#stay vigilant gang

[nor3gertz]

gotta start checking my followers n followings more i dont want those mass shooter likers in my vicinity.

[suugarbabe]

I had just gotten the cutest fluffiest tooth rotting sweet idea for a fanfic I've ever gotten.

You know how there is a type of color blindness called red green color blind? It's basically green turns to yellow and red to brown and well fellow and blue stay the same.

So what if reader is red green color blind and her favorite color is blue since it's the only special color she can see and since Theo's eyes are blue when she sees his eyes she gets really excited, wi excited that she just grabs Theo's face so she can get a better look.

I feel like the reader need to have a cherry and bubbly personality because she needs to be very very clueless to just grab someone's face because of how exited she would get.

i've quite literally been obsessed with this ask since you've sent it, and i've gone back and forth on how to write it completely, then went through a little bit of writers block altogether so hopefully i do this justice and close to how you might have envisioned it.

You were really young when it happened, the accident that caused it. Mum was proficient in potions, and you just wanted to be just like her. But a four year old really shouldn't have been messing with her things. It all happened so fast, your little mind just thought you were playing, copying what you've seen her do. Throwing a little of this and a little of that in the cauldron, pouring the pretty blue liquid inside. You had picked it because it was your favorite color, which, looking back seems incredibly ironic.

The explosion was quick but it shook your entire house. Your parents had come rushing in, only to find you sitting up against the far wall, eyebrows gone and lower lip quivering. It has taken about six months before anyone was aware of what it did to you. You were so young and the experience was, well, pretty traumatic so you never really said anything about the changes.

Everyone thought you consistently picked the blue things because it was your favorite color. And while that was slightly true, it was also the only color you were able to see completely. You could occasionally see very dull shades of other colors, extremely muted or like you were seeing them through a layer of grey tissue paper.

Your parents never made too big of a deal out of the situation, instead just teaching you how to by hyper vigilant for specific details you could notice to help you out. Like the difference in how a ruby felt to an emerald, or how gum root smelled versus hickory drip. So overall you had learned to manage. And truly you didn't think you were missing out on much.

In your opinion all of the best things were blue. The ocean on a bright summers day, the sky on a crisp fall morning, the shine on a sapphire, and of course, your Ravenclaw robes. Your 'condition' was spread throughout the school by Christmas holiday your first year. It wasn't something you kept a secret, but it also wasn't something you spread around like you'd won the quidditch world cup.

It didn't bother you that people knew, but it did change how some people saw you. When you were younger, they tried to tease you, tried to call you a freak, tell you that you wouldn't amount to much as "you'd never be successful with such a limitation." It's a wonder what a loving family and supportive friends can do to keep one grounded and happy. As despite all those negative words in your early years, you were still so bright and bubbly.

You had gotten used to how you viewed things a long time ago, but that didn't stop you from being marveled at new discoveries. Which is what had you following a very tall and lanky Slytherin boy down the hall. You had noticed it by accident, as he passed you in the hall. You knew who he was, were well aware of his and his little gang's reputation. But you liked to form your own opinions from experience, and you hadn't quite interacted with this particular member yet.

Your friends had called after you, but after seeing the determined pep in your step had just settled for following. When you had finally caught up to him you wrapped your arms around his bicep, spinning him round to face you. "What the-," he was cut off by your hands grabbing hold of either side of his face, delicate thumbs resting on his sharp cheek bones to hold him still.

"Merlin, Theo, your eyes they're...gods they're like water colors." Theo was thoroughly caught off guard. Not only by the pretty girl holding his face but by the words coming from her mouth. "Oh sweet Rowena, they've just shifted, what are you thinking about?" He did his best not to stutter, "Erm, I...," you could feel his cheeks heat beneath your palm and your smile was instant, "I've not heard that description before. Usually they just say like the ocean or the sky or whatever."

Your thumbs rubbed gently on the apples of his cheeks. "Oh, they're much more than that. They're like...when you first dip your brush into the prettiest pallet after a dip in the water, then when you make the first brushstroke, and the color spreads so perfectly, shifting hues of blue. That's them...your eyes."

No sooner had you finished your explanation were his lips on yours. It was unexpected, catching you off guard but not unpleasantly. His mouth slotted against yours seemingly effortlessly, your hands slipping form his cheeks to loop around his neck and his hands found solace on your waist. His eyes are what drew you in but his lips, merlin you could get used to those.

"Oi, Nott. Who're ya-," The interruption caused the two of you to break apart abruptly, you wiping your slightly swollen lips and straightening where Theo was gripping your skirt. "Oh, no fucking way," Enzo Berkshire's voice sounded as smug as the look on his face. Theo simply threw up his middle finger at the boy before turning to you, small grin on his face.

"Erm, sorry for bombarding you like that its just-," You shook your head, cutting him off, "S'okay." Theo's grin grew two times, "Can I see you this weekend? Coming to the Slytherin party?" You nodded, biting your bottom lip to try and contain your growing smile. Theo placed a kiss on your forehead before looking you in your eyes, more so so you could see his one last time. Then with a wink, he turned and ran to catch up with his friend.

[eccentricallygothic]

|| Liability ||

Summary: When you nearly compromise The Organization on a job because of your impulsiveness, your boss August Walker decides it's time for a demotion; since you clearly still have much training ahead of you.

Disclaimer: I sadly do not own August Walker or any of the other Henry Cavill characters mentioned. This is a mature and morally gray story so browse at your own discretion. Minors do not interact.

Pairing: Mafia Boss!August Walker | Hench(wo)man!You.

Warning(s): D/s dynamics, m!dom, f!sub, the relationship is probably morally gray, slapping, throat fucking, power imbalance, pet names, hair pulling, deep throating, gun play, smut with plot (I am sorry I just couldn't stop), humiliation, degradation, camera play.

Note: Oh, my God! It's finally here, first Auggie fic go boom~ 

MASTERLIST

✟

"You're out, do not call again." You sighed into the phone and momentarily shut your eyes in frustration as you kept an eye out through the window of the dingy motel that you crouched next to, trying to stay one with the darkness of the room. 

"Boss…" It had taken you risking your life to buy a new sim card just to get him to pick up your call. "Come on, the whole thing would have gone south–"

"You have been told more times than can be counted to not take matters into your own hands" your form stiffened when you noticed a man from a rival gang casually stroll by the motel as he pretended to be a passerby. Fuck. As your eyes scanned the area you realized that you were slowly getting surrounded. "If anything goes against the plans it is protocol for the team to regroup and–"

"Boss… The Angels…" Had it not been August on the line, you would have masked the panic in your voice with not much effort or hesitation. "T- They're here…" There was a brief silence.

And then;

"That's your problem now, Y/n" your throat tightened when he did not use your gang alias. "I told you" there was shuffling on his side. Sweat broke out on your skin. That meant he was done with the conversation. "You're out." 

The line went dead.

Your tongue felt swollen as you glanced at the briefcase you had put everything on the line for. 

Just to lose anyways. 

Yes, alright. Maybe you had ignored Marshall's order to abort the mission and fought off Shaw because Kent had been incompetent enough to mess up hacking the target car's engine in time. And yes, maybe you had risked exposure by following the vehicle. But the fact of the matter was, no one had died and the asset was recovered all the same. The mask that you wore on missions had ensured the protection of your identity and though anyone from your line of work could tell it was Walker's notorious Wraith, no identifiable features meant no evidence.

But no. 

How could things ever end that easily? 

Solo being the asshole that he was just had to rat about the entire ordeal to Walker. 

Okay sure, maybe you had to shake off cops because one of the men inside the car had noticed you following them. And maybe you had had to wait for the streets to cool off for the rest of the day but that did not mean you had betrayed them by running away with the asset or something! 

Even if you had gotten caught -which you never did; hence your alias-, your boss should have known that you would sooner die tortured in a shithole slammer cell than rat.

You bit your tongue as you tossed the phone on the table after breaking the sim card, watching the inevitable unfold before you with vigilant eyes that stung from the moisture accumulating behind them as you readied what little weapons that you had on hand. 

The growing tightness in your throat was tugging at the back of your oral muscle and your jaw was aching from the strength it took you not to cave into emotion. But you held your nose high and snorted at the rivals– enemies before rolling your moist eyes at them. You could not help but critique them even then because if they were trying to blend in, they were frankly doing a shit job. 

"Of course" you snickered as you got up and went to stash the briefcase in the best spot you could find. 

The Diablos had teamed up with The Angels and the irony of that was not lost on you. 

So it took the State's top two gangs -that were arch rivals under usual circumstances- to bring The Wraith down, huh?

Being young and impulsive as you were, you had pissed all the wrong people off under August's wing.  You had earned it through your knack for casual brutality which was so devastating and sickening in nature that it seemed something innate for you. 

But now that the affiliation was gone, it seemed everyone wanted a piece of the once mighty Wraith. 

You burst into a cold chuckle again. 

All these men just to try to take down one girl, huh?

Crouching behind the bed with your gun aimed at the door after you had successfully hidden the cause of your demise in the most secure spot you could find -not wanting your foes to succeed even now-, you sucked in an icy breath and braced yourself for what was coming. "Here goes" you whispered to yourself as you pushed your airpods in your ears and blasted your music through them probably one last time. 

For if these were the last minutes of your life, you wanted to go out guns blazing with your favorite tunes blocking the ugly out.

That, and the emotions that were trying to dominate your mind and crawl down your eyes in your body's attempt to deal with the overwhelming sentiments surging through your body like electricity. 

No. 

August Walker's Wraith didn't do emotions– 

Wait. 

Fuck. 

You bit your tongue as you cussed at yourself. You did not belong to anyone. 

Especially not an asshole who had the audacity to doubt your intentions even after you had submitted to him everything you had had to offer. 

Service, body, mind, soul… heart. 

Your true drive behind striving to always get the job done was only to please him. It had been for a long time at this point. And so yes, you sometimes resorted to undesirable, disobedient means to achieve the goal but it was all only to make him happy. 

Richer. 

Contrary to the popular belief which had been spread around The Organization by Solo, you did not do it to move up the hierarchy. At least, not anymore. Sure, ambition had been your initial motivation before everything but nothing in the world mattered except for Master anymore. 

… The same Master that had abandoned you when you needed him most.

A humorless snicker escaped you at the thought and you couldn't help but shake your head. At the end, you were just like all those foolish girls that had come before you in different shapes and forms, belonging to different times and contexts; discarded cold and teary eyed at a crossroads for anyone willing in the end.

You had gotten lost in your thoughts, eyes focused on the door but peripherals ignorant to your surroundings; the flashes bouncing off the windows and the smoke of dust and gas permeating the air outside. 

You lost track of the minutes and songs that passed in mere fleeting moments to you as you forced yourself to recall basically everything despite the agony that you felt. You deserved the torture. A reflection on your entire life and how futile it had turned out to be in the end was important. It was only fair.

A man had been your undoing, this sentence wasn't enough. But it was all you knew in the moment. 

You were so completely focused on denying yourself any tears that you failed to take notice of a member of The Angels slamming into the glass of one of the windows as he was obliterated with some 7mm bullets.

It was only when the door shook by getting kicked that your heart and body jumped alike; pulling you back to the present, your heart strings tugging. Your hand tightened around your weapon. This is it. Clenching your jaw tight, you stabilized your breathing and waited for the enemy to kick the door in. The thought of just how pathetically you were cornered made you snicker as you shook your head.

Only, when the door swung free and you went to press the trigger did your chuckle die in your throat. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

Your heart weighed down in your chest until it was too much for your chest to hold and it let the organ fall into your stomach. 

Your breaths tightened.

The strength from your lungs drained.

Your fingers yanked the melodies away from your ears faster than you could register. 

Almost as though your body was suddenly on autopilot.

"B- Boss…?" 

The silhouette of a seething August blocked the doorway, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each pant of his breaths as his lungs churned. When his fingers roughly clawed at the switchboard to turn the lights on, his dark, glossy eyes came into your view before the rest of him did. 

The man was covered in blood as his pistol that held a metallic hue glinted in one of his hands. If you didn't know any better you would have said it seemed as though brief relief washed over his otherwise furious face when his bulging eyes finally located you in the room. Though his face instantly hardened of any emotion the moment it happened. His jaw clenched tighter as his eyebrows drew apart from each other, the cold blue of his eyes that were livid with chaos somewhat calming down while you gaped at him in shock.

The Boss never came down to the field himself. 

You had heard it had been a long time since he had last done it.

… All you had asked was for some backup.

What were you to make of this?

How–

"Kneel" oh.

But Master could. 

And he had. 

A ghost of a smile played on your lips as you rose and walked over to the middle of the room quicker than you could think, eyes wide and glassy. Your weapon slipped through your fingers the same time as when you collapsed on your knees in front of him; awaiting his next command with all the self-respect and ego you had conjured up in the last few minutes long forgotten. 

Nothing else mattered anymore. 

For Master was here.

There was no need for you to think anymore.

All that needed to be done now was to sit back and obey without question. 

August calmly walked over to you and stopped when he was towering over you, letting out an intentionally exaggerated sigh as he propped the tip of his weapon under your chin. "Liability" he had called you that the day Gus -your mentor and guardian figure in the whole organization- had finally presented you to him; The Boss, after months of trials. 

Your bottom lip wobbled with all that was cycloning through your head but you dared not speak. 

He had a way of making you feel so small and vulnerable it melted away your resolve every time.  

"Impulsive" the back of August's free hand that was covered in splatters of blood struck across your face and your head lolled to the side. "Stubborn" now your other cheek was caught in his fingers and you let your face swing free in the direction of the slap. Master was the only man who could treat you that way and you were nothing to deny him of his wishes. 

The barrel of his gun brought your chin back to the center again. "Headstrong" as another strike caused your face to sway in the same humiliating way, the knowledge that were he some other man you would have torn your revenge for treating you like this out of him sent tremors down your abdomen. 

You could but you wouldn't. 

Because it was August; the sole proprietor of your entire existence. 

The tip of his Sig Sauer brought you back in idle position again. "Non-compliant" as you received another harsh strike, you bit back your rising ire for though you submitted to him wholeheartedly, getting pushed around had never been your forte. 

But Master can do whatever he wants, you're his for treating however he desires. 

He was worthy of being worshiped.

Maybe he was the only man who deserved such service. 

And perhaps that was the reason why your hips clenched as hard as they did each time he treated you like you were nothing but part of the dirt under his shoe.

Like right now.

August centered you again and your insides threatened to boil over when you noticed that the broken door was open wide as it swayed with the gentle breeze of the night, the gap helping the guys to a perfect view of the inside of the room. 

You. 

And Master.

Whilst Syverson and Phillips had the decency -the latter probably only because you were a daughter figure to him- to look away, Solo, Shaw and Kent watched on shamelessly as they stood clutching their rifles, ready to shoot down any potential threat. 

"Disobedient" as your head lolled aside again, you felt your cheek sting just a bit harder than the other one due to the way your teeth dug in it, the gazes from outside only making it all the more worse. 

Your eyes traveled back to Master's darker, much stern ones. Fuck. You felt hot slick pool in your underwear. "Amateur" a whimper escaped you as the realization that the others could see you so vulnerable and submissive pricked the skin of your ears. "Overconfident" besides, this very personal dynamic you shared with your boss was private and none of your colleagues knew about it. So either August was ignorant of the door or he was so serious about whatever he was about to do to you, he didn't care. 

Although, since the man had an extremely vigilant nature, you doubted the former was the case. 

Which only left you with the latter conclusion… 

This time around, your face was recentered -you were never to do that yourself unless ordered to do so- not with the Sauer but with a harsh grip on your hair. "Seems to me you were not trained well enough to know your place, little girl" he had bent down to put his face in close proximity to yours, pulling you up by the grip he had on your head to meet him halfway.

Your lips fell agape as your knees burned, shaking just a little as you tried to triumph the induced Parkinson's. It was not easy to make the Wraith tremble. But championing impossibilities had always been August Walker's specialty. "Y- Yes, Master…" Cold, shaky breaths left you as you trembled under his glare. Your loins ignited to life and you couldn't help but subconsciously rock your hips against empty air. "P- Please t- teach me, Master…" You risked speaking out of turn, determined to win him back no matter what for you no longer remembered how it was like to function without him.

Without the sense of sanity and balance his commands created for you. 

And you were not willing to relearn it.

Ever. 

"Hm" August mused with obvious sarcasm. "Or," he let go of your hair and stood back up to his full height, raising the gun before pressing the cold, bloody tip to your forehead, "I could save us all a whole lot of time and just put you out of everyone's misery." His thumb moved to click the safety off, the sound flipping your stomach in the most vile of ways, none of which were concern for your wellbeing. 

"Whatever you deem fit, Master" keeping your eyes trained on him, you went on a limb and slowly moved to crane your head backwards and let the barrel crown trail between your eyebrows and down your nose. "Thank you, Master" the silent yet bright rage in his cold blue orbs caused for a shiver to run down your spine. 

Suddenly, the certainty that you were now sure to survive the night that had kindled after his arrival was extinguished just like that.

And yet, you parted your lips when the beginning of the barrel reached your mouth, sheathing it in your oral cavity and between your cheeks, the length causing them to hollow as you looked up at him. The metallic taste of the blood spatters that the Sauer was covered in caused your taste buds to sting as it further invaded your balmy cavern and the apex scratched against your throat. You tried not to cough, breathing through the nose as your hips helplessly rocked again with a mind of their own, the discomfort in the back of your mouth bringing tears to your eyes.

You were too far gone for this man. 

And there was no rationalizing or denying it.

"Now that's more like the pet I raised" your pussy clenched and you whined softly, wanting nothing more for the still seething man to take you against every surface available in the most depraved of ways. Each one that you were familiar with. "Remembering your place already, aren't you?" His now eased up breathing slowly started to clamber again as he reached for his fly with his free hand, pistoning the weapon in and out of your mouth to demonstrate how his cock was about to defile your mouth. Though you were to never move a single muscle out of turn, you could not help but bob your head along the Sauer in a horizontal fashion while your holes clenched again. 

You had come too close today. 

It could never happen again… if your boss would even allow there to be another time, that was. 

But for now, there were amends that needed making.

"Now then, what do we say?" August nearly slithered as he pulled the Sauer out of your mouth but didn't holster it, instead letting it dangle by one hand whilst the other tangled in your hair to pull you closer to his cock. 

"Want you in me, Master…" You resisted the urge to just open your mouth and move up on it.

You had angered him enough for a while. 

"Want me?" You cowered at his faux amusement that came out as a growl due to how enraged he was. 

"N- No…"

"No?" You gulped to yourself before trying again.  

"No–" you shook your head in panic, raking your mind to come up with an appropriate response. "I- I mean… N- Need you, Master…" Yes, that was certainly better. "Please…" Your bottom lip quivered as your words wavered with a pleading wanton in them. "N- Need you."

"And where do you need me?" The lack of contempt in his manner indicated that you were on the right track. Or at least somewhere near it.

"M- Mouth, M- Master…" Your nails dug into your thighs as you tried your best to hold back from touching him.

Disobedient girls didn't deserve to touch their Masters.

"And why do you need me in your mouth?" He let go of your hair to pump his monstrous girth a couple times as he stroked your cheek with the barrel of the Sauer. 

"T- To fuck my face, Master." You answered honestly, completely ignorant of how shocked Kent was at what was unfolding. 

Usually you were much more vigilant than this single minded mess you had become, but this was just the effect August had on you. 

"Is that right?" A twisted smirk made its way on his face. "And why do you need me to do such a humiliating thing to you, little girl?" You hadn't realized that your heart was thumping until its erratic beating began to put strain on your chest. 

"To be reminded of my place, Master." That seemed to finally create at least a semblance of satisfaction and your Master allowed you the tip of his cock at last. 

"And where is your place?" He waited patiently even though his body was clearly having a hard time holding back now that your warm lips circled his leaking tip. 

"Under you" you spoke through a mouthful of dick. "On my knees" you tried to kiss it to show your devotion but the puckering of your lips caused a loud suckling sound. His features twitched. "At your service, always" something else, a hungry dark, now mixed in with the bright lividness of his cold blue eyes and he grunted before pulling you closer by your hair, trailing the gun all the way down to your chest now. 

"That's right" he let go of your hair to slap your cheek before resuming his hold on the strands, grunting at the way his cock felt the vibration of his own palm from when he had struck you. "And you better remember that the next time you want to break protocol" your eyes widened in realization and hope flashed in your eyes. 

A chance. 

You tried to respond but his cock was too far into your mouth for you to be able to let out a coherent answer. Ao you chose to hum and unintentionally sent waves of pleasure all the way down to his balls. Well, all's well that ends well, right? You began to bob your head up and down with a newfound optimism, peeking up at his humongous form with pure adoration in your eyes. 

August cursed under his breath at the sight of you so submissive and comfortable in your humility. The sheer love and devotion in your eyes as your warm cavity clung to his cock, the mass of your lashes fluttering each time your face slid all the way down his length and the way his tip brushed your gag reflex with each movement, the stubble on his crotch tickling your nose as you did, it was all too much for him to handle with civility. 

"Use your hands" so he finally allowed you what you had been craving for. You felt your pussy throb when his thick veins twitched against your grainy tongue. "Go ahead, show me what you are good for" his voice was gravelly as the Sauer slipped into the neckline of your shirt and he let you feel the cold metal against your skin. 

You gladly complied, moaning at the feeling of the weapon against you, hoisting yourself further upwards on your heels as you reached for his balls with one hand and palmed them generously. Your head rotated each time you moved in on his cock, other hand working fast to pump him each time you pulled back until you were only sucking on his tip. 

"Look at you" August hooked one foot against your knee and pushed it apart to create more distance between your legs. "Maybe you should retire as solely my toy for the rest of your days, huh?" Leaving the weapon hanging from your shirt and tucked tightly in your bra, the older man clicked the safety on before clasping his fist around your throat. "You're much better at it than the job, anyway" the corners of your shoulders jutted upwards when his cock finally breached your swallow tract and tears fell from your eyes at last in thick drops at last.

Glancing up at August with your bloodshot eyes, you darted your tongue out to trace as much the circumference of his ballsack as you possibly could. He cursed heavily. "Just like that… good girl" the back of your throat was warm and even more inviting, enveloping him in such a way that an imprint of his cock appeared on your delicate skin, the ridges grazing against August's palm that pressed against it. 

Your head was now dizzy due to the lack of air but you did not care as you unplugged your mouth just enough to wheeze in as much air as you possibly could, releasing a fat wad of hot spit down the intimidating length of his cock that you pumped messily with your hand. There was a dull ache in your scalp because of the taut grip that he had on your hair. Your lungs burned. Your ears were on the verge of melting along your brain. Your jaw ticked due to his size. Your throat stretched each time he violated its inner cavity. Your pussy throbbed for attention and your abdomen pulsated painfully.

But none of it mattered. 

So long as you got to satisfy your Master, everything was bearable.  

"Fucking hell" August groused as he stilled your head in one place to reach as low as he could possibly go down the back of your oral cavity, pistoning short-paced thrusts up and down the space to fuck his orgasm out. Your trembling hands gripped his knees as you felt a strain in your jaw due to how his sack was widening it, obediently licking and sucking at his balls to the best of your ability. 

Somewhere amidst the thrusting and swallowing, your windpipe catched a drop and you coughed, further intensifying the man's pleasure as the turbulence caused a mix of your spit and his cum to spray out of your nose before it trailed down to your lips. 

August fished his phone out of his jacket and quickly snapped a shot of your state. 

Hair disheveled, mouth full of cock, red eyes full of tears that stained your flush cheeks, thick strings of drool and his seed dripping down your chin. 

"Make yourself look pretty for me" he nodded at you with a brief glance to his cock and where it connected with you. 

The camera was still trained at you when you obediently pulled him out with a gag and cough while pumping the rest of his cum out and onto your face. The flash of the lenses nearly blinded you as you looked up in the video that he was recording now, your tongue and swollen lips glistening as you painted yourself pearlescent. 

"Now, what do we say?" August panted once you were done. 

"Thank you so much f- for giving me a chance a- and fucking my face, Master" your voice was hoarse and a near whisper as you forced it out through your worked out mouth, licking your lips to collect as much of him as possible. 

"That's fucking right" he ended the video by squeezing your cheeks in his grip until your cum covered features scrunched in the most humiliating way before he landed a last slap to your cheek. 

August fixed himself up professionally like he didn't just fuck your throat into oblivion and you submissively waited on your knees, awaiting his next command. After he was satisfied with his appearance, the man wiped his hands on your jacket before he took his gun out from between your boobs and holstered it. 

"Up" raising one of his hands above his head, he snapped his fingers and allowed you the privilege of leaning on one of his arms as you scrambled up to your feet. 

A very stunned Shaw was by his side within the next second, his ears a deep, almost embarrassed red. "Retrieve the asset" the younger male awkwardly looked at your obscene state as you wordlessly nodded in the direction of the briefcase stash. "Now," August's fingers snaked around your hair again as he glanced down at you, "let's get my estranged Wraith home" your head lolled in his direction as he began to walk towards one of the many sleek black SUVs parked outside. 

"You have been demoted" he informed you once you had both settled in the backseat of one of the vehicles. August thrusted his phone in your hand. It displayed the picture that he had taken just a few minutes ago. "We will begin right from the start; the basement" your heart dropped. Oh, fuck. You had only been down there once and it was not a place where August was pleasant in any sense. And your sadistic lover was never much agreeable in the affectionate sense anyways. You definitely still had a lot to atone for. "Keep looking at this picture. I don't want your eyes off it for a second" the menace in his tone made you gulp as the humiliating picture burnt its way into your eyesockets.

A few seconds passed before you felt August's hands slip around your ass but you dared not look up to express your wonder. "Now… about that weeping little pussy of yours…" Honestly, it was hard not to notice. The stain you had made for yourself was too dark and wide for anyone to miss.  

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Thots and reblogs are much appreciated <3

Tags <3: @kittymiaow @enchantedbytomandhenry @thearcana-moonlight @lainiespicewrites @diannana @juliaorpll78 @slut-for-henry-cavill @chocolatecherryblossomsweets @sonnenbroesel @lovenewfandoms @secretdream2

[tinydefector]

Ohhhh ok ok the Human affects one!!!

After the incident of drunken smash or pass and Rodimus drinking pep talk and all.

A new newbie maybe a Mech/or a human scientist idk and Liaison/MC was showing the place and all y'know being a good to the new maybe potential coworker. BUT !! Because of this everyone is starting a new rumors that possibly of the newbie having a crush on Liaison/MC and because of that the gang (aka the cybertronian's who have already have a crush on Liaison/MC) a "bit" jealous after witnessing both newbie and Liaison/MC alone in Swerve bar.

........

;3333 don't mind me blabbering i really wanted to share this

New Crewmate - human effects

Warnings: none

Word count: 3.3k

Did I take this opportunity to introduce another Oc of mine Yes I did, becuase you gave me the perfect opportunity to introduce my seeker Luna.

Masterlist

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___________

Landing on Thora 4 had the crew a buzz with excitement of finally landing again. As The Lost Light's landing ramp descended, excitement hummed through the crew like an electric current. Many were itching to stretch limbs and sample new sights.

"Come on, Traxies!" Swerve gripped the younger bots' servo and tugged him down the ramp. "Sweets shop this way - I heard they have the best electrum-fudge that actually charges your intake!"   

Skids whooped and hoisted Bluestreak over his shoulders, spinning around in excitement, overfin finally stopping again. 

Cyclonus and Tailgate talk between themselves, figuring where they plan to go first and what they intended on spending their shanix on. The Ambassador stands beside Ultra Magnus. Reading over notes as many of the crew take off. "What's on the agenda today sir?, ships being fueled, my crew are off collecting supplies" They call out to him while reading over another list of needed personal Supplies.Magnus merely grunts in reply, engrossed in datapads.

The loud sound of heavy pede fall echo's up until Megatron stands near them, nodding in polite greeting. "Ambassador” Megatron Rumbles, Rodimus shouts as he bolts past the try to follow Swerve and Traxies. “Well there goes one of our captain's” they chuckle in amusement as the speedster takes off,  transforming so he can catch up. 

Megatron and Magnus both shake their helms in slight amusement. “I intend on staying at the ship to make sure everything is in order and to ensure Swerve doesn't try to smuggle in any illegal supplies.” Magnus states.  

“Ah don't remind me, last time he smuggled 5 kgs of cannabis on ship and I don't even know how he got ahold of that much” they groan in annoyance. 

A scoffing chortle vents from Megatron's engines at the unsurprising news of Swerve's misadventures. Few could match the minibot's aptitude for trouble, it seemed at least of the nonviolent variety, small mercies there. 

"Wise decision, to remain vigilant over ship. after Rodimus' latest folly. Who knows what manner of chaos his 'quests' might inspire, left unchecked." 

"I will handle the Energon restock, less Rodimus gets us ripped off again.” he hums while heading for the ramp. "I'm happy to come along for a trip" the Ambassador calls to him before he gets far. Megatron turns to the Ambassador with a delighted grin, genuinely pleased by their offer to accompany him. "Your company would be most welcome. Dealing with these merchants often tries my patience." 

He kneels down and extends a servo to help the Ambassador, they climb on as they are lifted and set up on Megatron's shoulder. "Come. Let us be on our way before any other meddlesome crew attempt to invite themselves along." At a slow, steady pace he walked, taking in the landscape of the docking ports, the mix and match of life that bustles around. The human hums while checking over some more reports.

 "I'm curious, Megatron. Have you ever been to Thora 4 before?" They ask while running inventory as their crew updates them on the supplies. "Once, long ago, when this world was but a backwater outpost on the fringes of known space," Megatron rumbled. " it's grown much since then” he remarks while admiring the infrastructure of the buildings.

They make a noise of  agreement  only for their data pad to ping. Their brows pinch slightly as they get a notification from Rodimus. His engine emitted a slight grumble. "Rodimus I presume. What trouble has our wayward captain gotten into now?"

The Ambassador opens the notification from Rodimus. "I believe your co-captain has taken to recruiting another crew member" they state rather amused as they walk through the stalls of the marketplace. Megatron huffed. His old grudge with the hotshot captain had mellowed to exasperated fondness. 

"Rodimus does have an unmatched talent for befriending the unlikeliest of mechs." It makes the Ambassador snicker lightly which earns them a glance from Megatron. “captain is that a soft spot showing” they tease only for him to roll his optics with an amused huff. As they passed stalls hung with crystals, medicinal drones and steaming tanks of viscous energon candy, Megatron's optics drank it all in with new appreciation. 

Thora 4 had become a thriving colony planet and one of the outer ring ship ports. 

The dealing of trades had taken much longer than either of them wanted it too, but Megatron presents made it much easier with dealers and merchants not wanting to see what the ex-warlord would do to them if they didn't agree with the human Ambassador over their ordered supplies. Their eyes move to look at the vast collection of treats, foods and random stuff of the markets, their eyes catching a few of the crew mingling with others. "Do you have a sweet tooth Megs?" They tilt their head while trying to catch his optics. Megatron looks to where the ambassador's curious gaze had been before they fell back to him, spotting familiar shapes among the mingling crowds.

"In truth, I've little experience with sweets," he rumbled, optics crinkling in good-natured thought. "Fuel was strictly rationed in the mines, with no indulgences spared. And in the Pits the most I cared for was having enough to no have my system cause issues in fights that continued during the war." 

Spotting a wheeled vendor pushing a platter piled high with glittering crystallised energon chunks, Megatron paused. His field flickered intrigued as he met the ambassador's eyes. 

"Though, I'm not opposed to trying new things. Unfortunately i don't know many 9d these" He stooped closer. The Ambassador's eyes flicker with mischief as they call out the stall attendant. " Could I please get 4 of the sodium citrum cubes, a Rhodium, Aluminium with red Energon and 3 Vanadium sticks" they call out. Megatron arched a brow plate in surprise and curiosity as the ambassador relayed their order to the stall keeper. Their selection seemed remarkably well-versed in Cybertronian preferences.

"You appear well-acquainted with our kinds' Fuel, Ambassador," he rumbled deeply. "Care to enlighten me?" As the order was packaged and handed over, Megatron examined each item closely - the glistening jewel tones, magnetic textures, subtle energy signatures, most of them looked like things only noble mechs would have consumed before the war, even after the end Megatron saw little reason to indulge in things like this, if it wasn't proper energon and enough to keep him running he wasn't interest outside of high grade on occasions.

He held out the crystal cube to look over. "Just remember hearing Rodimus order the citrum cubes before, the red Energon one I know Drift gets for Ratchet when we stop places that serve it, and we'll the Vanadium sticks are up there" they point to the cybertronian text, an innocent smile graces their lips. 

 "Think I've been taking bots out of dates without you capitan?" It's a teasing Jab.

A low chuckle rumbled from Megatron's chassis as he followed the ambassador's instruction, carefully parsing the neon glyphs above the stall. 

Lifting the small cube slowly to sample, he rolled it experimentally across sensor-laden dermas. He stiffens slightly at the taste, in his opinion it was foul. “how Rodimus can stomach this astounds me, it is foul, worse than earth petroleum when it's been sitting.” He grumbles while trying to get the taste out of his intake. 

It makes the Ambassador laugh as his face scrunch up in distaste. Their laughter mellows into small giggles. “I take it you prefer Diesel?” They inquire, the Tank nods in agreement. “If there was one thing from earth I would praise, it's the creation of your Diesel, which lasts longer and mixes with energon making it more filling” he explains. 

“Well I'm sure we can do something about getting some diesel For you” they hum. It was nice being able to just chat while doing ‘shopping’ their next stop after this wouldn't be for another 3 earth months outside of the planets they would be surveying or dead worlds they were looking for information on. 

The Ambassador let out a small noise of amusement as they see Rodimus standing at the Lost light with an unfamiliar mech,  a silver Seeker, both eagerly stuck in conversation. "Look out here comes trouble" they tease Megatron. Megatron tilted his helm, optics gleaming with dry humour as Rodimus came into view alongside an unfamiliar form. 

"Trouble does seem to follow him like plasma to a magnet," he rumbled to the ambassador. As they neared, Megatron offered courteous greeting. "Rodimus. I see you've made...interesting acquisitions."

Rodimus flashed a roguish grin. "Aw, you know me - can't resist chatting! This here's Luna Whistler. He's a medic. Figured Ratchet, And the others wouldn't mind another set of servos helping around Med.” 

Luna whistler nodded rapidly, clutching a collection of his equipment and gadgets. “Technically I'm a neuron-structural scientist and doctor, I mainly work with reworking and building the strut lines and structures. 

Megatron's optics narrow slightly, sensors tingling. He was wary of the seeker, he knew they most likely meant no harm but he was still on edge. "It's lovely to meet you Luna whistler, has Rodimus given you a tore of the ship, or finalised anything with Ultra Magnus" the question is mainly hinted at Rodimus.

Megatron fixed Rodimus with an expectant look as the Ambassador queried after proper protocols. Rodimus flashed a sheepish grin. "Aw, you worry too much, but no.. I was actually hoping one of you would be able to help me with it, pretty please?" He asked while looking at the two with pleading optics. 

Megatron let's out a tired vent before speaking. “I will assist with the documentation and talking with Magnus” Rodimus grins like a child as he fist bumps the air. The Ambassador lets Megatron put them down on the ground before turning back to the mechs. 

"Well I'm happy to do the tour and help Luna Whistler do the formal introduction if you two are alright with seeing Magnus." They hum, "Please try to keep Rodimus out of trouble Megatron" they call back while motioning for Luna whistler to walk with them.

Megatron watched them go with a long-suffering vent. Keeping Rodimus from mischief was akin to harnessing a plasma storm -taxing work with results constantly escaping one's grasp. once they had departed. Turning, he fixed Rodimus with a stern glower. Rodimus shoots him another awkward smile only for Megatron to shake his helm. He hands off the sodium citrum cubes to Rodimus. “How your Intake hasn't rusted is beyond my knowledge” he huffs, only for Rodimus to thank him as he shoves one of the cubes into his intake. 

The crew had all gathered in the Cantina after their adventures, they would be taking off again in the next cycle, so most of them had gathered within their groups, showing off what they had bought, traded or won. But it's Swerve who's optics fall on the ambassador and the new Seeker doctor. As the unlikely pair passed, chatter rose among the gathered crew. Megatron watched with veiled amusement as envious fields permeated the room. 

"Something about organics, I swear!" Swerve huffed, polishing a glass with needless vigour. "Mingle once and Mechs can't get enough of them!, who even is the new pair of wings?"

Brainstorm nodded sagely. "Pheromones, is what I've summarised to Swerve, we cybertronian seem to almost be drawn to them like scraplets to metal" He hums while re reading some of the new source Material he had gathered over the new Iacon record information. “Swerve, take a look at this” he states while handing the holo over for the barkeep. The minibot lets out a small whistle.

 “that more photos of Shockwave's human from before the war. If I hadn't known the ruthless scientist Shockwave, I'd almost believe he was in love with them” he remarks only for Skids to grab the holo to take a look. “Bismuth on a shimmer grown, Swerve that mech must have spark bonded them, you don't just give someone ceremonial bismuth. I knew Shockwave once, he's nothing like the Emputra mech you know now” there's slight sorrow in his voice as he hands the holo back to Brainstorm. 

Rodimus leaned against the bar, field pulsing in distaste, his spoiler flattening as he watched Luna Whistler and the Ambassador. “Just because I said they could join the crew didn't mean I wanted them getting all chummy with the Ambassador” he huffs only for Swerve to chuckle as he places a drink in front of Rodimus. 

"Honestly Roddy, one chat and they're sparkmates" Nautica says trying to rile him up, the others shoot her a look, Skids snickers as he gives her a nudge. "Organics form bonds so quickly. If only your charms worked half as well." Skids joins in on the teasing. 

Rodimus huffed, trying and failing to appear nonchalant. "One bot's not enough for the ambassador, huh?" It makes Swerve cackle as Drift makes his way over to join the group. “Drift not often you here, normally you're off with Ratchet?” Ambulon asked curiously. 

Drift makes himself comfortable running a servo over Rodimus' helm. “Ratchet's spending some time with Traxies, don't want to intrude on that” he hums, giving Swerve a nod in thanks as his own drink is set in front of him. “ this one isn't energex?” he asked. “no, no. I know you're not a fan of it, got a batch of En-no while we were stopped since there's a few of you who aren't interested in the side effects of the Energex or high grade” he states with a smile. 

��Look at that Rodimus looks like he's going to cry, shame you didn't get in sooner, your favourite little squishy is getting scooped up by a seeker” Whirl teases only for Cyclonus to give the helemech a slap up the side of the helm. "Give it a rest, Whirl. They're just talking, I'm sure the Ambassador is showing them around and telling them where everything is." Tailgate states which have Whirl optic zooming in. “Awww got a thing for the ambassador too, Tails are Cyclonus and I not enough for you” Whirl states dramatically while leaning over the bar. 

“Shame tho, might have to see if Nadia is interested, she seemed to be eyeing Swerve up the other night” Smokescreen hums, which gets multiple looks from the others. “What I'm just saying!,  you guys are all worked up over the Ambassador when Nadia has made it quite clear she's interested” he states 

Megatron's optics gleam in amusement as he watches the group squabble between themselves. Megatron rumbled a chuckle, field flickering dry entertainment as he watched the Captain sulk. Listening to the chatter that rose among the crew. His optics move to watch the Ambassador as they laugh and chat with Luna whistler. He can feel a small pinch of jealousy Well up inside of himself. He pushes it aside as Magnus makes his way over to the table he's sat at. 

Megatron's optics linger on the Ambassador, their laughter carrying across the room as they converse animatedly with Luna Whistler. He feels a tightness in his spark, an ache he can't quite name. The way their eyes light up, the gentle curve of their smile - it stirs something within him he thought long buried.

He shifts in his seat, trying to focus on Magnus approaching, but his gaze keeps drifting back to the Ambassador. Megatron imagines what it would be like to be the one making them laugh, to have their full attention and warmth directed at him. The longing surprises him with its intensity.

As Magnus sits down, Megatron nods in acknowledgment, but his processor is elsewhere. He wonders what it would feel like to have the Ambassador's hand in his, to share quiet moments away from the chaos of the ship. The jealousy he pushed aside earlier resurfaces, mingling with a deep-seated desire for connection.

Megatron realises he craves more than just the Ambassador's friendship and respect. He yearns for their affection, their touch, their presence. Ultra Magnus turns his attention to Megatron, though not without briefly glancing over at the Ambassador. 

"It seems our Ambassador is quite popular this evening, Thats the new medic you were talking about?" Magnus remarks casually to Megatron. "It's good to see them engaging so positively with the crew." Megatron nods, trying his best to keep his focus on Magnus. "Though I must admit, I was surprised when they chose to accompany you on the supply run earlier. You two seem to be forging quite the partnership." There's no accusation in Magnus's tone, just a simple observation. But Megatron shifts in his seat, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I value their insights." 

Magnus smiles. "As do we all. Still, I am pleased to see you both getting along so well." He takes a sip from his fuel container. "The Ambassador certainly seems to enjoy your company."

Megatron glances back over at the Ambassador, optics lingering once again. 

"So you said you spend time on earth, where did you end up?" They ask rather interested in any information Luna whistler was willing to share. The Seeker was rather polite and so far the Ambassador was glad to see another mech show as more level headed than a lot of the crew. 

Luna Whistler's wing panels fluttered thoughtfully. "I spent some time in Sweden. I worked as a doctor for a small group of neutrals when we got stuck on earth. The landscapes there prove quite beautiful. Remote forests were a favourite of mine vastly different from the colony I was from," he began gently. "Your planet is very beautiful, strange but beautiful" 

"Nature documentaries, wow, what a charmer," Brainstorm huffed, polishing his drink quickly before narrowing his optics as he watched them. Twitching slightly as the two continue their conversation, obvious to the optics on them. 

Bluestreak groused quietly, "Next he'll recite poetry. Just you wait, they'll be pen pals forever." That makes Cyclonus let out a small chuckle as he watches them, his own drink slowly going to his processor. 

Even Rodimus' famed charm seemed outshone. He clenched his fist, biting back a pout. "He's making them laugh." He mumbles optics flicking back to his drink. “Roddy perhaps if you had actually talked to them instead of making it a point of them having to clean up your mess, I'm sure they are just getting to know each other” 

Ravage rolled his optics, clipping Rodimus' helm with his tail. "Give it a rest. No need to be jealous over them talking."

 One of the crew from what Luna Whistler can tell catches his optics, causing him to pause his sentence as he watches them follow a orange and white mech around. The ambassador smiles as they watch the way the seekers' wings twitch in interest.  "Something caught your optics Whistler?" They tease, watching the way the seeker goes rigid and looks away. A nervous flutter arose in Luna Whistler's vocals, optics drifted. He vented softly, giving his plating a self-conscious shuffle. 

"Apologies, I didn't mean to become distracted. It's just..." His gaze flicked once more to the mech in question, wings twitching tellingly. Shyness gripped him then, his field shrinking in on itself protectively. 

The Ambassador's smile turned kindly. "His name is Traxies, he's friends with Rodimus,  but I'm sure he'd be delighted to meet a new mech, he doesn't get out much due to his sire being rather protective" they explain softly their eyes focusing on Traxies. “I take it the Orange and white mech is his sire?” he asked softly only for the ambassador to chuckle. 

“No, Ratchet is more like his mentor but he cares alot about Traxies, but I'd say get to know him, he needs more mechs around his age to interact with, he's been very cut off from socialising” they state, not planning on telling the seeker who Traxies Sire was just yet less it scare the doctor off from becoming friends. 

____________

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[mpreglover225]

Manny kept a silent vigil by the boarded-up window, listening for any car engine that might herald trouble. He’d never intended to end up in a safehouse off a rural backroad in Missouri—yet here he was, pacing across splintered floorboards, trying not to show his fear. Outside, the sun seared the dusty landscape, heat shimmering on the horizon. Inside, the air clung heavy with tension and unspoken hopes.

CJ rested on an old loveseat in the corner, a hand absently rubbing his swollen abdomen. Eight months along, he shifted and winced when the baby kicked—a reminder that their son would arrive soon, whether they were ready or not. Manny’s eyes flickered with guilt whenever CJ flinched. None of this was how he’d planned to start a family.

They’d fled St. Louis after Manny’s old associates declared war on the only shred of freedom he had ever claimed: his relationship with CJ. Word had spread that Manny wanted out of the gang life. Worse, he’d admitted to fathering a child with his “secret lover.” By the time they realized just how grave the threat was, Manny and CJ had left the city behind, armed with a duffel of clothes, a small stash of cash, and a fear that bordered on desperation.

Now, every passing minute felt like an eternity. Manny checked his phone even though he knew there was no service out here. The safehouse, riddled with bullet holes from a forgotten dispute, felt equally claustrophobic and strangely safe. No one would think to look for them in a place this desolate and bleak.

CJ tried to stay calm, but the sharp ache in his lower back hinted that the baby might come earlier than expected. Manny swallowed back panic and reminded himself of the plan if CJ went into labor tonight—he’d drive them to a clinic two towns over, back roads only, no lights if possible. They’d only get one chance.

Sinking onto the cushion beside CJ, Manny took his hand. For a moment, the tension thinned. They weren’t gang members on the run, or two desperate men trying to save themselves—they were just parents waiting to meet their child. “We’ll make it,” Manny whispered, voice shaking from more than just nerves. CJ nodded, blinking away tears, choosing hope over the darkness.

Outside, the distant rumble of an engine made them both stiffen. Manny’s pulse hammered, ready to defend his family if it came to that. But the sound faded harmlessly, and the hush of the Missouri countryside settled over them again. Manny exhaled, brushing sweat from his brow.

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

ME: Okay gang, it's my birthday. How are we going to celebrate?

VOICE OF THE OPPORTUNIST: You should go to that cafe we really like! You deserve it, don't you think?

VOICE OF THE HERO: Isn't that place expensive as hell, though? We don't have a job.

VOICE OF THE OPPORTUNIST: Coooooome oooooooon, it's our birthday! We should treat ourselves!

VOICE OF THE SKEPTIC: We should go. Order something cheap, but we need to ask if they're hiring anyway.

VOICE OF THE HERO: Can't we just... call them and ask?

VOICE OF THE PARANOID: No. Nope. No phone calls. Don't you know phone calls never lead to good things?

VOICE OF THE HERO: ...I don't think that's true.

VOICE OF THE SMITTEN: Oh, what does it matter what we do for our birthday? Neither of our partners has wished us a happy birthday yet! Clearly, we've lost their hearts, and with them, any hope for a purpose in this cruel world.

VOICE OF THE HERO: It's four in the morning. They're probably both still asleep.

VOICE OF THE CHEATED: No, I'm with the sappy one on this. It doesn't fucking matter if we waste our money or not, cause we're never going to get hired. Not when corporations keep posting these fake fucking job listings!

VOICE OF THE COLD: It doesn't matter if we get hired or not. Whether it's in a ditch in six months or in a hospital bed in ninety years, we're still going to die.

VOICE OF THE OPPORTUNIST: Exactly! So why not enjoy life in the moment? While we can!

VOICE OF THE COLD: But if we're going to go out to eat, we should go someplace new. We've been to that cafe too many times to count.

VOICE OF THE OPPORTUNIST: You know, that is a great idea. You're full of great ideas.

VOICE OF THE CHEATED: No, it's not a great idea! If we go somewhere new, the food could be bad. I don't want to get bad food on my birthday!

VOICE OF THE CONTRARIAN: What if... we just go to the cafe and another restaurant?

VOICE OF THE HERO: We definitely don't have enough money for that.

VOICE OF THE CHEATED: We would have, if you lot hadn't made us quit our last job!

VOICE OF THE OPPORTUNIST: Now, now. That decision was made democratically.

VOICE OF THE CHEATED: Well we all know that direct voting is fucking bullshit. We just turned in our ballot, after all.

VOICE OF THE PARANOID: That reminds me. What if the ballot arsonists spread down here? How will we ever know if our ballot was counted?

VOICE OF THE HERO: That is a wildly disconnected thought. Where did that come from.

VOICE OF THE PARANOID: We have to stay vigilant.

THE NARRATOR: I'm fixing a drink. Tell me when you've made a choice.

[radlyradar]

How would the companions (minus longfellow) act with a Deaf/HOH Sole Survivor ?

I made this because silly and my sole survivor is half deaf :))

Preston

Preston already has a concept of signed gestures and hearing loss, from trying to communicate around artillery or in battle. He’s even met Deaf/HOH settlers before, but never before has he travelled with someone who couldn’t hear. It takes him a bit to get the hang of communication, learning conversational signs from Sole and making sure he’s in clear view when he talks if they lip read. That being said, it doesn’t change much, he still sees them as that leadership role the minuteman need. He ends up getting Sole to teach passing minutemen signs so they can communicate or trying to teach them all himself once he becomes more fluent.

Deacon

He’s hesitant at first, after all if you can’t hear yourself you gotta be loud as all hell. When Sole proves they can be stealthy though, he changes his tune. They both sign often to keep conversations more secretive and he’ll act as ‘interpreter’ on missions so he can pass by with less attention.

Hancock

Hancock has DEFINITELY met a Deaf traveler before, I mean it’s Goodneighbor. I think he would communicate with writing things, whether on dirt or walls or any available paper. Now that he’s traveling with Sole though, he’s trying to learn so he can communicate easier with anyone passing through Goodneighbor. (Though I think he’s definitely the guy who wants to learn curses and phallic words first).

Strong

He surprisingly doesn’t immediately hate them for it. But he will get frustrated when Sole don’t respond. he eventually figures out that they’ve been signing to him and their responses are all half guesses. He thinks about leaving but then remembers that they’ve lived this long without hearing ANYTHING (this is untrue, you may be able to hear something but he doesn’t know that). So he stays with Sole a bit longer, relying on gestures and lip reading if they can. They both learn that his big hands don’t make great signing and he gives up on learning anything expressive and slowing learns receptively by watching them.

Curie

Curie finds it fascinating, but not surprising that Sole can survive out here. She likes watching them and studying how they function in the world without hearing. When she’s still a nanny bot she very easily learns receptive sign, but when she gets her new body she’s ecstatic to use it for herself and quickly takes to signing back to Sole. She’s a quick stumbling kind of signer though so she can be hard to understand.

Cait

Cait and Tommy are super fucking confused when the person who killed every raider in the combat zone doesn’t respond at first. Her first impression is that they were stupid or playing a joke, she’s never met a Deaf person before. When she and Sole first travel together she finds the ‘what’s, ‘huh’s, confused faces, and or lack of responses extremely annoying. As they travel together though and she starts to realize they really view her as a person she’ll apologize. She never really gets good at sign but she’ll sign small things to you and struggle to understand when Sole signs back. 

Maccready

This guy also already has a concept of sign. But not conversational in the slightest, still, he takes to it like a duck on water. He’s probably ending up the easiest to sign to (other than like Nick) because he ends up focusing on learning sign for like a few months straight and is using it constantly after. He does tell Sole that he wants to teach Duncan when he sees him again or get word passed on to his old home since it could prove useful to Deaf and hearing kids.

Gage

He’s a bit confused at first, and in all honesty considers leaving them in that ratty ass bumper car room, but he remembers that they need a new overboss and it’s not like they haven’t had people with hearing loss in the raiders gangs before. He finds most of the things they do pretty normal, like lipreading and being extra vigilant, hearing can be hard, and words muddle together, it only makes sense that you’d watch someone’s mouth to know what they’re saying- wait that’s not normal? Huh, maybe the years of explosions and gunfire are getting to him. 

He does end up learning sign and finds it a lot easier then verbal communication 

Nick

Nick is already fluent, he knows what Deaf people are from his past memories. He doesn’t even realize he knows sign until him and Sole are talking and he ends up enjoying travelling with them. Nothing much really changed about your relationship. The Kellogg case does become more difficult since they can’t hear him in the memory den

Codsworth

He was with Sole pre war and due to his programming he already understands signing but can’t sign back. He mostly just points and stuff. 

Piper

Thank god for Piper. Due to the speaker entrance chances are Sole wouldn’t get into Diamond City unassisted. But with Piper’s scheme they both got in with ease. She realizes there’s something up immediately and when Sole tells her about their hearing she immediately tries an interview. This of course does not go well. As they travel together she tries to pick up sign but never gets good at it. One thing Sole misses out on are her yap sessions. Don’t get me wrong, she still has them, but they both know that there’s no way in hell that Sole is understanding most of what she’s saying.

Dogmeat

Honestly, he probably won’t notice at first, he protects Sole the same and unless they’re nonverbal he’s probably gonna take awhile. He might just think they’re quiet. After some time though Dogmeat will start listening to and watching for signed command and instead of baking to alert them he’ll paw at their foot or jump and try to catch their attention if he’s too far away and still in view. They both work out pretty well, he’s a good dog.

Ada

Ada has never met a Deaf person and Sole cannot read Ada’s lips so it’s a struggle. They eventually get a similar relationship to the one Sole would have with Strong.

X6-88

What the fuck is this hand language, why is Father not like this? How is this person still alive? So many questions. He’s never met a Deaf person and no one’s told him, they’ve had broken synths who can’t hear, is that the same? He asks a lot of questions, some uncomfortable or kind of rude and honestly sucks at first, but once he gets to know them and realize he’s getting closer to Sole, he apologizes and tones it down. He ends up taking to sign pretty well and realizes how useful it is in day to day as well as battle. He ends up acting as an interpreter if Sole lets him.

Danse

At first he thinks they aren’t listening on purpose, then realizes what’s actually going on. He’s never met a Deaf traveler. Being already bad with people this makes him anxious, which comes off as aggression, but he realizes how much easier it is to be around them. He doesn’t take part in small talk and takes to sign pretty well. Similar to X6-88 he’ll probably ask a lot of questions, some being a bit rude. Though, at least he’ll have shame when asking these at least.

[everyandanything]

Hey look, another round of Born a Grease thoughts that no one asked for !!! 🫶🏻🥰

—Soda might have seen Paul at the hospital once, but what he didn’t know was that Paul went every single day until he caught word that Darry was going to make it. At first, he just sat out in his car and stared at the hospital building, terrified one of the Greasers might see him, yet unable to stay away.

But eventually he became brave enough to go sit in the courtyard. Never once did he step foot indoors; that felt like a sacred space he didn’t have a right to. Instead he held vigil outside, as if hoping if he sat there long enough, kept watch like a guard, he could keep death at bay. It couldn’t pass through those doors as long as Paul kept watch, it’d have to go through him first.

(And if death took him as its first victim, well, wasn’t that what Paul wanted anyway?)

—Pony knew the school (and half of Tulsa, for that matter) was doing fundraisers for Darry, it was impossible for him to miss. Posters about dance-a-thons and raffles, bake sales and car washes. Principal Mitchell even went so far as to call Pony into his office one day to ask him how his brother was doing. The same man who told Darry to his face how disappointed he was in how Darry’s life had turned out. It took all of Pony’s willpower not to punch him.

But he also knew better than to tell either one of his brothers about the money. He knew them, knew their stubborn pride, knew their need to prove themselves, to make it on their own, to fight the good fight until their dying breath. Pony understood in a way, and in some ways maybe even agreed. But he also wanted his big brother back, wanted him healthy and home and no longer knocking on death’s door. He wanted Soda back, wanted him to stop running himself into the ground just to keep their family going, wanted to see that smile of his that was so bright it felt like Pony was looking at the sun. He wanted his family home, and safe, and together again instead of split between an empty house and a hospital room.

So Pony never mentioned the money. His brothers would find out eventually, and it’d be too late to do anything about it then.

And maybe they could do some good with it. Maybe. And Lord knows they were due for some good.

— Darry couldn’t go back to school right away, it’s part of why it took him so long to graduate. It took him another year to get his strength back, to get to a place where he could move around on his own, could walk to his truck without getting winded, could simply go to the grocery store without feeling like he’d run a marathon.

There were days it was hard and he desperately wanted to give it all up. He’d lie in his room, dark and quiet, struggling to pull in a breath, and wonder why he’d even survived in the first place (there were even briefer moments when he wished he hadn’t, but he tried not to think about that too much).

But the moments never lasted long, because he kept Pony’s binder full of letters in his nightstand drawer. Whenever he felt the melancholy creeping in, all he had to do was pull it out and flip through the pages, soak in the words from his friends that made him feel loved, reminded him what he was doing it all for.

But Pony and Soda’s letters? He kept those in his wallet, always close. Not that he really needed to, he’d read them so many times he had them memorized anyway.

—Darry was in a state of panic before his first day back to college. Freaking out for weeks before, obsessively going over his class schedule, checking over his supply list damn near a hundred times. When he got up to get ready on his first day, he found the rest of the gang already in the kitchen with breakfast cooked (miraculously not burnt), his lunch packed, and his bag already out in his truck ready to go. He told them he was heading to college, not the third grade, they didn’t need to do all that, but Soda just rolled his eyes and handed him his lunch bag as the guys wished him luck.

Later, with his head swirling from different syllabi as he tried to remember the ropes of being a student, he finally got a thirty minute break to find a bench and grab a bite. When he opened the bag Soda packed for him, he found it filled with his favorite lunch and a good luck note tucked inside from his brothers, just like their mom had always done on their first day of school, just like he knew Soda still did for Pony. Darry figured his first day back at college would bring him to tears, he’d just assumed it’d be for a different reason.

[jacks347]

Exactly one person asked for this but that was exactly one person enough so here y'all go, enjoy the rest of the channels and their high school tropes

Nomad

Caleb and Pack Mom - Childhood friends everyone assumes is already dating (They keep correcting people but secretly enjoy it cause they've been crushing on each other for years)

Connor and Lass - Club president and joined cause she liked him ("Come on, keep up! What are you staring at?" "You. I mean-!")

Deacon and Little One - Book smart introvert and street smart extrovert ("I've never failed a test in my life" "And I've knocked out a gang members tooth once. You tell me which one is more practical")

Chester and CM - Class clown and assigned tutor ("How do you put up with him?" "Remembering he's cute and a lot of caffeine")

Mitch and Lamb - Second generation rivals ("My dad said to tell you you won't win a second time" "Funny, my uncle said to expect it")

Beau and Chef - "Secret" admirer and knowing crush (Constantly leaves notes and gifts in her locker, she absolutely knows it's him but doesn't say anything even though she likes him back cause she thinks it's adorable)

Harlow and Captain - Frequently injured and assigned helper ("How'd you break your leg this time?" "Would you believe me if I said I fell off a roof?" "...goddammit")

GB

Yargwynn and Paradise - Lead in the play and stage manager (Paradise is actually a really solid singer but has paralyzing stage fright so they just stay as stage crew)

Mak and Darling - Delinquent and "I can fix him" girl (Frank is Mak's attempted wingman, he tries so hard to get these two together)

Guardian and Zed - Foreign exchange student and guidance helper assigned to them (Even better if Guardian doesn't speak the language well so they just stare when Zed is talking which makes him nervous and he rambles more, Guardian thinks it's cute)

Albus and Faithful - School flirt and class president tutoring him (Don't lie, you're imagining it now)

Hipswitch and Partner - Reluctant student and quiet art kid project partners (Partner talks through notes ripped from the corners of his sketchbook)

Pandora - Principal's kid that everyone is kinda scared of (Is actually really nice with just a hint of overblown ego, blame football star Odin for that)

Redacted

David and Angel - Quiet kid and popular girl fake dating (Angel dug herself in a hole and needs a fresh face to get out of it, David is only mildly reluctant cause he thinks Angel's pretty)

Asher and Babe - Football star and cheerleading captain (Don't ask, this is the one that inspired all the rest and now it's stuck here)

Milo and Sweetheart - Club presidents fighting for budgeting (SH runs the NHS chapter, Milo runs the drama club, both slightly resent each other because they need the funding)

Darlin and Sam - Frequently in detention and never in detention ("And just what has landed the school's goody goody in my neck of the woods?" "...I broke a guy's nose." "Hah, same.")

Vincent and Lovely - Superintendent's kid who ditches class and vigilant hall monitor ("Come on, can't you let it slide just this once~" "Do you want me to call your dad?" "No, no, I'll go back, please don't call him-")

Gavin and Freelancer - Academic rivals (FL actually takes it seriously, Gavin only pretends cause he loves to watch FL work)

I think I got all of them

I hope I got all of them

This is going to be a nightmare to tag-

[sjsmith56]

Assignment Bucky Barnes, Chapter 2 - First Blush

Summary: Ariel starts her job at the library, receiving a visit from Bucky to confirm their date. She meets Steve Rogers.

Length: 3.7 K

Characters: Ariel, library staff, Bucky, Steve.

Warnings: Misogynistic attitude from library manager, catcalling, mean girls, Bucky moving fast, use of the term “queer” in keeping with the times.

Author notes: Steve readily plays wingman to Bucky.

<<Chapter 1

At 8:55 am the following day, Ariel presented herself at the main door of the Greenpoint Library in Brooklyn. A security guard was at the door and she told him she was starting that day. He checked her name on a clipboard and opened the door for her, telling her to seek out the Library Manager, Mr. Grayson. The man in question, in his late 60s, was behind the circulation desk instructing the Circulation staff on being extra vigilant as there had been a noticeable increase in missing books and he was sure it was a gang of juvenile delinquents taking out adult books that were too mature for them. As she approached he looked at Ariel over his glasses while lowering his head forward.

"Miss, can I help you?" he asked.

"Yes sir," she replied politely. "I am Ariel Black. I was told to report to you at 9 am."

He looked at his pocket watch then at the clock over the door. "It is 8:56 am Miss Black. You are early."

"Yes sir," she confirmed.

"Very well," he said, after very pointedly returning his pocket watch into the vest of his pocket. "Come with me. Mrs. Campbell, I leave the circulation staff in your capable hands."

He walked out from behind the circulation desk and began walking to an office in the back, entering it and sitting behind his desk. Ariel followed him in and he asked her to close the door, then sit down. He pressed his hands together at the fingertips while he looked steadily at her.

"Are you wearing makeup?" he asked.

"Just some face powder to reduce the natural redness of my cheeks," replied Ariel. "Is that permitted?"

"Yes, just don't wear anything more," he said. "No lipstick or eye makeup. Our patrons are here on serious business and they don't need to be distracted by a young woman trying to flaunt her beauty by excessive makeup."

Ariel kept her face as neutral as possible, remembering her training on early 20th century attitudes towards women.

"What you are wearing today is acceptable," he said. "Remember you are presenting yourself as an example of the fairer sex. No trousers, skirts must be below your knees, and if you wear a suit you must wear a blouse underneath. Do you smoke?"

"No sir," she stated.

"Good, we don't want our patrons to smell cigarette smoke on you," he said. "Now, you are part time, which means you are here every Wednesday from 9 am until 5 pm, then Thursday evening 5 pm until 9 pm, and all day Saturday 9 am until 5 pm. If you are late you will have pay docked from your paycheque. If you are late more than three times in a month it will be grounds for dismissal. You have your degree in Library Science?"

"Yes sir, with distinction," replied Ariel.

"Hmph," was his response to that. "You will start with shelving books, relieving on the circulation desk for breaks and lunch. After a month we will assess your work and decide whether to permit you to perform reference work. Come with me and I will introduce you to Miss Warren who is in charge of shelving."

He stood up and Ariel followed him to a back room where there were several carts with books being stacked in order for re-shelving. A woman in her early 30s was taking the books from one cart and organizing them on another. He introduced Ariel to her and left them there. When he was out of earshot Miss Warren looked at Ariel.

"Don't worry about him," she said. "He's just biding his time until he can retire. Stay out of his way and his attention, and you'll be fine. Come with me and I'll show you where to hang up your coat and purse."

After returning they began working together organizing the book carts by Dewey Decimal number then each took a cart out into the library and began shelving them in the correct position in the stacks. About an hour into it, while on her third cart Ariel pushed the cart in between two shelving units deep in the stacks and heard a male voice from the other side of one of the units.

"How is your first day working out?"

She looked between the books and saw the bright blue eyes of Bucky on the other side.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in a low voice.

"Checking up on you," he said. "Did you find out if you're working Friday night?"

"I'm not but I do have to be at work at 9 am on Saturday morning," she whispered. "Now go away before you get me into trouble. Shouldn't you be working?"

"Not enough work on the docks again today," he said. He looked both ways then came around to her side. "You look very academic today."

She felt her cheeks get hot which was silly as it wasn't much of a compliment. "Bucky, really, you should go," she pleaded.

"I have a library card," he said, almost poutingly. "I'm entitled to look for a book."

He pulled a book out and showed it to her. The Hood Basic Cook Book was the title and he began looking through the pages.

"Mmmm, clam fritters," he said. "Sounds tasty." Ariel started laughing and he smiled that smile at her. Then his face went softer. "What time are you off?"

"5 o'clock," she answered. "Really, go before you get me fired on my first day."

"I'll pick you up, make sure you get home safely," he said, his blue eyes boring into her.

"Fine but please leave me alone until then," she begged.

"Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains, Let me remember thee what thou hast promised," he whispered, then he smiled, put the cook book back in its place and left, walking past her while trailing his fingertips across hers as he passed by.

The man quoted Shakespeare at her, and not just any line but a line spoken by Ariel in The Tempest. She watched him saunter away and wondered what his fingertips would feel like tracing a line from her lips down her neck. Shaking her head to remove the thought she resumed shelving the books on her cart. When her lunch break came she ate the sandwich she had in her purse and put a nickel in the jar to have a coffee from the urn in the little staff room. Two others that were working in the processing office came in for their lunch break and introduced themselves. Alma Flett and Irina Jacob were both recent college graduates and considered themselves lucky to get a job in their neighbourhood. They leaned forward towards Ariel.

"Did Bucky Barnes come back to see you?" they asked in a low voice. "You know about him, right?"

"Know what, exactly?" asked Ariel, making sure her brooch was turned towards them to pick up their conversation.

"He's a Tom cat," said Alma. "I mean, he's easy on the eyes but he's out for one thing and it isn't your good reputation."

"Actually it is," giggled Irina. "He's out to ruin it."

"He's been a gentleman to me," said Ariel.

They looked at her as if she were crazy. "Just be careful," cautioned Alma. "Don't get caught alone with him. Especially not in a dark place. Although I heard his kisses are dreamy."

"He's walking me home after work," said Ariel, noticing the shocked expressions on their faces. "That's safe isn't it?"

"Stay on the sidewalk," said Irina. "Don't go into an alleyway with him."

They were interrupted by Mr. Grayson who looked sternly at all of them and they ate their meal in silence as he pulled his lunch out of the icebox and sat at another table with a newspaper. With a minute left to go in her lunch Mr. Grayson looked up from his newspaper and focussed his attention on Ariel so she stood up, straightening her clothing and went back to the shelving room where there were more carts of unsorted books waiting to be put into order. She bent herself to the task and by the time her shift was over she and Miss Warren had managed to shelve three quarters of the books. Picking up her jacket and purse Ariel stopped in the ladies room and was in the stall when she heard Irina and Alma come into the space.

"Can't believe he was in the Shakespeare section looking up The Tempest," said Alma. "Well, I hope she knows what she's letting herself in for."

"A good time?" giggled Irina. "Seriously, what does he see in her? Your hair is so much nicer than that nest she has. I wonder if he'll drag that creepy Steve out to walk her home. Can't stand that little runt."

They washed their hands and whispered something that made them each giggle then Ariel heard them leave. She wondered herself if Steve Rogers would show up on the walk home and was curious to see him in the flesh, knowing what would happen to him later. After flushing the toilet and washing her hands Ariel put her jacket on and walked to the front door of the Library. Bucky was waiting for her, leaning against a lamp post. Beside him was a smaller blonde man. He had to be the runt referred to in the ladies room.

"Ariel Black, meet my friend Steve Rogers," said Bucky. "He was walking by and I said he might as well walk with us."

"Hi Steve, nice to meet you," said Ariel, extending her hand.

He looked at Bucky who nodded encouragement and he shook her hand. "Ariel, nice to meet you, too," he said, then he coughed nervously. "You're Mr. Burnett's niece?"

"Yes, I am," she said. "I just arrived from Montana yesterday. Bucky carried my trunk up the stairs to the apartment. Such a gentleman."

Bucky threw a big smile at his friend and placed himself on the outside of the sidewalk, beside the traffic as Steve placed himself on the opposite side of Ariel as they started walking.

"What's Montana like?" asked Steve, cautiously.

"Lot's of prairie, open sky, mountains," she said. "Brutal winters. Hot summers."

"Not much open sky here," he replied. "I'd like to see Montana, someday."

"I'm sure you will," said Ariel, then she looked up at Bucky. "Two of my coworkers talked to me about you."

"Alma and Irina," he stated flatly. "They warned you off me, didn't they? I have a bit of a reputation but my intentions are always honourable."

Steve smirked and Ariel found it difficult not to smile. "I'm sure they all start out that way," she commented, then placed her hand in the crook of Bucky's left arm.

He lifted his left hand across his body in response then looked down at her and smiled putting his other hand on top of hers for a moment before returning it to his other side. She looked sideways at Steve who also seemed more relaxed.

"So, what do you two do when you're at loose ends?" she asked. "My uncle isn't within earshot so you can speak a little more candidly than yesterday."

Bucky laughed lightly and looked down at her again. "We do what I told you yesterday but I go to the jazz clubs a couple of times a month, or to a dance hall," he said. "Do you dance?"

"Not well, unfortunately," she said. "I'm not a fan of square dancing and that is common in rural Montana. I prefer slow dancing. I do like jazz. I could listen to Billie Holliday and Duke Ellington all night long. What about movies? What do you two fellas like?"

"Just about anything, except the real weepy ones," said Steve. "Adventure, detective, westerns, war movies. Bucky has a younger sister that we have to take with us every so often so we've seen Wizard of Oz, which was interesting, and Fantasia. It was alright."

"How many brothers and sisters do you both have?" she asked, already knowing the answer but playing her part.

"None," said Steve. "I'm an orphan. Bucky just has Rebecca. You?"

"None," she replied. "I'm an orphan as well. My Mother died of the Spanish flu when I was little and Dad died of a heart attack last year. Uncle Merton is my Mother's brother and when my job fell through in Missoula he said I was welcome to live here and help him in the antique store. Have you known my Uncle long?"

"Ever since he opened his store," said Bucky. "It was much smaller then but he always had odd jobs for both of us, cleaning the floors, polishing silverware, that sort of thing. He had some interesting books as well that he lent me, fiction and non-fiction." He stopped talking for a bit then cleared his throat. "Some people think he's queer as he never seems to date but he's never come on to either of us. If he is it's none of our business."

"To be honest, my Dad always thought there was something queer about him but he's always been kind to me and that's what's important right?" stated Ariel. "Besides, I've heard stories about cowboys out on the range with their herds that would make your hair curl."

Bucky laughed out loud and shook his head. "You are an interesting woman," he said. "You looked so prim and proper in the Library but I'm guessing you know a lot of things that a young lady of your age shouldn't."

Ariel didn't give him an answer on that one as she realized she almost let slip more than she should have for the depth of their acquaintance. She was unaware that Merton had provided books to Barnes but it made sense that he would encourage the self education that the man was known for, although it bordered on interference in the timeline. Later, once she shut her recording devices down she would bring it up. The three of them continued walking and she noticed both men seemed to be watching out for her. They passed a construction site and Bucky waved at a couple of the men. On the way to the Library in the morning she received her first catcalls from this very site. She could understand why women of the time would cross the street under such onslaughts of sexually suggestive comments. Now that Bucky was with her there were none and she glanced at him, noticing the intensity of his gaze at the work site.

"Interesting," she thought. "He obviously has enough influence to stop the comments when we're together. I wonder if I'll get any now that they've seen me with him."

"That's strange," she said out loud. "I received all sorts of comments this morning on my way past here. Now, nothing."

"They won't, not while I'm with you," stated Bucky. "I'm sorry for the wolf whistle I gave you yesterday. That's usually the most I'll do when I see a pretty lady. These guys go too far sometimes, and they know it."

She stopped walking. "You don't get into fights over that do you?" she asked innocently.

His face flushed and he looked away. Ariel looked over at Steve who had a bit of a grin on his face.

"He's usually intervening when I get into a fight," he said. "I don't know when to stay down and keep my mouth shut sometimes. He's come to my rescue a few times. Bucky's a very good boxer, three years YMCA welterweight champion."

"Really?" she asked, squeezing Bucky's arm. "Were you good enough to turn professional?"

"I am good enough but it's not the most clean sport," he replied. "The mob has their fingers in it and they would likely want me to take dives against their preferred fighter. I'm too honest for that so I just box for the fun of it now."

They approached a pet store with several puppies and kittens in the window. Ariel pulled her hand away from Bucky's arm and stood in front of the window, trailing her finger along the surface of the glass as the young animals jumped up against the barrier.

"My goodness, they're so cute," she said, noticing Bucky standing close to her again with his hand lightly on her back. "I should ask Uncle Merton if he minds if I have a pet. I had a dog in Missoula but I left him with a friend as he was used to being outside all day. I didn't think it was fair to keep him cooped up in an apartment in the city."

"What kind of dog?" asked Steve.

"A mutt," she said. "He was big and had wiry fur. His name was Walter." She blinked her eyes and willed some tears to her eyes as she turned away from the window. "Sorry, I'm missing him right now."

Both men took a handkerchief out of their pockets and she smiled sadly at them both, then took hers out of her purse, deciding not to favour one of them over the other. After she put her handkerchief back inside her purse she placed her hand on Bucky's arm again and looked up at him. A kind smile was on his face and he squeezed her hand lightly with his other. She noticed that Steve had the same kind smile and she wondered if they were that attuned to each other that the younger man wouldn't even try to compete but let Bucky be the dominant male. Impulsively she reached out with her left hand and placed it in the crook of Steve's right arm. Immediately he looked to Bucky who smiled with encouragement. Steve bent his arm to accommodate her touch and they walked together as a threesome until they delivered her safely to the antique store. They stood outside the store then Steve said he was going in to talk to Ariel's uncle. Bucky stood out on the sidewalk with Ariel, towering over her.

"That was a nice thing you did for Steve, taking his arm like that," he said. "Not many girls care for him."

"He's nice," she said. "A gentleman, like you."

"What's your work schedule like?" he asked. She told him and he nodded. "I'll stop by on my lunch break and see you here tomorrow."

He pulled her away from the window and opened the door to the stairwell, pulling her inside, then closing the door so they were blocked from view. As Ariel leaned back against the wall he leaned over her, his right hand resting on the wall above her shoulder..

"You know I like you," he said in a low voice that surprised her with its physical effect on her. The man had a definite presence. "How are you getting home after work tomorrow night?"

"Uncle Merton is picking me up in the van," she said.

He nodded as if he understood. Gently he took a section of her hair between his fingers and played with it as he gazed at her with those intense blue eyes. Lowering his lips to hers he kissed her softly, with the barest touch of his tongue on hers. She could taste cigarette tobacco but on him it seemed natural, part of him, like the clean smell of soap on his body. Her fingertips grazed his chest lightly and she felt him smile during this chaste kiss. Then he stood up to his full height.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said quietly and opened the door to the street, leaving her leaning against the wall.

Steve was waiting on the sidewalk and smiled at her. Stepping out she watched the two men leave, noticing Bucky looked back at her several times before they were out of sight. Then she walked into the store where Merton was closing up. He was grinning.

"Well, that was interesting," he said. "You might get a pet tomorrow, a kitten. Steve did the asking but I'm guessing Bucky will buy it."

"He kissed me in the stairwell," she said. "It was very nice and respectful. I'm guessing it will escalate. Steve just stepped away and let him make the first move although Bucky didn't show any jealousy when I took Steve's arm. Interesting dynamic between them. They both know you're gay, by the way. Figured it out early but said since you didn't come on to them they thought you were alright. How do you manage that in these times?"

"I go on buying trips every so often," he replied. "I have acquaintances and we keep it low key. I never bring anyone home here. That would be asking for trouble."

"Bucky said you gave him books to read," she asked. "Wasn't that pushing the boundaries a little?"

"Not at all," he said. "I had them on display and he indicated he wanted to read them so I lent them to him. He is a voracious reader and is surprisingly well educated."

"Bucky came to see me at the Library," admitted Ariel. "Quoted a line from The Tempest. That surprised me."

"Expect more of those," he said. "That's why I didn't want to say anything to you before. Both men are surprising in many ways. I expect Steve will draw a portrait of you. He is a talented artist, went to art school for a year and I believe both men will consider going to art school again next year, with Bucky taking technical drawing."

She helped Merton count out the day's sales and set up the cash float for the following day, locking the cash drawer and the proceeds in a safe under the counter. Then they both turned off the lights and Merton pulled over an expanding steel gate from each side of the store front over the windows and door, locking them into place. He allowed her into the stairwell first and they went up the stairs together. Over dinner she discussed her first day of work in a Carnegie library and they spent another hour discussing sex roles in the early 20th century. By the time Ariel got into bed she was filled with anticipation for the possibility of a pet being gifted to her. She was also anticipating the next kiss. As Alma mentioned, Bucky's kisses were dreamy.

Chapter 3>>

Series Masterlist

A reblog or comment would be appreciated.

[in-som-niyah]

ATTENTION

just a quick psa for the people in support of palestine:

this emoji "🟦" is being used by people who support israel, and more importantly people who are conflating supporting Palestine with anti-semitism

the the hashtag "#🟦" and other forms of expression with the emoji are also being used as a dogwhistle for ganging up and targeting blogs in comments and reblogs.

if you see this "🟦" emoji anywhere near your blog, or people interacting with your blog that you do not know (if you know the person is using it for other purposes it is fine, obviously) know that they are in support of the oppressive israeli occupation of Palestine and are hiding behind people who use the emoji/hashtag for apolitical purposes.

NOT EVERYONE WHO USES THE EMOJI ARE IN SUPPORT OF ISRAEL! USE YOUR DISCRETION

Stay stong. Stay vigilant. Protect your blog.

tl;dr: people who support israel who think that support Palestine = antisemitism are using this "🟦" emoji as a dogwhistle to harass people. not all that use it are in support of israel, but those who are are hiding behind the bloggers who are using it for apolitical purposes. use your discretion.

[themisinformer]

Big Bird Shot Dead in Apparent Gang Related Shooting

SESAME STREET - Residents of Sesame Street have been in shock today after the tragic death of beloved feathered icon Big Bird, who authorities say was caught in the middle of what appears to be a gang related altercation. According to police reports, Big Bird, who was known for his towering height, vibrant yellow feathers, and friendly demeanor, was found unresponsive near the corner of Hooper Avenue and Ernie Boulevard earlier this morning.

Witnesses say they heard gunshots being fired, followed by a loud “AWK!” and then what sounded like fellow puppets fleeing the scene. In the aftermath, Big Bird was seen lying lifelessly on the ground, with his feathers everywhere. Detectives are now in the process of investigating links between this shooting and the ongoing turf wars between the Sesame Street Crips and the Alphabet Boyz, two notorious puppet crews that claim Sesame Street as their turf that have had a longstanding rivalry over their claims, both believing that they should have total control of Sesame Street.

“It’s a dirty game out here,” said local homeless man and reluctant witness, Oscar the Grouch. “You don’t live this long on the block without seeing a few feathers get ruffled.” Big Bird’s unexpected demise comes amid rising tensions in the usually safe and family oriented neighborhood.

Sources say that the Alphabet Boyz, who is believed to be led by local street legend Elmo “RedRum” Furchester, recently violently took control of some of the Sesame Street Crips’ territory, undermining Big Bird’s previous peacekeeping efforts. Known as a mediator in Sesame Street’s longstanding gang politics, Big Bird had previously tried to unite all parties with his infamous mantra, “Why can’t we all just get along?”

“He was like a big brother to all of us,” said Cookie Monster, a longtime friend of Big Bird, who was visibly shaken and holding onto what reporters believed was his fifth cookie of the day. “Big Bird was trying to teach us all about friendship and kindness. Now, all we have left is crumbs.”

The suspected leader of the Sesame Street Crips, known only as “Bert,” refused to comment on the incident, while his partner in crime, a man that goes by “Ernie,” who was seen sporting two gold chains with the letters “ABC” and the numbers “123” on them, simply said, “I ain’t got nothin’ to say. Ernie ain’t no snitch, ya heard?”

Authorities are now urging all residents of Sesame Street to stay indoors during the night, lock their toy chests, and to be on the lookout for any suspicious individuals, including but not limited to “anything with googly eyes.” In a statement to the media, Sesame Street’s HOA would emphasize the need for unity during this time: “Sesame Street has always been about inclusion, but sometimes, all it takes is one bad apple… Or in this case, a rogue red puppet.”

A vigil will be held in Big Bird’s honor tonight, where residents will be gathering to sing Big Bird’s favorite songs and recount all the lessons that they taught them.

[torscrawls]

Out of the Loop ch.1

When his family moved to Amity, Wes promised to keep to himself and stay far away from conspiracies. But it doesn’t count if the strange happenings come to him, right? What’s with everyone’s insistence that ghosts are real? What’s with all the white security cameras? And what does it all have to do with the quiet and nerdy boy in the back of the class? For once, Wes feels like he’s the one out of the loop.

Wordcount: 2,293

Can be read on AO3!

I jumped at an excuse to finally write a fic about Wes! And I'm having a blast!

This is written for the prompts:

"Everyone knows the connection between Danny Fenton and Phantom. To keep their town's hero safe, everyone pretends to be oblivious. Only this one kid doesn't seem to have gotten the memo." by @vigilant-insomniac

And

"Somehow it's revealed that Phantom is posing as a student at Casper High. The GIW begins taking measures to find him, the Fentons not that far behind." by @wastefulreverie

---

Wes looked out the back window of the car as they drove through the town that was to be their new home. The move to Amity Park was going to be a new start, an opportunity to put their past behind them and start anew in a place with surprisingly affordable houses. Suspiciously affordable.

The streets they drove through were lined with picturesque houses and small shops, parks and strolling people of all ages. It would have been idyllic if not for the big holes littering the street, the occasional toppled streetlamp and a couple of broken, smoking, cars lining the road.

Wes frowned as he took it all in. The town’s news-station hadn’t mentioned anything special happening lately and he had made sure to keep himself up-to-date on what was going on in their new home. “What happened here?”

“Maybe they have some trouble with gangs or something?” Kyle said from the passenger seat, feet on the dashboard and the DS in his hands blaring the same mind-numbing music as it had for the last 15 years.

“Gangs?” Wes questioned as they passed an overturned bus that was partially covered in some sort of green substance. “This looks more like a war zone.”

“It’s not that bad,” their dad tried from the front seat.

As if to prove him wrong they passed a small gathering of people and Wes sat up straighter and stared. “Is that… Is that woman carrying a bazooka?”

“Don’t stare,” his dad admonished him weakly, but Wes noticed him speeding up. “It’s rude.”

“Isn’t it more rude to carry weapons in public?”

“Well,” their dad said as he strummed his fingers on the wheel, ignoring Kyle, “I’m sure the real estate agent would have said something if it was truly bad. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.” The last part he added while glancing at Wes through the rear-view mirror

“Right,” Wes agreed as he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. He would not get them in trouble again by diving head-first into supposed “unfounded” conspiracy theories.

He was still sure that his last homeroom teacher had been a werewolf and if they hadn’t confiscated the silver bullet he could have proved it! If only they had known all the trouble he had gone through to get it in the first place…

Kyle looked up from his game. “Oh, cool. Is there a LARP event in town?”

For the first time in his life, Wes desperately hoped Kyle was right.

——

His new school was… strange.

It had nothing to do with his new their homeroom teacher spouting book-titles instead of swears, or the fact that he had seen devices that looked a lot like guns poking out of several of his classmates’ bags, or even the white surveillance cameras he had spotted in almost every room and corridor— Okay. Those things were strange too, but what made Wes keep his head down, hands to himself and observe was the fact that even though this class had the typical cliques that you’d expect, there was none of the animosity.

Sure, there were harsh words exchanged, laughter and teasing and even a thrown paper-ball before class started, but there was no real anger and their homeroom teacher Mr. Lancer called people out on it with the same conviction as if he was ticking off boxes on a list.

Almost as if they were acting out a script.

Wes’ shoulders drew closer and closer to his ears as the day wore on, desperately trying not to look too closely. He was just stressed out because he was new in town, he was sure. He was just unused to this school. He had promised not to do this again.

He kept telling himself this until suddenly the math-class was interrupted by a loud alarm; the sudden sound blaring from speakers and swallowing him up in a rush of fear.

Wes ducked under his table with an aborted scream, his chair scraping loudly against the linoleum floors as he hunkered down before looking around wildly. But no one else even got up.

A couple of snickers floated through the air.

“Seriously? The ghost hasn’t even attacked yet!”

“Be nice to him, he’s new!”

Wes slowly peaked out from under the table and saw his new classmates laughing at him. Well, at least that was familiar. Wes decided to stay beneath his table. “What’s going on?!”

“It’s a ghost attack,” a girl to his right said—what was her name? Star?—as she stayed right in her seat and inspected her nails.

“A ghost attack?! What does that mean?!”

She looked at him with surprise clear on her face. “Don’t you know what ghosts are?”

Then a boy at the back of the class, who Wes was fairly certain had slept through the whole class up until this moment, sat up straight, raised his hand, and without waiting for Mr. Lancer to call on him he said, “Mr. Lancer? Can I go to the bathroom?”

“Really, Daniel?”

The whole class got really quiet.

For some reason, this kid asking to use the bathroom seemed to instill more fear in his new classmates than the blaring alarm did. Wes didn’t want to know. He didn’t.

The kid nodded. “Yes Mr. Lancer. We have a test in ten minutes, don’t we?”

As if that made any sense.

Mr. Lancer waved him off with a nod and Wes looked on in mounting horror as this scrawny boy got up and ran out of the room. Nobody stopped him.

The school was under some sort of attack and he just ran out of the classroom! Wes had a sinking feeling that he would never see him again.

He was momentarily brought out of his stupor by Mr. Lancer clearing his throat and announcing loudly, speaking over the still blaring sound of the alarm, “Now, now, students! You know the drill!”

Several sighs and groans erupted from the students, but they all got out of their seats and sat down on the floor; huddling under their desks with practiced motions as if they had done this innumerable times before.

“Looks like we’ll be joining you down here!” Star said as she ducked under her own table with a big smile, a gun suddenly in her hand.

Wes simply stared at her dumbly until another cardboard box hurled in their direction made him blink back to reality. Or what passed for reality here.  

“What is going—?” Wes started, but stopped dead as a carbon box suddenly hurtled through the air from nowhere; hitting the wall opposite the whiteboard. Wes screamed and ducked down, deciding that whatever horrible thing was going on, he was better off out of harm’s way on the floor.

“Tremble before me!”

Wes felt his mouth open in shock as he stared at the glowing, floating, man suddenly passing right through the classroom wall and screaming with his hands raised high.

Wes expected panic. He expected chaos. What he did not expect was for the nerdy red-head two seats in front of him to shuck his notebook right at the floating man with an annoyed shout of, “Get out of here!”

A couple of the other students started taunting the floating man in mocking tones.

“Oh, look at me, I have a cardboard box, aren’t I great?

“My cat thinks the same thing!”

“Get your boxes from Amazon like the rest of us, you freeloader!”

“Just because you’re a ghost doesn’t mean you can start littering everywhere!”

Wait. Did someone just call that thing a ghost?

Wes looked back at the glowing, floating man and squinted his eyes. He didn’t look like any ghost he had ever heard about.

“I command all things square!” The flying and glowing man in the front of the classroom bellowed as several more boxes of cardboard floated through the room’s walls and stopped; suspended in mid-air and glowing.

And just like that, several students whipped out the gun-like devices from their bags and then proceeded to aim them at the apparent ghost. Like actual guns. Oh god, they were guns.

He had heard that small towns had a lot of guns, but children having them? In school?!

The first thought that struck him was an offended; he hadn’t even been allowed a bullet! The second; he wanted to go home.

This was quickly followed by the sickening realization that this was his home now.

The students all around him didn’t seem to have the same existential crisis as him as they screamed at the floating man.

“Get out of here Boxy.”

“Yeah, we have an exam coming up.”

“You all fear me more than you puny tests!”

“We really don't.”

And then several of the students opened fire.

The Box ghost, or whatever his name was, yelped and ducked behind several rickety cardboard boxes that disintegrated from the actual lasers shooting out of the guns.

Wes ducked further under his table and tried to get his breathing under control as the Box ghost screamed, “I command all the boxes in this school! And soon I will command you!”

Wes waved to get the attention of his neighbor, Star, who was the only one who had tried to explain anything about what was going on, and screamed, “Has someone called the police?!”

Star laughed, gun still smoking in her hand. “And what would they do? It’s cool, I’m sure that Phantom will arrive any—”

She was cut off by the sudden arrival of another flying and glowing figure. But this one wasn't met with sighs and mockery. No. This one was met with cheers. Wes felt his understanding of the situation slid that much further out of his grasp.

“Ghost boy!”

“Hey Phantom!”

“There’s a tough opponent for you today!”

Everyone laughed.

The newly arrived boy, apparently called Phantom of all things, squared up against the other glowing individual in the room and said, “Well, Boxy, let’s do this.”

“You can’t stop me and my boxe—”

He was tackled before he could finish his sentence, through the teacher’s desk. Mr. Lancer got up with a too calm expression on his face for someone who just had two glowing and fist-fighting individuals dumped into his lap.

Then the boy pulled a thermos from his belt and then sucked the man into it. And just like that there was only the boy left, clipping the thermos back on his belt and dusting off his hands. The alarm turned off and everyone cheered. Wes felt faintly sick.

Mr. Lancer cleared his throat and gave the white surveillance camera at the back of the room a pointed look. “Remember class, what do we say?”

“Stay away from us you horrible ghost!” The whole class echoed dutifully, without any real feeling behind it.

Phantom saluted and promptly left the room, leaving them in a silence that only lasted a moment before people started shuffling out from under their desks and an excited chatter started up. Wes caught snippets about the fight, the boy ghost, Phantom, and about homework of all things. No one seemed especially bothered by the interruption.

A goth girl and a nerd in the back picked up the cardboard boxes and—after a stern look from the girl—showed them into the cardboard recycling.

Wes turned back to Star, intent to get at least some explanation on what had just happened. “What was that?”

She looked at him as if he was the crazy one. “What was what?”

“What just happened?! Who was that floating man?! And the boy? What happened with that… that thermos?!” Wes gestured around them as if encompassing the whole room, but of course; there was nothing left in the room to indicate that anything strange had happened at all.

Star pursed her lips in though as she threw a short look towards the back of the room. “We don’t have time for this now. Tone it done, alright? You sound insane.”

“I sound insane?!”

“Yeah. We’ll talk after class.” She sent another look towards the back of the room. “They are watching.”

“Who?!” Wes exclaimed and went to turn around to see what she kept looking at but her hand whipped out and grabbed his shoulder, hard enough to almost hurt and definitely hard enough to keep him from turning.

She shook her head minutely and hissed out, “The guys in white.”

As if that wasn’t a completely insane thing to say. Was this what Wes had sounded like to his classmates? He hoped not.

Wes felt his shoulders slump in defeat as he sank down in his chair. “…Is this hazing? Are you all messing with me?”

Star smiled. “Oh, no. We don’t really have time for things like that here.” She let go of his shoulder and then patted it gently before putting her gun back in her backpack and sitting down in her own chair, back to studying her nails.

And that was that. Mr. Lancer straightened up and managed to get everyone to quiet down before starting the lecture again as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

The boy who had left for the bathroom came back a few minutes later, miraculously still alive, silently taking his seat in the back again, only interrupted by one of the jocks sticking out his foot and tripping him halfway. Wes didn’t know if he imagined the jock whispering an apology right afterwards or not.

Wes sat up straight with his eyes fixed on the bathroom-boy. Screw not caring. Screw his dad and his warnings to stay out of trouble. Screw the psychologists and their speeches about not getting too invested in things straight out of fantasies. Wes wanted to know everything.

[theseeingfawn]

Chapter 7: A Rose for Us

Summary:

Azriel's connection with the Attors grows stronger as he works covertly to dismantle their operation from within. Meanwhile, he takes Elain on a second date, the two growing closer. But, tensions flare when he appears to go back on his word.

Azriel

I’m at Amarantha’s meeting with Brannagh, the President of the Attors. It turns out the man I introduced myself to last week is her twin brother Dagdan. She’s less than pleased to be sitting with me but she doesn’t have much of a choice. Now that I revealed myself as the Shadowsinger, the Attors are well aware who holds power. Who has the ability to make or break their foothold in Windhaven. 

We’re negotiating terms for me allowing them to stay. My only real demand is that they buy their weapons from me.  For this plan to work, they need to use the traceable guns from the FBI. So that we can find their network, track their crimes and ultimately bring down Hybern. Not just this one fledgling biker gang. I can tell by their stiff body language and suspicious looks that they don’t like it. I have no doubt that they’ll try to undermine me at some point but they don’t have much of a choice right now because I have leverage. 

Dagdan is currently at the hospital recovering while in handcuffs. I’m pleased with myself for that and for my date with Elain. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this satisfied. It’s rare for things to go my way. I'm trying to enjoy it but I can't help but feel that it’s only a matter of time before the other shoe drops. It always does and then I am left with nothing. Am nothing.

“Can you get my brother out of police custody?” Brannagh’s anxious tone brings me back to reality. 

Rolling my eyes isn’t the best course of action so I suppress the urge, “Why would I do that?”

The tension between us is palpable and her associates flinch at every curt exchange. She hasn’t agreed to use my weapons and I won’t help her brother, hell I won’t let him live, until she agrees to what I want. I hold all the cards here. I may not be the boss of an organization but I have my own ways, outside of the law, outside of the FBI to get what I want. And now that I’m here and know how close these assholes are to Elain and Hewn Hills, I will do what I must to protect what I care about. 

“If you’re as powerful as everyone claims, it should be easy to get him out of the hospital, out of these charges.”

I give her a cruel smile, “You want your brother? Agree to use my weapons. Refuse and I will finish what I started. Refuse and I will show you just how powerful I can be when provoked.”

The muscle in her jaw ticks. This is clearly a woman not used to being denied what she wants. She’s usually in charge, usually the ruthless one. But, they’ll soon learn there is no one more ruthless than me, no one more willing to sully their hands to get what they want. 

Her associates look poised to strike, ready for a brawl if she says no. There are five of them in the bar and only one of me but I’ve faced worse odds. Just the thought of a fight sends a pulse of energy through me. My blood is humming with anticipation. Since my date with Elain, after I got to taste those sweet and full lips, my body has been a live wire. Poised to strike at any moment. My body has been so on edge from denying myself I can hardly tell the difference now between the urge to fight or fuck. I have enough pent up sexual energy to lay waste to armies. I blink, trying to clear my head. Now is not the time to be dreaming about Elain. 

The tension finally snaps when Brannagh grits out a frustrated “Fine.”

With her agreement, I make plans to get her brother out of custody and set up a weapons drop. She doesn’t seem happy, which is to be expected. I just drove a bulldozer through their nefarious scheme to take over Windhaven. I’ll need to be extra vigilant now in case they decide to test the limits of my control. I ruminate over what they might do next as I walk back to the safe house. 

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

“Hey Cass.” 

“Az! You have to help me.” I pinch the tender skin between my eyebrows, a headache already forming. 

“What's going on?”

“So, I may or may not have fucked up.”

I let out a long suffering sigh, “Why don't you tell me what happened?”

“I made a bet with Rhys that I could get Nesta to go out with me. If I won he had to give me $5,000 and if I lost, well… he would cut Nesta off.” 

“Gods Cass, that's diabolical. Why would you agree to that?”

“I may have overestimated how she feels about me.” I groan. Cass and Nesta were definitely attracted to one another but Nesta is not in a good place and Cass lacks… subtlety. 

“Let me guess… You lost?”

“Fuck yes I lost! Now Rhys has cut Nesta off and he's convinced Feyre it was for the best. Now Feyre thinks if I make Nesta work at my gym she’ll fall in love with me.” 

I fight back laughter. I love Feyre but she is such a meddlesome creature. Her and Rhys together hatch some of the most convoluted hairbrained schemes. Both egotistical and gregarious enough to pull it off. I’m grateful that Elain had the foresight to keep our arrangement quiet. I don't even want to think about what the two of them would inflict upon us if they had the chance. 

“Yeah Cass, you fucked up. Big time.” 

“Damn it, Az! You're supposed to comfort me!”

“When have I ever done that?” 

“You have to help me! Nesta moved into my apartment. She won't talk to me. If I leave my stuff on the floor she burns it. I think she might kill me in my sleep.” This time I can’t help it, I bark out a laugh. Cass unleashes a string of Illyrian curses making me laugh harder. 

“Azriellllll, please help me!” His whiny little pleading is embarrassing for a grown man. 

I sigh, “It sounds like she needs another outlet for her frustration. Is she working around the gym? Does she have friends or something she can do, just for her?”

“She refuses to work and just sits in the corner glaring at my clients. It's starting to impact my business. One guy left a review claiming I employed witches. We just opened Azriel!!!” He suddenly grows quieter as if Nesta might overhear him, “And hell no she doesn't have friends, the woman is a she devil”

I remember the worried look on Elain’s face when she talked about Nesta at the market. What would Elain want? 

I sigh, “Isn't there a women's shelter across the street from the gym?”

“Uh… Yeah?”

“See if you can get her to volunteer there. Maybe she needs to help others before she can see that she needs help too. It might also give her some perspective on her life.”

“Yeah okay, I'll try that. But if it doesn't work, and she kills me, will you recover my body and bury it properly? I'm afraid of what she might do to me postmortem.”

“I promise. Let me know if you need a chaperone.”

“Fuck off.”

--------------------------------

Elain

The late summer air is warm and pleasant as I make the short walk from Petals to the community center. I bask in the last rays of the fading sun and watch as fireflies begin whirling around. Everything feels so comforting and familiar as I make my way to the back room where I host the town’s knitting circle. A group that Bernadette has named, “Chicks with Sticks.” The group consists of me, Nuala, Cerridwen, Bernadette, and a few other women from town. Nuala likes to refer to our group as the real town council. She’s not wrong, our little innocuous knitting circle is how most town business gets decided. We wield a surprising amount of power and the men in town are unaware since they never deign to join our group. In fact, Graysen used to call us the council of grannies. My nose scrunches with distaste at the memory. 

“What crawled up your ass and died?” Bernadette greets me as I make my way through the door. 

I snort out a laugh, “Graysen.”

She gives me a sympathetic look, “you say the word and I’ll shove one of these up his nose.” She pulls out a knitting needle and waves it around. I smile at her, Bernadette who has been like a grandmother to me. After my mother died, she watched over me and my sisters like we were her own kin. Once upon a time, Nesta and Feyre used to be a part of the knitting circle. But, Feyre moved away and can’t seem to make the time. And Nesta, well she has closed herself off to our old life. 

The room starts to fill with voices as everyone arrives. We arrange ourselves and pull out our latest projects. I’m currently working on a throw covered in little strawberries made of yarn. This particular knitting project will be sold at the farmer’s market. Most of my knitting projects are sold there or donated to the women’s shelter. I have always found working with my hands to help soothe and quiet my wayward thoughts. Baking, gardening and knitting help me channel those thoughts into something productive, something beautiful I can share with others. 

It’s not long before we’re chattering about everything and everyone. We discuss council business, plans for the fall and most importantly gossip. 

“Didn’t you hear? A bomb went off on Maple Avenue last week.” Pauline feverishly knits as she recounts how Janet Anderson’s trashcan had exploded out of nowhere. We’ve all heard the story by now. Nothing else exciting has happened since Azriel ran shirtless through town. Knowing that the usually reserved and stoic man has been the cause of such scandal makes me want to smile. But I suppress the urge. 

“Oh hush you drama queen, it was just a firework.” Bernadette chides.

Pauline glares at her from across the circle, “That’s not what Graysen said, he claimed it was a man made device. I told you we needed those street lamps.”

Last year, Graysen, the town’s one and only sheriff, received a small grant to improve the town's safety. He proposed speed bumps or street lamps to the town council. Pauline demanded we vote for street lamps. But, speed bumps won. Bernaette was in charge of counting votes and the implication that she meddled with the votes was heavy. I, of course, did not contribute to the gossip about Bernadette tampering with the votes. I myself may or may not have done such a thing myself, when needed. 

Pauline added, “Graysen said Sam saw Azriel take off on his motorcycle with some hussy.” 

The whole room stops knitting and stares at Pauline. Now that’s new. “You mean he has a girlfriend?” Josie asks a little too curious for my liking. 

“Was she a local girl?” Asks Dr. Madja, practically vibrating with excitement. 

Cerridwen subtly knocks my foot with hers. She’s giving me an amused look like we have some dark and dangerous secret. Which we most certainly do and I have to bite my cheek to suppress a giggle. 

Pauline sucks in an exaggerated breath, “Lord, I hope she isn’t a local girl. Can you imagine? I told Elain he was no good. He’s stripteased. Then there’s that noisy motorcycle and now an explosion!” She leans forward, “I knew he had unabomber energy.”

Nuala and Cerridwen start giggling. Bernadette rolls her eyes and mutters a curse under her breath.

Anna, one of the clerks at the market chasizes, “Pauline, he's too cute to be a bomber! Besides, I don't think he is the type to have a girlfriend .” Everyone turns to her and she blushes at the sudden attention and says more quietly, “he probably has a harem of lovers.”

Josie jumps to her feet, “Thanks for the reminder Anna!” She rushes over to the bluetooth speaker and starts the audiobook we selected last week. The knitting circle also enjoys listening to smutty books while we work. This one is about a reverse harem and it’s very steamy. So much so, that Pauline feels the need to announce she doesn’t want to hear it every time we queue it up. Even though we all know she secretly enjoys it. 

We sit and knit for the next several minutes, enjoying the graphic scene being played over the speaker when I catch a glimpse of a shadowy figure outside the window. A man is walking toward the building across the street, my building. My heart starts leaping in my chest. I make eye contact with the tall figure with tattoos down his arm. My breath catches, it’s him. He hitches his head toward Petal’s. It's go time! 

I shoot to my feet and everyone looks at me. I panic and reach for anything to get out of here. “I’m not feeling well,” I clutch my stomach and groan. 

“Oh no,” Nuala says, her eyes searching over my body for any signs of something amiss. “Are you okay?”

“I think so, my stomach is cramping, I might be sick.” I stuff my knitting needles into my bag and snatch it from the floor. Nuala stands too, “Let me walk you home.”

“No!” I say, taking a step back. “No, you should stay here. I’m probably just going to start my period or something. You stay here, I will call if I need anything.”

I can practically feel the suspicious looks of the women around me. I reassure them that I’m okay but should probably call it a night and rest. And then I leave the community center. 

“Azriel,” I whisper into the darkness. I don’t see or hear anything. “Azriel, where are you?” I start to think I imagined him, that's how desperate I am to see him again. If that’s the case, then I will have reached a whole new level of pathetic if I start seeing the man in every shadow. I can’t help but admit that I may have more than just a crush on him. 

I like him. Really really like him. 

I keep trying to tell myself that he is just helping me and this is a temporary arrangement but the memory of his lips on mine argues otherwise. I remember the way his normally guarded face slipped, how his hazel eyes burned with a passion that threatened to destroy me. Eyes that I have dreamt of every night since.

“Azriel! Where ever are -” A rough hand wraps around my wrist and tugs me into the darkness. I know it’s Aziriel before I see him. I would know that touch anywhere. His hand slips from my wrist and his scarred fingers lace through mine. And then there’s his scent. It’s so uniquely his, strong and masculine. I land with my back against the wall and we’re chest to chest. I can see his wicked smirk in the dark and a thrill shoots through me.  

“Hello Elain,” he says gently, pulling at an errant curl near the nape of my neck. I want to melt into him. Pull him into a kiss and wrap my legs around his waist. I want. I want. I want. 

Instead I stand there motionless, afraid that the want pulsing through me will betray the easy demeanor I am trying to maintain. “Hello Azriel.”

“Have you been good today?” I blink, thinking I heard wrong. Surely he meant, “have you had a good day?” But I can tell by the way his lips twitch that he meant something else entirely. 

“Yes,” I breathe. “Entirely too good.”

He tsks his disapproval and I want nothing more than to please him, to be bad. 

He tugs gently on the curl he is toying with, “Now Elain, that just won’t do.” There is a grittiness to his voice that makes me want to lick and nip at him. Who is the wanton creature I've become ? 

The crazy thing is, I know Azriel would let me. He would offer himself up for a taste and it would be thrilling for me but to him it would be another evening.

He must be used to sneaking around in the dark, doing things he ought not to be doing. Azriel must have kissed countless women in shadowed corners. Anna’s words bring me back to reality. This might be new and thrilling to me but Azriel is experienced with women. Has likely had countless lovers over the years and I would do well to remember that.

“What are we doing tonight?”

He gives me a mischievous grin and the gold in his eyes shine in the moonlight. “Something you’ve always wanted to do but have been too afraid to.”

My stomach rolls, suddenly feeling the nausea I feigned to have earlier. “You don’t mean…”

“You’re getting a tattoo.” 

“What?!” I say, shocked that this is where my night has gone. “No.” I shake my head. “I can’t do that Azriel!”

“You can.” His voice softens at my nervousness. He squeezes my hand and I realize he is still holding it. “I’ve already made an appointment with an artist in Windhaven who seems good. I’ll be with you the whole time.” He raises our hands so that I can see how they are joined, “I’ll even hold your hand, if you need it.” Then he places a tender kiss along my knuckles. His unguarded affection shocks me as much as it delights me. “You can do this… if you want.”

I take a deep breath and I realize I do want it. I have wanted it for so long. Normally I would be too afraid to do what I really want. Too afraid to disappoint, never feeling safe enough to be who I really am. I’ve committed to learning myself, to follow my impulses. To be selfish. To be bad. 

With his hand in mine, suddenly the things I want don’t seem so bad. “Let’s go.”

“I didn’t mean right now, you can go back and finish your knitting.” 

I smile up at his thoughtful expression, “They don’t need me. I want to do this with you.”

Azriel

This was a mistake. I hear myself say it over and over again in my head as we approach the tattoo parlor. The parlor isn’t the friendliest looking place, but the options were limited. Hewn Hills doesn’t have a tattoo parlor, for all I know there is a law banning it considering how crazy the town folk are. Velaris wasn’t a great choice either with Rhys and his snooping. Luckily, the most highly reviewed place nearby was in Windhaven. 

When we pull up to the parlor, I park my bike in a secluded alley. When I look back at Elain, I thought she would be nervous. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Before I could even check in on how she’s feeling she’s racing to the front door. 

“Come on, why are you moving so slow?” She said, grabbing the door and yanking it open. I grab it from her hand and hold it open so she can walk through. I take one look inside and my stomach drops. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I say looking around at the shop and feeling a bit remorseful. It looks like some backwoods hole in the wall. I’m not even sure why I am feeling this way. It’s just the thought of Elain with all of her softness going into one of those back rooms and being inked forever has me suddenly feeling like a mother hen. What’s wrong with me? I’ve never been one to deny a trip to the dark side, to indulge in risk taking. 

And yet… something about Elain has me feeling protective, cautious even. I realize now how precious she is to me. How much I want to protect and care for her. I feel possessive even. 

She doesn’t pick up on my unease as she laughs, “Yes, I'm very sure.”

I take a closer look and I feel my fingers curl into a fist. This place is dark and dingy. The paint is peeling off the walls. Are the needles even sterile? What if she gets an infection?

I can’t do this. I’m already losing my mind. 

“On second thought, let’s just go to Velaris.” I’m stalling, nearly sputtering out my words. 

She looks at me and a sad little frown takes over her lovely face. I feel awful, like I kicked a puppy. But before she can speak a burly man comes in.

“Are you Elain?”

She beams, “That’s me.”

My fists somehow clench even tighter at the thought of this bearded brute laying a finger on her perfect unblemished skin. I’ll fucking kill him . 

“Follow me.” The tattoo artist says with no hint of kindness in his voice. I suddenly feel sick. She’s about to mark her body forever because of me. Because I’m a bad influence. Because I goaded her into being bad. I’ve never felt so guilty in my life. 

Elain takes a step forward and I pull her back to me. She whirls around, her honey and jasmine scent fills my nose. She’s so bright and lovely, too special for this shithole. 

“What’s wrong?”

“This was a mistake.”

“What?” She asks slightly amused. “No. It’s not. It’s the best idea, I’m so glad you thought of it.”

The image of a snarling Rhys flashes before my eyes. Your idea. 

I wince and grab her hand. “You’re right, it was my idea and I was wrong. It should be you who decides. Not me pressuring you.”

“But you’re not pressuring me, Azriel.” She huffs and tugs on my grip, “in fact you are the one holding me back.”

“Let’s go.” I practically growl at her. “I’ll take you somewhere else, we can do this another time after you’ve thought about it some more.” I sound desperate and I don’t know why. 

Elain looks at me and her eyes flash a warning. A face I’ve never once seen from her before. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. A shiver runs down my spine and I swear to the gods I feel my knees shake. 

“Don't. You. Dare.” She says jabbing a dainty finger into my chest. 

I frown at her, “What are you talking about?”

“You think I don’t know what’s happening? You are treating me the way everyone else does.” She sneers, actually sneers at me and I flinch. “You’re thinking I’m too sweet and precious. And I’m warning you… don’t.” I blink at her words. She closes her eyes and whispers, “I can handle it from everyone else. But not from you Azriel. Never you.” 

And just like that I am at her mercy. Gods she’s right. I am doing the very thing I promised her I wouldn’t do. I’m coddling her. Hearing her say she values my opinion more than anyone else is enough to make me want to preen. I smile, feeling proud of her for being bold and brave. “Go get your tattoo Elain.”

She straightens her back, “Thank you, I will.” She turns to leave and I step with her and she turns back to me. “Actually you stay here.”

Apprehension returns. “No, I'm going with you.”

She arches a cheeky eyebrow at me that sends a jolt of lust straight to my cock. ”Let me make myself clear. I am going back there alone and you are going to stay here. You’ll see my tattoo if I think you deserve it. Understood, Azriel?”

Fuck me. My fist clenches so tight I hear my knuckles crack. I have never felt so attracted to someone in my life. Every day Elain reveals a new layer of herself and fuck if it doesn’t have me wanting more. I fight the urge to press her against the wall and claim her mouth. 

She turns away and I have no choice but to watch as her perfect ass disappears into the back. 

I’m too antsy to sit in the parlor and wait. I go outside and pace back and forth in the alley for thirty minutes before Elain walks out. She’s practically running toward me and the bike. 

“Let’s go.”

I freeze. Worst case scenarios are flying through my brain so fast I can hardly keep up. I turn back to look at her and she’s on the bike with her hands covering her face. I watch her shoulders shake and I think I might snap. 

Elain removes her hands from her face and her flushed cheeks are wet with tears. Fury and rage overtake me. 

“What did he do to you? Was the asshole inappropriate? Did he touch you?” I am two seconds from pulling my concealed knife out and reenacting the scene at Amarantha’s on the son of a bitch inside. 

“Stop. Roach was a perfect gentleman.” She sniffles, “I’m going to bake his daughter's birthday cake next week.” I relax for a moment. But then her tears return and it’s all my fault. She’s here because of me. I pushed her too far. I brace myself as I sit facing her on the bike.

“Then why are you upset?” I ask, desperate to make it better.

She looks me in the eye. Her glassy brown eyes are so tender and sweet. “Because I needed to come out here and cry.”

“Because you regret the tattoo?”

“No.” She wipes at her face and smiles. “It's just that I love it so much. Thank you for bringing me here… for making it happen Azriel.”

I take what feels like my first breath since we got here. I chuckle, unable to stop myself. I reach up and wipe away the rest of her tears. “You know, I would have killed that man for you?”

She gives me a small smile, “That’s awfully sweet of you Azriel.”  She is completely sincere which is both endearing and mildly concerning. We both burst out laughing. The surrealness of the situation finally hit us. 

I look her over and don’t see any obvious sign of a tattoo. “Can I see it?”

She nods and turns to the side, practically curled into my lap. She pulls her long hair to the side and tugs her shirt up. And then my breath catches. She exposes the right side of her torso to me revealing inch after inch of smooth skin. Her hand delicately clasps under her bare breast and I fight back a groan. I see the covering and she nods for me to remove it. 

I gently slide my fingers over her soft skin and lift the bandage. “I got a rose,” she says shyly. “I was going to get a slice of cake on my wrist like we talked about. But, then I saw the sketch of a rose Roach had been working on and I knew it was meant for me.”

I sit staring unblinking at what I see. A beautiful rose is tattooed across her ribs. It looks like like mine. My mother’s rose . I swallow hard. My fingers delicately trace the fine lines of the flower. The curves of the petals. “I wanted something special. Something to remember this moment with you.” 

I smile at the sight before me. Elain with her body exposed to me. A peak of her round and full breast slipping between her fingers. A rose, my rose marked on her skin. I’ll never forget this moment. Before I know what I am doing, I bend over and press my lips against her newly inked skin. Elain sucks in a breath and I feel her skin pebble beneath my lips. I memorize the feel of her skin. I want to kiss every single inch of her body. I want to leave more marks on her. Claim her. Mine. Mine. Mine. 

I want to push her down onto the back of this bike and taste her until she’s screaming my name. I want to worship her. I want to belong to her and the thought scares me. 

I pull away with too much effort and gently place her bandage back over the tattoo and tug her shirt down. 

“Beautiful, Elain. So, Beautiful.”

[boilingheart]

Arcane Hunger

Pre-Relationship Gale x Male Tav (Lucius Skorn) Takes place in early Act 1. Magical items stopped working for Gale a while ago, and the symptoms have kept coming. The Ilmatari cleric Lucius wakes in the middle of the night to find Gale in the woods, pained and tormented by the Orb in his chest. With nothing else left to treat it, Lucius comes up with an idea to sate it. Rated T Read on AO3 See: Kitchen Territory for another Gale/Lucius slow burn one shot

This was a life lived on the precipice of peril.

Four centuries as the hunter and the hunted. From the delicate youth of a fawn to the wolf whose maw it was made for, to a broken dog leashed by its masters and starved — Lucius learned well not to sleep through anything. In rest is vulnerability, and every small sound in the night is the potential for a great threat.

This was the first lesson his father taught him the second he’d heard that tell-tale jingle of a belt buckle. A lesson he carried as a thief, then a leader, and then a slave.

If the foliage rustles, there’s an enemy nearby. A threat to the coalition, an incoming attack — many times in the night during the Lockjaws’ camp, Lucius had caught all sorts of aspiring predators intent on ending their reign.

Floorboards creaking, rusty doors squeaking, the faint pitter patter of feet upon the ground — Lucius never took any risks. Most of the time, it had been nothing. Others, there was the impending dagger incoming, followed by a corpse that was not his own on the floor.

The alert are victorious. The survivors are the winners. 

Lucius will not be flayed.

His head snaps up, hands instinctively reaching for their daggers as he whirls to his knees with vigilance. Try him, someone fucking try him, is all he can think, but as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes, he finds there’s no one there.

Once again, he has woken to nothing.

Lucius doesn’t rest his daggers just yet, still staying frozen in position in case anyone did dare enter his tent. One moment, two moments and three, his heart beats and echoes in his ears in time with the wind, but nothing comes.

Of course nothing comes.

He sheathes his daggers and rubs his face. How long has it been since he had a full night’s rest? Years? Decades? Centuries? Had he ever had a full, undisturbed rest? He can’t help but recall the one night Father Lorgan woke him in the middle of the night, and Lucius had very nearly assailed him before recognition flooded. Even in the two years of peace at the Open Hand Temple, he hadn’t been able to find rest.

Being in the forest with tadpoles in their heads isn’t making it any easier.

He’s about to convince himself to lay back down and sleep when he hears a noise again. His ears flick back, and he holds perfectly still. An animal? A voice? Has someone gotten up in the middle of the night?

He peeks his head out of his tent. Nothing looks out of the ordinary. The half-moon illuminates the tents with a gentle caress of blue, and the wind rustles the leaves with a soft layer of noise to fill the silence. There’s the chitter of distant nighttime animals and the occasional buzz of little bugs that have their own homes nearby. By all means, it’s a lovely night, and as far as he can tell, no one has gotten up. Gentle snores emit from the tents, and even the camp animals sleep soundly. 

Great. No source. Lucius sighs, retrieving his cloak and daggers, and decides to slip out and search around for himself. There’s no rest until he knows what it is.

And whatever it is, it feels… off.

He slips into the woods quietly, the muscle memory of a rogue taking over and carrying him with swift stealthy steps. Like a wraith, he slips through the foliage silently, unencumbered by the weight of any armor, free to stalk and to listen. Hundreds upon hundreds of times he and his gang had found themselves in forests, climbing the trees, hiding within the plants, staging the perfect ambush against those who pass by. Merchants, rival guilds, the Zhent, nobles – anyone they decided to make their victim that day. Not even daylight could stop these beasts of blood — but that was a lifetime ago. Yet still, that shadow does not leave the cleric.

Step by step, halt, listen. The wind whistles. The leaves rustle. Nothing new. Step, step, ascend, investigate, stop — and there, he hears it: labored breathing, like something, or someone is injured.

Something cold shoots through his veins. Adrenaline or fear? The sound is too humanoid to be an animal, which is far, far worse than what Lucius wanted to hear.

If they need help, they need it fast.

But if they need help, whatever put them here could still be lurking.

One quiet step after another. He has a dagger out, ready for any wrong move to try him. Step by step, he follows that hollow sound, feeling something in the pit of his gut turn when it starts to sound familiar. He’s close now — it’s most certainly humanoid, and they’re in pain, no doubt. But how? And who? And why —

He rounds a tree, and feels his blood turn to ice at the sight of a wizard’s signature purple sleepwear.

“Gale!”

Caution be damned! All thoughts of it melt away in alarm at finding Gale drenched in sweat, propped up against a tree trunk with a hand pressed tightly against his glowing chest. His head is thrown back, expression twisted and eyes screwed tight in agony, and he doesn’t seem to respond to Lucius in the slightest.

Is this fear?

“Gale, hey, Gale!” Lucius shakes his shoulder, only for Gale’s brows to scrunch further. “Gale, look at me. Hey, are you alright? Please look at me.”

Gale lets out a pained breath, peeking an eye open. They look unfocused, as if they can barely see Lucius in the slightest. It takes a few breaths before his lips quirk to a strained smirk and he gets his voice to work. “Hi.”

“The fuck you mean hi — Gale —” Lucius searches him for any injuries, his hands held out with a spell at the ready. There didn’t seem to be any visible wounds, and nothing quite off with Gale aside from the dirt and grass stains that now adorned the rich purple of his clothes. Well, aside from… 

His eyes trail up, and beneath Gale’s hand at his sternum, he can see the markings of the Netherese Orb glow up his neck and to the corner of his eye. The purple hue intensifies rhythmically, as if beating in tune with Gale's quickening heart. Lucius’ hairs stand on end.

“What’s happening to you? Why are you out here?”

Gale tries to laugh. It dies in his throat. “I was just… trying to get some air…”

“You look like you’re dying, Gale.”

“Well I certainly hope that’s not the case,” He says, struggling to get the words out. He digs the palm of his heel harder into his chest. “I’m… too close to camp.”

“Don’t tell me you were trying to go find some place to die.”

“No, no,” He takes a deep breath. “I-I just needed air.”

How long had he been out here? How long has the Orb been tearing him apart like this beyond what Lucius could tell? Had he been hiding the severity since the artefacts stopped working? Lucius raises his hands, a curing spell upon his fingertips, but there’s no place to put them. What would he do? What can he do?

Gale’s eyes are squeezed shut again, riding another wave of pain while Lucius sits on his haunches uselessly. He didn’t hear him get up. He should’ve checked on him. He should’ve thought of something. Lucius bites down the terror and buries it in its grave in his chest to speak.

“Tell me how I can help you.”

“Lucius…”

“There’s – There’s got to be something I can do,” Lucius says, leaning in closer. “Anything!”

Gale cranes his head, opening his eyes to look at Lucius as best as he can. He can barely focus. “I just need to ride this out. The Orb won’t feed anymore. I can’t… It’s fine, Lucius.”

“This is very much not fine! You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Gale.”

“I’ve had these episodes before, this is… nothing I can’t handle.”

“Sure, sure…”

Maybe he can’t help him. But he can at the very least keep him from suffering alone in the woods.

Resolute, Lucius makes up his mind. The prepared spell drops, and he slides one hand behind Gale’s back to prop him up. He slides his cloak off and wraps it around the wizard.

“What are you —”

“You see, here’s your first mistake, Gale,” Lucius says, hugging Gale close to him. With ease, he secures his other hand under Gale’s knees and hoists him up. “You’re telling a cleric of Ilmater to let you suffer alone. I think you should know by now that I’m not letting that happen.”

Gale tenses as he’s suddenly lifted, curling in closer to Lucius and shutting his eyes. “Please put me down.”

“And just let you rot in the woods? Come on, Gale.”

“There isn’t anything —”

“To the Hells with that. Maybe I can’t stop the Orb…” Lucius makes certain he has a good hold on Gale before heading back towards the camp. “But the very least I can do is keep you company.”

Gale is both lighter and heavier than he expects. Lighter, in that it was significantly easier to lift him than he imagined it would be. Heavier, in that the man is real, warm, solid, and in his arms. The darling wizard that’s had Lucius spinning dizzy for some time now was now cradled close to him. Gale likely isn’t able to fight back against him, for which Lucius feels a crumb of guilt over. He hates to whisk someone away when they don’t want it — but with how Gale collapses into himself, not taking his hand off his chest for a second and screws his eyes tight, he can’t help but feel he has no choice but to watch over him, or at the very least keep him where he can see him. Where he’s not exposed to the elements and gods forbid whatever else might be out there.

He treads the outskirts of the camp, circling away from where the others are sleeping in order to get to his own tent a little ways off. He’s long since learned that not many of the others are quite… fond of Lucius, which means his tent has the least amount of traffic in the camp. An advantage in this case, seeing that Gale needs to be away from the others in such a vulnerable state like this.

He hunches into the entrance, crouching low until he’s able to safely lay Gale down on his bedroll without tussling him, resting his head gently on his pillow. Gale peers up at him through squinted eyes, trying to follow him as Lucius closes up his tent and begins to rummage through the baskets and satchels he had around.

“Lucius…”

“Not a word, Gale,” Lucius says, pulling out a small crate from under his makeshift desk. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of protests and excuses and other words to try and discourage me from helping you, but they will be on deaf ears, my friend.”

Gale stays silent for a moment. When Lucius looks back at him, he has his head turned away.

“I just have to ride it out in waves,” Gale says weakly. At the very least he seems to have caught his breath a little. “Whatever it is you’re going to do, I’d rather save you the time. I’ve tried to feed it already. It doesn’t work.”

“Mm, I’m sure you have. I don’t doubt it. But if you’re just going with rings and trinkets, I just don’t think it’s strong enough.”

“Lucius —”

“Here, but first,” Lucius pulls out a rag, giving it a quick sniff to make sure it’s clean and dusts it off. With the quick incantation of a water spell, the rag soaks, dripping onto the floor. “Whoops, shit —”

He folds it neatly, wringing out the excess, and gently wipes down Gale’s face. Gale closes his eyes, but allows Lucius to move him when he brings his other hand to turn his head, bringing the cool, soft rag across his cheek, his nose, his chin and his temple. The process is automatic, for which Lucius is grateful for. In the Open Hand Temple, they’d sometimes take in the sick who needed help, and as one of the adorned who worked with the medicines, Lucius was often tasked with caring for them. The feverish, the elderly, all those who needed someone to care for them but were utterly alone. That’s what the Ilmatari are for. To help bear those burdens for those who couldn’t carry it. They take their places on the rack and bear it for them, for no one should suffer if they don’t have to.

He refreshes the rag and refolds it, laying it horizontally across Gale’s forehead. He’s done it a hundred times before, sometimes for faces that he often forgot, and for the faces who only had the Temple to go to. And though muscle memory shields Lucius from any strong feelings, he finds himself resting his hand over the rag, lost in observing Gale’s features up close. There’s no denying he’s a beautiful man, no matter how many times Lucius tries to convince himself otherwise. Soft brows, hooded eyelids, long lashes, laugh lines, a well kept beard, and those dark veins at Gale’s left eye that connected to his Netherese scar — he has to catch himself lest he linger for too long watching over him tenderly. It’s not appropriate.

“There we are,” He says, clearing his throat and patting the rag on his forehead before moving to the other side of the tent. “That should help you cool down. Let me see if there was any tea I salvaged. A good cup of tea ought to do you some good. Tea usually helps. Tea’s good.”

He can hear Gale huff with amusement. That’s good. He’s coming back to himself somewhat. He rummages through his inventory, trying not to bang all the pots and pans he’s found around in their travels, and finally manages to find some flowers he knows in his heart to have medicinal properties.

“I don’t have sugar on me. And I ate the last of my honey yesterday, so you’re going to have a bitter brew,” Lucius says out loud while he tries to arrange the shittiest set up of a teapot to boil without a stove or proper bonfire to boil at. He sets a wide copper pan missing its handle upside down on his table, a miniature brazier frame atop of it, and the dinked up teapot he’d salvaged on top. Water incantation fills it, and he flicks his fingers to try and light the brazier.

“Are… Are you starting a fire inside your tent?”

“Hm? Oh, no, not at all.”

“It very much looks like a homemade stove there.”

“Yes, but it’s not fire,” He pokes a finger onto the piece of charcoal laid in the metal frame. “Incende. Sacred flame cantrip — I was never good at the fire one.”

“Still technically fire.”

The made up stove lights up. “It’s sacred flame. Radiant. It’s different.”

“You’re using it to ignite something. It’s fire now.”

“But it’s holy fire.”

“Fire regardless.”

“I’m not going to burn this down, I’ve done this before,” Lucius says with a laugh, settling back onto his haunches to open the box he’d pulled out. “And even if I do, I have a water spell on hand. I’m glad I took the time to learn it. Never needed to use it so often than when I got stuck out here.”

“Oh, I hear that,” Gale huffs, wincing again as the Orb seems to coil him with pain. When he speaks again, it’s with significant strain. “I’ve gone through a handful of spells in my day I took for granted. Up until the moment I needed them.”

“That’s always how it goes, isn’t it.”

He crab-walks towards Gale, dragging the box with him. Gale cranes his head up, the rag covering his brows to create the illusion of an angry look on his face. “What are you doing?”

“You know, when you first told me about your whole uh, condition thing,” Lucius says, sticking his hand into the box and clattering all the various objects inside. “I actually went through the effort of hoarding all sorts of magical items that I could find.”

Gale’s expression softens. “Oh! That’s… very appreciated.”

“I mean I got a lot, Gale.” Lucius holds Gale’s gaze as he knocks the box over, spilling all of the items on the floor. A shortbow, daggers with various runic inscriptions, a dozen rings, a handful of necklaces that have tangled into each other, several maces, an axe, some crumpled scrolls, two pairs of gloves, a helmet that belonged to a halfling once upon a time, and other trinkets covered by the mess of items. Gale watches as all of the objects pour out and onto the floor, staring at it wordlessly, then back up at Lucius, then back to the pile.

“When did you… H-How did you… Where did…”

“This might sound hard to believe,” Lucius says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I used to be a… pickpocket, back in the day. There were just too many useful magical stuff we were finding and not very much I was able to spare, and it was scaring me. So, whenever we got to some higher crowds, I… went ahead and relieved some of them of their excess weight.”

Gale stares at the pile. “That is a lot of stuff.”

“I wasn’t about to let you starve.”

There’s a moment of silence while the two of them watched each other. Lucius can feel the distance between them — they were still strangers to each other for the most part, even if Lucius had suddenly found himself with an inexplicable infatuation for the wizard. He has no doubt he’s put Gale in an awkward position, having whisked him away bridal style into his tent while his ailment ate away at him, leaving him at his most vulnerable. He won’t pretend to understand Gale’s life story, or how this condition has treated him, or what he’s normally used to under those circumstances. He just knows that he can do what he can to ensure he can lift that burden in any way, and he wants Gale to know that he’s willing to do so.

And from that look on his face, perhaps Gale wasn’t expecting that Lucius would at all.

He tries not to feel anything about that. He hasn’t given many reasons for the camp to like him much, and that’s fine. But he’s willing to go through the effort for them. He’s not sure anyone has fully realized it just yet.

Gale’s expression drops to one more solemn, and Lucius feels his heart sink with it. “I don’t even know if this will work.”

“Will you at least try? I know you said it’s not sating the hunger anymore, but… maybe the doses were too small. Maybe you need a big go all at once. It’s… like a neverending maw, isn’t it? One ring a week can’t keep you going forever.”

Gale presses his lips together. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep some of it? It just… it all looks so valuable, Lucius, I —”

“Quit looking for excuses and let me help you damn it!” Lucius snaps, louder than he expects. It shuts Gale right up, sure, but the last thing he wanted to do was raise his voice at this man. He rubs his face, dropping into a proper seat on the floor. “Look… I told you. I set this stuff aside for you specifically. I hid this from everyone else for a reason. You think Astarion and Shadowheart wouldn’t go crazy for some of this stuff? I left it out of the inventory logs. What I gave you to help before came from this pile. Except the first one, of course, as you kind of caught me off guard — but still.”

Lucius doesn’t want to make assumptions about this man. He would think it’d be a little easier for a man of his caliber to understand and accept gifts. He pressed the urgency for having something to sate him, but now he wants to back off? Why can’t he just let him? And why can’t Lucius just let it go?

Why is it filling him with such a deep, profound sadness that Gale is hesitating?

Gale sits up, slow in his movements and carefully pulling his hand off his chest, as if doing it too fast would cause something to spill violently, the other taking the rag off his head. Up into a criss cross, he slouches dejectedly, staring at the vaguely glowing pile of goods.

“I appreciate it, Lucius, please don’t mistaken me,” Gale says softly, rubbing a hand down his face. “It’s just… I don’t know. It hurts sometimes. Not just… physically. I’m a wizard, Lucius, I command control over the Weave. I dedicate my life to studying it. It was more than just my everything. My very being, intertwined with me, at my fingertips. Even Mystra herself, the mother of magic, had caressed me once with such divine power — and now I’m…”

The Orb glows under his shirt, and he grinds his teeth as it gnaws on him from the inside out. Lucius can almost feel it. That dark, radiating magnetic power — subtle enough that Lucius could ignore it if he didn’t know what he was looking for, but strong enough that if he does, he can feel the pull of it towards Gale’s chest. It seethes and it burns and claws and chews. He can see how it’s left bruises over his skin.

“I know I brought this on myself. It’s the consequences of my own actions, my own hubris, but it doesn’t make the burden any lighter. The Orb… all it does is consume. It takes, and it takes from me. Magic is my lifeblood, and now I’m doomed to spend the rest of my life destroying it, lest it kill me and bring catastrophe to everything and everyone else unfortunate enough to be nearby.”

He takes a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. Trying to keep control. Lucius lets the silence balance, lest he knock something over with words.

“These are all very nice things, Lucius. I just… I hate that this is what it’s made of me. To consume and destroy the Weave. Magic that is my world. So many powerful and valuable items intertwined with it in this world that I’ve destroyed because I took something too far. I can’t help but feel that I am robbing you of so much utility for something I can no longer sate…”

Lucius casts his gaze back to the pile. Sure, there were some things in there he could find use for. He had already plucked some things out of the box a couple times when he realized he could make use of some of the rings and such in there, but… for the most part, Lucius felt no attachment to them. He knew when he lifted these items that they were going to be destroyed, and it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. 

He decides to be a little brave and moves to sit beside Gale, close enough that their arms touch, catching his gaze. Gale makes considerable effort to focus on him, and though he’s more conscious now, it’s clear it’s taking every ounce of energy he’s got into this conversation.

“Gale, I literally let a highly suspicious vampire feed on my literal blood on the regular to sate him.”

Gale can’t help but honk a laugh at that, shaking his head.

“Look at me, Gale, I’m serious! It sounds funny, mostly because it is, but this is where I’m coming from. You think someone who’s letting in a spawn walk around the camp — and let us not forget, I am a cleric here — that I’m going to just call you, a chronically ill wizard, a burden?”

“Now, to be fair, I am quite literally a walking bomb —”

“Everyone here has some weird shit going on!” Lucius says. “Sure, not everyone’s about to blow up, but you think you’re the only one with baggage? The only one here who isn’t worth saving? A vampire spawn. A Sharran cleric. Noah being Noah. Infernal engine lady. A githyanki warrior — well, her deal is more a culture shock than anything but I won’t digress, ‘cause listen, I thought at least Wyll was the normal one here, and then it turns out he’s a fucking warlock!”

On the tip of his tongue, the precipice of his mind, Lucius imagines for one wild moment that he spills his own story to Gale. That he admits the kind of person that he was — still is, even. That he’s only been a cleric for two years, that he spent decades in prison prior to that, several more decades as a slave before that, and centuries being the absolute worst, rotten filth in Faerûn with the Lockjaw Gang. The blood of hundreds, mostly innocent, stains his hands always and forever. He still remembers the feeling of his hand around a dagger, blades plunged into flesh just for the thrill of it. How he’d first begun robbing for money and stability to live, and then became so good at it he just did it because it was fun. A horrific, terrifying menace, Lord Skorn, so awful that there had once been rumors that he was a Bhaalist —

But he doesn’t say any of it. And he knows Gale won’t ask. As far as anyone knew, he used to be a rogue, served time for being one, and found Ilmater when he came out. It’s good enough. No one needs to know. His scars and his tattoos speak for themselves.

“Besides,” Lucius continues, bumping his shoulder. “You’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t accept this. I got all of this for you, Gale. If you let it go to waste, I will be mad. Is that good enough for you?”

Gale looks at him, taking a moment longer than normal to process his words before scoffing, shaking his head. “Fine. So be it. I suppose you’re right. All this effort just to go to waste…”

“Exactly. Now, come on. I can’t stand to see you like this. You have to at least try.”

Gale takes a deep breath, staring down at the pile of magical items. Lucius plucks the rag out of his hands and scoots to give him some space. It takes the wizard a moment to find his bearings, and he watches his expression change as he drops his hands on top of the pile. Hunger. A ravenous, desperate, wild look, one Lucius had only seen on the most spurned of men who’d never been spared a moment of kindness or earned enough gold to live. The look of a starved wolf, manic over the bones of a long since picked at carcass, desperate to find even a modicum of flesh still left on the kill. The look Lucius had seen in his own eyes, his own reflection as a child when winter came, and neither he or his father were able to secure enough food before getting stuck in the snow. The look in his eyes the day he decided to cut his father’s own throat out —

Here comes the glow. Each of the items light up in a vivid violet, illuminating the tent with its brightness as they begin to pull like magnets towards Gale’s hands. Lucius had watched him consume these kinds of items before, but never this many. Never more than one at most. It was always fascinating to watch the ring or pair of gloves or mace disintegrate into Gale’s hands and feed into his chest, but this, oh, this was different. This, Lucius feels, shows him a better glimpse on the extent of the hunger, the raw, visceral, chaotic magic that plagues the wizard. It has never glowed this bright before, rattled and tangled and crumpled in on itself on its way to Gale’s hands, leaving fettering trails of flaky purple dust and an electric sting to the air. The magic funnels through and around Gale, siphoning into the center of his chest with a vacuum of sound. Sitting this close, he can almost feel the pull of the Orb, and finds himself leaning back out of sheer instinct as the items disintegrate.

He doesn’t want to call it beautiful, because it feels like a cruel thing to say to such a sight. It’s a horrible thing, this Orb and its hunger. What it does to Gale. But it’s an awe inspiring sight. The magic paints the tent in a violet hue, and he can almost taste it in the air, potent and raw as it breaks and breaks and breaks towards Gale. One by one, each item loses its form and becomes nothing. The tangled necklaces become one, and then become none. The rings lose their shape and become dust. Weapons that have likely slain many forgotten faces in the past are rendered useless. Fodder. Consumed.

Perhaps Lucius had simply always found beauty in destruction. 

Perhaps that’s what made Lucius an unforgivable man.

Eventually, the pile is rendered to nothing. Just a light trail of pink smoke to ever hint that anything existed at all. Gale still swells with magic, his hands pressed tightly over his sternum as if to cram all of it into the Orb and keep it there. His expression is screwed tight with pain, and Lucius wishes he could alleviate it, wishes he could reach out and smooth out those creases with his thumb and hold him close.

(How much longer can he pretend that these kinds of thoughts are platonic? How many times can he tell himself that it’s simply because he is Ilmatari that he feels things like this? It is his duty to bear these burdens, yes, but such feelings of care never did come naturally to Lucius. It has always been an active effort to bring himself to care about anything or anyone. Why it comes so easily when with Gale… well, how can he keep pretending there isn’t merit to these thoughts?)

The Orb releases him, and Gale slumps, the tension loose from his body after the effort it took. It startles Lucius so much that he immediately has his hands to catch him before he can fully understand what was going on. Did it hurt? Did he faint? Did it work?

“Gale, hey hey, are you okay?”

Gale trembles in his hold, and after a moment, he turns, suddenly burying himself into Lucius’ chest. Lucius freezes, unsure what to do or where to move. Gale is warm. He’s a comfortable weight, and he fits so nicely in his arms. He fell into his arms — he is seeking him out.

But he’s shaking.

Lucius rests his hands on Gale’s back tentatively, feeling Gale cling onto Lucius’ shirt. Lucius prays that it’s relief that Gale feels, that he’s simply overwhelmed with it and overjoyed with it, but he knows in the pit of his gut that it’s probably not true.

He asks anyways, in case the gods decided to grant them mercy.

“Did it work?”

His voice is a whisper. 

Gale takes a sharp breath. He’s crying.

“No.”

Lucius closes his eyes, feeling his chest twist at the confirmation. He was sure. He was so, so sure this would work… 

He wraps his arms around Gale tight, pulling him in close, and Gale throws his arms around Lucius just as tight in turn, clinging onto him. His cries are quiet, composed mostly of sharp breaths. A despair Lucius can only imagine. The pit of his gut churns with frustration at how helpless he is to the situation. Lucius rocks gently in the embrace, resting his chin atop Gale’s head and staying silent, letting him take all the time he needs to gather himself. Or to fall apart. If Gale needed to shatter, Lucius would be here to piece him together if he had to. 

Either way, Gale won’t be alone. He’ll be here. He’ll hold onto him.

He doesn’t know how long they stay here like this, but eventually, Gale does manage to settle his breaths and find the strength to pull away. He doesn’t look up at Lucius, though he can see how disheveled his hair has become and the puffiness in his eyes from the emotion. Lucius wordlessly hands him the wet rag, and Gale accepts it, wiping his face.

Silence hangs between him. Lucius wonders if that distance between them has grown any shorter than when he last felt it earlier, or if it’s become a chasm now with the raw wound on his pride.

Gale unfolds the rag, draping the entirety of it against his face, covering him completely as he keeps it pressed against his eyes. After a moment longer, Gale clears his throat, intending on gathering his bearings as quickly as possible.

“... You should check on your fire hazard.”

“My wh—”

Ah. The shitty teapot on his shitty made up stove.

“Martyred Father…”

Lucius springs up in a hurry, nearly tripping over the box he discarded and extinguishes the heat with a cantrip. The water has since boiled, some of it evaporated with the time that’s passed. He retrieves one of his chipped mugs, placing the flowers and herbs into it before pouring the hot water in. In a perfect world, he’d have some cinnamon, perhaps some cream. Some sugars and some honey. A nice, new mug with different painted decals, one that wasn’t chipped. And he’d have a real stove, a real bed, running water and a fire in a fireplace. He’d make all of this look nicer, taste nicer, feel nicer, and they’d be comfortable.

But instead, it’s their salvaged resources out in the wilds, a sewed up tent, parasites in their skulls and a ticking time bomb in a man that’s slowly convincing Lucius that there may just be some merit in the stories people tell about falling in love.

He hopes that making the tea is giving Gale enough time to recover, enough distance to patch himself up from the vulnerability he’s just exposed to Lucius. He knows keenly what this moment was, and he knows that it’ll be raw for a while. He won’t poke it. He won’t push him further than he has to. This is sacred, and this is important. He will hold it in the cup of his hands gently and take care of the trust Gale has given him in this moment, and he will simply do what he can to help him without wounding him.

Sure enough, by the time Lucius returns with the mug, Gale has laid back down, the rag folded now over his eyes and brow, and his hands clasped together over his belly. His breathing was more even, and he was more collected than he left him.

“It’ll take a few minutes for all the flowers and stuff to seep in the water,” Lucius says, mostly to announce his presence as he sits back down beside Gale. “Water’s still clear. Needs a sec before it gets that nice amber color. Wish I had sugar.”

“You’ve been sweet enough to me already,” Gale says quietly, though not moving from his position. “That’ll be enough to get me through the tea.”

Lucius huffs with amusement. His gaze can’t help but travel to the markings on Gale’s chest. The Orb doesn’t feel nearly as unstable as it did earlier, but it was still glowing, still etching into the wizard’s skin. 

He decides to ask the delicate question. “How are you feeling?”

Gale takes one long, slow deep breath. “Admittedly, better. The pain is… somewhat duller, but still…” He shrugs. “... still pain. That amount of magic should’ve held me off for at least a month. Now it just…”

He scowls. Lucius can already imagine the types of things he’s readying up to say. Apologetic and avoiding the subject of how he actually feels.

So Lucius answers. “It’s still hungry.”

Gale sighs. “Yes. Very much so.”

Lucius sets the mug aside, rubbing his hands together in thought. The fact that there was relief gained was good. It meant he could treat it somewhat, but getting a hold of that many magical items again just for a temporary amount of relief was going to be difficult to maintain. Gale says it comes in waves, so it won’t always be this bad, but it also means that he’s in constant pain. 

The thought twists something in his gut. There were a few moments recently during various combative encounters that Gale wasn’t able to focus on his spells completely. His missteps cost Lucius and Wyll a great deal of trouble with the goblins, and were it not for Shadowheart, they’d have seen a greater deal of blood on their end. He feels guilty for not noticing it before. Every moment he’s had with Gale where he seemed off was recontextualized now, and by the Rack it ached to think about. 

There had to be something he could do. Anything. A steady stream of magic to at least take the edge off, and at least provide him some relief so he’s not panting in the woods at the dead of night.

Lucius looks down at his hands. An idea brews in his mind.

“The magic helped a little though, didn’t it?” Lucius asks. “You’re at least not falling apart at the seams anymore.”

“It’s definitely helped me feel… present,” Gale says. “I… still feel like it’s going to start eating me alive at any second if I move the wrong way.”

“Do you mind if I try something else?”

Gale turns his head a little, carefully raising a hand to peek out from the rag. “Don’t tell me you have another box full of stolen items.”

“Haha, not magical ones,” Lucius says, scooting over to sit closer to Gale. He holds up a hand, feeling divinity flow through his fingertips. “I… have a theory I’d like to try. I think at this point anything is worth a shot, right?”

Gale squints at him, his gaze flickering between him and his glowing hand. There’s a quirk of his lips. “Are you putting me down?”

“Yes, actually, that was exactly what I was about to do, you caught me,” He waves his hand around. “No, Gale. You need to consume magic, don’t you?”

“The Weave, yes…”

“Well… I don’t really control the Weave like you do. Actually, I’m not sure if what I control counts as the Weave — but what I do know is this,” Lucius brings his hand closer to Gale, still tentative, and holding it so Gale can push it away no problem if he doesn't want any part. “The magic I wield is given to me by my god. Ilmater, the One Who Endures — He preaches that we must take on the burdens of others so they do not have to suffer. What’s a more noble cause for Ilmater to intervene in than to call for His power to alleviate this ailment of yours?”

Gale scrunches his brows in thought, his eyes flickering away as he tries to run the theory over in his mind. “... I can’t say I’ve tried feeding off of the magic of holy items or the equivalent thereof - though, that is mostly because I’ve not come across any of them in my tower, nor a cleric to boot. In theory, I don’t think the Orb will respond to it — you and I wield very different magics. I, of the Art, and you, of the Power — but again, I haven’t tested it. It’s… Hmm, it could be an alternative source…” His gaze flicks back to Lucius. “But… won’t it exhaust you? I don’t know how much it will need to take. It’s one thing for me to take your material things, but an entirely different thing to take from you directly.”

“Oh holy Martyred Father — Gale what did I just say? Cleric. Of. Ilmater. I let a fucking vampire take from me. Stop stopping me, damn you.”

“I’m just —”

“Stop it. Seriously!” Lucius huffs. “If you don’t want to try it because the magics don’t mix or for some other hypothetical reason that puts you on edge, that’s perfectly fine. But if you’re refusing it because you think I’m going to lose something from it or whatever, please don’t. I’m telling you right now I want to help you, and through the power vested in me by the God of Endurance, I assure you I could absolutely fucking handle it.”

Gale lets out a puff of air, looking up in thought. The Orb still glows, painfully so, and Lucius can see him running through all sorts of ideas in his head.

Finally, the wizard seems to settle, leveling his gaze back to Lucius. “... Fine. I have to admit, I am rather curious what sorts of effects divine magic will have on me.”

“There we go, there’s the nerd in you.”

“You caught me. I am always a sucker for testing theories.”

“If it doesn’t work or has a worse effect, we can stop and save the trouble, if that makes you feel better.”

“That sounds good to me.” Gale sits up, pointing a daunting finger at Lucius. “But you have to promise me that if at any point during this you experience a significant amount of pain, you must stop.”

“If it stings a little, I can bear through it man —”

“You must promise me that, Lucius Skorn. If it feels like this Orb is a threat to your life and safety, you will stop.”

Lucius tilts his head a few times in thought. “Alright. Fine.”

“Promise?”

“I swear it on my Lord.”

“Thank you.” Gale settles back down, staring straight at the tent’s ceiling ahead. “Your God is watching you, so I do hope you keep to your word.”

“Har har.”

A buzz of excitement flows through him. If this works, then they’ve found a solution to hold them off enough until they can find another alternative. Just kneeling before Gale, preparing to use the powers given to him feels holy in and of itself. Though Lucius’ connection with Ilmater has been somewhat hazy these days, his magic still flows strong, and he swears it feels even stronger as he summons divinity through his veins here. 

Lucius rests his hand over the Orb in Gale’s chest, light to the touch before fully committing. In his mind, he calls out to Ilmater, seeking a pathway to that holy power, hoping to tap into the very vein of it and channel it in one go. “Ilmater, the Tortured God, the God of Endurance, holy Martyred Father on the Rack — grant me your power to bear this burden. Give me the strength to carry it on my shoulders, offer me your divinity to alleviate my friend. Allow me, Ilmater, to take his place on the rack.”

Gale closes his eyes, and Lucius follows. There’s a moment of fear that flickers through him. What if Ilmater doesn’t respond? What if he calls out for his power and nothing happens? What if he just made a fool of himself here, and has nothing to show for?

Cruel, cruel thoughts. Purge them, cleric, and open yourself. Self doubt will get you nowhere. Bear this burden, Lucius.

The power runs through him like a shock of cold water dumped on him all at once. It crashes through his heart and travels through his veins, overflowing through his fingertips in a flurry. The Orb glows viciously, and he feels the magnetism of it pull his hand closer against Gale’s chest, pressing against him with far too much pressure. He can barely move the hand — he plants his free one on the bedroll beside Gale to keep balanced, and feels Gale immediately snap to clutch it tightly. Gale writhes with the power that flows, the glow reaching to the veins of his eye as divinity spills from Lucius’ hand into him.

Lucius has to grit his teeth to stay rooted and keep control over the sudden power coursing through him. “Is it working?!”

Gale can barely respond. His other hand has gripped Lucius’ wrist as it funnels the power, and he’s kicked his knees up to dig his heels into the bedroll, his breath caught in his throat. It makes Lucius run cold with fear, but when he begins to pull the magic away from him, Gale only pulls his arm in.

“I’m okay,” He hisses through grit teeth. “It’s… It’s doing something. Don’t stop.”

Lucius nods, and lets the magic continue to flow. The Orb has begun to shift in hue, the violets and blues changing to that of the golden oranges and yellows that Lucius funnels into him. Gale’s grip is tight against him, clawing through his sleeves and digging into his skin hard enough to leave bruises. Lucius grinds his teeth as he tries to keep his balance. He’d witnessed the hunger itself only once before when Gale had him place his hand over his heart and project the memory of the Orb through their tadpoles. But being on the other end of it, feeling an incorporeal force latch onto him and try to tear him away, all teeth and jaws and a bottomless pit of a stomach, oh, it does scare him. Every time the Orb pulls and licks at skin that his holy magic didn’t cover, it fills him with an overwhelming visceral fear, a force so strong that Lucius wonders if it’s even his at all.

The Orb pulses. Waves of magnetism shake both of the men, throttling them and pulling them into its center, knocking Lucius off balance and nearly collapsing on Gale. He remembers being told that the Orb will erupt. That just a fraction of this power is enough to level a city the size of Waterdeep. He aggravates it now with his magic, feeding it something other than the Weave, this hungry thing. It pulls and pulls, and Lucius can’t move his arm. He might be damning them. He might just kill them both, kill everyone in this camp. He might just ruin everything, ruin everyone, ruin it all.

But the divine magic is a fount he can’t stop, a waterfall that pours and pours into a maw that takes and takes. Could he possibly hope to feed it all? To satisfy it enough? How does one feed that which never stops hungering?

(How do you feed yourself, when you yearn and ache and writhe with hunger that you can’t seem to kick? When you travel the world after seeing bars and chains for years, and look for something, anything that can feed you? Can a soul ever be nourished? Can a curse ever be cured? Could the starving ever be full?)

Gale pants, throwing his head back. His breaths are uneven, and the magic seems to render him speechless. How far do they go? Is Gale present enough to figure out when they should stop? Is Lucius sane enough to let go even if it becomes too much? The force of it takes the strength out of Lucius, and he finds himself hunched over Gale, bracing his weight on his forearm on the ground and his head dropped onto Gale’s shoulder while the magic pours. Gale’s back arches, pressing further into the magic, hand still tightly wrapped around Lucius’ wrist. Like magnets they cling to each other, every ounce of their beings and the powers that claim them tangle them together, choking the breaths out of them.

It’s almost addicting, the way it feels. Like two pieces that fit together perfectly, however destructive. But Lucius always did find beauty in destruction, didn’t he?

Just when he thinks it’s becoming too much, he starts to feel the force weaken, as if the Orb was starting to release its jaws off of Lucius. Gale no longer writhes as violently, resting back onto the bedroll flat, his grip on loosening. Even the fountain of power gifted to Lucius begins to pull back, as if it too had begun to sense that it was ending. The golden glow of the Orb against Gale’s skin starts to shimmer and dim, no longer violent and uncontrolled. A burden slowly relieved, slowly lifted. 

Though the power begins to dissipate from them, Lucius still feels his hand stuck to his chest. The last bit of holy power drains from him, and he starts to feel the world spin around him. His mouth is dry, and he’s starting to wonder when the last time he breathed was. His knees slide out, leaving him practically laying on his side with his hand still stuck, his elbow bent high in the air as the last ribbons of gold flutter through. It seems like Gale’s not in pain anymore. That’s good. That’s very good. He’s not sure what he would do if after all of this, there was still nothing to be gained.

Everything flickers. Lucius blinks hard. It becomes difficult to tell whether he’s stopped channeling the magic or not.

A bit of humor washes over him. It feels funnily similar to nights that Astarion drinks a little too much from him.

Gale's hands wrap around his wrist, gentler now, and in one swift motion, he plucks Lucius’ hand off of his chest, severing the connection completely. Golden flakes of dust flutter away from his fingertips as the magic stops, and the Orb finally quiets. The relief wipes Lucius out instantly, all the tension in his body uncoiling and dropping next to Gale, not a thought spared to how he’s buried in the crook of his neck and laying atop his arm, hand flopping back onto his chest. The silence almost hurts his ears, making the sounds of both of their heavy breaths all the louder than it has any right being.

Neither of them make any effort to move, no doubt fully drained by everything the impromptu ritual put them through. It’s only when both of their breaths start to even out that Lucius cracks his voice to speak.

“Did it… work?”

Gale lets out a long, shaky breath. “It’s… To give you a short answer and save us both the time, yes. I think it did.”

Lucius closes his eyes, a swell of relief and pride washing over him. With it, he feels a warmth — whether that is from the absolute incurable affection he bears for the wizard, or the fulfillment of his holy duty to bear the wizard’s burden, he cannot tell. “God, I’m so fucking glad to hear that.”

“I… have never felt anything like that…” Gale says, his voice tired. “I didn’t think it was going to work, but… it was enough to satisfy it, I think. Between the… magical stuff you gave me and this… Gods, my eyes are heavy.”

“Same…” Lucius makes a move to shift away from him, but can’t seem to make it far. “We should… get you back to your tent so you can sleep this off.”

“A sound plan.”

Neither of them move. The last cognitive thought in Lucius’ mind is remembering the mug of tea he’d made, and he forgets the rest of everything else.

--

This was a life lived on the precipice of peril.

Four centuries as the hunter and the hunted. From the delicate youth of a fawn to the wolf whose maw it was made for, to a broken dog leashed by its masters and starved — Lucius learned well not to sleep through anything. 

In rest is vulnerability.

In rest, there is the potential to lose everything.

This was one of the first lessons Lucius learned and carried with him for centuries. 

Don’t sleep in the unfamiliar. Keep one eye open. Leap to action at any and every sound, never be caught off guard, always have a blade in hand, never sleep in, always be ready, always be sharp —

And yet…

Lucius sleeps in.

It’s a rest he hasn’t gotten in years. Perhaps never. Between his childhood, the life in the Lockjaws, running for his life in the Underdark or in prison, he’s never slept in. Never found himself comfortable. Never found himself so lost like he is now atop this warm pillow, floating soundly, dozing delightfully.

Peace. 

Is this what it’s like?

He should be awake. Instincts scream at him to wake up and get up and assess the environment and see what he’s got, get ready for the day, check on the others, get breakfast started — but they float away, carried by the river of exhaustion, ferried away to be someone else’s problems. Down, down, down…

He shifts, and sunlight dares impede his darkened vision with dapples of light. He buries himself further into the pillow, hoping to chase away the dance of consciousness. Not yet, he thinks. Not yet, not yet. Not when he’s so cozy. Not when for the first time in his life, he’s been able to just cuddle up and rest. Not when this purple pillow is doing everything to —

Lucius’ eyes snap wide open. He doesn’t own any purple pillows.

Reality dawns on him as he slowly, slowly raises his head. One moment, two moments and three, his heart pounds and echoes in his ears faster than a pulse beneath him, and horror begins to take root in the pit of his chest. His hair sticks out from every which way, clinging to his mouth as he peels away from what is very much not a pillow, and is very much a highly specific wizard from Waterdeep sleeping peacefully on his bedroll.

Gale never did make it out of his tent.

The horror continues to pile on. Their legs had tangled themselves together, Lucius’ hand stayed on his chest, and Gale had an arm thrown around his side, a comfortable position their sleeping forms must have found themselves in during the night.

They slept together.

Innocently, yes, sure, but they slept together.

This is too close. Too intimate. It wasn’t like that, surely — it was an accident. He didn’t mean to. He shouldn’t be here. Shit, shit, this shouldn’t have happened.

His face runs hot, and he’s frozen, fear rooting him in place with a quickened breath. He can’t tear his eyes away from the sight just beneath him. Gale’s hair had become a mess, splayed out over the bedroll in such a way that tugs at Lucius’ gut with affection. His face, which had been so contorted in pain not so long ago now rests peacefully, absent of that horrible despair and twisted curse, almost appearing younger with his features at rest. His brows don’t furrow and fold, his eyes closed gently and resting the skin — Lucius follows the trail of those darkened veins down his neck and to his chest. The skin was bruised all around where the Orb marks him, and Lucius gets the horrible, horrible thought that he wishes he could kiss it better. 

That ache pulls at his gut, at his heart and even his throat, this longing to kiss Gale, to follow the trail up his neck and to his cheek and kiss him awake. The ache that they could wake up like this without a problem, without it being weird, without it being some kind of situationship that Lucius would often find himself in. He aches, he aches, he aches —

Gale starts to stir. All of the alarms in Lucius’ head ring and blare, his pulse pounding in his ears. Move, move Lucius! Move, damn you! Do something, quick! How many seconds are passing? Think, damn you! Get up!

Those beautiful brown eyes — knock that off! — flutter open, blinking the sleep away and come into focus. The hand still around Lucius moves and then halts suddenly, his eyes locking with Lucius. He can practically see the cogs in his head turning with thought, booting up and bringing him to full cognition.

It’s over.

With all the grace of a startled cat, Lucius scrambles off of Gale, pushing himself up and away with haste. Gale backs away just as fast, though seemingly more in response to Lucius than anything else. Lucius’ back crashes into something, a quick burst of pain blooming and hisses, pulling his knees into his chest to rub at the spot. Damn it all.

“Are you quite alright?”

“No — Yes! Yep, I’m… fine…” Lucius fumbles, cursing his cheeks for still feeling hot with embarrassment. He feels as though he’s been caught in the act of something terrible, and all he wants to do is shrink away. “Um. Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Gale replies easily, a look of amusement to his features. Lucius tries not to focus on the color that paints the wizard’s cheeks, or the intense curiosity in his eyes that Gale rakes him with. “It appears I did not… make it back to my tent…”

“Mm…”

They stare at each other for another awkward moment longer, and then suddenly, everything about the situation just felt ridiculous. Gale’s hair is a wreck, Lucius has drool dried on his cheek, their clothes were wrinkled and pulled to the wrong corners, and they’d all but cuddled with each other in the night. All at once, the tension snaps, and the both of them burst out laughing, Lucius loud like a barking dog, and Gale with a squawk like a bird.

Lucius runs a hand down his face, pinching his nose and wiping his cheek. “I think I drooled on you.”

“That can’t be the worst thing that’s happened to me out here.”

“Gods. I hate it here.”

Gale chuckles, stretching his arms out with a yawn. “For what it’s worth, Lucius, that was the most rested sleep I’ve had in a while.”

“Man...”

It’s a shame to miss the warmth he had just moments ago. He tries not to linger on it. He tries not to think about it too hard.

There are several choice words that dance at the tip of the cleric’s tongue, but he does well to swallow them all down before he chokes.

“Well, that’s good at least,” Lucius finally lands on saying. “I uh. I hope all of that stuff helped?”

“That it did, my friend. I feel… revitalized today,” Gale says, a grin spreading across his face and a sigh of relief. “I think this is something I may have to write down. It raises so many questions about the nature of this Netherese magic inside of me. It has only ever fed on the Weave before, and theoretically, it should only feed on the Weave. That’s what it’s made of. Divine magic, the Power, is very much not Weave magic, and yet…”

Lucius can’t help but spare a look to his hand that casted the spell, startling somewhat when some of his veins seem to have retained a dim, golden glow. “The power of Ilmater, my friend. I told you so.”

“Well, it looks like I’ve got a mighty amount of thanks to give to the Broken God. Remind me to pass an offering to His shrine if we ever do make it to one of His temples.”

Lucius gives him a two-fingered salute. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Gale gives an amused huff, his attention shifting back down to his chest. He presses a hand to it tentatively, and the Orb glows dimly in return. “It’s… very strange, honestly. How all of that felt. The Orb rejected it at the beginning, as if it didn’t quite know what to do with it. By the time I felt it begin to consume… Ack, it’s so strange. I lack the vocabulary to define what it all felt like.”

Lucius rubs his chin in thought, crab-walking closer to Gale to seat himself criss cross. “Just say it badly. Don’t need to dress it all up. You can give it pretty words later.”

“Hah. Suppose I can.” Gale hums, idly chewing at his fingertips as he tries to find a phrasing he’s happy with. “Ah, I got it. I would imagine it as a proper diet. One should have enough balance in what you eat. Meats, vegetables, a healthy amount of grain and just a little bit of sweets — all the proteins and nutrients to sustain yourself, yes?”

Lucius nods along. “My greatest lament is our sad little diet out here.”

“Ha, as is mine. Now, the Orb requires proper sustenance. The Weave, in this case. You’ve given me a fraction of what it needs — but with the food analogy, you’ve given a starving man the quarter cut of a steak, but nothing more. It satisfies the hunger enough not to pang the stomach, yet still isn’t quite enough.” He gestures meticulously throughout his explanation, miming as if he’s cut the steak and served it, pointing to his own belly as he speaks. A very visualized man, Lucius thinks. “Now, nutritional sustenance will get you far. But not everyone eats well. In this case, I’ve been given an alternative. It’s like… hmm, I don’t want to say being on a vegetarian diet when one needs meat — it’s more like one has filled up on bread and butter as much as they could until they couldn’t eat another bite. You’re full, yes, but you’ve missed out on all the nutrients.”

“Are you calling my god’s power a serving of bread?”

“No no no, don’t take it too literal!”

Lucius barks a laugh. “Go on.”

Gale huffs. “What I mean to say is that the hunger is satisfied. I have filled up on enough to keep me going. I think after a while, if we were to, in theory, keep this up, it will eventually take a toll on me, but not eating is always worse than eating filler foods. It’s better to eat something than to starve.”

Lucius smiles, finding himself more than happy to hear the dissertation. “That’s good! That’s really good, actually.”

“Oh, most certainly! I must admit, I was starting to get… well, I was… starting to feel a little hopeless about the whole situation, but now…” Gale looks up at him, a glint in his eyes of awe and appreciation, a gaze that makes Lucius almost shrink back at the fondness within them. “I cannot possibly thank you for this gift you’ve given me, Lucius.”

Lucius waves a hand, rising to his feet. “It’s my duty, Gale. This is a fight we’re all in together. All I want to do is find a way to take care of all of you while we figure this hell out.”

Gale nods, rising as well. “Your efforts are noted and appreciated, good leader,” He says with a bow. “But now, I do have to ask you. Are you alright? You started to look weak after the whole thing, and considering how we’ve woken up this morning, you cannot deny that it took a lot out of you as well.”

“Well… I can’t say it’s every day that I call upon my god to grant me an intense amount of magic to feed my magically hungry friend…”

“True.” Gale raises that accusatory finger once more. “But you promised me that you would stop if it became too much.”

“I promised I’d stop if I was in pain.”

“And if it was going to compromise your safety.”

“My safety wasn’t that compromised.”

“See, there’s the trick of your words. It was compromised. Maybe at a miniscule level, but the promise was broken there.”

“In my defense! I was doing fine up until the very end. Which is when I… kind of lost it.”

“That’s what I didn’t want to happen Lucius —”

“Ah ah!” Lucius raises a finger at him now. “It was fine. I’m willing to do this again, but this time, I know what to expect. The hardest part was just handling how much raw magic Ilmater granted us. Once it ran out, it all… Well, I know when to let go now. Alright?”

Gale frowns at him, crossing his arms. Lucius purses his lips, and crosses his arms as well, staring at him.

“You promise?”

“Swear on my Lord.”

“Your Lord is watching.”

“I sure fucking hope He is. I’m His greatest little boy.”

Gale chuckles at that, shaking his head. “Very well. Thank you again, Lucius. It means more than you know. I don’t even know where I’d begin to repay you.”

You could kiss me, Lucius wishes he could say as a tease and feel nothing about it at all.

He claps a hand on his shoulder instead. “Just keep chucking spells, and we’re good. I don’t need that much but your company, your prowess, and a helping hand in our sorry little kitchen.”

Gale lifts his head with a little pride at that. “Then you will have me there to the best of my abilities.”

Lucius smiles fondly at him. Wherever did this crush start, he wonders? How did this infection spread and fester within his chest without him noticing? It’ll bring him down to ruin and rot if he’s not careful. He’ll collapse and wither and die if he can’t get a stop to this disease.

This churning in his chest… his heart does not normally stir, and when it did, it ended in blood. What about Mauve? What about Virena? Lessons they were to keep his heart anchored to this cage of bone.

But Gale smiles at him with a glint in his eye, and Lucius still feels the echo of his warmth upon his body. Where did it start? Could it be that shared moment of magic? When Gale confessed the horrors of the Orb? Or could it have been the very second Lucius pulled him from that stone?

The tremor in his hands makes itself known, and he has to bite down to keep from trembling. Curses to the body for reacting so dramatically, as if a human man could do anything to bring Lucius to true ruin. As if… As if…

Gale’s about to turn to leave. “I think I should get going. Wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome, after everything you’ve already done for me here.”

“No no!” The words tumble out of Lucius’ mouth before he can stop them. He swallows hard when Gale regards him with curious eyes, and Lucius has to follow up with something pertinent. He turns Gale, taking a look at the poor abused skin surrounding the Orb marred to his flesh. “I’m not letting you go like this.”

Gale drops his gaze down to his collarbone. “Ah. Yes, this was…”

“Very bad.” Lucius finishes. He calls upon his holy power once more, and the magic flows easily through him. Moreso, even, as if channeling raw power previously had made it easier for the spell to take root. He places his hand on Gale’s chest, letting the soothing magic flow through him in his incantation. Slowly, the violets and blues of bruised skin soften to reds and yellows, and soon, to none, golden magic caressing the sites of injury and tracing the Orb’s pattern on his skin. The Orb shimmers as Gale takes a breath, for a moment taking on a golden hue before settling back to its darkened, slumbered state.

“Oh!” Gale says, touching his chest as Lucius drops his hand. “Oh, that final piece of relief — I’d been so used to this I nearly forgot what it’s like to be without that pain…”

A pang of sadness hits Lucius. “My friend, please do not hesitate to come to me for healing.”

“You’ve given me more than I could possibly ask for.”

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do if you asked for it, Gale.”

Those words tumble out again, unfiltered, and Lucius schools his expression into something casual. The severity and weight of his words can’t reach Gale like this. Not like this. Gale’s cheeks color, and Lucius pointedly ignores it.

“You are far too kind to me, Lucius. I will treasure this.”

There’s a moment where both of them linger. Goodbyes are in place. They’re to meet again anyways when they convene at the fire pit and set out for adventure. They’re to get back to the road and back to business within the hour or two. They’ll see each other again, but still, they pause. Hesitant. As if something else should be filling this moment.

Lingering looks. Awkward hands. Perhaps Lucius should reach out. Perhaps Lucius should say something more. Perhaps Gale wants to say something else. It’s on the tip of his tongue, and the air is heavy, it’s thick and hazy and Lucius is drawn to it.

But the moment ends. No spark ignites the thick air, and Gale bows his head to the cleric.

“I’ll get started on breakfast,” he says.

“I’ll meet you there,” Lucius replies.

And Gale leaves.

Lucius waits until he’s certain Gale has gone long out after before dropping to the ground and letting out a long groan. He’ll never get over this, he’s certain. Not with the way his heart pounds against his chest. Why does it stir so much? Why does it make him fumble? Where did he go wrong? Where did he possibly go wrong?

He has to get ready. He has to clean up, fix his makeup, and behave like a proper, genuine, functioning person. He has to pretend this never happened, and remember who he is. He is Lucius Skorn, and he does not get crushes. He is Ilmatari. This is his solemn duty. This is his charge.

As he moves to get to his sponges and rags, his foot kicks something, splashing liquid all over the place. He stares at the ground, watching that chipped mug from the night before roll around on the ground uselessly, spilling its soggy flowers.

He forgot about the tea.

[amenders93]

Rats to the Rescue!

After Rocky's painful yet successful experience, the gang realized that breaking into Fun-Land Farms was going to be a difficult and dangerous operation. At least, they've got the details about the layout of the building and all the security systems. However, they're going to need some backup. They need someone crafty, someone who was good at sneaking around and finding stuff. They needed... Nick and Fetcher! Our two sneaky rats are experts when it comes to this sort of thing. 🐀🐀

Ginger and the gang rushed to the rats' nearby junkyard to ask for their help. As soon as Ginger finished explaining they needed the rats' help to break into Fun-Land Farms, Nick and Fetcher both refused on account of the place being impenetrable (meaning they can't get in). That it's an impossible mission, although Fetcher believes it should be the other way around. However, our determined island queen reassures the rats that even though it's a million-to-one shot, they know the layout of the farm and even better, Mac thinks there's a way in.

Mac had made an entire scale model of Fun-Land Farms to help them see what they were up against. Babs likes the model, even though it came out smaller than she expected. Nick and Fetcher looked at the model with skeptical faces as Mac explained her strategy. For instance, she describes that in a blind spot, there's a side door where the guards had to have their eyes scanned by the electronic eye scanner in order for the door to be opened. Then Nick and Fetcher summed up Ginger's proposal - that it's only a small matter of the electric fence, all the guards, the camera-driven gun-toting moles and the laser-guided exploding ducks.

In desperation, Ginger pleaded with the rats to help them. When she told them that her husband Rocky is in there, Nick and Fetcher aren't interested. But only when she brings up that also her daughter Molly is in there as well, that's when our two sneaky rats start to crumble. Fetcher's lip started to quiver with Nick telling him to stay strong until they both burst into tears, thinking of their precious niece. That's when Ginger knew they were in! Nick and Fetcher may seem hard-hearted, but that's all an act. Especially since we see that their little niece Molly is their Achilles' heel. 🥹

Ginger states to the group that they can do this impossible mission. As long as they worked together and use their skills - Bunty's strength, Mac's brains, Babs' knowledge of wool, Nick and Fetcher's ability of being sneaky and Fowler's wisdom and vigilance. Although with Fowler's older age, Ginger gave him a special position suitable for him - their getaway man. After thinking it over, the old sausage graciously accepts it on account of it sounding important. That's when our Wing Leader/Island Queen tells everyone they need to gather what they need, and to hurry. She starts to worry about what horrors her beloved daughter is dealing with in that chicken farm. But she’s not the only one; everyone simply cannot imagine what their precious Molly is dealing with in there. Their love for Molly is all the reason they need for busting in there and getting her back to them, as well as getting Rocky out of there too. 🤜🤛

So everyone has a role in this mission - Ginger the Wing Leader, Bunty the Muscle, Mac the Brains, Babs the Wool Specialist, Nick and Fetcher the Scroungers and Fowler the Getaway Man. Let's just hope that they can succeed with this dangerous and impossible mission to break into Fun-Land Farms and rescue Molly, not to mention Rocky too. Ginger is more determined than ever to break into this industrial chicken farm to get both her husband and her daughter back.