#since you asked what I was writing :3

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

COME REST YOUR BONES NEXT TO ME ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most. 

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes. 

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks. 

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth. 

it’s beautiful. 

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded. 

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere. 

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again. 

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, surely, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s really lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling. 

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.” 

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face. 

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips. 

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs. 

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!” 

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there. 

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot. 

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.” 

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word. 

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology. 

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown. 

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again. 

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it. 

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.” 

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?” 

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.” 

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.” 

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow. 

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice. 

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter. 

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself. 

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest. 

he hopes it never goes away.

[stevebabey]

Steve hates to ask this of Eddie.

Really, it’s a last resort sort of thing. Robin’s gone for the week, some trip upstate with her family. And it’s fine, they’re close but Steve’s a big boy. He can handle a week without his best friend.

But, well, it’s just unfortunate for it to creep up on Steve when Robin’s gone. It being… shit, how did Robin explain it? She was so much better at keeping track of all those things than he was, all the terms filed away nicely in her head to be recalled as needed. Steve’s much messier— in his head, in his life.

Touch aversion, that’s what she called it. A by-product of the severe lack of touch in his childhood she had said; not enough hugs, hand holding, the works and now Steve’s grown to find it too strange. Something prickles under his skin, pulls in his gut all the wrong way, when someone’s too touchy-feely with him. Robin’s said it’s normal, and he believes her.

It just makes it harder when this comes by. That completely strange backward want that carves into his chest, creating a chasm that just aches. Suddenly, Steve wants to be touched, needs to be touched — like something behind his ribs is just begging for comfort in the form of touch, any way he can have it. Like some young part of him can still remember the hunger he had for it and it comes back in full force, a tender wound between his lungs.

It doesn’t happen that often — though, it’s more frequent than ever recently — but usually, Robin’s here. She can almost always tell before Steve works up the courage to ask. Twitchy fingers give him away. He hovers closer than normal, shoulders brushing more often.

She always gives him a smile, softer than her usual snark and says, “C’mere, dingus.” and stands on her tip-toes to envelope him in a hug. Steve can’t help but sink into it, gripping her close around the waist for as long as he needs until the hole in his chest feels a step closer to patching up.

Robin also tells him he can have as many hugs as he’d like but Steve is firm with himself; he only needs one, then he’ll be back to fine.

It what’s he needs now. One really fucking good hug. Still, he hates to ask, least of all from Eddie, because, well— okay, Steve has no reason to assume Eddie wouldn’t give him a hug.

He’s seen Eddie’s hugs before. Like everything he does, Eddie puts his everything into it- he hugs Robin til she wheezes, loves to lift Nancy off the ground, and the hug he gives Dustin is sweetest of all, a hand on the back of the littler’s head while he does some strange little sway. Dustin always laughs, playfully shoving him away by the end but Steve knows he loves them, that it helps in more than one way.

Steve is glad that Dustin has someone, besides his Mom of course, who can hug him, because Steve can’t give that to him. Maybe one day, but for now, hugs from Steve are a rarity — few and far in between. Maybe, he thinks, he doesn’t want to ask Eddie specifically because of that niggling feeling that comes up around Eddie, all gooey and soft. A feeling the swings too close to a crush that Steve has no fucking clue what to do about.

So, he hates to ask. Really. On the drive over to Eddie’s, a hangout organised before Steve started to feel the lack of touch creep in, he runs through any other options. Wait til Robin gets back? Steve’s not sure he’ll make it another 4 days. When left alone, it seems to consume him and make everything harder, everything heavier to deal with.

He’s still tossing it when he climbs the steps to Eddie’s trailer. Steve decides that he’ll see how it goes, see if there’s an opening to ask…semi-naturally or something. He’s not gonna spring it on the guy.

Eddie is wonderful company as always, devilish grins and god-awful comments about the film he picked. Steve feeds off it, drinking in the infectious energy. He tries to let it be enough; their shoulders pressed together, Eddie’s knee knocking his when he laughs, the way Eddie leans into his space to whisper even though it’s just them here tonight. Steve wants it to be enough. But even then, he can see the way his hands twitch in his lap, desperate for more.

Steve closes his eyes. Curls his hands up so tightly his nails bite into the skin. He tries to use it to wane off the feeling, the ache that sings out for Eddie beside him and it nearly works. Until—

“Steve? Y’okay?” Eddie’s voice pipes up, making Steve open his eyes in an instant.

“Hm?” Steve hums, hoping that his casualness will be enough for Eddie to skip over his peculiar behaviour. He blinks, tilting his head just a bit to show he was confused why Eddie was asking.

Eddie chuckles lightly, gesturing towards Steve’s lap, where his hands sit still clenched, white knuckled with his self-restraint. “You seem a bit stiff, that’s all.” Eddie rechecks. “You good?”

Steve opens his mouth and then closes it, forcing his hands to unclench in his lap. “I-“ he begins, then stops, unsure of what he was going to say. He did say he would look for an opening tonight. The way Eddie’s regarding him, open faced with his concern, is as good as he might get.

“This might sound a bit weird,” Steve starts, defensiveness already tingeing the words, his shoulders curling in just a bit. Eddie could say no. He’s allowed to say no. Steve really doesn’t want him to. “Like, if you think it’s weird, that’s totally fine and we can just, like, forget I said anything and—”

“Steve.” Eddie cuts him off, a linger of an amused smile on his lips. “I don’t think I’m going to find anything you say weird, sweetheart. Shoot. What’s on your mind? What troubles the great mind of Steve Harrington?”

God, it’s like a whole bunch of words designed to set Steve’s head spinning. ‘The great mind of Steve Harrington’ makes him want to scoff. ‘Sweetheart’ makes him want to swoon. He can’t decide which one he wants to do more.

“Can I-” Steve stammers, the words halting automatically. It’s too much of a habit to swallow them down. Coercing them out takes more work. He stares up at the ceiling as he grits his teeth, releases a harsh sigh, pulling himself together. “Can I… have a hug?”

There a moment of silence and Steve holds his breath.

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, and Steve takes his eyes off the ceiling to see just what that Oh means. Eddie’s smiling, a soft one gracing his pretty mouth, and Steve thinks, maybe, one day he’ll have the courage to ask for a kiss as well. Relief moves sluggishly through his veins— Eddie’s smiling, this is good.

“Well, of course,” Eddie grins widely and opens his arms, inviting Steve in. Steve hesitates for only a moment before he leans in gratefully, his arms tucking around Eddie’s midriff tightly. Eddie’s arms curl around Steve’s neck, pulling him in close. It’s the easiest thing in the world, sinking into it, so much that Steve tries his best not to immediately slump against Eddie. It feels a bit too pathetic, so Steve reels himself in. He can’t make his arms relax, trying too hard to take only what he needs and not a moment more.

“C’mon, Stevie.” Eddie’s voice teases beside his ear, his breath warm. “You call that a hug?”

He squeezes Steve a little tighter, pulling him even closer and Steve can’t help the way he melts into it— he slumps, leaning against Eddie properly and burying his quiet whine of relief into the juncture between Eddie's neck and shoulder.

“There we go,” Eddie murmurs comfortingly.

Eddie takes him wholly, gives a damn good Munson hug, all warmth and comfort. He smells like, well, Eddie — a lingering scent of weed, something musky, something Eddie. His arms around Steve’s neck shuffle and Steve worries he’s trying to pull away so soon, only for one of his hands to tangle in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck. He combs through, light fingernails scratching at Steve’s scalp and shit, Steve really can’t control the noise of contentment that slips out his throat.

“Can’t believe you got so worked up just to ask for a hug,” Eddie tsks, tone coloured in disbelief. Steve makes a noise of protest, trying for a moment to wind it all back in but, like Eddie can sense it, he’s squeezing him tighter again. He begins to rock them, a soft sway side to side that lets Steve lean on him even more. He hums a tune Steve doesn’t know, low and soft.

“M’sorry,” Steve mumbles in reply, though he’s not entirely sure what he’s apologising for. For having to ask, for taking so much, for enjoying Eddie’s arms around him just a little too much.

“What the fuck for?” Eddie laughs lightly, one of his hands beginning to drum against the divots of Steve’s spin. It feels like he’s tapping pure delirium with each fingertip, shivers that make Steve’s chest glow terribly warm. It feels good, so good to be held and honestly, Steve could stay here all night if Eddie let him. Knowing Eddie, he would, because he’s that fucking nice.

That knowledge alone forces Steve to sit himself up, extracting him limbs even though so much of him mourns the warmth, the touch, that goes with it. He wants the touch but he’s had enough. Some scorned part of him burns bitterly to think Eddie would give him more just to be nice. Steve doesn’t want that— Steve wants Eddie to touch him because he wants to.

“Sorry, man, I just, uh, get like that sometimes.” Steve feels the need to explain, bringing a hand up to rub at one of his eyes. He does it half so can hide his embarrassed expression from Eddie— who’s looking at him so gently and still so so close.

“Just, aha—“ Christ, it wasn’t this awkward telling Robin. Steve’s hand moves to rub the back of his neck. “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile since,” He gnaws on his bottom lip, something alike to humiliation curling in his gut. “Since I’ve had some touch. Usually, Robin’s around but y’know.”

He waves a hand, huffing another awkward laugh. Eddie hasn’t moved much, just listening intently, his brows ever so slightly inching closer together. He looks outright concerned at Steve’s next words.

“It’s okay, I’ve— I’ll be good now.” Steve nods along, like the motion will help him convince himself as well as Eddie. He’ll be okay now. Usually, one hug is all it takes. He ignores the surging tidal-wave want that is still going, still aching to be held by Eddie again. It would be selfish to ask for more. Eddie didn’t invite him around to hug— it’s weird, and Steve shouldn’t- can’t ask for more.

“Sooooo,” Eddie draws out the word, an impish smile beginning to play at the corners of his lips. He opens his arms wide again. “You don’t want another hug?”

In his lap, Steve’s fingers twitch. Eddie’s eyes dart to them for a second, before fixing back on Steve. He does, he really fucking does want another hug. He can’t. He’s had enough, really, it would greedy to have more.

Steve shakes his head, forces himself to huff another laugh that accidentally comes out as a strained sigh. He smiles weakly, “No, no, I’m good, dude. It’s… I’m okay, swear.”

For a moment, Steve thinks he’s convinced him. Eddie studies his face, his mischief slipping away as he deliberates Steve’s words. His eyes narrow, arms dropping just an inch before he smiles brightly and says, “Okay, can I have a hug then?”

Which, okay, right, Steve didn’t think of that. People don’t ask him for hugs. He blinks, a bit dumbly. Eddie is waiting, face eager and for a second there’s an expression of almost smugness on his face — like he’s about to get exactly what he wants. Because he knows Steve would never be rude and say no.

“I mean,” Steve breathes, voice a bit tighter than he’s expecting. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah, you can have a hug.”

“Great!” Eddie replies and he wastes no time. He’s all up in Steve’s space, arms around Steve’s waist this time. The motion takes Steve by surprise, enough that because he’s not expecting it Eddie’s weight pushes him back so he’s lying on the couch.

If Eddie cares, he pays no mind, his head curling up into the crook of Steve’s neck as he hugs him closer. His hair gets in Steve’s mouth, making him splutter for a second, but Eddie just grins, wriggling closer until they’re pressed firmly against each other. Steve would go as far as to say this is closer to cuddling than a hug, with Eddie squishing him from above, his arms around Steve’s middle.

“Just so you know,” Eddie’s voice rumbles from where their chests are touching, his breath sweeping across Steve’s neck. Steve shivers without meaning to, feels Eddie’s responding grin even as he continues. “All hugs requested by me are automatically 10 minutes long. Hope you’re okay with that, sweetheart.”

Steve isn’t stupid — he knows Eddie is doing it for him, doing it because he could see right through Steve’s stupid facade, had peered his yawning hunger for touch right in the face and hadn’t blanched. Instead of feeling tricked or fooled, Steve just feels…warm. Comfortable. He works his arms around Eddie’s neck til their more comfortable and find the courage in him scrape his fingers through Eddie’s hair— like he had done to Steve. Eddie’s sighs sweetly and Steve thinks he could listen to that noise forever.

“I’m… I’m okay with that.” Steve murmurs lowly, yet he knows Eddie can hear him. Eddie noses closer, a borderline nuzzle against his neck, and further down, one his hands starts to stroke softly up and down Steve’s ribs.

Steve can’t help the way it makes him freeze, the breath in his lungs holding tight as he tries to relax, tries to ignore the prickly feeling under his skin. It’s a lot. A lot of touch that Steve just isn’t used to just yet, even if he desperately craves it.

“Relax,” Eddie whispers into his skin, a soft instruction paired with the motion, one soothing stroke up and down his ribs. Steve pushes the breath in his lungs out, forces the tension out of his body, trusts that Eddie wouldn’t be offering— wouldn’t tell him to relax if he wasn’t allowed to.

“That’s it.” Eddie praises, feeling the body beneath him settle and sink a little lower into the couch. “Now, watch the movie.” Eddie instructs, jutting at the still playing screen with his chin. Steve laughs a bit, but obeys, turning his head to see what part they’d gotten up to. They’d missed a big chunk in their hug. Steve nearly apologises for it, the words on the tip of his tongue, before he decides Eddie might smack him for it.

So, he doesn’t. He watches the film, let’s the gentle touch of Eddie on his skin relax him til sleepiness starts to fill each of his limbs, heavy like lead. Eddie’s hand stops moving eventually, when his breath gets heavier, lulled by Steve’s scratch in his hair. A snore starts up, loud and quite frankly, annoying, and yet, Steve finds that with Eddie’s arms around him, he has no trouble finding sleep.

It’s the first time in years Steve’s fallen asleep in someone else’s arms. And even if he doesn't know it yet, it’s certainly not the last.

now with a part two!

[luimagines]

I dare you to do one with your favorite trope to write (unless you've already done it)

Oh my goodness, this might be longer that usual. XD

And I really had to think about what I wanted to write. I think I'll make this a one-shot. (unless you guys want more anyway) Prepare for this to be as self indulgent as hell. :D

And I'll make it Time while I'm at it.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

This was the third time this week that you found something like this. You didn't know who was doing this.

A basket, filled to the brim with goodies and trinkets alike, sat properly outside of your window sill. It would be charming if you weren't on the third floor. Someone was climbing up to your balcony and leaving the baskets for you to find.

It was creepy- to a degree. There was never anything malicious about it though. The baskets typically held a flower, a warm meal (or groceries) and some little thing for you to put around your apartment.

You see, you moved to the Kingdom of Kokiri with nothing but a backpack and small child's wagon. Your apartment wasn't even on a nicer side of town. But it hard to be worried about robbers when you're home is bare and empty.

Slowly, that's been changing though. The baskets always had a poem attached, but no name. You secret admirer would give little things from time to time. The baskets are getting more frequent too.

What used to be a small monthly thing, turned weekly then bi weekly- and you're beginning to suspect that they're turning into a daily thing.

Part of you worries that whoever this is, is spending too much on you.

But seeing that the last basket had a new set of dining wear with plates and cups and a some nice utensils to match- you're not inclined to have them stop anytime soon when they're improve your very living conditions as it is. Even if you feel a little guilty.

That being said, this basket had a warm meal already prepared, still steaming in the glass tupperware. There was a small bouquet of roses near the top and a small little box that you opened to see a single slice of chocolate cake.

The card was attached on the inside but it lacked the typical poem. It simple read: "Rest well, Love. You've worked hard today. Dinner's on me. I just want to see you smile in the morning."

You smiles and tucked the card back into its place, bringing the basket back into your apartment.

You have to figure out who this secret admirer of yours is. It has to be someone with access to your floor but it can't be a neighbor. Right? You're on the corner so it can't be anyone to your left. But maybe your neighbor to the right? That's a creepy thought. You hardy ever see him and you don't think he showers throughout the week.

It can't be him. Or at least you're going to deny it.

Maybe it's someone from above? That's more likely. There is this cute guy that you know lives on the floor above you, but you don't know which apartment. It wouldn't be hard to drop the basket secretively onto your balcony from above if that was the case.

The thought rotates in your head as you eat the food. It's delicious. Decadent, even.

Gratitude fills your heart and soul. you have to return the favor somehow after everything this person has provided for you. But how?

You head to bed with a smile on your face and a full stomach. You'll have to start small but you can think of something.

The next morning you head to the castle and walk straight to the throne room.

It was a deal that the king had proposed personally to you. You get to work concern free in his kingdom but you have to report to him every other Tuesday. Seeing as you had nowhere else to go, you didn't think it wise to refuse.

You've grown somewhat close, but with his power and status by his side, you couldn't help but slightly intimidated by him even now.

The king- like most Royals of Kingdoms of Hyrule- was a dragon. Sure, he could take the form of a typical man, but he stayed in his half form more often than not. His age and strength add to his credentials. As the current senior amongst dragons, all you've gathered is that he's lived longer than he appears. The older the dragon, the stronger they are.

King Link is a force to be reckoned with.

However, he's kind and patient with you. He's not all that bad.

You nod and grin at the Captain, who's affectionately called Warrior. Another dragon hidden among the people. You don't know his story, but he's a hard working fellow. He also came to the king in a time of need, looking for asylum and has been working under his employ ever since. He is the king's right hand man.

Warrior smiles back and salutes you softly as you enter. You'll never understand why you've more or less been given free reign of the castle, but with his approval, you feel better to head on in.

You meet the king and curtsy clumsily, still feeling rushed. He's asked you call him Time and he stands from the throne. His face is kind, amused even. A chuckle tumbles out of him as he walks toward you, his marble like tail swinging behind him. "I thought we were passed the formalities, my dear."

You clear your throat. "Were we? I don't recall."

He laughs again. "Come. We have much to discuss."

You nod and follow. He leads you to the back room with a gentle touch the small of your back. It's a familiar routine that you've grown comfortable with.

There's a small rounded table with a pale blue laced table cloth. There's a delicate tea set and it's covered to the brim with snacks and treats alike. You think you see a few of your favorites and your eyes light up at the sight.

King Time notices and he smiles, pleased. "Sit."

You nod and take your usual spot. Time sits across from you and serves you the pieces that you eyes earlier. You almost feel bad. You're still full from the night before.

Time notices. "Something wrong, dear?"

"No." You shake your head, afraid of insulting him. "Someone gave me dinner last night and I'm still a bit full from it."

Time seemed to be shocked by the tidbit. "Really?... Was it good?"

"It was delicious!" You can't help but gush. "I would normally cook for myself but they send food from time to time and it was still warm so I couldn't resist."

His smile turns a little tight. "Is that so? I'm glad that you were fed adequately then.... May I ask who?"

You falter, the smile on your face turning more soft and shy. "Um... I think it was my neighbor..."

"...You don't know who it is?"

You blush and look down onto the table, playing with the treats on your plate. "I know that I should be more cautious. But they've only ever left it on my balcony... It's a secret admirer so to speak. They've given me trinkets and flowers and food. It seems as if they've slowly been furnishing my house for me. I don't know... I've been trying to think about who it may be, but I'm coming up short. Regardless, enough about my lack of love life-"

Time abruptly puts his hand under the table but you catch the reason why before he can hide it.

He's bent the fork in half with his hand, seemingly without realizing it. He smiles brightly, as if nothing happened and the thought gets put on the back burner for now. "Right... Well, you can always ask for my assistance, Darling."

You shake your head with a small smile. "Thank you, but I'm here to report my work. Let's get to business then."

Time clenches his jaw slightly but nods in agreement. "Right. I believe last time you mentioned that you were following a trail of some suspicious individuals on the property of the farm lands for relief efforts. Did that bloom into anything substantial?"

You pull out a manila folder with a smirk and hand it to the king. "Did it ever."

The time passes before you know it. Little by little, as you give your report, if drifts away and you're talking about your lives as much as you can before you leave.

Warrior comes in, informing Time of another meeting has to attend. He looks apologetic.

The king winces but you're quick to stand up, mid panic. "I'm sorry. I've overstayed my welcome."

"Impossible." Time blurts, standing abruptly as well. He reach out as if to stop you and moves around the table as if to block your path. His tail curls around your ankle, stopping your in your tracks. It's gentle but firm. Even if his grip is painless, you can already tell that you wouldn't be able to escape on your own.

You freeze and after a beat he lets you go. Time gulps and stands, seemingly more aware of what he was doing. His grip falls away and he takes a step back. "R-right... I won't keep you from your work much longer then."

You can't help but blush. He's always been fine with putting a hand on your shoulder or your back... but the tail is one of the most sensitive parts of a dragon. And he just grabbed you with it. For some reason, you find yourself blushing.

You nod dumbly, as if your schedule is jammed packed like his. Your heart is pounding. You follow Warrior out of the room as he leads you back to the main gate of the castle.

"Sorry." Warrior says quietly. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Nonono-" You're still shaken by the phantom feelings of the scales around you. Even if it was just a brush, there was a power there. You don't know why you're so out of whack suddenly. The act was more intimate than you were able to admit. "If you didn't say anything, I would have kept going. Honestly, I swear he's just humoring most of the time."

"This is the only time we get him to actually take a break." Warrior tells you. "He'd work himself t the bone if it weren't for you. It's not like he can't afford it. He's two years ahead of his work. By all means, keep him there longer."

You flush and look away, walking out of the gate. "Oh please, he'll get sick of me before we'd know it."

Warrior is quick to bite his tongue, biting back the instant retort that no doubt sat on his tongue. He takes a breath and shakes his head.

"...He likes you." Warrior looks pained. Like there's something there that he wants to say but can't. You don't see it. "Would you like me to walk you home? If I recall you live far enough away-"

"Not enough to cause concern, Captain." You smile and pat his shoulder. "But thank you."

"His Majesty wouldn't like it if anything happened to you." Warrior tries to push it a little bit.

You shake you head. "And take more of your time away? You work just as hard, if not harder, than the entirety of the castle staff. I think only the King works harder than you."

He presses his lips into a thin line. His own scales poke from under his skin. Something is riling him up but you don't know what. You've never seen his dragon form or even his half. He seems to hide it more often than not. You would never know he was a dragon if the King hadn't said anything earlier.

Warrior sighs and runs his hands through his hair. "Very well... Just... be safe, yeah? I don't think the goddesses themselves would be able to calm the king should things go wrong."

"Like what?" You snort. "I end up in the hospital? I'll be fine. No worries."

You wink for good measure and head home, happy, fulfilled and ready to take on the rest of the week.

You miss the next three visits.

Part 2

[kikuism]

so i've been curious about this for a while, something i've noticed is how you're either biased for one or the other group. you might care for both but your main interest lies in one.

[coollyinterferes]

The unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching begins to fill the air. Whoever is coming seems to have brought some company along…

They are getting closer… and closer… and closer…

…and closer…

……until..................

"Goooooood evenin'!!" Comes the loud greeting from a certain blond man. A big smile on his face and all.

"We beg your pardon for our prolonged absence. It was completely beyond our control..." Then adds the gentleman standing by his side, apologizing on behalf of both, offering a genuine smile along with the apology.

"...BUT! We're back!" And hopefully for good this time…

[potatobugz]

Chapter 2 is out!

[crescentfool]

so you want to use OBS

hello! i’ve decided to compile information on my OBS setup and some resources that have helped me along the way.  this is mostly for personal reference, but maybe others can make use of this information!

some notes before i get into it:

i use OBS for both offline recording and (twitch) streaming. any footage i record is edited using DaVinci Resolve 18, which is free.

most of my OBS captures are of video games (through a USB capture card, specifically elgato), and the occasional screen/application capture (like clip studio paint, and sometimes PC games).

as such, the information here is reflective of these experiences. this post is not comprehensive to all of OBS’s features- this is just an overview of the settings and configurations that are most relevant to me.

with that out of the way, all the information will be under the cut!

Basic Setup

file format:

how to change: settings -> output -> recording -> recording format -> press “apply” once finished!

I save most of my recordings as .mkv files- it supports multi-track audio! i prefer .mkv over .mp4 because if your power goes out, you still have a recording to work with. 

.mkv files can be read by DaVinci Resolve without an issue- but for Adobe software, they'll need to be remuxed to .mp4 within OBS! (file -> remux recordings -> press the … to select a file -> press the “remux” button)

video resolution and framerate:

how to change: settings -> video -> output (scaled) resolution

my obs canvas is @ 1920 x 1080p (16:9)

i switch between 720p and 1080p as needed! if you're concerned about space, you can probably just go for 720p. i also record at 30 fps, simply because that’s what my capture card supports.

video bitrate:

how to change: settings -> output -> encoder settings (located in both the streaming and recording tab) -> press “apply” once finished!

bitrate is a bit of a doozy to explain, but the most important thing to know is that bitrate affects your video’s quality. lower numbers = lower quality, while higher numbers = higher quality. 

generally speaking, you'll want higher bitrate when you're recording things with high depth of information (e.g. you’d want a higher bitrate for something fast-paced like splatoon, compared to a slower-paced game like animal crossing).

my video bitrate is either set to 3000 or 4000 kbps! and here's some of my other (related) settings while i'm at it:

you can put your bitrate at much higher values than me if you're a stickler for quality- but keep in mind that a higher bitrate means:

bigger file size

more information to upload (when streaming)

your computer will need to encode more

i’d recommend reading twitch’s guidelines on encoding, bitrate, resolution, and framerate to get an idea of what values to pick. for people who are doing offline recording or streaming on a different platform, i suggest googling the appropriate resources!

multi-track audio:

this is mostly applicable to anyone looking to do video editing!

multi-track audio basically allows you to separate your audio sources (e.g. discord, game audio, and your own microphone) into different tracks. 

this is an immensely helpful tool because it lets you adjust audio levels in post-production (editing). some examples of how this can be used:

increasing someones microphone volume if they speak too softly

increasing/decreasing game audio

muting swear words/sensitive information

completely muting voice call + microphone if you want to upload a no commentary video

and more!

to set this up, take a look at your audio mixer panel, and press the ⚙ icon. this will bring up advanced audio properties.

by checkmarking a track box, it puts the audio on that track. to make the above screenshot easier to digest:

track 1 consists of ALL three audio sources- desktop, elgato, and microphone.

track 2 only has the microphone audio.

track 3 only has desktop audio (i use this for voice calls)

track 4 only has the elgato capture card audio (game audio). the volume has also been lowered so that any speaking voices can be heard clearly.

tracks 5 and 6 are unused.

you might be wondering, “why do all three of these have 1 checked off?” this is what i call the universal audio track. i recommend having a universal audio track for a few reasons:

when you stream from OBS onto twitch/youtube- you have to select ONE audio track.

it’s also a nice backup in case you didn’t separate your audio correctly.

if for whatever reason you need to move around your individual audio tracks in editing, the universal track acts as a nice reference point.

mark off your audio tracks for each audio source as you see fit! once you’re finished with the advanced audio properties, go to settings > output.

for the streaming tab, you’ll want to have the number of your universal audio track selected. in my case, that will be audio track 1.

for the recording tab, checkmark all the audio tracks that are applicable to you (in my case, audio tracks 1, 2, 3, and 4). by default, only audio track 1 is selected.

if you don’t check off the additional audio tracks in the output > recordings section, you will not have access to those audio tracks in editing, and you won’t be able to edit your audio tracks independently of each other. so don’t forget to do this! 👍

custom browser docks

custom browser docks are a great tool for when you’re streaming and want to have access to your twitch chat and/or activity feed! (or if you wanted to have some other web browser on OBS).

to create one, go to docks -> custom browser docks.

you’ll be given a table interface that asks you to put the dock name and URL. for streamers who want to have chat and alerts available, do the following:

on twitch’s homepage, go to the upper right and click your icon

then, click creator dashboard

once you’re on your dashboard, go to stream manager

click the vertical “...” on my chat OR activity feed.

press “pop-out chat” OR “pop-out activity feed”

copy and paste the link into the table back into OBS

press apply once you’re done

click and drag the docks around at your leisure to put them where you like!

if you ever decide you don’t want to have something on your OBS dock (or want to bring something back), go to the toolbar, click “docks,” and click the appropriate dock!

third party things

a section of optional things that you may enjoy having.

streamlabs alerts

this is basically for anyone who streams and wants to have their chat and/or follower notifications visualized on screen!

streamlab alerts can be added to OBS by adding a browser source into your scene, and the specifics can be customized on streamlabs itself. it’s pretty self-explanatory, so i’ll just leave a link to streamlabs website, where you can log in using the streaming platform of your choice: https://streamlabs.com/

discord overlay

this is a browser source that can be set up to show people who are in a server's voice chat and who speaks. i recommend this to people who make multiplayer content- it can help viewers distinguish who is who but also it can be helpful in editing.

to set this up, go to https://streamkit.discord.com/overlay, click “install for OBS,” and after logging in with discord, go to “voice widget” and click the server and voice channel you want.

you are able to apply CSS if you'd like more control over the visuals, but the standard layout tends to work fine for me! a search of “discord overlay css” on youtube can help you get more information.

veadotube mini

this is a pngtuber software that a friend recommended to me! no webcam is required- mouth opening and closing is based on your microphone input!

you can download it here (it’s pay what you want!): https://olmewe.itch.io/veadotube-mini

for a proper tutorial on how to use it, i recommend checking out the app's documentation, which you can read here: https://veado.tube/help/

source record

have you ever wanted to stream something with a chat overlay/layout, but wanted your recording to ONLY be the gameplay? or maybe you wanted to record BOTH your gameplay AND your webcam so that you can have a crisp zoom-in on your webcam!

source record is a third party plugin that can help you with that!

the general gist of source record involves applying the “source record” filter on either a scene or source, and customizing the encoding settings accordingly. the exact details of how to set it up is beyond the scope of this post, so I'll just direct people to this video instead (it was very helpful to me):

⚠ a quick note about source record: this plugin can be intense for your computer. be sure to do test recordings and the like to see what your computer can handle (and see if the recordings come out the way you like). it took me a few tests before i settled onto something i liked!

you can download and install source record here: https://obsproject.com/forum/resources/source-record.1285/

vdo.ninja

have you ever wanted to do a collaborative video or stream where you feature someone else’s video on your stream? or maybe you’re doing a multi-person streaming event! vdo.ninja is the perfect tool for you!

vdo.ninja turns your OBS virtual camera into a browser source link- which your collaborator can add on their stream! this is a new tool that i’ve added to my arsenal recently- since my friend and i are planning to stream a side order challenge together! i’ve still got to iron it out a bit more, but i like what i’ve used of it so far.

try it out for yourself at their website here (with documentation and demos available on the homepage!): https://vdo.ninja/ (no downloads required!)

ok! i’m set up! what now?

and with that, that’s all of the settings and tools that i thought would be worth mentioning! while most of my setup was written with video games in mind, some of these plugins and setups may be applicable to other types of videos (e.g. tabletop gaming with a physical camera)!

now that i’ve outlined all these settings, i have one more thing i have to say: regardless of what you're using OBS for, do a test recording before doing anything “official” with it. this recording can be as short as 30 seconds. it’s a good habit to develop that can make sure your streams/recordings turn out the way you want them to!

here are the kinds of things i like to check! it’s not an exhaustive list, but this can be a starting point:

video:

does my video look the way i want it to (and can my computer handle that)?

can my computer handle the load of encoding? - OBS will note in the bottom if the encoding is overloaded. if it can’t handle it, turn down your bitrate or adjust other encoding settings (e.g. i had to toggle psycho visual tuning OFF because it was causing lag)

this is especially the case if you're recording PC games- you don’t want to have slowdown on either your game or the recording!

audio:

are my audio sources (e.g. desktop audio and microphone) correct? - if you plug/unplug devices a lot, be sure to check this (settings -> audio).

are any of my audio sources muted? - make sure you don’t have anything on 🔇 if you don’t want it to be muted! otherwise the audio will be lost forever… (i lost my friend’s VC audio once… it was sad)

are my audio tracks separated properly? - requires you to boot up your editing software, but it's worth doing! for the test recording, just have something from all your sources playing at once, and see if your editor has things separated into tracks.

can i hear the voices clearly? or does the music and/or game overpower them?

if for whatever reason your OBS crashes, or you want more information on anything “critical” or “warning” worthy in your set-up, you can go to help > log files > upload current log file > analyze. crash logs currently can’t be analyzed by the log analyzer- but they’re a valuable tool when asking for help on the OBS forums!

and that’s all! for real, this time. i hope that some of these tools and settings can help anyone wanting to get more out of OBS. there’s definitely other things i didn’t touch upon (e.g. audio filters for noise compression, suppression, etc.), so i suggest doing your own research and trying things out!

happy recording/streaming, and thanks for reading! ✨

[rohirric-hunter]

future & ghost for hathellang?👀

@isi7140 All these Hathellang questions kind of string together so I'm gonna answer them together. From this ask game. Also spoilers for all of The Song of Waves and Wind that's currently out. And also this got kinda long. And certain parts aren't set in stone yet, like how Léonys and Hathellang meet up again in Umbar. I'm still contemplating Umbar stuff and figuring out how I want to make my characters' story go.

Also I feel like I should say that Hathellang is not a reliable narrator, any more than Léonys is. Even less so, in some parts of this.

ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?

Imagine you're Hathellang. You grew up alone. When people ask about your parents, you shrug, and don't say anything, and let them think that you don't remember them. The truth is, you do -- your mother, at least. You were just old enough to understand what was happening the day she took you on a trip to Bree-town, to go shopping, she said, and sat you down on the edge of the Boar Fountain, and told you to wait for her there. You waited there for five days, swiping food from a nearby vendor when the hunger became too much to take, though thinking back you believe he must have seen you, and let you take it out of pity. On the fifth day, you were caught by a guard, but let off with a warning, and when he let you go you had run off, leaving the plaza where your mother left you for the first time and hiding in the stables of the Prancing Pony. Bob had found you there sooner, rather than later, and asked you what you were doing and where your parents were, and for the first time, you had shrugged, too busy trying to hold the tears in for words. "I see," he'd said, and he'd gone off, and come back some time later with half a plate of stew and a cup of water and told you not to be spooking the horses and ponies.

You cried, once he left you alone, and then you never cried about it again. Crying is a lot of energy, energy that you needed to beg and steal and keep yourself on your feet. Locks are hard to pick with shaking hands. You're called far worse things than orphan; street-rat, gutter scum, thief. You can't afford to dwell on it, so you don't think about it, and by the time you're in a place where you can think about it, it's buried so deep that you think it's easier to let it lie.

fear: What is your OC's greatest fear? What do they do when confronted with it? Are they open with their fear, or do they hide it away?

People like Bob would give you clothes, or food, or little toys, but the clothes would wear out, and the food would only last so long, and the toys didn't teach you any useful skill you could trade for clothes and food, and none of them seemed to know or care that you spent cold winter nights in narrow alleys with only one blanket, or sometimes none at all, and some nights you went to sleep with no real idea if you would wake up in the morning. The moments of pity they have for you only go so far, and they're never as many as the moments of anger, when they catch you stealing and never wonder why, and the more it happens the more bitter and angry about it you become.

Then there's a guard who doesn't want to do paperwork, and Léonys, and she's angry just like everyone else, and she yells at you and tells you off for stealing, until eventually she doesn't. You think it's more boredom than actual acceptance, though. Everywhere in the Hackberry House you can only see bare tolerance -- the other children, who would never dream of stealing, tolerate you because Lady Hackberry took you in, and Lady Hackberry tolerates you because taking in children with nowhere else to go is what she does. You simply cannot bring yourself to believe that they actually want you, and to be tolerated but not wanted is more than you can bear, so you leave, slipping out of the House without saying goodbye one morning and running back to Bree, where you are disliked enough, but at least people are honest about it.

Léonys finds you on the hill behind the Training Hall in the late afternoon, where you have sat most of the day under an overgrown bush that no one has bothered to trim because they cannot see it, hugging your knees to your chest, and contemplating crying about it, though you hadn't really got 'round to it. "Are you coming home for dinner?" she asks shortly, pulling her cloak tight about her against the late October chill.

"What?" you ask, surprised to see her and not quite comprehending her words.

"Dinner," she says. "It'll be ready in a couple of hours. Are you coming? Gareth is making stuffed cabbages."

You think, as you follow her back up the road to the Hackberry House, that you might love her.

There's no call to be so angry, once you realize your new place, and in response the rest of the world seems to become less angry, and though you do not stop stealing, for now you have more mouths than just your own to feed, you can afford to pick and choose your contracts. Mostly you do work for the wealthy elite of Bree who have petty beef with each other that they refuse to resolve in a courtroom like respectable folk, instead choosing to hire people of your talents to prove esoteric points to one another. When such work is not available, and the only burglary jobs are ones you would prefer not to do -- taking food from those who have little enough already, or weapons from the guards who defend the town -- you are, for the first time, in a position to turn them down, for in Lady Hackberry's house you had learned the art of tailoring, and while there is not so much money in that as there is in burglary, it's honest work, and it's safe.

That safety slowly begins to have value to you, as you slowly learn to accept that there's a future for you, in a land that you love despite how difficult it can be to live in, with Lady Hackberry, who took you in, with the children, who you swear will never know hardship like you did, and with Léonys, who comes to love you as fiercely as you love her.

And then the Plot comes for you.

Léonys runs headfirst into danger, and you follow her, because of course you do, as if you could do anything else. The danger worries you, far more than it would have a decade before, but you worry more for her than for yourself. She has no idea of when it's wise to say no, and she feels so strongly for anyone in any sort of trouble. It's one of the things you love about her, but you know it will land both of you in more trouble than you can handle, eventually.

There is trouble, and plenty of it, but it all turns out to be worth it, and you find that the two of you are able to manage it, unbelievable as it seems. When it is all over, you promise each other, you will go home, and everything will go back to normal. But when it is all over you find that it is not all over after all. You find yourself accompanying a party of Elves south, to cover the trail of a company that had departed from Rivendell in some secrecy, and then you find yourself drawn into the deep dark of the Mines of Moria, and one thing leads to another and then you're storming Dol Guldur, and then following Nona to Rohan on a dream, and standing against invading armies and a wizard. When you see Léonys again at Helm's Deep, something is wrong, but there is no time to pursue it, and then you are off again, following Aragorn and the Grey Company to Gondor, and it is not until after the battle before Minas Tirith that you have a chance to ask.

You do not ask, though, because you can feel a shadow that hangs over Léonys, and you wonder why she has not told you herself. You find the truth out months later in Naerband, and it is a long time before you can bring yourself to leave her side again. You fear your worry might be overbearing; there are few things in the world more dangerous than Saruman, and she has already weathered that. But a tiny part of your mind has entertained the idea that something might happen, some swift and terrible evil that you will be powerless to prevent, and the thought will not leave you. If something were to happen to her -- to the woman who saw something worthwhile in you when it seemed no one else did, who tracked you down and brought you home when you didn’t even know that you wanted to be brought home -- it doesn't really bear thinking about. So you don't.

future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?

Léonys and you have both agreed that it is time to turn your road homeward, but first you agree to one last favor for Elessar; he wishes for you and Candaith to briefly represent him in the lands of Gondor to the West, and Queen Arwen wishes for you to assess threats to her husband’s safety, when he travels there himself. You ask if two strangers are best suited for this task.

"Two strangers who have already aided them much," Elessar says. "And the gossip might flow more freely among strangers than it would before those with more permanent positions at court."

Perhaps he is right, you think later, as you look a woman in the eye and tell her that where you come from, marriages between different peoples are not allowed. "Especially Elves," you say, marveling that she appears to be falling for this patently ridiculous lie that you've concocted, "for they tell strange tales about the gods, and if we are too welcoming then we might lose the truth of it ourselves."

"That is what we fear as well," she says. "Losing who we are to outsiders."

You think about that, as a man of Gondor stands before you and swears he would cut down an unsuspecting emissary again, given the chance. Tumúldo's wife looks you in the eye and asks if you stand beside the Heirs of Castamir, and you do not hesitate. The small blade you keep hidden in your sleeve finds its mark in Trastadir's shoulder, and as Nakási stands you draw your sword and stand beside her.

Some members of the Heirs of Castamir beg for mercy. They should have expected this, you think, when they chose to support pillaging corsairs from Umbar over their own people. They should have expected it when they invited a close friend of the King into their ranks. They should have expected it when one of their own took a blade to Tumúldo's back in front of his wife. It was no small labor that dug the shallow grave they lie in, when you and Nakási leave the house, bearing Tumúldo's body between you, and all of it done themselves.

"Gondor will pay for the death of Tumúldo," Nakási says to you. "A thousand times over it will pay."

"The Heirs of Castamir are no Men of Gondor," you say. "They are traitors."

"Are they?" Nakási asks. "Do all the other Men of Gondor condemn them, then? Are all the other people united in their support for Elessar? No other Men of Gondor would stoop to such levels?"

You think on how easy it was to find members of the Heirs in broad daylight. You think of the rumors of a traitor in Elessar's court. You think of Parthadan, and of Mauthoi. You say nothing.

"Will the death of my husband go unavenged?" Nakási demands.

You say nothing.

The tone of Nakási's voice fills you with fear, but when you meet with Elessar in Imloth Melui he does not seem to understand the danger from your account, though he takes your warning with the gravity it deserves. And days pass, and your fear slowly wanes as you travel Gondor at Elessar's side.

Then Léonys is gone -- taken by Nakási, and your fear stirs to new and further wakefulness, for Nakási has taken a child as well. Not a warrior or a traitor, but a boy of less than twelve summers who poses no threat to her or her Kindred of the Coins or to Umbar, and the action speaks worlds of her and the danger that she and hers pose to you and yours. You hope that Léonys has the good sense to not let Nakási know of her connection with Elessar, or with you. You know she does not.

Bruidis will not be parted from Rossaran, and comes with him to the Wave-hunter, and the spike of jealousy, that she has that choice, is new and ugly. Carandolion presses a favor into Nauriel's hands, and you turn away and hurry to the ship.

Candaith waits for you there, asks after you with concern in his eyes, and you force a smile and tell him you are fine, that this is no different than the months you had spent parted from Léonys when you had been caught up with the Iron Garrison, and she had traveled south. Candaith is not fooled, but he does not ask again.

You do not expect to find Horn of Rohan in the Shield Isles, deep enough in his cups that he does not recognize you until you speak. You ask him where Nona is, knowing full well he does not know, and do not even try to hide your scorn when he tells you to call him Driftwood. "Why are you running from her?" you ask him. "Don't you want to be with her?"

"Want?" Horn asks, wavering. "It's not about what I want."

"It most certainly is," you say. He scowls, and does not answer.

Sirgon's tale of Belondor, the once-warden of Umbar, is of little interest to you. You are disappointed, but not surprised, by the rashness and anger of the former Steward of Gondor, but you have more important worries to occupy you -- that is until you find yourself staring down the cold steel of a blade held to your throat at his wife's command. Mêshka watches Sirgon stonily as he speaks, and you watch her, and then she gestures for her men to stand down. That is strange, you think, for in her place you would have done no such thing. Sirgon is a friend, but looking at him through Mêshka's eyes, you see no friend at all, but Saruman, and Thraknûl, and a name rises to mind like some gross flotsam bobbing at the surface of a tidepool, fouling clear waters; a name that Léonys thinks you do not know, but she has spoken it through tears in her sleep often enough that you do, though you have no face to match it with: Morflak.

Sirgon walks away from his encounter alive, and you consider, quietly, that if you had been in Mêshka's place he would not have. Indeed, had Mêshka resolved to slay him where he stood, you do not know that you would have drawn your blade in your companion’s defence. You aren't sure if this realization bothers you or not. (It would bother Léonys.)

When you see Léonys again, meeting eyes with her across the fountain in the Citadel, it is all you can do not to throw caution to the wind and run to her. But then Azagath is there, and you cannot help but notice the way she shrinks away as he approaches, though his eyes are not on her. When he does at last look at her, after Jajax enters and reveals you to your foes, and Léonys in turn reveals herself, recognition sparks in his eyes, and Léonys' voice trembles when she speaks, though she holds her head high and does not let him see the fear that is so obvious to you. It is not until you and she and Jajax and Thorongil and Nimrodel flee the Citadel, and they have all followed your lead as you duck into a quiet alley in the Fleet-fast where you will have a moment of privacy, that she throws herself towards you, arms tight around your neck, and you can feel the damp of tears on your shirt as you return the embrace.

"Azagath," you whisper, and she flinches at the name, "what did he do to you?"

"Nothing," she says, too quickly, you think. She hesitates. "Nothing directly."

Nauriel swears that she will see Azagath and Nakási dead, and privately you think she is going to have to get to them first, but neither of you get to them during the fraught pursuit through the depths beneath the Mâkhda Khorbo. Perhaps, you think later, this is for the best. When you all stumble out of the cave hours later, exhausted and drained and with nothing useful to show for your efforts, you find your head has cleared somewhat. You are still angry, very angry, but you see with a clearer eye that your mission has been a success. All the hostages are free. That part, at least, can be considered a success. It ought to satisfy you more than it does.

You don't have very much sympathy for Belondor as he struggles to come to terms with Azagath's betrayal. Nauriel wanted to kill him, seeing nothing but the coin he wears on his breast. She would have, if you hadn't grabbed her by the shoulder and hissed that he was the only reason her son still lived, that there was nothing you or Léonys or Jajax or anyone else would have been able to do in time to save the boy. You don't regret stopping her, but you wish he wouldn't act so surprised by the whole thing. Azagath was hardly subtle with his villainy -- you had been a little shocked yourself, at how willing the water-bearers were to not ask questions about your business in the Citadel, and then to eagerly point you in the Sea-shadow's direction once he fled, but it makes rather more sense as you consider what they had said about their companions vanishing when they saw or heard something they shouldn't have. And perhaps you are giving Belondor too much credit. After all, he had not noticed your presence or Léonys' among the water-bearers any more than the others had. Servants and slaves and ordinary people are just as beneath his notice as they are Azagath's, or Mordirith's, or the lieutenants of Sauron's that squabble still over the remains of his holdings.

It is Léonys who comes to Belondor's defense, as you start to voice this thought aloud. "He didn't know," she says, looking at you sharply. "None of them did. They thought he was a friend."

"Maybe they should have known," Candaith says, quietly. He knows something that you do not, that Léonys has not told you, for when you had returned from the destroyed temple and found him with Léonys and Thorongil in the room your group had rented in one of the city's many inns there had been a new tension in his shoulders, and a new darkness to his eyes, and his mouth had been a tight line. Nevertheless, his words are probably too quietly for Belondor to hear, which is more thought than you care to spare for his feelings. Léonys hears, though, from where she is sitting close by, and frowns.

Tatháta heals the same way as Belharen, and maybe a month ago you would have been a little bit ill to imagine it, you think, as you inspect Cruel Dancer's wounds and come to the same conclusion as Corudan, that she has mere hours to live. Now you think that Tatháta has good reason to want to know more about you and your crew, and by any means necessary. You wonder what tale the bounty hunter told, and if it is accurate. Léonys quietly excuses herself and hurries a little distance away, where she kneels on the ground and retches. You should go to her, a little voice in the back of your mind whispers. You wonder why the voice telling you to follow Léonys and stay by her side is so little.

Sigileth calls Cruel Dancer by the name she had whispered to you in her final moments -- Galatâni. She says she sees something of herself in the Umbari woman. And you slowly realize that you do as well -- and yet you do not. If Léonys were taken from you, gone without any hope of rescue, you know, with startling clarity, what you would do. There would be revenge, of course. Her killer would face justice. But then... you would return home, you suppose. Lady Hackberry and the children would still be waiting. There would still be Bree, and your friends there, and bright sunrises over the Bree-hill and spiced turtle soup. You would still be Hathellang.

That is not the danger, for you. For you, it is when there is still hope that you find yourself standing at the edge, and staring off it into the darkness. When you do not know.

How can you know, that little voice in your mind asks, when you aren't looking?

You slowly turn away from Galatâni, and you look at Léonys, who has straightened up and is wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. You would tear the world apart to keep her safe. You would tear yourself apart. You haven't considered, before now, just how awful that is. She had agreed, after some hesitation, to return with Candaith and Thorongil to the inn rather than pursue Azagath with the rest of you. But if she had not? The words had been in your throat already, not a plea, but a demand for her to remain far away from him. You don't know what he did to her, but it left something heavy and terrifying on her shoulders, and he will die for it, of that you are certain -- but you finally admit to yourself that you would destroy yourself over it. You would destroy her. You don't even know what it is.

You force one foot forward, and then the other, and you cross the little distance between you and wrap your arms around her, clinging tight. For a moment she stands surprised, and then she returns the embrace, wrapping her arms around you and resting her head against your shoulder. Behind you, the sun begins to rise, and you feel its warmth against your back, soft and comforting before the sands of Aradâr become hot and unbearable.

"Let's find some water," you say.

~*~*~*~

Okay so the last one is a little vague. Unfortunately when you write from a character's point of view and have them realize things about themself, you're still limited by what they actually know about themself. But trust me this is all important context to understand the actual answer, which is that, if pushed far enough, in the interest of keeping Léonys safe, Hathellang would absolutely betray anyone and everyone, including her. Not really at any given point, but in situations like the one I've gone and written him into with the Umbar stuff, he's dangerously close to this thing where his abandonment issues combined with all the insecurity he experienced as a child combined with the fact that he kind of does put Léonys on a pedestal as the first person who ever came back for him (again and again and again) launches him into a really weird fucked up sort of dragon sickness. He would eventually (not for a long time and not without more stressors at play) start disregarding her own wishes in the interest of "keeping her safe" and ultimately become himself the biggest danger to her.

Of course he doesn't know all that. He knows that after seeing her hurt in ways that he just can't fix during their adventure he wants desperately to keep her safe, and he's also starting to realize that he's been compromising his own morals to do that since Gundabad. And also that he's been doing that in a way that's going to hurt her sooner rather than later. This is what I mean when I say that while it's mostly a Beren thing, sometimes it is a Maedhros thing too.

As a foil to Nakási, he's kind of in the same boat as her (pun not intended but wholeheartedly embraced) in terms of, "will commit war crimes for the sake of hurt/killed lover." He'll probably have the whole, "looking at her and seeing himself," moment at some point. Later. When they meet again.

If he's lucky the lesson will stick before something really bad happens. But that kind of depends on how all this meshes with whatever comes next on this questline.

[rosy-cozy-radio]

I have a ton of mutuals who can tell me about fandom stuff which is great but sometimes I wish I could ask you guys questions like “what did I eat yesterday?” or “where did I put my AirPods” because as a neurospicy person I dedicate most of my brainpower to storytelling stuff I learn in school and very little to being aware of what’s going on around me so I need someone who’s actually paying attention desperately

(I am lucky to have people like this irl but still I wish I could ask you guys things about my life that I should know but I don’t )

[maddieandangel]

Had a weird Hollow Knight-related dream a couple days ago, so I decided to draw a major scene I remembered from it dgsgshf

More context will be in the tags, for those interested!

[vervaincircle]

what kills me about those types of fans that act like it’s illegal to criticize legacies is like

i have criticisms for all three of the shows. i’m not “some toxic hosie” who specifically hates legacies. 😭 i have truckloads of critiques for all three shows? it’s not illegal to criticize legacies now just because you guys had your feelings hurt by some 15yo on twitter who said they were a hosie in like 2019

i only talk about these criticisms at all because i enjoy the shows. i care about them both being good (why else would i attach to them) and also having not really met their potential. all of them are completed and i still cared enough to come back and rewatch them and dissect what i love or don’t love about them while preparing notes for my fics. legacies had SO much potential and it did have a lot of good things about it that kept us so invested we were hooked. only a show with good characters can manage ship wars on this scale because we’re all invested

criticism of tv is not a bad thing. i feel like people have gotten their wires crossed and think all criticism is toxicity now. i’ve never sent hate to the writers or even to julie plec herself, despite thinking some of her actions actually were just awful. but i’m still going to talk about things i think could’ve been done better because it’s my blog and if people are upset then oh well, atp?

it’s really bizarre and irritating how tv fandoms and the way the internet just generally is now have created this space where any critique means you’re toxic or you don’t enjoy something. tv fandoms could learn a lot from people who review books

[compacflt]

This is niche (maybe) but please share more about ice and mav at Oshkosh!! Do they go yearly? Or just the one time? Are they part of any aviation enthusiast communities???

yes yes yes!!! going to air shows is 100% a date for both of them. i feel like: a couple things:

- they’ve both probably seen the blue angels so many times it’s not super exciting anymore, and until they retire & become private citizens it’s also too big of a Thing for them to go, so they try to go to civilian/private air shows if they can

- one exception is fleet week for obvious rzns. They both probably have to do shit for fleet week on the reg. Ice especially

- i do keep thinking it would be funny for mav to do like a two year tour with the BAs at some point but there wasn’t room for that in the narrative so it’s Schrödinger’s headcanon

- before they retire their schedules are super crazy packed & don’t always line up, even if they request certain dates (like each other’s birthdays, Xmas, thanksgiving, Oshkosh etc) off in advance, so Oshkosh specifically doesn’t become yearly until after they retire. But after they retire they do annually fly in to Oshkosh in their p-51. lots of picnic lunch breaks in Reno/Omaha/Boise etc

- theyve been to the big international air shows (farnborough, Paris, NOT dubai for security/gay people issues, etc) together a couple times when they can swing it. (Me looking for any excuse to send them back to europe on vacation) but before they retire it’s also probably a Thing. So Thing-ness (public & Navy engagement etc) has to be accounted for when they’re planning their trip. they do have a responsibility to rep the Navy as best as they can etc etc

- Thing-ness also has to be accounted for when joining aviation enthusiast groups… after they retire & get married hell yes!!! they probably have a ton of civilian aviation friends & are pretty involved. not before their marriage though. It takes a while for them to come out of the hidden little shell they’ve been living in for thirty years & make friends as a real couple. but they do eventually.

[melverie]

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh today I've been constantly experiencing the urge to un-private today-in-the-devildom & start writing for it again

[crescentmoonrider]

Help(less)

Summary :

Senjurou works at Douma's office, and learns to help. Senjurou works at Douma's office, and learns that he can't do anything at all. Senjurou works, and learns that closure is something only some ghosts can give. (He wants to become more like Kyoujurou, more like Douma, more like Michikatsu. Wants to be someone the dead and the living can rely on.)

>read on AO3

>AU tag

[volivolition]

Hehee! ok, for the questioning I have chosen 7, 12, 25 and 28. Also if you are feeling very spicy you can also do 37.

hehehe hello red!! <33 THE QUESTIONING BEGINS.... >:3!!!

7) what scares you the most and why? ✨ confrontation~!! ✨ [jazz hands] B') like, conversation is already hard enough, and then you have to add the fact that someone is mad at the other person?? ough!! awful!!! i don't want people to be mad at me! and i dont want to be mad at other people!! wuahg... D: also centipedes, millipedes, and caterpillars. bros why you got so many legs for. you dont need that many. aeugh... :|!!!

12) what’s some good advice you want to share? technically already answered, but here's more advice hkjgh - install sponsorblock as a firefox extension if you don't want to see Raid Shadow Legends or Audible sponsorships anymore :P - having a mermaid blorbo/oc will make you better at art (mostly because it helps you practice a lot of line-of-action and flowing poses and also drawing water) - when writing, skip to the parts you're excited to write and fill in everything else later. when editing, save parts you dont want in a different scrap document so it doesn't feel scary to delete it all hkjgh - create whateber you want forever, be unapologetically self-indulgent, make things that you want to make! cringe culture is dead; dance upon its grave <3

25) fave season and why? i love autumn :] when it gets cooler again, but not too cold yet. the state of transition... crisp air and pretty colors... ough what good vibes. i love you autumn <3

28) do you collect anything? i dont think i collect anything in particular! i wanted to start a pin or acrylic charm collection at some point though <3

37) share a secret oooh hm, whats a good secret... oh, this one's funny: the first fanfic i ever wrote was an extremely comphet one direction fic when i was 12. it was extremely poorly written because i only had cliche wattpad fics for guidance. and the worst part is i didnt even LIKE one direction, i just thought one direction was the only fandom you were allowed to write fanfics about, WHICH IS A WILD THING TO THINK, PAST ME??? LMAO!!!

[veilkeeper]

when roz walked into the crèche, they were confidently githyanki - they could wear the mask and mingle with those of faerûn, but they were gith first, and arriving at the crèche was like coming home. nevermind the bones of the temple it sat in, the orange suns on the wall and the marble hands reaching for the touch of dawn. none of it mattered, because below there was home.

and in those walls, there was a promise. once purified, they would find the simplicity of the life they had before they ever woke up on a ghaik ship, where all they had to do was look to a jhe'stil and do as commanded. no more scrambling for answers, no more being the terrifying exception to the rule. they would simply be themself again, safe among their people, secure in a role predefined.

but then the zaith'isk does not purify, and doubts they had pushed down for so long bubble back to the surface. one of the youths recognized them as an outsider from the way that they walked - "less directed," he said, and roz had to bite their tongue and keep from flinching. they ask questions and the ghustil echoes what lae'zel had said a half-dozen times or more since meeting; how could they not know these things? they should have paid more attention to their teachers. could they have ever hoped to belong, when they carried their years away from their people as some carried brands?

a single egg sits in a carefully curated pond, the last to hatch, and roz wonders if culling it is worth losing someone like ko'kuu if it means never giving rise to someone like them.

the inquisitor offers them simplicity. a command they are to follow and they are so grateful to be able to obey, and from their loyalty vlaakith springs forth in all her glory. they drop to their knees. they were never one to worship, they never could focus on anything so abstract as a god, but she looks down at them with golden eyes and sees them. they have killed people for so much less than ascension, and if they can please their Queen, then they will be worth something. they will have to have been worth something.

a voice they know all too well beckons them into a cave inside the prism, a confrontation to be had alone.

she stands on the edge of a sea of stars and she tells them their queen has a secret, and they want to believe they are being lied to but they don't think they are. it wouldn't matter, even so - vlaakith demands the death of the visitor, and roz must obey. ascension. belonging. all they needed to do was remain loyal and deliver a single blow.

the visitor offers them the sword they need to carry out their task, an act of trust entirely unearned. but whoever this stranger is, they wear her face, and seeing it now after gazing upon their queen, they wonder if gods and queens can even compare. mauna had seen them as a broken, beaten child and loved them. used them, of course, but that was part of the loving, wasn't it? they were made to be used, born to be a sword wielded by another, and mauna had been so sweet in the wielding.

they fall to their knees. grasping at the earth below, they scramble for purchase as the sky seems to explode out in every direction, too big, too abstract. gods, queens, crèches, temples, it all felt too big. for so long, they had only ever needed her. why did they leave? why couldn't they ever just do what they were told? why couldn't they be happy?

they leave the prism feeling like something had been ripped from them. or perhaps everything had been ripped from them, leaving a formless husk behind. once again, they have been reduced to nothing - roz'zith of nowhere, now named hshar'lak, a moment of disobedience destroying everything they thought they had.

but perhaps if they survive, they could find mauna. she knew how to sculpt them from nothing, and they knew better now. they would know to appreciate her this time, to do what they were told. they would only need to prove to her that they could still be useful to her. and after? it would all be so simple.

they push through the doors of the morninglord's temple and into the soft light cresting down on the ruins, bloodied but reborn. they have no people to return to, now. but they might have a person, if she will have them.