#which they'd know immediately if they even glanced at my rules.

[eclipsecrowned]

seeing other people post about new followers not reading rules. stares directly into the camera (not at you at the camera crew or whatever)

[libraryofgage]

Addams Family B-Side (2)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two (you're here!) Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One 10th Doctor and Rose (on the way! might take a little, I have plans for this one)

Hello, and welcome back to Addams Family B-Side, where I take my Addams Family Steddie idea and flip the cassette tape

This is part of a larger series in which I give Steve Harrington good parents from different shows/movies/etc. If there are any other people you think would make good parents for Steve, let me know! I'll take them into consideration and see if inspiration sparks :D

Also, there's a meme at the end, so enjoy that hfjks

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't :^)

---------

Just because Steve finds Eddie Munson fascinating, that doesn't mean he's going to immediately move to wooing the guy. Well. He would, but his mother has some reasonable yet strict rules about these things, the first of all being that Steve can't like someone just for a pretty face. Or sizable personal wealth. He's got to talk to the person to figure out if they can stand each other before commencing the romancing.

Steve doesn't see himself getting a chance to talk to Eddie anytime soon, so he morosely (and it's not even fun this time) puts his fascination on the back burner for the rest of the day.

Then school ends, and Pubert has some after-school commitment, so Steve waits for him in the grossest bathroom he can find on campus. It's near the fine arts hall, has a flickering light above the mirror, and sports mold in one corner that Steve is tempted to harvest for Grandmama. He bets it'd make a great ingredient for something.

He's just about to scrape some of the mold away when the door slams open. Steve looks up in time to see Eddie (his eyes wide and somewhat terrified, and Steve is briefly angry and consumed by the thought that he's the only one who should be making Eddie scared like that) slip across the tile and crash into the wall on the far side of the bathroom.

Steve is momentarily stunned by Eddie's appearance, his heart lurching in his chest and the sudden urge to hide behind something rearing its head. In the back of his mind, he remembers his father describing the first time he saw Debbie; how he clammed up and was so in awe of her that he couldn't say a thing. Steve finally gets it. If he tried to speak right now, he'd probably only mumble or mutter something unintelligible.

Steve is about to try anyway when the door slams open again and three other boys walk in. They're wearing letterman jackets, and Steve recognizes one of them from lunch. He wasn't the boy who called Eddie a prick, but he was sitting at that table and looking particularly annoyed. Now, he just looks taken aback by Steve's presence, and the feeling is mutual.

"You're that new kid, right?" he asks, his lips pulled back in a sneer as he looks Steve up and down. "Get out."

"I was here first," Steve says, frowning slightly as he glances from the boys to Eddie. "What are you doing?"

"We're teaching this dipshit a lesson for disrespecting us," the guy says, cracking his knuckles and narrowing his eyes at Steve. "So, unless you want your ass kicked, too, get out."

Oh. This is bullying. Steve blinks, a sudden glee building in his chest. He glances at Eddie. "Were you planning to fight back?" he asks, figuring he won't take that fun away.

Eddie stares at him like he's clinically insane, and Steve is a little flattered. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Eddie asks, throwing a hand out and gesturing at the guys. "They're brick shithouses."

Steve hums softly and nods, swinging his backpack off his shoulders and opening the main pocket. As he's rummaging around, he hears the ringleader of the jocks (that's what they'd be called in a movie, he thinks) scoff at him. "Are you fucking dumb? Or are you that eager for a ride in an ambulance?" he asks.

Finally, Steve finds what he's looking for and smiles. "Oh. No. I just had to get a weapon," he says, pulling his travel mace out of his bag. He presses a button and spikes release from the ball on the end. Steve looks up at the jocks with an eager smile. "Who first?"

"What the fuck is that?!"

Steve blinks, a little worried about the public education system. "It's a weapon. A mace, to be exact. There's three of you. This evens the odds," he explains.

The three take a step back, looking at Steve like he's clinically insane, and this time he's disgusted by the gesture. "You're fucking crazy," the first one says before turning heel and leaving the bathroom. The other two follow closely behind, and Steve has to stifle the sheer disappointment.

He sighs and retracts the spikes, placing the mace back into his bag. "Are you disappointed you didn't get to fight?" Eddie asks, pulling Steve's attention back.

Eddie is noticeably more relaxed now, and he's looking at Steve like he's an enigma. That's not quite as good as clinically insane, but it's still flattering nonetheless. Steve swallows down the nerves that suddenly appear again, trying to channel his mother's calm confidence instead. "A little," he admits, zipping up his bag before slinging it back onto his shoulders. "I'm Steve, by the way. Steve Harrington."

"Oh, uh, Eddie Munson."

"I know. I saw you at lunch."

Eddie perks up a little, a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah? And what did you think, Harrington?" he asks.

Steve stares at him for a moment before taking a step forward, the faint scent of weed and cheap body spray making its way to him. He makes a quick mental note to look into colognes for one that would fit Eddie best (perhaps something crisp and harsh like a wild blizzard with inescapable winds). "I think," Steve says, holding Eddie's gaze, "that you've got incredible conviction."

"Uh, thanks?"

"You're welcome," Steve says, studying Eddie a moment longer. "Let me know if they bother you again. I can pull out a bomb next time."

Before Eddie can respond, the door swings open for a third time. Steve looks over his shoulder and pulls back when he sees Pubert. "Ready to go?" Pubert asks, glancing between the two. "Or am I interrupting something?"

"Not interrupting. And yeah, ready to go."

"Wait, how do you know Pubert Addams?" Eddie asks, looking between the two with a frown. The emotion in his eyes is recognizable if only because Steve has seen it in his mother's eyes when someone beats her to a sale or happens to be wearing a nicer necklace. Jealousy, plain and simple.

Steve grins at Eddie, ready to soothe his jealousy when Pubert cuts in. "Save it," he says, grabbing Steve's hand, "we're gonna be late." With that, he pulls Steve out of the bathroom and down the hall.

"What was that for?" Steve asks.

"I've got to get my entertainment somehow," Pubert replies, smirking as he drops Steve's hand. "Watching someone be jealous will do for a while."

-----

When Steve gets home, leaving Pubert on the sidewalk without another glance because he's too excited to get inside and tell his mother about the crush that he's talked to, he finds only his father in the kitchen. Without needing to be asked, Fester says, "Debbie and Morticia went to get their nails done. It was an emergency. Apparently, Debbie couldn't tear open letters as easily anymore."

Steve nods once and drops his bag onto the island. "I'm in love," he announces.

His father freezes, a tray of roasted vegetables in his hands. A few moments pass before Fester fully processes Steve's words, and he asks, "Have you talked to them? You know your mother's rule."

"I have," Steve says, unable to help a grin, "and he's perfect."

Fester drops the tray onto the stovetop, and Steve suddenly finds himself lifted into the air and spun around. "In love! Oh, I hope it's miserable for you," Fester says.

Steve laughs, nearly tripping over his feet when Fester sets him down. "I haven't decided how to approach him yet," he admits, grabbing onto the counter for support.

"Tell me about him," Fester says, grabbing Steve's shoulders and staring intensely at him. It's like he thinks he'll be able to read Steve's mind if he refrains from blinking long enough.

Steve pushes his father into one of the chairs at the kitchen's island. "His name is Eddie Munson. He's got this wild look to him. Like, his hair is all wavy and kinda poofy like he got half-electrocuted. And his eyes are the most beautiful swamp-mud brown I've ever seen. He speaks with conviction and has a shirt with a demon head on it and has all these rings and spikes on his vest. And he looks incredible when he's terrified. I mean, if I hadn't been so angry, I would've proposed right there," Steve gushes, the words falling from him in a breathless rush.

"What made you angry?" Fester asks, quickly latching to the last point.

"These...jocks. That's what they're called. Jocks. They were chasing him for stuff he said at lunch. He made this whole speech at lunch, by the way. It was incredible. Way too short and just barely addressing the actual issues and he'd never win a single political campaign. Anyway, these jocks, they chased him into the bathroom where I was, and they had him outnumbered and were muscular, so he was scared of getting beat up, I think. They threatened to beat me up, too, which I was excited about, but they ran away when I pulled out my travel mace. I mean, how rude is that? It's just bad form to run when someone's pulled out a weapon."

"And he wasn't angry about you taking his chance to fight?" Fester asks.

"Not at all! He seemed relieved. I think he might be better with, you know, poisons or something," Steve explains, shrugging slightly. He knows everyone has their specialties; he's a master of physical brawls and fights, Pubert does best with explosives, his mother just has a way with words and manipulation, and his father can give people the creeps just by looking at them.

Fester nods, an eager grin taking over his face. "You've got to start wooing him!" he says, slapping his hand on the island counter and pushing himself out of his seat. "Start small, something to test the waters."

"Oh! I could get him a rat," Steve says, thinking of the ones that like to burrow around in their yard. They're big and fearless, and Steve used them to practice his prowling and hunting when he was young. He's got many fond memories of crouching and pouncing right before they scattered across the yard.

"Wait," Fester says, holding up a hand and thinking for a moment, "we should think like your mother. She's the most romantic person we know."

"She blew you up," Steve agrees, nodding seriously. "She'd probably say that I shouldn't give him a live rat. Because he's, uh, not like us?" Steve looks at Fester, waiting for his father to nod once in approval before continuing, "I think Mom talked about stuffed animals once. So, maybe I can get him a stuffed rat, instead."

"Yes! Good! And then you should...learn about his interests! What does he like?" Fester asks.

"I'll have to watch him to find out. I can probably make him something once I know. I mean, he's probably got normal interests, like bugs and poisons and torture practices, right? That's what most people like."

"Don't forget dancing or music."

"Right," Steve says, "dancing or music. But he'll probably have special interests, too. Like Satanism. I should watch for those."

With something akin to a plan in place, Steve leaves Fester to sneakily poison the roasted vegetables while he plans the first step of wooing Eddie.

-----

Ever since meeting Steve Harrington in the bathroom, Eddie has been feeling eyes on him. Not even the normal kind that are annoyed or just curious about the school's resident freak. No, these eyes are...intense. They're laser-focused on his every move and clearly filled with some kind of intentions that he can't discern.

He just doesn't know where they're coming from. When he looks around to see who's staring, he can't find anyone. It's been driving him crazy for almost a week now, and Eddie is just about ready to scream when he opens his locker and...

And finds a rat.

Like, a real rat.

Well, it's dead, but it was alive once. Eddie blinks, staring at the taxidermied rat innocently sitting on top of the pile of books and papers and folders stacked in his locker. It's big and has a surprisingly shiny brown coat, kind of like someone had given the thing a thorough wash with extra shampoo and conditioner. There's a blood-red ribbon wrapped around the rat's neck, a perfect bow tied behind its head, with a tag hanging from it. When Eddie hesitantly turns the tag over, he finds "Name: Kas" at the top and "Hope you like him" written on the bottom in careful, meticulous handwriting.

It should be creepy. It should be disturbing. Eddie should be paranoid beyond reason because how did the mystery gifter even know his locker combination? Did they stuff this rat themselves? Did they kill the rat themselves? Why the fuck would they give him a rat?

But...it's oddly...sweet? Somehow, Eddie can feel that it's not, like, a malicious gift. And he likes the rat. Kas. He likes Kas. Its fur is surprisingly soft when he picks it up, and Eddie spends a good minute just rubbing his thumb over its back.

Then he feels those eyes on him again. They're even more intense this time, like they're watching him closely to see his reaction and...oh. Is this...a weird secret admirer? Does Eddie "The Freak" Munson have a secret admirer? A weird one, sure, because who the fuck gifts taxidermied rats, but still.

He looks around, taking in the other students in the semi-crowded hallway, trying to find those eyes. He doesn't find anyone staring at him, but he does end up staring himself at Steve Harrington. The guy is leaning on a locker across the hall, inexplicably fiddling with a lightbulb as he talks to Pubert Addams, who's digging around in his own locker. If Eddie squints, he could almost convince himself that Steve's cheeks are a little pinker than normal.

After a few seconds, Steve glances up and meets his gaze. They stare at each other for a few tense moments, something building in Eddie's chest as the weight of Steve's eyes surrounds him. It doesn't feel bad, but he's not used to being the center of someone's attention like this. Normally, people are frowning when they pay attention to him. Or, if they're his friends, goading him on and joining in the joke. But this is different, like Steve finds him fascinating.

And then Pubert Addams slams his locker door shut and looks over his shoulder, eyes narrowing when he sees Eddie staring at Steve. He frowns, throws an arm over Steve's shoulders, and pulls him away. Pubert's shoulders are a little tense, his expression sour as he says something to Steve that results in one last, furtive glance at Eddie before he's out of sight.

Suddenly, nothing is more important to Eddie than figuring out what the fuck is going on between Steve Harrington and Pubert Addams.

------

Tag List (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@estrellami-1, @itsall-taken, @mugloversonly, @fandomcartographer, @hippielittlemetalhead, @agree2disagre-kicks, @ledleaf, @just-a-tiny-void, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @ink1177, @maya-custodios-dionach, @littlebluejane,

And now, a meme for your viewing pleasure:

[dumbdomb]

Read my pinned post BEFORE you interact: like, reblog, reply, dm, ask, or follow. Must be over twenty-five years of age to interact. 25+ only. You do not have my consent to "Like" this post without reading my pinned first. MDNI.

Men: Hard BLOCK ME right now if you're "mostly straight" or "attracted to women" or "like whatever you're into" (including "just posting stuff you like" and "posting whatever you want to" and other variations of this statement) and your blog is mostly about M/F relationships, thin white and nude women, unrealistically large ass and breasted women, female nudes, rule 34 underage cartoon anime girls in nude or sexual scenarios, or mostly just imagery of women, only going to like or reblog visuals of my body, or following my blog after liking or reblogging visual content of my body, don't know much of anything about gender and sexuality, pretend to not be an allocishet male by using inaccurate labels and keywords you don't even understand the definition of in order to hopefully avoid getting blocked or to receive nudes from people who clearly have boundaries against allo cis het men interacting with them (like i do), or if you have "women dni" in your description or pinned.

helping my friend get over their nerves for an upcoming exam on proper techniques when using a speculum on really tight patients... (of course, they'd ask me for help.) we try to keep things as professional as possible, but in a safe and comfortable environment. just the two of us friends, studying together like we always do. they place each of my soft, recently pedicured feet in the makeshift stirrups- making me jump and pull my leg back when they accidentally tickle my foot. we both laugh briefly and move on. they place a bedsheet over my legs for privacy, and awkwardly- yet firmly- reposition my hips low over the table's edge. (which makes me suddenly feels very exposed in front of my friend, but they're so gentle and kind about it.) they put on gloves and, cautiously, almost hesitantly, carefully graze past my thighs and softly pull at my outer labia. letting everything bounce back into place as they inspect different parts of my vulva. my breathing has already changed, but i try to keep calm. they ask if it's ok to begin checking me internally, and i nod affirmatively. they get some lube on one hand and use the other to place on my lower tummy, sliding one finger inside my hole- and for a moment, i swear they had held their breath... they lubricate my opening and slide another finger in, nearly filling my small, tight cunt. i try to focus on staying calm, breathing, meditating, but i notice a slight, subtle, side smile as my friend slides their fingers in and out of my hole- occasionally pressing down on my tummy. they remove their fingers and begin cleaning up... confused, i reassure them it's ok to continue (somewhat missing the feeling of them inside me). they've wiped some of the lube off my vulva and removed their gloves already, placing each hand on my hips as they casually hover over me, asking, "are you sure?" saying i looked a little nervous, their eyes glancing over me as they lean back. i didn't mean to, but i felt my cunt twitch hard with an ache to be touched again, right when they glanced down. (i hoped they hadn't noticed, and kinda wish they did!) they looked off to the side, over study materials, and sat back down in front of me. their hands running over my thighs, hips, and holding at my waist as i watch the top of their head lower under the sheets still covering me. suddenly, i feel their breath on my vulva- quickly followed by their incredibly warm and soft lips, slowly, planting a big kiss on my clit!! (omg. i was so shocked, there's no way i could've stopped my cunt from immediately throbbing hard and clenching in need for more... i've never felt more embarrassed and vulnerable in my life!) i just heard them laugh, holding my thighs firmly in place like a big hug, and then felt their slimy, hot tongue widely licking over my entire vulva. 😵‍💫

Read My Pinned BEFORE you interact! 25+ only.

NO: lurkers, likes only, inactive, empty, or blank blogs. DO NOT LIKE MY CONTENT. DNI. ♥️

[farity]

Sorrow, part 15

"Your Highness."

Aemond looked up from his papers to see Ser Criston Cole standing at the doorway of his study. "Yes?"

"The queen is insisting on seeing Jacaerys Velaryon."

Much to Cole's surprise, Aemond nodded.

"My prince, I -"

"I believe it is time," Aemond said, standing, "for you to decide if your loyalty to my mother supersedes your loyalty to the crown and to me."

Cole simply stared for a few moments, and Aemond continued.

"I have valued your service and dedication to our family these long years. I have learned much from you. But I am well aware that your debt to my mother has long tinged your service with immeasurable devotion."

Cole bowed. "I am at your service, Prince Regent. As always."

"Whereas my mother has accepted your immeasurable devotion, I believe in measure and restraint, so while I sit the throne, I need to know where you stand."

"My duty is to the throne. To you."

"And if my sister goes to see Jacaerys Velaryon, will your next move be to go tell my mother?"

Cole opened his mouth but said nothing.

One corner of Aemond's mouth rose ever so slightly, and he nodded, almost to himself. "Let the queen see our guest, accompanied by her maid, and bring me a list of all the men that serve with you."

* * * * *

"If you do anything bad, you will be killed, Jace."

As soon as Elyse had learned that Helaena was going to see Jace - because Helaena herself couldn't stop herself from sharing the news - she decided to go along. If someone like Ser Criston Cole or Ser Otto Hightower, or even the dowager queen, decided to interfere, Helaena's maid could not stop them.

But Elyse could.

At least, she would do her best.

So she stood a few feet away, giving Helaena and Jace enough privacy, but still close enough where if things went wrong, she could act immediately.

Helaena had stood in front of the cell for all of three seconds before Jace rose from his corner and grabbed her hands, which were wrapped around two of the bars. "You should not be here," he'd said gently, but had not let go of her.

They'd whispered to each other for a bit, and she'd seen Helaena give Jace a shy smile.

"There has been enough killing," she told him now. "And you, I mean, and I, we could, maybe-"

"You are still married to Aegon."

Helaena blinked. "Aegon will never again claim his husband's rights. He's-"

Elyse cleared her throat. She had to think of all the possibilities here, and if Jace was still plotting against the crown, the knowledge that Aegon was no longer capable of ruling might be a way to rally his supporters against the Prince Regent.

"If we are to be together, if I am to accept this, I don't want it to be a secret, like some unsavory thing that must be kept hidden. I would marry you, Helaena, I would choose you as my wife and keep you safe and have the entire realm know it."

Elyse smiled to herself. Helaena had told her so much about Jace and how much she liked him. She had accepted her fate, her marriage to Aegon and all, as he had accepted his betrothal to Baela as a political need.

But he had always been kind to her. And to Helaena, who was understood by so few, the memory of Jace had never faded.

Jace pulled Helaena's hands through the cell bars and kissed them reverently before she smiled at him and leaned in to kiss his cheek.

* * * * *

"I would speak to him again, see his countenance as we discuss my sister before I place her in any danger."

Aemond was tapping his fingers on the desk, and Elyse knew he was worried, that he loved Helaena so much and she had endured so much as Aegon's wife that he would not do anything to make her endure any more.

She watched him, wondering how anyone could think him unfeeling, uncaring, cold. When he glanced at her, she smiled. "Helaena will appreciate that."

"You seem very interested in her happiness."

"Of course I am, she is lovely, and she is my sister. I would see her find some joy in her private life."

Aemond rose slowly, circling around the desk until he could take Elyse's face in his hands and kiss her. "And do you, wife, have joy in your private life?"

She smiled against his lips. "You must know that I do, my lord husband."

"Lady wife," he whispered, "you have brought me a lot of joy as well. I thank the Seven every day for you."

* * * * *

"Aemond, this is not happening. Let me through!"

A minute later, Aemond opened the door, wearing only sleep pants, and nodded to the guard to let his mother in. Alicent walked in, and lowered her eyes the moment she realized Elyse was sitting up in the bed, holding the sheets up to her breasts.

"I am sorry, Your Highness, I did not wish to put hands on Her Grace to prevent her from screaming."

"Of course," Aemond responded, "back to your post." He closed the door as the guard left and then, ignoring his mother, went back to the bed and whispered something to Elyse. She nodded and he reached into the wardrobe in the corner to retrieve her robe.

Alicent turned, sighing, as Aemond finished helping Elyse, who scurried to the bathing chamber the moment she was covered.

"So tell me, mother, what is so important that you must break your confinement to your rooms and come to scream at my door."

Alicent's eyes held a sliver of defiance at the words, and she raised her chin, taking a moment to compose herself. "You cannot marry your sister to that bastard."

"I am aware this is the second time you have said 'no' to this alliance, and you should consider how much might have been avoided if you had only said 'yes' instead, all those years ago."

"She is married to Aegon!"

Elyse reappeared, her hair now pulled back into a loose braid, her robe firmly tied around her.

"Given his state, the marriage could be annulled. It has been done before, even with children born of the union."

Alicent's mouth dropped open and Aemond smirked.

"I would not sentence Helaena to a lifetime of loneliness just so we can pretend she and Aegon have a true marriage."

"The crown must-"

"The crown will survive it. Because the alliance will bring peace to the realm and once we all stop killing one another there shall be prosperity again."

Alicent shook her head. "He will want to reign. As Helaena's husband, as the queen's husband, he will-"

"Your Grace, Aemond has thought of everything. That would not happen."

"What do you know, girl?" Alicent muttered. "Or shall you call yourself the Princess Regent and wear a crown as well?"

"Guards," Aemond said quietly.

* * * * *

"A shadow lifts and the sun brings warmth again."

Elyse said nothing. She did not understand many things that Helaena said, but she looked at her and smiled nonetheless.

The ship taking Alicent, Ser Criston Cole, and Ser Otto Hightower to Essos grew smaller and smaller, and while guilt threatened to tear Aemond apart, Elyse knew that he was convinced it was the only way.

It would never stop. They would keep trying to undermine Aemond's decisions, to interfere with his attempts to stop this war that threatened to take everyone down.

"Daeron should be here in a few days," he said, still looking at the ship. "You will like him, he is kind."

Elyse squeezed her husband's hand. "You are kind."

He looked at her, looking confused.

"You are." She smiled. "You hide it well, but you are."

When Aemond smiled back, Elyse felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.

Helaena walked around Elyse and reached up to kiss her brother's cheek. "You are my favorite." She looked from him to Elyse and back. "Do not tell Daeron."

* * * * *

[theamberfist]

Writer's Block | Thoma x Reader

Romantic: Thoma x Author! Reader

(Notes: none) (gender neutral reader)

Description: When you're late turning your new draft in to Yae Miko, Thoma helps you hide from the kitsune's wrath.

It was late in the evening, almost night. The stars could be seen twinkling overhead, despite it still technically being twilight. Though darkness was coming, there was still just enough visibility that a few people went about their business in the streets of the city. Shopkeepers were just beginning to close up for the day, and families that were still out began making their way home. Crickets could even be heard somewhere in the grassy patches. The entire scene was very peaceful.

Well, until a certain h/c haired individual came thundering down the path, disrupting the calmness of the night. You were in quite a rush, and several people narrowly managed to duck out of the way before you ran right into them.

"Late again, Y/n?" A restaurant owner called as you passed him by. You nodded, a sheepish smile crossing your face.

"I may have forgotten my new draft was due today..." You replied before glancing back to see the very figure you dreaded most in the world was starting to catch up with you. "Gotta go!" You shouted, picking up the pace and throwing yourself down the nearby flight of stone stairs and plotting the best escape route in your head.

You easily ruled out some of the more obvious ones like gliding off the nearby cliffs or trying to escape into the field that eventually lead to Chinju Forst, mainly because they'd already failed you before.

Though startling to some passersby, the circumstances you now found yourself in weren't exactly an uncommon occurrence, especially now that you were a permanent resident of Inazuma. You'd never thought moving away to work on your career as an author could be so eventful.

Now, reaching the bottom of the stairs, you could hear her close behind you, and you didn't even dare to look back and confirm her proximity. Instead, you kept running, weaving between buildings in the hopes of losing her. Unfortunately, it did little other than slow her down a little, which wouldn't be enough to help you escape your quickly approaching fate.

Knowing you wouldn't be able to make it out of the city before she caught up, you opted for the less risky, but much more terrifying choice; hiding and hoping for the best.

As soon as you reached the outskirts of the city where the big Sakura tree was planted, you wrapped your arms around it and scurried up as quickly as you could, ignoring the small splinters you could feel entering your skin. After all, if you managed to escape, it would all be worth the pain.

Finally, you reached what you deemed to be a safe enough height that you wouldn't be easily spotted from the ground. Arms beginning to grow tired, you reached out and swung yourself onto a nearby tree branch, arms latching around it as the rest of your body lay atop it. You didn't dare to sit up yet. This way, in the approaching darkness, you might look like you were one with the branch, or at least, that was what you hoped.

Though, who were you kidding? Someone like Yae Miko, who had literal fox ears and kitsune powers, could probably see in the dark too. You were most likely going to be a lost cause this time, too.

You sighed, craning your neck to see if she'd caught up by now. Even though it felt like hours had passed, realistically, it had probably only been about thirty seconds.

"...Ahem." The sound of someone clearing their throat snapped you out of your thoughts and your gaze immediately darted over to the branch on the other side of the tree, where a familiar man sat with a cat in his lap. Seeing him, your heartrate slowed slightly knowing he wouldn't give you away.

"Thoma?" You whispered, "I didn't see you there." Though you were quickly losing light, you could just make out the little smile that covered his face.

"I could tell." He chuckled quietly. You rolled your eyes, but truth be told, you were smiling too.

"Well, at least that means this is a good hiding place." You breathed as the familiar head of pink hair finally appeared from behind one of the buildings nearby.

"Trying to avoid Yae Miko again?" Thoma asked. You just nodded, afraid if you spoke, her fox ears would pick up on it and she'd find you. He seemed to understand your position, because he continued just as quietly, "don't worry. I won't blow your cover."

You sent him a thankful gaze before freezing in place. She was standing right under the tree now, but she hadn't seemed to notice you yet. Her eyes squinted, as if trying to pick you out, but then she noticed Thoma first and a smirk appeared on her lips.

"Ah, Thoma," She called, moving over to the side of the tree his branch was on, "I'm once again searching for my dear employee, Y/n. Have you seen them anywhere? It's getting dark and I do worry about them, you know." You rolled your eyes at her attempt to appeal to Thoma's better nature.

Had he not seen you just now, he might have agreed, or even helped look for you. Luckily, he wasn't falling for it now.

"No, I haven't seen them at all today, sorry!" He replied nonchalantly, gently getting down from his branch and making sure not to let the little cat fall in the process. "But I'm sure they'll be alright. If they aren't here, then they probably wandered back into the city or to their house. They's been living in Inazuma for a few months now, so you don't have to worry that they'll get lost."

You smiled at his words. Not only was he not blowing your cover like promised, but he was even helping to cover for you. You'd have to find some way to repay him later for this.

"I suppose you're right." Yae Miko replied, visibly frowning at his response, "Well, thank you for trying to help anyway. I'll keep looking for Y/n. I'm sure you need to be getting back to the Kamisato Estate before it's too dark."

"R-right!" The blonde replied, gently setting the cat down with a smile, "It was good to see you, Lady Yae. And again, don't worry too much about them!" She smiled back, though to you, it was clearly fake. Still, she kept it plastered on until Thoma had walked far enough away that she could no longer see him.

Turning back to the city, the kitsune let out a sigh, placing her hands on her hips.

"You can run but you can't hide, Y/n," She said softly, "That boy is too kindhearted for his own good, but I suppose he did have a point. I'll check their house since they can't have gone very far..." With that, she went off in the direction of your home, just inside Inazuma City.

You stayed put for a few more minutes until you were sure she was gone. Then you gently lowered yourself to the ground and checked to make sure no one else had seen you.

"It's alright, she's gone now." A voice spoke from behind you, making you jump and whirl around to see Thoma standing there once again. He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to check whether you'd gotten away yet."

"I was going to book it back home, but she's checking my house now," You admitted with a sigh, "I'm not sure where I'm going to sleep tonight, but I guess that's what I get for having writer's block again." Thoma chuckled, having witnessed you and the kitsune's cat and mouse game several times before, he knew what you meant.

"Well, you're welcome to stay at the Komore Teahouse, if you want," He suggested, "I don't think she'll look for you there, especially after seeing me just now."

"You did give quite a convincing performance," You smiled, wondering whether he'd always been that good at lying. "But are you sure that would be okay? I can find somewhere else to sleep; I'm sure Yoimiya would take me in again...Maybe." Actually, after the last time, when Yae Miko had searched her entire house and everything in it to find you, just for you to have been hiding under the bed the entire time, you weren't so sure she'd be willing to help you.

"Don't worry, you hiding out at the teahouse for one night isn't going to hurt anything," Thoma replied, "Come on, I insist. I can't just go home for the night knowing you might not have somewhere safe to stay. And plus, I would feel bad if she found you. It sounded like she was really upset this time." Finally, you gave in.

"Alright, then let's get going before she comes back." You started leading the way before quickly stopping and turning back, "And thanks for all your help, Thoma." He just smiled back.

"It's no problem!" And with that, the two of you headed off to the teahouse, careful to avoid areas with light so you wouldn't be seen by your boss or create potential witnesses.

"So how overdue are you with this one? I don't think I've ever seen Lady Yae so determined to find you." Thoma commented quietly as the two of you walked.

"Actually, I was only supposed to have this draft in by the end of the work day, which was just a couple of hours ago." You defended. He raised an eyebrow. "Though, technically, today's due date may have come after three or four extensions already..."

"There it is," he replied with a chuckle, "But then again, I can't say that I blame you. It must be hard coming up with new ideas all the time, and every author gets writer's block occasionally."

"'Yet none quite as often as the infamous Y/n L/n,'" You quoted, "That's what Miss Yae always says. I'm probably the most troublesome writer they have at the publishing house. Sometimes I feel kind of bad about it."

"Maybe, but you're also the best writer they have!" Thoma quickly countered, "I've read your books, and there's a reason they sell so many copies each time. Plus, they didn't move you all the way here from Sumeru for nothing! That's something to be proud of."

"Thanks, Thoma." You smiled. Finally, the two of you arrived at Komore Teahouse and quickly entered in the hopes that no one had seen you.

"Woof!" A quiet bark greeted you both as you walked through the door, and your eyes brightened as you saw Taroumaru sitting on the counter like always.

"Hey buddy," You scratched his head, smiling as he wagged his little tail. Though you didn't get to come to the teahouse often, his presence always seemed to make your day better, even when you were taking refuge from your very angry boss.

"Y/n's going to stay here for the night, okay Taroumaru?" Thoma informed the dog, who let out a quiet bark in approval. You smiled before following the blonde man to one of the tearooms, where he prompted you to set your small backpack down and began setting up a few cushions as a makeshift bed.

"Sorry there isn't anything more comfortable to sleep on," he sighed, glancing around the room again for anything that might make a nice blanket. "When I stayed here during the vision hunt decree, Miss Kamisato brought me a mattress, blankets, pillows, and whatever else I needed, but I guess those have all been moved back to the Kamisato Estate."

"That's okay," You shook your head, "I really appreciate you letting me stay here, as it is. You could have just told me to suck it up and face the consequences of my own actions." Thoma laughed.

"I would never," he replied, "Especially when those consequences are Lady Yae herself. She can be pretty intimidating when she wants to."

"You got that right," You sighed, stretching your already-sore muscles. Now that you had the chance to slow down and be calm, you realized just how exhausted your body felt, and the idea of sleep became more and more tempting. "But seriously, thank you. If not for you, I'd be locked up in the publishing house and finishing the last two hundred and ninety or so pages of my book in one sitting."

You took a seat amidst the cushions Thoma had set out, relishing in their softness. Either the two of you had very different definitions of comfortable, or you were just tired enough that anything felt comfortable.

"Two hundred and ninety? Wasn't that book supposed to be three hundred pages? Y/n, you've barely started!" He replied in surprise.

"...Inspiration didn't strike!" You shrugged, feeling your cheeks get slightly red from embarrassment, "And plus, I was still feeling burnt out from writing the one before it!"

Technically, both of those things were true. You always had a such a hard time working around the many mental blocks that came with writing, and Yae Miko's pushing you to write so many books one after another didn't help with the burnout you'd been feeling creeping up for months either.

"You also like to procrastinate," Thoma added with a smirk, only making your face more red.

"Maybe that too," you admitted with a yawn, "But either way, I'll get it done soon. I just needed a little more time."

"I believe in you," Thoma replied as you nuzzled into the cushions, "You didn't build a career on this for nothing, after all. I have full confidence you'll finish this book soon, and that it'll be your best one yet. In fact, I look forward to reading it myself!" He glanced back at you, noticing that your eyes were now closed as you lay in the little makeshift bed.

"Uh huh." You uttered, now half asleep. He hadn't realized just how tired you'd been. A smile crept onto his face as he got up to leave. It was getting late, and plus, he didn't want to disturb your rest. Glancing back one last time, he was sure you were asleep now.

"I really admire you, Y/n." He whispered just before closing the tearoom's door, "I hope you know that."

[taximaximus]

What Happened?

During a sleepless night in the Safe Haven, Thomas asks Newt what happened to his leg.

TW: suicide talk and violence

Word count: 1,805

(This is my first fanfic in a hot minute so I'm sorry if there are any inconsistencies!!)

They sat on the beach during one of their sleepless nights so as to not wake any of the other inhabitants of the Safe Haven. Gentle waves lapped at the shore, stirring the sands, occasionally tickling the bottoms of their feet with an unusual rise of water before ebbing away back to normal. Newt had his knees curled up towards his chest, allowing him to lay his arms and head on top. His injured leg, Thomas noticed, stuck out about a foot farther than the other, almost as if it couldn't bear to be constricted and scrunched up.

Thomas's eyes flitted up to Newt's face, then to his leg again, and finally back out towards the sea. His fingers dug into the sand; an attempt to channel out the building restless energy that correlated with what he was about to say.

“You know, you never did tell me what happened to your leg.”

A flicker of both confusion and sadness crossed over Newt's features, so brief that Thomas almost didn't see it. Even under the dim moonlight, he witnessed the tension in Newt's hands, the way his knuckles progressively turned white.

Thomas felt guilty for bringing up the topic at all. But he needed to ask at some point. Ever since arriving at the Safe Haven and undergoing recovery, his leg has been weaker than ever, the limp more prominent after any extended period of walking. Newt pretended not to notice, pretended that it didn't bother him, yet Thomas knew otherwise. He always did when it came to Newt.

If the blonde didn't want to talk about it, he wouldn't. That's been their unspoken rule whenever they found themselves in each other's company in the ungodly hours of the night, plagued by nightmares and the past.

“What do you want to know?”

Thomas lifted up a hand full of sand and let the grains cascade between his fingers. “Whatever you want to tell me.”

Newt chewed on his bottom lip in thought. The dark circles under his eyes did nothing to dim the hesitation that glimmered in the silence. The indecision that made Thomas's heart wrench, almost as if he were witnessing some private deliberation, forcing his gaze to remain by the sea. Silence stretched like eons between them without either of them moving a muscle; and after a few minutes of this had passed, Thomas figured he wouldn't get an answer.

Newt suddenly broke the silence with a sigh and laid his legs flat on the sand. He winced, and Thomas couldn't tell if that was due to the healing knife wound or the leg in question.

Digging his hands out from the sand he was so thoroughly trying to destroy with his nervous energy, he patted his thigh. An invitation, one that Newt knew quite well. The blonde glanced over, immediately meeting Thomas's eyes. There was much less hesitation this time around as Newt maneuvered over to his side, resting his injured leg on top of Thomas's lap. So that had been the culprit of the wince.

He began to massage Newt's knee, gently rubbing circles and prodding into the muscle. He could feel his leg tense and relax at intermittent intervals depending on where he massaged and the amount of pressure he applied, depending on which points were more tender than others.

This became another unspoken act between them, introduced by Newt himself the day after they arrived at the Safe Haven: whenever old injuries flared, they'd offer to massage the area around it. Something about relaxing the muscles, so they didn't have to work as hard and accidentally aggravate the pains in the process, or so they've been told by people slightly more qualified than they were.

Newt spoke against the silence that had started to consume them again. “It happened back in the Maze,” he said simply and with the weight of someone admitting it for the first time. Thomas's fingers twitched in surprise. He honestly hadn't expected Newt to talk about it, not with the way that internal battle of indecision had glazed his eyes. Thomas didn't dare look up or speak aloud, not even to say that he figured that information out a long time ago, probably from the very moment he registered Newt's limp as a thing, in fear of interrupting the stride that the blonde was slowly building himself to.

“Happened soon after I came up out of the Box. Didn't know where I was, who I was. Memories gone, like the rest of us. And I could feel-” his breath hitched, just a fraction, “feel like something was missing. More than just my memories. Something else. Someone else.” He floundered for the words to describe it, and yet, Thomas vaguely knew the feeling. It's a feeling like when he realized Chuck wouldn't smile at him again; a feeling like when he lost Minho to WICKED without much hope of getting him back; a feeling like when he thought he lost Newt forever to the combination of the Flare and the knife wound. An empty, suffocating black hole of an emotion.

“I couldn't handle it.”

Thomas's fingers froze against Newt's knee.

“Couple days in after being made a Runner, I went into the Maze-” his breathing wavered more now, “and I found the tallest wall I could…”

Thomas looked up at Newt fully now, and he saw the unadulterated fear, sadness, defeat, and regret, all rolled up into one faraway look. He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen such raw, negative emotion on Newt before, and he suddenly wished he could erase it from his memory in the same way that everything before the Maze had been erased.

“And I jumped off it.”

He dug his fingers into Newt's knee without really meaning to, earning a hiss of pain. He pulled back his leg from Thomas's grip suddenly, then froze, eyes wide, as if he just realized what he admitted out loud. Newt moved away hastily, kicking up sand, and Thomas instantly realized this as his way of putting the walls back up, to get a handle on his emotions. And Thomas didn't want that: he wanted, needed, Newt to know that this admission hadn't been a mistake. He reached out and grabbed Newt's hand, holding onto it like a lifeline. His eyes mirrored the blonde's desperation yet for a completely different reason; their gazes locked, a silent exchange of words and will. It took a minute of this for Newt to finally reciprocate a grip on Thomas's, somehow holding on even tighter.

He moved back over toward Thomas, elbows and shoulders bumping clumsily together, sides pressed against each other. Thomas knew they could find a more comfortable position if they just let go of each other for a second, yet the thought of actually doing so didn't even cross his mind. Not for one second. Presumably, it didn't cross Newt's either; when Thomas glanced at him to the best of his ability, blonde wisps of hair tickling his nose, he saw that mixture of emotions earlier, still present but significantly decreased. Instead, he appeared more relaxed. As if the memory still plagued him, but now with the admission out in the air between them, he didn't have to carry so much of the emotional weight.

“Got caught on a vine. Ended up breaking my leg in three places,” Newt continued with a voice barely above a whisper. “It was Minho who found me, took me back to Homestead. He stayed with me when he could; I think he was afraid I'd try to do it again if I was left alone for too long. He… he gave me a second chance at life, Tommy.”

“Is that why you wanted to save him so bad?” Thomas spoke up for the first time in a while, and he wasn't surprised at how hoarse his voice was from the emotion of it all.

Newt nodded. “I needed to-… I felt like that would be a good way to repay him. Even if I had to take his place at WICKED.”

Thomas looked out towards the sea. “I'm sorry.”

Surprisingly, a laugh escaped the blonde, holding the same bittersweet mixture of emotion. “Then I got a third chance at life when you saved me from the bloody Flare,” he said, then frowned. “One of these days, life will stop giving me chances.”

The memories of the Last City left Thomas forgetting how to breathe, as if he were suddenly plunged into cold water. The sickly, black veins covering Newt's skin like spider webs, liquid oozing out of his mouth with every desperate plea for death that he could choke out. Thomas battling with a version of Newt that wasn't his, more worried about the blonde's safety than his own, despite the attempts on his life. The way that, in the end, Thomas couldn't save him. Couldn't foresee the knife plunging into Newt's chest in order to save Thomas.

By the time the memories faded, he saw Newt- his cured, healthy Newt- looking up at him with pure concern written all over his tired features. The blonde moved impossibly closer to him, now the one aiming to provide comfort. Thomas felt guilty; he's supposed to be the one comforting Newt, and yet somehow, the tables had turned.

“After your leg, you don't ever… ever feel…” Thomas tried to spit out, aware of how unintelligible and small he sounded.

He's lucky that Newt knew exactly what he was trying to say. “No. Not to that degree. Not ever since you arrived in the Maze.”

He pursed his lips. The implication that Newt still felt some of the emotion that pushed him over the edge didn't sit well with him. Not even when the other tried to soften the blow by saying his improvement was due to Thomas. That felt a little too hard to believe.

Thomas rested his forehead against the side of Newt's head, his eyes squeezing shut. “You promise you'll let me know if you do?”

“I promise you, Tommy. I won't throw away the life you've given me.” Newt's voice adopted a tinge of teasing relief as he added, “besides, with how you're clinging to my side, I don't think I could ever feel that way again.”

Thomas cracked a smile. The tension slowly ebbed from his muscles, as it did with Newt's. And when silence consumed them again, both of their eyes trained out at the sea, pressed against one another, it was comforting and intimate. The water couldn't even touch them now, temporarily granting them security. The wind whispered promises of keeping their secrets until they were ready to spill them to the world.

Yet the surroundings didn't matter to Thomas. As long as he had Newt by his side, there's no place he'd rather be.

[arthropod-concoctions]

some Jleo royalty AU for @pearlsstims for the @mcyt-summer-of-yuri event!

Joe heard the door to her office creak open as she dipped her quill into an ink bottle and continued writing.

Joe glanced at the doorway. “I'm working on some important correspondence, and I'd rather not be interrupted while I...” she trailed off once she registered who it was that was standing at the entrance to her office. “Oh, howdy, your majesty!”

“Hi, Joe,” King Cleo replied with a chuckle. It was dark in the hallway outside, so they were illuminated only by the candles burning on Joe's desk. The flickering light made the crown on their head shimmer gently, and caused their hair to appear alive with a fire within, almost like it were made out of snakes. Cleo was always a sublime sight, Joe thought, but especially now. “What could you possibly still be writing at this hour?”

“Well, I'd sent out letters yesterday announcing the new ruler to our most important neighbors, and Lord Doc immediately sent back a re-declaration of independence, so now I'm just poring over these letters trying to figure out if I accidentally implied re-dependence of the Perimeter to Hermiton anywhere, and...” she sighed. “Yeah. So I'm gonna be here for another hour, probably.”

“And you think you'll do a better job at that now than in the morning, after a good night's sleep? I'm sure Doc won't mind if our response comes two days later rather than one.” Cleo had walked over to Joe by this point, and wrapped their arms around her shoulders. “Okay, he'll mind. But he won't actually do anything about it. Come, join me in my room.”

And, well, Joe wasn't about to argue with her king's request-- nor with the warm feeling of their arms around her. So she put away her quill, sealed off the inkwell, and got up. Cleo kissed her on the forehead, then grabbed her hand and started walking.

They passed through the dimly lit hallways of the castle that had up until recently belonged to King Ren the Dog. Cleo hadn't staged a coup, exactly-- they'd just waited for a mob of commoners to depose the king, then when the dust had settled down, gently suggested to the rebel leaders that they try again with a mostly-new royal court and some more laws in favor of helping the people, rather than feeding the king's decadence. That also meant significantly less servants in the castle; which is how Cleo and Joe were able to walk around with their hands clasped, and no worries about gossip spreading.

“Whatever happened to the royal Hotguy, anyways?” Joe asked conversationally as the two of them entered the king's bedroom.

“Scar? He's still in jail.” Cleo set their crown on a pillow on their nightstand, and fell down onto their king-sized bed with a sigh. “I have no intention of releasing him anytime soon, to be honest. He was a bit too loyal to Ren for my tastes.” They yawned. “Why'd you ask?”

“Oh, just thinking about our... arrangement,” Joe replied, sitting down on the side of the bed and leaning backwards, letting her head rest on Cleo's belly. The two of them had sort of a reverse Hotguy situation on their hands; instead of a lover who was 'secretly' an assassin, Joe was a letterer who was secretly the king's lover. They'd carefully kept their relationship secret while they were both ministers under Ren; it'd be taboo for two ministers to be courting one another. But the situation had changed so much, Joe wasn't sure where she stood anymore. Although she did know where she laid-- in Cleo's bedroom-- so she wasn't too worried about it.

“Yeah, me too,” replied Cleo, as they ruffled Joe's hair with one hand. They took a deep breath, as if about to say something, then released it slowly again.

After about a minute they spoke. “You didn't even tell me about Doc's letter before writing a reply. It's almost like you're ruling the kingdom already.”

“Yeah, sorry, I just figured you were probably busy and I could... wait, what do you mean 'already'?” Joe replied, lifting her head to look Cleo in the eyes.

They smiled nervously, then sat up and left the bed. Joe sat up as well, curious as to where this was going. Cleo rummaged through the drawer of their nightstand, and said: “I assume you know this by now, but I love you, Joe.”

Joe nodded. “I love you t-”

“And although prior circumstances have made it impossible,” they continued, pulling a small box out of the drawer and walking around the bed until they were next to Joe, “I think we're long overdue for this.” They got onto one knee and opened the box, which contained a small ring studded with a single bright green emerald.

“Joe, will you marry me and become the queen of Hermiton?”

Joe blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then blurted out: “Can we do that?!”

“Yeah, a'course we can. What are they gonna do about it, report us to the king?”

Then all at once, Joe's sense returned to her and she exclaimed: “Oh- yes! Yes, of course I want to marry you!” She rushed forwards to embrace Cleo, nearly falling off of the bed in doing so; but Cleo stood up and leaned into the hug, catching her in the process.

Joe thought nothing at all as Cleo loaded her with kisses; her head was filled with a buzz of glee. They weren't going to keep their relationship secret any longer. They were going to announce it to the whole world, even! Cleo dropped onto the bed, and Joe flopped down next to them, still in their arms.

“I think my brain just stopped working,” Joe said after a minute of blissful silence.

Cleo giggled. “That's impressive, knowing you,” they said.

“I can't believe it never occurred to me that we can just... get married now.” Joe draped her arm around Cleo's shoulder. “So when should we have the wedding?”

Cleo rolled onto her back and shrugged. “I dunno. It doesn't have to be big, I think. The people might appreciate if the royal wedding looks like that of some regular people.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. We should probably still invite the leaders of other regions though... I'm gonna have to write invitations-”

“No.” Cleo grabbed Joe's arm, as if to physically stop her, though she wasn't moving. “You're not allowed to turn this into more work for yourself, Joe. I forbid it.”

“What? How is this my fault? You're the one proposing, did you think we wouldn't invite anybody?”

“Well yes, we will, but writing the invitations won't be your job anymore,” Cleo noted. “When you're queen, we'll hire a new letterer.”

“...Well maybe I want to write those letters,” Joe replied petulantly. “If I'm gonna be queen, you can't tell me what to do anymore. The king doesn't outrank the queen.”

“Then I'm asking you as your wife. Just relax and enjoy this, love.”

And here, in bed with her betrothed and no one around to judge them, for once that was no trouble for Joe.

[james5-doe]

Jedda knelt with Rick at Hadea's throne, waiting for an answer to why they'd been called. Rick's eyes were fastened on the queen's bare feet, which was the proper way to show respect. Jedda got to look at her mother's face.

Hadea was clearly in serious mode -- even more serious than usual. She rested her arms along those of her chair. "Duncan MacLeod…has certain opponents. Many will rise in the days to come."

Jedda's brow twitched. She was surprised. "How did you even know of Duncan MacLeod?" And why did Hadea care about the guy? His struggles were occurring on the surface world.

"His clan and mine have history. A vow was made very long ago. There is a debt to be settled now." She paused a few seconds. "In order to assist him as best I can, I have to ascend to the rank of Empress. The title of Queen…shall go to another."

Jedda froze stiff, staring at her. This simply couldn't mean what she thought it did.

Rick began glancing between them both.

"I know that you desire to bond with…Jade…" Hadea said the name rather quietly. "But I may need your assistance soon."

Jedda had to pause to take all of it in. A part of her was utterly stunned by this. Another part of her wasn't smitten at all. She'd sensed she was going to live here someday. She was the Princess of the Netherworld, a title she'd been given when she'd met Hadea, when she was adopted informally.

But ruling here? Reigning as queen? She wasn't so sure she was ready for that -- even if Hadea could help her prepare. "Mother…" she murmured. "Do you mean me?"

"It is the safest course of action now," Hadea affirmed. "Once MacLeod's opponents know who you are, once they have learned of the bond we share, they will endeavor to hunt you down. When the time arrives for you to join this fight, you will have better resources here. You shall be able to defend yourself -- and to assist any others in need."

Jedda knew Hadea had a valid point, but she wasn't sure about this just yet. She and Rick had made certain plans above. They weren't quite ready to abandon those.

Where, exactly, would their future be?

I found this during my clean-up as well. It's set immediately before the other scene. Based on @amanda-multifandom's Earth N fiction.

Jedda's mothers, Jade and Hadea, always express some disapproval of each other, but they try to put that aside for Jedda's sake.

I like how Jedda is taking everything in while considering this huge change.

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Sorry, it took me a bit to get this request to you, and Tumblr is being Tumblr 😅.

Hello, love! For the first kiss ask:

How about Tal with an accidental first kiss ooooor taller gently grasping the shorter's chin. (The chin grasp kills me 😫).

Feel free to use one or both or switch it up! 🥰🥰

hiiii friend! I'm so sorry this took so long for me to get to; between realizing that my OC Tal is in fact aro/ace and does not feel like they'd fit the prompt, and just general life things, and also the muse being a fickle beast, things have been A Lot! but I'm finally happy with how this turned out, and I really enjoyed the chance to explore the softer side of another OC: Commander Creed! <3

Broken Rules

Summary: Creed decides the best path forward is to just be honest about his feelings.

Warnings: this is mostly just fluff but blog is still 18+; gn!reader

Word Count: 887

Creed has always been a man of action, of direct words, of clear intentions. He says what he means, and means what he says—even when everyone around him would rather waffle and oscillate and obfuscate. Even as a cadet, participating in the training simulations with the other young clones destined to become commanders, he earned a reputation for being rough, abrasive, blunt.

His Jedi commander calls him grumpy. He calls them naive. Without fail, they laugh with a mischievous smile—and that always gets you going, a tiny grin threatening to break over your face. 

As a nat-born handler assigned to his battalion, you’re one of very few personnel aboard the Messenger that Creed doesn’t fully understand how to act with. His Jedi colleagues at least make sense; they’re part of the war effort to minimize loss of life and to protect the Republic, same as he and his men are. His brothers, of course, he has no problem connecting with. Most of the other nat-born contractors stay out of his way, which is more than fine with him. 

But you? You baffle Creed, and the only thing more confusing to him is the way you make him feel. 

If he’s being blunt with himself, he knows it’s a crush. It’s the only thing these feelings can be—the anticipatory tightening in his chest when he hears your voice around the corner, the fluttering in his chest whenever you smile in his direction, the maddening urge to tilt your head up so you meet his gaze straight on. If he’s being honest, he knows that the way you act around him, shuffling your feet and glancing away from his gaze, probably means his feelings aren’t one-sided. But these are things the Kaminoans never trained the clones for, and instead of facing the situation head-on like he does everything else, Creed waffles. 

And he’s so karking tired of it. 

So he’s not entirely certain what he’s doing outside your personal quarters, but he’s knocking on the durasteel door before he can talk himself out of this. It’s late—at least, his body tells him it’s late; there’s no way to know for certain when they’re in hyperspace—but despite the hour, it’s only a moment before your door slides open. 

“C-Commander!” You immediately stand straighter, smoothing out your sleep clothes. “What can I help you with, sir?” 

Your name falls from his lips before he can process it. Your first name, not your title, or your last name, but a name that feels so unfamiliar and yet sounds so right coming from him. “I’m not here on business.” 

“Oh.” You blink at him. “Well, still. Is there something you needed?” 

“I—” Creed sighs, drawing a hand over his face. “May I come in? I’d like to speak with you.” 

He catches the momentary flare of panic that crosses your features, but you step aside regardless. The door slides shut behind him. Your quarters are sparsely furnished; it makes his heart feel funny, that you haven’t made this space your own yet, despite being attached to the 387th for months now. 

“No decorations?” he asks. 

“Um.” You sound taken aback. “It’s...against GAR regulations to—”

“Right,” he says, waving his hand. Maker, could he be any worse at this? “My ARCs would tell you regulations are in place to be broken.” 

“Are you...giving me permission to break the rules, Commander?”

“Creed.”

“What?” 

“Call me Creed,” he says, finally lifting his gaze to yours. “Please.” 

His eyes flicker down to your lips as they part in surprise. Stars, you really are a sight, and he wonders why he hasn’t taken the time to fully appreciate the view until now. Heart pounding in his chest, he wipes his palms on the fabric of his blacks. 

“The answer is ‘yes’,” he says. When your brow furrows in confusion, he continues, “About breaking regulations. Because I’m about to break several.” 

“What’s going on?” 

Idly scratching at his ear, a nervous habit he picked up as a cadet, Creed sighs. “I like you.” 

He winces internally at the brusque timbre of his words, but understanding dawns over your face like the sun’s first rays. Swallowing harshly, Creed forces himself to stop fidgeting.

“May as well throw out all the handbooks,” you say after a moment. “Can I break a few more?”

“Please.” 

You close the distance until you’re in his personal space. Peering up at him from beneath your eyelashes, you reach with tentative hands to brush your fingertips over the swell of his cheeks. Creed nearly leans into your touch. Instead, he does what he’s been wanting to for weeks, and he tucks one finger under your chin to tilt your head up as he leans down. 

Your lips are soft and warm against his own. He exhales a shaky breath as your hands slide around his neck, anchoring him to you; this is so far beyond uncharted territory that Creed can’t help but simply marvel at the rhythm you set. Mouths moving slow and in sync, you tilt his head, deepening the kiss. 

When you pull back, he finds you already gazing when he opens his eyes.

“Never woulda thought our big scary commander would break so many rules,” you say with a soft, teasing smile. 

Creed hums. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” 

“Deal.”

Ragu: @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @bobaprint @dickarchivist @a-single-tulip @thorsterstrudle @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @cw80831 @mssbridgerton @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl @dreamie411 @jedi-hawkins

[finchsflight]

The Carceridiots In Drac's Castle

So, I've been reading...(glances away from screen) definitely a normal amount of @canyourfavesurvivecastledracula's posts. A very normal amount. Therefore: here, have The Carceridiots (a trio of characters in the Forgotten Realms universe, all stuck in Carceri--not a campaign party just a story.). Under the readmore. Because. Uh. Blorbos From My Brain No One Knows About. that said please look at them I'm begging you, (fair warning this ended up. LONG.)

1. Rev(elation) Lochlara Low-wisdom reborn artificer who only pissed off the cult of Orcus a little bit when they were alive. Supposed to die; being a very, very good artificer, did not. Unfortunately for them the wizard that killed them stuck their corpse in Carceri so no one would find it and revive or talk to it. They woke up knowing very little and slowly remembering Hey I Know How To Do Artificing. Kind of a sarcastic feral bastard. The key thing with Rev (and all of them to be fair) is timing. If it's pre-Carceri versus post-Carcering but pre-partying up with Codex and Alister versus post-escaping Carceri everything's wildly different. That said I'm normal about them so let's just talk about all the options,

Pre-Carceri: Dracula is already dead. Kidding, kidding, but pre-death Rev (or, more accurately, Revelation) is a terrifyingly skilled artificer who Does Not Put Up With This and also, like, can recognize a vampire. They're from the Forgotten Realms. Revelation assumes Drac's working off normal D&D vampire rules but it doesn't actually end up mattering because even if the Daylight Glyph of Warding doesn't kill him a Catapult'd knife to the throat will. The traps on their door are enough to take out Strahd, Dracula's doomed. Or they just Planeshift themself out. Or they--you get the idea. Usually I try not to go 'ohh they're just So Scary dracula couldn't even touch them' but for Revelation that is unfortunately true. Revelation, Terrifying Reclusive Artificer, can survive Castle Dracula.

Post-getting dumped into Carceri but pre-meeting the other idiots: honestly it's a tossup. Overall supernatural belivingness is the same as everyone else's and I'm not gonna keep mentioning it--they're from the Forgotten Realms. Takes the crucifix, not because they're polite but because they hoard things with a vengeance and on account of the amnesia have no idea if it's important or not but like they're pretty sure gods are real. On account of how people keep trying to smite them. That said it doesn't really matter because they don't shave. Scheherazadeing Dracula's a tossup also--the actual answer is funny, I think, which is that Rev can keep Drac's attention as long as they don't realize they need to. Unlike Revelation they can't immediately recognize a vampire (and, like, so what if the dude doesn't breathe! Rev doesn't either!) and while I think their knowledge of artifice, general talkativeness, and also maybe being a little dead is enough to keep Drac entertained for a while I do think their genuine sarcastic bastardness might win out and get them killed. Also, if they realize they need to be keeping Drac entertained, they're screwed because they're not as charismatic as they think they are. 100% goes exploring. Quite possibly dies there also. Gets salty about Drac stealing their Favorite Gun. Goes through a lot of the rest like they're Jonathan; almost gets killed a few times, doesn't hit Drac with a shovel but does shoot him, possibly dies from just Not Being Fun Enough. In general, is probably okay about most of the weirdness especially since they don't actually have moving blood, but, they don't make it out for a major reason--they have a tasty 8 strength and Cannot Climb to save their life. Literally. They fall off the wall and to their death*. *hypothetically if the dice rolled very very nicely and they succeeded on their death saves they could live but they'd get eaten by wolves probably and 1000 feet fall damage is probably enough to instakill a low-level artificer, which means that Rev, Weird Dude In Carceri Who Knows How Guns Work, cannot survive Castle Dracula.

Post-Escaping: Might be okay. Maybe. They're a much higher-level artificer and can probably just, like, cast Feather Fall. Might not take the crucifix, though--at this point they're salty about gods. That said they still do not shave. So it's fine. Still can't really Scheherazade that well, but they know more about artificing and have more cool stories to tell, so...it's probably okay. Ish. Has established some decent mind-control wards, so that helps. Still does not have blood. Still will not stop exploring, however they can cast Invisibility now. Unfortunately, the thing that saved them in Carceri might be their undoing--after everything, they're really codependent with Alister and Codex. So the loneliness sucks. But, who knows! Maybe Drac doesn't steal their Sending Stones! (He does. Rev is sad.) All that said, Rev can cast a lot more stuff. And, like, cast Fly. Which helps a lot with the climbing part. It's also entirely possible that Codex or Alister teleports to Rev and gets them out. On the whole, I do think Rev, Weird Artificer Who Escaped Carceri, can survive Castle Dracula; however, they have a much worse time of it than Revelation, and it's almost certainly a close shave sometimes.

2. Alister Seacrest A once-very-good water genasi Oath of the Watchers paladin who fucked up so so bad and accidentally let the Far Realm in through his own cowardice, permanently making him weird and eldritch and also super duper breaking his oath and losing his powers. So so depressed and sad. Scary when he's motivated to actually not die; unfortunately that is rarely true.

Pre-Carceri: Honestly this is equally likely to be the thing that breaks his Watcher's Oath. He absolutely takes the crucifix (he is PREPARED! he is READY! he is going to be THE BEST PALADIN!), at this point in his life he has great charisma and is 100% able to Scheherazade his way through the Count, doesn't explore (or at least stealths decently well)... and then he runs into the whole baby situation, tries to fight because he is being a GOOD PALADIN DAMMIT and either wins (on account of how he was a pretty good paladin) or starts losing, panics, bolts, possibly breaks his oath, falls into despair, and dies. Or just gets severely slurped, because mmmm righteousness. If he somehow makes it through that (which he won't), the same thing happens with Dracula. In sort: Alister Seacrest, Warden of Reality, cannot survive Castle Dracula. Despite it being literally his job.

Pre-Partying-Up: Oh he's so dead. He is so dead. Unless Dracula forgets about him because he's just sitting around moping, he's so so dead. Does not take the crucifix, however he does not shave so it doesn't matter. Cannot keep Dracula entertained at all. Dracula asks about his past and he just has a breakdown. Doesn't go exploring but it doesn't matter Dracula's already killed him. Alister Seacrest, Sad Ex-Paladin, cannot survive Castle Dracula, and none of us should be surprised by this fact.

Post-Carceri: ...Maybe. Maybe. Look, he's still Severely Sad, but he's not as bad. Like Rev, pretty codependent. Still does not take the crucifix; still does not shave. He has a beard because he didn't shave for so much of Carceri and then he shaved it off because he was going 'well okay I'm gonna be okay now! I am cleaning up!' and then his face looked weird and he decided to just have a well-groomed beard instead. Probably also goes exploring, but probably doesn't get caught. Can't Scheherazade super well, but honestly, he probably makes up for that by just genuinely being a very interesting person. The baby incident does mean that he wants Dracula dead, but! He has grown as a person! And he knows he can't take down Dracula alone. So he bides his time, definitely gets hypnotized again and definitely is annoyed about it, and then yeets himself out the window at the first opportunity he has, climbs down the wall, and vanishes into the woods. He's got pretty solid Wisdom. The Jon-a-than is nothing, he could live in those woods. Wolves? Pffft, he lived in Carceri for years. This is fine. He fucks off and finds Rev and Codex to help him kill Dracula. So, honestly surprising me a tiny bit, Alister Seacrest, Kind Of Okay Dude, can survive Castle Dracula! He's gonna be reaaaaal sad though. Dracula took his favorite bow :(

3. Codex Nolastname Mildly terrifying warforged wizard-rogue situation. Pissed off a very powerful wizard by stealing an even more powerful artifact that essentially fused with her; can kind-of-sort-of command its power. Shakily. Has never put up with anyone's shit a day in her life, but occasionally does like people. Occasionally. Climbs walls constantly, to the frustration of everyone around her.

It is important that we note that Codex, as a robot, does not have blood. Moving on,

Pre-Carceri: The closest to a normal human we're sending in here, honestly. Probably is here to rob Dracula. Takes the crucifix 'cos it looks shiny and she can probably sell it to some theologist for a few gold; does not shave anyway so it doesn't matter. Why do none of my blorbos shave? Anyway. Obviously she explores--she's here for a heist! Might not even bother Scheherazadeing Dracula, which could get her killed--she doesn't have great charisma. But she is a very good thief, so...she might just be hiding in his walls for a month? I'm not sure. I don't think she eats food. Or drinks. Or needs to breathe. So...*shrug*. Either way, as a rogue who can cast Invisibility, her Stealth is through the roof. She finds the hoard, stuffs it in a bag of holding, and then bolts. At which point Dracula probably thinks she's already gone. I really thought she'd die, but no, her obscene Stealth modifier and propensity for a) being fully awake while she sleeps, b) never eating, drinking, or breathing, and c) climbing walls means that Codex, Crime Master, can survive Castle Dracula, probably.

Pre-Partying-Up: Similar to Pre-Carceri, but she's a worse wizard but also has terrible magics within her. Honestly things probably go similarly--if all else fails, Feather Fall and yeeting yourself out a convenient window always works, which means that Codex, Thief With Some Spooky Mechanisms, can also survive Castle Dracula, probably. Unless her spooky mechanism goes out of control and she explodes and dies! Which is possible.

Post-Escape: Honestly, she's even more well off--post escaping, Codex can actually control her Spooky Mechanism, which means in addition to obscene stealth modifiers, wizard magic, and not eating breathing drinking or being unaware while sleeping, she has terrible magics that archmages want stored away at least somewhat at her command. So she's probably fine, and can still survive Castle Dracula.

...Wow apparently I had thoughts about this. Cool. Go off, me. Now go actually write things instead of rambling about your blorbos.

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙰𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚣 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜: 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚂𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚑𝚠𝚊

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, encouraging, justifying, promoting nor romanticizing yandere behavior or lifestyle. This is all a work of fiction and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

Warnings: Mentions of toxic relationships, violence, degradation, physical/mental abuse, kidnapping, hostage holding, self-harm, attempted murder and other yandere behavior. Read at your own discretion.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧:

𝙽𝚊𝚖𝚎: 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚂𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚑𝚠𝚊

𝙳.𝙾.𝙱: 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝟹𝚛𝚍, 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟾

𝙷𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝: 𝟷𝟽𝟾 𝙲𝙼/ 𝟻'𝟷𝟶 𝙵𝚃.

𝙰𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: ■■■■■100%

𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: ■■■■■100%

𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢: ■■■■□90%

𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: 𝙴𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎

𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: 𝙳𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝙰𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚜:

𝙴𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑 𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚢.

𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝.

𝙽𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜.

𝙱𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He was the school's and the town's heartthrob.

From the time he was young, every girl was in love with him and every boy wanted to be him.

From the tenderest of age, old folks were praising how cute and adorable he was.

That's just how Park Seonghwa grew up, being admired and loved by everyone around him. He was so used to his little club of adoring fans.

He dated, or more like, messed around with more than a couple of girls in his classes.

Not a single one of them was immune to his charms, even if at first they said they'd never ever fall for him. They always fell like dominoes.

And then the day finally came....The day someone ignored him, the day someone didn't worship the ground he walked on.....

The day someone not only refused but humiliated him in front of others.

You had recently moved into the small town, wanting to get away from all the bustling and, in your opinion, futile life of the city.

So you moved somewhere more quiet, serene, calm.

You only wanted a nice and comfortable life, and with the small but sturdy job you accepted, it allowed you to have a comfortable living.

For a while, no one really noticed or payed the to you, and those that did were wary of you.

You couldn't blame them. A stranger suddenly moves into their town? Of course they'd be careful.

You were very observant and in that time you observed Seonghwa.

He was good looking you had to admit, but he had come into the shop with a girl by his side which suggested to you they were an item.

Meaning he was off limits so you didn't bother to think about him.

But then he came in weeks later with a different girl, which threw you off a little.

And then a different girl, then another and you saw the pattern.

You shook your head and cringed at him. "Fuck boi." You muttered every time you saw him.

It didn't take long for him to hear about the new girl in town.

Which to him meant another heart to steal and a pair of legs to open and add to his collection.

He was with his friends, who were anxious to see what would happen.

You saw him confidently stride up to you, cocky grin on his face as his eyes looked you up and down. You internally scoffed.

"Don't think you can easily play me boy." You resolved in your head to wipe that smirk off.

"Hey gorgeous. Come here often?" He winked at you.

"I work here." You responded with absolutely no emotion or expression, barely giving him a glance as you arranged the shelves in the store.

He moved so you could see him better, thinking it would cause you to melt, but you just stared straight at him as if he wasn't there.

"If you need any assistance, please ask one of the managers. I only stock the merchandise."

You had to hold back from laughing at his shocked face, probably because no girl had ever not blushed or become flustered from his close proximity.

You moved away from him to put some articles on the next aisle.

Not giving up, Seonghwa followed after you, his friends trailing close behind you.

He tapped your shoulder to get your attention again.

For the first time in his life, a girl glared at him as if he was no more than a bug....

That was strike one for him.

"Listen...... I.......just wanted to get your number?" He couldn't believe that he was actually sweating nervously.

"Sorry. I don't give my number to strangers." You stated.

Seeing an opportunity, Seonghwa smiled flirtatiously at you.

"Well then maybe I should take you out. Then we won't be strangers. Maybe we could even get...really close." He licked his lips.

His face froze when he saw you roll your eyes at him.

That was strike two.

"Thank you but no. And if you'll excuse me."

You moved to leave him there again, but his hand reached out and gripped your wrist, a little too rough for your liking.

"Come on darling...no one's ever said no to me."

Yanking your hand away, you looked at him with disgust as you told him:

"I believe I just did."

Those words and the snorts and giggles from his friends behind him were strike three for him.

In that moment something snapped in him.

How dare someone like you reject him? The Park Seonghwa.

He was so stunned by your actions that he couldn't get you out of his mind from then on.

He no longer looked at any other girls.

His thoughts were fixated on you and only you.

He had to win you over, he just had to.

You were the ultimate challenge and he was going to make sure he was victorious.

But you made it so damn difficult.

Every. Single. Time.

You never hid how much he annoyed you and that pissed him off so much.

Days turned to a month, then 3 and still you kept refusing him.

The final straw for him was when he tried gifting you a rather expensive necklace that would have anyone else swooning.

Not batting a wink, you threw the case back to him.

"I'm not some whore you can buy for the night just cause you feel like it. Go find someone else to be your toy, fuckboi."

He gripped the case so harshly it actually bent, eyes staring daggers at you as you walked home.

"You're not getting away so easily. You're going to regret this."

You were surprised when you didn't see Seonghwa the next day..

Or for an entire week.

But you shrugged it off, perhaps he had finally learned his lesson and opted for leaving you alone.

Walking home, you couldn't help but feel like something eerie was going to happen.

You tried ignoring it by plugging in your headphones and just head home as soon as possible. It was dark and cold.

You weren't paying attention to your surroundings so you didn't see nor hear the car that was heading straight to you.

You only felt something knock you to the ground, immediately passing out from your head hitting the pavement.

The driver got out of the vehicle, his dark orbs staring down at your unconscious figure.

Bending down, he tilted your chin to look at your bloody face.

"I told you would regret this."

You woke up sore and with a pounding headache days later.

But more than anything, you woke up frightened when you saw you were chained down on a chair, wrists bound on the arm rests and feet tied to the legs.

Who the hell would kidnap you?

Your answer came in the form of Seonghwa himself, coming into the dimly lit basement where he held you.

He smirked as he saw you swallow harshly when he came close to you, face bending down at eye level to you.

"You can get out of this whole mess you know...."

Cupping your chin, he brought his lips dangerously close to yours.

"Just give in to me and agree to be mine."

You swore this had to be a joke. He'd go through all this trouble just for this shit?

Unable to stand his close proximity, you opted for showing your contempt for him by spitting on his face........something he did not take kindly to.

He looked at you as if you committed a heinous crime. And he wasn't going to let you get away with it.

Lifting your face up, he slapped you several times across the face, not satisfied until your nose was bleeding and your cheeks were stinging so badly, there was going to be bruising for sure.

You cried out when he harshly gripped your burning cheeks, adding even more pain.

"Sooner or later, you'll have to give in. The more you resist, the worse it'll get."

He left you there for 3 days, or a week. You honestly couldn't remember, you were going in and out of consciousness for a while.

When he finally let you out, you thought he'd be a little more nicer to you, but you were wrong.

Things only got worse.

You were being treated worse than an animal.

You couldn't walk anywhere, you had to crawl. You weren't allowed to use utensils for food, nor your hands.

The first time you tried to refuse to these rules, Seonghwa shoved you to the floor and dragged you by the hair across the hallway.

And as for food, he smashed your face into the bowl, you were surprised it didn't break from how hard he did it.

You could never look him in the eye or else you'd get struck across the cheek.

"Never look your betters in the eye. You should be grateful I even spare a glance at such a lowlife like you."

He lived, no...he thrived out of humiliating you.

It was sickening to know that such an individual could hate someone so much to go out of their way to try and dominate them to such an extent.

The times he was actually being 'nice' to you, his voice was filled with mock pity, talking to you as if you were his little pet.

It was those times where you truly couldn't hold back and glared at him.

And it always end with you back in the basement, stripped naked, and left there for days in the cold, body bleeding and sore from the canning he gave you.

And everytime he came back, he'd always say the same thing:

"You could end all of this if only you'd love me."

More than once you thought about giving in, even if just pretending.

He couldn't possibly treat you any worse than he did now.

But your inner strength, independence and repulsion from him kept you from giving in.

You'd rather die than ever let Park Seonghwa win and give him that. satisfaction.

But the day you found out you were pregnant with his kid, you knew you had to get out of there.

You were not going to allow a child to be raised by a monster.

You never told him anything, he couldn't know. You even resorted to cutting yourself so he'd believe you were still menstruating.

And for months you played it nice, obeyed him so he wouldn't cause you harm or to the baby.

He actually began to soften up, thinking he had finally broken you into the perfect lover he imagined.

"Fucking idiot."

That was the exact thing you thought when you finally allowed him to kiss you, instead of the forced ones he'd usually give you.

Taking advantage that his guard was down, you pulled out the knife you had hidden and didn't hesitate to plunge it on his side.

He pulled back in shock, but had no time to react because you just took out the knife and plunged it back in...

Over and over again until he layed unconscious on the floor.

Blood was everywhere and you honestly couldn't believe you did that.

Choking back the tears, you scrambled to find anything that could help you break the lock, which you eventually found.

You ran out of that place, never looking back.

You didn't run into the direction of the town, people would be too suspicious.

You ran towards the direction of the highway, hoping someone would find you and take you to the nearest hospital or police station.

It seemed luck was on your side as a woman immediately stopped when she saw you running.

She didn't hesitate to help you out, taking you to a hospital so you could get checked up.

You lied and simply said you had been kidnapped and managed to escape, feigning that you don't remember who your kidnapper was.

The police bought your story and more so dropped the interrogation when you said you didn't want to press charges and just wanted to lay low for a while.

You moved all the way across the country, far far away from the place of hell you were in.

You quickly got a job and a small, but comfortable home to raise your newborn daughter in.

She was such a cute and beautiful baby, looking like an exact replica of her father which somewhat haunted you but you pushed those thoughts aside.

Time had passed, you were safe, she was safe and almost a year old, and you'd never have to worry about that insane man ever again.........

So you believed.

Unaware of the piercing eyes that were looking through your opened window, staring at you as you fed yours and his baby.

"You'll love me in the end....."

[birdtown-if]

platonic crossover with @sinnersandsaints-linwrites's character Riven, because competitive and ready to throw hands? Diana has finally found a worthy opponent.

IT WAS FAIR DAY, and Diana's first time partaking in it.

Fairs were usually meant for merchants and commoners— in other words, the part of the Kingdom that wasn't royalty.

By the rules of the kingdom, she should stay inside the castle and ignore the crowd bustling outside. But if even within the castle walls she was treated like a commoner, then she might as well act as such.

Covering her face and hiding her hair with her cloak, she stepped through the gates of the so-called 'fun fair', stopping soon after to glance around at the stands and people.

Diana had never seen so many kids in her life. Having Oliver and later Catherine around, she only ever socialized with her father's friends' children when they came to visit. Those were often four, five at most.

These.. these felt like hundreds. A particularly small kid almost ran her over and she could only stare in amazement, briefly having regressed to her childhood years. Another chased the first, running past her.

The third wasn't so lucky. It bumped against the back of Diana's boots, and this made her turn around because could kids even be that tiny?

She didn't find a child draped over her boots. She found a face. A grown person's face.

Had she been any less stoic — any more like Oliver, she would have screamed. Instead, she silently glared at the figure with burning cold eyes.

It had been merely a scare. There was no need to use violence against this poor peasant.

"Ow-! The fuck you looking at?" She took that back.

Diana bit her tongue for once in her life, and waited patiently for the person to get back on their feet — which they did, after some moments. They had a disheveled appearance, as if they had been involved in a sparring match with a wild donkey and lost.

There was a shout in the direction where they'd come from. "If you even look at my stand again, I'll get you banned!" That's when Diana understood.

"Oh. You may be one of those."

The person looked down at her — they were a few centimeters taller than her, which made her frown. Their amber eyes were glistening with irritation, if not anger. Diana recognized her own expression in their eyes. "One of those? What even— Are you trying to start something, is that it?"

She hurried to correct herself, waving her left hand dismissively as she straightened her back. "No, no. I jest. I meant no harm to your little peasant heart."

She guessed them to be either a carouser or a brawler, and expressed her thoughts to them, but apparently that comment had been offensive, because the person scrunched up their face as if they had just smelled beast manure.

They were angry, Diana could tell by the tense jaw and tick under their eye; according to Catherine's description, that's how Diana herself looked whenever the younger sister spoke. She recalled her emotions then, as those of someone who was about to explode.

Laughter filled the cold ambient, breaking it like a spell. Surprisingly enough, it was coming from her. She offered a confident smile. "My apologies. I did not mean to insult you. Twice." She offered her hand.

There was a raise of brows from the person that just stared in a mixture of confusion and hesitance. They stared at the hand, but didn't shake it. "Of course you didn't." They said. Diana couldn't remember the last time someone had been sarcastic to her, but she recognized the tone immediately.

"Allow me to make it up to you." The person — whose name she'd later know to be Riven, gave a distrustful nod of their head. They were already having a terrible day, so they might as well take up the chance this woman was offering them.

The thing was, if Deadwood had taught them something in the years they'd spent there as a child, was that strangers to town were never meant to be trusted. They were poisonous, like ivy.

"How?" Riven questioned, partly reluctant to deal with her now that they finally had no reason whatsoever to do so. Unless the deal was good, there was no way they'd stay in that shitty fair any longer when they had already technically been kicked out.

Thought that was most definitely not true. They'd stay until they could win that stuffed animal from the balloon & dart stand, otherwise it would all have been a huge waste of time.

Diana caught them broodingly staring at the stand, and raised a brow. "Would fair tickets serve as enough compensation?"

Riven gave a humorless laugh, or at least tried to. Part of them was vaguely amused, but most of them was just offended. "You think you can buy my forgiveness with some cheap tickets?" They asked.

As it turns out, she could.

They both tried their luck at the balloon & the dart, the milk bottle game and the high striker. At the end of the day, it was a tie.

It was getting dark outside, so Diana headed out, with Riven following close behind. They were carrying a gigantic wolf plushie with their chin held high, as if it were the proudest accomplishment of their life. Diana simply smiled to herself, confidence drifting to softness.

"If I may ask, why did that man ban you from his stand?" "Oh, don't even get me started."

Hi, Lin! I'm afraid I might have written Riven as someone too out of character? Just let me know if that's the case. Hope you like it! 💕

[bill-y]

𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐄

Peeta Mellark x male reader

We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn’t been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family.

Info: This is basically a reader insert and I’ve changed a few rules, not ground breaking though. The reader is a bit bland for now but I plan for his actions to be different. Because he has different moral grounds from Katniss and such. Would appreciate feedback! FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT TYPOS. GRAMMARLY SOMETIMES DOESN’T DO MY DYSLEXIC ASS JUSTICE

Part two: Click here, bomburino tortilla pony horse.

Part three: You're here, my guy.

Part four: Click here, amigo

Wattpad acc: L0calxDumbass

It didn't take long before I came home, my mother and brother was already dressed, and I was right, Kunal has been crying.

He immediately lightened up when he saw the bread, pushing the sleeves of my first reaping outfit (which was now his) back in order to munch on it.

"Don't worry, you only have your name once in the pile, you're safe," I reassured him, as I've done many times before.

I smiled, patting his head. My mother glanced at me, but I pretended to not notice. It's been long since we've talked, the last time was a disagreement, a petty one at that. About two years or so?

I honestly surpised myself, how can I go without talking to her for so long. . .?

Another trait my father passed on to me was a short temper, though I never lose my head and scream, but something about her words made me yell. Her face was full of shock when I did that, almost as if I've betrayed her.

"Don't be stupid like your father!" She told me.

My father isn't a stupid man, he was smart. Lady luck just wasn't on his side that day.

I took a bath, scrubbing the dirt and soot off myself. When I saw my clothing my heart stopped. It was my Father's.

It was simple, just as he liked. A white button up tunic, the hems made of elegant gold lace. The pants were loose, with garters securing on the hip and the hems, he never liked tight clothing, just like me.

My eyes went towards my mother, who simply nodded, "After you get dressed, sit down, won't you? Let me fix your hair," she said.

My mouth opened to protest, only to shut itself when she whispered a small, "please," My eyes softened, her voice sounded so guilty, she regretted her words, just as I did. She knew I could get chosen.

But I'm a coward, I don't like apologizing, something I inherited from her.

I nodded, and got dressed before I sat down, just as she told me. She began to braid tiny sections of my hair. I've never been good at it, really, It would always look messy when I did it. So I just looked messy everyday.

But her hands can do magic, it was like she was weaving silk, her hands full of grace and utmost care as she intertwined every strand of hair. I could feel her hand shake a little, as if scared with one wrong touch, I'd shatter like glass.

She used to sew clothing, make various artworks with whatever was in the house. Her hand was naturally delicate, soft to anything she makes contact with.

I bit my lip, none of us wanted to say it. We we're both thinking the same thing, though.

I never really liked cutting my hair, always kept it atleast neck length at best. I don't think short hair suits me at all, though it does get in the way while hunting from time to time.

Once she finished, without a word she pressed her chapped lips onto my forehead, she then walked away, leaving me with a pit of guilt in my stomach.

Such simple words, why can't I just say it?

I sighed, fixing my tunic and tucking it in, the garter snapping back, making me wince a little. It was stupid of me to let go.

I took a deep breath in, mustering all the courage I had to walk towards my brother, who has devoured the entire loaf. "Good?" I asked.

He nodded, a smile on his face, the crumbs falling down. I chuckled, wiping his mouth with my hand.

"You're like a bird, aren't you, little mocking jay?" I said, patting his head again.

He hummed, nodding aggressively, his hair bouncing up and down. I snickered, holding his head still with both my hands. I squished his cheeks together, making his lips form into a duck beak-shape. "Hey, Y/n,"

I rose my brows, humming. "I won't get chosen, won't I?" he asked. I sniffed, shaking my head as I linked our foreheads. "No, no you wont, Nal," I said. "If they call you, I won't let you go, alright?"

"You promise?"

"Of course,"

Soon it hit one in the afternoon, it was mandatory to attend this "festival", unless you're at death's door, that is. I found myself beside Gale, who patted my shoulder for reassurance.

Maybe it was obvious I'm stressed, tense. I'm not worried about myself, I'm more worried of them, especially Kunal. He's only twelve, yet he can still get chosen.

Some kind of festival this is.

I clenched my fists tighter, palms started to go white as I also clenched my jaw.

On the temporary stage stationed in front of the justice building was a podium, three chairs and two large bowls. The district is divided into two sections, jumbled across those two glass bowls, waiting to be picked up.

Twenty of them contained 'Y/n Greyback', one of them contained 'Kunal Greyback'.

There were also bright banners hung up, though I'm sure it was just there to taunt us, it sure worked for me. Everytime I look at it I start feel sick, hatred bubbling in my stomach.

The feeling of claustrophobia began to settle in as people piled into the square, the late comers having to just watch from a monitor instead.

"You alright?" Gale asked, nudging me. I gulped, sighing, "Course, I just —" I turned back, looking at my brother. "Worry of him,"

He gave me a sympathetic look, "He only has one entry, I'm sure he won't be picked," He said. Something I've been saying for such a long time, it didn't help settle my nerves.

"I know," I answered plainly.

We looked towards Katniss' place, beside her was Mardge, who gave me a curt smile and a wave. Out of politeness, I simply nodded back before turning back to the stage.

My hands grew colder each second, by two, when the mayor finally reached the stage, my hands were as cold as a corpse's.

Beside the mayor was Effie Trinket, District 12’s escort, fresh from the Capitol with her scary white grin, pinkish hair, and spring green suit. It looked quite ghastly.

Everyone murmured in worry, for whom was the empty third seat for?

The mayor stepped in front of the podium, beginning to tell the tale of Panem, how the twelve districts lost in the rebellion and now have to face punishment.

The Hunger games.

It was simple, each district would pick two "tributes" to this little game, and then they either kill like a hungry wolf or die like lost cattle.

I gulped, sweat forming on my forehead as I instinctively reached for the end of Gale's shirt. He held my hand, patting it a few times to let me know it would be alright.

He then began to read the victors in every hunger games. In the past seventy-four years, we have had exactly two.

Only one is still alive. Haymitch Abernathy, a paunchy, middle-aged man, who at this moment appears hollering something unintelligible, staggers onto the stage, and falls into the third chair.

To say he's drunk would be an understatement.

The crowd responds with its token applause, but he’s confused and tries to give Effie Trinket a big hug, which she barely manages to fend off.

The mayor looks distressed. Since all of this is being televised, right now District 12 is the laughingstock of Panem, and he knows it. He quickly tries to pull the attention back to the reaping by introducing Effie Trinket.

Bright and bubbly as ever, she began to talk. I could feel my blood boiling upon hearing her obnoxious, Capitol accent. I tuned her out, gulping as my hands somehow grew even colder.

Please don't let it be my brother, anyone but him.

"Let's have the first pick, shall we?" She said, her voice at the end of the sentence practically sky rocketing up. She pulled a piece of paper from one of the Glass bowls.

My heart pounded, as if trying to escape my chest. I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths in.

"Kunal Greyback,"

My heart stopped. Why couldn't it have been me? I had twenty, TWENTY entries.

I watched as my brother walked past me, his lip quivering, eyes glossy. Oh sweet, sweet Kunal, as delicate as a Lotus.

Kunal, the boy who gathers flowers every morning just for me.

Kunal, the boy who loves pulling on my braids.

Kunal, my dear innocent brother. Afraid of his own shadow.

I felt my own body move, launching myself forward. Gale called for my name, but I didn't care, no. I needed to get to my brother, I made a promise.

"NAL! NAL! NO!" I yelled, desperation evident in my voice as I pushed through the other people. "Y/n!" He screamed back.

Most of then gave me and my brother looks of sympathy, some gossiped. "Greyback," they'd whisper. "Another one bites the dust," they'd continue.

The peace keepers pushed me back, preventing me from reaching my brother.

No, not like this. He's still so young, he still wants to gather lilys by the front of our house, he still wants to create flower crowns for me to wear.

He still wants to breath, to live.

The mayor looked at me, recignizing me almost immediately. He didn't know me, no. Rather, he knew my father, the man he put under the execution block.

Oh mother, I'm sorry it had to be this way. It seems another one of your family members will die at the hands of the Capitol.

"I volunteer!" I gasped, gulping down nothing. My mouth was dry.

"I volunteer as a tribute!"

Word count: 1.6k

Tags:

@nin3s

:v

[citadelspires]

P1 - Given how great you're track record's been for doing hypothetical interactions of Amphibia kids with the Duck kids and Owl House kids, let's try doing the Duck kids meeting the Owl House kids and who they'd like the best. I'll exclude Violet for this for the sake of evenening things out 5 to 5. I'd assume Luz would get along best with Dewey (both jump into adventure), King with Louie (could see em teaming up for a scheme), Willow with Huey (eh, more leftover interaction but can work)

Screenshot of second half of the ask provided. Text: P2 Gus with Webby (would totally ask each other lots of questions about their species), and Amity with Lena (both got abusive figures they stood up to and would totally talk about their crushes on Luz and Webby LOL). Would love to see you take on Duck kids and Owl House kids interactions.

First of all I’m very pleased to hear you find my track record on these posts good, they’ve been really fun to write and it makes me really happy people like them! Second I am so sorry it’s taken so long to get to this ask, it’s a really in depth one and it took a long time to write, I hope you’ll find it was worth the wait!

Aight! Oh and one last thing real quick before I get into it. I hope you wouldn’t mind me adding Violet back in, partially due to the fact I love her, but mostly because there’s actually another owl house character I think works significantly better with Louie than anyone else and I really want the chance to talk about that. Saving that one for last hehe. This’ll be another long one, writing below the cut.

Luz and Webby So I do like a lot of the possible interactions brought up by your suggested grouping but my mind went in a few different directions. I’ll start with Luz, who would fit in best with another excitable adventuring partner, as pointed out, but I think the best fit for her in that regard would actually be Webby. While Dewey would no doubt get along great with Luz, there’s a special element to the potential relationship between Luz and Webby that really elevates the potential of their friendship to another level, that being: they both want to eat a hamburger.

An aspect of Webby I wish the later seasons of the show got into a little more, but is definitely something I would consider a core part of her character, is the fact that she got held up in the mansion her whole childhood, with no opportunities to interact with the world around her, have all the adventures she wanted, and most importantly to just be seen as the kid she wanted to be. And while Luz was technically able to go out into the world, the place she found wasn’t one that was willing to see her, or give her any of the chances she longed for. Both Webby and Luz fully understand that feeling of being trapped in your own life, of finally getting the chance to break out and just doing your best to make the most of it. I think there’s a lot the two could gain from spending some time together.

(Also, to borrow the bit about gushing about their crushes but from the other end, these two would totally get sidetracked talking about their respective crushes and also trying to play wingman for each other. It’s a massive comic disaster in both cases, but somehow both Lena and Amity manage to find it endearing).

Amity and Violet Okay wait lemme explain. While the two of them don’t have a whole lot in common at first glance, I think they would genuinely get along extremely well. While a lot of Amity’s focus on school came at the force of her parents, you cannot honestly expect me to believe that girl isn’t a studious nerd on her own anyway. Heck even outside the realm of studies she throws her full dedication into literally every single thing she does. Remind you of anyone? Beyond just being extremely intelligent Violet is clever and ready for anything. She takes everything in stride and always has a plan, she can go from “we were sleeping over and you said everybody get on the plane, so we got on the plane” to “I brought an axe” in a minute flat.

I like to think the two of them would have a mutual respect for each other based on their respective intellects upon first meeting, but as they become closer friends they find they can move from more serious respect to a casual enjoyment of each other. I would go as far as to say that both of these characters really value dependability in a friend, and that they each provide a lot of that. To wrap back around to the stuff about intelligence I think Violet could provide a lot of insight to Amity as far as showing her that pursuing studies and academic heights of her own volition can be something that she can just do because she wants to, and that’s no excuse for unhealthy parental relationships. Getting along so well with someone like Violet only to see that her parents are actually really loving and supportive, that would be really eye-opening for Amity I think. For Violet’s part she could get a lot of help from Amity as far as her pursuit of the secrets of magic goes. I suspect Amity would be much more interested in the study of her magic than Violet would be able to get Lena to tolerate lol.

Bonus Round: Amity would absolutely be a senior junior woodchuck and she would love it you cannot convince me otherwise. She starts quoting the JWGB around the owl house kids and they all look at her like she’s crazy.

Lena and Willow I feel like this one might seem a little out there at first but trust me on this one. Initially Lena doesn’t think too much of Willow, being as close as she is to Webby she knows liking flowers and cute things doesn’t mean Willow is automatically to be taken lightly but she feels like she’s got a good read on her that she generally prefers to avoid trouble and turns down opportunities for violence, which isn’t really Lena’s deal. Over time Lena figures she was right about her first impressions as Willow doesn’t seem to take many opportunities to expose some hidden power, even when Lena knows the people around her kinda deserve it.

She learns to adjust her opinion when she finally does get the chance to see Willow in action and realizes that girl is more powerful than any of the other kids she’s met in the boiling aisles bar none(yes this is my genuine opinion of willow if you don’t think she could kick your ass you’re wrong). It’s at that moment where she starts to pay more attention to Willow and notices a lot more of the strength she puts into all the little things, how much she cares for everyone and everything, and it does a great deal to show Lena that maybe having super strong magic powers isn’t mutually exclusive with being kind and gentle. And maybe gentle isn’t her thing but still, it’s nice to know.

For Willow’s part she’s just happy to make more friends. Especially if the opportunity arises, as I like to think it would, when they’re close enough friends, that Lena would start to hint around asking questions about how Willow remains so casual and nice with the ability to do so much damage, and Willow takes the chance to help Lena figure out her magic a bit more, and learn how to better appreciate it as an aspect of herself she doesn’t have to be scared of. (I mean come on Lena never really learned how to do any of it except barely kind of from Magica of all people she could really  use something like that).

Huey and Gus Now there are some certain things about Gus that would drive Huey absolutely nuts. His lack of primary and reliable sources for any of his information being a big one, but at the end of the day I think he’d enjoy Gus’ desire to learn in the first place. Gus would probably be a little dubious about Huey’s “sources” and “citations” but if it helped him get more info on the human realm he’d certainly go for it in the end. In that way the two balance each other out pretty well. Gus is studious and intelligent but he’s a little off the wall, he’s got a big creative streak, and he’s really excitable. Huey is really really good at facts and analysis but he lacks the strength in imagination that Gus has. Huey is able to take all the grandiose concepts Gus is able to think up and help make them actually happen. Gus has that specific brand of an adventurers soul matched up with the fact he’s not actually the type to get into danger and fights, meaning he’s able to drag Huey out of his comfort zone a little and help him reach new heights with his mind that his struggles with creativity prevent him from reaching, while managing to not make him feel like he’s actually in danger. I actually believe the two of them together could get some really incredible stuff done.

What I’m saying is that with Huey’s help Gus could absolutely complete his tunnels under Hexside.

Dewey and King Now this, this is the pair who would go incredibly well together, at the detriment of literally everyone around them. If there is one person King “I Will Rule Everything” Clawthorne should not be exposed to its Dewey Duck. Within minutes of meeting each other the two of them would immediately have so many bad ideas. Between Dewey’s insistence on being the best and most daring adventurer while putting his name on everything and going down in history & King’s trying to rule everything and everyone, the attempts to raise the stakes would be constant and the two would spend literal hours endlessly trying to one-up each other. All in one day they search for legendary treasure, discover an entirely new civilization, try to take over said civilization, create a new species just to name it after themselves, and build statues of themselves in the middle of Bonesbourough. And that’s all before lunch.

Louie Here it is. The one I waited till the very end for out of sheer excitement. I even kept the second name out of the heading thing. That’s how secretive I’m trying to be about this. See, there’s one character in the owl house that works so well with Louie it’s practically canon. Their interactions have so much potential, they each bring so much to the table, I just couldn’t Not talk about it. And yeah, I know this ask was specifically asking about the owl house and ducktales kids, but I just couldn’t resist talking about the relationship between Louie and Eda.

A con artist from another world who was so successful she became nationally famous? There’s no way Louie would pass up an opportunity like that. For his part I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already managed to set up another underworld identity in the boiling aisles, or at the very least that Eda could totally have been to the ducktales realm and heard of his one there.

Either way I’m convinced the two of them would start planning a heist as soon as they figure out who each other are. Eda is a little prideful and wants to show this kid he can’t out-con her, but Louie knows what he’s doing just as much. Honestly with the two of them combined Eda wouldn’t have to worry about losing her stand for a long time. Over the course of their planning and seeing Louie in action Eda begrudgingly gains some respect for the  kid, and while Louie was definitely just using her as a learning/profit opportunity at first, he’s pretty susceptible to getting attached.

For Louie, it’s the fact that she actually respects him for being good at what he does. Even back with his family who all love and care about him and all that he still feels like most of them don’t really get what he does or see what’s special about him, so having someone who made a whole life of it be even a little proud of him feels really nice.

And of course, at the end of their heist when they finally have the money in hand, and Eda just casually hands over his half, he stares at her like she’s crazy.

“You’re just.. Giving it to me?!”

“Well, yeah. That was the deal wasn’t it kid? I mean if you really want I definitely have a few ideas for it.”

“No! Uh, no, thanks, I’ll keep it. It’s just that you really remind me of someone, I guess I was expecting something else.”

[smol-nevi]

I don't generally make this kind of thing a habit, but I think if you happen to be on the Crystal RP Discord, aka @crystal-rp-ffxiv, you should probably be aware of this kind of behavior, so here goes.

If you're on Crystal RP and the admin team decides they don't like you, you're going to be living under a microscope while they wait for you to mess up, if not bait you, probably while making up conspiracies about you as well. As for how I know this, I was a moderator for about a week's duration and saw it first-hand.

Unapologetically lengthy post. Receipts in the link above, long version below the cut.

From the first time I looked in the mod chat I knew something was wrong. I read backwards in the channel, thinking I'd acclimate myself and see what kind of rules precedents had been set and that sort of thing. I mostly just found out that they had it out for a particular member (at the time using the name Jericho) for not much reason. They'd spent a troubling amount of time over the past few months watching him and another member like vultures, believing them to be the same person and waiting for them to make some kind of mistake that would justify banning both of them...despite keeping different schedules, having different personalities and typing habits, and visibly being two different people. The admin team had come to the conclusion that Jericho was a troll who wanted to make them look bad, and anything he said or did was scrutinized to a ridiculous degree for evidence that would corroborate their belief.

Except none of the things they believed at all were true: he'd had a minor argument via DM with the head admin Benjimir Thursby's wife, Tessariel Aerlinn, who had made an overly broad statement about anime and Asian culture. Jericho had told her that overgeneralization about 'Asian culture' is potentially racist, and she became extremely angry, saying that because she's Asian, she can't be racist against Asians. After that, it seemed that Jericho was considered fair game for whatever retaliatory actions the two of them could justify.

Even a cursory glance at actual racism in Asia pokes Tessariel's statement entirely full of holes, and having personally read the conversation I didn't see anything actually inaccurate in his statement even if she believed it didn't apply to her. I asked what he had done that would merit such a response, because it felt very disproportionate to anything I'd ever seen him do publicly, and that was what I was told. The exchange via DMs had been screencapped and kept in a channel for evidence, and while I didn't get a copy of it, I did read it, and I said that I thought it sounded awfully one-sided and punitive and would have been much better as an actual conversation. I also expressed that I was concerned how much of the channel had been solely devoted to what was basically a witch hunt, considering that some of the server members had over the course of the past couple of months commented that the admins' behavior towards Jericho seemed biased.

I basically got a pat on the head and told that my opinion was "valued" but wrong. This would happen a lot over the course of the week.

Shit continued to escalate. Their favorite punching bag, who was acutely aware of the grudge by now and probably trying to be nice and discuss something that he thought they could all talk about, brought up some articles that stated that LOTRO might be having a graphical overhaul. This actually ended in him being put into some kind of time-out mute, because "everyone knows those articles are debunked already" despite them still being hosted on reputable games news sites. Back-channel, the admin consensus was that he was in fact trying to bait Benjimir and Tessariel into somehow looking stupid in public, because [paraphrasing] 'he knows how important LOTRO is to them.'

Benjimir in fact went off publicly about how he knows the dev team and they sent him 'personalized swag' for 'being himself' and that everyone should just listen to him because he's right. Someone else made a reasonable request for sources on statements that Benjimir made about the LOTRO improvements not happening, and they immediately became the team's private #2 punching bag.

The whole time I reiterated that this was really uncomfortable and I had serious concerns about the way they were handling Jericho. And as always I received a pat on the head and was told to not worry about it, there were really good reasons for it, really. He was 'bringing down the quality of discourse' on the server somehow. Benjimir decided that the only way he would unmute Jericho is if Jericho talked directly to him, and that Jericho tried to talk to any of the more level-headed members of the team first was taken as obvious evidence that he wanted to evade rules and create problems. I asked when we planned to unmute him, and Tessariel immediately jumped to the conclusion that he had messaged me, which wasn't incorrect but the way she worded it felt highly accusatory and I was beginning to feel that I was also in trouble somehow for not agreeing with the rest of the team.

Things came to a head quickly when I woke up and looked at the mod chat and they were having an animated conversation that started with Benjimir asking if it was 'bad that he was laughing at Jericho' and most of the rest of the team talking about how he was stupid, uninformed, a troll, etc. for the sin of having some misgivings about cryptocurrency, of all the things. One of the mods self-described their behavior as bullying. I said that this was extremely unprofessional and that I thought they should keep conversation to actual moderation matters, and if they had a personal disagreement with a server member they should handle it in a personal venue, not via official server moderation channels.

I was, for the final time, patted on the head, and told that this was not something they would consider, because the moderation team 'needs to be able to vent for their mental health' (never mind that the job was not stressful except for the rest of the team committing worse behavior than the server members) and that maybe I was in fact too sensitive for the job. Benjimir heavily implied that I had become too close to Jericho and was being manipulated, managed to misgender me somehow despite my having used solely male or neutral pronouns the entire time I'd been on the server, and after relating a story in which a couple of years ago a well-liked moderator left after having the same complaints as I did (which he saw nothing at all troubling about), suggested that I should be demoted to babysitting the lore channel.

So I took some time to collect receipts, which are linked at the top of the post, and told him where to shove it.

Since that time, things have actually somehow gotten worse on Crystal RP. Benjimir posted an entire page screed vaguely talking about "rampant negativity" that stated anyone with questions should DM him.

Upon DMing him with questions, Jericho was banned, the only reason given being that he was a 'poor fit' for the server in some vague way. I was immediately banned afterwards for calling out this decision as being driven by a personal vendetta in the feedback channel and let him know afterwards via DMs in no uncertain terms that I had logged everything I needed and would be building my case (and that he is an asshole). Jericho was reinstated, though I'm not sure what the conditions of his return were as that was after my ban and I didn't ask since I didn't want to stress him out further. Benjimir also reprimanded someone for discussing asexuality, stating in a DM to them that the conversation was somehow ERP related. I called him out on this via DM as well. Tessariel was not much later caught posting my last DMs to Benjimir in an entirely unrelated server, though she didn't include the part after that where I brought up his aphobia (during Pride Month, in a server with a rainbow icon no less). Benjimir for some reason decided to suddenly start following my FC's Tumblr well after our falling-out.

And as of today (6/24), Crystal RP now has seven pages of draconian rules, because it wasn't micromanaged hard enough before or something. Notably, a lot of these rules describe behaviors that they wanted to punish Jericho for but couldn't at the time justify, or that they'd like to punish me for but have nothing they can do to me. Or they exist to justify their own behavior, as now seen in the very beginning of the channel:

"This approach also provides our volunteers with leeway to act in good faith without the burden befitting a professional occupation."

"So we afford them the means to speak openly, vent, lament, candidly and yes, sometimes crassly and raw about everything and one."

Not only did they behave unprofessionally and shit-talk before, they have now encoded in the rules that this is acceptable and even good moderator behavior, because they saw someone else do it so it's fine (a lot of this wording is very similar to what I was told when I protested it). So rather than address anything I ever said past or present, Benjimir is choosing to double down and giving himself and his team explicit permission to be shitty, right in the opening paragraphs where you'd have expected a mission statement or at least some sort of welcome.

Which is about all you need to know about that server and its owners, in my estimation. I'd considered not even posting to Tumblr about it, but given that it's only getting worse, I think it should be generally known that this is how you can expect to potentially be treated.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

What do you think the Animorphs would be like playing D&D? Not "the Animorphs in a D&D world", but the Animorphs actually sitting down and having a campaign of D&D. Like the classes/races they'd pick, their play styles, wacky shenanigans (because we all know it would happen).

[Credit to Cates for 100% of the character builds, and most of the lore, in this AU.  In case you were wondering, I’m the Jake-style “never read the manual” chaotic-dumbass bard of our campaign; she’s the Marco-style “uses the rules exactly as much or little as needed” DM.]

It was decided almost right away that one on the team had any alignment.  As DM, Marco attempted to start there, only to have Ax begin questioning whether the manual’s explanations of “good” and “evil” truly captured human ethics on a grand scale.  Tobias claimed that Ax was looking at it all wrong, that the moralities were only default behavior types within the game, and that within this particular context morality didn’t matter.  Cassie got very concerned about the idea of context-dependent morality, Rachel declared that the book was stupid and short-sighted for claiming that destroying things was always bad, Jake quietly asked for the fourth or fifth time if this game was actually a good idea…

“Fine!” Marco announced.  “You’re all amoral characters.  Happy?”

“‘Amoral’ implies that we’re immoral, doesn’t it?” Cassie asked.  “Or that we exist outside the spectrum of moralities?”

“Just…”  Marco rolled his eyes.  “Everyone leave that spot on your character sheet blank, okay?  If it ever comes up, we’ll deal with it on a case-by-case basis.”

“Yes,” Ax said, “although you never did answer my question about the implied ethical structure of this universe.”

After that, character creation went fairly smoothly.  Kind of.

“Why does Dennis need a backstory, again?” Jake asked, looking down at his sheet.

“Dennis?” Marco said.  “Dennis?  

“You already said I wasn’t allowed to use ‘Dylan’ or ‘Brad’, so…’”

“C’mon man, this is D’nD.  There are no Dennises in medieval fantasy epics.”

“Fine.”  Jake crossed out and rewrote the name at the top of his character sheet.  “Why does Keith need a backstory?”

“To explain his motivation.”

“You just said that the whole time we’re going to be chased around by orcs and whatnot.  Isn’t not dying enough motivation?”

“You really don’t understand this game, do you?” Rachel said.

“I really don’t understand this game,” Jake agreed.

“My character’s a dragonborn rogue named Joan, and she’s the greatest gymnast of all time.”  Rachel added a Dexterity marker to her sheet with a flourish.

“I thought I was a dragonborn,” Jake said.  “Is that allowed?”

“Yeah, we can have as many dragonborns as you all want.”  Marco shrugged.  “We just can’t have multiple bards.  And since you called dibs on that class, and Rachel wants to be a rogue, we’re fine.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jake said.  “I just want to help out the team.  Or, uh, Keith does?”

“Great.”

“So that’s my backstory, right?  Being a bard?”

“Yes,” Rachel said, at the same time Marco said, “No!”

In the end, Marco declared that if neither Rachel nor Jake could come up with a proper backstory, he was making their characters cousins.  Tobias, who had a better flair for the romantic, declared that said cousins were from an internationally feared family of highwaymen.

“So does that get us any extra skills, coming from a family of pirates?” Rachel asked.

“Maybe it’d explain how good your character is at gymnastics,” Jake said.  “Because of riggings and all.”

“Highwaymen.”  Marco looked up from where he was trying to salvage Keith’s stats from the hopeless tangle of Jake’s incorrect math.  “Tobias said you guys are highwaymen, not pirates.”

“What are pirates but highwaymen of the sea?” Tobias asked, tilting his head in thought.

“Just put us down as jewel thieves.”  Rachel made a note on her own sheet.  “Jewel thieves of diverse methodology.  Wherever jewels can be found, there we are with threats of violence to take them away.”

“By the way, why is Ax now a tiefling?” Tobias asked Marco.

“I told Marco I have no preference for my class and race,” Ax said.  “And the word is most pleasant, tea-fling.  Ffflllling.”

“They’re blue and have tails.”  Marco smirked at Tobias.  “It’s perfect!”

Rachel and Jake might’ve been vague on the idea of backstory, but Ax was quite definite.

“I am Eldrias the tiefling, fffflllling, paladin.  She was raised by cows,” he announced.

“Don’t you mean raised by wolves?” Jake said.  “Isn’t that a thing, raised by wolves?”

“Uh-huh,” Marco said, “since your land-pirates make perfect sense.”

“Wolves are beautiful animals, but they pale in comparison to cows,” Ax said.  “Among other things, wolves’ meat is not so succulent and does not pair nearly as well with french fries.”

“Okay then,” Jake said, “raised by cows.  Got it.”

Becoming a barbarian was Cassie’s idea.  She spun through the manual in a rapid burst of pages, brushing gentle fingertips over the beautifully rendered illustrations, and then pressed it shut.  “Barbarian,” she said.  “That’s the one that can protect the team the best, right?  So I’ll be a barbarian.”

Marco laughed.  “All right then.  Barbarian it is.  Anything else in mind, for this barbarian of yours?”

Cassie tapped a finger against her lower lip, fluttering through the first several pages of the manual once again.  “I could make my character a big, tall guy, right?”

“Sure.”

“But I want pointy ears.”  She grinned at the rest of the table, somewhat sheepish.

“Half-elf barbarian, then?”

“Half-elf barbarian.”  Cassie looked down at the sheet in front of her.  “He can be named Reisgalan Von Schwartzel of the Morsgalath Half-Elves, Lord of the Plains and Wielder of…”  She glanced around.  “What’s that thing with the spiky ball on a stick?”

“Mace,” Rachel provided.

“Mace is that spray you use on bears and muggers,” Jake said.

“And it’s also a spiky ball on a stick.”  Marco glanced at Cassie’s sheet.  “You have a backstory for Reisgalan Von Whatshisface?”

“Hmmmm.  Can I be widowed and have a tragically dead prince I must avenge?”

“Is it me?”  Jake smiled hopefully.

“What?”  Cassie frowned at him.  “No.  That’d be horrible.”  She looked over at Marco.  “Uh, can my character be a guy and also have a dead husband?  Is that allowed?”

“Yeah, sure,” Marco said.  “I’m the ruler of this universe, so I say it’s fine.  And Tobias is the designated rules lawyer, so he’ll probably have some reason that it’s not.”

“I am not rules-lawyering!”

Marco looked at Ax’s character sheet, and then pointedly back up at Tobias.  “Ax, how did you end up as not just a paladin, but a paladin that’s even more overpowered than the standard build?”

“Paladins are allowed.”  Tobias shrugged.  “It’s right there in the manual.”

“Ax, how you have splint armor?” Marco demanded.

“Paladins can wear Heavy armor,” Tobias sing-songed.

Marco growled.

Ax squinted at his character sheet. “Tobias says when I get to Level Three, I will take the Oath of Vengeance and take a Vow of Enmity. I will know the spells Thunderous Smite, Command, and Detect Magic.”

Marco’s face was turning an interesting shade of red.

“Oh, and Eldrias the paladin is taking Great Weapon as her Fighting Style.”  Tobias wasn’t bothering to hide his smirk.  “It’s all perfectly legal.”

Ax frowned at Marco.  “Banging your head against the table with that level of force may have an adverse effect on your brain’s ability to function.” 

“I’m not rules-lawyering for selfish gain,” Tobias said loftily, looking over Marco’s prone form.  “And besides, Ax is new at this.  He needs all the help he can get.”

“You find yourselves in a magical land.”  Marco made a wild gesture in the air.  It was probably meant to look dramatic and mysterious.  “A land known as Falicornia.”

“Marco sucks at naming things,” Rachel whispered loudly.

“Rachel sucks at listening,” Marco whispered more loudly.

“You were saying?” Jake asked.

“This magical land is under threat from the dread god Cthulu!  You must stop him through using the Philosopher’s Stone, which is powerful but cannot be used except by those who do not wish to use it.  It contains many powerful temptations for the bearer.  You must journey across the land, facing many dangers, to bring it to the only magical mirror that can destroy it before Cthulu has the chance to rise from that mirror and take over the world.”

Cassie raised her hand.

“Yes?” Marco said.

“Why does Cthulu want to take over the world?” she asked.  “Does he need it for something?”

Marco sighed.  “He wants to take over because he’s Cthulu.  Any other questions?”

“First question: did you steal more of this plot from The Lord of the Rings, or Harry Potter?” Rachel said immediately.  “Second question—”  She turned to Ax.  “Have we showed you those movies?”

“He’s reading the books first,” Tobias said.

“I’m reading the books first,” Ax agreed.

“You were saying about Cthulu,” Jake said to Marco.

“Yes.  He wants to take over because he’s Cthulu,” Marco glared at Rachel.  “Just because.“

“Actually,” Tobias said, “the original version of Cthulu was kind of like the Silver Surfer of Norse Mythology, and his motivation—”

“He wants to take over because he’s Cthulu.”  Marco took a deep breath.  “Anyway.  Moving on.”

“Okay, you’re here.”  Marco pointed to the G.I. Joe figure sitting in the middle of their somewhat crudely drawn map.  “The goblins are…”  One after another, he set four white pawns from his mom’s chess set around the G.I. Joe that represented Jake, forming a half-circle that separated him from Ax’s Smurf, Cassie’s My Little Pony miniature, and Tobias’s Precious Moments angel figurine.  “Rachel is, uh…”  He set the teddy bear pencil topper several inches back, between two goblin-pawns.  “There.  So.”  Marco looked up at Jake.  “You’re under attack.  You’re up first in initiative order.  What’re you going to do?”

Jake frowned, surveying the scene in front of him.  “I have magic, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, so I’ll use magic to turn myself into a bird, and then—”

“Yeah, no.”

“Then I’ll turn my teammates into birds, and they can—”

“You cannot turn yourself into a bird, you cannot turn anyone else into a bird, no one is turning into a bird or any other animal at any point in this game.”  Marco glanced over at Tobias.  “No offense.”

“Oh, I totally agree,” Tobias said.  “A Level One bard performing an animal shapes transmutation?  Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Anyway.”  Marco pointed at Jake’s G.I. Joe figurine.  “Assuming we’re sticking to handheld weapons, what else do you want to do?”

“I… shoot the goblin?” Jake suggested.  “With my…”  He flipped over his character sheet, squinting at his own handwriting.  “With my board-sword.”

“Pretty sure you meant ‘broadsword,’” Rachel said.  “Okay, Jake killed the goblin, now what?”

Cassie peered over Jake’s shoulder.  “It could just be a sword made out of boards, you don’t know.”

“Jake only has thirteen out of sixty odds of killing the goblin on one go,” Marco said.

Tobias flipped open his own manual to the entry on goblins.  “Where are you getting these numbers from?”

Marco selected two dice from the pile, handing them both to Jake.  “Oh, I just figure that if the goblin’s got an armor class of seven and five HP, then Jake’s got a thirteen-in-twenty chance of scoring a hit and then a two-in-six chance of it being deadly, given his hit dice.  So if you reduce twenty-six over one-twenty down it’s thirteen in sixty.  Like, point-two-one-seven out of one.  Simple math.”  He gestured at Jake.  “Roll those.”

“You and I have very different definitions of the word ‘simple.’”  Jake looked up.  “Uh, ten and the other one says four?”

“You grievously injured but did not kill the goblin,” Marco said graciously.  “Now it’s the turn for this leftmost goblin, who is going to run and stick a sword through Rachel…” He rolled, and winced.  “That’s fifteen to hit, and two damage?”

“What’s that mean for my little rogue?”  Rachel waved her pencil topper at him.

“You got stabbed,” Marco said.

“Uh-huh.”  Rachel picked up her pen and sheet.  “Where?”

Marco shrugged.  “The leg, let’s say.  Uh, upper thigh?”

“Mm-hmm.”  She wrote that down.

“Okay, then.”  Marco glanced at his sheet.  “Next in initiative order is—”

“I cast psionic blast as a Level One spell, which would cause additional damage to fiends or the undead.  Are they undead goblins?” Tobias asked.

Marco rolled his eyes.  “Nope.”

“Then they each suffer three points of damage and do not have the opportunity to make saving throws for the next minute and a half,” Tobias said.  “That’s my first spell slot today.”

“Okay.”  Marco tipped over one of the goblin pawns.  “That one’s dead.  Cassie?”

“That one’s threatening Ax?”  She pointed at the pawn within the same square as the Smurf figurine.

“Yep.”

She nodded.  “Then I smash its head in with my mace.”  She rolled.  “Eight to hit, eight damage?”

“Oh yeah, you just annihilated that one.”

“Good, good, so now can I mace the one that attacked Rachel?”

“Cool your jets.”  Marco held up both hands.  “You don’t get to do multiple hulk-smashes in one round until several levels up from here.”

Cassie wilted a little.  “Okay.  But I want to run over next to that one to be ready to mace it soon.”

“All right, center goblin is going to try and swing his big old greatsword at Cassie as an attack of opportunity…” Marco rolled.  “And that’s a miss.  Rachel, you’re up.”

“I’m unconscious,” Rachel said.

Marco gave her a blank look.  “No you’re not.”

“Yes she is,” Ax said.  “You just allowed that goblin— gob-blin? Goo-blin? —to stab her.”

“I did not allow— The dice—”  Marco took a deep breath.  “Rachel, you only took two points of damage.  Go ahead and make a turn.”

“Okay, you clearly said…” Rachel glanced at her own notes.  “That the goblin stuck its sword through my upper thigh.  And apparently these are pretty big swords.  No way in hell that misses the artery, not if I’m only about human-sized at the time.  You also said that the goblin has its sword back, which means it pulled the sword out, which means that by now I have definitely lost enough blood to be unconscious.  It’s just basic logic.”

Marco opened his mouth halfway.  “That’s not how damage functions in this game,” he said at last.

“No, she’s right,” Jake said.  “She wouldn’t necessarily be dead from blood loss by now, but on the super-narrow chance she’s still conscious, she’s not going to have the, like, grip strength to be shooting people with arrows or anything.  That’s just how getting stabbed works.”

“Actually…” Tobias looked up from where he was sorting his flash cards of wizard spells.  “In combat time, each turn is six seconds.  So it hasn’t been five minutes of game-time.  It’s been less than three seconds.”

“So this goblin managed to stick its sword all the way through me, pull it loose, and then get back into position to make a different attack in less than a second?” Rachel said.  “And I don’t need to take a second or two to react to having been stabbed?”

“Yes!” Tobias said.

“This game is not closely aligned with the timing and functions of real combat,” Ax pointed out.

Marco let out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a shriek.  “No shit, Sherlock!  Can we please just play by the rules?”

“I’m just saying it’s not realistic,” Rachel muttered.  “You get run through the leg with a sword, you bleed to death.  That’s how it goes.”

“Would you please shoot someone already?” Marco said.

“If you insist.”

At Level Two, Tobias’s gnome wizard joined the School of Divination for exactly one game.  “He’s rules-lawyering things that haven’t even happened yet,” Marco cried, throwing out his hands like this was the greatest injustice ever visited upon humanity.   At which point Tobias decided that discretion was the better part of valor and switched to the School of Evocation.  Marco’s eye stopped twitching.

“No, no, no.”  Marco leaned over to look at Jake’s roll.  “You add your charisma modifier to your attack roll, and then your strength modifier to your damage roll.”

“So he adds twelve to his roll?”  Cassie looked at her own sheet.  “I add seventeen to my roll?”

“Modifier.  Not the whole stat.  Mod-if-i-er.”  Marco groaned loudly.  “Is Tobias the only one who even tried to read the manual?”

“C’mon, man.”  Jake shrugged, grinning.  “When have you ever known me to do the assigned reading?”

“I have Tobias here to summarize the manual for me,” Rachel pointed out.  “Why bother?”

“I did attempt to read the manual.  Man.  Well.  It was not the most boring human book ever written, but it was very repetitive.”  Ax glanced around at all of them.  “Not to say that all human books are bad, even if they are all repetitive,” he added quickly.  “Take the books of Harry Potter, which are acceptable in addition to being repetitive.”

“‘Acceptable’?”  Tobias shook his head.  “‘Repetitive’?  You, sir, are wounding my entire species — one of my species — Just don’t diss the Potter.”

“There’s no need to call me ‘sir,’ professor,” Ax intoned.

Laughing, Tobias leaned over to bump their shoulders together.  “I take it back.  I love you, Ax-man.  Never change.”

“Anyway,” Cassie said, “we elected Tobias party leader, so he’s the only one who really needs to know how to play, right?”

“‘Elected’ is a pretty strong word for it.  The way I remember it, I was like…”  Marco put on a deeper voice, “‘Who wants to be party leader?’ and Jake yelled ‘NOT IT’ so loud that he probably startled pigeons in the next county over.  And then Tobias was the first one to recover from the shock long enough to volunteer.”

“I didn’t yell it, I said it,” Jake mumbled.  “Said it enthusiastically.”

“And you’re wrong.  We did nose-goes.”  Rachel tapped her own nose to demonstrate.  “Tobias lost.”

Ax’s eyes widened.  “So you and Cassie covering your noses was a primitive selection procedure in the manner of duck-duck-goose?  I thought we were all simply being polite by hiding our hideous human orifices from one another.”

“Anyway,” Tobias said, “as party leader, I’m declaring that we can whine about noses — and bipedalism — at a later time.  For now, let’s play.”

“Ah, yes.”  Ax looked down at the dice, and then back up at Marco.  “Who was attacking whom, again?”

Marco stared around the board, and then back at the dice.  “Like I remember that now!”

It was a small miracle that they all kept showing up after that first week.  Tobias and Marco were the only ones with both the skill and the enthusiasm to be any good at the game.  Cassie and Rachel lacked the necessary motivation: Cassie tended to get lost in long conversations with NPCs and never advanced the plot at all, whereas Rachel was likely to start climbing the walls with impatience after half an hour of sitting still.  Ax and Jake were both reasonably enthusiastic but terrible: Jake paid no attention at all to the math, and Ax paid too much.  They had one set of dice between the six of them, if one was generous and called rolling a d6 twice the same as rolling a d12.  (It wasn’t, but Marco’s and Ax’s attempts to explain this always made everyone else’s eyes glaze over.)

Seriously, though, Marco knew perfectly well why they kept showing up.  And it had nothing to do with everyone getting on board with Tobias’s super-geeky idea.  They’d tried Dungeons and Dragons, and they hadn’t actually started liking it.

It had nothing to do with the storyline.  Or the dice.  Or the characters.  They weren’t here for swords or goblins.  They didn’t drop everything to spend four hours a week in each other’s company because they liked the game.

Duh.

Of course, even their love for each other could be tested, at times, by their sheer incompetence as players.

“We’re still in the undercave?” Jake groaned, looking at the game board.  “We’ve been down here for like six weeks!”

“Yeah, ‘cause we’re stuck.”  Rachel glared around the table.  “Because we keep trying to fight the ooze monster and then almost dying.  Because we suck at this game.”

“Still say there should’ve been illithids,” Tobias muttered.  “We’re in the cave of the illithids, but instead we’ve got apocalyptic ooze where there isn’t supposed to be any.  That’s why we’re stuck.”

Marco sighed into his hands.  “For the last time, man, we’re not having any stupid mind flayers in this game.  There is a way out, I promise you, if you guys would just stop and figure it out.”

“I stab the ooze?” Cassie suggested.

“You take fourteen acid damage and permanently blunt your sword.”  Marco didn’t bother to look up.  “Just like last time.”

“Ugh.”  Cassie wrote down her new HP.  “At least I ruled out repeated stabbing as a way out?”

“Okay, okay.”  Jake stared at the game board, yet again failing to take the this map not to scale memo.  “We can figure this out.  Is it a cave kind of like those caves under Leeran?”

Marco lifted his head, tossing his hair out of his face.  “I got schlooped back to Earth before you guys got to see those, remember?”

“They were very beautiful,” Ax said, “and also full of toxic eels.  So perhaps Prince Jake’s comparison is apt.”

“The real toxic eel is the friends we made along the way.”  Rachel tilted her chair back, picking at her manicure.  “Think we should just call it a day?”

“No, no, Jake’s right.”  Cassie stared at the board.  “I believe in us.”

“It was kinda cool in the Leeran caves, so sorry you missed it,” Jake said to Marco.  “I was dead and missed the Battle of Trafalgar, though, so it all balances out?”

“The Battle of Trafalgar was not cool at all.”  Marco rolled his eyes.  “It was a battle.  It was gross and loud and bloody.  Is no one going to try anything else?”

“I pull out my rope and my flint, I set the rope on fire, we all die of smoke inhalation,” Rachel drawled.  “There, I got us out of the cave.”

“And into the afterlife,” Ax said solemnly.  “If, indeed, this game has an afterlife.  It was designed by humans, so I assume… Soom.  That it must.”

“Look, if we could just fight the mind flayer instead,” Tobias said, “there are clear strategies in place for how to fend off psychic attacks, and even if a few of us end up as mind-witnesses we could still use a handful of different spells—”  He swung his copy of the manual around to face Marco, pointing to a spot low on the open page.  “If you’ll just look at what the book says…”

Marco slammed the book shut, hard.

Tobias had to yank his hand back to avoid smashed fingers.  “Watch it!” he snapped.

“Guys,” Jake said.  “Let’s—”

“Rule.  Zero.”  Marco flattened a hand on top of the closed book.  “I’m the DM here, and I get to say that there are no mind flayers and definitely no mind witnesses, because I say so.  I’m the Ellimist of this little universe, and you don’t get a counter-argument.”

Rachel snorted loudly.  “Bad comparison.  Tobias argues with the real Ellimist all the time.”

“Only when he’s doing something stupid.”  Tobias was looking at Marco, not at her.  “Or breaking the rules of his own game.”

“Tobias…”  Jake inhaled slowly, massaging the bridge of his nose.  “It’s just a game, okay?  Marco… We are kinda stuck, dude, no offense.  Couldn’t we at least try to fight whatever it is Tobias wants, see if that gets us out of here?”

Marco pushed to his feet, face flushed.  “I’m running this game, because you people decided I should.  And I don’t give a fuck how much Bird-Boy complains, this game is not going to involve anyone getting psychically mind-controlled.  It will not feature alien tadpoles that crawl inside people’s brains and take over their bodies.”  He swept a hand across the board.  “There will be no illithids, there will be no brain golems, there will be no controllers—”

Marco snapped his mouth shut.

There was a long silence.  Tobias stared at the floor.

“Mind-witnesses,” Marco said at last.  “I meant mind-witnesses.”

THUNK.

Figurines and dice scattered everywhere.  The play-dough lump of ooze flattened underneath the second game board Cassie had just dropped on top of the first.

“Anyway,” she said, giving everyone an embarrassed smile.  “How about we switch to Monopoly for a while?”

“I call being the little dog piece,” Rachel said, pulling the box open.

“I’m sorry,” Tobias whispered to Marco, as Ax began clattering through the pieces and asking Jake questions.  “I didn’t mean…”

“Yeah.”  Marco pulled the bank toward him and counting out notes.  “Same here, man.  Uh, y’know.  Sorry I…”

“We’re cool.  We’re cool?”

“Yeah.  Yeah.”

“Does this highly successful roll mean I have first chance to stab Income Tax with my—”  Ax squinted at his game piece “—car?  So I’ll be attempting to inflict damage on Income Tax by running it over?”

“Many have tried that strategy,” Rachel intoned.  “None have succeeded so far.”

“You know that your beloved manual lists exactly the same stats for hawks, eagles, and owls, right?” Marco asked, grinning evilly.

“What?  No.”  Tobias frantically flipped toward the back of the book.

“Anyway, is he right?” Cassie asked as Tobias searched.  “Are we all supposed to be dead right now?”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Marco said.  “Yes, the explosion would have done a lot of damage to all of you—”

“Thanks, Jake,” Rachel snarked.

Jake sighed loudly.  “How was I supposed to know you had to throw the hand grenade after you pulled the pin?”

“You mean the part where Ax and Tobias were both yelling ‘toss it, toss it,’ and you were like ‘no, I’m gonna do an investigation check first’?” she said.  “And then we all died?”

“Actually, I believe Cassie was raging at the time when the ceiling fell on us all,” Ax said.  “Therefore, her damage would be halved.”

“Hell yeah!”  Cassie laughed.  “So it’s just…”  She peered at Marco’s roll and winced.  “Everyone else… in the entire party… who automatically failed a death check.  Right, Tobias?”

“No,” Marco said loudly, “because Jake cast Teleportation Circle and got you all out of there before the ceiling fell.”

“But Tobias believes that that would be allowing too many actions on a single turn.  Uurn.  Earn,” Ax said.  “And that Jake wouldn’t have time to set up the circle even if he did have a bonus action left.”

“For fuck’s sake, do you want to end on a total party kill?” Marco demanded.

Rachel smiled sweetly.  “It’s not a TPK if Cassie’s still alive.”

Marco rolled his eyes.  “Oh, in that case—”

“Oh my god, you’re right!”  Tobias sounded outraged.

“Am I dead?”  Rachel pouted.  “Just when this stupid game was starting to grow on me.”

“No, not that.”  Tobias stabbed a finger on the page.  “It says right here.  ‘For hawk, see: eagle.’  It fucking classifies hawks as a fucking subspecies of eagle!”

“What were you just saying about us following the manual at the expense of our lives?” Marco said smugly.

Tobias stared in betrayed horror at the page for another second.  And then he tossed the entire book clear over his shoulder and out of the room.  It clattered loudly in the hall.

“So as I was saying, Jake cast Teleportation Circle,” Marco said.  “And teleported you all out of there.”

“So we’re… not dead?” Cassie asked.

“Given the nature of teleportation, perhaps we are both dead and not, existing in the gap between states,” Ax said.  “Like when our consciousness was trapped in z-space, and yet our matter remained on Earth.  Or we exist in multiple universes at once, some in which we have died and some in which we yet live.”

“Yeah, cool, Schrödinger’s party,” Rachel said.  “Blah, blah.  Anyway, I’m gonna punch Jake in the arm for being a dumbass.  In-game and out-of-game.”

“Good luck with that.”  Marco cackled his evil DM cackle.  “The only universe I care about is the one where the whole lot of you give me an initiative roll.  Because I didn’t say Jake teleported you to a safe location, just a different one.”