part of me, just like the rest of them; just like they’re all a part of every one of you, yet you have no idea. But I know. And I know I’m all alone with that knowledge, the knowledge that I can’t comprehend, but I know I could in that one moment. It’s a very lonely place to be and I’m scared.

I’m scared as I have never been before; this fear doesn’t leave me anymore. Every second of every day I’m aware I’m watched by something as great as cosmos. I’m aware I shared my mind with that being and it makes my skin crawl.

I don’t know what to do now, but I don’t expect any advice from you. I’m leaving the book with you, as proof. Its heart doesn’t beat anymore, and I’ve seen what I was supposed to.

Don’t read it.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving me a comment!! For people interested in a little bit of background: Lyria is a D&D character I have created that still awaits her chance to play in a campaign. She's an arcane scholar that has a dark little secret of actually being a warlock of a being she doesn't know a lot about. She's in love with knowledge and she seeks to learn about her powers as well as the world around her. I'm currently DMing a Ravenloft campaign and I just couldn't miss the fact how much potential for a corruption arc she has. Then I listened to TMA and I was like, she would definitely become the Avatar of the Beholding.