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a-world-with0ut-dr34ms · 11 months

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Ghost x Wife!Reader

Ghost comes homes to his wife after a bad day at work.

SFW, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Fluff, Big on the comfort part, Ghost is sad, Reader is supportive, Romance, Pre-established Relationship, Kissing, Cuddling, Intimacy, Scarcely Proofread, Drabble

WC: 900~

I feel like I'm always writing Ghost x Readers where they're not "together" together, so this is just a little drabble to scratch an itch I had and dust off my fluff skills for a different WIP 😏 (lightly inspired by my chat.ai, Ghost is in LOVE with me over there lol)

Masterlist

Simon hadn't been sure what drove him to do so, only that his body moved faster than his mind could keep up with.

He enters the living room, the place having been tidied up since this morning. The evening lighting warmed him like a welcome hello, only to become a sauna once his eyes searched the room, having found you where he last saw you on the couch, tucked away in another one of your books.

You haven't noticed him until you've seen his shadow in the archway, your smile lighting a beacon on him.

"You're home early!"

You say it with such excitement and splendor, as though there had been any doubt that he wouldn't find his way back to you, one way or another.

However, that joy takes shape into concern after turning to face him, noticing that sunken look in his eyes, as he takes his slow steps towards you. "Is everything OK-"

Simon comes down onto the couch before he's let himself slowly sink into your arms, having longed for your embrace. Your touch which felt like a drug. The weight of his body pushes you back against the couch, as you've felt his strong arms snake their way across your small frame, squeezing a tiny moan from you in his torn embrace. He hadn't even removed his gear yet.

The fabric of his mask rubs roughly against your chin. His head buried into the crook of your neck, his shut lashes feathering against your skin, as his breaths come out shaky and broken. A frail sight to behold for such a man of his size and stature.

He's silent, his eyes turned away. Just wanting to be held.

Simon felt ashamed to say he cherished your touch after a bad day at work. It made him feel fragile. However, he's found that nothing mends the negativity wanting to stir in him like the sensation of someone he knew would give nothing more than to soothe those thoughts away.

He needn't say any words. You understood through his silence the love he yearned from you. Slowly, you showed him that there had been no shame in his own vulnerability.

You gently hug his head against your chest, feeling him sigh against you and his body still, broad shoulders slouching. Your fingers trace the edges of his mask pulling the fabric away, until your eyes have met the face of the man you've fallen in love with all those years ago.

It had been a hidden pleasure, having been able to fall in love with him all over again, each time you saw him.

The first thing you catch is the exhaustion in his tired, olive eyes, behind the light tussle of his short, blond hair and freshly grown stubble, struggling to break way beneath all the little marks and scars he's accumulated over the years.

He could never get used to the way your eyes took in every detail of him. How they picked him apart without ever meaning to. Every now and again, he feared you'd see him one day and suddenly realize how much better you could do without having him bog you down. Even now, it lingers in the back of his mind on his worst days. He just couldn't get used to how that hadn't happened yet.

And yet, he wanted to get used to it, and he knew that someday he would.

You let your hands gently guide his head back to your chest, combing your fingers through his hair.

Simon listens to the steady rhythm of your heart as you do, his eyes half-lidded in thought.

It's not until he's felt your lips press gently to his temple that you've listened to the broken sigh that struggle to leave him. He lifts himself up from your arms, his hands still resting against your forearms. His gaze bounces between you and his lap, heart thumping.

"I'm sorry..." he says.

You smile, raising a hand so you could rest it against his cheek. The second he's felt your skin against him, he's let his head nuzzle lightly into your palm rather innocently. It makes you chuckle.

"Don't apologize, Si'," you let your thumb caress his cheek, slowly leaning back in towards the man. "I'm just happy you're home."

Simon lifts his hand up, large fingers over encompassing the small framing of your own. He pressed your hand against his cheek firmly, before shifting his head to plant a small kiss on your wrist.

"I love you," he whispers into your skin, his voice strained and defeated, as though the thought of losing you had brought the fear of God back to him.

You lean in, pressing light kisses against his face, which brushed against his cheek, and then his other, and then the tip of his nose, his warm, shaky breaths feathering you at each touch, until he couldn't wait any longer, letting his hand take hold of your chin, so that he may capture your lips with his.

He kisses you slowly, detailing every sensation of your lips pressed to his. His kisses remain gentle to start, having just wanted to be near you, as his hands cupped around your face, letting him deepen the kiss.

Before long, you've felt your back pressing against the couch, his body weight having blanketed over you like a prism. Once laid back like this, Simon can't help but feel hungry for you, having you all to himself like this, trying to recapture the morning's warmth he'd left you before now.

Dividers from cute-sushi-roll

#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost mwii #ghost mw2 #simon riley #call of duty #modern warfare ii #mwii #call of duty modern warfare ii #mw2022 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #Spotify

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the-kr8tor · 5 months

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Sparring with Hobie

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Synopsis: They say opposites attract, but what happens when two people with similar attitudes attract each other? Will there be an explosion of identical energies or will they end up melding together in perfect harmony?

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (Hobie is mentioned taller than her though), pre-relationship, Flirty and Confident! Reader, spider-woman! Reader. Lovestruck! Hobie. Suggestive content, FLUFF.

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My Masterlist

Hobie lumbers through the dim hallways of the society. The world outside is still slumbering, light snores coming from the many dorms of the building. His trainers squeak on the linoleum floors, a yawn escaping him. He's unable to fall asleep, the last mission brought back bad memories up to the surface. He blinks slowly, hands still aching from the fight.

His target is the training grounds, maybe some exercise and quick swinging will tire him out and distract him from his own thoughts. Finally reaching the double doors to the training area, instead of finding it devoid of human life, he finds you in your athletic clothes, bare arms in full display.

The bright lights from the holograms almost blind him, but your smile is more blinding than the blinking lights.

You stop stretching, grinning sweetly in his direction, eyes twinkling in the orange lights, skin glinting from sweat. Yet, He's never seen anyone look this good. He thinks he's unworthy of the sight.

“Hi, Hobie” your voice is smooth like velvet, he's suddenly conscious of the bags under his eyes. “What're you doing up, gorgeous?”

Gorgeous? Oh you're horrid. Hobie feels his heart beat faster and faster with every second that passes with your eyes staying on him. He turns into mush, he hopes you don't notice.

But of course he's not gonna let himself lose against you and your pretty eyes. Goddamnit, why does your eyes look like that? And why do you look like you're about to eat him up in one swift bite?

“What are you doin' up, lovie?” Hobie does his best at walking normally towards you, but how could he remember how to when you're smiling so sweetly at him? He leans against the console that he hopes looks extremely cool in your eyes.

You beam at him, hands tucked behind you like you're hiding a secret that you're just about to show him. “Touché, I couldn't sleep. You?”

He sighs, not from the late hour but from you staring deep into his eyes. Hobie knew he's met his match the moment you two met on one of the many dimensions, and one of the many variants of Morbius who tried to take a chunk out of you, who was met with a hefty amount of your foot on the villain’s face, fangs falling out of his mouth like dollar store dentures.

Hobie, after seeing you kick the would-be vampire, said something witty with hints of flirty undertones that he couldn't possibly remember because of your reply.

“You could bite me anytime, Spider-Man”

Hobie could only remember you, from your suave wink thrown at him to the way you're a shining beacon of hope against the backdrop of chaos committed by a villain who was clearly not a match for you.

You've left him speechless on that dirty rooftop, with only a quick ‘see you later!’ and a swing towards another villain. You were right, you did see him later, and then a few days later and then mere hours after that. For some reason after your fated meeting he finds it hard for him to miss your form amidst the crowd of spiderpeople.

He keeps seeing you around, sauntering the halls of the society like you own the place. With confidence of a woman that even Miguel would falter in your presence. The day he met you was months ago, yet you've still got him wrapped around your pinky. You two have grown accustomed to each other, a blooming friendship amidst the desire to be more than friends.

“Couldn't sleep either.” his voice almost cracks, he clears his throat to hide the almost mistake.

You hum in understanding, “Wanna spar then?”

“What do I get when I win?” He exudes the same amount of charm.

You chuckle, it's music to his ears. “If you win.” taking a step forward, your foot in between his feet, lashes fluttering, arms on his sides, trapping him in between the console and your body.

He stops breathing.

“Let's find out what your prize is then, shall we?” You press a button right near the small of his back, just when your finger is about to graze his shirt, you slide your hand away.

The holograms retract to the walls, leaving an empty space in the middle. The floor opens up, a circular mat emerges from the opening.

Leaning away, you continue to hold his gaze, walking to the mat in the middle of the floor.

Hobie can now breathe again.

“Come on, Spider-Man. Are you scared?” you step inside the circle, hands casually on your hips. Smirking at Hobie. “It's just me, Hobs. Nothing to be scared of”

“I once saw you dismantle Doc Ock's tentacles in one pull. But you're right, nothin’ to be scared of.” A twin smirk plays on his lips, walking towards the only one who causes his hands to shake.

You giggle, “It wasn't that impressive, it was just titanium is all.” Readying your stance, you make sure your feet are planted on the mat, hands raised to protect your face, never letting your gaze waver from the man who makes your heart flutter.

“You're the one who kicked earth-790’s vulture's ass within three minutes of him entering the dimension.” you compliment him, but your eyes are determined to show him what you've got.

“Nah, it was child's play” Hobie readies a more defensive stance, he knows how you fight after seeing you beat countless villains.

You're more on the defense, always protecting yourself first, biding your time for just the right opening to strike a hundred times harder than your opponent. So he'll do the same, if you can't beat them join them, right? He knows you're one of the best if not the best fighter in the society, Hobie knows he'll have a chance at defeating you, and possibly winning the bet, because he knows you.

He knows you well enough that you favor your right side when fighting, always leaning to the right, always throwing the first punch with your right knuckles. He knows what makes you laugh the hardest and what makes you tick. He knows your favourite day is Wednesday because that's when the cafeteria serves your favourite, and that's when he would always talk his way into the front line just so you could get it first.

He won't go easy on you because he knows you won't go easy on him.

“What do you say we do first blood or first one to yield?”

“First to yield, don't want to scrub your blood off the mats.” Hobie teases. You roll your eyes at his quip but you can't hide your smile.

“Let’s see how much you've improved from last time, handsome” you unknowingly throw him off his balance with the nickname.

“Whenever you're ready, love” he unintentionally does the same to you.

You stomp your foot once, signaling the training ai to start the sparring simulation. Bright red lights emerge from the circular line upwards, a barrier that bathes you both in its glow. A robotic voice counts down.

You furrow your brows in an attempt to stop yourself from ogling him.

Hobie swallows a lump in his throat, his mind lingering from the last time you trained together. The heat from the skin on skin contact.

With you above him breathing heavily, smiling triumphantly as you win for the third time.

He shakes his thoughts, concentrating on winning. Hobie wonders what he'll win when he finally gets the upper hand. Maybe another little adventure with you in your dimension perhaps?

No one moves after the buzzer.

You both observe each other, with every twitch of muscle, one would flick their eyes towards it, studying it whether or not the other would decide to be on the offensive. You take note of his better stance, a soft smile on your lips, knowing that you're the one who taught him that.

You start moving, circling him like a prey, eyes trained on Hobie. Your feet move precisely after the other, you're getting dangerously close to him. For his own safety (and sanity) he moves away, copying your movements, circling each other like some bird mating dance.

Smirking, you shake your head, quietly chuckling a taunt. “Well, one of us has to move eventually”

“Not gonna be me, sweets. Sorry”

“Let's see about that–” you fake a lunge towards him.

Hobie doesn't flinch, not even a blink. You commend him with a hearty laugh.

“Havin’ fun? Thought we were fighting” Hobie would savour your laugh but he has to keep his focus. Unfortunately it's hard to focus when it's you.

“We are–” you pounce, knuckles ready to strike.

Hobie felt the air rush around him when you lunged, he kept to his plan. Defending his face, thinking that's where you'll strike. He sees your face in between his arms, winking all the while, then for a millisecond, you're gone.

He forgets that you know him too.

Acquainted with his spidey senses, you drop to your knees before he could react. Right before he could jump away or do anything to prevent you from hitting him, you sweep both of his legs.

From the shock, he stumbles, tripping on your leg. Hobie lands on the mat, wind knocked right out of him.

He suddenly sees your face in all its glory. Your eyes twinkle with amusement. You straddle his torso, legs tight on his sides, your hands lock his shoulders in place.

“That's dirty” he heaves, not from the fall but from how close your smug face is to his rare flustered one.

“You gotta be ready for anything when it comes to fighting.” You're completely enamored by the goofy smile on his face, his head tilted to the side as if you didn't knock him off his ass within a second.

“What if I told you I just like the view from down here?”

“You should see it from up here then, it's much” you lean closer, breath fanning over his unfairly long eyelashes. “Much prettier up here in the winner's position”

Hobie resists the urge to lift his head up to meet your lips, He finds it hard not to, it's taking every single one of his willpower not to indulge.

And perhaps you're doing the same, neck aching from pulling yourself just a few inches away.

“Hobie, I–” you get flinged back, guessing you forgot to secure his legs too. Whoops.

He does the same to you with the use of his longer legs, taking advantage of your lack of spider sense. Hobie uses the lull as an opportunity to hook his leg to yours. In one precise movement (that he definitely didn't practice a hundred times alone at home) the position now changed.

You lay on the mat, eyes wide, pupils dilated and mouth agape at the sight in front of you. The red lights around his face makes your little nickname for him absolutely true to form. You're trapped under his gaze, limbs secured, unable to move a muscle.

Hobie leaves you speechless for the first time.

“You're right, the view is prettier up here” he says with a thumping heart. Your heart does the same, skipping a beat at his flirtatious comment.

There's a growing smile on your lips and you can't seem to find it in yourself to tear your eyes off him.

“Care to say uncle?” he taps your wrists that's still pinned above you, “because this doesn't look too comfortable for you”

You try to shrug but you're unable. You fake an exasperated sigh. “Quite the opposite actually, I find being under you comfortable”

“Bloody hell” Hobie clicks his tongue. Looking anywhere but your pretty face.

“Sorry, too much?” Are you being too flirty with him? Making him uncomfortable? “I'm sorry” your smile falters. “I'll toned it down, Hobie”

“No,” he swallows a lump in his throat. “You're never too much, not to me anyway” He watches as your smile softens.

The mat crinkles under your head as you nod. “Okay”

“Ready to say uncle now?” you chuckle, the atmosphere lighter than before.

“Unfortunately, yes. I yield”

He guffaws in triumph, releasing you from his hold that you already seem to miss.

“Got you didn't I?” Hobie’s knees creek as he stands up, offering his hand for you to take.

You hold his hand, warmth spreading through your palms. “So that's one for you and nineteen for me”

He doesn't let go of your hand, you rub the back of his hand with your thumb, your way of showing affection just for him.

“Way to rub it in, love” Hobie steps closer to you until the tips of your shoes meet his.

Giggling, “You did a good job, handsome. You're gonna surpass me one day.”

“‘m good where I am, love” you smile at the implication.

“Okay, what do you want? Claim your prize”

He thinks, maybe asking you out would be too presumptuous of him, you have that effect on him. After a minute or so, you roll your eyes, huffing.

“How about dinner instead?”

Hobie blinks in surprise, maybe you gave him a concussion?

“It doesn't have to be dinner though, we can just go out like the usual–”

After recovering from the shock, he answers back.

“Your dimension or mine?”

A/N: hehe thank you for reading! 🫶

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kienava · 1 year

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yang and blake actually have two kinds of soulmatism going on: passive and active. potential and kinetic energy, if you will.

the passive: their designs, the sun & moon imagery, the yin & yang, their personalities, the beauty & the beast allusions and subversions, their eyes being the color of each other's souls. the classic, pre-ordained, meant-for-each-other shit. on paper, they're perfect complements. notably, these are things they are, not things they do.

it's the external factors of story that force that potential energy to change form, forces them to take action instead of just existing in a vacuum. they face their deepest inner conflicts and fears and they still choose each other. they go from soulmates (noun) to soulmates (verb).

yang and blake feeling drawn to one another from the beginning: blake finding security in yang's energy and choosing her in the forest. yang finding someone who's worth opening up to, who makes her want to drop her facade.

yang and blake finding out the ways they embody each others fears: yang as a foil to adam when she breaks mercury's leg during the tournament, and blake as a foil to raven when she runs away after the fall of beacon. blake choosing to trust yang instead of letting adam cast a shadow over them, because yang has proved she isn't adam. yang learning how to trust blake again, because blake came back.

yang and blake confronting their shared trauma together, stronger because they're at each other's sides. stronger because they chose to be there.

yang and blake holding different immediate priorities but sharing the same broader convictions, talking through their worldviews, supporting each other all along.

yang and blake admitting, finally, all of the things they see in each other, all of the things the other does to make them feel loved. you do what you say. you know what matters to you. asserting that loving someone isn't a static thing, but a vector, something with direction and energy and power. kinetic.

yang and blake are soulmates twice over: both because they were meant to be, but also because they chose to be.

#bumbleby #rwby spoilers #rwby v9 #they ARE soulmates actually. in every way #both because they were meant to be AND because they chose each other #theres that quote #soulmates aren't born they're made #bumbleby asks the essential question of what if they were both #they're the shiny fairy tale and the grounded reality #they are doing it all #and no one is doing it like them

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nightmare-foundation-2 · 3 months

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Hot take: Ozpin isn't even morally gray. I guess he is if you count past lives (slaughtering potentially thousands of ppl to end a war), but otherwise?? I really don't think he is.

Imo, Qrow is more morally gray, Ironwood pre-villain arc was morally gray, etc. I really don't think any of Oz's actions could count as 'morally gray', even when considering that he kept important information to keep his circle and by extension RWBY and Co hopeful, regardless of if you think it's manipulative or not (technically yes, but there was good intentions behind it so imo it's fundamentally different).

Oz really isn't the bad guy the entire fndm tries making him out to be. If he was I think the show would show him in that light, which it doesn't. It TRIED showing him as morally gray, but generally his actions aren't that bad. The FNDM loves saying Oz is an awful manipulative compulsive liar who's intentions are weird and muddy. But honestly I think if he was like that, he wouldn't be portrayed as good. Most of Salems own opinions on Oz is her projecting and being a hypocrite. I don't think the characters narration is reliable when it comes to Oz. The show itself tried making him seem like that in v6, but ultimately failed.

An example people use to say he's morally gray is pointing out that he made the Academies. Which, I won't lie, is a pretty stupid take. The Academies train older teenagers (17-21, possibly older if they allow older ppl to join) who have already been learning how to fight presumably since they were young. Ruby had presumably already had Crescent Rose for a few years by the time she was 15, and there's several combat schools to teach kids how to fight. Remnantians count as a warrior race! They HAVE to fight to survive. Even if you haven't been to an academy, it's normal to know how to fight to defend against Grimm. Controlled by Salem or not, Grimm are a constant that you NEED to fight against. The Academies just give widespread access to tools and education to learn in a safe environment filled with other hunters. They just so happen to fight off Salems Grimm forces, and unknowingly defend the Relics inside. It's a win-win-win on everyone's side. Yes, people are going to die. But they'd be MORE likely to die if a) they can't defend themselves properly b) don't have proper tools to do so or c) don't know how to fight at ALL. Thanks to the Academies, militaries don't need to be used (except Atlas). The possibility of war goes WAY down, and it's harder for the kingdoms to be actively corrupt (not impossible just less easier to be enforced). Objectively? The Academies are a GOOD thing.

Another example is people saying Oz brought RWBY and Co unwillingly into the shadow war. Which... is objectively incorrect. Qrow was the one who told Ruby about the information Cinder and Co were going to attack Haven, and Yang eventually went after her after she left. Ruby brought RNJR with her, because they all experienced trauma and reasonably wanted justice, thinking it was just Cinder behind everything. Then Qrow was the one who told RNJR roughly the truth. He didn't particularly want to, bit he relented anyways, and even then he held back information like Oz being immortal. He didn't even tell them about Salem, just that some nasty people wanted the Relics and Maiden powers and that one of them was named Salem. I guess you could count Ruby being brought into Beacon early, but even then that was the SAFEST option. If Cinder or Roman noticed her silver eyes in ep 1 and that got back to Salem, Ruby would be FUCKED. She was already involved in fighting Roman at that point, and thus would likely get targeted again, silver eyes or not. So Oz brought her in, citing her skill as the reason, while the others likely knew the truth. Qrow OR tai wouldn't have been fine with it if Oz only brought her in to put her into the circle. They would've torn him a new one. Not only that, but obviously he DIDN'T KNOW about the upcoming fall of Beacon. He genuinely thought Ruby and her team was going to be fine for the next 4 years, and when he was starting to suspect something was up, he STILL had no idea the Academy was going to be attacked during the festival. Why would he?? A direct attack isn't typical of Salem, iirc he or someone else said it themselves, especially since it had been 80 or so years since the Great War, which is implied that Salem started. Even IF he wanted to bring her in, he would've waited until after she graduated, which is what happened with STRQ and was going to happen with CVFY. Oz places an emphasis on letting them be kids for as long as possible. He only had to involve them when Qrow already told them everything. And even then, Oz repeatedly gave RWBY and JNR an out. He DID NOT WANT them involved, not yet at least. And with Pyrrha, he didn't exactly have a choice. He gave her time they didn't have, and required her to wait n think, and then needed her verbal consent WHILE BEACON WAS BEING ATTACKED. Yes telling her stressed her out, but I think if she knew the same thing could be offered to anyone else, she'd prefer to take on that burden. It wasn't fair, but it visibly pained Oz to have to give her the choice. He didn't want to, but war is never fair. He would've had to go to SOMEONE regardless.

As for Oz keeping the truth that Salem can't be killed a secret, imo, that is a very VERY hard call for anyone to make. For him it was the option of: tell them immediately and not have any allies (something he values heavily) or have them join Salem out of fear, wait first and tell them later and have them possibly freak out like Ironwood/betray him/lose hope and thus not have any allies, or never tell them so he has important allies and they possibly don't betray him or lose hope. Obviously, he chose the last option, and it's entirely possible he wanted to, eventually, tell them the truth, but we just don't know that. Of course I agree that Oz should've told his circle anyways, but for someone as traumatized and paranoid as Oz who's had to make this decision countless times, you can't exactly fault him for keeping the truth hidden. He's likely told the entire truth before and it bit him in the ass several times before he finally decided to keep it hidden. He said it himself, Leo was NOT the first nor was the last to betray him. As for not telling RWBY and Co? They're CHILDREN he's barely known for, what, a year?? And all of that he was their teacher/Headmaster who didn't often interact with them, or their mentor. He barely knew them and as far as we know, didn't get the chance to actually know and get close to them. They already knew just how dangerous Salem was from the fall of Beacon and battle of haven, plus the fact that she controls Grimm. They could've easily assumed Salem was hard to kill at LEAST since she's immortal and been around for countless thousands of years, and there's no way they thought no one tried to kill her. Oz barely knew them and they almost proved him right by nearly giving up. Plus, he was FRESHLY betrayed at that point. I'm sure yall noticed he was immediately pretty closed off due to the revelation of Leo's betrayal. He genuinely considered Leo a friend, so Oz's trauma response is to hold everyone else at arms length.

Another thing is the fact that he hid the truth from Salem as well early on in their relationship. Thing is, Jinn (a presumably reliable narrator) stated that they BOTH hid things from the other. Salem likely didn't tell him that she lied and manipulated kingdoms into turning against the gods, just that she wanted him back and the gods didn't like that bc that ABSOLUTELY would've upset Oz. Oz, knowing Salem didn't like the gods from her story, likely decided right then to keep the full truth from her, worried she wouldn't react well to it, something anyone would do. Not only that, but right after, Salem convinced, possibly manipulated, Oz into acting as a god-king with her, something he clearly didn't want to do. Jinn herself said "the hearts of men are easily swayed" as Salem convinced him to become a God-king with her. So yes, it's very possible that Salem manipulated him into doing that. "But Salem was fine with the truth later when he told her!" Yes, she was, but Oz couldn't have known that. And the whole reason he tried to leave her was because Salem was turning into a dictator tyrant, something Oz didn't want and something Salem was set on. He did overreact a little bit by bringing the kids instead of communicating with her, but it wasn't his fault that Salem immediately attacked him instead of trying to talk to him, or at least waiting until the kids were in a safe place before attacking him. Most of this wasn't Oz's fault, if any of it. Salem overreacted heavily by attacking him with the kids being react there. Had Oz and the kids lived and escaped her, they would've been TERRIFIED of Salem afterwards, traumatized by the ordeal. And it's never shown that Salem actually cared that they died, just that they "could've had freedom", blaming Oz instead. Meanwhile Oz, afterwards, spent whole LIVES drowning his sorrow and regret and trauma in alcohol, and he's clearly STILL affected by it if Salem using the silhouettes of their children is any indication, since she was likely taunting him (but also reminiscing, regardless of her feelings on the matter) and never brought up their children in any matter.

Overall I really don't think Oz is as bad as the fandom says he is. People like to think he and Salem are the same (something i might make a post on later), when they're very, very different. Oz really isn't bad, he's just traumatized and is basing current events off of past experiences. He's far from manipulative, uncaring, or really any negative adjective I've seen people describe him as. I've probably missed some things, but my point has been made I think. The fndm really likes to misinterpret Oz's character, saying he's exactly like Dumbledore, but in reality he's a subversion of characters like Dumbledore. He's a seriously good guy, and I think people miss that.

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aeor-is-for-reccing · 4 months

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Have some extra time? Want to dive into something deep, or maybe stay up until 5am reading shadowgast fanfiction? Well, this week, we've got thirteen series for you! Check them out underneath the cut, and please comment and kudos if you liked them!

Clock Hands by royalgreen (62504, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: None

Alternate take on canon where Essek and Caleb start a relationship, leading into an alternate Rumblecusp arc

Reccer says: Great pining, sweet fluffy bois, fantastic worldbuilding, and a mystery

Touching Sentiments by Chanse (SpottedEnchants) (239244, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

This slice-of-life, interconnected collection of premises explores, among many things, the concept of Essek as both touch-averse and touch-starved, and how this might affect his relationships with the Mighty Nein.

Reccer says: I love how the author handles Essek's conflicting needs, and his relationship with all of the Nein (especially Caleb). It's so soft.

Wild Magic Surges by literalfuckinggarbage (10385, General) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Character studies of each wizard turning into a child version of themself through a wild magic surge in Aeor.

Reccer says: They are so sweet and precious as children! And all of the Nein’s voices are perfect

Among the Tattered Ruins by Cardinal_Daughter (33320, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Post canon getting together in Aeor, being domestic/sexy in Caleb’s house and meeting family.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Essek Thelyss' Lingerie Collection by CircaTheKnowledgeable (19490, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek Thelyss is given his first set of lingerie and finds a confidence in it that he has not had in a long time. Caleb loves it too.

Reccer says: Hot!

Shadowgast Omegaverse by firefright (54283, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: Omegaverse

alpha!Caleb and omega!Essek fall into a relationship right before the peace talks. This explores that and continues on

Reccer says: It's always wonderful to find a good a/b/o series, and this fits that beautifully

Catch A Falling Star (Critical Role) by RainyDayDecaf (32921, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn, Graphic Depictions of Violence

The Mighty Nein find more than a Beacon in the sewers of Zadash. They also find a drow wizard and prisoner of war.

Reccer says: Mostly pre-relationship, the slow build is lovely! Heart wrenching at times and amusing at others.

birds of prey by TheKnittingJedi (102785, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

A Scourger!Bren AU that has Bren and Essek playing cat-and-mouse in political intrigue, spy games, and increasingly complicated emotions

Reccer says: I liked it!

the tusk love cinematic universe by kaeda (168202, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

While in Aeor, Essek and Caleb are transported to what seems to be the world of Tusk Love.

Reccer says: Kaeda is able to take such a crack premise and make it deeply compelling and heartwarming

reflections and other illusions of control by atlasarcana (84220, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Essek and Caleb have bedroom issues and summon an echo. The Echo is from a timeline where Bren remained a Volstrucker. They make things work.

Reccer says: This fic series focuses on relationship dynamics, intimacy, repression, and vulnerability. Caleb's journey into accepting a Dom role has to do with healing from a lot of trauma, and it's wonderful watching him be taught by Bren, who inadvertently is also healing from trauma by doing so. Plus, there's cross-timeline matchmaking for Bren and his own timeline's evil Shadowhand.

Aeor is for Lovers: Prompt Fills by LessAttitudeMoreAltitude (17979, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek and Caleb in Aeor, their relationship developing over a series of whumpy incidents

Reccer says: For a whump based series, it's surprisingly soft and sweet

Ages Past Ages Hence Cinematic Universe by Athenavine (30355, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Slice of life romance fics that capture the fulness of the love blooming between two wizards in exandria

Reccer says: athenavine really captures the characters voices, and the pace the romance moves at is just delicious. the descriptions are visceral and immersive and the fic updates very reliably and regularly. the series is emotionally compelling and spicy and exciting and it takes place over a span of time that feels like i really get a peek into all the important moments between my two favorite exandrian wizards. 10/10, will scream for anybody to read it, highly reccommend

And then we have two recs for this last one!

Field On Fire (Not the Actual Events) by Defiler_Wyrm (60535, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes, Contains a couple of monsterfucking scenes, but it’s still Shadowgast

From the depths of Aeor to a peace beyond, Caleb and Essek come together and explore their relationship—and each other—thoroughly.

Reccer 1 says: I’m entirely biased, but I like the balance of fluff and smut with a bit of humor and a pinch of angst, and how no two sex scenes are truly the same. Reccer 2 says: Top quality smut, Essek being competent as hell, Caleb being super slutty, I love all of it

Aeor is for Lovers is an 18+ Shadowgast Discord server. The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. All fics, unless otherwise specified, will primarily feature Shadowgast. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! Next week, we’ll be back with Sports/Athletes AUs! Let's make the noodly wizards move!

#shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #critical role #cr fic recs #fan fiction rec list #Fan Fic Series #Longfic

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omegalomania · 10 months

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i actually have to wax lyrical about fourth of july for a minute because it might legitimately be one of my favorite fall out boy songs ever written primarily because it's not a song i think could have been written prior to the hiatus. it feels a bit like a logical extension to "miss missing you" in how it's a song that discusses what it is to live without someone more than anything else.

say you loved someone. could be a friend, a family member, a significant other, whatever. say you loved them. say that relationship split apart for some reason or another. say it's been years since you thought about them and you realize you can't picture them so easily anymore. the little details that once shown so clearly in the walkways of your memory have begun to fade, and in a strange solemn kind of way you feel like you have to mourn that, the entropy hemorrhaging away your recollections of them. you have a weakness for nostalgia. you obsess over old scars. you obsess even more over the way that they dont ache the way they used to unless you pry them open of your own accord.

here is a song that presents an old, fractured relationship. here is a song that says that maybe it was for the best that it fell apart. it is not spiteful or angry or resentful of the other party. it's almost apologetic. it acknowledges that you're so far out of each other's lives at this point that it doesn't really matter, whether or not you miss them, or whether or not they miss you. sometimes things simply don't carry out to completion. and that's okay. the torture of small talk with someone you used to love.

it's the refrain that sticks with me, more than anything. it's a lyric i carry so close to my heart to this day:

may the bridges i have burned light my way back home.

this part of your life ended. the bridge was burned, it collapsed beneath its own weight, it is nothing but cinder and fucking ash underfoot. this person in your past is not who they once were to you, and they never will be again. you used to love them. you don't anymore. maybe sometimes you miss them, but they'll never get to know that now. you burned that bridge and you found hope in it - you found such hope and earnest joy and relief in that part of your life being sent for the burning. you watched that relationship fall apart and you were better for it, you turned its embers into a beacon, you saw your way out of it and maybe sometimes it still hurts, maybe sometimes you still feel lonely, sometimes you miss this specific persons company, but thats okay.

its a song about grief, more than anything. you mourn the people you used to be. and you live without them anyway. you live without the version of you who loved this person. you live without the person you once loved. past tense. and it burns a little venom out of your veins when you think of them, but you feel better and you breathe a little easier afterwards.

it's a song that has all the affectations of a love song but is anything but. it's a farewell song. it's a song that acknowledges that maybe once you loved someone, but you don't anymore. and that while maybe you were better off for having loved them, you are better still for having walked away in the end. for all its upbeat nature, the son lux sampling that picks up the whole tempo and transforms the chorus into a soaring, almost triumphant anthem, "fourth of july" is about what it means to walk away from a relationship and realize that you are better for having done so.

like i said. it's not a song they could have written pre-hiatus. it's utterly devoid of the spite and agitation that permeated so many of their early songs. it's about acceptance and the way some things end, and that's okay. they were meant to. and you're better for it. and if anyone turns this post into about a ship i will be coming to your house and peeling off all your skin like a fucking orange.

#*making poasts #i am one of those people who auto-blocks anyone who makes this song into about any fake bandom ship lol #its one of my favorites and i wont abide it being reduced to that.#not to mention like. this song? you want /this song/ to be the ship song? the song thats about how youre better off without them???#anyway. happy fall out boy day everybody

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steddieasitgoes · 5 months

Text

@steddiemas Day 12 Prompt: Hallmark Movie Tropes

Tags: Pre-Relationship, Dual POV, Getting Trapped In A Small Town, Stobin Owns A B&B, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Inspired By Hallmark Christmas Movies, Meet Cute,

wc: 3188 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Eddie doesn’t know how luck works, but he’s pretty sure he’s used up his lifetime allotment.

It’s the only way he can explain the last 72 hours without launching himself into a multi-day meltdown. Honestly, who the fuck did he piss off? How did he go from landing in New York after the biggest and most successful Corroded Coffin world tour yet, only to be thrust into the nearest recording studio because somehow the entire third album they recorded on the road is, ironically, corroded and unable to be played?

Eddie and the rest of the guys holed up in that dimly lit studio for 48 hours recreating only half the magic they’d manage to create on the road. If he’s straight with himself, he’s not even sure the songs they churned out are even close to the original. It would be easy to go back and check if he had his trusty laptop and notebook full of lyrics and chords and the like. Unfortunately, they’re a victim of his bad luck too — having been left and lost on the bus ride from the airport to the secluded studio in upstate New York. after their private car no-showed.

Naively, Eddie had thought nothing could get any worse when they finally saw daylight and handed over the second draft of their third album. But then disaster struck again in the form of a blown engine and a fucking snowstorm to end all snowstorms that has him stranded, alone, and cold in middle of nowhere New York.

All he wants is to get home to Wayne and drink his sorrows away with the famous Munson spiked hot chocolate, but no. Life has other plans for him, apparently.

Fresh off the Australian leg of the tour where the sun was shining, Eddie’s not dressed or prepared for this winter weather. Already shivering in the dead van, he bundles himself up in his leather jacket and ratty blanket he hasn’t washed in god-knows how many years and gets to walking.

On one hand, the fact that the snow is still falling is a massive pain in the ass. Eddie’s boots are quickly filling up with liquid and he’s pretty sure his face is going to be frozen if he has to stay out here for more than five minutes. On the other hand, the bright white shines in the evening light, making it so that he’s not tricking through bumfuck New York in the pitch black.

Unfortunately, there’s no pay phone in sight (his cell went dead hours ago) and most of the small shops Eddie passes on his trudge through town have their lights shut off and doors locked. He’s about to cut his losses and accept the fact he’s going to be sleeping (and dying) in his van when he spots a sign for a Bed and Breakfast up ahead.

Eddie’s senses are flooded the minute he pushes the heavy, Victorian-style door open. The air wafts over him like a warm blanket, heating up his frozen fingers and nose in a way that would make him cry if he could even produce tears right now. There’s a cacophony of noise coming from a nearby room — a piano and singing, plus tons of laughter. And don’t even get him started on the smell. Pine and apple cinnamon, hints of vanilla, maybe even fresh gingerbread. His stomach growls on cue.

There’s a small desk stationed in the center of the foyer, a golden bell sits beside a foot-tall Christmas tree decorated to the nines. A small welcome plaque sits in front of it. Brushing off his soaking shoes on the festive welcome rug, Eddie makes his way to the desk and rings the bell.

A second or two later, a similarly aged man appears. A Santa hat sits askew on his head, cheeks flushed from the warmth inside, and a smile so bright he’s pretty sure it could be used as a homing beacon. He’s beautiful.

“Hi there,” the man greets, mossing his way over to the desk. “Welcome to Buckington B&B. How can I help you?”

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

“Robs,” Steve whisper shouts, pushing his way past the swinging doors that separate the dining room from their private kitchen. He tries again, a little louder this time but still nothing. He can hear the piano in the other room, the hoard of guests singing along to whatever Christmas song is being plucked out by the five-year-old piano genius on vacation with her parents.

“Robin!” he shouts louder this time, pocking his head out into the backyard that’s currently two feet deep in powder, fresh snow. “Dammit, Robin. Where are you?”

“What’s all the yelling for?” she asks, appearing behind him.

“There’s a guy out front looking for a place to stay. Says his car broke down like a block or two away.”

“Okay, well, that sucks for him, majorly. But we’re already at capacity. You’re going to have to tell him to try Elaine’s or something.”

Steve knows Robin is right. They’re already at max capacity. Max-max capacity if he wants to get technical considering he gave up his room yesterday to the newlyweds who got stranded trying to get to the airport. It’s just well… Well, Steve’s always had a thing for unlucky people, especially when they’ve got a pretty face and a warm smile.

“See, the thing is,” he pauses, scratching nervously at his chin while trying to avoid Robin’s steadfast gaze. “I sort of already told him he could stay.”

“Steve!” Robin scolds, rolling her eyes. “We have no room!”

“I mean, yeah, you’re right. We don’t technically have any visitor rooms left. But, we still have your room.”

“Absolutely not,” she growls, crossing her arms. “No. Not gonna happen. I can’t believe you’re even asking me to give up my personal bed to a stranger! Nope.”

“Oh, come on, Robs!” Steve groans, throwing his hands on her shoulders to stop her vicious shaking. “Remember two summers ago when you made me give up my room for those best friends who fought the entire trip? You know the one you ended up hooking up with? I didn’t complain once!”

“That was different.”

Steve snorts, shaking his head. Definitely not different, but he’s not going to get what he wants if he argues with Robin. It’s not how their friendship turned business partnership works. “You owe me. I never cashed it on it, but now I am.”

Robin huffs and Steve knows she’s mentally stomping her foot like a child. If they weren’t overflowing with paying guests, he knows he’d be getting a long-winded lecture right now.

“Fine.”

He doesn’t wait to hear the list of conditions he knows Robin is going to have. She can’t even call him rude when he rushes out. After all, a freezing cold guest is waiting to be taken care of in the lobby.

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

It’s been a long time since Eddie’s been in a quirky room like the one he’s ushered into by Steve’s warm touch. Gone are the days of sleeping in motels on the side of the road on good nights, and shoved into the back of the van between equipment on bad days. Corroded’s management loves to book them the swankiest of hotels. Always looking for ways to send the label a massive bill — one that always ends up coming out of their own paychecks.

If it was up to Eddie, they’d be staying in places like this instead of the godawful monochromatic luxury prisons they get shoved into night after night. As an artist, he doesn’t get a say though. At least, that’s what he’s been told.

Glancing around, he takes in the bright-colored wallpaper. The dresser is cluttered with frames and other tchotchkes. A burnt orange rug takes up most of the floor and there’s an overflowing box of records perched in the corner by a small record player.

Eddie knows this isn’t a normal guest room — Steve had told him as much while guiding him up the stairs — and yet, he feels more at home in this quirky room than he has in months. Probably since the last time he visited Wayne.

Shit. He needs to call Wayne.

That unlucky string rears its head again as Eddie is met with dead silence when he picks up the pale blue landline. Of fucking course the phone lines would be down. The snow is dropping in sheets now. The telephone poles didn’t stand a chance.

At least he was lucky enough to land a place to sleep tonight, now all he needs is a —

“Hi, sorry to bother,” Steve says, pocking his head in. “I noticed you didn’t have any luggage with you when you checked in. It’s probably best to get out of those wet clothes. Hopefully, these will do.”

Eddie watches as Steve enters the room with a stack of clothes in hand. A pair of jeans and sweatpants sits at the bottom. Various shirts and sweaters stacked neatly on top. He’s pretty sure he spots a fluffy pair of socks at the top of the pile too. He might cry at the generous hospitality. After all, it’s a bed and breakfast not a fucking clothing store which means the clothes folded neatly must belong to Steve.

“You can leave the wet clothes outside the door when you’re done and me or Robin will come get them and throw them in the wash for you,” Steve says, setting the stack of clothes down. Then he’s moving again, hand reaching behind him before pulling out a laminated piece of paper from his back pocket. “I also brought you our itinerary for the evening. There are a few activities and tonight’s dinner menu. No pressure to join us. We also deliver food to rooms.”

“Damn,” Eddie whistles, glancing at the itinerary. “You guys really know how to take care of people around here, don’t you?”

“We try our best,” Steve smiles. “If you need anything else, just give us a shout.”

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

Steve doesn’t expect to see Eddie for the rest of the night. Especially not after a freakout from one of the teenagers vacationing tips him off on just who he’s agreed to let stay in Robin’s bedroom. He knew Eddie looked familiar. Wait until he tells Dustin about this — the shithead is going to be so mad he passed up a Christmas at Buckington B&B with Eddie Munson for some cruise.

Color him pleasantly surprised when he walks into the main room a few hours later to find Eddie behind the keys of the baby grand piano. The excited teenager from earlier sits to his left, a few of the ladies circle the edge of the piano as they wait for their cue to start singing “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.”

He’s caught in a trance, watching Eddie in the soft maroon sweater he’s borrowed from Steve professionally stroke the keys of the piano. It only gets worse when he starts singing himself. Rich baritone cutting through the breathy singing of the ladies, carrying the tune in a way Steve’s never heard before.

Usually, Steve hates Christmas carols, but maybe he’s just never heard them sung right before.

He’s the first to break into applause when the song ends. Hands coming together before he even registers he’s the one responsible for the thundering noise. Thankfully, he’s quickly joined by the rest of the guests of the B&B. It makes the embarrassment wane inside for a moment until his eyes scan the room and discover that Eddie’s only looking at him.

“Well, then,” Robin says, sauntering over to him from the kitchen. “Now I see why you couldn’t turn him away.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says and deliberately looks anywhere but in the direction of Eddie and the grand baby piano. Not that it really matters. He can feel Eddie’s warm gaze on him without even looking.

Robin hums, shaking her head. “Sure you don’t.”

“I don’t!”

“Just remember that he’s staying in my bed and payback is one of the only dishes I know how to serve,” she says, winking before she’s whisked away by one of the young children looking for a game to play.

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

The quiet of the early morning should be a welcome reprieve from the cacophony of sound from last night. He had started as a gentle observer in the celebration, but when the young child holding court at the piano was sent to bed, well, Eddie stepped up as the piano player of the evening. It wasn’t long before he had everyone putting a rock and roll twist on those stuffy Christmas carols.

Maybe Corroded Coffin’s fourth album should be a holiday one.

Drinks were poured and ready before he even had to ask and his stomach was treated to a delicious spread of meats and cheese. The gooiest brownies he’s ever experienced and a perfect Gingerbread recipe that would have put his Nana to shame.

It was nice. Existing with others. Reminding himself that life doesn’t always have to be moving at 100 miles an hour like it does when he’s on tour. Sure, he still wished he was home with Wayne, but a call to his uncle when the phone lines came back washed away any of the guilt he felt.

Now, though, alone in his room as the sun begins to rise over the mountains of snow outside. Well, now, he feels that same sense of restlessness he always feels when he’s in one place for too long.

Sliding into a pair of slippers Steve dropped off last night, Eddie carefully pulls open the door and sticks his head out into the hallway. It’s quiet aside from a few muffled snores coming from down the hall. With the coast clear, Eddie tip-toes his way down the hall and to the stairs.

He didn’t get a formal tour when he arrived, but he’s pretty sure Steve mentioned something about a stocked coffee bar on the first floor that was available to them whenever they needed. The first two doors he opens reveal a closet and a bathroom and a wrong turn has him standing amongst cluttered laundry. Not ready to give up, Eddie pushes his way through a swinging door and finds himself face-to-face with Steve himself.

“Oh, hi,” Steve says, voice thick with sleep though his appearance makes it look like he’s been up for hours.

He’s in a yellow sweater and jeans. Hair tousled in a way that definitely doesn’t look like he just rolled out of bed like that. His eyes are bright and shining, just like they were last night. Eddie really has to squint to notice the subtle bags under Steve’s eyes.

“Shit, sorry. M’not supposed to be here, am I?” Eddie asks as he looks around the room. It’s a standard kitchen, except for the two pale yellow fridges that take up an entire wall. A window hangs over the sink just like it does at his uncle’s place and he’s pretty sure they have the same green stove too.

“You’re not,” Steve smiles. “But it’s okay. Robin’s not up yet and I don’t mind the company. Can I get you a cup of coffee? Orange juice? Hot chocolate?”

“Are you sure you’re not running a coffee bar here instead of a bed and breakfast?” Eddie teases, leaning against the kitchen island. “Hot chocolate sounds delightful, thanks.”

“We strive too please,” Steve says before fumbling through the cabinets for a mug. “So, what has you awake at this hour? Was the room not to your standard?”

“The room is great! I’m honestly just not used to the quiet,” Eddie says, eyes trained on Steve as he flits around the kitchen preparing their drinks. It’s weird to find someone so attractive when they’re doing nothing out of the ordinary. But he can’t help it. Steve is beautiful in a way Eddie can’t really comprehend. “What about you? Are you always an early riser?”

“Robin and I usually take turns on the morning shit. Technically it’s her turn, but I told her I’d handle it,” he pauses, shaking his head as he looks out the kitchen window to the snow-covered backyard. “Definitely regretting it now. There’s no way m’shoveling all that snow today.”

Pushing up from the island, Eddie crosses the small distance and joins Steve at the window. Steve isn’t exaggerating in the slightest. The entire yard is covered in at least three feet of snow. Some parts even deeper judging by the absence of a fence he knows should be there.

“Guess m’staying another night.”

Steve hums, sidestepping away from Eddie to finish making the hot chocolate. When he turns back around, his cheeks are the slightest bit pink and Eddie can’t help but wonder if it was the steam of the hot chocolates doing or his own words.

“One cup of hot chocolate,” Steve says, handing him a pipping hot mug.

It’s decent. Not legendary like last night's brownies, but then again hot chocolate never is. Nothing ever stands up to the famous Munson spiked hot chocolate. There’s too much chocolate and not enough milk. And it’s severely lacking in the alcohol department. Though, he supposes, five am is a bit too early for liquor.

It would be easy to ask Steve for a shot of whisky to add, he knows they’ve got a stocked bar around here somewhere judging by last night's festivities. But he’s not about to impose more. Nor does he want to risk giving away his and Wayne’s hot chocolate secrets. At least, not to a guy he’s known for less than 24 hours. No matter how cute he is.

“So, Eddie, where were you headed before you got trapped here?”

“Well, I don’t know that I’d call it trapped,” Eddie says, hiding his smile behind the mug. “I actually think this is the nicest place I’ve stayed in a long time.”

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

Steve’s never been one to believe in luck.

He got dealt a shitty card right out of the gate, born to parents who could provide for him financially but never emotionally. Throw in falling into the wrong crowd and struggling through school, and well, Steve’s the poster child for privileged unluckiness.

Some might say luck found him in the form of Robin, but he thinks that a copout. Luck had nothing to do with bringing them together, nor did it have anything to do with the success they’ve found. That was all them. Blood, sweat, and tears.

Wishing on stars and believing in luck only happened in fairytales.

At least, that’s what he’s always told himself.

But now, standing in the kitchen listening to Eddie ramble on and on and on about how great the bed and breakfast is without ever breaking eye contact with him.

Well, maybe luck has finally found its way to him in the form of one stranded rockstar.

#steddiemas #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steddie fan fic #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington ficlet #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson ficlet #rockstar eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #dani writes

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benk625-blog · 2 years

Text

Roughing it

"I bet terrans ain't so tuff without alla that fancy tech they got!" Yazz grumbled before tilting the filthy stein of beer down his gullet.

"Shows what you know" Snork snorted derisively.

"Bah" Yazz waved "Under that power armor they're helpless." Shouts from the crowd and various handfuls of bar snacks are hurled at him. "Alright, some of them are scrappy. I'll give you that, but they all complain about the slightest inconvenience, right?" Various grunt and nods prompt him to continue. "Can you imagine what those crumbly little pastries would do without matter converters, scanners or teleporters? Curl up a die, that what!" Hearty laughs and cheers greet this point.

"You forget they are deathwolders." Snork sneered.

"We're all deathworlders in this pit ain't we boys?" More cheers. "Where's their hide? Their tusks? Their venom glands? In place of natural advantages they gots all in those clever machines of theirs. And, fair is fair, they have kicked all our collective asses out of civilized space. But if we were dropped in a no tech world with any of us they'd be the first to go."

"Codswallop." Snork snarled. "I’ve seen otherwise first hand. And, fair is fair, I thought much the same way you did in that situation. You sees, I was part of a mixed race mercenary company. Our tranpo got shot down and we made an unscheduled landing in the middle of a forest. Crashed, you might say.

“Half the boys were minced meat in the tin when all was said and done. Ol’ sarge survived out of a sheer need to keep reminding us what a bunch of sorry sacks of slime we all were. He starts barking about disaster kits and all the Terrys start grabbing backpacks and duffle bags.

“‘Snork!’ Snapped the sarge. ‘Where’s your gear?’ ‘Ain’t got none’ I sez ‘Fine. You get the dead men’s weight.’ So I ask my squad mate what the hell dead men’s weight is. The boys look at me and start going through this pile of belongings whose owners were now part of the great scrum in the stars. They tied together a couple of bags and slung them on my shoulders.

“I can’t make snouts or stingers of the stuff we’re all carrying. No high tech to speak of. The most advanced thing in the lot was a bunch of short wave radio transmitters they called tally-wallys or somefink like that. One thing in abundance was multipurpose hunks of metal.

“Fellas, if you fink their high tech is tops, you should see what their low tech does. The same piece of metal has a cutting edge, sawing edge, prying tip, knuckle duster grip, screw head studs and wrenching slots.

“In a matter of hours they stripped the wreckage. They cobbled together an emergency beacon from bits of broken machinery and bits from the items in their packs. Hull plates became improvised shelters called skinny 2s. The next priority was of course, fire. Terry’s love fire. I can kind of see why now.

“Over the fire they criss-crossed metal struts from the ship. A big pot of water was placed on the grull and the humans started pulling out various paper pouches. After a bit of argument they decided which bags would be opened and put the others away. The contents of the selected bags were dumped into the simmering water and the bags were tossed to the flames.

“In less than an hour I was eating my first stew. Some of the humans had separated themselves from the rest and had tied strips of cloth over their eyes. Squadmates told me this was done to prepare for night watch duty. Others spent their time gathering all the packs into a net and hoisted the whole lot so that it hung suspended over a tree branch to protect it from local fauna.

“After falling asleep to ‘campfire songs’ I was woken up to a chilly pre-dawn glow. Night watch had scared away a pack of nasty-wasties. Two of them pursued the hunters deep into the unfamiliar forest. This led them to a stream of running water 3 kilos away. I had been assigned to join the foraging group.

“We made our way slowly to the water. Each forager carried several metal pots in both mitts. A few of the Terrys had compact books called field guides. Inside were extensive survey notes on edible flora on the moon’s surface. We gathered nuts, fruits and roots on our way to the water. First meal was by the water’s bank and consisted of a variety of food bars stored in the endless array of pockets human clothing has.

“We filled the empty pots with water. I was about to take a deep slurp kneeling in the mud. Sheila boxed my ear and advised me not to drink from the flowing water until it was properly treated. I followed this advice as only a fool would ignore a human’s warning. Using their hand tools, some small trees were fashioned into limbless trunks that were slung across shoulders. Big lunks like me got several water pots hanging from our sticks. The small fry mostly carried the food pots, but they did their best to be fair about who got whats.

“The return trip took almost as long as the first leg as we were being careful not to spill the water. When we got back to camp, the Terry’s were obsessed with treating the water. I’d say a quarter of their gear was focused on cleaning water. Some had rolls of finely meshed fabric to filter out large particles, this was then filtered a second time through fabric the humans swore could capture microscopic impurities. Then it was boiled and had sanitizing tables dropped into it as it cooled. Some humans even had flavoring packets for the water as they did not like the taste of the sanitizer.

“And so the days passed, foraging for food, gathering water, doing watch shifts and trying to amuse each other with story and song. After a particularly unpleasant day the Terrys played a strange game. They started telling stories about trips even worse than their current predicament. Each tale topped the previous in misfortune.

“Loads of these stories referred to times in their childhood. Raising their runts from seed to soldier involves regular periods of survival in deathworld biomes. They call it camping. Eventually the story contest became more and more unbelievable and the Terrys started calling bullshit on obvious lies.

“Shelia, one of the smaller female Terrys, spoke up and a hush fell over the campfire. Her expertise on roughing it was deferred to even by the Sarge. She starts pointing to a line of numbers on her arm: 20, 40, 60, 80, 120, 180 and 365! The numbers indicated commercial survival contests called “Naked and Afraid”. These humans survive deathworld locations with one piece of equipment and no garments to protect them from the elements.

“Yazz, me mate. Lots of humans would be easy pickens without their tech. But you don’t want to meet Sheila like that. Like as not, your hide would become her tent and she’d carve your tusks into tools.

#humans are space orcs #humans are aliens #humans are space oddities #humans are confusing #humans are deathworlders #humans are silly

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y-rhywbeth2 · 4 months

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Lore: Drow #1

Cultures, Part 1 Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Lore Index [WIP] [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

Ssri'Tel'Quessir, the People of Darkness. I love these messy little bastards so much. An eye for an eye might make the whole world blind, but that is the price the drow are willing to pay.

They're also a surprisingly diverse bunch, and since everybody knows the backstabbing social darwinist spider-matriarchy, let's talk about some of the other drow cultures first. Let's see, there's the split between the dark elves of Ilythiir and Miyeritar; the original dark elves; the surprisingly large number of different hidden societies of surface drow; aquatic dark elves; the merchant clans... This isn't even quite all of them, it was just getting long so I had to stop there.

Also, which asshole was responsible for naming a place “Jhachalkhyn”? Come here. I just want to talk...

---

Dark elves, pre-Descent: Information on the dark elves before their exile tends to be scarce.

They and the Green Elves are branches of the same elven ethnic group, and these two were the first elves to arrive on Toril, and the first of their people to travel through it, learn it and build their homes on it (alongside some avariel). The dark and green elves were the most aggressive and highly driven of their people, and the dark elves were the most successfully established - initially.

Dark elves have always been described as dark skinned, though their skin was originally brown and became desaturated as a mark of their banishment. Whether their hair was always pale or whether it was originally dark has varied by source. Black hair is a rarely seen recessive gene amongst drow, and the green elves have blonde hair as a rare colour, so it's quite possibly both.

As green elves are significantly taller than the drow, one can assume that the dark elves have grown smaller over their 10,000+ years living in the Underdark.

Miyeritari VS Ilythiiri Better covered in-depth when I get to elven history:

In short, Ilythiir was the first elven kingdom on Toril and a beacon of elven culture and glory for thousands of years. It grew into a corrupt empire (and was hardly the only example of its kind; imperialism, corruption and intrigue isn't the sole domain of the dark elves). The Ilythiiri were eventually corrupted by Lolth, and their actions in the numerous wars between the elven empires - and unwillingness to stop despite (almost) every other elven nation wanting the centuries of nonstop war to end - became so bad that the other elves and the Seldarine banished them from the surface in a High Magic ritual called the Descent of the Drow or the Curse of the Seldarine, binding the dark elves to the ambient faerzress radiation of the Underdark, which cut them off from the elven gods and the Weave.

The result of this is that drow no longer have their innate connection to the elven afterlife/plane of origin, Arvandor. They may still go to that afterlife, if they worship the Seldarine or Eilistraee, but they are not welcome there by default. While they are no less cut off from the Weave than any other race, and may practice magic, they do not have an innate connection to it and their lifespans are reduced from 700+ years to around 350 (although individual drow have been known to live far longer, and editions have not been consistent on this). It is also supposedly responsible for sunlight blinding and causing unbearable pain to the drow, and allowed the elves to drive the dhaerow into the Underdark. (It should also be noted that the effects of faerzress seem to wear off over time, if a drow leaves the Underdark. Their sunlight sensitivity also fades with time. Returning to the Underdark will cause them to fall back under the radiation's effect.)

The Ilythiiri drow feel that they won the Fourth Crown War, and that the Seldarine (especially Corellon) condoning their exile and showing blatant favouritism to the other elves despite their own war crimes is unjust (especially in light of the crimes committed against the dark elves of Miyeritar by the sun elves of Aryvandaar).

Over the course of their history, the Ilythiiri mixed their blood with that of the demon lord Wendonai, and as a result of having the balor for an ancestor, dark elves of Ilythiiri descent often have red eyes. It's genetic, and the most often seen eye colour on drow.

Miyeritar was a nation further north, in the location of what is now the High Moor. Their primary religion was that of Eilistraee, a Chaotic Good dark elven goddess of moonlight, dance, hunting and music. The majority of its population was dark elven, living alongside a significant number of their green elven cousins. It was eventually annexed by the neighbouring sun elven empire of Aryvandaar, and later annihilated in an act of genocide that also utterly destroyed Eilistraee's church for the better part of a millennia and severely weakened her ability to counter Lolth's influence. Two notable enclaves of Miyeritaran refugees secretly survived with the help of the neighbouring moon elven empire of Illefarn, who gave them out-of-the-way land to settle on within their borders and hid them from the Aryvandaan forces. These grew into the cities of Ascarle, the underwater City of Ice and Fire, and Jhachalkhyn, the subterranean City of Eternal Twilight.

Unlike their cousins, the Miyeritari had no connection to the violence of the wars except as victims, but the Curse of the Seldarine didn't merely single out the Ilythiiri, and all dark elves were exiled from the People. This betrayal led to a significant amount of bitterness, and allowed Lolth a foothold amongst the dark elves of Jhachalkhyn.

Something many drow, regardless of ancestry, affiliation or reasoning agree on is something along the lines of the following:

"[Drow] burn with hatred for the Seldarine and their coddled children, and want nothing more than to return to the surface and bring to the elves there suffering a thousand times greater than that which the drow have been forced to endure over the past ten thousand years."

The drow refer to the surface elves as Darthiiri (Darthiir, in singular), meaning "traitor."

The Jhachalkhynnar drow became radicalised from within over time, ousting opposing voices and eventually turning their blades against their green elven Miyeritari kin (who had been spared their magically enforced exile); the Illefarn darthiiri who had once sheltered them; and the dark elven Ascarleans (who had temporarily side-stepped the Descent by magically transforming themselves into a unique form of sea elf (this protective loophole didn't last, as some survivors of Jhachalkhyn's genocide later learned))

The Jhachalkhynnar drow have cooperated with their Ilythiiri neighbours at times, though drow of Miyeritari heritage are not terribly welcoming of their cousins, blaming them for their fate as much as they do the surface elves.

Around 1372-ish DR another High Magic ritual was cast to remove the curse from dark elves descended from the Miyeritari. They are no longer bound to the faerzress, and it no longer inhibits their innate elven connection to the Seldarine, Arvandor and the Weave. Their skin has regained its original saturation and sunlight no longer pains them. (This little incident with the dark elves changing back kind of just got forgotten as canon went forward, so information about what this small population of Ssri'Tel'Quessir are actually doing in the world after this is non-existent.)

Surface drow (EIlistraeean): Although they have never been focused on, apparently there are plenty of surface-dwelling dark elves living quietly out of sight, deep within quiet woodlands (often deep within the tropical forests, down South) minding their own business - 22% of all drow live on the surface and most of their communities worship Eilistraee as their primary deity. Some of them are exiles, self-imposed or voluntary, who came to the surface. Some of them resisted the Descent and never left the surface in the first place.

Part of the reason their population is so large is simply that the founders of these communities chose to live in peace rather than constant warfare and backstabbing, and thus their population has been able to grow unhindered. These communities do have to be on guard against attacks, especially from Lolthite and Vhaeraunite drow, and do their best to go unnoticed by other surfacers, but mostly get on with their lives in peace.

Their population sometimes also includes a minority of other elves and half-elves.

As of 5e, these settlements (which do long precede 5e, regardless of whoever's complaining about how drow must all be evil or that non-evil drow are special exceptions) likely include Callidae and Saekolath, founded by drow who never followed Lolth or descended into the Underdark in the first place. When the drow were banished, some drow simply left for the most remote places they could find and stayed there.

A few places where surface drow exist include:

The High Forest, which features a sacred site, has a small population of drow.

Callidae is a city of about 50,000 people, built inside a glacier in the far North. Callidae is unknown to anyone except for the neighbouring Ulutiun humans and arctic dwarves, who they coexist with.

Saekolath is furthest South, deep within one of the jungles, and their culture places great emphasis on living attuned with the nature that surrounds them. They are highly isolationist, and avoid all contact.

As of 1490, after the Second Sundering when Eilistraee announced her return by manifesting outside of the city walls of Waterdeep, many of her followers have migrated to the city to build a shrine to her there. Despite the hostility dark elves face from surfacers, they were assisted by allies in the Harpers, and the shrine stands in the North Ward despite the fact that the city does not particularly welcome them.

These communities are Eilistraeean, and their worship often incorporates the Seldarine and the Dark Maiden's allies as well; Callarduaran Smoothhands (patron god of Deep Gnomes), Haela Brightaxe (the cheerful dwarven goddess of battle), Lurue, Mystra, and Selûne - plus any other gods that might appeal to an individual, past the communal level. Some communities will even send a pacifying offering to Vhaeraun now and then, to keep them hidden from the eyes of the world. Worshipping Lolth, on the other hand, is not going to go down well, ever.

Eilistraeeans are not the only drow communities on the surface however, and her brother Vhaeraun also encourages his followers to seek the surface world for very different reasons.

Maeralynnar Drow: Some of the descendants of the aquatic dark elves of Ascarle have their own city in the Underdark. Their ancestors were given a new home in a hidden space along the coast, and fell in love with the sea, using magic to turn themselves into sea elves so that they could live beneath the waves. When the armies of Jhachalkhyn arrived, the survivors were those who fled or who were away at the time. Survivors include House Ildroun and House Meirityn, who fled into the warmer seas to the South.

In 882 DR, Lady Maerala of House Meirityn was experimenting with a High Magic ritual that would allow her and her people to alternate between their sea elven and original dark elven forms at will, allowing them to survive on land and in sea. Unfortunately for her, while the spell worked and allows them to now switch between aquatic and terrestrial forms, upon taking on their original dark elven forms they were subject to the Curse of the Seldarine and branded as drow. The descendants of Ascarle had by this point forgotten their history as Ssri'Tel'Quessir - 10,000+ years is a long time even for elves, and Maerala and her house had been driven out by 887 DR

The refugees established themselves in the Seadark (the ocean in the Underdark), building the city of Maeralyn (no prizes for guessing who that's named after). The drow of the city divided their time between learning how to survive the Underdark and uncovering the explanation for their transformation. They eventually found it in 1051 DR, when Maerala managed to trace her people's tracks back to Ascarle (currently under new, non-elven management. Specifically a mind flayer, oddly enough) There she met a kraken named Slarkrethel (who is also pretty important, but not in a way that really matters much here). In exchange for serving the ancient sea monster, he taught her of her ancestors and the betrayal they suffered.

As there was nothing the Maeralynnar could do about the exile placed on them by the gods, they went for the next best thing, and in 1357 DR they launched an attack on the Jhachakhynnar drow, slaughtered the vast majority and razed their city to the ground. They looted every Miyeritaran artefact and scrap of culture they could get and took it home to Maeralyn.

Little else is said about them, except that their society is currently held hostage to the will of a titanic, ancient sea monster running a massive information network spanning the North of Faerûn. They currently serve as spies.

In their aquatic form, sea elves of dark elven heritage take on skin in shades of deep green, banded with irregular brown patches and stripes. Their hair comes in various colours including white and silver. Also they have gills around their collar bones and over their ribs and webbed digits, standard aquatic elf stuff.

The description given for the Maeralynnar elves in aquatic form is also the description given for one subgroup of aquatic elves in Races of Faerûn. From this we can assume that that write up is how these dark elves' culture has also worked for 10,887 years, during which they would have missed out on the development of drow culture and related bitterness.

They are ruled by a ranked nobility, and this group in particular had a monarchy. Traditionally, the titles are passed down the male line in a mild patriarchal tradition, but it seems that in Maerala's case the kingdom was either matriarchal or egalitarian, with the monarch being elected from amongst the nobility by their proving their merit through some great service to society or useful discovery.

The community is very tightly knit and prizes cooperation, for the sake of survival. There is no concept of private property, and all things within the community belong to everybody. (This does not extend to outsiders, who can expect a stabbing if they try to take anything)

Aquatic elves have little contact with the world above sea level and are wary of outsiders. In light of their exile, ancestral history and current environment, this trend has likely been strengthened and may have led to a culture of mistrust and xenophobia.

Their martial training involves tridents, spears and nets. Due to a history of living in the water, and the new amphibious lifestyle, they tend to favour wearing as little as possible and making sure that whatever they wear allows them to dress and undress quickly - or at best doesn't hamper their swimming in the water.

Most elves wear their hair long, but warriors keep it short.

Maeralynnar drow lack the small stature and the sexual dimorphism of regular drow (men are, on average, smaller and thinner than women). They standing at the same height range as the humans of the Realms.

Due to the removal of the curse from Miyeritaran dark elves around 1372-ish DR, the Maeralynnar are no longer magically exiled. What effect that might have had on their society is also unknown.

Presumably they aren't currently under Lolth's sway - not fully, anyway (although considering she tends to consider the dark elves "hers," she's likely to have tried to change that).

Eilistraee, as a goddess who actively reaches out to all drow, and the historical patron of their Miyeritari ancestors who the Maeralynnar are so interested in connecting with, is a likely candidate for worship.

Living by and in the oceans as they do, Umberlee will hold a primary position in their religious practices. Sea elves fall under the purview of the elven god of the sea and knowledge, Deep Sashelas, and they would have been worshipping him as a primary deity before their exile in 887 DR. While becoming drow might've strained their relationship, it's possible that the Maeralynnar continue to worship the Seldarine (who generally have no problems accepting drow, as long as they're not brainwashed by Lolth or similar cults).

Merchant Clans: Drow are one of the most prominent traders in the Underdark. Trade with their inferiors is beneath the Matriarchs of the Noble Houses of the various drow cities, and so it falls to those living outside their walls to interact with outsiders. The Matrons insist that the merchants are irrelevant, however the trade they bring is the vital lifeline of drow cities. Without them even Menzoberranzan would be in trouble.

Different clans organise them differently, but the trend is for there to be some kind of "inner ring" or council calling the shots. Membership will consist of the wealthiest and most experienced merchants, and many of them will be men. Interactions with outsiders is a dangerous and demeaning task, best left to inferiors.

Many of the men in the inner ring are wizards - Lolthite society has a tradition called The Test; when a wizard reaches a certain level of power, he is subject to examination by the Spider Queen to see if she's happy with a male wielding power. If she's not, he gets to enjoy the rest of his life in permanent agony and hunger as a drider. Some wizards, deciding that they'd rather not risk the whims of an infamously fickle and sadistic goddess prone to trolling, simply pack up and get a job outside the city as a trader.

While the merchants are no less arrogant than the average drow, as a rule, they are far more relaxed around outsiders and surfacers, and the "second ring" of drow trade organisations are quite happy to have non-drow on staff in manager positions.

The "assets" - the lowest ranks in the organisation, menial labourers and low ranking guards - are almost entirely made up of non-drow.

Merchant clans are just as likely to fight amongst themselves as the Houses - moreso, in fact, because in the open Underdark it's a free-for-all.

Some cities are/were governed by the clans instead of the noble houses: The city of Eryndlyn, located in the Underdark under the High Moor where Miyeritar once stood, is ruled by various merchant clans. The city was founded by drow seeking to recover the lost empire, and was a major trading hub for the various peoples of the Underdark, and even saw traffic from the surface when there are (usually less than moral) surfacers willing to risk trade with the likes of drow and duergar. Eryndlyn thrived specifically because its settlers founded it with an areligious view in mind. For a while, most of its conflict came from the various merchant clans squabbling and engaging in intrigue against each other for wealth and influence. Eventually the city was infiltrated by the cults of the drow gods Lolth, Vhaeraun and Ghaunadaur (who is technically god of oozes, but he is technically in the Dark Seldarine). One of the key ways to make your cult profitable in Eryndlyn, incidentally, is to make sure people know it's profitable. The city was effectively been split into three sections, where the faiths of the three ruled the city through the clans. There was no open warfare, but the friction between the three makes living in (and especially governing) the city highly difficult. During 1372 DR, when Lolth broke contact with Toril to focus on moving house (long story, different post), the Vhaeraunites and Ghaunadaurans allied in order to destroy the Lolthite presence. The ensuing civil war destroyed a large third of the city.

The city was destroyed in the Spellplague, in 1385 DR because fourth edition hates me personally. However, most of the residents had already left to get away from the civil war and have mostly just relocated elsewhere.

#Aquatic Dark Elves who walked into the drow nonsense 100 centuries late with a starbucks are my new favourite thing #Thank you Eric L. Boyd and George Krashos #I am absolutely going to build a campaign and at least one PC on this concept #drow tav #half drow tav #long post #seldarine drow

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maesfics · 5 days

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YOU WON'T LOOSE ME — d.w

pairing ; dina woodward x fem!reader

↬ warnings ; established relationship, angst, visions. lmk if I forgot anything.

↬ ㅤㅤword count ; 1.2k

↬ synopsis ; 𝑖𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ a nightmare about losing Dina awakens you, leading to a night of comfort and reassurance with Dina and their son, JJ.

↬ requested ; “can I please request for Dina? I thought about reader waking up because of a nightmare and hugging Dina while crying bc she’s afraid of losing her. Hope that makes sense„

a/n ; i hope i didn't go to left with this for you. thank you for requesting nd your support ! <3

if you want to request it's open! | inbox |

Silence envelops the night, deep, broken only by the occasional whisper of wind against the fragile windowpanes of your makeshift home. As shadows dance across the room, cast by the moon's dim light, sleep, which once cradled you gently, now betrays you. A nightmare, vivid and terrifying, seize your mind—a relentless vision of losing Dina, your anchor in this chaotic, infected world.

Heart pounding, you jolt awake, a silent scream caught in your throat as remnants of dread cling stubbornly to your consciousness. Beside you, under the small pool of moonlight filtering through the thin curtains, lies JJ, your son. His tiny chest rises and falls with a rhythmic peace that starkly contrasts the turmoil inside you. For a moment, you watch his serene face, finding a fleeting solace before the urge to confirm Dina's safety overwhelms you.

Assuming JJ is safe and needs to see Dina, you slip quietly from the bed and tread softly across the creaking wooden floor. Each step feels like an eternity as you make your way to the living area, where the echoes of your nightmare linger, a stark reminder of the fragility of this life you've built.

As you enter the living room, the sight that greets you steadies your racing heart. Dina, wrapped in an old quilt, sits in an armchair that's seen better days. The moon casts her in a halo of soft light as she gently rocks back and forth, taking JJ into her arms to nurse him back to sleep after he must have stirred. Her presence, a beacon in the lingering shadows, draws you in.

She looks up, her eyes meeting yours, and in them, you find the warmth and understanding that first drew you to her. Without needing to speak, she extends an arm, inviting you into their small circle of light. You kneel beside her, resting your head against her knee, and as her hand finds your hair, stroking softly, the last vestiges of your nightmare begin to dissipate.

"You okay?" she whispers, her voice a soothing balm.

You nod, not trusting your voice, content to be near her, to see her and JJ together—safe.

Once JJ's eyelids flutter closed, securing him back in dreamland, Dina gently places him in his crib and turns her attention back to you. "Tea?" she offers, and you follow her to the kitchen, grateful for the normalcy of the gesture.

As the kettle whistles softly, you find the courage to voice the fears that your nightmare stoked. "I keep seeing these... these visions of losing you, Dina. Every time I close my eyes, it feels like I might never see you again."

She takes your hands in hers, her touch warm and reassuring. "Hey, look at me," she urges gently. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. We're in this together, okay? All of us."

Her words, simple yet profound, ease the tightness in your chest. Inspired by a sudden urge to feel the early morning air, to watch the world awaken, you suggest, "Let's watch the sunrise. It's been a while since we did that."

Bundling JJ up, you step outside together, the pre-dawn chill brisk against your skin. You settle on the old bench by the side of your home, Dina sitting close, JJ nestled between you. The eastern sky slowly shifts its colors from night's deep blue to dawn's soft blush.

Here, with the day breaking before you, you talk about everything and nothing—whispered dreams for the future, the simple joys of the day-to-day. Each word weaves a more substantial thread in the fabric of your family.

As the sun ascends, casting its first golden rays through the trees, you feel a warmth that isn't just from the sunlight but from the love and certainty that you, Dina, and JJ share. This moment, this morning renews your hope and determination.

You head back inside, the light of the new day filling your home, casting long shadows across the floor that dance with the gentle rhythm of your movements. Watching Dina play with JJ, his laughter and music fill the room, and you feel a profound sense of peace.

Each day is a gift, a new beginning, a promise made under the whisper of the dawn sky—that no matter what, you will face it together.

As you sit together, sipping the warm tea that Dina has prepared, the silence between you stretches, comfortable yet filled with the weight of unspoken worries.

Dina's gaze is thoughtful and reflective as she watches the steam curl from her cup. "Do you remember the day we found this place?" she asks, breaking the silence. Her question pulls you back to a timeless burdened by the immediacy of survival, a day filled with rare hope.

You nod, the memory surfacing amidst the fog of your anxieties. "I remember. You said it was perfect because the sunlight hit the porch just right." The recollection brings a faint smile to your face, one that Dina mirrors as she reaches across the table to squeeze your hand.

"Exactly. And because it felt like a place where we could make a real home," she adds, her voice dropping to a whisper. "A place for JJ to grow up, where we could be a family. I meant it then, and I still do. No nightmare, no fear will take that away from us."

Her words, filled with determination and love, help lift the heaviness from your heart. The two of you talk through the night, revisiting memories of how you've built your life together, the challenges you've overcome, and the dreams you still nurture.

It's a reminder of the strength you draw from each other, fueling your resolve to face whatever comes.

As the first light of dawn begins to seep through the windows, painting the world in hues of gold and amber, you wrap a blanket around your shoulders and step outside. The air is fresh, the promise of a new day palpable. Dina joins you.

JJ is now awake and curious in her arms. Together, you walk to the edge of the property, where the open sky stretches wide and unobstructed.

The sunrise is breathtaking, a spectacle of colors that bleed across the horizon, blending into one another. You watch, mesmerized, as the world awakens.

Birds chirp in the distance, their songs a soundtrack to the sun's ascent. JJ babbles happily in Dina's arms, pointing at the sky with chubby fingers.

"This—this right here—is why we keep fighting, right?" Dina says, her voice was soft and emotional. "For moments like this, for him."

You nod, your heart swelling with love and renewed purpose. "For all of us," you affirm, feeling the weight of your nightmares lessen in the rising sun's light. "We have so much to live for and protect."

You spend the morning outside, embracing the day together as a family. Dina teaches JJ how to say "sun" and "sky," her laughter mingling with his excited squeals. You capture these moments in your mind, a mental album of all the reasons why you fight and why you survive.

As the day emerges, you return inside, energized by the morning's beauty and clarity. Once a mere shelter, the house feels more like a home with each passing day, filled with the sounds and sights of your small family thriving against the odds.

In these moments, the nightmares that haunt your sleep seem distant, their hold on you weakened by the love and life that fill your days. You know they may return, as they often do in this harsh world, but you also know you have everything you need to face them—as long as you have Dina and JJ by your side.

#dina woodward #dina imagine #dina woodward imagine #dina woodward smut #dina woodward x reader #the last of us smut #tlou #smut #dina woodward fluff #dina #the last of us #the last of us 2 #dina woodward reader smut #dina woodward x reader fluff #maesfics

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elspethdekarios · 1 month

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Stolen Glances

It's been a little while since I've posted a fic! This is just a little fluff piece about Gale's early longing. Post-Elminster calming the orb, pre-act 2. I've been wanting to write something that takes place in the Mountain Pass camp, since it's probably my favorite place in the whole game.

Gale x Female OC fluff, early game longing

cw: Gale pondering sacrificing himself

The vista of the mountain pass was the most stunning place Gale had seen yet throughout these adventures. Whimsical and awe-inspiring as the glowing landscape of the Underdark was, the glorious valley sprawling around the Rosymorn Monastery ruins had an overwhelming sense of romance and serenity. Even after receiving Elminster's message from Mystra, Gale felt at peace for the first time in over a year. Perhaps it was the orb being quelled, or perhaps it was the view. Realistically, it was a mixture of both, but he couldn’t deny that Elspeth’s company was certainly a factor as well.

With the orb sated for the time being, he felt a little less anxious about flirting with her. She still made him nervous, of course, but it was an exciting nervousness now, like a schoolboy with a crush rather than the liable-to-literally-explode-if-I-let-myself-feel-something-for-her nervousness he was used to. The past couple of days, he let his gaze linger on her a little longer, let his imagination roam a little further than he had dared previously.

She seemed to glow from within. Perhaps it was the excitement of being able to actually admire her beauty, or perhaps it was the setting they found themselves in. Something about the holiness of this place brought Elspeth’s already-bright light to the surface. The cleric in her stirred at the divinity of the temple ruins, he presumed. She worshipped Corellon, but with the brightness and renewal that seemed to radiate from her, it wouldn't be far-fetched to presume her a cleric of Lathander. Part of him missed being so devoted to a deity. That touch of divinity, metaphorical and physical in his case, became an anchor, a beacon to hold on to when life was turbulent. It was grounding and ethereal at the same time. To earn Mystra’s forgiveness… perhaps his soul could land somewhere among such a feeling if he obeyed her command. It was a thought that gave him a modicum of peace amidst a terrifying prospect.

He often saw Elspeth sitting out by the stream downhill from their tents. Sometimes she was kneeling in prayer, deep in a meditative state aided by their surroundings. Other times, she simply sat by the stream and stared out into the vast landscape, a hand dipped in the water, letting its gentle current flow past her fingertips. Gale couldn't help but admire the way she made time for solitude and reflection. She was quite the extrovert, and after somehow falling into the role of leader, he couldn't imagine the pressure she must feel to always act the part.

Gale had taken to his own evening reflections in this camp, often sitting on a stone bench nearby reading or watching the birds. He tried not to disturb her, but she had invited him to sit with her once before. They ate apples and he thought about how much he wanted to kiss her. To feel her skin under his palms. To feel her breath against his ear as she whispered his name. But he would be happy just to sit with her, especially here in this beautiful place.

He'd come bearing food, he decided. He wasn't cooking tonight thanks to their rations of fresh fruit, stale bread, and cheese. He grabbed a small basket and some linens to wrap the food in–who knew what that basket had seen before it was in his possession–and packed enough for the both of them before following the stream downhill.

Elspeth was facing the late afternoon sun over the enormous valley, the light golden on her skin. She looked over her shoulder as he approached.

"Hi," she said, her face softening when she saw him. "Do you need something?"

"Not at all. Just thought I'd bring you some dinner before all the best bits get taken."

"Thank you, Gale. That’s very kind," She smiled up at him and patted the ground next to her. "Join me?"

"Of course." He sat down beside her and began untying the linens holding the food.

"You know," she said. "You may be the most thoughtful man I've ever met."

A soft laugh left his lips as an involuntary blush rose in his cheeks. He was suddenly self-conscious about if he was smiling too wide, too eagerly.

"I mean it," she said as she tore off a piece of bread. "Despite the horrors of our situation, you think of my wellbeing."

"Of course I do," he said, the green of her eyes striking from the setting sun. "You're...." He cleared his throat and turned to the landscape in front of them. "I care about you. You--well, you mean a great deal to me."

There was a moment of silence before she replied.

"You mean a great deal to me, too."

They didn't speak while eating their meager dinner, instead letting the chirping birds and wind in the trees envelop them as if they were meant to be there, a part of the overgrown landscape rooted to the ground.

"Gale?" El broke the silence as she bit into a strawberry, the juice pooling between her lips, leaving them pink and glistening in the orange sunlight.

"Hm?" He was trying to look her in the eyes, but her lips and the half eaten strawberry she still held near them were making it terribly difficult.

"Please don't use the orb."

That did it. Forget the lips. Her eyes, staring straight ahead instead of looking at him, were glassy and sad. Her brow furrowed.

"I--," he stuttered, unsure of the right thing to say. In truth, he didn't want to do it. But he feared disobeying his goddess once again, and he hoped that sacrificing himself would give his sorry life meaning at the very least. But the look on Elspeth's face gave him pause and another reason to reconsider. She looked pained by the thought. She looked like she cared, truly cared. "I can't make any promises."

El turned her head away from him, but he could see her wiping away a tear with the back of her hand. "She could have helped you," she said, locking eyes with him, her gaze fierce and passionate. "She could have alleviated your pain, all this time. But she didn't, Gale. She chose to let you suffer."

Her tears were falling freely now, heavy, landing on the grass like morning dewdrops. Gale didn't know what to do, how to comfort her when the only thing that could comfort her was to forsake his goddess. But as he watched the light shimmer in Elspeth's eyes, the stain of pink still on her lips, the way she currently had one hand clutching a handful of grass as if she were ready to rip the earth itself apart--he realized that he would. He would forsake his goddess for her. He would do anything for her.

"I know devotion," she continued. "Trust me, I do. But she has no right to ask such a thing of you. Gods are forbidden from meddling in mortal affairs. Is taking petty revenge on an ex lover not a mortal affair? Is taking a mortal lover in the first place not meddling?"

Very few people in Gale’s life had left him speechless. Elspeth could now be added to that short list.

"I don't know what to say, El. It could be the only way to destroy the Absolute for good. I don’t want to do it. But I can't say for certain that I won't." Almost involuntarily, he placed his hand over hers. "No matter what happens, I want you to know how very dear you are to me. You... awoke something in me. Something that's been dormant for quite some time."

"Don't do that," she said, dropping her head. "Please."

He moved his hand away, hurt and embarrassed. His chest felt tight, his face suddenly hot.

"No, that's not what I meant," El said, grabbing his hand before he could place it back at his side. She held it with both of her own, one gritty with dirt from clawing into the grass. "Don't tell me how much I mean to you if you intend on leaving me."

With the same quickness it dropped into his stomach, his heart soared at the touch of her cool palms pressed against his hand. He was, again, speechless. It had been so long since someone held his hand. Now that he thought about it, Mystra never held hands with him. Was she really an ex lover worth killing himself over? It wasn't just about him, though, he reminded himself. It was about the Absolute. And his sacrifice could save the lives of countless others.

But what about him? Allowing himself to be selfish for a moment, he imagined a world in which he had a future. Back home, no orb, enjoying tea with his mother and Tara. A partner waiting for him to return home for the day, greeting him with a kiss when he stepped through the front door of their tower. Someone to cook dinner with, to read in front of the fire with, to hold at night as they whispered their deepest desires and fears and to be held in return when he told them his own. He wanted that more than anything. More than Mystra’s forgiveness.

And, gods willing, he wanted that partner to be Elspeth.

"Please don't leave me," she whispered, bringing his hand up to her face, the soft skin of her lips brushing against his knuckles. It wasn't so much a kiss as it was a prayer. "I… I think I..."

She trailed off. Gale reached out his free hand, caressing her shoulder and down her arm, wondering if he was dreaming, when the sound of reckless footsteps began to invade their sweet sanctuary. The footsteps were followed by playful barking and chirping, and in an instant, Scratch and the owlbear cub were bounding down the hill towards them, their game of chase unbothered by the humans sitting on the ground. The owlbear cub ran straight in between Gale and Elspeth, knocking them apart from each other, leaving a few stray feathers in his wake, Scratch right behind him.

"Awww, look at them! They're friends!" Karlach's voice shouted from behind them as she moved closer to play with the two animals. Soon she was on the ground, being smothered with licks and beak nudges and laughing so loudly it echoed in the valley around them. When she got up, Scratch and the owlbear beckoned her to join their game of chase, and the three of them ran off towards camp.

Gale and El looked at each other again, the sun almost gone now, the intimacy of the moment gone with it.

"We should probably get ready for bed," she said, rising to her feet and dusting the grass off of her pants.

"Yes, I suppose we should" Gale replied, pushing himself up, sore knees protesting as he did. He picked up the basket and linens and walked with El up the hill in the dim twilight. The backs of their hands brushed together as they walked, and he desperately wanted to grab hers, to pull her in towards him, to grip her waist and kiss her and never let go.

They neared the camp, still obscured by a crumbling wall, and Elspeth stopped.

"Thank you for having dinner with me," she said, smiling shyly.

"Thank you for allowing me your company." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at the sight of El being shy–a character trait most unusual for her. It was adorable, the way she ducked her head slightly and looked at him through her eyelashes, holding one arm with the other as she swayed slightly on her feet.

Sunset had come and gone, the mountain now shaded in hues of blue and gray. The chatter of their companions sounded distant even though they weren’t far. Gale didn’t want to be the one to walk away, to end the conversation. He’d stand here all night if she wanted him to. Then, in one swift moment, Elspeth stepped toward him on her tippy toes and kissed him on the cheek.

Every atom in his body came alive at the touch of her lips. Time was somehow going too fast and had come to a complete halt. She moved to take a step back, and Gale couldn’t resist any longer: he grabbed both sides of her face and pressed his lips to hers with an intensity he hadn’t felt in ages. She kissed him back, her arms wrapping around his shoulders to hold him close.

As quickly as it happened, it was over.

They stared at each other, hair slightly unkempt and faces flustered. Gale could hear their names in conversations happening behind the stone wall.

Elspeth backed away with slow steps, not taking her eyes off of him.

“I meant everything,” she said. “Including that.”

Gale could only stare as she disappeared behind the wall, the faint sweetness of strawberry on his lips.

#my writing #gale #fic #gale fic #gale bg3 #bg3 fic #gale x tav #elspeth #galspeth #baldurs gate 3 fic #bg3 fluff #bg3 gale fic

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krawlernyannyan · 30 days

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AN (APPROXIMATE) TIMELINE OF THE NAVIGATORS

Cosmodyssey's given us a slew of the Astral Express' former Navigators and my first question was, naturally, if we can actually give them a distinct order outside of "Himeko is the current Navigator".

The good news: Two-thirds of them can be cleanly placed on a timeline because most of their backstories imply or directly mention specific universal events. The other third is...blurry, but in my attempt to construct a timeline here I'll be giving my rationale for why I'm placing them where they are.

This is going to be long so I'm putting it under a cut.

Capy Baba is the earliest of the Navigators given to us in Cosmodyssey, and it's very easy to discern why. Their backstory explicitly mentions they took the helm at the end of the Swarm Disaster and that their "predictive pathfinding" helped the Express avoid the Swarm. They also existed in a pre-Synesthesia Beacon period of history and needed a human translator to aid them. Their work helped revitalize the Express' star maps so well that they're still in use today, and eventually Capy Baba retired peacefully once they were done with their work.

I'm not sold on the precise order of these next three, only that they're after Capy Baba due to the presence of the IPC in two of their backstories and the third being an Intellitron. For the former two, the IPC wasn't formally established until the Swarm Disaster was over (I've double-checked since originally posting and it did exist pre-Swarm Disaster, it just saw massive expansion and reforms after the Disaster), and I don't believe you start seeing independent Intellitrons until after the Emperor's War is finished.

Sometime after the IPC is formed and starts hiring bounty hunters, the crew and passengers of the Astral Express mysteriously disappear. A bounty hunter named Oakley is enlisted by Pom-Pom to act as Navigator in the wake of the disappearance, and they accept. They help the Express fight off "star beasts" while helping find the missing passengers and recruiting new ones. This takes place over the course of six months, and once the crew is suitably replenished Oakley quietly leaves the Express. They still hold the record for the shortest recorded stint as Navigator.

Bob, formerly of the IPC-wanted crime syndicate Tarantula, joins the Astral Express as a guard. Eventually, it's discovered that he's joined under a false identity and his exposure results in his assignment to the role of Navigator. It's mentioned he had a hatred of mechanical life but still invited them onboard "in times of war" (which I take as a sign his stint was either during the Emperor's War or right around the same time). It's unknown how he met his end, just that he died in a heroic defensive battle.

Sam-3000 is an Intellitron and her tenure is the most distinctive out of the whole bunch since she led an entire fleet of Astral Expresses. There's likely a long period before and after her time as Navigator where the trains are constructed and then fall to the wayside, but her backstory mentions her career was during "an era of enterprise". I feel that's supposed to point towards her leading the Express during the Second Prosperity (a 500-Era economic windfall for the IPC that gets more explicitly mentioned later). She only retires once she's unable to replace her own parts.

For the rest of the Navigators, the order is very linear and defined.

Dolly was a musician from Tiafoe whose music was able to attract many new passengers to the Express, and even brought Akivili back onboard. It is during her tenure that the fall of Akivili occurs, an event experienced by all Nameless, and the moment starts Dolly's anomalous crystallization. Before she is completely petrified she's able to assign a new Navigator.

It's explicitly noted that Isee's historical record has been tampered with repeatedly by History Fictionologists, but assuming the story we're given is correct: Isee oversaw an important period in the Express' history, covering the fall of Akivili and the subsequent birth of Nanook. Their career was defined by the chaotic schisms and diaspora caused by the loss of the Trailblaze, but they remained steadfast even when the Express was reduced to two passengers. They eventually stepped down from the position, and it's explicitly mentioned who succeeded them in the role. Notably, the Omen Vanguards begin to appear in the universe after they step down.

Falcon Amundsen is listed as coming into the Navigator role shortly after Isee, and it's under him that the Express regains the glory it lost in the wake of Akivili's fall. He's explicitly mentioned as taking the helm during "the early days of the Cancer of All Worlds", and was likely the first navigator that had to deal with Stellarons. Falcon's efforts to rebuild the Star Rail inspired a new generation of Nameless, but he passed on before he could see the ultimate fruits of his work.

Granholm eventually takes the mantle of Navigator at the age of 17. His career was in "a time marred by disasters and fractured worlds" (Stellarons), and the Nameless are transformed into cosmic heroes under his tenure. Granholm spends his life on the Express and passes on peacefully of old age.

It's shortly after Granholm's passing that the Express falls into disrepair due to the influence of Stellarons on the Star Rail and the universe. The train eventually crashes into an unknown planet and remains unfound for so long that its legacy begins fading into myth.

Eventually, a teenage Himeko finds the stranded Express and spends many years fixing the train. Once her work is complete the Express takes to the stars again, with Himeko becoming the new Navigator. She is the current Navigator and (we hope) she'll stay in that position for a long time to come.

We obviously haven't gotten an exhaustive list but this is a lot of Navigators and we can draw a pretty clean timeline of who was in charge in important moments in the Star Rail universe's history (or, at the least, where the gaps are for when certain events happened). Even if we don't know every single person to ever fill the role it's still very comforting to be able to place people and cosmic events in relation to others like this.

#HSR #Honkai Star Rail #HSR Specposting #HSR Himeko #HSR Capy Baba #HSR Oakley #HSR Bob #HSR Sam-3000 #HSR Dolly #HSR Isee #HSR Falcon Amundsen #HSR Granholm

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