#hermit yearning. hermit longing.

[skullinahat]

i sooooo desperately want to dig a hole and live self-sufficiently in there for the rest of my life and not talk to anyone ever oh fuck i just want to be a hermit again

[pininghermit]

My followers after I make yet another blog after falling into another obsession:

(I miss writing Adrian so much 😭😭)

[imonthelambbutiaintnosheep]

A perk of feeling like you don't belong nowhere is that going anywhere is such a relief,. An issue? Lemme gtfo to a random place, the freedom of going elsewhere will heal me.

[diagnosedpsychosis]

Love At First Sight- Jake Seresin

Contains: A little bit of weight/body insecurity from reader, shy/coward jake, just as shy reader, fluff

Description: Jake's been acting a little differently cause he's taken an interest in you and doesn't want you to think he's a jerk. All the while he's too nervous to make a move.

Word Count: 1.4k

___________________________________

Jake didn't know what had come over him so hard that the confident man he was just weeks ago, had been replaced with a coward. He noticed it. His teammates noticed it. Even the bar regulars noticed that suddenly one of the cockiest, loudest, most outgoing men in San Diego had turned into a borderline hermit.

His regular game of darts with Javy had become a once in a blue moon activity. His teasing of Bradley, Bob and Nat ceased the moment they were finished work for the day. Even the usual 6 or 7 beers he'd pound down after a long day had reduced to 2 or 3 at the most.

He had an instinct of knowing when someone was looking at him, like his teammates and would meet their eyes with nothing but a bored stare before they'd look away not wanting to be bummed out by his mood. If only they knew that wasn't how he was feeling at all.

Even tonight, as Jake sits in a corner booth at the Hard Deck, his beer turning warm in his hand, his mouth and the rapid thud of his heart almost betray his exterior as he stares at you across the bar. You're talking to Penny, the easy smile on your face enough to make the corner of his lips twitch as he sits still, imagining all the things he'd say to you if he only had the courage to get off his ass.

Then he feels eyes on him and looks away, shooting a hard look in Javy and Reuben's direction. They both whirl around, turning their backs to him and then he's back to looking at you.

"He looking again?" Penny mumbles, leaning over the bar and grinning up at you. You've been caught glancing around the room again as to not make it obvious you were staring right back at the handsome blond.

"Mmm" You hum, biting on the inside of your cheek to try and stop yourself from grinning like a fool. You glance around again, eyes moving swiftly over him and onto the next person despite the desperate yearning in your chest, begging you to look at him again.

"I don't know why you don't just go and talk to him" Penny leans forward, lowering her tone so that there isn't a chance another guy in uniform hears the exchange. You whine, bouncing your foot like you were trying to get rid of a cramp.

"Have you met me? I'll take two steps and sweat my face off" You've never been overly confident and you had High School to thank for it. It didn't matter that it's been a decade since you graduated, growing up an overweight girl and not dropping the weight until you were in your 20's made you overly receptive to judgement.

You felt better now, more confident and happier, but because you didn't get to experience that bittersweet 'teenage love', you weren't really sure how dates and interest in people being reciprocated worked. Slowly losing weight late when everyone was getting boyfriends, or pregnant or even married didn't help either.

You'd noticed guys flocking to your pretty, skinny friends on nights out, and despite how beautiful your friends promised you were, your weight was the first thing they saw. If you smiled their way you were just the sweet, chubby girl that looked like she'd drank a whole bar empty and didn't know what was in and out of her league.

You'd never really had experience talking to guys, your Dad and brother not included, so the fact a ridiculously handsome man in uniform, that you're sure never would've spared you a glance when you were bigger, had been staring at you for weeks now, made you beyond nervous to make eye contact with him, let alone talk to him like Penny has tried to convince you to do for a while now.

"Well hey, if he doesn't love your nervous sweats then he doesn't deserve you" Penny tried to make you feel better, squeezing your arm before standing back up straight to fix a couple orders from some guys at the end of the bar. Your smile slowly falls from your face and internally you curse at yourself for not having the courage to even just go and say hi.

What you don't realise is Jake's doing the same, beating himself up for becoming so darn weak that he can't stand up, take a deep breath and walk over to you. Flying planes and risking his life were easy, but talking to a pretty woman he's been coming to the Hard Deck every day for 3 weeks purely with hopes of even just seeing? He felt like he couldn't breathe.

But then he watches your exchange with Penny, his heart beating twice as hard when for the first time in 3 weeks he watches the smile he's come to adore slowly fade from your face when Penny turns her back to you. He notices your heavy exhale and the drop of your shoulders. He notices you running the tip of your index finger around the rim of the glass in your hand that you're yet to take a sip of. He notices the slight crease of your eyebrows when you gnaw on your lip, and suddenly... he's never wanted to lift someone's mood so desperately before.

He doesn't give himself even a second to talk himself out of making his way to you, the need to see your smile again all too consuming.

Whatever's on your mind has your full attention, that even when the guy you've been watching for the last 3 weeks sits down on the stool beside you, his knee grazing yours, you fail to notice and keep tracing your finger around the rim of your glass.

Jake didn't know what the hell to say that didn't make him come across as an obsessed stalker, so he tried a humorous take instead. "You know, I almost wore that exact same top today. How embarrassing would that have been if we matched?"

His voice floats right into your ear and you turn your head, sucking in a sharp breath when you realise the person that's just spoken to you, is the same person you're making yourself insecure over. You open your mouth like a goldfish, not knowing what to say as you're still trying to process the fact he's finally spoken to you, before closing your mouth again.

You look down at the obviously very feminine top you paired with plain jeans, and finally his words sink in. Your lips curve up and the moment of internal terror Jake had as you stared at him in silence, washed away.

"Only embarrassing if you pulled it off better than me" Jake's mouth pulls up into an easy smile as he stares right back at you, both completely oblivious to the group of pilots watching the exchange in surprise.

"I find it hard to believe anyone could" The flirtation rolls of Jake's tongue and he can't help grin at the sight of your cheeks flushing as you turn your head away from him slightly, looking ahead. Jake's eyes bounce over your features up close and he wonders how somebody could look so beautiful from afar, and even more mesmerising up close. He regret's not talking to you the second he saw you.

"I'm Jake" He blurts the words, almost like he can't contain them any more. The longer he goes without properly introducing himself and learning your name, the more desperate he becomes to know anything and everything about you. You look back and his eyes are immediately drawn to your lips as they curve up in the most beautifully natural smile.

Sure, he's wanted to kiss you since the moment he spotted you, but right now, as he stares at your mouth and the faint dimple poking at your cheeks, he's never been more content seeing another person happy in his life.

"Y/n" You reply softly and immediately your name is carved and filled with pure liquid gold, in Jake's heart. His heart beats to the letters of your name in morse code. His eyes fill with so much hope as he stares at you, like finding out your name is the greatest gift he could've ever gotten.

And as you stare right back at him, he wonders if telling you he's in love with you before even the suggestion of a first date is too soon.

________________________________________

My first Top Gun: Maverick short. Hope it was okay <3

[babushkatty]

Tranquil SAGAU - Part 6

-> Part 1

-> Part 5

With Dvalin gone, you were left basically homeless. Not that it was much of an issue, not really. The forests had been very kind to you -- you could easily live the life of a hermit if you so wished, without having to worry about food, water, shelter or animal attacks.

But it would also be horribly lonely. No compassionate silence, no background noise and buzz of other people scurrying around and going about their day without minding you, no one to speak to if you ever felt the need to.

You liked being alone, but you were still human and humans were social animals.

Soooooo, you promptly asked Crepus about working in his Winery in exchange for accommodations, because 'one that asks, does not stray'... or something like that anyways. Your sister always made her life that much harder because she outright refused to ask for help even when hopelessly lost or overwhelmed, so there must be something to the saying at least.

"You don't have to work to earn your keep, (Name). I'd be more than happy to house you as my guest for however long you want!" is what Crepus 'Sunshine Personified' Ragnvindr responded with.

Crepus used Puppy Eyes, it was super effective!

You laid defeated, a puddle of cuteness overload once again wishing for sunglasses to protect yourself from the blinding smiles and imaginary wagging tails.

Crepus was horrible for your heart.

Still, you would go insane if left with nothing to do for days at a time, so you went to turn the Ragnvindr library upside down with Crepus' blessing, a bunch of notebooks, a bunch of pens and a delusion that you'd do any actual studying in there.

This was Teyvat, but this wasn't Genshin Impact -- a library wouldn't have interesting lore, it'd have dry history and even drier geography, accompanied by boring economics and even more boring politics (which was a damn shame too, politics were so interesting when written right).

You never quite had a head for those, prefering subjects with more practical applications that could be practiced instead of having to be beaten into your thick skull until you memorized it just long enough to write the exam.

Though for some ungodly reason you still remembered that onions were actually leaves. It was one of the very few things you remembered from school, actually.

Probably the trauma speaking.

Still, you did find some interesting books - a diary speaking of the Decarabian rule, for example.

Today, I don my very own Windblume.

I can only hope Lord Decarabian never learns of its' significance.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The winds are particularly harsh today.

I am afraid, but I smile and play my lyre as if nothing were happening at all, like I always do.

Sometimes, I forget if what I do is to reasure the people or to delude myself that everything is as it should be...

Then again, does it matter when the result remains the same?

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The people are growing restless.

Their yearning for freedom gave birth to a small wind spirit that seems fond of my playing. It is an adorable being, even if it has yet to communicate with us.

It remind me of a newborn puppy.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The people are planning a rebellion.

I want to help, but how can I? I am no soldier, my strength lays with the pen and the lyre, not with the sword.

Ragnvindr told me there was no need for more warriors, that I was doing enough by keeping the morale up with my performances... I am hesistant to believe him.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The little spirit has spoken for the first time today.

It said that it knew the song I was playing, despite it being a new piece I was in the midst of creating, and sang along to lyrics I had yet to write.

It was strange, but it made me happy nonetheless.

Perhaps I was strange too, for feeling that way.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

You had a suspicion on who the author of the diary was by that point. Maybe Crepus would be open to giving this diary to Venti, instead of it gathering dust on the shelf?

Idly, you wondered how it had survived so long, but figured Ragnvindr and his descendants took good care of it.

I met Ragnvindr today.

Something compelled me to share my worries with him, even though I knew he had enough weight on his shoulders and I ought not to add more.

"If you cannot trust in yourself, then trust in me and my trust in you instead" he told me.

It helped.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

Meetings regarding the rebellion are more and more frequent. Ragnvindr, alongside a man named Amos, have convinced the Gunnhildr clan to participate against all odds.

I can understand their hesitance. Should we fail to kill Lord Decarabian, their legacy would be no more.

I admire their bravery.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The wind has long since realized change is imminent, even when Lord Decarabian himself has not - the little spirit said so.

King of Gales indeed, even the wind has rebelled against him.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

Ragnvindr speaks of a bad premonition.

In truth, my heart is uneasy as well, but how can I share those feelings with anyone but myself? It is not the time to bother others with my issues -- it is time to reassure everyone, to rouse their spirit and not to let fear take root even as they stand against a God. It is my duty as a bard and as a fellow rebel.

The Windblume feels particularly heavy as I write this.

I fear I will not live to see tomorrow's sunset, but I fear for my dearest friends and for Mondstadt even more.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

My little spirit friend is still without a name.

I know it does not bother them, they are the wind itself after all, but I would still like to give them a name others can remember them by.

A name that they can remember me by once I pass on, selfish as it is to bind an immortal to a memory.

But I am selfish, even if Ragnvindr may see me as a paragon of virtue. I am a human and to be human is to be flawed. I am not ashamed of it, even if I often feel guilty for it.

Perhaps it will be the very last thing I achieve in this life of mine.

It is hard to name them.

I've thought of many names up until now.

Caelus. Liberius. Aella. Calliope. Achill. Carmine. Hilarius. Hanne. Zephyrinus. Dieter. Sascha. Scilla. Paulus. Notus. Veronica. Agna. Vergil.

Those are just a few of the ones I discarded.

None fit.

I can only hope the right name reveals itself when it is time.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

That was the last entry.

You closed the diary and carefully put it aside.

☆(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ* ✨ Author Note✨

It was not supposed to be mostly nameless bard POV via old diary.

It really wasn't.

Mans literally kidnapped the chapter entirely against my will while I was half asleep yesterday and attempting to write at nearly midnight and I was powerless to stop it, on god.

But hey, at least we got potential Venti bonding set up for the future?

I was planning for more fluff, but I also have no outline for this, so my chapters have a chance of getting kidnapped at any time.

✨BY THE WAY!!!!✨

The charm of spontaneous writing, I guess?

If you have something you want to happen - for example we're in the library right now, so maybe you want a book about a specific tidbit to appear - do let me know, maybe I'll write it in!

I had 2 tests and 1 retake yesterday and holy shit i got through all of them and tomorrow is last day of uni then it's ✨HOLIDAYS✨

✨Taglist✨

@game-savvy @chaoticfivesworld @mmeatt @avalordream @ymechi @andromeda-gay @naynayaa @undecidingfate @thedevioussmirk @tumb3ld0wn @balaur-bondoc @yi-chii @yarabutterfly @nervouseaglelover @vexingpraedyth @indelible-colouring-markers @whitefantasy21-blog @kapitankarate

[loviatarsluv]

chapter ii. cracked ceilings

pairing: Gale x f!tav (my own oc, Elara)

(takes place mostly after the events of the game with some flashbacks sprinkled throughout)

rating: mature

CW: strong language, slight se*ual harassment (just a drunken oaf making nasty comments), blood/injury, light violence, angst

in summary: After the fall of the brain, and her home having been destroyed in the chaos, Gale offers Elara sanctuary with him back in Waterdeep. She struggles to deal with the feelings she has been harboring for him and the guilt that she’d been the one to prevent either of them from taking the relationship any further a few months prior. Yearning and pining ensues

a/n: thank you to those who were so sweet about the first chapter, it really means so much to me 🥹 i hope you enjoy this one just as much ♡︎

word count: 6.8k

⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆ ₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆

ii.

She had finally begun to understand why they called Waterdeep ‘the city of splendors’. 

Since coming to stay with Gale, Elara hadn’t left the tower much. A part of her feared running into any further trouble when she’d just experienced more chaos and turmoil than most would in their entire lives, especially now being known as The Hero of Baldur’s Gate. Despite being here rather than back home, she knew word had likely spread as far as Neverwinter by now. 

Gale had been incredibly patient with her, despite his desire to show her around his beloved city. She was boundlessly grateful for that fact despite her guilt for becoming a hermit when he was likely just happy to be home and wanted to enjoy it in its entirety.

She would tell him not to hold back on her account and to do all that he desired with his newfound freedom from the fear of the orb within himself, and that she would be fine right where she was. But she could see in his eyes that he wanted company. Her company. 

So, this time, she relented. A simple trip to the market surely couldn’t hurt, right? 

She caught the end of a familiar tune as she approached the large open window in her bedroom— a song that she remembered her mother humming absently throughout the day, and then singing to her before bed. One of the last vivid memories she had left of her. 

Elara hoped maybe they would pass the bard on their way to the market so she could toss them a few gold pieces. 

She gazed out over the expanse of the ocean and hummed along to the song until its eventual end, smiling somberly to herself. 

She glanced at herself in the mirror and tried to remember her mother’s face— tried to imagine her own face, just older, but with bright blue eyes rather than dull brown, her hair long, pin straight and black instead of untamable, wavy, and garishly bright. 

No. If there was one thing she recalled about her mother, it was that she had the sort of beauty that words couldn’t describe. The kind that scribes and bards scribbled poetry about and sang ridiculous ballads for. 

A far cry from how she viewed herself, certainly. 

Her long azure waves flowed down her back, partially braided back near the crown of her head to keep some of it out of her eyes. Shadowheart had taught her a few hairstyles to manage and tame her hair, but most of the time she just couldn’t be arsed to put in the effort. 

She dusted off some of the robes Astarion ‘purchased’ for her while they were in the Lower City, muttering something about how she desperately needed a wardrobe change. A gift wrapped in a backhanded remark, as could always be expected of Astarion. She smiles at the memory, now suddenly missing him and all of his mischief and hoping he was doing well. 

Perhaps she could pay them a visit soon. 

The robes were rather lovely— a deep cerulean mixed with accented gold metal clasps and brown leather, the length of it just right so that it doesn’t drag the floor. It suited her well. Astarion really did have a good eye, unsurprisingly. Perhaps in another life he was a tailor. 

She takes one last long look at herself in the mirror, the anxiety evident in her eyes as well as the dark circles under them. She’d barely gotten a wink of rest as her mind turned over every possibility of what could happen the moment she steps foot outside of this tower. 

Nothing that made any sense or seemed feasible— but then again, a year ago, the thought of a mindflayer invasion seemed like a fever dream. 

Now was not the time for what if’s. All would be well. She would have a nice outing with her good friend. 

Great friend.

Friend.

⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆⋆���⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆

Gale had mastered the art of keeping himself occupied. 

He somehow always had something he could be working on or a book he could be reading or a subject he could study further, especially in times when his mind required redirection.

Or distraction, rather.

Spending an entire year in solitude with only yourself, your books, and four walls to keep you company teaches you many things about yourself. 

Spending months surrounded by who very likely could be the love of your life without the ability to act on that feeling also teaches you many things about yourself. 

There had been many days spent holed up in his library, trying all that he could to keep his mind of anything other than her and her eyes (one a deep, rich brown and the other a much lighter, honey-like shade) and her dazzling smile that made him feel like if the orb were still present in his chest, he would be at risk of implosion just at the sight of it. 

Now, to have a proper outing that would finally be just the two of them after months of dropping hints— he was feeling quite restless. 

So much so, that he basically leaps to his feet at the sound of her footsteps bounding down the stairs, standing quickly and straightening his clothes before she appears from the staircase, adjusting himself and ensuring nothing was askew or out of place. He smooths his hair, tucking a strand behind his ear and adjusts his sleeves just before she emerges, his heart skipping a beat as he sees her.  

He had to remind himself many times that this excursion was nothing more than a quick trip to the market— but it did little to quell the sweat beads rising in his palm and the buzzing in his stomach. 

He hadn’t spent a lot of time with her that felt like they were both choosing each other’s company. It almost always felt like they just happened to end up in the same room as each other by chance, or if they did, it was merely to complete a task. To do research, to eat breakfast or dinner, to exchange notes.

If it were up to him, he would remain at her side every moment that her eyes were open and if he were allowed, even those when they were closed. 

He was only waiting for the right moment, or any sort of notion that she had perhaps changed her mind— then, he would— well, do something.

Uncharacteristically enough for him, he hadn’t really thought that far yet. 

Now may be an apt time to start, though.

“Sorry I took so long, I had to make sure I had everything so we can stock up and last us a little longer.” She says with a huff, gesturing to the two wicker baskets draped over her arms. 

He stares at her for longer than was necessary, mouth slightly agape as he took in the sight of her. It wasn’t unusual for her to look anything short of breathtaking, but this had been the most put together he’d seen her since bringing her back to Waterdeep. She looked—

“Radiant,” he mutters, not realizing the word hadn’t remained only in his mind. 

She smirks at him awkwardly, looking down at herself. “What did you say?” 

He shakes his head, clearing his throat. “I said— I just meant— you look lovely today.” 

She chuckles, averting her gaze sheepishly. “Funny.” 

“Not at all. I meant it, Elara. You look… you are radiant.” He says, his voice low and reverent, as if he were admiring a painting hung in a gallery. 

A blush rises to her cheeks as she tries to fight off what would probably have been the widest she’d ever smiled in her life. “Oh… well, thank you, Gale. You look… dashing. As always.” She replies, the dimples in her cheeks visible as she grins shyly. 

“Why, thank you, my lady,” he says with a bow, then holds his hand out as an invitation for hers. She timidly places her hand in his, and he presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “Shall we?” 

She’s taken aback by the gesture, her already intense blush only becoming ever more prominent and persistent, the heat in her cheeks beginning to feel as though she may burn up before they even make it outside. 

She nods slowly, then follows his lead out the door, her hand lingering in his until they reach the front door steps. She takes a few steps ahead of him and attempts to steady her breathing, as he quickly casts Arcane Lock on the door before rejoining her.

Everything seemed to come alive with a brand new vigor— the streets were full again, the sounds of children running and playing as well as the Waterdhavian locals just existing and enjoying the sunshine for the first time in months echoed off the sides of the stone buildings that lined the streets. The faint melodic strumming of a lyre could be heard not too far from the Dekarios residence, as a bard occupied a spot just outside one of the nearby taverns and busked for coins throughout the day. 

They walk side by side in silence for a little while, both of them happily drinking in the sights surrounding them. Gale points out places and bits of interest as they walk, telling her stories of his life growing up on these very streets. 

She listens to him, but her mind fills any empty gaps with his voice echoing in her mind again and again. 

You are radiant. 

Gale was not averse to a bit of flattery, it wasn’t an uncommon behavior for him to compliment her or offer her or anyone else a kind word when it seemed they needed it, and even times when they didn’t.

But something about the phrasing of it struck her. Almost in a way that nearly made her believe it. If Gale Dekarios thought she was radiant, then by the gods, she must be. 

No one had ever seemed to look at her twice before in her life— none had ever seen her in that light or verbalized such a thing to her before. Not like that.

But Gale— gods, she’d write it in the stars if she could. She would paint the night sky with each syllable in only the most dazzling of stars, the brightest she could find— so that every night she could remember the way it sounded dripping from his tongue like honey. 

A single word had never filled her entire body with a warmth that the sun’s rays could never provide.

Radiant.

“I’m not sure if I’ve asked you yet, but how have you enjoyed Waterdeep thus far? Despite not having seen much of it yet,” He asks, slowing his pace slightly to accommodate her, her legs being shorter than his so her shorter strides made her fall behind. 

He had asked, a few times. But that was months ago when it was all still new. Plus— her answer had changed considerably since the last time he asked. 

“Hush, you,” She pushes his shoulder playfully, a soft melodic giggle following. Gale’s heart flutters. 

“Not to worry. We are remedying that from this day forward. By the time we’re done, you’ll never want to go back to Baldur’s Gate, I guarantee it.” He says proudly, a dash of hope in his eyes as he does. 

“I don’t know. Does Waterdeep get invaded by tentacled monsters and completely ravaged by cultists and corrupt politicians and their armies regularly? Might not be my speed,” she teases. 

“It is not without its strange happenings, I can assure you. Nothing quite so severe, I am regretful to say.” 

“A shame.” 

They smile at each other for the length of the lull in conversation, their banter bringing memories of their adventuring days back to the forefront. The gleam in Gale’s eye causes her to look away as if she’d looked at the sun for too long. 

After a beat, Gale continues. “But, there is nothing quite like witnessing the changing of the seasons in Waterdeep. I’m happy to provide that experience for you, at long last.” He replies, punctuating it with a wink. 

She rolls her eyes and bumps her shoulder to his, averting her gaze to the cobblestone beneath her feet as they continue to walk. “Thank you, for that, by the way. For… letting me stay with you. I know it’s not ideal. I’m sure you would’ve liked to enjoy some peace and quiet in your home after everything… and I don’t know if I have properly thanked you for allowing me to stay with you, so,” she rambles, the heat in her cheeks only increasing. 

He places a soothing hand on her arm, his fingertips featherlight as he slowly runs them along the length of her bicep before returning to his side. 

“After a year of complete solitude outside of my cat and hundreds of books whose pages I am all too familiar with, your company is more than wonderful and most welcome. No thanks necessary.” 

When she meets his eyes, the warm and mirthful smile that greets her nearly turns her legs to jelly, but she would happily melt under the sunshine that was his gaze. 

Before she can attempt to craft a response to him, a commotion is heard ahead, and both of their attention snaps to it.

A crowd has begun to form near the front of the nearby tavern, and not a single intelligible word could be made out of the raucous whooping within the crowd of presumably day drunk patrons and bystanders craning their necks to watch whatever was taking place at the center of it. She furrows her brows, shooting Gale an inquisitive glance.

She watches closely for a moment before she feels Gale’s guiding hand on her back, urging her to go in a different direction, any other direction. 

“Come, let’s push on. There is no shortage of drunken tomfoolery around here, it’s nothing to concern ourselves with. Besides, Tara will be waiting for us, and trust me when I say she is not the most pleasant when she’s been kept waiting,” he says, his voice low next to her ear. It was a throwaway excuse to pull her away from the ruckus and to safety to avoid potentially getting swept into a hysteria she needn’t get swept into. 

If her mind hadn’t been so preoccupied by whatever was happening in front of them, she’d have been blushing furiously at the position of his hand, just above the small of her back. Something to try not to think too much about later. 

Her eyes flick to him for an instant before she hears what sounded like a lyre being smashed against the side of the bricked building. Her head snaps in that direction, and the crowd parts in just the right way for her to see a young tiefling crumpled to the ground with his face in his hands, and an older human man above mocking him, gripping part of the smashed instrument in one of his fists. 

Her face twists to a deep grimace, and before she can stop herself her feet are carrying her forward, her pace quickening. Gale calls to her from behind, his voice distant and nearly inaudible over the loud pounding and drumming of her heart in her ears. 

The crowd has begun to disperse only slightly, but a handful of people still linger and are either cheering on the older man or encouraging the tiefling to stand and fight. The tiefling’s shoulders shake and tremble as he cowers away from the inebriated brute towering over him bellowing nonsense.

The man stands above what she can now see is merely a child, no older than thirteen, shouting taunts of profanity and cruelty that she tries her hardest to disregard before the lightning crackling in her palm can (very easily) send him onto his ass. 

She calms herself as she shoves her way through the crowd, taking a breath before she approaches the child and kneels before him.

“Hello,” she says, her voice soft so as to not startle him. She places a gentle hand on his arm, coaxing him into looking up at her. “Are you okay?” 

Before he can respond, the booming of the perpetrator’s slurred mockery echoing throughout the small alleyway interrupts them both. 

“Oi, missy! Careful, the little foulblood’ll snatch yer coin purse when ye ain’t lookin’!” 

The tiefling peers at her with desperate eyes, his flickering flame-like yellow irises beginning to gloss over again as new sobs begin to wrack through his fragile looking body. “I didn’t— I swear, I didn’t do a-anything!” 

She searches his face for any sign of deceit, noticing the faint scar that ran along his cheek from his eye to the corner of his lip that looked like it had only healed somewhat recently. His body language resembles that of a frightened pup in a cage and his tears seem genuine, so she offers him a reassuring smile. “I believe you.” 

“‘M talkin’ ta ye, missy! Ye got shit for manners too?” The man yells again, the sound of the broken instrument clattering to the ground following it. 

She continues to ignore him, entirely unfazed by his drunken tirade or his hulking size. She’d fought monsters far more intimidating in the last year, he would be quick work if it came to that. 

“‘Ye think yer too good fer ‘vryone, too good ta’ listen when a man talks ta’ ye.” He rants, her last few strings of patience beginning to wear dangerously thin.

“No, I just don’t care to listen to drunken oafs.” She retorts, her tone nonchalant and almost cocky in a way that sets the man over the edge.

The man launches into a blind rage, and she barely has a second to comprehend the situation before she hears a grunt of fury and large hands crash into the side of her body, surely bruising her ribs with the force it took to shove her to the ground, nearly knocking the breath from her lungs. She yelps as stone scrapes across her bare arm and the side of her head collides with the ground. The tiefling jumps backward and out of the line of fire of the older man’s warpath, eyes wide and boring into hers in terror. 

“Elara!” Gale calls out, pushing through the now dense crowd frantically. 

He finally makes it through, and the very second his eyes lock on her as she attempts to sit up, fire burns through his veins and concentrates at the center of his palm.

He notices a small trickle of blood running down the side of her face, one hand clutching her ribs as the other presses over the tender spot where her skull met stone. He’s at her side in an instant, gathering her up into his arms and holding on to her tightly. 

“Are you alright?” He asks her, his voice cracking with concern. 

She bristles, fury flaring within her. Before she can stop herself, her once brown eyes glow blue, the lightning coursing through her burning its way down to her palms. Gale’s eyes widened before scrambling to calm her before causing even more of a scene, despite her ire being well deserved on the drunken man’s end. 

“Not here, Elara. Let me handle this, please.” 

He places a hand on her cheek, his palm catching a drop of warm blood that makes his boil. 

After a moment of contemplation she nods, the anger still evident in her furrowed brow. She glances between him and the child backed against the wall, her main focus still on ensuring his safety. She motions to the child for him to stand with her, and Gale steps in front of them both protectively as he turns to face the drunkard. 

“‘S that yer boyfriend, eh, girly? Wanna know how it feels t’ be with a real man?” The man cackles, stumbling forward as he belly laughs at his own vile taunts. 

Gale’s own composure is slipping as he feels the heat from the fire itching at his fingertips as it begins to emit a faint and crackling orange glow. 

“It may be wise to walk away, friend.” Gale’s voice is threateningly calm, soft with a not-so-hidden edge to it. 

The man balks at the wizard, much smaller in stature than himself yet somehow still intimidating in nature. Likely more so intimidating once he realizes who he was up against. Not intimidating enough not to egg them on, however. 

The man’s yellowed teeth show in a crooked smile. “Aye… I know the two of ye. If it ain’t the cunt of Waterdeep and the so called Hero of Baldur’s Gate. Softened up since the squids left town, have ye?” 

Elara dashes forward before Gale’s arm comes out to stop her, magic surging between both of them like a thunderstorm brewing in the heavens. 

“Piss off, ugly. Lest you leave with a scorched hide.” Elara hisses, pushing against Gale’s arm that served as a barrier between them. 

“Didn’t think th’ mighty Hero of Baldur’s Gate wa’ just a common whore off th’ streets. Funny, that is, innit?” 

Gale’s shoulders tense and his jaw clenches, gritting his teeth to bite back the storm of curses burdening the tip of his tongue. “Walk away. Now.” 

His fingers twitch against the effort it takes not to hurl a fire bolt right at the bastard’s cocky face, but it seemed he wouldn’t have to as the man notices the faint glow of fire in Gale’s palm as well as the lightning crackling in Elara’s and begins to back away, apprehension etching into his weathered and sunburnt features, fear visible in his eyes. 

“You lot ‘re just as uppity as I thought ye’d be,” he mutters as he raises his hands in surrender, then quickly rounds the corner and dashes down the alley without another word, and the wizard relaxes his hand, dispelling the cantrip from his palm. 

The air is still crackling with tension as the three of them try to steady their breathing, Gale in particular finding it difficult as the sight of her on the ground and her sweet face that, prior to this entire encounter, had been adorned with a smile that could stop a charging Minotaur in its tracks, twisted in pain and a gash on her forehead. Not to mention the disgusting comment that foul—

Deep breaths. 

The crowd slowly begins to disperse, some eyeing the two wizards wearily as they begin to back away, some pointing at them and whispering to their counterparts, some recognizing them and some inquiring to who they were or what their significance was. 

Eventually they, too, depart, leaving only two of them and the tiefling who was still cowering behind Elara, gripping the back of her robes as if he would fall through a crack in the ground without her anchoring him. 

Gale spins around and cups Elara’s face gently, his umber eyes teeming with distress and a bit of anger as they scan her face for any further signs of injury or harm. Her eyes still glowed blue despite the situation stabilizing.

“Elara,” Gale whispers soothingly. “It’s over.” 

Her eyes meet his as she blinks a few times, until they return to their natural deep earthy tone, sparkling as water burgeons at the corners. 

Gods, she has the most beautiful eyes. 

“Are you well? Did he hurt you? Is your head okay?” He asks frantically, the words tumbling from his lips in rapid succession as he gently turns her head to check each side of her face. 

She swallows hard and tries not to get lost in the way his strong but elegant hands feel on her burning cheeks as he fusses over her, and places her hand over one of his in an attempt at calming his distraught babbling. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” she shushes him, placing her other hand on his arm. “Everything is fine.” 

Gale frowns. “It is most certainly not fine, you hit your head and you are bleeding. We should head back and clean that up, I’ll just run to the market tomorrow—”

“Gale.” She coos, cutting his rambling short. “You act as if you haven’t seen me in much more dire straits. I will live.” 

He stops, his entire body stilling and a heat creeping to his cheeks. Reality washes over him again as he blinks out of his worrisome daze, and realizes his hands still on her cheeks, and her hand over his— oh, hells, her hands are so soft, so warm— and slowly begins to pull away. She nods her head in the direction of the child attached to her hip, reminding him that they had company still. He takes a deep breath and glances around, likely looking to see if he catches a glimpse of that bastard and hoping that he was still within range for him to send a witch bolt his way. He’s unable to hide his disappointment when his search is fruitless. 

The child’s eyes widen when Gale turns once again to face them and sighs deeply, his shoulders sinking low when all of the air exits his lungs, his body seeming to shrink with his posture. He slams his eyes shut tight, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking slow and steady breaths to calm himself. 

“Mystra, give me strength.” He murmurs under his breath.

Elara ignores the disgruntled wizard at her side, leaning down slightly to be closer to the smaller tiefling’s height. 

Elara smiles reassuringly and places her hands on his shoulders. “I’m so sorry about that. Are you okay?” 

The child stares up at her, his eyes darting back and forth between her and the man brooding behind her. 

“He’s with me, it’s alright.” She says, making her best attempt at a soothing and calm tone despite her voice wavering. 

The tiefling’s eyes dart to the wreckage that is left of what was once his instrument, and his frown deepens. “My lyre…” 

She follows his gaze, wincing when she sees the extensive damage. She could tell instantly upon inspection even from a distance that there was no repairing it, and it would simply need to be replaced. She offers him a sympathetic smile and a pat on the shoulder. What was once what appeared to be a beautiful instrument, was now shattered into several jagged pieces, sprawling across the ground around them. She frowns, feeling regretful for its owner but also for herself— an echo of a memory from this morning when she heard her favorite song being strummed by it reverberating in her mind. 

“What’s your name?” She asks him. 

He bounces heel to toe, his hands behind his back timidly. His peach-tinted skin contrasts the dark mop of curls atop his head, with two small horns peeking out of them. He’s quite slender, but still has the tiny bit of pudge that a prepubescent child would have, his cheeks round and youthful. He reminds her of the kids from the Emerald Grove. She smiles sadly, hoping the ones that made it were doing well. 

“Dex.” He says meekly, his face downcast and defeated as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Dex. I’m Elara, and this—” she motions to the man behind her. “is Gale.”

Gale’s attention snaps to her at the sound of his own name, clearly having been mentally elsewhere during the entire exchange. He meets the uncertain gaze of the child, and bows slightly, offering a warm smile. Dex smiles back, a small chuckle leaving his lips at the gesture. 

“Thank you, for helping me. I’m s-sorry you got hurt,” he points to her bloodied forehead and forearm, reminding her of the stinging sensation biting at her nerves shallowly within her skin. Her head was pounding and throbbing, her vision not entirely steady, but she tries her best to disregard it for the moment.

“I think I’ll live. I’m sorry about your lyre.” She says, motioning to the scattered wooden debris and frayed strings. 

He shrugs. “I’ll live.” 

She chuckles, her smile widening. Gale watches her with this unfamiliar child that she had no real reason to be so kind to, other than just out of the boundless kindness of her heart, and feels that warm twinge in his chest he’d grown all too familiar with since she made her grand entrance in his life. He’d seen her with kids many times now, whether it was with the tieflings or with Yenna, but each time his heart skips several beats and the urge to whisk her away and kiss her on the stoop like he’d previously imagined becomes harder and harder to resist.

“Well, Dex. I think you’d best get going home. It’ll be dark before too long and I’m sure your parents will be worried. Hm?” She tries on her best schoolteacher voice, placing her hands on her hips. 

Dex sighs, his entire body shrinking at the mention of his parents. “I don’t want to go home without my lyre… they’ll be furious at me.”

She pauses for a moment, then shoots Gale a pleading glance, hoping he has any bright ideas that could magically fix everything for this poor child. She looked at him as if the child were a lost kitten that she was begging him to let her bring home. 

He looks toward the sky pensively for a moment, appearing as if he were doing calculations in his head, then wordlessly and effortlessly waves his hand in a flourish, whispering an incantation that reassembles the lyre with a purple hued fog of weave. 

Dex’s widened eyes sparkle with glee as each of the fractured pieces of the instrument rejoin as if they’d never been apart to begin with. The lyre floats toward the child, basked in violet and sapphire light, landing gently into his still shaky grasp. Gale smiles and nods at the boy as the light fades, his eyes gleaming with a hint of pride. 

“Weeping bleeding hells! How did you do that?!” He chirps, turning the lyre in his hands and inspecting each and every inch of it in search of any cracks or imperfections, then smiling a wide toothy grin, his pointed teeth peeking over his lips when there is not a single dent or scratch to be found. 

Gale chuckles, then pats the boy on the shoulder. “Stay out of trouble, young man. Hopefully next time we meet will be under better circumstances.” 

She turns to Gale, impressed. “You have got to teach me whatever the hell that was.”

The young tiefling glances back to Elara, the exuberant expression on his face contrasting the tear stains still present on his cheeks. Before she or Gale have any time to react, he throws his body between them, wrapping his tiny arms around the both of them as best as he could manage, and nuzzling his face into Elara’s arm. 

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” He says as he pulls away and turns to leave, glancing over his shoulder and waving to them one last time before scurrying off. 

She watches the boy disappear into the distance, skipping along the cobblestone streets with a childish glee that fills her with a wistful sensation— to be that young and for everything to be so new, for something as simple as a fixed lyre to make her completely forget any hurt or pain that had befallen her. She envies him, silently, as she watches him run home to his parents surely to regale everything that happened to him today, just as she wished she’d been able to every time something exciting happened to her during the day. 

Gale notices her sudden shift in demeanor, then places a hand placatingly on her uninjured arm. 

“Elara?” His voice is gentle and tepid. “Allow me to help you with this,” he says, motioning to the still bleeding cut on her head. “Let’s head back.” 

She sighs, turning to him but unable to muster a genuine smile, still taken by real memories and those that never came to pass. Her lips curl, but her eyes remain glossy and sullen. She nods, the motion small and nearly imperceptible. Without another word, they head back to the tower, her arm never leaving the comfort of Gale’s hand as they walk. 

Something so simple, something that could mean nothing. But to her, it meant everything. 

⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆

The scent of balsam and sandalwood fills the room as Gale’s adept fingers gently dab at the small cut on her forehead, his eyes narrowed and his brows knitted together in deep concentration.

He pestered her until he could coax her into sitting in her favorite spot on the chaise where he could tend to her, much to her protest.

Stubborn wizard, she grunted as he gently guided her to sit. He did not regard any of her disgruntled murmurs, nor her insistence that she was fine and not to worry. 

Just as she’d helped that boy on the street, he felt the least he could do is take gentle care of her the way she would anyone else. He recalled noticing her attempting to heal herself or patch her own wounds when no one was looking while they were on the road, before eventually having to ask Shadowheart for a quick healing spell, much to her dismay. Had she always had to pick herself up? Had no one ever swept in and dusted her off when she fell before? 

He would. From now forward. Even if it were something as small and simple as rubbing balsam on her wounds, however small, and wrapping it with the softest cloth he could find. He would be that for her. He would be anything for her, should she ask. 

It wasn’t lost on him how intimate of a gesture it was, to treat another’s wounds, either— he couldn’t deny that he simply just wanted to care for her in a way that felt deeper than just cooking for her and providing a bed for her to sleep in. 

“That was incredibly admirable of you, back there. Stepping in like that. That boy won’t soon forget what you’ve done for him.” He says, his tone reverent and almost thankful on the child’s behalf.

She smiles a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“Guess the hero gig is one I haven’t quite given up on,” she half-jokes. “He seemed like a sweet kid. And I would hope someone would do the same if it were me, in his shoes.” 

She says it, but she realizes that Gale sort of had done the same for her, many times— especially the way he stepped in and deescalated the situation today. The way he stood in front of them protectively, blocking them with his body as if he were willing and ready to take whatever blows were aimed at them in their place. 

“He’ll remember you, too,” she continues, her breath slightly catching as he rubs balsam on the still raw and tender spot just above her eyebrow, and wincing as the fabric of the cloth brushes against the raised skin. “You saved him twice, in a way. Saved him from a drunkard and an angry lecture from his parents.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head causing a stray strand of hair to fall into his eyes as he does. “I suppose so. You took care of all the heavy lifting, though. I just helped with the clean up.” 

She fights herself and her need to push that hair out of his eyes. Would that be too intimate? Would that push things too far? 

Her eyes lock on the strand as she speaks. “You did your own heavy lifting, for my sake. Thank you. For stepping in. And for this,” her eyes dart up to his wrist, just as he finishes. “Even though you didn’t have to.” 

He places the soiled cloth aside then sits back slightly, where he was still able to see every detail of her face as clearly as he could see his own in a mirror when he was close enough, and eyes her for a moment, a smile ghosting on the edges of his lips. 

“To do something for someone doesn’t always have to be borne of necessity or desire for reciprocity. I wanted to.” 

His face was so close, she could nearly feel his breath whispering across the flushed skin of her cheeks. She wants to say thank you again, but finds that every single word in her vocabulary has escaped her as she basks in this closeness and the way she can see the reflection of the flickering candle beside her in his dark eyes that still managed to seem so bright with the way they twinkled as he looked at her. 

“Can I ask you something?” He breaks the silence but not the tension as their gazes stay locked. 

She nods, dazed by the closeness, intoxicated by his presence.

“Back in the Shadow Cursed Lands… when you said that our relationship couldn’t go any further… did you mean that?”

She swallows hard despite her throat feeling dry, her entire body tensing at his questioning. The emotions of the day had fluctuated so immensely and the mention of the thing that had been weighing so heavily on her mind for so long only served to bid them to return in full force. A pit forms in her stomach and she feels the urge to retreat. 

“Gale...” She tries to maintain composure, despite her words wavering upon delivery. She offers Gale that same smile from before— the one that never quite reached her eyes. He frowns, but nods. 

“Understood.” He says simply, their faces still dangerously close.

“No, no— I don’t mean— I am just not sure if I have the proper words to convey to you. I—” He moves one hand to comfortingly cover hers as it rests on her knee, patting it gently.

“Perhaps it was too bold of a question after such a harrowing day. Disregard it.” 

The warmth of his hand and his words radiates throughout her entire body, down to her bones. She notices the strand is still hanging in front of his eyes. She doesn’t hold herself back from brushing it away this time, her fingertips lightly graze his forehead as she tucks it behind his ear. Her hand lingers near his face for a while, but not nearly long enough, before she drops it back to her side.

“What if I said no?” She utters fearfully, her voice betraying her and her moment of courage. “Does that change things?”

Gale balks at her, taken aback by the gesture and her words, quick flickers of shock, trepidation, then elation flashing across his expression. He smiles a smile that sends a shiver through her, his eyes dropping to her lips and the gap between them suddenly seeming so much smaller. 

Oh. 

It was getting smaller, as she realized that the magnetic pull between their lips was getting stronger as they both began to lean in, her body taking the reins as her mind tried to make sense of what was happening and determine if she were dreaming or not— had she hit her head hard enough to hallucinate?

“Mr. Dekarios?”

The sound of Tara’s voice calling from down the hall cuts the moment short, both of their heads snapping in the direction of the sudden intrusion. Gale sighs, his head falling in evident disappointment. He glances at her, her eyes wide and her cheeks a bright rosy red that makes his heart flutter. 

“Gods damn it... I should—”

“No worries, go ahead. I’m going to go rest, my head is killing me.” She waves him off, her voice strained and brimming with disappointment.

Gale stares at her for a moment, the desire to kiss her still lingering but ebbing as he sees her pulling away, suddenly feeling as though he’d done something terribly wrong. He opens his mouth to ask, but before he can she’s standing and quickly darting across the room and into the hall, stopping just at the doorway and peering at him over her shoulder. 

She sighs, placing a hand on the doorway and using it for support, her legs feeling as though they may give out on the spot. “Thank you, again.” 

He watches helplessly as she disappears into the hall and the sounds of her footsteps fade slowly, preceded by the sound of a  bedroom door clicking shut. His eyes pinch shut so tightly that he sees stars amidst the inky blackness behind them, and he sinks back into his chair, wishing a blackhole would form underneath him and swallow him.

He could conjure one, if he wanted to. 

He heavily considered it. 

“Mr. Dekarios, fix your posture! Your back already aches enough as it is,” Tara admonishes him as she strolls into the room, blissfully unaware of the havoc she’d just wreaked on his sanity. 

As per usual. 

⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆

There were a surprising amount of cracks in the ceiling above the bed in the room that she stayed in. 

Everything else in this tower seemed nearly pristine aside from appearing well lived in and well loved, Gale evidently cared greatly about his surroundings. The home was cluttered but organized to his exact liking, perfectly tidy apart from books and papers and scrolls strewn about but still cozy and comfortable. Anyone who entered would feel at home. 

She felt at home, more than she wanted to admit to herself. She tried to continue to remind herself that at some point she would have to leave and move on. But as she lay in this bed— this large, ever so comfortable bed— gaze trailing along the strangely cracked ceiling of her bedroom, she wondered what the ceiling of his bedroom looked like. 

She was certain there were no cracks in his bedroom ceiling. There couldn’t be. 

Today had been immensely overwhelming in terms of her feelings toward Gale that had once been burning embers and were now alight in full force— him having stoked the flames tenfold with his seemingly innocent touches and his ardent care for her that he put on full display multiple times throughout the day, all culminating in an almost-kiss. 

They almost kissed. He almost kissed her.

They were so close. She could still feel the heat of his breath against her cheeks and the skin on the back of her hand tingled with the sensation as if his hand remained there still, his thumb rubbing languid circles against her wrist.

In fact, every part of her skin that he’d touched today still felt as if it had been electrically charged, still buzzing and alight with energy that had nowhere to go. She missed the feeling of him already and it was only a mere whisper of a taste rather than an entire bite. 

It wasn’t entirely her fault, obviously, that it never came to pass— Tara had a way of having serendipitously terrible timing. She wasn’t always sure that Tara didn’t know exactly what she was doing, and she wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case this time. 

It was endearing, most of the time. 

But even if Tara hadn’t interrupted— would she have really kissed him? Would he have really kissed her? Or would some other force of nature and horrible timing pluck them out of each other's grasps yet again? 

She thinks maybe he would have. She hopes. 

Now, she’s not sure she’ll ever get the chance to. 

Guilt began to gnaw and claw at her insides furiously as she remembered the way she’d exited the study— hurried and curtly— and the way hurt and confusion etched into his features as he watched her leave.

She loved him. She knew that she did. There was no way around it. She loved him and it was killing her.

But something always stops her in the moments when she longs to tell him, to finally let him in.

It wasn’t that she was inexperienced in the romance department— she’d had a few partners here and there, nothing substantial and all quite short lived— and if she’s being honest, she had never felt strongly toward a single one of them. Most were kind, loving. She enjoyed their company. But she’d never felt comfortable enough to open up to another person and allow them to see the less than savory bits of her that she kept to herself.

And strangely enough, she felt very comfortable with Gale most of the time— she had to, during all those months traveling together. They all saw each other at their worst and lowest moments, but they supported each other through it all. Gale had been particularly helpful to her amidst her own personal struggles she faced in that time. He had been the closest to her, aside from Astarion and Shadowheart.

He’s an easy person to just exist with. That is, if you aren’t hopelessly enamored with him. 

Gods. 

She clenches her eyes shut and pinches the bridge of her nose— another habit of Gale’s that she’d picked up— wishing the large quilt and plush mattress beneath her would just swallow her. Just take her away from it all and save her from having to deal with the consequences of her own idiocy. 

Knock knock. 

“Elara?” 

The sound of Gale’s voice on the other side of her door lurches her from her thoughts and her body up from the mattress. She quickly hops off of the bed and approaches the door, her hand hovering shakily over the handle. 

“Yes?” She asks, turning her head so her voice appears further away than it actually was. 

She hears what sounds like feet shuffling aside from a brief pause, before hearing a long and defeated sigh. 

“Can we talk?” Is all he manages, dejection evident in his tone. 

She reaches for the handle again, turning it slowly and pulling the door just enough to see him through the crack. 

He looked the way he did when something was weighing heavily on his mind or vexing him— she could tell he’d been raking his fingers frantically through his hair as it was uncharacteristically messy and unkempt, his robes were nowhere to be seen, and he stood only in his white wrap shirt that was tied dangerously loosely and tucked into his breeches. 

Not now, brain. Not now. 

“Everything alright?” She asks, trying to hide the sound of her swallowing the massive lump in her throat. 

He shakes his head, placing his hand against the wood grain and gently pushing it, opening it further. 

“The very question I came to ask you,” he retorts. “May I?” 

She nods, backing away from the door to give him enough room to push it the rest of the way open, her heart thudding a million a minute.

He stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his expression nearly unreadable. For as expressive as his eyes were, she had such a hard time understanding him or trying to sort out what mental storm was brewing in his head sometimes.

“I could not bear resting my head upon my pillow and or fathom sleeping a wink tonight without knowing whether I’ve done something to upset you or not. If I crossed any lines today, please do tell me, and allow me to offer my most sincere of apologies for—”

What? 

“Gale—“ 

“—ever making you feel uncomfortable or uneasy in any way, I would never want to jeopardize the friendship that I feel we have formed over the course of this past year and—”

“Gale, hold on—”

“—if I’ve done something to potentially sour anything, just know it was never my intention—“ 

“Gale!” She raises her voice in a final attempt to catch the rambling wizard’s attention, crossing the space between them and placing her hands on his shoulders. 

He takes a deep breath, his shoulders tense and she can feel the way his body trembles slightly. 

“Relax, please. You haven’t done anything to make me uncomfortable. Ever.” She coos, rubbing circles with her thumb into his shoulder. 

A few days ago, a gesture like this would’ve made her entire being feel as though she were on fire— but after today, it felt right. After receiving such care and comfort from him, the least she felt she could do was to return it in kind. 

He stares at her incredulously, as if he simply just doesn’t believe a word she’s saying. 

“You don’t have to spare me, Elara. I saw that look in your eyes. I never want to make you feel that way, ever again.” His face softens as he speaks, the pain of potentially slighting her in some way weighing heavily on his chest. 

She blinks a few times, then that gnawing guilt returns with even sharper teeth, maybe some claws too. She pinches her eyes shut and releases a long breath from her nose. 

“You— you think I didn’t want to kiss you?” She murmurs under her breath.

“I feel as though I keep pushing you and all I’ve done is push you further away.” He responds, the hurt evident in his slightly quivering voice.

Her eyes had begun to burn at this point.

“Gale… it isn’t you. Truly,” she cringes at her own words, realizing how it sounded. “I just— there is a lot on my mind right now, and I don’t want to burden you with any of it. That’s all.”

It wasn’t a lie, at least not entirely. There was a lot on her mind— even if most of it pertained to a certain brown eyed wizard who happened to be standing in her doorway, looking like that. 

His eyes find hers in the dim candlelight, searching them for something, anything that could answer at least one of the myriad of questions he wanted to but couldn’t muster the nerve to ask.

The pale blue moonlight filters in through the large window on the other side of the room, almost haloing her and basking her in an ethereal glow. 

“It’s not a burden if it’s taken on willingly,” he contests, taking one tentative step toward her. “I care for you, Elara.”

If the room had been any quieter, she swears the sound of her heart booming through the smaller space would be deafening. “It’s not important. You have many other things to concern yourself with, I don’t expect you to—”

“The only thing concerning me presently is—” he pauses. You, is what he wants to say, but can’t seem to wrench it out of himself. “What is important to you is important to me. I meant it when I said that we work better as a team, you and I.” 

How this man has not been wed yet, is beyond madness to her.

“Gale…” it comes out more as a plea, as she feels her resolve to maintain composure weakening bit by bit as the conversation continues. She was exhausted, physically and mentally, and her heart had been through enough strain in one day. 

His shoulders sink. This was one of several attempts now that he’d made to break down the walls she had built up, and he was beginning to feel more like the villain rather than the hero coming to rescue the trapped maiden from her tower. 

“I do apologize. I fear I have overstepped once again. Here may be a good place to leave this conversation for now. I’ll let you rest.” He resigns, his words betraying the sullen expression he held. 

“Gale, no, I didn’t mean—” 

He holds his hand up to stop her. “It’s quite alright. Get some rest. Goodnight, Elara.” 

Before she can stop him, he turns to leave, pulling the door shut behind him. 

The room suddenly feels several degrees colder than it had prior to what had just occurred. She feels as though all of the oxygen had been sucked from her lungs and every bit of strength had been sapped from her body within a split second— emotional fortitude included, as tears that had been begging to be shed that she had been neglecting for longer than she could confidently say finally began to fall, slipping down her cheeks and wetting the collar of her night shirt. 

Her head falls back as she makes eye contact with the ceiling once again, gaze finding a large crack just above where she stood. It looked fresh, almost. Like it had occurred within the last day or so. 

She wondered if he noticed it while he stood in the doorway. 

She wondered if he was in his room, staring at the ceiling of his own bedroom. 

“Goodnight, Gale.” She whispers into the darkness of the night.

⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆

previous chapter ❥ next chapter (coming soon) ❥ masterlist

(lmk if you’d like to be tagged in the coming chapters :3)

[jo-harrington]

Unsolved (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Pairing: Kas(?)Eddie MunsonxSupernatural!Reader

Summary: It’s their job to meddle with the unknown, and it’s your job to fix it.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings/Themes: Supernatural experiences, unseen demonic entity, angst, fluff towards the end possible? Hurt/Comfort, Open-Ended Ending (ask me if I’ll come back to this in a year)

Note: OK this idea has been in my head for a while, but I had no motivation or vehicle to write it so thank you @bettyfrommars @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing for your Stranger Prompts event. Because I got to fuck around with this idea. No intention to make it longer than this but maybe someday; it was fun regardless.

So for your enjoyment, please enjoy my take on Prompt #13: You're switching stations on your radio when you pick up the signal of someone on a Walkie Talkie. They say they're in trouble and give their location.

You can find more on my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

Nighttime. Darkness.

"There is it, you ready?"

The spirit box oscillates through channels.

"Can you hear us? Kas?"

Garbled speech, the sound of wings, and then the shrill crescendo of a guitar.

"Of course they're up to no good, they're cultists."

The flashlights flicker, then die, and someone screams.

"Join us on the next part of our ongoing investigation into the question: are ghosts real?"

Hawkins, Indiana - October 2018

Your boots crunch on gravel and dead leaves as you step out of your car and take in your surroundings.

You’re in the middle of a country road, surrounded by a forest; you passed a vast cornfield just a few minutes ago, and you know instinctually that there’s another farm ahead. It's as unassuming as most of the midwest is.

You know better though.

You've been called here.

Not by phone or letter, but in the way dark calls to dark. Now that you’re here though, you yearn for a chance to taste it. To possess it.

You spend most of your days alone and in silence, as bleak of an existence as you'd ever heard, but it's safe and it's yours. Painfully lonely, hermit by chance, not necessarily by choice, but you know it’s for the best. Better lay low until something greater than you rips through the fabric of reality to demand your action, as it did the other day.

Your television had turned on of its own volition and you watched two idiotic and painfully mortal boys fuck with something beyond their understanding, as they disturbed something that was better left alone.

Hawkins.

You'd knew of it, heard of it. Knew to leave it alone.

Something had happened here, something forgotten. Forbidden. There were phantom scars in the earth itself, but the wounds that left those scars didn't exist. They never existed. It was almost like nothing ever happened, like someone turned back the clock to prevent said nothing from ever happening in the first place.

Idiots.

There were rules to those kinds of things. Even you didn’t know them all and you were most likely to die long before you could.

Fucking with time was a delicate practice, and if one wasn't careful, some things would inevitably get left behind. Like a child's chalk that got left between cracks in the sidewalk after an afternoon of play. Little remnants of times forgotten—times abandoned—meals left uneaten on tables, houses built on the graves of people who'd never even existed.

Vans left abandoned on the sides of roads by someone that seemingly never owned a van, and plates that had never been registered with the state of Indiana.

You'd watched the boys play with their little instruments, fuck with powers they didn't understand, and wake something that was meant to be dormant. As the episode ended with them leaving their broken toys behind and your television screen went dark, you felt the call to action.

The need to go and fix what had been disturbed.

The need to pull whatever darkness that bled through the curtain of reality into this world fully.

Just like you’d been pulled through once upon a time.

You’d been chosen for this for a reason.

What would await you this time?

"Alright," you mutter to your master, its presence simmering beneath the frequency of this reality to ensure you didn’t fail. "I'm here. Let's get this over with."

You don't have far to walk before you see the van, but suddenly your surroundings transition from the bright peak of afternoon to the hazy darkness of dusk.

It’s disturbing but these things happen the easiest under cover of night. So you’re grateful for whatever wicked curse hangs over these woods.

The mortal boys on the television arrived to their destination at night, so you'd only seen the vague idea of a van through their green glowing infrared recording, but in person it is much more unsettling.

It sits forgotten amongst a thicket of trees and aside from the places where Ryan and Shane disturbed it, nature has decided the hunkering beast of a vehicle belongs to it. Rust eats away at vulnerable corners, moss and leaves and a thick coating of pollen layer the body, and overgrown roots wind around the wind around the tires, rendering it inert.

A thick branch has pierced the windshield, and as you pace the perimeter of the van, you see it's impaled the drivers seat too.

You're about to reach out to touch it, almost compelled to, when your boot crunches on something.

Your eyes slide in their sockets languidly, down, until they hone in on the object of intrusion.

A radio.

"Spirit box," you whisper into the dead air.

You don't deny yourself the morbid curiosity; that's why you're there, right? To put an end to this so the disturbance is eliminated for good? So no one fucks with it again and makes it worse? You'd have to start in one way or another; it might as well be this way.

The plastic case is cracked from the boys desperate getaway, but as you fiddle with buttons and knobs, the LED screen turns on, and there is a startling crackle of static that shaves a year off your life.

“Shit,” you curse. You’re usually not this jumpy. But there is a heavy anticipation hanging around you.

Another button is pressed and the device begins its rapid-paced oscillation through one radio frequency to the next. You catch faint snippets of commercials and shock jocks and jingles, but nothing discernible.

"Is there anyone there?" you say aloud, parroting what you'd heard on the television, and you waited.

"Hey," comes the warped speech over the din of the channels flipping. You flinch and curse once more. You resolve not to show such weakness again. "Didn't...t'scare...you."

"You didn't scare me." It's true. Just startled. "There are far scarier things out there."

Your master is one of them.

"Monsters…here too.”

“I’m sure,” you mutter. "And where is that?"

No answer.

"Where are you?" you clarify.

"Upside." There's a pause and the spirit box warbles and crackles. "Down."

You think back to the Unsolved episode, the interviews, flashes of images as they explored around Hawkins, the spray painted side of a church: Cult of Kas. Lord of the uʍop ǝpᴉsd∩.

There is a brief triumphant feeling inside of you that you'd found the right spirit, the right moment. This will be over soon. There is a reason your master prefers you over the others.

"Are you Kas?" you continue, fueled by your hubris. "Kas? Do you know who that is?"

There's no answer, and that confidence disappears.

A name. Your master hisses right below your conscious thought. It's in a name.

You feel a sense of brief annoyance thrum through you now, either your master's annoyance with you, or yours with it. It's cloying, and you can feel it permeate from you like a death rattle as you continue your task.

"What's your name?"

There's a beat.

You wait.

It needs to work this time, otherwise you'll--

"Eddie."

Eddie?

"Eddie...Munson."

Just like the supposed owner of the van? The man that Ryan and Shane interviewed before their excursion to this cursed place. Surely not the 50-something tow truck driver that said vans weren’t his thing in the 80’s, that he only ever wanted a motorcycle.

There's an instinctual hitch in your brow as you contemplate the implications of an Eddie Munson here...and an Eddie Munson there.

Then again, you were someone somewhere at some point. Now you were here and you were somewhere else. And the you that you had been and the you that you were now coexisted beautifully.

That was your master's vision after all and, you assume, is the reason you've been led to Hawkins. History repeats itself. Like calls to like.

Suddenly there's a crackling, roaring crash that transcends every oscillating channel. It is the only broadcast now.

"Help, please help me." Eddie's plea is steady and clear. "It's here. It found me."

And you don't hesitate. Because those same words came from your mouth once, before you were saved.

The spirit box is forgotten but still clenched in your hand as you reach out and touch the branch that broke through the windshield, and from there, the cold metal of the van itself.

And you see.

A man and a monster, a rift, a creature. A bat, a bat, and a bite.

You see everything that never happened, happen. Everything done, then undone. You see the rift being created and this remnant—man and van alike—left over in a nether space that tied the two worlds together.

There’s a screech of a guitar over the spirit box now, different than the choppy messages or the fearful pleas that have come through already. It's a broadcast that steadily increases in speed and volume.

A rapid crescendo of fingers pounding on frets and plucking at strings. You can feel an ache in your teeth as if you were gritting yours together, and maybe you are as you try to hold on to an entire world that both existed in its own right and never existed at all.

Hold onto it. Open a door to it.

The van begins to burn.

The cold metal starts to glow--orange and hot like the flame of a candle--beneath your touch and slowly the glow spreads until the entire van is engulfed.

You hold on until you simply no longer can; where your control ends, your master's begins, and your visceral need to save this poor soul now becomes curiosity. What does this Eddie Munson that's about to emerge from the void look like? His name might not have been Kas...but was he a monster?

If he wasn't already, he'd be one soon enough.

The form of the van breaks and embers begin to flake off; the shape of this portal changes from a hulking thing to something much more refined. Legs and arms and wings.

Your heart stops in your chest with anticipation for a moment.

Would you have some glorious nightmare to ferry through a brave new world after all?

But soon the wings seem to burn away leaving nothing but the glowing form of a man and you try to stifle your disappointment.

Nothing fun ever happens to you.

This is the moment, you feel it linger and simmer just beneath the surface of reality. Your master and Eddie coming to a decision together, whether they realize it or not. It is a sight to behold and one you can barely remember when it happened to you, when you were given the choice to accept this fate or die.

You feel your hand instinctually crush the spirit box as the burning glow dissipates, the final connection to this displaced realm severed as a decision is made. As this being finally comes into being once again, as his hands continue to move up and down the strings of a guitar that is no longer strapped to him and would never be ever again.

He falls to his knees once the final bit of fire burn out, and once he realizes that he's alive, he pats his hands down his arms and legs and torso. He lifts his shirt and inspects swaths of skin, fingers scratching at, what you're sure are, phantom wounds.

"You're alright," you tell him and he startles as he notices you. "You're alright."

"What happened?" he asks rapidly. "O-one second I was, and then...Henderson..."

He frantically observes your surroundings, the trees, the leaves. It doesn’t seem like he knows what’s happened to him.

Interesting, you'd never seen that happen before. Even you had been painfully aware of your…departure. Arrival. Whatever it had been.

"Henderson! Dustin!" he yells as he tries to get to his feet, but his body is weak from being stuck in that perpetual time loop--an eternity that he's had to experience in the span of possibly a few minutes--and he falls to his knees again.

You hold your hands out to show that you mean him no harm and you close the distance. He is grateful to accept the help from you as he rests his weary form against yours, but he continues to asks questions.

"Where'd they go? Where are my friends? The bats? Vecna? Where are they? Where am I?"

"You're safe," you assure him. "For now, that's all that matters."

You try to keep him calm, try to answer his questions.

Fuck, but is he chatty though. This is the most you’ve interacted with another living being in a long time, the most you’d spoken in years.

You briefly consider killing him if he doesn't stop with his frantic whining and explanation of a Chrissy and a Hellfire and a Henderson. But then his hand clutches yours and there's a pause to your fragile patience and his frantic worry; there's a warmth that singes the lifelines as your palm rests against his.

No, he belongs here. With you? Possibly. For what, purpose? You cant be sure quite yet. All will be revealed in time.

The disturbance is resolved. But something still lingers, unsolved. Your master looms for reasons unknown, and the anticipation is unsettling.

You feel the shuddering breath shake through his form as he panics, finally feeling the external presence, but you calm him.

You school your face into the gentlest expression you can and he clutches your hand tightly, clinging to the comforting warmth.

"Eddie Munson." You try to smile and his eyes soften. "Welcome to the future."

Tagging @deathbecomesthem because this definitely falls in line with their Estate Sale fic, so if you enjoyed this, please go check that out as well.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Would Blanche let me give him head?

Tw: Well, blowjob, seggs, description of bullying, cum eating, violence

Short answer, Yes. Long answer:

You would have to win him over, though. He's ridiculously shy when it comes to anything outside platonic love and attraction. As charming as he is, Blanche actually never had anyone express genuine desire to bed him. He was by no means ugly, but his whimsy and quaintness made others label him as this unromancable, unfuckable weirdo.

Blanche is almost as if he has a built in magnet for bullies, the closest to a love confession that he got was when the people around him dared each other to ask him out, as a joke. It's funny to them because Blanche is not at all an eligible candidate as a bachelor. The idea of sleeping with him is humorous, hilarious, even. They weren't laughing anymore when all of them experienced the metallic taste of his brass knuckles driven deep into their skulls.

He experienced this treatment for the majority of his life, following him all the way to adulthood and even during his time living as a hermit in his cottage. They just can't fuck the old man and they kept tormenting him because of it.

He yearns to be the romantic gentleman he would see in love films, he yearns to be treated like someone valuable like a protagonist of a steamy romance novel. Alas, he was hurt and used for so long, that he blocked that longing out entirely from his mind, to save him from the unavoidable heartbreak. Unfortunately, even when he is expecting nothing, he still gets let down.

It's not a surprise that he's wary with the notion of romance and erotic attraction. It's already drilled into his being that he isn't desirable carnally. It's an automatic no to anyone who thinks it's a great idea to 'prank' him again.

But you... you're different. You're so special and so lovely to him. Bringing up the idea of sucking him off made Blanche freeze in place momentarily, letting all those horrible, horrible memories flood back in. However, he reminded himself that you wouldn't hurt him, you're his beloved friend. His only, one true friend. It should be okay, right?

He's apprehensive at first, but with enough patience and convincing, you could make him sit down at least. Blanche would drape his hair over the back of his chair, letting it pool on the floor. He would nervously bite on his thumb as you slowly unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers.

Blanche felt like his heart is about to beat out of his chest, how could it not? The only person he loves is on their knees at his crotch level, offering to do something so dirty, something unthinkable. Yet so... intimate.

You would stop when you saw him crying, eyes red and wet. His eyebrows would be knitted together and his lower lip trembles in anticipation. Upon asking what's wrong, he would break out into a sob, covering his shameful face with his hands. He would grow hot and his ears would resemble hot embers, he is so, so ashamed.

"I-I'm sorry, my darling. I'm just- I'm Just... embarrassed." And it was too overwhelming for him to see a growing bulge on his crotch, he had never felt this vulnerable before. Not even after being called all kinds of derogatory slurs by hundreds of people in real life and online. This is a different type of humiliation that somewhat felt nice, because it was with you.

He would draw in the sharpest gasp and widen his beautiful, deep blue eyes when you took him in your mouth. Swirl your tongue around his length, let it touch the back of your soft and slimy throat and enjoy the delicious whines, whimpers and mewls that would escape his mouth.

His moans would be like music to your ears, it's so pathetic and needy. Blanche would have his fingers tangled within your hair, not to force you against his length, but to try and slow you. You would bob your head up and down, occasionally catching a glimpse of his messy, teary face. It almost seems like he's in excruciating pain, but whenever you stopped to ask him if he's hurting,

"No! N-no, not at all. It felt so good, I-I can't describe it. It felt so good..." Drool would drip down from the corner as he watched you with a daze. He would let out a cry when you went back to mouthing his throbbing cock, leaked with excess amounts of precum.

Blanche would convulse as if you passed electricity through him, his eyes would roll back into his skull as he's overcome by immense bouts of forbidden pleasure. His fingers would grow weaker and weaker, at one point even slipping off your head and dangling limply on his sides. More tears, mucus and drool would streak down his once clean and dignified face.

At his climax, his entire body would contract and Blanche would let the loudest, most lewd, most improper moan rip out from his vocals. His copious amounts of cum would take you by surprise as it fills you up to the brim, it's so powerful that some would come out of your nose if you didn't open your throat properly before blowing him.

It will take him half a minute to unload everything, making a mess all over your neck, chest and floor. It would almost look like the bedroom is flooding with semen, some even got soaked up by his curly hair nearby.

It will take another few seconds to recuperate, slowly snapping out of this euphoric bliss that he experienced for the first time in his lonely, lonely life. You would be wiping your eyes to remove the cum that temporarily blinded you.

"O-oh! I'm truly sorry, darling..." He would lean forward, cupping your cheeks and helping you clean your face up from decades of pent up frustration and desperate yearning. "I'm so sorry... oh, look at you. I'm terribly sorry for this..." He would frown, now being brought to tears due to guilt. He would be flicking as much of his semen away from your face. Blanche noticed that you're still holding quite a substantial amount between your tongue and teeth, he would bring a cupped hand next to your chin, expecting you to spit it out.

"My dear, don't-" He would be wide eyed when you decided the remaining load in your mouth, grinning happily and even showing that there is nothing in your mouth. Blanche could only dream to have the tomatoes growing in his garden to be as scarlet as his face right now.

Because of his clean diet, his jizz actually tasted... nice? It's mildly sweet and has a very mild smell to it. It's smooth, creamy and generally pleasant to eat.

"You..." He would be at a loss of words as he processed what you did. Upon realizing what the implications are, that you have a part of him inside you willingly, and in unimaginable amounts too... His cock would find a new burst of energy to spurt one last load of cum, soiling his trousers, chair and your face again.

He would then cry out apologies before hastily wiping away more spunk away from your already painted countenance.

You had to assure him that you're okay, you enjoyed it too, only then he will let out a shaky sigh of relief before looking you with eyes filled with so much love and adoration. He quickly tucks his member back into his underwear and zipped it out of sight, before it could do further damage,

"Thank you, my love. Thank you..." He leans forward to press numerous kisses onto your face, initially not caring that he's also coating his lips with his spunk. Only when it seeped into his mouth did he cringe and shudder.

"Ah, icky." Blanche would laugh, and so would you. He nuzzles his nose against yours and continued giving you kisses while you kneel in front of him.

His eyes would land on the disaster that he created while ejaculating, darting from your drenched form to the floor, and to his soiled hair too. Blanche would nervously chuckle while trying his best to wipe your face using the napkin he tucks into his other breast pocket. "Yucky, yucky." He would mumble lightheartedly to himself while he stares at you with the brightest twinkle in his downturned eyes.

"You're such a blessing to me, I love you." He whispered, urging you to come and sit on his lap, despite knowing that he would get his cum onto his waistcoat too. He tries his best to clean you up, but it's already staining everything. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

He would love you up in his arms, showering you with praises and kisses for hours if you let him. You would be as giggly as him, as his fluttering lips would be ticklish. In the end, he would bury his face in your shoulder while he holds you close.

"I'm sorry I made such a mess. I got a bit too excited, y-you made me feel things I never felt before. It was... It was so good. I-I don't know what to say except thank you." He would murmur softly before you felt a certain dampness on your clothes, he's crying again.

"You're so good to me, my rose. You're my one and only, I love you." Blanche then presses a long, tender kiss on your lips. You close your eyes and he closes his teary ones, both of you melting into each other and enjoying the warmth.

He would slowly pull away and tenderly massage your jaw, it must have been straining when you did that for him. He isn't one to brag about his size, but he could clearly see that he was too big for you.

"I can't express enough how grateful I am. You're such a wonderful angel in my sad, sad life... How could I ever repay you, my love?" He caressed the side of your face, occasionally picking out hair that clung to your skin. "Would you like me to..." He trailed off, looking away embarrassed.

You got what he meant, you said yes. But only if he's comfortable with it.

"Of course, I am, my dear." He pressed his cheek against yours, hugging you as if you're his beloved stuffed toy. "But... I'm not, I don't- I don't have much experience doing such things."

He held your face and looked into your eyes, you could see uncertainty and nervousness swirling in those ocean blues.

"Will you teach me, darling? I would love to please you too. You have shown me a world that I couldn't even dream of experiencing. I am forever indebted to you and I-I'm having a hard time coming up with methods to show you my unyielding gratitude."

[lovinglokilaufeyson]

Love is a Dagger: Prologue

Pairings: Loki x Fem!Reader/Dagger

Warnings: Soft!Loki, Angst, Grieving, Bit of a Slow-Burn (at least for me), Loki is Definitely Pining.

Wordcount: 697

Summary: You’ve been mourning your love for several months now, when suddenly your daggers are attracted to someone new to the tower. The God of Mischief. 

A/N: This is definitely based upon the fact that Loki called love a dagger in the MCU Loki Series. In this series, Dagger has lost her love. However, something within her calls her to Loki. Definitely some plot holes from the comics (and the MCU), but if you don’t mind that, read on! 

Another day in the tower, waking up and missing your lost love. You dreamt of him frequently, each dream coming to a haunting, dreadful end as Cloak died in your arms every time. It had been a lonely few months. The Avengers had given you some sense of semblance, you had bonded a lot with Wanda, following the loss of her twin brother, Pietro. 

However, her newfound partner in crime, Vision, had distracted her slightly. Not that she didn’t allow for the once-in-a-while girls’s night, it just wasn’t very high on her priority list. The recent Stark vs. Cap debacle was notable, yet you hadn’t made an appearance at any of the fights. Despite their desperation, neither party thought it was fair to forcefully pull you out of your grief to fight. Especially given your distractibility during practice. You were a powerhouse when needed, but you were also constantly fighting as if you should have someone beside you: Cloak. 

You were at a deficit without him, after fighting alongside him for so long. There had been several times where you became sick from not utilizing your lifeforce enough during your practices. It would then shoot out of you at immense power, causing a terribly awful thunderous force to strike through the compound like an earthquake. Tony made sure it only happened once. 

You tried your best, afterwards, to train as much as you could, even without your teammates. Therefore, when the Avengers had left on their latest mission, you knew that you could get some amount of training in. You were using your daggers to assault targets, which you were slowly becoming better and better at. Several cold-shots later, your daggers stuttered to their determined fate, but veered ever so slightly off course. 

Your daggers oftentimes searched for Cloak, when he was alive, which is why you were alarmed when they steered off of their predetermined course. They only ever did that when looking for Cloak. Swiftly, you gathered your belongings, exiting the training room. You yearned to know who the daggers were searching for. You drove forward your hand, propelling a dagger from your finger. It accelerated slightly, swiftly forging around the next corner, toward the helipad. You had to quicken your steps in order to keep up. 

You rushed onto the helipad, where most of the Avengers were standing. “Y/N,” Tony spoke, “you’re just in time to meet-”

“Loki” the man spoke, as the weapon neared him. The dagger surged into an abdomen, one covered in the finest leathers you had ever encountered. “I’m so sorry” you spat out, though the dagger had not penetrated him damagingly. It had merely dissipated in green particles. “Don’t apologize, darling. That felt quite nice, actually.” He smirked, reaching for your hand. You felt an ache in your palm, your life force allured towards the man. He took your hand in his, placing a delicate kiss atop it, as more of your energy seemed to forge into him, though it took hardly any out of your reservoir. 

“You’re electric, darling. In good kind of way.” He winked, leaving you speechless as you stood on the helipad. You weren’t sure what to think. The only time that your daggers were ever able to empower anyone was with Cloak. 

While the rest of the Avengers had gone to celebrate their successful mission, you had become a hermit within your room, starkly uncertain of what to believe or think of this “Loki” character. 

Wanda approached your room near dinner, hoping - anticipating - that you would join them, as usual. “Y/N, dinner time!” She knocked. After a few moments with no response, she stated “please, just talk to me for a moment so I can know you’re alright? Or I can send Vis in!”

You opened the door moments later, met with the witch’s green eyes, which reminded you of the glimmering green magic you had seen from the handsome man earlier that day. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” Wanda pried, though you were resistant to her charms for the most part. “There’s just- there’s something wrong with Loki.” 

“How do you mean, dear?” 

“He can absorb my life force, just like Cloak could.”

>>> Chapter I

[ad-hawkeye]

Lovebrush Chronicles: Tarot Cards

So, me and a few others on the Lovebrush Chronicles Discord server were talking about tarot cards, and which ones would fit the main characters best. A huge thank you to the Lars and Clarence fans for spitballing ideas with me for them! Now, the alternate versions of the characters would have different tarots than their modern versions, so for the sake of this post, I'll be focusing on their modern versions, and the general ideas behind all of their alternate selves.

Ayn Alwyn: Death

UPRIGHT: end of cycle, beginnings, change, metamorphosis REVERSED: fear of change, holding on, stagnation, decay

There are three tarot cards that deal with the idea of change. The one I felt fit Ayn the most was the Death tarot. Ayn finds it hard to let go of his past - all versions of him. So, while Ayn is often forced into life changing situations, it's at a great expense. He has to let go of his past, his walls, and his routine to move on.

Alkaid McGrath: The Fool

UPRIGHT: beginnings, innocence, spontaneity, a free spirit REVERSED: holding back, recklessness, risk-taking

Alkaid also has one of the tarot cards representative of change: The Fool. While the other cards signify great difficulty or strife in achieving this change, The Fool tells of someone who willingly jumps head first into the unknown with an open mind. Alkaid yearns to see the world, and to push his limits, even at great risk.

Lars Rorschach: The Sun

UPRIGHT: joy, success, celebration, positivity REVERSED: negativity, depression, sadness

The Sun tarot is one of connecting with your inner child. It is one of optimism and positivity. Lars is a character who has worked long and hard to get where he's at. He's never had the chance to let loose and be himself until finding success. While he is a realist who is well aware of the bad in the world, he finds joy in the little things he never got to do in his youth.

Clarence Clayden: The Hierophant

UPRIGHT: tradition, conformity, morality, ethics REVERSED: rebellion, subversiveness, new approaches

The Hierophant represents an established set of rules and values. As a law student, Clarence seeks to use these established systems to one day make the world a better place. However, not all good can be achieved under these restrictions. Clarence is willing to go against the grain if he believes it is for a good cause.

Cael Anselm: The Moon

UPRIGHT: unconscious, illusions, intuition REVERSED: confusion, fear, repressed emotion

While The High Priestess is a card of spiritual enlightenment, The Moon is a card of emotional enlightenment. It is also a card of illusion. Cael is initially an incredibly deceptive character; he is not what he seems. Likewise, the same could be said for his emotions as he navigates his repressed feelings for the Little Painter.

Little Painter: The Hermit

UPRIGHT: contemplation, search for truth, inner guidance REVERSED: loneliness, isolation, lost your way

And finally, we get to our main character, the Little Painter. The Hermit indicates a search for answers; The Little Painter discovers a lot about herself and her past, as well as the nature of the universe and her role in it. She seeks the truth in each world, despite the loneliness her knowledge and position impose upon her.

[mochiwrites]

I know u said u weren’t sure about including life series since angst and all, but let’s just think of it like silly fun lil games no watchers just Extreme Roleplay and none of the forgetting stuff.

3rd life happens and THATS what convinces the hermits that scarian are horrendously down bad for each other and just physically incapable of flirting in a normal way, — even though the whole monopoly mountain thing is purely because scarian are both over the top dramatic little bastards /pos — so they start trying to brainstorm ways to knock their heads together and get them to confess because “we’ll be in season 30 before those two idiots even try to confess to each other, we must intervene so we can stop watching their painfully obvious yearning”.

And they are just soooooo so so so wrong about everything lmaoo.

a good point has been raised 👀

I think I’m looking at the life series as like… psychologically, this has weight on all of them, right? whether the watchers were involved or not, there’s still some… repercussions that would follow the games in terms of mental states etc etc (you’ve unlocked the psych minor, I’m so sorry for the rambling that’s about to occur)

from like, an in world stand point, the hermits (and empires peeps) are used to living in a world with limitless respawns, right? so now you take those players, and chuck them into a world where hey. your lives aren’t limitless. your deaths have meaning now, so you have to make the most of every life while you can. that alone is going to be something pretty jarring. going from a world where death is something to be shrugged out to a world where you could be permanently taken out by someone you consider a friend? eesh

even from a roleplay stand point (coming from someone who Has done a fan version life game before), the roleplay aspect will still impact them. those deaths and betrayals are still going to leave a mark. and what happens in the games will follow back home. there’s still a very real weight being put on all of them and it’ll be affecting them psychologically

and esp for scar and grian… the life games would be very, very hard on them. the trauma Would still be there to a degree, roleplay or not y’know?

now don’t get me wrong I love the image of these two being dramatic little shits with monopoly mountain LMAO. because it’s very them! but from a narrative standpoint, and as a writer who very carefully considers the emotional impact of something that life altering… I’m leaning toward it just not existing in this universe. at MOST maybe third life, because damn I do love me a pair of husbands trying to conquer the world together WHEEZE

long rambling aside, yeah. yeah the hermits are doing their best but they are so incorrect DBFBFHRGRG

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

OCs as Kinds of Suffering

tagged by: @jackiesarch @theelderhazelnut @shellibisshe @adelaidedrubman @marivenah @corvosattano (thank you all so much <3)

uquiz here

Despair

The tunnel never had a light. You wish for nothing because you know you'll receive nothing, and your hopes died out long ago. The only thing that keeps you going is the thrill of emptiness you feel when things don't turn out your way. It's bitter. It's proof. Proof that you don't feel this way for nothing.

*thanks daddy cross for instilling this mindset in the poor woman. man has a lot to answer for when it comes to her

Yearning

The pain in your chest bubbles knowing that what you want may never be yours. You're lost in a fantasy world, or consumed by what you wish you were or had as opposed to what you do. It's hard to appreciate what's around you when you're appreciating the hope of what could be instead.

*that hope that maybe one day there might be some peace and she can step away from the constant fighting, or she'll just end up in a grave with nothing to her name but a rank and some dog tags

The Giver

Your energy depletes as you hand it out to anyone passing by your basket. People walk by and take, but no one ever leaves. You're constantly running on low when people keep asking you to give. You'd give your soul away for free, and then what left do you have of yourself if you can't say no?

giving herself away to help everyone constantly despite wanting to be a hermit and be left alone. giving her soul away...oof yeah shout out to the d&d backstory

tag game list here to be added/removed

tagging: @scentedcandleibex @thedeadthree @gibson-girlboss @g0dspeeed @strafethesesinners @confidentandgood @harmonyowl @mccarthycormac @carlosoliveiraa @florbelles @josephseedismyfather @inafieldofdaisies @cassietrn @madparadoxum @simplegenius042 @kirjanikv6ilill @v0idbuggy @mxanigel @pathologictwo @purplehairsecretlair @fourlittleseedlings @clicheantagonist @ladyoriza @direwombat @strangefable @voidika @nightbloodbix @poetikat @roofgeese @kyber-infinitygems

[princess-sof-time]

I wanna request headcanons for Yuk,Kyo and Momiji sohma with a s/o who know much about the mystic/sobrenatural side of Japan (like ancient Legends and myths,rituales and spirits/yokai and kami,haunted places and rituals/) and it's conscious about the zodica say this "when all the zodiac,Even the cat,the rat and the god are together at the same time the cycle finished", please

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ──────

🅈🅄🄺🄸 🅂🄾🄷🄼🄰

• Yuki Sohma, initially captivated by his S/O's profound knowledge of Japanese folklore and the supernatural, finds himself delving into a world that he had only scratched the surface of before. Their ability to provide historical context and explain the significance of rituals, legends, spirits, and yokai enthralls him, igniting a deep intellectual curiosity within him.

• Engaging in conversations with his S/O about ancient myths and legends brings Yuki immense joy. Together, they immerse themselves in the symbolic meanings behind different spirits and yokai, weaving connections between these entities and their own experiences within the Sohma family. Through their discussions, they gain a deeper understanding of themselves and their shared connection to the supernatural realm.

• When Yuki's S/O introduces the concept of the completion of the zodiac cycle and the potential end of the curse, Yuki's mind is set ablaze with introspection. He starts questioning the origins of the curse, searching for answers to the mysteries that have entrapped him and his fellow zodiac members for far too long. His desire to find a way to liberate themselves from the eternal cycle intensifies.

• Yuki and his S/O embark on a dedicated journey of extensive research, immersing themselves in ancient texts and seeking out individuals who possess specialized knowledge in the supernatural realm. They become avid scholars of Japanese folklore, exploring different avenues of study and unearthing hidden knowledge. Their shared dedication to unraveling the secrets of the curse becomes the driving force behind their research.

• As Yuki delves deeper into the supernatural world, he begins to question the very fabric of his existence. He yearns for freedom from the eternal cycle and actively seeks ways to break the curse that has bound him for so long. His S/O becomes his partner in this quest, offering unwavering support and motivation.

• Their research takes them to the far reaches of ancient texts, unearthing forgotten rituals, and seeking out individuals who possess specialized knowledge. They meet wise elders, encounter reclusive hermits, and engage in profound discussions with fellow enthusiasts of the supernatural. Each encounter brings them closer to uncovering the secrets that may hold the key to breaking the curse.

• Through their shared dedication and thirst for knowledge, Yuki and his S/O forge a deep bond. Their research not only fuels their intellectual pursuits but also strengthens their emotional connection. Together, they navigate the intricate web of Japanese folklore, uncovering hidden truths and gaining insights into the very essence of their existence.

• As they continue their journey, Yuki's perspectives shift, and he becomes more attuned to the supernatural world that surrounds him. He discovers the interconnectedness between folklore, history, and his own life, realizing that the answers he seeks may lie in the depths of ancient legends.

• Ultimately, Yuki's pursuit of breaking the curse becomes intertwined with his own personal growth. His S/O's extensive knowledge and their shared research empower him to challenge the constraints of his fate and explore the possibilities of a different future. Together, they strive to find a way to break free from the eternal cycle, embarking on a path that will test their resolve and unravel the secrets of the zodiac curse.

🄺🅈🄾 🅂🄾🄷🄼🄰

• Kyo Sohma, known for his initial skepticism towards the supernatural world, finds himself gradually drawn into the fascinating realm of ancient legends and haunted places through his S/O's extensive knowledge. As he spends more time with them, witnessing their encounters with spirits and yokai, Kyo's curiosity is awakened, urge him to explore the unknown.

• At first, Kyo may have dismissed supernatural phenomena as mere myths and tales. However, his S/O's ability to bring these stories to life through vivid descriptions and personal experiences captivates him. He finds himself listening intently, intrigued by the eerie and captivating nature of their narratives. Slowly but surely, Kyo starts to develop a deep fascination for the intricacies of Japanese folklore.

• While Kyo may have been skeptical about the zodiac curse initially, his S/O's knowledge enlightens him to a connection he hadn't considered before. Their understanding of the zodiac cycle and their theory that the curse could potentially be broken through the completion of the zodiac cycle piques Kyo's interest. He starts to contemplate the possibility of finding a way to free himself and the other zodiac members from their eternal curse.

• In the company of his S/O, Kyo embarks on thrilling adventures, venturing into haunted places and seeking out locations associated with spirits and yokai. The adrenaline of facing supernatural encounters together strengthens their bond, and they provide unwavering support to one another. Kyo learns to face his fears, finding solace and courage in the presence of his S/O.

• As Kyo delves deeper into the supernatural world, he begins to appreciate its hidden beauty and complexity. He sees beyond the surface of legends and myths, recognizing the rich cultural heritage that lies within. His perspective on the supernatural shifts, and he discovers that there is more to it than he had ever imagined.

• Together with his S/O, Kyo immerses himself in the exploration of Japanese folklore. They seek out ancient texts, conduct research, and engage with knowledgeable individuals who can provide insights into the mysteries they encounter. Through their shared adventures and discussions, Kyo's understanding and appreciation for the supernatural deepen, enriching his own personal growth.

• As their journey continues, Kyo and his S/O uncover hidden truths and untold stories, piecing together fragments of knowledge that may hold the key to breaking the zodiac curse. They draw strength from their shared passion and determination, continuously pushing the boundaries of what they believe to be possible.

• In the end, Kyo's initial skepticism transforms into a genuine admiration for the supernatural world. He becomes an eager participant in unraveling its mysteries, and his S/O's influence plays a significant role in this transformation. Together, they forge a unique bond, unearthing the secrets of ancient legends and haunted places while embarking on a path towards breaking the zodiac curse.

🄼🄾🄼🄸🄹🄸 🅂🄾🄷🄼🄰

• Momiji Sohma, upon meeting someone who shares his passion for the supernatural, is filled with overwhelming joy. He hangs onto every word his S/O says about ancient legends, rituals, haunted places, and yokai, absorbing their extensive knowledge and being captivated by their firsthand encounters. Their shared enthusiasm fuels his excitement, and he eagerly contributes his own stories and experiences to the mix, eager to share in the wonder of the supernatural realm.

• For Momiji, exploring haunted places and embarking on adventures with his S/O is an experience filled with exhilaration and delight. The thrill of encountering spirits and yokai fills him with a sense of wonder and adventure. He deeply cherishes his S/O's ability to bring the supernatural to life through detailed explanations and their profound understanding of Japanese folklore. Together, they create a vibrant tapestry of shared experiences, their passion for the supernatural drawing them closer.

• When his S/O introduces the concept of the completion of the zodiac cycle and the potential end of the curse, Momiji's heart swells with hope. The mere thought that there might be a way to break the curse and liberate himself and his fellow zodiac members from the eternal cycle fills him with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. He clings to this belief, nurturing it with unwavering optimism.

• Momiji and his S/O find themselves completely immersed in research and discussions about different legends, myths, and rituals. Their shared curiosity propels them to seek out clues, hidden knowledge, and individuals who possess specialized expertise in the supernatural realm. They explore dusty libraries, consult ancient texts, and venture into remote places in search of elusive answers. Their shared passion for the supernatural deepens their bond, as they become each other's pillars of support, constantly encouraging and motivating one another.

• As they lose themselves in their shared quest for knowledge, Momiji and his S/O uncover fragments of forgotten wisdom and connect the dots between various supernatural phenomena. They engage in deep discussions, weaving together different threads of folklore and mythology to unlock the secrets that may hold the key to breaking the curse. Their research becomes a captivating journey of discovery, strengthened by their unwavering determination to find a solution.

• Throughout their shared exploration, Momiji's perspective expands, and he begins to view the supernatural realm not only as a source of wonder but also as a realm of possibilities. He realizes that the answers they seek might lie in the very fabric of Japanese folklore, waiting to be unveiled. Their shared passion and dedication infuse their journey with an unbreakable bond, as they support and uplift each other through every challenge they encounter.

• Ultimately, Momiji's journey of discovery and hope becomes interwoven with his personal growth. His S/O's extensive knowledge and their shared research empower him to believe in the possibility of breaking free from the eternal cycle. Together, they become catalysts for change, fueling each other's determination to uncover the secrets of the curse and find a way to shape their own destiny.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ──────

[dougielombax]

Needlessly philosophical airport security questionnaire.

Idk

Something like this:

“Is your flight for business or leisure purposes?”

“Have you flown with this airline before?”

“When was the last time you renewed your passport?”

“Have you ever been placed on a watch list by any law enforcement, security or intelligence agencies.”

“Do you know who you are?”

“Are you who you say you are?”

“Are you lying to us?”

“Have you lied to us?”

“WILL you lie to us?”

“WHEN will you lie to us?”

“WHY will you lie to us?”

“Why DID you lie to us?”

“Are you a liar?”

“Why are you a liar?”

“Are you a good man?”

“Does the sum of your lived experience outshine that of the lowest downtrodden beggar?”

“Have you ever felt a desire to flee?”

“What is your existence?”

“Do you claim to know more than you actually do? Are you aware of that which you don’t?”

“Have you been barred from visiting any particular countries or locations at any point between the past ten years and today?”

“Are you aware of why you are currently being questioned?”

“Are you aware?”

“Are you?”

“Is anything mankind ever says or does truly unnatural in any way?”

“How often do you fly or otherwise travel abroad on a regular basis?”

“Do you accept this impermanence?”

“Were you ever marked as being a potential flight risk at any point in the past or before now?”

“Have you engaged in any forms of smuggling, trafficking or fraud?”

“Are you or have you been affiliated with any known extremist or terrorist groups?”

“Have you ever now or at any other point felt a vague sense of ennui accompanied by a feeling of indescribable yearning for a past that is no longer, accompanied by a sensation of melancholic unfulfillable longing?”

“Have you ever recognised your own capacity for great evil, but also for good? If not either?”

“Have you ever made this face. >:{“

“Do you have any disabilities, allergies, disorders or health conditions?”

“Have you ever felt a desire to renounce the wider world and live a life away from society as a wild man or a hermit?”

“Do you understand the difference between the known truth, the ecstatic truth, and the subjective truth?”

“Why do we die?”

“Are you subscribed to any frequent-flyer packages?”

“How many times would you say a man dies? And when is he truly, finally dead?”

“What is the present?”

“Do you have any dual citizenship?”

“Have you been to this airport before or not?”

“Have you ever been questioned at an airport before now?”

“What was the last airline you flew with?”

“Could there ever be anything greater or lesser than this?”

Idk.

It sounds funny to me at least.

[kiivg]

tell me more about your tav??

.I’m so glad you asked 😘💕, I started fleshing out his backstory a while ago to give him more flavour and more reasoning behind his actions and abilities. And in doing that I half made up the idea of him being an NPC and what his major questline would be (considering I do like having both a Tav and Durge). Since I’m out there solving everyone elses’ problems I could at least have my own, or you know, give Tristan his own.

.Tristan, in his own right, is a bard, he went to bard college (Faerun has those right?) and spent a bit of time as a clown, mostly because it was fun for him and there were many happy parents who were… accommodating, shall we say, moving beyond that after a somewhat disparaging breakup with another bard (whomst he would later return to in Baldur’s Gate as a little cosy scene), he left and went adventuring, leaving his clowning days behind and stepping up as a more vulgar jester. Entertaining his audiences dressed in nothing but painted flesh and beguiling quips, and perhaps becoming far too acquainted with fleeing in the early morning hours to avoid angry spouses. Paint on the bedsheets was an easy tell on exactly who had spent the night there.

.His backstory, beyond his own, is that his Great Grandmother travelled to Thay to sate her appetite for necromancy, she wanted power beyond what she had, being something of an exceptional wizard, but not too exceptional that she could ever be considered the best in anything. There she met Buthek Maszim, a man eager to reach pure lichdom, and she was more than eager to help him for a fraction of his power. Or, so she said to him. In truth she wanted the power of a lich without becoming one herself, she was a wood elf after all, and her life would be long regardless. Buthek, however was only human, and his measly 80 or so years would not be enough for him. During the ritual, she sabotaged Buthek, halting the process and stopping him from obtaining what he had worked so hard for, and stole away parts of his body, hoping instead to command him at her will. His bones were forged into a grand flute that would serve as his phylactery and leash.

.A flute that didn’t actually work as intended. The great grandmother left Thay after the debacle, pregnant, lacking the lich power she desired, and unwilling to admit to her mistakes. She returned home and raised her daughter there. Not exactly giving up on her dream of power, but keeping it all hidden from the rest of her kin. Centuries passed, her daughter had a daughter, and Tristan was eventually born. A baby boy would looked so remarkably half-elven than many questioned who his father actually was. Granted he uses this to his advantage in the future, nobody really thinks he’s a true wood elf outside of his home, and he’s flippant enough to just relax into it. He doesn’t have the stigma of being a forest-dwelling hermit in the cities he yearns to explore, and half-elves, well, they’re easy, aren’t they? And Tristan is so very very easy.

.Now, he left home on his 100th birthday, stealing away into the night to pursue his bardic ambitions, giving himself the name Tristan Yarrow, and taking with him the ancestral flute of his family, amongst other things. The one the nobody knew was made from the bones of a lich in stasis. It’s harmless, right? Right? I mean, he thought so, he didn’t know, he doesn’t know (at least until Act 3) that he’s been carrying around a lich phylactery this entire time, he doesn’t know that every death that was even minutely graced by his music had it’s soul stolen and fed into the ever-waiting ever-strengthening arms of Buthek Maszim. A man biding his time until he could take over Tristan’s body, one half tainted by his own magic, and could finally achieve true lichdom.

.Of course there’s three endings to Tristan’s final quest, one good, one bad, and one considerably worse than bad. But that’s a whole other story.

.On a side note, idk anything about dnd elf names so… for now, him baby 🥰💕.

[dailycharacteroption]

Horizon Walker (Pathfinder Second Edition Archetype)

(art by amirzand on DeviantArt)

It’s been a while, but we’ve come back to another “Former 1E prestige class turned 2E archetype”!

This time, we’re dealing with the horizon walker, a specialist in traversing all manner of terrain, a legendary figure that is home anywhere they go, and able to lead others with a certainty that can rarely be matched. Theirs is a true bond with the land.

Of course, we can’t bring up a holdover from 1E without comparing the two, so let’s get that out of the way.

The former horizon walker was very much an expansion of the favored terrain mechanics of the ranger taken to the extreme with even supernatural abilities becoming available, particularly if the favored terrains were themselves supernatural, such as planar landscapes.

This new version, however, doesn’t really feature access to planar terrain, and any supernatural abilities they might have had are more generalized, useful minor spells for traversing and surviving in the wild. Instead, their abilities are more specific to surviving and guiding others through the wild, though they do get some combat tricks too.

The good news, however, is that unlike the former version, the horizon walker is available and useful to all classes. If you yearn to play a Gandalf-esque wandering wizard that has been everywhere and seen everything, this archetype could be what you need. Or perhaps you’re a hermit monk or psychic that lives alone in the wilds seeking enlightenment, or something more expected like a ranger, fighter, or barbarian. All are possible. That being said, ranger has the natural advantage because of how the wild stride class feature interacts with the dedication, something other classes will need to take one of the horizon walker feats later for.

No matter what your starting class is, however, horizon walkers represent an utter mastery and bond with the land unmatched by others, and they may indeed be local legends or just someone that everyone in a vast area knows.

The core dedication of horizon walkers gives them mastery over a terrain of their choice, making them swifter in it and able to move and guide others without being hindered by the terrain. Additionally, if they possess the wild stride ability, they gain additional benefits, which range from resistance to the extreme temperatures to gaining new movement types with greater speed.

Horizon Walkers learn to acclimatize themselves to the terrain, becoming resistant to the local environmental hazards and ignoring the extremes of temperature. What’s more, they can coach others to do the same.

Many also make a mental map of their surroundings constantly, and are able to use it to remember good distraction points and hiding spots in a moment’s notice.

Tricky terrain and the properties of such are important things to understand for these wanderers, and they do, being less likely to slip on ice, or flounder in water, or grab a loose handhold when climbing.

True to their nature, these travelers make excellent scouts, and can do so even when doing other activities as they travel, being keen to notice anything out of place in their favored terrain.

Of course, the horizon walker isn’t just all scouting and wandering. Some apply their familiarity with the world around them to better fight foes that they cannot effectively perceive.

Many also pick up magical tricks for emergencies, namely giving themselves darkvision, the ability to climb any surface, and breathe underwater.

While at first they only master one terrain, true masters learn to take the time to absorb as much information about the terrain as possible and master a new terrain for as long as they remain in it.

Most also learn not just to guide allies in traversing in the wilderness, but also to do so stealthily, avoiding the notice of prying eyes.

Finally, those that do not learn to do so with ranger training can learn to better avoid difficult terrain in their favored environment, as well as synergize with the dedication feat to gain additional benefits.

The end result is an archetype that provides lots of passive effects to others during travel as well as ways of dealing with difficult terrain. It’s not exactly riveting from a combat perspective, it does provide a way to deal with most natural terrain hazards on the road or in combat, which plenty of allies will appreciate, but if their later abilities don’t excite you, you don’t have to take them to get the most out of the archetype.

To be a horizon walker is to spend a lot of time alone. While some may be very lonely, others may thrive in solitude, while others find companionship in the local fauna, peoples, and even monsters that they meet on their travels. As such there’s a lot of ways to portray them in your games, but it can be assumed that they are very worldly, knowing a lot about the land and the people.

Though their sacred duty ended long before the modern age, many amurrun stay true to their ancestries sacred charge of hunting threats to nature and reality. Such catfolk wander the world in search of such threats, such as Kovas Clever-Ears, a horizon-walker and swashbuckling fencer. He goes where he is needed, but isn’t afraid to recruit a few locals or other wanderers when the need arises.

Those that travel underground into the Drowned Paths had best do so with a very good guide who knows the passages like the back of their hands, for the tunnels are infested with oozes that thrive in the damp environment. Those that do not often suffer the indignity of death at the hands of lesser oozes like the swarms of lesser amoeba down there.

Once a sacred forest, the Ashlands are a desert not of sand or permafrost, but of the ashes of its once great magnificence, unable to disperse due to the sheer volume and some quirk of the tragedy. It is a place haunted by undead dryads and treants, as well as spectral scenes that few can navigate, but the Ashwalker defies that, leading the foolish to their destinations.