#EVERY TIME I SEE A GERMAN TAG ON AO3

[optimisticrunawaygalaxy]

I Explode every time a fav of mine gets HC'd/AU'd as non-american/english and i turn into fine dust molicules in a over the top detonation when they get HC'd/AU'd as German

[gremlingottoosilly]

Lego still not sponsoring me (dark!Konig x fem!Reader)

Konig is a nerd who needs to get sprayed with water for being a fucking creep. You're an adorable cashier at the Lego Store in Berlin who doesn't know any better and is too nice to lose. He will have you. Mostly because he wants someone to do his Lego sets with.

Details count: 2922 AO3 TW and Tags: Dub-con/Non-con, age gap, size difference, kidnapping, awkward colonel Konig, nerd Konig, hurt/comfort, Konig's POV(mostly), awkward German, yandere Konig.

You didn’t want to build Millenium Falcon with him. 

You didn’t want to shower or eat, you didn’t want to do anything besides crying, and even though your tears, as he expected, were beautiful and adorable, it was kinda hard for König to take care of your mental and physical needs while he was rock hard from watching you cry so sweetly. 

König is patient, kind, and a model citizen through and through. Why are you upset? He is doing everything he can, just to make you smile! Seriously, Schatzi, the desire to make him as miserable as you possibly can doesn’t make you pretty or cute or even the least bit adorable. Good thing that he is used to feeling sad and kinda of bullied – you’re lucky he doesn’t even try to feel good anymore. Not in his destiny book to live a good life. — I brought food. 

You groan lightly, whimpering somewhere in the corner of his basement. To your justification, his basement is a bit dirty. He forgot to visit the house for months after deployment, which was never enough to fill out the blanks of loneliness in the empty rooms. His dogshits methods of choosing decorations also made the mere existence in the house a hard mission even in itself. He looked at the anime posters in the guest rooms, which made him want to sell the property to anyone willing to pay 50 Euros for the processing fees. The posters(Sword Art Online because why the hell not, he likes cool swords and a power fantasy about a loser getting the chick) and artwork of his queen and savior, The Busty Blond Lady From Fate because, unlike those waifu-obsessed freaks, he did have a life and not enough time to actually remember her name. Something about light sabers. Or cats. — Are you going to kill me? 

He sighs because you sound like a broken record. All the time – the questions about his intentions, like you can’t see the tent in his pants every time you open your eyes, about letting you go, about at least allowing you to text your family that you decided to change your country of residence and would need to revoke your German visa. You’re way more soft than he thought you’d initially be – no fighting, no arguing, just pure terror and desire to die every time his hands brush over you. König is a sweet guy, as sweet as someone like him can be – but he only has a few weeks until his next mission, and even a few days of your moping around is bound to make him not just blue-balled, but also very, extremely, offensively hot-headed. 

He spent two days with you chained up in his basement and, he thinks, that should be enough for foreplay. He is extremely generous and kind – usually, at this point, he’d already start breaking the fingers of whoever poor fuck is his torture victim for the mission. 

— I don’t want to kill you. 

You whimper – somehow, his answer didn’t calm you down. Fucking women and their inability to talk to their kidnappers – he considers spiking your food just this once, so he could have a nice session with your little drunk self and some roofies but, of course, he is a nice guy who brought you takeout in a reheatable container, with a cute plastic fork and some sparkling water in a glass, just so you won’t feel like he is making you eat some garbage. It’s good food, too – he’d love to cook like this, but the heights of his skills are runny eggs and burnt coffee. He hopes you like the Italian because it’s the most inoffensive stuff he could have brought you without resorting to pizza and cup noodles. He will never let you eat cup noodles on his watch. 

— Are you going to rape me? 

He can’t exactly say no because, as a matter of fact, pulling your cute body under his is one of his intentions. He wanted to do it since he was you in this fucking store, but, of course. saying this to a pretty girl is lame. And completely counter-productive. And would make him a villain in your eyes, even though he tries so fucking hard to be a hero. He can make you feel good if you were to just open your pretty legs for him and moan under his tongue – god knows, he wants to make you feel good. He wonders what would it take for him to please you. If he could have a full-time job at this. 

— Nein. Thought I told you already. 

— I don’t…I shouldn’t believe you. 

He shook his head, pushing the plate(he had to go out of his way to actually put the pasta from the tray to a proper plate, enjoy this, woman) towards you. You’re adorable like this – naked, trembling, a bit too weak to actually fight him over not eating anything for the past two days – you’re repeating the same conversation over and over again and König wouldn’t mind living in a groundhog day if the loop would end with his fucking you on that thin mattress each time. 

Speaking of mattresses – he needs to get you a thicker one. 

Speaking of thicker mattresses – he needs to relocate you into his bedroom as soon as possible. 

Speaking of his bedroom – he is fucking bricked. 

— If you don’t trust me, why do you ask? 

You bite your lips. He can see you’re hungry and thirsty – he doesn’t want to forcefully feed you, so, yeah, you better be very hungry very soon. He pushes the plate towards you, hoping you won’t launch it on his head. He survived worse, a 6’4 British dude in a ski mask falling on him with the speed of Brexit, but getting hit by a plate when your angry girlfriend is being an angry girlfriend is…the best thing that could ever happen to him, actually. Gott, he is miserable. 

— I…I don’t know. Don’t want to get killed. 

— I won’t kill you. 

— But you will hurt me. 

— I don’t have to do that, Liebling. 

No, he doesn’t. 

But he sees the way your plushy thighs are squeezing into that tiny corner where your mat is, your squishy body getting all shaky and trembly, your lips in a tight line with tiny blood droplets from biting on them too much – and, by his fucking god, you’re beautiful. He wants to make you wet, to make you squirm, to make you beg and cry for mercy as he pounds into the sweetness of your cunt. He wants to try you on the inside and out, lick you all over from the inside, and then make you lick your love juices from his lips. 

König knows he is hard and can’t really hide it – it’s useless now, really, he is being very nice and considerate to you. Changing your life is hard, especially with how quickly you moved to his place – like a good boyfriend, he should help you adjust. And aid you in recognizing that he is, in fact, your boyfriend and future husband. The perfect partner to ever exist. — What is it? 

— Pasta. It’s…it’s good. Should be good. He is nervous, anxious. Seeing a pretty girl in her natural habitat – a Lego store – is one thing. He was barely able to talk to you properly, especially right after his deployment, where the only female attention he ever got was Roze asking to cover her or additional female soldiers groaning in pain as he stomped them. But you…he shouldn’t be colonel around you – absolutely not. You’re soft and civilian, you’re as polite as a girl in a basement could be, and you deserve to have something nice for once in your life. Licking his lips, König gently picks up a fork and presses a small amount of pasta – rich, creamy, with some nice cheese that smells divine - -against your lips. 

You refuse.

A smart move, he could have poisoned it – so he thinks for a few seconds, staring at you like a smart girlie you are, and then – lifts his hood. If only barely, revealing his scarred chin and bruised lips. The initial swelling after getting his head bumped by a guy who was speaking like an edgy teenager in the Counter-Strike lobby was already gone by the time he managed to get you into his basement – but no amount of rest could hide all other marks from his job. 

Despite being a seasoned mercenary with hundreds of killed targets and completed objectives, he feels…insecure. You’re a nice girl, a good girl, the type that used to look at him with hatred while he was bullied at school. Hatred or pity – but you only look at him with fear, and it cements his understanding that you’re not going to give in to loving him so easily.

König sighs deeply, his lips, curved into that awkward, boyish smile that creeps on his face every time he as much as thinks about you, now transforming into a scowl as you proceed to whimper and try to get lost in the wall behind you. Like he wouldn’t be able to track your scent if you would disappear. He slowly presses his fork towards his mouth, chewing on the food – showing you that it’s not poisoned. 

He smiles again when he sees you slowly parting your lips, expecting him to feed you with less of a fuss. He’d propose something else – maybe even untying your hands and allowing you to actually for yourself, but something in your helpless state made his cock throb in his pants. God, König knows he isn’t his strongest soldier, but could he please make you less adorable? He doesn’t want to push you on your knees and make you suck on him until he whimpers, but the way you lick all of the cheese from your lips and try your best to look presentable in front of him… The process of feeding someone shouldn’t really be sexual, but König gently pushes the hair away from your face and lifts up the fork over and over, sometimes only changing to bring a glass of water to your lips. He can do this all day. Every day. Pleasing you already becomes second nature – and he spends most of his life thinking that the only thing he can take care of is his rifle and a few tortured enemies that need their teeth extracted. You require gentle handling – and he wants nothing more but to give you that. Just…a bit later. Preferably after the already came in your pussy at least two or three times and made you choke on his dick as a little thank-you gift. 

You finish eating after a short while, thanking him for bringing you a napkin to clean your lips. König gently caresses your head, enjoying the sensation of your hair under his palm – it’s like petting a cat. A soft little pet just for him and no one else – if only he could actually bring you to like him. He has a few bond activities in mind, though. — You liked it, ja? 

You lick your lips again, and his breath hitches. This is going to be hard, this is going to be impossible, it’s worse than having to work with high Krueger on a ship that made everyone feel like they were the ones doing crack in the backroom of their makeshift base. 

— I…I did. 

He pets your head again like you’re his pet – and you gently move your head to lean into his touch. Perhaps you’re dumber than he thinks. Or way smarter – a clever strategy to make him relax and nice to you without making him too suspicious. You slowly get back into your corner, but König wouldn’t have any of it – he drags you back by your arm, making you whimper and sob in his hold. It’s bad, he doesn’t want you to squirm from under him as much as you do, but…if you don’t want to be a good girl, he might as well force you to. 

You cry as he pushes you deep into the corner, his hands roaming over your body. Thank god he ripped your clothes before you woke up – now there isn’t anything protecting you from his hands, not even that adorable bra he ripped in pieces because, as much as he loved wearing a uniform with straps and buttons everywhere, he could not figure out how to take this thing off you without breaking it. The last time he was sleeping with a woman, she wore a sports bra that could be taken off easily. It’s your fault that you decided to be more girly, really. Not his. 

His hands cup your breasts roughly. Tugs and twists your nipples, a few shaky moans telling him exactly how sensitive you are – he might not have a girl in a hot minute, too busy with being the best freaking mercenary in the world, but even he knows how to take care of a pretty thing like you. Your tits fit in his hands perfectly, even more, reasons to believe you were just made for him. Not for some lame job at a Lego store counter – you should be waiting on your knees in his bedroom, with your mouth open wide and neat to fit his cock right in. With some sweet things lingering on your tongue as he bullies himself right in, getting what he deserves for protecting peace – and installing violence – while doing his job. He might not be the best freaking guy around, but he deserves something nice. 

He pinches your nipples until they’re firm and swollen, every little cry escaping from your lips is only encouraging him to proceed. Licks on the open skin of your neck until his eneve stubble makes you whimper from how sensitive you are – it should be painful, he thinks, with how bloody the little bite marks from his teeth have become. 

König marks you as thoroughly as possible, smiling each time you cry and beg for him to stop. You’re changing between bad German and good English, between loud cries and small whimpers, which he can’t determine from pleasure to pain. Not like he cares, too determined to make you cry his name – even though you probably don’t know it. All of his desires to claim you taking full power now, not listening to the way you plead with him. Whimper for him. Your skin is a clear canvas, allowing him to paint you with hickeys and marks, enjoying the little blood droplets covering your collarbones. 

— Quiet, please. Don’t…don’t move, Schatzi. I don’t want to hurt you. 

— Please, please, just…anything but… — Won’t take long. Promise. 

— I don’t want to- — Quiet. I know you don’t, Liebling. Just…Scheisse, you…fuck. 

— Stop! — Can’t. I apologize, Schatzen. Relax for me, ja?

He whispers, he whimpers, he is almost out of his mind when he can finally put his tongue on your swollen nipples. For some weird, depraved reason, he almost expects the milk to start flowing from your chest, allowing him to drink up as much as he wants. If he could get you pregnant, he might enjoy it for a few months – although having a kid on his hip isn’t as fun as it could have. He tried to babysit Hutch kids once when he brought them to base – and it was the worst fucking day of his life. Besides, little children can’t be around Legos – it's already a deal breaker for someone like him. 

Speaking of legos…

You wiggle in his grasp, as good as you can with your hands still in the handcuffs – he should give you that one, at least you aren’t just laying lifelessly in front of him. At least you’re putting up a fight. At least he doesn’t feel too bad about restraining you without proper reasoning. You lick your lips again, that cute tongue of yours going over all the bite marks. You take a deep breath, shaking in his hold. God, he can just look in your face the whole day – barely knows how to handle himself around you. — I…I thought you wanted to…build this set with me? Smart girl. Way smarter than he gave you credit for – you know how to make him stop in his tracks and finally look at you differently. Maybe, you’re too good for him. Maybe, he doesn’t really care about that. Millennium Falcon, still sitting in the box – König hoped you’d start slowly putting it together but, seemingly, you need a bit of encouragement. The only thing that could tug him away from your breasts is the expensive set sitting just next to him. 

Might start bonding with you as well. He tugs away from your nipples with a loud pop, an obnoxiously wet sound emerging as a thin line of saliva connects your breasts and his tongue. You whimper when he smiles, that scarred face of his twisting in a huge grin. Knows he’s not the most charming person around, but it’s not like you have any choice now – not with the limited options he gave you. Like a good girl, you’d probably pick doing Lego Sets with him than taking his cock in that tight pussy of yours. He’d be satisfied with any outcome. — J…ja. I’d like that.  He has to give this one to you – you really know how to get a man going.

Bu building this insane set with him, that is.

[antimony-medusa]

MCYT on Ao3 — January '24

The state of MCYT on Ao3, just for fun. Yes I do this every month, I like numbers. This time the period we're covering will include many holiday exchanges, so I'm excited to see if that's represented!

The Cube SMP (8 works)

Slamacow Minecraft Animations (Web Series) (10 works)

iDots SMP (23 works)

30 Day SMP | Free Trial SMP (27 works)

Legacy SMP (28 works)

Cogchamp SMP (29 works)

Content SMP (30 works)

Epic SMP (32 works)

Art of Survival SMP (36 works)

Dominion SMP (38 works)

Shady Oaks SMP (49 works)

X Life SMP (51 works)

100 Hours Hardcore SMP (54 works)

IvoryCello's Prison Escapes (Web Series) (56 works)

Bear SMP (60 works)

SadSMP (66 works)

My Inner Demons - Aphmau (Web Series) (67 works)

Mer SMP (82 works)

Area Unknown SMP (89 works)

Kaboodle SMP (91 works)

Tortillaland SMP (115 works)

House Builder Gang SMP | HBG SMP (135 works)

New Life SMP (169 works)

Slimecicle Cinematic Universe (Web Series) (174 works)

WitchCraft SMP (182 works)

Pirates SMP (213 works)

Rats SMP (234 works)

SMPLive (295 works)

SMPEarth (304 works)

Mianite (Web Series) (379 works)

Outsiders SMP (393 works)

Afterlife SMP (395 works)

MindCrack RPF (504 works)

MyStreet - Aphmau (Web Series) (543 works)

Evolution SMP (693 works)

Minecraft: Story Mode (Video Game) (824 works)

Karmaland SMP (842 works)

Fable SMP (1,012 works)

Lifesteal SMP (1,546 works)

Origins SMP (1575 works)

The Yogscast (3,215 works)

Empires SMP (6,408 works)

QSMP | Quackity SMP (7,375 works)

3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series (10,336 works)

Hermitcraft SMP (20,093 works)

Dream SMP (85,051 works)

Minecraft (Video Game) (110,119 works)

Video Blogging RPF (279,422 works)

Some notes:

No new tags that I saw this month, though as always I could have missed something! As you can see, we already have quite the assortment of canonized tags.

Fics are still primarily in english, but we have three exceptions with significant spanish fics. Karmaland (740 of 842 are in spanish, from 731 last month), Tortillaland (110 of 115 are in spanish, the same as last month), and QSMP (752 of 7,375 are in spanish, from 668 last month.)

QSMP also shows 39 fics in French, up from 30 last month, and 405 in Brasilian Portugese, up from 375 last month. While I did not check every language this month, I checked on the languages I knew had a fic in QSMP and we see 1 fic in ASL (probably a misclick as it appears to be in english), 1 fic in Bahasa Malaysia, 1 fic in German, 1 fic in Esperanto, 1 fic in Filipino, 5 works in European Portugese, 5 fics in Русский (Russian), 1 fic in Suomi (Finnish), 1 fic in Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese), and 3 fics in 中文-普通话 國語 (Mandarin Chinese, I believe), all the same as last month. New is two fics in Polski (Polish), one fic in Svenska (Swedish), and one fic in Dansk (Danish).

In the small and micro fandoms (under 200 fics), some of the most active small fandoms have grown out of this category so we only saw small amounts of growth. The standout fandoms all saw an increase of 6 works, and that was a tie between Content SMP, New Life SMP, and Witchcraft SMP. Note that Content SMP was coming up from only 24 works, so 6 new works is an increase of 25% of the fandom, truly impressive.

In the midsize fandoms (200-1000), Fable SMP has broken that 1000-fic mark and can no longer qualify for our standout fandom! Instead, our most active fandom was Evolution SMP, with 33 new works, followed by Mystreet with 20 fics and Minecraft: Story Mode with 24 fics. Mystreet and Story Mode are both new fandoms so it's unclear whether that's people retagging old work or true new fics.

For the post-canon big fandoms: Empires went up by 178 works, singificantly more than last month's 117, but not beating the previous month's 240, and Dream SMP's increase of 918 beat the previous month's 767, but is still only the second time I've seen this fandom fall under a thousand works plus a month. Hermitcraft is between seasons right now, but still experienced that holiday exchange boost, as its increase of 784 beat both last month's 574 and the previous month's 651. For active fandoms, traffic series posted a staggering 831 fics, which is its highest ever number, beating April 2023's 671 fics. QSMP saw 865 fics, which is part of a three month decline (894 last month, 913 the month before), but still posting numbers that are only exceeded by DSMP.

Overall, the number of fics posted under Video Blogging-RPF (the umbrella fandom that contains all MCYT) is 4,223 fics, a significant increase from last month's 3,489, and the previous month's 4,035, but still exceeded by October's record 4,702. Notably, it's higher than the summer numbers and almost exactly the same as the number we saw last January, 4,235 new works.

Detailed breakdown under the cut

The Cube SMP (8 works, 8 last month, 0-fic increase)

Slamacow Minecraft Animations (Web Series) (10 works, 10 last month, 0-fic increase)

iDots SMP (23 works, 22 last month, 1-fic increase)

30 Day SMP | Free Trial SMP (27 works, 27 last month, 0-fic increase)

Legacy SMP (28 works, 28 last month, 0-fic increase)

Cogchamp SMP (29 works, 29 last month, 0-fic increase)

Content SMP (30 works, 24 last month, 6-fic increase)

Epic SMP (32 works, 32 last month, 0-fic increase)

Art of Survival SMP (36 works, 36 last month, 0-fic increase)

Dominion SMP (38 works, 33 last month, 5-fic increase)

Shady Oaks SMP (49 works, 47 last month, 2-fic increase)

X Life SMP (51 works, 50 last month, 1-fic increase)

100 Hours Hardcore SMP (54 works, 54 last month, 0-fic increase)

IvoryCello's Prison Escapes (Web Series) (56 works, 54 last month, 2-fic increase)

Bear SMP (60 works, 59 last month, 1-fic increase)

SadSMP (66 works, 66 last month, 0-fic increase)

My Inner Demons - Aphmau (Web Series) (67 works, 64 last month, 3-fic increase)

Mer SMP (82 works, 80 last month, 2-fic increase)

Area Unknown SMP (89 works, 87 last month, 2-fic increase)

Kaboodle SMP (91 works, 87 last month, 4-fic increase)

Tortillaland SMP (115 works, 115 last month, 0-fic increase)

House Builder Gang SMP | HBG SMP (135 works, 134 last month, 1-fic increase)

New Life SMP (169 works, 163 last month, 6-fic increase)

Slimecicle Cinematic Universe (Web Series) (174 works, 169 last month, 5-fic increase)

WitchCraft SMP (182 works, 176 last month, 6-fic increase)

Pirates SMP (213 works, 195 last month, 18-fic increase)

Rats SMP (234 works, 229 last month, 5-fic increase)

SMPLive (295 works, 286 last month, 9-fic increase)

SMPEarth (304 works, 289 last month, 15-fic increase)

Mianite (Web Series) (379 works, 373 last month, 6-fic increase)

Outsiders SMP (393 works, 374 last month, 19-fic increase)

Afterlife SMP (395 works, 390 last month, 5-fic increase)

MindCrack RPF (504 works, 503 last month, 1-fic increase)

MyStreet - Aphmau (Web Series) (543 works, 523 last month, 20-fic increase)

Evolution SMP (693 works, 660 last month, 33-fic increase)

Minecraft: Story Mode (Video Game) (824 works, 800 last month, 24-fic increase)

Karmaland SMP (842 works, 824 last month, 18-fic increase)

Fable SMP (1,012 works, 945 last month, 67-fic increase)

Lifesteal SMP (1,546 works, 1,461 last month, 85-fic increase)

Origins SMP (1,575 works, 1,541 last month, 34-fic increase)

The Yogscast (3,215 works, 3,213 last month, 2-fic increase)

Empires SMP (6,408 works, 6,230 last month, 178-fic increase)

QSMP | Quackity SMP (7,375 works, 6,510 last month, 865-fic increase)

3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series (10,336 works, 9,505 last month, 831-fic increase)

Hermitcraft SMP (20,093 works, 19,309 last month, 784-fic increase)

Dream SMP (85,051 works, 918-fic increase)

Minecraft (Video Game) (110,119 works, 438-fic increase)

Video Blogging RPF (279,422 works, 4223-fic increase)

[starleska]

Dollface - the Toymaker x Real Toymaker!Reader

As a toymaker, you are delighted when you stumble across MR EMPORIUM'S TOYSHOP. But when you meet its eccentric owner - one eponymous 'Toymaker' - you enter into an impossible game with higher stakes than you ever imagined…with the risk of your deepest fantasy coming true. Rating: Mature. Tags: Dollification; Toyification; Truth or Dare; Reality-Bending; Humiliation; Psychological Torture; Fluff; Teasing; Touching; Forced Dancing; Mentions of Neglect; Cosmic Horror; Horrible Fake German. Reader is presumed female, but has a complicated relationship with gender and enjoys feminine terms of endearment. requested by the lovely @chronicbeans!! whilst this was originally meant to be a few-paragraphs long headcanons bit...but then it sprawled into a 13,000 word fanfic. my apologies to yourself, and to any German speakers in the audience 🙈💖 you can also read this on AO3. i hope you enjoy!

Toys are your life.

For as long as you can remember you have been fascinated by all manner of toys: everything from teddy bears to zoetropes; spinning tops to yo-yos. As a child you weren’t just interested in playing with toys—you wanted to reach inside of them, pick them apart, and understand every little detail about how they worked. Much to the chagrin of your parents, you spent more time trying to put your toys back together than you did actually playing with them. 

But all of your alternative playtime paid off. Now, as an adult, you run a modest yet successful local toymaking business, with your own vendor stall at the market and a popular online shop. Much of your work is custom, using vintage materials to replicate toys of the past, and you occasionally trade and sell real old toys too. As a result, you have something of a monopoly on the local toy scene, and feel you know every single toymaker and toy-collecting enthusiast in a fifty mile radius.

That’s why it’s a real shock when you stumble across MR EMPORIUM’S TOYSHOP late one night. 

The storefront is a gorgeous assault to the senses. Parked in the middle of the cold, grey street, the toyshop beams out crimson and gold onto the snow drifts, with all manner of classic toys peeking out at you through the windows. You are delighted to see an assortment of downy plush bears and hand-painted model motor cars crowding the shelves: so many it feels like the toyshop itself might burst at the seams. Your giddiness only increases as you get closer to the window. You can make out all sorts of fun, bright shapes within: countless colourful toys beckoning you and begging to be taken home. 

Yet it isn’t these treasures which catch your eye the most. Right at the back of the shop, near the counter, you spy a shelf lined with dolls. They are beautiful even at a distance: likely from the early 20th century, masterfully painted and wearing a fine rainbow of little dresses. Even from your vantage point you can see the impeccable craftsmanship. There’s immense detail in their delicate hands, and if you’re not mistaken, each doll has a crop of real human hair.

Perhaps most intriguing of all is the eyes. Their glass sheen looks so sad and wistful…far more emotion than a doll should be able to communicate.

If you didn’t know any better, you would believe the dolls were alive.

Oh, I shouldn’t , you tell yourself. I’m much too old now to be playing with dolls…and I keep all my old ones locked up anyway. I shouldn’t deprive some kid of a toy. This is a deeply silly excuse, and a hypocritical one. The vast majority of your clientele are adults, as are the brilliant toymakers you’re proud to call your friends. This is the perpetual double-standard you constantly believe and are always trying to rally against: that you are uniquely strange, and deserve to be ridiculed for your interests. 

The curious thing is that this idea doesn’t apply to toys more broadly…only to dolls. You have made countless dolls throughout your career, and yet owning dolls and enjoying them is something you’ve long nursed a hang-up over. But that is a can of worms you refuse to open up today. No , you decide, today I am going to be a normal adult who is confident about their interests and doesn’t feel an ounce of shame! I am going to go into this toyshop and look at those dolls, and that’s that! With your mind made up, you shift your backpack onto your shoulder, take a deep breath, and push through the toyshop’s door. 

The door slams shut behind you with the tinkle of a bell. You are immediately enveloped in warmth, and the delicious scent of varnished wood enrobes you like a fine dress. You can’t help but close your eyes and inhale: somehow, the toyshop smells just like your childhood.

“Hallo, meine kleine Mädchen! Komm in, komm in, be ge-removings yourselves from dee kalt! It is ein horrid evenings, is it not?”

You open your eyes in surprise, and see an older, greyish-blond-haired man leaning against the counter. He’s dressed in a most whimsical fashion, wearing a soft white work shirt coupled with a maroon waistcoat, and a brown apron stuffed with woodworking tools. A spotted ascot around his neck and a pair of pince-nez balanced at the end of his nose complete the look.

The man smiles at you like he’s known you all his life. You feel like you’ve been transported to another time.

“It is,” you agree, as you shake the snow drifts from your boots. “So sorry for dropping in so late—I’m surprised you’re still open.”

“Ah, but I am always having times for dee beautiful Fräulein,” says the man with a coy wink. “But vot is it zat is ge-bringings you here?”

You have to stifle a giggle. You know enough of the language to know the man’s German is terribly off, and his accent is borderline offensive. However, you also know that folks in the toymaking community tend to be eccentric, and you can forgive a corny, theatrical accent for the wonderful atmosphere of this shop. Who are you to judge if he wants to LARP as a Bavarian thespian?

Before you can reply, the strange man is suddenly beside you…although you don’t recall seeing him move. He has also removed his pince-nez. You blink, a little taken aback. How did he move so quickly? You wonder if you’ve eaten enough that day.

“I’m…a toymaker,” you say, trying not to sound freaked out. “I’ve never seen your shop before, and I thought I knew everyone in town who makes toys. What’s your name?”

The man’s eyes are blue, you notice—terribly blue, and sparkling in the soft light with unspoken mischief. “You are beings ein toymaker? Vy, zat is a coincidence…” He taps the side of his nose. “Many peoples ge-calls me by many names. But zey most oftens call me the Toymaker, und nothing else. It be gettings dee point across, nein? Und was ist your name?”

You tell him, and the Toymaker’s mouth splits open in a wide grin.  

“Das ist ein schöner name!” he says enthusiastically. “Truly, a magnifizent fit. It is not often zat I am gettings other toymakers in mein shop…I vonder, vot does your eye ge-fallen upon? Could it be mein cuddly collection of teddies? Oh, ja, I sees you are ge-needings ein soft companion for dese frosty nights. Or could it be mein train? Choo-choo! it goes, round and round all dee livelong day! I am ge-havings many customers mit ein eye for dee train.”

The Toymaker’s voice is smooth as butter, rich and inviting, and each word he speaks seems to add a little more colour to his delightful environment. You look around in awe at all of the toys, unable to comprehend the sheer scale of the place. Just moments ago the shop seemed so small, with the abundance of toys seriously crammed in on the shelves, but now it looks impossibly vast: a veritable sea of playful delights. The little choo-choo train in question chugs along on its rails and moves past the doll shelf, drawing your eye back to their pretty little figures.

“Ah, dee Katze hast gotten your tongue,” says the Toymaker. He gestures to the dolls, and the gold ring on his right pinkie finger catches the light. “I too ams often becomings stricken by dee beauty of mein dollen…zey took me many nights to make, ja. Oh, but ge-look! Eins ist out of place. Zose fingers are so fiddly! Und dee hair…zo many eveninks ge-spended brushing out zeir tiny curls."

You watch as the Toymaker reaches up and begins deftly rearranging the dolls. His fingers are long and nimble, and they move with such care and attention, placing each doll’s tiny hands neatly in their laps and smoothing down their dresses. When you’re a toymaker, you grow to appreciate a pair of well-practised hands, and there’s something undeniably… charming , about this Toymaker and his cartoonish whimsy. It’s silly, but you feel a little heat rising in your cheeks. The attention he’s paying to such small, delicate objects…

…well, it’s only natural that your mind should wander to more practical applications of such hands.

“The dolls are gorgeous,” you say. “Do you offer any toymaking classes? The dolls I make have a bit more of a modern touch.”

That’s when the Toymaker laughs, and it is a strange laugh: it tinkles out of his mouth like a jingle, in a musical, ‘Ha ha ha HA ha ha ha!’

“Oh, mein dollen are sehr modern…moreso zan you sink,” says the Toymaker. He gives you another wink, as it seems he likes to give them out for free.

That’s when you feel the little clench in your chest. Oh dear, he really is quite handsome. This wouldn’t be the first time you’d caught feelings for a quirky, attractive stranger, and they were often not as well-dressed as the Toymaker. You have a tendency to get caught up in the realms of imagination, and have thought up more than a few daring trysts with pretty-faced people with whom you’d only exchanged a couple of words. You ought to grab a doll, leave, and have a quiet little panic attack about this interaction at home.

You force your eyes away from the handsome man and back to the shelf.

That’s when you spot her.

Somehow, a doll had escaped your notice. Right in the middle of her sad-looking rainbow sisters is another doll, simply and prettily done up in a powder-blue be-ribboned frock. Unlike the other dolls, this one is smiling in a dimpled way, and her eyes sparkle with a magical sheen not unlike that of the Toymaker’s. You note with some amusement that the doll has the same eye colour as you—hair colour, too. This isn’t strange on a doll, but it gives you the same jolt of satisfaction and déjá vu you get when meeting someone who shares your name.

“Ah,” says the Toymaker (now on your other side). “Dee dollen…zey speak to you, ja? Zey are ge-having ein chitter-chatter, all high up on dee shelf. Vot fun games zey have ven I ge-leaves the shoppen!”

Dollen isn’t even the German word for dolls, you know—it’s Puppen. But you get the sense that the Toymaker’s German accent is less an earnest recreation (and it’s certainly not his natural accent), but a pantomime version intended to amuse and entertain.

“I’m sure they do,” you say, but you’re distracted from the Toymaker’s little act. The longer you look at the doll, the stranger you feel.

You move closer to the shelf to get a better look, and are startled by what you discover.

It isn’t just that the doll on the shelf has similar hair and eyes to you: they’re both the exact same shade, even down to the imperfect flecks in your irises. 

You study the doll intently for a moment, blink, and— what? The doll’s hair is now the same length as yours. Was it always? No, you could have sworn just a moment ago it was not just a completely different length, but style.

You rise up on your tiptoes to get a better look at the doll, and are baffled by what you see. It’s as if detail is stacking on the doll right before your eyes, the way some video game maps load in piece-by-piece. You watch as texture is added to her hair, and light pools in her eyes. This level of craftsmanship is uncanny; it’s as if the Toymaker went out of their way to create a doll which resembles you.

“How did you do that?” You turn to the Toymaker, confused. “Did you know I was coming here?"

The Toymaker’s mouth contorts into an offended pout. “Now, you ge-vounds me. It is ein special privilege, having another Spielzeugmacher in mein shop. Tell me, vot do you sink of her hair? Es ist pretty, ja?”

“But that doll looks exactly like me,” you say.

You can feel your heart hammering in your chest. Suddenly the warm, cosy atmosphere of the toyshop feels more claustrophobic and oppressive. The Toymaker looks unbothered; he rests his chin on his hand and contemplates the shelf. 

“Zere ist ein…certain resemblance,” says the Toymaker, with an unusual, almost French affectation on the last word. “But you are just ge-havings, as zey say, ‘von of zose faces’. Ja, das ist richtig: ein dollface. Puppengesicht. All smooth und sveet. Vy, vot a lucky lady you are! She simply must be goings home vith you.”

You’re scrambling to work out what kind of practical joke this is, and how the Toymaker was pulling it off. You’d met a few eccentric toymakers with God complexes before, as they tend to go hand-in-hand: you’d briefly dated one who designed escape rooms in his spare time. But this is on another level…creating a doll which can be imperceptibly altered to resemble a person in real-time? You’d never heard of such a thing, and you can’t think of a non-creepy reason why someone would go to the trouble of making one.

Oh, hang on a minute, you think. This guy might just be a genius. “This is a marketing trick, isn’t it?”

You pull away from the Toymaker and lean against his counter, feeling terribly smug for having figured it out.

The Toymaker puts his head on one side, quizzical. Playing dumb, you think.

“I am not ge-followings you,” the Toymaker says. 

“You make dolls of the people you see ahead of time,” you explain. “People you know who will come in here at some point…collectors, other toymakers. Then you wait and put them on the shelf when they come in, maybe behind some hidden panel so you can spin them around when they get close. Then when they come in, it’s like they’ve found the perfect toy!” 

You’re so proud of yourself for having cracked the case, you want to pump your fist in the air. For a moment, you envision yourself wearing a deerstalker hat and smoking a pipe. Go me! But your victory is short-lived. During your diatribe, the Toymaker’s bright, childish grin had frozen on his face, and remained in place even during your brief mental celebration. But now the smile slowly slips like a mask peeling away from too-tight skin. In its place sits a stormy frown: one which clenches the muscles and wrinkles of the Toymaker’s face into an expression which says ‘insulted’.

“For shame,” says the Toymaker. “That’s twice you’ve accused me of cheating now. You really do me a disservice. I am bound by the Rules of Play, and would never resort to such cheap tricks.”

What the hell…? The Toymaker’s accent is completely different. Where before his voice was a thick soup of faux German, now it is a soft British breeze: a proper, formal accent which speaks the way trees rustle. You gape at him, dumbfounded. 

“Your accent is different,” you can’t help but say. You’re no longer just leaning against the counter—you’re actively pushing into it, with the edge of the countertop pushing into the small of your back.

The Toymaker raises an eyebrow at you, and smirks. “You are not half as stupids as you are ge-lookings,” he says, slipping the German back on like a heavy cloak. “But zen, I know you are playing ein game mit me, aren’t you?” 

You stare at the Toymaker. Something has shifted: the air is thick with a tension you cannot identify, but which you want to run away from. You keep staring, thinking that if you look away from those too-blue eyes for even a moment, you might just lose your grip.

You know for a fact that if you look back at that doll on the shelf, it will look even more like you than before.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, and you wish you weren’t lying.

The Toymaker laughs his musical laugh and wags his finger in your face. “Sehr naughty!” he says. “Oh, how natürlich dee lies kommen to sie, mein Schatz. You be ge-knowinks how to play games…zis ist ein lecker human mind game, und you are ge-tryings to deceive me.”

His voice slips smoothly back into the British:

“Do you think I don’t know all about your little fantasy?”

Your eyes go wide, and a choked noise escapes your mouth. No. There is no way that this man…this impossible toymaker could possibly know. You were always so careful, so sure to keep it all to yourself! Familiar shame and embarrassment wash over you in a hot wave as the Toymaker looks at you, looks into you, as if he can see the inner workings of your mind. Your mind grabs at the old, familiar justifications the way one might grab a newspaper for modesty if they found themselves naked on a bus. It’s perfectly normal to have fun little flights of fancy. Everyone plays make-believe sometimes, right? “But zey are embarrassing, zese thoughts of yours,” the Toymaker giggles. “Not dee kind of thoughts you can share mit deine Mutter. I am not ge-thinkinks zat you have shared your desires mit ein Partnerin…” There goes the eyebrow again, cocked sardonically to match the wicked curl of his lips. “Is zis true?” You feel nauseous. The firm pressure of the countertop underneath your palms is all that stops you from shaking. It feels as if the Toymaker is probing the inside of your skull, and using those skilled fingers to strip back the whorls of your brain and grab at the fleshy thoughts inside. 

“Get out of my head,” you say quietly.

“Oh, but zis is dee game I ge-likes!” says the Toymaker. “Humans mit zeir internal struggles. Desires mit dee most fun ideas, but you are too ge-frightened to say vot you vant. So you play games mit dein loved ones…dee hunting und dee exasperation. Oh, you simply vill not communicate!"

You don’t know when the Toymaker got so close to you, but now he’s towering over you, with his hands firmly planted on either side of the countertop. You’re close enough to count the spots on his ascot, and examine the year-lines etched around his mouth and eyes. When he smiles those lines crinkle, but not naturally: it’s the way a puppet’s arms reach for the stars when the marionette twists them upwards.

“Okay, you’ve had your fun,” you whisper. “I’ll buy the doll and leave.”

This close, the Toymaker radiates heat. He smells like rose petals and Christmas.

“You could…but zat vould be no fun,” says the Toymaker. “I propose ve solve zis in a more interesting vay…”

The Toymaker waves his hand across your field of vision…and transforms the centre of the toyshop. A small wooden table complete with chairs has popped into existence just in front of the counter. You gape at the sight. How did he do that?! “Let us play ein game,” he says. “If you vin, you can take dee doll free of charge. But if I vin…”

The Toymaker’s smile cracks like the earth preceding a quake.

“You vill stay vith me und play mein games forever!”

You have to give yourself credit for reacting as well as you did. Most people, if they were faced with a crazy fake German man who seems able to read your mind, may have had a breakdown or made a run for the door. But you’ve seen a lot of anime, and you understand that if you are challenged by a handsome, powerful man with magical powers and a delightful hairstyle, you cannot refuse the call. Your brain has shifted from This should be impossible, to It’s game time.  “Alright,” you say slowly. “You’re clearly very powerful. It seems like if I play a game with you, you have far more to gain than I do. A doll isn’t a good enough prize.”

The Toymaker smiles at you. “Ein girl after mein own heart,” he says. “How about zis: if you vin, I vill show you exactly how I make mein dollen, complete vith a demonstration. Zat is generous of me, nein?”

His words are laced with sinister venom, and it’s all you can do not to be poisoned.

“And I’m guessing that if I refuse your game, something terrible would happen to me?”

The Toymaker hums low in his throat. “Hm…not accepting mein game is always ein option…ja, you could do zat. Und yet…” 

You inhale as the Toymaker brings his face terribly close to yours. The skin of his cheek brushes your own. You can feel his soft breath as he whispers into your ear, British once more:

“I know you are so curious as to how I make my dolls. If you leave now, you’ll never know. And I think if you wanted to leave, you would have done so already.”

The Toymaker pulls away from you, leaving you with your face on fire. He’s right. In less than ten minutes, the Toymaker has sussed out your fatal flaw: your damned unstoppable curiosity. There have been countless times where your life would have been improved if you’d kept your nose in your own business…but this is different. The Toymaker isn’t just dangling a carrot: he’s already dug his hooks in you, and you are being reeled in with every second you spend looking into those impossibly blue eyes.

When you next blink, the Toymaker has moved again. He is sitting in one chair, his hands folded primly in front of him.

“Name your challenge,” he says.

You weren’t expecting this: you thought he would have a game in mind. “Any game at all?”

“There isn’t a game I don’t know,” says the Toymaker coolly. “It is common courtesy to allow the guest to pick the party game.”

You can’t help a nervous giggle. “This is a weird kind of party,” you say. 

The Toymaker acknowledges this by inclining his head. “Choose.”

Your mind scrambles over dozens of options. There are so many games…board games, card games, strategy games. Do we need equipment? How long does the game have to be? What games can you play with just two people? That’s when your brain starts to run in a very different direction, and a variety of… game positions …flash through your imagination with impunity.

A flush scalds up your neck. You look at the Toymaker, who raises his eyebrows in a knowing way.

He knows exactly what you’re thinking.

You want to scream.

“Truth or Dare!” you blurt out.

That gets his attention. The Toymaker leans forward, his eyes quizzical. “Zat is non-traditional…yet apt,” he says. “Could it be zat you are ge-vantings me to force zat fantasy out of you, meine Liebchen?”

“No,” you lie. “I want you to tell me what you are, and why you’re doing this to me.”

“Then let’s get down to business,” says the Toymaker. “We take it in turns to ask each other Truth or Dare. A Truth corresponds to a question which must be answered truthfully, and a Dare is an action which must be carried out. The player earns one point for each Truth or Dare successfully completed.”

The Toymaker steeples his fingers together. You can’t pull your eyes away from them.

“If you refuse to complete a Truth or a Dare, or you contravene the rules of the game, you lose a point…and must complete a forfeit.” 

The way he says ‘forfeit’ sends a shiver down your spine. “What kind of forfeit?”

“Oh, dee usual,” says the Toymaker casually. “Somesing difficult or humiliating. I do not ge-liken to pre-plan zese things…I am preferings to be spontaneous.”

You are starting to regret your choice of game. This is a man who knows more about you than you’ve ever told your closest friend…surely a game like Truth or Dare would be pointless for him? So you ask: “Why would you want to play this if you can already tell what I’m thinking?”

The Toymaker frowns. “A good question,” he says. “The Rules of Play prevent me from having any unfair advantage over an opponent. Although my abilities will remain intact, anything which would tilt the game in my favour is out-of-bounds. I am physically incapable of cheating, and would thank you not to bring it up again. There are only two states of being which matter: winning, or losing. I intend to win.”

Fair enough , you think. “And what if I cheat?” you say. “I have a pretty good poker face. If you can’t look inside my head during the game, what if I just lie to you? How could you tell?” 

The Toymaker chuckles, bearing his mouth wide. To your horror, you see there are far, far too many teeth in his mouth.

“I can always tell when someone is lying to me.” 

“Six turns,” you counter, voice trembling. “Whoever has the most points at the end of those turns is the winner. And…you can’t choose Truth or Dare more than twice in a row.”

The Toymaker seems impressed by your game-making skills. “Agreed,” he says. “Let us begin.” 

He snaps his fingers, and all the lights in the toyshop go out. Above, a stagelight snaps into existence, pouring heat and light onto your scalp in a cascade. The Toymaker’s striking features are illuminated by this shift in lighting, casting the lines of his face with the severity of stage makeup. You swallow: he looks divine.

“Would you like to go first?” he asks politely.

“...No,��� you say after a moment. “I think that honour should go to the house.”

Your gamble pays off: you realised that the Toymaker is a man with great respect for the rules of the game, and this offer makes him smile.

“How generous,” says the Toymaker. “Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” you say. 

The Toymaker taps his finger to his lips, considering. Then, he says, “Destroy something precious to you.”

It takes a few seconds for you to really process the Dare. When it hits, you are baffled. What kind of Dare is that? you want to say…but you don’t bother saying it aloud. What kind of toyshop is this—and what kind of ‘toymaker’ is he? All you need to know is reflected in the sadistic gleam in the Toymaker’s eye. This wouldn’t be an ordinary game, and contesting his requests would be fruitless. All you can do is make your move.

You take a deep breath, and reach down into your backpack. You didn’t leave the house this morning planning to bring anything precious to you, but you are a sentimental person by nature, and know you have one item which fits the bill. It’s with great sadness that you pull out a small, ratty teddy bear and place him on the table. The bear is old and beige and dressed in a crimson band leader’s outfit, complete with a hat and red-laced riding boots.

“Oh, ein teddy bear!” laughs the Toymaker, delighted. “How charming. He is quite dee looker, isn’t he?”

“He’s the first bear I ever made,” you say. “I was listening to some 90s British pop music, and the idea for his design just…popped into my head. I scribbled it down and pulled him together from scraps of fabric and repurposed stuffing in just a day. His name’s Neil…I keep him with me for good luck.”

Something about what you said is terribly amusing to the Toymaker, but you don’t know why. “Ein handsome name indeed,” says the Toymaker. “But I am afraid zat vill not be enoughs to ge-save him. Poor Neil. Now…vill you complete your Dare?” 

You take a deep breath. There was no turning back now; you’ve accepted the Toymaker’s game, and the predatory sheen in his eyes tells you that you can no longer just walk away. So you pick up Neil, grab hold of his little teddy bear ears—

And tear his head off, sending stuffing careening all over the table. 

“Oh!” says the Toymaker with a false gasp. “Vot an unfortunate end for poor Neil. I did not know zat you have such ein cruel streak.” 

“Shut up,” you say, trying not to look at Neil’s decapitated corpse.

Even though he’s just a teddy bear, you feel like you’ve just killed a defenceless animal. Neil’s lifeless button-eyes gaze up at you imploringly, as if asking why you’d do such a thing. You knock Neil’s head off the table and focus back on the Toymaker.

“That’s one point to me,” you say. “Truth or Dare?”

The Toymaker grins at you like a shark. “Dare.”

There are a thousand questions ricocheting around your head, but you ask the one which you know will keep you up at night: “Tell me how you did that thing with the doll.”

The violence of the Toymaker’s laughter makes you jump. He actually covers his mouth to quieten himself, but his shoulders shake even so. “Oh nein, nein, nein, you are ge-makings ein mistake!” he says. “You cannot be askings a question ven I have chosen Dare. Oh, meine Schatz, you have your lost your point…and must receive ein forfeit.”

Your veins run cold. “What? No! That was never in the rules!” 

“It is a common rule,” says the Toymaker, suddenly serious. “What is the point of distinguishing between a Truth or Dare, if a Dare can be a Truth?”

You want to protest…but his logic is infuriatingly sound. It’s exactly the kind of argument you could see yourself making if you were playing the game against a friend. You try to think of some other get-out-of-jail-free card—anything which would allow you learn how the Toymaker made that doll look exactly like you—but you come up short. You slump in your chair, and resign yourself to waiting for the next round.

“Oh, do not ge-look so sad,” says the Toymaker. In mock sympathy, he makes a little tutting sound against his teeth. “Now, about zat forfeit…ah! I am ge-knowings just dee sing.”

The Toymaker snaps his fingers…and your clothes burst into a flock of doves.

You scream and leap up from the table, batting away at the birds scrambling over your skin. They coo and and flap in your face before struggling upwards and flying into the rafters. Shocked, you look down to find yourself still fully clothed…but with a wardrobe change. You are now clad in a beautiful, powder-blue dress. The fabric is inhumanly soft and threaded through with white ribbons.

“Oh my God!” you yell. “What did you do?!”

The Toymaker is doing his best to stifle a giggle behind his hand. “Do you like it?” he asks. “I think the colour is rather fetching on you.” 

You clutch at the skirts of your dress, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole. There is no way this is possible…you hadn’t felt anything, not even a shift of your own clothes or the sliding of new fabric against your skin. One moment you were wearing your own clothes, and the next you weren’t. It’s as if your clothes were merely a covering, and when they transformed into doves and flapped off, they left only your dress behind. 

You move your legs under the layers of fabric, and blush when you discover you’re wearing a pair of frilly stockings. As you stick out your feet, you can see your feet are clad in a shiny pair of Mary Janes. It’s with a sick feeling in your stomach that you realise what the dress is.

It’s the same dress that the doll on the shelf is wearing.

"You're sick," you hiss.

The Toymaker cocks his head to one side. “Indeed?” he says. “How odd. I thought I was being rather generous, giving you a helping hand towards becoming your true self.” He snickers at you. “If I am sick, then I do wonder what that makes you. My mind is full of games, but the inside of your head is full of so much more.”

You ignore the Toymaker and hold your own arms, shrinking back down into your chair. Yet as you look down at the dress, you can’t help but feel a pang of longing. The dress is a perfect fit, one which could have been custom-designed, and the fabric is truly stunning in appearance and quality. With its puffy sleeves and shapely waistline, you know if you were alone you would have given your new skirts a twirl.

But you can’t let yourself get lost now. This is as much a mind game as it is a real one, you realise. The Toymaker is eyeing you like a piece of meat, and it’s clear that he is capable of so much more than a costume change. You must press on with the game. 

“I want to keep playing,” you say.

“Wonderful,” says the Toymaker. "We’re currently still at zero points each, with two turns down. Unfortunately, your turn was taken due to the forfeit. I must ask you: Truth or Dare?” 

You don’t allow yourself time to think about it: “Dare.” 

The Toymaker’s smile is knowing. “It is a fool’s errand, trying to delay the inevitable. I believe my initial suspicions were correct…you do want the Truth to be pried from you, don’t you? Perhaps that makes the shame a little less potent. After all, the mean, scary Toymaker made you dress this way. It wasn’t your fault…you couldn’t help it. Am I getting warmer?”

Your face is getting warmer, and it’s getting increasingly hard to meet the Toymaker’s gaze. “It isn’t my fault that my opponent is insane,” you say, with venom. 

Somehow, the Toymaker’s laugh is German. “Ah, zere is zat fire. You are quite dee entertaining playmate, meine Liebling. I am not ge-xpectings you to verstand games of dee mind…but I do find zem exhilarating. Dee expressions ge-crossing your face right now…I vish you could see zem.”

You scowl at the Toymaker. “Just give me your Dare.”

The Toymaker shrugs at you. “If you insist. I Dare you…to perform a dance befitting a fine young lady such as yourself.”

Oh, God, no. This is a nightmare of a Dare. “I—I’m not a dancer,” you say. You can feel your blush crawling up your neck. You envision yourself prancing around in your new dolly-dress, and the embarrassment makes you physically cringe.

“Oh, zat is not ein problem!” The Toymaker beckons you to look under the table. When you do, he taps his own shoes against the floor, performing a rhythmic tap-step. “Zose lovely Schuhe I gave you vill ge-helpen sie along. Provided you are villing to perform dee dare, your tanzen is all taken care of. All you are ge-needings to do is stand up, und take drei steps backwards.”

The Toymaker leans back in his chair and looks at you expectantly. The list of excuses which blossomed into your mind when he first suggested the Dare are dwindling rapidly, each one seeming more pathetic than the last. But…maybe there is a way out of this?

“What about music?” you ask. “Surely you can’t expect me to dance without music.” 

The Toymaker shakes his head at you. “Do not ge-worry about dee musik! I have it all covered. Unless…you vish to forfeit once more?” The idea of any other part of your body spontaneously transforming into an animal is enough to make you scramble to your feet. Immediately, you are self-conscious: the dress is equal parts beautiful and ridiculous, and is so poofy and frilly that it gives your lower half the shape of a bell. You haven’t felt this kind of embarrassment since you were in school: the dry throat and sweaty palms before getting up on stage for assembly. Feeling like a silly child, you can’t help but look at the Toymaker, searching those mirthful eyes for guidance. But the Toymaker simply shoos you, indicating for you to step back.  Hesitantly, you take one step away from the table. Then another. Then, one final, gentle step.  Without warning, the floor of the toyshop erupts! From beneath your feet a wooden stage springs up, unfurls around you and traps you like a box. You shriek and try to stumble away, but your new dancing shoes root you firmly to the spot. A spotlight bursts into being above your head and illuminates your frozen self in all your newfound frilly glory.  You look down from your new height to see the Toymaker sitting in what is now the front row of a vast auditorium; the toyshop’s interior has vanished. He whoops and grabs a fistful from a cartoonishly large bucket of popcorn. You open your mouth to yell at him, and maybe call him some horrible names you haven’t thought of yet. But before you can, music starts blaring from all sides of the auditorium. It’s a grating, repetitive tune: some ghastly combination of twee guitar and twinkling piano…and it’s so familiar . You know this song, but what is it? And why does it sound so…childish?  The music hits a powerful note. Your mouth opens unbidden, and from your vocal cords a voice which is decidedly not yours belts out the opening lyric to a familiar nursery rhyme:  “I’m a little teapot, Short and stout!” Your voice is loud and beautiful, and you project better than any Broadway singer. You can do nothing but watch yourself in abject horror as your knees bend in time with the music, and your shiny shoes send you toppling along the stage in time with the song.  “Here is my handle Here is my spout!” You try to scream and stop, but your body is no longer in your control. Your arms bend at frightening angles, and your hips send your neck careening to the side with a crack . A rictus grin is firmly plastered onto your face, and your mouth stays open and singing: “When I get all steamed up, Hear me SHOUT!…” Your hands flap and your toes point and you screaming on the inside, begging for this to stop, stop, STOP ! But the infernal music is inside of your head and it’s pushing in on all sides, and no matter how much you cry and beg and plead your mouth won’t work except to belt out the final words of your song. “TIP me over and POUR. ME. OUT!” At the last line, your knees give out and you collapse face-first onto the stage. A grand cheer goes up from the auditorium. You twist around, trying to see if the Toymaker has conjured up an audience to witness your humiliation—but he is the only one present. The Toymaker is on his feet and giving you a standing ovation. “Vunderbar!” the Toymaker cries as he claps enthusiastically. “Oh, you are dee most darling little teapot, ja. Zis is a fine game we are ge-havings!”

“What—did—you—do?” you gasp on the floor. You feel like your lungs have been crushed. Something the Toymaker did seized up everything inside of you and folded them up like paper. Now it’s as if you really are a doll: crumpled up and discarded in the corner when your owner is finished playing with you. Although you’re quite sure the music has stopped, the melody is blasting in your head in a maddening loop. You try to move, but your legs won’t work. 

“Oh, don’t be zo dramatik. Eversing I ge-make brings viele fun,” says the Toymaker. “Herzlichen Glückwunsch …das ist ein point to you.”

You don’t see the Toymaker get up on the stage, but the next thing you know, he’s crouching down next to you. Without warning, the Toymaker lifts you up under the arms and pulls you to your feet as if you weigh nothing at all. You try to stand but your rigid muscles struggle with the task and you stumble, falling right into the Toymaker’s chest. He chuckles, and you hear it rumbling softly in his chest. His skin is impossibly warm…and you can’t hear a heartbeat.

The two of you stand like that for a long moment, with you enveloped in the Toymaker’s arms. When pressed against his waistcoat, the maddening song infesting your brain quietens, and is replaced with an easy sort of calm. It’s strange…all the questions and anger and terror seem to just burn away. They’re forgotten in the simplicity of being held like a doll.

Eventually, your senses kick in. You manage to pull yourself away from the Toymaker, and you refuse to look at his face. “I just want to get on with the game.”

“Of course.”

The Toymaker waves his hand and the stage and auditorium vanish. You are transported back to the interior of the toyshop, with its familiar cuddly audience and the table taking centre stage. You sit back down at the table shakily. You know when you look up the Toymaker will already be sitting across from you…and you’re right, even though you didn’t see or hear him pull back his chair. His eyes are bright and curious. 

“Okay…Truth or Dare?”

The Toymaker places his hand on his chin and pretends to be deep in thought. After a while, he says, “Truth."

You very nearly ask him the same question you were denied just before: how was he able to make that doll look exactly like you? But the momentary calm offered by the Toymaker’s embrace has had a quieting effect on your mind, and a spike in your critical thinking skills. You have to think strategically; if you want to win, you need to ask him a question which will throw him off-guard. Asking him about the doll wouldn’t be a challenge because he likes to gloat, and to tease. But if you win, you can have your answer to that question and an actual demonstration…

…plus, you get to keep your freedom. Don’t forget that.

So you stare at the Toymaker and wonder…what causes a man (creature, entity, etc.) to end up this way?

“Tell me about your childhood,” you say.

The smile is wiped from the Toymaker’s face in an instant. His mouth twists in discomfort and anger. For the first time since you’ve met him, you feel a pleasant curl of satisfaction in your guts. The game is on, you think.

“What’s wrong?” you ask out loud. “Do you have a problem with the question? Because you can always forfeit—”

“I. Will. Not. Lose.”

The Toymaker’s fists are on the table now: they’re clenched and shaking. Although he’s looking at you, his mind seems far away, trapped somewhere else. After a beat, he leans forward, grabs your head and brings your foreheads together so they’re just barely touching.

“You asked for this,” says the Toymaker gravely. “I will do more than give you the answer to your question. I will show you. Close your eyes.”

The closeness is invigorating: the Toymaker’s hands are strong against the sides of your head, and you wonder for a second if he could pop your skull like a balloon. You consider saying no and demanding he just tell you the answer, but the look on the Toymaker’s face is so intense that you cannot refuse. It’s that terrible curiosity in you, willing you to stand at the edge of the universe and take a step off the cliff.

So you do as your bid, and close your eyes…

…only to awaken in a void.

To say there is nothing around you is an understatement. Your idea of nothingness is very particular: blackness; emptiness, an absence of sound and light. But this is something else entirely. You can’t even feel the lack of something in this place because there simply isn’t anything to feel. From the moment you open your eyes you feel the contradiction of yourself as a physical being, standing in this vacant not-space. There is less than nothing here. There is zilch. There is negative zero. There is null.

You try to get your bearings by looking around, but there are no bearings to get. This is a nothingness which exists beyond your comprehension. Just standing in this nothingness makes your jaw tighten and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. This is a phobic realm which is the antithesis to life.

And it is so, so cold. 

“This is where I grew up.”

You jump. The Toymaker is standing beside you, arms folded behind his back. He surveys the nothingness with humble respect, the way a weary sailor surveys the ocean.

“How?” You try looking around again, but without anything to anchor gaze on, your eyes just swing back round to the Toymaker. “There’s nothing here.” 

“Nothing except for me.”

The Toymaker sits down on the emptiness, cross-legged. Feeling discombobulated in the lack of space, you sit down too, next to him, and wonder how that’s possible. You hug your elbows, trying to fend off the omnipresent cold.

“We are outside of your universe,” says the Toymaker quietly. “Below it, as a matter of fact. We are in a pocket realm, like the hollow in a tree branch. Here there was nothing for a very long time…so long, that I do not know how to count it. The void is indifferent to such concepts.

“I was a child for an eternity, and many more eternities after that. Merely a conscious speck suspended in forever. At the time I had no form. No body, no face, and not really a mind. I was a collection of distant ideas and fraught, base emotions. There was no reason for me to have either a solid shape or a brain. I existed only in relation to the void, and the void went on forever. All I had to entertain myself were my games.”

With a flick of the wrist, the Toymaker conjures a ball into existence. Then another. Then another. He does this over and over again until he is juggling at least twenty balls. His hands move in a blur as he juggles the balls effortlessly. He tosses them higher and higher, so high that you have to crane your neck to see. Eventually you lose sight of the balls in the nothingness.

But then, the Toymaker sighs…and you notice that the balls are disappearing. This continues for about a minute, the balls growing fewer in number until he’s down to just three…and then there’s only two, so he’s not really juggling at all.

Finally, the Toymaker catches the last remaining ball and holds it up to your face. A frost has grown along its leathery side.

“Playing games can keep you warm,” says the Toymaker, “but only for a little while. Eventually, the cold gets in. And the cold devours everything."

“How did you survive here?” you ask quietly. You can’t raise your voice above a whisper: it feels disrespectful.

“Death isn’t something I am capable of experiencing,” says the Toymaker. “I can never die from the cold. But I can still feel it.” 

The Toymaker looks at the ball in his hand, and it catches fire. You gasp and pull away, but the fire only burns for a few seconds: the flames are quickly extinguished by a new crop of frost, growing over the ball’s surface like a disease.

In moments, the Toymaker is holding nothing but a ball of ice.

“I’m…sorry,” you say.

It’s a feeble reply, and you know it. The cold here is wrapped into the environment itself. This no-space could well be made of nothing but a creeping, insidious chill. It’s worse than the kind of cold which slams into you, like the jump from the shower to a towel on a winter night, or the way your cheeks are slapped when stepping outside on a snowy day.

This cold is sinister. 

It waits.

It seeks out warmth wherever it can, wraps itself around that spark of heat, and crushes it frozen.

The Toymaker runs hot, you remember with a shiver.

No wonder. The Toymaker fends off your weak sympathies with a shake of his head. He stares off into the nothingness, and continues to speak.

“I thought it would just be me and the void forever. But then one day, I heard laughter! It was a sound utterly foreign to me. I was so frightened, I spent millennia curled tight up into a ball, cringing away from the sound. But I could hear them now…beings, with shape and light and thoughts. As the epochs stretched before me and the void remained still, I found myself drawn to their laughter.”

The Toymaker’s eyes glitter with recollection. “I learnt how to poke small peepholes into the fabric of the void, and peer through at the shapes. And oh, the things I saw! These beings, they played games , just like me! Games which used pieces and strategies and all manner of wonderful toys. I wanted to have them all. Needed to have them. So I did. I fashioned myself fingers, and with those fingers I fashioned toys and toys and toys, enough to fill up every child’s toy room in every universe!"

You watch as the Toymaker trembles with excitement. His voice has swollen to fit the void: a rallying cry against the darkness. He looks so proud of himself…but only for a moment. 

“After a while, my toys grew old,” he says sadly. “They say a boy becomes a man when he must throw his toys onto the fire in order to keep himself warm...and the cold never stops. I realised that wood and string were all well and good, but they had no personality of their own…and I had no opponent.”

The Toymaker turns to you then. There’s a manic look in his eye. “So I began to lure in the flesh-and-blood creatures,” he says. “It was easy enough once I learned to assume their shape…especially the early ones, who weren’t so bright. And what shapes I would become! I enjoy this shape so much that I’ve decided to keep it permanently, with the odd touch-up every half-century or so. Being handsome helps bring in the players.”

There goes that easy wink again, smooth and charming and drawing you in like the lure on an anglerfish.

“And…that’s why you’re here today?” you ask. “You just want to play games with us?” 

The Toymaker’s laugh is mean. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says. “All that exists is to win, or to lose. I don’t want to play games with you. I simply want to win.”

The two of you stand in silence for a while, contemplating the nothingness. The longer you stay, the more you can feel the chill sliding its icy fingers over your flesh. It crawls up your socks and settles into the gaps behind your knees. It causes wet, cold dew to form at the edges of your eyelashes. It even seeps into the spaces between your skin and fingernails.

You wish you hadn’t asked for this Truth.

“One point to you, Toymaker,” you say through chattering teeth.

The Toymaker starts: clearly he’d forgotten all about you. The void has a sobering effect on him, it seems. How did a little boy manage to have any imagination in this place at all? “Yes,” says the Toymaker with a worn smile. “One point each.”

The next time you blink, the void is gone. You are returned to the familiar warmth of the toyshop, and are still sitting at the table across from the Toymaker. But now, even as the cold sloughs off your skin and your cheeks begin to heat up again, you can see the toyshop for what it is. The bright lights and colourful attractions are nothing more than decorative wallpaper for a frozen, ephemeral darkness, ever-creeping in on the corners of your vision.

When the Toymaker speaks again, his German is back in full force, and you wonder if he’s trying to stave off how frightened he really is.

“Zat is vier turns down,” he says. “Mit only zwei to go. I ge-believe it is my turn, ja?”

Oh, hell: he’s right. You’d gotten so caught up in the impossibility of the Toymaker’s mind that you’d forgotten you’re playing a very dangerous game. But the Toymaker’s smile looks fake now, and the way his eyes glimmer seems less like mischief, and more like withheld tears. For the first time you want to stop this game…not just for you, but for the Toymaker too.

But that’s not how this would be played. The rules are fixed, and you’ve seen what the consequences could be. Worse, you only have one response left to give. By the way the Toymaker is grinning at you, you know he’s remembered this rule too.

“Truth or Dare?” he asks.

You swallow, before giving the only answer you can: “Truth.”

The Toymaker laughs a little too loud. “Now, you had better nots ge-try to get out of zis one,” he says. “I vant you to tell me dee truth: vot exactly is your fantasy? I vill be requiring details.” 

There it is: the question this whole game has been building up to. This situation is impossible and ridiculous. Here you sit, surrounded by beautiful toys in your gorgeous dress, playing a game with an unbelievable, broken man who can rewrite your entire reality with nothing more than a thought. Yet you still can’t just open your mouth and give him the answer. Somehow, even in the face of impossible adversity, you are still beholden to your human embarrassment.

“If I tell you…” you say slowly. “...Do you promise not to laugh?” 

The Toymaker’s eyebrows knit together. He looks distressed by the question. “All players should be treated with respect,” he replies.

That’s not the answer I want, but it’s the only answer he can give , you think. But maybe that’s the key here. You would never willingly part with this information…but the Toymaker just did the same thing for you. He didn’t have to show you where he came from. He could have talked around it, given you the crib notes, and you would have been none the wiser. The Toymaker showed you vulnerability just by allowing you into his history.

You owe him that same level of respect.

“I didn’t get much attention when I was growing up,” you say. “It wasn’t a bad upbringing, but I was just kind of…left, a lot of the time. I wasn’t looked after. There was always some sort of problem that needed fixing, and my parents never had time for me. No one bothered to check on me, so I just had to figure things out for myself. I spent most of my time alone in my room…just me and my toys.”

“That sounds familiar,” says the Toymaker, and the sympathy in his voice is real. “How did you pass your time?”

“I took my toys apart,” you say. “I think my parents felt guilty for leaving me alone a lot, so there was never a shortage of toys. But I wanted to figure out how they worked. That seemed much more interesting than actually playing with them, you know?” 

The Toymaker smiles with approval. “Dee keen eye of a toymaker is a gift,” he says. “But I sense you are delaying your real story…” 

You curse inwardly: again, he’s right. You cannot hide any longer.

“I took apart all of my toys…except for my dolls.”

That gets the Toymaker’s attention: those bright blue eyes light up with interest. “Go on.”

“I had a set of five dolls,” you say quietly. “Generic dolls. Sparkly, brushable hair, and little swappable outfits. Nothing special. But even when I was really small I couldn’t hurt them. I was terrified of damaging them in any way. There weren’t any other kids around to talk to, and my parents weren’t home, so I just…talked to the dolls instead. I knew it was weird, but in my head the dolls were more sentient than my other toys. I thought they could really understand me.”

The Toymaker starts back up in his German voice: “Ah, zere is nothing more ge-saddening zan a lonely Kind. Zat is why decapitating poor Neil vas being no problem for you, zen?” 

“Yeah. It still hurt, but not for the reasons it would hurt most people.” You swallow; this is the really difficult part. “The older I got, the more toys I had, but I never added to my doll collection. My parents would joke all the time about how I was becoming a ‘little lady’. When I became a teenager there was so much pressure to be pretty, and girly…and it made me feel sick. So I tried to fight back against it. I cut my hair, I swore off pink, and I wouldn’t be caught dead in a dress.”

The words stick in your throat. You look up at the Toymaker, hoping for some kind of mercy, but you don’t find it. But he isn’t mocking you, either: he just sits and waits for you to continue.

“I locked my dolls away,” you say. “I pretended I had thrown them out…but secretly, I’d sneak them out, and play with them. I’d brush their hair, and mend their dresses. I still do.”

The Toymaker leans in. “Why?”

“I…I wanted to be like them,” you whisper. “They are so pretty. The long, flowing dresses and the perfect makeup…they’re dazzling in a way I could never be. I can never, ever be that beautiful.”

You twist the fabric of your dress between your fingers fitfully, and force yourself to say it: 

“I always wanted to be someone’s favourite doll."

There’s silence in the toyshop. You stare down at your lap, your heart pounding and your face flushed. Stupid, stupid…! Your eyes well up with hot tears. You can’t bring yourself to look at the Toymaker.

“Und zen you arrive here,” he says. “Meine beautiful dollen drew you in.”

“Yes,” you say quietly. “If I can’t be loved like a doll, then at least I can give them love instead. If I were a doll, maybe things would be easier, you know? Maybe…”

You can’t help the little choke-sob which escapes your lips.

“...maybe someone would take care of me."

The tears fall freely into your lap now and stain the beautiful fabric of your dress dark. You feel disgusting: worthy of ridicule. I deserve whatever happens to me now, you think, your brain awash with old, dark feelings you’ve kept locked up just like the dolls in your closet.

But it’s the Toymaker who snaps you out of his reverie. You didn’t hear him move, but you flinch when his fingers slide under your chin and tilt up your face towards him. Your tears cast him in a watery halo.

“Mein Liebling, stop ge-crying,” he says. “I have made sehr many dollen over dee years, und many of zem have been beautiful. But you are somesing else entirely entirely. Ein living, breathing, villing doll, so cute und poseable. Oh, you und I vill have zo many adventures together! You could be mein prized possession, und I vill hold you and play vith you from dawn zu dusk.”

The Toymaker’s words send a shudder through your body. Blood thrums at the surface of your skin and pools in your cheeks and neck. The Toymaker leans in until your noses are almost touching. He’s so very close to you now…close enough that he could kiss you. 

But just before he reaches your lips, the Toymaker moves to the side and whispers into your ear:

“Dee game is not yet over, meine schöne dollen. You have one final question to ge-ask of me. Do it, und zis vill all be over…one vay or another.”

You can feel him smiling gently against your hair, and it makes you want to sob. Oh, please let this torture end…! But you’re in the Toymaker’s grasp now, in the final throes of his game, and you know you have to finish this or your suffering will never be over. There is only one turn left. You have to try, one last time, or you would spend the rest of your life at the beck and call of this madman.

“Truth or Dare?” you manage to croak out.

The Toymaker lets your face go. “Dare."

You take a deep breath. This is your last chance.

“Let me go.”

The Toymaker takes a long, long moment to process your answer…and then he starts to laugh. Really, really hard. The tinkling arpeggio of his laughter builds and builds until it seems to shake the very walls of the toyshop. For a moment, you are terrified that it’s all going to come crumbling down like a house of cards.

“Oh, perhaps becoming ein dollen hast eroded deine brain, ja?” says the Toymaker, the arrogance flashing in his teeth. “I am not ein genie you kann outsmarts. I am afraid zat since letting you go ist your prize, you cannot request it of me. So, you have lost ein point, putting us at a tie…und you must complete ein forfeit once more.”

No. No. NO! “That’s not fair!” you yell. The tears are streaming down your face in earnest now; all of the distress of this game and the Toymaker’s psychological torment can no longer be contained. 

“Oh, und here comes dee tantrum,” says the Toymaker with a sigh. “I hates it ven zey get like zis. You must have ein forfeit…und I think I have dee perfekt idea to stop your ge-crying.”

The Toymaker snaps his fingers again. You open your mouth to scream at him…but nothing comes out.

You try again, but your mouth just flops open like a fish, with no sound attached to it whatsoever.

The Toymaker has stolen your voice. 

“I have assisted you in another core aspect of your doll transformation,” says the Toymaker, the British swooping in over his tongue with ease. “I do not think most dolls can talk, do you?”

You awful…! But the words can’t even die on your tongue, because they never reach your tongue in the first place. There is a total disconnect between your mouth and your brain. Although you can fashion your lips into the correct shapes and try to push the air into forming syllables, none of them can escape your mouth.

The Toymaker has silenced you, taking away perhaps your only remaining asset in this game.

You mentally tally up the points, and realise he’s right. You are now tied, and six turns have passed. 

“But I cannot tolerate a tie. Dee rules dictate zat ve must perform a tie-breaker challenge…” His accent ripples between the German and British easily, as if he can’t decide between childish delight and cool professionalism. “Do you have any suggestions for a tie-breaker?"

The devastation of losing your voice almost made you look over this detail. Yes, he’s right: for all of your suffering, the Toymaker hasn’t actually managed to get a point over you. That means all is not lost.

That means you still have a chance to win.

But you cannot strategise in a vacuum: much less when you can’t speak. The Toymaker looks at you in amusement, as if expecting you to try and talk anyway. You could have written a message down on a piece of paper, or typed it on your phone, but you decide not to give him the satisfaction. The Toymaker has already gotten you on the rules twice: you are going to play within his boundaries and win fair and square. 

You don’t see where he produces the hat from. A flourish of the arm, and it’s suddenly in his hands: a beautiful top hat which would have gone perfectly with a tuxedo. The Toymaker flips the hat over and proffers it to you.

“Ladies first,” he says with a sly smile. 

You reach into the hat and are surprised to find a variety of small, paper tickets. After some rustling around, you pull one out and read it. When you do, your eyes go wide.

WHOEVER HOLDS THEIR BREATH THE LONGEST IS THE WINNER.  “Vot fun!” exclaims the Toymaker, clapping his hands together in excitement. “I must ge-varn you, I am a very gut schwimmer, and kann hold mein breath for ein long time.” 

But do you even have a lung capacity?! is what you would have asked if you could. How was this fair? The Toymaker is clearly an extradimensional being, and his physical body doesn’t seem to conform to the laws of physics, space or time…anything that would put a real challenge to this game. But you can’t say so: you have no way of telling him.

Besides…is it cheating if that’s just how he is? Is it cheating if he’s just better at the game?

A loud tick-tocking draws your eye to the right side of the toyshop. Against the wall (where it definitely didn’t exist before) is a grandfather clock. Both of the clock’s hands are almost at the 12. This was news to you; you’d arrived at the toyshop sometime around 8pm.

“Ve vill begin when ze clock strikes twelve,” says the Toymaker. “Zere are no fancy rules…ve just start ge-holdings our breath, until eins of us cannot anymore.”

The grandfather clock ticks closer to your demise. You look at the Toymaker in desperation, clasping your hands together in a silent plea…but he just looks at you coolly. Now, you are nothing but an opponent to defeat. You are an obstacle ready to be demolished. 

Well, I am not helpless. If anyone is going to decide the winner of this game, it’s going to be me. With only thirty seconds remaining, you fish around in the pocket of your backpack and pull out your phone. You set up your video camera, prop the phone up against a toy monkey holding a pair of cymbals, and hit the record button.

“Ah,” says the Toymaker. “In case of ein photo-finish. Gut idea.”

There’s a cold fire in his eyes now: something which ignited when he took you into his personal void. You have no moves left, and no gameplay strategies to implement. It is clear that he is the master of games, and you may as well already be his doll. 

But hell, you are going to try your best.

The grandfather clock strikes twelve with a loud, booming chime, and you suck in the largest breath of your life. You don’t balloon out your cheeks: instead you opt for a subtle approach learnt from musical training, where you draw in the oxygen deep into your lungs and will it to sit there for as long as you can handle.

By comparison, the Toymaker doesn’t look like he’s holding his breath at all. You merely hear him stop breathing. He looks totally at ease.

The first ten seconds are child’s play.

The first twenty seconds are fine.

The first thirty seconds are acceptable.

But by the forty-second mark a playful fire start to burn in your chest, and the urge to take a breath begins to beg. Inside you curse yourself, wishing that you’d practised— but why on earth would I have practised such a useless game?! You look at the Toymaker. Big mistake. He waggles his eyebrows at you silently, rippling them in an over-the-top-sultry manner. You feel your lips quirking up into a smile…You can’t believe it! He’s trying to make you laugh!

So much for respecting the rules, you think to yourself. Your chest is really starting to hurt now. But then you wonder, is that really cheating? If the Toymaker can try to make you laugh, what if you can make him laugh too? But you shut down that idea immediately: if you prancing around in a frilly dress singing I’m A Little Teapot didn’t make him laugh (just clap!), you didn’t have a chance in hell.

Oh no. What is he doing now? While trying to focus on holding your breath, the Toymaker had conjured two familiar puppets on the ends of his hands: Punch and Judy. With a final, victorious wink, the Toymaker begins a silent, over-the-top slapstick routine with the puppets. Even without dialogue you recognise the beats of the show; Mr Punch is a mess of a man, overwhelmed by the demands of his wife and baby (the latter brought into being with a tiny, adorable puppet the Toymaker wears on one of his thumbs). His hands move with such finesse that the puppets almost look real.

Such a gaudy routine wouldn’t have been enough to make you laugh by itself, but the Toymaker brings a whole new dimension with his wonderfully expressive face. Each time the long-suffering Judy begins a voiceless tirade of her husband (i.e., throwing little puppet-objects at his face), the Toymaker supplements Punch’s depression with a frown worthy of a theatre mask. When Punch manages to land a hit on his wife or baby (My God, were these shows always so violent?), the Toymaker grins with such deranged glee that you can’t help but find it hilarious.

Oh no. You look at the clock: it’s been a minute, and your chest is really starting to hurt. The Toymaker and his puppets make your cheeks puff out with the effort of not laughing.

He smirks at you as Punch picks up his wife and baby and tosses them into the air, punting them like footballs. It’s so absurd and ridiculous that you can feel the giggle rising up in your chest. You desperately want to open your mouth and suck in oxygen but you can’t, you simply can’t, because if you do you’ll lose the game and he’ll keep you here forever…!

As your remaining seconds tick closer to your inevitable failure, you close your eyes. You want to have one last moment to remember yourself as you are, because you are sure whatever the Toymaker is going to do to you will not be pleasant.

Your chest aches. Your cheeks bulge. Your will starts to unravel.

And then, you have the idea.

It’s a stupid idea, and with barely any seconds left to execute it, you have no guarantee that it will work. But as you open your eyes and look at the Toymaker’s smug ‘I’ve already won!’ expression, you know you have no choice but to follow through with your mad plan.

So, holding on to every last bit of breath you have, you lunge at the Toymaker—

—and envelop him in a bone-crushing hug.

Several things happen at once:

The first is the Toymaker exclaiming in surprise, his breath clearly lost, and dropping his puppets, which dissolve into ash as soon as they hit the floor. 

The second is your desire to breathe finally overpowering you as you collapse against the Toymaker, and the two of you tumble to the floor. 

The third is the grandfather clock exploding. Just as you hit the ground the clock bursts apart, firing out wooden shrapnel with a horrifying bang! On reflex you huddle yourself against the nearest form of safety, which in this case happens to be the Toymaker’s chest.

You weren’t expecting him to hold you back.

The two of you stay like that for some time: you and the Toymaker, on the floor together, breathing heavily and wrapped up in each other’s arms. Despite your own adrenaline, you can’t understand the Toymaker’s terror: surely he caused the clock to blow up? He certainly wasn’t in any danger.

But then you hear a sound you couldn’t hear before. It’s the thrumming of the Toymaker’s heart, loud and insistent and desperate to survive. You hear it through the fabric of his waistcoat, and feel it in the pulse of his neck. For just a moment, the Toymaker seems to be just as human as you.

You wonder if the Toymaker’s mortality is contextual.

Eventually, you manage to disentangle yourself from the Toymaker’s limbs. You peek at the smoking remains of the grandfather clock, and are relieved to see that nothing has caught fire: there’s just a scorched, black mark where the clock once existed. The shards of wood which exploded out from the clock have disappeared.

Thankfully, your phone is untouched! You pick it up, pause the recording and watch it back. A smile stretches across your face.

“Oh, Toymaker!” you say, and you are so very pleased that your voice has returned. “You’re going to want to take a look at this.” 

When the Toymaker climbs to his feet, you are immensely amused to see that his perfect curls have been knocked a bit by the explosion. For the first time since you met, the Toymaker is dishevelled and confused. It’s a cute look on you, you think.

“You broke my game,” says the Toymaker incredulously. “How did you do that?”

“No idea,” you grin. “Maybe it was an unexpected outcome. Still within the rules, still a valid way to win, just…unorthodox.”

You show the Toymaker the recording. You watch as his expression turns from bafflement, to despair, to outright blazing anger.

“No!” the Toymaker cries. “You can’t have beat me!”

But the camera never lies. The footage on your phone clearly picks up the Toymaker gasping in shock as soon as you hit him with your hug…whilst you don’t gasp for air until a few seconds later, just before the grandfather clock explodes.

“Seems like I have!” you say happily.

“But I…you…” The Toymaker’s fingers flex in the air meaninglessly, as if looking for a straw to grasp. “But that’s cheating!” 

“No it isn’t,” you say with confidence. “There was nothing in the rules about us not being able to make each other lose our breath. If you making me laugh was a valid strategy, then me hugging you was too. Either we both cheated, or no one did.”

The Toymaker looks like he’s been slapped, and it is a delicious feeling. You almost want to pinch his cheeks. With a pout fixing his lips, the Toymaker snaps his fingers…and your clothes return to normal. Your dress is gone, replaced by the clothes you entered the shop with.

(Is it a little silly to be regretful of that fact…?)

“I still say that shouldn’t count,” says the Toymaker sullenly. “That was an underhanded tactic. I’ll be writing that into the rules next time.”

But you’ve turned away from the Toymaker now—he obviously needs to work through his sore-loser feelings in his own time. You trot over to the doll shelf, pick up the beautiful doll in the powder-blue dress and cradle her in your arms. She truly is a wonderful prize.

When you turn back around, the Toymaker is sitting on the floor with his hands hugging his knees. You feel a pang of sympathy for the man…it seems this really is his whole life.

“But why did you hug me?” the Toymaker asks, baffled. “That’s not a winning strategy. You just surprised me. You were so…”

The Toymaker looks up at you with shining eyes. This time, his eyes really are wet with tears.

“...Warm,” he whispers.

The triumph of your win quickly sours on your tongue. The way the Toymaker is looking at you gives you a powerful feeling…and it’s not one that you like. Even though every part of you is telling you to make a run for the door while you have this post-win window…you don’t.

Instead, you sit down cross-legged on the floor next to the Toymaker, just like you did when in the void. You even bump your shoulder against his.

“I’ve been sad a lot in my life,” you say. “But I’ve never felt as much sadness as I did in your void. And it made me wonder if…you’d ever been held before.”

The Toymaker looks at you with flashing eyes. His bottom lip trembles as if he’s trying to hold back a lifetime of grief. He doesn’t say anything, but those eyes tell you all you need to know. 

“I wouldn’t mind coming around here sometimes,” you say gently.

The Toymaker looks at you like you’ve got two heads. “You would voluntarily subject yourself to my life-or-death games?”

“Maybe not the life-or-death part,” you say hastily. “But I had fun today. Weird, horrible fun. You’re kind of a weird and horrible guy…and I’m pretty weird too.”

To your surprise, the Toymaker actually laughs at that. “You are unique, meine Liebling,” he says, German once more. “To out-ge-smart me, you must be.”

“Well…maybe it’s a good thing we met,” you say. “Maybe you don’t need to keep luring in suspecting people to your shop, Toymaker. Some of us might actually want to stick around and play. And maybe…”

You rest your head against the Toymaker’s shoulder.

“...Maybe I could help keep the cold out for a while.” 

The Toymaker and you sit in silence for some time, listening to the gentle whirs and clicks of the toys going about their business. You keep your new doll tucked between your legs, and your cheek resting against the Toymaker’s shoulder. He’s so warm that you find your eyelids fluttering: you could easily fall asleep right here.

It’s a surprise when you feel the Toymaker’s fingers sliding into your own. You look at him, and see those telling blue eyes alive with fresh excitement.

“It’s a deal,” says the Toymaker, with an enormous, brilliant smile.

You let the Toymaker pull you to your feet. To your amusement, he grants you a deep, formal bow.

“Run along now, meine Schatz…today must have been ge-xhausting for you. But I shall be seeing you again soon, ja?"

Other people would not have caught it, but you know what loneliness sounds like: you hear the edge of desperation at the edge of the Toymaker’s voice. You take a step back and return the bow with a curtsey.

“Ja, genau,” you grin.

The Toymaker’s smile could have outshone the sun.

That night, when you return home, you take all of your dolls out of your closet. You line them up with care on your shelf, making sure to pose them prettily and smooth out the creases in their frocks.

But you keep your new doll in your hand, and clamber into bed with her. Before you turn out the light, you look one last time at her perfect, dimpled face.

Oh, what games will you and the Toymaker play next?

[fictionallystable]

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games)

Relationship: Phillip Graves (Call of Duty)/Reader

Characters: Reader, Phillip Graves (Call of Duty), Original Male Character(s)

Additional Tags: Author Has Played Call of Duty, Childhood Friends, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Civilian!Reader, Pre-Canon, Jealousy, Angst, Kissing, Mild Smut, Time Skips, Brother's Best Friend, Toxic Family Dynamics, Eventual Smut, Drama, Misunderstandings, Getting Together, Minor Age Gap

Words: 9,080| Chapters: 4/5

Authors: @orphancains & @collinnmckinley

Chapter 4: The Engagement Party

Chapter Summary: You're invited to Matty's engagement party and run into a familiar face—only for everything to seemingly fall apart.

A/N: agian we are extremely apologetic for the late update. life got hectic for both of us and hit us like a bus. and we were too exahsted from everything to even think about writing. but here we are!!! with a longer chapter to make it up to yall!! we really hope you enjoy this one c: only one chapter left to go ;) (likes and reblogs are appreciated <3)

the fic can also be found on AO3

tags will be updated!!

You felt nauseous at the thought of returning home for Matty’s engagement party. You’d been living out of town, happy with your job as an architect even if it meant you sometimes went months without seeing family. But you preferred it that way, with less judgment from your parents for choosing to postpone your own engagement yet again. 

With your boyfriend Richard’s arm around your waist, you braced yourself for the booming cheers from your mother and father when they saw you. Immediately, they enveloped you in hugs and shook you with delight. 

“[Y/N], oh, it’s so good to see you! We’ve missed you so much.” 

“The drive must’ve been tiring, huh? How’s work been, Richard?” 

“[Y/N], your figure looks great! And that skirt is gorgeous!” 

Ah, yes. The skirt Richard picked out for me.

Your mother’s wrinkled, smiling eyes rubbed your back as you made your way to the living room for a drink, while Richard stayed in the hall with your father, enraptured in more dull small talk. The stiff smile you had kept carved on your face all this time suddenly melted into a real one when you saw Bear, your dog, laying on the ground.

You knelt down immediately to pet him, forgetting the drink your mom was getting you. You rubbed your hands through his long, brown fur as he wagged his tail back and forth. He panted excitedly, leaning up trying to lick your cheek. You laughed. “I’m glad you’re looking good, Bear,” you said to the dog. He had been staying comfortably with your mother for the past 6 months, enjoying her leftovers but far away from you. Every night, you wished you could cuddle up with the dog. But Richard insisted that no dogs be allowed in your apartment.

“ I can’t handle all the hair, especially with it sticking to my suits. And I doubt you’ll have the time to clean up after a German Shepherd’s furballs with your workload ,” you remembered he sourly sneered while he unpacked your boxes all those months ago. 

“And Matty?” you asked your mom when she handed you a cup of soda and ice in a red plastic solo, while Bear rolled over on his back elatedly.

“He’s outside entertaining the guests with Elaine.” Your mom grinned. “Her parents seem to be very happy with our arrangement.”

You tried to smile, but a grimace cracked through instead. Ever since you graduated high school, your mother and father had insisted you get married quickly. Matty seemed to have no issue finding the right girl to propose to. You, on the other hand, well… you couldn’t see yourself with Richard. He was protective, he remembered your anniversaries, and he always made the time to take you on dates, to remember your favorite flowers, and always paraded you with pride at his own work parties. But the thought of saying “I do” to the man made your chest bubble with anxiety. And maybe even dread. Sometimes he was too  protective, interrupted you too much, and sometimes took his sarcastic jokes too far to the point of cruelty. You were sensitive, ever since your adolescence. But… you could get used to it, right? 

“Oh, that’s great news,” you muttered in reply to your mother.

Your mother leered at you from the corner of her eye. A mischievous but scrutinizing twinkle in her eyes. “Yes, it’s just a matter of time before you and Richard have your very own—”

“I should go say hi to Matty, yes?” You got up quickly and brushed the wrinkles from your skirt. “And of course, to my future sister-in-law…” you sputtered out as you scurried past your mother.

When you stepped out onto the back garden, you were hit once again with the warm, thick heat of the Texas night. You saw your brother from behind, with his arm around Elaine, whose long, pin-straight hung like a curtain from behind her, and a cold beer in his hand. You saw they were laughing while they chatted to an older man and woman you didn’t recognize, crinkled skin and silvery but pin-straight thin hair that Elaine had. From what you could guess, they must’ve been Elaine’s parents.  

It was hard to hide your joy at seeing your brother. You sauntered up to your brother, wanting to catch up with him. Last time you’d seen him, he’d been arguing with your dad about the very idea of proposing to Elaine. He wanted to wait another couple of months, but your father insisted Elaine would start to get impatient and would find another husband, another arrangement. Your brother had stormed off that day, driven away in his car, uttering nothing more than a “Not now!” at you when you had asked if he was okay.

“Matty!” you called out to your brother from where you stood. Your smile couldn’t get any wider. Yes you spoke with your brother every week when work let you, but it's been a long while since you last saw your brother in person. 

So when he heard your voice calling his name, he turned to see you standing there, at your parents backyard porch, waving to him excitedly, he couldn’t help but let out an airy laugh and immediately started to make his way to you. You did the same and both met in the middle as you scooped you in a hug lifting your feet off the ground. Oh how he missed his baby sister. Although all grown up.

Seeing how excitedly Matty basically ran towards you, it made Elaine chuckle and shake her head. She knew how strong the sibling bond you and your brother shared, and she found it extremely endearing and adorable in a way she can never experience, as she was the only child.

As Matty let you down on the ground again, Elaine made her way to greet you. When you saw her you couldn’t help but hug her too. You liked Elaine, she was like a sister you never had, and you couldn’t be happier for both of them. 

“It’s so good to see you [Y/N]! We missed you so much” Elaine told you, her smile was bright and contagious. You couldn’t help but to mirror her excitement and feeling.

“It’s good to see you both too! I’m so sorry I couldn’t get earlier work got in the way, and we packed at the last minute-” you expressed how regretful you were about how late you arrived. You truly meant to arrive earlier, to help your brother and his wife-to-be with the arrangement of the party, but the universe had other plans for you. 

Before you went on a tangent, Matty cut you off with his usual reassuring demeanor.

“Nonsense! You’re here and that's what matters.” Elaine nodded, as Matty’s hand came around her shoulder. They truly looked like a couple made for each other. 

“Oh! Before you go or do anything, I gotta show you who’s here!” Matty said, his excitement meant trouble. For some reason you were worried.

“Oh there he is! Just the man I was looking for hah!” Matty was looking over your shoulder when he spoke. 

As you turned around like any normal person would do to see who your brother was talking about, the air was knocked out of you immediately as your eyes landed on him.

“Phil…” you sputtered out, quiet enough for it to be a whisper.

Phillip Graves stood a few feet away from you, far enough to reach in a couple of steps. And that's what he did when your brother called him over. The Phillip Graves was standing in front of you now, except now he was older. His hair was still the light brown, almost blonde hair that had as a teen. His tan skin now was littered with a few scars, on accenting his cheek bone. You remembered he was tall, always athletic, as a kid from playing varsity football and soccer. But now, he had filled out muscles under his burgundy t-shirt and light-wash jeans. And he still towered over you just enough that you had to peer up to meet his blue eyes. 

With a surprised, almost confused smile, he repeated your name back to you. 

“Phillip... Phil…” you breathed out, still in disbelief. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Of course he’s gonna be here, silly! He’s my best friend, I couldn’t have a wedding without him being my best man can I?” you’re brother jokes. Before you could say anything to him, you heard a distant voice calling his name. He answers “coming!”, but not before bidding you both to have a good time and catch up.

He knows how much Phil meant to you, and he knows for sure for the past fifteen years how much you tried to forget him.

You watched as your brother and his fiancee in his arms went to tend to the other guests, before turning to Phillip, who’s smile grew into one of his beaming ones that you’d grown familiar with as a teen. “Hopefully seeing me ain’t a bad surprise.” He winks at you teasingly before smiling softly. He gestured to the plastic, white porch table nearby. “D’ya wanna sit?”

Tentatively, you took a seat across from him at the table. He looked around, almost looking bored, as he took a drink of his own beer bottle. But you knew Phil. He wasn’t disinterested. You could tell from the way he was bouncing his left leg in slight nervousness. 

“So, how have you been [Y/N]? I heard you became a big shot architect in Seattle! Not gonna lie, I thought that you’d become a famous artist with her own exhibit all across the country.” Phillip genuinely sounded happy and surprised, leaning back in his chair, hands intertwining on his torso. A habit he picked up during his time away from home in the Marine Corps.

You smiled at him. He recognized that as the one your mother trained you to show new people. It only got sweeter—and prettier—as you grew older, he thought. It suited you even as you were no longer a little girl and now a beautiful, grown woman. Graves’ heart strings tugged, and for a split second, and only for that tiny moment, he was taken off guard. 

“Yeah.” You paused but only for a second. “Things turned out differently. But I can't complain.” That sweet smile still plastered on your face. Phil couldn’t believe it, how much you’ve changed, how much you’ve grown. How beautiful you’ve become-

“Things… didn’t end well the last time we saw each other.” He was lost in thought again but your voice brought him back. 

“Or rather didn’t see.” You murmured.

He knitted his brows in confusion. “I’m not following.” 

Annoyance began to stir inside you. You huffed and looked away.

He nearly stammered his words. “From what I last remember; we had a blast at your birthday party, Matty gave you a puppy, the one that he’d been planning months to get for you. And I—”

“And you left.” Your eyes, returning to him and now darker with hurt, pierced straight into his eyes, and your silky voice cut him like a sharp knife. “Practically the next day.” “Without saying a single word to me about your enlistment that day.” A sad, but bitter, smile adorned your face, eyes cast downward. As the memories of that day continued to unfurl for you, a dormant resentment continued to bubble in the depths of your viscera. 

“You didn’t even bother to say goodbye to Matty properly let alone me.” Your voice was softer now,  but he could still see the hurt behind your eyes. “Much less to my parents who—”

“Listen, [Y/N], I didn’t—” He clenched his jaw and dragged his chair closer, hoping to keep his voice low. He felt embarrassed to be having this conversation with you in the first place in your parents’ backyard. And he especially didn’t want Matty to know you were talking about this with him. Still, he felt he owed you an explanation. “I didn’t want to scare you….” he stops and looks at you, in his eyes an emotion you have never seen before swims, you can't decipher it, but it somehow looks familiar. “Or hurt you for that matter.” 

He shook his head, crossing his arms across his chest. He scoffed, just barely audible to you. “But be realistic for a moment. What did you expect me to say to you? ‘Hey, kiddo, I’m off to join the Marine Corps. Might die or get a limb or two blown off. Make sure you do your homework and don’t stay up too late playing video games with Matty! Bye!” 

Phil couldn’t help being defensive of his actions that summer, a bit too defensive even to his liking. He sighs and continues with a bit of a calmer voice. Phil knew that his answer wasn’t half-assed, but he still knew they could be biting. Although he didn’t want to reopen old wounds, he also didn’t want to lie to you. Especially not now that you were no longer a child, and not just Matty’s kid sister. “I did what I thought was right, for you… and me. And I wouldn’t change it if I had to do it again. That’s the truth.” 

You blinked. You couldn’t help but hear something alien in his voice, a tone so unfamiliar in your memories of him as kids. Was it sorrow? Remorse? Pain? You couldn’t figure it out. But you know it was something not to be pushed any further. As a kid you never understood why he did what he did, but as you grew older, somehow you knew that as a child everyone’s decisions were outside your range of understanding. You had accepted what happened. Or at least you thought you did. But today that young girl returned, took back control your body and mind, and you found yourself spluttering these words to Phil. 

Sitting with his own answers, you sat in silence. You watched as he leaned back and eyed you carefully. His eyes were still the same baby blue ones that always gazed at you with brotherly affection all those years, the ones that sparkled when the Texan summer sun’s rays cast on them. But now you felt a hardness radiating from behind them, one that would make anyone else cower and feel smaller. Years in military combat had definitely changed him and his gaze. Indeed, you did feel like he was studying every inch of your face and body, scanning you as if trying to profile you, maybe like he did with the captured combatants in whatever war in which he fought. You tried your hardest to return the intensity of his stare, but it was hard to compete with the icy look in his eyes.

But behind his colder eyes was a burning curiosity that he was successful in concealing from you. It was a curiosity he didn’t expect to experience tonight, because he never expected to see you, Matty’s beloved little sister, again. In all his memories, some more faded and fuzzier than others, you remained a little girl whose clothes were stained with paint and fingers sometimes still smudged from soft pastels or even charcoal from your art. In his mind, you still had baby cheeks and wore Matty’s old hand-me-down clothes and hoodies. But before him, he never expected Matty’s little sister, now a woman, to be sitting before him. He almost wanted to curse himself for immediately noticing when you walked to the table how your curves fit the skirt you wore. And when you sat across from him, he caught himself glancing more than once at your chest when your arms folded just beneath it. 

He clenched his jaw. God, if Matty even caught the places his eyes were traveling when he saw you, he was sure he was going to get his ass kicked and his face pounded in by Matty’s notorious fist. Grown up or not, you were still his sister. And this was also still Matty’s engagement party, and he couldn’t ruin it. And you were clearly still torn up about his sudden, unannounced enlistment all those years ago. This was not the place or time to be thinking of… other things.

What disrupted his curious gaze from roaming over you was a sole tear that began to trickle down the corner of your eye. Just one, and one that you quickly wiped away with your hand before it could ruin much of your makeup. But it was enough to know that, once again, Phil had made you upset. He internally wanted to bang a fist against the table. He was hoping you would lash out at him, he would let you burn off some of the steam that you couldn’t when you were both kids, he knew how much you controlled your rage, and he wished you would finally let it out even if it was on him. Let you both make fools of yourselves that night, so he could feel less remorse. But instead, the silence from you that he was me with was damning him more than he could expect.

When you refused to say anything, Phil anxiously whirled the cold glass bottle in his hands. “But, I was also an idiot,” Phil spat out suddenly. 

Your furrowed brows softened, noticing how Phil’s eyes melted into what you couldn’t intercept at first. But you soon realized it was a miserable mixture of hurt and regret. “I just wanted to get away from my folks, you know. Even though they were hardly ever home, I still felt like they controlled every aspect of my life. So…” He breathed out. “So, I’m sorry.”

“I get that,” was all you said as you mindlessly twirled the bracelet around your wrist. As you did so, his eyes glanced down at your hand on the table, the same ones that were always covered in stubborn faded blue and yellow hues of paint. He swallowed when he noticed that, unlike Matty whom he’d spoken to earlier, you had no ring on your left hand. Before you could notice, Phil quickly glanced back up at your face, and was relieved to see that your harsh scowl from before had melted away. “I just wish you could’ve told me that then. But I… I get that I was too young. We were both pretty stubborn when it came to talking about anything serious, but we cared—”

Before you could finish, you heard a booming voice call out your name. You turned and saw Richard beckoning you to where he stood, while your parents stood to the side and grinned giddily together. Suddenly the whole party had grown strangely quiet. Beside the ice cooler, you noticed a bluetooth speaker playing a familiar soft rock song. One that you distinctly remember as the one Richard played in the car after your first date together at the theme park, and the same one you two danced to in his old apartment when you both were tipsy one night.

You got up from your seat. Next to you Phil also suddenly wondered why so many eyes were on you and this unfamiliar man. You started walking toward him and your parents, wondering what in the world was happening, and why your boyfriend was standing in the middle of the backyard like he was about to give a speech. Oh no, I've seen this scenario happening in public one too many times. This does not look good…. Your internal monologue was put in a pause when you looked around to find your brother, and when your eyes landed on his and his fiance, you knew with one look they did not seem pleased of what was going on.

“[Y/N],” he started. “We’ve only known each other for a few months…”

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Matty muttered from a few feet away from where Phil sat. 

Phil blinked a couple of times. His gut was telling him he knew exactly what was going on, but he himself couldn’t believe it. Not after he just reunited with Y/N a few minutes earlier.

Elaine tried to calm Matty down silently, but Matty was furious. “I specifically told them not to pull this shit, not on this occasion. Jesus fucking Christ.” Elaine didn’t need to hear him say it, but she knew who he was referring to when he said ‘they’.

Richard continued. “But you’ve made me a better man, a man with bigger, better ambitions, a man who can see himself becoming a family man. Beyond just a businessman, a partner, a rock to lean on, someone who could build a home with you and raise a family together.”

When he got down on one knee, you felt your heart stop and all the muscles in your body seize. You tightened your jaw, dormant rage igniting all over again. You didn’t know if you wanted to run away and flee the scene or smash Richard’s head with the beer bottle from a nearby table, but you felt as though your shoes were glued to the dry grass. “Y/N,” he said as he took a ring out of his jacket pocket. 

You looked up frantically and saw your mother on the verge of happy tears and your father with a proud grin but his hands tucked in his suit jacket’s pockets, much like when he is negotiating a business deal at work. You knew immediately that this was not simply Richard’s doing. No, you had told Richard as recently as last night at bedtime that you would rather wait at least when you hit 30 before even considering marriage. This was your parents handing you off to Richard, hoping and desperately trying to have their wealth merge with Richard’s own family wealth. Just like you feared in every conversation you had with your mom and dad, you feared you represented nothing more than a simple pawn in another one of your dad’s business deals. 

You glanced back down at Richard, the sour sneer on your face growing harder and harder for you to conceal. You could feel your hands trembling now by your side, and the cup of soda in your hand threatening to get crushed.  

“Will you do me the honor of letting me call you my wife?”

You heard murmurs and all around you from the backyard. The night’s spotlight was now on you, no longer on Matty and Elaine, and that made you grind your teeth even more. You didn’t want extra attention. It was bad enough that suddenly your childhood crush crashed the party and made you relive your teenage hormones and heartbreak. Richard and your parents both knew how uncomfortable you felt coming back home, and suddenly they decided to make you have to answer a marriage proposal in front of all your relatives, friends, and neighbors. 

You glared down at Richard, who was oblivious to the storm raging in your mind. “You’re out of your fucking mind,” you spat out, with a low and harsh voice, but still loud enough for everyone to hear. You whipped your head up furiously to glare directly at your mom and dad. “And you two! You two are unbelievable. You should be ashamed of yourselves!” Your throat ached from how harshly you growled at them.

Without another word, not even a “no” to dignify Richard’s proposal, you threw your cup of soda at Richard’s face. The half-melted ice-cubes and cold Sprite made him flinch and get back up to his feet quickly. A chorus of gasps erupted from behind and around you. 

“You spoiled brat!” your mother shrieked. The disdain and disappointment on her face was one so familiar, but one that still brought your heart racing anxiously and your lips to quiver. Your father stood frozen in shock beside her. He himself didn’t expect you to react in such a way. He thought tonight would be another business success for him. “Do you know how much we had sacrificed for you? And you decide to act like a child? When will you grow up?l!” 

“THIS IS INSANE!” 

Your eyes snapped to the source of outburst and landed on Matty standing near where Phil and you had been sitting. Phil remained at his seat watching all of this unfold with amusement, as Matty was walking towards where your parents had been standing, with determination of giving an earful to them most likely, but before he could start what he had to say your voice decided to come out on its own accord.

“Oh mother… How can you still be so stubborn about this? How could you pull this stunt at Matty’s engagement party, your own son's engagement party? Do you have no shame? Either of you?” Your voice determined and harsh. Even your mother was taken aback by your bold retort. Her speechlessness only allowed you to continue your tirade. “I told you at least a hundred times that I don’t have any plans to get married anytime soon. But you didn’t listen! That doesn’t surprise me; you hardly ever listen to me. But at least have some respect for your own goddamn son! Who has been nothing but an obedient child to you! Both of you! And this is how you treat him?! The least that you could have done was ask him and Elaine if this was okay with them!” 

Your mother was stunned, the blood having drained from her face and her hand clutching her handbag tightly as she gawked at you. You’ve never been this brave with your words. You never talked back to either of your parents in all your youth. And if your father wasn’t just as speechless, he would’ve given you an earful, and even threatened you to remove you from inheritance. But you didn’t care, your patience ran thinner and thinner each year and this new stunt made all that remained evaporate in a matter of seconds.

You knew you couldn’t come back from this. The realization that there was a chance you’ll probably be shunned and even maybe disowned after this. You had run out of words, so you simply ran from the scene. Your spilled red cup of coke laid on the grass, something the ants in the yard would later indulge in. You bolted into your family’s house, your childhood home, which was mainly empty with everyone mingling in the evening out in the yard. You went into your room on instinct, but noticed your mom and dad had converted it into an office space for their work. Your jaw dropped as you realized they never kept your room the same way they had adoringly preserved Matty’s. You tightened your grip around the door knob. You wanted nothing more than to trash the room, break the desk that sat where your bed once did, and stomp on bookshelves that once held your comics and artbooks but now held folders of boring white paperwork. 

But instead you fled to your brother’s room across the hall. You knelt down beside his bed, kicked off your shoes, and buried your face in a pillow. You let out a muffled scream. After a few seconds, your scream morphed into pathetic sobs. You knew you were surely staining Matty’s old pillows with your makeup, but you didn’t care at that moment. At that moment, it felt as though you time-traveled back fifteen years in your old home, crying your eyes out into your beloved brother’s pillow.

‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

Phil watched as Matty slouched on the plastic lounging chair outside. Almost everyone had left. Your mother and father stood near the backyard fence, arguing desperately about what to do next after you had ruined their evening. Richard stood next to them but remained mostly silent and merely listened to them. Elaine, Matty’s fiancée, trudged into the house in search of you. Meanwhile, Phil took a seat across from Matty, who ran his hands through his beard and squeezed his eyes shut momentarily out of frustration.

“Cannot believe they would fucking do that on tonight of all nights,” Matty groaned out.

Phil let out a low whistle. “Yeah definitely didn’t expect to see [Y/N] throw a cup of soda at some random guy.” It would almost be laughable if it weren’t for the fact that he had seen tears once again streaming down your face when you darted inside. “So, that was actually [Y/N]’s boyfriend or—”

“Unfortunately,” Matty spat out. “I can’t stand the guy. But our parents love Richard even though he’s a huge asshole to her half the time.”

“Huh…”

Phil tried to recall the man. He was tall and athletic. He seemed like the type to weight lift, worry about trends in luxury suits, and track his meals’ calories to keep up with his appearance and health everyday. His dark hair was slicked back with some gel, and his jaw was sharp and pronounced. His sharp, aquiline facial features reminded Phil of some of the college guys who would apply for internships to work for his dad’s firm during summers back when he was a kid. But something about him made Phil’s skin crawl. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact that his entire personality seemed like a masquerade of wealth and opulence, or the fact that he was dating you , had the gall to propose to you , while also being an asshole to you, according to Matty at least.

“I can’t say I blame her for throwing the soda at him,” Phil snickered quietly.

Matty almost cracked a smile at this. Suddenly, he remembered why he called Phil his best friend for so many years of his life. “Trust me, if I could’ve thrown one too, I would’ve.”

Your father suddenly bellowed your name. “Come out! We need to have a talk!”

Phil and Matty quickly glanced at each other, worry coating both of their faces. They expected Elaine and you to come out together, Elaine probably holding a box of tissues and your eyes still swollen from crying. But instead, no one came out of the backyard door. They waited several seconds, until your father stormed toward the door to head inside himself. Richard trailed behind him, not nearly as full of energy. It seemed the would-be fiancé was still feeling dejected, even if the soda from early had already dried.

“Unbelievable,” your father growled, the door of the house slamming open violently with a bang.

Phil and Matty both got up quickly, following the man. They found you and Elaine sitting in the kitchen, you nursing a cup of warm tea and Elaine sitting next to you still attempting to console you. Your father rushed toward you, grabbing you by your shoulders, forcing your gaze away from your cup of tea and to his own red-beet face. The force of his grasp made your elbow knock into the mug, tumbling it to the ground with a sharp crash. 

Elaine gasped sharply before stepping back in shock. Meanwhile, Bear emerged from the living room, his bushy tail stiff in the air in alert and his pointed ears slicked back against his head. He growled and barked furiously at the sight of your father grabbing you. Agape, you stared back at your father in horror, feeling all the muscles in your body suddenly become paralyzed in fear.

“How can you throw away your future just because of your own stubborn self-righteousness?! Didn’t we raise you better than to act so selfishly?!” your father yelled into your face.

Matty quickly grabbed your father’s arm, grabbing him by his gray blazer’s stiff fabric, and pulled him off of you. “Your dumb plan for the night was botched from the start, dad,” he sneered out. “She clearly doesn’t want to marry Richard and this was supposed to be our engagement party to begin with!” he looked at Elaine for a second saying that.

The graying wisps of hair on your fathers were now disheveled and sticking up, his sagging and wrinkled face now flushed with a furious red. He balled his fists as he spoke back to your brother. “What she did, regardless of what day it was, to Richard was unacceptable. Would you ever imagine Elaine treating you in such a way? No, of course not! Because [Y/N] is acting like a child, and an insolent one at that!”

He turned back to glare at you, taking one step further forward. “Richard, come here,” he said, his glower locked on you not wavering.

The tall, dark-haired man strode beside your father. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. You had wounded your ego and in public in front of your friends and family, something he would seldomly allow without biting back. But he remained quiet ever since his botched proposal. Usually he would yell back, make a scene, demand he stay in a hotel for the night, after arguing with you over nonsense. But his silent, narrow-eyed stare bore down on you and made you feel uneasy. There was nothing calm or passive about it.

“So, why don’t we start over, hm? Why don’t the two of you go to the living room to discuss and… reconsider Richard’s proposal once again, yes?” Your father’s gritted teeth betrayed the false air of diplomacy he was trying to prop up.

“I don’t think—” Your brother was caught off.

“[Y/N],” your father said more sternly this time. “Now.”

Your brother wanted to continue to protest, but he knew your father would not take no for an answer right now. Not with his fists balled up and his face as red as it was. So Matty, Phil, and Elaine watched breathlessly as you and Richard walked to the living room by yourselves. Phil noticed how your hands shook ever so slightly, even while you kept your lips pursed and tried to straighten your blouse, desperately clinging onto any semblance of composure before talking to your boyfriend.

Breathing out an exasperated sigh, your father, the man Phil used to revere so much as a child, began to step outside back to the yard. “There better still be some drinks in the cooler. I need one right now,” he muttered. Your mother followed him, obediently, to avoid the thick air of tension that was suffocating everyone in the kitchen.

Phil couldn’t help but let curiosity get the best of him. While Elaine consoled Matty in hushed voices and picked up the broken glass on the kitchen tile, Phil drifted away from them. He could hear Elaine telling Matty that it was okay, that they could hold a smaller, more intimate engagement party next week with just close friends. He knew that he, too, should be trying to console Phil. But he was worried about you. He just couldn’t believe your family was pressuring you to marry.

Phil stood just outside the living room beside its entrance, leaning on his side against the wall and focusing on the little he could hear. Bear padded up to Phil. Much calmer now, the German Shepherd sat down and looked up at Phil with a panting smile. Phil wanted to smile and pet the dog, but instead brought his finger up to his own lips, hoping the dog wouldn’t alert everyone to what Phil was doing.

“—how embarrassed I was left feeling! In front of everybody!” It sounded to Phil like Richard was still furious, still left with his pride injured. He was on the verge of yelling, but kept his voice somewhat hushed. Maybe to avoid drawing even more humiliation to himself tonight.

Your voice was less hushed, a little bolder. “We’ve barely been dating long enough to begin even thinking about marriage, Richard! I told you I wanted to wait!”

Phil carefully peeked into the room just enough to see that the two of you were standing and you had refused to sit on the couch. Richard towered over you, clearly trying to intimidate you. You were trapped between him and the untouched couch. You nervously ran your hand through your hair as Richard continued roughly gripping one of your shoulders with one of his hands. The sight of his hands on you like that made Phil’s skin crawl and stomach lurch. He tried his best to control himself.

“[Y/N],” Richard began again, clearly still annoyed. “You already made a scene with the first proposal. But I’m not giving up on you . And so is your father—”

You scoffed at this and rolled your eyes. 

“So, please. Just stop being so stupid and stubborn for a second, and just say yes so we can both move on ”

You stayed quiet. And Phil’s mind was racing in the midst of your silence. Was it possible you were actually considering it? He remembered you when you were younger, as a kid. You were stubborn, yes, and very outspoken. It’s what stopped any kids from picking on you or your art. But you also never betrayed your own goals, your own ideas and feelings, for the sake of someone else’s preferences. Even if that meant getting into ugly fights with others and giving your mom and dad the silent treatment for weeks. It was one of many qualities in you that Phil remembered admiring, and he hoped that it was a quality that had never diminished during these last fifteen years.

Phil didn’t want to admit it, but he also felt sick to the thought of you getting engaged just when he had finally reunited with you. He felt a nauseating feeling in his gut at the idea of you marrying this, clearly, arrogant guy. Phillip Graves himself was arrogant at times—sassy even, but when it came to the people he cared about, he was never arrogant. When it came to you, he could never be arrogant.

Finally, you did answer. “I already said my thoughts on the subject, Richard,” you said firmly. At that moment, you hoped Richard and your father would respect your wishes more than anything. Once again, you felt like nothing more than a pawn. “I already said no to you once. And now I’m saying it twice. Do I have to say it a third time?”

“Well, neither of us are getting any younger, [Y/N]. If you’re as serious about this relationship as I am, then you should at least be considering marriage with me. If not, then what’s the goddamn point of this? Of any of this with you?” He placed both his hands now on your shoulders, shaking you just a little. “What do you even want out of this?”

Your face seemed almost serene. You didn’t frown, nor did you nervously smile or even produce a grimace. You placed your hands on his that were squeezing your shoulders, gently sliding them off of you and placing them back to his sides. “After tonight, Richard. I can’t give you a straight answer. I don’t know. After this scene you tried to pull despite everything I told you, I can’t say I see a future with you anymore.”

Richard leaned away, almost repulsed by your answer. He scoffed in disbelief, shaking his head furiously. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Are you breaking up with me? ”

Phil would’ve started laughing if he didn’t give away the fact he was spying on you and Richard. But he also wanted to beam with pride at seeing you stand up for yourself despite Richard and your dad not ceasing in urging you two to get married. He was glad to see that you never lost your fiery side as you’ve grown. 

“I guess that’s what it is,” you mustered out. “If you can’t stay in a relationship with me without getting married immediately just to make our parents happy, then maybe we just shouldn’t be in a relationship.”

Any shock was replaced with fury. Richard began seething. “You can’t be so goddamn dumb, [Y/N],” he growled out. “Why are you throwing all of this away? We could’ve had a future together, a built home, a nice family. And you’re throwing it all away just because you wanted to make a point about waiting ?!”

You scoffed. “A nice home where you’re calling me an idiot for sticking to my values. Yeah, sure.” You tried to step beside him to walk away, to finally leave this conversation behind and head back to the family that cares about you. 

But instead Richard grabbed you by your forearm, whipping you back toward him and forcing you to face him again. His eyes were now no longer narrow with disdain but wide and dilated with rage. It was a look you only saw on rare occasions, mostly when you had screaming matches after you would “ruin the mood” when he’d try to have sex with you, drunk out of his mind, after one of his work parties. 

“Let me go,” you muttered, your annoyance desperately trying to mask any fear that could be detected in your voice. 

Suddenly, Richard grabbed your face with a hand, squeezing your jaw and cheeks as he did. He forced you to look at him, even while you desperately tried to pull his hand off you, scratching his forearms and trying to push him away. Phil’s heart began racing and he could feel the blood coursing through his body grow hotter. He couldn’t believe his eyes, but all he could focus on was how the solemn look in your eyes was now replaced with one of terror and shining with wet tears beginning to form.

Richard’s fury continued. “I never thought you could be this stupid. Do you even realize what you’re doing to your—”

Phil had enough. He rushed into the room and in what felt like a flash he pushed Richard away from you. You fell onto the couch, watching in horror as Richard tried to fight back against Phil. Sure, Richard was strong and big. But Phil’s hand-to-hand combat had been refined over the years in the Marine Corps. With little struggle, he managed to subdue him, and within seconds, Richard was pinned to the ground. Phil was successful in knocking the air out of Richard, leaving the man breathless and writhing on the floor. 

“What the fuck ! Get off me!! ” Richard growled through gritted teeth.

Phil smirked for a split second before ignoring him. He let Richard crumble to the ground before he went over and tentatively kneeled in front of Y/N. He saw once again furious tears pooling in your eyes threatening to fall . He placed a gentle hand on her knee and gazed up at her. “You okay [Y/N] ? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

You shook your head, your own hand traveling to your jaw where Richard had roughly grabbed you. “No, I’m fine.” 

He nodded in understanding, still looking at you carefully. While he watched you, he felt Matty and Elaine rush into the room, confusion written on their faces. They saw your small form still sitting on the couch with Phil crouching in front of you while Richard was still getting up from the ground, catching his breath. 

“Th-thanks, Phil,” you said quietly. “I… didn’t know he was gonna lash out like that.”

“ He what ?!” Matty demanded. “Richard, what the hell did you do to my sister?!”

Richard was now back on his feet, he breathed out deeply and glared at Matty. Then he straightened his shirt and painted on his usual smug look of contempt he carried. “I broke up with her. If she’s not taking this relationship seriously, then neither will I.”

“What a load of bullshit,” Matty practically spat the words in Richard's face before grabbing him by his collar. Elaine watched in horror too, scurrying away to the side. Matty dragged him out of the room until both you and Phil lost sight of the two of them. Knowing Matty and his long-lasting hatred for Richard, you were sure he was kicking him out of your parents’ home. 

“Dad is going to be furious,” you mumbled to yourself, but Phil could hear you loud and clear. 

He took a seat next to you on the couch, deciding not to touch you further. He had to remind himself that you were no longer a 12 year old girl, he had to restrain himself from holding you . Yes, you two were very close when both of you were mere teens . But it had been years since you last spoke. Fifteen years to be exact, he didn’t know if you ever counted the days but he did, for some reason that even he couldn’t explain it to himself. He couldn’t overstep his boundaries. So he just pulled his hands back to his lap and sat there, trying to console you as best as he could.

“He’s not always like that… but when he is it gets too much ” you breathed out. Phil tried to listen but he was also acutely aware of how your hand, albeit sweaty from your nerves, felt on his much rougher, larger one. “Matty never liked him. But mom and dad adored him for some reason.”

Phil sighed out. He wished he could say something comforting, something that would chase all your anxieties and fears away. But all he could do was sit there and listen to nothing and everything all at once . Feeling your heat radiate from your side, and he sits besides you only a hair of a touch away. He could lean in and hold you close, and the thought made his heart flutter with nervousness. From here, he could smell how your hair smelled like roses and coconuts—

Before he could drift further away he had to snap back to reality with you still sitting next to him solemnly. How could he think that about you? You were his best friend’s sister for goodness sake… but was he in the wrong to think of you as the pretty woman that you have become? Yes he considered you as a little sister back in the day, but that was a decade and half ago. But now? His heart told him one thing but his brain said something else.

You always carried your emotions on your sleeves. If you were happy, your face would be brighter than the sun. But then if sad, a cloud would particularly be looming over your head. When you were flustered, your face would be brighter than the fresh tomato that his parents would have the cooks pick up from the farmers market And if you were angry, oh man that was something to witness. That was why he always loved teasing you and making you laugh, to get that reaction and to see those emotions. He admired them. But in your grown-up state, he noticed that trait in you lessened. It was as if you were trained to wear a mask that would hide all your emotions. Even now, watching you sit there waiting for the unknown, you try to mask your emotions, hide them in a box and lock it. And discard the keys somewhere where no one can find it. And it hurt Phill to see you in this state. He couldn’t decide which one was worse; having you go through the trauma of facing your now abusive ex boyfriend, or that you were forced to masquerade your emotions.

“I knew the guy for like half an hour, but… yeah, I can say he seems like a dick.” He pursed his lips, but raised his eyebrows when he heard and felt you start to chuckle. “Pun intended” Phil smirked as he looked at you.

“He reminds me of a guy I met back when I first joined MARSOC,” Phil continued. You tore your teary eyes away from your hands and looked at him, listening intently.  “He was big and burly too, but he actually was much more considerate. Hated bullies. Always lending the rest of us a hand if he could see we were struggling.”

You held back a snort. You couldn’t imagine Richard enduring something like Marines training, much less being generous and looking out for others if his skin was on the line. But as a child so many years back, you also couldn’t imagine Phil joining an elite fighting team. Not because he couldn’t work in a team, but because you only saw him as your brother’s best friend who just seemed to play football and video games—not shoot guns and hunt down dangerous men. So, you asked him more. While your mother was off trying to calm your father down, and your brother was getting fresh air to cool down with Elaine, the two of you stayed on the couch. While he did, Bear padded over to both of you, laying down at your feet and surely feeling sleepy already. Phil finally had a chance to reminisce out loud on some of his training days and some missions with the MARSOC Raiders—at least the parts of them he was allowed to tell others about. He even remarked how he had left the Raiders, now working with others to form a new PMC, hence why he was back in Texas. 

While you sat listening and while your tears dried, you couldn’t help but feel admiration bloom inside your chest for him. Admiration and… something familiar you still couldn’t put your finger on. Yes, you were thrilled to have him back in your life, someone you might’ve called your best friend as a young girl. You felt some nostalgia, of course. You felt like you were truly back home for the first time, even after visiting home a few times already after moving in with Richard. Still, while he spoke and you listened intently, you couldn’t help but admire how his lips moved when he smirked as he remembered something cheeky he did, or how his brows furrowed tightly and his jaw clenched when a difficult memory flashed for him. Or how he’d sometimes run his hand across the side of his head, his light brown hair getting disheveled for just a few moments without his knowing. It made you smile for a few seconds before returning your focus to his words. But even while you concentrated on him and his stories, you couldn’t ignore the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach and the way your palms sweat when you noticed him gazing at you several times.

For a moment, it felt good to disconnect from your world, from the drama and yelling of your parents and Richard. Delving into Phil’s past several years away from your hometown felt like finding an oasis in a harsh, unforgiving desert. Your racing heart that you felt when Richard had glowered down at you in furious disbelief moments ago had diminished, now a comforting lull in your chest as you listened to Phil’s familiar voice. But it was short-lived, and it made you realize, yes, this was just one night, when your parents both walked in.

Your father’s face was less red, but the tired look in his eyes made you know that he was still disappointed. “Your mother and I are heading to bed.” He pursed his lips into a thin line when he looked at you. He had so much he wanted to say to you, so much he wanted to yell too. But your mother next to him nudged him with her elbow and cleared her throat. He shook himself out of his death stare and instead looked at the man beside you. “It was, uh… good to see you, Phillip. Please give your father my regards when you see him. It’s been a while since we’ve emailed each other.”

Phil nodded curtly but said nothing in response. Next to you, he could feel how tense you still were. He didn’t want this conversation to drag on any longer. Without another word, your parents left the living room, finally retiring to their bedroom up upstairs. But replacing your parents’ spot in the living room’s entrance came Matty and Elaine. 

Elaine yawned. “How are y’all not tired yet?” 

“We’re going to be heading to the guest room in a bit. But by all means, let me know if you need anything. Just knock on our door or give me a call. I’m here.” Matty gave you a reassuring smile. 

Phil glanced down at his watch—you remember it as the same rolex that his dad had given him for his sixteenth birthday and that Phil only begrudgingly accepted.

“Jesus, time sure flies. It’s already one in the morning.” He huffed, feigning sleepiness,  and looked at you with pursed lips. He placed an earnest hand over his chest. “I’m sorry to have kept you awake so long, [Y/N].” 

You shook your head frantically. “No, don’t apologize, Phil. Catching up on what you’ve been up to has meant the world to me.”

Hit with sudden realization, Phil widened his eyes slightly. “[Y/N], do you need a place to sleep tonight?” The thought of you returning to your hotel room with your furious ex-boyfriend made his chest tighten. 

You shook your head. “No, I’ll just be sleeping in Matty’s room for the rest of my stay. So I'll be hanging around here for a while.” You honestly weren’t in a rush to return to Seattle immediately, just to have to see Richard glowering at you from every corner of his apartment. He was going to have to find a new roommate quickly.

Your brother wrapped his arm warmly around Elaine, bringing her sleepy body closer to him comfortingly. “See you two around,” he said before turning around and heading up the same stairs your parents had climbed earlier.

Phil got up from the couch, and you followed. You straightened your skirt as he rubbed the back of his neck, almost sheepishly. “Really, I mean it. I hope I didn’t bore the hell out of you, [Y/N].”

The two of you began to walk to the front door, Phil pulling out his car keys from his pockets. “No, Phil. I’m being honest. Just getting to sit and hear you speak for a while has really helped me. I’m—I feel a lot better now. Thanks to you.” You watched as he opened the door but then you realized he also is technically only visiting town. “Wait. Do-do you have a place to stay?”

He paused. He shut the door that he had left slightly ajar before, as he turned to look at you. “Oh, yeah I’m staying back at my parents’ place. They rent out the first floor as an AirBnB sometimes, especially since they mostly spend time with my uncle in St. Augustine in Florida. But they’re letting me stay on the second floor now that I’m back home for a while as I work things out.” He smiled warmly. He couldn’t help but find it endearing how you worried where he was staying as well. 

You let out a soft sigh. “Good.” You were relieved to hear not only that he wasn’t staying in some sketchy motel but that it was back in his childhood home, where you and him had spent so much time watching TV and pranking Matty on your weekends off of school. 

He leans in slightly. “That’s right,” he said in a low voice. “If you wanna come by tomorrow, we can hang out. I’ll even cook you something.” He smirked. 

You felt your heart leap and your face heat up furiously. You prayed that he couldn’t tell how flustered you felt. You tried to play it off smoothly. You tried to suppress the huge grin from growing on your lips and said, “I’ll think about it.”

Phil nodded and turned the doorknob again, getting ready to head out. “You better, or I’ll come by and snatch you myself.”

Your heart did backflips again at this. The image of eating dinner with him flashed in your mind, and you felt like your brain was short-circuiting. But you had to say something back, you had to answer without melting down. You desperately kept your composure but let out an airy laugh, one you hoped didn’t give away your nerves. “Goodnight, Phil. I’ll see you later.” 

You followed him, stepping outside to your front porch as you watched him heading back to his black sedan parked by the side of the house. You couldn’t help but watch him as he walked with the same confident strides from when he was your childhood crush, his keys jangling in his hands. 

As he pressed his car key’s FOB and and his car beeped, unlocking, he turned and glanced at you. He felt breathless as he saw as your hair blew in the cool nighttime breeze. But he didn’t want to give away how he, too, was gazing at you for too long. “Go inside, [Y/N],” he laughed. “You’re gonna catch a cold like that.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes. “Just making sure you’re gonna head out safely, Phil,” you called back, feigning annoyance. He shook his head and chuckled as he stepped into his car, headlights turning on and engine rumbling. 

You turned around and headed back inside, closing the front door but quickly scampering to the window to look through the blinds until you saw his car disappear down the road. 

Even after chatting with him all night, you still couldn’t believe Phil Graves had somehow returned to your life.

[a-little-bit-of-ravioli]

20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by @the-real-azalea-scroggs! Had to wait until I was of my phone because doing these is a nightmare on mobile lmao

1. How many works do you have on A03?

18 as of a few days ago!

2. What's your total A03 word count?

157,937! Which is. Only a fraction of the word count in my Docs folder. Be prepared.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I mainly write for The Legend of Zelda; specifically Linked Universe! In fact, that's all that's posted on my Ao3 currently, since my fall into that fandom began with me uploading there! Pre-Ao3 I wrote for Black Cat (Anime/Manga), Megaman NT Warrior, various Pokémon things, Assassin's Creed, Yugioh, Final Fantasy XIV and Octopath Traveler! Some of these I still write privately, but I haven't gotten around to re-posting any.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Whistling on Deaf Ears - My longest fic on Ao3, focusing on Wild and Twilight's friendship and how good intentions can lead to disaster.

Iconoclasm - Warriors deals with the room full of portraits in Cia's palace. The Chain also deals with it, but with a bit more fire.

Deserving - Twilight finally tells Rusl that he was the wolf in the village during TP, but that also means dealing with some heavier topics. Colin half overhears them and forms his own conclusions.

Something Greater - The start of the "Hyrule can see magical auras" series! In this one we deal with Legend and his many rings.

Ocean Magic - Mermaid Legend and Zora Time have a race and then fight one of the Big Octos from WW! Fun times.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Every single one!! I love comments, they give me an excuse to ramble about my fic more!! I am always down to ramble about every single insignificant detail of any line and/or section. If you ever want more background info about one of my fics, look to the comments!

So please, I adore comments, I treat them like treasures, not responding to them would be a CRIME.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

There's no contest; Inevitable, my (so far) only MCD fic.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hmmm, that's hard to quantify. I usually try to end fics on a hopeful note regardless. I'd say possibly either Deserving, where Twilight reconnects with his family, or Shimmering Blue, Striking White, where Time meets the Fierce Deity settled down on Satori Mountain and they both get closure.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully, no! I've been blessed with mostly amazing and patient readers, even when my upload schedule isn't the best.

9. Do you write smut?

No, not really. I've attempted it, but I'm too asexual for it lol

10. Do you write crossovers?

Very, very rarely. Mostly privately, and only very specific ones. Only a single one has had an actual plot, so far (more on that one in question 15!).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Also a nope! I tend to write for smaller fandoms, where these things don't tend to happen a lot!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have! But it's been a while. Over a decade, in fact! I tried to find the fic to link it here, but it was on the German fanfic website fanfiktion.de, and my friend who posted it back then must have deactivated her account, because it's nowhere to be seen (I still have the Word file though!). It was a Multi-Crossover that started as an RP in a forum, and we took turns turning the RP into prose one chapter each. "If a Hero Turns to Dark" was its title. We were edgy teenagers.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Hissssss. Bad question. Shoo. They are all equally important!!

But it's probably TenRose from Doctor Who.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

One of the very few crossovers I've ever worked on; a crossover fic between Assassin's Creed and Doctor Who, that I have mapped out in both chronological and timeline order, and yes, those are different. I only ever wrote about a quarter of it, since my primary audience of it disappeared when we graduated. I doubt I'll ever pick it back up properly, and if I do it'll probably go through heavy rewrites first since it's so old. Finishing it is a nice thought, but realistically, after 9 years it'll never be high priority enough for it to actually happen.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue, especially arguments, and emotional impact. I've been told I do really well making characters feel alive and believable! Also I like to believe I'm decent at setting a scene and giving it the vibe I want it to have!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I struggle with dialogue tags when nothing much is happening besides the talking. I always feel it's too bland, and fall back on the same phrases. My scene transitions could use some work too.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've done this with Japanese phrases, because I was a massive weeb. Usually I followed them up with their own translations, though; I'm not the biggest fan of footnote translations, unless they are properly linked to. Simple dialogue tags are my favourite way of indicating a language switch.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Black Cat the Manga/Anime! It's a series about an assassin turned bounty hunter trying to live a life separate from his murdery past, but getting dragged back into things by still wanting to avenge his best friend's death. The series has a special place in my heart and my bookshelf, it left an imprint on 13-year-old me that will never leave.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Probably Jailbreak, uncharacteristically enough! It's one of the only fics I never got stuck in once. Writing it was a great feeling from start to finish. I love writing all of my fics, but that was a special few days.

Tagging @ahrva @nowhere-to-go-but-down @silvercaptain24 and @aeghina! And anyone who wants to do it, really, go wild

[swifty-fox]

yo you post your fics on AO3? if so please share your user babe

omg yes I do! you can check my swiftywrites tag but

Masters of the Air:

Kingdom for a Kiss - WIP (34k written, 19k Posted) Long-form Postwar exploration of Clegan's relationship and their trauma. Updates weeky. Mature rating will be bumped to Explicit later

“I wasn’t the one all but begging to be shot by the guards for months on end there Bucky.” Buck shakes his head, laughing sharply. His anger was a living thing now and he aches with it “Nah, nah, not me. No, I was the one dragging your crazy ass back from the brink time and time again. Trying to convince those fucking Germans your sorry carcass was of more use alive than dead, trying to keep the men busy and motivated while you fucked about. You're welcome by the way.” He jabs a finger in John's direction, who stares at him taken aback. “So’s I don’t see much of a reason why I should let you come up into my home and cast your judgments around.”

Bucks chest heaves, great gulps of air like he’s once again racing through snow-covered German trees. He can tell he’s shocked John into silence, the other man's eyes darting back and forth. Buck averts his gaze, brushing his hair back from his face. That’s twice now he’s lost himself at the people he cares about. Twice now he’s bitten a hand reached out in kindness.

Gale takes a deep breath to compose himself, tucks the jagged angry edges of himself back to face inwards. “You said you would write.”

Little Beast: Ongoing. Porn with a bit of Plot modern au of Burnout John and Priest Gale. 9k of them fucking and arguing. p2 is in the drafts and will be part of a series of stories. NSFW to the max

“It’s such a shame you’re cooped up in here like Rapunzel there Buck.” John drawls lazily. He makes a show of looking around “Is Mother Gothel nearby?” 

Buck has to fight back against another smile, wouldn't give him the satisfaction or the encouragement “Father Huglin is away at a conference today.”

“All alone without a chaperone.” 

press your tired hands against my lips darling: Finished. 3K word re-write of the Bucks final conversation in the cockpit. Loose prequel to KfaK but with some minor inaccuracies Mostly SFW

Gale takes John's hand, brings the scarred knuckles to his mouth and holds it there, turns their hands over til he can place his lips to the pulse point at John’s wrist. It’s not a kiss, there’s no press or pursing of lips, but tender nevertheless, intimate in a way that makes Gale shudder. Cautious of whether John will even allow this.  

“I ain’t prayed in a long time,” Gale says whisper-soft. He feels John’s pulse skip a beat, “but I prayed every day you were safe and alive and coming back to me. Every morning, and every night.”  He lets himself cry again, tears hidden against the scarred skin of John's hand. 

The Old Guard:

in another life maybe you and i would be walking down an aisle in white: Finished Joe/Nicky (18K) Art Professor Joe & Art Conservator Nicky reconnect after ten years. This one is uh. Sad. Mind the tags. It's an incredibly personal piece to me and probably one of my favorites .NSFW

Dear Joe, you have always been the brave one and I wished every moment for even a drop of that. Perhaps that is why I claimed you as mine, out of a desperate need to have even an ounce of what made you, you. I desired you but I would not, could not ever let you in. I loved you and kept you and hurt you, keelhauled you against the impenetrable ship that was my heart and when the ragged pieces were left behind I still asked of you your silence.  

It is no wonder our love was left in bloody tatters on that lawn. 

Make me a Saint: Finished (8k) Nicky and Nile mete out some justice to a corrupt priest. NSFW for violence. Mind the tags. As of right now, my most popular fic

“ I was a priest before your bible was even written old man ” Nickys voice thunders in the tiny room, crackling over the walls like fire. Even Nile flinches at the sudden volume. He takes another step forwards, bracketing Father Marcus’ arthritic twisted feet with his own.

His voice does not shake.

“I preached the word of God before your language was even invented . I have known the church for longer than you can comprehend. I have seen great men and evil men take up the word of the Lord and I have seen them all rendered dust. I have seen you and I have judged you, Father Marcus. The Church may practice restraint but I do not. The diocese may have turned a blind eye I but I do not. The courts may have found you innocent but I do not . 

Calcification of a God: Finished (4K) Nicky has a lil Menty B and then Joe gives him a bath. Mostly SFW if I recall correctly

“I think,” Nicky says “If I were God, it was you I modeled humanity after. I think if I were God I would have left my throne in heaven to walk beside you and I would have been richer for it”

Yusuf chuckles “Death makes you sentimental my darling.”

Wolfstar:

Oh Captain, My Captain!: Finished, 1.6k Drabble of Wolfstar cuddling and reciting poetry. SFW

He cups the back of Remus’s head, presses him further into the safety of his body with a hand on his mismatched, misaligned rib cage and rocks them slightly. Remus grunts slightly. Sirius hides the teeth of his smile against the follow of his own neck and allows the curtain of his hair to cover them both for a moment. He listens to the two of them breath, always slightly out of sync, out of rhythm. Remus quick and labored, Sirius racing to catch up only to find himself charging ahead only to drop back behind when he tries to slow down. 

“ If I vibrate with vibrations other than yours, must you conclude that my flesh is insensitive ” That doesn’t fit quite right, so he tries another, brow furrowed and fingers tracing the knobs of Remus’ spine like the knots on a tree, with reverence and a little hint of greed. 

[mamadoc]

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you to for tagging me, @thisnightissparkling089 !

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

I have only written 6 fics on AO3, but I tend to write long chapters and long stories.

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

313,810

Pretty good for 7 months, right?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Only The Rookie. 😎

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Catch of a Lifetime

Snowed In

*Sense* You Know Me So Well

*Sense* You Know Me So Well, Too - The Sequel

The Heimlich

5. Do you respond to comments?

Every comment thread! I love interacting with people who read my stories. I think it's one of the things that makes writing fanfiction so much fun.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I have a few rules in my writing. 1 - Chenford is endgame. 2 - Only happy endings. 3 - No Major Character Death!

My reading and writing affect my mood, and I read to find a little spot of joy and sunshine.

That said, my sequel series, After the Snow Melts, has a lot more angst than my other stories. Although the ending is happy, it's not a perfect resolution of the story.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

The last (third) chapter of *Sense* You Know Me So Well is so amazingly sweet and fluffy that it would rot your teeth.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully, no. I've had a few rude requests for me to continue a story, but that's as close as I've gotten. I'm so grateful for the people that leave kind comments on my stories.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

No. I'll write 'spicy' scenes, but nothing I would consider smut or going into M or E categories.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

No. I've considered it, and I've read a few that are great. But I never have.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

As far as I know, I have not.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? 

No. But I have a few frequent commenters on Twitter/X that comment in other languages. I don't know if they read it in English or translate it, but they comment in Spanish, Portuguese, and German.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No. When I first got some story ideas, I reached out to a few writers I admired to see if they would be interested in co-writing the stories with me. None of them were interested. That's when I had to break out my big girl panties and try it by myself. 😂😎 I'm glad I did. It's been such a rewarding hobby.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Chenford🥰

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have several ideas jotted down on my Notes app on my phone. I don't know how many of them will ever be fleshed out and see the light of day.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Hmmm... I'm not sure. I feel like my writing is very descriptive and in character so that the reader can really feel like they're seeing it all play out. At least that's what I hear back from some readers. My stories are also longer, which allows the reader to disappear into that world for longer.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I still feel very new at this and lack some confidence in my writing skills. I've tried my hand at a few action scenes, but I'm not sure they come together as well as the relationship/dialogue scenes. I'm also an older Millennial, so some of the social media aspect of fanfiction and this fandom are new to me.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've done it once. I just used Google translate to get some easy Chinese for Lucy and her mother to have a quick conversation. But I speak French and Korean, so I could potentially add that in sometime in the future. I just don't know how well that would fit into a Chenford story.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

This one. I had never done creative writing in my adult life until 7 months ago, hence my lack of confidence.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

I have really loved writing Catch of a Lifetime. I feel like it's different than a lot of the stories I've read on AO3, but it still has the characters we know and love.

*Sense* You Know Me So Well is my favorite of my shorter stories, particularly chapter 2. It feels very realistic and true to what could have happened in the snow.

And chapter 2 of *Sense* You Know Me So Well, Too - The Sequel is the one I feel like draws on the deepest feelings and most genuine heart of Chenford.

Thanks, ladies! Tagging @makeitastrength and @queseraone and @girlintotv and @chenfordspiral if they're interested in talking about their writing.

[callmearcturus]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

tagged by @lo-fi-charming

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 82, 83 if you include the one I wish I hadn't orphaned.

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 2,721,477 words

3. What fandoms do you write for? Oh boy. Homestuck, The Magnus Archives, Mission Impossible, Borderlands, Welcome to Night Vale. Some one-offs in other fandoms. First really cut my teeth on The Dresden Files.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? Let's seeeee.

dustsceawung (The Magnus Archives) with 4,600 kudos

a steady hand, a delicate man (The Magnus Archives) with 3,316 kudos

dripping with alchemy (Borderlands) with 2,663 kudos

The Eurydice Suite (Homestuck) with 2,164 kudos

I'll bring the motion (The Magnus Archives) with 2,163 kudos

5. Do you respond to comments? When I have something fun or interesting to say, yeah. I don't wanna just say "thanks!" on every comment so I tend to try to repay the comment with a tidbit or something?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Hmmm. See I'm a Happy Ending Guaranteed kind of writer so I don't know. Maybe we float before the sea at dusk because it's technically a bad end?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? GOD that's hard... I think maybe all the world is earth and water or the Five Years Later ending of The Eurydice Suite.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not anymore. 8)

9. Do you write smut? what's smut never heard of her

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I'm going to choose to interpret this as "fusions" instead of "crossovers" and in that case I have written....

Homestuck/Inception (The Eurydice Suite), Homestuck/Kinda Sorta John Wick (so we don't kill the ones we love), Homestuck/Fallout New Vegas (out here the good girls die), and WTNV/Good Omens (all plans are golden in your hands)

Out of those, I think the New Vegas one is the most out-of-left-field.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? By now, at least 10 times that I'm aware or.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? A few times, yep! Russian and Ukrainian I think.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? BOY HAVE I.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? I despise this question and if this question had a face, I would punch it. I assume this has to be a ship I have written since this is a writing questionnaire.

In my heart of hearts, it's Karkat and Kanaya. I enjoy their platonic love more than any romance pairing....

SEE THE PROBLEM WITH THIS QUESTION is that I... think for me personally, the pairing is a vehicle of the wider story/themes, so I can't say "Oh its DirkJake" because to me the KTOWL DirkJake is wildly different from, like, TES DirkJake.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? The barely-inspired-by-Hellboy AU that I should probably just write as an original story. But I won't because I'm a coward, lmao.

16. What are your writing strengths? Consistency and structure, I think. I'm a tradesperson, not an artist.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I feel like I lack a lot of foundational material that other artists have due to my lack of education and just generally not knowing things. Like, the kind of works I personally admire and learn the most from, I lack the toolset to create myself, which is constantly frustrating.

Structure is sometimes a shackle, and I often feel like I can't execute something truly Artistic because to me, writing is a trade, not an art.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I do this sometimes and lemme tell you, every single fucking time I do, I rigorously check everything.

Like, I recently agonized over whether a character would use Verzeihung versus Entschuldigung in a fic, and that was a solid hour of research. Worth it tho!

I'm of the opinion that if you're just going to use google translate or something, then I would elect to write it as ["Excuse me," he said in overly-polite German as he passed], but that's me.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Uuuuuuuuh ppppppprobably Gundam Wing or something? Way back in the era when you could post smut on FF.Net.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? Could it be anything other than KTOWL? Honestly.

I am taggingggggg @arquiving and @interropunct

[eqt-95]

Thanks @sssammich and @sideguitars for the double-tap tag!

1- How many works do you have on AO3?

28 (?!?!)

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 711,082

3. What fandoms do you write for?

in chronological order: harry potter, batwoman, arcane, supergirl

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

follow the buttons

the glasses that broke lena luthor's back

a nemesis and her hero

a crisis of indulgence

like we're made of glass

5. Do you respond to comments?

i aspire. it's real hit or miss for me, but i genuinely adore every comment i've ever received even if it goes unanswered.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i guess it would be being batwoman but only because i wrote it as a cliffhanger for the sequel?

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

i generally always aim for happy endings, but in my opinion the 'happiest' is a crisis of indulgence but only because it's layered with angst. all my fluff pieces are happy throughout so the end doesn't hit as intensely (i think).

8. Do you get hate on fics?

only once that i remember: same person on multiple fics. such is life.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i have tried, but it objectively isn't great so i steer clear of it. this has actually been a conundrum with my latest fic: sauce or no sauce?

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

i wrote a kate kane + lena luthor one shot once. does that count?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i don't think so

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

someone asked to translate one into german. not sure if it ever happened.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i haven't but i'd be interested, though i'm usually one of two people: a chaotic procrastinator with fading interest or the most diligent person on the planet. i can't guarantee which would show up for a collaboration.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

supercorp has had the most lasting affect.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

there are three: 1. being batwoman | year one - (batwoman) i did so much legitimate comic book research and planning for this that it's a shame i've left it go 2. a handy handful - (arcane) i have 30% of the rest written 3. let's for flying - (supergirl) again, i actually have a lot of it worked out but for one reason or another it's in limbo

16. What are your writing strengths?

i'd need to reread things to figure that out

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

consistent prose

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

like, would i personally do it? no, i don't even have a solid grasp of the english language. why would i go butcher another one?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

harry potter

20. Favorite fic you've written?

i answered this in another ask recently, but i think my answer has changed. i'm actually really happy with the concept of like we're made of glass. i don't know how well the execution landed for people (one commenter wrote: not good. it made no sense), but i'm ok with that. things aren't made for everyone.

- - - -

i'm not sure who all did these already, so i won't tag folks, but if you see this, consider yourself tagged!!

[theartofdreaming1]

Fanfic Tagging Game

I got tagged by the lovely @wurzelbertzwerg - thank you! 💕

1. How many works do you have on AO3? - 30

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

111,591 words (at the moment)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently, I'm writing for The Quarry and the Batfam fandom (primarily DickBabs and BatCat)... I have posted fics for The Flash TV series and Brooklyn 99 on AO3 in the past... plus, some other stuff that is only on my old fanfiction.net account (although I've been considering updating my old Young Justice fics, so I may post them on AO3 some day)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Um, Rush Hour, Partners, Knight in Shining Armor, Loveable Nerds and Superheroes and Thank You, Becky Cooper - except for Partners, these are all Flash fics, which is wild, because aside from Rush Hour and Loveable Nerds and Superheroes, both of which I'm still quite proud of, I don't necessarily think that my Flash fics are my best works, but okay ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

5. Do you respond to comments?

Sometimes? I often don't know what to say in response 😅- but I appreciate every single one of them sooo much! 💕

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Okay... so this question prompted me to do some re-reading of my older fics... and honestly? Nothing on my AO3 account had an angsty ending to begin with ^^; So I had to go waaaay back, to my old ff.net account - and I think my Young Justice fic "Pain" had the angstiest ending (and even then, it's pretty moderate... even 17-year-old me was fairly mellow ;)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hmmh... Maybe my Flash fic "Coming Home"? It certainly has a very warm and fuzzy ending ☺️

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not that I can recall, no...

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope; smut is not for me

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

No, I don't really write crossovers (only multiple fandoms that already share a universe, i.e. Batfam-comic fandom)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of...

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope - since I'm a very slow writer, I wouldn't want to punish any potential co-writer of mine with that curse either...

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

To write? Hmmh... BatCat and DickBabs for sure! (Plus, LauraMax are getting there, too... I just need to give them some time to cement their position ;)

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh boy, there are plenty of fics I'm worried I'll never finish... but I choose to stay optimistic enough to think that I will, someday, finish all the WIPs that I want to finish... (please, writing Gods, please help me accomplish this task!!!!)

16. What are your writing strengths?

Umm... I like to think that my writing is quite, um, pleasant? What I mean is, that it's pretty accessible (not too convoluted or complex, but also not boring) and while I sometimes write angsty/tense/sad moments, my stories generally have happy endings... And even though my writing isn't exactly groundbreaking, I still stand by all the ideas/concepts behind every story I've written so far, so... yeah...

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

The process of writing itself (I have to fight for every single word I commit onto the page... I swear, me and writing are engaged in the most tedious wrestling match nobody ever wants to see... ever). I get excited for a particular story, start to jot down some basic ideas, maybe even put in some research for a few points that need to get tackled beforehand - and then psyche myself out of being able to write down that dang story 😩 (Doesn't help that I have a hard time making decisions and get super intimidated when faced with all the possible directions a story could go)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Depends on the context - if we're talking about two foreigners (e.g. Germans) that are talking to each other in their native tongue and maybe don't want to be understood by the people around them (who, for the sake of this argument, are all English speakers) - then, maybe I would give it a whirl, because it would fit the idea behind the conversation (especially if it's a short exchange that people, who would be interested in learning what the Germans said, could look up via Google translate) - but, imo, this only works in very specific circumstances and for short exchanges - otherwise it can get tedious real quick... and personally, I don't like writing in German and don't feel confident enough in my Spanish skills to attempt it for that language, so writing English all the way is it for me

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Um... a quick look at my old, old fanfiction.net account tells me that my first posted fanfic was for the "Sonny With A Chance" fandom when I was 14 years old - the writing is a little... rough, for sure 😅 (although, to be fair, this was written at a point when I had only had, like, 3-4 years of proper English class... all things considered, it's not that bad)

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Don't make me choose, I can't pick just one!

I very, very much love my BatCat fic "The Chase" - it just feels like pure Selina, the pacing of it is great and I think it portrays Bruce/Selina's relationship dynamic so very well (plus, it has some of my favorite sentences I've ever written in there!)

I also love Partners for being the longest, most ambitious story I've written so far (yes, despite the fact that I still need to add that epiogue!) and On the Reciprocal Attraction of Heavenly Bodies has the potential to become my best fic of them all, with the Austen-esque writing style and all the historical and literary research I plan on putting into it... I'm certainly very fond of the two chapters that already exist.

And This Is Not Over, But Just the Beginning is so fun and challenging in a different way; being a Quarry fic, with the whole werewolf element, it's darker and more angsty than anything I've written in a long time - but that's what makes it so fascinating for me to write (and read)

I'll tag @queenofbaws @thychesters @rosegardeninwinter @icequeen-07 @clearbluewaters and @mollywog - only if they want to, of course! :)

[ineadhyn]

Writer interview

@vixstarria tagged me and I finally get to do it! Thank you <3

I am tagging @sky-kiss @scuttlingcrab and @thedomesticanthropologist

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

13 and some are multi-chapter. All are BG3 except for a german Inkheart one

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

85.408 -that is a surprising amount of words for being active less than a year

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

His consort, his god - I finally wrote smut for a popular ship XD (bloodweave)

At her mercy - kinky sapphic Karlach x Durge smut

Natures most beloved treasure - Halsin x trans masc Tav smut

Direct from Hell Logistics - ongoing Raphael x Haarlep comedy/angst/smut/plot - this one has it all

A song of snow and embers and Copper Hearts share this place. one is a F/F/F/F foursome and the other my Astarion x male Tav longfic

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I appreciate every single comment and try to show that. There's nothing better than the e-mail that says "comment on your work" and it can make my whole day. Sometimes I don't know what to respond if it's just a word or a keybord smash, but rest assured I see you and I love every one of those, too.

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Angsty ending hmmmm. Because some of my stuff is not completed yet I am not gonna spoil anything but Dust and ash about Astarion's backstory was naturally quite angsty

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Not. gonna. spoil XD

7. Do you write crossovers?

Not yet. Maybe I could count Copper hearts because I took Francys from my original work and planted him into Bg3

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

No, not yet.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do. I am exploring all kinds atm with preferably queer pairings wlw or mlm or nb. I can also write mlw from the men's perspective but not the other way round :D

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Boy I wish.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No and I am not sure if I could commit to a project like that.

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Hmmmmm ... Raphlep probably

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

My german Inkheart fic with a genderbent lesbian Basta. Damn I was invested in creating this character, but gave up after a while because it was a lot of work and it being german and a niche topic in a small fandom was not very rewarding tbh. I know I should not care and maybe I'll come back to it when the Inkheart obsession comes over me again.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I am good at setting the scene. Atmosphere and small mundane details that make the setting feel alive. I have always liked that in reading as in writing, because it makes you feel like you are actually there when you can hear and smell and taste the scene.

Also I am okay at developing coherent plot, but that's mainly practice from writing a lot of og work before I started with fics.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

I still struggle with english grammar and punctuation at times so I always have a beta reader. And I am lucky to have great ones.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I am not a fan. It confuses me. Singular phrases and such yes, but not entire dialogue. Especially if it's german in an english fic I get super confused.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

*digs through her files* So, my first works were basically fic for my best friend's story. (I was in my early teens.) But since she was the author the lines between canon and fic are blurry and the "fandom" consisted of three people of which one was the author XD

So if we don't count that the first one would be Hunger Games - It was one chapter and I never published it

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

We'll see what posesses me next I guess, though I think Bg3 will stay with me for a considerable amount of time. And ship wise ... I feel Durgetash creeping up on me.

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Definitely Direct from Hell Logistics. I am having so much fun with it. It constantly makes me laugh and sheme and I also feel all the angst. Also it is ongoing and I get to explore the story alongside the readers (though I have a rough plot structure to keep me on track).

[sehtoast]

Writer Tag

Thanks for the tag @venus-haze <3

How many works do you have on AO3? 29

What's your total AO3 word count? 230k

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Tender Threads

Satisfy Me

One Big Wet Spot

Say Please

The Hand That Feeds

(All Homelander fics) ^

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Most of the time, but lately I haven't had the energy or the time. My social battery is pretty fucked, but I do read every single one of them and love them

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? So it's technically unpublished, but it basically ends with Ben (my oc) sentencing himself to die pretty painfully alongside Homelander with that thing that got revealed in Gen V. If you know you know

What’s the fic you've written with the happiest ending? Honestly, Envy.

Do you write crossovers? I've done an AU crossover for the same fandom, but not really

Have you ever received hate on a fic? Most of the hate I get is in my tumblr inbox. I haven't really done/said anything about it bc no one really wants to see or hear about it tbh, but I've gotten a fair amount of shit for pairing homie with a guy and then also more for pairing him with a trans guy. I think the only ao3 hate i ever got was barely even hate, more like someone bitching that my tender threads formatting wasn't to their liking bc it's Y/n formatted

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yessir yessir. Honestly just whatever i'm vibin with

Have you ever had a fic stolen? not that i'm aware although i don't think i've written anything steal-worthy

Have you ever had a fic translated? no, but @anon-nee has been my personal jesus christ in helping me make sure my english to german translations in tender threads has been accurate. love you nonnums <3

Have you ever co-written a fic before? technically no, but @homelanderbutbig did a collab with me and made this to pair with a fic i wrote, which i feel like is co-creation so i'm gonna say yes anyway. love you HBB <3

What's your all-time favorite ship? honestly i don't really have one, unless i can count my ocxcanon ship in which case it's benlander

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will? i have a depowered homelander fic where ben answers the door one day and ryan, now in his late teens, is there to finally see homie again after all those years went by. i adore the concept but i'm like NEVER in the mindset i need to actually write something like that

What are your writing strengths? yall got strengths?

What are your writing weaknesses? all of them

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? i think it's fine so long as there's clarification shortly after for the readers who may not understand, and also that you've somehow gotten it cross checked by someone who actually speaks the langauge so ensure you're not just saying some wild shit. but ultimately do whatever makes you happy idk bro i don't make the rules

What was the first fandom you wrote for? Prometheus! i was am down so bad for david omg

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to? astarion/tav. i wanna write something sooooo bad but i just can't get in the headspace for it

What's your favorite fic you've written? probably satisfy me because the role swap was incredibly fun and it's REALLY fucking cool to unbind homelander from his own behavioral patterns and manifest them into a reader's concept. like, of everything i've written, i could most clearly imagine everything that happened in that fic and i'd find myself grinning like a sick fuck while writing about literally eviscerating a man's chest cavity lmao

No pressure tags: @blindmagdalena @hom3landr @irenadel @slasher-smasher and anyone else who wants to participate

[antimony-medusa]

MCYT on Ao3 - April '24

The state of MCYT on Ao3, just for fun. Yes I do this every month, I like numbers.

Let's get into the spreadsheet!

Some notes:

Two new fandoms this month! Aimsey SMP and SOS SMP were both new to the sheet.

Fics are still primarily in english, but we have three exceptions with significant spanish fics. Karmaland (764 of 879 are in spanish, from 751 last month), Tortillaland (110 of 116 are in spanish, from 109 last month), and QSMP (925 of 8,938 are in spanish, from 845 last month.)

QSMP also shows 48 fics in French, up from 47 last month, and 463 in Brasilian Portugese, up from 454 last month. While I did not check every language this month, I checked on the languages I knew had a fic in QSMP and we see 1 fic in Bahasa Malaysia, 1 fic in Dansk (Danish), 2 fic in Deutsch (German), 1 fic in Esperanto, 1 fic in Filipino, 5 works in European Portugese, 2 fics in Polski (Polish), 7 fics in Русский (Russian), 1 fic in Suomi (Finnish), 1 fic in Svenska (Swedish), 1 fic in Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese), and 4 fics in 中文-普通话 國語 (Mandarin Chinese, I believe). While several 한국어 (Korean) speakers were recently added to the QSMP, there are currently no fics in 한글 (written Korean).

In the small and micro-sized fandoms, HBG continued to fluctuate— going up by 5 fics after going down by 7 last month. The fandom that saw the greatest increase was the Slimecicle Cinematic Universe, going up by 8, followed by Kaboodle with an increase of 7.

In the mid-sized fandoms, Aphmau continued to be outstanding with an increase of 37 fics, but the standout was actually Evolution SMP, with an increase of 38!

In the larger fandoms, nobody posted a decrease of fics, so we aren't at last month, but it's still a sea change from earlier in the year. Dream SMP posted an increase of only 113 fics, significantly above last month's -801, but still far below February's 591 and January's 918. QSMP also saw significantly lower numbers, potentially related to the semi-hiatus and business troubles they're having, as they only posted 443 fics, standing in contrast to February, when their increase of 729 was the single largest increase by a single mcyt fandom. Empires' increase of 151 beat last month's 142, 3rd Life's 553 beat last month's 398, and Hermitcraft's 805 was the single largest increase this month, beating last month's 628. Hermitcraft is still in that early-season boom, 3rd life got an april fools instalment, and we are starting to enter exchange season, so that might be contributing to the numbers posted. I'm gonna shoutout Lifesteal, which since breaking the 1000-fic mark in July of last year, has continued to just show steady increase month over month. They're coming up on the 2k mark soon!

Overall, minecraft did see the deletion wave continue, as they went down by 217— a significant drop, but still above last month's staggering drop of 1,555, a loss equal to many full fandoms. Video Blogging RPF as a whole saw an increase of 2,330, much increased from last month's overall increase of only 51 fics, but still reduced from both February's 3,513 and this time last year's 4,182.

[fallingforfandoms]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks for the tag @all-my-worlds-a-stage (and sorry for only getting back to you so late, but, you know, ideas had to be dwelled upon, etc etc etc)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

14 - could have been less if I had been a a more responsible human being with more impulse control, could be more if I wasn't such a goddamn perfectionist, sigh.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

332,695 (because my projects usually escalate way too quickly, sorry not sorry)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Officially, Tatort - Tatort Ludwigshafen to be specific. Currently peering over the edge for Münster and Wien. And I had a huge obsession with the MCU and The Witcher and Sherlock before, and still have half a novel based on The Night Manager up on my drive somewhere. And then there was also that missing scene from House of Cards that started it all on AO3 (but it's buried beneath a bunch of Lena Odenthal content now, thankfully).

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Sonne, See und Sterne: The summer holiday fanfic that I wrote throughout December and January (... sounds pretty normal imo) for Lena Odenthal and Johanna Stern and that I still like to read from time to time to dive back into that vibe :')

A Scarred Sunrise: My debut fanfic on ao3, the infamous House of Cards oneshot that probably only got this many kudos because it's not part of a German niche fandom :'D

The Hand Is a Servant of the Heart: The very first Lena/Johanna fic that I published, yet another missing/adapted scene from canon (aka from one of the more traumatising Ludwigshafen episodes that needed some sort of ... band-aid to be fixed, lol).

Das Nest: My very first fluff & smut Lena/Johanna fic that didn't fall into the abyss of trauma and tragedy but instead escalated into a Love Actually rip-off by the end (and I still adore it for that).

Liens de cuir et mains de soie: A dom/sub/switching kinda character study/crossover between Lena Odenthal and Esther Baumann set mostly in France, inspired by the lovely but lowkey deranged idea by @disappointingsalad at the start and improved by her very own contribution at the end - thank you so much! :)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, because I love each and every one of them from the bottom of my heart!!! <3 (Also, the only reason that it takes long-ish for me to reply to some of them is that I cannot stop grinning and jumping up and down out of pure joy every single time I re-read them to reply properly, so, sorry not sorry, but you people make my day with those and I save them in an extra outlook folder because of that <3)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Since I'm usually rather fond of happy endings, I tend to resolve most of the tension. "Zerrissene Fäden" would be a possible candidate though. Maybe also "I've Come To Burn Your Kingdom Down" or "A Scarred Sunrise". Because of the uncertainty that still simmers through towards the end, but idk.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Well, since I'm a sucker for happy endings, they're all quite happy so far. But the happiest ... huh. Maybe "Das Nest". Or "Sonne, See und Sterne". Or "Liens de cuir et mains de soie". I can't decide on this either, apparently, oops :'D

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully, no. But that's one of the few advantages of a small German fandom without great shipping wars, I suppose :'D

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Ha. Haha. Hahaha. Yes. Been there, done that, many kinds of that, in fact. Anything from the sweet vanilla kind (looking at all those 'found family' tropes) over the fast and messy ONS kind to the dom/sub-themed and/or throuple 'well that escalated quickly' kind. Each has its own perks. And its challenges (looking at the classic wlw problem of overusing "she" etc). But I still love delving into those headcanons on a regular (and mildly irresponsible) basis ;)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I wouldn't call it far-fetched since both fandoms are Tatort-related, but the sub/dom-themed Ludwigshafen/Saarbrücken crossover up on ao3 is definitely ... some kind of crazy. And then there are also all those Wien / Münster / Bremen ideas which haven't quite left the nest that @all-my-worlds-a-stage and I have so far built for them. Look forward to those ;) Also, in non-Tatort terms, there was this one Geralt/Loki fanfic I started years ago but I'm ... not even sure I'd find that cursed document again at present :'D

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'd know of it (niche fandoms strikes again).

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope (niche fandoms strikes again).

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, with @disappointingsalad. And I'm currently working on some other ideas that require more than my last two braincells, in this case with the help of @all-my-worlds-a-stage ;)

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Given my ao3 history, the case seems pretty clear - definitely Lena Odenthal/Johanna Stern. Honorable mentions go out to Sherlock/John, Geralt/Jaskier and Jamie/Brienne. And to Wilhelmine Klemm as well, because whoever she ends up with is so goddamn lucky to have her (and I'm here for each and everyone of them).

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh God. Most of them, I suppose, given the lethal combination of adhd and perfectionism that rule my brain? :'D But the first thing that came to mind was the band AU I started a couple of months ago. Because the movie playing in my mind just at the thought of it is already so perfect and I don't have any idea how to get all of those scenes written down in exactly that way.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Probably dialogue? The amount of raw dialogue I've written as a kick-off for some vague idea is ... quite telling. In many ways.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Introspection. Whenever it comes to the thoughts of characters, my own mind is just ... blank. No idea what they could be feeling or thinking in this very moment, or rather, no idea how to phrase it without putting it into dialogue. Yeah, I know, just what a non-TV writer needs to work properly :'D

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Been there, done that, probably wouldn't do it again, at least not in the way I did it then.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Officially, House of Cards. Unofficially, probably Sherlock? Or the MCU? That was ... ages ago though.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

You CANNOT ask a mother which of her children she- well. Wait a minute. I think I'll throw "Von Schwertglanz und Schattengewächsen" in there, the medieval Tatort Ludwigshafen AU I started this February. Because this is such a long-ass project that has accompanied me through some pretty ... interesting months and I worked so many inspirations and easter eggs into it. And I'm continuing to do that now, in this very moment, because I watched a very gruesome Tatort Wien episode (thx for the rec @carlomainzinger ;_;) that had just the right amount of protective & soft found family vibes and raw & unfiltered force to thwart me back into this setting (not as hard as Bibi was thwarted around her own flat though, uargh). So, yeah, uh, look forward to that, the wait might be over soon ;)

Well. That was fun. Throwing this over to @carlomainzinger @mordsfesch @krejong @rheingoldweg12a @occhi-verdi-come-il-mare @disappointingsalad @karin-in-action @khalaris @cornchrunchie and literally anyone else who wants to join in, no pressure though!

[goodthingscomeinthrees]

20 questions for fic writers:

ty for the tag, @somewhereapart 🥰

this is very long, so answers go under the cut!!

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

62 as epigraphs

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

i do not actually know! i wrote single chapters in a fic collection years ago, so that messes with my stats and i don't know how long what i wrote was anymore, so i can't do the math. but 2023 was 54,372 words, and 2022 was 113,431!

3. what fandoms do you write for?

currently: the gilded age, technically still svu but uh, let's not talk about that one fic i fully abandoned (at least until that question comes up lolol).

past lives: madam secretary, the west wing, the newsroom, scrubs, sound of music (i'm as confused as you are, don't worry), the good wife, grey's, stranger things, bones, fleabag.

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

as epigraphs:

the stillness of remembering, svu the legend of how you disappeared, svu come and untangle me (one of these days), svu let it all unfurl, into broken remnants, svu rather be sad with you (than anywhere away from you), svu

5. do you respond to comments? why or why not?

i do! i like the concept of having a conversation with readers (though i rarely get into an actual multi-comment convo). also i'm very type-a and pro-inbox zero, so i clear it out in batches to do replies.

6. what's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

for you i'd bleed myself dry, for the good wife. it's a post-5.16 fix-it fakeout, and every comment on it is just yelling at me hahaha

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

i think most of mine have a happy ending, even if it's not a true hea. my friend and i coined the term "milk and cookies ending," because even if we throw angst at you, we will give you your milk and cookies as a treat lol

8. do you get hate on fics?

thankfully, no.

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

incredibly rarely, and if so, very vaguely and (if you ask anyone who knows me), fairly "limb-free."

10. do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you've written?

i've written exactly one (1), imagining what a friendship between cam saroyan from bones and olivia benson from svu would look like!

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

sort of. i never called them out on it, so i shan't be doing that here.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

nope!

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

yep! for two fandoms. for one, we split up the povs and alternated, which was very fun. for the other one, i (see the answer to 9. lol) handed off the smut.

14. what's your all-time favourite ship?

elizabeth/henry from madam secretary was my first real ship and the first fandom i ever participated in and wrote fic for, so they're the ride-or-dies forever.

15. what's the wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

looking at you, eo talks about god fic.

16. what are your writing strengths?

clarity and economy of words? i think? if you know me irl, this makes sense considering my day job. also, keeping things in-character, when it comes to dialogue and internal monologue.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

getting away from vignette structure, writing plot. i hate plot. i suck at plot.

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for fic?

hoo boy, as a bilingual person (german and english) i have very strong feelings about this, but generally: okay if done incredibly sparingly, and in a way that sounds natural. harder to pull off than you'd think!

19. first fandom you wrote for?

madam secretary.

20. favourite fic you've ever written?

tell you my sins, and you can sharpen your knife, svu.

tagging: @sinkingsidewalks, @idontneedtobeforgiven, @idoltina, @msharmonycobel, @soshedances18, @sam-loves-seb, @rahleeyah, @morethanwords229 and whoever else wants to do this!