#tea with veth

[fleckjayky]

[theminecraftbee]

🛒

What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

magical realism and fantasy as a mundane thing keeps happening. big fan of body horror. messy endings that still tend towards being hopeful. I like dialogue-heavy bits. big fan of people talking about things without actually talking about them. these are a few off the top of my head!

[chrysalizzm]

Ill-gotten gains? 👀

Ranboo realizes he knows how to cook on their fourth day straight of ordering takeout when he strides into the tiny kitchen to fry an egg, which Charlie had failed spectacularly at the day before. He knows how much oil to put in, how long to wait, how to crack the shell with one hand. He knows to put a lid over the pan so the whites go opaque and the yolk sets just so, and knows, deep inside, that this is how he likes his eggs done.

When Charlie walks into the living room fluffing his hair dry with their only towel, Ranboo is crying into his egg.

[incandescent-liveblogs]

Veth’s fear of water was improvised???

[queentoriel]

I got one of your prints, the flowerfall one! I've been wanting to get some of your art for my wall for ages, so I'm delighted to have the opportunity. I can't wait to display it above my desk!

i’m so glad!! thank you so much!

[rightpastnowhere]

my impressions of the mighty nein as a critter who hasn’t watched campaign 2

fjord: hot cowboy orc man who’s british sometimes??? also he is haunted by some eye bitch under the water

molly: hot. everyone thinks he’s hot. bisexual, and doesn’t know what a gender is. really sweet but hides it by being horny on main. also dead

caleb: arson trauma man who really likes cats and is secretly hot under 4 months of dirt

jester: chaos incarnate. draws dicks on everything. loves her mom very much. has the power to start a cult and is very aware of it

yasha: tall. buff but also soft. no social skills, really likes flowers for what’s probably a heartbreaking reason. she misses her wife, tails

beau: daddy issues lesbian who likes to punch her problems instead of confronting them. a monk, pop pop bitch

caduceus: graveyard man, makes dead people tea. gets trapped?? places??? he is stupid. i love him. he is my favorite

nott: a goblin girl who is the equivalent of a mom trying to be hip and cool with her kid’s friends. also a klepto. also sometimes british????

veth: nott but she’s embracing her uncool mom side now. has so many buttons

BONUS

essek: he’s a floating war criminal apparently???? also hot boi?????? who is this lost grad student

lucien: mollymauk?? but again???? but more eldritch this time

kiri: the best creature to ever exist but who let the m9 raise a (bird) child

[eekonis]

Starchaser

I had a really really good learning experience with this piece! Here‘s the progress of it if you‘re interested. Highly recommend istebrak on yt. Her videos has helped me with this immensely!

Aaand it‘s a redraw of this painting i did for @tea-with-veth ! check her out as well, she’s a great writer and artist :)

[waltwhitmansbeard]

this fic contains spoilers for the mighty nein reunion: echoes of the solstice. please read at your own discretion.

There is celebration, cheers and drinking and the spectacle of fey magic as the quaint homes of Blumenthal are put back together. Glasses are clinked and songs are sung and throughout it all, Caleb is keeping expert track of the minutes. He lets his friends, heroes, each of them, have their revelry as long as he dares.

They sleep in the tower, and first thing in the morning, he uses the boy as an excuse. Luc needs to go home. Veth will be out of her mind with worry. A teleport to Nicodranas, another to Zadash. Caduceus offers to stay and help Beau and Yasha look into the mystical misgivings after the solstice, though everyone knows his role will be in making sure that the two of them see the better part of a pillow every now and again. Caleb will be back to aid in the effort. There is somewhere he needs to go first.

He sees pacing through the curtains as he appears in the front garden of the little cottage. It almost makes him smile. He makes it up the few steps to the front porch, and then the door is wrenched open and he is yanked inside. "For the love of the Light!"

Caleb can barely breath against the knit of Essek's sweater. "Guten morgen," he says, muffled.

"Three days, Caleb Widogast. Three days." Caleb swings backward as Essek holds him at arm's length, an unusual wild look in his eye. "You run off with Beauregard to save the world, and for three days I do not know if you survived." Essek runs a shaking hand through his hair. "Why could I not send to you, what is going on—" Essek cuts himself off as curious recognition sparks in his face. "Something...happened."

And Caleb can do nothing but laugh. It starts quiet, a humorless chuckle, but then it overtakes him, growing louder and louder until it is something deafening, something monstrous. Vaguely, Caleb is aware that Essek is watching him with profound concern, but he can't stem the tide of violent laughter that has him doubled over in the tiny entryway of this cottage.

"Caleb..."

When Essek speaks, lost and afraid, it is suddenly very, very not funny anymore. The laughter quiets, but Caleb remains with his hands on his knees, too exhausted to stand back up. A hand, fingers long and sure, runs up and down the curve of his spine.

Something happened.

"I don't know where to begin."

Essek lets the whisper hang ominously in the air for a few moments. "Shall we begin with tea?"

And they do. Caleb is shuffled to the sofa, cats shooed out of the way, and Essek fills a kettle and prestidigitates the water to boiling. As the tea steeps, Caleb begins with where it all went wrong, because it is easier to think about what happened on Marquet than the horror he faced back in his hometown. When he speaks of the magic collar, of the shackle meant for Ludinus and used on him, Essek's fingers come to brush along the side of his neck, as if he could will away the feeling of stone on his skin and cold in his bones.

When he has described the horrible shunting across Exandria and the subsequent gathering of the Nein, he speaks of the magic mouths, of the words Trent Ikithon left to haunt him, the specter even Jester's magic could not turn. Essek's hand grips his with strength that would put Yasha to shame. "Caleb..."

Caleb almost doesn't tell him. There is no need for Essek to know, no need for a new worry when the threat has already been handled. But Caleb has kept so much from so many for so long, and well he knows that the most important part of loving someone is the bravery it requires.

"He spoke of going to the Bright Queen," he says quietly. He watches the warm amethyst of Essek's cheeks blanche to lavender. "He threatened to turn you in, because he knew that the best way to hurt me would be to hurt the person I love the most."

There is a long pause, and then Essek sets down his teacup, the liquid inside long gone cold, brings his hand up to cup Caleb's face. His fingers gently scratch into his scruff, and not for the first time, Caleb wishes he could purr like a cat in sunlight. "I would let him drag me by the ears before my queen if it meant you were spared even a moment of his torment. You know that, don't you?"

And he does. It is a wild, magical knowing, a certainty unlike anything he has experienced. He presses his face into Essek's palm. "I'm glad he said it. Even after all this time, all of the work I have done within myself to forgive the sins of my past...I must admit, it was...rattling. His voice, the memories it evoked, the ghost of his hands on my skin.

"But then he spoke the word Shadowhand, and it was all gone. The pain, the shame, the fear. All that was left was rage, and the need to free Exandria of his influence."

"And did you?"

And so Caleb continues on with his tale, the illusion of a familiar farmhouse, the use of a wish to protect his best friend's son, the sight of his family home for the first time since he was a boy. He stops himself mid-word as the memory of his parents, dead, reanimated, puppeted by the worst person Caleb has ever known, nearly knocks him from this place, from this moment. But there is still a hand in his, and the tightening fingers keep him where he belongs.

Essek listens to the whole story with rapt attention, clearly straining to keep his myriad emotions from his face. But Caleb knows him well enough by now to pick out the shock, the horror, the disgust, even the barely-contained smile at the thought of a one Caleb morphed into a dinosaur and the other into a massive white dragon. Caleb spares no detail when describing the implausible feats of his friends, giving Beauregard the full credit for wrenching the artifact from the demonic entity summoned by Ikithon, and after recounting tossing the thing into a demiplane, Caleb says, "When it was over, all I could think about was coming back here to you. If I weren't so tapped out on magic, I would have been here last night."

"Come here." Caleb allows himself to be dragged along the back of the sofa, Essek's arms tight around his chest. For the first time in three days, he is not afraid that at any moment, his very atoms will scatter into a million directions. He buries his face into Essek's chest, lets his love hook his chin over his head and whisper, "I do not know what this solstice has wrought upon our world. But I know that I'm very grateful that neither it nor that man took you from it. From me."

There are no more words left. There is nothing Caleb can say, for all his reading, for all the magic incantations he has memorized, to convey the depth of his relief that, contrary to what he may have intoned to Beau, he did not die on the land his parents lost their lives on. There is no telling what horrors are yet to come, nor what they may demand of Caleb and his friends, but he will not begrudge himself this quiet moment in his love's arms, not after these last three days.

[firebound-press]

Just finished my first fic for @renegadepublishing’s binderary!!! Today on the chopping block, this is about a stuffed bird, by @theminecraftbee!! I’ll be honest I started this project completely on a whim while waiting for paper to arrive, but I’m so so proud of the results.

This fic was a present for my wonderful roommate, @majestic-ruiqing, since I know it’s one of her favorites and wanted to do something nice for her!

The cover art was done by my friend @tea-with-veth, who sent me some art that she drew a while back so that I could use it.

For the technical side, I actually leaned how to chisel a textblock correctly!! So this book has some of the nicest edges I’ve ever done. Not to mention, this was my first time doing splattered edges, which turned out very nice. Also my first time making paperless bookcloth!

You can read the original work here:

[demisexualemmaswan]

it’s very important that caleb widogast has two cheeks because it means:

-two tieflings can kiss him at the same time 

-two purple men can kiss him at the same time

-two of his schoolmates can kiss him at the same time 

-a tiefling and a half-orc can kiss him at the same time

-veth can kiss both cheeks twice!!

-yasha can cup caleb’s face in her hands while beau gives him a noogie 

-caduceus can watch his friend’s face warm up after a good cup of tea 

all i’m saying is it’s such a good thing caleb widogast has a kissable/holdable/lovable face!!! he deserves it!!!!!!!!! 

[dasnercaret]

for @tea-with-veth ‘s sing a song of sixpence, featuring potato farmer/general cottagecore guy technoblade and philza, who is definitely not supposed to be a crow

[captainofthetidesbreath]

It sounds like a joke to say (as I just did in a much more concise post) that Fjord's stress would be alleviated by some room dividers and a desk and by rearranging the furniture, but it really is my impression that one of a great many sources of stress for Fjord is how space in the house is portioned. Jester has her studio, but Fjord complains that the entire house is her studio. She tries to say there is the couch on the opposite side, he goes, "My haven: the couch." It's clear Fjord does not have a dedicated space, worsened by the open floor plan. He seems to have recently noticed and become bothered by having nowhere specific to belong in a house that he insisted they have.

It is not that Jester takes up too much space—absolutely not what I'm saying. I suspect the real issue is that Fjord does not know how to take up space, both within a domestic space but also in life, and does not know how to assert what he needs. He never had a space of his own, having grown up in an orphanage and then lived aboard a ship. He and Jester talk about this in 2.62: Domestic Respite while the Nein move into the Xhorhaus, that he never had a house before and that he was getting used to having a room of his own: "Well, my own room's pretty strange." We never get any suggestion that Fjord decorated his bedroom in the Xhorhaus beyond putting up shutters.

I feel like this is what's happening with Fjord in their house in Nicodranas. He never lived in a house before, and they stayed at the Xhorhaus so briefly, so he never learned how to live in one, especially one that he's building with a partner. He never learned how to assert spatial boundaries or how to need space, and thus he inadvertently allowed Jester to have everything and make all decisions. He's just now understanding that the small corner is not enough, and he is feeling boxed out of a house that he personally wanted—simply because he does not know how to assert himself in his own space. (Compare how Beau and Yasha have their own spaces, Caleb has a dedicated space for work at home, and Yeza and Veth have entire separate spaces to pursue their ventures. A ship is also largely communal space, and Jester lives in Fjord's captain's quarters.)

In contrast, Jester is very comfortable taking up space, especially within a home. Since Fjord offered no pushback until recently, she's naturally (and understandably) taken most of the space in the absence of Fjord asserting boundaries for her to follow. His gentle grumbling about the paint and her studio space feels to me to be the first time he's expressed unhappiness with the way their home is divided. It's my feeling that's how the situation developed: without any expressed boundaries, there was no way for Jester to understand how to share the space with Fjord. Negotiating these boundaries and learning to coexist together in a way where you have your needed space without crowding the other out is a crucial and often difficult part of a relationship, and one that Jester and Fjord have very little practice in. Fjord is clearly just now learning to voice his needs. I get the impression Jester is noticing this and is slowly processing how to work this out with him.

And I think this is a very intentional thing in the way that Travis and Laura have arranged this house? The rhythm of the description feels like many of these details and dynamics were discussed in advance.

Fjord is not settling well into his house because he never learned to take up space and there is a lack of obvious space for him to exist in, and negotiating and asserting those boundaries takes time and articulation. Without that, Jester has no signals on how to share the space with him. No joke, it would help to get a desk for him to work at or a table to read at, or maybe expand into a patio or something for Fjord to drink tea in alone in the afternoons. Rearranging their furniture and setting down some rugs, using room dividers if necessary, to break up their open space and create a semblance of separate areas will actually, sincerely, help with all this.

It's a very real growing pain, and it's fun to see it here.

[chrysalizzm]

12 :)

12: gold - james marriott

my mind is infested with c!dream Always especially after the Snake Monologue. keeping with the "your silence is gold" lyrics, i think this fic would be a sort of absurdist retelling of the torture in pandora's vault as c!dream newly rationalizes and recalls it - lots of color, chordal jabs, in line with the wild carefreeness of the song. "you played the game / you've never won" "won't you learn your lines and do your part" "you silence them all / just remember which fragment you keep them in" c!dreamcore quite frankly! the game in question being his time in the prison. he certainly kills the intensity and dehumanization of the prison by turning it into just another gauntlet for him to run in the pursuit of a big happy family. honestly this would work as an animatic too but i Cannot Start Another Animatic <- is working on an animatic now shhh dont tell anybody

[blorbologist]

could i get a trick or treat with the empire sibs?

Ended up kinda hurt/comfort-ish, but!!

Major spoilers for Echoes of the Solstice below! A bit of an alternative ending, before Caleb throws up the tower, bc I love me some Trauma.

--

Trent is dead,

(Impossible. Not possible. That is why they did not kill him then. And even - even - it would be childish to hope, and that child is buried with two townsfolk and a cat.) and Blumenthal smolders still, and he can’t leave Veth to worry for Luc, and the world quite literally hangs by a thread that they need to sever and Caleb can’t -  

“Caleb! Oy, Caleb!” Beauregard punches him hard in the arm, and says: “Breathe”

Soot clings to Bren’s tongue on the inhale. Caleb tastes blood on the exhale. 

She whacks him again. This time it stings, and he brings a hand to clutch at his elbow. 

“There you go.” With a jut of her chin she points to - “No, hey, stay with me. Look - Caleb, look.”

His eye has always been drawn to flame, gaze a moth seeking to burn. Hoping to see something different each time.

He does. He - he does. 

Unfamiliar townsfolk comfort eachother in huddles, some rushing to and from the well with soaked cloth. Some faces he recognizes - a moment given to age, not injury. There’s laughter, relieved laughter. A woman catches his eye and waves, the toddler in her arm clumsily mimicking the gesture.

Caleb still sees what he does not. 

“Even now,” he murmurs. “Even now, after all - after everything… and still Trent can ruin more lives. All this, to get back at me.”

Beau sighs. “We’re not getting into the - fucking scales of human life here.”

“You’re right.” Caleb straightens. “Where are the Nein? We need - Veth will kill us. Veth will kill us, and Luc needs to go home right now. And Ludinus is ultimately responsible, and needs to be held accountable, stopped. And - what Tent said about Essek -”

“Caleb.” The pain registers dimly as Beauregard squeezes his forearm. “Let’s just - slow down.”

Their crow’s feet match: perched on the same podiums at trials, side by side in the libraries, hopping down the roads of Wildemount and beyond much like Kiri still does. 

“You don’t need to run,” she says. “You’re not going to be chased out. Or - or locked up. You didn’t do this. And we can fix it.”

“Yeah, we should probably get to all that, and soon.” Beau scratches at the nape of her neck, looking out over the town. “Fuck. But! But - there are people here. And maybe, I don’t know, it’d be good to fix some things - actually fix them - before we head on to the impossible problems again.” 

Caleb finds a wry smile in himself. “Like explaining all this to Veth?”

“Oh, I’m planning on saving that for last.”

He chuckles - absolutely not. Beauregard carefully keeps her gaze on Blumenthal as Caleb wipes his eyes. 

And then he looks again.

Jester heaves up a beam so Fjord can pull two children - and then their parents. Caduceus pads with tea in one hand, lichen in the other. His ear twitches as Yasha helps prepare a house to hold the neighbors, as Luc herds some star-struck teens into making tents, Brenatto-patented.

Caleb Widogast does not know Mending. 

But, then again, neither does Beau. 

He rolls up his sleeves… and opens his home to his hometown.

[ravendruid]

Tea Time

This fic is part of this writing challenge, as well as based on the prompt Tea Time from this prompt list. Day 3 - Use the words: kitchen, date, music [Read on AO3]

It has been a few days since Caduceus heard news from his blue tiefling friend, Jester. It doesn’t bother him much because he knows if something wrong happened, someone would have contacted him already, but he has to admit that he misses his friend’s bubbly voice in the mornings wishing him a good day and telling him news from home. Caleb doesn’t contact him as much as Jester does, so his silence is not as worrying, and as for Veth, she rarely messages him anyway. Of all his friends (they truly are nine now), only these three have means to communicate through long distances (well, them and Essek, but since the Drow is still a fugitive, there aren’t many opportunities for him to contact Caduceus or to appear at the grove), so Caduceus never expects the rest of the Nein to reach out.

But, as it happens, sometimes silence does not mean good things are afoot, and even if bad news travels fast, on some occasions, it doesn’t travel as fast as a teleporting purple Elf who appears in the middle of Caduceus’s garden. The Firbolg man is elbows-deep in mulch when a hint of purple and silver light flickers a mere few feet ahead of him and Essek, in his dark purple and black robes and curly white hair, flashes into existence.

“Mr. Clay,” The man greets, huffing as if he has been running for miles and miles. “I am sorry to appear unannounced. I was wondering if you have heard news from our friends?”

“Now, now. Take deep breaths, Mr. Essek,” Caduceus’s voice is calm as there is no need to panic just yet. He dusts off his hands and wipes them on a rag hanging from the pocket of his gardening apron, then adjusts the large brimmed sun hat on his head and takes a long good look at his guest. Essek’s hair is disheveled, his eyes are full of fear and worry, and his robes are somewhat askew. The nails of his shaky hands are bitten harshly, but what makes Caduceus worry the most is that the Drow’s feet are touching the ground. Essek must be in a real state of distraught if he didn’t even bother to cast his levitation spell.

“Please, come inside. Let me make you some tea,” Caduceus offers. Essek nods and follows him inside the cozy cottage. He sits on the stool at the kitchen table and watches as Caduceus removes his apron and cleans his hands. He then brings a kettle to boil on the wooden stove top and prepares two mugs with loose-leaf tea. Essek watches, his eyes wide and pupils blown and a leg shaking underneath the table, but he doesn’t speak. 

“I have not heard from anyone in a few days,” Caduceus pours the boiling water over the leaves in the teapot and closes the lid to let it steep. He then sits down on a second stool in front of Essek. “I didn’t think anything of it.”

“I am afraid that something has happened, Mr. Clay,” Essek’s hands shake on his lap. “Caleb—Mr. Widogast and I had a… meeting of sorts scheduled for last night,” Essek’s purple cheeks deepen in color at this information and he hesitates. Caduceus shifts his gaze to the teapot between them to allow the man to gather his thoughts in privacy. After a few seconds of silence, Essek continues, “You know he never forgets anything. He is always on time, but last night… he didn’t appear, Mr. Clay, and I can’t help but fear that something has happened.”

Caduceus ponders the information in silence. He slowly removes the strainer of tea leaves from the teapot and pours two cups, one for him, one for Essek, who takes his with shaky hands. Caleb does indeed have a keen memory and an even keener punctuality, so if Essek is this distraught about his friend missing their “meeting”, then it must certainly be a big deal. But Caduceus isn’t learned in magic like Essek and Caleb, who get their arcane knowledge from books. Instead, he gets his powers from his deity and nature, so he has no way to contact his friends, but maybe the Wildmother can help.

“I have an idea, Mr. Essek,” he finally says. Essek’s eyes snap up with hope, but the Firbolg doesn’t offer any more information. Instead, he rises from his stool and walks out onto the grove. Essek tracks behind, towards a nook where the Clay family holds a shrine in honor of the Wildmother. On a stone pedestal sits a clay statue of the Goddess, a full-figured body enveloped by wild tangles of hair, leaves and vines, and underneath, a wreath of leaves and dried berries with a crooked staff in the middle. Caduceus gestures to a fallen log nearby, inviting Essek to sit before the Firbolg sits cross-legged in front of the statue. He gestures his hand to the ground and mushrooms, flowers and other greenery appear from the earth, as if the cleric has grown them himself, then he lights up a stick of incense and pours a bottle of a translucent liquid into a small bowl. 

Caduceus closes his eyes and concentrates for a minute. The rustle of leaves turns into the sound of crashing waves, the smell of the moist earth beneath him becomes the salty scent of the ocean, and the music of the wind-chimes shifting in the morning breeze is replaced by the loud scream of gulls in the distance. When he opens his eyes, Caduceus sees that the hard rock he sits on ends on a tall, rough cliff, dozens of feet above the crashing waves of the Lucidian Ocean. 

“Hello, Wildmother,” he says, smiling. An ocean-scented breeze caresses his cheek and ruffles his hair in greeting. “I was wondering if you have news from my friends. Are they together?” The breeze is soft and temperate when it rustles his pink hair, and for a moment, Caduceus swears he hears a warm, feminine voice whisper Some are. “Are any of them hurt?” Caduceus asks. The wind turns warm and brings the scent of copper in affirmation. His stomach turns nervously. Caduceus only has one question left, so he ponders his words well before he says, “Are they coming to seek my help?” Again, the warm breeze shifts past in affirmation, but this time it carries with the familiar scent of the Blooming Grove. Caduceus nods politely and wishes goodbye to the goddess. When he opens his eyes, Essek is standing on his feet, glaring anxiously.

“We must prepare,” Caduceus explains as calmly as he can, “They are alive but hurt. We need to get ready to help.” Essek nods, and as soon as his host is on his feet, he stalks him inside, where they ready cots, herbs, poultices and anything they might need. 

Right on cue, as Essek finishes wiping the sweat off his brow with the sleeve of his cloak, a light flickers outside, bright orange like fire, and Caleb, Beauregard and Yasha fall to the ground, bloodied and gushing for air. Essek runs as fast as his legs allow him—he notices he’s out of shape since he rarely uses them anymore—to hold Caleb aloft as Caduceus runs to Beau and her Wife.

“There is no time for questions,” Caleb’s voice is hoarse, his face is scratched and blood gushes from his abdomen. Essek shakes his head and raises him to his feet, but both men’s legs shake with the weight. “Scheiße,” Caleb curses between his teeth, covering his injury with his free hand. 

“Mr. Clay, we could use some help over here,” Essek’s voice shakes. His pupils are wide and refuse to leave the red stain that keeps growing on his lover’s torso. Caduceus runs back from the doorway where he left a not-so-injured Yasha to carry Beau and holds Caleb on the opposite side of Essek. Together, they manage to bring him inside and lie him on a spare cot and the healer is on him in an instant, cleaning the wound and channeling the Wildmother’s powers to cure him.

Caleb raises his rough hand to Essek’s damp face, a thumb wiping the tears that fall silently, and the Drow leans into the touch with his eyes closed. He knows one day the fugitive life will catch up to him and permanently separate him from the human he cares for so much, but Essek never considered the possibility that his lover could be the one to find himself on the wrong end of a sword sooner rather than later. Yet, here he is. Barely alive, yes, but here. “Sorry I missed our date, liebling,” Caleb apologizes with longing in his voice. It still pains him to see his frail human so hurt, so full of guilt for failing his promise. They don’t have many opportunities to be together, so they treasure every second, and for Caleb, missing out on a full day of Essek cuddles and reading must have been torture. So Essek smiles, even if it doesn’t reach his eyes, and says, “Do not worry Caleb Widogast. I will make sure you make it up to me.”