#paladins in peril

[wanterwolf]

the greatest form of self love is shipping ocs that are basically just two halves of you

[camelidae]

If you like cows, ponies, sheep, horses, noble paladins and their faithful steads, mysterious entities dispensing heroic powers, small-town bickering, redemption arcs, wobbly-kneed bravery in the face of dire peril, snaggly-toothed possum monsters, bovines learning lessons about humility and the importance of civic cooperation, mayoral elections, wishing wells-

-well, wow! Those are really specific things to like, but hey, me too! If you want to see all of those things in one book, do check out The Grandest Tales of Clementine, and consider supporting the Kickstarter. The Kickstarter ends July 31st, and I’m really hoping it will fund so I can bring this book into the world. There’s a digital option there as well, if you want the budget friendly version!

[velvet4510]

Thinking about all the parents of the Fellowship during the events of the War of the Ring.

Thinking about Saradoc & Esmeralda Brandybuck and Paladin & Eglantine Took, none of whom have any idea where their sons are.

Thinking about the Gaffer, seeing a creepy hooded Man asking for the whereabouts of his son’s boss and then hearing that said son’s boss’ house has been raided and his son is nowhere to be found.

Thinking about Bilbo, knowing that his dear nephew is going into danger because of his own actions so long ago and might never return.

Thinking about Glóin, having to come home to his wife in Erebor and tell her their son is facing life-or-death danger for the first time.

Thinking about Elrond, the wise part of him knowing what must be done vs. the paternal part berating himself for sending his beloved foster son into such peril and wondering if he’ll ever be able to look his daughter in the eye again if her fiancé doesn’t come back.

Thinking about Thranduil, finding out that his only child has entered the war with the very same enemy that destroyed his father and 2/3 of his army.

Thinking about Denethor, trying to protect and defend his entire kingdom while constantly wondering why his favorite son still hasn’t come home.

Thinking about all those parents, having to spend month after month with absolutely no idea if they will ever see their sons again.

[obriengf]

My Beloved || Thomas x Reader

Summary: Thomas is filled with emotion as you both seek out a way to show just how much love you truly hold for one another. Words: 7.5k Warnings: SMUT18+!!!, loss of virginity, masturbation, p in v, this is honestly very fluffy and sweet okay  Notes: okay so... this started off good then towards the end i got desperate to finish it and it turns rushed i think?????? a little bad??????? anyway, these guys would have NO idea about sex ed tbh just what they’ve learnt from each other... because i feel like WCKD had better things to do, like brainwashing everyone, instead of teaching kids about the birds and the bees. long story short just go with it and no judging on my smut please i dont write it often!!!

There’s a boy, and he’s so beautiful it hurts. 

Among the fiery glow of the bonfire flames, his eyes luminate with golden specks - so bright, so mesmerising, that you cannot stop staring from beyond the heated curtain. You catch his gaze and the way his smile quirks upward, bashfulness flushing his cheeks and provoking his teeth to sink sinfully into the plusness of his lip. It brings a warmth to your chest - a sensation of adoration, burning hotter than the flames separating you both. It travels to your fingers with an itch that wants you to jump to the boy, embrace him, kiss him, love him. He had been everyone’s saviour, but to you, he saved more than just your life; he brought colour back to your dull days, allowing you to see the vibrancy that radiated with pure intentions from your daily sunlight. He returned hope to your anxious mind and settled the prior need to look over your shoulder for danger every spare second. He made you feel so incredibly loved to the point where you stopped breathing and your heart would swell with anticipating warmth. There’s a boy, and he’s so perfect it hurts, in the most breathtaking way. 

Thomas could feel you staring. He revelled in the way that your eyes sparkled, and how you looked at him as if he put the stars in the sky. He was still getting used to others viewing him as their paladin, but you were different - it was much simpler, housing purity and sincere devotion, seeing the boy as your ending. You fell in love in the wrong place at the wrong time, surrounded by chaos and imminent peril, but the clawing need to stay by the other’s side brought you both to your much-deserved salvation; and better yet, into the forever hold of each other’s arms.

The boy couldn’t understand his emotions as they intensified, but he knew that it was longing. He knew that they yearned for you. He didn’t have the time or space to stop and consider how his body was growing and reacting to being around your own, the desperation to run and hide and fight had eventually become all that he could think about - until it was all over, and you were all safe. Now, those feelings returned and his thoughts drifted to how your kiss has started to ignite something in his gut, and how it spread through his veins to the point where he wanted to dig his fingers into your flesh and never let go. 

It was a topic of conversation that he had previously brought up through loose lips and in between inebriated breaths; Minho on the receiving end with a bit more sobriety, but he was still dazed as he listened with widened eyes and unsplit attention. It was near comic how Thomas had him on the edge of his seat - he couldn’t put into words just how he was feeling, but his friend could see the depth behind the amazed look that glassed over whisky hues and how a curt smile perked at his lips. Minho very much understood that desiring need, the way complete and utter endearment could make a person feel like they were floating effortlessly on cloud nine. Thomas was the first person he went to when he was ready to take that step further with the sweet girl from the kitchens - and now it had turned full circle, and Minho had never been happier that love had struck his closest friends. 

The flames began to die, juxtaposed to the rising moon that now bathed the Safe Haven in beautiful luminescence. Thomas could see you much clearer now, and it made your stomach flutter at how fervently he appeared. You found yourself growing more heated the further you allowed yourself to fall for the brunette boy; your eyes lingering that little bit longer, the need to nestle into the side of his body growing stronger, and your heart rapidly reverberating in your chest just that much harder. It was as if every nerve was ablaze with want, and it was such an unfamiliar sensation that you were starting to feel nauseous. And you didn’t want it to end.

It wasn’t long before Thomas stood, dusting at his covered thighs to rid the ash that sprinkled from the rising smoke. He moved slowly, almost with hesitance, but it was the bashful and budding thump from his heart that drew him toward you. Through the curtain of your lashes, you peered up at him as he stopped only a mere foot or so in front of you, his hand extended, and a chest filled with held breath that he hoped you wouldn’t notice. He was bathed in a fiery afterglow, his figure enveloped by golden flickers. You sighed dreamily. 

“Want me to walk you back to your hut?” His voice was quiet, a gentle hum as it held the possibility of diffidence. He always held a sort of shyness when it came to you, especially when it allowed him to hold your hand and selfishly receive all of your undivided attention. 

A rosy hue climbed your neck, speckling your cheeks with a blush that exceeded even the dancing flames of heat before you. It felt so incredibly right as your palm confidently slid over his own, granting Thomas permission to lightly grasp at your wrist and provide some strength in pulling you up. He always escorted you, these days. Part of him dreaded that if he didn’t, then something would happen to you. Whilst other parts craved the company you gave and the adoration you unforgivingly showered him in. Maybe, it was just his way of showing the supplemental gladers that surround you both that you would always leave with him, because you’re simply his. 

Regardless - your hands were quick to wrap around his arm, tugging the boy close to you as you clasped your fingers with his. Bidding farewell to your friends and fellow survivors hardly took any time before Thomas was guiding you away, the path he followed so well-known by now that he swore he could travel it in his sleep. The lanterns that usually adorned your way had already died down, softened by the late night, yet complemented beautifully with the rising blanket of radiant moonlight. It would be hard for you to form words around just how contented you felt in this moment; calmed by the gentle breeze wafting from the ocean shores of the Safe Haven, and lulled when it rustled nearby palm trees in harmony with the now distant joyousness abandoned back at the bonfire. 

Thomas’ thumb absentmindedly rubbed at your hand as your head dropped to his shoulder, the faint smell of burnt wood tickling your nostrils after becoming woven into the cotton of his shirt. You managed a small hum, surprising yourself when you inner thoughts left your lips with quiet notes, “Do you think it’ll stay like this forever?” 

“What will stay?” He replied, his eyes briefly glancing down to you, lips curling into a slight smirk at how in thought you seemed to be.

You paused, lips pursing as you racked your brain for the right words. Everything, is what you truly wanted to say, but even then you wished that some things were different. You wished for Newt to be there with you all, and Chuck, and Winston. You had also often thought about Teresa and just how much she would have contributed to this new society. You really didn’t want everything to say the same, but some things were just simply perfect in your eyes.

“The tranquility.” You ended up with, squeezing Thomas’ forearm with your spare grasp, “The calm after the storm. Being able to take a deep breath because you know you aren’t always looking over your shoulder. Nights like this… so beautiful, merciful. Seeing our friends smile in what felt like forever. Us.” 

“Us?” He questioned, peering to you again before focusing on the upcoming silhouette of your hut. Thomas laughed lightly, “We aren’t changing, not anymore. I have you and I’m keeping you forever. No take-backs, sorry sweetheart.” 

A tender giggle echoed lightly in the air as it fell from your lips, prompting you to nestle even closer into Thomas’ side. He always made you feel protected, and you know from the bottom of your heart that he will also continue to until his dying breath.

You pressed your lips just under his ear, breath igniting his skin, “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

It was a force that managed to shake the walls; such harshness in comparison to the soft velvety feeling of his lips sliding against yours. Thomas’ brows furrowed slightly after forcefully kicking the door to your hut closed behind him, but it was the sweetness of your amused laughter that drew him so effortlessly back to you.

“A little eager?” The warmth of your breath fanned over his still rosy cheeks, reminding Thomas that you were so close. You watched as his lashes fluttered against his cheekbones - delicate, yet sharp - framing the doe-like brown eyes that you’ve grown to love, and beyond, and it made the boy appear so incredibly pure. He was a snowflake shining against the sun, a flower’s petals fresh as they begin to bloom, the dancing flames of a picturesque fire that you were only just admiring him through. 

Thomas managed a smile through a breathless exhale, as if you were there taking his breath away with your bare hands, grabbing and keeping it as your own lifeline. He lent in, this time with closed eyes, the tip of his nose nudging against yours, and it was your turn to hitch at his whispered words, “You have no idea.” 

His hands were rough. Callouses adorned them from the past year or so, memories and scars that captured how he survived and that those hands were the reason you were safe. They often trembled when he slept due to the nightmares that haunted him - the monsters that made him bleed, and the people that he watched perish before his tear-glazed eyes. Those hands carried the lives of legions of people at one point, and sometimes Thomas thinks that they are under pressure to still do so. Those hands were strong and could hold so much from so many people.

Yet, as one grasped your hip and the other cupped your cheek, they had never felt more tender. Oh - and how you desired the benign fingertips to soothe over your skin and touch you in places that have gone undiscovered by most. And if Thomas wanted to tread in those uncharted waters, there was no way that you would decline, not when you dreamt of his touch for so long.

You breathed him in once more, intoxicated by the most mundane of scents that built up who this boy came to be. The smoke was strong as it continued to linger, but the salt water that had dried on his skin and the subtle waft of dirt from his earlier exploration this morning was a concoction that on the best of days, drove you crazy, but right now you wanted nothing but to bathe yourself in it. With a small swallow of the lump in your throat, fingers grasped at the unbuttoned opening of Thomas’ henley, and you pulled him even closer than before until chests were flush and hearts beat in thumping unison. 

His lips found yours again with ease, wrapping around your own and taking you as if he were a starved man. It drew a small moan to elicit from your throat and he knew that he would do anything to hear that sound again, over and over, a broken record that could both lull him to a lustful sleep and keep him awake at all hours with a curled fist and an overworked forearm. It wasn’t until his tongue slipped; dragging with deliciousness over your bottom lip, and taking refuge against your own as he licked so casually into your mouth. That’s the moment you blacked out and allowed your stance to lose all sense of muscle, becoming jelly-legged and at the mercy of Thomas’ arms wrapping further around your submissive frame.

Thomas slowly walked you both backward until your knees collided with the frame of your makeshift bed. You released a small gasp, enough to wake you from your short absence from reality, as the boy took it as his cue to lift you carefully until you were laying down against the thin sheet that you deemed as a blanket. This was the first time that he was ever situated above you - usually pulling you into his arms as you stood with friends, or tugging you down onto his lap so that he could cuddle against your back. Kisses would be shared, but they were never this hot, nor this needy, and Thomas’ breaths stopped momentarily as he took in how stupidly beautiful you looked underneath his heaving body. 

He wasn’t sure what changed between you both so quickly with this new angle, but he had a sudden overwhelming sensation to kiss you with every ounce of passion he could muster, and meld himself with you until a single unit was left in your wake. He was throbbing in his head at the salacious thoughts that drowned his mind with images of you in positions seemingly compromisable. Throbbing in his heart at how emotion could so easily play such an intense role in how he never wanted to be a part from you for as long as he lived. And throbbing a little lower at how it all seemed to come together as one want, an impulse, a craving for your touch and taste and sounds that could drive a man mad in the absolute best way possible. Thomas was already halfway there. 

You could feel it too in the way he was gazing over your frame - the heat that loved to submerged your body was now between your legs, and you had the itch to squirm from the slight discomfort it gave you. It was formidable once before, during a night where sleep was off the schedule, and you couldn’t stop thinking about how much you yearned for being between Thomas’ arms and held to his chest. The heat was like a heartbeat as it pulsated, and under the curtain of nightfall, you had eased the pain with your fingers and a hasty soothing rub. You remember seeing Thomas flash behind your fluttering eyelids before they settled closed, and it made you press harder, chasing after a feeling that was odd at first… but so quickly became pleasureful until you squealed his name and your chest sank from a high that pulled you up from your bed. It was euphoric, and you were quick to understand what some of the others meant when they talked about making themselves feel so good. All you wanted now was that feeling again, and Thomas to be the one to grant you such elation.

With vulnerable movements, you reached up to cup the boy’s cheek, your thumb dragging from his nose to the softened skin under his eye, teasing his lower lash line. You bit your lip at how stunning he truly was and how the subtleness of moonlight played shadows across his face. He nuzzled into your hold and placed a small kiss to the skin, the tip of his nose dragging with fragility over your palm until his lips pursed once more. You needed him closer until all you could feel was him, all you could taste and hear, too. You were aching to settle the feeling that had now reached your lower abdomen as it screamed to be soothed, to be taken care of. 

“Kiss me.” You slipped, a softened whisper that Thomas almost missed until you said it again, “Kiss me, Tommy. I need you.”

You didn’t know what the words truly entailed except for how right it felt to say them - Thomas, clearly on a wavelength that matched yours with perfection, as he dropped to your lips with a smile and groan that you happily swallowed whole. Arms and legs clung to him for dear life as he slotted between your thighs, lips smacking and tongues dragging and suddenly that alluring cool night air became thick and humid. He covered your frame and slowly sank his body weight onto yours - a puzzle piece that was cut perfectly for you, embedded so sublimely against your curves and dips. 

Hips clashed with harmonising force, a kind of friction that was heavily sought as it was chased. It drew a throaty groan to echo past Thomas’ lips, his brows furrowed as he tried to overcome the near pained feeling of pressure against his crotch as you absentmindedly pushed up against him. It was bittersweet torture - the kind where he knew how to relieve it, but was riddled with nervousness about sharing it with you. He sat a curled fist beside your head as his other held your hip, hoping that you wouldn’t notice how frisky your touch and taste were making the boy. Thomas was holding back every instinct to lose control over a sensation that had only ever met his right hand.

You were lost hopelessly in his lips. They held slight chappedness from the salty air, but an ever-forgiving softness that so easily held you captive and vulnerable. Whenever he kissed you, it was as if you were nothing but his - simply a figure that had fallen victim to his tender touch and enrapturing words, you wouldn’t dare move in case it burst the bubble that separated you from the outside world. It was simply an addiction and you craved it always, a constant need for Thomas, a constant need to share your love. 

Absentmindedly, your ankles pulled his lower back further into you, and it was the meeting of his hardness against your heated core that ripped a sudden moan from you both as synchronised calls filled the space of your hut. You clung even further to him, your face buried in the crook of his neck among the thin sheen of sweat. It was the type of stimulation that you needed again, or else you’d stop breathing. Tentatively, your hips rose again before you gently rubbed over the pulsating hardness through the thick denim of his jeans, and you swore that stars exploded behind your eyes as you whined against his neck.

Thomas breathed out heavily, his throat thick, “Shit - shit, that feels good.” 

You nodded weakly, desperation clawing at you as you pressed kisses down the column of his throat, remembering the patches of skin that made him shudder with fragility. Thomas was melting against your frame - a puddle of a boy between your limbs as he began to rock over you, slow drags until a comfortable pace was met and he could feel your fingers digging into his shoulder blades.

His senses were enamoured by you - completely and utterly taken, infatuated to no end. You were all that he could feel and it made the air thicker than he thought possible as he swallowed your panting breaths. The need came rather quickly as Thomas grasped at the back collar of his shirt, his ears perking at the small whine you let escape as he sat back on his knees to remove the obstructive piece of cotton. Your lips were still pursed and they chased him with weak effort from your sobered drunken haze, much to the boy’s admiring amusement.

With a chuckle, Thomas lent down to you, his lips ghosting over the rosy hue of your cheek before pressing gently against it. He allowed the tip of his nose to nuzzle against the soft skin before he spoke in a whispered tone, “Who’s the eager one now, hm?” A shudder travelled down your spine as warm breath danced below your ear; a sensation that was enough to rip another moan from your thumping chest, a sound so melodious that Thomas found it a hasty necessity to imprint it permanently in his mind. 

You replied breathlessly, “I can’t help that you’re hot, Tommy.” 

He gripped your waist after his fingers slid over the exposed skin from your hiked-up shirt with desperation to run his touch over every inch of your body. He didn’t want to push you to follow suit with the removal of your own shirt, but it didn’t stop the clench of his jaw and sudden strong grip as he held himself back from pursuing the hunger that was slowly developing within him.

You knew him, more than yourself, and how his demeanour would change, and how every emotion or action was a chapter in his book that you’ve read too many times to count. It promoted your hand to lift and squeeze at his bicep, Thomas’ eyes drifting to your widened gaze and the glint that sparkled among your coloured hues, “Take it off, it’s okay. I trust you.” 

He nodded, his chest fluttering at the faith you so easily had in him. You always did - have faith in Thomas - after all, he saved your life and in turn, you saved him by providing the limitless unconditional love that he deserved. His encouragement allowed you to find yourself after being lost within such a cruel world, and he never stopped believing in you. He never would. Thomas’ fingers flexed below your ribs, the toughed skin of his fingertips dragging with savour as he pushed your shirt further up your body. As it bunched under your chest, you managed to sit up slightly, quickly tugging the shirt until it let your skin breathe free, and it was tossed somewhere presently unknown across the room. The boy’s breath suddenly hitched as eyes raked shamelessly over your now vulnerable frame. His mouth felt dry, yet he was in complete awe. 

“You’ve seen me like this before.” You noted though the silence, your voice barely loud enough to break the intimate atmosphere. Your chest flushed slightly, only growing more vibrant as it reached your cheeks. You grew bashful under his doting stare, and he couldn’t help but bite his lip adoringly.

“Yeah, but…” Thomas thought back to the times where you all would swim at the beach, enough clothes to cover you, but to which still left little to the imagination. He shook his head once more, still in complete wonderment at you laying beneath him, “This is different. What I-I feel… it’s so much more than I can handle, you’re just so beautiful.” 

Your hand cupped his cheek and history repeated itself with such endearment; thumb rubbing under his eye to which he turned and kissed against your palm. It was quickly becoming your thing, your couple thing, something so small but so symbolic that ran the same path as screaming from the treetops that you’re in love. It was your silent communication of forever, and always, and until the end of our dying breaths to a world if there is one beyond ours. It was a promise and a reminder - that you both were there, and you weren’t ever going to leave. You were telling him through a simple touch of your hand that you were real, and his kiss was a reply of sincere gratitude.

Thomas lent down to peck the tip of your nose, smiling widely as your face scrunched with joy. His lips were quick to attach themselves to your neck next, wanting you to feel the ecstasy that you supplied him. They trailed with a wet path - his tongue darting out against pressure points and sucking at the spots that drew groans of satisfaction from you. Your head lulled back against his bed when teeth tickled your collarbone, and it didn’t take long for you to surrender yourself completely to him. Thomas’s tongue dragged heavily down your sternum before tracing along the cups that prevented you from bareness, eyes peering through thick lashes to silently ask for permission to go further. You couldn’t dare say no… not when every ounce of sunlight and warmth sang to you through such a simple look. 

You snuck a hand behind your back to unclasp the bra, suddenly releasing an unknown-held breath when the cool night air mixed with the heated moans that Thomas fanned against your chest. He swiftly reattached his lips as he relished in the new canvas for his kisses, his moistened trail continuing. You squeaked as he passed over your sensitive nipple, promoting your hand to grasp the back of his head and hold him closer to you. Thomas continued by sucking lightly before his tongue swirled in time with his hand squeezing your opposite side. He kneaded and squished the flesh tenderly, feeling his trousers tighten at the mewling sounds you made. 

He swapped sides and continued whatever sweet assault he could muster to prolong your symphony of sounds. It was building inside you - the desire for more. You felt like you were ignited, but wanting to be more than a spark… you needed to be an explosion, and you needed Thomas to be the one to set you off. You wiggled as you huffed out his name, your fingers fiddling with the button of your shorts when the boy pulled aware with a raised brow. 

“More… I need more. Please.” You begged, lifting your hips as Thomas helped pull the material away. He stood back by a step or two, whisky-glassed eyes absorbing your writhing body in nothing but a pair of cotton underwear and a wet patch that matched the erotic stain over his crotch. He was robotic as movements forced him to remove his own pants, the playing field even, and his cheeks redder than the Safe Haven’s sunset when you immediately ogled at the tent that was pitched under his boxer briefs.

This sort of intimacy was alike a perilous expedition - unsteady footing at first, unsure how to press forward, but leading to a bewitching and alluring adventure with such rapturous salaciousness. It continued when Thomas’ hands were placed on your thighs, rubbing cautiously against your skin before dipping in between your legs. Just knowing that he was so damn close made you whine under your breath, quiet, yet pitched enough to catch Thomas’ attention. 

Your fingers moved absentmindedly as they circled the moistened patch that you created, chest swelling with a held breath. You shuddered, trying to compose yourself, voice humming with please, “I-It feels good when you rub right there…”

“Is that what you do?” He questioned, eyes wide as he took in the information, and fingers dancing hesitantly close to your core. All you could do was nod and whine, hips squirming just from the thought of the pleasure that you’ve previously made yourself feel. It was an instant snap - the build of a rubber band being held back by Thomas’ fiery imprints, before the pressure was released, and the bounce back hit you hard when he pressed into the place that throbbed with wet need. 

Your body trembled with a softened sigh, the attention you were receiving easily turning your mind to mush, and he had barely dipped below the surface. Thomas’ eyes widened as his movements traced in the same tempo as his heavy breaths, chest thumping and skin igniting with warmth - he was in wonderment at the sounds that he drew from you, the squirming and the delicate fluttering of your lashes. It was a side of you that he was seeing for the first time, that anybody was seeing for the first time, and he felt so damn privileged.

The boy stopped quickly as you grasped at his wrist, big brown orbs looking to you in worry; but it quickly dissipated when he saw your loving ghost of a smile as it perked at your lips, and how you gently pushed him away to be able to remove the final piece of clothing that separated you from him. The cool breeze over your exposed slick provoked a shudder up your spine, a second one eliciting when you realised that Thomas’ flushed face was staring at your most private area.

He didn’t hesitate when his finger dragged back over you, collecting moisture that made your body tick when slathered across your sensitive nub. The pressure increased and you were sinking, melting, dissolving into the sheet beneath you. Your body was heavy, yet you felt weightless, allowing Thomas to take every ounce of control to drive you into ecstatic oblivion. His touch drew slightly down and circled the sensitive hole that was swimming in your pleasure, your breath hitching as his fingertip breached until his first knuckle. The boy’s hair was tugged with a needy grasp, the sheets below him shifting as they were too curled within your other hand. 

Thomas cursed under his breath as he rutted slowly against the side of the bed, his finger beginning to pump as he relished in how you squeezed him. He sighed loudly with a teeth-bitten bottom lip, “You like that?” It was rhetorical by what he saw before him, but he needed the affirmation, to know that you were going to unravel in bliss. And that he was why you were floating in a euphoric daze. You managed a whine in reply, head nodding as words were stuck among your hitching and heavy breaths. The tip of Thomas’ middle finger slightly curled as he shifted his position, and you released a sudden cry after he unknowingly rubbed against your spongey roof. He stopped immediately; scared that you were hurt, his chest tightening with worry until he noticed the cry settling into a moan, and your hips instinctively chased his touch for more attention. 

Thomas was known for being brave - diving in head first, running on pure instinct and spontaneity. He wasn’t one to back down, and now he knew what provoked those sweet wanton sounds of a symphony to escape you, he would do whatever possible to keep it going. He pumped his finger harder, his cock twitching against the bedsheet whenever you clenched around him, that one special spot being harassed over and over again until he swore you stopped breathing. His bravery shone when he inserted his pointer finger, his own throat now paying homage as it growled out a groan of desperation at how you both stretched and tightened. His mind travelled to thoughts of how you’d feel wrapped around his throbbing member, and if he didn’t get himself sorted soon, then he’d be leaving behind a spray of stickiness in his pants.

“T-Thomas…” You panted, hips rising and chest heaving as you felt fire bubble in your abdomen. Your voice cracked at the overwhelming sensation, “More… I need more…” 

He was careful to remove his fingers, but hasty when he rose up your body. Lips found yours instantly, as if by a magnetised force, two pairs that were destined to be slotted together with a taste that you could so easily get drunk off of. He licked between your lips until you granted him access to explore you properly, sliding with juxtaposed delicate hunger, and swallowing your breath and moans until they settled as his own. Thomas was slightly started as your nails dragged down his naked chest, goosebumps trailing in their wake before the elastic waist of his final piece of cotton was being attended to. The need was growing substantially as he pulled back - much to the disappointment of both himself and you, your lips pursed and eyes growing wide as you stared to him with such childlike doeness. 

It was becoming too real now as his hands began to shake, but any doubt was wiped clean when Thomas saw the adoring expression that flushed your face and prompted such a beautiful glint in your eye. You were his, and he was yours. That’s how it was and it’s how it would remain. Thomas was ready to give everything and more to you, as you were to him. Always.

The boy drew a deep breath before his boxers were dropped and he toed them to the side, his body bare in front of you. Thomas was pure - the epitome of a dream, a handsome man with arms that could protect you for the rest of your days. It wasn’t until you looked closer that you properly noticed the scars that showed his true story; both small and large imprints that represented sacrifice, and loss, and success. You lent forward with tentative movements until your fingers danced over the marks, and for a moment Thomas flinched, but easily settled as you traced each one with care. With pursed lips, you pressed against one near his navel; a recent wound that would forever remind you of his escape from death, where a bullet pierced his skin and left him unconscious for days. It was a time when you waited by his bedside without reposition, watching the steady rise of his chest as day turned to night, until he awoke in what would be your rightful Safe Haven.

The thought alone provoked wet tears to coat his lower stomach, and Thomas gently slid his hand into your hair as his thumb soothed you with consistent rubbing motions. Thomas was here with you, he was alive, he was real, he was safe and he was so utterly and completely loved.

It was as if he could read your mind as he cooed against the crown of your head, “I’m here, babygirl. I’m not going anywhere.” 

You showed your understanding with more kisses over more of his scars, until every one had been offered endearment. You sat up further on your knees until you could gaze into his caramel eyes and the shade of burnt honey was easily your favourite; they gleamed especially under the afternoon sun, mesmerising swirls that could drag you to the deepest of depths, and you’d let them. They showed kindness and amusement, but right now, they darkened within the thickness of the room and you could’ve sworn that if given the chance… he would eat you alive, right there and then. Oh, how you wish he would.

But this moment was tentative - shared among inexperience, but budding romance and the strongest desires to be held and cherished. You needed to be closer which is why you kissed Thomas slowly, your lashes brushing against his pink cheeks, and your hands tightly squeezing his shoulders as his hardened cock twitched over your stomach. Flames were still burning brightly in your core and they needed to explode before they could be pleasantly extinguished. 

Your mind was too hazy to recall how your hold shifted to arms sliding around his neck, pulling him further in until teeth clashed and silenced groans were exchanged, and Thomas took it in stride to poke his tongue at every crevice he could before sliding it deliciously over your own. He lowered you to the bed before placing himself between your thighs, your ankles returning behind his back, and two hearts reverberating with slight anxiety against the other’s chest. 

Thomas pulled back slightly as his nose nuzzled with yours, a deep breath taken, “We don’t have to do this, not if you’re not ready.” He offered quietly, trying to convince himself that his words were purely directed toward you. 

You smiled; the feeling of his wet and puffy lips brushing against your own as you did. You rubbed your nose back against his, “I’m ready if you’re ready… I love you, I’ll do anything for you, Tommy.” 

The boy chuckled in near disbelief. He knew a long time ago that he'd love you - that you’d take up every thought, every dream. That you’d so seamlessly enter into his life like the need for oxygen, and without you, he wouldn’t be able to breathe. You weren’t just needed or wanted, you were necessary to Thomas, and the love he had for you was unchallenged and indescribable. And now, it was also so incredibly mutual. Not that he had any doubts.

“I love you too, so much.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, “So, so much.” 

Thomas’ hips rocked against yours and the desperation was building fast. He thrust once, twice, three times until he was coating himself in your wet slick and it pulled a guttural noise from his throat. There was a time when he felt embarrassed listening to how his friends would recount their sexual experiences, and what they did to their partners, and how good it really felt. Neither of you had gotten to that stage until now, but he was thankful that he listened otherwise he wouldn’t be able to truly experience you.

The boy’s large hands tugged at himself a few times to properly lather himself in your wetness and you couldn’t help but sneak a peek at the package he held, your bottom lip quickly being held captive. You exhaled deeply, eyes widening, voice softening, “A-are you sure that’s gonna fit?” 

He laughed, a sound so sweet, “We’ll just have to see, won’t we? But…it might hurt, okay?” He huffed into your ear, face buried in the crook of your neck as you pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses to his flushed skin, “So you need to tell me when to stop if it gets too much.” You whined, nodding in acknowledgement as Thomas began to line himself up, the head of his sensitive girth meeting your lower lips. But he didn’t push further, taking another deep breath, “You need to say it, please, baby. I need to hear you say it.” 

Instinctively, you ground up against him and released a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the anticipation grew, “I will, I promise.”

He didn’t need much more convincing as Thomas pushed into you, so incredibly slowly as he savoured how tight you clung to him. Your warmth forced his eyes to roll back and knowing that he was stretching you brought on utter determination. His cock was burying deeper, and deeper, and even he was starting to question now whether he’d fit inside you. Thomas opened his eyes after realising that they were closed, not remembering when he squeezed them shut, and he looked over your scrunched face with a gentle coo. He lifted a hand to your face before his thumb was gentle in pushing out the wrinkle between your eyes, his touch dragging down the curve of your face to cup your cheek. He whispered to you - affirmations and encouragements, reminders of love and pride. 

The lack of reception was a worry that nearly made him stop until you covered his hand with your own, face tilting until you could kiss over Thomas’ palm. You huffed as you were being filled, swearing that you could feel him in your stomach, but the pain would surely dissipate. “I love you, I love you, I love you…” Your mantra repeated like a broken record, getting lost in the heavy panting of your breath, until your back suddenly arched and Thomas had reached the hilt. 

He was already spent as hands braced themselves beside your head, caging you in until all you could see was his kiss-swollen lips and lustful dark eyes checking you for any kind of discomfort. The pressure sucking him into you was a sensation that he could never grow tired of, yet he waited for your face to soften and for the curl of your lips before he was granted permission to finally move. 

It was harmonious when you both sang out in pleasure; the four walls of your hut hopefully thick enough to not draw in any unwanted attention, but at this stage, you could care less about anybody or anything outside of the bubble you and Thomas found yourselves within. His rocking turned to a fastened pace, driven by just how close you both already were to reaching your highs. Hips clashed and lustful sounds echoed as your arms curled under his own and grasped at his shoulders, pulling the boy closer until an inch couldn’t be spared between your sweat-sheened skin. Curses fell from your lips with ease and Thomas relished in the way that he was making you feel, your bodies moving as a single unit as you were pushed and pulled across the bed. 

He nosed your cheek before brushing his lips against yours - not quite a kiss, but a flash of want that was sure to leave behind a burn, and you hoped that the feeling would stay with you forever. He nuzzled into you as he moaned out, “I love you”, his words so sweet in contrast to the near-pornographic moan that followed when you clenched around his cock. It made you rut back against him and meeting his hips halfway was nearly your tipping point. You were chasing after the feeling of ecstasy as it continued to build and continued to run, your arm held out and it was within reaching distance. So close. So close.

You knew you had crossed the finish line when your vision turned to stars; a white light coinciding with delicate heat, your body trembling as you droned against Thomas. You were weightless again - floating in euphoria, your bones melting as you collapsed completely into Thomas and he made sure to hold you against his naked chest with a protective arm across your back. It was the first time you truly felt pleasure and it was perfect.

“You did so well…” Thomas cooed, trying to withstand his own release as he kissed over your temple, his fingers massaging into your spine when he felt a quiet sob escape you. His lips pressed once more, “Just so you know” He started again, his thrusts slowing before he went too far, “You look so beautiful right now.” 

“I’m crying.” You scoffed, eyes scrunching when you pulled back as his cock throbbed from inside you, dragging over the spongey spot that had the potential to drive you to insanity if probed enough. But the feeling was too strong and you were becoming too sensitive. 

Thomas noticed before he pulled out with haste, his tortured girth being fisted roughly within his hand. He took a deep breath, the urge to cum growing nearer as his head threw back and his eyes screwed shut. “You’re beautiful even when you cry.” It wasn’t until he looked at you, the feeling of soft skin cupping his cheeks and your lips slotting against his own, that Thomas finally let go. You swallowed his moans as the boy shook under your grasp; strings of white stick painting his fist and reaching your chest. 

He was the first to break away, the need for air nearly forgotten as he was getting lost in your touch and taste. Thomas’ forehead pressed to yours and his shoulders sagged in absolute content. Your relationship consummated on an entirely different level, and you both had never felt closer to one another. Thomas hummed, his heart rate slowly coming down, yet he couldn’t help but express excitement, “That, fuck… that was amazing. Absolutely amazing.” He grinned as you giggled under your breath, arms wrapping back around his neck, “And you, babygirl.. that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and I survived a week in the Scorch.” 

He flinched slightly as you slapped at his shoulder, embarrassment flourishing and your face was hidden as it nuzzled against one of his pecs. The boy continued to rub your back through his tamed chuckles, admiring what he deemed as adorable behaviour, and you acknowledged him with a series of kisses over the damp skin of his chest and an amused tone, “You’re such a dork, Tommy.” 

“I’m your dork.” 

You murmured something incomprehensible against him, followed by a yawn and a satisfied smile. You were worn, in the best way possible, through a moment that would stay with you for as long as life allowed you to keep it. Thomas has saved you in more than one way - allowing you a new lease on life, full of different experiences and emotions, with a promise held in the cusps of forever love. It was a struggle to get to where you are now but you’re glad, no, you’re gratified that it eventually led you to a life with Thomas.

The boy pulled you back to his chest as he squeezed a final hug, his brows furrowing at the feeling of cooling slick between your bodies, a bittersweet end to where love was made, “First things first, I’m gonna have to clean us up.”

[rollforfelicity]

Why Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves Didn't Use D&D Combat Rules (And Why They Were Right Not To)

The D&D movie was really fun, and since at this point most of my friends play D&D (or at the very least other TTRPGs), almost everyone I talk to on a regular basis has also seen it and liked it. The consensus is that even though there's no "meta" that the characters are controlled by players sitting around a table, or jokes about the DM, the movie feels like D&D. The jokes feel like jokes people would make while playing. The constant pivoting from Plan A to Plan B to Plan C feels familiar to anyone who has spent an hour at a table deciding what to do, only to have a roll go sideways and screw things up. Before I get too far, I should say this post contains some mild spoilers for Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves.

What didn't feel like D&D were the fight scenes. In one scene, a Paladin quickly dispatches a group of enemies before any of the rest of the party even acts, showcasing that even though he's kind of a square, he's an incredible fighter. In another scene, the Barbarian grabs and wears a helmet in the middle of a fight, using it creatively to get the upper hand. During a fight against a gargoyle, the Bard blinds an enemy by throwing a blanket over their head, but gets pulled along with them when a loose rope wraps around his leg. These are all pretty big moments in the movie, and Rules as Written, would never happen at a D&D table, because D&D combat doesn't work like that.

Here's what I think is interesting. The vast majority of the rules of D&D revolve around combat. It's not all of the rules, but most class abilities, spells, items, and rules have a combat focus. So why does a movie that functions partially as advertisement for the game spend so little effort to replicate the bulk of the content of the base game?

In my opinion, it's because, Rules As Written (or RAW), combat in D&D is not, generally speaking, narratively satisfying. Let's look at a few reasons why.

D&D is a game where, RAW, things either happen, or they don't. If someone misses an attack, nothing happens. If someone misses a skill check, nothing happens. DMs can work with this, but in the base game, there isn't a lot of guidance for what to do when a player fails at something they're trying to do. This may seem trivial, but compare that to something like Powered By The Apocalypse, which is much more narratively focused. In those games, a full miss means the Game Master changes things up. The enemy gets the upper hand. A new danger surfaces. An NPC is put into peril. Not only does the player fail at what they're trying to do, but something else, bad for the Player Character (PC) but good for the story, happens. On a mixed success, the PC might get what they're after, but at a cost, or with a complication they weren't expecting.

This calls to mind the example of the Bard throwing a tarp over the gargoyle in the final fight of the D&D movie. That's a classic example of a mixed success. He succeeds at temporarily blinding the creature, but in the process, he gets caught up in the gargoyle's rope and is dragged along for a ride. This is a dynamic thing to happen in combat, but wouldn't happen in actual D&D. Instead, a PC would either succeed at what they're doing, and blind the creature, or fail and not blind them. You could argue that the Bard's action was the result of a Natural 1, but that also doesn't fit RAW, because the Bard does succeed as what he's trying to do, and with a Natural 1, he would have failed and been pulled along.

D&D doesn't really reward player creativity. Something like throwing a tarp over a creature wouldn't be likely to happen in a session at all, because in the actual game, it would take a full action to do that, and depending on the Difficulty Challenge (DC) the DM sets, there's a good chance of a wasted turn. Creative actions end up a huge gamble, and when you're playing a game where it could be 20+ minutes before you get to take another turn (more like an hour if you're playing with a Wizard, amirite), you're disincentivized from "wasting" your turn to do something less than optimal. You can describe what you're doing to add to the narrative, whether you succeed or fail, but that brings me to my next point.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about this question from Rise Up Comus since I read it a month ago. In D&D, a player can describe all kinds of flavor to what they're doing, and there's no change to the mechanics of the game. You could read this as saying "Oh, well that means you have the freedom to do what you want!" but if you look at game design through the lens of "what kind of play does this game encourage or discourage" the takeaway I have is that description just...doesn't matter to D&D. In my experience, that can lead to a few different unsatisfactory outcomes.

Both players and DM treat combat as purely rolling, and describing only what is required. A DM announces, "The enemy wizard casts fireball, roll dexterity save, take 25 damage. Turn passes to the Rogue." Sometimes players who describe what they're doing are seen as showboating or taking up too much time. Worst case scenario, the DM penalizes descriptive players.

Some players like describing what they do, others don't. This has no mechanical effect on the game. Players who aren't descriptive might be frustrated that an already slow process is slowed down even more. Descriptive players may become frustrated because there's no mechanical benefit to what they're describing, and spend time fruitlessly arguing with the DM that focusing on a weak point of the enemy should give them advantage. I think most tables fall into this category. It's not a bad game by any means, but not everyone is there for the same reason when it comes to combat.

Rule of Cool Table! Everyone describes whatever they want, the dice rolls don't really matter! Combat is generally pretty easy because fuck the rules, if it's cool for the dragon to die based on how the fighter described the attack, even if it's only the first round of combat, hell yeah let's do it! For players who like being more strategic and enjoy the confines of the rule structure because it makes things challenging, these tables can be frustrating. (If you're familiar with Dungeons & Daddies, this is essentially how they play D&D).

Because there's no guideline in the rules, people come to the table with different expectations. Some people want combat to feel like a strategy game, where following the rules in the most optimal way (or combining rules elements in an unexpected way) is mechanically rewarding (usually measured by damage output). Some people want to describe themselves doing cool stuff! Some people don't care about their characters looking cool, but want the story to be compelling. If everyone isn't on the same page, this can lead to players ending combat feeling unfulfilled, and when combat is the bulk of a rules set, it feels strange to me that there's no guidance for DMs or players as to how to incentivize the kind of combat your table is interested in.

This leads to a situation where combat in D&D is the part of D&D that takes the longest, that the majority of spells and abilities are focused on, but it is, narratively, the least satisfying part of the game, unless the table alters the base rules significantly.

If you're not familiar with other TTRPGs, you might be thinking "Okay, but that's why the DM is allowed to do whatever they want and make up new rules! My DM gives inspiration when we describe something cool, that solves this problem!" My critique isn't necessarily of individual tables. DMs and players come up with all kinds of mechanics that aren't in the rules. My critique is that D&D is a role-playing game that essentially has no incentives, and many disincentives, for role-playing during combat. For example, RAW, characters don't really have time to communicate during their turns, as each round takes about 6 seconds. There's no time for banter or negotiation between PCs and enemies. You can see this disconnect by the way people talk about D&D. How many times have you heard people say "I love D&D but I don't like combat?" How could this rift be rectified? Let's take a look at some other TTRPGs.

In 7th Sea, if you take the time to describe how your character is doing something, you get a bonus to your dice pool. In Thirsty Sword Lesbians, when you get a mixed success on a Fight roll, you and your opponent are given narrative prompts to build tension (like flirt with or provoke your opponent). In Kids on Bikes, you can fail or succeed rolls by different number ranks, which determines how significant the successes or failures are. In Wanderhome, you get a token when you "take a moment to bask in the grandeur of the world, and describe it to the table." In Good Society, each player gets a "monologue token" which they can spend to prompt another player to deliver their Main Character's internal monologue. I just played a bad-action-movie-themed game called Action 12 Cinema, where players can boost a roll if they call out the song that would be playing during this scene of the movie, and get an even FURTHER boost if anyone at the table sings it.

Each of those game mechanics gives you an instant understanding into the mood of the game, and the kind of stories its built for you to tell. Even if you've never heard of any of those games, I bet, based on the title and the move, that you could hazard a guess as to what playing the game is like. Dungeons & Dragons certainly has rules that add to the lore of the game, and prompt you to create characters that act a certain way. But when it comes to combat, players and DMs are left to their own devices. Some may see that as a strength of the game, but I see it as a source for a lot of disappointing play experiences.

And it seems as though, at the very least, the writers of Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves thought the combat rules were narratively unsatisfying enough that they eschewed using any of them.

[book--brackets]

Dragonkeeper Chronicles by Donita K. Paul (2004-2008)

When Kale, a slave girl, finds a dragon egg, she is given the unexpected opportunity to become a servant to Paladin. But on her way to The Hall, where she was to be trained, Kale runs into danger. Rescued by a small band of Paladin's servants, Kale is turned from her destination. 

Feeling afraid and unprepared, Kale embarks on a perilous quest to find the meech dragon egg stolen by the foul Wizard Risto. But their journey is threatened when a key member of the party is captured, leaving the remaining companions to find the Wizard Fenworth, attempt an impossible rescue, and recover the egg--whose true value they have not begun to suspect.

Clocktaur War by T. Kingfisher (2017-2018)

A paladin, an assassin, a forger, and a scholar ride out of town. It's not the start of a joke, but rather an espionage mission with deadly serious stakes. T. Kingfisher's new novel begins the tale of a murderous band of criminals (and a scholar), thrown together in an attempt to unravel the secret of the Clockwork Boys, mechanical soldiers from a neighboring kingdom that promise ruin to the Dowager's city.

If they succeed, rewards and pardons await, but that requires a long journey through enemy territory, directly into the capital. It also requires them to refrain from killing each other along the way At turns darkly comic and touching, Clockwork Boys puts together a broken group of people trying to make the most of the rest of their lives as they drive forward on their suicide mission.

The Deed of Paksenarrion by Elizabeth Moon (1988-1989)

Paksenarrion — Paks for short — is somebody special. She knows it, even if nobody else does yet. No way will she follow her father's orders to marry the pig farmer down the road. She's off to join the army, even if it means she can never see her family again.

And so her adventure begins... the adventure that transforms her into a hero remembered in songs, chosen by the gods to restore a lost ruler to his throne.

Here is her tale as she lived it.

Paks is trained as a mercenary, blooded, and introduced to the life of a soldier . . . and to the followers of Gird, the soldier's god.

Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica by James A. Owen (2006-2016)

An unusual murder brings together three strangers, John, Jack, and Charles, on a rainy night in London during the first World War. An eccentric little man called Bert tells them that they are now the caretakers of the Imaginarium Geographica -- an atlas of all the lands that have ever existed in myth and legend, fable and fairy tale. These lands, Bert claims, can be traveled to in his ship the Indigo Dragon, one of only seven vessels that is able to cross the Frontier between worlds into the Archipelago of Dreams.

Pursued by strange and terrifying creatures, the companions flee London aboard the Dragonship. Traveling to the very realm of the imagination itself, they must learn to overcome their fears and trust in one another if they are to defeat the dark forces that threaten the destiny of two worlds. And in the process, they will share a great adventure filled with clues that lead readers to the surprise revelation of the legendary storytellers these men will one day become.

Dragon Jousters by Mercedes Lackey (2003-2006)

The first book in this thrilling new series introduces us to a young slave who dreams of becoming a jouster-one of the few warriors who can actually ride a flying dragon. And so, in secret, he begins to raise his own dragon...

Frontier Magic by Patricia C. Wrede (2009-2012)

Eff was born a thirteenth child. Her twin brother, Lan, is the seventh son of a seventh son. This means he's supposed to possess amazing talent -- and she's supposed to bring only bad things to her family and her town. Undeterred, her family moves to the frontier, where her father will be a professor of magic at a school perilously close to the magical divide that separates settlers from the beasts of the wild.

In Other Lands by Sarah Rees Brennan (2017)

The Borderlands aren’t like anywhere else. Don’t try to smuggle a phone or any other piece of technology over the wall that marks the Border ― unless you enjoy a fireworks display in your backpack. (Ballpoint pens are okay.) There are elves, harpies, and ― best of all as far as Elliot is concerned ― mermaids.  "Serene," said Serene. "My full name is Serene-Heart-in-the-Chaos-of-Battle." Elliot? Who’s Elliot? Elliot is thirteen years old. He’s smart and just a tiny bit obnoxious. Sometimes more than a tiny bit. When his class goes on a field trip and he can see a wall that no one else can see, he is given the chance to go to school in the Borderlands. It turns out that on the other side of the wall, classes involve a lot more weaponry and fitness training and fewer mermaids than he expected. On the other hand, there’s Serene-Heart-in-the-Chaos-of-Battle, an elven warrior who is more beautiful than anyone Elliot has ever seen, and then there’s her human friend Luke: sunny, blond, and annoyingly likeable. There are lots of interesting books. There’s even the chance Elliot might be able to change the world. In Other Lands is the exhilarating new book from beloved and bestselling author Sarah Rees Brennan. It’s a novel about surviving four years in the most unusual of schools, about friendship, falling in love, diplomacy, and finding your own place in the world ― even if it means giving up your phone.

Iron Butterfly by Chanda Hahn (2012-2014)

Imprisoned, starved and left with no memories, Thalia awakens to find herself at the mercy of an evil cult known as the Septori. Their leader has chosen Thalia as the test subject for a torture device of untold power, designed to change and twist her into something that is neither human nor Denai.

Escaping, Thalia finds an unwilling warrior to protect her and an unlikely Denai to befriend her. After finding a home at the Citadel as a servant, Thalia’s worst nightmare comes to life and she begins to show signs of power. Scared and unable to control her gifts, she tries to hide her past to fit in among the Denai. But the Septori want their latest test subject back and will stop at nothing to retrieve her, dead or alive.

Old Magic by Marianna Curley (2000)

Jarrod Thornton is mesmerizing, but Kate Warren doesn’t know why.

Jarrod is the clumsy new boy at school that Kate can’t take her eyes off, and it’s not just because he has amazing eyes, but because she senses something different about him, and when he inadvertently blows up the classroom, she knows exactly what it is. He has powers like her, except he doesn’t know it and Kate sets out to show him. On their journey of discovery Kate learns Jarrod has an ancient curse on his family that will keep hurting his little brother and parents if they don’t do something to remove it.

Faerie Tale by Raymond E. Feist (1988)

Successful screenwriter Phil Hastings decides to move his family from sunny California to a ramshackle farmhouse in New York State. The idea is to take some time out, relax and pick up the threads of his career as a novelist. Good plan, bad choice. The place they choose is surrounded by ancient woodland. The house they choose is the centrepoint of a centuries-old evil intent on making its presence felt to intruders.

[briarberrythornedhart]

Reading You Right

18 plus, darlings or do not engage

CW: explicit language, smutty talk, dom/demeaning tone with established consent

Eddie - even from a very young age - (hyper) focused on people's body language. He saw micro-expressions and noted when they didn’t sync up with what people were saying out loud. And he used that information to understand, control and -to a certain degree- manipulate situations.

For Hellfire Club, that helped him with creating an experience his players enjoyed (yes. even when they bitched about him being stingy with XP, or throwing them into peril, he knew they liked his style overall. It shouldn’t be too easy or players wouldn’t appreciate their wins, right? Of course right.)

With you, it made him the sweetest boyfriend ever born. And very good (uncannily so) in bed.

Over time Eddie memorized every hitch of your breath, every bite of your lower lip, every flutter of your eyelashes, the way you lifted your chin to give him access to your neck and throat. He enjoyed learning All the ways he could make you happy.

Of course he’d much prefer you make as much noise as possible, but he didn’t need his ears to know what was going on in your dirty little mind. You didn’t have to make a sound and he still knew he was treating you right.

🎲 💀 🎲

Hellfire club had moved to the weekends and now met in Dustin’s basement. Eddie graduating meant he didn’t have the blackmail hold on Principle Higgins anymore so meeting on school grounds was out of the question. But it was easy to convince Ms Henderson to host ‘game club’ once she knew Dustin would be home and safe.

After a particularly tricky Hellfire session - puzzles, traps, the near-death of Will’s wizard, your Paladin losing her ancestral sword when you rolled a one - everyone was heading out and Eddie asked you to help him carry his D&D gear to his van. Not that there was too much to carry on his own. This just felt like an excuse to make out a bit. To get each other more and more turned on until you both wished you could move in together already and not have to sleep apart so often. But rent is expensive, and you had work early tomorrow morning, and Hellfire always runs late.

Anyway, you were always more than enthusiastic about helping Eddie clean up after the game. Making the night last just a little longer. Getting his sweetness all to yourself for as long as you could.

Out in the dark, with only a waning moon and some holiday lights on neighboring houses to light his handsome face, he backed you up into his drivers side door with a smirk. You couldn’t wait to feel his body pressed against yours and you were on fire with wanting his lips. But he stayed a few too many cruel inches from you.

“You like it when I’m mean to you in game.” He accused.

You may have gasped. “What!? No, I just appreciate that you don’t treat me different than the others. You know, just cause we are together… you don’t pander to me or go easy on me. I like that.” You rallied. You slid a hand under his jacket to rub his back.

“No, sweetheart, you get excited when I goad you or mock you or…laugh at you. Like… really excited.”

“Oh, Eddie, c’mon, I get excited by you all the time. Just heavy eye contact from you makes my heart race. Please.” You laughed nervously and twisted your hands in your skirt. Looking down at the ground.

Eddie leaned on one arm against the door and used his other hand to lift your chin and get your eyes back on his. He pushed a lock of your hair gently behind your ear. “I mean, I’ve seen girls go crazy over total assholes before but I thought you liked that I’m your very Nice boyfriend. Not a dick to you. Just Your. Devoted. Servant. I didn’t know you’d like it if I was mean.” His tone was playful.

“I like every side of your multi-faceted personality. I adore when you are thoughtful and kind.” You took a deep shaky breath. “But it does I guess sorta do something to me when you mock me or are a little extra… I dunno… mean but in a joking way? It’s probably b-because I trust that later you’ll be so… so good to me and…” why were you nervous? This was total cinnamon roll Eddie, your dreamboat boyfriend.

“Okay, okay… At ease, soldier.” Eddie huffed a laugh and leaned in close enough that you offered your lips for a kiss that he didn’t give you, yet. “If I’ve got you this worked up from just making fun of how bad your die rolls went… do you want to hear how I can see every time you squeeze your thighs together and lick your lips at me during the game. Brazenly, In front of aaaalll our friends, showing me you can’t wait for me. That — when I walked behind your chair tonight I saw you shudder and arch your back as if you wanted me to feel you up — right then. You were so needy and honestly a little pathetic for me, princess. I had to be more theatrical and clown around like a jester to keep the other players eyes off you- you were so ::chuckle:: obvious about how bad you want me.”

It wasn’t so dark out that you couldn’t see the challenge in his eyes, he was watching you so intently he could probably see your heated blush. You swallowed and it sounded loud in the silence.

“Well? Am I right or wrong?” He asked but he knew. He totally knew.

“You are…. Right. I’m sorry I made you work harder tonight.”

Then he smiled again, sexy and demonic.

“You say you are sorry, sweet thing, but I don’t think you really are. Anyway, you can’t help it, can you?” He taunted you. He’d never done this before and you were not even sure how to react. This was a brand new game. “Look at you, legs spreading, leaning into me hips first. All turned on over some light trash-talk from your mean ol’ DM. Does that mean, if I reached up under your skirt right now I’d find you wet for me?” He dropped his voice to a dark whisper “Are those panties fuckin’ soaked right now? I think they must be. And since you clearly don’t mind getting all worked up in public, I wonder if you’d let me finger you right here. Out in the open where some neighbor might come out for a smoke and see you writhing on my hand extra excited because I’m talking down and dirty at you. You know what they’d think, look at that scary metal-head taking advantage of that sweet girl. So innocent. Not the kinda girl who would instigate something naughty ever. Oh no. Not the kinda girl who would Beg for me.”

“Please Eddie.” You were begging. You’d never even had to ask for anything from Eddie before . he always knew what you wanted sometimes before you even knew it. And he was always so kind and generous and super silly a lot of the time. He could make you laugh one minute and then melt you with hot kisses the next. But usually you were in control. Not now.

Yes, you were begging, and you didn’t want to stop! what was he doing to you??

“Please..?What?” He licked a canine and his slow knowing smile made you ache deep inside.

“Please let me make it up to you. In your van. Right now.” You managed to stutter out.

He hummed in approval. He opened the back door. “After you, princess.”

[felassan]

'Mass Effect 6 Easter Egg in Cyberpunk 2077 Phantom Liberty'

Text:

"MESSAGES > PIXEL FORTRESS The legendary Interstellar Commander series is BACK! After years of anticipation fans can once again board the Burgundy and travel at light speed to save the galaxy. But can the sixth installment of this beloved franchise still pack the same "oomph"? Or has it devolved into a lukewarm pile of "meh"? We've got the answer! Interstellar Commander 6: The Hunt for Baron Octavian still has everything that made us gush the series' previous entries. Spectacular battles on dazzling space stations? Check! Exploration of jaw-dropping exoplanets? You got it! Shocking plot twists! Affirmative! Yes, the controversial ending has been hard for some die-hard fans to swallow, but you'll have to experience it for yourself. Your mission: to track down the infamous, yet charismatic Baron Octavian who ticks all the boxes of a villain on a galactic scale. Our interaction with him largely depends on whether we go down the Paladin or the Scoundrel path. Multiple playthroughs are well worth the chance to discover the many facets of Octavian! It's just too bad the devs didn't make him into a romance option... but hey, that's what mods are for, right? Speaking of romance, we should emphasize that this adventure isn't just a rollercoaster ride of emotions, but also gives opportunities to really, erm... form deeper connections with your crewmembers and strengthen bonds with previous characters from the franchise. The popularity of a certain braindance of dubious quality and origin (relive at your own peril) which lets you find out whether the Burgundy's cannon is a worth substitute for a bed (spoiler: it isn't), leads us to believe players of all genders and tastes will be pleased. Especially given the return of all-time favorite Garriux, who hasn't lost an ounce of enthusiasm for carrying out his, ahem, calibrations... Long story short, hunting down Baron Octavian across the universe is going to be a helluva good time for all diehard fans of the series. As for you new potential players out there, how will you feel in the commander's polished space boots? Confident and capable, we hope! After all, the galaxy won't save itself!"

[source]

[4dznsalamanders]

So I, like everyone else, am shaking the bars of my cage trying to understand what the hell 4Dawgz is DOING We've gotten a couple of wild facts for her character this episode and last weeks: 1) absolutely hates Riz SPECIFICALLY for some reason, despite him consistently being the most respectful towards her (he actually tries to say her name proper) 2) she has a lot of anger towards the Bad Kids (and Riz), and 3) she was very casual killing Buddy Dawn, even though that doesn't immediately help her... admittedly, it does threaten the Bad Kids by removing revivify, but homegirl saw Gorgug soloing a purple worm, Adaine being untouchable, Fig smiting as if she's been a paladin for years, and The Ball absolutely rocking this fight, Fabian was there, all while Kristin was being pretty conservative and prioritizing heal spells, so KipKettle has no reason to believe the Bad Kids are in true mortal peril. What does this all mean? Well, idk about you, but Kipper's absolute inexplicable rage, combined with a bunch of other weird minutia, has me pondering the Time Quangle again, and the fact the Bad Kids DID do some minor chronomancy pre-shrimp jump, I think we have more time shenanigans to go... ESPECIALLY since that girlfailure found the rogue teacher at 8:01 am, I agree with some of the theories I've seen suggesting she's stuck in a time loop. I think she hates Riz because he is consistently the one realizing, connecting the dots, and ultimately the driving force that thwarts her in her scheme, forcing her to do another loop. Her complete contempt might look unreasonable, but maybe she's been trying to complete her task for YEARS, stuck in highschool because some random hot goblin kid can't ever mind his own business. I've been sympathetic to the "BLeeM would never have such a blatant BBEG like this, there has to be a twist" crowd, and I think FishFlower RedPan callously murdering her party cleric DOES NOT negate this - as far as she's concerned, he might be the 57th Buddy Dawn she's met, so why would she care when this loop will probably fail again? If this theory is anything substantial, she literally has nothing to lose, because she can just start over again? Anyone would appear irrational and be incapable of seeing an unbiased perspective, so of course she would claim things aren't fair: she's witnessed the same group of clowns dunk on her repeatedly in every iteration. Why bother doing unique adventures that are unpredictable when you can be the RatGrinders and have the same base slate with less chaos to try and enact your grand plan?

[baldurs-writers-3]

Lae'zel of Creche K'liir: A Baldur's Gate III Fanfiction Rec List

This week, we have Lae’zel fics! Check under the cut for five fics about everyone’s favorite githyanki champion, and as always, comment and kudos if you like them!

faith, hope, and love by bluebeholder (73,965, Explicit) Content Notes: None Pairings: Lae'zel/Tav

A really lovely story about Tav and Lae'zel's relationship throughout the events of the game. It's told in a series of short works as Lae'zel tries to understand this good-natured paladin.

Reccer says: I love the idea of a paladin Tav with Lae'zel. It's such a great dynamic and the author does an incredible job of showing it. They have Lae'zel's voice down SO WELL.

Iron and Satin, Silk and Steel by thievinghippo (12,458, Teen) Content Notes: None Pairings: Lae'zel/Gale

The evolution of the unlikely relationship between Gale of Waterdeep and Lae'zel of Crèche K’liir, from uneasy allies to steadfast lovers.

Reccer says: This is a ship I never considered before but now I love it! Truly a rarepair.

Coming Home by MoisopolonOikia (18,460, Mature) Content Notes: The tags say it all, there's stuff like handicap, ptsd and some horror in it Pairings: Shadowheart/Lae'zel

Summary: Her fight is over. Lae'zel has brought her Prince to power, liberated her people from the lich queen. She's a hero, her praises are sung by every Gith, in every Creche, in all the realms. But there's something missing, someone, really. She's homesick. So she sets on another journey, much less perilous, yet as important as the last ones she went through, to find the woman she gave her word to so long ago.

Reccer says: Good angst and good happy ending

Purification by knightorchids (3,174, Teen) Content Notes: Injury/recovery Pairings: Lae'zel/Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate)

“The Zaith’isk. Vlaakith’s purity, distilled. My duty, my right.” Lae’zel looks to her companions, their faces twisted in varying degrees of worry. She ignores their unnecessary concern — they will not wear such expressions once the Zaith’isk frees them of their tadpoles.

Reccer says: One of my favourite Lae'zel fics, about the Zaith'isk and the consequences it has on her. It's delightful and a regular reread of mine, it will have you shedding a tear about our favourite githyanki

descent into madness by MoisoplonOikia (6,324, Explicit) Content Notes: None Pairings: laezel/shadowheart

Shadowheart has been fucking with her mind for too long, so Lae'zel decides to get her revenge in a way she know they will both enjoy.

Reccer says: great smut in laezel's pov. Both hot and sweet and with some humor 👍

The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ!

Next week, we’ll have a fluffy little rec list, with the theme of Pets!

[deadbeatbirdmom]

So here's a thing: I presume Raven's Semblance includes the ability to sense when those she's bonded to are in mortal peril, which would explain how she knows when to give them their one save.

That or she monitors them somehow, or at least their Aura levels. Which makes me imagine a sort of baby monitor device Raven sneaks onto her 'tethers,' for lack of a better word. Even if she'd probably just hack into the Aura monitor feature of their scrolls.

I still think it far more likely Raven's Semblance includes that danger sense, but the thought of a physical device Raven had to sneak onto, say, Yang amuses me. Even if it's also kinda heartbreaking because Yang didn't see her until after she'd had her one save.

Here's my attempt at drawing my imagined silly scenario of Raven replacing Yang's 'baby monitor' after the old one stopped working or something, maybe in her sleep after she got punched through a concrete pillar by Torchwick's Paladin:

[wanterwolf]

ok bc. frieseis talking to bean. frieseis going ig you got it eays you never lost anything. bean going haha yeah. when really she gave up her pacifism to protect nature and adventure thru violence. both of them lost/gave up their homes and cultures whther they wanted to or not. my blorbos my babies my dnd ocs i meednto draw them kissing its free therapy

[thebrickinbrick]

Disorder a Partisan of Order

Bossuet muttered in Combeferre’s ear:

“He did not answer my question.”

“He is a man who does good by gun-shots,” said Combeferre.

Those who have preserved some memory of this already distant epoch know that the National Guard from the suburbs was valiant against insurrections. It was particularly zealous and intrepid in the days of June, 1832. A certain good dram-shop keeper of Pantin des Vertus or la Cunette, whose “establishment” had been closed by the riots, became leonine at the sight of his deserted dance-hall, and got himself killed to preserve the order represented by a tea-garden. In that bourgeois and heroic time, in the presence of ideas which had their knights, interests had their paladins. The prosiness of the originators detracted nothing from the bravery of the movement. The diminution of a pile of crowns made bankers sing the Marseillaise. They shed their blood lyrically for the counting-house; and they defended the shop, that immense diminutive of the fatherland, with Lacedæmonian enthusiasm.

At bottom, we will observe, there was nothing in all this that was not extremely serious. It was social elements entering into strife, while awaiting the day when they should enter into equilibrium.

Another sign of the times was the anarchy mingled with governmentalism [the barbarous name of the correct party]. People were for order in combination with lack of discipline.

The drum suddenly beat capricious calls, at the command of such or such a Colonel of the National Guard; such and such a captain went into action through inspiration; such and such National Guardsmen fought, “for an idea,” and on their own account. At critical moments, on “days” they took counsel less of their leaders than of their instincts. There existed in the army of order, veritable guerilleros, some of the sword, like Fannicot, others of the pen, like Henri Fonfrède.

Civilization, unfortunately, represented at this epoch rather by an aggregation of interests than by a group of principles, was or thought itself, in peril; it set up the cry of alarm; each, constituting himself a centre, defended it, succored it, and protected it with his own head; and the first comer took it upon himself to save society.

Zeal sometimes proceeded to extermination. A platoon of the National Guard would constitute itself on its own authority a private council of war, and judge and execute a captured insurgent in five minutes. It was an improvisation of this sort that had slain Jean Prouvaire. Fierce Lynch law, with which no one party had any right to reproach the rest, for it has been applied by the Republic in America, as well as by the monarchy in Europe. This Lynch law was complicated with mistakes. On one day of rioting, a young poet, named Paul Aimé Garnier, was pursued in the Place Royale, with a bayonet at his loins, and only escaped by taking refuge under the porte-cochère of No. 6. They shouted:—“There’s another of those Saint-Simonians!” and they wanted to kill him. Now, he had under his arm a volume of the memoirs of the Duc de Saint-Simon. A National Guard had read the words Saint-Simon on the book, and had shouted: “Death!”

On the 6th of June, 1832, a company of the National Guards from the suburbs, commanded by the Captain Fannicot, above mentioned, had itself decimated in the Rue de la Chanvrerie out of caprice and its own good pleasure.

This fact, singular though it may seem, was proved at the judicial investigation opened in consequence of the insurrection of 1832. Captain Fannicot, a bold and impatient bourgeois, a sort of condottiere of the order of those whom we have just characterized, a fanatical and intractable governmentalist, could not resist the temptation to fire prematurely, and the ambition of capturing the barricade alone and unaided, that is to say, with his company. Exasperated by the successive apparition of the red flag and the old coat which he took for the black flag, he loudly blamed the generals and chiefs of the corps, who were holding council and did not think that the moment for the decisive assault had arrived, and who were allowing “the insurrection to fry in its own fat,” to use the celebrated expression of one of them. For his part, he thought the barricade ripe, and as that which is ripe ought to fall, he made the attempt.

He commanded men as resolute as himself, “raging fellows,” as a witness said. His company, the same which had shot Jean Prouvaire the poet, was the first of the battalion posted at the angle of the street. At the moment when they were least expecting it, the captain launched his men against the barricade. This movement, executed with more good will than strategy, cost the Fannicot company dear. Before it had traversed two thirds of the street it was received by a general discharge from the barricade.

Four, the most audacious, who were running on in front, were mown down point-blank at the very foot of the redoubt, and this courageous throng of National Guards, very brave men but lacking in military tenacity, were forced to fall back, after some hesitation, leaving fifteen corpses on the pavement.

This momentary hesitation gave the insurgents time to re-load their weapons, and a second and very destructive discharge struck the company before it could regain the corner of the street, its shelter. A moment more, and it was caught between two fires, and it received the volley from the battery piece which, not having received the order, had not discontinued its firing.

The intrepid and imprudent Fannicot was one of the dead from this grape-shot. He was killed by the cannon, that is to say, by order.

This attack, which was more furious than serious, irritated Enjolras.—“The fools!” said he. “They are getting their own men killed and they are using up our ammunition for nothing.”

Enjolras spoke like the real general of insurrection which he was. Insurrection and repression do not fight with equal weapons. Insurrection, which is speedily exhausted, has only a certain number of shots to fire and a certain number of combatants to expend. An empty cartridge-box, a man killed, cannot be replaced. As repression has the army, it does not count its men, and, as it has Vincennes, it does not count its shots. Repression has as many regiments as the barricade has men, and as many arsenals as the barricade has cartridge-boxes. Thus they are struggles of one against a hundred, which always end in crushing the barricade; unless the revolution, uprising suddenly, flings into the balance its flaming archangel’s sword. This does happen sometimes. Then everything rises, the pavements begin to seethe, popular redoubts abound. Paris quivers supremely, the quid divinum is given forth, a 10th of August is in the air, a 29th of July is in the air, a wonderful light appears, the yawning maw of force draws back, and the army, that lion, sees before it, erect and tranquil, that prophet, France.

[goodboyaudios]

**Unwritten Characters #6: Xorn O'Tender**

Xorn! Grandfather of Zed! What can I say about this pompous guyfailure?

Xorn was oncena proud member of the O'tender clan on New Tennessee. The youngest of 4 boys in the western Forgelands! But Xorn wasn't like his brothers. He was arrogant, brash and a real pain in his clan's side.

Until one day, when a mission came along to the O'tender clan. They needed a brave warrior to go on a perilous journey to another world with little chance of returning safely. Now Xorn wasn't like his brothers until the sense that most of the were Forglings and creators. Xorn was a warrior. Essentially a bog standard Paladin fodder child with no outstanding qualities. For the O'tender clan, they viewed this as a chance to trim out Xorn from their proud lineage, by sending him to another world under the guise of doing his family proud.

Xorn, gladly accepted and joined this mission, which would take him to a secret lair in the bowels of a dormant city. There, the mission would find a ritual circle...where a portal to Manas would open up!

Throught the portal, an old man would step through. The mission group would nudge Xorn forward, gesturing that he was to join him. The old man then produced a glass bottle of Faena and handed it to the remaining group members, before taking Xorn back with him to Manas.

From Xorn's perspective, the old man had just offered payment for his services, as many would for an esteemed Paladin of new Tennessee! In reality, the mission had just sold Xorn off for a glass of Faena. Whatever they did with the Faena is unknown...

This old man, as it happens, was YA BOI XARANTHAROS! He had hired Xorn to be his body guard for himself and his new apprentice, Magnesia Mistwood! And Mirrin too I guess. He was a janitor so, he didn't matter so much.

Xorn struggled to get along with everyone, behaving very prideful and boasting of his homeworld and how superior he and his kind were.

Mirrin, being a former bully managed to drag out all of Xorns insecurities about being a pawn for his family to sacrifice and laughing at his lack of reading comprehension. Xorn was humbled pretty quickly, but he was stubborn enough to keep challenging Mirrin, eventually, becoming mutated by the Faena on Manas and gaining the ability to cast spells. The two had a sibling rivalry which made them great friends over time. He'd also have a rivalry with Magnesia, which would slowly blossom into a crush they both had on each other, but wouldn't express for a while.

Years go by and Xorn and Magnesia are married and have several children. One of which is their daughter, Mazzul Mistwood. Xorn's appearance in certain parts of mama's would also lead a bunch of people to copy his braid, a tradition that transitioned from his homeworld to Manas, all because if him. The people of Manas used the braids in the same vain as Xorn had described, but some would call them, the Xorn braids instead.

Unfortunately, Xorn's now wife, Magnesia would go on a journey that would take her to the heart of a heated area of conflict between warring nations and she would be killed in the crossfire.

Xorn would grieve her loss for a long time, but none would take it as hard as his daughter Mazzul, who swore she would destroy all who would perpetuate such senseless violence, ironically becoming the one person that all nations united against.

Xorn would become ill from the grief and grow even more sick with the devastation his own daughter was bringing to the world. In his own words, he described Mazzul as acting similar in part to his own mother.

The mental anguish of seeing his own blood's actions became too much for him to bear. He passed away in a now ruined and forgotten city of Fusfeimyol, a place he and his wife once built up together.

His sons would take up the mantle of trying to defeat their sister and bring her reign of terror to an end, but that's a story for another time.

[mirkwoodshewolf]

No following; Planet of the Apes fanfic Chap. 8

*Author's note*

Alright now this is one chapter where a viscous swear word is used. It's around the start of the chapter and its the big P word. So yeah mostly just some intense rated TR swearing words but nothing graphic happening cause as we all know Carver is a troublemaker and a dick so there's definite tension b/t him and Lin. But I hope you all still enjoy the story nonetheless :)

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@gay-and-ready-to-cry

@psychosupernatural

@queen-paladin

___________________________________________________

At 0700 hours I was waiting for Malcolm and his team to arrive alongside the pack and within 15 minutes they finally arrived.  All the members Malcolm said who’d be a part of this scouting mission were all there with guns in hand (minus Alexander and Ellie).

“Why the fuck is she here?!” exclaimed Carver.

“Lovely to see your fugly mug too Carver.” I said sarcastically.

“I told you Carver, we needed a guide to give us the best pathway through the woods and Lin’s the only one who comes here more than anyone in the colony.”

“But did she really need to bring those beasts of hers? It’s bad enough the apes killed off half the planet, those bastards will rip our throats out without a second thought.”

“Wolves are more frightened of people than you are of them. If you don’t give them a reason to fear, they won’t attack you. Tsume still hasn’t forgotten what you did to him.” I gestured to the hole above his left ear.  “If we want to do this now, we better get moving. Most of the predators are still asleep at this time.”

“Forget it! I ain’t going nowhere with you yah psychotic bitch!” Carver exclaimed.

“Quit acting like a pussy and start walking! Before I tear your little body apart limb from limb!!!” my old soldier persona came out as I glared right at Carver, my eyes showing him that I meant business and that I would follow through on my word unlike all the threats he gives me.

The pack also backed me up as they snarled and snapped at Carver making him retreat backward.  That’s the thing with this guy, most of the time he’s all bark but doesn’t have the balls to do what he says he wants to do.  Just cause he thinks holding a gun makes him all tough, doesn’t mean he has the guts to actually shoot a human being.  Meanwhile I—never mind.

“Be warned. The woods are perilous compared to what they once were. Creatures that hadn’t been in this part of the world for hundreds of years have come around so be on your guard. Nearly got caught by a mama grizzly bear just last month had it not been for the pack saving my ass.” I soon led them into the woods with the pack scouting ahead.

Having the strongest nose out of the four of them, Hige was the main scout and I’ve learned that if he lowered his head and his fur hackled, there was danger in whatever direction he was facing.  If he let out two barks, he had found something, and a loud howl meant he was on the trail.

“How do we know she ain’t leading us to our death?” I heard Carver whisper.

“Will you knock it off Carver. I ain’t getting attacked by four wolves because of you!” hissed Foster lowly.

“It’s bad enough we got the fear of the apes and the flu getting to us now we’ve got to deal with her.”

“I’ve got PTSD, I’m not deaf. If you’d like to share something then please share it with the rest of the class!” I proclaimed turning around to face them fully.  My posture tall and firm as I glared at them.  “If you don’t wanna be here then go home. But if you don’t want to waste further time, I suggest keeping your mouths shut about me being here and let’s get this over with!” I turned back around and scaled up the steep pathway that led up the mountain.

We walked for a couple of hours further uphill until we finally reached the borders of the dam.

“This is it. This is it by god this is it!” exclaimed Carver.

“How much further till we get to the power station?” asked Malcolm.

“About another half hour give or take. It’s been so long I can’t remember exactly where the main entrance is to this place.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I muttered down to Tsume who gave out a huffed bark.

“I’ll go ahead and see if something doesn’t strike me as familiar.” He then went on ahead of us and after a while the group followed close behind him.  I looked to the pack and they each looked at me before we too followed the group, but the silence of the forest was soon broken by the sound of a gunshot.

Toboe’s ears bent back as he whimpered fearfully while Tsume, Hige and Kiba all snarled and barked frantically as they raced on ahead.

“Toboe come!” he raced right at my side as I caught up with the others.  “Who shot first?!”

“It came from Carver up ahead!” Ellie exclaimed as we raced faster up the pathway until Carver’s shouts became more clearer.

“Stay! HELP! HELP! No! HEY! OVER HERE! I shot him, I shot him.” As we came around I was shocked to see that it wasn’t a bear, a cougar or even another wolf, no Carver had shot an ape.  A young adolescent ape by the looks of it.  The other one stood protectively in front of the one on the ground had blue eyes which is not common for chimpanzees.

“Did he attack you first?” I asked him.

“What does it matter?”

“It does matter if you’ve decided to play trigger happy you insolent baboon!” at that moment Hige and the rest of the pack all snarled in warning as echoing through the woods were hundreds of ape shrieks and calls.  Soon coming from above the hill and through the trees were almost 100 apes all of them wielding spears.

Toboe stood close at my side, his fur ruffled and tail raised as he bared his fangs.  Hige, Tsume and Kiba circled around Malcolm and the others and snarled defensively as the apes came closer to us.

Suddenly one appeared in front of us as it came and stood before the two young apes that Carver had encountered and shot at.  Hige snarled at the ape but the ape let out a roar which caused Hige to back off practically right away and hide behind me.

“Real helpful Hige, real helpful.” As the apes finally finished showing us their numbers and strength, another chimpanzee soon came up and stood on top of a tree stump just above us.  He held out his hands trying to cease the apes from advancing any further.

I looked at this chimp closely, he was older and had the same grim face that I now bore of someone who had seen and been through hell and back.  I looked to the left part of his chest and there I saw the familiar birthmark….. no, it—it couldn’t be…..

The chimp who had frightened Hige now held the young chimp who Carver shot and started hooting frantically, all the while signing out.

‘They shot Ash! Shot my son!’

‘Rocket, wait.’ Grunted the ape who stood on the tree stump.  Oh my god…..it really was him.  Caesar’s alive! After all these years.  While the rest of the men were aiming their guns at the apes ready to shoot if any of them makes the wrong move, I reached for my gun and put it down all the while keeping my eyes on Caesar.  Slowly I stepped away from the group and saw as some of the apes tightened their grip on their spears as I started walking closer towards Caesar.

‘Caesar?’ I signed to him, deep down thinking that this was all some sort of dream or hallucination.  Caesar’s eyes looked directly at me as his expression was stern and defensive.  Of course he wouldn’t recognize me now, I was older than I was the last time he saw me.  ‘Caesar it’s me, Lin.’

After I had signed to him my name, his harsh glare began to soften as he looked down at me with slight recognition but also denial.

“Put your guns down.” I told the group.

“You can’t be serious.” Said Foster as he aimed his gun towards Caesar.

“Do as she says.” Malcolm told his group.  One by one each men lowered their weapons all but Carver of course.  “Carver, put the gun down.”

“Hell no man.” Carver wavered.

“Carver I swear to god if you don’t lower that gun right now, I’ll have Tsume turn you into a eunuch!” I growled lowly as I glared daggers at him.  At the threat of his manhood, Carver hesitantly lowered his gun as well.  I turned back to Caesar but his face no longer held the recognition from earlier, once again the harsh and primal glare was etched onto his face.  ‘We’re not a threat Caesar. Just hear me out.’

Silence once again weighed heavy in the woods as Caesar’s intimidating glare pierced all of us until he opened his mouth and spoke.

“GO!!!!!” his voice echoed through the mountains and sent a wave of both terror and awe down our spines.  Now I alone knew that Caesar could talk because he spoke to me before he and the clan of apes had disappeared into these woods a decade ago.  But to Malcolm and the rest of the group, they didn’t know this fact and were starting to get freaked out.  Caesar hopped off the tree stump and trudged his way towards us.

“Okay, okay we’re…we’re going.” Malcolm assured.

“GO!!!” cried out a bonobo that was scarred on one side of his face and soon the apes all started hooting and hollering telling us to go.  In a panic we all grabbed our guns and raced off back down the mountain.  The pack racing on ahead and disappearing through the shrubs.

Once we reached back down the mountain, we got into our respected vehicles and drove away from the forests, but I couldn’t help but look back heartbroken.  After all these years of thinking Caesar was dead, he was actually alive as well as the other apes and not only that but they seemed to thrive stronger than before.

We drove over the Golden gate bridge until we reached the security gate that was created at the border of the city at the height of the pandemic.  The doors opened and we soon caught sight of Dreyfus coming out.   He came over to Malcolm’s truck and asked him.

“Did you find it?”

“We need to talk.” Said Malcolm.

“What? What’s wrong?” asked Dreyfus.

“The um…the dam’s pretty much intact. It could probably start generating power for us within a week. But there’s a problem. Get in.” Malcolm explained.  I revved up my engine ready to take off and leave these guys but Malcolm said. “Lin wait! You need to come with us.”

“Why?” I demanded.

“You’ve seen those woods more times than any of us at the colony. Did you know?”

“I am just as surprised as you all are Malcolm.”

“Yeah, then why’d you start making all those weird hand gestures at one of them?” sneered Carver accusingly.

“It’s called sign language you dumbass. You know the language that deaf people use to communicate.” I sneered back at him.  Carver huffed as he got in the back with Ellie and Malcolm’s son, Alexander.

“Saw what? Someone tell me what happened up there in those woods?” Dreyfus demanded.

“Just get in and we’ll explain everything. Lin, you ride with Foster and Kemp.”

“What you don’t trust me to follow you?” I asked.  Malcolm gave me a skeptical look and I huffed as I turned my bike off. “Fine you’re right, I wouldn’t have. No one touches this bike! I’ve managed to keep it running the last three years, I don’t intend on losing it now.”

“The border patrol will keep it hidden.” Dreyfus gestured for one of the border guards to come forward and collect my bike.  I then went and opened the back door, startling Kemp and Foster.

“What the hell Lin? Scared the shit out of us.” Kemp said.

“Just follow behind Malcolm. And no questions.” I told them as I leaned my head against the back window.  The second Malcolm drove off, Foster drove right behind him.  The car ride was silent until Kemp had to speak up.

“I can’t believe after all this time, they were alive.”

“And how? I mean—I was a part of the regime that helped burn the redwoods to the ground. Nothing could’ve survived that.” My eyes widened at this new bit of information.

But I couldn’t let them know I knew of Caesar and his troop.  God knows what Dreyfus and Malcolm are gonna do to me once we get back to the colony.

“Lin, did you know they were out there?” asked Kemp.

“I thought I said no questions.”

“Nah, nah, nah you don’t get to do that to us, not this time. You’re the only one who ventures deep in those woods. Did you know?” Kemp said as he turned to face me, his eyes burning deep into my soul.

“No. I thought they had perished in the fires. Like you said Foster, not even a roach could survive what you all did to that forest.” I spoke my last sentence with a distant, somber tone as I remembered seeing the news footage.

The woods I once remembered playing in with Caesar, exploring new things, playing my violin and dancing like a springtime faery.  It was nothing but a blazing inferno, the trees like torches blazed with light, as a once proud monument was then (for a time) turned into nothing but ash.

We arrived back at the colony and I helped the boys unload their stuff when Carver ran up and said.

“Dreyfus doesn’t want us to tell anyone about what we saw out there.”

“What?” demanded Foster.

“Yeah, said he didn’t want to create a panic or whatever bullshit.”

“Then it’s best to do as he says.” I advised.  Carver turned to me and he said as he came up to me, and growled as he shoved his finger into my chest.

“If I found out you knew about those beasts and didn’t warn us, I’ll—”

“Kill me?” I challenged.  “The day you decide to do that I want you to do me a favor, you be sure to look me straight in the eye. Never forget my face, because I promise you, I’ll never forget the one who killed me.” I threatened as I got up into his face, my eyes filled with a cold, harsh stare.

Carver’s anger quickly turned to fear as he inwardly cowered beneath my gaze.  Yeah, that’s what I thought.  I grabbed some of the equipment and walked inside the colony building.

After helping them unload their gear, Dreyfus and Malcolm lead me into Dreyfus’ office where I was sat down and the two of them began interrogating me.

“And you swear you’re telling me the truth Lin? You had no idea that those apes were up there?” Dreyfus asked me.

“Like I’ve been telling you the last fifteen times you’ve asked me that question. I didn’t know.”

“This is serious Lin, I’m trying to ensure there’s no panic in the colony.”

“And I’m being serious too.”

“She’s telling the truth Dreyfus. She was just as shocked as we were to see them. You can’t fake that type of reaction at seeing the number of apes that we did up there.” Malcolm came to my defense.  Dreyfus paced around a bit as Malcolm asked me, “But what Carver said back there, how were you able to communicate with them?”

“I noticed they were using sign language. Before the world went to shit, I took many classes back at school as part of my foreign language courses. Also I—had a little brother who was struck mute at birth. Sign just kinda came natural because of that.” Malcolm nodded in understandment.

“Alright, we’re done here. But until I decide what to do, I want you to stay inside the colony Lin.”

“What? You can’t be serious!” I snapped as I stood up.

“I am, and don’t try to defy my orders.”

“Okay let’s get something straight here, Dreyfus! I don’t work for you. I never have. Our deal was that I’d help you, you’d help me. That’s it!”

“Like it or not Lin, so long as you are in the colony walls, you will abide by our rules.” And with that he left his office without another word.

Rage boiled within me as my breathing began to sharpen.  I punched through a window and let out a rageful scream before sliding everything off of Dreyfus’ desk to the floor and Malcolm reached out to try and calm me down.

“Hey! Lin, Lin!”

“DON’T TOUCH ME!!” I roared as I came down from my rageful high.  I took several deep breaths before muttering incoherently to myself.

This is just like before. Back during the pandemic, during the civil unrest, my times with—them.

“You can stay with Ellie, Alexander and I. You don’t have to be alone in this place Lin.”

“Alone. We’re always alone.” Malcolm didn’t say anything after that.  I took my sniper rifle, placed the strap across my chest and walked towards Malcolm’s place.

Later that night, I was cleaning out my rifle by taking it apart and letting it soak for a bit before reassembling it back together.  I could sense that someone was behind me so I spoke up.

“Isn’t it pass your bedtime kid?” from the corner of my eye, I could see Alexander coming around and he said.

“Will your wolves come back for you?”

“As I said, they’re not my wolves.”

“Oh. Sorry, I just assumed that since they—you know are always with you, that there’s a loyalty to you.”

“It’s called a partnership. What most people never understood when getting wild animals is that they think they’re getting a prize. Something to be proud of or to stroke their ego with. Or even worse, trying to control them. That’s where you hear all those stories of them getting killed by their prized pets. I’ve learned that if you treat them with respect, and let them be who they truly are, there’s a chance of a bond happening.”

“How did you find them?” I gestured for him to sit down on the couch while I continued to reassemble my rifle.

“Hige I found trapped in a cage trying to get some food. Poor guy even after being freed, tried to go back into the cage to get the scrap of meat. I think that’s the only reason he sticks with me is because he thinks I’m a free food provider.” We both chuckled.

“And the others?”

“The red pup is called Toboe. Found that little pup abandoned in the woods. Frail and shivering. I feared he wouldn’t make it. But two weeks of rest and some food and water and he started thriving. He’s the one who seems to think I’m his mother, but he’s gotta learn how to be a wolf. That’s why I have him be around the others as much as possible when we go out hunting. He doesn’t help me catch the game, he learns by watching the others how to hunt.”

“What about the two that came with you yesterday? The grey and white one.”

“Oh those two boys. You talk about wild wolves, Tsume and Kiba are about as wild as any wolf I’ve met. They know exactly who they are, and I’ve got the scars to prove it.” I then showed Alexander some of the scars from the bite mark’s I’ve been given by each of them on either my legs or my hand and arms.  “But with them, it was a debt to be repaid. I found the two of them just shortly after I had met Hige. Or well I should say Hige found them. Both of them barely alive after surviving an animal attack. At the time I didn’t think to believe it, but now after seeing what we saw today, I believe those two came in contact with the apes and were beaten to the point of death. Kiba was the one barely hanging on by a thread. Thought I lost him a few times, but he eventually came around.”

“Well they definitely show they’re not dogs.” I paused in assembling my rifle and I said to him.

“About what I said to you yesterday, I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget that you’re still a kid.”

“I’m 15 years old.”

“Still a kid though. I can’t imagine how growing up in this world was for you.” Alexander looked down sadly.

“I lost my mom to the virus. Dad was—he was so broken after that. When he met Ellie, I…..Deep down I think he’s just trying to replace her.”

“Now I know for a fact that’s not true. No one could ever replace your mom.” Alexander looked up at me.  “Look, I know I don’t know you or your dad beyond my usual transactions of trading, but from what I can tell, he cares and loves you very, very much. And no one will ever replace your mom. But both him and Ellie lost people to this pandemic, and they were lucky to have found each other to heal their wounds and be able to love someone else again. Most people aren’t that lucky.”

“Did you—lose someone?” I closed my eyes and told him.

“I lost….everyone.” Alexander sat there shocked and in silence.

“I—I’m so sorry Lin.”

“Nothing you need to apologize for. You should get some sleep, you had a long, surprising day. And your dad would kill me if I kept you up all night with stories of my past.” He nodded and left me to resume my work.

Once my gun was fully reassembled and I clicked the magazine back into place, I set it aside and lay across their couch.  I reached into my pocket and popped in a couple of the pills Ellie gave me yesterday before drifting off into another dreamless sleep.

Just the way I prefer it.

[dykedvonte]

Preston x Danse is the only companion ship I think would actually work because Preston’s inner turmoil is sort of a loss of faith in himself due to the traumatic experiences he’s faced while Danse is looking for something to have faith in and would find the fact that despite the desire to give up Preston held out so long not just for the honor of the Minutemen but because he had some hope.

It would 100% start off as a lotta unhealthy on Danse’s side as I believe he completely lacks the emotional intelligence (due to a combination of factors) to recognize the he’s feelings as anything but a sort of respect for a superior along with leaning too much into Preston as a substitute for the BoS. Preston may not really have a title but he’s like THE Lieutenant of the Minutemen. Realistically he’s the only companion Danse would probably be comfortable taking instructions from especially for how trusted Preston is by the Sole Survivor and his adherence to military standards despite how unstructured the Minutemen are. It would be him waiting for orders, approval, anything from Preston and he thinks it’s just the desire to have the regiment of the BoS again but he also like when Preston compliments him on being useful or resourceful. He likes the stories of Minuteman glory days and he trades the stories of the BoS that don’t hurt to talk about. He likes the familiarity Preston would provide and he’d be oblivious that it’s not just new found loyalty to the Minutemen.

Yet Preston explains it himself that he’s not a natural leader. He’s not an instructor. He helps manage what the General has put in place and he content on doing that. He relays what needs to be done and does major upkeep but I don’t think he’d know what to do with this guy this literally marches up to him and practically begs for a mission that doesn’t exist. Like the formality and respect is nice but he can tell it’s covering something even if Danse doesn’t.

Danse could go to Sturges for the many repair and upkeep assignments he gives him and has the freedom to go straight to the Castle if he really wants a big mission, but he chooses to come to him everytime. He’s aware enough that Danse only trusts him out of all of the Generals confidantes but it would take a bit for him to understand why. If anything Danse should be strategizing with him as equals seeing as he almost got the Minuteme wiped out and Danse was a Paladin for the Brotherhood with many successes under his belt before Preston even led his first scouting mission. It’s like he sees him as some figure of hope, some one who can come in and add stability. Someone with a fresh outlook who can provide a new perspective for him.

It’s like he sees him like he saw/sees the Sole Survivor but that would be crazy because that would also mean… and then oh, it clicks.

The revelation is both flattering and he doesn’t know what to do with it cause how do you address “I know you respect me but is that the only feeling you have for me?” To the guy who like refuses to rest unless you tell him at ease? He has to reevaluate his whole manner of interaction with Danse cause this is a very slippery slope that he’s sliding down and it’s even more perilous due to Danse’s repressed emotions regarding… everything. There’s an equal chance Danse will try to open up as completely shut down and he’s not just concerned about it cause Sole Survivor cares for him but because he has grown to care for the guy too. It’s not like he doesn’t also enjoy Danse’s company and value as a Minuteman member. He’s not a love at first sight guy but he’s played with the idea, anyone would when you’ve spent nights trading stories, historical facts and beers by the fire in a little home you’ve carved for yourself through literal blood, sweat and tears.

I think it’s one of those cases where it’s agonizingly slow to the actual relationship but neither part are anguished about that. If anything happened to soon Danse would be too dependent and Preston not equipped to handle it. It’s a case where I genuinely think they’d bring out the best in each other cause theyd want to figure out what is best for the other and not just apply what they think is the best. It’s the care that Preston would ask Danse what he wants to do and encourage it and at the same time Danse would be incredulous everytime Preston second guesses himself.

Long story short it’s a good ship to me because it’s just two guys with broken confidences and faith in their roles being each other’s hype man and kissin a little about it.