#also i really like how this joke has devolved into ‘we are having dinner at my place and i’m cooking’ /gen. i think it’s lovely

[m1d-45]

hello mushroom anon here,

I was watching wendigoons video on the Mandela catalogue and he recounts that in the 3rd or 1st episode you have a guy that has an encounter and his alternate in his house, the guy locks himself in his room and calls for help.

at first he calls the police and belives them when they tell him that help is on the way and that everything will be okay (no it won't)

when he realizes that they're not coming, what does he turn to? prayer

he begins to pray and repeat his prayers to god. we see in his note book that he turned completely to religion to save him.

for his god to save him.

but nobody came.

it is only then that he shoots himself and his alternate flashes into frame only then to show us his censored body.

something that we haven't discovered was the possibility of this disease to...take people away from their god. their one true source.

now all you gotta do is plug in one of your most devoted acolytes and watch them suffer.l, slowly losing their faith along with their mind.

I, myself am partial to zhongli

-🍄 (how's ur day going? I hope you got enough sleep <3 what if I make a home cooked meal for the dinner/p)

OK HI i’m gonna merge this ask and your other one into one post bc i don’t wanna flood dashes again

ok right off the bat i too am partial to zhongli so he’s my example!! ft. alternate! xiao and your other prompt

he’s holed up in his ‘hoard’ room, a rosary clutched to his chest as he kneels before his personal altar. he traces his claws around the beads in his hand, reciting prayers and trying to find comfort in the geo resonating in the room. jewels and precious stones, antiques hes collected over the years, everything he used to find comfort and solace in now buzzing uncomfortably beneath his skin.

the demon at his door beats, the frame rattling, carved wood- he’d polished it himself, he remembered wiping down the subtle gold inlays, the little notes of his element that were invisible to some but a beautiful reminder to him, now dented and scratched and ruined by the thing inside his home.

his heart picked up, in anger or fear he didn’t know.

“mooraax…” the thing drawled, a claw dragging over his hard work. everything he’d worked for, all of time he’d spent to perfect his collection, now turned to dust-

“morax?”

his breath hitched at the sound of xiao’s voice beyond the door.

it wasn’t him.

he’d watched him get taken, watched the dark, too-long fingers wrap around the last yaksha as he cried.

it wasn’t him.

the geo around the room seemed to taunt him, the resonance reminding him that even as a god, he couldn’t protect the one he’d come to see as family.

“why did you let me die?” ‘xiao’ asked, and zhongli squeezed his eyes shut.

it wasn’t real.

it wasn’t real.

the ancient jade dagger on the shelf to his right buzzed within his soul.

“why didn’t you save me?”

it wasn’t real.

his claws slipped and he smelled copper, the blood of a god spilling. he blinked, trying to wipe it off his rosary, only to lock on the beads.

his god… the creator…

would they create such demons?

“what did i do wrong, rex lapis?”

would his god allow such monstrosities?

“haven’t i followed you diligently?”

…was there a ever even a god to begin with?

the jade blade was lifted from the shelf.

‘xiao’ smiled, moving his hand to the doorknob, the smell of iron thick in the air.

[fullregalia]

bluebirds all day long.

For about seventeen people over about two weeks in mid-May, the phrase “I can get you one” was envy-inspiring. “One” being an invite code to Bluesky. And let’s be real here: solipsism is as solipsism does; a small fraction of extremely online people (see also: “dorks,” “losers,” “grad students,” “erstwhile bloggers”) is not the center of the material world, but it is an intermittently important corner of some worlds and some really important people used to also be extremely online. So here we all were, the last people at the dinner party, trying to figure out how to keep our little corners of the world somewhat intact. 

It’s probably best to take a step back to before the noise about Bluesky went from static to signal and start from what brought me back to this blob, and why it was valuable for me before Twitter took over my life. To put it in relationship speak, Twitter has always been something of a companion these past 12(!) years, but recently I’ve realized it has devolved somewhat into codependency, and meeting a new platform only complicated matters. As in all matters of heartbreak, my love affair with Twitter devolved in two ways: gradually, and then suddenly. 

Gradually, it came to hold a place in my brain, a perma-tab on my browser. If I search the blob, there are 15 results since 2010 for Twitter - and over the years I’ve circled the same themes: grappling with being adjacent to the NYC media circles, grappling with oversharing, grappling with the emotional energy and time I put into this ultimately frivolous and/or inane stuff. I’ve never put anything really real on any of these platforms because I try to live by the rule of thumb that you never type anything on social media that you wouldn’t want to see on the front page of the New York Times. (Believe it or not I actually do try to practice some discretion and delineate between the truly personal and the “this is good for laughs” self-deprecatory personal.) So I grappled with stuff On Here, and like the rest of the other people with too many opinions and not enough self-restraint, I threw all the rest at Twitter.

Back in 2010 when I got my first iPhone I remember “joking” that I’d never be alone again. I was really lonely the year I graduated college. I had friends, but I wanted a partner, someone to check in with throughout the day, and Twitter--in a sad but perhaps not singular to me kind of way--became that company when I didn’t have that person for many years. It was so compelling and so thrilling for so long, millions of people just posting id on main! My cousin once tweeted something about Shakespeare not being “relatable” and literal articles were written about it. About a dumb take! The content ouroboros must be satisfied. I remember on a very early date with the person I would eventually have a big, all-encompassing partnership with, we bonded over really getting hooked on Twitter during the marathon bombing manhunt. (He followed me the next day and the rest is history.)

But whatever that anecdote reveals about me, I think it also reveals something that was so special about Twitter for millions of lonely, bored, or just normal people who liked to share their thoughts: it was like opening the fridge, sometimes you did it just to see whats in there, other times you did it to truly make a meal, but most of the time you did it to sneak a snack. People weren’t logging on to simply promote their work, or make a joke to no audience, or post a selfie into the void; they were doing it for the little hearts, to make themselves laugh when they were hiding in the bathroom on a particularly brutal day at the office, to realize they aren’t the only one who wanted to talk about municipal tax rates. There was also schadenfreude, and mutable “expertise,” and the beauty of putting the indignities and absurdities of everyday life under a microscope, ready and willing to be memed to the point of exhaustion.

You all Get It already: for many years I was lonely and Twitter was the internet equivalent of “u up?” I suspect it was that for a lot of people too these past few years before things got back to normal-ish, too. 

Suddenly, though, Matt Levine had to cancel every PTO day to write about 13D vs. 13G filings and people were grandstanding (didn’t you know the law of conservation of virtue signaling applies to platform-hopping?!) and now it’s all a lot Less Fun. Despite this (because of this?), I’ve posted away to my fewer than 150 followers, many of whom I actually know and am deeply grateful for. I pray I never go viral over an asinine comment like “Kids writing 80085 on their calculators? Not so much these days...” But I live alone again, and literally no one follows my fake instagram, so the little hearts began to take outsize importance.

As in all matters of heartbreak, this story also involves the foundation of our modern era: the DM slide. DMs are a sacred space and I will not divulge anything about them. Suffice to say, it was in the DMs where I found the “one” (the aforementioned one merely being an invite code to Bluesky). So I get this code and not only do I strike up a friendly convo with the person who shared it with me, but I also am an early adopter of “what if Twitter, but not as toxic.” Fast forward three months and it turns out Bluesky is a complicated place to be as a normie.

This is what I’m realizing about these places, and why they matter, but why they also are so frustrating: they flatten everything. I am not actually friends with the super-posters, I’m their freaking internet colleague. I’m a jock nod in the hallway between the pantry and the bathroom. I would characterize this critique of my own misreading of DM largesse not so much as me making parasocial projections as it is about the inherent difficulties of information asymmetry. I know a lot about people who are extremely online, and therefore care about them, and that is simply not, nor could be, a two-way street. 

Normies like me have the bandwidth to care because we live on islands with 150 people. The 6 people who like my tweets? I know their really real stuff, they know my interests, we get drinks, we go back. And that’s why being on Bluesky is so disorienting. The super-posters get decent engagement, they don’t seem to care about over-posting (or sporadic posting) - it all gets the same stream of likes and comments (from their extremely online friends). I post my dumb shit and I’m lucky if the person I gave my invite code to shows it a little love. Which is the shitty truth at the bottom of all of this: it sucks feeling like the new kid in the 4th grade class. I don’t want to be an annoying person who says dumb stuff online for the sake of saying dumb stuff online, I actually value the hell out of those 6 people, because they make my world a little less flat.

So I’ve been doing whatever the behavioral equivalent of raising rates is so that I can cool down what the hell has been going on with my weird posting dependency. Being back on the blob is my liminal space between the worn-in comfort of Twitter and the uncomfortably tight feeling I get when I try on Bluesky (a platform where no one will ever understand my long running bit about “the concept of David Schwimmer”). I joked recently that I might just always be “in my eternal retvrn era,” but maybe my habits are just a flat circle, even if I don’t want my world to be. I started to use this space as a repository for the stuff I realized my friends didn’t want to get texts or emails about, or for thoughts that were too involved to fit in a tweet, and I think it’s the right time to re-direct my energy toward this platform that I’m less addicted to, but actually feel good about. 

Ultimately, this whole posting angst thing spiraled out for me when I got that invite code and thought more of it than it was, that’s on me. But most importantly, it’s always a good time to remember that even if posting is free, so is staring at the sky.

[dyhayc]

Clone Wars family dinner🧍💨

I've had this in my google docs for a year and decided to share it with the world. Don't take this too seriously, my best friend and I started talking about family dinner because we were sad seeing so many clones dying in clone wars that we joked they were meeting offscreen for family dinner. Tbh this is mostly just a test to see if my posts will show up in tags so yea

I'm open to writing about more characters if anyone wants to request (even if they're not from the same time period because tbh who cares about the timeline?), however, I may not be able to do some if I don't know enough about their personality :]

Family dinner starts every night at 6

Commander Cody: Sits at the head of the table, is essentially the patriarch of the family. He can’t cook for shit, he shows up at dinner like 5 minutes before it starts. He doesn’t even set the table. He’s like the dad who works and then arrives complaining about work. If his family tries to get him to do more he tells them he’s too tired from work. Cody places yellow whoopie cushions on Rex’s seat and makes no attempt to hide them or conceal he’s the one who’s doing it.

Obi-Wan: Like Cody, shows up 5 minutes before it starts. He does, however, try to help set the table or bring food out (but it never really matters, everything is already set so he doesn’t do anything). Rex suspects he comes late on purpose but can never prove anything. Sits next to Cody and usually carpools (speederpools?) with him. Lowkey an expert wine taster and can find “hints of orange root” or some pretentious shit.

Fives: Can grill a mean hamburger, in fact any time something needs to be grilled he’s the one to do it. Since he doesn’t really cook other than grilling, he only needs to help during the summer months. He always arrives with his twin, Echo (and Echo arrives very very early), so he spends his free time fucking with his brothers. Would probably mess with the way the table’s set up just to annoy Echo and instigate a fight during family dinner.

Echo: Bakes dessert for every family dinner. Echo shows up at 4 exactly to bake, sometimes even earlier if he’s making something big. He’s also the one who sets the table for everyone. Each seat has a table mat that’s personalized for each person, as well as a set of silverware in a very specific order. Fives likes to switch the fork and knife because he knows only Echo cares. Only lets specific people decorate his deserts (a.k.a. anyone but Fives - once he wrote “Echo sux” on his cake. Echo has still not forgiven him)

Rex: Older brother energy, tries to control Hardcase and Fives as best he can. Always comes early because if he doesn’t Fives and Echo will destroy the kitchen. He doesn’t know how to cook but is trying to learn, is good at making soup or putting things in the oven without burning them. He sits on Cody’s whoopie cushions on Cody’s birthday to humour him. If he’s tired enough, he’s not opposed to just watch from a corner as the family dinner devolves into chaos. Frequents mommy blogger websites and gets excited when it’s fall because of pumpkin spice. His brothers don’t have the heart to tell him they don’t know what pumpkin is.

Tup: Cooks bomb ass food, literally the saving grace of family dinner. Always calm and collected, even if Echo, Fives, Hardcase, Ahsoka, or Jesse are trying his patience. Likes to make stir fry, it’s his specialty. Will be upset if someone doesn’t like his food, but Fives and Jesse glare aggressively at anyone who speaks out. Is usually the one who babysits Ahsoka when she’s in the kitchen, making sure she doesn’t hurt herself trying to cut tomatoes or something.

Jesse: Essentially Tup’s sous chef, but make him drunk off his ass. Can polish off a whole bottle of wine before family dinner even starts. Still makes good food, though, even if he’s blackout drunk. In fact, the food quality seems to rise if he’s blackout drunk. It’s actually kind of scary. While intoxicated, he can keep up with Hardcase’s energy so he usually ends up watching over him (honestly, nobody at dinner can tell who’s taking care of who, but their chaotic energies seem to cancel out so it’s okay).

Wolffe: An infrequent visitor. For some reason, the only thing he knows how to cook is meat. If they’re having something where the protein is separate he’s always the one to make it. For example, smoked salmon or marinated baked chicken. He is also the one who carves turkey or rotisserie chicken. Can detect minute changes in the moisture of a roast and tell the quality of a meat just by tasting it. His brothers are kind of scared of his weird skills, but never say anything in fear he might fillet them in their sleep.

Ahsoka: Brings her wife to the family dinner. She and her wife don’t know how to cook, so they make the salads for the group. (Who is her wife? I don’t know but she has one) Ahsoka probably holds a knife like she holds her lightsabers. Tup and Rex always have to stop her from cutting food like that because she usually comes close to cutting her fingers off. Will not hesitate to flick peas across the table at Cody or Obi-Wan with her spoon.

Kix: Never knows the family dinner is happening. Arrives 20 minutes late every time and asks why nobody told him they were having a family dinner that night, even though it happens every night. Literally has to be taken out of work and driven over by one of his brothers if they want him to be on time. Brings a tupperware with old pasta salad every single time (nobody knows why he has so much pasta salad, why it’s always stale, or where he gets it from).

Hardcase: Very impatient, especially with anything concerning heat. He will either take the food out too soon so it’s cold or leave it too long so it’s burnt. He is, however, good at chopping things (though nobody trusts him to not accidentally kill himself). When he cuts vegetables, fruits, or meats he always has a chaperone. If his knife skills aren’t needed he likes to chat with Fives or bother Jesse, Tup, or Echo. He plays footsies with Jesse under the table during dinner. When decorating his tablemat he covered it in glitter; Tup had to sneak into the Commanding Officer’s lounge so he could laminate it (glitter was getting into everyone’s food somehow).

Fox: Has to be picked up and physically taken out of work to come to family dinner. If there’s no caf ready for him when he arrives, he’s leaving. Miraculously, has never gotten into a fight at family dinner. In fact, when provoked he usually does nothing and allows the chaos to ensue around him (though occasionally, he will subtly instigate fights for the hell of it). Unlike Rex, he is always tired enough to not give a crap about the fights, and sits back to watch Fives and Echo fight about the placement of silverware.

Plo Koon: Another infrequent visitor. He usually becomes the mediator of arguments, whether he agreed to be or not. When he visits, everyone is usually on their best behaviour. He exudes understanding-father-figure energy and is invited to sit at the head of the table opposite of Cody. Will bring home-baked dinner rolls (and occasionally comes early to bake with Echo).

Kit Fisto: Visits occasionally, usually with Plo Koon. Very relaxed when he comes and drinks a glass of wine with Obi-Wan and Jesse. He usually tries to keep out of any arguments or tiffs between the clones, but, like Plo Koon, he always ends up trying to calm down a fiery debate (which usually doesn’t work). Like Rex, will step back and watch chaos ensue if he’s tired enough.

Side note: Me and my friend were discussing family dinner and agreed that Fives looks like he'd grill while Echo looks like he'd bake, then in the same week, I saw someone posting about the same exact topic! It was a year ago so I don't remember who they were, but we're all literally on the same wavelength

[justdecadentcollectiondestiny]

Hannibal Thoughts Three: The Trilogy

Spoilers ahead (duh)

Me and my ballroom dancer self, the first thought I have when I see this ballroom scene in E1 is “Okay, everyone’s dancing really stiffly and clunkily, clearly no one here is an actual dancer - except for former professional dancer and trained gymnast Mads Freaking Mikkelsen. God damn.”

Good god. Hannibal reciting a sonnet in Italian. Lord help me.

Oh huh it sure is interesting to hear Hannibal openly talk about killing people with anyone. He could never actually explicitly admit anything to Will because he knew that if he did it would go straight to Jack. He doesn’t have that constraint with Dr. du Maurier.

“My wife and I would love to have you for dinner.” It’s little comments like that that are… I don’t know, funny, but also unnerving. Like if someone said that to you you would automatically, instinctually assume that it went without saying that “well of course they didn’t mean it like that.” And of course the dramatic irony makes it funny in the context of a show that we’re watching. But applying it to an imagined real-world scenario is where the unnerving part comes in. It’s such a cheap joke that the fact that it’s not a joke is jarring.

Ooh dear. Right after a flashback where Abel mentions Hannibal feeding him various foods, including oysters and acorns, to make him tastier, Dr. du Maurier is shown eating oysters and acorns. This does not bode well pt. 2.

Yep. du Maurier knows. How terrified is she? Like, all the time?

“Clearly you found [Dr. Fell] as distasteful as I did.” “On the contrary.” See this is what I mean-

“What have you gotten yourself into, Bedelia? Shall I hang up your coat?” Translation: You’re stuck now. You’re not going anywhere.

Will broke Hannibal’s heart. He really did. Hannibal said it himself, he never lets anyone see who he really is, and the one person he did betrayed him.

What. Abigail’s alive. Again. What the shit.

This doesn’t mean there’s any hope for Alana, does there?

“A valentine written on a broken man.” Fucking yes. Exactly. Right after Will arrives in Italy, Hannibal leaves a heart for him to find, on the very spot that they talked about that is the entrance to Hannibal’s mind. A heart, bloodied and mangled and stabbed through in several places.

Will: “[Hannibal] left us his broken heart.” FUCKING YES. THANK YOU.

Uh oh. I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this. About Will. And Abigail.

Yeah, I’m right, aren’t I. Abigail is dead after all, isn’t she.

What does that mean for what “Abigail” said earlier, about Hannibal knowing exactly where to cut, and their wounds being “like a surgery”? Well, since Abigail was never really there, that all had to come from Will’s mind. Yeah. He knew that the only reason he could be alive right then was if Hannibal wanted him to be alive.

The way Hannibal killed Sogliato was very out of character and strangely funny. Stabs an ice pick into his brain mid-conversation. “…That may have been impulsive.” Sogliato babbles incomprehensibly until Bedelia has enough and removes the ice pick, causing Sogliato to face-plant into his plate. “Technically, you killed him,” says Hannibal with a raised eyebrow. I think Hannibal is, as you say, devolving. He’s always so calculated and has never killed anyone with so little planning before (at least that we’ve seen).

Will knows Hannibal so well, it’s kind of spooky. He can have whole conversations with him without him even being there. And that’s what’ll help him find him.

WHAT THE FUCK. HOW THE FUCK. WHY THE FUCK. JACK IS ALIVE. HOW.

Chilton (who is also, somehow, alive) to Will: I can help you get Hannibal Lecter out of your head. Me: Yeah, I don’t think Will’s going to take you up on that, Chilton.

Oh my god there was hope for Alana!

On the subject of people who are somehow alive, are we ever going to get an explanation for how/why Freddie Lounds is still alive?

When Will and Hannibal do reunite it’s going to be the ultimate “I don’t know whether I want to kill you or kiss you.”

Again, it seems to me that Hannibal is being extremely out of character when he kills people. He’s toying with Pazzi. Taunting him for his imminent demise, cracking jokes.

Nice touch, Jack emulating Hannibal’s method of taking off his shoes to sneak up on someone, and poetic that that someone is Hannibal himself.

Oooh, Will leaning in close to Bedelia and whispering “I don’t believe you.” Very nice.

Re: Will and Hannibal’s reunion: Well, I see they’ve picked right back up where they left off, with an air that they could kiss at any time during the interaction with it feeling completely natural.

Will said “After you” and Hannibal went. He trusted him (I think).

Holy shit actual gay. Like actual, real, not just alluded to gay. I’d seen people shipping Alana and Margot before, but I never thought there would be much in canon to actually back that up.

Oh my godddd Alana in that suit. My god I’m gay.

Wow, Hannibal has every opportunity to kill Will here, after he’s been shot, when he literally had a knife in his hands, Will’s literally the most vulnerable he’s ever been, yet Hannibal doesn’t kill him, even though we know he intends to, eventually. Is he changing his mind or just waiting for the right moment? EDIT: Oh, duh, it’s because he needs to marinate first.

Wow poor Will’s really been through the wringer lately, huh?

“They are identically different, Hannibal and Will.” Nicely put, Jack.

Is it just me or does Mason Verger seem ever so slightly fruity?

In this “I don’t want to think about you anymore” scene, Hannibal honestly, truly looks like he’s about to cry.

This is a genius move on Hannibal’s part (if a bit manipulative but what else is new). Will says “I don’t want to know where you are or what you’re doing, I don’t want to find you,” so Hannibal goes “Alright, I’m going to make sure you know ‘exactly where I am, and where you can always find me.’” If Will knows where he is and how to find him, he won’t be able to just stop thinking about him. Wow.

Three years later?? Holy shit Hannibal is one patient man.

Kind of interesting how they chose to not show us Hannibal’s trial. I wonder who went. Probably Alana. Maybe Margot. Probably not Will.

Very interesting how Hannibal felt betrayed by Will because he would “deny [him] [his] freedom”, yet here he willingly and intentionally gives it up so that he can stay in Will’s mind.

Did Hannibal just reverse-psychology Will with that letter? I’m honestly surprised that worked.

Jimmy and Brian!!! Boy am I glad to see those two, I’ve missed them so much.

God Will worrying about the murder victims’ dog is so Will. I love it.

Great callback here. “Hello, Dr. Lecter.” “Hello, Will.” Now Hannibal’s the one behind a barrier.

Asdfghjkl Hannibal’s barely even trying to hide his jealousy of Will’s wife.

MURDER HUSBANDS???? THAT SHIP NAME HAS BASIS IN CANON???? OH MY GOD????

Fucking Freddie. How I hate her. Still waiting for an explanation of how she’s alive.

Bedelia’s really hitting the nail on the head here. Will and Hannibal’s relationship was/is way too intimate to be strictly platonic.

Will: There’s a family out there who doesn’t know [the Dragon] is coming. Me: 😬😬

I must say, I’m glad Molly survived. It would have been complete bullshit if Alana could survive getting pushed out a window and Jack getting broken glass to the neck and Will taking a freaking circular saw to the skull but Molly couldn’t survive getting shot in the shoulder because Plot.

Hannibal is in love with Will. Someone actually said it. Oh my god.

Did Dolarhyde stick a panty liner over Chilton’s eyes as a blindfold?? I’m sorry but that’s what it looked like.

Hannibal is incredibly funny in this conversation with Jack and Alana about Chilton. J: “Where’s the other one?” H: “This one can provide you with anything the other one can.” *barely concealed grin* A: “We wanted to enrage [the Dragon].” H: “Congratulations.” H: “You [Alana] could have provided anything Dr. Chilton could. That would’ve been your lip I was tasting. Again.”

The motto of this season is: “How the fuck are you still alive?”

“He wants you to say ‘please.’” My god this man has it bad.

I fucking knew Hannibal would say “Going my way?” to invite Will to get into the car after the big escape. This freaking guy misses no opportunity to flirt.

H: “See. This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us.” W: *laughs weakly* “It’s beautiful.” Me: “Now kiss.” W and H: *hug and go off the cliff* Me: “Eh, close enough.” The music: 🎶 “Love criiiiiiiime, love criiiiiiiiime” 🎶 Me: "Yeah, you got that right."

Well, that sure was one hell of an ending. I can just picture Will and Hannibal sinking under the water, each holding the other tightly, both to prevent them from resurfacing and just for the sake of holding them.

Okay, so, apparently they were supposed to survive all that. As I understand it, everyone was sure the show would get renewed for a fourth season, but it didn't. I'm sure I would be a lot more upset about that if I had been watching this show back in 2015 than I am watching it now for the first time in 2022. I think that's a great ending for the show. But I do agree that it's a damn shame that we don't get to see the story that's still left to be told. With what we have, I like my version of the ending (see above).

I'm glad to see that the Mrs. Vergers and the Verger baby survived this bloody story. And Bedelia (sans leg but never mind). And Jack, who I guess did grow on me a little.

Wow that's a great show. I want to rewatch it now.

[stuffthatireblog]

Soulmates au where everyone has wings and once you meet your soulmate one of your wings becomes the same color as theirs.

Tubbo is born with green wings and as soon as he meets Tommy one of his wings turn red. Something that no one finds surprising after they immediately become both best friends and absolute menaces.

With both of them having red and green wings they hear Christmas jokes a lot but they're fine with it because they think red and green look cool together, and it ends up making Christmas that much funner when they can parade their wings around.

And then Ranboo comes into the picture and Tubbos green wing turns indigo. Suddenly they're no longer the Christmas duo, and suddenly none of them are matching, but instead they're all a mismatch of colors.

Tubbo loves it. Both the people that he cares about are wearing his color and when Tommy yells at him "but your wings aren't even you're color any more, it's like a part of you's missing" he just smiles at him and tells him that fate works in mysterious ways which just makes Tommy angrier.

It takes enough one sided fights, ones where Tommy yelled at Ranboo and Ranboo just took it, for Tommy to give up and start silently resenting Ranboo. He and Tubbo were the Christmas duo. They wore each other's colors. And now Tubbo didn't even have a color of his own.

It takes a not so one sided fight for Tommy to realize that Ranboo cared about Tubbo the same way that he did.

After that Tommy decides that Ranboo deserves a chance to show that he's not the spineless prick that he thought he was, so they spend some time together. And it doesn't take him long to realize that they get along. A lot. They get along in a way that Tommy hadn't had since Tubbo.

It takes a few more shared talks and one more fight, one where Tommy yells at Ranboo for not standing up for himself and Ranboo yells right back about how he should stop blaming himself. "How's someone supposed to like you if they never even know you, stop keeping things to yourself all the time!" "You're the one who always keeps things to himself! You can't expect us to help you if we don't know somethings wrong." "I don't want you're help!" "Yeah well tough!" At which point Ranboo tackles Tommy and it quickly devolves into a not-really-fight but more of a wrestle ending in them both laying on the floor, a little bruised and tired. Which is when Tubbo finds them and decides to make hot coco for dinner.

The next morning they apologize and decide they're both idiots who should talk to each other more.

After that things become peaceful between the three, a sort of equilibrium where Tommy accepts he's sharing Tubbo with Ranboo but also Ranboo isn't so bad to hang around with himself.

It's on Christmas when Tommy realizes what Tubbo meant by fate works in mysterious ways. They're having their usual Christmas festivities while Tommy's spent the whole time pouting. Of course the only one who points it out straight to his face is Quackity "Every Christmas me and Tubbo have had Christmas colored wings, but this year it's just me" "Just have Tubbo and Ranboo stand really close together and you won't know the difference" Tommy stares hard at Ranboo and Tubbo as they try to do just that and that's when the realization hits. Him and Tubbo have matching wings like they always have, but now so do he and Ranboo. It may be Tubbo's color that they share, but Tubbo's not the one with green wings anymore, that's him and Ranboo. It was like him and Ranboo were soulmates too. He looks over to the two as Tubbo and Ranboo continue to try and line their wings up perfectly, carefree smiles on their face, like they weren't going through a life altering realization. But then Tubbo smiles at him and he's struck by the funny feeling that he knew all along. At which point Tommy decides to stop thinking so much and just have fun with his soulmate(s).

[stevenbasic]

Melissa Monroe, new Office Manager at Far Horizons Medical Associates, was back in the office after one day away. She’d taken the time off to settle herself, to get her thoughts straight, to wrap her head around - god! - just how fucking exciting it all was, now that he was...omigosh...becoming smaller.

And she was bigger every day...

She had summoned him - summoned him! - to her office, on this cold, rainy October morning. She’d told her girls to call him to her and he had come, without complaint. Her boss...or, haha, her ‘boss’...at her beck and call. Nnngh it made her squirmy. He had the title, but they..oh god...they both knew who was in charge where it counted. It made her feel every ounce a woman, dominating a man like this. It was early Friday and it was time for their weekly coffee date. Coffee, haha!  She’d be feeding him more milk than ever, she thought with a laugh to herself - haha haha, it’s so funny! - and making sure he took off his jacket so she could see his thin, weak shoulders.

God!!!

It had been pointless, she thought to herself, as she sat up on her knees next to him on her office couch. She’d been calm when she asked him to sit. She’d been professional when she’d given him the tablet, pre-loaded with the new application photos and videos of a bevy of girls ripe for her team. She’d been dutiful, as she helped him out of his jacket, fed him his warm milk, and straightened his hair, set pillows behind him. But now, as she slowly rose up next to where he sat, she knew her “mental health day” had been a joke. She knew, no matter how conservatively she’d forced herself to dress this morning - in this vest, blouse, these pants - it was all for naught. In fact, the day away - instead of calming her - had made her jittery, like she was jonesing for a hit. She needed to see him, be in the same room as him, breathe air that had him in it. And, when she finally had him sat down next to her, as she felt herself slowly towering over him more and more, she knew she really had no control over these new urges she’d been having. Get a grip Missy, haha! she scolded herself, He’s still your boss!!

She straightened his funny little shirt collar for him. He’s just so small!!

”M-m-Melissa..?” Dr. J finally peeped. He’d been feeling it himself, secretly, this urge to see her. What was wrong with him?? It had gone way beyond just surreptitiously wanting to ogle her huge tits, her powerful legs. Admittedly it had started that way but now it was more than just looking for any chance to marvel at that god-given ass. He felt like he physically needed to be near her, and now after a day away he’d come to her when she called, obediently taken her directions, and had sat in relative silence. He felt cowed, and ashamed of himself. She works for you!! he told himself, Get a grip, man!!

“I’m sorry...just so excited to see y-...to be back,” she giggled, straightening up next to him just so, to get her breasts just under his eye level, “we have so much work to do, with these applicants, and I thought it’d be better if we do this together. Is it okay?”

“y-yeah, sure,” he replied, trying to focus his attention on the ‘applications’, on the images of these young, healthy, pretty women on the tablet she’d handed him, and not on the J-cups stretching the business blouse right next to him.

“I always get just so excited for our Friday coffee dates,” Melissa added, straightening her shoulders, “And you all dressed up for me...in a, is this a tuxedo shirt? You look so nice...”

It’s all I had that fit me; I wore this back in high school.  ”Th-thanks,” he stammered, “and they’re, uh…’meetings’, not ‘dates’...” He was flailing, grasping for any semblance of authority. “...and I-I usually like to do these outside the office…”

“Oh, but why would you want to be anywhere else for our Friday coffee date?” Melissa cooed, scooting in closer to him, “It’s so cozy here, just the two of us. And it’s cold outside, rainy. So nice in here…”

She watched him shiver, even as he pretended to still be focused on the applicants. She could tell he needed her, needed her warmth. His little body was aching for it. It drove her nuts. ”But maybe we can do our dates at night…like, I could take you out to dinner…”

That got his attention!

Haha! Look at his face! Maybe, she thought, maybe she did just overstep there a teeny bit haha. But she was getting to the point where she couldn’t help herself. She felt reckless, she felt drunk on him and the idea of smothering him with her size. And she loved how nervous he just got. She just asked him out! And, she noticed...he didn’t say ‘no’.

Melissa laughed quietly, knowing his little personality was having trouble handling everything she was throwing at him right now. Realizing just how very much the alpha she was in this moment, she knew she needed to treat him gently, and couldn’t be too aggressive. “We can talk about that another time,” she said, making sure her voice sounded warm with understanding...and patient. She pet his shoulder, rubbed the back of his neck as she sensed his tension relaxing. “Now,” she began again, “it's been four days. We have, omigod, more than a hundred applications and we need to make some decisions.” She watched him nod, turn back to the screen in his hand. “I’ve put aside 20 that look good…”

With him still holding the tablet, she began to swipe through pictures of girls. Videos of girls. Resumes of girls. She would watch his face as a particularly pretty one from Hooters appeared, or a tall one from Evolution. “Ooo, look at her!” she would coo. She saw his eyes dart when the cleavage got too aggressive, and it would make her giggle. It was obviously - haha - making him uncomfortable, looking at these girls with his female Office Manager at his side. He was trying to hold it together, sound and appear relaxed, but his comments were becoming confused, his speech devolving to incoherent mumbles.

She swiped out of the applications. She knew what she should do.

”It’s hard to focus, with all this going on, isn’t it?” she enjoined, dropping her voice low, compassionate, suddenly tender.

”It...it is, kinda,” he answered. She watched as he turned back up to her, looking for some relief from the onslaught of cheesecake from the screen. Looking to her for comfort, guidance.

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” she asked, words dripping with concern, empathy. She knew she could, if she wanted, flood him with her pheromones, make him feel the way she wanted. They were so close, though; she might kill him haha.

“It...it is, with...with…” she listened to him stammer, watching the little wheels and gears fit and start in his face. He was flailing, the poor thing, clueless and impotent, so adorable. He needed a woman.

”...with the divorce, hm?” she offered.

”y-yeah”

”shhhh, I know,” she consoled him, “it must be scary, huh? Life might get hard for men, without a woman, a wife. You’re all a mess, confused.” Her heart was beating in her chest so hard; he wasn’t even trying to argue, to be ‘strong’. She knew she could take him another step. “Here, I know what’ll help,” she said, “You need something to focus on...now, I want you to relax…”

With that, she sat up straight, sliding her hand from behind him, and began to unbutton her vest.

”m-Melissa?” he peeped, just the meager sound of his voice making her chest swell with pride, knowing how she was affecting him. He could do nothing but watch as she peeled the vest away from her chest and slide it off her shoulders.

In a moment it was laid, forgotten, on the couch behind her, and her hand was back behind his head. He was staring, she saw, right at her tits.

“shhhh…I know, sweetie, I know. It’s all so confusing, so hard,” she purred, “But relax...I’m here.”

He reeled inside when he heard himself moan, a weak little whine. He knew he should pull back, step away, recover whatever dignity he had left, but the sight of her mammoth bosom, stretching tautly at her sheer-thin, snap-up blouse, held him rapt. She was just so...big. So big and soft. Her chest in that moment was a safe refuge, magnetic and majestic, a sanctuary.

“Sheryl’s divorcing you, sweetie, it’s a hard fact to face but it’s true,” Melissa continued, “She’s leaving you with nothing, no money, just this job. And, really, she owns the practice, and the building, doesn’t she? So she’s really your boss. But she’s letting you stay, in the job, in the apartment she owns upstairs, right? She’s being very kind, really…”

She saw him glance down at the envelope of papers on the low table in front of them.

“...and she doesn’t need to be. She doesn’t have to be so patient. She just wants you to sign those papers, sweetie. Before she has to make things hard for you.”

She heard him whine again, and smiled as his eyes came back to her breasts.

“I’ll keep the papers here,” she consoled him, petting his hair and fighting the urge to just ease his face straight into her tits, “When you’re ready you come to me, I’ll help you sign.”

Her heart nearly broke in two when his sweet brown eyes then rose to meet hers, pleadingly. His lip quivered, he looked so distraught, so at a loss. “M-Melissa, I…” he began, trying to find his words, “I...I can’t…”

“Shhhhh…” she hushed him, “I’m here. We’re here. You need to let us help you through this. And the more of us there are, the easier it’ll be for you”

”m-m-more?” he stammered, obviously still confused as his eyes glanced down again into her bountiful cleavage.

Melissa giggled. “Haha yes, sweetie, more of me but also more of them,” she said, as she redirected his attention back to the tablet, opened up the images, “Look at all these girls that want to work for you…help you...be there for you...”

“Shanette, Katrina, Sammi,” she began, “Emily, Lexi, Bianca…”

His eyes goggled again at the barrage of women across the screen, all the legs, all the tits, all the hips. He had actually gradually started, in recent days, to allow himself to enjoy being surrounded by pretty employees. His business was suffering, the quality of care to his patients had plummeted, and his self-esteem had crumbled. This journey he was passively letting himself being taken on was - in more ways than one - sure to ruin him, but at least the view along the way was nice. Having his staff be made mostly of unqualified bimbettes, all high heels, lipstick and push-up bras, had its few perks.  But what she was suggesting, bringing in all these...so many...it was like...like...

It was like an army. A swarm.

He needed to say something. “M-Melissa, I, uh, have to admit,” he began, the worry on his face plain to see, “I’m a little scared...bringing in all these girls…”

Melissa had, as she’d been watching him look through the portfolios of all the new girls, slowly been getting even more aroused, picturing him surrounded by all this estrogen, drowning in it. But hearing him say it? She nearly groaned.

“Y-you’re...scared?” she asked, husky voice betraying her excitement, “Of hiring women? Girls that are too attractive?” As she spoke, she’d been unable to help herself, and had inched in closer to him, gently turned his head back to her, back towards her breasts. “You think they’ll be a...distraction?”

Dr. J was struck speechless again, for the moment, knowing he shouldn’t be ogling the tits of his Office Manager. But, he was encouraged by her, and urged to reply as he felt her massaging the nape of his neck. “Uhhh...well, it’s not that,” he managed, catching himself staring at the outline of what looked like a black bra under her blouse, ”but more like, uh..uh, like, it’s a lot. C-can we afford it?”

Smiling under the attention, his obvious dumbstruck awe, Melissa continued. “Remember the Lean In grant...it’s so much money. Supporting female-oriented business, supporting women, giving them jobs,” she explained, “ And the more we hire, the more we get. The ladies at Lean In are going to take care of it all for you…”

Oh, uh, yeah, right. He knew all this. “B-but...where will we put everybody?”

“Oh, sweetie, didn’t you hear?” she purred, “Construction on the expansion starts on Monday. I have the company all set up, plans are made….here, I put a picture of the blueprints on here too…”

”wait what?” he sputtered, suddenly even more confused, more agitated.

Omigod how delicious is this?? Melissa thought to herself, relishing the astonishment in his voice. She remembered her last conversation with Sheryl, on the Zoom call along with Abby and Wendy from Evolution. They were about to show him, in spades, what women were capable of. ”Sheryl said to go ahead with it,” she began, trying to keep her voice measured, not betray just how fucking sexy this was, “tenants from the other suites are gone, we’re going to have whole bottom floor…” She’d already pulled up the image of the blueprint, and started him scrolling through the mock-ups, the digital models, the drawings of the new wings. They were beautiful, really. “The practice is expanding,” she continued, “offices for the new providers…” She flipped through digital images of modern, sleek medical areas, new hallways, big conference rooms, all stunningly more sleek and state-of-the-art than his current office. “There’ll be a whole suite, separate desks, just for the Evolution Study…”

“oh my god…!” he finally blurted, seeing one last image, a huge, classically majestic statue of a woman, set in a fountain, looming over an enormous new atrium. A statue that looked - jesus christ is this a joke?? - all-too strikingly like Melissa. This had become too much for him, this was too overwhelming. His brain, his sense of ego, were becoming fried. He knew it, and so did she.

She turned his head back to her chest, watched his eyes go wide again as she pulled him closer, diverting him effectively away from what was upsetting him.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” Melissa purred, “my blouse is pretty see-through, isn't it?” She drew a deep breath, allowed him to stare again at her chest. ”...and you’re looking at my bra, aren’t you?”

”n-no, s-sorry, I…” he stammered, face flushing.

”shhhhh...here, you need more help…” she said.

“oh my god Melissa!!” Dr. J blurted, his voice louder, more emphatic than it had been all morning as he watched - in a swift, immediate motion, Melissa ripped open the snaps of her blouse, pulled it away, exposing her huge, newly-burgeoned chest.

“O shush…!” she laughed, tickled to amusement by his panicked consternation, dropping her blouse in a crumple behind herself, “You’ve seen me in my bikini, it’s the same thing.” She sat up straight, posed her shoulders, and let him stare at the huge breasts she’d grown. “My door is locked, it’s just you and me,” she assured him, her left hand finding its way back to its place behind his head, keeping his focus where she wanted it, “It’s okay, it’s alright. I know it helps…

The two sat there, for a long moment, with Melissa idly brushing fingers through his thick hair and allowing him to stare at her big, big breasts. She was supported heroically in a black satin bra that was huge but obviously still too small for her, and she watched as his eyes found the bulges of her that escaped the bottoms of her bra cups. He seemed helpless to do anything else but gape, and looked down into the flesh of it all. She was letting off just enough perfume now to relax him, help him settle his thoughts. By the end of this meeting, she wanted him to have come to terms with everythingl. She knew he was close.

”Looking at a woman’s breasts is just so relaxing, isn’t it?” she purred, indulging him with a voice she knew would be calming to him, “Helps you forget all your troubles…”

She was happy with his response, and knew she couldn’t expect much more. He’d nodded, grunted something affirmative.

Melissa giggled. The poor thing probably felt all of two inches tall right now. But she had eased him into a nice enough place, and - if he actually was two inches tall - they both knew where else she could ease him.

She knew the time was right, and pulled up the pictures of the applicants for him again. “Imagine, sweetie, if we had allllll these girls here for you, too,” she proposed, putting forward her picture of what she wanted the practice to be, “imagine all these girls, providing for you, taking care of what you need. imagine how you could relax then, with all of us around…”

“oh Jesus...Melissa,” he muttered, still lost in her cleavage.  He was disbelieving, incredulous on how far he’d let things go, how much he'd let her rise, how far he’d let himself sink. He was lost in her cleavage and felt helpless to pull himself out.

“You missed me yesterday, didn’t you?” she asked, giggling a bit and scuffing his hair.

He’ll do anything I want, she marveled.

I’ll do anything she wants, he realized.

”w-w-we’re hiring them all, aren’t we?” he asked, finally, resigned to his new fate.

”Mmhm,” she answered, and felt the world opening up for her...

================================================

Thank you loads to DragoonGTS for his renders. I've (awkwardly) photoshopped/faceswapped a few of them, but he did most all the heavy lifting for this post's imagery. Check out his Patreon and DeviantArt  and let's hope he'll be able to contribute more awesomeness in the future.

More images, more storylines, and more more more Melissa at my Patreon

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

some kind of loud, attention grabbing noise that lets you know ITS FIC TIME, BABYYYYY you could start here, but the context... the build up.. the hours of worldcrafting, you'd miss it all... so start here, instead, then circle back.

These last two weeks have actually been nice. She and Adam had both mutually agreed that, despite not being the kind of person either of them would intentionally seek out on their own, Beetlejuice (she still has a hard time believing that’s what BJ stands for, but okay,) is fun. Not just fun, but funny, and seemingly often in the mood to laugh, in that overblown, Vincent Price horror movie way he does, which earns him multiple shushes in the library.

Drama club has gotten better. Barbara has a private theory that what most people need is to just get used to BJ, to spend enough time with him that he stops looking like an outsider, and it’s coming true, slowly, but finally. BJ had mentioned off-handedly he played ukulele, and when the other kids had expressed interest, he’d brought it with him the next day... Though she’s not quite sure where he kept it, the entire day. She’s seen that mess of a locker he’s got. She doubts it fits in there. And it can’t have been in his backpack, either, because every time he sets it down, she can hear what sounds like glass and rocks settling. She’s even seen him, after school, pick up a rock and shove it in one of the pockets. She has to assume his bag weighs a hundred pounds, or so.

His instrument, almost predictably, was painted with black and white stripes, but he’d played the little thing like a pro. She had never taken him for someone who enjoyed the mellow, soft sounds the ukulele was known for, but clearly, she doesn’t know enough about the boy. Miss Larson, the drama instructor, had clapped, and learned that BJ could read music, too. “Maybe while we’re practicing, you can accompany us?” She’d asked, clearly trying to work a way into getting more participation out of their newest member. BJ had been flustered, but had agreed, easily.

The wildest thing had been hearing him sing. They’d moved from being in the drama room, most days, to being in the auditorium, working on lines and practicing their singing. No one’s been officially cast, yet, but it’s mostly to get used to being on stage. Miss Larson had insisted that BJ sing a few lines for them, and he’d sort of made a face, ducked backstage, and had appeared with his ukulele in hand. Barbara didn’t even know he’d put it back there.

“Uh, so, sing what?” He’d shuffled awkwardly, and Miss Larson had smiled. “Whatever you feel,” to which BJ just snorted, and rolled his eyes, but then he plucked a few notes on his ukulele, and started to sing.

“There’s a camp, there’s a camp, by the frozen lake, wa wa ooh. With every belly starving and every finger numb, but up on the hill there’s a red, red rum, somebody’s always cooking something in the lean-to.”

It wasn't a song she’d recognized, but it was clearly morbid. She shouldn’t have expected anything different. The real focal point was his voice, his strange, scratchy pitch, because despite sounding like he gargles sandpaper and nails, he’s got a strong, clear tone, one that carries well, and as he sings, he doesn’t hit a single sour note. She also noted that his enunciation is much clearer when he’s singing, oddly enough. He sang as much as he decided he needed to, and clung to his ukelele as he finished, like a lifeline. “So. Yeah.” He’d said, and then flinched when the clapping started, from all members present, but especially her and Adam. He’d stood looking around at them all, utterly baffled.

“You didn’t tell us you would sing!” Jeremiah, the student director, was the one who looked the most enthused, and BJ balked. “Didn’t think it mattered. M’just gonna be a stagehand.. Right?”

“Maybe he could play the dentist?” Miss Larson had looked at Jeremiah, and they’d begun talking amongst themselves, ignoring him, as he strummed nervously at his instrument.

“Oh, wait, check this out!”

And he sings again, another verse from that same, oddly morbid song, which she’d started to pick up is definitely about cannibals, but his voice is.. Different. The grit is gone. It’s like he’d ran his vocal cords under some hot soapy water, and washed all the grime and gravel out of them, because he sang like an angel, like a normal person, and then, suddenly, devolved into a hacking cough, doubled over.

“Sorry, can only do that so long. Hurts my throat,” he said, after a moment, all the grit back in his voice. He waited. There had been a soft laugh, and then it grew louder, coming from each of the members watching him in turn, because the idea that speaking like THAT somehow hurts, and his normal tone doesn’t, is just so outrageous and silly, and he’d stood there proudly, grinning in that way he does, because his joke had landed, and he might, for the first time since he was forced into their club, be enjoying himself.

So, yes. The last few weeks have been good. Very good.

All that club progress aside, looking back makes her a little flustered, because at this point, she’s gotten the hint that he’s not gay. What he is, is incredibly flirty, not only with Adam but with her, and she finds herself... enjoying it. He keeps his ukulele tucked into the bottom of the cart in the library, and sometimes, when he’s certain he won’t be interrupted, he grabs it and sings little songs about them, laying on top of the cart like a drunk lounge singer on a piano, as she or Adam wheel it along. The songs are made up on the spot tunes that often start dirty, and end sincere, like he can’t even help it. It’s embarrassing, and endearing, and just very… Beetlejuice.

There’s just the problem lingering overhead, the one she’s desperate to solve, of Kevin. BJ doesn’t talk about him, abruptly changes the subject when she tries, or just goes silent, and gives her a hard glare with those amber eyes, which is the worst of the three options, because silence on him is unnerving. He can do this thing where he goes deathly still, and she swears he doesn’t even breathe, just stands there, totally unmoving, like a corpse.

She thinks if she could just go to his house, and talk to his mother, she might get a better understanding of the entire situation, but despite him inviting them, he’s never followed up, and both Adam and herself are too polite to push.. Directly. But then, he doesn’t show up that day, not for library duty and not for drama club, and she makes the decision for him, that today is the day they’ll be coming over. She gets his address out of the guidance counselor, easily. “It’s so sweet you two want to go check up on him,” Mrs. Birch says, sliding his address across her desk to Barbara. “I knew the drama club would be a good fit for him! He’s already making friends!”

Adam’s mom is nice enough to drop them off, and Adam, adorable, sweet Adam, stares delighted at the house, as they walk up the front steps. “It’s a tudor!” he tells her, and she sort of nods, not really knowing exactly what that means. “I’ve never seen one painted black and white, before. Usually those accents are a natural wood color,” and she rings the bell, as he goes on. The outside of the house matches BJ’s stripes, and she wonders if that’s coincidence, or if his parents just really, really love him. The door swings open, and then a chubby blur jumps away from their line of sight, startling her from her thoughts. “Beetlejuice?” Adam calls, concerned, and it takes a moment for their friend to reappear in the doorway, with a croaked out, “Sup?”

He looks terrible. He always looks a little terrible, as mean as that is to say, too pale and with purple spots under his eyes she chalks up to exhaustion, but he looks worse, today. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d actually be sick.

“We just wanted to come by and see if you were okay,” she tells him, and BJ cocks his head so far to the side, he looks like he might fall over. “Why?” “Because.. We’re your friends,” Adam says, cautiously, which causes BJ to stare down at the checkered entryway tile.

“Oh.” He packs a lot of emotion into that little noise.

“Can we come in?” She asks, and he doesn’t look sure, rubbing at the back of his neck, but then next to him, in the doorway, appears what must be Mrs. Deetz. She’s on the tall side, slim, with blonde hair past her shoulders, and she’s wearing all black with lace accents. Even her stud earrings and the rings on her fingers are that same dark hue.

“Well, hello! BJ, invite your friends in!” She urges him, and then, to them asks, “You kids hungry? We’re just sitting down to dinner. It’s grilled cheese tower night,” and then she turns, and leaves them there, like that needs no explanation.

BJ fidgets a moment, but relents. “Come in, I guess,” he moves aside, and Adam and Barbara take a collective step into the Deetz household. The house is dark, not for lack of light, but for lack of color. The walls are paneling which Adam, delighted, says must be original, but they’ve been stained a dark shade of coffee, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. When she does, she takes in how strangely eerie the place is. It’s less like someone’s home and more like a haunted house ride.

“Oh, you guys haven't taken down the Halloween décor, yet?” Adam asks, noting a cracked vase full of black roses on a side table as they follow BJ further in, and BJ snorts. “That crap? It's up in th’ attack. This is what passes for normal around here.” Barbara stops to stare at a picture of a distorted figure cannibalizing a smaller one. “Saturn Devouring His Son,” BJ says, briefly putting on a voice like a tour guide, high pitched and peppy, and both she and Adam wince. “What’s with you and cannibalism?” she asks, which only earns her that haunted laugh in response.

The kitchen, at least, looks a little more normal and bright, but Barbara learns quickly that’s not to be trusted, because sitting on the counter is what looks to be a lasagna made from sandwiches and sauce. “You guys are here on a night Emily had to cook. Bad luck,” BJ tells them, and it takes her a moment to realize he’s talking about his mother. Does he use her first name?

Emily, or, Mrs. Deetz, her mind corrects politely, busies herself with dishing them both a plate. “So, you kids must be.. Adam and Barbara,” she says, knowingly, and BJ, perhaps embarrassed, shuffles his bare feet at nothing. He’s been talking to his mom about them… aww. She notices then that he’s in his pajamas, which are, like everything else he wears, eccentric. He looks cute. She realizes she’s staring, and BJ catches her eye, and wiggles his eyebrows at her. Oh, god.

“We’re sorry for dropping by unannounced, Mrs. Deetz,” Adam says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and Mrs. Deetz waives that off. “It’s totally fine. BJ’s never taken a sick day, before, I bet you probably thought he was faking. You kids can call me Emily. And that, of course, is Lydia.” She gestures to the nine year old scrutinizing them from the kitchen table.

“Hello again,” Barbara says, and Lydia gives her a smile, at least, but it's wary, it’s very, “I’ve got my eyes on you.” It’s strange to see from a little kid.

They all sit down to eat, all five of them, at the kitchen table, she and Adam settled across from BJ and Lydia. Adam squints, trying to read what’s on the other boy’s shirt. “What does that say?” he asks, and BJ glances down, and pulls the top taught, to make it easier to read. “Least exciting hole I’ve ever been in,” both boys say, at the same time. “Grand Canyon National Park.” Barbara and Adam both blush at that, and Mrs.. Emily, Emily just laughs. Lydia looks annoyed. “No one will explain to me what that means,” she tells Barbara, leaning closer to her, and almost looking hopeful. Barbara avoids that look. “It’s a dirty joke,” is all she says, and Lydia, clearly not satisfied, just takes a bite of her grilled cheese abomination. “Chuck hates this shirt,” BJ tells them. “Chuck?” “Chuck, Chuckster, Chuckles, Charles.. My dad,” he grates out. Barbara can’t imagine calling her father by his first name. She’d be in a world of trouble for being “disrespectful,” if she tried. “Is Mr. Deetz home?” Adam asks, and Lydia is the one to reply, mouth still a little too full.

“He’s at the office. He’s always working so fucking late,” Lydia says, and then lets it settle in the air, like she’s waiting for something. Barbara balks, and it feels like her eyes are bulging out of her head, because she’s never heard that kind of language from a nine year old. She glances at Emily nervously, waiting for her to blow up, to be angry, but Emily just seems to be in deep thought.

“I dunno about that one, Lyds,” Mrs. Deetz finally says, and Lydia puffs up her chest and tries again. “He’s always working so god damn late?” She looks to her mother, and Emily, finger on her chin, nods. “Yeah, alright. I hereby decree that Lydia Deetz, at the age of nine and a half, is allowed to say god damn.” Lydia pumps her fist and then takes another huge mouthful of grilled cheese casserole. “Bout fuckin’ time,” BJ grunts. Barbara thinks the Deetz family might all be whack jobs. there's more, a lot more, but tumblr can't handle it all, so read this chapter in full over on Ao3!

[ncvcmbcrflush]

It is 1am and i just finished s2, so this is gonna be long and rambling and misspelled and im sorry okay?

I am not thrilled with the writing of klaus this season, can I just say? They completely undid all of his substantial development in s1, while also removing a good chunk of his positive qualities.

There were scenes where s1!klaus shined through (any of the scenes with Allison and vanya, mainly, and i was really worried abt the scenes with bby!Dave but they were handled really well imo) but those scenes were vastly overshadowed by the unnecessary cruelty? Why did they make my boy so mean this season, I am asking this question for real. S1!klaus was wild and a disaster and heartbreaking, but he was also so kind, and willing to grow as a person in ways that his siblings actively avoided most of the time.

How do you go from beautifully empathetic s1!klaus crying in response to his abusive father's suicide, protesting luther locking up vanya and later being so adamant that they take vanya back in time with them that he literally clings to her feet, to s2!klaus who seems to not care much about anything or anyone at all?? The man is dead in heaven with his father telling him point blank what a let down he is, and he still has enough love in him to cry for him, but 3 years pass and suddenly he doesn't shed a tear for his brother who just died saving their sister?? They took away so much of his emotionality and I do not understand why.

S1!klaus also absolutely would have been open to trying possession with Ben imo, and we could have avoided the intensely uncomfortable possession sequence, which should not have been played off as a joke because it wasn't funny at all, and instead just highlights how little autonomy klaus actually has- but that is a rant that needs way more brain power and research lmao.

S1!klaus also would never have hid ben from his siblings, after spending literal years telling them that ben was there with them??? He would not have done that.

And the scene where they try to save vanya was intensely ooc in my opinion- even high off his ass klaus is quick to react and jump into action- helpful or otherwise (throwing the fire extinguisher, improvising at the prosthetics lab for 5, trying to save luther in the club, running into the theater when they hear gunshots despite having no idea how to use his powers offensively, even in s2 when he finds allison at the protest) and I refuse to believe he would need to be pushed into trying to save vanya, who he has put his life at risk to save before.

The cult thing will be getting a post of its own because I have so many feelings about that whole deal but I again, am too incoherent currently.

I loved him and allison so so much, and he and vanya just break my heart together bc they are such opposite sides of the same coin and the show doesn't seem interested in exploring that whatsoever? I was a bit bummed to not really see him interact with the boys at all though. He and Diego seemed pretty close in s1, 5 and klaus have some good scenes together, and he and luther had some good interactions at the end of s1 as well, and i wish they had kept going with that.

It just feels like they were so busy with the others, and klaus got lost along the way. We do nothing with his powers except for the possession thing, like literally besides ben and the two ghosts at the very end of the last episode klaus doesn't use his powers at all during the entire season! I loved watching everyone else kind of come into their own, but that just never happened for klaus this season- if anything, he devolved.

And I think as a side effect of fucking up klaus, they fucked up his relationship with ben, and the other boys to a lesser extent, as well.

S1 ben and klaus is what i would expect from a pair of siblings stuck together for 17 years- nagging and sarcastic and judgemental but also loving and close and they work well together. They are both dumbasses who do things like play patty cake to test ben's tangibility, and decide that tossing a bowling ball is a good way to prove that ben is present.

S2 ben and klaus are entirely antagonistic; more in line with luther and diego in s1. I have seen lots of comments saying that anyone upset with ben and klaus's dynamic in s2 doesn't have siblings, and to that i have to say- people who think their dynamic in s2 is normal don't have abusive parents. There are lines that you absolutely do not cross, and comparing a sibling to your abuser is one of them. And you don't need to have siblings to know that dismissing the death of a loved one like, isn't a good thing to do? This is especially jarring given their relationship in 2019 and as children- there is no set up for this kind of behavior from either of them.

And the others were just so overall dismissive of klaus in a way that goes beyond just sibling annoyance. During the family dinner no one bats an eye when ben jumps into him, causes his body to jerk around, and literally says that he's ben?? He lies on the floor of the elevator looking like death and we don't so much as ask what's wrong? Klaus pukes out the contents of 7 fully grown humans practically and no one offers a tums, or a ride to the damn hospital?? Like wasn't diego a fuckin cop, he should know that none of this is the result of an overdose??? As far as i can recall,, klaus doesn't even use drugs in this season? We see him drink but that's it unless I'm forgetting, which is entirely possible since it is now 2am lmao. And they just play it off as jokes, we are meant to find this funny?

And just like, he wasn't involved in the actual plot of this season much, if at all, besides being a largely unwilling catalyst for ben. Nothing would change in this season if they had cut him out completely, and i really hate that.

I'm not upset at all really- despite sounding upset and writing a long ass rant lmao- the let down of one character doesn't ruin the season for me, and honestly, given how other shows have failed me this year (looking at you, the politician) , i count this season as a win overall. Luther especially has changed so much for the better, and he was probably the highlight of this season. I'm just bummed because klaus was s u c h a good character in season one, easily one of the most interesting characters, and they did nothing with him this season.

[krixel]

So, I’ve had a horrendous fucking week (family, am I right?) and I have, admittedly, had more than one glass of Scotch to drink (family, am I right?) but I was doing a dive into my old Beyblade Tala/Trey WIPs, which were written entirely for me because I’d never ever considered the thought of coming back to posting fanfiction, let alone Tala/OC fanfiction - that joke is forever on me but GLU is my trope riddled passion project baby that you can pry from my cold dead hands - and I’d forgotten about this bizarre Tala has a twin, whose identity he stole, government experiment mess of an AU that I still love.

So yeah, here’s the less than 2,000 words start of that story, because why not? So, if you’re at all interested in another Tala/Trey AU where they’re established and Tala has a twin... here it is. Also, my writing is rough, because it’s from 3 years ago, and I wrote it on my phone while I was making dinner.

The door opened once the stairs had been secured, and the ball of tension that had started in his stomach crawled up Kai’s throat. There was only a single passenger on the private jet, and the afternoon sun gleamed against his blond hair as he emerged. A laptop bag was slung across his body and he gripped the handle of a small suitcase. Kai would never get used to seeing him; a grownup version of a past ghost. Kai pushed off the hood of his Mercedes and moved to meet the newcomer as he reached the tarmac. Blue eyes - hollow and colder than the snow that fell around them - gave him a once over before he tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Kai. I see my brother still has you running his errands like a good dog.”

“Mikaela. I see time has done nothing to improve your charm,” Kai said, resisting the urge to scold the other for his casual use of his relationship with Tala.

“Forgive me. Unlike others, I cannot put on a false face when looking at one of the people who ruined my life,” Mikaela said, striding past Kai and towards the awaiting car.

Kai rolled his eyes but followed the other to the car. He popped the trunk but did not offer to put away Mikaela’s luggage. His unwelcome guest took the hint and did it himself. He climbed into the passenger seat, and Kai was hitting the gas almost before the door closed. “We did give you a choice,” Kai said after a while. “You chose to keep breathing.”

Mikaela huffed, the sound brushing against amusement, and eyed Kai from his peripheral. “I have always been curious, Kai. In all these years, other than the one obvious crime, you seem to be a decent sort of person. How do you stomach calling a monster like my brother friend?”

Kai’s knuckles whitened around the steering wheel, but his tone was a notch above boredom. “Tala is my best friend,” he said. “And if I have ever given you the impression that I was decent, then I apologize. Tala was the one who wanted to let you live. I told him it was smarter to kill you. You're a liability.”

“How quaint, after all, was I not Tala, once upon a time?”

“Not in any of the ways that matter,” Kai said.

Mikaela clicked his tongue but said nothing else for the remainder of the drive, just propped his chin on his fist and watched the once familiar city pass by the window. As Kai pulled into the underground parking for Tala’s building, Mikaela tensed, gloved hands curling into fists at the pressing darkness. Kai scoffed as he shut off the car. “Relax, Mikaela,” he said. “You're the one who wanted an in-person meeting, so don't act like we're going to drag you out back and shoot you.”

“Given past experience, can you blame me?” Mikaela asked as he pushed open the car door, hiding his relief at finding it unlocked.

Kai shrugged and tucked his hands in his pockets as he waited for the other to retrieve his suitcase. “Like I said, you’re the one who wanted to be here.”

“Wanted is an exceptionally powerful word. I was put in a situation that was unsafe to express by any other means,” Mikaela said. He popped the handle on his suitcase and followed Kai to the side door of the building. A man with a buzz cut and arms the size of tree trunks opened the door for them, acknowledging Kai with a grunt and frowning at Mikaela.

Kai returned the nod, a wry smile twisting his lips. “Leave him be for now. Tala will let you know if that changes.”

Mikaela bristled at the threat but under the brutal look from the guard - more like ex-military or grizzly bear fighter - kept his mouth shut. As Kai cleared both the retinal scanner and fingerprint, Mikaela lifted an eyebrow. “A bit paranoid, isn't he?”

“Can't imagine why?” Was the dry response as Kai turned his key and the elevator finally started its ascent.

Despite the massive height of the building, the elevator ride was quick and silent, and Mikaela’s lip curled in disgust at the lavish foyer beyond the wrought iron gate. Kai unlocked it and pushed it aside, then motioned Mikaela out first before he followed. Mikaela towed off his boots by the door, but made no effort to remove his jacket or scarf. Kai patted him on the shoulder as he walked by, his smile just the dull side of vicious. “Island life thin your Russian blood? Or are you not planning to stay long?”

“He won't be staying long.” Tala stepped out of the living room, the sound of the tv still audible in the openess of his penthouse, and stood with a hand braced on his hip. “Hello, Mika.”

Blue eyes clashed, one pair narrowing while the other glittered with deceptive amusement. Mikaela fought down a snarl, but his expression remained blank. If he let Tala rile him so soon, they would get nowhere. “Yuriy.” Mikaela looked around their surroundings before his attention returned to the redhead. “It looks like you are doing well for yourself.”

Tala’s smile sharpened against the whetstone of the taunt. “You act like I don't share it with you,” he said. “Or is there something you want that I haven't given you?”

“What I want cannot be bought, no matter how much wealth you accumulate,” Mika said.

Tala shrugged. “I better not have flown you all the way here just to rehash your grievances against me, Mika,” he said. “Getting you back into the country undetected wasn't easy.”

“I wasn't aware I existed, as far as anyone else was concerned.”

Before the rising tension could escalate further another set of footsteps sounded from the direction of the living room. Trey came around the corner, eyes flicking towards Kai, then the newcomer, and then back to Kai. “Damn. I thought you left to get pizza,” she said. “Is that even a thing here? You guys do have pizza in Russia, right? Oh my god, if not I need to go home, right now.”

Tala snorted at his girlfriend, his shoulders easing despite the proximity of Mika, and Kai resisted the urge to hug Trey for her brilliance. There was no way she'd missed the rising threat in the foyer, but she diffused Tala with the expertise of a bomb unit. She moved to Tala’s side, tucking herself under his arm and against his side. “Why do all of your friends look like they walked off magazine covers? Seriously?”

“We are not friends,” Mika said, eyes surveying Trey with confusion. He was the dirty little secret Tala kept locked far away from him, and yet Tala did not seem at all concerned about the girl’s presence.

“Co-worker? Arch nemesis? Is that still a thing?”

“Twin brother, though I suppose arch nemesis isn't entirely out of the question,” Tala cut her off.

Even Kai’s eyebrows lifted at Tala’s casual admittance to Mika’s identity. Trey blinked, and waited for the punchline, though as she looked closer it was impossible to deny the resemblance - really it came down to Tala’s ridiculous hair. And then with the horror of someone who has just realized they left their child at a store, said, “You mean there's two of you in the world?”

“It's still up for debate which one is the evil one,” Kai said, as he shrugged out of his jacket.

“You knew?” Trey asked, then frowned at the obvious question. “Of course you knew. You just picked him up from the airport.”

Tala smiled as Trey devolved into her nervous rambling, and tightened his arm around her. “Why don’t you go spend some time with Kai while Mika and I catch up?”

Trey blinked at the obvious dismissal, but nodded. Tala tended to tell her the truth, so if he wanted her gone for that conversation then he had good reason. Trey lifted on her toes and Tala tilted his head down to meet her kiss. He lifted his arm and Trey shuffled away from him, sparing a glance for Mika. “Um… nice to meet you?” Mika stared at her without expression and said nothing. “Right, or not, I guess.”

Tala’s eyes narrowed but said nothing, and Trey crossed the foyer to Kai, who rolled his eyes and ushered her towards the stairs. “Ignore him,” he said. “Mika hates Tala and anyone associated with him. It's nothing personal to you.”

“So, Tala has a twin?” she asked. “And they hate each other, but no one thought to mention it.”

Kai ran his hand through his hair, expression pinched with frustration. “It's complicated, and probably better left for Tala to explain,” he said. “I wouldn't even know where to start. I'm sorry he showed up now, though, while your here. It’s not going to make for the best vacation.”

“It seemed serious,” Trey said, remembering the black mood Tala descended into after that particular phone call. “And you seemed surprised Tala introduced us?”

“I was,” Kai said, opening the door to the game room and letting Trey step through first. “Tala is - guarded - about Mika.”

Trey flopped onto one of the couches in the room, propping her chin on her fist. “You thought Tala would lie to me?” Her tone walked a delicate balance between curiosity and hurt, and Kai realized his next words needed to be careful.

“Yes,” he admitted, and took a seat on a chair facing Trey. “About Mika’s identity, at least. It's hard to explain without explaining everything, but no one knows about Mika except me, and Ian because he hacked Tala’s files once.”

Trey laughed. “Tala had to be furious.”

Kai’s smile was faint. “Ian stayed with me for a couple of weeks while Tala calmed down,” he said. “I think that's the maddest I’ve ever seen him at Ian, but it worked out. Ian lives here, better for him to know.”

“But not me?”

Kai shook his head. “If that were the case, Tala wouldn't have introduced you. Believe me, I’m relieved. Don't mistake my surprise for judgment.”

“Why is the fact that Tala has a twin such a big deal?”

“Because, if the wrong people found out, it would end me,” Tala said.

Kai and Trey looked up at the intrusion and Tala smiled. He sat down beside Trey and adjusted when she cuddled against his side. “Mika’s getting settled,” Tala said to Kai’s look. “I figured you’d be giving her cryptic explanations, and thought it'd be better for me to just explain.”

“I wish someone would,” Trey said, elbowing Tala in the ribs.

Tala kissed the top of her head. “Knowing my darkest secrets isn't as appealing as it might seem, just ask Kai,” he said. “Last chance to bow out.”

“Tala, you were a psychotic lunatic I used to hate. Let's be clear that my opinion of you is pretty low, already,” Trey said.

The tension in Tala eased again and he relaxed against her. “Right. Somehow, I keep forgetting that bit.”

[childoftimeandmagic]

Got Our Whole Lives

I really should be working on my Practical Magic!Klaroline fic, but this was tumbling, rumbling and rolling around in my brain instead. 

Merthur fic for @kickassfu because she’s amazing and I love her. 

You can also read it here AO3. 

           “Are you sure that Merlin’s working till seven tonight?” Arthur asked, for the twelfth time that afternoon as he sat in Gwen’s living room as Morgana walked back in with two mugs of tea one for her and one for Gwen.

           Gwen took the mug from Morgana and shifted on the loveseat so that Morgana could sit with her before focusing on Arthur who was frantically typing into his laptop as he organized a surprise trip for him and Merlin’s second anniversary. “Yes Arthur, your boyfriend who you talk to everyday at least 12 of the 24 hours will be off work at seven alright?”

           Arthur flipped her off and focused on reserving the caravan from the company he’d found online as well as the tram tickets to Normandy. He had asked Merlin to request the 17th to the 25th of June off so that they could finally take a proper holiday together. Merlin had stared at him eyeing him suspiciously as he called his boss to put in for the requested dates. Thankfully, his boyfriend hadn’t asked him what they were doing. Proclaiming that if they were going on a holiday then Arthur was planning it as Merlin was going to be finishing his Masters thesis in early June and honestly couldn’t be arsed to also plan a posh vacation up to Arthur’s aristocratic standards.

           “We’re going to be caravanning?” Merlin’s voice broke through his concentration as he was going through the plan one more time. Slamming his laptop closed he looked up at Merlin who was standing just inside the living room looking down at him like he’d lost his marbles.

           “What are you doing here you aren’t supposed to be here till half past seven,” he hissed, his face flushing as Merlin sat down on the floor next to him and gently handed him his phone which had two missed calls and five unanswered texts. It was also telling him that it was ten to eight – oh.

           “You didn’t answer what you wanted to get for dinner and then Gwen sent me a text saying that she couldn’t ravage your sister with you in the flat,” Merlin said softly, his eyes looking at Arthur with that love and adoration that sometimes made Arthur feel stunted.

           “Right we should head off,” he said standing up stiffly and pulling his laptop bag over to his side shoving the offending instrument into the finished leather.

           “Arthur are you okay?” Merlin asked, they were halfway back to the flat that they shared close enough to the university and Merlin’s café job, that Arthur didn’t mind taking the extra underground line to his job in City Centre.

           “Huh, oh yea,” he said, squeezing Merlin’s hand in his and pulling him in for a chaste kiss. “Better now though.”

           “Right but you know me joking that you had to plan our first holiday wasn’t an effort for you to keep it a secret,” he said, cupping Arthur’s cheek with his free hand.

           “I know but I want it to be a surprise,” Arthur said, as they passed the Indian take-away place a block before the apartment. “We’re eating Indian for dinner.”

           Merlin laughed as his boyfriend changed the subject from what their holiday plans were to what their most pressing plans were, frankly if they had Indian take-away for dinner every night, Merlin thought Arthur would be happiest. Following him into the shop he smiled as Arthur ordered one of every appetizer before ordering Merlin’s Lamb Saagwala and his own Chicken Biryani both moderately spicy for two white boys from the countryside and wrapping the order up with an obscene number of naan.

           “You know I don’t get paid till Friday right,” Merlin whispered, into Arthur’s ear when Arthur had paid and walked over to stand next to where Merlin was sitting on a stool by the window.

           “I know it’s my treat,” Arthur said, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s waist pressing a kiss to his cheek and hiding his face against Merlin’s neck.

           “Are you sure you’re alright?” Merlin asked, rubbing his hands across Arthur’s back.

           “I’m fine just want you to have the best holiday ever,” Arthur whispered, placing a kiss to Merlin’s pulse point.

           “Okay, but we could hide in the flat and not go anywhere for a week and it would be the best vacation ever,” Merlin said, leaning into Arthur’s rare showing of public affection.

           “Right, but you’ve never gone on a holiday outside the country, and I want your first one to be with me,” Arthur said, squeezing Merlin tighter in his arms.

           “Alright, but can you at least tell me if we’re doing a roadtrip or a resort,” Merlin teased, running his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair it was growing longer than he normally let it get. Merlin was selfishly happy that Arthur had let his hair grow out slightly.

           “Fine you twat, we’re gonna roadtrip for a week,” Arthur relented, pulling back to look at Merlin eyes searching for any sign of disappointment or reluctance to the plan. All he saw was admiration and love.

           “Sounds amazing, I’m not sure I could have handled a posh resort where you and your cronies hang around when not at Parliament to talk about defrauding the everyday people of more social services,” Merlin said, completely straight faced while Arthur winced and pulled away.

           “I can not believe that you just tried to tie me to my late father’s political party,” Arthur gasped, hand on chest.

           “I know you’re the good party who only does marginally better for the people,” Merlin said, pulling Arthur back into his arms grinning like a loon.

           “You are a twat,” Arthur said, trying not to give into Merlin’s teasing.

           “Well it’s better than being a Clotpole,” Merlin said, kissing Arthur’s cheek before pushing him back towards the counter as they called out his name.

           Arthur laughed as he walked back to his boyfriend who had unfolded himself from the stool to stand by the door. Waving to the employees and wishing them a good night Arthur and Merlin walked out into the night towards home.

              Finished, it was done and he didn’t need to be back in the Politics and International Relation Hall until the first week of July to defend his thesis to the faculty panel. Rolling over he frowned, it was Saturday and Arthur didn’t work on Saturdays. So why was he missing from their bed? Merlin got up grabbing one of Arthur’s rugby shirts from the top of the wardrobe and walked out of the bedroom to find Arthur sitting at his laptop frowning in the kitchen.

           “Who died?” he asked, walking closer to rub Arthurs shoulders.

           “Huh – oh we got upgraded,” Arthur said, reaching up to tangle his fingers with Merlin’s against his left shoulder.

           “Why does that have you looking like you just got a call about someone dying,” Merlin pressed, his thumb rubbing against Arthur’s hand.

           “It’s just uh bigger than I was expecting,” he said, showing Merlin the large caravan.

           “That’s like a proper lorry,” Merlin commented looking at the specs before looking at Arthur.

           “Well can we go back to the original mini camper?” Merlin asked, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

           “Yea, but it won’t be ready till tomorrow,” Arthur said, sighing as he turned and buried his face in Merlin’s middle wrapping his arms around his boyfriend.

           “Okay so we leave on the train first thing in the morning tomorrow for Calais,” Merlin reasoned out, rubbing circles on Arthur’s shoulders.

           “You don’t mind not starting your freedom from the city right away?” Arthur repeated after Merlin nudged him for mumbling into his torso.

           “Nope, because I think that we can find plenty to distract us right here,” Merlin said, raising his eyebrow and nodding back towards the bedroom he’d just left. “I’m not sure I feel properly loved.”

           Arthur barked out a laugh before standing up his hands gripping Merlin’s thin hips as he hoisted him up into his arms as Merlin laughed. While roughly the same height Merlin was definitely an inch taller, but he lacked the muscular physique of years of rugby and footie that Arthur had, and loved it when Arthur picked him up in his arms.

             “I can’t believe we’re going on a roadtrip across the north coast of France and you didn’t even plan one battleground or museum visit,” Merlin teased, he sat in the seat his legs across Arthur’s lap since it wasn’t a manual vehicle.

           “You just spent the last two months writing a thesis on the battles of the Normandy conquest. I made the executive decision that this would be nature parks, cafes, beach walks, and ocean spray not academics.” Arthur snapped, huffing as he passed a lorry on the left.

           “I love it, and appreciate that you put so much effort into this trip for me,” Merlin said, pulling his feet out of Arthur’s lap to lean over and kiss his cheek.

           “Uh huh, how long is my plan going to last?” Arthur asked, eyebrows raised shaking his head.

           “Probably till the first time we stop and I see a sign for a stuffy local museum,” Merlin admitted laughing when Arthur groaned.

           “Next time we go to a nice resort that has nude beaches and no museums near it,” Arthur grumbled, turning up the music playing through the sound system.

           “Fine I’ll stop teasing you with my obsession with wasting days away in stuffy museums,” Merlin said, carding his fingers through Arthur’s hair.

           “Twat.”

           “Dollop head.”

           “Are you ever going to tell me what that means?”

           “Nope.”

           Soon they devolved into Arthur driving and Merlin fiddling with the playlist on his phone until he found one he wanted, and leaned against the seat arm to kiss Arthur quickly before pulling away. Arthur laughed as Merlin folded his long limbs into a pretzel sit and leaned his head against the window eyes dropping already. Merlin always fell asleep if he wasn’t the one driving.

           Arthur smiled and relaxed as he followed the GPS directions to Camping des Dunes, a beach campground. It was rustic and relaxing.

           Pulling in he followed the directions to the beach front parking. It was crowded but not the levels that Gwaine and Percival had warned him about. Parking and pulling up the emergency brake he pressed a kiss to Merlin’s temple and turned his seat around to set up the bedding and open the back door so that they could sleep to the sounds of the ocean behind them. Once he’d done that he grabbed the small grill and bag of charcoal so that they could cook up the chicken kababs that they’d made up yesterday afternoon.

           “Are we there?” Merlin asked, turning to look out the side door at Arthur who was stoking the coals to get them hot. Rubbing his eyes, he looked around and smiled at Arthur who grinned back.

           “Go take a look around, I’m just heating up the coals and then I’ll find you okay?” Arthur asked, rubbing the small little box in his jean pocket.

           “I’m going to see what the amenities are like and then the beach I’ll be back in like ten minutes,” Merlin said, pulling Arthur close for a quick kiss which turned into a longer moment than he planned. “I can’t leave here if you don’t let me go.”

           “I don’t want to let you go,” Arthur mumbled, tightening his grip around Merlin’s middle before releasing him.

           “I’ll be back soon,” Merlin said, walking off to explore.

             Once the coals were adequately hot, he covered the grill and started off to look for Merlin. As Arthur walked over to the beach which was just around the hedge he’d parked next too. Walking on the sand his sandals in his hand. Looking for his boyfriend, he admired the sun glinting off the waves and the sand. Merlin was sitting on the top of the dune staring out at the waves.

           “Hey Emrys, you get lost in your head,” he asked, sitting next to his partner.

           “Sorry I was sitting in the sun and it felt so good. Can we have dinner after the sun sets?” Merlin said, leaning against Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur shifted so that his chest was against Merlin’s back. Arthur chuckled and settled back into the dune, pulling Merlin into his arms holding him tight.

           “It’s beautiful here,” Merlin murmured, trailing his fingers up and down Arthur’s legs as he relaxed into Arthur’s hold.

           “I’m glad you find it so beautiful,” Arthur said, shifting so that he could rest his chin on Merlin’s shoulder. “I have a question for you dearheart.”

           “What’s going on darling,” Merlin asked, shifting so he could look at Arthur. Pulling away and looking at his boyfriend Merlin searched his face for a hint at what was on Arthur’s mind.

           “So we’ve been dating for the last three years and living together for two, and you’ve been with me for some of the hardest moments in my life,” Arthur started taking a deep breath and reaching out to hold Merlin’s hand in his. “You helped me come out to my Father, you helped me reconcile my grief with my anger after he died. When I think about the future and where I want to be in it, Merlin you’re right by my side. I don’t – no I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

           Merlin took the pause that Arthur inadvertently took a breath to hold up his hand. “I need you to hold that thought because if you’re doing what I think you’re doing I need to grab something from my pack.”

           Arthur was sitting in the sand watching the love of his life run across the beach back to their caravan and then running back only tripping twice, thankfully not biting it and falling. When Merlin fell to his feet in front of him Arthur eyed the small green box in his hands before Arthur pulled out a small black box from his jeans. They looked at each other and promptly devolved into laughs holding onto each other.

           “Can I finish please?” Arthur asked, looking at Merlin eyes wide as he cupped his cheeks, rubbing his thumb across the stubble.

           “By all means you aristocratic poof,” Merlin teased, sneaking a kiss before pulling away to hold Arthur’s hands in his.

           “As I was saying – I was wondering if you’d do me the honor of making me the happiest lord in England and man on earth by marrying me?” Arthur asked, opening the box in his left hand to reveal a dark band with flecks of blues, golds, reds in the center of the band shifting in the sunlight.

           “I first would like to point out that I was hoping to ask you while you stargazed tonight, but I – I don’t want to wait. I’ll marry you if you’ll marry me?” Merlin said, grinning looking at his boyfriend as he opened the green box in his hand revealing an elegant and smooth gold band with a gentle engraving on the inside in sloping interconnected lines.

           “Nothing would make me happier,” Arthur said, taking Merlin’s left hand in his right while Merlin took Arthur’s left hand in his. Once they interchanged the rings, Arthur pulled Merlin into a gentle kiss. Resting his forehead against Merlin’s, Arthur smiled and stood up slowly.

           “We gotta go cook dinner, otherwise we won’t have any coals left to use,” Arthur said, taking Merlin back to the caravan. This road trip was going to be more amazing than they’d originally thought.

           “After dinner we have to call mum and tell her the good news,” Merlin said, intertwining their fingers. Arthur laughed and nodded as they separated to complete the required tasks.  

[morrigan-writings]

The God Father

Warning(s): none

A/N: Alright so this is a piece I wrote for an assignment a year ago, and I decided to go ahead and post it here because I was so happy with how it turned out (and I got an A!), and part of me wants to write some little blurbs that continue the concept.

Basically this is a fictional piece based on ACTUAL Norse mythology and NOT the Marvel versions. I got the idea for this off the writing prompt tumblr that was along the lines of "you write down Loki as your childs godparent as a joke, but he actually takes it seriously". I loved it so I used it. Enjoy!

PS -- I realized later that it maybe wasn't 100% clear, but Astrid was adopted, hence why she's "old enough" to play tea party, maybe 6-7. Only a handful of days passes over the duration of this piece.

It was all a joke, really. A complete farce, a “good laugh.” At least, that’s what it was meant to be. The Ohlsons had just welcomed their daughter, Astrid, into their lives, and they had crossed all the T’s, dotted all the I’s, but one last question remained: who to appoint as the girl’s  godparent? Erika and Ingrid Ohlson immediately turned to their respective families of course, but almost every option was eventually decided against. Both grandparents were already far up in years; Erika’s parents already living with an in-home nurse, and Ingrid’s own father refusing to ever speak to her. Erika was an only child, so Ingrid’s brother was next to be scrutinized. However, despite being close in age, he still acted a child in a grown man’s body, making poor investments, partying all weekend with numerous friends, moving from girlfriend to girlfriend. Absolutely not someone able to take care of a child (much less himself), and immediately scratched off the list. 

Friends were next, but...... there weren’t many options. The two new mothers weren’t incredibly social people to begin with, and as such only had a select few friends. A few were married with several children already, and Ingrid insisted they not add the potentiality of another child to the mix. Their other friends ranged from being either unequipped to raise a child, too busy with their own specific line of work, or just not close enough to be considered for godparent. Options had now all but disappeared, and the two women had resigned to perhaps just skipping over this particular notion.

About a week later, during an evening of movies and a couple drinks after putting the young Astrid to bed, Erika began giggling to herself, the sound growing to full-on laughter which she hastily struggled to stifle in the small apartment so as not to wake the child. Ingrid, simultaneously confused and curious, glanced over at her wife, a single brow raised.

“What in the god’s names has got you so hysterical?”

Pulling in a gulp of air, Erika turned to Ingrid, tears in her eyes. “Listen, okay, what- what if...... hear me out here- what if we......we......” she could still barely speak from her incessant giggling.

“Dear, please, what is it?” Ingrid sighed, her curiosity starting to eat at her.

“Okay...... okay so......” the woman finally composing herself to a degree. “What if, for just absolute shits and giggles....... what if we named a Norse god as godparent? Like a literal GODparent? Just, what if. For the hell of it.”

Ingrid, the resident librarian of the house, blinked. “You want us....... to name an ancient, all-powerful, Norse god of old..... as our daughter’s godparent?”

“Ingrid, hun, look: we have literally no options at this point. Maybe eventually we’ll have a friend become a better candidate later in the years, and if so, we’ll write them down as godparent instead. But for now..... come on, it’d be funny and it’d be an absolute hoot to see the look on people’s faces when we bring this up,” Erika then smiled more deviously, “plus I know you can’t pass up a good pun.”

Giving a smile of her own, Ingrid sighed. “Alright fine, lets do it. Which god did you have in mind?”

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

Deep in a labyrinthine cave, hidden away from the known world, sat two ancient beings whose existence had all but been forgotten and reduced to mere myth. A restrained fire giant, face scarred, auburn hair now matted and lank, with a monstrously large serpent sat poised above his head. His wife, Sigyn, a goddess in her own right, yet often left out in stories even in the days of old, sat ever faithfully by his side, her own face gaunt, exhaustion and fortitude lining every inch of it. In her own scarred hands she held a bowl aloft as the only barrier between his face and the beast above as venom drip, drip, dripped into the small basin, the sound now akin to what the mortals refer to as a clock, the deity’s only semblance of time. 

The god had long since lost his unhinged anger for this life sentence, had since devolved into simply being..... exhausted with the ordeal. Relieved that his wife remained by his side, but also guilty that she stayed in such a horrid place with such a tiring task despite having no orders herself to be here. He had grown weary, maybe a touch apprehensive, with the smallest hint of boredom even. They had been stuck down here for centuries now. Or at least physically. The god found he maintained his ability to project an astral form of himself wherever he wished, and this is what he utilized to learn of the world through the long years. He only wished he could share this illusion of escape with his spouse.

As the centuries passed, he watched as humanity started to turn from the old ways, began to write off the gods as only myths and legend, not beings worth worshiping any longer for the most part. He watched as the rest of the gods slowly accepted this and drew back into their homes amongst Asgard and Valhalla and even Hel, only sitting back up to take notice if something truly important occurred on Midgard, but otherwise ignoring it, as they themselves were ignored. And why shouldn’t they? There was virtually no point otherwise anymore. But today........ today somehow felt different. The imprisoned god cracked open an eye as something seemed to shift in his awareness. Not...... worship, not really. But..... something new. Someone, somewhere, it seemed, was inscribing him as a guardian. To their child. And for supposedly no particular reason that he could even fathom. This was definitely new. The god began chuckling quietly before he could stop himself, the whole concept incredibly humorous. 

However, before he could share this new discovery, that dreaded time came again when that hatefully small bowl filled to the brim, and Sigyn sucked in a sharp breath as she suddenly flew into motion like clockwork. She rushed to pull the bowl away and dump the acidic liquid before too much harm was caused before she could return to her original post, but it was never fast enough, it was impossible to be. The second the obstruction disappeared, the snake’s venom began dripping onto the imprisoned god’s face, his eyes and cheekbones burning with each drop as if on fire, bellows of pain being loosed from his lungs all the while. His wife returned the bowl to its original position, frantic and remorseful apologies spilling from her lips as always, him waving them off with a shake of his head and a forced smile. Once resettling, Sigyn peered down at her husband with curiosity. 

“What was it that made you laugh so genuinely after so long?”

He smiled once again, remembering. “The gods may no longer be revered as they once were, but.... a fascinating development has occurred in the mortal realm: I have apparently been named as guardian to a young child, for whatever reason.”

The goddess raised her brow in surprise. “Guardian? I mean no offense, my love, but surely it must be in jest? And as you stated, we both know worship is no longer practiced on Midgard, so why this sudden change?”

“No, I agree, I find the whole matter quite amusing. However. Due to the absurdity and the rarity, on the chance that this is meant sincerely in any way, I feel inclined to follow it through.  I am named guardian, I am now bound to comply, I believe.”

A warm smile, the first he’d seen in decades, grew upon his wife’s face, as even her dulled eyes began to slowly light up again at the idea he presented. “Then by all means, you should go. All I ask is for you to bring me back stories of this child when you return.”

He returned the smile, the same genuine warmth mirrored back to her. Letting out a long exhale, the god settled back onto his rock best he could, closed his eyes, and cast out his consciousness to the mortal world, empowered by the promise of new mischief to come. 

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

It had been only a couple days since Ingrid and Erika had filled out the paperwork to appoint their god of choice as the godparent to Astrid. As was anticipated, they were given a strange look from the clerk assisting them when he read the name. “A family friend,” Erika waved him off with a smile. The two new mothers had a good laugh on a the walk home that day, imagining all the potential hilarious scenarios in which to share this information.

Ingrid was playing tea party with Astrid as Erika was in the middle of cooking dinner when their doorbell rang. Intrigued as to who could possibly be visiting them at this time of night, Erika walked over and cracked the front door open, only just wide enough to see the person waiting outside. 

There in the hallway stood a man, nearly six and a half feet tall, with a lean build, and immaculately well groomed and dressed. A tailored suit was his attire of choice, a dark forest green, with gold buttons stamped with intricate designs, and cuff links that resembled a wolf’s head. His long, fiery red hair seemed to gleam faintly in the light as if metallic, the top half of it tied back out of his face, a couple small braids interspersed throughout. The man’s features were both fascinating and eerie, mostly made of sharp angles with smiling thin lips and darkened hazel eyes that almost seemed to flare gold (but it was probably just a trick of the lights). However, the only oddity about this figure was the scarring around said eyes, so faint you could only see it when the light hit his face just right, but still curious to see. 

While the strange man gave a tentative smile and made no move toward the open door, keeping his hands in his coat pockets, Erika had become confused into silence, trying to rapidly figure out just how to ask who the hell this man was in the politest way possible. Ingrid, also interested in who their late night visitor was, quietly came up behind her wife and peered past her shoulder to the figure outside. Ingrid, apparently, was quicker on the draw.

“Excuse me, but who are you? We weren’t expecting anyone this late, we’re in the middle of dinner.”

The stranger smiled knowingly, bowing his head slightly. He raised one hand up toward his face, snapping his fingers and causing a small flame to ignite above his index finger, pulling a gasp from one of the women.

“I do apologize for the late hour, unfortunately the concept of time has slowly left me over the years. But I am Loki of the Aesir, and I do believe I am young Astrid’s godfather.”

[littlemisswolfie]

flowing with milk and honey

Mackenzie Hunt x Pregnant Jewish MC

AO3

When they find out Kelila’s pregnant, things start to happen very quickly.

Razi fires her immediately. Like, as soon as the words “I’m pregnant,” are past her lips, Razi starts writing out the severance pay check. “You’re bringing a new life into the world,” he says when she protests. “You don’t need to be working somewhere with heavy plastic balls flying around.”

“No one in town is gonna hire a woman who’ll need maternity leave in less than a year,” Kelila points out.

“We both know Mac gets payed more than enough to provide for everything. You don’t need a job.”

Kelila raises an eyebrow. “And you trust JD to work here with just your supervision?”

Razi laughs. “Your wife would be more than happy to arrest them if they do anything stupid while you’re pregnant. Speaking of which, where is she?” He makes a show of looking around. “You’ve been glued to each other since the mating ritual. I thought she wouldn’t let you out of her sight once you finally got pregnant.”

Kelila blushes. The “finally” is almost certainly meant to tease. She’d been joking when she told Mackenzie it would only take nine months for a baby Hunt to be coming, but she wasn’t far off. They took a week-long honeymoon by the lake while Mothman worked furiously on renovations to the house, took another three weeks to settle in to the house and prepare for the complicated ritual, and performed the ritual on the next full moon. The wedding really had been a formality more than anything, and Kelila wanted nothing more than to build a family with the woman she’d pledged the rest of her life to, so they saw no reason to wait.

“She’s at work,” Kelila finally says. “She wants to take at least a month off when the baby comes so she’s trying to give Elmer a crash-course in handling her job. Besides,” she adds, “we have to come up with an explanation for how I’m pregnant and we can’t concentrate long enough to think about it when we’re around each other.”

JD, of course, chooses this moment to enter the conversation. “Damn, she put a baby in you already?” They lean against the bar next to her, their usual mischievous grin firmly in place. “I thought it wouldn’t take long, but you really didn’t waste any time, huh?”

Kelila doesn’t give them the satisfaction of getting flustered. “At least I’m getting sex on a regular basis. That’s more than I can say for you.”

“Low blow, wolfgirl.”

“I try my best.” Then, side eyeing Razi, she says, “So, I’ll see you guys tomorrow morning—“

“—when you come to turn in your uniform, yes.” Razi slides the severance pay check across the bar.

Kelila groans.

*

Annabelle screams. They have a weekly pack dinner at the house every Sunday, and she can smell it as soon as she and Damien walk through the door. She pounces, wrapping herself around Kelila as gently as she can, and starts sobbing congratulations into her neck.

Damien is a little more composed, but Kelila doesn’t need a pack bond to feel his excitement. She wishes he’d taken Mac up on her offer to bring him into the pack officially after that nasty business with the Beast, but she respects his decision, and she counts the days until he’s ready to bind himself to them.

Diego knows, of course. He’s a certified midwife and has already insisted he’ll take care of all Kelila’s medical needs pro-bono.

“We have the money to pay you, you know,” Mac reminds him over dinner when the topic comes up. Kelila knows she still feels indebted to him for the suit he got her for their wedding.

Diego, of course, won’t hear of it. “You’re pack, and Kelila is carrying my little niece or nephew, and I have money to spare. I’m not charging you.”

The rest of dinner devolves into increasingly token arguments from both Mac and Diego. Kelila sighs into her chicken and resigns herself to another nine months of it.

*

Amare and Randolph bring a bunch of Mac’s baby stuff to the house. It takes a couple of trips to and from the truck because as soon as Kelila tries to help the three Hunts stare at her so hard she takes psychic damage.

“A few months ago, you were making me do pull ups in the woods,” Kelila points out when Mac finally sits back down on the couch and slings an arm around her shoulder. Her fingers come up to play with Mac’s wedding band just to feel the rush of affection through their bond. “Now you won’t let me pick up a cardboard box.”

“Diego said no heavy lifting,” Mac says.

“Ten pounds isn’t heavy, babe.”

“Humor me, please. I don’t want you bending over too much.”

Kelila has about five different suggestive comebacks she would use if Amare and Randolph weren’t here, so she just sends a general feeling of amusement over the bond and delights in the way her wife flushes. Aloud, she says, “So am I not allowed to pick anything up for the next few months?”

Mac raises an eyebrow. “You’re welcome to try if you think anyone wouldn’t stop you.”

She thinks about their pack and groans. Mac’s right; they’ll stop her from doing anything they deem too dangerous. “I’m pregnant, not made of glass.”

Amare, lounging in an armchair Mothman insisted went perfectly with the couch, laughs. “We know, dear. Just let us spoil you a little.”

“Well, when you put it that way...” With a dramatic flair she’s gradually picked up from working with Razi and JD for so long, Kelila swings her legs up and drapes them over Mac’s lap. The laughter that fills the room just makes up for not being allowed to move boxes with stuff intended for the little life growing in her womb.

*

They agree not to tell Grace and Gwen until they’re in Havenfall next so they don’t risk Code Black finding out. Even with a trusted ally (read: the alpha’s sister-in-law) working there, neither Mac nor Kelila trust them enough to let them know about a possible werewolf baby.

By the time Grace and Gwen show back up, Kelila has the beginnings of a bump. It’s not noticeable unless she’s looking for it, but it’s definitely there. She and Mac have also settled on a story for the regular townsfolk; they’re doing IVF and one of Mac’s cousins volunteered to be the donor so the kids look like they’re biologically theirs. They’re not going around announcing the pregnancy to everyone, but people in a small town are nosy and it’s only a matter of time until they start noticing the weight gain and the hormones.

Grace has clearly just come from the bowling alley and she looks concerned. “Why weren’t you at work?” she asks in lieu of a greeting, not bothering to knock on the front door like she used to. Gwen, as always, is half a step behind her, her arms crossed. She looks like she’s trying not to care, but Kelila can see the worry bubbling underneath her cool façade. She has to blink back tears. Fuckin’ hormones...

“What did Razi tell you?” she asks them.

“Just that you were home,” Grace says. “But then we drove by the station and your truck was there so I knew Mac was at work. What’s going on?”

Kelila takes them into the living room because she knows they’ll want to sit down when they hear the news. As she left the kitchen, her hand wrapped around a can of pears. She’s been lucky as far as cravings go; Amare says she couldn’t get enough funnel cake when she went to the county fair pregnant with Mac.

Grace raises an eyebrow at the sight of the can. “I thought you didn’t like canned pears,” she says.

“Yeah, well.” Kelila shrugs. “The baby likes them.”

Grace nods like this is an acceptable answer, then freezes. Next to her, Gwen gains what is no doubt the start of a shit-eating grin. “The—the baby?”

Kelila rests a hand on her swollen belly. “I’m pretty sure I have the Psalms memorized at this point.”

Grace shrieks so loud Gwen winces, which is an accomplishment. She launches herself at Kelila and hugs her, but checks her strength at the last second so she doesn’t hurt her. “Holy shit, that’s great! How far along are you? You’re keeping kosher, right? No graveyards? Holy shit, I’m gonna be an aunt!”

Kelila doesn’t see Gwen move with her arms full of her sister, but she feels her hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t understand half of that, but congrats to you and the sheriff. You’ll be great parents.”

“Thanks, Gwen.” Kelila runs a hand through her sister’s hair. “I’m about three months in, keeping kosher, and staying far away from graveyards. Mac won’t even let me carry groceries into the house because they might be too heavy.”

“I knew I liked her,” Grace says, and Kelila laughs. Her ears prick at the sound of a car door shutting. Mac’s home for lunch. Grace is too distracted to notice and keeps on going. “Is Mac reading the Psalms with you in English, or did you teach her Hebrew?”

“What Psalms?” Mac asks, standing in the now-open doorway and looking upon her wife and sisters-in-law (yes, including Gwen, because she’s probably not going anywhere anytime soon) in confusion. “Babe, what’s going on?”

*

Sensing the beginnings of a marital spat, Gwen and Grace head to the motel they’re staying at for the night, so Kelila has to do all the talking herself.

Mac sits down on the couch next to her and puts a hand on her knee while she speaks. “Traditionally, the parents read certain Psalms more often during pregnancy. The father—which, of course, isn’t a thing for us, but would be you in this case—is supposed to read Psalm 20 every night before bed. If possible, there are some Psalms you should say while I’m in labor, too.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” Mac asks, and there’s a wave of sorrow over their bond so deep Kelila feels like sobbing. She didn’t realize Mac would be so hurt by this.

“It’s not your way, Mac. It’s mine and Grace’s. There are a lot of other traditions I’m not following either, because they’re a little inconvenient in a town like this. I can’t go to temple services every day, for example.” She puts a hand over Mac’s and squeezes it. “I’m fine reciting my Psalms by myself. I don’t want you to feel obligated to follow Jewish traditions because of me.”

Mac gives her a humorless laugh. “I feel like we’ve had this exact conversation about other topics before.”

“You’re right, of course. I’m just being dumb and hormonal.”

“You’re not dumb, you’re pregnant. You get to be irrational if you want to.” Mac leans over and presses a kiss to Kelila’s temple, and Kelila melts into her, becoming boneless so Mac can maneuver her onto her lap. “Will you teach the Psalms to me?”

“I don’t have an English copy of them. Our Torah is written entirely in Hebrew. But I could translate them this afternoon if you want me to.”

“Please,” says Mac. “Our baby is going to be Jewish, too, so I want to do this right.”

Kelila feels her eyes go hot and tries to blink back the tears. “I love you,” she says.

“I love you, too.”

*

Mac says there’s something weird about her scent, particularly around her stomach, so they go see Diego for an ultrasound. They haven’t gotten one yet because she and Mac are somewhat able to gauge the baby’s status by themselves, but Mac is concerned, so in they go. “It’s just a precaution,” Mac keeps saying. “The baby is fine, it’s just weird, this is just a precaution.” At this point Kelila thinks she’s trying to reassure herself rather than Kelila.

Diego must have cleared his afternoon because they’re the only ones in his office. “Did you two want to know the sex while you’re here?” he asks after Kelila has settled on the table and pulled her shirt up to expose her belly.

Kelila meets Mac’s eyes and nods. Mac says, “We have to come up with an English name and a Hebrew name anyway, so knowing that would help us narrow our options down.”

Emotion catches is Kelila’s throat at Mac mentioning their baby having a Hebrew name and sends a rush of affection over the bond. Diego feels the surplus through the larger pack bond and chuckles.

Mac holds her hand while Diego spreads the gel on her taught stomach and moves the wand. The gel is cold—probably even colder for her because of how hot she tends to run. Diego consults the screen the ultrasound is being lead to and freezes.

Immediately, Mac stiffens. “What is it, Diego?” she asks, her hand a bear trap around Kelila’s. “Is—the baby’s okay, right?”

Diego takes a moment to collect himself. The time stretches much longer than it probably is, but he does eventually say. “Your babies are perfectly healthy.” Mac sags against her, tension gone, and Kelila rejoices in the fact that her babies—

Wait.

“Babies?” Kelila asks, confused. Mac is too relieved to know nothing is wrong to really notice Diego’s word choice. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Diego says, “that you two are having a boy and two girls. Triplets.”

*

There’s a party, of course. Any good news in Havenfall is celebrated like it’s the end of the world.

Razi and JD close the bowling alley early so they can all gather there. Everyone but Kelila is drinking, which she finds a little rude. She’s the one carrying three babies, so she feels like she shouldn’t have to be the only sober one.

To Mac’s credit, she only has one beer near the beginning of the night and sticks to water for the rest of it. She hasn’t stopped touching Kelila since Diego told them they were having triplets, and even though JD absolutely rips them to shreds over it, Kelila relishes in the contact.

“You two really are something else,” Randolph says to them over the clamber of JD and Annabelle belting Mariah Carrey on the karaoke machine. “I’ve never heard of the ritual resulting in multiple births.”

Mac whines and buries her nose in Kelila’s neck to hide her blush. Kelila laughs and says, “Are you really that surprised? ‘Weird’ is basically the hallmark of this relationship.”

“That’s true!” Randolph laughs.

*

They’re barely through the front door when Mac sweeps Kelila up off the floor and into a deep kiss. “Need you,” she gasps into Kelila’s mouth. “Please, please—“

They shed their clothes and Kelila finds herself laid down on the couch with Mac kneeling between she spread legs. Her growing bump obscures a majority of Mac’s face, so Kelila reaches down to grasp at her hair. “Not that I’m complaining,” she says, “but what’s gotten into you?”

Mac whines. “We’re having triplets,” she says. “Three babies, all at once. You’re giving me three babies.”

Something clicks in Kelila’s head. “Wait, is this a turn on for you? Me having triplets?”

“You in general, but, yeah. Imagining you getting so big because of me, imagining three kids that look like us running around...” Her exhale is shaky and full of emotion against Kelila’s thigh.

Despite the pink dusting her cheeks, Kelila smirks. “You like me being full of your babies?” she teases, tugging on Mac’s hair until she groans. “Anyone supernatural that comes through town’s gonna know whose I am, because I smell like you all the time. Then they’ll see my belly and they’ll know you put those babies there, that I chose you, that I’m continuing your bloodline by mixing it with my own. Do you like that, alpha?”

Mac shudders. She nips at Kelila’s thigh and growls, “Mine.”

“Then take me, alpha.”

And Mac does just that.

*

“I’m gonna strap you to that chair if you don’t stop getting up.”

Kelila groans and struggles back into the armchair she’s been occupying on and off for the last half hour. She’s in her last month of pregnancy now and about the size of a small planet, and this is the last scheduled pack dinner before the triplets are slated to arrive. “I just wanna set the table,” she tells Mac, knowing her wife can sense her glower without having to see it.

Mac doesn’t bother turning away from the oven where their venison is roasting. “Annabelle can do that when she gets here. She’s coming by early anyway.”

“Or I could do it, since Annabelle is our guest and this is our house.”

“The plates are on the top shelves and I’m not letting you get on the counter to get them.”

“You could get them down for me and I can set the table.”

“That would just encourage you.”

“Babe, c’mon. Setting the table isn’t going to send me into labor.”

“I’d rather not take that risk.” Mac finally turns away from the stove and points at Kelila’s belly with her tongs. “Those three are staying right where they are until their due date. If they come any earlier I might have a heart attack.”

Kelila sighs but doesn’t argue further, because she knows exactly how stubborn Mac is. Instead, she stretches out her arms and makes grabby hands. “If I can’t come to you, you come to me. The babies want their mom to talk to them.”

Mac’s stern gaze softens and she sets the tongs down to obey her command. She shifts while she walks and presses her ear against Kelila’s belly to listen to them move. “You guys better not be giving your momma a hard time,” she says. “She’s doing a lot of work to make sure you’re ready to come meet us.”

“I don’t see how leaving a semi-permanent imprint of my butt in the cushion is hard work, but whatever you say.”

She sees Mac readying a retort when one of the babies—one of the two girls, Kelila is sure—kicks, and anything she was about to say melts away.

*

She’d heard stories about how women’s breasts grow to prepare for breastfeeding, but Kelila didn’t know how much it was going to hurt.

They’re heavy, now, way heavier than they used to be. Her breasts stopped growing in high school, settling on a perfectly respectable B cup, but now they’re at least Ds. She can feel the milk kind of slosh around inside when they move, which is often, now, because if she’s not going out she doesn’t put on a bra. They’re throwing off her balance, too; her body isn’t used to having a lot of weight on her front, and with the big boobs/big belly combo, she finds herself overcorrecting and bumping into things more often.

Mac, of course, has a minor aneurysm every time Kelila gets too close to falling over. She winds up guiding Kelila around a lot, with an arm around her shoulders or a hand on her back, exerting a gentle pressure to help her move. Kelila thinks she should be more annoyed at it than she is, but she’ll never complain about Mac touching her.

Diego says this is good, a sign that she’s producing enough milk to feed the babies. “You might even be able to exclusively breastfeed,” he says when he comes to the house for a check up. “Mackenzie, did your mom do that for you?”

Mac nods. “She says it’s better for potential wolves to be breastfed because of the whole pack mentality thing.”

“But she just had to feed you,” Kelila points out. “I’ll have three babies to feed.”

“You may want to consider supplementing with formula or pumping if that really concerns you, but I’ve known plenty of women who were able to breastfeed multiples without assistance.” Diego squeezes her shoulder. “Trust your body. It knows what it can and can’t do more than you realize.”

Kelila considers this, then says, “I’d like to try breastfeeding, but I think I’ll pump a little beforehand so I have some extra in case I can’t make enough, and I think we should have some formula on hand for if I can’t do it at all.”

Mac kisses her forehead. “That’s a great idea, babe. I’ll sent Annabelle out to get what you need.”

“Why Annabelle? We could just run out to the store—”

A familiar heat blazes through their bond and Mac gives her chest a pointed look, making Kelila flush. Diego chuckles and excuses himself, and Kelila finds herself lifted up in Mac’s arms and carried into their bedroom.

*

Kelila’s due date comes and goes without the triplets making an appearance. Diego says this is unusual for multiple births; they usually come early and small. On one hand, Kelila is relieved the triplets won’t be underweight, but she’s also dreading the act of birthing three consecutive full-term babies.

“They’re stubborn,” she tells Mac as they lounge in bed the day after her due date, “just like you.”

Mac raises an eyebrow. “Are you telling me that you’re not stubborn, Little Miss I’m-Not-A-Werewolf-But-I’m-Fighting-Them-Anyway?”

“I always had you for back-up though.”

“Yeah,” Mac says, “you did. And you always will.”

Kelila cranes her neck up for a kiss.

*

She’s almost finished with dinner preparations the next evening when labor actually starts.

It’s more uncomfortable than painful at first, but it catches the whole pack’s attention. Mac and Diego are on the move right away, their presences a little panicked, but everyone else stays where they are like she and Mac told them to. No one else can help with the delivery and that many frantic people in one place would only stress Kelila out more.

Everyone agreed a home birth would be better than going into Diego’s clinic. Kelila decided against circumcising the boy right away, preferring to let him make that decision for himself, and there’s a good possibility she or Mac will shift during labor, so they don’t want to risk exposing their secret to any townsfolk who might come in for some reason or another.

Kelila knows they made a good choice when Mac bursts into the kitchen already wolfed out. “You’re in labor!” she says, grabbing at Kelila’s arms. “Sit down!”

“My water hasn’t even broken yet, babe. I’m fine.” As if to contradict her, another contraction rolls over her body, making her wince. “They just feel like bad cramps right now, honest,” she insists when Mac looks like she’s having a conniption. “I’m almost done with this steak and I’m hungry. Please let me eat before this whole thing really starts. I’d hate to let the meat your dad slaughtered go to waste.”

She’d been more than a little touched when Randolph offered to learn how to slaughter their meat so it remained kosher. She’d been practically vegetarian since her grandmother died because she didn’t trust a lot of the meat to be prepared properly. But when they started talking about her taking the bite, she knew she’d need the calories, and Randolph really stepped up to the plate.  Mac knows how to do it right, and so does Kelila now, but Randolph decided to stock them up with a bunch of it so they would t have to worry about it and three newborns at the same time.

Mac reluctantly lets her finish cooking and then insists on sitting in the living room so Kelila is more comfortable when labor starts in earnest. Diego arrives not long after, black medical bag in hand. “How far apart are your contractions?” he asks in lieu of a normal greeting.

“About twenty minutes, give or take. Mac’s just overreacting.”

Mac squawks in protest, but Diego nods. Looking at Mac, he says, “The babies aren’t coming any time in the next twelve to sixteen hours. What’s most important right now is for Kelila to relax, and she can’t do that if you’re panicking.”

“Thank you, Diego.” Kelila reaches for the remote. “Wanna see if that superhero show you like is on, Mac?”

The incredulous look Mac gives her startles a laugh out of her. “How are you so calm about this?”

“Freaking out won’t do me any good, will it? I’m sure I’ll get a little more frazzled when my water breaks, but until then, I want to finish my dinner, watch TV, and cuddle with my wife.”

And so Mac goes, sitting as close as she possibly can and throwing her nervous glances every so often. It’s not quite as relaxed as Kelila would have liked her to be, but it’s better than nothing.

*

Kelila gets about five hours of sleep before a contraction so painful it makes her sit up and scream rocks through her body.

Mac’s awake in an instant, shouting for Diego, and be materializes out of the shadows half a second later. “Mackenzie,” he says, voice low, “I’m going to need to touch Kelila. Can you control yourself?”

Through the haze of pain, Kelila sees Mac’s jaw clench. “Yes,” she says, though it comes out as more of a growl than a statement. Then, she adds, “You’re pack. That makes it easier.”

Diego nods and looks to Kelila. “This will still probably take a few hours. Are you ready for it?”

Kelila tries to smile, but she’s sure it’s a snarl instead. “I wanna meet my babies.”

*

“FUCK!”

Mac, next to her, whimpers at the combination of Kelila’s shout and her iron grip on her hand. The pressure and pain are immense now, and from the way Diego hasn’t moved from his position between her legs for the past few contractions, it’s almost time to push. “You’re doing so good, babe,” Mac says in her ear. She puts just enough alpha oomph in her voice to try to calm Kelila. “You’re so close. We’re about to meet our babies. Just a little longer.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Kelila snarls.

“Yes, I know, you’re wonderful and I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”

Diego says, “I need you to push on your next contraction. Can you do that for me?”

Kelila nods and, with the next wave of pain, starts to push.

*

“They’re perfect.”

Kelila doesn’t even look away from the two babies—the youngest two, a girl and the boy—lying against her bare chest. Mac is next to her in bed, cradling the oldest. Twyla, she reminds herself. Mac is holding Twyla, and I’m holding Issa and Wade.

Diego left the room once he was sure the babies were healthy to give her and Mac some alone time with their children and update the rest of the pack. Distantly, Kelila wonders how long they have until their friends are pounding on the door demanding to see their nieces and nephew.

She’s still breathing heavily, but she manages a smirk. “I won’t even tell the others you named Wade after a comic character.”

Mac whines, and Kelila reaches up to scratch at her wife’s head. Mac catches her hand and presses a kiss against her wrist. “Do you know what you want their Hebrew names to be?”

“Yeah. The girls, at least. Twyla will be Ziva and Issa will be Gili.”

“Why those names?”

“It’s a tradition to name babies after late relatives. Never live ones, though,” she clarifies. “That implies you wish the person you name them after was dead. Ziva was my grandmother, so Twyla gets the older name, and Issa gets Gili, my mother’s.”

“Do they have any meaning?”

“Ziva means ‘beauty’ and Gili means ‘joy.’”

Mac looks at their children with an unbearably tender smile on her face. “Those sound wonderful. And Wade?”

“I was tempted to name him Zeev. It means ‘wolf.’” Mac chuckles. “But I feel like naming him after a fictional character is enough, so I decided on Tamir. That one means ‘tall,’ and if he’s anything like you, he will be.”

“I wouldn’t mind if he were short, like you,” Mac says. “They already got my skin. I want them to look more like you than me.”

“Well, I want them to look like you.” Kelila cranes her neck up, and Mac leans down to give her a kiss. “They have my hair, and they’re going to be raised Jewish. They need some more of their mom in them.”

Mac looks ready to retort, but she’s cut off when she yawns instead. “We should probably get some sleep,” she says. “Who knows when we’ll get it next.”

“It’s worth it,” Kelila says.

“Yeah,” says Mac, gazing down at the three babies in their arms. “Yeah, it is.”

[cfavigncn]

hi hi! my name’s hannah ( she / her, 23, est ) and this little marshmallow is juliette dewhitt, though most here would know her as avignon!  she’s a front desk receptionist at the hotel. i’ve got info on her below the cut! like this or message me if you want to plot because it’s my fave thing ever!  i’m also in the discord so we can talk there too. can’t wait to get started!!!

tw: cheating, verbal abuse, alcoholism

INFO.

❛   ｡   ❄️  ﾟ danielle campbell. female. she/her /  did i hear you say flowers pressed between the pages of a well-loved book, sunlight peeking through clouds, a half-empty bottle of lavendar perfume, & a smile no less genuine just because it’s exhausted ? then you must be talking about avignon, i’d recognize them anywhere. i’ve heard that the twenty-three year old front desk receptionist is a cancer and honestly, i see it. they’re known for being stubborn & overbearing, but their kindhearted & selfless tendencies make up for it. they’ve been working at du lac for two years and i think that their real name is juliette ‘jules’ dewhitt, but don’t spill. ( hannah. 23. she/her. est )

HISTORY.

so juliette was born in paris to arthur dewhitt and and celeste boucher. they were a bit of a cliche, him being an up-and-coming author and her being the darling of french theater.

when they first got together, arthur told anyone that would listen that he fell in love with celeste while watching her on stage, before ever having said a word to her.

the issue with their grand love affair, though, was that it was exactly that- an affair. celeste was already married to another man. he was a prominent director and had oh so coincidentally been the one to cast her in her first breakthrough role. and though celeste wasn’t in love with him anymore, he was still utterly devoted to her.

with the baby on the way, arthur started putting pressure on celeste to leave her husband and be with him openly. but as much as celeste did love arthur, she loved her career more and she feared what the revelation of the affair would do to her chances to perform.

 she pushed him away, telling him that she loved her husband (she didn’t) and that she wanted to give her baby the best chance at happiness with a nuclear family (that hadn’t even come into her head until she said it out loud). 

arthur was heartbroken, but he respected her wishes.

years later, he ended up writing a novel that drew heavily from his own experiences with celeste. it was critically acclaimed- beloved by the critics, made into a movie, generally agreed that it would be one of the novels that defined the decade. 

unfortunately for celeste, there were enough details that mirrored their own lives that her husband finally caught wise. he confronted her and though she lied and denied as fervently as she could, he ended up leaving her and the daughter that he now knew wasn’t his. 

 without the income of her husband, and now getting too old to land the roles that once sustained her career, celeste ended up moving herself and juliette to a small town in france. 

she hated it there, having always been so used to the hustle and bustle of paris.

juliette would have been only 13 or 14 when this happened and to say that it was devastating would have been an understatement- within the span of a few weeks, she found out that her mother had cheated, that the man she had always considered her father wasn’t and that he no longer wanted anything to do with her, and then got moved away from everything that she knew.

she ended up getting a job as a bagger at the local grocery, riding her bike to and from work. 

her mother talked about getting one herself but never seemed all that pressed to actually start looking. instead, she focused on reliving her golden days and began drinking heavily. 

slowly, she devolved into a hateful and cold shell of her former self.she resented her daughter, thinking that it was because of her that the perfect life had unraveled around celeste.

jules learned to grow up very quickly after that. she cooked dinners, made sure that the bills were actually mailed out, always put a blanket on her mother when she passed out on the couch, and turned a cheek at the words spoken while still awake.

despite everything, jules is actually an incredibly positive and kind person. she realized very young that no amount of bitterness at her own plight would change things and that she wanted instead to focus on putting joy and kindness back into the world. 

she focused on creating healthy friendships and relationships, on her schoolwork, on anything that wasn’t her home life. 

she probably wouldn’t have told anyone about what she was dealing with at home, as she didn’t want people to worry about her. 

when it came time for university, jules decided to study hospitality. she was an incredibly detail-oriented person, and had learned over the years how to manage her own household. plus, it was a career that she thought her good nature would be suited to. 

it was hard to leave home, not knowing what state her mother would be in without her, but jules reasoned that she couldn’t hold back from having her own life forever. 

at school, jules really started to thrive. left to only care for herself, she started exploring every hobby that she could think of and learning everything about herself that she could. 

she even reached out to her birth father, who was thrilled to finally get to acknowledge his daughter. they’ve begun a tenuous relationship that they’re both very nervous but hopeful of. 

it was actually a suggestion of his that, as he hadn’t had the chance to support her while growing up, that he could get her a connection at the hotel du lac, where he regularly stayed when he wanted to write. 

she’s even started going by his last name! it’s really exciting for her. at first it was just because it would help with the job interview but it’s started to be something she does in her own head too.

she works at the front desk, and actually really likes it. basically her whole job is solving problems for people and staying friendly, both of which are right up her alley. also, she always loved visiting avignon while growing up and to have it as her codename is actually very charming to her

HEADCANONS.

she’s super afraid of heights. one time went to the top of the eiffel tower and nearly puked. hasn’t been up since

she loves oversized sweaters, soft blankets, fuzzy knee-high socks, basically anything cozy. would probably sit in front of a fireplace for a year if she had the time

laughs at her own jokes. sometimes literally can’t get through telling her own jokes because she’s laughing too hard

she has a really impressive book collection. growing up, she’s always loved the escapism of reading and ever since she got in touch with her father, he’s been sending her his own favorites. her favorite ones are the ones that he’s written his thoughts in the margins, a habit which she’s since picked up

she’s a total pushover. would do anything for anybody. honestly, to the point where it’s a character fault. it’s led to her being taken advantage of more than once in her life

hasn’t ever had a pet before but she would totally love to get a cat one day

doesn’t handle interpersonal conflict super well. like, she could get yelled at by a guest all day long without breaking a sweat but if someone that she cares about gets visibly upset with her she kind of freaks out and overextends herself trying to make things right again

loves knitting and baking when she’s stressed out. it’s nice for her to have something to do with her hands while her mind is racing and then at the end of it all, you’ve got a nice little treat for yourself!

has recently started keeping a little journal that she writes in. it’s partially to try and collect her own thoughts and get to know herself better and partially because she wants to have something shared between herself and her dad

WANTED PLOTS.

friends!!!!!!! avignon has never really had the chance to have close friends growing up because she never had the money/time, and she was afraid to get too close to people and have them realize the situation with her mom

her dad. this one will actually be a wanted connection, but i would love to have arthur (obviously that name isn’t set in stone lol) around and start to navigate their relationship actually being together for the first time

a love interest- avignon is very guarded about romance because she’s got deep abandonment stuff and also is afraid that she’s not good enough for it but like i can totally imagine her having these huge feelings for someone, either requited or unrequited that she doesn’t know how to handle and getting very blushy about it

a bad influence- she’s never really had the chance to let loose and have fun before, so i’d def like to see that happening. plus, she would probs start trying to like take care of them in return and make sure they drink water and the whole nine it would be very charming

irritant- tbh, she isn’t most peoples’ cup of tea. she’s very almost aggressive about her kindness and i can imagine that there are people that would absolutely hate that and they would just butt heads over it

[apriorisea]

BTS Imagine: Insecure - Taehyung

You try to focus on the mostly-warm bottle of soda in front of you, but even with your back turned you can feel his eyes on you. You whip around and, sure enough, find Taehyung’s eyes trained on you. You raise an eyebrow at him and he can only hold on to his ‘cool’ look for a second before that little boy grin breaks across his entire face.    ‘Smothering me,’ you mouth, unable to keep a straight face. He rolls his eyes and gives you another look, and even though you giggle, you can feel your heart pound a little harder as you turn back to the refreshment table. Silly boy. You were glad he was having a good time, glad he was able to enjoy one of his few nights off. It had taken some time to persuade him to come to this mutual friend’s party, but now, seeing him relaxed and positive in the loose atmosphere, you were so glad you’d pushed. You glanced at your watch: it was almost time to go home, anyway, and then you’d get to spend the rest of the night together. You’ve just finished filling both cups with coke when someone bumps into your arm.    “Hey!”    You look up into the face of one of your ex-boyfriends and find yourself genuinely pleased to see him. “Hey,” you grin, setting the cups back down on the refreshment table and reaching up to accept his friendly-hug. “How are you??” You didn’t always have such a good relationship with your exes, but this guy in front of you now was the one ex with whom you’d ended your relationship fairly peacefully.    “Good,” he says, taking a comfortable step back. “You look great, really happy. That’s your guy over there, right?”    “Yeah.” You can’t help but feel a certain amount of pride at how easy the conversation is, how grown-up and settled you feel to be able to chat with your ex like it’s nothing. “You look good, too. Work is fine?” He hangs around for a little bit longer, and when his friends call him away, he squeezes your arm and walks away, leaving you to your lukewarm drinks. You grab them, and head back towards the couch where Taehyung is, still smiling to yourself over the mature exchange you just had. You crash on the couch next to him, pass him his drink, and settle into his side. “Hi cutie,” you say playfully, hooking your arm through his and scanning the party in front of you. “How are you?”    He takes a sip of coke before answering. “Good.” He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “Was that...did you see somebody you know?”    The smile crosses your face at the memory of your previous conversation. “Yeah!” You explained the connection and the situation but stopped short of speaking on how proud you are of yourself, realizing that it’s going to be hard to explain.    He nods, silently listening to your story. He takes another drink and then says, “He seems tall. You must have a type...”    You tap his leg without looking back, smiling at the teasing. “Yeah, I think he’s even taller than you!” You joke back. “I haven’t seen him in a long time. It was cool to catch up a little tonight.” When he’s quiet for a long time, you turn back to look at him, smiling at the slightly spacey look on his face. You set your cup aside and run your fingers through his hair, gently settling a piece of it back behind his ear. “You okay?”    He turns to look at you, forcing you to drop your hand in the process, and gives you a serious nod. “I think I’m tired,” he says, managing a little smile. “Are you ready to go home?”    “Yes.” You collect your cup and reach for his. “Let me go take care of these---meet me at the door?” You lean over to kiss his cheek and then hop up before he can answer, snaking your way through the partygoers to find the least over-flowing trash can. As you’re headed to meet your boyfriend at the door, you pass by your ex and his group of friends. You smile, offer him a high-five, and keep walking. When you reach the door, you bounce up to Taehyung, kissing his cheek again before opening the door. He hesitates a second, his gaze caught on something back behind you, but when you slip your hand into his, he follows you obediently.    The next day passes by slowly; he’s at work all day and you spend your day off catching up on all of the things that don’t get done during the week (laundry, shopping, cleaning, dishes). When he gets home that night, it’s late---not that this is a surprise, since the next day is a Concert Day. You’re lying in bed reading when he walks in, looking rumpled and exhausted. You sit up, smiling automatically, “Hi, love.”    He throws you his little box-smile. “Hi honey. Sorry I’m late.” He takes some time pulling off his coat, kicking his shoes into the closet.    You wait patiently. “How was rehearsal? Excited for tomorrow?”    “Yes.” He runs a hand through his hair tiredly. “We worked a long time on the opening stage, so I’m not as worried about that. Jimin’s really worried about his solo, like usual...”     You make a hum of pity. “How does he look?”     “Good,” he answers immediately, his frustration evident. “But you know Jimin. That’s actually why I was extra late, because I couldn’t get him to leave.”    “You made sure he got home?”     He nods. “He’s going to be fine, it’s just...”    “You’re a good friend, baby.” You’re still waiting for him to come closer. “I’m glad Jimin has you to help take care of him.”     The smile touches every corner of his face, but soon fades. He exhales tiredly. “I really need a shower,” he says, trudging towards the bathroom. He smiles ruefully. “All that extra dance practice tonight....I’ll probably be a while, so don’t worry about waiting up for me. You look tired, honey.”    You stretch your hand out towards him. “Okay. Love you.”    He squeezes your fingers briefly. “Love you, too.” He drops your hand quickly. “I’m so sweaty,” he explains, flashing you another quick smile.    “Okay,” you say again. “Don’t turn into a prune.” You smile at your own joke, but can’t help but feel a little strange as he leaves without so much as a hug. You try not to think about it too hard; he’s clearly got his mind stuck on the performance the next day. He does take a long time in the shower; when he comes out you’ve already turned the lights off and snuggled in. Even so, when he climbs into bed next to you, you reach out and cuddle him from behind. “Goodnight, love,” you breathe. “Tomorrow is going to be amazing.”    You tighten your hold on him as he whispers back, “I love you.”    The next morning, you vaguely remember him leaning over and hugging you tight against him before he left for his schedule-filled day. It’s not until you’re brushing your teeth that you realize he didn’t kiss your forehead, his customary goodbye. The two of you exchange a few text messages throughout the day, and you’re happy to see that he seems nervous but excited.    You arrive at the venue at your customary early time, slipping backstage and into the greenroom where all 7 boys were waiting. You bump fists with Jungkook, plant a kiss firmly on Yoongi’s cheek, give Jin and Hoseok a warm side-hug, high-five Namjoon, and take a second to really talk to Jimin, before finally making it to your boyfriend. He pulls you into a hug and you carefully wrap your arms around his waist, not wanting to mess up his outfit. “You look great.” You reach up and gently touch his long, dangling earring. “I love this.”    He grins at you, but before the two of you can talk more, Namjoon calls them in for a pre-concert meeting. Taehyung takes your hand and guides you into the circle in front of him, draping his arms around you comfortably. You lean back into his chest, feeling his heart beat quickly with pre-concert nerves, and let their familiar chatter wash around you. When they’re called away to officially begin, you hype each of them up as they leave the dressing room, laughing at Jungkook’s ridiculous expression before Tae finally reaches you. Your smile growing a little fonder, you wrap your arms around his neck. “Good luck, baby. It’s going to be amazing.”    He squeezes your waist. “Thanks for being here, honey.” His eyes drift to the empty doorway and you know he’s feeling pressure to go.    “Have fun,” you say, taking a step back and waiting for his kiss.    He smiles down at you, crushes you against him in a tight hug again, and then disappears. You’re left slightly stunned and probably a little hurt. You’re not sure yet, since his behavior caught you so off guard, but you’re pretty sure there’s a little sliver of sting creeping in. As you make your way to your reserved seat in the hall, your mind whips through the last 48 hours. You’re pretty sure that’s as far back as it goes, because you know he kissed you at the party on Friday night. What is the problem? You try to ignore the needles of pain all throughout the performance, grateful for the moments you’re able to slip completely into the music and enjoy it.    After the concert, you head backstage, worried that over the last 2 hours things had devolved even more. While you’re waiting for them to come back into the greenroom, you fold your arms over stomach and force yourself to calm down. Everything is fine. You can’t help but smile as the door slams open, an exuberant set of boy band members bursting in still flying on their concert-high. You accept the other members’ hugs as they move past, holding your breath for the moment of truth: Taehyung gathers you into his arms, buries his face in your shoulder, and swings you around a few times. He sets you down and you reach up to kiss his cheek. He doesn’t stop you, but he also doesn’t kiss you back. Your stomach twists.    You let it go until you get home. Throughout his post-concert ritual (take off makeup, change into comfy clothes, celebrate all the way home) you kept waiting for it to break, for him to kiss you again finally. It doesn’t happen. The two of you talk the whole way home, running through the highlights and worrisome moments of the performance, talking about how well Jimin did, discussing what you wanted to order in for dinner---just like usual, but he won’t touch you. He settles on the couch to watch TV while you change, and he doesn’t move even when you come back, changed into comfy yoga pants and a sweatshirt. You watch him for a moment: he’s completely relaxed now that the concert is finished---except that’s not quite true. Now that you can study him more carefully, there’s a current of unease running through him, just below the surface. Tired of dancing around the subject, you take a deep breath and go forward with your plan.    “What are you watching?” You ask, moving towards where he sat on the couch.   He shrugs. “I think it’s the news. ....Or it might be a drama. Hard to tell right now.”    You laugh despite your worry. “I’m glad you’re more relaxed, babe,” you say, reaching him and putting your hand on his shoulder. “You deserve to rest now.” Smiling down at him, you straddle his lap and wrap your arms around his neck. You press your forehead against his. “I’m so proud of you, lover.”    His hands are resting on your hips, and you can feel his breath starting to quicken, but he doesn’t close those few inches.    This wasn’t going to deter you. You lean in slowly, holding his gaze in your own, moving to press your lips against his---but at the last second, he turns his face slightly. You freeze, worries confirmed. To his credit, he’s finally looking ashamed.    “Right.” You sit back. “What is the problem?”    “I don’t--”    You didn’t mean to let your hurt feelings lead the way, but they do. “Am I suddenly so disgusting to you?”    His eyes snap back to your face and he tightens his hold on your waist. “No! Honey, never, that’s...that’s obviously not it.”    “Then what is going on?”    He hesitates, hems, haws, hangs back, but finally swallows hard and says, “I can’t stop thinking about your ex-boyfriend, the one from the party.”    Maybe you were naive, but this hadn’t even been one of the possibilities you had considered. “My......I’m sorry, what?”    “He’s taller than me.” He drops his eyes from yours, and you can feel him twisting the fabric of your shirt around his long finger again and again and again. “And I saw...I saw the way you hugged him, and how happy you were after talking with him and--”    You narrow your eyes at him. “And you what? You thought I’d cheat on you with my ex-boyfriend?”    “No, I just...That guy was so tall and all muscle-y and from what you said he has a great, stable job, and he made you smile so wide, and-and how can I possibly measure up to that??”    “Taehyung.”    “I love you so much, sweetie,” he says earnestly. “So much. But how can I kiss you, when I now know you’ll always be comparing it to him?”    Oh. “Taehyung. Are you serious?” When he nods miserably, you take a small breath before you begin. “I love you more,” you say softly, “Always have, ever since the beginning. You are perfect in every way, especially to me. You make me smile. You are the perfect height. You make me proud of your work every day.” You could see him start to blink back extra emotion in his eyes. “I’m sorry I hugged him, if that makes you uncomfortable. I just genuinely was happy to see him and have an adult conversation, instead of acting like awkward exes all the time. I was proud of myself more than anything. But I didn’t think about how it would hurt you.” You touch his cheek softly. “I’m really sorry, baby.”    He takes a small breath. “It’s my own issue,” he admits firmly. “I just...I don’t ever want to disappoint you, and I felt so awkward I just couldn’t kiss you, because I feel so safe when I’m with you, I couldn’t...” he trails away awkwardly.    There’s a small silence while you consider his words, knowing that he needs to see you taking his concerns seriously---even though you secretly feel that he’s being a little ridiculous. After an appropriate amount of time, you nod slowly. “I get it, I really do. But I need you to remember how much I love you, especially when you feel like this.” You lean forward, cupping his face in your hands. “And I’m going to do whatever it takes to reassure you.” Meeting his eye, you kiss his cheek, lingering for a moment to see how your touch is received. When he closes his eyes and pulls you closer, you grin and kiss his lips. You’re relieved when he kisses you back, and it’s several minutes before you break apart.    He smiles and cuddles you against him, running one hand lightly up and down your back. “I love you. I’m not going to forget again.” He tilts your chin back up to look at him. “Kiss me again, beautiful?”

[thyroiddiseasediaries]

I gotta talk before I do something I regret.

Back story; When I was young my mom had this work friend we spent a lot of time with. Like we had Thanksgiving and Easter's, and I'm pretty sure once she went on vacation with us. She had a son... I spent a lot of time with him. Like, we'd listen to music and watch movies and jump on the trampoline and I even met his girlfriends. He called me his little sister, one girlfriend literally said he talks about me more than he does his actual sister. I loved him. In my 10-12ish year old brain, I was gonna marry him. In this like wholesome innocent way. Because I trusted him, he was there and filled a space my dad left when he left my mom. I adored him.

But the thing is, as I got older... I would have these like, moments that made me feel weird. In retrospect, I think I was feeling uncomfortable. I think it was my gut telling me something might not be right. There was a moment in a car before I went to a Backstreet Boys Concert (Black and Blue Tour 2000) I was 10, and I had just cut all my hair off because I was obsessed with Mary Kate & Ashley's short hair. It was summer, I was wearing an orange tank top. We were riding around the block in his car, and he complimented my hair and said it made me look older and he gave me this look... He said something else too, but I probably block it. But he like looked too hard at me... And glanced at my then non-existent chest.

Then one Easter, we were in his room eating Easter dinner and watching a movie. His room is down like four steps from the living room, you can shout to the people in the living room easily. I stupidly, but innocently made a joke or comment about his newest piercing... (He had recently gotten his penis pierced) and he said that maybe when I was a little older, he could show it to me. He have me that same look... I felt dirty, I felt panic and said like. "Uh, no thank you", light heartedly. But I was immediately on my feet and walked to the living room with my mom and his mom and that was the last time I was alone with him.

I didn't tell my mom about any of this for over a decade.

I didn't see him for a couple years, I got lucky. We all got busy.

The last time I saw him I was in middle school, I devolved a rack overnight... So when we were gonna go over there for Easter I put on the biggest sweater I had to hide my body and wore fake nerd glasses. I made sure we all stayed in the living room together... But there were moments I could feel good eyes on me. Talking about how much ice grown up...

The last time I saw his mom I was like 15, and my mom asked about him (her son) she said he was single. He and his gf broke up and he asked how old I WAS NOW AND MAYBE HE'D JUST WAIT AND MARRY ME. It was said in a joking and light hearted tone, but my mom was like OH NO. I didn't say anything because my heart was in my stomach.

I've spent the last 19 years going over all this in my head. Wanting answers and clarity and closure. But like I never knew his last name because it was different than his mom's and I don't know.

But I found it today, and a website where I can get a background check for $9.99 because you KNOW I'm dying to know if he's ever been arrested for suspicion of molestation or something. I'm also trying really hard not be like, HEY REMEMBER ME!? BEEN AWHILE. SO YEAH, WHEN I WAS 10 AND YOU WERE 20? Am I crazy, was this a big misunderstanding, or were you interested in me? Thanks for fucking me up and feeling dirty at 10 years old. A feeling that has really never gone away.

Ugh.

He didn't even touch me. Why does this still haunt me?

[fullregalia]

chef’s kiss (from daddy).

Like a sad sack Kendall jonesing for something better than park coke, I am already missing the presence of Succession in my life and so blogging and discovering the Vanity Fair podcast will have to stave off my season finale withdrawal. Upon listening to Slate Money’s Succession podcast season finale episode with guest Tamar Adler, I felt like I wanted to think more about the role of food in the show in general. “Thank you for the chicken” may just be the most iconic Tom Wambsgans line Succession has had so far, and there are so many (uncut) gems to choose from (“Just checking the till here, Mark, and it seems you're short a few million,” and who could forget this poetry: “king of edible leaves--his majesty, the spinach.”) The way the show traffics in excess, while also showing us how the Roys eat, but are never truly nourished, is a fascinating lens through which to see how these characters live. [Ed. note: I started writing this all the way back in October, and got sidetracked with school--in the interim, Eater published a great article ranking the dinner scenes in the show.]

If you were to ask me what the stand out food scene in season one is, I’d immediately answer Tom and Greg’s dinner with the ortolan course. It’s such a nouveau riche flex (but maybe it’s an old money flex too? I don’t hang out with ortolan eaters of any socioeconomic status!) and a silly one at that, but it’s fitting that Tom and Greg--of “you can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs” fame--are the ones to make a big deal over an elaborate dinner, because they’re the outsiders. While many of the show’s episodes are centered on a grand meal as set piece, it shows how commonplace formal, catered dinners are for the Roys. When you’re a billionaire, going out to dinner is probably more of a nuisance if you could just eat something decadent prepared for you in your own home.

By season two, it’s almost as if every episode plays some sort of food-as-metaphor role as the grand meals function as plot points more frequently. From episode one, “Summer Palace,” we start off with Logan trashing an entire seafood feast to order a bunch of pizzas (that don’t even get touched) at their Hamptons house. To the Roys, this kind of waste doesn’t upset anyone, and what’s even more interesting is Logan is totally fine with the idea of ordering pizzas. This weird highbrow/lowbrow liminal space that the Roys occupy is so fascinating to me. Billionaires are out of touch and weird, sure, but they act so artificially chummy, like the way Nan Pierce presents herself, for instance. While rationally I understand Logan demanding that his staff order a bunch of pizzas, I also cannot imagine a billionaire being like, “order a bunch of pizza instead of this lobster!!” (Clearly this is a bit of shades of Warren Buffet garbage palate happening here, billionaires: they’re just like us! #wealthtax.) 

But Logan is in no mood to waste neither food nor time in episode three, when they all go hunting and we are introduced to the world’s most insane Exterminating Angel cosplay also known as Boar! On! The! Floor! (!!!) No sausage gets left behind as this dinner party devolves into yet another opportunity for Logan to humiliate and belittle his family and colleagues. As Troy Patterson notes of Logan Roy, he’s carnivorous in every way. Lest you forget, though, the Roys love their beverages more than they appreciate food, and in this episode Connor introduces us to hyperdecanting and Logan views Roman out of touch with the common man because he can’t say how much a gallon of milk costs. Another highbrow/lowbrow moment: this season has made the clash of Logan’s upbringing with his children’s lifelong privilege much more of a thematic presence. (Do we think Shiv has ever ordered pizza delivery? She has worked on political campaigns, but strikes me as a “no thanks, I don’t have time for lunch” kind of staffer.)

Food waste runs in the Roy family, it seems. There’s this funny little moment when Roman goes to management training, picks up a sad looking danish, takes a bite, is disgusted, and puts it back. Oh Romulus, you are such a jerk, but I love your weird ways. One of the things I noticed this season about Roman on his “leadership journey” was that he seemed to teetotal more and more--perhaps as a result of witnessing his brother’s substance abuse issues--it seems as though as he becomes increasingly serious about taking over the job of CEO, he’s been drinking more Perrier and green juice.

As the season continues, the meals keep coming: when the Roys dine with the Pierces at Tern Haven, Nan has this bizarre moment of performative hostess mode when she presents a roast her housekeeper made to the guests as her own? It was such a weird scene, and so telling of who Nan Pierce is: she loves to appear as a homespun, generous person, but clearly is not just a “simple billionaire” who gets her hands dirty in the kitchen. The façades continue to crumble as the evening goes on as the Roys snap at one another, though somehow the disastrous dinner isn’t enough to halt the deal from happening (yet). It takes a weekend in Argestes, with lunches not eaten and dinners walked out on, for that deal to fall apart.

While the big set pieces of season two’s grand dinners reveal to us the cruel and illusory tendencies of our characters, the most revealing--and effective--use of food (or lack thereof) was Shiv and Roman’s visit to their mother in “Return.” We know that the younger Roys’ mother is cold, but in this episode we see just how withholding she is. Before we get to Lady Caroline’s, Roman makes a joke about eating muddy trout and filling up on mustard; on the plus side, we have a funny scene at a convenience store with Roman and Shiv looking completely confused by how normal people snack. It’s clear that Caroline does not have a healthy relationship with food--Harriet Walter says that was part of her backstory for the character--and she serves them pigeon with shot and feather not cleaned off. She cannot nourish her children, literally or emotionally. (lol at my *extremely incisive* commentary and psychoanalysis.) Later in the evening, while talking to Kendall in the kitchen, she cannot bring herself to have a heart-to-heart with him. In the New York Times’ review of the episode, Noel Murray says: “That’s one powerful symbol for life as a Roy. One parent hollers for protein. The other serves inedible meat.” These rich kids just can’t catch a break from their parental nightmares!

Succession shows its characters’ damage through their total lack of intimacy or vulnerability. It is not your usual HBO show with gratuitous nudity; besides Roman and Gerri’s .... situation, there’s not really sex on this show. The only way that the Roys derive pleasure is from money and the flashy status symbols that come with it (hello, mega yacht!). The scenes with food become the most emotional because it’s the closest they get to physical or emotional closeness in many ways. But the Roys don’t do emotional closeness; I think one of the cruelest--and funniest--examples of this is when Shiv, Tom, Roman, and Tabitha have dinner together and all Shiv and Roman can do is dunk on Tom for his bad suits (Roman: “You look like a divorce attorney from the Twin Cities,” and: “I’m sorry but like, what the fuck? You look like a Transformer. What’s wrong with your body, man?”).

All this brings me to the denouement of Season 2, in which we also reach the apex of Tom’s frustration with his terrible in-laws mistreatment of him, and the aforementioned “thank you for the chicken” line. First: Logan Roy is out here on a MEGA YACHT eating a chicken wing with some big Ricky Rozay wingstop energy. Second: Tom cannot bring himself to confront Logan, even if he finally vented his frustrations to Shiv; all he can do is stuff his face (it’s not love, Tom!! I learned the hard way!!!) and walk away. Third: all the yacht meal scenes are great--just a complete pile-on of courtiers backstabbing and badmouthing each other (Tom calling Karl a “sausage thief”) with a few genuine moments of emotional honesty. Connor drinks wine at breakfast. Greg, accustomed to quaffing rosé, fears he will be sprinkles on the sundae of a Tom sacrifice. Roman defends Gerri! The look Roman and Kendall exchange when the sacrifice is made. Roman, who is “widely known as a terrible person,” in general becoming the MVP of the latter half of the season, even asks to talk to his siblings “normally.” A request that they summarily mock him for. Succession season finales have major “Water, water, every where / Nor any drop to drink” vibes. 

We end the season with Kendall giving daddy Roy a (Judas) kiss after a figurative last supper on the boat, and what’s next is ripe for further scenes of familial drama. Let’s hope there’s similarly rich protein for us in Season 3, I’m already hungry for more.