#perks of being a paladin

[thrassisfras]

The fact that I went into that first conversation with Gortash completely blind and he somehow managed to be the one that almost convinced me to side with him is just wild to me. Gwydion had been incredibly resistant to anyone (even his partner) trying to get him to be just a little power-hungry, but then Gortash came along and started talk about unity and stability instead of "we're gonna be evil and rule the world" and it was working on Gwydion.

My only thought during the coronation scene was "damn, he really does know Gwydion"

[forcedhesitation]

I'm actually rather surprised that not a single one of the boys made top three. but then again, I suppose the large number of straight men that play this game are not as visible in fan spaces as us lgbt. That is...a fortunate thing, though, I'd argue.

[the-griffons-saddlebag]

🛡 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Armor of the Platinum Lord
Armor (medium or heavy, but not hide), legendary (requires attunement by a cleric or paladin) ___ This silvery armor is blessed by a divine dragon. A mantle emblazoned with seven silver scales rests across its shoulders as a sign of piety. While wearing this armor, your Constitution score changes to 20, unless it’s already higher. In addition, you have advantage on saving throws against being frightened. The armor has 7 charges for the following properties. It regains all expended charges daily at dawn. 𝙋𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙪𝙢 𝙂𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙮. You can use a bonus action to expend 3 of the armor’s charges to gain a flying speed of 30 feet for 10 minutes. For the duration, your weapon attacks deal an extra 1d8 radiant damage on a hit, and whenever you restore hit points to a creature using a class feature or a spell you cast, that creature regains an additional 1d8 hit points. 𝙍𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝘿𝙖𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙚. When a creature that you can see within 30 feet of you takes damage, you can use your reaction to expend 2 of the armor’s charges to prevent that creature from taking the damage. When you do, you take that damage instead, and it is halved for you; this damage can’t be reduced in any other way. 𝙍𝙚𝙛𝙡𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙍𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚. Whenever you restore hit points to a target using a class feature or a spell you cast, you can expend 1 or more of the armor’s charges to force a creature of your choice within 10 feet of the target to make a Constitution saving throw against your spell save DC. You can choose an additional creature for each charge you expend after the first. On a failed save, an affected creature takes radiant damage equal to half the number of hit points restored to the target. The creature must be able to see the target, which emits a brilliant flash of holy light when it’s healed. 𝙁𝙡𝙖𝙬. The “armor of the platinum lord” makes its wearer a steward of principle. While attuned to the armor, you gain the following flaw: “I can’t abide any behavior unbecoming of a lord. Propriety and honesty is the only way: even to villains.” ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!

[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.”

[limboraptor]

I think its pretty fucked up how after Caviar kicked the paladin's asses he IMMEDIATELY became a target. Like thats mad dark how he was wanted dead for that shit.

At first Caviar wasn't interested in Oyster's offer, nor did he seem to show any concern of his current situation (in fact he probably knew exactly what he was getting into) which is understandable, since he JUST beat the asses of every paladin (and pirates alike).

But it's until Oyster brings up the safety of his crew does he suddenly perk up. Caviar can easily hold his own against assassins, but the thought of his crew, his family, being put at risk of danger like that? That's something entirely different.

And these aren't pirates that can be dealt with like usual, no, these are most likely assassins or even bounty hunters that are from the Republic, his own home- a whole different, unpredictable kind of threat that Caviar was not willing to risk dealing with. Caviar couldn't refuse Oyster's offer, not after she twisted his arm so well. The safety of his crew always comes first.

I can only imagine how on edge Caviar must have been returning to his ship that night; getting a lot of dirty looks from some shady individuals as he passed by them, the air heavy with tension. All eyes were on him, and he knew that some of those eyes wanted him dead.

[lovelyatomicpeace]

Beyond the masks, charapter one:

She who leads

November 6, 1983

You closed the car door making a dull noise, and before you even started the car you turned on the radio making the notes of your favorite song echo through the vehicle at full volume.Carefully you backed out of the driveway tapping your fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music as you began speeding down the road. You drove around the deserted streets of Hawkins dimly lit by the occasional streetlight you found along the way.

You had always enjoyed the sensation of speed and wind in your hair; had it been up to you, you would have wandered around town aimlessly-better, surely, than remaining, as you did most evenings, shrouded in the deafening silence of your empty house. This time, however, the ride was short-lived; you had to take home the boys who often gathered to organize some of their interminable D&D campaigns in Mike's basement.

You park your car outside the Wheeler's modest home: before getting out you glance at your reflection from the rearview mirror, trying to fix what you could of your rumpled T-shirt and soiled pants to look presentable. Fed up you get out of the car and head for the door being greeted by Mrs. Wheeler's beaming smile

"Y/n good to see you!" She said leaning against the door

"Emmh ... the boys are here right?" you asked putting your hands behind your back and rocking back and forth with your feet

"Oh yes, yes they are at the usual place, wait now I'll call them ..."

"No" you shouted with much enthusiasm "let me go in person" you told her with a smile on your face of someone who was up to something. You entered the house and hurriedly made your way to the basement door.

The lights inside were low, leaving the kids almost shrouded in darkness: the 4 of them were sprawled out on the game board intent on finishing the game as their favorite characters: there was the reserved but wise sorcerer Will, the fearless sword-treated knight Dustin, the ever-ready bard Lucas, and the storyteller Mike telling the next move of the demogorgon, the dreaded monster the heroes had to destroy: you had always liked to imagine them as brave as the characters they so enjoyed playing. They were so different from the other children and especially so much smarter than they were (and you were proud of that), and despite your age you had managed to earn their trust

and for the moment that was enough for you.

They were so engrossed in the game that they did not notice your presence on the stairs, which you were trying to descend without making the slightest noise so you could scare them good:

"Our dreaded adversary advances along the lagoons of the Seringraf swamp, where our protagonists are, emitting terrifying sounds," you heard Mike tell them. At that moment you made a series of sounds that made the four children's ears perk up, and for a moment they stopped placing their pawns on the board, peering into each other's eyes to see if everyone had heard those noises. When they relaxed again, Mike, resumed the narrative of the game

"The monster blurred through the foliage of trees and behind shrubs...suddenly all was silent: the mage and paladin looked around shoulder to shoulder, and the bard cleaves his weapon in search of its silhouette. What can they do to defeat him? "

"Use the fireball Will," shouted Lucas to an uncertain Will.

"no wait we may need it for later" admitted Dustin; when Mike interrupted them saying

"but beware the paladins have been misled and the monster is behind them ready to disrtangle them, warning them with its loud and deep cry" it was at that moment that you jumped down the 'last step of the stairs shouting to frighten the boys who now did nothing but scream in terror. You could no longer hold back a laugh, which you didn't know you were suppressing, and you threw yourself on the basement couch, stopping only when a pillow thrown by Lucas landed on your face

"Fuck it," said Dustin in his characteristic way of speaking, "yeah" pressed Mike "we were supposed to end this game together...we've been playing for 10 hours."

"10 HOURS!" You exclaimed and after a while of waiting you continued "well if you want to finish it go ahead..." and turned your back as if to leave the room: they turned back to the table, approaching each other as if to talk in secret (just as they did the first time) and then Will came next to you, "we are few this time. We need a hand!" You approached them seeing that Lucas was intent on rolling the playing dice

"15 points and inflict defeat on the demogorgon, otherwise you will be in an horrible situation," Mike recounted.

The dice rolled incessantly on the table leaving you all with bated breath....

7

"Oh shit" hissed Dustin, you leaned toward them whispering something in their ear, agreed and watched your next move with trepidation: as Mike did earlier you noisily placed on the board the token you've always used since you played with them; silencing them abruptly. At that moment you remembered when you became Selûne for them or , according to the game, the one who leads:

You had been working for a couple of years in the game room near the library: that day in 1981, the room was more deserted than ever: inside was just you and the game machines that emitted bright beams of light compared to the darkness of the room. You were sitting on a stool intent on drawing while listening to loud music on headphones plugged into your walkman, so you could not hear the sound of the door opening allowing 4 brats to enter.

The children headed for Dig Dug's car trying to play, taking turns at each level, for at least 30 minutes.

Then suddenly your gaze lifted from the paper to see a boy with thick curly hair giving you a toothless smile "Hi I'm Dustin..." he began and moving to the side of the cash register introduced you to the others "and they are Mike, Lucas and Will" looking slightly embarrassed. This introduction caused a bias smile to grow on your face as you moved the headset from one ear "is there anything I can do for you?" you asked, Dustin looked at you and reluctantly began to say "Well here goes..."

"We need someone to help us get through the new level of that game" Lucas blurted out very excitedly pointing with his thumb at the device: their request made you arch upward your eyebrows but did not make you refuse in fact you gladly accepted also because secretly you were an expert in the game: on days like this that you were locked in here you spent a lot of time in front of those games.

When you arrived at the device you bent over the controls that you grasped with both hands under the interesting eyes of the four boys who divided two by two along the sides of the machine: the game had started and with strategic techniques you began to mash the keys mechanically repeating those moves that many times before you had done:

for a total of 35,479 points you won the game

Record

The four children watched you with their mouths wide open, silence....

Then they peppered you with questions asked so quickly that they created a tangle of voices that broke the silence hovering in the room

"That was amazing!" shouted Will and Mike.

"No way!" said Lucas leaning against the machine.

"You're definitely nicer than Keith," said Dustin, cracking a smile.

Suddenly they stopped shouting and huddled together as rugby players do to make a decision leaving you curious next to them, Mike turned to ask you something, stoic

"Do you know how to play D&D?" Under the trepidation of the others, they nodded their heads and went back to talking until Dustin with his friends behind him extended his hand toward you

"Would you like to play with us tonight?"…

Mike's cry brought you back to reality by fading your memory. "BUT BEWARE! THE 3 HEROES ARE SAVED BY THE POWERFUL SELÛNE!" shouted caught up in the excitement, you were in priedi between Dustin and Will, who gently placed the playing dice on your hand. At this point any score would have defeated the demogorgon.

You threw The 20-sided dice, which began to whirl around the table under everyone's watchful gaze it seemed as if time had stopped...and then here was the number that would lead you to victory

11

"THE DEMOGORGON IS STRUCK BY THE POWERFUL MAGIC OF THE GODDESS FALLING WITHOUT HIM BEING ABLE TO DO ANYTHING ANYMORE. THE 3 HEROES AND THE GODDESS HAVE WON THE BATTLE AGAINST THE SHADOWS" this time you are all swept up in a wave of excitement, the boys jumping victoriously all over the room crushing high fives on your hands.

Your jubilation however was interrupted by the bright lights that flashed in the basement, Mrs. Wheeler had come to call you back as if caught doing something serious "Mikeee it's time for bed!" she thundered up the stairs and closing the door behind her.

"Well the night is over, come on guys," you said earning only looks of frustration from Mike and contrary opinion from the others

"I don't want to hear a fuss, you know we were supposed to be back 30 minutes ago...come on" you exclaimed looking at your watch pushing them toward the door and before leaving you waved to the Wheeler boy mussing his hair. You loaded Dustin's, Lucas' and Will's bikes into your car (although it didn't lock perfectly) and drove them home one by one: as they talked animatedly about something, as they always did, you drove through the streets just as you did on the way out even though a strange feeling pervaded your body.

The route was always the same: first stop at Lucas's house, then at Mrs. Henderson's house, who wouldn't let you go with her endless thanks, and finally at Will's house. You parked outside his residence.

That house had always left you with the creeps: it was in one of the ugliest parts of town,if you had to admit it, and the surroundings were not at all reassuring: leaving Will alone you admit scared you

"Do you want me to stay with you until Jonathan comes back?" you said looking at that pale face is always smiling

"Go ahead don't worry, Mom should be back soon," he replied in that affable way of his.

You looked at him uncertainly, sure other times Joyce had explicitly asked you to take a look at him, but what would it hurt if you did it again tonight? Before you made a decision you heard the sound of the trunk opening to see Will taking his bicycle and waving hastily as he entered his home

"Well hello then... " you whispered to yourself with furrowed brows. You got back into the car and before driving away you took one last look at the house in the woods....

You had a bad feeling…

Hi everyone, this is my new story: i am very excited to write and publish the first chapter, i hope you like it and let me know in the comment if i should post the second part or if you like it it❤️

[thefinestkilljoy]

"We're here to check in. We have a reservation."

Lance smiled brightly at the lady manning the desk while Keith surveyed the foyer. It was a nice place. Lance doubted they could've afforded it without all the support from quite litterally strangers.

Perks of being a Paladin of Voltron he supposed.

"What's the name?" The lady asked with a smile as bright as Lance's but lacking sincerity.

"Lance."

Keith finished his calculated examination of the area and finally looked at the secretary as she squinted at the screen.

"Mr. Ko...Cain?"

Keith pursed his lips as Lance's smile got impossibly brighter. "That'd be me."

"Alright here's you room key." She set down some papers and cards on the counter. "The number is 519. Here's a pamphlet for the services we offer. Have a great stay."

Lance grabbed Keith's hand and the papers and thanked the lady as they walked towards the elevator.

"I still can't believe I agreed to that name." Keith leaned into Lance's side, smiling exasperatedly.

Lance kissed his cheek. "It's cause you love me."

"I do."

[nevarran-hahren]

Feast and Folly || Chapter 1

Pairing: Gale x Tav/Reader Rating: M (to be safe–it's fairly tame, just a little bit of spice in a future chapter!) Tags/warnings: Gale's Netherese orb, chronic pain, hurt/comfort

Summary: You are a wild magic sorcerer, gifted with an innate connection to the Weave, yet it has caused you nothing but immense strife all your life. Gale is a wizard, plagued by a Netherese orb that must feed on shreds of the Weave, lest the worst come to pass. Is there anything you can do to help ease his pain?

Slow burn, Act I pre-relationship, Gale x f!Tav/Reader. This is intended to be 3 chapters.

Read on Ao3

NOTE: This is written in 2nd person, but reader/Tav is my tiefling wild magic sorcerer, Tiresia. Her story is integral to the fic, so this is not really a true blank slate “reader insert,” but I don’t describe her physical appearance much beyond race-specific details (having a tail and horns and claws), story-relevant details (burn scarring, blindness in one eye), and being shorter than Karlach (as most everyone is). But there are lots of bits of backstory peppered throughout. (my drawing of the Tav in question, if you are interested!)

Chapter 1: Arcane Hunger

“So, remind me again, who are these ‘paladins' and, why are they riding your tail?” you ask, a little bit out of breath.

Your newest—and tallest—companion, Karlach, leads your small scouting party up the dusty, bush-lined path where you first met her just days ago. You try to keep up while you chat, but she has a good foot and a half on you so what amounts to a brisk walk for her is nearing a jog for you, your tail bouncing rhythmically behind you with each step. The vampire and the wizard have both fallen several strides behind now, long since having given up on keeping the larger tiefling’s pace.

You slow to a stop as the rundown toll house comes into view up on the hill, allowing a moment for your other companions to catch up.

“Zariel’s bootlickers,” she spats. “Trying to drag me back to the hells. They’re not particularly bright, but those fuckers are relentless, I’ll give them that. But between us, they won’t know what hit ‘em.”

You hum in acknowledgement, deferring to Karlach for the plan of attack. “What d’you think’s the best way for us to approach this, then?”

Karlach pauses for a moment, hellfire in her eyes, before launching into an enthusiastic pitch for how to banish the ‘paladins’ back to Avernus. You watch her animated hand-talking with bemused reverence, until her monologue is interrupted by a sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind you. Then—

An agonized groan,

followed by a heavy thump—

Something— someone— hits the ground, hard.

Time seems to slow as you spin around on your boot heel, your ears suddenly perked and alert. When you turn, you are half expecting to find yourself in the middle of an ambush—either the paladins had got the jump on you, or a roving band of goblins and Absolute cultists did.

But as the scene before you comes into focus, your eye is drawn to Gale’s cloaked form, doubled over in the dirt—his sweat-covered brow twisted up in pain, one hand clutching at the fabric of his collar, the tightness of his grip blanching the usually tanned skin of his knuckles.

Oh gods. What happened? Has he been shot?

Your mind reels, heart plummeting into your stomach at the thought. 

Not him.

Something had drawn you to Gale nearly from the moment you pulled him from the portal he’d found himself stuck in. The wizard had landed right on top of you, knocking you into the dirt, his mortified blush and spluttering apology instantly endearing him to you. You found him handsome and charming, if a bit pompous, but still, Archmage Gale of Waterdeep felt deeply out of your league as an avoidant sorcerer with barely any mastery over her wild magic. There’s no way that he would be interested in you once he learned who you are, you reasoned. So you resigned yourself to admiring from afar.

But as the days went on, he started to seek you out in the evenings as a fellow magic user, expressing a keen interest in your innate abilities and connection to the Weave. You shared a few lighthearted stories of magical mishaps—like the time that a sneeze caused your skin to turn bright blue for a week, or when you accidentally flooded a small section of the Lower City because your mother refused to take you swimming—of course leaving out the more traumatic experiences. He offered up his own stories of mishaps and mischief in kind.

He was so genuine in his curiosity that you thought maybe you had misjudged him at first. But still, you felt guilty for the selective truths and the lies of omission. Even after he had partially revealed his own magical affliction, you still hadn’t quite mustered up the courage to share your own rather strained relationship with magic openly, nor the fact that you hadn’t intentionally cast a spell in nigh on a decade. This illithid nightmare you’d been thrust into left you with little choice but to rely on your magic again, so you made the decision to grin and bear it on your own.

Then, just a few evenings ago, one of these late night conversations bled into a more intimate moment, a warm embrace entangled in the very threads of the Weave as he told you of Mystra, his goddess and mother of all magic. A strange jealousy twinged in your gut at the reverent way he spoke of her, and your thoughts had wandered to your own longing, the shared connection laying bare your every repressed desire. You imagined what it would be like if you just pressed your lips to his, the soft scratch of his beard against your cheek, your tongue tracing the rampart of his teeth. His fingers trailing the seams of your robe, hooking under your belt, eagerly pulling you in closer—

“Soldier, get down !” Karlach hisses, snapping you back to the reality before you, shaking off your moment of reverie. You can’t afford any distraction if his life is in danger.

In your peripheral, you catch a glimpse of Karlach as she yanks the greataxe from her back and braces herself, eyes scanning wildly for assailants hidden in the brush. To your left, you hear Astarion let out a low growl, his lithe form swallowed up by your blindspot.

Without another thought, you rush to the wizard’s side and drop to your knees beside him. You take him firmly but gently by the shoulders and guide him into a seated position, allowing you to examine him closer.

Your eyes flit over his chest, scanning for any wounds, but you see no errant arrows, no bloom of blood staining his purple robe, nothing that would suggest grave physical injury. Your chest swells in relief, but it’s ever so brief. Something is still very wrong.

Gale lifts his head gingerly, and his wet, brown eyes flicker to yours. There’s an intensity to his gaze, an immense anguish that makes your breath hitch, and your world narrows until it is just you and the man sitting before you. You hold his gaze, searching for an answer. As your thoughts race, you try to suppress your rising panic so you can pinpoint the source of his pain.

“Please—,” his strangled voice dies in his throat, barely a hiss escaping through gritted teeth. He reaches up again and shakily pulls on his collar so that it dips just below the bruised purple outline etched into his chest. 

Oh.

The hunger.

It isn’t the first time this arcane hunger has overtaken him since you began traveling together. You may not yet be privy to all the details of the wizard’s strange, magical affliction, but he’s told you enough for you to know more or less what is happening: his condition is worsening, yet again. The demon inside, as he had described it, had awoken to ravage him—clawing, tearing, teething from within.

He needs another magical artifact, immediately.

You start rifling through your pack, desperate to find anything you can part with—an enchanted amulet, a spare pair of boots, anything. Another pained whimper escapes Gale’s throat, and a knife twists in your own chest in sympathetic response.

You are no stranger to pain. The burn scars that pucker the left side of your face, neck, arms, and chest have caused you chronic, lingering pain for as long as you remember, ever since the day your magic ignited a fireball and set your childhood home ablaze. Though the burns have long since healed, the phantom prickles and incessant itching spells persist, and the restrictive tightness of the scar tissue itself causes you discomfort with even the simplest of movements. 

Each time you laugh at a companion’s joke, each time you lift your arms to take off your tunic at the end of the day… hells, each time you look into a mirror, you are reminded of your stinging guilt, your hollow loss, the worst day of your life.

But among your companions, you keep that pain close to your chest. It is still difficult for you to allow yourself to be vulnerable in front of them when you already feel like a liability because of your unpredictable magic. Some days are worse than others, but even on the bad days you find yourself pushing too far in order to prove yourself useful. You wonder idly if Gale has been doing the same this whole time, too.

“Come on, come on, come on, there’s got to be something in here,” you chastise yourself for hoarding so many useless baubles as your fingers graze past one too many pieces of pilfered silverware. You start tossing them on the ground next to you and they land with a metallic clatter. You make a mental note to clean out your pack later at camp—this level of clutter is clearly becoming a problem.

After another moment of digging, you produce the small golden locket that the little tiefling girl’s mother had given you after saving her from that wretched snake. You picture the looks of pure love and relief on her mother and father’s faces after being reunited with their daughter. You try to picture your own parents’ faces in your mind’s eye too, though with the passage of time, your visual memories of them have become less precise. The illuminating spell the locket is imbued with is not particularly useful to you, but still, it had been an incomprehensibly kind gesture to gift you with such an heirloom—especially when you know those tieflings had so little to their names. Their kindness will not be in vain.

You hold the locket out to Gale. He reaches for it, but recoils as another shudder wracks his body.

“Do you—” you pause, unsure of what it is you even want to ask. “Do you want me to do it?”

He nods.

The last time that Gale had to treat his worsening condition, you’d curiously observed how he held the artifact to his chest, touching it to bare skin so that the shred of Weave within could be absorbed into his body. It seemed simple enough.

You clutch the locket tight inside your palm and lean in to press it lightly to the bruised skin above Gale’s heart. Eyes closed, his hand settles on top of yours, thumb slowly rubbing back and forth across the back of your hand.

After a moment, a cool glow emanates from beneath your clawed fingertips, the outline of the strange orb on his chest now pulsing with magic. Bolts of indigo Weave crackle in the air around you and caress your entangled hands, the hairs on your arm standing on end, magic flowing from the locket and into Gale’s chest—through you.

The sensation is an altogether odd one, though certainly not unpleasant or unwelcome; it feels markedly different from the way that your wild magic usually does. You’ve tried so hard to keep the tides of chaos within you from spilling over for as long as you can remember, but it has always felt more like of a cycle of ever-building pressure, a mounting tension, rather than a pleasant ebb and flow of energy—rather like a bowstring being stretched ever more taut, yet never released, until finally it just snaps.

But this, this is something wholly different. This magic feels electric —a soft, buzzing energy, starting as a faint tingle in the tips of your fingers but radiating outward, to the crown of your head and the tip of your tail. Your nerves sing, a cold adrenaline flooding through you, and the frenetic vibrations that echo through your body push a nearly inaudible sound from your lips. You shiver. Has magic ever felt this good before?

Almost as quickly as it started, the tendrils of shimmering magic melt into the air.

The wizard groans, and you realize for the first time that your eyes had fluttered closed at some point, your lips still slightly parted. You open your eyes to find Gale gazing back at you from beneath hooded lids, closer than you remember him being—an unreadable emotion flickering across them for a fraction of a second. Your palm lingers on his chest as you relish in the soft electricity humming in your veins, his hand still resting atop yours.

Karlach’s soft cough from behind you snaps you out of it.

Suddenly hyper-aware of the intimacy of the moment you have just shared and your companions’ stares boring a hole into your back, you are the first to move away. Your cheeks grow hot, flushing a deep red. 

Your hands drop to your lap, opening your fist to observe the empty space where the little golden locket had been moments ago. You absent-mindedly fiddle with your mother’s tarnished ring on your middle finger, suddenly self-conscious and unsure of what else to do with your hands.

“You felt that too, didn’t you?” he whispers. Your eyes rise to meet his again. “It is a strange experience each time anew—like a lost soul is spelunking through the darkness that is me, only to be sacrificed on the dread altar of the heart.” You smile wide at the return of his usual grandiloquence—a sure sign that he’s feeling more himself again.

But the relief is gone in a moment. When Gale moves to stand, he winces, another deep pang ripping through his chest. You catch his elbow to steady him. His expression grows serious again, eyes darkening.

“Good gods, it’s hardly had any effect. Mystra have mercy on us all. Listen, I need to talk to you, all of you,” he finally looks past you to acknowledge Astarion and Karlach’s presence for the first time. Their expressions flicker between bewilderment and concern at what they had just witnessed.

“Tonight. I will make us supper, and we will speak then. You deserve to know the truth of who I was. Who I really am.”

You can’t imagine that anything he could say would change the way you feel about him. Not when you have your own secrets you’ve been keeping.

“Is there anything more I can do for you, Gale?” you implore him, voice barely above a whisper.

Gale shakes his head. “Oh, you do plenty for me already. More than you realize,” he pauses. “But this… this cannot be remedied. Please, I need some time to think. We will speak more tonight.”

You nod your head solemnly. “Do you want me to walk you back to camp? I’m sure it wouldn’t take much to convince Lae’zel to take your place if you need a rest.”

“Oh, I assure you, that will not be necessary, but I am grateful for your endless thoughtfulness. Let us carry on, I do believe we were about to parley with some paladins.”

[onlyancunin]

Baldur's Gate 3 for dummies

I just read the reaction to my post about ascended/non-ascended Astarion, which goes as follows:

this makes me 1. want the game even more 2. want to write about this… manipulative vile man canonically being manipulative and vile and slowly transforming into this monster (i don’t know any lore of his, his back story, nor anything about the game. only what this tag shows me. but one thing for sure is that people are arguing about his ‘ascended form’) (i lost my train of thought el oh el) — @tiyoin

And I thought of maybe compiling something of a BG3 for dummies sort of post. Because believe me, it is not an easy game to just jump in and hope for the best.

Starting from my own perspective, as a person who currently has 600+ h of gameplay - this is my story:

I bought the game for Astarion after spoiling to myself most of his storyline. I was pretty hesitant as I don't really consider myself to be smart enough to play these kinds of game, but decided to give it a shot nonetheless. By "these games" I mean turn-based strategic combat set in DnD rules - it's just not my forte, as people with 8 out of 20 Intelligence points tend to say.

So it was a struggle in the beginning. My friend advised me to look into general DnD combat rules and this is what I learned:

High ground is always good, unless you're a melee (barbarian/fighter/melee-focused paladin), then just throw whatever you can or get down to their level and hit them repeatedly with your best weapon

Good classes for starting are fighter, barbarian, rogue (I came to BG from Dragon Age, where I usually played as rogue). Monk is the most karate-ish bananas one.

My personal fav class to play as as a Certified Dumbassᵀᴹ is warlock (Eldritch Blast can get you through the game all the way, don't ask me how I know ).

Race matters only sometimes, so pick the one you like (as a nocturnal creature myself, I usually go for drow). Tiefling and drows get the more racist treatment, with drow getting some perks here and there.

You can always respec later, so don't panic.

You can play the way you want, bu the game is built to give you unique and/or funny experience even when your dice rolls are low. Do what you're comfortable with, but don't strive for "winning". I'd argue that while there are some morally good or bad choices, there's no winning or losing the game.

And all in all remember who you're doing this for:

If anyone has any insight, tips, tricks, advice, feel free to add!

P.S. The game has no right to be this funny in the most unexpected of ways, just FYI.

[mirkwoodshewolf]

No following; Planet of the apes fanfic Chap. 7

*Author's note*

Here we go readers, here we now enter the world of DAWN of the Planet of the Apes. Now here is where the warnings are bumped up to at least 3x mainly due to the level of swearing involved and certain words which I will point out in certain chapters. But I hope you all continue to enjoy this series and follow along as Lin navigates through a decade later and find out she's hiding secrets from her past that will be explained further on in the story.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@gay-and-ready-to-cry

@queen-paladin

@psychosupernatural

____________________________________________________

Ten years.  It almost doesn’t even seem that long ago, but in this day in age; one year can almost feel like 20-100 depending on who you ask.  After Caesar and the apes escaped into the Red Woods, the world went to shit known as the Simian Flu.  A global pandemic that swept over the entire world and in just six months there were over 5 million deaths worldwide.

I, however, was one of the unlucky ones to somehow be immune from getting the Simian flu.  Caroline and uncle Will—they weren’t.  Caroline got sick within a year of the outbreak and died just days later.  Uncle Will and I were forced into quarantine after she had gotten sick and I was told he died 2 months after he had passed away.

Being the sole survivor of your family…..it’s hard.  And it didn’t help when I came across a news feed of the government sending in the military to burn the Red Woods down.  If somehow Caesar had survived up until that point, I doubt he and the other apes made it out of that alive.

In this whole chaos, governments eventually shut down, nuclear power was cut off and civil unrest occurred on a daily basis.  Humanity was tearing itself apart and it’d only be a matter of time before I too might be killed off.  If I don’t eventually get the virus, I could end up on the wrong end of a war and end up being another civilian casualty, hell I got lucky last time.

I was awakened by a wet tongue and a loud howl before a yip finally forced my eyes opened and I saw a red wolf pup staring me right in the face.

“Good morning Toboe.” He let out a huffed bark before sniffing my face and licking it.  “Alright, alright, god you’ve got really bad breath.” I got out of bed and stretched myself out before heading downstairs.  As the wood creaked with each step, three more wolves perked up at my arrival.  A large dark grey wolf, a Mexican wolf, and a pure white wolf.  “Morning Hige, Tsume, Kiba. You boys ready for breakfast?”

At the mention of food, Hige stood up and wagged his bushy tail and let out a several loud barks.

“Okay, okay Hige no need to get your fur in a twist. Just let me get dressed and my supplies and we’ll head for the woods.” I headed over to the chest and headed for the bathroom and changed out of my sweats and into my hunting/scouting attire.  Some simple black leggings, a black tank-top and my old military camo-jacket (I’d rather not talk about my days in the military).

I also grabbed my bow and arrows that I handmade myself and ordered the boys to come and they followed right behind me.  We came out of the house and I unveiled my bike from under the tarp.  One can never be too careful, I’ve seen thieves from the colonies coming around this part of the neighborhood trying to get anything they can get their hands on.

I started up my bike and my wolves followed right behind me as we raced down the road and across the abandoned Golden gate bridge.  A place frozen in time from when the apes first made their escape a decade ago.

After arriving at the entrance path to the Red woods, I shut my bike off and pocketed the keys and whistled for the pack to scout ahead.  They took off running and disappeared into the forest.

If you’re wondering just how in the hell does a 28 year old know how to control four male wolves? Well I don’t.  Nor can I, for one thing I know they’re wild animals, just like Caesar was.  I respect them and let them be who they are.  They just choose whether or not they want to stay with me.  Hige had migrated from his normal home (since Mexican wolves were found near Arizona and not California) where I found him in a trap and I set him free.  After that he kinda just stuck around (I think it also helped that since he had tried to get back in the trap for the food that was in there and I had tossed it to him. That wolf can get in trouble for his stomach I’ll tell you what).

Kiba and Tsume I found together injured and barely alive especially Kiba.  Poor thing was covered in blood I almost had mistaken him for a red wolf.  Both of them suffering from what appeared to be animal attack wounds.  And I swore from the bite marks alone they looked like apes (since they were almost identical to human bites) but I brushed it aside as impossible.  No one’s seen any of the apes since the forest burning eight years ago.

It took a long while for Tsume and Kiba to come around but eventually they did even though there are times I do get bit or growled at.  And then there’s the pup of the pack, Toboe.  He was found abandoned in the woods during one of our hunts just a year ago.  Poor thing was so frail and skinny, I feared he wouldn’t make it.  But two weeks rest by the fire and after being given some water and food he started to come around.

In total. I’ve had these wolves at my side for almost 3 years now and they’ve kinda filled in a void that I thought was long gone after uncle Will had passed away.  I got up into the trees and perched myself on the first branch I could settle on and waited for food to come to me.

While it is true I grew up playing in these woods, lately with no human interference, there have been animals who were never native to this area had migrated their way down to California for the first time in hundreds of years.  Last I heard from when I was making trade with the nearby colony, I overhear someone saying that grizzly bears were found in these woods now, and that the mountain lion population was starting to make a comeback more than it ever had before.  So one can never be too cautious in these woods now.

I scanned the area and all I could hear were birds softly chirping or the occasional squirrel or two.  I heard a rustle of the trees and readied my bow and arrow when out popped out a doe and following short behind her was her fawn.  I lowered my bow and watched as the mother and baby walked across the woods and stopped right at the creek nearby for a drink of water.  Even though it had been over 20 years since my parents died, I still think about them every now and then but lately their faces have become nothing but a blur.

Another sound caught my attention and I turned to see two squirrels trying to get one acorn.  One squirrel already had the nut and was trying to chew it open but the other squirrel was trying to weasel it’s way in and steal the nut.  There was chittering exchanged before the second squirrel stole the nut and a chase soon commenced up one of the nearby trees.

Even in the animal kingdom there will always be thieves.  But seeing these two comical squirrels made me smile as I became invested in their little game of chase.  That was until the snapping of a twig caught my ear.  It was then I saw a large six point deer staring directly at me.  I stared right back at him and slowly raised my bow and he took off running back towards the woods.  But I released my arrow and just as he disappeared I heard him let out a pained yelp as my arrow managed to get him before he got too far into the trees.

I climbed down the tree and raced towards him taking out my hunting knife.  I saw the deer struggling to get up as my arrow had gotten him in the ribs.  I held my knife in my hand and said to him.

“I’m sorry.” I then stabbed him right in the back of the neck and gave it a twist and he immediately went still and ceased his screaming.  I took back my knife and my arrow and cleaned them off in the grass before readying the deer for travel.

After stringing him up and getting him into the side cart of my bike I turned back towards the woods and let out a single wolf howl, signaling to the boys that I was leaving for back home.  I started up the engine and drove back into town to get my meat ready for lunch and dinner.

After skinning and preparing the meat I dug into my deer meat and felt like I had died and gone to heaven.  Lately my hunting hasn’t had the best game, really only getting the smaller creatures, hell my last deer catch was well over 2 months ago so to finally get the richer meat that is deer, god I could die happy now.  After lunch and saving the rest of the meat for later tonight, the pack soon returned with four birds in their mouths.

Toboe was the first to set his bird down at my feet, I soon realized that they had all managed to catch some quail.  Hige then came up next and set his quail on top of Toboe’s.  Then finally, Tsume and Kiba set their quail before me.  I smiled and told them.

“Thank you boys.” Toboe’s and Hige’s tails wagged softly while Tsume and Kiba just sat down and stared at me.  “It’s time I went out and made a trade with the colony, who wants to come?” Hige and Toboe immediately back off and headed back for the living room leaving Tsume and Kiba with me.  “Seems like it’s the three of us, or are you two gonna ditch me too?” they stood up but they didn’t leave.

I went to the back and grabbed the supplies I managed to find further up in the city that no one dared to go since the riots a year ago.  I also went into my spare closet and took out my old sniper rifle.  I grimaced at it before putting it around my back as well as placed my gun holster belt around my waist.

“C’mon boys.” I grabbed my cloak and placed the hood over my head and once again readied my bike for the drive down to the SF Colony.  Tsume and Kiba running close beside me until we finally reached it within 10 minutes.

The colony was once the Quarantine center of San Fransico.  Anyone who had come into contact with someone who caught the Simian flu was sent here like Will and I were after Caroline got sick.  But this was no home, it felt more like solitary confinement.  A steal-enforced room that was most likely an 8x10 room (just like a jail cell) with lights always blaring down at you as your temperature, blood pressure and vitals were constantly being monitored.

Will and I couldn’t even share the same hallway as each other so I never got to say goodbye to my uncle.  Only be told that he had died after a nurse was going her daily checkup on me.  After a year with no symptoms, I was let go and finally felt the first beam of sunlight and fresh air on my face.

Nowadays this former quarantine cell now holds those in San Francisco that remain immune to the virus.  But when the colony was being forged and the two men who were running it had found me, I refused to be a part of this prison once again.  However hunting and fishing can only get me so far in life, so I made a deal with one of them.

If I could go out and find supplies whether it be weapons, food, a source of fresh water, or by some miracle an alternate power source, I would be given some portions of their food and drugs.  But there are some people who try to test me because I’m an outsider taking some of their portions but they eventually learned that if you attack someone with a sniper rifle and has wolves who walk calmly beside her, you don’t test her.

Once I came up to the gates, they immediately opened up and I walked inside along with Kiba and Tsume walking on either side of me.  The crowd already making room for us to walk through the colony.  I walked further in until I came up to the stairway leading up to the catwalk.

“No one’s seen you in two weeks Lin. Some were starting to think you were dead.” I turned my head and just on the other side of the catwalk was Malcolm.  He walked over to me and I said to him.

“A girl decides to hold off on her deal to get more supplies and people start spreading rumors about me.”

“I see that once again you brought your….backup.” he nervously looked down at Kiba and Tsume who both licked their chops and stood like two alpha wolves.

“You know they only bite when they want to. Or if I tell them it’s okay. Whichever comes first. Where’s Dreyfus?”

“In his office. C’mon.” he guided us towards his office and there at his desk sat Dreyfus holding a dead i-pad.  “Dreyfus, she’s here.” He stood up as I came in.

“Lin. This is a surprise, we thought…..”

“I was dead? Yeah, yeah Malcolm already filled me in on the rumors. Look I was scouting for more supplies so I could get more income. Last time you skipped out on me for food portions and I don’t take kindly to that. So this time, I’m making it worth your while.” I set the bag down on his desk and leaned against the door while the two men went through the sack.

There they found new reading material for the children, some ‘new’ cables and wires that they could use for their radios to get a signal out, several healing herbs I picked from the Red woods, and a few magazine clippings with live rounds inside taken from some of the police cars that still stood along the bridge.

“Lin, this is—”

“Don’t patronize me Dreyfus. I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing it for those here that really need it. Now my portions and drugs.”

“Right, right. I’ll personally see to it that Scotty gets your portions correct this time around.” I then turned to Malcolm and asked.

“That girl of yours still have the strong stuff?”

“Yeah, yeah I’ll have Ellie give you whatever antibodies you need.”

“No antibodies this time, I want sleeping pills. The strong kind, not anything miniscule.” They both looked at me perplexed.  “It’s that or it’s no deal.” I threatened.

“We’ll go talk to Ellie.” He then escorted me out of Dreyfus’ office and we headed towards his corner of the quarantine zone where they used to store all the medicine for the fever and sore throats but now he had made it into his personal little one level home with his girl Ellie and his son, Alexander.

When we came in and Alexander saw Kiba and Tsume, he jumped back but Malcolm assured him.

“It’s okay Alex just don’t provoke them.”

“And don’t look them directly in the eyes. Wolves take that as a challenge, at least these two do.” I also warned.  The kid remained frozen where he stood until Ellie came around the corner and when she saw me she said my name. “Hey Ellie. Look I need sleeping pills, the strong kind and strongest you’ve got and I don’t mean no Nyquil or melatonin BS. Find whatever you’ve got and I’ll be on my way.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll see what I have. It may not be much but I’ll just see what I’ve got.” She said turning back to look through her supplies.  I then turned to Malcolm who has been giving me the side-eyed downward look like he was figuring out what to say to me.

“Spit it out Malcolm.”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb. Ever since you saw me, you’ve been meaning to ask me something so just say it!” I snarled lowly.  He took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose.

“We’re almost running out of power. We’ve tried to rewire and connect to any alternative sources but they’re all dried out. But we’ve discovered that hidden within the redwoods is a dam that could help us restore limited power. And being that you’re the only one with a clear expertise on navigating those woods, we were hoping you could lead a handful of us to the dam. Just to see if it still works.”

Kiba and Tsume huffed and lowly growled as I took my sniper rifle off my shoulder and admired it as I asked him.

“How many is a handful?” I asked brushing off my scope.

“About six of us. Ellie, me, Alex, Kemper, Foster, and Carver.”

“No.” I immediately said.  “I’ll take the rest of you but absolutely not Carver. That sniveling jellyfish can’t be trusted with a gun much less a knife.”

“Look I know you two have a….history, but he did work for the water company before all this went down. He knows all the ins and outs of how to get it running.” I glared at him.  “Lin please. If we don’t try our luck with the dam, we’ll lose…..everything. More than we already have. You can’t tell me you’ll really let all these innocent civilians die.” I remained silent for a moment before telling him.

“I’ll let you know by sunset.” At that moment Ellie came back in and said as she held out two pill bottles.

“I had a quarter of Eszopiclone and half bottle of Zolpidem. Don’t take more than one pill a night and don’t…..”

“Don’t mix with alcohol yeah, yeah I know. I’ve been to health class.”

“Don’t be a smartass.” She demanded.  “These aren’t to be taken lightly.”

“That’s why I asked for them.” I said taking the pill bottles out of her hands and let out a whistle as I placed my rifle around my chest and Kiba and Tsume followed me out the door.

I saddled up on my bike as Dreyfus handed me my rations and I told him.

“And Dreyfus, next time you want to ask me for a personal favor, do it yourself don’t get Malcolm to do your dirty work for you.” I revved up my bike and took off with Kiba and Tsume running right behind me.

Time passed and it would be dark within an hour.  I had written my message for Malcolm about my decision to lead them to the Red Woods, I tied the note to a carrier pigeon and let it fly off to the colony base and I let out a deep sigh.

“You think I’m doing the right thing boys?” the four of them looked at me heads tilted.  “Yeah didn’t think so. But I can’t just let them die. Even if some of them are assholes who deserve it, particularly Carver. But if that base goes, so do I. Hunting can only get us so far boys, and we can’t really leave this city unfortunately. If there even is a chance at restoring power, we gotta take it.” I popped open one of the pills Ellie gave me and washed it down with just a bit of water before falling backwards onto my bed and shut my eyes as the sky went from grey to black.

[rollofleaf]

Owlcatober Day 15: Flying

Took the prompt a little loosely today, but I've had this idea for a few weeks and could not get it out of my head. A slight rewrite of Hilde shaking off Nocticula's profane gift.

Hilde had done it! Arueshalae had been granted only the briefest moments of relief as Hilde rejected her power, rejected the Abyss. Then her choice was stolen from her. She watched helplessly as Nocticula stood over her, the profane gift she had given Hilde now bending the aasimar to her will.

“You’re so lucky you have me to set you right… Now come to your senses and obey. Embrace your gift.” The demon lord’s tail flicked idly as she looked down at Hilde with mild annoyance.

Hilde gasped for air, clutching her heart as she tried to fight off the overwhelming force compelling her to obey. “S-stop… Y-you said you wouldn’t invade my thoughts or control me! Get out of my head!” The ‘gift’ wracked her body further and she collapsed to the ground. “P-please.” A desperate whimper fell from her lips as agony filled her body, like Arueshalae herself had done to so many mortals.

“Maybe I would have kept that promise if you had been a good girl and helped me!” A sadistic smirk came to Nocticula’s silk lips.

Arueshalae’s heart wrenched as she saw Hilde struggle. She was frozen in terror, unable to act. Even though she had come so far, some demonic instinct in her refused to fight Nocticula. Arueshalae was little better than the succubus queen’s servant now, unable to even raise a hand to help the woman she loved.

Do you truly believe that? You’re so much more than her pawn. Words floated into her mind, a gentle ephemeral titter prodding at her thoughts. The succubus perked up, what was that voice. Then she remembered. What do you dream of? It was the same voice. It was Her.

D-desna…? She thought to herself. She felt the mental impression of a smile in response. P-please, h-help her! I can’t do anything! I… I can’t help Hilde. Tears streamed down the succubus’s face as she tried to force herself to move, but Nocticula’s overwhelming presence held her still.

I can’t do anything to help, but you can. She has no power over you except that which you give her. So then, Arueshalae. Arueshalae held her breath as she waited for the question. Are you just going to stand there and let your beloved be dragged down to the Abyss?

Arueshalae trembled. She clenched her fists. No. No, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Perhaps it was her own will, perhaps it was support from the Dreamer, but she felt Nocticula’s oppressive aura become less and less stifling. The courage that filled her being when she confessed her love to Hilde came rushing back. She wouldn’t let Hilde have this choice stolen from her. Her Hilde had chosen to leave the Abyss behind, and Arueshalae would support her however she could. She shot Seelah a look. The paladin seemed similarly frozen before the demon lord, her gaze flitting between Iomedae, Hilde, and Nocticula in reverence, concern, and fear. She caught Arueshalae’s look and nodded. The succubus braced herself and Seelah’s hand slipped to her sword.

“Goddess, guide our blades!” Seelah called out to the heavens, holy light surrounding Nocticula and spreading out to Arueshalae and the rest. A flush came over her cheeks with the realization that her Goddess was standing only a few meters away from her, seemingly caught off guard but answering the prayer instinctively.

Arueshalae wasted no time, sprinting up the steps of the temple. She felt Desna at her back lifting her wings to soar and Seelah’s holy magic illuminating her target. She acted on instinct, shouting at Nocticula as she punched her square in the jaw. “Leave my Hilde ALONE!” To both of their shock, that actually seemed to hurt the demon lord. Nocticula stumbled back, gasping and clutching her jaw.

“You… You little bitch, how dare you! That actually hurt!” There was the faintest waver in Nocticula’s voice. Such a lowly creature as Arueshalae shouldn’t even have been able to harm her, even with that paladin’s aid. She looked back at the succubus, glaring at her with her usual overwhelming presence that commanded obedience from her demons. She saw only defiance and hope in Arueshalae’s ruby eyes.

Arueshalae grit her teeth, emboldened against the monster that had caused her and Hilde so much pain. Hilde managed to look up at her, catching her gaze. Despite her pain, the aasimar’s eyes were wide and starry with awe at Arueshalae. She fought past the embarrassment on her cheeks and focused on Nocticula. “You said you would respect her choice, Lady in Shadow. Release her. Now! Let her be free, like she chose to! Or we will make you!”

Seelah stood up and walked next to Arueshalae, her sword leveled at Nocticula in support. Nenio soon stood up as well.

Ember stared at Nocticula with sickeningly innocent doe eyes. “Please, miss. Let her go.” 

Iomedae sighed and floated slightly forward. “I believe you have overstayed your welcome, demon. I shall not force you back to the Abyss, but they might.”

Nocticula growled and tensed up like a panther about to pounce. She reached out a hand towards Hilde. She could crush the girl’s heart right now, punish her fully for her disobedience. But it wasn’t worth it. “How dare… Ugh, fine! Worthless, idiotic mortals! You want to join them so bad, you want to give up power and pleasure so you can get old and die, see if I care!“ With a deadly glare at Arueshalae and a flash of darkness, the demon lord was gone. Iomedae smiled with satisfaction and hovered back. The mortals deserved their moment, especially after what the succubus had done.

The instant Nocticula was gone, Arueshalae’s face drained of color and she dropped to her knees. The fear rushed in to replace the adrenaline as she clutched her chest. “I-I can’t believe I did that… I-I’m not supposed to be able to do that!”

Seelah laughed and clapped her on the back. “Now -that- was something, sister! Hah, ‘your Hilde’…” She gave Arueshalae a wink that made her melt into a blush.

What’s more, she felt Hilde pull herself to her knees and rush forward to hug Arueshalae tightly. She tensed up. She shouldn’t allow such contact, it would only hurt Hilde. But… She wanted it so badly. Her touch, warm through her armor… And somehow, she didn’t feel the usual addictive rush she felt when she drained energy, even accidentally. Seelah spotted Iomedae’s hand raised slightly in a protective gesture and a faint aura around Hilde guarding her from the succubus’ touch, along with a knowing smile from the goddess.

“T-thank you,” Hilde sobbed against her shoulder.

Arueshalae was frozen in fear and panic and a desperate want for this moment of intimacy to stretch out forever. All she could manage was a soft, “Are you okay?” as she grabbed Hilde’s hand on her stomach and entwined their fingers.

“I’m fine. My chest still hurts, but… I’m fine. My head’s more clear than it has been in years. Thank you, Arueshalae.” She seemed to realize she was hugging her and pulling away. “S-sorry.” With a sigh, she stood up to face Iomedae. “Alright, tell me how to cleanse myself of the Abyss’s influence.”

Arueshalae remained there, her hand brushing along her stomach where she had been hugged. She felt like she was soaring. She could feel Desna’s gaze on her again, Hilde had rejected the Abyss, she had stood up to the monster that embodied everything she was trying to break free of, and she was in love. Arueshalae was the closest to happy she had ever felt.

[nekomortiz]

Bcause i am drinking w/ my mom to celebrate her passing her test, and realizing the alcohol is hitting her more than it's hitting me, i decided to write my headcanons on the paladins ( + Allura and Coran) alcohol tolerance for funsies :3c

Don't take this too seriously I'm 3 to the wind and keep having to retype words alot LOL

Let's go by most to least tolerant.

-----------

🖤Shiro - Can handle his alcohol wonderfully and drink anyone under the table. Its speculated that the stuff doesn't even work on him. Can you blame him thou? Mans got alot going on. Thankfully he knows his limits so it never turns into a problem later on.

💜Allura - Believe it or not she can hold more than her own weight in alcohol. Maybe it's an altean thing, but it doesn't seem like alcohol affects her much. The crew has tried many different types, but princess starts sober no matter what's thrown her way.

🤍Coran - Same as Allura, but unlike her, Coran can actually get pretty tipsy. He's actually even more fun when he's drunk. Unless the mod says otherwise, then he'll start blabbing and/or crying over past Altea.

💛Hunk - Let's not beat around the bush. Man's gotta taste test alot of wine to see what fits best with whatever dish he's cooking up, whether it's in the recipe or as a side drink to pair said dish with. The perks of being a chef!!

💙Lance - Our favorite cuban pretty boy absolutely can not handle his alcohol. Despite having multiple older siblings and trying to steal a sip from his dads own drinks, It doesn't take much for him to get overly tipsy.

🩵Kat - She likes to act like she can handle her drinks, but home girl does what she's not supposed to and mixes her drinks, making the effect stronger faster. Don't hold it against her! She wants to try all the different flavors to find her favorite.

❤️Keith - Poster Boy of being lightweight. He looked to act all cool, saying he can handle whatever you give him. But being real, he doesn't last 2 drinks. 3 if he's lucky. He found out the hard way when Kolivan offered him some space alcohol after a mission and it almost knocked him out.

💚Pidge - I can't see them drinking alcohol. Never have never will. But if they ever do they'd at the top of the list... in their head. In reality all it takes is one sip and their blackout wasted.

[sweetcocopowder]

Three Christmas Nights | Paladin Danse / Nate (Male Sole Survivor)

Synopsis: Nate enjoys three Christmas's in the wasteland, all different, all held in different places. Yet his mind is always on one person despite his best efforts. And he wonders if said man can love someone has damaged as him.

Word Count: 7.5K

Genre: Sad, sappy yet heartfelt

Warnings: Depressive thoughts. Self loathing. Guilt. Pining. Alcoholism.

Note: I wish you all a Merry Christmas. There might not be any more posts other than my other Danse/Nate series for this yet. Only cause I've got the chapters ready from ao3. But other than that, happy holidays and a blessed new year.

The first Christmas Nate had spent in the Wasteland, a man out of time and place, it was high in the sky aboard the Prydwyn. Only newly under Paladin Danse’s wing and fresh into the Brotherhood, it felt more like home than anything else in this bazaar place. It was military, and Nate knew military. Knows guns. Knows the smells. Knows the way of command. So, despite finding Elder Maxson a little straight forward and with a few outlandish ideas of his own, Danse is what had him keeping around.

Being honest, Nate had hung up his dog tags along ago. Kept them hidden in the bedroom closet so he wouldn’t have to look at them. Nora adored them though. Found no shame in it, only pride that he had gone and fought for his country. Even though it had gotten them nowhere in the end.

Yet, the U.S military had survived and was transformed into the Brotherhood of Steel, changing and morphing into a being of its own over the past two centuries. With its own morals and beliefs, even though some have Nate cringing on the inside. He had learnt long ago to keep his dislikes on the inside and to shut up within military standards. It has cost him getting beaten and bruised through multiple training session with no sleep or water.

He had just hoped that Elder Maxson wouldn’t punish him too harshly if he stepped out of line. He stuck by the Paladin the most, hoping that hiding by his massive form he could keep in the good books. The Paladin had already written him off as an efficient man, willing to help and keep in order. He just hoped he could keep to that with all the chaos pinballing around in his head. So much had to be done in such a little time.

Which is why he was surprised that in such a strict and tight chain of command aboard the Prydwyn, Christmas was celebrated on the main deck. Nate had watched from the upper decks at first, wondering just how long this would go on for. Ingrim was nowhere to be found, and Knights and Initiates had taken over the power armour deck. Drinks were passed around, stuff that had been freshly brewed from a settlement close by that indulges itself in a small still. Supplies both the Brotherhood and Diamond City. The alcohol is meant to be used for wounds and supplied to Keagen. But they had gotten something a little extra, something infused with berries and other spices that the Wasteland still had to offer.

When the party had gone on for longer than an hour, Nate had become more so impressed. No sign of Elder Maxson or Lancer. With curiosity peaked, he had ventured down with a skip in his step to seek out either of the men. He wasn’t a tattle tale, god no. He just wanted to find out why. It wasn’t like Maxson, from what Nate had figured out with this man, he had thought that there wouldn’t be time for a party with the “Threat of the Institute still about.”

Who Nate had found instead in the canteen had been Paladin Danse, standing off to the side in his power armour watching everyone like a hawk. When he had spotted Nate, he had stood up straighter and his eyebrows had perked up. Something akin to a dog seeing their owner, but the survivor would never say such a thing out loud. He probably be told to run laps around the Boston Airport. Twice.

“I thought you’d be against all of this,” Nate had spoken up first, looping his fingers into the front of his belt.

He had swapped out his vault blue suit to an orange Brotherhood uniform by the Paladin’s command. He had said it would be the proper means of things to be wearing the orange instead of keeping to the old blue. Nate would have to admit, the Brotherhood uniform is much comfier than that tight vault suit. It liked to ride up in places that weren’t meant to be ridden up in.

Paladin Danse had shaken his head ever so slightly. “I convinced Elder Maxson it would be good for morale, in exchange I watch over this little get together,” he had said. “In case anyone decides to get too rough, I’ll step in. I’ve taken responsibility.”

Which had taken Nate completely off guard. Maybe he had taken the Paladin for a complete stick in the mud. A man that takes everything by the books and to the T. It had left him speechless for a good few seconds, having to collect himself with a small, shocked scoff.

“Well then,” Nate had started with a smirk. “I guess I can’t offer you a drink?”

And the offer had gone right over the Paladin’s head. “If I am to be on watch, I need to be sober and ready for anything.”

Nate had nodded with his bottom lip pouted out. Somehow, a man that likes to keep up morale against his Elder’s wishes but a man that won’t step out of line for said morale. What a gentleman.

“Enjoy your post, Paladin,” Nate had bid his fair well to enjoy the party at its fullest then, or the liquor for the most part.

Thus, Nate had drank himself drunk that night on the Prydwyn. He doesn’t remember much, just that the alcohol tasted like sour grapes and rotten apples. But he had drank it anyways, the need to get drunk the driving focus of the night. He didn’t want to think how far out of time he was. He didn’t want to think of how everything around him had changed so drastically. He didn’t want to think that his wife was dead. He didn’t want to think that everyone and everything he knew was gone. That his son was still missing. And that he had somehow ended back up with a gun in his hand and inside a rank with a purpose to kill.

The talking had gotten very loud at one point and the amount of alcohol slushing around in his gut wasn’t ideal. With a womble in his step, he had ventured down to the bottom decks of the Prydwyn with no recollection of how he had gotten there. All he remembered is curling up against one of the storage containers and calling it a night with the taste of rotten apples on his tongue.

He doesn’t remember how he had gotten back into his cot, yet he had woken up there. Tucked in like what his mum use to do for him when he was six. Not even his friends in college had taken him back to his dorm when they found him passed out drunk out in the middle of the football field. All they had done was take pictures and said pictures would be passed around for the next few weeks to have a good laugh at.

But, waking up hung over, filled to the brim with emotions and tucked into bed, it was the glass of water on the table next to the cot that had sent him over the edge. He hadn’t cried when he saw his wife dead in the vault. He hadn’t cried when he had seen his home in ruins. He hadn’t cried when he had to venture across the Commonwealth by foot to seek out his son. Hadn’t cried when he was almost eaten alive by a Deathclaw. But it was the thought that, maybe it isn’t all that bad here, that had the tears rolling down his face. That some bastard here actually cared.

He had cried under his blankets that morning like he did when he was six years old.

The second Christmas Nate had spent in this wasteland, a General of the Minuteman and now known as the sole survivor, was spent on the ground within the safety of the Castle walls. The Minutemen had grown vastly and graciously over the year with Nate’s help. Many settlements had joined the course to help other communities and keep themselves afloat in this dangerous wasteland. Sticking together and making sure your neighbour isn’t going to slit your throat was Nate’s biggest leading factor to take his role seriously for Preston.

He will have to admit, the mayor of Good Neighbour had inspired Nate a lot. Hancock had helped him find his way and set his foot back on the good little path with his own morales, even if the ghoul didn’t realize it. Nate can still remember his speech he had given his community, his people. It had made the survivor want to know the ghoul better. Find out what made the ghoul tick.

He had found out a lot more than jet and mentats.

But this snowy Christmas, he had spent it surrounded by people he had grown fond of, proud of even. Preston had stuck close by him that night, talked about his General in such a light that it had made Nate blush. He would have asked the handsome man to his bed, but guilt had sprung just as quickly to his chest along with many other mixed emotions he couldn’t of named for the life of him. He didn’t want to hurt the poor man’s heart by asking him for a one night stand with a man that would leave him in the morning. Preston is too good for Nate’s own selfishness for a little pleasure and leisure. Nate’s mind had wondered to the Prydwyn on the horizon and one resident upon her decks.

Would there be another get together this year? On the main deck with that rotten apple alcohol. Or maybe it tastes better this year and they’ve gotten their recipe right in the year that they’ve been using their stills. Would Danse be overlooking that party? Making sure no kid falls down the stairs drunk. Make sure that no one lets the mole rats out.

Maybe he never even convinced Maxson this year to let the kids have a get together for morale. Or maybe he did. Flashing those big brown eyes of his, he can almost get away with anything. He lacks charisma, but it’s his caring that makes up for it. Maybe those eyes of his hold some spell that he unknowingly casts over everyone that looks upon them. That one gets so lost in them that all you have to do is agree and nod and go along with Danse so that he doesn’t realize you haven’t been listening the entire time.

Or maybe that’s just Nate getting caught up in the trance that Danse has over him. Maybe he should hop and skip over to the Prydwyn, see what he’s up to this fine night.

He had gone to stand, gone to grab his gun to make the trip over to the airport. Had the determination of a mule to get through the snow and the raiders to get to the Prydwyn. But the only place he had gotten, was the cold Castle floor.

This time, he had woken up where he had fallen. The morning light had blinded him, his head already pounding with the fall and the left-over alcohol in his system. No glass of water. No soft cot to wake up to. No one had moved him, they all but lay a thin blanket over him and called it a night. Did no one ask why he had a gun in hand? Why he smelt stronger of whiskey than when he had left the party? Why he was dressed up in his General’s uniform to go somewhere than to sleep in his own bed?

His head had pounded too much to be caring about that so early in the day. With the little strength he had left, he had crawled back to his warm bed and fallen asleep to the sounds of the busy Castle around him. The lapping of the icy waves outside had lulled him to a deep sleep. One that took him to the late evening where a haze of a storm had begun to brew.

Preston had commented he had slept like the dead, woken by no one. Reminded Nate of his grandpa that died in his sleep for some reason in that moment. Such a morbid thing to think, yet it had come by so quickly that he didn’t have time to stop it.

He had died at the age of sixty-eight, just before Nate had been drafted for the war.  

The third Christmas Nate had spent in the Wasteland, now the known saviour of the Commonwealth, was celebrated up north in Sanctuary Hills with Danse by his side. No longer Paladin, the man had turned to the Minutemen for help a few months after finding out his true nature. A synth.

What a true kick in the teeth. To be raised and taught everything within the Brotherhood. To have your own morales be in line with the Brotherhood. To have such trust and admiration for your brothers and sisters, to only have it all taken away underneath his feet within a few seconds.

The data that Nate had pulled from the Institute had names and genetical signatures of every synth that they had let out into the wasteland. And Danse had been an identical match to M7-97.

Nate could recall the feeling of dread when Maxson had told him the news and all in the same breath, ordered him to execute Danse himself. That’s when he had seen the Brotherhood had a lost cause. That’s when he had taken Maxson’s orders with a sneer curling at his lips and left the Prydwyn with Haylen calling after him.

She didn’t have to convince him. He had already made up his mind that he was going to find Danse and protect him with all his might. Danse had done so much for Nate and to think that Maxson wanted him to be the one to put a bullet between those brown eyes. It made him sick. Sicker than that rotten apple liquor.

Nate had found him, pacing back and forth down inside Listening Post Bravo. Before the survivor could get a word out, Danse had called himself everything he had said ill about synths. All that hatred and loathing towards a race was now aimed at himself and his very being. Everything he was made to be, everything he thought he was, was now just made to be destroyed and thrown out like the inhumane trash he was. He saw himself as nothing, so quickly. It has scared Nate solid.

He hadn’t brought a gun with him. Had travelled all that way to Danse, all that way to across the wasteland to show he wasn’t there to kill. But Danse had a gun, off to the side already loaded. Nate had stared at it for far too long as Danse had rambled on. How he had to be the example not the exception.

“SHUT UP!”

It was out before he could stop it.

Danse had stared at him with those brown eyes of his. And that time, Nate didn’t see that solid determination he once held onto for support. That stern, stone cold look that still looked out into the world with care and admiration. All he saw was tears, brimming to those brown eyes that Danse was holding back with great effort. All he saw was a kid. Somewhere when Nate had been staring at the gun, Danse had gotten down on his knees only making the man look small. Small and defenceless.

Nate stills sees that image in his head from day to day. But that had been six months ago now.

Tonight, it’s all about how lively Sanctuary Hills is. It’s about the celebration of the destruction of the Institute. It’s about a new age for the Commonwealth that no one thought was even possible. Enough food has been prepared in advance that three Castles could survive on for weeks.

Snow had not yet arrived in the Commonwealth yet. A late one for Christmas this year but a chill in there air could be felt nevertheless. Everyone wears a scarf or an old beanie. Nate is just hoping to rely on the alcohol to stay warm tonight.

Dinner is served underneath the large, dead tree at the end of Nate’s old street. The branches are strung and lit up with old Christmas lights and ornaments that the children have made. It was Codsworth that had helped to put it all up. More than thrilled to help out around the place and to see the old block look festive once again. It had made Nate warm inside to see the old bot have at least some sort of nostalgia from the past.

So, Nate now stands in the middle of a vast group of people. All strangers to him but they all know him as well as if he sent them Christmas cards every year. A lot of handshakes. A lot of fake laughing. A lot of trying to remember names. And a lot of pats on the back that make him feel oddly numb. All this praise and all this, hope that Nate has given these people is… it doesn’t feel real. He’s spent over two years in the wastelands now and his hair has grown out to his shoulders, his beard freshly trimmed for the occasion. He looks like a different man than when he came out of the vault. A man that’s been shaped by the horrors of the wasteland.

He wears his General’s uniform, lacking the coat in favour of a scarf. He wanted to be as casual as possible but still people treat him like he’s some saint. Someone to be formal around and praise and… everything that Nate doesn’t feel like he is.

He had spotted Valentine and Piper around five minutes ago, but they had kept to the side lines. And Nate doesn’t blame them. The amount of people surrounding Nate is insane. He thought he saw Deacon before, but he doesn’t know if it was him or not in some disguise.

Yet, despite knowing that there’s people here that he’s travelled with, people he’s gone through thick and thin with his mind is only on one person. His dark blue eyes scan the crowd for one man in particular. Danse. He hasn’t seen him since earlier this evening. And he doesn’t know if Nate is avoiding Danse or if Danse is avoiding Nate. His mind is a jumble at the moment and there’s so many people shaking his hand!

The sound of glass being struck with a spoon quiets everyone. Nate looks up from smiling at a woman with his best fake smile and spots Hancock standing a top the dinner table. He minds the food being served out on it, being placed ready for people to sit down and dine. He holds a glass in his hand with a silver spoon in the other. He waits for the crowd to simmer down, a large grin on his face as his black eyes scan over everyone.

“Now,” Hancock’s raspy voice begins as he throws the silver spoon over his shoulder. “Tonight is a grand night! One filled with laughter, more than I have heard in a long time. I haven’t seen this many smiling faces since… ever! And it’s all because of one personal and his little Minutemen! Always there within a minute’s notice! Took down the Institute in less than a minute I think as well!”

A chorus of chuckles and snorts light up the night. Hancock chortles lightly to himself with a hand covering his mouth.

“Nate is who we owe it to! A man out of time! A man from the past! A man with an ambition to destroy the Institute for his son! To make the Commonwealth a safer place for the people! He is now of the people! One of us!”

Despite the praise and Hancock raising his glass to him, the thought alone of his son creates a deeper hole than what is there originally. All glasses are raised and cheers are exclaimed into the starry night sky. It’s a beautiful night. One that Nate barely notices as everyone sits down to dine. All around the tables that stretch around the tree.

He needs a drink. Desperately.

Nick Valentine sits across from him with Piper beside the detective. There’s food in front of them of all different varieties but Nate doesn’t touch a lick of it. Piper chatters of her work, on how she’s been reporting less synth activity that’s Institute related, on how the residents of Diamond City aren’t in constant fear and on how she might be out of the job now with no Institute. It’s all good news. Something that Nate would love to hear but, his mind wonders somewhere else. His eyes land upon the person he’s been looking for all night.

“There will always be danger in the Commonwealth, Piper,” the detective speaks up, “No doubt about that. We may have chopped the head off the snake but there’s still the body to deal with.”

Piper thinks on that for a moment before her face screws up. She gestures a hand towards Valentine, “That, doesn’t make any sense, Nick.”

“Ah well, you understand what I’m trying to say. There will always be some bad in this world no matter where you look,” Valentine states.

Piper hums on that. “Yeah, let’s not think too hard on that. It’s Christmas after all and a celebration at that!”

Nate only hears half of the conversation. His attention is on Danse, who sits far down the other side of the table. He can just see him peaking out from behind the tree trunk. He rarely sees him out of the power armour these days and let alone in civilian clothes. He wears a blue button up shirt that hugs his shoulders tightly. It looks good on him.

He’s currently stuck in a conversation with Curie. What an odd sight to see. It’s like so many worlds are crashing together tonight. So many people Nate has met coming together in one place and it’s, jarring. Nate can’t keep up.

Danse smiles softly at Curie as the other synth flails her arms about, most likely explaining something or going on one of her rambles. But it has Danse captivated all the same. Nate almost finds himself a little jealous. Jealous that he can’t see Danse’s smile up close. He barely smiles as is.

Nate wonders what the two synths are conversing about. Would Curie be going on a ramble about Christmas itself, explaining how it was celebrated before the war? Or would she be talking to Danse about his own worry about his identity. Would that be something Danse would be willing to talk about with a stranger? He’s never met Curie upon tonight. They seem to be getting along well though despite it all.

Curie lets out a loud chuckle that can be heard over the crowd. Nate’s heart swells at how mundane all of this is. No one is worrying about the horrors that lie outside of the safety of Sanctuary hills. What did Danse say that earned that reaction? He can be blunt at times but some of the things that come out of his mouth does earn a-

“Earth to Nate?”

A snap of fingers in front of his face as the survivor sitting up straight, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. He looks to the two in front of him, wondering just how long he’s been staring for. How long have they been trying to get his attention?

“You staring at big boy or the pretty lady over there?” Valentine asks as he gestures over his shoulder, a cigarette in hand.

Piper tsks. “It’ll be the big boy.”

“What!?” Nate exclaims as if he’s been caught with his hand inside the cookie jar.

The reporter raises her brows at that. “When are you going to make a move on him, Nate? I’m not all for the soldier type but I can’t help but feel sorry for him. Pining over you that can’t charm a brick wall.”

The survivor stares at Piper with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape. He doesn’t know how to answer. Hasn’t even realize that anyone around him has taken any notice to his own pining.

“I’ve seen how you follow him around like a lost pup sometimes. And he does the same, following you around, wondering where you are,” Piper goes on.

“I-“ Nate stutters. “A brick wall? Come on, Piper I’m better than that.”

Piper laughs at that, throwing her head back and laughing. “The last time I saw you try and charm some poor woman it landed us in a feral ghoul pit.”

Nate sits up straight at that. “She was impossible! You saw how she was!”

Piper only laughs harder at that. Nate sulks to himself with his chin in his palm. He glances to Valentine who’s fully turned in his seat to get a good look at Danse. He’s only met the ex-Paladin once or twice. Both times weren’t all that pleasant with Danse’s dislike towards synths. But now there’s a sort of sympathy towards Danse that Nate has noticed. The gruff, closed off wall that Valentine had put up has been lowered in case Danse ever wants to… talk.

Nate huffs as hair falls in front of his face. He spies a bottle of vodka near him and his fingers instinctively inch towards it. He shouldn’t really but he knows he’s too sober right now. It’s a bad habit but it’s a habit that lessons the pain. His fingers grip around the neck of the bottle and he sits up straighter, looking around for a glass.

Valentine places a glass in front of him. Nate looks to him silently, slowly grabbing it to pour himself a shot of vodka. It’ll warm him up. And make his racing thoughts become a haze.  

“Look,” Piper chirps up again. “I’m not saying it’s bad. You don’t need to get so caught up in liking men if that’s the issue.”

Nate is midway through taking his shot when Piper speaks and said vodka is shot back up into the glass. He chokes loudly, covering his mouth as he can feel vodka burning the insides of his air ways. Not the place that alcohol should be. Some people around him glance at him, asking if he’s okay. Valentine assures them with a raises hand and kind words.

“Piper,” Valentine clears his throat. “I don’t think that’s the issue here.”

Nate clears his throat, his inside still stinging in the worst ways possible. He pours himself a shot to help with the pain. And it burns on the way down.

The survivor gestures the glass towards Piper before pouring himself another drink. “You ever fall in love with someone that’s just as broken as yourself?”

The questions take both Valentine and Piper off guard. The reporter glances towards Valentine but his concerned attention is kept on Nate. He’s silent for a moment, flicking cigarette ash to the floor before leaning closer to the table.

“I can’t say that I have,” Nick answers slowly.

Nate takes back another shot with a flick of his head. “What if you both get hurt?” He asks even though he’s not expecting an answer.

He doesn’t know it himself and he should know the answer to everything. Because he’s the General to the Minutemen. He’s a fucking Paladin in the Brotherhood of Steel. He’s an agent of the Railroad. Could have been the leader of the Institute.

He’s never told anyone that. And the thought of telling anyone makes his body lock up. His mouth clamp up tight. Who would he even tell!?

Another shot burns down his throat.

“What if you both heal?”

Valentine’s question hits a nerve within Nate. One that makes him look to Danse behind the detective with a sombre, tipsy expression. Could Nate help Danse? Could Danse help Nate?

A hand covers and squeezes his own, bringing his attention back to Piper. She looks to him with a new found sadness, like some kicked pup. The conversation quickly took a dreary tone all because of Nate’s lonesome pining and dreadful aura. He meets Piper’s gaze and he wonders what she sees. Does she see a hero? A legend that is as grand as all the stories told around the campfire? Or does she see a man. A simple man trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. A man from the past that’s trying to figure out where he belongs. A tired man that just needs some rest.

He breathes slowly, his body suddenly feeling very weighed down.

“It’s a celebration,” Piper says softly. “You should celebrate. Ask Danse for a-“ she chuckles at herself. “Ask him for a dance or something romantic instead of drinking yourself into a puddle. The future is brighter because of you and Danse is alive and sitting over there.”

As if on que, the harsh, bark of a laugh catches Nate’s ears. Danse’s rare laugh that he doesn’t hear often. He swears he feels his heart skip a beat. A genuine laugh. He looks over once again, past the two to see Preston has now joined in on the conversation with Curie and Danse. He hovers over Danse’s shoulder with a wide smile across his lips. It looks good on the young man. He’s needed this more than anyone. A break. A laugh.

Maybe Nate should stop being a sulk and actually enjoy the party. Maybe he should-

“Tiger,” Valentine ushers. “It’s only one night. What’s the harm in asking. It’s almost making me sad seeing you like this. Hey, I’ll go over there and ask him if you don’t any time soon. It’s killing me.”,

Nate licks his lips and suddenly stands, his hand still gripped around the neck of the vodka bottle. He feels so many eyes turn to him and he instinctively shrinks away, visibly wincing.

“Just uh-“ He can’t think licking his lips again. “I just need a moment is all. I’m sorry.”

With that, he wonders away from the party with the bottle still in hand. He doesn’t know where he’s headed. He just needs to get away from the noise. The chatter. The poking and the prodding. He knows he should just man up and ask Danse to do something instead of avoiding him. Who is he to ask him to live when he just ignores him like this!?

He runs a hand over his face before taking a swig straight of the bottle. He hisses as it burns but it feels good all the same. It’s what he needs. He needs the haze it brings over his mind. He just, doesn’t want to think. Not right now. Not when there’s everyone reminding him of all the good deeds he’s done.

Did he do them out of the kindness of his heart? Or because they’d put him one step closer to his son? Was it all for personal gain?

No. No it wasn’t.

Maybe. Maybe it was. Maybe he saved Danse from himself so that Nate wouldn’t have to live without a man that knows the struggle of war. He will admit that the man hasn’t seen true war, not like Anchorage but he’s seen it. Knows the loss and bloodshed of it. Maybe that’s why Nate clings to him like a life support. Cause he’s seen it all. Or maybe it’s the way that Danse cares and always puts others before himself. Is willing to lay his life down for a greater good. And he had.

He had laid down and waited for the bullet thinking it was for the greater good. Yet, despite his own self loathing here he is tonight laughing and conversating with people that Nate would have never imagined if he had remained with the Brotherhood. Maybe it was for the greater good that Danse’s true nature was shown to him.

Now is that selfish of Nate to think? That’s it’s better that Danse knows and struggles with his own identity instead of being blinded by an outlandish code so he would feel some comfortability in life. Danse has to start anew. Start from the ground up because everything he knew was ripped away to never be seen or grasped again. All because Nate walked into his life. Would they have found a way into the Institute if it wasn’t for Nate’s bull like drive? Maybe they’d still be twiddling their thumbs.

Nate lands on his knees heavily as he sinks low in front of his old closet. He doesn’t remember entering his old house. He doesn’t even remember turning down the street.

He rummages around, searching for one thing. One thing he had buried in here to never look at again and-

Slowly, Nate pulls out his old, rusted dog tags. The once shiny metal is now dull, the edges being eaten by rust, but his name and number can still be read clear as day. He hasn’t seen these in such a long time. He doesn’t even know why he’s pulled these out now. Come searching for them. Maybe for some solid proof that he was here. That his past life wasn’t all some sick and twisted dream that the Institute made up for him.

He sits back against the nearest wall as he holds his dog tags in one hand and the bottle in the other. Breathing in heavily, he listens to the murmur of people outside. He spies out the window, seeing the Christmas lights lighting up the settlement. It would bring a smile to his face, but it only makes him think of how the neighbour use to look like during Christmas.

Nate takes another, long swill of his bottle.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, but he knows that he passes out shortly after the bottle is drained empty of it’s sickly liquid. Nate clutches his tags close to his chest as he lays on his side, his dreams filled with a time long before.

He’s half between worlds when he hears the heavy fall of boots come down the hallway. He pries his eyes open, looking through his eyelashes as he peers into the dark, paint peeled room of his own. The room spins and he feels like he’s sinking into the floor where he lays, his cheek smooshed into the old crusty carpet. He doesn’t see who’s come into the room until a glass of water is place right in front of his nose.

A glass of water.

Nate swallows thickly, his eyes opening fully now as he looks up to meet the sight of Danse kneeling in front of him. It’s as if he suddenly sobers up, finding the will to sit up straight which is a big mistake in itself. His head swims and he quickly grabs at his head with a groan.

“Easy there,” Danse’s voice is soft, almost too soft.

A large hand cups Nate’s head to hold him still as the cup of water is brought to his lips. Nate almost refuses at first but the look on Danse’s face has him sipping down the water.

So, it was Danse who carried him to his cot in the Prydwyn. Would he have done this if Nate had been awake? Would he have cradled his face like this to make sure he sobered up on water? The thought makes his gut swim and he doesn’t know if it’s the man in front of him or his stomach mixing and churning with vodka and water.

The glass leaves Nate’s lips along with the hand on his face. He almost finds himself whining for it to stay but he stops short.

“I would ask you why you left but I don’t think a sad drunk agrees with loud and cheerful crowds,” Danse comments bluntly but there’s a tinge of light heartedness to it that Nate hears.

He wouldn’t of been able to point it out when they had first met. Everything that came from Danse’s mouth was blunt and short. But Nate had listened. Picked up the quirks of each sentence that passed from the ex-Paladin’s lips to figure out what he actually means. Find the hidden emotion that he tries oh so desperately to hide.

“A sad drunk?” Nate asks with a tilt of his head.

“Affirmative,” Danse quirks.

“Huh,” Nate scoffs. “I didn’t want to bring down the party, so I decided to start one on my own. Can’t you see I’m having a blast?”

Danse does the dramatic honour of looking around the room as if someone else is going to pop out. But when he sees no one else, he looks back to the survivor with a tilt of his head.

“A very lively party,” he says with as much sarcasm as he can muster. Which isn’t a lot. It sounds more like an insult than anything else.

Nate snorts through his nose.

“I came by to make sure you’re alright,” Danse says as he stands up straight. Nate’s chest squeezes at the sudden realization that he could be left again. “I should be getting back to the party. I’ll tell everyone you’re oka-”

“Stay.”

It’s out of Nate’s mouth before he can even think. He quickly clears his throat.

“Only if you wanna stick by a two-hundred-year-old man. I’ve been told I look good for my age,” he softly chuckles at his own joke.

Danse looks down at him silently with a small rising smirk on his lips. The few passing seconds feel like an eternity to Nate as he stares up at the other man with pleading eyes. It must work, that puppy dog eyed look Nate has perfected so well, or may he does just look like a sad drunk because Danse sits down right next to him with his back to the wall.

“You could go back out there,” Danse comments. “You’re the reason why everyone is here today.”

Nate looks to the other sadly. He looks a little too long at how the red and green lights from outside flicker and dance across the other’s face, making his dark brown eyes all that softer.

He licks his lips, looking away. “Why? Everyone has at least thanked me five times for my good deeds. You’d think I’m some kind of angel that has come from the heavens!”

“You shouldn’t put yourself in such a hole,” Danse says firmly. “I’ve seen men do less than you have be raised to Paladin. All they did past that is gloat on how grand and great they are to the lower ranks and roll in the praises they get. I don’t understand why you see yourself as something as low as the bottom of a bottle when you’ve made a future for the next generation of children.”

Nate swallows thickly, his chest squeezing tightly. He says his mind out loud before he even knows it. Before he can put a lid on it to stop the chaos from escaping.

“I put myself in this hole ‘cause I couldn’t even save my own kid,” He spits it, snaps it even to make Danse shut up. To stop making him sound like such a hero. And Danse does. He falls silent, watching Nate intently.

“I found him. I found my son in the Institute. But-” Nate’s voice hics. God he’s going to cry. “I was sixty years too fucking late. He was older than me. Had more grey hairs than me! God the way he spoke to me it was- I-“

Nate swallows his own words. He can’t say it. He shouldn’t say it. Not out loud. How would someone react hearing Nate say that he fucking hated his own son after searching high and low for him. After everything he had been through had been for nothing. He had found a way into the one place that didn’t have a front door and had only found his son running the place that had caused so much pain in the Commonwealth.

“I left him there, Danse.”

He doesn’t want to look at the other man. Doesn’t want to see what horror struck expression that has come across his face. But he looks. He looks and only sees… pity. A sadness and concern that Nate has seen so many times from the nurses when he was in the army.

“That wasn’t your son,” Danse suddenly says. “You didn’t raise him. Didn’t know him. That man was a stranger that had your son’s face.”

Nate swallows thickly, holding back the choke of a sob rising within his throat. Shaun died with Nora in that god forsaken vault. And out stepped Nate. A man from the past that had no idea what was going on nor what year he was in. Maybe he should have died with the rest. Maybe Nora would have had a better out look on a world such as this.

Nate finds himself staring at Danse. He doesn’t know how to respond. He’s never thought to put it into that perspective. Those dark brown eyes put him into one of those trances he can’t look away from.

“Ridding the Commonwealth of the disease festering underneath it’s skin, you saved everyone. You may have lost your family, but you’ve found one. You have one here with the people out there celebrating an old tradition that has probably not been celebrated like this in a long time. You’ve made people smile again, Nate,” Danse speaks softly yet his voice stills holds that same soldier like sternness to it that won’t ever go away.

“You’ve made me smile again.”

Yet, the way Danse speaks that last line it takes the survivor’s breath away. And just like that, the smile that Nate loves so much spreads across the other man’s face. It crinkles at his eyes and shows his little fangs he has.

The next thing that Nate does, he’d call himself stupid for it. He leans forward towards Danse, hesitating only a moment when his lips are a hair’s breath away from the ex-Paladin’s to see if he’ll pull away, to see if it’ll push Nate away for his stupidity. But when he doesn’t move, looking to Nate through his lashes and his mouth now lightly parted as if waiting, Nate moves forward that extra bit to kiss Danse’s soft lips. Only light like, a small peck that lasts a little too long before Nate can have a taste. He pulls away and looks into those brown eyes that stare directly back.

“I’m sorry there wasn’t any mistletoe, I jumped the gun,” Nate says as he leans away.

But Danse grabs him by the front of the shirt, almost rough like to drag him back into a much rougher kiss. One that Danse leads like he’s done this before, kissing and tasting Nate’s lips as if he can’t get enough of him. The survivor melts into Danse’s touch as the ex-Paladin places a hand on his waist to steady him.

Maybe everything will be alright. Maybe this Christmas will be a merry one after all. The warmth of Danse is enough to lull him into a mindless wake. He lets Danse kiss him the way he wants, lets him taste him as much as he wants. If only Danse could feel just how much Nate has wanted this for so long. His chest aches painfully even though he now has it within his grasp.

It’s better than alcohol. His mind melts and he forgets everything for the moment. All his worries. Everything he’s been through. Because he knows, in his heart he knows that there are arms he can lean on. That there will be someone there to catch him if he falls. Someone that will watch over him when he’s in a hole of his own making. To offer him water when he’s in need. And there has been arms to lean on for a good while now. Ever since he heard the distress call over his pip-boy.

Nate hums as Danse ventures down his jaw to his neck, holding onto the ex-Paladin and not letting go. He breathes heavily, his eyes a daze as he stares out the window. Snow falls softly and he doesn’t register it at first but, he chuckles softly at seeing the flakes. He doesn’t have to think too much about it though as Danse engulfs his mouth in another feverish kiss. He wonders instead how long the ex-Paladin has been wanting this. Yearning for it. How much he’s ached for Nate.

He’d love to find out. And they have the rest of the night to do so. He holds onto Danse and doesn’t let go. Doesn’t think he even wants to. He’s got Danse and that’s the best Christmas gift he could ever ask for.

-

Like, comment and reblog or whatever

[lukedanger]

Day 8: Archetype

On the 8th day of @owlcatober, a banter between Seelah and Nenio escalates into a meta discussion that inflicts psychic damage to the party's paladins... and the fourth wall!

[Ao3 Link]

"So how have you described paladins in this Encyclopedia of yours, Nenio?" Seelah asked as she came back from tending to her horse, "I bet it's something like 'bull-headed and boring warriors fixated on the principles of goodness and fairness'? That's how the world sees us, right?

Elaina glanced up at the question, watching Seelah sit down next to Nenio by their campfire as they had encamped on the east bank of the Sellen River that night. The wizard was studying her own work, reviewing her spell preparations but halting at Seelah's question to answer.

“My definition is something like 'noble warriors, defenders of the dejected and the downtrodden, who display an aversion to evil in all its manifestations.' But your version is also good. I'll add it in.”

Seelah winced as she noticed Elania watching, though Elaina simply shrugged with a half smile. It was not an incorrect definition. "If someone like Daeran is defining boring, that is not as bad as it sounds,” she offered. 

Daeran was just too far away to talk back at the next campfire, but he did briefly turn his head to give a dark smirk before returning his attention to Ember and Woljif to continue a chat.

"Heh, true enough," Seelah admitted as she paused, then looked at Nenio's notes. "Say, what else do you have about paladins in there anyways? Besides the summary - they're important, right?"

Nenio perked up, smiling. "Indeed! They are among numerous classifications of warriors, adventurers, and specialists - a core classification, even! Notes include the requirements to be one including morality, patron deity, and in the case of some archetypes species. I also have descriptions of the progressions for each archetype."

Elaina slipped a ribbon to mark her place in the book she was reading, closing it and shifting closer on the log. "Really? You can break it down like that?"

"Of course! Every paladin is a bit different even when two fit the same archetype, but this is often due to pursuing different skills and achieving different feats. Many, though, fall under the typical category."

Nenio put away the notes she was working on and began digging through the rest to show them, both paladins to look over her shoulder. It took Nenio some time to get to the right section, but that spoke more of the Encylopedia’s volume than anything.

"So what about me then?" Seelah asked. "What kind of 'archetype' am I? I wasn't told my training was anything that specific."

"A typical paladin, iconic even! Paladins like you are the foundation upon which other paladin archetypes spring from! My assistant's archetype exists from your classification."

Elaina briefly twitched - she still did not understand how Nenio was oblivious to the true nature of their relationship. She suppressed it, though: there was something about Nenio’s earnest quest for knowledge that resonated with her. And if she needed a pragmatic explanation, Nenio was a rare expertise that was willing to stick around in the Worldwound, unlike a certain so-called scholar that fled the Defender’s Heart after belittling everyone.

Seelah scoffed with a smile. "Well, that takes some of the bite out of being called average."

"On the contrary!" Nenio interjected, "Archetypes are not necessarily superior or inferior to the default. In fact I have found some writings suggesting that your progression is quite superior to my assistant's Hospitaller archetype."

"Hospitaller?" Seelah asked, looking towards Elaina as they heard a whip crack and a suppressed noise of pain.

"It's a term from Sarenite writings," Elaina explained, trying putting the last part of Regill's reckoning in his tent out of her mind, "used originally to describe those paladins who dedicated themselves to the hospitals and healing those in need. I usually don't use it to describe myself, though."

"That is correct!” Nenio noted, before continuing. “The usual criticism of such a paladin is that they cannot share their ability to smite, and can smite much less often. Neither of you have grown your power enough to use such an ability, but it will be fast coming if my calculations are correct! Though I keep finding different sources - some call it a Mark of Justice, others say it is an Aura of Justice."

Seelah raised an eyebrow, looking at Elaina. "Isn't a Mark of Justice supposed to be a conditional curse? You know, ‘thou shalt not steal’ and if you do you get cursed?”

"It is."

"Huh," Seelah tilted her head as she was thinking. What she was thinking of remained a mystery to them, Nenio turning back to the list of paladin archetypes she had categorized.

Nenio broke the silence as she paused at one. "Book paladin, I do have a specific question for you: why are you a Hospitaller rather than a Divine Scion? Your studious personality and objectively correct love of knowledge would make you a natural fit for it."

"I was trained as a healer before I became a paladin," Elaina suggested. “Most likely, that gave me an affinity for positive energy.”

"Perhaps, yet you are rather seldom with smiting and records of your career in the Order of Heralds indicates you spent more time confronting Inquisitors of non-evil persuasions than facing demons. Surely the ability to study their weaknesses would suit you better, especially as it can also be applied against demonkind."

"True," she admitted as she glanced at it. Such paladins lost the ability to smite evil outright, but did gain the abilities that Nenio described. They were also listed as more skillful than other paladins in Nenio's notes. "Yet I believe even you can feel the satisfaction of a demon going on about puny mortals only to go into shock as they are smote into the dirt."

"Hmmm," Nenio paused, tapping her chin before nodding. "I would like to take testimony on this later: the ability to decide on one's archetype is a fascinating possibility." She paused, then flipped through her notes to flip through to her notes about wizards. "I for example fall under the wizard archetype of 'Scroll Savant' due to my judicious use of reading material and wands for greater flexibility, while the tiefling boy has mixed arcane magic with roguery and is thus an Eldritch Scoundrel." 

"Doesn't he describe himself as an Arcane Trickster?"

"A more prestigious form of that classification, one might say. Not unlike gnome-boy being an Armiger in preparation to become a Hellknight."

Seelah frowned, tilting her head. "Huh?"

"Oh, right. Armiger is of course a junior rank among the Hellknight orders, but it also describes an archetype for hard-training fighters. Perhaps I should leave you my notes for further reading?"

"That's okay," Elaina offered as her head was starting to hurt.

"Yeah, I'm good," Seelah agreed, looking like she would rather be washing Iomeneigh of demon guts again rather than be in this discussion.

"The offer will remain open. Speaking of Hellknights," Nenio did not miss a beat, "It would not be difficult for either of you to qualify for such."

"Excuse me?" Seelah demanded. "What makes you think I'd be one of those murderers?"

"You would need additional arcana study, but you are already sufficiently predisposed towards lawful behavior, can use heavy armor, and can be quite persuasive. My assistant, though, could begin training as soon as she wished."

“Such alone does not make a Hellknight,” Another voice interjected - dark, calm, and coming from behind. Both paladins turned to look as Regill had returned from his Reckoning. If he was in pain from the self-flagellation, he did not show it.

"Paralictor," Elaina noted, while Seelah simply glared.

"Knight-Commander," the Hellknight responded. "There are many benefits to our training, and this,” he paused, choosing his word carefully as he glared at Nenio, “scholar is not wrong that you could begin training immediately. It would require commitment, and political circumstances may require a different path than normal, and of course there is the Test.”

"You just want a Hellknight at the head of the crusade," Seelah scoffed.

Regill flashed her a glare, then continued. "Though I suspect neither of you would be interested in such an offer. Still, I will extend it if either of you two seek to learn how to properly deal with the forces of chaos, for such is the true cause of failing societies." He glanced between them, then gave a curt nod. “Good night.”

Nenio watched him leave to inspect the camp perimeter, then shrugged. "Well, I believe I must conclude this lesson. Rest is necessary for maintaining a healthy mind, and I must ensure necessary information is committed to long term memory. Good night!"

Seelah watched her go, then shook her head. "Think I might turn in too. Maybe after a drink for these thoughts."

"If it is any consolation, my head is spinning too."

"Well, that's good to know. Safe night, Elaina!"

[palant1r]

i know nothing about fallout 4. i still demand the essay

OKAY SO

Basically the central conflict of Fallout 4 revolves around synths. They're synthetic humans that look and act exactly like humans, to the point that some synths themselves don't even know that they're synths. The synths themselves are not inherently evil, but they're associated with their masters and creators, the shadowy Institute. So you've got a society aesthetically based on the 1950s, dealing with the spectre of people who Look Like Them but Aren't, who are fundamentally different, and who "Work" for a boogeyman entity. It's just BEGGING for a red scare analogy, but can also carry a potent queer reading. And instead Bethesda made the synths an analogue for...slavery.

Fallout 4 is a game where the romanceable companions are playersexual. However, as far as I know, they don't actually...reference having any queer relationships or leanings. We got some deadwife manpain characters sprinkled in, women flirt with men and men flirt with women when it comes to interactions between NPCs. You the player are in a heterosexual traditional marriage at the start of the game and there's nothing you can do to change that.

(here's some good further reading on the topic: https://swarthmorephoenix.com/2016/01/22/flirt-flirt-romance-fallout-4s-problems-with-queer-relationships/)

There is a lesbian couple in Sanctuary Hills (who get quickly annihilated by the nukes lol), so this suggests that pre-war society was to some degree accepting of queerness. Gay people get to slot into the jingoistic paradigm of cold war paranoia! So the message of Fallout 4 seems to be that queerness is accepted post-apocalypse just as it was pre-apocalypse, with no unique queer culture or way of seeing the world, and no discrimination, except for the things raiders yell at you to make you not feel bad about killing them. Female characters yell out taunts like "how do you feel about being beat up by a girl?" but without any suggestion of widespread misogyny in the game's main factions. You can romance any romanceable character as any gender with no change in how things proceed.

Which...is simply not interesting, for two reasons. One: it makes the worldbuilding feel flat. Two: it makes every run feel the same.

Let's take a look at Fallout: New Vegas. One of the companions, Veronica Santangelo, is a canon lesbian belonging to the Brotherhood of Steel. She considers the Brotherhood her family, but the previous elder forced her and her girlfriend apart from each other, justifying their homophobia by saying reproduction was necessary to keep their insular, isolationist chapter alive. This gets a payoff in the DLC, when you meet her girlfriend who is hunting that elder down.

Fallout: New Vegas has a lot of little nods like this to queerness and how it's treated by various factions. It makes the world feel richer, because you gain insight into how these factions have not just different ideologies and goals, but different social norms. And it's delivered in an organic way.

Also, you can pick perks that allow you to enter into this world. (Fallout 4, despite its "progressiveness," only has options for the Straight Perk). As a confirmed bachelor, you can skip a whole quest by flirting with Manny, recruit Arcade without having to get in good with the Followers, and get more exposition from Major Knight about how the NCR views homosexuality. Because of that, your playthroughs are made unique based on your courier's sexuality. It feels like an actual character trait that affects how you interact with the world. You know, like how queer people are.

Fast forward to Fallout 4, where you can play as a man and dick down Paladin Danse right in the Prydwen a door away from the rest of the Brotherhood, and no one says shit about the gay sex those two brotherhood members just had. Is the East Coast brotherhood just less homophobic than the Mojave chapter? No, Bethesda just chose not to think about queerness as an actual aspect of how people and factions can interact with the world.

And Paladin Danse's storyline in particular is begging for that kind of storytelling! He's actually a synth, unknowingly belonging to the same group his faction hates and wants to exterminate, and when he finds out this information, it takes a LOT of rizz to keep him from killing himself. Can you imagine the sauce if Bethesda incorporated themes into that about homophobia during the Cold War? It would go SO HARD if romancing Paladin Danse as a man actually involved engaging with the Brotherhood's flaws! And that's just one example!

It also just makes the romances feel even flatter than they already are. You can get into anyone's pants by just, like, lockpicking enough, or crafting a ton of weapon mods. It doesn't feel like they're actual people with preferences, likes and dislikes, or a type of person they like. They just feel like skill checks. Like challenges you can check off by doing things on a list.

Anyway. This isn't super well thought out, fellow Fallout enjoyers please help me out on this

[witchofthesouls]

any thoughts or concept ideas that you are cooking in you mind over Camiens?

the last one might have perked my interest. Some part of it ring similar tones that i had been working on on my down time (tho this was on an oc with a different craft that being a Blacksmith (Weapons maker kind) and the ever occuring difference between Cybertron and Caminus, despite looking the "same")

would some of the other think All Camiens are similar to the D.J.D or is does it just happen to that One indivdual that happens to be similar to that of the D.J.D?

Oh, I would love to see your interpretation of Camiens! Personally, I really fell in love with the idea that Camiens have deep cultural roots from Seekerkin societies and the War-Forged.

Early Camien society was far more militaristic and heavily focused on combat as the survivors of the Tribal wars and the First Cybertronian War went with the grieving Titan. Not only did Caminus bring his own citizens, but Megatronus' Darklanders, Liege Maximo's warrior-diplomats, and Crystal City skilled workers as well.

Those roots still exist in their language, dynamics, and even in their leadership roles. The Hammer of the Mistress of Flame is both ceremonial and practical as it invokes Solus Prime's Warhammer and the imagery of forge and forger as well as a weapon itself.

Unlike Cybertron, Camiens have far more social mobility and opportunities to jump into different careers. In fact, it's expected of citizens to have a variety of skills under their belt, including defense maneuvers.

At one point, all citizens were required to serve in the military and were rotated out. But millenia of relative peace loosened restrictions. Tradition and hostile fauna still demand Camiens to have some form of combat and weaponry training.

The establishment of the Torchbearers is a relatively new phenomenon as they are a dedicated six-member team of elite peacekeepers that travel across the planet. However, it's Healers and Cityspeakers that the population adore.

Camiens believe that each of them carries a fragment of Solus Herself, but the sparks that become Cityspeakers and Healers have more.

If Cityspeakers are Caminus' dream-speakers and His voice, then Healers are His direct touch.

Camien Healers are a cross between paladin, cleric, and a medic. Much how a forge creates tools of peace and war, Healers are very much both as they are able to manipulate and guide Caminus' own energy to others and within themselves to do incredibly impressive feats. Some are drawn to the denser population centers, remaining in hospitals and clinics to perform delicate operations in tandem with Caminus. Others are drawn to the dangerous edges of the dreaming, scattered Titan and the far-flung settlements of the planet, seeking out elements that cause great harm to the flow of Caminus' children.

This is a unique cultural and religious feature of Caminus as it blends faith healing, elite combatants, and medical training along with the constant war with the planet’s fauna and their own splinter groups as well as integrating newly activated War-Forged into the soul of their community.

Because the War-Forged have a monstrous capacity to deal and withstand damage as well as terrifying deep-core combat systems that are set to achieve directives no matter the cost, it is incredibly important to ensure that a newly awakened Healer pledges devotion to Caminus.

Hence, that is why Healers are easily identifiable by the intense fuschia optics and pink plating.

The process to become a Healer is a fiercely guarded secret of the pious Order of Luminara (a legendary figure that pledged loyalty and service directly to Caminus after Megatronus’ betrayal), but even promising candidates could ‘fail’ if Caminus refuses to impart a certain amount of His essence into the acolyte to awaken certain programs and coding. In the end, only a single handful are initiated into the Healer ranks every century or two.

Because of the intensity and strict regimen for potential Healers, many private groups keep a close eye on the individuals that fail to court them away from the Order as they can fulfill a multitude of highly skilled roles. While some do leave, many stay with the Order as they have ties to many organizations and fields and do receive preference.

Tourniquet is a notorious Healer for absolute dedication to hunting down extremists that deliberately target the far-flung settlements and hamlets. Much like how fire can have many names, the Way of Flame has many branches. However, there are branches that must be pruned away, such as the zealots of Sol's Lathe, who slaughter everyone and everything as a sacrifical tribute to bring back Solus to life as a reversal of Megatronus' sin ("From Death, springs Life."), and the strange cases of individuals under the throes of their version of Primus apotheosis -the delusion of being Solus' direct heir combined with paranoia and the rabid cannibalistic urge to devour sparks.

While Camiens do have a robust medical field, the presence of Healers are source of security to the population. Not only are they visible manifestations of Caminus and Solus, but should an invasion occur, they will be pulled from all operations with a new directive: slaughter.

The Nurse feels homesick because the D.J.D. reminds them of a heavily Order of Luminara-flavored Torchbearers.