#gob's fanfiction

[horridgoblin]

In Need of Comfort (Part 2 - Finale)

For part 1, click here. Tags: Fluff, hurt/comfort, romance, SFW (lightly suggestive dialogue MDNI), Christmas AU set in Waterdeep, gender neutral Tav x Gale. Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, sensory overload, and sadness around the holidays due to loss of loved ones. Note: I've come to the conclusion that this fic no longer needs to be in three parts - so ignore the previous post saying that it would be posted that way. Thank you for reading and enjoy!

The way back home to Gale’s tower was a precarious one, with extreme snowfall sending a great chill down to your bones as the hire coach rocked along the cobblestone streets. Once you arrived and the door home swiftly opened and thudded shut, you let out a relieved sigh. Although the warmth was welcome, the snow on your winter coats were melting, plastering the now damp fabric to your limbs. 

“I think some dry clothes are in order, and soon,” said Gale, taking off his purple coat.

“Indeed. It’s a shame I’ll be getting out of this pretty outfit I wore for this occasion, but pyjamas sound heavenly right now.”

“You look delightful regardless of what you wear. Though that doesn’t mean I don’t share your disappointment, it looked exquisite on you, my love.” As you giggled, feeling bashful at his compliment, he went to hold your hands. “How about you go and get changed, and I’ll start swiftly on preparations.”

“Aw, but we could help each other get out of these clothes,” you winked.

“As divine as that would be, I wish to surprise you with something,” he blushed. “Besides, I have a spell to get myself dry; I will change into my night clothes later. You can be my audience for that.” he kissed your forehead. “Now, off you go, and it is imperative that you don’t sneak a look until I call for you!”

With that, you ventured up the wooden spiral staircase to your bedroom. Ever since moving in with Gale, his bedroom became the both of yours, with your belongings adding your own essence to the room. The large four poster bed with purple gossamer curtains had the bed sheets mussed up from prior use. An unbelievable number of books on dark wood shelves now containing your own books alongside Gale’s. Expertly crafted oak chests at the end of the bed, with yours being a recent addition, spoke of home. It was the very picture of your relationship. 

And yet, despite the contentment at the sight, the sadness lurking in the back of your mind began to creep to the forefront as you peeled off your damp outfit. You pulled the pyjamas out of your ornate chest and tugged them on. The feel of loose pyjamas against your skin felt incredible, heat finally reaching your cold bones and aching muscles. Once your wet clothes were put away in the wicker laundry basket to deal with later, you sat on the edge of the plush bed. The melancholy became greater, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. No. A distraction is needed, and fast. You took one of Gale’s books on illusion magic and read while you awaited his call. The scent of the leather binding and yellowing pages reminded you of him, easing you slightly. You couldn’t resist the smile forming on your face as you saw the notes scrawled onto pieces of paper that were wedged in between the pages, detailing his own findings. One such note said, ‘I could use this to enhance the scent of flowers for my beloved Tav.’ There were a lot of similar notes. It was a much-needed temporary reprieve, sorrow reduced to a lingering lump in your throat.

“You can come back down now, my dear!” Gale shouted up the stairs.

Closing and putting aside the book, you rushed down the spiral staircase. Your eyes widened at the sight before you. The living room fireplace was lit with a roaring fire, bathing the room in a gentle orange glow; the crackles of the fire brought a sense of calm. Pillows on the sofa were artfully arranged alongside an array of fluffy wool blankets in a variety of colours and patterns. A teapot and accompanying cups were on the coffee table, herbal tea emitting an earthy but sweet scent. Best of all, the room was filled with the dancing lights of fireflies, Gale clearly having used his illusion magic for the occasion. He gazed upon you, revelling in your reaction with a grin as you stood there, mouth agape.

“Gale, this is amazing!” You ran towards him, colliding in an embrace. He was such a light in the darkness, and for it you were eternally grateful.

“I only ever want the best for you, my heart,” he hugged you tighter, “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

For a while, you embraced in silence, taking in your closeness. Nuzzling your face in his broad chest, you picked up his familiar scent of lavender and old books. Gale sighed at your actions, and you could feel his body release tension. Planting a kiss into your hair, he murmured, “I know today was hard for you, dearest.”

Pulling away slightly to look at him, you saw sincerity and adoration in his eyes. Did he know? “I hope I didn’t spoil the mood. You’ve been excited for weeks to show me The Market and all the festive displays.”

“It is certainly easier said than done, but hiding your despair to service me upsets me more than the ‘soiling of moods’,” he waved his hands in emphasis with a slight smile. “To clarify, I am not upset at you, simply at how you feel the need to do this to appease others. I cannot stand to have you suffer. Not ever.” You were caught in a stunned silence as he continued, his tone now serious, “Please, tell me when things get difficult? I am more than happy to accommodate you to enjoy these spectacular events with you.”

“I will, I’ll make sure of it.” You said, looking down at the dark wood floor.

“This does not only pertain to going places or celebrations with your dear old Gale, my heart. You can always unburden yourself with me, as I always say.”

He was right. You sighed. “Well, Gale,” you looked into his soft brown eyes, “I’m just so tired,” you squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head. “I know you said I didn’t ruin these festivities, but it certainly feels that way. My soul feels like lead, and I’m not sure what to do. I am just so tired of this crippling fear and despair I feel every day.” You could feel the lump in your throat return as you spoke, “So much death, and for what? I have lost so much, and in the end, I am here, and those I love are not when I wish they were. The holidays really highlight that.”

“I have read that others feel the same this time of year, if it is of any comfort. You are not alone in this, my dearest. I won’t speak of my own experiences just now, but please know that I understand your grief.” Gale pulled you back into a hug, giving you a squeeze. “You were so brave in telling me this. Thank you.” 

As tears rolled down your cheeks, you looked up at him. He kissed you softly and wiped away your tears with the pads of his thumbs. “I really wish I told you this sooner, I don’t know why I hide myself away so much.”

“This can be the first step. Being open about your feelings is never easy,” he paused. “Now. I wanted to ask you this earlier, but would you still like to make the mince pies with me?”

You contemplated his words for a moment then said, “Can I put the filling in and decorate them?”

“You most certainly can! Now make yourself comfortable while I get to baking, I will let you know when they are ready for your touch of magic,” he smiled.

After getting yourself comfortable under the blankets and drinking the herbal tea, you and Gale enjoyed your evening together baking. There was quite the struggle in finding where the assortment of cookie cutters were to decorate the tops of the pies. In the end you resorted to hand crafting the designs. Some you humorously made into the likenesses of your friends.

“Astarion would not be amused if he saw this,” Gale giggled observing the pie, the design of questionable quality, even with your honest attempt. “Although can he complain? He cannot see his reflection, being a vampire.”

“I don’t think he could stay mad for long, these taste fantastic! You have truly outdone yourself this time, Gale.”

“What can I say, wizards have the repertoire of having a myriad of skills, and this one happens to enjoy baking.” He said with a grin, putting away the excess pies to gift your friends later.

Stomachs filled with delicious mince pies; the crackling of the fireplace lulled you both to sleep as you cuddled up together on the sofa, entangled in the many soft blankets and cushions.

[abouttofillhisshoes]

mpind matty fulfills pretty much every fantasy I've ever had

sub matty for the win!! Specifically this kind of sub matty idk theres something about it anyways tysm!!!!!!

im fully just writing a version of him i'd love to shag someday, so hiveminddd i fear we all want this specific subgenre of matty and theres nothing we can do to stop it lmao xx

[babygirlsteddie]

honestly baffled when people comment on my fics and say that i'm a very talented writer because i'm like??? me???? yesterday i misspelt good job and wrote good gob. talented??? couldn't be me

[mentally-ill-simp]

I just would like everyone to know that I am still writing and i still am working on those requests I've been sent and will accept more but my laptop broke recently(it's been a few months but i say recently) and it's a pain to write at work so I'm gonna work hard to get my laptop fixed so I can finish everything up and make everyone happy again. Thank you to everyone for being patient and I am sorry for procrastinating <3

[lesbianvampyrsfromouterspace]

anytime i feel cringe about writing cheesy fanfiction I remember that ppl have written arrested development dementia au fanfiction and i feel a little more normal

[normcoregirl]

i have such a good idea for a gob x reader fic but i just don’t think the world is ready (+ i’m lazy) <\3

[writing-is-my-one-true-passion]

Falloutober 2022 Prompt 3: Aventure

Aventure definition: (obsolete) A mischance causing a person’s death without felony, as by drowning, or falling into fire. Accident; chance; adventure.

It’s my fault he’s gone. If I had just been a second faster…

The others all seemed quite happy about one thing or another. Jericho, who was normally so aloof and avoided the rest of the townspeople, had a bottle of tequila and looked to be very drunk. Moira had a glass of whiskey and Nuka that she sipped at slowly. Billy Creel just had a bottle of Nuka Cola, after having said he needed to be clear-headed to take care of Maggie.

Maria sat at the bar, mostly trying to ignore the others around her, who made it hard to ignore by being as annoying as possible. She had only showed up because Gob had asked her to, to celebrate the “mysterious” death of Colin Moriarty. They all knew she had done it, they knew she hated how he treated Gob, even Lucas Simms knew, and as good and kind of a man he was, he was far too naive about how the world worked to survive out there and in any other situation, so the fact that he knew she had done it was surprising to say the least.

Maybe she should be reflecting on Moriarty’s death rather than her father’s.

It had been an accident, technically. She hadn’t meant to walk into the back of the saloon after she and several others watched him yell at and belittle Gob and disappear behind the curtain. She barely remembered anything from the incident. She remembered getting really mad and standing up. She remembered voices telling her not to do something, to not worry about it, that it happens all the time, which only got her even madder. She remembered a flash of Carol going through her mind, her kind eyes and hopeful tone, believing Gob was living better in Megaton than he could have in Underworld.

The next thing she remembered after standing up, that wasn’t some sort of hallucination from anger, was being steered out of the back door of the saloon by Gob and Nova. She was covered in blood and there was a very large knife in her hand that she had forgotten she had brought with her. Gob had gone back inside and Nova led her to the front gate of the town, telling her to give it a few days before she came back, and why doesn’t she walk over to Canterbury Commons and see how they’re doing?

And she did. Maria had gone all the way over there, dealt with their little superhero squabble, and walked all the way back. It only took her about a week. And the night she got back, as soon as the others heard, she was invited to a little celebration, and there she sat at the bar. The atmosphere of the saloon was easygoing and happy, no one needing to be worried of angering the Irish owner anymore.

If he was from Ireland, how’d he get here? If he was from around here, how’d his family keep such a strong accent for two hundred years?

Maria had been sipping at a bottle of vodka since she’d arrived and was now two-thirds of the way through it, and her thoughts returned back to what had happened at the purifier, and the subsequent death of her father.

His death had been an accident of sorts, too. Technically. It was really a suicide with the added benefit of Colonel Autumn dying as well. But Maria would rather just outright fight Autumn and have her dad by her side. Maybe if she had just been a few seconds faster she could have made it back to the purifier and stopped Autumn. Or she could have just been killed alongside her dad, leaving no one to continue work on the purifier, because Doctor Li sure wasn't going to do it. Maybe the Brotherhood would have figured out a way to do it. Or maybe not considering Elder Lyons was so much more invested in the fight against the Super Mutants. Maybe the Outcasts. But then again, they’d rather not do anything to help the Wastelanders, even work on a project that would purify all the water in the area and make it easier for everyone.

Maria groaned, which was drowned out by the rest of the bar. Gob seemed to notice though, because he leaned closer to her from his side and said, “You don’t have to stick around if you don’t want to. ‘Preciate you coming though.”

Maria gave him a small smile and stood. She kept the vodka bottle and left the saloon, making her way slowly through Megaton, careful to not fall over any railings. She’d rather not have to visit Doc Church at this hour of night. Eventually she made it back into her home, up the stairs, and into her bed. She finished off what was left of her vodka and set the bottle on the ground next to her bed. She lay on her stomach with one foot on the ground and closed her eyes, trying to make the world stop spinning around her. After some time, she finally fell asleep, dreaming of her father and his last words to her.

[pyrettawychwiggin]

The Iron Angel: The Tale of Maria Rőntgen (A Fallout 3 Fanfiction) - Coming Soon!

(The following post is a handful of writing process notes for this project; depending on how the writing goes, some of these details may change going forward to better suit the story I'm telling.)

I've been re-playing Fallout 3 recently - amidst all the Fallout fever since the series came out; and one thing I love doing when playing story-driven games, is imagining a more fleshed-out story for my character based off of what happens throughout my playthrough.

So naturally, that's what I've been up to - and it is hitting me so much harder than I was expecting.

I've cried.

Like, actual tears.

I'm out here hurting my own feelings, and it gives me LIFE.

So, I figure maybe it's time to start sharing it.

I will likely have the first chapter be more of a series of flashes throughout her childhood leading up to the events the beginning of the game, so obviously, SPOILER ALERT.

Before I start posting full chapters, here's some info if you're curious as to what to expect from this fanficton.

About the Main Character

• The main character of this fanfiction is named Maria "The Lone Wanderer" Rőntgen.

• She has pasty, white skin, and a flat nose with deep blue eyes and jet black hair that she typically prefers to keep cut short.

• She's on the shorter side, standing at about 5'5". She's little stocky, and also quite soft with very little muscle, seeing as throughout her life in Vault 101, she's not been particularly active.

• I will likely be doing up some digital art of her in the near future.

• Much like her father, James, she relies greatly on her intelligence, charm and perception to get by, but she is a pretty great shot with rifles and shotguns seeing as how she learned fairly early how to shoot.

About the Story

Below, I will be discussing some more in-depth things, such as what character(s) she may be romantically involved with.

If you'd rather read the story and be surprised rather than knowing this ahead of time, I would advise skipping this blurb and waiting until the story starts getting posted. It's your call!

• This story does have a fair amount of a focus on romance, but keep in mind that not every chapter will focus on this. Some chapters really are just about Maria's personal journey throughout the storyline.

• While this fanfiction has a couple will-they-won't-they storylines, and various minor love interests, the main love interest for this story is Charon (trust me, I was just as surprised as you are at this - but you'll see how things get there throughout the story - this wasn't how I thought things were going to go when I first started playing).

• However, you may still see some moments involving Gob, Nova, Butch, Fawkes, Vance, Holly, etc.

• This fanfiction will have some 18+ scenes - however, these will only be viewable by my supporters on Ko-Fi & Patreon. This will ONLY apply to 18+ content, however; general romance will just be part of the base story.

• There is one point where the story comes to a head and may deviate into two branches; I could have decided to simply choose one, but I'm considering writing both of them.

To put it very simply - a very important character actually wound up dying unexpectedly in my playthrough, and for the sake of sticking to the events of my actual playthrough, I wrote the rest of the original storyline with the assumption that they truly died in that moment.

However, I'm considering, for the sake of my bleeding heart, to write another, you could say, alternative routing where this is not the case. You, the reader, could be free to decide which version you think is best.

Or maybe I'll just write whatever the hell I want; who the hell knows?

That's about it for now, folks - keep an eye out for more - I will be posting the chapters here, as well as on my Wattpad/Fanfiction accounts, but any behind-the-scenes, and writer's notes such as this one, will be posted here on my Tumblr, as well as on PSH's Ko-Fi/Patreon pages. Check out the links below if you're interested in any of that.

Thanks for tuning in, m'strudes! See you next time!

~ Pyretta Wychwiggin

[quinnmorgendorffer]

Hey, time for my fave holiday tradition of the past four years!

Posting a new chapter to the piano Gob Christmas fic!

Chapter Title: “A Most Lovely Lavender Tie”, as based on “The Twelve Days of Christmas” as performed by Frank Sinatra’s Children (Tina, Frank Jr, and Nancy) and Frank himself

Summary: Gob’s second Christmas since moving back to Newport Beach - as well as his first one with his son (STEVE HOLT! \O/)

[imjustgoose]

Harold Trotter and The Draconic Boogaloo

I wrote the next chapter for my strange fanfiction. I'm quite pleased at how it turned out. Just like before, you can read it on Ao3 here and leave comments, kudos or likes wherever you please! I hope you enjoy reading! |

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“Did you hear about what really happened to Dolores?” Minerva whispered to Miraak, who sat by her side during assembly. The school year was about to start again, with cheer in the faces of students again. Miraak leaned in close to her with a calculated smile.

“Yes, terrible business to be attacked by…what this world calls centaurs. In my realm, we simply call them-”

“Welcome everyone to another exciting year at Hogwarts! Please, let the first years feel especially welcome as they feast with us for the first time tonight!” Dumbledore loudly interrupted what was likely going to be a racial slur from Miraak. The hall erupted with clapping and some cheers from the students. He simply rolled his eyes and gave a few claps. The tink tink from his gauntlets turned a few heads, but he wasn’t fussed.

“I’ll tell you about what we call centaurs later. I expect nothing but the finest sweets in exchange for such gossip,” Miraak spoke softly, in a voice made of gravel. Minerva giggled and gave his pauldron a fond pat before focusing back on Dumbledore.

“Tonight, I am very pleased to welcome back our former potions teacher, Professor Slughorn, who is eager to get back to teaching.” Dumbledore gestured to the old man on his other side. Miraak found older mortals amusing, their feeble movements and grey hair would never grace his person. “Now, enjoy the feast!” And Miraak would do just that. In a manner found only in children’s tales, he piled his plates high. Fried chicken legs, saucy kelpie ribs, salted broccolini, sausages, buttered corncobs, roasted newts, baked potatoes and a total of 48 oysters surrounded him. When he began dousing the oysters in lemon and Chinese Fireball sauce to slurp them up, Professor Snape eyed him with scrutiny.

“48 oysters, Miraak? One should hope you don’t lose your stomach from the overconsumption of shellfish,” he drawled. Miraak looked up from his plate with a splatter of hot sauce on his face.

“I have been invited here to feast. A dragon will eat when he is offered food so graciously, Severus,” he answered sharply. Snape quirked a brow and looked at Miraak’s goblet.

“Lemon wine, too? Such a voracious…app-e-tite,” Snape punctuated each syllable as he spoke. Miraak only snorted and feigned a look of pride.

“You sounded that word out perfectly. You’re doing very well with your basic speech work after years of stuttering from being bullied, keep it up! Ten points to Slytherin!” Miraak grinned before moving onto his fifth plate of oysters. A few teachers chuckled at the exchange before turning back to their dinners.

Snape shortly had to obliviate himself of that very moment, for the pain of being patronised by the bitchy dragon who took his job was too much to bear.

~~~~~~

“I can’t believe we have that bleedin’ maniac for a teacher again,” Ron grumbled as he walked with his friends to their Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Harry didn’t respond, but Hermione felt the need to silence his gob with a zipper charm.

“He can hear you, Ronald! Don’t you remember that he can hear almost anything?” She chastised him, “I quite like him, actually. He’s mysterious and a good teacher. Certainly beats having Voldemort, Coc- I mean Lockhart or a death-eater in disguise for a teacher. At least he’s a responsible adult! He actually teaches us things!”

“Are you mad? He’s a psycho! He’s also in Slytherin!”

“YES!” A familiar voice boomed across the corridor. Miraak looked down at his students from where he was perched on a pillar before jumping down gracefully and landing in front of them, “the house of the Serpent! I am ambitious, cunning and I am a real dragon! A serpent with wings.”

“Professor Miraak! It’s good to see you again!” Hermione went to shake his hand. He eyed her hand curiously before taking it. On instinct, she shook it politely, but Miraak decided to send a small bolt of electricity to her palm, causing her to rip her hand away with a yelp.

“Pruzah!  How I have missed tormenting the youth and teaching them how to be warriors! I feel….ahhhh. Potter, why is your nose mishapen?” Miraak ceased his torment for a moment to look down and inspect Harry’s nose, twisted and bruised.

“Oh, um reading. It was a….gripping novel,” Harry lied worse than the Last Dragonborn when they ate the rest of the leftover Bosmer Beignets.

“Mmm, it is broken,” Miraak’s voice softened for a moment, “did someone do this to you?” He pressed his fingers to Harry’s nose.

“No! Can we just- Argh, let’s just go to class,” Harry pulled away from his touch. If Miraak had been less professional, hot flames would burn in his throat at the thought of someone hurting his children. Instead, his draconic pupils narrowed, but he put on a smile and looked behind the three to see his other students waiting patiently.

“You will stay behind after class, Potter. Welcome students! Vosaraan!  My classroom has been rearranged!” Miraak waved the group over before dashing to his classroom. What had once been a generic classroom had become what Dumbledore described as a ‘shrine worthy of the most evil cults, with a touch of whimsy’.

“How’d you get the budget for this stuff? Looks like you had a day out in Knockturn alley,” Seamus marvelled, looking at the many dragon skeletons hanging from the ceiling. One dragon skeleton lay on the floor, coiled around an ancient throne where Miraak had placed a table with a fancy goblet and a plate. A strange being grumbled in a nearby cage, eyes glowing blue and form swaying lightly from the ancient armour hanging off its body.

“What? These are all mine, Finnegan! Relics of my conquests and artefacts with magic unknown to your realm!” Miraak gestured to everything in the room, “Back in my day I had a temple dedicated to worshipping me. More than twenty dragon skeletons laid dormant in the snow around my temple after I killed and ate their souls . I sat on this throne when I’d watch traitors dangle helplessly in cages. Humans, Elves and Beastfolk who dared to defy me made very good fodder for my enchanting services, for their souls were the most potent of all. Ahhh, good memories!”

“You killed people!?” Ron gawked at him, paler than usual.

“Only the ones who didn’t like me.”

“But, surely you heard me talking before? I don’t like you!”

“And have you felt alive since I started teaching?”

“What- no?”

“Then write your obituary, Weasel. I shall not be laying flowers but I will attend your funeral for the refreshments,” Miraak finally silenced Ron and stood still in front of the class, waiting for everyone else to be seated. He caught sight of Draco, but more concern bled into him when the boy didn’t laugh at the torment of a Weasley. If Miraak was capable of one thing, it was knowing his students well.

“Professor? Are you alright?” Hermione asked out of the blue. Miraak’s face must have looked concerned again, given that he still couldn’t hide his emotions. He let out a small sigh and began wandering around the room, his eyes not leaving the students.

“I know that this year may be a bit…unnerving. You are getting closer to the end, but I will make sure you are prepared,” he stopped to sit on a desk and cross his arms, “you have endless resources to help you, including myself. So, do not allow yourself to fall into the trap of melancholy as I once did. It can… krii , it can be the end of you.”

Miraak worked hard to bring up the mood in the class. It seemed that a lot of students were feeling stiff, especially when Dean spoke up.

“It’s hard to feel okay, Professor. Ever since the Dark Lord-”

“Perished? Yes I take full credit for that. He was an easy foe, really.”

“No, he’s still alive!”

“What, HOW!?”

“I don’t know how, Professor! He’s just been sighted again!”

“ RUTH! How dare he live!? I killed that hairless creature and took his wand!” Miraak pulled the bone wand from his pocket and flicked it at the Draugr in the cage. The undead simply started dancing, causing Miraak to look back at his students, “If he still lives I will hunt him down….in my spare time. Grading papers takes a lot of my free time, these days. I should have you all battle dragons for your exam just to save time and paperwork.”

“Harry fought a dragon in fourth year!” Seamus's words immediately stilled Miraak's anger, prompting him to stare at Harry with hardly-subtle pride and amazement.

“You survived? Tell me, did you feel power coursing through your veins? Did you strike it down and take its bones to be fashioned into weapons? Or perhaps…you awakened a new power within you?” Miraak closed in on Harry, his hands on his desk and eyes locked on him.

“Oh, no I just took the golden egg. We needed to for the trial. The dragon lived, I had to run away from it.”

“……”

“Professor Miraak?”

“Three hundred points from Gryffindor.”

“WHAT!?”

“Four hundred points to Slytherin.”

“He’s totally unfair!”

“I am perfectly fair, Weasel! Now, we shall see where you’re all up to…..”

~~~~~~

“Potter, I told you to stay,” Miraak called out to Harry from where he dangled from the ceiling beam by the toes of his brassy boots, “Sit. We have much to discuss.”

“After that lesson? I’m not sure I’ll be able to have a proper conversation,” Harry spoke with slight jest as he settled back in his desk area. Miraak scoffed and waved him off.

“Learning to speak to spirits from their bones whilst upside down is no small feat, but it won’t damage you permanently,” Miraak countered with his arms crossed. Suddenly, he jumped down onto Harry’s desk, startling the boy, “Someone has hurt you. I don’t wish to force you, but if you don’t tell me it will make everything much more difficult than it needs to be.”

“Do I really have to?” Harry asked, shifting uncomfortably. He looked as if he were in pain, which would make sense.

“Now, Potter. I won’t ask again,” Miraak demanded in a low, careful voice. His fingers curled into the wood of the desk, eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Can you maybe not tell anyone about it? It’s…I think it might be because of something dangerous,” he whispered. Miraak was immediately intrigued further, mulling over each possible outcome that Harry could relay to him. Petty squabbles over partners flittered across his mind a few times, it seemed likely enough. 

“You have my word, Potter.”

“It’s Draco. He’s upset about his father going to Azkaban…who is a Death Eater.”

“That gives him no right to-”

“I know! I know. There’s more to it than that…. I saw him at Borgin and Burke’s with other Death Eaters, performing some kind of ceremony. Nobody else believes me,” Harry explains, lowering his gaze to his desk. Miraak let out a breath and held his hand to Harry’s nose, allowing Healing Hands to channel through his fingertips and heal Harry’s nose.

“It can completely isolate you, to shout into a void that will not listen. But I will listen,” Miraak reassured him, his voice low and rumbly. Harry’s nose went back into place without any pain, carefully unbreaking. Miraak slowly pulled his hand away and offered a warm smile, “ Drem , you look much better now.”

“Thank you, sir! That feels much better than when Luna tried to-” Harry stopped for a moment and squinted his eyes, “did you smudge my glasses? They look horrible.”

“Hmmm, no. Even if I did touch your glasses, my gauntlets are clean,” Miraak defended, his head tilting as he watched Harry take off his glasses and rub them. Harry took his time trying to clean them before slowly stopping and looking up at Miraak with wonder.

“Professor….what spell did you use?” He asked, watching each line and stray hair on Miraak’s face.

“A most basic healing spell. Are you unsatisfied with your nose?”

“No, no! It’s not that…it’s just that my eyesight, it’s…” Harry trailed off before slapping a hand to his mouth in amazement, “You healed my vision!?”

“Is that why you wear those wires around your eyes? Your vision was impaired?”

“You didn’t know?”

“It’s not a problem in my realm.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest Professor.”

~~~~~~

Further into the school year, Miraak had unfortunately been forced to take sick-leave due to contracting oyster pox. When the Dragonborn entered Miraak’s bedroom with a cup of tea, they looked at him with worry.

“I don’t mean to alarm you, but the school was attacked,” they sat on his bed as they spoke. Tea almost spilled from how quickly Miraak sat up.

“Attacked? No, I must be there!” Miraak scrambled to get out of bed, but was stilled by gentle fingers on his chest.

“You will die if you exert yourself. Aghhh, I told you to not eat five plates of oysters! You know that four is your limit!” They chastised him, sighing when he didn’t relent, “ Drem , please. You likely won’t be going back to teach anyways.”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“The Headmaster was killed by…I think the message said ‘Snap’?”

“Dragonborn….fetch my travel bag.”

“Miraak, you can’t!”

But Miraak would.

Miraak will return in: Harry PotRoast and The Dragon’s New Clothes, Part 1

~~~~~~

Miraak's language key, translated by Thuum.org:

Pruzah = Good

Vosaraan = Make haste/Quickly

Krii = Kill

Ruth = Rage (Used like how you'd say 'damn!' when annoyed

Drem = Peace

[danses-with-dogmeat]

2000 Followers Celebration!!!

& Fallout Alphabet Poll End Results!

Hey all, so the secret is out! (Kinda) But all these past polls have been the prelude to my 2K Followers Celebration BONANZA. (That's not the official title, I just wanted to use the word BONANZA).

Anyway, a HUGE, MASSIVE thank you to every single one of you folks who are a part of this little community and who've supported me and my fanfiction writing journey for the past few years (which is crazy that it's been that long, omg.) But I love and appreciate you all SO MUCH and am absolutely baffled that I've made it to this. I thought 100 was crazy, then I thought 1K was crazy and then it just kept on going! Ahh, I'm just so so so glad that there's a thriving Fallout community out here of amazing writers, artists, and fans that are still so involved 😊

I don't know what I would do without this space, so thank you all for being a part of it <3

ANYWAY (x2) Here are the final results to all 22 polls that I posted, with more event details just below!

So I've posted the 1st place winners, 2nd place, and then a 3rd "runner up" position that will only be filled by non-companion npcs, just to give them a chance to shine, and me a chance to write for some folks I'm not as used to. For the purposes of the 2k event, I will only be using the 1st place winners for the 'prompts' (which I'll explain in another post), and then a few of the 2nd placers and (almost) all of the runner ups will be used in ANOTHER upcoming event that I'm going to start prepping for (because I'm an insane person).

--

A:

1st: Arcade Israel Gannon

2nd: Arthur Maxson

3rd: Dr. Amari

B:

1st: Benny Gecko

2nd: Butch Deloria

3rd: Beatrix Russell

C:

1st: Charon

2nd: Craig Boone

3rd: Caesar

D:

1st: Deacon

2nd: Danse

3rd: Dazzle

E:

1st: ED-E

2nd: Easy Pete

3rd: Edward Deegan

F:

1st: Fawkes

2nd: Fahrenheit

3rd: Fantastic

G:

1st: Gob

2nd: Glory

3rd: Gary(s)

H:

1st: Robert Edwin House

2nd: Harold

3rd: Harkness

I/O:

1st: Old Longfellow

2nd: Captain Ironsides

3rd: Oliver Swanick

J:

1st: John Hancock

2nd: Joshua Graham

3rd: Julie Farkas

K:

1st: The King

2nd: KL-E-O

3rd: Kent Connolly

L:

1st: Lily Bowen

2nd: Legate Lanius

3rd: Red Lucy

M:

1st: Mysterious Stranger

2nd: Magnolia

3rd: Moira Brown

N:

1st: Nick Valentine

2nd: No Bark Noonan

3rd: Nate/Nora

P:

1st: Preston Garvey

2nd: Primm Slim

3rd: Pickman

Q/U/X:

1st: Ulysses

2nd: X6-88

3rd: Dr. Usanagi

R:

1st: Raul Alphonse Tejada

2nd: Robert Joseph MacCready

3rd: Rotface

S:

1st: Sunny Smiles

2nd: Sturges

3rd: Swank

T:

1st: Three Dog

2nd: Tinker Tom

3rd: Travis Miles

V:

1st: Veronica Santangelo

2nd: Victor

3rd: Vulpes Inculta

W:

1st: Whitechapel Charlie

2nd: Wiseman

3rd: Winthrop

Y/Z:

1st: Yes Man

2nd: Captain Zao

3rd: Yefim Bobrov

[horridgoblin]

In Need of Comfort (Part 1)

For part 2, click here. Tags: Fluff, hurt/comfort, romance, SFW, Christmas AU set in Waterdeep, gender neutral Tav x Gale. Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, anxiety in a crowded place, sensory overload. Disclaimer: I’m currently in the middle of Act 2, and I'm yet to finish BG3, so this is where my knowledge of the game stands. No spoilers please!

The Market was charged with the energy of festive cheer, and you could not help but feel entirely out of place. Sounds overwhelmed you; the crowds made you wish you were invisible, and a persistent sadness refused to leave your soul. The Market of Castle Ward was spectacular, despite how you felt. Twinkling baubles, trinkets, and other valuables were displayed proudly in their vibrant stalls. The scent of spice filled the air, and chants of merchants advertising their wares filled the atmosphere with electricity. It was a lot to take in. You wanted desperately to reciprocate the joy of the season, especially because Gale was beaming with joy; talking for weeks about how excited he was to show you how the ‘City of Splendour’ celebrates Christmas. 

A gentle, warm touch of Gale’s hand deliberately brushing yours snapped you out of your thoughts. As you looked up, brown eyes full of adoration locked yours. You could not resist but to smile. Gale was dressed in his best winter finery fit for the occasion, swathes of deep purple wool keeping most of the cold at bay. The grey streaks in his curly brown hair glinted in the winter sunlight, his beauty ethereal. Your anxiety abated with his love, but you thought it best to not show how you felt to preserve his happiness. Gale was always putting others before himself, and you wanted more than anything for him to have happiness in his life.

“You look absolutely stunning my love,” Gale said, gently tucking stray locks of your hair behind your ear, “I know we have a firm agenda set for today, but is there anything that catches your eye? I want nothing more than to spoil you.”

“Gale, spending time with you is a gift enough, please don’t fret.”

“Alright, I won’t try and outdazzle this gift, but I may be purchasing you a trinket or two regardless.” He winked, kissing your forehead, his beard scratching you lightly. “The stall with the brandy mincemeat is over there,” he pointed towards a stall of green tarp with jars gleaming in the sunlight, neatly lined up and tied with delicate red ribbon, “I bet I could add a bit of pizazz to it with an enchantment or two, though this doesn’t mean making the pies explode in some grand display, unfortunately.” You laughed at the thought despite your growing anxiety as you both approached the stall, hand in hand.

Snowflakes began to flit down from the greying sky, their icy touch amplified by fear as they landed on your face. The Market was becoming increasingly crowded. Claustrophobia was setting in. You had a nagging feeling to give into your base instincts and to run far, far away and hide. Instead, you gripped Gale’s hand for support. Your anxiety came at you at full force, and it was dizzying, the stall in front of you feeling imposing. 

Concerned, Gale took you aside and put his hand gently on your shoulder, turning you to face him. He leaned to whisper to your ear. “Are you ok, my heart?” 

Shaking your head to say no, he planted a feather light kiss onto your cheek. “These crowds must be immensely overwhelming; I can tell that as much. I am so sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, darling.” You murmured, croaking as you struggled to speak.

“I’m afraid I must.” Gale insisted, “I think it's best if we leave, I cannot have you suffering.” He cupped your cheek with his hand. “Would you like that? To return home?”

You felt incredibly guilty and ashamed. He was looking forward to this for so long. “We can stay, we have to buy things for tonight.”

Seeing the sadness on your face, he said, “Don’t concern yourself with that any longer, I shall deal with this.”  Turning back to the stall, he placed a loving hand on the small of your back as he purchased two jars of mincemeat. “Perfect! We can do without the rest and have a splendid night together. Shall we head home?”

Putting aside your guilt at his insistence, you nodded. He knew you liked to appease others; it was why you could relate to each other so much. Your fatigue from sensory overload made it hard to refuse his suggestions. Snowfall began to intensify so much that it was difficult to see. Most of the crowd rushed for shelter away from the increasing cold, and the two of you sped to find a hire coach home.

[olderthannetfic]

Social media sites are designed for continuous scrolling and very short chunks of content. Plus they're monetized, so they can afford to pay employees, not just basic equipment and server costs (plus legal costs).

Fanfiction sites have to be searchable and have an organized and logical navigation system. We joke about tumblr's terrible search, but how easy is it to find a Tweet or Instagram post or Facebook post about a specific thing, or find your way back to one you didn't bookmark? Social media sites have it easy in that regard.

Even different fanfic sites have different levels of effectiveness in helping you find the ships or fics you're looking for. It's hard to set up before you even have fics to categorize, and it's vital to the success of the fanfic site.

AO3 invented a taggjng system as an additional user-defined layer on top of pre-chosen caregories like fandom, characters and genre. Compare it to fanfiction.net or mediaminer.org or whofic.com for what was typical before that, and note that while Whofic and Fanfic.net let you search for two characters,

AO3 came up with a way to tag for ships. A big part of why it works is hundreds of thousands of volunteer hours behind the scenes "tag wrangling" by hand to figure out variant ways authors have tagged or named the same ships, fandoms, and characters, ensuring they all get grouped together. It's almost like a hybrid between a fic archive and wikipedia in that regard, except no one except the authors can edit the articles; the moderators can only edit "disambiguation" tags pointing to them.

No other fic archive does that because it is HUGE GOBS OF WORK. And it takes really streamlined coding to make it run efficiently. It was built by a bunch of frustrated librarians based on all the inadequacies of THEIR universities' library card catalogs, and library scientists and archivists now study its backend.

in short, to built a fanfic archive, AO3 has raised our expectations such that a new site probably needs a good team of professional volunteers with coding skills, library and/or archival skills, and an understanding of fandom culture and fanfic. Or else they need to be able to hire people to set it up, like Wattpad did.

--

[laventadorn]

Hey, you're one of my favorite writers and I'm looking to start writing fanfiction. Have you got any tips for beginners? ❤️

i've been letting this percolate, but instead of bubbling gently away with ideas, it's rather been losing direction in my brain's spin cycle.

Part of my problem is that I do not personally find writing advice very useful! A former teacher and essayist, John Holt, said, "We learn to write by writing, not by reading other people's ideas about writing."

I think that 1) writing and 2) reading are the best ways to develop one's writing -- but this is the sort of vague, all-encompassing statement that sounds like "in order to live your life, you have to live your life." It's true! but functionally useless.

So, to try and make something useful out of these gobs of information in my brain, I think it depends on which of the following you want to develop:

Process

Understanding of your taste

I'll go more in-depth into these behind a cut because I started embarrassing myself with the length of this.

Process

This refers to just the way you go about getting the actual writing done. Some people are very regimented and this works for them -- cf. wake up at 5 and write for two hours, have breakfast at 7, then write until 10, and so forth (I think Ursula K. LeGuin did something like this? anyway it makes me want to spit blood, I'd die). Some people like to write best with fancy pens in fancy journals. Some people keep diaries next to their bed and write when they first wake up. Some write x number of words every day. etc. If you're so inclined, you can read what other people share about their processes.

However, not a flippin' one of those have ever worked for me. I couldn't explain why to you or myself; but I've tried all kinds of other people's processes and they were nothing to me. It was like trying on clothes that didn't fit.

Obviously this is not to say those people hadn't experienced enlightenment and worked out the best method for them. They just hadn't worked out the best method for me. They're not supposed to! I tried, it didn't work, that's all.

It's useful to see what other people have worked out; maybe it works for you! I have a writer friend who writes every day and publishes novels regularly. But I cannot write every day. I've tried, and eventually all I do is punish myself for not meeting my word count goals, and then I turn into a gnarled ball of anxiety and guilt. It's counterproductive.

(I did learn what not to do, though. I also learned I have a tendency to get in my own way. I can add more about my self-discovery process in another post if you want.)

tl;dr - One size doesn't fit all. Just because it worked for them, it doesn't have to work for you. This is normal and natural.

2. Understanding your own taste

We all like some writers and not others. (I'm honored to be one you like!) It doesn't mean writers are bad when we don't like them, nor does it mean our taste is bad -- it just means what and/or how they like to write doesn't align with what and/or how we like to read.

A piece of writing advice I do find useful is that you learn what you like by studying what you like to read. For instance, my very favorite author is Jane Austen. My favorite thing about her (there are many things I love) is how she develops characters; character is the most important aspect of a work for me. So it's useful for me to study how she creates and delineates character (I also read annotated editions of her books because, well, English degree nerds do stuff like that for fun).

It's not all this high brow, though -- when I come across a fanfic Snape I like, I also study that :3

By doing this, we're not so much trying to replicate this person we like and admire (although we can, and other writing advice says to do this explicitly as part of the learning process) as we're trying to understand ourselves and learn from people we like and admire. In this way, we learn how to do grow toward the place we want to be as writers.

(This is also not limited to authors -- you can study books, TV shows, movies, etc. All fiction eventually ends up at the same place, and we tend follow our own taste across mediums. You can also study one author for their prose, another for their humor, a third for their world-building, etc. - it's the Olympics!)

tl; dr - Studying your faves to understand yourself helps develop your writing. Metacognition is the process of thinking about one's cognition; this is that, but for reading taste. The more we learn about ourselves, the more we can do.

--

I was going to add a third point about writing voice and a fourth about interests but this was legit getting embarrassing in length, and idk about you, but if someone gives me too much information at once my brain shuts down. If you are not like me, feel free to tell me! I didn't want it to turn out to be useless to the target audience, i.e. you who sent the ask :)

Also hit me up if this is too vague/all encompassing. I'm hard to shut up once I get going; I find it hard to get going usually because I know it's hard for me to shut up!

[hella1975]

I see you very vaguely (i’m not as chronically online as some of y’all) but my vague interpretation of you is practically all I need to have to make this game funnier?

So, I feel like you’re an old soul, like some people get to know you and need to tell you that you’re wise or that you’re handling tasks above your peers age group, like, you’re just grounded and very practical. Almost jaded by experience that is just not expected from 20 year olds.

This assumption stems from your blog being a pretty green and your pfp being a tree, my brain associates greens with wisdom and being not an idiot and whatnot. I also think it comes from you ranting about your job but not quitting it.

Like, you’re just capable to withstand this life? Like? Idk. I find it kinda impressive. Greens do me like that, I see green and think that it’s gonna gift me with esoteric knowledge unnoticed and unheard ever before. And I get this same vibe from you as well.

Sometimes I get on tumblr and see the same post reblogged 10-15 times, read every single one of them expecting the text to absorb and go about my day thinking “I got blessed to find this funky post today, guess this spiel with mental illness runs not JUST by me. Thanks, hella-esoteric-knowledge-1875”.

I also think very highly of you just cause I got gob smacked, bamboozled and absolutely gutted by your fanfiction. And I ABSOLUTELY MEAN IT, taob crushed me and stopped me from breathing till I read the last words of the chapter at the moment (I read taob in like, a day and a half). The shit that was written in this work made my brain wired better, like I saw the world a clearer picture.

So now, I sit and view at your blog. And see every now and than how a garfield pfp bullies you into stretches and absolutely destroys you with ethel cain.

Thriving 👍🫶

SHOUTOUT TO THAT GARFIELD FREAK FR 🔥

[gobbluthbutagirl]

Well gob bluth of course

First impression: this guy’s name is WHAT??? and also this

Impression now: that’s literally blorbo. From the shows. and also the most relatable character of all time TO ME!

Favorite moment: well the obvious contenders would be the two season four monologues i have printed on the front and back of a t-shirt(“should the guy in the…in the $32…in the $32 pink…” and “bad example. if you were ashamed of being in love with a man…” respectively). but let me tell you something else too. in sad sack, when he knows less than anyone wayne jarvis has ever interviewed, but he knows too little to know that, and he decides he has to kill himself, and he stands in the chair and he takes off his belt to hang himself and his pants fall down and wayne jarvis walks back in and he’s like, “you’re free to go,” or whatever. the second time(not even the first time!) i watched that i was just like man, don’t you hate it when that happens? And then i was like wait what. And then i was like oh god oh fuck. and then i realized that this scene on tv of a gay idiot oldest-of-four-children whose initials spell a word trying to kill himself over something stupid was the single most relatable thing that i, also a gay idiot oldest-of-four-children whose initials spell a word and who has tried to kill myself over something stupid sooo many times, had ever seen. And so that was when the worm first entered my brain and then it did not leave ever

Idea for a story: uh you mean other than the like. i think it was 220,000+ words of arrested development fanfiction i already wrote(at least half of which was specifically about him)? and other than the ending for that one fic that i never finished but lives fully formed in my head? well i always wanted to do like. A character study of him when he was stuck in that boulder. it would most likely be part of a longer fic that was essentially a prequel to my other blunder-centric fics that examined his and tony’s separate lives pre- and during early canon. because everything i actually wrote was either post-canon or set during later canon

Unpopular opinion: i have two. so first of all, back when there were like maybe 100 people in the arrested development fandom instead of like 2, i used to see people go, “he didn’t do anything wrong!” and i just want to say Literally yes he did. he did everything wrong ever in his life and that’s why he’s my favorite. Second, he is NOT bisexual he is GAY. i already wrote like 2500 words about this once so i won’t do it again here but like. this is a hill i am willing to die, kill, and just start shooting blindly on. Everybody gets one stupid/pointless hill like that and this is mine

Favorite relationship: OBVIOUSLY tony wonder. tv’s greatest ever gay love story and i’m not kidding

Favorite headcanon: that “just hands” becomes more than “just hands” within like an hour of the finale ending and becomes “just hands…in marriage!” within like a year of that