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entishramblings · 3 months

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Haunting Me

[Legolas/F!Reader]

A.N: I have been struggling to write (like usual), so I figured I would whip out a no pressure Legolas fic. ANYWAYS, I strangely loved writing this!!! Thanks for the request XOXO

Request: @goose-gremlin — “Could you maybe do a Legolas x Reader on their period?”

Pairing: Legolas X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Reader is a member of Greenwood's Guard and is struggling with menstrual/period pain. Legolas takes care of her.

Disclaimer: I don't know elvish. I use the gracious elvish dictionary. Sue me lol

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: blood, menstruation/period, pain, PMS, slight nakedness (not anything spicy you filthy fools), fluff, sweet precious elf boy

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

(Y/N)’s nose twitched, the pungent, musty scent of the incoming vile beasts invaded the fresh earthy tones of the Greenwood forest. Her keen ears picked up on subtle scurrying, the sound carried by the drift of the soft wind. Her jaw clenched and her fingers adjusted the grasp of her sword as she felt the aura of the trees shift—a surge of adrenaline fueling her anxiety, worsening the pain in her abdomen. Briefly locking eyes with the other elves in her sector, spread among the trees alert and ready, she knew their moment of action was imminent.

(Y/N) summoned the little energy she had through a deep inhale, praying to the Valar that these spiders wouldn't be in such a frenzied state. Because, if so, fuck that. For at the present moment in time, she really didn't have the capacity to deal with that absolute, motherfucking horseshit.

Because, truly, getting killed due to slowness from fatigue and cramps from one’s bloodmoon cycle would be rather unfortunate and deeply regrettable. However, facing expulsion from the guard and losing her reputation as one of the hand-picked defenders of the royal line because of it would be even worse.

(Y/N)’s gaze narrowed as Prince Legolas, leader of the Greenwood Guard, raised a closed fist.

Nêl (Three).

Tâd (Two).

Mîn (One).

He opened his palm, signaling the command: Kill them. Kill them all.

With a firm thud, (Y/N)'s boots landed on the soft soil as she sprung from the trees. She was quick with her blade, hunting the spiders as if they were meaningless prey. Her weapon was an extension of her form. Every movement was fluid and graceful, a testament to her mastery of combat. Despite her pain, she spun and twisted with ease, severing the arachnids' limbs effortlessly.

As she fought, she made sure to keep an eye on the Prince, knowing that if anything were to happen to Legolas under her watch, the king would surely banish her. Besides, she harbored no desire for him to meet his demise. She found him rather…admirable. Nothing more than that—of course not.

As (Y/N) advanced upon one of the vile beasts, her senses tingled with warning. Abruptly, she halted in her tracks, narrowly dodging an arrow that whizzed past her stomach. Her eyes narrowed as she wiped her head to see just who fired that arrow. A scoff escaped her lips as she locked eyes with him: Rekón.

When the battle came to an end, (Y/N) strutted towards Rekón, who was wiping the edge of his blade upon his thigh.

“What the hell was that out there?!” She snapped at him.

“What is it you speak of?”

“You nearly put an arrow in me!”

He shrugged. “Perhaps, you should have been faster, Shadowfoot.”

She scoffed at Greenwood’s nickname for her. “You're lucky I am fast. I can assume you don’t want elven blood on your hands—especially my blood.

He sheathed his blade and crossed his arms. “Don’t exaggerate, (Y/N). It’s unbecoming. Besides,” he leaned in and his voice lowered, taking on a snarky tone, “I don't care if you're handpicked by the King to be the Prince’s shadow, you're a pain in the ass.”

“Really, Otuuk Fe`Saign (warg kisser)?! I could have you and your ass in the mud faster than you could say—”

The rather tense interaction was interrupted by Legolas clearing his throat beside the pair. “What is going on over here?” he demanded.

(Y/N) huffed, not taking her eyes off the man before her. “Rekón here nearly redecorated my abdomen with a fucking arrow!”

The Prince sighed. “You know we can’t always calculate every motion on the battlefield, (Y/N). I am sure Rekón meant no harm.” He paused, turning his attention to the ellon. “Rekón, in the future, mind your arrows.”

“That’s the reprimand he gets?! Are you fu—“

Legolas looked at the elleth. “Watch your language, Shadowfoot. I expect this attitude to be gone by the time we enter my father’s halls.”

With that, Legolas walked away, calling out orders to burn the spider carcasses and move out.

As he disappeared into the mess of elves, (Y/N)’s brows pulled downward in a grumpy frown. “Princeling Ass,” she murmured to herself.

Unbeknownst to her, as she turned away, Legolas' gaze followed her, seeking out her form and lingering as she walked away.

….

The sun had not yet risen when the Prince’s sector of the Greenwood Guard arrived back in the Palace. The warriors dispersed into the armory, diligently stowing their weapons and armor in their designated places. (Y/N), however, did no such thing. Instead, with a persistent scowl etched on her face, she marched through the room and passed through the arched exit of the armory—presumably heading towards her chambers. Legolas's gaze tracked her suspiciously as she departed.

As the day progressed, the members of the Prince’s sector resumed their usual routines. Because it was their first day back from patrol, they were exempt from basic guard duties and standard positions. Instead, they utilized the early hours of the morning to bathe and rejuvenate themselves before gathering in the dining hall for breakfast. The remainder of the day was theirs to unwind and compile their patrol reports—the King sought to stay informed about all occurrences and perspectives during patrols, for a darkness seemed to be spreading among his trees.

At supper, Legolas moved among the tables in the dining hall, gathering last-minute reports from the warriors in his sector. As he did so, he scanned the long wooden benches, searching for the scowling gaze that had accompanied the last couple of days of patrol; however, there was no such gaze and no such person that it belonged to. Simply put, there was no sign of (Y/N).

She had missed all three meals and had failed to submit her patrol report.

Legolas cleared his throat before he addressed the elves from whom he was collecting papers. “Have you seen Shadowfoot? I need her report,” he inquired.

They shook their heads, more interested in their food than one missing shadow.

Legolas sighed, but refrained from pressing further. If anyone knew her whereabouts, they would have mentioned it.

Therefore, he made his way to her quarters.

When he arrived, he knocked softly on the door, but was met with silence.

"(Y/N)," he called out, his voice carrying through the wooden barrier.

Still, there was no response.

After a moment’s hesitation, Legolas reached for the door knob and twisted it slowly. The wood swung open quietly under his touch, exposing the darkness of the room beyond. Moonlight filtered in through the opened window, casting shadows that danced across the floor, the curtains billowing gently in the cold night air.

Legolas carefully stepped through the threshold and closed the door behind him. As he took in his surroundings further, surprise crossed his features. He didn't know what he had been expecting since he hadn't been in (Y/N)’s quarters, but it most certainly was not this.

The room was a complete mess. Clothing lay strewn about, along with various trinkets—small hand-carved boxes, beautiful natural rocks, and melted candles absent of flame. Several stacks of books were piled beside the bed, a few of them open and their pages still. Her weapons were scattered haphazardly, some resting on the floor, others on the table or atop the dresser. Legolas even noticed a few knives embedded into the wooden door—a sight that would surely displease Ada.

It was chaotic but calm in a sort of strange way. Typical for (Y/N), he supposed.

The Prince moved to walk further into the room, but was quickly halted against his will. His foot had gotten caught and, if it wasn't for his swift reflexes, he would have face-planted upon the stone flooring.

Legolas sucked in a sharp breath as he stabilized his form. Glancing down, he discovered the culprit—a crumpled tunic tangled around his boot, its fabric caught between the lacings.

He immediately sighed in dismay.

The blond-haired Prince reached down to untangle the stubborn garment. It proved to be a more challenging task than he had anticipated, requiring a few moments of quiet curses and annoyed grunts before he managed to free himself. Carefully, he folded the fabric and placed it upon a nearby chair.

Cautiously, he advanced to the large bed. At first, he could not spot the warrior within, given that the fluffy comforter and mountain of pillows were blocking his view. However, when he pulled back the blankets slightly, sure enough, she was buried deep within. The pillows were arranged around her like a protective nest and she was laying on her side. Her hair was splattered across the cushioned fabric and her expression was…one of pain. Her brows were pulled tight, her nose crinkled, and lips slightly parted.

At this, Legolas frowned, for he was now troubled deeply.

Diligently, the Prince reached out to brush some hair from her face, but just as his fingers made contact with her cheek, his action was interrupted.

(Y/N) suddenly sat up, a knife in hand. With wild eyes, she tried to slam it into his carotid artery.

He reacted quickly, Legolas intercepted her arm, preventing the blade from reaching its target. For a moment, they both froze in that tense position, the gravity of the situation sinking in as they processed what was happening.

(Y/N) was breathing quickly and she appeared very disheveled and confused. It seemed to take her a moment longer to grasp the situation fully.

"Jukkete (fuck)," she breathed out, trying to catch her breath before snapping at him. "Legolas, I almost killed you!"

The Prince still held her wrist. “(Y/N),” he began, “Are you alright?”

She huffed. "You know better than to sneak up on me like that, Princeling!" With a sharp twist, she pulled away from his grasp and settled back into the blankets. “What are you doing here?”

He raised his brows. “Princeling?” he questioned, a hint of amusement in his tone.

(Y/N) only grunted in response.

He sighed. “No one has seen you all day and—“ his sentence abruptly halted as he noticed a red stain upon the comforter. “(Y/N), you are bleeding!” He exclaimed. Without hesitation, he grasped at the blankets, in an attempt to detangle her form from them, as he continued his babbling of concern. “Why didn’t you tell me you were injured on patrol?!”

“Legolas,” she interrupted, her voice firm.

“Is it from Rekón’s arrow?! I thought you said he ‘nearly’ hit you?”

“Legolas,” she tried again.

He yanked the blanket further.” Because I swear to the Valar if it was from him, I will—“

“Legolas! Stop!” She snapped, her patience wearing thin. “I’m not injured.”

His jaw clenched in frustration. “(Y/N), I have been a warrior for all my life, I know the site of blood. That is blood. You cannot lie to me. I am your sector leader, your Prince—“

“Legolas! It’s my bloodmoon cycle!” she interrupted, sitting up to glare at him once more.

An awkward silence settled into the dark room.

“You are in pain,” he stated.

“I’m fine.”

His brows raised again. “Now, why don’t I believe you?”

“Because you're a princeling ass,” she retorted.

“No. Because for the last three days of patrol, your demeanor has been notably irritable, as you are now. You've been favoring your left side, your jaw has remained tightly clenched, and your skin a shade too pale. Not to mention, you've consistently had your hand on your hip, I'm assuming in an attempt to try and alleviate discomfort, and you even vomited behind a tree on two occasions. And, here you are, Shadowfoot, in bed, sleeping the day away in dirty clothes and not caring that you lay in blood.” He paused before finalizing his evidence. “You are in pain.”

“You have been spying on me?! I am supposed to be your shadow.”

“I have been keeping an eye on you,” he clarified.

“Why?!”

The muscle in his jaw twitched. “Because you are a member of my sector. You are my responsibility.”

“You are my responsibility,” she corrected.

He released hot air from his nose. “I am required to keep an eye on all of my warriors, whether they were hand-picked to guard me or not.”

(Y/N) huffed, shaking her head. “Did you know Sethna took a pretty nasty hit to her leg?”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” he gruffed.

“Legolas, did you know about it or not?”

A rather long moment of silence extended into the night before the Prince reluctantly responded in a low tone. “No.”

“Then you don't watch every warrior like you watch me.”

He inhaled slowly, trying to steer the conversation away from what (Y/N) was insinuating. “Is Sethna alright?”

“Yeah, she’s fine.”

Legolas nodded slowly, before returning to the main topic. “Why didn't you tell me you were in pain while on patrol?”

She rolled her eyes before muttering his name. “Legolas.”

“Why haven't you seen a healer?” he persisted.

She exhaled slowly, knowing Legolas wasn't going to let this go. “Because the healers document everything, and those records get attached to evaluations.”

“So?”

“So, I would be dismissed from the guard and relieved of my position!” she snapped.

He snorted lightly. “You would not be dismissed from the guard nor relieved of your position.”

“Others have gotten so for far less!”

Surprising her, his normally collected tone turned into a rough reply. “That doesn't mean that you would have!”

She frowned, her once loud voice now subdued. “What's that supposed to mean?”

He sent her a warning look, his eyes cautioning her against probing further.

Silence reigned for a third time that night before Legolas spoke softly. “Rest. I will draw you a bath.”

“Princeling, I do not need you to draw me a bath. I do not need a bath at all. Like I said, I am fine.”

He shook his head. “You are in pain. Let me help you.”

“Legolas–”

He cut her off. “(Y/N), do not try to argue with me on this. That is an order. Shadow or not, I am your superior and you will listen.”

With that, he stood and made his way into the bathing chambers, leaving the elleth alone with her thoughts.

She let out a slow, contemplative exhale before sinking back into the embrace of the bed once more. Lost in a haze of exhaustion, she must have drifted into a brief slumber, for it was only moments later that Legolas returned, his thumb brushing against her cheek. His voice, barely above a whisper, reached her ears. “(Y/N),” he urged softly. “Come. The water is hot. It will alleviate your pain.”

Groggily, she opened her eyes, confusion evident in the furrow of her brow.

“Come,” he repeated.

Gradually, she sat upwards, letting her legs dangle off the edge of the mattress. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth, praying to the Valar for the pain to settle.

“If the pain is too much, I can carry you,” Legolas offered in a gentle tone.

She scoffed, her eyes opening to glare at him. “I can manage on my own.”

With that declaration, (Y/N) stood up and took a few cautious steps forward. But before she could proceed further, a sharp gasp escaped her lips as the agony surged through her body, causing her to double over.

A comforting warmth enveloped her lower back as Legolas placed a reassuring hand there. He remained silent, respecting her pace and refraining from pressing his earlier offer.

A small whimper escaped her lips, tears threatening to escape from her eyes.

Legolas’ hand began to move in soft circles. “It will pass, Shadowfoot. I am here,” he whispered.

Slowly, she resumed her movement, inching her way towards the bathroom. Upon reaching the basin's edge, she gripped onto the sides tightly. She squeezed her lids shut once more, focusing on her breath.

Standing only inches behind her, Legolas spoke softly. “(Y/N), please, will you let me assist you? I hate to see you suffer.”

She exhaled through her nose, seemingly debating his offer. After a moment of contemplation, she relented. “Fine,” she stated, “but if you breathe a word of this—”

“I will not say a thing. I swear it,” he assured.

She nodded, accepting his promise.

“Let's get you undressed and in the bath then.”

With caution, his nimble fingers found the hem of her tunic and began to lift it over her head. Ensuring her stability by placing one hand gently on her hip, he then carefully guided her trousers downward, assisting her as she stepped out of them. Shaking slightly, she lifted each foot into the tub, one at a time, as the Prince's firm hand remained securely on her waist. Slowly, she lowered herself into the water, his touch barely trailing up her back as she descended. Her eyes closed and a sigh of relief escaped her lips, settling into the soothing heat of the water.

Legolas cleared his throat awkwardly. “I will just be in the other room. Call out if you need me.”

She simply hummed in response.

The Prince swiftly left the bathing room, making his way to the door leading to the hallway. Peering out, he caught sight of a maid. He called out to her and motioned for her to approach.

“Yes, my lord?” she inquired politely.

“I need you to fetch a new set of bedding and obtain the following herbs: valerian, boswellia, and athelas,” he instructed.

She nodded in understanding.

“And please, keep it discreet. I have an injured warrior in here who wishes for the injury to remain quiet.”

The maid nodded once more before hurrying off to fulfill his requests.

Legolas returned to the room, feeling the cool breeze from the open window once more. With determined strides, he crossed the space and closed it firmly, halting the chill from entering any longer. He then took to light some of the candles, casting a warm glow within the room before moving to the empty fireplace. He quickly grabbed kindling and wood from the basket beside the silent hearth, setting to task. Before long, the flames crackled loudly among the stone, radiating a comforting warmth that dispelled the lingering chill.

It was then when the maid entered, a large basket brimming with fluffy fabric in her arms. Placing it beside the bed, she then retrieved a pouch from the top. Approaching the Prince, she bowed her head. “The herbs you asked for, my lord.”

“Thank you,” he replied, accepting them graciously.

The maid took to changing the sheets, making no mention of the blood. Legolas cleared a space upon the table in (Y/N)’s room. Placing a cast iron pot—one of which was kept in each room—over the now vibrant flames, he filled it with water from a pitcher. As the water began to boil, he used a small bowl to grind the fresh herbs into a paste with a pestle. Once sufficiently smashed, he ladled some of the boiling water over it and allowed the mixture of herbs to steep, filling the air with its earthy aroma.

The maid, having finished her task of making the bed and straightening up, bid an awkward farewell to the Prince before exiting the room.

Legolas sighed, taking a seat in the chair beside the table, his ears attuned to any sounds from (Y/N)'s direction—just in case.

Nearly 45 minutes passed before she emerged from the bathroom. She was clothed in soft trousers and a loose top that hung off her shoulder, her hand pressed lightly against her abdomen.

“How do you feel?” he inquired, breaking the quietness of the night.

She turned her head towards him. “You are still here?” Her gaze swept across the room, trailing off as she took in the sight of the lit candles, crackling fire, and fresh bedding.

Abandoning the chair, he approached her and gently put his hand upon her bicep. “How is the pain, (Y/N)?”

As if suddenly drawn from her thoughts, she registered that he was indeed beside her. “I, uh, it has lessened a bit.”

He nodded, guiding her to the bed. Pulling back the clean sheets, he motioned for her to get in. Surprisingly, she complied, settling into the comfort of the fresh lavender scent emanating from the blankets and pillows.

Legolas briefly left her side before returning with a cup of tea, mixed from the healing herbs. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he lifted the cup to her lips, encouraging her to take a sip. “Drink this. It will help.”

The steam kissed her face as she took the cup from him. As she drank, the warm liquid flowed down her throat and into her stomach, providing instant comfort. When she finished, she passed the cup back to him. “How do you know how to make such a tonic?”

The Prince placed the cup upon the side table. “My father used to care for my mother during her bloodmoon cycle, before she passed from this world. She too had excruciating pain. He taught me the right herbs to mix, the benefits of heat, and—” he paused, his hand moving to her lower back, where he began to massage lightly. “—what points to press to alleviate pain.”

She exhaled slowly, letting her eyes flutter closed.

“He had said, ‘One day, you will have a wife who too suffers such pain. This you must learn for her.’ And I listened.”

(Y/N) did not open her eyes. “I am not your wife.”

Before he could stop himself, his lips betrayed his secrets. “You could be.”

At this, she opened one eye, as if she was trying to subtly evaluate what his words meant based on his body language. Sensing the sincerity upon his expression, her other eye opened too. She put her full attention on him. “What?”

His cheeks flushed, the tips of his elvish ears reddening, though the warm glow of the fire hid his embarrassment. He turned his head away. “Forgive me, (Y/N). I—I didn't mean to be so…so forward.” He hesitated, then looked back at her, seeing her flabbergasted expression. “I–I suppose there is no hiding it now. The reason I keep such close watch over you is because my heart won't let me do otherwise. I fear, well, I fear that you are not just a shadow following my path.” He exhaled softly. “(Y/N), you haunt me in the most beautiful way.”

She shifted from the pillows, drawing closer until her face was mere inches from Legolas’. “You–you care for me?” she whispered.

His hand tenderly cupped her cheek, his thumb moving in a soft motion. “More than I could ever put into words.”

“Legolas,” she whispered. “Your father did not assign me to your sector. I was supposed to be appointed to protect him. I—I requested to be assigned to you.”

The Prince’s gaze met hers. “Why, (Y/N)?”

“Because you too have been haunting me.”

Legolas wasted no time. He pressed his lips to (Y/N)’s in a gentle kiss and she responded eagerly. She tasted of herbal tea and hope, while he tasted of honey and peace. His hands gently cradled her face, while hers found their way to the back of his neck, fingers entwining in his hair. The scent of fresh lavender surrounded her, mingling with the aroma of pine that clung to him. In their embrace, their minds intertwined, both haunted by the other's presence—in the most beautiful way.

Slowly, they parted. Legolas pressed a kiss to (Y/N)'s forehead before speaking softly. "Lay down. Rest. I will watch over you."

She looked up at him. “Won't you lay with me? I am cold.”

He snorted, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips like the stem of a flower being plucked from a spring meadow. “You only want me to alleviate your pain, don't you?”

She grinned back at him. “Perhaps, Princeling. Though, I did not lie, I am cold.”

With a playful roll of his eyes, Legolas kicked off his boots and drew back the covers. He allowed his body to melt against (Y/N)’s, providing warmth as he gently began to massage away her tension.

A content sigh escaped the woman’s lips as she snuggled further into him, eagerly stealing his warmth and accepting the pain relief he offered.

“Princeling,” she murmured, “You better not breathe a word of this either.”

He chuckled lightly, “I will not say a thing, Shadowfoot. I swear it.”

…

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 5 months

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Eddie Munson's second chance

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 14

Prompt: Angst with a happy ending

Rated: G

CW: referenced child neglect/abuse

Tags: Modern AU, Royalty AU, Royal Steve Harrington, Rockstar Eddie Munson

Notes: Continued from day 11. This was angstier in my head, but Eddie is a silly goose.

Eddie Munson is no stranger to fucking up. He's long accepted that. It's just a thing that happens.

Sometimes, you'll miscalculate a stage dive and have to cancel the rest of the tour.

Sometimes, you'll get so caught up in your stupid rockstar stuff, you'll forget about the youth center you founded to give other kids a better childhood.

Sometimes, you'll meet an adorable guy named Dustin at said youth center, and rant about how useless the monarchy is, only to find out that Dustin isn't Dustin at all, but Crown Prince Steven Harrington, aka the future king, aka owner of the saddest pair of puppy dog eyes that Eddie has ever failed to get out of his goddamn head.

Which brings him to his current predicament, sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for Chrissy to pick up the phone. She does after the second dial tone, which is pretty impressive for three in the morning.

"We must cancel the royal visit," Eddie blurts before she can ask what's wrong.

"Eds," she yawns. "We've been over this. Just because you can't stand the guy-"

"That's not it," Eddie groans. "Listen … I met him yesterday? Only I didn't know it was him? And I flirted with him and he was really cute but I couldn't keep my fucking mouth shut and now I can't ever see him again because I don't wanna rot in some dungeon, understand?"

"No," she says. Damn, it sounded perfectly logical in his head. "But this doesn't seem like something we should discuss on the phone. Stay put, I'm coming over."

They don't cancel the royal visit, but Eddie refuses to make an appearance. Instead, he watches from behind the curtains of the office window like a creep. The Prince looks dashing in his tailored suit, smiling for the cameras, joking with the kids, listening to Chrissy with polite attention as she shows him around the place. Eddie loves her so fucking much, will be forever grateful that she filled in for him.

Even if she tied it to one condition.

He watches how she whispers something into the Prince's ear, how his smile melts into an angry frown. How they both turn to stare at the window. Eddie flinches away from the curtains, heart in his throat.

He wonders if the dungeons have WiFi.

"You have exactly ten minutes," says the bodyguard. It’s the same one from yesterday, the one called Hop. Eddie doesn’t reply, just nods stiffly. Hop looks at him like he's contemplating murder, but then he ducks out of the room with a muttered all clear.

Prince Steven steps in. The door clicks shut. Silence descends.

"Well," Eddie finally mumbles. "I guess this is the part where I bow and grovel."

The Prince snorts. "Please don't, Mr Munson. I'd rather you save us both the embarrassment."

Eddie winces, because ouch. That stings more than it should.

Neither of them says anything for a long while. The clock on the wall keeps ticking.

"So," Eddie rocks awkwardly on the soles of his combat boots. "Who's Dustin?"

Those plush lips twitch into a smile and those pretty eyes light up. For a moment, Eddie glimpses the boy from yesterday.

"My housekeeper's kid. He'd be so mad if he knew I met you and didn't get him an autograph."

He says it with genuine concern, like he's honestly afraid of getting shit from a little kid, and Eddie can't help but grin.

"Don't worry, I won't tell."

This gets him a huffed laugh.

"He'd love this place, it's really cool."

When Eddie looks up, the Prince is looking at the picture frames on the walls, photos of smiling kids and drawings in crayon and watercolors. Eddie sighs and joins him, stares long and hard of a picture of Max on her skateboard.

"Thanks. I, um … grew up around here, and I wanted to give these kids a safe space. Where they can just … be children. I never really had that myself."

A thoughtful hum. Those hazel eyes are soft with an expression that looks weirdly like longing. Eddie remembers watching stories about the royal family on his uncle's rickety TV set. A solemn-faced boy his own age trailing behind his parents outside of private jets, in lush parks and gilded halls. Always in expensive suits. Always well-behaved. Always way too grown-up.

Well, shit.

"Listen, your highness …"

"Steve is fine."

"Listen, Steve …" Eddie lets the name linger on his tongue, finds that he likes the feel of it. "I guess I've been a bit of a dick."

A hint of that bitchy little smile. "You guess correctly."

"Whatever," Eddie huffs. "I'm trying to apologize here, so may I? Or are you throwing me in the dungeons?"

"The …" Steve blinks. Then, his mouth starts to curl. "We, um … don't actually do that anymore. Unless you're into that, then I'm sure it could be arranged."

Eddie sputters and Steve bites back a laugh.

"If you really wanna make up for it," he then says. "I hear your concert next week is all sold out? Dustin would love backstage tickets."

Eddie frowns.

"Dustin as in the kid or …"

"Steve?" Hop cracks the door open. "Time to go, c'mon."

Steve smiles, bright and sunshiny. "On my way."

He turns to Eddie, grabs a pen and a notepad from the chaos on the desk.

"Backstage tickets, two of them. I'll be expecting them by tomorrow."

When Chrissy bustles in not five minutes later, she finds Eddie in the office chair, staring morosely at the still drawn curtains.

"Eds? Everything okay?" Eddie just groans and hides his head in his hands, so she crouches down in front of him, hands on his knees. "He didn't give you shit, did he?"

"Shit? I wish. No, it's far worse than that." Eddie cackles hysterically and unclenches his fist, presenting a crumpled piece of notebook paper. "He gave me his number."

Part 3

All my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles

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ghouljams · 8 months

Note

I been binging your cowboy AU and is pure gold. And I was thinking about maybe for some reason Duck and Price finding themselves in the same country and the army using the first aid to help the team. Like Price's heart beating so fast (this is before the family reveal jsjs). Keeping it profesional n front of the collegues but once the curtain is closed you two just holding eachothers

This is something I think about all the time actually. When I first thought of Duck doing red cross/doctors without borders aid stuff I thought it would be funny if she ended up in Price’s camp helping soldiers and civilians. Nerve wracking for both of them, but especially Price who has to see his wife in an active combat zone.

I think they've both briefly talked about how it's good they don't work together because it means the likelihood of Goose losing both her parents is lower. They didn't really think they'd ever cross paths on the job.

You step off the helo into blinding sunlight and raise a hand to shield your eyes. The rest of your colleagues are busy unloading equipment and supplies as you scan the surrounding area. It’s grim. Disaster sites usually are. Burned buildings, rubble, scared civilians; you recognize the fatigues that you see, British boots on sandy ground. You sigh. Your fellow supervisor comes to stand by you, clipboard in hand.

“Should be a camp around here somewhere,” They grumble, you turn to check the progress of unloading supplies. Already a crowd is starting to form, one you wish you could do more to help. You hate seeing people suffer, it’s one of the reasons you became a doctor.

“It’ll be outside of town,” You inform them.

“Forgot,” They flip through their paperwork, voice sarcastic, “You’re a military wife.”

There’s no love lost there, everyone has their own opinion on it. Your opinion is wishing your husband would stop putting himself in harm's way, but you could never ask him to stop doing what he- well you hesitate to say loves, what calls to him.

“I’ll handle it,” You snatch the clipboard from your colleague, “you can focus on medical while I let the army know we’re here.”

“Better you than me.” They mutter. You don’t bother letting their pouting get to you. At least when you yell at petty officers they listen. You have plenty of practice.

You’re quickly pointed to the commanding officer’s tent when you do find the military encampment. Everyone recognizes the red cross on your arm band, the set of your shoulders, you can already smell the medical requests that’ll be hitting your desk. You follow the sergeant assigned to you and duck under the tent flap he holds up for you. You stop dead staring at your husband. Price is hunched over a map laden table, his head jerked up to check who was intruding. His mouth twitches, eyes barely moving from you.

“Red Cross is here,” The sergeant breaks the silence.

“I can see that,” Price pushes off the table, rolling his shoulders back to stand at his full height. You swallow, try to quiet the rapid heartbeat in your chest. You can’t both be here. “When did you get in?” Your husband asks, all professionalism.

“A little more than an hour ago,” You tell him, your mind still reeling, spinning out worst case scenarios, “I thought you might have a decent idea of where needs the most aid.”

“How much time do you have?” He says with a small smile, a joke that isn’t a joke.

“We’re just getting unloaded and set up now, I’d have more time if you could spare a few men,” You glance at the sergeant. Price nods, waves the man off.

“Sergeant Shaw and his team would be glad to help.”

Sergeant Shaw salutes and disappears, leaving you alone in the tent with your husband. You all but rush to the table, he barely moves.

“What are you doing here?” You hiss.

“Me?” He leans his hands on the table, “What are you doing here?”

“There was an earthquake,” You remind him, you’re sure he felt it. His face drops, eyes solemn as they hold yours.

“Wasn’t an earthquake,” He tells you quietly.

“What?” You breathe. You don’t want to think about what that implies. His eyes say it all, the clear and present threat that hangs over this region. The sword of Damocles that now hangs over both of your heads.

“How long are you here?” His expression hurts to look at. Everything in you aching to touch him. You can’t, not while you’re both working.

“Three months until the next shift arrives, I was going to volunteer to stay on.” You’re rethinking it now, but it isn’t as if you could run back to your team and force them to evacuate, not without tipping everyone off.

“You’re leaving at shift change,” Price tells you, without room for argument. You press your lips into a thin line, holding back your complaints.

“If they need doctors-”

“They’ll find them somewhere else,” He cuts you off. You’ve both operated this long on the understanding that your work is unpredictable, it’s carried you through deployments for years. Now, staring down your husband in his element, in your element, you don’t know how you ever managed it.

“John,” He winces when you say his name, “What are you doing out here?” Your voice trembles a little, you lay your hand near his on the table. His fingers spread against the maps, lace between yours. Quiet, intimate, less than you want but more than you should be getting.

“You’ll sleep better not knowing,” His eyes stare down at the table, head hung in exhaustion.

“How are you sleeping?” You ask quietly, as both his doctor and his wife. Price shakes his head with a sigh.

“I’m not.” Your being here won’t help that.

“Stop by for a check-up when you have a moment,” You murmur, reaching to cup his cheek with concern. He looks pale, his eyes dark, overworked. He hums, presses against your gentle hold, a man starved for comfort out here.

Three months is a long time to be in longing distance with your husband. Somehow it’s easier when you’re on different continents. Seeing him and knowing you can’t touch him will be the death of you. He’s right though, you can’t stay here. You’ve lived every deployment wondering if Price will come home, you can’t sit around and wait for him when the danger is so closeby. You can’t help him either. You know the danger of just touching him with so many eyes looking for chinks in his armor.

“I’m saving my exhaustion for when we get home, when I can kiss you properly,” He tells you softly. You drop your hand before either of you can follow that line any further.

Price has never known fear quite like seeing you around camp. His heart races, his mouth dries, he can’t focus on anything but how fragile you are. You’re not even- You’d hate to hear him thinking that, but it’s true. You’re a civilian in an active war zone, treating soldiers like it doesn’t kill him every time he catches a glimpse of you. His nerves are fried, overthinking every glance, every brushing touch, every word he speaks to you. Is it professional enough? Distant enough? Does anyone know?

So many years on deployment, happy knowing you were safe and sound at home with the kid but missing you terribly. Now here you were, dangerously close to the action, anything but safe, and he still misses you. Three months, he has to cover you for three months. Has to make sure nothing gets through the defenses that have been set up.

He’s always fought with your safety in mind, but now the danger is so much closer. If something happens to you, to either of you, it’s on him. If one of you can’t come home, God forbid if neither of you can go home…

You smile at the soldier you’re treating, sunshine in the middle of his camp. It doesn’t help that you’re the prettiest thing half these idiots have seen in months. The amount of red cheeks and overenthusiastic smiles you’ve inspired could almost be called a plague. Not that Price doesn’t get it, but if one of these fucks tries to lay a hand on you it’ll be a court martial for him and them.

That’s a quick way home, he supposes. Though not as painless as he’d like.

“Captain Price,” You jostle him from his glowering, your pen tapping against a medical chart.

“Doctor,” He greets, thankful you still use your maiden name in these situations.

“When I said everyone was getting a physical I meant everyone, commanding officers included, and yet I haven’t seen your name on the list.” You smile at him so sweetly. He nods shortly.

“Didn’t see the need for one,” He still doesn’t. He feels fine, and being alone in a room with you just makes him feel worse.

“Oh, you didn’t?” You tilt your head, “Did your medical officer already give you one?”

“No.”

“Got it, you’re a doctor and you did the exam yourself,” Sarcasm drips from your lips. He loves it when you get like this. One more word and he won’t care who sees him grab you.

“Are doctors allowed to do that?” He feels a smile tug at his lips.

“You know, now that I think about it, they’re not,” You scrunch your nose, brows drawn down as you pretend to think, “So then, how do you figure you don’t need one? Not a doctor, not signed off by a doctor…”

“You think you’re cute,” He likes the sparkle in your eyes, the mischief you only get into with him.

“I think I’m married,” You tell him, pretending to be offended.

“Happily?” He asks, you nod, “Lucky man.”

“If you’re going to flirt the whole time I’ll find a different doctor to do your physical,” You warn him.

“I won’t say another word,” Price promises.

And he doesn’t, but he does kiss you as soon as you’re in the privacy of the medical tent. His fingers tight in your hair, tipping your head back so he can waste no time sliding his lips against yours. God he missed you. You smell like heat, like the sun on your skin, taste like filtered water and whatever rations the Red Cross is feeding you, but it’s you. Your soft entreating lips, just on the edge of chapped from the dry desert wind, that press so eagerly to his. You’re so still, both of you trying to get your fill of the other without losing what little ability you have to jump away from each other.

Which you do at the crunch of boots outside the tent. Price coughs, watching you smooth down your hair and check down your chart as another officer pulls the tent flap to the side. Price moves to speak to them quietly, giving short orders he makes sure you don’t hear. When he turns back to you, you’re all business. Ever the diligent doctor.

“Any aches, pains, etcetera?” You ask, he shakes his head. You look at him more critically.

“I’m really alright, Momma,” He offers you a tight smile, you sigh and sign something on his form.

“You know it’ll be worse if you lie to me,” You inform him, setting your chart down and gesturing for him to strip for the exam.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Three months pass like a rainy day. Terribly. Soldiers are some of the worst patients you swear. If they aren’t lying to you about one thing they’re whining about another. They disappear for weeks and reappear with injuries you don’t want to think about past treating. You’re supposed to be working disaster relief but it’s not like you or your superiors can say no to the army. You do your best not to look for your husband through all of this. The few small stolen moments together that you’ve gotten do nothing to abate the worry you hold when he’s gone. It’s worse being here, you always knew it would be.

You shade your eyes from the dust the helo kicks up as it lands. Your relief shift finally arriving a day late. You suppose you can’t blame them for the delay, things have been rocky here to say the least. You bark orders and direct the rest of your team to help with getting people settled and supplies catalogued. This’ll take the better part of the day, just long enough for the helicopter to get refueled before it carts the rest of you to the airstrip.

One of your juniors keeps track of the crates being unloaded while you ensure there are enough doctors to go around. You know Price told you they’d find ways to cover for you, but you can’t help feeling the pull to help. A weight drops off your chest when you count an extra two doctors than was initially planned. Someone must’ve mentioned how much you were covering the military and put in for extra medical staff.

Speaking of the military, and your husband more specifically, you’d hoped he would find a way to see you off. Maybe not in a personal capacity, but professionally. You’ve been the main point of contact for his team since you landed, he could at least spare you a good-bye.

You spot him by his swagger alone, the distinctly masculine movement of his hips, the way the crowd parts for him without so much as a word. He looks good in his tac gear. Supervising his men, you’re sure. You smile at him, glance around for somewhere private that you could get a proper good-bye. Not much privacy out here you’ve learned. Not that he seems to care, stopping in front of you with a grin.

“Not putting in for an extension I hope,” He raises a brow. You shake your head.

“No, I’m happy to be heading home. Don’t think I can stomach patching you boys up again,” You sigh, honest with your husband even when you shouldn’t be. You know it hurts him, his eyes softening for you.

“We’ll miss you, you’re probably the best doctor that’s run through here.” You roll your eyes, flatterer.

“Maybe I should stay then,” you tease. His smile widens.

“Not a chance, go home, I’m sure your husband’s worried about you,” More honesty where there shouldn’t be any. You know he’s worried, and despite your desire to stay you’re willing to compromise this for him. Your heart clenches tight staring up at him. You desperately want to kiss your husband, want him to wrap his arms around you and promise he’ll come home safe.

Price looks over your head into the open helo. “Looks like you could still use some help unloading,” He nods.

You glance into the cavernous darkness, you’re sure everything’s been unloaded. That’s not the point. You smile.

“Shouldn’t take more than the two of us.”

In the back corner of the helo, far out of the light, your husband presses against you and gives you a proper good-bye, kissing you through the tightness in your throat. You tighten your arms around his shoulders, eyes closed as he nearly lifts you to keep you pressed against his chest. The warmth of him is as solid as the metal at your back, sturdy as he’s ever been. You know the risk he’s taking by kissing you where someone could see, but you really can’t bring yourself to care. The thought of leaving him makes you hold on all the tighter.

“I love you,” He murmurs, pulling back to kiss your cheeks, your nose, over each eyelid, delicate pressure wherever he can. You can’t imagine what this must’ve been like for him. Having you so close to combat must have been torture. You know he has nightmares about it even without this fuel on the fire.

“I love you,” You agree, letting him catch your lips for another slow kiss. Indulgent and exploratory, just like coming home after months away. His tongue brushes against your lips, begging you for more that you can’t give him. This has to be enough, has to carry you through however long he’s away. When he finally lets you go you can hardly stop the sandy feeling pushing against your eyes.

“Be safe,” You tell him, trying your hardest not to cry like it's his first deployment, “for me, please be safe.” Price sighs, kisses you soft and chaste a final time.

“Give Goose my love,” He tells you. He can’t promise you safety, you should know better than to ask for it. He grabs whatever he can think of and walks down the back plank of the helo, back into the blinding sun. The best good-bye you could’ve hoped for is never enough to tie you over until he’s home again.

#cod x reader #x reader #cod x oc #x oc #oc: duck #john price x reader #captain john price #john price #john price x oc #john price mw2 #captain price x oc #captain price x reader #captain price cod #captain price #cowboy!price #cowboy!141

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cosmica-galaxy · 11 months

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Hey its goose anon! Thank you for answering my question thats like a long time ago which i just saw today, sorry about that been a long time since i visited this blog, but i still love your writings and art! :Since requests are open, i would like to ask of a scenerio of The main guys seeing Soldier!reader in action? Maybe a massive battle happened and reader decides to jump in and save them, but how destructive reader could ACTUALLY be?

Have a good day!

Hi, Goose! It's been a while and I'm glad you're back! :D

(This scenario would most likely take place after the AAHW tries to forcefully make the Soldier join, as well as them collecting enough samples to try and clone them. But their team breaks them out, so this takes place during their breakout and when their loyalty is sworn to SQ.)

CW: GORE MENTION AHEAD!

During the breakout to retrieve Soldier!Reader from the AAHW facility that served as their prison, the group of Hank, Sanford, and Deimos would no doubt be swarmed by AAHW units that were placed there to try and keep the Soldier contained.

Upon trying to break out, the SQ crew would be attacked by literal DOZENS of agents and units. Upon seeing their little friends getting shot and injured by the hostile organization, the large soldier would fly into a rage for the first time since they came to Nevada.

The peaceful diplomacy that the soldier is known for is suddenly gone and agents are finding themselves suddenly squared up against a large behemoth that is NOT happy that their little buddies are going to be killed off by the agents.

Upon starting to rampage, the soldier crushes numerous agents under their heavy boots with a series of vicious stomps. Turning them into crushed viscera and red smears in the concrete. They move much faster than MAG agents, their longer limbs allowing them to sidestep, leap, and roll out of danger and crush, squish, throw, and rend any agent units in their way.

Their primary objective is to pick up their smaller companions and place them on their body or in their reinforced backpack for safety. The injured are carefully placed onto their back while the others cling on to their back and body while they dispatch and destroy anything in their way as their rampage resumes.

Cars are crushed underfoot and if there are helicopters nearby, they will literally pick up a vehicle and CHUCK it at the helicopters. Sending them down in a ball of fire. If the helicopters manage to drop a few MAG agents, the Soldier will enter combat with them with no hesitation. Their nimble form allows them to dance around the MAGS with ease as they grab their extremities and tear the pipes and hoses from their bodies. If one MAG is particularly skilled, the legendary rifle that the soldier always carries around is utilized. A sound akin to a loud thunder clap rocks the ground and the next thing the grunts know, the MAG's head is blown to shit. Blood, brains, and bone are splattered in a radius around the collapsing body of the MAG agent.

Meanwhile, the SQ crew is hanging on or hiding in their pack, watching just the sheer amount of carnage the soldier is leaving in their aggressive wake. Piles upon piles of bodies lie across the battlefield, burning wrecks smolder and fires raging, and a couple of dead MAGS lie in the ruins of what was once a AAHW base. The soldier isn't even done, as they continue to rampage and rip, stomp, and throw away any adversaries that swarmed the area.

The soldier has taken damage too. From gunshots, to slashed clothes, and even burns from fire, but the soldier is far too enraged to care. They even target certain explosive parts of the base. Intentionally picking up AAHW trucks and throwing them at these vulnerable places. From fueling areas to propane takes, the car impacts these locations and shit fucking explodes. Fire rains down and the soldier finally begins to head out with their charges safely on their body.

The smoke from the fires provide cover from the helicopters and if any are seen following the retreating soldier, another thrown item (be it a car, iron beam, or corpse) is quick to dispatch the pursuers.

The soldier would run for miles away from the location, getting information from their little riders on where to go. Once they all get back to the base after the successful breakout, the soldier finally collapses in a tired heap and allows their charges to get off of them. Doc is quick to come out of the base and assess the damage and treat wounds.

Once the heat is off and injuries are mended, the soldier is treated with far more respect. Their aggression and sheer power was typically never shown nor seen, but after the AAHW fiasco, the SQ crew now truly understands the power someone like their large soldier can wield.

In a way, it makes the crew admire you.

As an added bonus to the aftermath, the soldier now looks at the AAHW as a genuine threat.

"Hank, you are right. The Auditor is a cocksucker and his entire organization can burn to the fucking ground. Fuck the AAHW."

The Soldier would say as they get treated by Doc, much to the happiness of Hank and the rest of the crew cheers in agreement.

The soldier is now much more wary of the AAHW after that, as they are also equally protective of their little "war-family" and would take any hostile behavior towards them as a threat.

NOBODY attempts to kill their little allies or their mini-me (Hank) and lives.

#soldier reader #soldier reader au #soldier!reader x madcom #goose anon #anonymous #anon asks #haxorus imp #hax speaks #cosmica galaxy #madcom tag #self aware m:pn au #madcom x reader #madness combat x reader #y/n x madness combat #madness combat imagines #human!reader x madcom

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aancunin · 7 months

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𝑇𝑌𝑃𝐸𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝑃𝐸𝑂𝑃𝐿𝐸 :𝐷𝑈𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑂𝑁𝑆 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐷𝑅𝐴𝐺𝑂𝑁𝑆 𝐶𝐿𝐴𝑆𝑆𝐸𝑆 .

𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐼𝐴𝑁 ⚔ toothy grins, stories around the campfire, clothes covered in pet hair, hot temper, old jeans, heartbeat in head, potatoes and steak, beaded jewellery, bruises like galaxies, mementos, backpack stuffed full, craigslist furniture, spontaneous road trips, air ripped from lungs.

𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐷 ⚔ homemade bread, white lies, easily excited, trying on hats, band geek, pep talks, no impulse control, sunsets, vintage fashion, long showers, selfies, following dreams, rosy cheeks, song mash-ups, pink lemonade with tequila, loves easily, animated storyteller, full of comebacks.

𝐶𝐿𝐸𝑅𝐼𝐶 ⚔ list of wishes, biting their tongue, band-aids and neosporin, shoulder to cry on, morning sun, necklaces, trial and error, homemade quilts, formal clothing, astrology fan, messages in bottles, pleated braids, speaking up for friends, feathers, motivational quotes, vivid dreams.

𝐷𝑅𝑈𝐼𝐷 ⚔ bird watching, shy kid, wind chimes, trying to whistle, summer camp, apple orchards, lost in their head, glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, hoodies, thrift shopping, saving worms off the sidewalk, pig latin, bare feet, thunderstorms, numb fingers, braided hair, naming potted plants.

𝐹𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝐸𝑅 ⚔ goose bumps, leather jackets, adventure, chewing nails, cares deeply but can’t show it, bronze locks, no sleep, taste of iron, netflix binges, never forgets, combat boots, stories behind scars, table for one, official soundtracks, sore calves, trusts themselves the most.

𝑀𝑂𝑁𝐾 ⚔ always trying to be better, wanderlust, meditation, sweat pants, old photographs, yoga, sleeping in hammocks, nostalgia, minimalist design, breath of fresh air, baby animals, volunteering, perfectionist, doesn’t care about fashion, healthy snacks, noticing the little things.

𝑃𝐴𝐿𝐴𝐷𝐼𝑁 ⚔ school uniforms, thick jackets, sleeping with the windows open, logical advice, scrapbooking, compasses, i fight for my friends, sculpture gardens, cold morning air, big soul, likes routine, secret romantic, last to get jokes, sunflowers, practical presents, misty weather.

𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑅 ⚔ herbal tea, smell of rain, blinking away tears, camping trips, collecting bones, swiss army knives, first impressions, anxious thoughts, bobby pins, burnt marshmallows, too competitive, clothes lines, messenger bags, holding grudges, gets along better with animals than people.

𝑅𝑂𝐺𝑈𝐸 ⚔ flirtatious sarcasm, candid photos, lost phone chargers, adrenaline rush, picking dirt out from beneath their nails, social chameleon, clashing clothes, self-deprecating jokes, claw machines, sits in chairs wrong, smudged eyeliner, has too many sunglasses, eats nothing or everything.

𝑆𝑂𝑅𝐶𝐸𝑅𝐸𝑅 ⚔ infectious laugh, family trees, shivers down their spine, lipstick and roses, mood swings, clumsy, believing in destiny, high expectations, sleeping in darkness, collection of nail polish, passionate, good grades but never studies, poetry books, blowing kisses, not knowing their own strength.

𝑊𝐴𝑅𝐿𝑂𝐶𝐾 ⚔ knowing everyone’s secrets, backpack covered in pins, envy, being in walmart late at night, earl grey, selective memory, conspiracy theories and cryptids, keysmashing, need to know basis, can’t cook, bags under eyes, experimental art, flickering bulbs, black clothing all year long

𝑊𝐼𝑍𝐴𝑅𝐷 ⚔ piles of textbooks, cat in lap, keeping a diary, indecision, scented candles, studying alone in a café, lingering touches, museum dates, unanswered questions, taking on too much responsibility, collections, chalk dust, comfy robes, unnecessary apologies, coming home after a long day.

Tagged by: @thenetherese Tagging: Whoever wants to do this one

#tagged #dash game

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timecma · 11 months

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Lucy.

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG EEVEE I WAS LIKE BURNT OUT ON ART FOR A HOT SECOND THERE BUT I'M BACK AND I'VE DONE IT YEEEEEEHAAWWWWWWWW.

Here you go, Lucy Goose, fresh from my drawing program. I took some liberties with the design (as I always do) and I just couldn't resist making Lucy have combat boots because. Listen. Tell me she doesn't.

Also, that limp wrist is just for you Eevee u_u. Idk, I imagine her saying something like "Yeah, we knew you were kinda" *limp wrists* "y'know? Y'know." And idk Xanthous is just there like :sobbing_emoji:.

ALSO, I TRIED TO DO FEATHER HAIR??? DIDN'T WORK. IT'S SO DIFFICULT. NO ONE TOLD ME IT WOULD BE THIS DIFFICULT. LIKE HUH??? HAIR??? FEATHERS??? Anyway, now it's a weird combination of feather hair. And looks kinda wonky. Sorry 'bout that.

But yeah! Yeehawwww. Oh, also, a P.S. to like everyone who has made an art request:

I'm going to be doing all the TLOS/ATOM-related ones FIRST! So if you have requested anything unrelated to The Land of Stories or A Tale of Magic, it might be a while before I get to them, just as a heads up!

#digital art #the land of stories #art #a tale of magic #ask me anything #tlos #answered #the fairy council #lucy goose #mother goose #a tale of witchcraft

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aintashes · 1 month

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𝑇𝑌𝑃𝐸𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝑃𝐸𝑂𝑃𝐿𝐸 : 𝐷𝑈𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑂𝑁𝑆 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐷𝑅𝐴𝐺𝑂𝑁𝑆 𝐶𝐿𝐴𝑆𝑆𝐸𝑆

𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐼𝐴𝑁 ⚔ toothy grins, stories around the campfire, clothes covered in pet hair, hot temper, old jeans, heartbeat in head, potatoes and steak, beaded jewelry, bruises like galaxies, mementos, backpack stuffed full, craigslist furniture, spontaneous road trips, air ripped from lungs.

tagged by: @chaos--mode tyyy this was so cool and fun !! tagging: @painmon @afterdeaths @asaemi @bloodsalted @carltongrimes @florrentine @ischaron @jundlcndwastes @noblehigh @rayofsunshinc @rebuiltmyself and anyone else who wants it !

#details. ( daryl dixon )#long post //

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mutatiio · 4 months

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𝑇𝑌𝑃𝐸𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝑃𝐸𝑂𝑃𝐿𝐸 : 𝐷𝑈𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑂𝑁𝑆 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐷𝑅𝐴𝐺𝑂𝑁𝑆 𝐶𝐿𝐴𝑆𝑆𝐸𝑆 .

Tagged by: @mayxthexforce (ty) Tagging: @jeditrash / @alootus / @of-naboo / @librarywent / @webslingerx / @rottingkiss / @featherstcnes / @exiitiosus

#⸢ dash game ⤑ dryden ⸥ i never ask twice.#bitch owns too many sunglasses but legit hasn't seen the sun in like. 5 years.

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misanderousmisfit · 2 years

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Someone posted the height chart for all the Top Gun 86 characters and I was surprised the Goose was taller than Slider

I rewatched and Slider definitely appears taller in a few scenes with Goose but I now know why.

Anthony Edwards gave an interview back in the day where he mentioned doing scenes with Cruise where he had to wear socks since Tom is short.

I think in the scene in the locker room, Rick Rossovich looks taller because he’s wearing combat boots and Anthony Edwards is in his socks.

#Top Gun #ron slider kerner #rick rossovich #nick goose bradshaw #anthony edwards

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elkenbulwark · 5 months

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𝐷&𝐷 𝐶𝐿𝐴𝑆𝑆𝐸𝑆 ; //

[more 'highlights' in a section indicate who your character will vibe with more / would be best class suited for them if they weren't what they are now.]

𝐷𝑅𝑈𝐼𝐷 ⚔ bird watching, shy kid, wind chimes, trying to whistle [and failing w/tusks lmao], summer camp, apple orchards, lost in their head, glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, hoodies, thrift shopping, saving worms off the sidewalk, pig latin, bare feet, thunderstorms, numb fingers, braided hair, naming potted plants.

𝑊𝐼𝑍𝐴𝑅𝐷 ⚔ piles of textbooks, cat in lap, keeping a diary, indecisions, scented candles, studying alone in a café, lingering touches, museum dates, unanswered questions, taking on too much responsibility, collections, chalk dust, comfy robes, unnecessary apologies, coming home after a long day.

[ Results - ]

6 // barbarian, fighter, ranger 5 // sorcerer, druid 4 // warlock 3 // bard, paladin, wizard 2 // cleric, rogue 💀(don't @ me ren and vesz-) 0 // (do not interact 😂) // monk

tagging: @apalestar , @illithidtouched , @burtai , @ehrendiil , @wildskissed , @gorethought , @doighnadair , @luneheir , @ode-of-odr , @halforc-mercenary , @bluescalearchivist , @ you!!

#//i do bold/color cuz my eyesight is woof but yeah~#//do the thing #long post #dash games #hc ; // roll history check #birvor ; // shiny side down

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goblinchivalry · 1 year

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Summary of Oren Cohen’s Neverafter Interview with Brennan Lee Mulligan

The full interview is available on YouTube here! Brennan talks with Oren about just how scary this season is, how the cast and crew stayed genre-savvy and more.

“Fear not. Except in very small moments where we would ask you to fear.” Brennan Lee Mulligan about Dimension 20: Neverafter

This season is still very much seven people telling a story, and it won’t be abandoning comedy for horror. Brennan doesn’t want people to be nervous about that, though the fact people brings him a little bit of villainous delight. Dimension 20 is still first and foremost a comedy show, and this season honors all of the genres in this horror fairy tale mashup.

There’s gonna be a scene Brennan will definitely jump out of your laptop screen at you, The Ring-style and shout “Roll for Initiative!!!”. There will be scary moments, but they will be in the spirit of making entertainment and not trying to antagonize people.

One way Brennan and the players prepared to tell a horror story was by trying to invest in a richness of character that firmly puts them in a certain type of horror, that being one that a ~20 episode series could sustain. This meant going beyond just the external-facing, primal horror of something like a slasher flick and looking towards internal-facing horror such as the horrifying _aspects _of how people react/respond to horror, and relationships to the unsettlingness of this “freaky world”.

“There are some moments of actual “fright” but even more than that, there’s whole beats and thematic chapters of dread.”

This season is 20 episodes, a first! (Other than FHSY) Brennan thinks this might be a new normal for the most part. With a new studio space and investments from Dropout it seems like we can expect more episodes from the longer seasons.

The entire crew popped all the way off this season! You can see some ofit now with the crazy dome lighting in the trailer, and prepare to getblown away by the technical side of this season. They’ve got people working to bridge the art department with the camera department, more projectionists for the dome, and even in-studio sounds that the players can react to. Brennan himself has some control over the dome too for those necessarily time-finessed horror moments.

This is the first Brennan-DM’d season to jump back to physical minis! [The miniature sets on Coffin Run were so cool!!!] The sets allow some of the verisimilitude that A Crown of Candy had in its gritty, challenging combat. The degree of Ominosity evoked in the battle sets is something to look forward to.

The world-building in this season is so important that Brennan says talking too much about it starts to verge on being spoilery :0 “The Neverafter is indeed wrapped within the times of **shadow **and will take its dreadful time in revealing its true nature to our audience.”

What Brennan can tell us about the Players

They’re all classic fairytale characters: Pinnochio, Puss in Boots, Sleeping Beauty, Little Red Riding Hood, Mother Goose, and the Frog Prince

Some strong vocal choices were made and committed to. (Looking at you, Lou Wilson!)

.This season is very driven by the players and the PC’s perspective in terms of accompanying them through the sense of dread in the world is important.

There were some of the funniest moments of side-wracking laughter in this season.

There was enough real-life stress in some episodes that there are some Adventuring Parties of which Brennan says he has never been in a more chaotic interaction space anywhere in his life. Expect the chaos of people cutting loose after 2 hours of creeping dread. Tune into the APs!

Brennan was unceasingly roasted by the players this season. (by the players at the table, but also by some of their mechanical play!)

Fan Questions

How scary is Neverafter? Are there more relaxed moments to breathe each episode? Brennan says there will be moments to breathe. He recommends maybe talking to friends after they watch episode 1 to gauge it. Fundamentally though, it is a comedy show, and it’s still got _fairy tale _elements in it. “More than 50% of it is the Intrepid Heroes having a ball”, and our desires for camaraderie and comfort and laughter and seeing friends hangout will be satisfied.

“Fear not. Except in very small moments where we would ask you to fear.”

Favorite episode or battle this season? Brennan loves them all and can’t pick a favorite amongst his children.

Can Brennan give us something that we can see and recognize later (if he wants)? “When you start to see the ink.”

What’s the most fun way you established ambience... ? The projections. It made it feel visceral and real; and rather than having the players have static focus on the table and other players, it made them look over their shoulder, and feel a bit smaller than the world in this looming horror season.

How did you check in and support the players after a heavy session AND how can I support my GM after a story ends?

Brennan checks in by saying “Hey, I’m checking in. How are you doing?”. Trust is huge. Having a relationship based around already doing that makes checking-in easier and makes it become regular rather than unusual (”It’s a good habit to have.”)

“Having emotional care be routine is pretty helpful. It’s like hygiene, and brushing your teeth, right? Are you already in the habit of, after a session ends, having a little 3-5 minutes just to babble and be excited and talk about how great it was. Do you have a little ritual around, like, "Hey I want to talk to you sometime this week before next week [...]"

If that’s a lot of work, you can always show your DM that you care ♥

How many NPCs are planned vs. improvised in a campaign like this? Certainly some are always improvised, but of course this season draws from source material, fairy tales! There were many amazing consultants this season with deep folklore knowledge. There was a huge list of fairy tale characters but not so much with written backstories as it was how they had been corrupted/changed by horror (Brennan’s got a good memory). Some were assigned ahead, others were kept up his sleeve.

Was this campaign high lethality, did the players have backup PCs at the ready? Brennan pauses and ponders before answering. He “cannot fault any of our logic in these observations”. That’s all he can say.

Did EXU: Calamity inspire the farther move from comedy? A Starstruck Odyssey was so wild and fun that a change was already on his mind before EXU:C scratched an itch that he wanted to try with the Intrepid Heroes. Of course EXU:C is tragedy, not horror, but the stretch of tonal difference was really engaging and exciting.

What kind of safety tools do you use?

Formally, X-cards, Lines and Veils, the classics. Additionally, if Brennan can anticipate something could be challenging he will hip his players in advance - avoiding spoilers - but as a way to communicate a level of comfort in advance & gauging collaborative enthusiasm for exploring topics that may be challenging. The formal tools are there for a reason (and recommended!), but are not used as a substitute for the main informal route of building trust, checking-in and communicating clearly.

There weren’t too many instances of that this season, most things were hashed out in pre-discussion, pitching the season, world-building, character creation, etc.

Making everyone feel safe and secure, even when exploring the scary topics, was always a priority.

On a scale of 1 to EXU:Calamity, how broken will this leave us? Brennan’s hope is that nobody is broken and that nobody was broken by EXU:C either! ...

“I think if you are broken... by Neverafter, it will be only to come back patchwork, pieced-together, re-glued, fused into something stranger and stronger than you were before.”

How did you balance horror and comedy elements? Creating atmosphere and leaving room to riff?

They go hand in hand! Monotony (being of just one tone) doesn’t really exist in nature and reality. Horror comes in to interrupt other things, and it’s not sustainable for very long. No one tone could persevere for 40 hours. How do you balance them? How do you not? Some people’s responses to fear is shock, and sometimes that means laughter!

[Brennan’s discussed similar things on podcasts he’s appeared on too. I recommend watching this question to see his full answer, it starts here]

How did character creation work for this season? Did the figures come first or did the PCs propose them? Character creation was them picking their characters. Each player brought a few and pitched them, their behaviours and their takes on them.

If you were a player this campaign, which fairy tale character would you like to play? Fearnot. A deep cut (though he appears in Jim Henson’s ‘The Storyteller’), about a little boy who cannot be afraid and went forth to learn what fear was.

#dimension 20 neverafter #d20 #interview #long post #neverafter #neverafter PCs #brennan lee mulligan #y'all: I cannot wait for this new season!!!

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