#thief chitter

[tansypawz]

Opinions on,,,, Oscar Cafae Latte I'm sorry I need to yap about him,,,, he is my everything my son my husband my soulmate my beloved my darling he's literally me and I'm him

I'm sorry just. It's a lot of feelings rn and I'm scrolling through the cafae latte tag looking for anybody I can yap to about him fshdgwjbshdjsbjwn

OH MY GOD. SQUARE UP OFF ANON I NEED MORE CAFAE LATTE FANS IN MY VICINITY IM IN TEARS I LOVE OSCAR.hes just a silly old man hes not my all-time fav but hes soo awesome.he makes me jump with joy the first instance of him i was like.oh my GOD ??? THE SILLY OF ALL TIME ??? WHY SO SILLYING........

[itsabouttimex2]

Eclipse Kings

Part One: Mountain Monkeys

(Part One: You Are Here) (Part Two: Barbed Dusk) (Part Three: Wild Dawn)

(Extra One)

(The eternal kings of Flower Fruit Mountain certainly did not expect a thief smelling of their lost son to invade the palace on the day they intended to mourn his disappearance.)

The people in your village don’t go hungry.

But they’re never full, either.

Abundance is a word whispered only in longing, yet never a reality to be tasted.

Plates are modest—never empty, yet never brimming. Bread and fish are the staples, filling enough to survive but just shy of satisfying. There’s no indulgence here, no clinking glasses of wine or wedges of cheese. The villagers say this is the way of life for those who dwell beneath the gaze of the demon kings of Flower Fruit Mountain.

Once every month each family is expected to deliver a “tribute” to the two demon kings who reign over your village from

And if you “play your part” to the kingdom and make your proper tributes, the kings of Flower Fruit Mountain WILL protect you, your family, your property- that is not a privilege many demons are willing to provide.

Some families choose the customary fruit offering for the little long-tailed monkeys around the mountains. Young, tender fruits like mangoes, starfruits, and papayas are diced into neat chunks, artfully arranged on freshly washed taro leaves, and tied up with twine. The leaves are then hung from the branches of the flowering trees at the mountain’s base, a silent signal for the little monkeys to descend.

These creatures are far from simple animals; they are spirits of the mountain, bound to the Kings, with eyes that shine with uncanny understanding. They clamber down with hungry, chittering excitement, ravenous for the colorful spoils. Villagers know to keep their distance, watching from afar as the monkeys gnaw on the bounty, tearing at the fruit until nothing remains but juice-stained leaves and the echoes of satisfied squeals. The villagers believe the monkeys carry whispers to the Kings, tales of each family’s offering—or lack thereof.

Some of the craftier types (usually those with several little mouths to feed) in the village whittle toys from wood and decorate them with feathers or colorful strips of fabric and leave those about in the woods, saving more food for themselves and their children.

Some villagers, either brave or foolish, choose to journey directly up the mountain with their tributes. This is a long, exhausting up a path that was treacherous, steep, and wild, twisting through the ancient woods that seemed almost alive with the spirits of the many mortals who came before.

They would inevitably be hounded by monkeys and insects, trying desperately to sample the goods before they were given to the mountain lords to be devoured or given as gifts to those few other demon lords that the vaunted simian had compiled as allies.

And though the tribute was mandatorily gathered each month, and every family’s name was marked and closely tracked in a ledger by the sable king, with sufficient enough explanation tribute can be delayed or even outright pardoned- as the Eclipse Kings were fathers themselves, they took mercy upon struggling parents and orphans.

…they probably wouldn’t bat an eyebrow at you, honestly.

Living in a ramshackle hut sank half into the earth and insulated with straw and mud that you had smeared into the ever-growing fractures, it was just enough to tide you safely through the year.

When it grew hot you would pull out all the dirtiest blankets and clothes in your possession, sitting for hours in the shade of the many flowering trees of Mount Huaguo, feet dipped into the cool waters of whatever lake you found first- and you’d shred those tattered fabrics to long strips and bundle them up for kindling in winter.

They would be the last thing to go, only after the dried grass and wood you had gathered months prior were gone, used to melt ice for water or ease the ache of deep chills.

You had accustomed yourself to this cycle- prepare for winter all through summer and fall, then take spring as a chance to relax and live a little more freely.

You had accustomed yourself to it for a while, at least.

And then little MK had come tumbling through your door, sniveling and shaken.

Back then he had been almost too young to speak, too small to voice whatever his fears were, too utterly weak to cry for more than a half-minute before the tiny thing collapsed in your arms.

He hadn’t needed to explain.

The pounding footsteps and booming hollers had told you enough- he was being hunted.

Months prior you had dug a little shallow ditch in the soft mud of your home, then hid it under the stiffest rug you could find, reinforced with bark and smeared with mud for camouflage, praying that it would hold and go unnoticed in the event of a raid such as this.

You hadn’t expected to share it with a toddler, though.

But it had held firm and gone unnoticed even as everything else in your home was overturned and thrown askew, ripped apart by invaders with cheap leather armor and fishing knives- an hastily gathered army, clearly.

Before leaving in anger, the lot of them had shredded through your broken house and thrown their frustrated fists through the crumbling walls, leaving dozens of holes that you would have to patch with naught but straw, hay, and mud.

Winter would be harder this year, and every year after.

Especially with a baby in tow.

You hadn’t the heart to throw MK out, or leave him to the elements, but you hadn’t been brave enough to seek out his parents, either- if someone wanted him dead, then you would be on their list for harboring him, too.

“Y/N,” the young boy squeals, breaking you from reminiscence as he runs up to you with a smile. “There’s monkeys outside again!”

“…huh. Usually they don’t come around here. Make sure you stay away from the door, buddy.”

You turn to face him, only to sigh at his blatant disobedience- he’s toddling straight towards the broken hole you use as an entrance, only covered by a thick sheet of wool- it had been a sweater that grew too dirty for further use, leaving you to use the rancid thing as a weighted tarp to keep out chills.

Soap was a luxury you could rarely get your hands on, which meant it was better used for personal bathing than clothes-tending.

If you or MK; whom you tiredly sweep up into your arms, needed new clothing, you could always head down to the cemetery on a windy night to snatch up all the fabric left as offerings- they could easily be repurposed into makeshift garments.

The boy squirms in your lap, tugging on a lock of your hair to steady himself as he stands up.

“Why can’t I go out and play with the monkeys? I’ll be good, I promise!”

“Monkeys like to eat babies, kiddo. They might snatch you up and throw you into a pot,” you return, poking his squishy little cheek.

“I’m not a baby, and monkeys don’t use pots! Cause they don’t have kitchens!”

“Yeah? I hear they get to use the whole palace on the top of the mountain,” you lie, leaning in to kiss his forehead. “And I hear they take itty-bitty babies up to the ovens to be cooked.”

“…liar.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

MK, in spite of his age, is a pretty good sport when it comes to teasing and jesting. He doesn’t hold grudges and doesn’t ask for much. He eats what you give him and never asks for a second plate.

…really, he’s just a good kid.

You’ve done what you can for him. Warm clothes and clean bedding, and the occasional toy when you could scrounge it up. He eats before you do, and you make sure he has the softer portion of whatever meal you’ve scraped together. At night, he sleeps close by, wrapped up in the cleanest blankets you have, his little head nestled against your shoulder. Sometimes, his tiny fingers tangle in your shirt, holding on tight as if, in sleep, he’s afraid of being lost.

You’ve made it through rough times with him at your side, never without purpose as long as you could return to him.

You can make it through anything, you think, as long as you have MK.

But this year, you worry. Winter feels sharper already, creeping into your bones even though it’s only autumn. The flowers on the mountain haven’t died off yet, but the chilly bite warns you that cold days are coming fast. Supplies have been meager; the mountain rains came early, spoiling at least some of the crops before they could be harvested and gathered.

But MK—little, bright-eyed MK—he’s full of life, unafraid, and curious. Where you see danger in the forest’s shadows, he sees playmates and adventure. His world is small—just your home, the patch of trees nearby, and the lakes you risk bringing him to in the break of dawn. He doesn’t yet understand what it means to live with less. To him, the world is a place of wonder.

And you, for all your struggles, feel lighter with him around. His laughter fills the little corners of your life, and his bright chatter fends off the loneliness that once crept in on quiet nights.

“Y/N?” MK’s soft voice pulls you from your thoughts again. “If the monkeys go back to the kings, maybe they could tell them to bring food down here.”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling. “Oh, you think the demon kings will listen to a bunch of monkeys? They’re big and mighty, MK. They don’t worry about little things like the people below.”

“Maybe…” he murmurs, thoughtful, “But maybe if I ask really nice, they’ll listen. Then you wouldn’t be hungry.” His face scrunches up, serious and brave. “I can be nice. Really, really nice.”

Your heart squeezes a little at that, seeing the determination in his young eyes. “Oh, buddy,” you murmur, stroking his hair. “You’re plenty nice. But there are some things we can’t ask for, even from the kings.”

He frowns, thinking it over. “But…maybe if I brought them a really, really good tribute, then they’d listen?”

You stifle a sigh. MK’s generosity knows no bounds—he has so little, yet he dreams of giving. “Let’s not worry about the kings,” you say gently, redirecting his thoughts. “The best thing you can do is keep me company, just like you always do.”

He considers this, nodding, and a smile breaks out on his face again. “Okay!” He hops down from your lap, already chasing after a stray insect that has wandered into your home, flitting in and out of the small rays of sun that pierce through the cracks in the walls.

And you know, as you watch him, that no matter how harsh this winter might be, as long as MK is with you, there will be warmth to hold on to.

“Y’know, I hear that today is the lost prince’s birthday!”

“Really?!” he gasps, his tiny hands clasped in excitement.

You nod, a sly smile playing on your lips. “Yep. Word is, there are grand feasts in his honor, all the way up in the palace on Flower Fruit Mountain.”

His eyes widen, filled with wonder, his mouth forming a perfect ‘o’. “Wow… Can we go see it?”

“Ah, but it’s only for royalty and their guests,” you reply, ruffling his hair. “They guard that palace like hawks. Only those with a golden invitation can even get close. But, this year… I hear that before they eat, they’re going to the village a mountain over to visit their friends this time… and that their guards are going with them.”

He perks up immediately, eyes wide and gleaming- a little ray of lustrous light to match even gold.

“Y/N… are you going to sneak in?”

“I’m gonna rob them blind,” you confirm, squishing his cheeks between your hands. “That’s why I need you to stay inside today, buddy-“

“I’m going up the mountain.”

Those had been the start of your parting words to your surrogate little brother, instilling a brilliant radiance into his wide, innocent eyes. The thought of a belly full of food fit for kings… what orphan didn’t dream of that?

The trek up had been strikingly simple- all the usual simian distractions had retreated to their dens to mourn the lost prince, leaving you with only the occasional fly or gnat to swat away.

No guards. No soldiers. Nothing to stand in your way.

In hindsight it had been foolish to expect things to be so easy, but… the journey up to the peak hadnlulled you into a false sense of security.

The climb grew colder as you neared the palace. The lush forests below gave way to sparse, twisted trees and jagged rocks, their edges sharp enough to draw blood if you weren’t careful. Shadows lengthened as the day waned, and the silence grew thick, broken only by the occasional whistle of the wind through cracks in the stone.

At the top, the palace loomed—a grand structure carved from dark stone, adorned with gilded statues and red banners that snapped and waved in the mountain breeze. It was as silent as a tomb, its towering gates shut tight.

As you reached the summit, a dense mist clung to the air, and the grand stone gates of the palace loomed before you—ornate and ancient, their carved simian figures seeming to leer down with knowing eyes. Despite your heart thundering with the thrill of what you were about to do, you felt a strange weight settle in your chest. The palace was silent, and the eerie hush made it feel like a place caught between realms, haunted by whispers of an ancient power that was never meant to be trifled with.

But in spite of that internal warning you had crept easily enough to the side, and popped open a glinting, golden-framed window, then slid your legs through the maw- and started your thieving crawl through the palace.

The kitchen is laid with a spread so luxurious it makes your stomach clench with hatred and greed- golden plates piled high with delicate fruit, honeyed meat strung from a dozen racks, wine jars glittering with jeweled necks, the air itself thick with the scent of expensive incense and exotic spices.

All for the birthday of the lost prince, you reminded yourself, a prince who had likely never known hunger or hardship.

“Qi Xiaotian,” he had been named, was lost as a babe to a rebellion led several years ago by the discontented people of your village, those who decided that dying by their makeshift blades was better than living under royal heels.

After he had been; presumably, kidnapped by one of the rebels who had broken through the palace gates, the kings had grown cold and harsh, retreating from the world at large and leaving their lavish dwellings only to accept tributes and settle riotous disputes.

…that wasn’t enough to make you feel bad for them, though.

Tray after tray you scout, going through rows of jars, sacks, and baskets overflowed with preserved fruits, dried meats, and delicate pastries. Your hands tremble as you fill a small bundle with as much as it could hold- a handful of salted meats here, a mooncake wrapped in delicate paper there—enough to sustain you and MK for… maybe a month.

Just as you were finishing up, a strange sensation prickled at the back of your neck. You turned, heart thudding, but saw nothing. Just shadows. The silence, however, had shifted, as if holding its breath. Then a voice—low, smooth, and dripping with amusement—broke the stillness.

“Well, well, well… what do we have here?”

You froze, and before you could even think to run, a figure stepped out from the darkness. His robe flowed like liquid night, embroidered with threads that gleamed in the faint light. A crown of twisted vines adorned his head, casting intricate shadows over a face that was as beautiful as it was terrifying.

Beside him is a simian bearing fur the color of sunlight, radiant fur flecked with beads of gold and wound with strings of glimmering citrine. His garments are wrapped with shimmering threads, emphasizing each muscle bulging from below the silk.

The Eclipse Kings of Flower Fruit Mountain: Sun Wukong and the Six-Eared Macaque.

The sable king steps closer, eyes narrowing as he looked down at your small, trembling form. His lips curved into a smirk. “Stealing from the kings of Flower Fruit Mountain. Bold, and… foolish… unless you were planning to pay us back for it?” Prods the long-tailed macaque, poking your crumb-stained cheek with his forefinger.

“I don’t have anything to give,” you whimper, tears of fear and pain beading up in your eyes. “I don’t-“

“Hush hush hush!” Coos the brighter of the kings, moving to lightly swat his mate’s hand from your chin with a dramatic flourish of his claws. “Moonlight, look at this little one!”

As the king who had caught you steps back to make space for his husband, the golden monkey snatches you by the waist and lifts without so much as straining a muscle, clearing your feet well from the ground. His golden tail wraps lazily into an approximation of a heart, bouncing around happily.

“Just look at you, dumpling! Such a cute little thing rummaging around in our cabinets, hmm? Were you too hungry to stay away?”

“…you shouldn’t give grace to such a naughty thief, Peaches,” says the umbral king, holding his hands out to you. “Let me see them.”

Although this one is clearly the icier of the two, he holds you with care in spite of needing to exert more effort than his mate.

“Usually,” the golden simian chirps with glee, “we would execute thieves on the spot! My mate’s cleaved more than a few right down the middle for snatching from our castle.” His face is pulled into an easygoing grin, tail still excitedly wagging.

“I stopped doing that a long time ago,” snaps the darker monkey. “It takes forever to clean bloodstains, and maids are hard to come by, Peaches. I don’t need them wasting their time scrubbing down my carpets.”

“Our.”

“Shut up, you damn-“

“And speaking of what’s “ours”… what do we do with this little thing?”

The two monkeys look over you with varied looks, one grinning ear to ear as he pokes at your cheeks and strokes your hair, the other more restrained with only a cocked eyebrow.

“…what we usually do to thieves and trespassers.”

The feeling in your gut isn’t unlike a falling icicle, coldly sundering any hope you had of making it out of this castle alive. You were going to die. You were going to die and never see your brother again, and then he was going to starve all alone in that awful little hut.

You were going to die alone.

You were going to die unloved.

The golden king sounds a pitying gasp as tears begin to spill over your cheeks and trickles down your chin, splattering onto the polished marble floors below.

The air in your lungs begins to quickly fade, replaced with sharp gasps for breath interspersed with desperately babbled apologies. Sorry after sorry after sorry after-

“Little one, little one! Shh, shh,” the Great Sage pleads, scooping you into his powerful arms. “Shhhh, shhh, there there… it’s okay, dumpling… please, no more tears… you’ll just break this old monkey’s heart, you know that?”

“Stop fussing,” demands his mate, reaching over to card through your messy hair. “You aren’t going to manipulate us.”

“I- I’m not- no, I’m not- that’s not-“

“Shhhh! Be a good little mortal and shush! No more words, little one!” Macaque, what are you even-“

“Haven’t you noticed how they smell?”

The golden king freezes, glittering eyes going wide as his mate points out something he sincerely hadn’t noticed at all- that your scent is indeed strikingly familiar in a way that shreds out his heart and leaves him weak.

Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven, Handsome Monkey King- buries his face into the top of your hair, cradling you like a babe as his lips ghost the crown of your scalp, not unlike a father bidding his child goodnight with a kiss. He breathes in deep, taking the scent into his lungs and chest and holding it tighter than he holds you, only gasping it back out when breathless tears prick his eyes.

“…you smell like our son,” he whispers, holding you tighter and tighter. “I thought I was never going to- I thought I was going to die before I ever felt this- I- no, it- it’s like… gods, it’s like he’s here with us. Macaque, what do… what do we do?”

“…mortals don’t have the same scents as demons. They’re not as complex or strong. The only way a mortal gets the same scent as a demon is to spend hours with them.”

“So he’s alive”, Wukong croaks, the air in his lungs warbling with the effort to stay steady. “Our baby boy is alive. Macaque, he’s still here. Gods, he must’ve been lonely. He was so little, Macaque! He… he’s still alive.”

Wukong drops sharply to his knees, setting you on the ground with the downwards crash. The gold-veined marble cracks under the force of his movement, a testament to well-hidden power.

“Sweetie,” he coos, speaking to you as one speaks to a startled toddler,” “tell me- tell about all of your friends. Start to finish, okay? Can you do that for me, sweetie? I need to know who all they are.”

There’s a deep, desperate pleading in his voice, golden eyes scrunched to hold back tears.

“Please, please. Please tell me you know where my baby is.”

He’s so brokenly hopeful, so pleadingly anguished, so despairingly optimistic that give in to the welling guilt and admit-

“I only h-have one- he- his name is… it’s MK. He… he has brown hair and black eyes, and he’s… his favorite color is orange. He-“

Macaque screams.

He screams louder than the winds howl atop the mountain in winter, louder than tornados roar in the dry spells of summer, louder and louder and louder with each consecutive shriek until gilded windows shatter and silver braziers are snuffed.

“THAT’S HIM,” the sable king wails, throwing a fist through a solid sheet of the gold wall before him. “THAT’S MY BABY!!”

He rips his bleeding arm from the opulent ruin and tackles Wukong in a fit of relieved tears and broken openness, leaving the two tumbling in an eclipse of hues, gold and ebony rolling together on a red carpet.

They embrace in a moment of sheer, mind-numbing relief, wailing together that their beloved son hadn’t been lost, so utterly allayed that they almost forget there’s a world spinning around them.

You take your chance, and dart from the room, footsteps dulled by the luxurious carpet below.

They’ll realize that you’re gone any minute, and raise a din and raise their army- you can imagine them in the village already, desperately offering armfuls of gold and silver to any who can find you or drag you from whatever hiding place you’ve snuck to, to anyone who can return their last ticket to reuniting with their precious little cub.

You don’t even turn a single corner before what sounds like four steps of footsteps sound, racing close behind- too scared to look back, you simply fling yourself from the nearest broken window and pray you’ll land safely.

Sure enough, there’s a peach tree just below you, providing an uncomfortable cushion that prevents any fractures or breaks, thought not without shredding your arms and knees against the rough and untrimmed branches.

But losing a little blood wasn’t much when you were already afraid to lose your life.

The night air feels is oppressively thick, bitingly cold as you scramble down from the branches, your whole body aching from scratches and bruises.

It hurts, but not as much as the thought of losing MK hurts.

Every cut burns, but fear drives you forward as you push through the dark orchard. Peaches litter the ground beneath the trees, bruised and rotting, filling the air with their sickly-sweet scent. You can still hear the faint echo of anguished screams from the castle above, and you know you have to keep moving, no matter how heartbreaking the noise.

Branches continue to scratch at your skin as you hurry through the orchard, weaving between the twisted trunks of ancient peach trees. The cries of the two kings haunt you, but your heart pounds with a different terror—a need to survive, to get back to MK and keep him safe.

Swallowing hard, you push onward into the forest, where the air turns colder and the ground is uneven, littered with stones and roots. It’s dark, and the towering trees block out even the faintest hint of moonlight, leaving you to stumble blindly forward, each step a gamble.

Your lungs burn, each breath sharper than the last as you push through the dense underbrush, your only light the faint silver of cloud-breaking starlight piercing through gaps in the canopy. You can’t help but glance over your shoulder, half-expecting to see the flash of golden eyes in the shadows.

You’ve had your fill of gold and silver- that gleam has quickly lost all luster.

In your scramble down the mountain path, you nearly trip over a root hidden under the leaf-strewn ground, catching yourself just in time. You can feel a faint ache in your chest as you think about MK, probably huddled up alone, waiting for you to come back. You bite back the surge of guilt for leaving him and going so far in the first place; there’s no time for regret, no time for anything but survival.

So you fervently press on, slipping and sliding overrocks and mud, your hands numb and cold as you cling to branches to steady yourself.

You’re going to feel like hell in the morning.

Every step feels heavier, but the thought of MK—waiting, maybe scared and hungry—keeps you upright. You cling to that memory like a lifeline, using it to drag yourself forward when exhaustion claws at you, urging you to collapse into the moss and leaves.

Just as you’re ready to push on, you hear something rustle behind you, faint but distinct. Your heart skips, and for a split second, you’re sure it’s them—the kings, tracking you, maybe already upon you, with Wukong’s wild desperation and Macaque’s icy agony close on your heels. You whip your head around, pulse thundering dangerously fast in your chest. But there’s nothing there, only shadows that play tricks on your eyes.

It’s just the wind, you lie to yourself.

Yet, no sooner have you relaxed than you hear another sound—a soft murmur, almost like…laughter? It’s chilling, unnervingly familiar, a low chuckle that seems to drift from the very darkness around you. You start running, branches whipping against your cheeks, the laughter echoing in the trees like mocking ghosts.

As you push further, the underbrush begins to thin, the ground leveling out into a narrow path long worn into the mountain. Relief fills you as you recognize it—the way back to the village, back to MK. But just as you think you’ve escaped, a figure steps out from behind a nearby tree, blocking the path ahead.

It’s Macaque.

The dark-furred king stands there, arms crossed, his piercing gaze fixed on you. His tail lashes behind him, giving away a tension that his otherwise calm expression doesn’t. “Running away, little rabbit?” he purrs, voice smooth and soft, velvet hiding a dagger. “You thought we wouldn’t find you?”

Panic coils tighter around your heart. You don’t answer, can’t answer, with your breath shallow and eyes locked on his, searching for any hint of mercy. Yet, even in your fear, you see the pain in his eyes, the raw, unhealed wound that losing a son has left behind.

He takes a step closer, and you instinctively back up—until your heel catches on a loose stone, and you stumble. Macaque moves in a flash, catching you before you can fall, his grip like iron around your arm. There’s a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, almost as if he’s hesitant, but it vanishes just as quickly.

At that moment, you feel a warm presence nearby, and a golden glow illuminates the path. Wukong appears behind Macaque, his expression far softer than his husband’s. He looks at you with tearful eyes, earlier desperation simmering beneath his clouded gaze. “We just want to know where our son is, sweetie,” he says, voice coaxing. “Help us find him, and we can put all of this behind us.”

For a moment, you’re trapped between them, their eyes—glowing —boring into you with the weight of ages, burning on either side of you. You are prey, trapped in the gaze of ancient predators, creatures who could tear you apart if they chose.

You feel a lump rising in your throat, guilt twisting in your chest. You want to help them, to tell them more, to ease that raw grief carved into their souls. But how could you? MK didn’t remember them. He’d never once spoken of a family, of a past like theirs.

Would it really be a betrayal to bring him to people who could no doubt care for him better than you ever could?

You rip from his clawed grasp with a sob, blood spilling from your arm where his nails were clutched tight- and then step back.

Air whistles around you through the sharp plummet, blaring out the wails of the two kings. It’s not too long of a fall, it won’t break or kill you- it’s just one more thing that’s going hurt tomorrow, when you wake up next to MK -and you will wake up next to him- and bid him “good morning”.

As you fall, the world blurs around you, and for a moment, there’s only the rush of air and the distant cries of the kings above. The impact comes suddenly—a jolt that rattles every bone in your body as you hit the shallow puddle below, your vision sparking with a burst of white. Pain blooms in your side, sharp and searing, but you manage to roll onto your hands and knees, gasping for breath. Everything aches, but you’re alive. And more importantly, you’re closer to the outskirts of the village, closer to MK.

You rise shakily, wiping a streak of blood from your face. The path ahead is illuminated by starlight growing ever fainter, barely peeling through even the sparsely dotted trees.

The half-hovel is only a short walk away, barely three meters from your spot of impact, leaving you to start crawling; hands and knees alight with pain, to that little refuge.

Every inch forward feels like a mountain climbed, your breath coming out in ragged gasps, as you drag yourself closer to that pitiful excuse for a home. The hut is run-down, its roof half-collapsed, with walls patched by whatever scraps you could find. But right now, it’s the only place that feels safe, and the only place where MK will be waiting for you.

Your fingers scrape against rotted as you pull yourself up onto the threshold, bracing against the shattered doorframe, steadying your shaking limbs. The inside is dim, with just the faint embers of the fire you lot in that little stone pit, the weak light casting long shadows against the walls. And there, curled up on a ragged mat, is MK—sleeping soundly, his tiny form bundled up in a blanket far too thin for the chill in the air.

You feel relief rush over you like a wave, washing away the pain and exhaustion, if only for a moment. You swallow back tears as you carefully lower yourself beside him, reaching out a trembling hand to brush a lock of hair from his face. He stirs at the touch, eyes fluttering open with a groggy mumble, his gaze unfocused at first before he realizes it’s you.

“You’re back,” he whispers, his voice small and sleepy, a hint of worry melting into relief as he reaches for your hand. “I… I thought you weren’t coming back this time.”

“I’d never leave you, MK. Not for anything.” Your voice wavers, and you squeeze his hand tighter, trying to push down the overwhelming flood of emotions. “I’ll always come back for you.”

He smiles—a soft, innocent smile that nearly breaks you. You can’t tell him what happened, can’t bear the thought of burdening him with the danger you faced tonight, or the kings who would give anything to find him.

Instead you settle beside him, draping an arm over his small shoulders as he curls up against you, his warmth seeping into your aching bones.

“Did you get any food?” he asks tiredly, eyes drooping shut again.

You reach for the cloth bundle on your back and pull it off, watching all four corners unravel and flutter open as it’s tossed into the ground-

It’s all still there. Busted, bruised, some of it mangled, but it’s still there. Fruit, veggies, nuts, meat, and even sweets.

Just like you promised.

The boy (a prince, you’ve learned) squeals with delight, clambering over to sample the spoils of your hellish night. He settles for cramming his little face with an assortment of the pilfered banquet, accidentally crushing some bit of it into crumbs with how badly his hands shake from excitement.

It’s only when he’s full enough to pause that MK looks over to you with a frown, clambering over with a mooncake held tight in his little hands- and then he pushes it to your mouth.

“Say ‘ahhh’!”

Even through the agony pricking through your skin, a smile forms- such a sweet little thing he’s grown into, even in these… limited circumstances.

“…aaaah”, you acquiesce, allowing him to nudge the pastry between your parted lips, eating half of it in one go.

“…good?”

“Really good, buddy.” You take another bite, swallowing the rest with some small satisfaction. “I’m gonna take a quick nap, okay?”

“…promise you’ll wake up.”

Oh, gods. That hurt. Sometimes you forgot how perceptive the boy was, how eager and clever. How could you think he wouldn’t notice the suffering crawling all through your body?

“Oh, kiddo. I will wake up, I promise. I’m just tired. I’ll wake up and start a fire, and we can roast the meat and nuts to warm ‘em up, okay? I promise.”

He doesn’t seem too convinced, but settles into a hushed state as he polishes off a mango and ties up the bundle again.

“You better,” the little one huffs, looking over to see that you’ve already fallen asleep. He shuffles to his little chest and pulls out the cleanest blanket he has, draping it over your shoulders before starting to crawl in with you-

Right until a knock sounds on the outer wall of the hut.

MK freezes, clutching the edge of the blanket, his wide, black eyes darting to the door. The thin walls do little to muffle the gentle, deliberate tapping. His face twists in confusion and fear, and he inches back toward you, pressing himself close against your side, trying to make himself as small as possible. He can hear his own heartbeat hammering in his chest, the room so silent that each beat feels like a drum signaling his hiding place.

The knock sounds again, a steady rhythm that’s somehow polite but insistent, as if the person on the other side knows exactly what lies within and won’t leave without answers. The thought tightens MK’s chest with dread. He glances at you, wanting you to wake, but exhaustion has claimed you too fully. He shifts, leaning close to your ear, whispering with all the urgency his little body can muster.

The matted wool curtain is pulled aside, and a long shadow falls over the two of you.

It’s Wukong.

He’s not dressed in the regal robes from before, his crown and adornments discarded somewhere along the journey down the mountain. He looks oddly… humbled, vulnerable even, his golden fur matted and streaked with grime. He too has trekked through brambles and mud to find this place.

In that moment, the fierce, untamed warrior, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, reduced to a father—nothing more, nothing less—just a father, lost and found in the presence of his child.

“My son.”

MK stiffens, eyes going wide with confusion and a strange, nameless feeling that curls tight in his chest. The voice calls to something deep within him, something he doesn’t understand yet can’t ignore. He doesn’t remember this voice, but he feels it as though he’s always known it—like a lullaby, like the whisper of leaves in the wind.

MK clutches the edge of your blanket tighter, his face a mixture of uncertainty and fear as he looks up at the stranger in the doorway. Wukong’s gaze softens further, and he steps into the dim light, eyes filled with a desperate hope tempered by patience. He’s careful, his movements gentle and measured as he crouches down, bringing himself to MK’s eye level.

“Do you know me, little one?” he asks, voice trembling slightly as he waits, searching MK’s expression for any glimmer of recognition.

MK tilts his head, brow furrowing as he studies Wukong. There’s a flicker in his black eyes—a hint of familiarity that he can’t quite place, something ancient and deep inside him stirring, like a faint memory from a distant dream. But he shakes his head slowly, his lips pressed together as he shrinks back a little, still clutching the blanket.

Wukong’s face falls, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his grief. He swallows, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill. “I… I thought maybe you’d remember.” His voice is barely a whisper, so soft that it sounds like a confession, a plea.

But Wukong quickly straightens, forcing a small, trembling smile. He can’t bear to scare his child, can’t bear to make him feel any more uncertain than he already does. “It’s okay,” he says, his voice still gentle, though there’s a glimmer of resolve in his eyes. “It’s okay if you don’t remember, little one. I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He glances down at you, still asleep beside MK, his expression softening with gratitude. Despite everything, despite the fear and pain you must have faced, you had cared for his son, protected him in his absence. There’s a flicker of respect, maybe even admiration, in his gaze.

But then, before he can say anything else, the curtain shifts, and Macaque steps into the hut as well, his dark, intense gaze zeroing in on MK. His movements are slow and deliberate, as though afraid that anything too sudden might frighten the boy. He stops just inside the threshold, his usual sly demeanor replaced with a vulnerability that’s almost startling.

“…my baby.”

The weight of those two words settles over MK like a blanket of warmth, a feeling he doesn’t quite understand . Still, it stirs a pull in his heart that defies reason. He glances at you again, hoping for some guidance, some sign of what to do—but you’re still sound asleep, completely oblivious to the quiet storm raging in his heart.

After a moment, MK opens his mouth, and his voice, so soft and uncertain, trembles through the space.

“Why don’t I remember you?”

The question, so small yet filled with an innocence that pierces both kings, brings a quiet gasp from Wukong. He reaches up to touch his chest, struggling to contain the ache there. He can’t meet MK’s eyes for a moment, his gaze fixed on the floor as he takes a shuddering breath.

“That’s… that’s because you were very young when we… when we lost you, my little peach,” Wukong finally whispers, his voice hoarse. “You wouldn’t remember us, not after so long, but… we’ve missed you every single day.”

MK steps forward for a moment, wanting and wanting and feeling so very loved-

But then the boy pulls his hand back, glancing at you beside him, his expression suddenly filled with uncertainty. “But… I already have someone,” he says softly, nodding to your prone form. “They take care of me. They’re… my family.”

“We’ll take them too,” Wukong spits out, dropping to his knees and becoming his lost son forward. “All four of us can go home together, Xiaotian. Like… like a big, happy family.”

Macaque steps forward shaking with the effort spent to not rush him immediately. “That’s right, baby. We’ll take you, and… and we’ll take the little thief, and we can go home. Together.”

MK looks back at you, so broken and worn that he fears you might not make the night without someone else’s help- the thought straightens his brow, and sets his little head into a stiff nodding motion.

Finally, he could help you, just as you had helped him so long ago.

“Ok. Let’s go home- all of us, together.”

[scoutswritingcorner]

hi!! i saw your angel dust headcannons for a small cold reader and was possibly hoping i can request some angel dust comfort? my family’s been giving me a rough time lately and i just can’t seem to escape them :( i just want some fluffy spider cuddles (and mayhaps a raccoon demon reader 👀 it’s not needed it was just a funny little detail to add lol)

The Best Way To Comfort

Angel Dust x Male Raccoon Demon Reader

A/N: Hihi Anon! You’re request was so fucking adorable and I hope everything gets better my friend! Hope this brings a smile to your face and I was writing this with a Raccoon Demon reader in my mind!!

-🕷️ As soon as he sees you upset Angel is scooping you up in his arms and hugging you close. If you don’t want to talk to him about it, he won’t pressure you. He understands being closed off and unresponsive. But if you want to talk? He’s all ears baby. If you start crying, he wipes your tears away and kisses your forehead.

-🩷 Best cuddler around, he’s got all those arms for a reason and holding you against him is the best use of those arms second best to holding your hand. He also loves your ears and little bushy racoon tail (and how you're always grabbing things ya’ little thief-). His eyes widen in surprise if you allow him to touch your ears and tail. 

-🕷️ He adores how short you are compared to him and will pick you up at random. Do not get me started if you start making those chittering raccoon noises, he will laugh and kiss your face. He thinks it’s down right adorable.

-🩷 This straight up became talking about raccoon things you do BUT- Some nights he wakes up to see you skulking around and if you get caught you freeze before slowly reaching for whatever you wanted. He finds it adorable but you are disrupting his beauty sleep and he will pick you up to bring back to bed, he’s not afraid of your growls and hissing.

-🕷️ Back to cuddles, laying your head on his chest floof and falling asleep with Fat Nuggets in your arms is a 100% chance of him snapping some pictures. His phone background is a picture of you having fallen asleep in a weird place and his lockscreen is of you and him at a bar.

-🩷 Sometimes when he can’t find Fat Nuggets around and he starts to freak out, he just lifts up your tail and finds the little piglet dead asleep curled up. This mostly happens when he comes home super late from work and finds you still awake but focused on something else. 

-🕷️ Kisses? Are a must, he loves kissing you. Bending down and kissing you, picking you up and kissing you. That one time where you literally climbed your own boyfriend and kissed him. He loves it and the ways he can kiss you are endless. 

-🩷 One time you were clinging to his back and he forgot about you for a moment and literally went looking around the hotel for you. He was in tears by the time Charlie brought it up and after that? He was embarrassed and won’t talk to anyone for an hour.

-🕷️Also can we talk about how caring he is? Like if you need to take medication? He’s set an alarm on your phone and he will text you as another reminder. Even when he’s on set, he has a personalized alarm for himself so he won’t forget either. Need help reaching something while you cook or want a snack that Alastor hides from you? It’s already in his hands.

-🩷 Angel Dust loves you so much and wants the best for you. For him? You’re the best thing that has happened in a very very long time and he doesn’t want to lose you. Not that he will, you got your little thieving fingers around his heart and you’re not letting go of your greatest treasure.

[uchihaxitachi]

itachi’s june -> day 5: highschool (soft)!bully itachi hcs

-> a/n: i know we are months after itachi’s birthday month but life happens, okay? 😭 and since i’m not really doing kinktober this year i figured i should just focus on this instead‼️

-> modern au, itachi is a highschooler in his third year. he’s a soft bully cus he’s a gentleman core to the end :3 and i can’t see him going over the top~

bully!itachi is a force to reckon with, especially when he’s also a senior at school. the day you first met him was at the cafeteria, you had just started your highschool journey & thought it should go by without an issue. unless— you watched someone ask a senior out. he looked emotionless, vague & so disrespectfully disinterested. it takes guts to ask someone out publically and his personality made you wonder who he truly is. “uchiha itachi. he’s like the highschool heart throb, most uchihas are. then entire family is like a clan sorta thing- they are like, distant cousins or something.” she indulges your curiosity. your eyes mingled with the dude who was standing, looking down at the girl with pursed lips. “sorry, you know i don’t date moderately attractive women.”

wow; what an asshole — you glared at him at a distance, unaware that it was the exact moment where your eyes meet. itachi had beautiful, but stern looking eyes. dedicated stress likes which in his case only made him prettier. you gulped, as if a thief caught red-handed, & looked away. however, what you missed to notice was itachi’s subtle smirk after. “oh no- he’s approaching you!” your friend urgently whispered, and before you could say anything… there he was. “hello, seemed like you really wanted to stand up for the underdog there. why didn’t you?” he hums, leaning in a little. great! no introductions, no pleasantries.

“cus it’s none’o’my business.” you scoffed, looking at him back in the eye. typical dior sauvage mingled with another scent that you don’t figure out. itachi’s smile faded at the sass. “then, if something wrong happens with you, my dear… don’t expect people to care.” he gently touched the ends of your hair, tucking it behind your ear. the action has you taken aback — what did he even mean! “i’m sure i don’t need anyone to step in.” you raise a brow, adamant & dominant in your tone. that’s right - you bloody don’t. you can handle a dude who’s too full of himself all by yourself.

your attention was diverted to the chitter chatter around you. people were almost — fixated on you and him. jesus christ, was he that popular?! you lean back from him immediately. causing him to reflexively wrap his hand around your wrist, pulling you closer to him. even with your resistance, you were bolted against him. your chest pressed against his torso. “what are you doin’!!” your hand was twisted and nudged against your back, arching it. “sorry, i just wasn’t finished with the conversation.” he says simply, still holding you close. “name, and class…”

seriously? what does he think of himself! name and class? “my name’s mind your business, and my class is leagues above you.” you hated that you came up with something so cliche but it was last minute. itachi just chuckled, letting you go. his eyes unwavering as he glared at your friend, calling her with his fingers curling. she’s blinking, unsure what to do and just walks up to him. “hey, what’s her name?” he asks, and she blurts it out. your name, your class. you wanted to dig a hole and die. “why? want to come to my class and bother me?” you glared & scoffed, arms crossing in defense. “mm, not decided yet.” he flicks your forehead & walks away. the first interaction with itachi was so weird…

ever since that incident, some people started looking at you differently. girls approached you more, some of them lowkey threatened you for not buzzing around itachi. as if! you were really not interested in this whole uchiha shenanigan. until, one of these days you were targetted by those same group of girls in the cafeteria. the typical trick of downing an entire plate of food on you does the trick. phones were out, mean comments were being spouted. “she thinks she’s all that” / “oops, are ya gonna cry?” / “who does she think she is?” || you couldn’t believe just an interaction with the uchiha was proving to be so troublesome. you tried your best to control your emotions, to not either rage out or cry about this.

“ah- there you are little y/n.” he hums, walking towards you and leaving the crowd shaken up by just his presence alone. the girls looked at him & you. honestly, you didn’t expect him to hover around this. “let’s get you changed.” he hums, smiling a little. “i’m sure people here would know better than to stress you out again. i suppose, i see it as my sole responsibility.” he speaks to you but his glare is lethal towards everyone. “and i’m sure, people know better than to post those videos. i can hunt them down quite easily.” he coos, walking away with you. dumbfounded. you are literally dumbfounded. “why?” you mumbled, walking with him towards the infirmary. “just because i wouldn’t like someone else bear the consequences of my attention. i’d rather you bear them when i am the sole contributor.” itachi… talked in this weird, refined manner that just made you giggle. weirdo…

that was the day itachi started to hang around you most of the time. you’re going home? need someone to follow you? you don’t? ah, too bad. you can’t make decisions for someone else. he follows you home and makes small talk, teasing you and telling you that he would probably come inside & tell your mom that you like him…. which you absolutely don’t. (yet).

there are some days where he notices you don’t eat much during lunch hours. honestly, sometimes the food from the cafeteria just gives you the ick. you have been seen eating wafers, some junk food and sometimes snacking on protein bars. one of these days, you’d just find him throwing it away. “trash.” is all he says, watching your mouth agape when you notice he just threw off your bloody lunch! before you can say anything, there is an eerie sense or urgent rage that flows through you. coming through as glossed eyes. you push his chest away. “what’s it gotta do with you motherfucker.” you snarl at him, walking away. itachi leaves you alone for the next few days, until you are found eating whatever again. this time when he comes closer to you, you glare daggers instantly. “i will kill you.” you scoffed. however, itachi had… an alternate idea. “brought some home-made ramen with eggs and meat.” he hums, “wanna try?” // “is it drugged?” // “wanna try?” // “is it drugged?” // “what could i possibly gain from drugging it?” // you sigh, taking the ramen from him. itachi & his weird ways of showing affection honestly.

itachi had never been so constant and buzzing around someone at all. with the way he swarms around you, his uchiha cousins have noticed you. there’s shisui, sasuke… and some other folks that he hangs out with. sasuke uchiha is itachi’s sibling, and one day, he embarrasses itachi on the way home with you. “i don’t get it, why do you insist on following me home like a dog?” // “because you amuse me, little one.” // “no because he’s whipped & doesn’t have the balls to say it.” sasuke says out loud, a metre or two away. “ah….. sasuke…..” that was the first time you saw itachi’s careful and calm aura disappear for a moment.

during the highschool trip, itachi didn’t let anyone sit next to you in the bus. him & only him. he even let you lean your head against his shoulder when you slept without a care. no boys were allowed near you. and just to piss him off, you decide to meet up with your classmates late at night for a drinking game. things end up… a little escalated because clearly one of them couldn’t hold their alcohol, and tried to push himself on you. that was the day you realized… itachi is dangerous. especially when you couldn’t count how many times his fists met the poor chap’s face.

-> honestly i think this needs parts i just keep writing on writing 😭 but yeah, he’s not your typical bully per se. he’s just… well, itachi. 🤷🏻‍♀️

[idkfitememate]

Since anons are putting diffirent types of animals for the baor!creator, what if theres like a snake!creator? I kinda thinking of Baizhu white snake(what was her name again?) and the one who find them is Zhongli, well more like Snake!creator found him instead, this how I was thinking they met.

Zhongli just sipping some tea right? enjoying the sunlight and the chitter or Liyue habor, then suddenly theres smiley/squsiy texture slither around his leg(he panics cuz I heard he hates slimey texture? smt along those lines ig), he looks down and see, a spotless and shiny ass snake slithering around his leg, they made eye contact, but the snake only continues slithering, Zhongli face is disgusted since well, slimey, but he was gentle when removing the snake and helding it face to face, they both held eye contact, before, the snake lick his nose, and Zhongli's thoughts after the action 'holy shit that was adorable' after that, you can always see Zhongli with a snake slithering around his arms, and shoulders

MEME:

Zhongli: 'I only have this snake for 5 mintues'

Zhongli: 'If anything happens to them, I kill everyone in this Habor and then myself'

Zhongli Encounter

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : GN! Snake Reader x Liyue

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 426

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Fluff, Reader vs. Changsheng lol

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : Her name (Baizhu’s snake) is Changsheng! And I love big snakes so… Reticulated python! The larges recorded was 32 ft and 9 1/2 in (9 m and 98.22 cm)! Itto is about 6 ft 4 in (1 m and 93.04 cm), so a Reticulated python is around 9 and 9/10 Itto’s ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა!

Hearing screams and feeling something running across his leg was not how Zhongli wanted to spend his time.

The way this man was considering just spearing the damn thing beneath his was… it was honestly scary. Children ran from the sight of his glare.

Whatever it was it was long. And slimy. And it moved his pants legs up so he could feel it on his skin.

Not fun.

He finally had enough and looked underneath the table, grabbing what he held thought to be the head.

And he did grab the head!

It required both hands, however.

Because what he pulled up was probably one of the largest non magical snakes he had ever seen in his life. And he’s lived a long ass time mind you.

His first genuine thought was ‘Changsheng’s cousin?’ And then he realized how dumb that sounded.

And then you licked his nose.

New best friend.

You couldn’t.. wrap around him. But you followed him. Closely. People of the Harbor honestly thought it fit Zhongli to have a regal snake following him as a companion. He was slick and snake like, after all.

Despite your… largeness however, Zhongli did like it whenever you wrapped around him to the best of your abilities. It was nice to feel the squeeze of a fellow reptilian.

When he found out that for some reason you could stomach human foods and liquids? Oh you know this man was on top of having you try out different teas and seeing if you tell the difference.

And when Hu Tao met you? You became the scarf of her as well. She loves patting your head and tries her damndest to get to understand the importance of selling coffins and getting people into them.

Seeing you preform tasks for the Funeral Parlor isn’t unusual, but the one place you can’t go is the Bubu Pharmacy. You and Changsheng fucking hate each other.

Snakes are super territorial after all.

She’s not allowed around Hu Tao or Zhongli, you’re not allowed around Baizhu or Qiqi.

Fair is fair but you really wanted to meet Qiqi and Baizhu.

Xiao has mixed feelings about you. On the one hand: Yay! Zhongli is happy! On the other: Zhongli is getting softer and softer damn-

That all changed when you wrapped around him.

Now the Adeptus protect you.

The way you would swallow a mob or thief in front of them and they’d just stare because you technically just committed murder.

Yeah, your everyone’s - minus Baizhu and Qiqi - new best friend.

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : Sorry if this is bad, I didn’t much know what to do… I feel bad- Anyway, I do hope you enjoyed it though ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა!

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

Choose

Tav attempts to steal the orphic hammer, and things go very, very wrong. Raphael x Tav. Fucked up deals and impossible choices ahead. A little bit of horror, as a treat.

'I'm starving, darling, let me put my lips to something, let me wrap my teeth around the world.' - Eat Your Young, Hozier

‘Don’t do it,’ whispered a wretched shade, their eyes panicked and wide as deer.

‘The master will come home,’ said another, voice barely floating on the stifling heat. The opulence of the house swam and sparkled, sweat slid its uncomfortable fingers down Tav’s spine.

‘We need to leave, and soon,’ said Gale urgently. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, his hair plastered to his face.

‘I have to agree,’ said Astarion, who appeared to be panting.

‘Alright,’ said Tav. ‘We grab the hammer and leave. Karlach, you’re first line of defense. Get to the portal now, I’ll meet you there.’

‘No soldier, I’m not leaving you.’

‘He’s all bark. We all know that. I get the hammer, I run for the portal, we leave. That’s an order.’

Astarion narrowed his red eyes. ‘Darling, I hate taking orders. But you are our esteemed leader, so…’

‘This is not wise,’ added Gale, pointing a finger at her for emphasis. ‘Especially not in his own house. And with that incubus of his wandering around. I’m sure Haarlep holds no love but we should be careful all the same.’

‘Nobody accused me of wisdom,’ she said flatly. ‘Now go.’

They retreated reluctantly at first, then picked up the pace as the shades lifted their feeble voices in a flurry of fear. Turning her gaze to the grand doors to the archives, she took a breath of hot, sulphurous air that burned her throat, squared her shoulders, and walked in.

The archivist glanced at her, barely interested now he believed her to be one of the denizens of Avernus. As quickly as possible, she whispered the password, grasped the Orphic hammer in both hands, and pulled. It was heavier than she was expecting, and she staggered slightly before righting herself just in time to see everything catch fire.

‘Shit,’ she breathed. The house erupted in screams, the shades fleeing to nowhere as imps and other hellsbeasts descended, pouring through the corridors and chittering. Fire licked at her as she ran, swinging the hammer half blindly and exhaling as it connected with an imp. Sweat poured from her like she was melting, her heart pounding as her feet hit the ground hard. The fire was catching on her clothes, smoke pouring into her mouth and nose and stinging her eyes. She coughed, doubling over.

‘Tav?’ came Karlach’s voice from what felt like a very long way away. ‘TAV?!’

‘M’coming,’ she said, closing her eyes briefly. Her head was light, swimming. The tadpole seemed to sense danger and was squirming horribly behind her eye.

‘He’s here!’ said Gale in a voice so high pitched and panicked it terrified her.

‘We have to GO!’ shrieked Astarion.

Then in an instant, the smoke cleared, the fire vanished, and Tav collapsed to her knees, fighting the urge to vomit. ‘Guys?’ she called out. ‘Gale? Karlach? Are you there?’ Climbing to her feet, she glanced around. The archivist appeared to be gone, and small charred bodies littered the floor. The imps, she realised.

There was no response from her friends. Briefly she wondered if they’d simply gone silent so as to remain hidden, but some part of her felt their absence. The whole house was quiet now. The shades were cowering, and hers was the only living thing she could hear.

For the space of a dozen heartbeats, at least.

‘I tried to be fair to you.’ A spike of fear shot through her at the sound of Raphael’s voice; it was calm, measured, and deadly quiet. ‘A fair deal on the table. Something I pride myself on, in fact.’ He sounded closer with every word, but then he paused, apparently listening for something. ‘You’re the only mortal thing in this house, little mouse,’ he hissed. ‘I can hear your heart, I can smell your fear. Thief. Run from me, if you think you can. Or,’ he paused, his voice falsely sweet, ‘come crawling, beg my forgiveness and we can forget this ever happened… after a few decades of reeducation.’

Tav chose to run.

Straining her ears, she deduced he was somewhere to the left, so she crept right and fixed her eyes on the waters of the boudoir, trying to be as quiet as possible. ‘You must hate it,’ she heard herself say, her eyes widening in horror at her impulsiveness, ‘knowing that I stole from right under your nose. What are you going to do about it, huh Raphael? It’s not like you shouldn’t have seen this coming. After all, you’re so clever.’

He growled. She smiled to herself despite the danger she was in, glad to have humiliated him at least a little. She kept creeping forward, then realised the floor was beginning to shake. The soft steps she’d strained her ears for had changed, thumping into the tile with heavy finality. What the fuck?

She made it to the gate and slipped through, turning her eyes to Haarlep in a silent plea. He almost looked sad as he snapped his fingers, vanishing. She blinked in confusion, glancing around frantically for somewhere to hide.

‘Foolish girl,’ crooned Raphael quietly, voice dripping with menace. ‘You could have made this easy, maintained my goodwill, but now, my sweet little morsel, you’ll pay dearly for what you’ve done. I assure you of that.’

Kill him. The thought popped unbidden into her mind. Tav watched the water throw patterns on the walls, its depths tinged with blood. She weighed her decision for a moment before stepping in, sighing as the waters soothed her hurts and the heaviness in her limbs cleared. She felt strong suddenly, vital.

And she’d taken too long.

There in the doorway, wings unfurled to entirely block the exit, was the devil. Somehow, here, she realised just how small she was in comparison. He stalked forward, crooking a finger. ‘The hammer. Now.’ Her feet remained rooted. He sighed, exasperated, and walked to her instead. She barely came up to his chest, his wings reaching to fold her within. ‘I should kill you,’ he said. ‘But you’re such a pretty little thing.’

‘Let me go,’ she blurted out. ‘We didn’t- I didn’t mean- we only-’ she stammered. ‘We have to free him, we had no choice!’

‘No choices left, little mouse,’ he said. ‘You could have just signed the contract. You’d have the hammer by now, you’d have power, you’d be free, walking the streets of your precious Baldur’s Gate with your adorable little friends and your fragile dreams. But not now.’ One massive clawed hand closed around her wrist, prying the hammer from her grasp. ‘Now I’m afraid I must resort to more… unsavoury measures.’

‘Don’t kill me,’ she said. ‘Please don’t. Please.’

‘As sweet as your begging is, I’m not going to kill you. The punishment must fit the crime, after all, and death, while momentarily satisfying, hardly makes up for the mess you’ve made of things.’

Tav had read the scrolls concerning Hope. His grip was unyielding as he slid his other hand around her waist, drawing her forward in a mockery of dance, his wings at her back, yellow eyes glowing, burning into hers in the dim light. ‘You can’t,’ she said before thinking. He just laughed, the deep rumble of it shuddering through her whole body.

‘This is your deal,’ he whispered, lips pulling back to show his fangs. ‘I allow you to leave my house at some indeterminate point in the future, after I feel you’ve been suitably punished. You get to live the rest of your years under sun and sky, but your soul is mine. That or die. Those are your options.’

‘But-’

‘Choose,’ he hissed. The colour drained from her face. I want to live.

‘Deal,’ she said, the beginnings of a sob choked off by his mouth claiming her, body and soul.

Tags: @forget-me-maybe

@boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana @amorgansgal

@auroraesmeraldarose @aryancunin @miradelletarot @marlowethebard

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@astarryvamp @feedthepheasants @dabigstinky @dreamingofthewild @ladyofcrowsandcoffee

[dairy-farmer]

In the same flavor as Talon Tim? And obsessive Dick? You know who ELSE is obsessive? Damian. Who goes absolutely apeshit over Legacies and Mantels etc? Damian.

He hated Tim because he was in the way.

But what if? He TRAGICALLY wasn't in the way? And Damian arrived to his Father tearing the world apart looking for Tim? Distraught? Is thrust into TIM'S role as the emotional pillar of the family?

Well obviously, FINDING Tim would secure everyone's esteem. Tim would CLEARLY need time to recover, be grateful, likely hand over Robin. And? Look at all Timothy has achieved! Supporting his Father in his time of need. A loyal student. Even tried to AVOID bothering his father by creating a false uncle, much to his father's consternation!

Damian begins to look up to him. Join his Father in obsessing. It's how they bond.

What took Tim? Where is he? How was he taken?

Finally Damian find a clue. No time to waste. Goes after it! A Fae court, under Gotham. Timothy, blank eyed at a tea table, young as the day he vanished. Just after Jason returned. A few bruises still were they must have been. Truely, frozen in time.

The Fae chitter and mock.

But Damian is an AL Ghul. And he? Has brought cold Iron.

Soon he is throwing his target over his shoulder and escaping. Chased by furious Fae. He slams the gates Timothy must once have opened in curiosity. Making note to come back and weld them shut. His predecessor hangs limp over his shoulder like a ragdoll.

He takes him to his safe house.

Tries to rouse him. Timothy obeys commands but little else. For a moment... he worries he is too late. But, careful wording of a command get him an answer. Tim is simply deep and away, in his mind. Dreaming.

Wonderful.

That means Damian is going to be forced to learn MAGIC. Nonetheless? He takes care of his predecessor. And it is... not as tedious as he would expect. He could almost liken it to caring for his pets. Precious and reliant. Obedient.

He finds joy in managing Timothy's health. Picking his clothes. Washing his body, rubbing the scents HE chose into his skin. Timothy is improving. Looking to him when he arrives. Responding to motions and not just explicit commands. Listening to music.

Damian wonders... if this is what his Mother felt for his Father. If so, he is beginning to understand her actions, through his youth. His hands linger, longer and longer. Stroke warm skin, just to feel it. Pull Timothy close, into his lap, tucked away from the world that gave him the scars upon his skin.

Kisses his perfect mouth. A prompt that Timothy obeys. Damian knows he should not. But is he not a man? Is he not only mortal? Who could resist perfection? Who would NOT lick that tender skin, just to taste? Run greedy, claiming hands, down that body? Spread those legs and plunder, like a thief, the wonders found there?

Timothy makes such perfect little sounds. More alert then he has been in ages. Gasping and whining, little cries as he takes more then he should. Shuddering and clenching around him. Brief moments of clear eyed clarity in the spasming high of it, before drifting back into the mists of his mind.

And really, Damian has only one choice when he sees THAT.

If he wants to save Timothy, he truely has no CHOICE but to fuck him well. How tragic. Oh well, Damian will just have to make this noble sacrifice for the family. And, of course, take responsibility for his actions. Marry his Father's beloved Student-son.

Their children will be glorious.

-🐼🐼🐼

👀👀👀👀👀👀 this!!!!!! tim having gone missing as a kid and then damian finding him and growing increasingly attracted because of how dependent tim is on him and there's a rush of attraction intertwined into the helpless state that tim is stuck in!!!!

when damian arrives it's not to warm welcomes or open arms. he's not even welcomed with any sort of...attention. damian has never faltered in maintaining his face since reactions were trained out of him but he does feel a steady trickle of...discomfort when he stands by and listens to his father and mother viciously argue in front of him, his father all but demanding his mother take damian and get out of his sight, that he's not interested in this responsibility, that he's not going to entertain whatever little 'game' she's concocted to get his attention now-

and...damian knows his mother is not the kind to burst into emotional reactions. unlike him she has a cool head and is capable of hiding her temper and reining it in. but in the face of damian's father it's like all that falls apart and she's angry and spitting and hissing in low tones at him for his disrespect, for his words, for daring to talk down to her because unlike him she's actually capable of taking care of HER brood.

and her words, so low and biting with an edge of cold mockery just cause something to...shutter in damian's father. and with barely more of a word or exchange it is settled and damian is shepherded away with his father where he is quickly conscripted into his father's service.

damian is no stranger to back breaking work but even he does not acclimate to his father's methods quickly. everything damian does is a failure. not even damian's fighting prowess or training are enough to carry him through his father's service which demands mastery of arts damian...does not excel in. his mother had told him to learn as much as he could from his father and damian had come ready and willing but...it is difficult.

father is...a hazard. he's a hazard to damian, to others. damian knows exactly what happens when partnered on a mission with someone of a great temper or affinity towards violence just for the sake of violence. despite what the public believes, assassins are not mass murderers with a thirst for blood. they are people of a particular skill set that they have refined and polished to the point that they are employed to make use of those skills and talents. they're like artisans, painters, sculptors, and people come to them for their particular talent in the arts.

but...there are subgroups of assassins that insist on making risky maneuvers, doing things in the messiest way possible, disorganized to the point they couldn't find their own ass if they had to.

that's father. father escalates easy targets to the point that they're practically smears on the ground. leaves targets in pain and brutalized that damian often wonders if it would have been more merciful to just have ended them. damian does not revel in violence, he has a job to do and that's all it is. it's nothing any deeper than that. but father...father takes everything personal, behaves as though the actions of another are a personal affront to him.

damian had thought his father's actions were...excessive. but he never stepped in. not until there was a report of a kidnapping of a young boy. and then it's like damian could 'see' the shift that those words had.

it's the first time damian has to step in. often he is relegated to evacuation, tracking, making sure no civilians or police accidentally stumble into where father is conducting one of his interrogations (though beatings seem a more apt description).

damian is aware that there is something...off about his father. reports from his childhood, the words of his mother, the musings of his grandfather...none of it aligns with the man he meets, lives with, and follows. there is something wrong with his father. and damian has known that for awhile but its made more clear when he has to pull his father back and off the 'kidnapper' who turned out to be the stolen child's father who hadn't been satisfied with the custody arrangement done by the court system.

damian knew his father upheld righteous morals, maintained a no-kill order. and damian had been willing to submit to it to meet him. but this man...this man who had been clawing at the skin of a kidnapper like he was trying to lift a mask off his face while demanding to know where 'he' was when damian had already delivered the child into the hands of a nearby patrolling officer...

damian learns quickly when he needs to call in backup for help with one of his father's 'episodes'. grayson arrives to help him, he apologizes to damian, tells him that bruce hasn't had 'one of these' in a while, that they thought that he'd worked through all the triggers for this.

'this' being an incredibly violent reaction to the kidnapping of a child. apparently damian had a predecessor. a boy just a little older than him that had been the pride of his father, his crown jewel and though grayson never says that its clear that's what he means when talking about 'timothy'. about how sweet he was to father, how patient, and understanding, and how he was like a little ball of clay that had perfectly molded itself to suit his father's needs.

damian understands the pride of having a 'perfect' apprentice. often times teachers in the league had favorites they would show extra attention to in hopes of molding them to be their legacy. damian had never been one of those such favored students but he'd hoped with his father he'd...

father does not take the disappearance of his student well. he leaves gotham often, at the drop of a hat for the slightest lead that might take him to his missing student. it's why grayson is present in gotham so frequently, often patrolling with damian on the many nights his father is out and gone.

grayson confides in him that he fears the worst for timothy, ot that he'd ever tell father that. but...grayson says he knows that tim would have found a way to contact them if he were...alive.

damian does not understand the deep...devotion and loyalty his father displays. he tries to. he probes, asks questions and while he is initially rebuffed- it is the only thing father can speak about with some shred of calmness, the only thing that turns him into the man that resembles the legends damian had been fed.

'tim would do the same for me'. is eventually what damian's father would settle on. it's a quiet phrase said while damian is trying to sweep the shards of a smashed alcohol glass. it's said with such thick conviction that damian believes him. and learns that timothy had been one thing above all else. loyal.

timothy is the one thing damian and his father can talk about. the only thing damian can use to gain recognition, attention. others have resigned themselves to timothy's death. both pennyworth and grayson grow quiet and mournful at his mention. as the years pass the only one who keeps looking and searching is father.

and damian, having spent years with his father, serving as his robin grows... more than fond at timothy.

there's a desire in damian. to see, to feel what his father felt. to gain the approval of timothy and after all his years away surely he is no longer suited to the mantle and would desire to see damian as his successor with all the good damian has done.

father sometimes visits the site of timothy's disappearance, the last place he was spotted before never being seen again. damian has seen the surveillance camera still so many times its burned into his memory. timothy drake on a class field trip with classmates to a large, outdoor sculpture art exhibit in central jersey. damian had seen the 'parent copy' of the permission slip a million times, it was wrinkled and delicate from years of being carried around in his father's wallet. a flash of pain crossed his father's expression every time he looked at it, the little slip with his signature that had allowed timothy to go to the last place he was seen.

on the morning of his disappearance timothy had left the manor in a red crew neck, new blue sneakers, wide leg jeans, and a white baseball cap to keep the sun out of his eyes. he'd eaten a blueberry muffin that had left his lips stained a light purple for breakfast. and all he'd carried with him was a small sun protection stick (spf30), his copy of the keys to the manor, his handheld digital camera, and four individual twenty dollar bills for lunch and souvenirs that damian's father had given him (timothy had been planning to buy postcards for his collection). he'd been dropped off in front of the school by alfred at precisely 7:28, two minutes earlier than the permission slip had told him to be there. the bus had been set to depart at 7:45 but a few late students had made them hold the departure until 7:57. at 10:11 the bus had arrived at its destination, timothy wandered the sculpture grounds with his tour group until 11:45 when they took a break for lunch. timothy was seen on camera eating at the sculpture grounds restaurant with one boy and two girls in his group. he ordered the tuscan kale salad with chicken and no beets. he'd also ordered a small side dish of cut up green grapes, which wasn't on the menu, that he'd dumped into an empty to-go coffee cup. it was father's belief that timothy intended to feed the fruit to the ducks that populated the various ponds and lake scattered throughout the sculpture grounds despite the 'no feeding' signs. the last sight of timothy was him leaving the scope of the restaurant security cameras, staring down at the printed map of the grounds from the visitor's center.

following lunch the school had apparently allowed students to go off on their own to explore. something that hadn't been disclosed in the permission slip which father's lawyers had viciously used in their lawsuit against the school, holding them in-part responsible for timothy's disappearance.

damian studied timothy's case, every inch of it, with a fine toothed comb. he'd read the reports from the grounds, from the school, the reports from the divers that had been hired to search the lake because the school had tried to offer the theory that perhaps timothy slipped in and drowned though that was more an attempt to shift blame to the sculpture grounds. in the end none of it amounted to anything. the sculpture grounds were close to a rail station, a highway, were surrounded by woods, and close to a parking lot where the school bus of two other schools and their students as well as dozens of other visitor's cars were parked.. a million ways timothy could've been taken. and with no one accompanying him the lack of witnesses would have made the abduction even easier.

damian goes to the grounds whenever he can, often with his father on the day timothy disappeared because of some...blind hope from father that maybe he'll see something he missed the first hundred times he scoured the grounds. damian was not quite the same detective and so his visits are more...melancholy, trying to imagine timothy beside him, trying to think of where his mind was, where he went after he left that restaurant. damian is holding a paper cup of warm tea in his hands as walks, passing by the lake timothy likely stopped to sprinkle grapes into for the local wildlife, eyes catching on the light of the restaurant timothy had his last meal in, catching the eye of a waiter and...damian stops.

stops and recalls something father had told him about timothy. about how timothy preferred a low civilian profile, often being more agreeable, quiet, and obedient at school than he was as robin. and damian imagined that boy. small and nervous and so reluctant to question authority. and he thinks about how such a boy would never dare try to blatently break the rules in front of a place where so many workers and teachers having lunch might see and scold him. and then damian recalls the security footage of timothy walking away with his little cup of grapes and the map open in front of him...

damian rushes to open the map on his phone. and he thinks father has covered every stretch of the grounds looking for something, anything. its been years so if there was something it was long gone. but damian clings onto his theory with everything he has. and he turns his body in the direction timothy had been facing and searches for the body of water closest to him on the map. he finds it. a part of the grounds further away from the main grounds, across the parking lot to a quiet isolated part of the park timothy no doubt chose to be able to peacefully break the rules. and damian goes, steps slow and heavy, heart beating fast and hard in his ribcage.

the pond is small but reflective like a mirror. there's a single sculpture nearby nearly 30 feet tall and made of aluminum depicting women dancing naked and carelessly in a circle while holding hands. there is a small family of ducks swimming in a circle and making ripples appear in the water. damian is a fan of art and for a moment is drawn in by the fluidity of such rigid matierial. he walks around it in oervation, taking it from different angles. and his thinks thats likely what timothy did as well. entranced by the sight he would've held up his camera, trying to capture it in the best light, find the best angle. he would've walked circles around the sculpture trying to get the perfect picture. and damian does the same. but there is no revelation. no lightbulb moment.

trying to see through timothy's eyes can only take him so far. and then he remembers something else. timothy's eyes. damian has grown since he arrived. he's freshly 18 and nearing todd's height much to grayson's great chagrin. but timothy...timothy had been small. shorter. and his eye level would have...damian bends his knees slightly, lowering himself, trying to see, trying to see...

the sculptures look taller from this height, the shadows cast on their aluminum faces look sharper, harder, more pointed. they don't look carefree with their loose stances and thrown back heads...they look...tired. exhausted. like they're been dancing for ages and can barely keep themselves standing. damian stares. they have no eyes, no mouth, just smooth aluminum metal for faces, but the way their heads are tilted and angled, its like they're...pointing. damian imagines tim seeing the same...thinking the same. his little eyes following the direction and landing on a barely visible path that feeds into the woods. a path covered in leaves from the trees, a path not on the map, a path that when walked its like the sun has been sucked away. damian feels like its gone from day to night in an instant as he walks, following the path. his steps are slow and careful but the crunching of leaves under his foot make him feel like a deer that has heard the snapping of a branch. damian finds a heavy iron gate at the end of the path. it's rusted and brittle in some parts, and the large padlock keeping it closed is open and letting the gate lie open, just a crack. the opening is small, just barely enough for a child to slip through and damian has to suck in to get through, some deep animal part of his brain telling him it would be a VERY bad idea to open the gate further, letting it make a sound as it creeps open and alerting...something of his presence.

damian does not deal with magic. he is...wary of the arts given the users his grandfather had employed. it is not fear, he does not fear them. it's the unknown of what they could do, how they could compel. perhaps part of damian, the part that was a child had feared them once. and perhaps that is why he carried around a small lump of cold iron no bigger than his thumbnail. and perhaps it is good he did that as damian freezes at the sight in front of him. at the small figure seated at a wooden table littered with fine fruits and cheeses, the smell of spiced meats wafting in his nose, crusty, dark loaves of bread, jars of fragrant sweet jam and tall, crystal pots of teas.

damian's heart is in his throat as he stares at the soft, youthful face of a young timothy drake. damian feeling cold, shots of fear stabbing into his heart at seeing timothy's blueberry stained lips obediently drink at a cup of tea offered to him by...something. damian knows of fae, has heard of them. never encountered them though. but he knows about them, knows about how vicious and dangerous they are. when constantine had talked about them once there'd been a white, sickly look on his face. they were bad news. bad news. best to avoid at all costs and heavens help you if you caught their attention.

superboy who'd beat avidly listening had tried probing further, asking about their looks. and constantine had said they looked different for everyone. some people saw a meadow with cherubs, others little devils with horns in a burning hell pit, some saw imps with wings but damian...damian saw...balls of light attached to bodies. slender, naked bodies lacking genitalia and balls of light for heads the size of his palm that danced in circles, sang, cheered, cooed. and they were covering timothy like a colony of ants.

some were in his hair, braiding and playing with it, others tugging on his clothes and hands, nuzzling him and making sweet little sounds with voices like bells. some were cutting slices of bread and spreading jam on them, presenting them to timothy on plates as he obediently ate and drank and damian just felt the pit in his stomach grow bigger as he stared at the sight. he didn't know the consequences of accepting hospitality from fae but he knew it was bad.

at the very least timothy wasn't dead. if they hadn't been clearly charmed by him its very likely they would have killed, eaten, or enslaved timothy. from what damian could see they were just...playing with him.

timothy was alive...alive and unchanged by time and in the company of fae but alive. and damian knows the wise move is to turn around and call for backup, to summon a magic user. but the thought of outsiders helping to retrieve timothy, the thought of anyone handling timothy aside from damian...

it's stupid, its reckless, it's dangerous. damian could lose his life if he does it wrong. but he does it anyway.

the cold iron is just a theory, damian has nothing to confirm that it works. its just childhood hope and belief it will protect him and maybe that's what makes it work more than the lump of metal itself.

the fae scatter, shrieking, angry and pained as damian throws it at where they're concentrated around timothy to get them to break away from him, he picks timothy up and starts sprinting back the way he came.

damian can not see them when his back is turned. but he can feel it as they shift to something else. something angry, something hungry that chases him, nips at his heels, scratches at the exposed skin on the back of his neck, rips at his clothes. if he were anyone else he would have been caught, if damian had not trained in distance running while carrying half his weight he would have failed. but damian reaches that rusted iron gate, rips it open and throws it closed behind him just as hands, human hands with too many fingers and too pale to have blood running through the veins reach through the slots of the gate and attempt to pull him back. damian rips himself away and keeps running, arms clenched tightly around timothy as he takes hard fast gasps of air while sprinting down the path and back into the light.

damian rips past those aluminum statues whose sad faces are looking toward him, startling a family of ducks as he keeps running. damian's heart is pumping out of his chest and he swears he's never felt more terrified. his steps hit the ground hard, kicking up dirt behind him, his breathing audible to his own ears over the thumping beat of his heart. even with nothing behind him he still feels like he's being chased by some invisible force. damian keeps running, keeps going until he reaches the car and gently lowers a blank faced timothy onto the back seat. his skin is cold but he's breathing. damian's senses and instinct for danger don't calm until he's on the road more than halfway back to gotham. his heart doesn't start beating normally until he's crossing the bridge into gotham because here he is safe, this is his domain and not even the fae can change that. he's lucky a highway patrol officer hadn't pulled him over for speeding on the highway and weaving between traffic to put some distance between himself and...whatever was going on on those cursed grounds. grounds he would never set foot on again, let constantine, zatanna, dr. fate or the others deal with whatever nest or infestation is occurring there.

damian does not take timothy directly home. he doesn't feel...safe. ready. so much has happened in one day and damian just...isn't ready. and he wants to look. wants to have to be able to take the time to see and examine timothy because he knows the moment he hands him to father that he will never leave him alone again. father, grayson, pennyworth and todd have all had their moments and time with timothy- now it is damian's turn.

damian finds a peace in examining timothy. in drawing blood, in buying comfortable clothing to change him into, in inspecting every bit of him including the pink little cunt that comes as a surprise to damian when he disrobes him for a bath. timothy is quiet and no amount of handling manages to get out a reaction. damian would think him dead if not for the rise and fall of his chest and the way he...obeys damian's commands. he eats and drinks what damian tells him to, lies down when told, rests and sleeps...but does not respond. does not reply even when damian quests for an answer.

it makes damian...concerned. timothy had been so highly valued by his father and he feels a sort of...responsibility to do his best to help him. or maybe that was just an excuse he used to hoard timothy for a little while longer. damian gets used to it. caring for timothy, nursing him back to health, combing his pretty hair, dressing him in soft wools and cottons, pressing foods for the gentle palate he'd had to his mouth, watching him sleep.

its days and then weeks and damian grows..comfortable and possessive. he has timothy sit on his lap, he strokes timothy's hair, he holds timothy close while they sleep. and slowly...timothy responds, damian knows he does. he can feel timothy arching into damian's hand cupping his cheek and kisses to his head. there's a softness in timothy's eyes when damian speaks softly and sweetly to him.

and so damian keeps going, keeps helping, keeps touching, keeps showing timothy affection and care. and eventually damian starts letting his hands stray, wander. his kisses migrate from a forehead to the cheeks to the sweet, soft mouth of timothy.

during baths damian's hands are soft and exploratory, gently cupping and squeezing timothy's developing breasts and tenderly floating over his little cunt where damian's fingertips barely brush the area. but eventually damian gets braver, and he marvels at the fleshy pink of timothy's insides as he gently uses two fingers to spread open the lips and gaze at timothy's most precious area. damian swirls fingers, barely rubbing and only softly darting inside. he uses conditioner that is sitting in timothy's hair to make it softer to ease the slide of one of his fingers as it presses in until it hits damian's knuckles.

damian is gentle, careful. timothy gets wetter and looser the more damian plays with his cunt. typically damian would change timothy into pajamas following his bath but damian starts opting to leave him naked, toweling him dry and lying him on the bed while damian gently kisses his jaw and breast while pumping fingers into him.

damian does not fuck timothy immediately. only when timothy's body trembles and he makes soft gasping and whining sounds while seizing tightly around damian's fingers that he thinks about it. that he experimentally presses his cock to the softness between timothy's legs, rubbing the head between puffy lips and painting himself with sticky wetness, mashing the head against a little clit that damian always makes sure to show care to. damian is gentle fucking timothy, aware of his small body and the fact that his adult cock is much too big for such a small hole. but damian persists and pretty soon he is pressed flush to timothy, their pelvises joined as damian kisses the entrance to timothy's little womb. damian fucks noises out of his brother, moans, whines, the sight of little furrowed brows, opening mouths, and eyes that have the hint of awareness just before they roll back while wrapping tightly around damian's waist to keep him and his jolting cock inside him. timothy's insides are red, almost bruised while dripping thick globs of damian's release onto the sheets. damian kisses timothy's clit and puffy cunt with apology before slotting his cock back against the fucked open hole and pumping timothy full again until crystal tears fill timothy's eyes while he squirms with pleasure and makes desperate, sweet noises that damian kisses out of him while slamming their hips together hard enough to knock the headboard against the wall.

damian's fingers dig into timothy's soft thighs hard enough to bruise as he grunts and borderline growls while pumping his little brother full of his seed. damian has loved timothy for years and he knows the family will not understand when he presents timothy to them and they learn everything. they may even be furious at damian for what he has done. but that will not matter because damian will have done what was necessary for timothy's sake. besides, damian has full intentions of taking responsibility. he's no philanderer, he will remain loyal to timothy whether he remains in this state or not and he will be careful to take wonderful care of whatever children result from their coupling.

it's the least damian could do.

[strangelittlestories]

Slate and Satin sprinted down another alleyway. The winding streets curled around them, as if the city was closing its fist to conceal the two thieves from view. They turned, put on another burst of speed, and stopped in the shadow of a dumpster, gasping.

“Is she still following us?” asked Shale between gulps of foetid air.

Satin looked behind them. No furious lawkeeper emerged. He cocked his head and listened. No pounding footsteps, just their own heavy breathing and the chitter of echo bugs as they picked over the nearby trash for residual magic.

“I think we lost her.”

“Shame,” replied Slate with a tired smile on her face, “she was cute.”

Satin shook his head.

“You’re a professional thief. How did you get a *thing* about paladins?”

“People are hotter when they’re chasing you. Especially if they can chase you wearing platemail. I don’t make the rules.”

“You want me to set you up? I could turn you in and keep your share.” Satin elbowed Slate in the ribs gently. “I hear interrogation chambers are a great place to get to know each other.”

Slate chuckled. She looked up at the walls around them, clocked a fire escape, checked the alleyway exits, then flashed a smirk back at Satin.

“Nah. It’s no good if she has help to catch me. If it’s meant to be, she’ll find her way to me on her own.”

“Or she’ll get a divine revelation from The Arbiter that drops a pin on the Law we stole.”

“Sounds like fate to me.”

The smile on Satin’s face faded, chased away by a stray thought.

“Hey … what do you think they want with this thing anyway?” Satin hefted the tablet, a corner of faded clay poking out from beneath the hessian wrapping. ��What do they have to gain by pinching one of the First Laws?”

“The less we know, the better, buddy. Anyone asks what the game is, I want to be able to tell them true: I’ve got no idea.”

“I don’t get how you can’t even be curious.”

“Oh, I’m curious, but let me put it this way: I like my alibis like I like my partners.” Slate winked. “Steelclad.”

---

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[quillthrillswriting]

︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵

i've always said that late teens aang would absolutely give flirty silly goofy flynn rider energy and now i've written an entire kataang fanfic to support my delusions.

my last promo post had all the actually serious and eye-catching moments, so for this one, i just put together all the moments that i found fun:)<3 enjoy some silly excerpts from "all at once, everything is different," AKA kataangled!!!

︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵

“Stop where you are, Avatar,” Prince Sokka shouted, his voice echoing between trees over the sound of his horse, Hawky. 

The Captain of the Royal Guard, General Toph, did not use nearly as formal language. “When I catch you, you lily livered-” 

“Can’t hear you over the sound of Appa outrunning the both of you!” Aang crowed triumphantly, leaning forward to pat the white and grey horse on his arrow-addorred head. On his shoulder, his monkey-lemur, Momo, chittered his agreement, sticking out his tongue at Sokka as he tauntingly waved a small satchel of bean-curd puffs at the prince.

“Toph, are you seeing this?” Sokka’s tone was irate, utterly incredulous. “The little thief’s rat thing took my lunch!”

“‘Little thief?” Aang clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head disapprovingly. “I have a formal title, y’know. Or have you both gotten so haughty and royal that you can’t show a commoner any respect?”

Toph snarled, the earth reaching up to meet her as she strode after Aang, cutting through stone and dirt as if it were a still pool. “I’ll give you my respect once you earn it, twinkle toes, and you certainly won't if you keep running from us like this.”

Aang twisted to face them, assuming a meditative stance as he cocked his head teasingly, his tone mockingly pouty. “But I’m just so good at it!”

︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵

“Did you see which way they went?” From the sound of his voice, Sokka was both irritated and incredibly embarrassed. 

“No.” Toph’s voice was flat, utterly unaffected. “Obviously, I didn’t see which way they went.”

An awkward silence passed as what Sokka had said sunk in.

“Oh. Right. Um, my bad, Toph.”

︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵

“Hey, I don’t know who you are, or where I am, if I’m being entirely honest. I genuinely don’t mean to intrude. I was just hoping for a place to lie low. I happen to be…” he trailed off, coughing awkwardly. “On the run from the law, it seems.”

Katara cocked a brow, her tone incredulous. “You expect me to willingly harbour a criminal?”

“You seemed to have no problem with trapping one in your house.” Aang huffed, crossing his arms. “And I’m not some common criminal. I’m a monk. It was more of a steal-bread-to-feed-the-hungry type situation, if you can believe that. And I do have a name, beyond “thief” or “mysterious but devilishly handsome home invader.” It’s Aang.”

︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵

It took Aang a day longer than expected, and the moment Aang saw Katara’s face brighten at the sight of him, he absolutely refused to let it go.

“You really did miss me, didn’t you?”

Katara refused to respond, but to Aang, her silence spoke volumes. 

“Awe, you really did,” He grinned, reaching to ruffle the top of her head as she swatted at his hands. 

“Even if I did miss you-”

“-you did.” Aang interrupted. 

“Which I didn’t ,” she huffed, crossing her arms.

︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵

Now, standing on the precipice of going against almost every single one of her mother’s wishes, she was beginning to get cold feet. Perhaps Aang could read that in her face, or maybe he just felt like messing with her, because when she hesitated for a few moments longer, he simply pulled her over his shoulder, racing toward the river that pooled by the edge of the clearing, as Katara giggled wildly.

“What are you doing ?” She managed between laughs.

“Grass seemed too scary, so I figured I might as well reconnect you with your birth element.”

“ Aang .” Her voice grew flat as she put two and two together. “Aang! Do not throw me in the-”

“Too late!” He crowed, jumping into the deep end, still clinging onto her.

︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵

“We have to get you to a hospital, Aang. I don’t want to risk reopening the wound. Kissing can wait.”

“No, it cannot ,” Aang declared decidedly, dipping her low as he pulled her in again. “19 years was long enough to wait without ever kissing you. Now is the time for kissing.”

“Now is the time for the hospital .”

Aang wrinkled his nose, brutally offended at Katara’s prioritisation of his health. She relented, a soft smile spreading across her lips, as she pulled him in gently, kissing him again. 

︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿︵︵

♥ feel free to check out the entirety of this fic & my ao3 here! ->

[rainswept]

LET TWO EYES BE UNDECEIVED: EXTRA SCENE

900-something words. barely any dialogue.

masterlist | recommended song

-

𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐋𝐘𝐍𝐄𝐘’𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄, but there was once a point when he could not speak. He seldom remembers this time, but a hazy memory slots itself in here and there. 

Instead of a parent, or a teacher, or a sibling, the one who had passed down the art of complex language to him was none other than you. A dear friend, a close confidant, a closer enemy still. A liar. A thief, and a damn good one at that, for his heart was yours before he ever fathomed having it in his possession.

-

The sun is barely up when you awaken, curled up in a makeshift bed of cardboard boxes in an alley beside a bookstore, the cold still gnawing at your skin. You did not remember your dreams, though you can recall reading something that mentioned you had them anyway. 

The sky, violet and rose and ebony, is still glittering with the faint remnants of the stars as they are draped in silks by the daylight. The smell of smoke clouds the breeze, cold winter air coaxing steam from the pipes hidden in the city’s maw to turn into fog; Gardemeks clatter and chitter and fill the blanks the rumbling underground leaves, an incessant buzz in your ears you’re never to be rid of; Lyney and Lynette sleep peaceful and still in a little pile. The birds caw from the buildings towering above you, chasing off the last of the night’s darkness hiding in little corners; little corners like the one you’re in, huddled alone and shivering even after the shadows recede.

Lyney’s dreams fill him with hazy thoughts, warmth in his chest, a fluttering heartbeat like a fading star. His fingers twitch against the grimy ground as he sees himself grabbing onto bulle fruit from the highest branches he can reach. It’s paint on a canvas long since burned, history and future charred to bits until they are unrecognizable and mistaken for each other. It’s fuzzy, foggy, distant, reveries of rainbow roses and rivers glinting in the sun. When he tries to ponder, to dig deep and grab onto a memory these visions might lead to, his mind fails him. 

He stirs next, when the sun has climbed over the horizon and angled itself to shine right onto his eyelids. It chases away any hope he may have had of grasping onto something solid, daylight quickly flooding in to fill the void of the fading warmth of his dreams; it slips through his fingers like a lingering embrace now pulling away far too fast to comprehend. The last of it fades into the back of his mind, a fleeting thing he’ll likely never think of again. 

The pile he’s curled up in lacks your warmth — this is what he feels before he notices you are absent. 

Lyney grumbles as he wakes, squinting and immediately moving to bury his face in his sleeve as the dawn light hits his pale eyes. He gives up when he realizes it is a futile fight. He shakes his head to clear it of the sleep-induced fog it is in and blinks his eyes to chase off the last of their bleariness. When the world comes into focus, you are the first thing he sees. 

You are as far away from him as possible while still being tucked in the alley — pressed up against the wall, knees pulled up to your chest, head turned away from him as you gaze into the still-blurry distance. If you noticed his waking, you did not comment on it. 

The night waves away like Lynette does before he takes the spotlight, sweeping across the stage of the starry sky and making way for the main act. Sunlight, daybreak. At dawn and dusk, the sun is the grand finale, he thinks, but it is expected: this is why only a select few stare at the stars. He is one of them, and you are, too. 

He pushes himself up off of the ground, wobbly with the sleepiness the cold had not managed to shake. 

Mid-day, the sun is the spotlight for all else; the metal buildings arch into the sky like they’re trying to grasp the light for themselves, as if their reflection of it is not enough. It is enough — he would know, as he has nearly been blinded by them far too many times trying to get a glimpse at what he really wants to see.

The frost-tipped tile snaps back under foot as he sidles up to you, tentative, his coarse coat’s fabric abrasive against the bare skin of your arms. He presses his side against yours, slotting himself there like the two of you were puzzle pieces that nearly fit; he ignores the crucial details, the reality that you do not, and the soft scent of dust that so often envelops you invites him in when he stops thinking about it.

At night, the sun recedes, and everyone cries for an encore they know will come, yet hope for anyway. They can afford extra hope. He cannot. The sun rises every day, sets every night. He relies on this — it is one of the few solid things he can grasp onto. But within that expectation, Lyney recognizes there must be some semblance of hope, too. Nothing is guaranteed. Nothing is a miracle. He cannot spend his time worrying about the extra what if. He wishes he could. 

He leans his head on your shoulder.

“Good morning,” he murmurs. He sinks back into himself after; it felt like lead on his tongue. A false promise. That was your staple, not his. It felt odd slipping past his lips instead. 

You don’t spare him a glance, and he knows what you are going to say. “Morning.”

so this could sort of be seen as a miniature prologue, but it’s somewhat detached from the story — like i said, an extra scene that i wrote and wanted to keep but couldn’t find a place for in the actual chapters taglist: n/a (open, send an ask)

[ourfatherwhoartinhell]

A Dark Redemption // [Part II]

Prompt | "Mountain being found by Ivy in the woods, not summoned"

Word count | 1.7k

⚠️ Warnings | Mountain is kind of a spooky bitch at first, very possible OOC Ivy, story has a bit of a horror vibe.

Plot Summary: Livestock have been going missing from the back pasture, Siblings have been telling stories of a 'demon' in the woods. Terzo sends Ivy to investigate, only for the ghoul to find the woodland creature and give him a chance at redemption.

A/N: Sorry this part is a bit long! 🖤 xo Emery

[Prev][Next]

The night was clear. The stars shone brightly as they decorated the sky, like freckles over the earth. Ivy looked up to appreciate the sight as he stepped outside, shutting his eyes as the warm summer breeze tickled past his pointed ears. He leisurely strolled towards the forest that lined the property line of the Ministry, not at all afraid of what he could - or would - find lurking in it.

When he stepped through the treeline marking the edge of the woods, Ivy switched to a more ghoulish appearance. Not only to ward off any unwanted trespassers, but also because it made his abilities much easier to use. His enhanced eyesight making quick work of the dark, his ears picking up the faintest sound of bugs crawling upon leaves on the ground, his nose searching for anything out of the ordinary, but ultimately finding nothing.

Ivy continued his search through every acre of land. Inspecting every tree, checking inside logs, and exploring the burrows left behind from Earth - who used to make them when he got overwhelmed. He was determined to find the sheep thief.

Reaching the black lake, Ivy decided to stop and take a breath. He emerged from the treeline and walked over the stones surrounding the water. He sat on a rock close to the water's edge, studying the mist rolling over the top as the morning hours approached. Ivy didn’t want to head back to the Abbey with nothing, so he prayed for guidance. To find a simple lead or a clue - something, before the sun arose to begin another day of fear. The ghouls hated seeing the Siblings afraid, Ivy more than most.

The ghoul huffed in frustration, and stood to finish his search. However, when he turned towards the woods once again, he heard crackling in the trees. The Sister who was attacked? She was right, these woods did have eyes...

and they were staring right at him.

Glowing orbs of green met dark amber as the two entities studied one another. Ivy tried to look intimidating, but not aggressive. He didn’t quite know what he was dealing with yet. The ghoul couldn’t make out any of the creature's distinguishable features. It didn’t look to be all that large upon first glance, the dark being’s narrow eyes resting only a few feet above the forest floor.

“Hello.” The ghoul said tenderly. “I can see you.”

The creature snorted and shifted, leaves and twigs crunching as it slowly paced the perimeter of the brush.

“I’m no one to fear. Can you understand me?” Ivy said, never once removing his gaze from the swirling green looking back at him. The wind picked up and a warm breeze caressed his face, blowing the creature's scent right to him.

“You’re–” Ivy’s dark eyes widened, and he sniffed the air once again. “uǫ ɒꙅꙅɘm ɒꞁᎸꙅɒ?” You’re a ghoul?

The opposing eyes mirrored the look of surprise before ducking behind a large tree, clearly startled. A series of confused snorts and grunts could be heard as the creature processed the new information. It sniffed the air as it crawled closer to the edge of the woods, now curious of the ghoul.

Its chest rumbled like thunder, echoing off the trees as it sized up Ivy. This new ghoul didn’t speak using words, but through guttural sounds and demonic chitters. 

‘Why can I understand you?’

“It’s going to be ok. I know you can’t understand when I speak in this tongue, but I’m here to help.” 

Ivy spoke calmly and took a step towards the strange ghoul. Reaching out a friendly hand, the sudden movement startled the creature and it ran further into the forest, faintly touched by the glow of the morning sun.

Ivy decided that was enough for one day, he would return to the Abbey and come back tonight. Not wanting to scare the poor ghoul more than he already had. This was the breakthrough he needed.

Returning to the Abbey, Ivy wished the Siblings a ‘Good Morning’ as he passed on his way to the den. Wanting to avoid Papa, he naturally ran into Terzo just before the door of the den.

“Dark morning, Papa.” Ivy said with a smile, trying not to sound suspicious.

“Ivy, good morning,” he said, tiredly. “I heard you went out to the forest last night, did you find anything?”

Ivy twiddled his toes and clasped his hands in front of him, never being overly good at lying. Especially to Terzo. “Uh, not yet. Actually, I’m going to head back tonight to… to finish looking! Yup.”

Terzo raised a brow quizzically, but he was too tired after staying awake all night to notice the ghoul’s dubious tone. “Okay, keep up the good work.”

Ivy nodded and waved, waiting until Terzo disappeared around the corner before rushing inside the den. He quickly shut the door and leaned back against it, taking a couple deep breaths.

What am I going to do? It killed Missy, Papa wants him dead!

Ivy squeezed his eyes shut and threw the back of his head against the door, trying to figure out what to do next. He couldn’t just leave the poor ghoul out there! 

Aether, the pack’s resident morning person, took in the sight of a very distressed Ivy as he walked past. 

“You ok? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The large Quint teased.

“Yeah, I just… need some sleep, I think.”

Surely a fresh set of eyes and a rested brain would help. So, that’s exactly what he did.

That night, Ivy informed Terzo that he was once again making the journey into the forest. However, this time he knew where to look. 

It didn’t take long for the Earth ghoul to find the devilish being. Ivy came to a halt once he reached a familiar clearing in the dense thicket. It wasn’t a large area, but he knew a lot of the Siblings liked to picnic here. Even Terzo and Omega would find themselves enjoying the area from time to time, laying and star gazing through the opening in the trees.

Ivy walked to the centre, listening for his new friend and waiting for him to appear. It didn’t take long before the ghoul could sense he was no longer alone.

“I told you I would come back.”

Those green eyes materialized between the trees once again, standing closer to the edge than the previous night. Once again the creature spoke in hellish chitters as it stared.

‘You aren’t afraid?’

“No. Of course not,” Ivy spoke softly, using the devilish language they both could understand. “We are the same.”

‘We are not the same.’ The creature’s chest thundered aggressively as the trees shook, branches swaying in the aftermath.

Ivy’s eyes softened. He would never be able to completely understand how scary and confusing this must be for the new ghoul. Someone had clearly summoned him by accident and left him to fend for himself. All he knew was the ways of Hell - the ways of pure survival. 

As the creature paced around the edge, Ivy noticed the ghoul’s horns as it momentarily passed through a ray of moonlight.

“You’re an Earth ghoul.” He stated.

‘I am. As are you.’

“Could you come out into the open so I can address you properly? No offence, but I’m starting to get dizzy with you pacing like that.”

‘As you wish’

The demonic creature emerged into the clearing, dimly lit by the light of the moon. Ivy wasn’t sure he had ever seen a ghoul like this before. The hellish entity took 2 mighty steps towards the smaller ghoul and Ivy wondered if he had made a mistake by coming alone.

Since the new Earth ghoul hadn’t been taught how to glamour his appearance, in front of Ivy stood the largest ghoul he had ever seen. 

He was almost as tall as the trees that surrounded them. His skin was a dark brown with muscles like strong vines as they draped around his body. The many branches sticking out from along his back helped to sell his forest camouflage perfectly. The ghoul’s horns were like giant antlers; at least 2 feet long, they extended from what could only be described as a mask of bark which covered his entire head and face. It came to a point like a beak, expertly hiding rows of viciously pointed teeth. The ghoul had typical long claws which extended from his fingers, however they looked as though the tips had been previously singed. His large feet were similar to the roots of trees, strong and stable as he stood in the clearing.

Ivy could do nothing but stare as the unglamoured ghoul revealed his true form. He knew this one would give Alpha or Omega a run for their money if they ever met, but Ivy never felt afraid. The ghoul looked like a complete eldritch horror, with Ivy only measuring up to the size of its leg. Yet, the smaller ghoul could see kindness in its eyes, which peeked through the slits in his tree-like mask.

The giant knelt before him as Ivy tilted his head. The demon mirrored before sending vines to wrap around the little Earth ghoul’s neck.

‘You are not afraid?’ It said as the vines squeezed tighter. A hint of humour could be found in his delivery, like he was perhaps playing with his next meal.

“No.” Ivy said warmly, not a hint of fear to be found. Though he realized this must've been how that one Sister got her bruises. The ghoul used vines to drag and strangle its prey like a snake. “But I did just notice the bit of brown swirling in the green of your eyes. It’s very pretty.”

The giant ghoul’s expression quickly turned to shock, as though he was violently snapped out of the darkness that possessed him. He managed his version of a smile behind his mask and released the vines, retracting them into his skin.

“I’ll meet you here every night.” Ivy promised as he looked up at his new friend. “I’ll help you not get killed, and I can give you purpose.”

‘Then here I will wait’

Ivy placed a hand on the ghoul’s knee, between the two large branches that shot into the air. “Do you have a name?”

The large Earth ghoul happily made a series of demonic chitters.

“That's very fitting. I don’t think the humans can pronounce that though.” Ivy pondered. “What about… Mountain? ‘Cause you’re large and pretty like a Mountain.”

‘I like that.'

"Then, Mountain. I will see you tomorrow and we can begin your lessons.”

[Next]

[tansypawz]

shrimpo and my soul is yours

you can keep your soul ^_^ also sorry that this isnt very.complete.i genuinely dont know what to do for his design

[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.

[ask-the-praetors]

Yo Jin.

Did you lie on the matter of the thief? that is unbecoming of a phyrexian praetor.

To ixhel and skrelp

Hi sweeties, warm hugs and love to both of you.

Of course not. My clarity of vision never lies. -J

What... is that? Does it think? Does it speak? Can you compleat it? -I

(Chittering) -Skrelv

[jungle-angel]

His Funny Familiars (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: You thought wifey’s familiars were a sight to see?? Wait untill you meet Rhett’s

Tagging: @sebsxphia​ Hon the video that inspired this was too cute to pass up and I couldn’t resist (lol). 

“Fuckin hoodlums,” Rhett muttered as he carefully pulled the prybar from the fencepost for the nine millionth time in a row. Why the hell was Wabang full of so many disrespectful little shits from out of town who thought they owned everyone and everything? 

He pulled the prybar loose, his face taking on a pinched look as the pain in his hand shot up into his arm and elbow. “Ya’ll better get that checked out,” remarked a familiar drawl. “Fractures can lead to something worse.” 

Rhett turned his head to see Billy Tillerson making his way down the hill with a wicker basket in his hands, his eyes looking more tired than usual. “And you’d better get some rest,” Rhett chuckled. 

“Oh believe me, I am,” Billy answered. “Gotta get it now while I can. Shania’s gonna have the baby soon.” 

“Six more days,” Rhett assured him. “Six more days and the little guy’s comin.” 

“Don’t remind me,” Billy laughed as he set to work, helping Rhett repair the fence. 

The two of them bantered back and forth as the early morning sunrise began to peek over the hills, the mists surrounding the hills as the chilly spring morning welcomed the day. Rhett loved mornings like this, cool, misty and with hints of sharp moisture and the smell of grass in the air. 

“Oh by the way,” Billy said. “I made a little something for your Ma last week. (Y/n) was kind enough to share the recipe with us.” 

“Her Irish Soda Bread?” 

“The very one.” 

Rhett’s huge grin grew bigger as he hammered in another nail when all of a sudden he caught sight of a familiar ringed tail hanging over the edge of the basket. 

“Hey! Meeko, outta there you little ring-tailed thief!” 

The baby raccoon chittered and squeaked as though he had understood Rhett perfectly, his chubby little body dropping into the grass and zooming straight to his master like a tame dog. 

“That thing’s tamer than our dog,” Billy laughed. 

“Probably because (y/n) and I feed him and his siblings all the damn time,” Rhett replied. 

Billy’s head suddenly looked up to see a dreaded sight making its way over to the fence along a path from the road. “Uh oh,” he groaned. 

“What’s up?” 

“Brace yourself,” Billy said under his breath. “The gorgon approaches.” 

There she was, Gale Burch, that pinch faced menace from up the road, her grey hair cut into a neat pageboy, her grey dress stiff and without a single wrinkle in it, black shoes holding in her feet while on her elbow was a little black purse hanging from a thin silver chain. God she looked evil, more evil than she usually did when the Abbotts and the Tillersons saw her at St. Mike’s on Sunday mornings. 

“Ah just who I wanted to see,” Gale crowed. “The neighborhood heathen and his little accomplice.” 

Rhett cleared his throat and mustered all his strength to bite his tongue and be polite for once. “Good to see you Mrs. Burch.” 

“Oh spare me the polite façade,” Gale spat. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you Mr. Abbott. In fact, several.”

“Oh?” 

“Don’t play dumb with me you brainless sinful little twerp,” Gale hissed. “That disgusting little pest sitting there at your feet went rooting through my trash receptacles looking for his next meal. If it were up to me, I’d have it turned into a hat.” 

Meeko chittered and curled around Rhett’s ankle, covering his little eyes with his tiny paws. 

“Well, who knows, maybe it’ll cover the bald spot on the back of your head,” Rhett said with a smug little grin. 

“Oh you smart mouthed little shit!” Gale hissed. “You’re just like your mother. A hateful, godless little Irish heathen that breeds like a lowly rabbit!” 

Rhett’s blood began to boil as Gale walked away, her pointed, beaky nose in the air and an insatiable urge running through him to the core, the urge to bury Gale Burch in a hole so deep it might as well be on the nearest doorstep in hell. 

“Now Rhett, I wouldn’t....” 

“Oh I’m not gonna kill her,” Rhett said, cutting Billy off. “Believe me, I’ve got something better in mind.” 

Back to the house they went, where they found you in the kitchen and tiny little Hannah sitting on the counter, swinging her legs and her little socked feet as you scooped pumpkin cookie batter onto a tray. “Whatcha lookin for cowboy?” you asked him. 

“Lookin for that mealworm shit you bought for the raccoons,” Rhett answered as he searched the cabinets.

“On top of the fridge,” you answered. 

Rhett gently moved you sideways before grabbing the bag of mealworm and chow mix off the top of the refrigerator. “Might I ask what you plan on using that for?” you enquired, noticing the mischevous look in his eye. 

“You don’t need to know darlin, it’s all good,” Rhett answered as he and Billy traipsed back out the door. 

As soon as he was out of earshot, you peered out the kitchen window to find the two of them heading down the driveway hill in the direction of Gale Burch’s property. 

“Son of a bitch,” you whispered, rolling your eyes. 

“I know that whisper (y/n),” Cecelia remarked, picking Hannah up off the counter and onto her hip. “What are those two little weasels up to now?” 

“I don’t wanna know,” you answered, throwing up your hands. “They told me I didn’t need to know, so I’m not asking.” 

“Any idea where they’re going?” 

“Over towards the Burch property.” 

Cecelia made a face. “Wonder what old fish face did to’em now,” she seethed. “The other day she was giving Mrs. Garcia hell for her climbing roses being too tall.” 

“Well,” you said. “We’ll find out tomorrow what they were up to.” 

********************

“Alright Meeko,” Rhett whispered to the little raccoon. “Go git’em.” 

Meeko climbed straight up the perfectly white picket fence and into Gale’s yard, dropping right into the neatly manicured grass to pick up a few of the mealworms, digging up the miserable witch’s vegetable beds like a kid in a sandbox. Betty Sullivan’s little chihuahua, Pinky, had attempted the same feat but had been met with the unfortunate wrath of Gale’s nasty cat, Gremlin. Rhett prayed that Meeko would make it out without arousing the wrath of that spoiled rotten little furball. 

“Ya’ll think he’s gonna make it out?” Billy asked. 

“He’s a smart little fucker, of course he’ll make it,” Rhett answered. 

The two of them tensed up when they heard the clanging and dropping of old glass bottles from the recycling cans. Their hearts threatened to beat out of their chests when they heard that horrid snarl and hissing that signaled Gremlin lurking about. 

“Oh shit,” Rhett said under his breath. 

Meeko hissed a second later, the two men only able to guess what was going on behind the fence, too nervous too look for themselves. Finally, Meeko wriggled his way out from under the fence, climbing straight into the curve of Rhett’s arms. 

“You little turd,” he chuckled. “Scarin us shitless like that.” 

“Holy shit!” Billy laughed. “Rhett, ya’ll gotta come and look at this.” 

Rhett peered over the fence, biting his lip as he held back a laugh. 

The garden beds were an absolute mess, dug up down to the roots with the vegetables all knocked over and the driveway littered with garbage from the trashcans. 

“C’mon,” Rhett told Billy, still holding on to Meeko. “Let’s get outta here before we get attacked by that monster cat of hers.” 

********************

Rhett knelt beside the pew in the church, crossing himself before he scooted in next to you, Hannah, Royal and his mother, biting his lip as though a devilish little laugh could escape at any minute. 

“Rhett?” Cecelia whispered. 

Rhett snickered as the other parishioners began filing into the sun filled church. Sister Bernadette made her way down the aisle towards the front, her white hair completely hidden by her black habit. 

“Rhett James, what did you do?” Cecelia hissed, resisting the urge to hit him on the back of the head with a hymnal. 

Rhett didn’t answer her. He just kept his eyes on his hands that were folded in his lap, never once daring to look up at his mother. 

You and Cecelia cast each other a quick glance before you saw the sour looking Gale Burch walking into the church, mean as ever, muttering something under her breath about a raccoon tearing up her garden. Cecelia turned to Rhett, slackjawed, wide eyed and shocked as she clamped a hand over her mouth. 

“Oh my God, you didn’t,” she hissed under her breath. 

“I did.”

You laughed a little yourself before Father O’Keefe entered and the service began. You couldn’t wait to hear this one when you got home. 

[randomwritingguy]

The Myth of Y/N (Korra x Reader) Part 23

LIBERATION

Y/N'S POV

I trace back and forth in silent anger in the garden behind the Swanky, trying in desperation to resist the temptation of marching to the palace and unleashing my rage.

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

In just a short amount of time, so much went wrong.

First, before even Korra got back from the Earth Queen, we realised that Kai was missing. The little thief ran off to do spirits know what. Mako and Bolin went off to find him and they haven't come back yet, much to the worry of all of us.

Then, if that wasn't enough, Korra returned and told us that she has to something for the Earth Queen before she even considers helping us. She said it was something about collecting tax money from the South and bring it to the highness. Basically, being a poster girl for her like some little servant. Despite her dismay, she and Asami went to collect it.

However, when Korra finally obtained the money and brought it to her, the Earth Queen has the absolute nerve to tell her that our report of airbenders in Ba Sing Se was incorrect and that there were none of them present. Bullshit! I wasn't even there, and I can already tell that she's hiding something. Then, when my best friend gives her a piece of her mind for giving her nothing after helping her, she demanded for her to leave!

FUCK!

Korra isn't happy about this either, obviously. Actually, she's fuming just like I am.

As I pace around the area, I notice Korra sparring with Asami presumably to blow off some steam. They've seen to gotten much closer. The thought makes me smile.

That slight trace of happiness is quickly diminished by my anger once more at the situation. At the Queen. DAMMIT!

I march toward the pair, both women lost in their own world. "You guys all right?"

Korra turns me to me, eyes blazing with a fiery rage. "No! The Earth Queen is nothing but a no-good liar! I know it with her stupid little queenly smirk! I should have known she was using me!"

"Don't blame yourself." Asami assures her gently. "There's nothing you could have done."

I let out a deep, frustrated breathe. "Agreed. Don't give the bitch another victory. We just have to wait for Mako and Bolin to retur-"

Before I can finish my sentence, I hear the all-too familiar chitter of our friendly fire ferret, Pabu. Then, immediately afterwards, we see the two brothers rushing towards us in a state of panic.

Speak of the devil.

"You guys all right?" I ask them with concern.

The two brothers, Bolin especially, are catching their breathe. The earthbender tries to give out a simple explanation. "We chased Kai. Train. Slipped away. Lower Ring. Slept in trash pile. Met our family. Grandma tears. Mako scarf. Earth Queen. Lying."

The last three words catch my attention.

Earth Queen lying?!

Asami turns to Mako. "Can you interpret that?"

"The Earth Queen's been secretly taking away airbenders and forcing them into her army." The firebender elaborates with utmost seriousness.

WHAT?!

She's been forcing airbenders to be her slaves?! Like they're not human?!

My fists clench tightly, teeth grating.

First Tarrlok, then Unalaq, now this?!

Nothing has changed! Why are these people so fucking vile?!

"She was lying. I knew it!" Korra angrily responds. "I swear, the next time I see her-"

"-It's the Queen." Asami urgently whispers.

What?!

Snapping out of my thoughts, I finally come face to face with...

Her.

The Earth Queen, carried in a sedan like she's the most special butterfly in the world. Then she approaches us with Guan by her side.

"Good. You're here." She speaks up. Despite her words, she doesn't sound pleased to see us at all. The feeling is mutual. "Gun, tell them the news."

The Grand Secretariat responds without hesitation. "We've received word from the Yang Province. There have been reports of airbenders there."

"Wonderful, isn't it?" the Queen oh so sarcastically and rhetorically asks us. "It's the very thing you've been looking for."

My eye twitches in response to the comments.

What I'm looking for right now is her abdication.

Korra responds with the same level sarcasm as the highness. "Thank you! That is just the most wonderful news. Ever. Yay."

Yay indeed. Fucking yay indeed.

"So, I assume you and your friends here will be leaving immediately." The Queen continues with her usual arrogance. She's probably jumping with joy on the inside of the idea that we will be departing or, at least, that's what she thinks we are going to do. However, before she can continue, she begins sneezing in repetition much to utter dismay and panic of Gun. "Is there an animal in my presence?"

Oh...so that's why she doesn't like animals. Makes sense. I glance to Bolin who covered Pabu behind his shirt. I guess the ferret's the reason for this allergic reaction.

Sweat falls rapidly from the man's face, so fast that one can mistake him to be crying from a distance, as he stutters out a response. "N-no, Your Majesty. I would never allow an animal near you."

The Queen sneezes once more followed by the utmost of rage in her glare. "If I find one within fifty feet of me, it's your head."

The man recoils from her threat. That fucking bitch.

"You should be nicer to him." I blurt out.

Everyone goes silent and immediately darts their head towards me, including the queen. She is sending me daggers of death with her own emerald irises.

"You have no say in this." She growls out and then turns to Korra. "Avatar, control your servant."

SERVANT?!

"I'm not anyone's servant!" I snarl with venom. "I'm a person! Just like those who live in your kingdom, your highness!"

"How dare you!" she exclaims. Before the situation can escalate, Korra steps in between us to act as an emotional negotiator.

"Your highness, I apologise for my friend's behaviour." She replies with professionalism. "We would leave but, uh-"

"-Our airship is having engine trouble." Asami cleverly fabricates. "It'll take me until tomorrow to finish the repairs."

Good thinking, Miss Sato. Good thinking.

After a hurricane of sneezes (much to my pleasure), the Queen sighs heavily. "Very well. Avatar, make sure any of your servants, especially that Water Tribe one of yours, is kept in line."

She glares daggers at me one more time and then walks away along with Gun, sneezing as she does so.

When she's finally away from earshot, Korra turns to me with frustration painted across her features. "Y/N! What was that?!"

"What was that?!" I ask rhetorically. "What was that?! I was giving her a piece of my mind! Of all of our minds! She deserved it!"

"And you nearly blew our cover!" She counters. Her face softens then slightly. "I completely get why you're angry, but we need to stay focused. All of us."

A hand is pressed on my shoulder. I glance to my right and see Mako.

"Korra's right, Y/N." the firebender tells me. "Let's tell the others and focus on freeing the airbenders."

I look at my friends who all have concern washed in their shining eyes.

Breathing out heavily, I nod slowly.

"You're right." I mutter. "Let's go."

When we finally go back to our accommodation and tell the others, nearly all of them are left in shock especially Tenzin. Everyone but Eshah.

"I can't believe the Earth Queen is conscripting airbenders." The airbending master states, completely stunned. That's all he can say.

"I'm not." Esha mutters. "From what I've read of the kingdom's history, I'm not really surprised. There appears to be a trend of morally bankrupt kept secrets in Ba Sing Se."

She isn't wrong.

"I can't believe I thought the secrets were over! Those people should not be forced to join an army!" Korra barks out, her anger from earlier resurfaced. I'm just standing to the side, my once fiery rage now cooled down and replaced with shame and embarrassment from my outburst.

Bumi's shock seemed to have diminished and is replaced with nonchalant once more. "Well, technically, the Earth Queen has a right to conscript her citizens."

WHAT?!

"Bumi!" I let out in surprise.

"What?!" The retired commander replies, hands in the air. "It's true!"

Okay, fine, technically, she has the authority to do so. Still doesn't make it right!

"Guys, what if Kai was spotted airbending?" Jinora worriedly asks, fear spread all across her face. "He might have been taken too."

I gaze at her with sympathy. I know all too well what she's feeling. That's what I felt when I saw Korra breaking down before Tenzin and I, when she was bloodbent by Amon, and her lifeless face when her bending of all but air was robbed from her. The feeling of the one you care about more than anyone being hurt. She might not feel as strongly, it seems to be an innocent little crush so far, but its familiar.

"Jinora, we're going to find him." I reassure her in attempt to calm her nerves. It doesn't seem to be working.

"But-"

"-Y/N is right, we will find Kai." Korra interrupts, kneeling before her and placing her hands on the young Air Nomad's shoulders like a comforting older sibling. "We just need to figure out where to look."

"I bet they're under Lake Laogai." Mako simply states.

...what?

We all stare at him and the firebender notices. "What? I've been reading some of Jinora's books. The old Dai Li agents used to have a secret fortress beneath the lake."

That's true. Avatar Aang and his friends travelled there in an attempt to rescue his Air Bison. Maybe they still use the base?

It appears Jinora recognises this too. "Mako's right! It's the perfect spot to hide airbenders, and I know how to check it out without being caught. I can project my spirit into it!"

Wait, what?!

Project her spirit?!

She can still do that?!

It seems her claim caught everyone else off guard too, even Bumi. "You mean that out-of-body thing you and Y/N did to help giant, spirity Korra?"

"You can still do that!?!" Tenzin asks with bewilderment.

"It's not as powerful as it was during Harmonic Convergence, but if I can get close enough, I think I can do it." Jinora explains carefully. She then looks at me. "You could probably still do it too, Y/N."

What?!

"I...I don't know..."

"Jinora's got a point." Asami notes. "If she can do it, why can't you?"

I open my mouth for a retort but I fail to the find the words.

She's...she's right.

The words of Korra, Tenzin, and Jinora become nothing but buzz in my mind and from my peripheral vision I see them leaving the accommodation. I assume they're going to Lake Laogai.

Me? Spiritual projection?

"Y/N!"

The feeling of a rough hand on my shoulder shaking me snaps me out of my little trance. I turn slightly to see Bumi with a raised eyebrow.

"You okay, kid?"

"Yeah, yeah!" I reply earnestly. "Just stunned at the possibility that I could project my spirit. I mean, that's crazy!"

"You can say that again!" Bumi agrees. "Speaking of crazy, this reminds me of the time I had to fight an entire tribe of spirit worshippers and I bested them with all with a feather and a string!"

I roll my eyes with amusement. Classic Bumi.

We all discuss and chatter on the current situation on what we could do once we learn of the location of Kai and the airbenders. Despite this, I can't help but continue thinking of this recent revelation that I can potentially project my spirit. That ability can be really helpful for communication and spying. If I properly start my airbending training, I can use this ability to my advantage in a lot of difficult circumstances.

After chatting for a considerable amount of time, Korra, Tenizn, and Jinora return.

"Well?" I ask them, stepping slightly toward them. "Are the airbenders underneath Laogai?"

Jinora shakes her head frantically. "No. With my spirit projection I was able to discover that Kai and the others are underneath the Earth Queen's temple!"

I hear a collective gasp from this, including me! The temple?! That was so close to us!

A irritated groan emits from Korra, clearly frustrated. "I can't believe Miss Queeny Smug Face had them right under our noses the whole time!"

You can say that again. I can't believe we were so close to them! The absolute arrogance!

"We have to get into that compound tonight and get those airbenders out." Tenzin declares, clearly already made up his mind.

I nod in agreement. "So, what's the plan?"

"I got just the one for a situation like this!" Bumi excitedly exclaims. "We go in under the cover of darkness: two small insertion teams and a third on the outside. Then all we'll need is twelve tons of blasting jelly, a medium-sized bulldozer and ... does anyone have a badgermole that knows Morse code?"

...

Well then, that was...something.

Before anyone can provide, um, feedback on Bumi's plan the tame mood is erupted by the a loud pounding on the door.

SHIT!

"Oh, great." Asami bitterly mutters. "Not the Queen again."

I glance at my earthbending friend or, specifically, the little fire ferret on his shoulder. "Uh, Bolin-"

He instantly understands, letting out a quick "On it!" After a quick disagreement, Pabu jumps down his shirt.

Okay, animal is gone. Time for more talk with the highness.

Then, after a short glance to us, Tenzin opens the door wide.

It's not the Earth Queen. Not even Gun. There, standing before the airbending master, is a tall middle-aged woman in black metallic armour, hair grey as the clouds and eyes with green that rival the grass. On her cheek is two infamous slashes that have brought fear into the hearts of criminals.

It's-

"Lin!?" Tenzin asks, completely bewildered as we all are. "What are you doing here?"

Yeah, what the hell is the Chief of Republic City Police doing in Ba Sing Se in all places?!

Beifong walks inside immediately and wastes no time. "We need to get Korra out of here immediately. Her life's in danger."

WHAT?!

"Korra is in danger?!" I ask, marching towards the two. "From who?"

"Yeah, what?!" my best friend adds on, marching to Beifong and Tenzin too. "What is going on?"

Despite our bombardment of questions, both of them don't pay us any notice like we don't exist!

"I just got word from Lord Zuko and Tonraq."

Tonraq?! Lord Zuko?! Huh?!

Korra seems just as confused as I am. "Why is Lord Zuko with my dad?"

Neither of them, yet again, take a single glance at us.

"Zaheer and the others have escaped."

Zaheer? Who in the spirits is Zaheer? And others?!

"How is that possible?"

"Because Zaheer is an airbender now."

A bad airbender? That's unheard of. And he wants to kill Korra?!

Finally tired of being ignored, I loudly speak up. "Stop ignoring us and tell us what going on! Korra deserves to know since you think her life is in danger!"

"Yeah!" Korra agrees. "Will you quit ignoring us and tell us what's going on? Who's Zaheer? Why is my life in danger?"

Finally, they give us the attention we desperately needed. After sharing a glance with the Chief, he turns to Korra with a solemn and troubled look painted across his features. "Shortly after we found out you were the Avatar, Zaheer and three others attempted to kidnap you. Luckily, your father, Lord Zuko, Chief Sokka and I were there to stop them. We apprehended the criminals and locked them away in prisons designed to impair their abilities."

When our mentor finally finishes his explanation, my breathe is stolen entirely.

Now it makes all sense...

I remember the day when Korra was moved to the Southern Water Tribe compound. I think I was like six years old when I woke up, went outside, and saw a crying Korra pulling me into a hug so tight that my bones nearly cracked.

"Korra, what's wrong?"

The tears on her face breaks my heart. Why is my friend so sad?

"I'm being sent away."

WHAT?!

"Why?!" I ask her. "Did you do something wrong?"

She shakes her head, sniffing loudly. "Dad told me the White Lotus are taking me to some, uh, I don't know what its called but its some place. He said Aang wanted me to be there for training."

Avatar Aang wanted Korra to live by herself? This isn't fair!

"B-But they-they can't do this!" I mutter out, now beginning to tear up as well. "We have to do something!"

Korra says nothing. She just shakes her head again.

"It's too late. I'm being sent there today."

Today?

"But what about us!" I let out. "Are we still going to hang out?"

My best friend just cries and cries and cries. "I don't know. I ran when I heard about it."

Tears go down my own face but then I just feel anger.

No!

"I will not let them tear us apart!" I say. "We're best friends! We're not gonna let some Lotus men split us up! I'll tell mama and papa and they can talk to your parents! I'll make sure we can still hang out!"

Before I can do anything else, Korra pulls me in an even tighter hug!

"Thank you, Y/N."

Closing my eyes, I hug her back with a smile.

The relief I felt and Korra's own reflected in her ocean eyes when the White Lotus allowed us to meet-up still was overwhelming. It wasn't the ideal situation, though. They gave us a very strict schedule of when I could see Korra because they didn't want me distracting her with her Avatar training. Of course, being the disbehaving children and teenagers we were, often disobeyed them and snuck in or out of the compound frequently. While it was a good distance away to be out of the public eye, it was thankfully not too far away by foot or, most of the time, by Naga.

For years, Korra and I thought she was placed into that compound because that was what Avatar Aang wanted. Then, very recently, we learned it was Tenzin and Tonraq who was behind it. And now we learn it was because of this Zaheer and his gang?

My best friend seems to have come to the same conclusion as I have. "So that's why you and my dad sheltered me away."

"It was your own safety." Tenzin replies. I guess that makes the whole isolated life Korra had more understandable and justifiable.

"Why were they trying to kidnap Korra?" Mako steps in, asking the question we were all thinking.

Beifong glances at her detective. "We spent thirteen years interrogating them, but they never broke. To this day, no one knows what their motive was."

Thirteen years? Over a decade with nothing?

She then turns to Korra. "Now we need to get you back to Republic City, where I can protect you."

I mean...I suppose that's for the best. Or maybe not? I mean, what about the airbenders?

"No." Korra declares. "I'm not running."

I recognise that determination in her tone. Once Korra has made her mind, its very hard to change her mind.

Before the Chief can counter the younger woman's disobedience, I speak up. "Chief, I am concerned for Korra's safety as you are, but we're not leaving without the airbenders. The Earth Queen has been taking them to create her own little army. We have to stop this!"

My passionate argument seems to have persuaded the stern heir of Toph. She huffs with frustration and crosses her arms. "Fine. Let's get them and get out of here. Where are they?"

"They are in a military compound." Korra states. "We're busting them out tonight!"

Her determination ignites my own resolve.

Tonight, we are going to break into the temple, free the airbenders, and wipe the smugness from the Earth Queen's face.

For the Air Nation!

TIME SKIP

Just as we planned, we attacked at night. While Asami, Eshah, and Lin stay behind on the airship as an escape route, we headed off. Infiltrating the Earth Queen's Temple was surprisingly an easy task. It was pathetic, really. I thought the defence was going to be heavy when I saw the two watchtowers in front of the small building from behind. However, there were only two guards that were easily distracted by Jinora. We knocked them out instantly.

Entering a doorway to hide from patrolling Dai Li agents, the next thing I see is green stretches of walls and corridors with many rooms surrounding us in a square-like shape. This place is massive. I have no idea how long it must have took to build something like this.

Tenzin turns to all of us, confidence radiating from his form. "Bumi, Y/N, and Korra, come with me to find the airbenders." He then turns to Jinora, Mako, and Bolin. You three, find Kai. We'll meet on the surface shortly. Radio us if anything goes wrong."

With a quick nod, we all split off. Tenzin follows the lead as we rush our way through the compound whilst avoiding any Dai Li agents we come across. When we finally reach to the prison cell, Korra slides the entrance open.

What I see stuns me to the core.

Dozens of airbenders lying on cramped, rough, rocky beds stare at us. The clothes they wear are covered in dirt and dust, rips and tears all over them. Their arms and faces are full of cuts and bruises, their eyes containing nothing but fear and dread.

Anger swells within me, feeding the dragon inside.

The Earth Queen did this...

She took these innocent people, some of them look to be younger than I, and treated them like slaves! Like they're not even human! She will pay for this!

"Who are you?" one of the prisoners asks. He looks quite young, with smooth jet-black hair and a tiny beard on the centre of his chin. "Who are you?"

Korra steps forward. "I'm the Avatar, and I'm getting you all out of here."

As soon as the words leave her lips, all of them start murmuring amongst themselves. I step forward to calm down the situation. "We're getting you all out of here, but you have to remain calm and don't panic."

"We're getting you all away from the Queen and the city." Tenzin proudly adds on. "Let's move!"

One-by-one, the airbenders rush out of the prison cell and as they do so I turn to the retired commander. "Bumi, tell Beifong we're heading out!"

With a quick "Got it!", the older man gets to it. The prisoner who spoke first stops before us. "There's an airbender that's not here. His name is Kai. We need to get him."

"We have friends helping him." I explain. "Now, let's go!"

Now avoiding all discretion, we run and run and run through the claustrophobic corridors until we finally reach back to the entrance. Korra takes a quick look to the outside to see if any Dai Li are outside.

"Come on! It's clear!"

We all rush out, ready to escape and-

Out of nowhere, dozens and dozens of Dai Li agents land right in front of us as if they fell from the sky, surrounding us in a tight oval shape. SHIT!

"So, you've discovered my elite army. I see their loyalty still needs some work."

Her.

The Earth Queen, standing tall and arrogant with her pompous yellow royal outfit. A stupid smug smile is on her thin lips as she stares at us with a sinister scowl.

"These airbenders shouldn't be used as weapons!" Korra yells with rage. "They have a right to choose their own paths."

Despite the obvious and humane argument, the Queen does not listen. Instead, she marches nearer, the scowl on her face deepening with every step she takes. "These airbenders are Earth Kingdom citizens, and I am their queen. Taking them will constitute an act of war. If you disobey me, I will bear down on you with the entire force of my kingdom!"

Act of war? Oh, she really wants to go there? Fine!

"Then I guess it's war!" I shout at the top of my lungs, the dragon that I have locked inside taking control for a moment. "They are coming with us, you stuck-up, vile, bitch!"

My words born from venom seem to have cut deep into the Queen's pride, as her eyes are lit into flames. "ATTACK!"

As she walks away, her soldiers take a big step forward and launch their infamous hand-shaped projectiles made of the hardest rock. However, before they even touch us, the airbenders we just rescued step forward and launch a powerful gust of wind which destroy them and cause the agents to remain in place and distracted! I guess their horrible experience brought about something good.

If our luck didn't get any better, the sound of an airship begins approaching us. Glancing upward I see Asami's good ol' ship. Perfect! This is our chance!

Joining in with the other airbenders, Korra, Tenzin and, I unleash giant blasts of air as strong as a hurricane towards the Dai Li to keep them distracted all the while Bumi encourages the now-freed men and women to climb the temple's architecture. One-by-one, they do so all the while we step backwards to get closer to the temple so we can climb ourselves. The agents advance to us, attempting to knock us off but we blast them away. When we finally reach near to the top of the temple, all of them finally got onto the airship and I see Beifong and Asami's airships flying past us and far away into the night sky, leaving Oogi alone.

Now its our turn!

Whistling and calling for the air bison, Tenzin leaps and twirls using his airbender to land safely onto his friend. Korra grabs my arm and she does the same, throwing us into the air and landing safely onto the nice, smooth fur of our salvation.

YES!

WE DID IT!

But, wait what about-

"WE NEED HELP!"

BOLIN?!

I gaze down back at the temple and I see Mako, Bolin, Jinora, and Kai still on the ground running away from all the projectiles of the Dai Li agents!

SHIT!

"We need to get them!"

Korra thought the same as she steers Oogi towards them. Before any of us can let out a command or say anything, I see Bolin launch themselves into the air with his earthbending like a crude trampoline, flinging them high up for us to land on the air bision!

YES! WE DID IT!

I look back at the Earth Queen and her cronies staring daggers right at us. I can feel their anger and frustration from here.

Good riddance.

LATER

After travelling for who knows how long, the two airships land near atop a number of hills in the middle of the desert. Standing before the airbenders sitting down, their energy regained, Tenzin, Korra, and I gaze at them with confidence.

"I know that none of you chose to become airbenders." The airbending master begins, voice full of sympathy and compassion. "But now you do have a choice. We can relocate you somewhere safe, or you can come with me to the Northern Air Temple, to live in peace and train as Air Nomads. You are no longer anyone's property. What path you decide is up to you."

When Tenzin finishes his heartfelt speech, there is a brief moment of silence.

Please, spirits. Let them join. For Tenzin.

Then, the airbender who told us about Kai stands up. "I want to go with you."

Then, another airbender. "Me too."

And another! "Count me in."

YES! THANK YOU!

I glance at Tenzin and very closely I can see tears welling in his eyes. I can't imagine how happy and relieved he must be feeling. This was his father's dream and now its coming true. He must be overwhelmed. Eshah and Kai won't be alone now.

As they all walk to Asami's airship, the three of us stand at a distance in our own little world.

"Are you coming with us, Y/N?" our mentor asks me.

My fists clench again and my mind is thrusted back once more to my father's voice.

"The next time we talk, you better tell us you are not joining the Air Nation. If not, don't contact or visit us ever again."

No. Not now. I need more time.

Responding immediately as if unfazed, I give him a smile. "Not yet." I then proceed to cock my head towards Beifong's airship. "I'm going to help find more airbenders for you. I'll start my training with the rest when we're done."

He nods understandably. "Of course. Good luck."

"And good luck at the Northern Air Temple." Korra adds on.

Tenzin's brow narrows in concentration. "Be careful out there and stay safe."

Ah. Of course. This "Zaheer" guy and his friends. Plus, I doubt the Earth Queen will let us get away with what we just did.

"I'll try." My friend humourly adds. She then adopts a look of grimace. "It seems like where I go, I make a new enemy."

"But you made some new friends too." Tenzin counters. He then places one hand on her shoulder and another on mine, their touch providing us comfort and warmth. "You both did well, Korra and Y/N. Thank you."

Feeling overwhelmed by pure joy, I pull them both into a group hug. The happiness I felt moments before is amplified.

"This is only the beginning." Korra declares with confidence.

Yeah, it is.

When we finally part ways from our mentor, we begin walking back to the airship.

"I'm sorry, by the way."

Huh?

"What for?"

Korra gives me a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry for not discussing about the Queen's treatment of her people with her. I knew it meant a lot to you. I just didn't have the opportunity."

Oh...that.

I place my hand on her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. "Don't worry about it. I get it. Besides, I highly doubt she would listen. I can't believe she locked the airbenders up like they were objects and tried to make them her slaves. She shouldn’t be in charge of the Earth Kingdom."

"Agreed." Korra adds. "But, as of right now, there isn't that much we can do."

The pessimistic words that leave my best friend's mouth eradicates the tender moment in its entirety, leaving nothing but coldness.

I continue walking, hand off her shoulder, and pretend everything is normal. It isn't.

How can she does say that? How can she just accept it? She's the Avatar!

Then, from the back of my mind, I hear it. I hear the voice of the dragon from within whispering into my mind. My voice.

She's a coward.

What?!

I shake my head slightly to rid myself of the intrusive thought.

No! No, Korra isn't a coward. It isn't our place. Just like Tenzin told us.

"I am frustrated and saddened by this as much as you are. However, we can't just force the Earth Queen to rule her kingdom the way we want her to. It is not our place."

And yet, despite the echoing of my mentor's words in my mind, I can still hear quiet whisper of the dragon.

Cowards. They both are.

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Hope you all enjoyed today's chapter!

Feedback is appreciated!

See you all in the next chapter! :D