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dairy-farmer · 6 months

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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.

#answered asks #asks #anonymous #damitim

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quillthrillswriting · 2 months

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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!!!

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“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!”

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“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.”

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“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.”

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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.

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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! ->

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rainswept · 9 months

Text

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)

#⟢ rainswept ⊹#⟢ rainswept: let two eyes be undeceived ⊹#lyney #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n #lyney x gender neutral reader #genshin impact lyney #genshin lyney #lyney genshin #—rainswept.#if i steal some of the quotes from this scene for the actual series. no i didn’t

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ourfatherwhoartinhell · 2 months

Text

A Dark Redemption // [Part II]

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

Word count | 1781

⚠️ 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]

#the band ghost #ghost band #nameless ghouls #ghost ghouls #mountain ghoul #ivy ghoul #mountain ghoul fic #ivy ghoul fic #ghost band fic #nameless ghoul fic #ghost band fanfic #nameless ghoul imagines #mountain ghoul imagines #ivy ghoul imagines

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boilingheart · 7 months

Text

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.

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.

#bheart writes #Baldur's Gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #Gale of Waterdeep #Gale Dekarios #gale x tav #tav x gale #my ocs #skornweave #Lucius Skorn #bg3 gale #bg3 writing

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hd-fan-fair · 2 years

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H/D FOOD FAIR 2022 ANONYMOUS MASTERLIST

(IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER)

Art

1. Portkey Reservation for Two (General, Digital Comic)

Harry is determined to resolve the mystery of Draco's peculiar and frequent Portkey reservations.

2. Sweet Sweet reunion (Mature, Digital)

Harry sends Draco products as bribe. They decide to test them together ;)

3. Melting for You (Teen, Digital Comic)

Model Draco Malfoy lands a risqué dessert shoot with famous photographer Harry Potter and uses his props to shamelessly flirt with Harry in front of the whole crew.

4. Body By Biryani (General, Digital)

Harry co-owns a Biryani Stand at the Wizarding Little India Bazaar. It's Draco's favourite spot. All the aunties love to take care of Draco and want Harry to ask him out already.

5. once more, with feeling (General, Digital Comic)

A proposal, past and present.

6. What the Heart Wants (General, Digital)

What do you do when your new husband ruins all your carefully scheduled travel plans for a local tourist trap? You indulge him, of course.

7. Delicious Curse (General, Digital Comic)

Draco has to eat a traditional dish from each continent, cooked by a person dear to him, to break an unusual curse...

8. For the Love of Asian Noodle Cups (General, Digital)

While it wasn’t the farthest Harry could get from London, landing in Berkeley, California wasn’t a bad start. He just needed somewhere to finally breathe.

Harry had had a very vague idea of what to expect when signing up for the new Ministry Approved Muggle Immersion (MAMI) program.What he absolutely never expected was to walk into his dorm room at UC Berkeley and see an incredibly fit Draco Malfoy already setting up one side of the room.

9. Chitter Chatter Masala (General, Digital)

Bewitched by spices and herbs.

10. Unmei no Akai Ito (Mature, Digital Comic)

Harry thought that spending a year in Japan would give him the anonymity and freedom that he needed after the war. He didn't expect to run into Draco Malfoy shortly after arriving. Or running into him again, and again, and again.

11. A Sense of Balance (Teen, Digital)

Draco never thought having Harry Potter as a travelling partner would actually ground him. For once, he's seeing the world from a new perspective, taking part in newfound rituals, and everything somehow feels right.

[Or, where Draco's Super Important Notebook™ documents tea facts and sketches, as well as candid moments of him falling in love with a soft Gryffindor.]

12. The Bloody Baron's Birthday Bash (Teen, Traditional Comic)

Headmistress McGonagall has put Harry in charge of sourcing pungent delicacies for the Bloody Baron's deathday fest. This would all be very simple, except that finding a food rancid enough to impress a ghost is no easy task, especially not when you have Draco Malfoy and his interest in an Authentic Muggle Experience getting involved.

Art and Fic

13. Preserving Lemons (Explicit, 17196)

There's probably some immutable magical law that if someone steals your wand to destroy the century's most murderous maniac you then bump into that someone in Italy.

Harry is cooking food he couldn't care less about; Draco is making art he couldn't care more about.

A story about kebabs, miniskirts and the way preservation can transform a lemon.

14. Qui Vivra Verra (Explicit, 22144)

“It’s just- It’s a bit funny is all. Draco Malfoy working in a coffee shop.”

“Patisserie,” Malfoy corrected.

The one where Harry is a sad tourist and Draco feeds him croissants.

Fic

15. The Thief and the Throne (Fallen Kingdom) (Mature, 26355)

Many years after the Dark Lord killed the last King and took the throne, a young orphan joins the Order.

Harry hopes that they will teach him how to help those their new King deemed unworthy: the Regulars. Those people who worked hard for their food yet had to hand over most of their harvest to fill the already overflowing warehouses of the Capital.

With the help of the Order and an unexpected ally Harry is ready to right the wrongs.

16. I Want Your Heart To Be For Me (Explicit, 4372)

It’s not often that Harry can pull one over on Draco, his husband of almost twenty years, but Harry thinks he’s done it this time. He aims to recreate their proposal picnic on the grounds of the Eiffel Tower and, later, reignite their passion behind the closed doors of their Parisian hotel room.

18. The Best Cup Noodle (Teen, 4753)

Draco opts to go to an American Muggle university for a year hoping to escape the past. Unfortunately, Harry Potter has decided to do exactly the same thing.

19. Peerless (Teen, 14,546)

Draco’s trip around the world is cut short when he crash lands on an island during a storm. Hoping for a resort or at least a village, he wanders around until hunger forces him to scavenge for food.

20. True Love is Priceless, Finding True Love is Expensive (Teen, 4664)

After the war, Draco Malfoy had a plan to redeem his family name. He donated most of his family's money, started a luxury blind dating service with Pansy, and intended to marry one of the Greengrass sisters.

Dating Harry Potter certainly was not part of the plan.

But, one dinner might change this.

21. Both Feet in the Grape (Teen, 1741)

While on their honeymoon in Italy, Draco and Harry try their hands feet at grape-stomping.

22. Hope's Only Promise (Explicit, 86,095)

Harry lives in Havana and loves making batidos from all his favorite fruits. He doesn’t have a job and plans to wile away his life in his own little plot of paradise. Draco, released from Azkaban on probation, is set with the unwieldy task to convince Harry to come home. He has to go right back to prison if he fails, but he has been cursed to keep all of that from Harry.

23. This is not a love song (General, 12437)

When Pansy leaves to make a Grand Tour across Europe, Draco almost goes with her. But in the end, he stays and is stuck at Grimmauld Place with his roommate, Potter. And they're doing perfectly fine together: Harry cooks, Draco takes care of the rest, and they exchange the perfect amount of words with each other. Until Pansy gets the idea that they need a teambuilding activity and starts sending recipes to cook together.

24. Chicken Parmi and a Lager (Teen, 3325)

Mandy Thorne thought it'd be a nice, relaxing year, backpacking through the Australian outback.

She didn't expect to run into two war heroes in a pub.

25. Hunc Draco Dormiens Amat Titillare (Mature, 15475)

Harry was sent on a journey to discover himself by his ex-wife. He doesn't know what else he has to discover, after finding out he's gay and having to tell his wife and his children about it. Maybe what he's supposed to do with his life now that he's quit the aurors?

He's in Antwerp when he stumbles upon a small high-end patisserie-chocolaterie. What he finds there exceeds all expectations.

26. it is not a house (Explicit, 43390)

There are many stories that can happen in a forgotten house, in the middle of the Arctic.

Heart-warming tales about human connection and finding the essence of the self.

Epic love stories that defy reason.

Warnings about the hubris of human explorations.

This is both none of the above and a bit of all.

This is a horror story.

27. The Beau-tea Of It All (Teen, 7101)

"Welcome back, Draco! What took you so Oolong?"

And there he goes again.

aka Harry and Draco open up a Tea Shop after their Eighth Year, puns are the bane of Draco's existence, he just can't seem to be able to keep himself out of trouble, and Harry is an overprotective idiot.

28. Contentious Confections (Mature, 16725)

Harry and Draco are both younger, lower-level Ministry employees. They have a lovely arrangement going between them but then suddenly the Minister has urgent need of a diplomat and Draco is sent abroad on a mission.

Draco, in an effort to combat the stress of constant travel and with the added benefit of teasing Potter from a'far, revives an old hobby: the making of a confection modelled vaguely after Bott's Beans. He calls them 'Barelys'.

Everyone else, however, calls them 'courting'. Excepting Harry, naturally, who was raised Muggle.

29. Chocolate Cocks and How to Make Them (Explicit, 9628)

Draco's life is practically perfect. Every day he follows the same routines, wears the right clothes and sees the same friends. His books balance. His chocolate factory is successful. Life is good.

It's predictable. Controllable.

If only there wasn't Potter with his stupid just-shagged hair, his flirty comments and his habit of making Draco say the first thing that pops into his brain, and—did he hear that right?—request for edible sex toys.

30. Through Worlds (Mature, 42619)

Harry is looking for a new start, and he's travelled the world to find it. Now in Japan, a chance encounter with someone from his past threatens to distract him from his goal, but when he runs into them again and again, he begins to wonder if maybe he's found what he was searching for all along.

31. The Final Frontier (Teen, 3408)

When the Ministry decides to create a program to send wizarding kind to space, they contact Harry to cook the food for the opening night aboard the station. Harry not only has to work out exactly how to cook in space, but also how to make it taste good.

32. on your heart (Teen, 9916)

Harry runs a successful Palestinian restaurant. Draco works at a small cultural magazine as a junior photographer. When Draco receives his dream assignment, their paths cross for the first time in a decade.

33. The Least Expected (General, 17454)

Draco put everything he had into buying The Villa Narcisa. Things were off to a good start, though. His first guests were expected any minute.

34. That Time I Was Possessed By a Norse God (Explicit, 8370)

Draco is called to aid in an Auror raid of an illegal magical creature ring in an old potions shop in the middle of Norway. A stray spell hits Harry, flinging him into the potions shelves. As the dust clears, Harry isn't himself anymore. It seems he may have been possessed by something ancient and unforgiving, and he had chosen Draco to serve him.

Podfic

35. Melange a Deux (Teen, 01:13:00)

This is the story of two men finding love in unexpected places. And lots of delicious food.

36. haunt yourself and refuse to be buried (General, 00:23:56:00)

Harry Potter is eighteen years old and he is not okay.

Food Fair Cup team members, please help us record how many entries you have entered as a team at this spreadsheet. You can also join our discord for discussions with other enthusiasts!

Do keep on commenting on our wonderful entries and help spread the word by reblogging our fanwork headers or by reccing the wonderful fanworks!

#hd fan fair #hd food fair #drarry #drarry recs #drarry fic #drarry art #drarry podfic #drarry fic and art #drarry fest #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter

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jungle-angel · 2 years

Text

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.

#outer range #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #royal abbott #cecelia abbott #billy tillerson #lewis pullman #lewis pullman x reader

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tansypawz · 2 months

Note

ghey wtf 😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😭😭😡😭😭😡😡😭😭😭😡😭😡😡😡😡😡😭😡😭😡😡😭😨😭😨😡😨😡😭😡😭😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡 /j /silly

is this mango or tommie what the fuck

#thief chitter #IM GIGGLING #IM SO LOST #WHO ARE YOU

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randomwritingguy · 2 years

Text

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

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