#the gale fever will fade

[kosmic-arts]

GALE AND THE GANG 💚💚💚

[sorceresssundries]

Heatwave

Pairing: Gale x Fem Tav

Summary: It is the final social event of the summer season, and Tav has dressed poorly for a festival in the midst of a heatwave. One-shot.

Warnings: Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Sweat-licking, Smut.

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Another smutty Austen inspired work with a bit of fluff! This time in a universe outside of BG3. There definitely seems to be a weather theme in these one-shots. Maybe they'll fuck in the snow next, who knows?

The Festival of Shieldmeet had dominated conversations throughout the city all summer long. With the event occurring only once every four years, the anticipation had reached a fever pitch, rendering even the sweltering heatwave a minor inconvenience. The idea of postponing or, heaven forbid, cancelling such a revered social event due to something as minor as the weather was simply inconceivable.

The festival was being held in the sprawling grounds belonging to some Lord or Lady who had earned the privilege of hosting. In the heart of a large, manicured, bloom-laden garden stood a bandstand where bards were tuning their instruments, ready to serenade the guests with summer melodies. Alongside it stretched a long table adorned with dishes piled high with the richest Waterdhavian delicacies. Attendants in crisp uniforms weaved through the crowds, bearing trays laden with sparkling drinks in tall glasses, as well as refreshing juices and icy water. There also seemed to be tables scattered around with trays stacked with rolled up flannels sitting in ice, patiently waiting to be scooped up and dabbed at the forehead of the sweltering guests - These seemed to be a welcome addition, as there was scarcely any shade to be found anywhere. 

Tav found herself in a state of utter misery. Seeking solace from the stifling crowds, she had retreated to the embrace of the shade beneath an oak tree bordering the garden, where she fervently fanned herself out of sight. She had naively and desperately assumed that the shade would cool her, but despite the protection from the sun’s direct attention the air was still just as cloying, and squeezed her with suffocating stillness. What she wouldn’t give for even the whisper of a breeze. The sad little paper fan she had acquired was doing very little work for her, just pushing the warmth forwards and heating her even further in her efforts to keep it moving. 

For some inexplicable reason she couldn't recall, she had chosen to don her finest silk gown over a whalebone corset. It hugged her curves with an unforgiving grip, accentuating her form and lifting her breasts. With a smile as wide as her hips, she had admired herself in the mirror before departing. However, that smile faded the moment she stepped out of her cooled carriage and into the searing heat of the midday sun. She had immediately noticed the guests dressed in garments far more suited to the occasion than her own.

What a foolish notion this had been, she mused, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. She had no idea what had driven this madness. Well.. she thought as she peeked out from behind the tree and across at the crowd gathered in the garden, maybe she had a slight idea. 

Gale Dekarios was an exceptionally handsome man who exuded infuriating arrogance, boundless pride, and endless charm. From their first encounter at the spring ball, he had claimed her attention at every subsequent event. She had ‘accidentally’ stepped on his foot during one of their early dances, after he had explained to her his proficiency with magic and his gallant willingness to at least try and teach her some of his simpler spells. He had laughed at her annoyance, apologised profusely, and kissed her hand at the end of the evening. She had been aflame ever since.

Throughout the season, they had fallen into a familiar routine. Their ritual involved stealing glances at one another, offering subtle gestures of acknowledgment, and then both making a concerted effort not to meet eyes again. Yet, inevitably, one of them would find themselves drawn towards the other. It was a dance of restraint, leaving Tav exhilarated each time, despite the exhausting choreography. She was never really sure who was leading the dance, but at this moment, sweating and flustered and hiding behind a tree, Tav decided it probably wasn’t her. 

As each evening would draw to a close, he would always bid her goodnight with a kiss upon her hand, each time lingering longer than the last, and tell her how much he was looking forward to their next meeting. Upon returning home, Tav would often find herself lost in fantasies, imagining his hand tangled in her hair, his lips tracing the curves of her body. More often than not, these night-time reveries ended with her own desperate touch and his name cried out from her lips.

In the privacy of sweet slumber, she would dream of their next encounter, eagerly anticipating another opportunity to engage in their dance and hoping to step on his feet once more.

Maybe she had more magic in her than she realised, as her very thoughts appeared to have summoned him to her hiding place.

“Ah, Miss Taventon. I thought I spotted you retreating all the way out here.” He greeted her with his customary charm. As always, he was a vision to behold, with his dark, mischievously glinting eyes and sweeping brown locks pulled back from his face. Clad in simple yet impeccably tailored attire—a snug waistcoat over a pristine white shirt, adorned with a luxurious silken cravat, and well-fitted breeches. Frustratingly, he looked completely unaffected by the blistering warmth, and Tav thought she must look like a sweating, breathless fool in comparison. She only had time to be embarrassed momentarily, before she realised the precarious nature of their situation.  For the first time, they were properly alone together and Tav blushed at the thought of being found with him behind a tree so far away from the party. There would be a scandal. 

“Mr. Dekarios, a pleasure.” She looked around to try and see if anyone would catch them in their compromising seclusion, but it appeared they were safe for now. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me a little affected by the heat. I was just after a moment of respite.” She began to fan herself more fervently.

“Understandable, I'm sure. For one not versed in magic.” His smugness had returned, and Tav always treated it as a welcome challenge.

“Well, not all of us are as exceptional as you” She batted her eyelashes at him sweetly and took in his cool, handsome appearance. “Let me guess, enchanted clothing?” He bowed his head in confirmation of her appraisal, still looking smug and annoyingly unflustered by the heat. “A shame it could not chill your ego, but alas, I suppose your talent has to end somewhere.” 

His smile in return was genuine. He very much enjoyed her banter. Almost as much as he enjoyed seeing her sweating under the shade of the giant oak tree. 

He raised a hand in mock defeat. “Peace, my lady. I came bearing a gift. In an effort to cool your skin, and perhaps even your temper.” She really was ravishing in this state, he thought, overheated and fiery. He wondered whether she was aware of his true intentions in seeking her out. It was the final event of the summer season, and as such, their elaborate game would have to come to an end. 

As she reached out to accept the cool towel he offered, a surge of boldness seized him. With a swift motion, he closed the distance between them until he was almost pressed against her, and with a tender touch, he placed the cold flannel against the side of her neck. He had hoped it would elicit a reaction from her, at the very least a small gasp of surprise, but she remained silent. She just watched him as the droplets from the towel trailed slow down her neck, caressing her collarbone in the way his fingers ached to, and gathering to rest glistening on the shelf of her breasts which had been pushed up by her corset. 

He had thoughts of ripping it off her. The silk of her dress would tear like tissue in his practised hands, and he would cast the tatters of it into the wind and spend an entire afternoon finding where the pools of her sweat gathered. He ached to know what undergarments she was wearing, what colour, how the material would taste if he pressed his tongue against. It. He hoped it was white cotton, something the scent and taste of her would cling to - so damp with sweat and desire that he would be able to see her dark curls through the material. 

He could feel the cooling enchantment wrapped round him waning as his concentration and resolve were tested. Damn heat. Damn woman. She knew exactly what she was doing. Who wears a silk-wrapped corset in a heatwave? Each bead of sweat and whisper of her heated musk was a siren’s call, and he was determined to drown himself in the ocean of her. 

“I am no expert in fashion, Miss Taventon, but I must question the decision to wear a silk gown in such conditions. Surely linen, or cotton would have been preferable? Or maybe one enjoys the sensations brought on by basking in such stifling heat?” His tone was more frustrated than he meant it to be.

“I thought it would be light and cooling, Saer. Not all of us are gifted with the ability to enchant our clothing.” She narrowed her eyes at him, and wondered if every item he was wearing was enchanted.. She quickly snapped out of her musings “An unfortunate error on my part, I hadn’t taken into account the lack of breeze, or the…” 

“Stickiness?” He said, focusing intently on dabbing her neck and chest with the flannel and not meeting her eyes.

“The humidity. Yes.” 

He took a break from his attentions and discarded the flannel, to take a leisurely sip of his drink. The droplets of condensation cascaded down the glass like tiny beads of sweat. Tav couldn't help but watch, a pang of envy stirring within her as she observed the icy water slip downwards and through his fingers. There was too much electric heat here, strung out in the very air, no amount of cool water would save her. She needed to be swathed by him, to smother the flames until they burnt out into ash. Even then, she was certain there would be embers enough to fan back to roaring flame at just one breathy word from him. She was doomed kindling.

The soft clink of ice against glass filled the air as he drank, his gaze never wavering from hers. With intent, he parted his lips slightly, allowing a single ice cube to slide into his mouth. She couldn't tear her eyes away as he savoured it, rolling it around his mouth with his tongue.

“Most refreshing.” He breathed, after a long, heavy swallow,  “Could I tempt you with a sip?” 

“I..Maybe.. This heat has caused quite a desperate thirst. Although I notice you have only brought one glass. How impolite of you” She dropped her fan to the ground in vexation, stupid thing was not doing anything to help. There was no saving her now.

He smirked and bowed his head slightly. “Not to worry, dear lady.” His eyes darkened and his voice became a heated command. “Open your mouth for me”

At first there was shock, but then without question she did as she was told, like a girl entranced. With a deft movement of his fingers, he plucked another ice cube from his glass and placed it delicately on her waiting tongue. 

Tav saw a chance and took it.

Before he could withdraw his hand, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist, and the surprise in his eyes lit her like a firework. She burned for these moments, for any slip in his resolve, any evidence behind the refinery and politeness that there were things she could do that would shock him. If there was a crack in his armour, she would slip in like water and drown him in sin.

Locking eyes with him, she held his gaze steady as she took control. With a boldness she hadn't known she possessed, she leaned forward and enveloped his fingers in her mouth, sucking gently and letting the ice cube melt against her tongue in a sweet rush of cold. It was a calculated move, a daring play, and as she released his hand, a flicker of satisfaction fluttered in her eyes. The game was afoot, and she was changing the rules. 

She let go of his fingers, and smiled innocently. “How right you are as always, Mr.Dekarios. Most refreshing.” She lilted, still sucking on the remnants of the ice in her mouth. 

He had suddenly lost his footing. The blood that was keeping him focused and leading their little game had suddenly re-routed elsewhere, and he was struggling to compose thoughts. He had no words, so actions would have to do.

He drew closer to her, the space between them shrinking, and he reached out his hand to trace a delicate path from the warmth of her flushed cheek, along the elegant curve of her jaw, down to the hollow of her throat. There, just above the gentle rise and fall of her bosom, he noticed a glistening bead of sweat, which he captured with his fingertip. Bringing it to his lips, he savoured it, and made a noise of growling satisfaction. Her breath hitched beautifully in response.

"It appears you're still uncomfortably warm. I'd hardly be a gentleman if I allowed you to suffer like this." With a languid sip of his drink, he popped another ice cube into his mouth. 

“You are no…”  

He aimed to catch off guard before she could finish. He closed what little gap was left between them and all playfulness burned away in the heat, leaving nothing but desperation. Fuck games, fuck dancing around each other, and fuck that ridiculous silk dress she was wearing. She had won their game, and her prize would be for him to take her the way he had been wanting to for the entire summer. 

His glass fell to the ground with no thought at all, and he grabbed at her waist. Pushing her back against the tree and pinning her there with a leg between her thighs. He finally earned a gasp of surprise from her, as he pushed his lips against her throat, and pressed the ice cube against her pulsing skin with his tongue. 

The noise she made was tantalisingly balanced between relief and desire, and he kept the ice firmly against her as he moved it further down her neck, mimicking the trail of sweat his finger had traced earlier. He delighted in the way her skin prickled as the ice caressed her. She was divine. He wanted to tease her until she lost all of her brazen stares and cutting banter, and all that was left was a puddle of a woman. He wanted to undo her the way he would her clothes, and watch her fall apart under his hands, his tongue, the push of his hips…

"Someone... Will..." Her voice came out in gasping pleas as he continued caressing her with the ice. "Find us..." He needed to remove that damn corset soon; restricted breathing wasn't conducive to the way he wanted to hear her cry out for him— completely unbound. A fleeting desire crossed his mind to restrain her in other ways, at other times. But for now, he simply needed to see how the heat had flushed her body, with as little material between them as possible.

“You think I would allow anyone else to see you like this? I am not a man who shares his treasure.” His cocky little grin made a slight reappearance as he pulled his lips away from her damp skin to meet her eyes and offer some cooling sincerity. “A spell has been cast, no one will see nor hear us. You are safe with me, my dream. Always.”

He lost himself to a moment of softness, and caressed her face with total adoration.

“I have craved the taste of you all summer. The sun itself could not burn me in the way you have. I am a scorch mark, I am the cindered ashes of all restraint. You are my sun. And no one else will gaze upon you the way I will.”

There was no response adequate to match the sudden delicacy of his words, leaving Tav momentarily speechless. In that fleeting moment of enraptured, adoring silence, Gale misunderstood her reaction, his beautiful face falling with concern, fearing he had unwittingly caused her distress.

“Tell me you do not desire me, that this soft heat inflaming you is not at least partly caused by your feelings for me. Tell me I have imagined your eyes searching for me, your playful need for my hands on you as we dance, and I will leave it at this. I will have spent a summer loving you, and it will have been the brightest and warmest of all my seasons.” 

He loved her. The air suddenly felt lighter. He was the breeze she had been craving. 

Her bright smile cracked through the initial shock of his confession, and relief swept over him like a tide. “I know you have a vivid imagination, Mr. Dekarios. But put it away, it is not needed here. I have attended each event only in the hope of being in your presence. It seems we both have had a summer well spent.” She kissed him then; sweetly, lovingly and he laughed enough for the crinkles between his eyes to appear. 

It did not take long for the damned dress to be torn from the skin of her sweat-slicked body. For the corset to be ripped from its bindings. For the softness of her breasts to find their place against his tongue, nipples peaking as though the heat didn’t exist, his hot breath and cool tongue creating a heady mix of magic which made her skin sing. 

Tomorrow, there would be rough marks on her back from the bark of the tree - but for now the slight pain only added to the overwhelming sensations which crawled their way over her body, her sweat mingling with his as he tore off his shirt and pressed himself against her. Caging her against the trunk. His skin was cool against hers, and steam danced between them as though melted steel was being forged by cool water. He was hard, she could feel it. 

His tongue flattened at her skin of her neck and her breasts, and licked away the lust-induced sweat his affection had caused. The fresh, salty taste may as way have been laced with liquor for the effect it was having on him. She tasted of sweet wine with the faint hint of salt. It was subtle, but he needed something richer. His attention moved downwards, and It was not long till he reached that most sacred place, where he had been aching to lose himself in scent and taste. He took his time and inhaled her. Using his nose to caress her sweet spot as he relished in the full-bodied flavour of her. 

As soon as his mouth began lavishing her, she realised he had somehow extended the cooling enchantment to his tongue. Her head was thrown back against the tree in ecstasy, the press of his mouth against her quickly becoming too much for her to handle. There was a brief moment of self-consciousness, where she worried about how the heat of the day would affect her taste. But the worry was soon lost, the thought drowned out by the sound of his appreciation and the realisation that he was stroking himself as he devoured her. 

He was dedicated in his endeavour, although no amount of skin-tingling magic would be able to balm the fire coursing through her veins. She thought she would never cool, that she would be a woman on fire for the rest of her love-fuelled days. The sensation was mesmeric, and she could not remember a sweeter sensation than this man on his knees in front of her, face buried between her legs and using his tongue to caress her with such enthusiasm she felt as though she would fall apart. And fall apart she did. It was euphoric, and her hands gripped his hair fiercely as she crashed over rocks in reckless pleasure.  

When he came back up to meet her he was breathless and lust-drunk, giddy as a school-boy and stoked as a bonfire.  “There has never been a sweeter taste than you, my love.” He kissed her then, languidly, passionately - intent on sharing the riches of his exploration. Tav could taste herself in his kiss. They may as well have been sharing wine between their lips. 

“If you don’t fuck me soon, Gale, I swear I will combust.”

He laughed at this. At the desperation, at the slight annoyance in her voice, at the fact this was the first time she had ever said his given name and she had thrown it at him as a demand to push her against the tree and bury himself inside her. What a woman. 

He needed no further invitation; shedding the confines of his breeches, he pressed himself slowly into her warmth, and she made the most delicious groaning sound he had ever heard. This woman could drive him to madness, and thankfully he was aware that his earlier attentions ensured he need not be overly gentle. Knowing that his endurance would be short-lived, thanks to the fervour he had stoked within himself while bringing her to climax against his tongue, he abandoned all pretense of restraint. Together they were primal, the tension that had been building between them releasing in pure, carnal desire.  

Though a gentleman might have exercised more self-control, such decorum was a luxury he couldn't afford in the presence of such irresistible temptation. Stripped of his clothes, he found himself as vulnerable to the unrelenting heat of the day as Tav, and soon, his focused, determined passion ignited a sheen of sweat upon his skin.

Tav’s payback could not have been any sweeter, as soon as she noticed the sweat trickling down his neck she took her chance and licked it from his bronzed, silken skin. His response was a delicious, low moan and his rhythm faltered into something more urgent, unbound. His grip tightening, one of his hands found its way to rest gently against her throat so he could feel the deep moans rumbling against his palm as he fucked her.

“I love you” She breathed. And that’s all it takes. He is suddenly hurtling over a precipice and into sweet, tight oblivion. 

They both collapse onto the ground, sweaty, burnt-out, euphoric. And they fall into uninhibited laughter as they realise they can hear the band playing a jaunty tune in the distance, and the chatter of the ever-growing crowd is closer than they initially thought.

“You are still hidden from prying eyes, my dream.” Gale offered reassurance as he kissed her head. “And I will conjure up some suitable clothing for you, don’t worry.”

“That is most generous of you Saer, but please - by the Gods, no corset and no silk.”

[avonne-writes]

Short kitty Gale drabble following a conversation I had with @bcolfanfic 💕 No plot, just some comfort writing.

Whistling one of his favourite jazz melodies, Bucky pads into the bathroom to freshen up a little before he joins Gale in bed.

It’s been a long day for them both, and Gale looked lethargic in his exhaustion all through dinner. Without hesitation, Bucky told him to just go to sleep and offered to clean up - a heroic sacrifice, if he does say so himself. It did worry him a little that Gale didn’t even protest, just thanked him and walked out of the kitchen. Bucky wanted to call after him, wanted to put his palm on Gale’s forehead to see if he had a fever, but he decided to let him be. He’ll check on him in a few minutes, unless Gale's already asleep.

Standing in front of the mirror, he makes a face at the couple of grey hairs he spots in his messy curls. As a young boy, he used to think he'd have to be at least 60 to start going grey, but apparently, 34 was enough. Another thing he blames on the stalag. Sighing, he takes his shirt off, splashes water on his face, then reaches for a towel blindly - only to be interrupted by a small, sad meow.

He opens his eyes to look at the shelves stacked with bathroom items and chuckles out loud at what he sees.

Gale, in his fluffy, cream-coloured cat form, lying next to a bunch of towels with his legs folded under himself. A loaf with sad blue eyes watching Bucky. He must have been feeling under the weather indeed if he felt the urge to look for a cozy spot as a cat instead of going to sleep in their bed like he was supposed to.

"What a nice, soft towel." Bucky teases, pretending to reach for Gale with his wet hands, expecting a hiss, but Gale just meows again. The smile fades from Bucky’s face. He grabs an actual towel to wipe his hands dry, then reaches for Gale again.

Gale's ears droop as he pets him, and he doesn’t purr, just stares at the floor mournfully. When he's in this form, it’s impossible to tell whether he's sick or just sad, so Bucky makes sure his grip is as gentle as possible when he reaches under Gale and scoops him off the shelf, into his arms.

"Hey." Bucky murmurs with a small, encouraging smile, holding Gale's gaze. "What’s wrong?"

No reply. Just the pinpricks of careful claws pressing and releasing against Bucky's stomach through his undershirt.

"Do you have a fever?" Bucky asks.

In lieu of an answer, Gale headbutts Bucky's chest and keeps his face hidden where it's pressed to Bucky's body. Yeah, Bucky has no doubt that Gale’s sick. He's too listless not to be. With the hand that isn’t holding Gale up, he strokes the soft curve of Gale's side and sways in place playfully until he feels the rumble of a quiet purr under his palm.

Humming the same tune that he whistled a few minutes ago, Bucky lifts Gale further up on his chest and starts walking towards the bedroom. There are things he wants to say, but he has been with Gale long enough now to know that acknowledging the fact that Gale is sick wouldn’t be welcome. His bastard of father taught Gale to tough out anything from a bleeding wound to pneumonia without a sound, so Bucky is fairly sure that Gale would just pretend he's okay if he called him out on it. Hell, he might even shift back and do some chores just to prove it.

There's a better chance of him accepting care if Bucky masks it with silliness.

That's what makes Bucky hum, whistle and sway all the way to their bedroom, and what makes him laugh when Gale puts a paw on his lips to shut him up. He’s just about to tuck Gale's soft feline body under the duvet when Gale's weight changes in his hold.

It never lasts more than a split second, but it's equal parts amazing and nauseating to watch as Gale's cat shape morphs and expands until he’s back in his human form, standing on his own too feet in front of Bucky. It’s as if Princess, the cat, never existed. Gale's left hand is still fisted in Bucky's undershirt though, even without the claws, and when Bucky smiles at him, he bumps his forehead to Bucky's cheek.

He's burning up.

Bucky presses a kiss to his hairline. "Sleep?"

Gale hums yes and climbs under the blanket when Bucky lifts it for him. Then, just as Bucky is about to switch the lights off, he grumbles, "I'm not sick."

Bucky figures it's wiser not to say anything.

[galebrainrot2024]

GalexTav Enemies to Lovers Pt. 28

Part 27 | Master List | Read on Ao3

Summary: Gale and Karlach talk to the tiefling children at Last Light, short Tav appearance - will she speak with him yet? Who can say! This chapter is angsty, be warned!

With each day that marched forward, Gale wound tighter and tighter as his task loomed over him - every day that passed was one day closer to the inevitable. Death and redemption. What more could a wizard want? A part of him wished Tav had never noticed the portal, had never stopped to pull him from his demise. At least if he erupted then it would save him the embarrassment of now. He shivered though as the thought occurred to him it would have meant never kissing her, holding her and feeling her heart beat against his chest. The weight of the thought made him ill and he stumbled, gripping his staff for purchase. 

“You alright mate?” Karlach rose a brow and he shook his head. 

“Never better.” 

“If you insist,” she sighed, though her tone was disbelieving. 

Tav had not spoken to him since he unloaded the ugly truth. He tried, once - the steeliness and loathing that seeped from her was enough to ensure he hadn’t done it again. Every time he thought about what he could possibly say the words stuck in his throat like gluey crackers. Gale wanted to tell her so much, to shower her with the love and affection that no longer had a place to go to, and he knew it was selfish to even want that. He had ruined her life. She hated him. Why wouldn’t she? The memories of their bodies entwined while they unfurled their souls grew cloudier in his minds eye, the finer details smoothing until the images and ideas faded into one another. 

Touching her was just a concept now when it had once been a reality. 

Some days, it felt as if their connection was a fever dream, their shared kiss a mutual hallucination. Others, the ache in his chest when he looked at her, studied her, waiting for her to look at him - to speak to him gutturally reminded him they happened. He thought the torment of secluding himself in his tower after Mystra stripped him of his title and ostracized him was as dark and painful as his emotions could burrow. 

He was mistaken. The emotions that festered and raged within him now were unlike anything he’d experienced thus far. The love he felt for her was boundless and simply had no where to go, confused and possessed. It poisoned him. It made him want to shake the forgiveness from her, pull it from her skull by force if he needed to - yet he knew he deserved this fate. Worse, besides. 

He dragged his feet behind Karlach, ruminating over his thoughts like a coin turned in hand, smoothed by incessant rubbing, and nearly collided with her when she stopped. 

“Isn’t that Mattis, from the grove?” Gale asked, pointing to the tiefling child. They hadn’t been at Last Light before and his stomach lurched as he thought about the moment he had with Tav in the Weave. Gale knew he’d likely never experience her like that again.

“Welcome to our humble store,” Mattis began, alivened by the prospect of selling more ridiculous goods before his eyes widened with surprise. “Wait… are you Karlach? A lot of us were in Avernus! We saw you fighting - you were so good!” Mattis gushed, his voice escalating as he burst excited. 

“Well!” Karlach laughed and rubbed the back of her neck, “I guess I was. I mean, you should avoid fighting for devils if you can and if you can’t,” she grinned and playfully swung her fist through the air in demonstration, “it helps to have a good right hook.” 

“I saw you lay out a maw demon in two hits!” Mattis exclaimed, his body shaking with adrenaline. “Bam bam, we were like woah! How’d you learn to fight like that?” 

“Had to.” Karlach shrugged, “Life didn’t pull any punches. It was up to me to learn to take a hit - and eat one back.”  

Gale felt his face grow hot when Tav stepped beside them, watching. Listening. He felt the air shift and struggled to focus on Karlach’s voice to stay grounded. It was the closest she’d come to him since that night and the hairs on his arms stood, reaching for her. Please. He dared not look up from Mattis, dared not breathe or shift the foot he stood on lest he collapse. 

“I’ve been tossed around a lot too.” Mattis said, looking at their feet. “I want to learn how to fight back.”

Gale heard Tav’s snort of approval and a profound yearning echoed through his veins. Every fiber of his being called out in protest as heat licked up his spine, begging for her. While his stomach churned, he balled his hands into tight fists, squeezing into his palms. 

Breathe. 

Karlach laid a hand on Mattis’s shoulder and kneeled down, a gentle smile on her lips. “From the look of things, you’ve got your wits about you. A clever mind and a bit of style will take you a long way. Fight with those and you may find you never need to use your fists.” 

“In that case,” Mattis offered a cheeky grin and shifted his gaze between them all, “want to buy a lucky ring I found?” 

“HA!” Karlach and Tav snorted in unison. Karlach ruffled his hair, “Nice try, shorty, keep it up thought and you’ll be scamming with the greats in no time.” 

As they turned away, Tav - despite ignoring Gale - gave Karlach a teasing nudge. “Encouraging them to take up the trade, eh?” 

If he just extended his arm slightly he would be touching her. Just. He felt his hand begin to move of its own accord and he shoved it to his side. Casually, he hoped. 

Karlach nodded and her face contorted teasingly, as if to say ‘okay and’. “Every kid deserves to be properly set up. If I can offer them a little advice too, seems like a win-win.” 

One foot in front of the other, Gale. Step. Step. Step. Stop. 

“Mol, what were you doing talking to Raphael?” Karlach nudged the tiefling and Tav stopped, crossing her arms and rose a brow. Gale’s cheeks grew hot as he stared at her and then abruptly turned his gaze to the floor as her head began to turn towards him. 

Coward, he hissed internally. 

“If we put our heads together,” Mol leaned forward, smirking, “I bet you and me could make a tidy stack of coin in Baldur’s Gate. Raphael’s offered me a partnership already,” Karlach inhaled through gritted teeth, “it seems like a sweeter deal than throwing my lot in with you.” 

“No kid, no…” Karlach bowed and shook her head, agitation radiating from her heat. 

Gale felt his tongue begin to move before he was conciously aware of what he was saying, “You need to believe in yourself, Mol, not the empty promises of a fork-tongued monster.” Nausea rolled through him when he flicked his gaze to Tav who was looking at him with - was it marginally less disdain? Was that a glimmer of something else? 

He ripped his gaze away. 

“Zevlor had belief,” Mol scoffed, contempt thickly settling in, “didn’t get him anywhere good. Besides, Raphael wasn’t promising anything stupid. Protection from me and my kids that’s all.” 

“Hm,” Gale felt himself say as he rubbed his chin, his arm held at the elbow by the other. “Mol - you may have be the picture of innocence at present, so my first assumption,” Gale leaned forward a bit to bend at the waist and tapped his skull, “Is that you’re not being entirely forthcoming.” 

Mol shifted and Tav’s gaze burned him, although he didn’t dare look he could feel her watching him. His entire body had craved her attention for so long it recognized it instantly. 

“I haven’t accepted nothing yet.” Mol crossed her arms, looking around the inn, “Sounds like you’re in deeper than I am.” 

“He’s dangerous,” Tav said, her voice cracking when she spoke. Gale’s throat clenched. “What has he actually offered you?” 

“Well… that we’d be safe.” Mol said again. So, not entirely a lie. “And that when we get there, I’d be head of the thieves guild.” 

“No one ever wins when you make a deal with a devil,” Karlach huffed and Mol interrupted, waving her arms furiously. 

“Easy for you to say. You can do what you want, go where you want. My kids need protecting and no one else is going to do it for them,” she took a deep breath and shut her eyes, the silence unsettling. Then: “Listen, you saved us, and after you left Zevlor lost his nerve. I won’t. There’s no grove, no coin, no one taking us to the city - I’m not letting my crew get eaten by shadows. It’s my choice, not yours.” 

One of the kids came to pull Mol away about something and left them in silence. 

“One of the worst parts about getting old?” Karlach began, her voice intense, “Watching kids make the exact same mistakes you made and knowing there’s nothing you can say to change their mind. Then again, Mol is a hell of a lot smarter than I was at that age. Maybe she’ll figure it all out.” 

For the first time in what felt like a millennia, Tav and Gale met one another’s gaze in the way they used to. His heart soared, blood pulsing madly through his veins as crimson crept up his neck before her expression clouded and she turned away. The rush dissipated as quickly as it had come. 

[moghraidhs]

SO PROMPT. [death] and [hospital] - EvJohn. Because I miss them.

here you go, nina :) i've missed them too!!

then

The letter arrives on a weekend.

Ev’s been gone for two months now, and Bucky is almost surprised by how much he misses him. The house feels vast and empty, the only sounds being the muffled footfalls of the servants as they go about their duties or the occasional carriage pulling up outside the door.

Marge visits the most. Bucky doesn’t mind; he knows she’s missing Gale too. They’re good company for each other, but it’s not the same.

He’s sitting in the study, trying to focus on a report from the country estate, when he hears the knocker at the front door. Several minutes later, the housekeeper comes in, a letter in her hand.

“It’s for you, sir.”

Bucky smiles. “Thank you.”

He thinks it’s from Ev at first. The handwriting on the envelope is unfamiliar, however. He opens it and starts to read.

To John Egan Blakely

Sir,

It is with the deepest regret that I inform you Colonel Blakely fell while defending his country against the enemy on this day June 14th. His service will be remembered with the sincerest gratitude.

On behalf of this regiment and in the name of His Majesty’s Army, we offer our condolences.

Sincerely, etc.

It takes Bucky two readings for the words to actually sink in.

Ev. Gone.

Ev is gone.

It sounds like something out of a terrible nightmare. But when Bucky looks up, the sun is still shining. The world goes on.

Ev is gone.

He takes the letter and goes back to his room. He doesn’t leave it the next day. Or for the weeks that follow.

~

now

Ev’s first waking thought is that heaven sounds remarkably like a hospital.

Someone is groaning faintly nearby. Footsteps echo on the floorboards, and the stench of laudanum is everywhere. For one sickening moment he thinks they’ve finally been captured, but the distant murmuring of voices are English, and the fear passes.

Ev grimaces. His arm is broken, he knows that already - the pain is there, throbbing up his whole left side. Now that the sleep is fading, though, his mind is clear. He needs to find Douglass and Crosby and make sure they’re alright. And then he needs to go home.

They’ve been gone for over three months now. Everyone in London will believe them dead: his parents, Bucky…

“Ev?”

Ev’s breath catches in his throat. This has to be a dream, something stirred up by the remains of fever and hunger.

But when he opens his eyes and looks, it’s Bucky sitting next to him. A Bucky who is a good deal thinner and more haunted than the one he left behind, but with the same old smile, holding onto Ev’s hand for dear life. “Ev,” he says again, and Ev forces himself to speak past the lump in his throat.

“I brought the toy soldier back.”

Bucky smiles, and just like that, Ev knows he’s home at last.

[jakes3resin]

what would buck and bucky be like during bucky’s heat? like specific to them and their personalities

Okay so if there are any minors here I'm gonna just preemptively put everything under read more. If you click read more, that's on you don't come for me. I'm not responsible for your actions.

Okay, its been a hot minute since I wrote anything remotely smutty, so forgive me if this is a bit meh.

Bucky is, of course, very clingy. He makes a nest of just Buck's scent. He gets incredibly anxious and upset if he can't have Buck's scent on him. If Buck needs to leave him for even a moment, Bucky freaks out, something in his brain screaming that he's been abandoned, and more than once Gale has come back from getting them food to Bucky sitting in the middle of his nest sobbing his heart out.

Now Buck plans every moment of Bucky's heat to ensure that doesn't happen ever. He'll do anything to keep from hearing that gut wrenching sob ever again.

During heat, Bucky is insatiable, wants Gale to fuck him every which way. Isn't satisfied unless Gale is knotting him, and even then, he usually still wants more. He has in the pas pushed Gale down and ridden him like a toy simply because Gale wasn't fucking him the way he wanted. Gale had simply stared up at him in wonder that this beautiful man had chosen him, and every heat, Gale shows John how grateful he is, thoroughly.

Bucky's a demon during his heats, his energy directed solely on Gale. Most Omegas go through lulls during their heats, moments where the fever and the need drop just enough to give their partners a break, but Bucky's aren't like that. With Gale, he never wants to stop. He's needy and spoiled because Gale bends to all of his whims. The days of his heat are spent naked and intertwined with his Alpha without rest.

Each heat, he begs Gale to bite him and mate him. Forget the fact that there's a war going, he just wants that connection with Gale, wants to offer his heart and be offered one in exchange. This is the one thing Gale denies him. Gale will fuck him whenever he wants, do whatever he wants, but he won't do that. Gale wants to, but selfishly he also wants to keep John at his side. He'd go crazy if he had to send him back to the States without him if the Air Force found out they mated. He knows John wouldn't survive separating from his mate and his pack, so he denies John this one thing with a promise to mate him one day. Fucks him just a bit harder, kisses him a bit sweeter to make up for it.

Once they're finally mated, Bucky begs for a pup, begs Gale to fuck him until there's no doubt he's pregnant. Until his stomach swells and his scent changes. It drives Gale crazy every time, and this time he won't deny his mate.

Anyways, here's a quick little blurb that I wrote after getting inspired by this ask (this is really so I can stretch my writing muscles and hopefully get back in gear with writing smut):

Gale is sweet as he kisses Bucky, strokes a hand up his spine as Bucky squirms against him. Gale’s knot is buried deep in him, but he’s still not satisfied. His heat still prickles at his skin, an itch that he just can't scratch, and he wants more, wants everything. Bucky breaks the kiss with a gasp to stare up at Gale, at his Alpha, who stares back with dark eyes. That’s what Bucky loves most about his heats. He loves watching Gale’s mask chip and shatter until his façade of self-control and stoic calm fades away. Loves how much Gale will do for him.

“Buck,” Bucky pants as Gale’s hands move down to grip his hips. Bucky shifts his hips just to feel Gale’s grip tighten. Fingertips dig into his skin, and John relishes the bruises they’ll leave. “My Buck.”

“Yours,” Gale trails kisses down Bucky’s neck, and he can’t hold back the whine the builds up in his throat when Gale scratches a fang over Bucky’s mating gland. An electric shock runs through his body. "Always yours."

“Please!” Bucky begs. Fuck the consequences. If Gale bit him right then and there, Bucky would be the world’s happiest Omega. He’d scream the news until no one had any doubt exactly who’s Omega he was.

Gale pauses, and euphoria swells in Bucky’s core. Maybe this time he’ll do it. Bucky tilts his head back, inviting the Alpha in. Gale drops his head down, and Bucky grins, triumphant and feral. Finally!

Except Gale’s pulling away, and Bucky’s euphoria melts into sorrow. Tears well up in his eyes. Its his fault! Gale would mark him if he was a better Omega, if he wasn’t so tall or so loud. If he was just better, Gale would want him.

“Hey now,” Gale tilts Bucky’s head to force him to meet his eyes. “You’re perfect, John. I’d do anything to bite you right now, but I can’t send you away. I can’t John.”

Gale presses an apologetic kiss against his neck as Bucky sniffles. The grief is still there. But so is the heat. He still desperately wants Gale. The conflicting emotions well up in his chest.

“One day, darlin,” Gale promises with another kiss to his neck. “One day.”

Bucky nods and lets Gale pull him into a kiss, nipping at his lips when Gale tries to pull away. His heat once again prickles at him, even stronger now that he’s been denied what he wants.

“Alright, Buck,” Bucky says when Gale stares down at him waiting for more of an answer. “One day.”

“Good boy, my beautiful Omega. The only one for me.” Gale praises. Bucky feels a blush bleeding onto his cheeks. Gale's praises always do that to him, but he shakes his head this time. He doesn’t want praises or sweet nothings, not when Gale’s denied him. No, he wants more. Gale watches him, blue eyes dark and expecting.

Bucky shifts, gasping when Gale’s knot slips out of him. Cum drips down his thighs, but the sensation gives him an idea, a way to settle the heat and show Gale what a good Omega he can be. He grins pushing at Gale’s shoulder urging him to move, to lay back against the pillows. Gale moves where Bucky wants him letting him run the show. Switching their positions, Bucky settles down in Gale’s lap, rutting slightly against Gale’s dick.

Gale’s hands shift down to Bucky’s thighs. His nails scratch at the sensitive skin, and Bucky shivers, losing himself in the sensation. Bucky reaches down and lines up Gale’s dick.

“Gonna fill me up Buck?” Bucky tilts his head, curls flopping into his eyes. Gale stares up at him, pupils eating up the blue. “Gonna knot me and show everyone exactly who I belong to?”

Bucky slides down onto Gale's cock, gasping at the sensation. Every inch of Gale feels perfect. He reaches out blindly for Gale’s hand. He pulls it to settle onto his stomach as he twists his hips.

“C’mon Buck,” Bucky cajoles, breathes coming faster now. He lifts up on Gale’s cock before dropping back down. Gale groans underneath him. “Show me.”

Bucky moans as he rode Gale. Gale thrust up sending sparks through Bucky.

“Show me who I belong to,” Bucky dips down to kiss Gale. “Show me who my Alpha is.”

Posted on AO3 here

[iztarshi]

Febuwhump day 11 - fever

Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

On returning to the lair Leo seemed more okay than he had any right to be. Exhausted but joking, shell full of hairline fractures but having shielded the delicate internal organs behind its tough surface. No part of the carapace had caved in, to pierce a membrane or a lung.

Bedrest Donnie said and Leo said, yeah, okay, I could sleep for a week anyway.

That was then.

Now Leo lies on his front, mouth open as he gasps for air. It always used to be funny the way he started squeaking whenever he caught a cold, breaths catching in a chirpy wheeze. Now it sounds like a rusty hinge in a gale, something that might tear loose after every drawn out, laboured squeal.

Despite resistance to infection that has dealt with living in a sewer for years, Leo’s immune system has reached its limit. Pus leaks from the hairline fractures filling the lair with the smell of rot and small white patches are spreading over Leo’s shell.

Raph takes Leo’s head between his hands. “Hey, buddy,” he whispers. “We’re gonna… uh, we’re gonna clean your shell out, okay? We… we’ve given you anaesthetic but you’ve been burning through… I’m gonna be here, okay?”

Leo whines, twisting to press his hot face against Raph’s cool hands and Raph doesn’t know how much he’s understood. Maybe he doesn’t need to understand the words to understand what Raph holding him like this means, though. They’ve had to do this once already. Raph really hopes they won’t have to do it again.

The word according to Donnie is debridement, scouring the dead bits off before applying antibiotics.

Donnie does it with his robot arms, not his hands, and he does it very carefully. Leo writhes a little, tangling starfished limbs in the bedsheets, but he’s feeling more pressure than pain at that point.

When the pain kicks in he goes limp, breath barely a whistle past his lips as he stops straining for it.

“Leo,” Raph says. “Leo, Leo, I’m here. You’re not alone.”

Leo tosses his head back, wheezing. He kicks, against the medical straps, against the three of Donnie’s arms that are holding him down. “Raph, help! Raph, please, pull me out, get me away, Raph… Raph…” Leo’s hand lands awkwardly on Raph’s where Raph’s still holding Leo’s face, feebly trying to grip.

“I’ve got you,” Raph says.

“Then why… why are you letting them?” Leo’s eyes open, blurred and bright, staring at Raph with betrayal that turns to acceptance. “You can’t let them out.”

“No, no, we’re not leaving you! We would never!” Raph says. “Donnie!”

“It takes time,” Donnie snaps.

“Time, right, time. We, uh, we can’t get you out yet, Leo. But we’re going to! Just keep breathing.”

“Why are you playing along with his delusions?” Donnie asks.

“Raph panicked! He won’t believe me if I tell him he’s safe.”

Leo wheezes another horrible squealing sound. “Gonna be safe… soon…”

“Yeah,” Raph says, “Soon. Promise.”

Leo falls quiet, struggles fading with exhaustion but not that horrible resignation. He’s still breathing. Raph’s own breath feels like fire in his lungs, like he’s the one not getting enough air.

“Done,” Donnie says.

“Leo,” Raph says, stroking Leo’s forehead, unsure whether his brother is still conscious enough to hear it. “It’s over. You’re safe.”

Leo nuzzles against his palm.

[crowbjection]

BTH Bingo Masterpost

Purple squares were published as M1ASMA on AO3, and blue ones as crowbjection (I'm both, I just use them for different fandoms).

Links to the fics under the cut.

Misaimed Blame: The only way (Barok/Kazuma) I Deserve This: For the sake of an uncertain future (Cahara & Ragnvaldr) Rape/Non-Con: Faded Light (Ryou/Momo) Don't You Dare Pity Me: Touch starved (Barok/Kazuma) Fevers: A precious person (Arata/Akito) Shaking and Shivering: Sleepless (Ragnvaldr/Cahara) Can't Go Home: Small comforts (Cahara & Girl) Terms of Endangerment: Veiled Threats (Barok/Kazuma) Barely Conscious: Unexpected kindness (Ragnvaldr & Cahara) Stalking: From the shadows (Cahara & D'arce & Girl) Confidence Shattered: Until death (Cahara/Celeste) Hope is Scary: Alive, together (Cahara & Girl) Please Don't Leave Me: Where I can't follow (Ryunosuke/Kazuma) Anger Born of Worry: Misplaced Devotion (Astarion/Gale) Make it Look Like an Accident: Severed (Ryou/Momo) "I'm Fine": Reasons to fight (Cahara & Girl, Cahara/Celeste) Disowned by Family: Nameless Song (Ryou/Momo) Cradling Someone in Their Arms: One flesh (Ragnvaldr/Cahara) Revenge by Proxy: A low price (Barok/Kazuma) Jealousy/Envy: Second place (Ryou/Momo) Financial Trouble: First impressions (Ryou/Momo) Fainting: For each other (Cahara & Girl) Bruises: A place to call home (Barok/Kazuma) Bloodied Knuckles: Below the surface (Ryou/Momo)

[vannahfanfics]

A Hopeless Land

Word Count: 1,050

Drama, Action

Summary: Snowpeak Mountain is a hopeless land.

Hello, all! Finally have some spare time on my hands and am getting around to posting stuff that’s built up in my finished drafts. This one is a piece I wrote for the Faces of Evil Zine, which is dedicated to Legend of Zelda monsters! This piece features the white wolfos from Twilight Princess. uwu

A full moon hung in the sky, barely visible for the thick gray clouds smothering the atmosphere. The ever-present wind spurred them across the inky blackness, making them seem more like roiling waves of a churning gray sea than harmless weather phenomena. Now and then, the wind would rise to a fierce, howling gale, and the wisps of condensed water vapor would rip at the seams to reveal the glittering stars beneath. Yet the gaps closed just as quickly; the clouds crashed back together to seal away the glittering sparks of light like they weren’t permitted to shine down upon the cold, desolate landscape of Snowpeak Mountain. 

For stars were hope, and this was a hopeless land. 

The wind whistled as it skipped over the thick dunes of powdery white snow. It rattled the spindly, skinny branches of the few dead trees dotting the landscape; it rippled the seams of freezing water gushing up between the gaps in the ice coating the frozen lake. And it ruffled the downy fur of the sleek, stoic white wolfos that gazed upon the wintery world from its perch atop a jagged cliff. 

The white wolfos seemed like a phantom of this desolate landscape, with its gleaming ruby-red eyes and its soft coat glowing ethereally in the sparse moonlight. Yet alive it was; hot blood pumped through its body, and when it opened its slavering jaws to growl in delight, its hot breath misted in the cold air. Yes, this creature was alive , in more ways than one. For the thrill of the hunt sang in its pumping heart; at long last, prey had wandered onto this lonely mountain. 

The beast tipped back its head and released a long, resounding howl. The sound traveled through the freezing air to dive into the icy valley below, bouncing off the rock formations until it finally faded into the white distance. A second passed, and then the white wolfos heard it: the rising melody of a response. It was followed by another, and another, and more and more until the mountain rang with the eerie symphony of howls. 

Far below, the solitary figure trudging through the thick snow paused to listen to the sonorous harmony. It had been many moons since a human had ventured here—many moons since the pack of white wolfos had been gifted such valuable prey. The prospect of indulging in such sweet meat had thrown them into a frenzy; all over the sloping hills, billowing lines of snow were streaming into the frigid air as scores of wolfos charged toward their quarry. All of them could feel hunger gnawing at their belly, digging in its sharp claws and teeth to try and consume them from the inside out. They simply could not let this opportunity go to waste. 

For patience was hope, and this was a hopeless land. 

The lookout leaped down from his lofty perch and dove into the snow below. Its packmates’ excited yelps and feverish barks had ignited its own bloodlust; it stormed down the incline, powerful legs cleaving through the plumes of snow like it was little more than vaporous cloud. Its tongue lolled out of its slavering jaws, and its impassioned yips joined the chorus of sanguinity rapidly approaching a fever pitch around it. 

Like the clouds choked the vast expanse of the heavens, the snow flurries that poured into the air by the wolfos’ thunderous approach clouded the windy air swirling within the valley. A clear night immediately transformed into an unnatural blizzard, the frigid gales dispersing the thick plumes of snow into an all-encompassing white haze. The wolfos paid no mind to the sudden veil that enveloped them; they hunted in blizzards more often than not, and if they were blind, so was their target. It mattered not if the wolfos could not see. Their keen noses would guide them to their prey without fail. 

The pack rapidly converged upon the man, and another tune joined the mellifluence of the mountain—the sharp trill of steel slicing through the air. The acrid aroma of blood soon joined the cloud of sound and scent and snow swirling around them. Some of the more cautious wolfos ceased their reckless charge to instead hover just out of reach of the warrior, pacing impatiently but keenly aware of the still bodies piled in a circle around their anticipated prize. Most of them were driven to the brink of insanity by the enticing scent, thrown headlong into crazed desire; they sprang at the human in a white flash of teeth and claws, only to slump lifelessly to the ground in the next moment, their eyes dull red in comparison to the crimson sheen now dappling their thick fur. 

Those that survived the initial onslaught surrounded the steadfast human in a broken circle, caught between their instinct to survive and their overwhelming hunger. As they contemplated, the clouds broke apart once more, and the starlight illuminated the silver sword clutched in the man’s left hand. A blade was as sharp and deadly as any of their teeth and claws, a predator unmatched in its unfeelingness and brutality, the white wolfos of Snowpeak Mountain had come to learn. If they were wise, they would abandon this impractical hunt in favor of waiting for more dauntless prey to stumble into their clutches. 

But practicality was hope, and this was a hopeless land. 

The white wolfos seemed to come to a collective decision without debate; they all sprang at the man at once. They bounded over the fallen bodies of their packmates without disconsolance; death was the only conceivable outcome on this mountain, and it was simply a question of when and how. With the hunger ever raking at their famished bellies, growing with each passing of a long and empty night, there was simply no room for feeling, for pragmatism, for hesitation. One simply did all one could to survive another day or joined the collection of frozen corpses buried deep beneath the ever-rising snow. 

As the wolfos’ sleek bodies arced through the air like white arrows, the clouds above sealed off the starry sky once again to cast them in cold, merciless gloom. 

For light was hope, and this was a hopeless land. 

[breath-of-the-hobbies]

BOTW2 - A Return to Darkness

(I’ve never written fan-fic before in my life, but all of these new BOTW theories and art inspired me to write this idea out. Special shout-out to @autumn-sweet-fae for the idea about Link’s ability reset! [x])

The series of caverns beneath Hyrule Castle seemed to be a source of boundless interest and excitement for Zelda, who stopped to document every carving and luminescent gem with the Sheikah slate no matter how small or difficult to reach. Link felt the absence of Revali’s Gale acutely whenever Zelda lamented being unable see the carvings far above their heads, but Revali and all of the other Champions had long since moved on, taking their gifts with them.

The two Hylians, displaced in time, had initially begun exploring the newly uncovered cave system as a way to escape the realities involved in rebuilding a kingdom. Soon enough, though, it became obvious that there were important secrets tucked away beneath the ground, perhaps even older than the Sheikah. Zelda hoped that uncovering these secrets could help in the rebuilding process, and so their short, escapist trips had turned into full-fledged expeditions.

They had recently discovered a steeply descending path near an entrance by the Great Plateau. Although Zelda continued to record her findings as diligently as always, they both felt a strange sense of disquiet as they descended into the darkness. Though they had been seeking answers to their questions for months, this was the first time they were afraid of the response.

When they discovered Ganon’s mummified corpse, things began happening very quickly.

Perhaps it was the presence of all three people of legend in one space that activated the chain of events. Within moments of the Hylians stepping into the final cavern, the earth began to shake and malice oozed from the floor. A glowing turquoise light leapt like lightning from Ganon’s form to Link’s arm, which he had instinctively extended to shield Zelda as stalactites and whole chunks of the ceiling rained down around them.

The shock of the light touching his skin—no, entering his skin—was nothing compared to the acidic burning of malice as the slime piled up on itself and swarmed the glowing arm, as though with a single-minded purpose.

Zelda screamed his name over the thundering of stone, knuckles white on her sword grip. Neither of them had seen anything like this, and neither knew how to combat it. Link stepped backwards, tearing at the ooze and trying to keep it away from his princess, noticing how it seemed to be exclusively targeting him. Afterwards, he would remember that small step with piercing regret. If he had only been closer, if he could have moved a little faster…. The ground collapsed beneath Zelda’s feet. Link lunged forward, desperate, reaching—their fingers brushed, and then she was gone.

Link could barely process anything. The earthquake had stopped. Ganon’s corpse had disappeared into the yawning black mouth that now filled the cavern, the same mouth that had eaten the only person who mattered to him in this world. The malice had somehow shriveled and sunk into his arm along with the strange light, and now a black rot was crawling up towards his shoulder, rendering the whole limb dead. He was unable to handle a glider or climb down into the hungry darkness, and the gnawing, unnatural pain in his arm was enough to drive him to his knees.

Slowly, painfully, and with an involuntary cry of agonized frustration, he tightened a belt around his upper bicep in an attempt to stem the creep of malice and stumbled up the debris-filled path to the surface.

When he finally emerged into the calm summer evening, his horse startled and shied at his approach, registering the scent of his arm as a corrupted enemy. Nearly delirious with pain, fatigue, and fever, Link still managed to soothe it, leaning his face against its neck and pretending that it was sweat running into its fur. He could barely stand to look at Zelda’s beautiful horse, but forced himself to clumsily fasten its lead to his own horse’s saddle.

But where to go? His champion allies were gone. The castle was still largely abandoned, the guardians erratically active and monsters as yet un-eradicated. The closest source of help was days away, and the slate had been with Zelda, so there would be no teleporting.

Purah’s not going to be happy about this. He thought nonsensically, and set his horse’s nose towards Hateno Village.

***

He did his best to cling to the horse’s mane, but as the familiar village appeared in the distance, his sense of relief overpowered the adrenaline that had kept him going for the past several days. Slowly, gently, darkness clouded his vision and he slipped from his mount’s back, falling into the ditch on the far outskirts of Hateno Village. The horses, exhausted themselves, barely registered the change in weight and continued on to the place where they knew that apples and good hay could always be found.

The children of the village, who had frequently begged rides from Link and clung to him on past visits, immediately recognized that something was wrong when they spotted the tired creatures trudging up the cobbled street. They ran to the eccentric scientist up in her tower, and joined Symin, her chief researcher, in a frantic search of the area. The sun was beginning to set when they finally found the unconscious Link. Symin scooped the small hero up in his arms, a knot of fear in his stomach, and carried him to his lady.

***

Link opened his eyes to sunshine streaming through a window, birdsong, the warm scent of hay and machine oil. The agonizing, corrupted, wrong pain in his arm had faded, but in its place was a weak and draining numbness. Remembering Zelda’s fall, he sat up with a gasp, and immediately crumpled, spots swimming in his eyes, heartbeat rushing in his ears. As he panted, head between his drawn-up knees, he heard soft steps as someone came up the ladder to this bedroom.

“I would have thought you’d slept long enough the last time, Linky.” Said Purah dryly, but not unkindly. “You’re really pushing my skills here. I had to research tech that hasn’t been used since the Zonai disappeared.” Link slowly lifted his head to look down at his arm. The rot was still there, shriveled black skin stretched over tendon and bone. Two things were different: there were engraved metal bands that clasped his arm from wrist to bicep, softly buzzing with energy, and there was a Sheikah emblem tattooed on the back of his blackened hand.

Purah remained uncharacteristically quiet, letting Link take in the changes, before starting up again to enthuse about the tech. “I’m going to keep optimizing it, of course. It’s wildly inefficient at the moment but I needed to get something on you or you’d lose the arm. Currently the runes are drawing directly from your energy just to stop the procession of the corruption, but I plan to improve that. As such I think it’s going to take you a while to get your strength back. I saw you lost your slate—“ her voice hardened in sudden anger “—but until you get it back I’ve got plans to add some capabilities to this tech in the meantime.”

Link finally found his voice. “Zelda.” he croaked, his defeated, exhausted gaze rising to meet Purah’s.

Her face softened. “We were worried why she wasn’t with you, why you were in that state. We sent some people to the tunnels, but they haven’t returned.”

The half-hoping, half-pleading look in Link’s eyes disappeared immediately, replaced with stubborn determination as he placed his feet on the floor and rose, legs visibly shaking.

Purah sighed, as though she had expected this. “You’re in no shape to go after her now. Zelda has held her own in this world for longer than you have, and she can handle herself. You, on the other hand, need to build your strength back up or you’ll be knocked over by the first bokoblin you meet. Or the first gust of wind.”

Link ignored her, taking slow and unsteady steps towards the ladder. “Link, your clothes!” She yelled after him in exasperation just as he missed the second rung and disappeared from view. A loud thud and a startled exclamation from Symin rose back up through the hole in the floor. “Hylia, why me?” She asked the air.

***

Link glared at the straw monster in front of him, sweat running into his eyes. It took all his effort to raise the stick in his right arm, the numbness of the limb and unfamiliar weight of the tech making every movement sluggish. He had been hacking at the doll for hours and yet it looked fresher than he did.

Symin watched from the window, sipping a cup of tea. “Should we stop him?” He asked. It was several weeks now since the scrawny hero had picked himself up off the floor and legged it out the door, only to collapse less than halfway down the hill. Since then, he had spent every waking moment making his best attempt at training.

Purah didn’t glance up from her book. “The man just lost everything he cares about for a second time. In many ways he’s worse off than he was when he woke from the century’s sleep. At least that time he had his strength, if not his memory. Let him work things out his own way.” Unspoken between them was the knowledge of reports from central Hyrule that the castle was once again filled with malice and making the ground tremble day and night. Link had not told them the details of his encounter, nor indeed spoken hardly at all, but his grim determination said more than enough.

Only a few days later, the morning after Purah had successfully implanted the first upgrade into Link’s arm, Symin slammed open the door to her tower study, panic and worry twisting his face. “He’s gone! Link’s gone!”

Purah turned to gaze out her window. She didn’t look surprised, but her normally boisterous personality was briefly extinguished. She shook herself and turned back to her notes with renewed vigor. “He’ll be back. Let’s be ready for him.”

Chapter 2

[dragonswithjetpacks]

Theurgist

Chapter Five: A Quick Laugh at Death

-dragonswithjetpacks

Notes: I am so sorry it took so long. I had a busy week last week and was gone all weekend. I got really tired of trying to right this chapter so I am sorry if it seems rushed and choppy. I mainly just wanted the quirky bits. And I have so many things already pre-written I'd like to get to. Including the temple. And then tying in the bite scene later on.

Read here on Ao3

Ferelith looked down into the reflection of the water, examining the dried blood on the side of her face. A small shard of anger slithered into her thoughts when she thought about the creature from the crash. The worm was trying to fight it, but the twirling shadow had clouded it’s thoughts. Her patron was still there, protecting her the best he could. But he would not speak. Ferelith looked up to the moon and saw it was still a few days away before she could perform the ritual to speak with him. Though there was always the option to try. She sighed, setting her gloves to the side to wipe them off later and she dipped her hands into the water. As she began to wipe off her face, Gale had approached her.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like a word once we’ve settled in for the night,” he said.

“If this is about what happened earlier,” she rose to her feet, “then I assure you I’m quite alright.”

“Actually, no,” he paused as he turned. “But I’m glad to see you’re feeling a bit more like yourself.”

A swift breeze pulled her hair into her face, but she was quick to tuck it behind her ear. Gale watched her eyes closely, but saw nothing peculiar within them. They were just as they always had been. Pale yellow with nothing of importance gleaming inside. No hint of anger or excitement. Just simply mindful and content. And the lingering dark essence he had sensed before disappeared. There was just Ferelith with her pale skin and dark hair holding her arms against her chest to brace herself against the cold wind of the river.

“You know,” she said, squeezing her arms. “I’ve met many wizards in my travels. Have you… met many warlocks?”

“A few,” he nodded.

“What were they like?”

Gale paused for a moment. A warlock was unlike a wizard in the sense of how they obtained their power. A wizard was impatient, in most cases. They desired power, but that wasn’t any different than any one else. What separated a warlock was the means in which they obtained that power and what sort of desire drove them. It varied upon the person. And when he looked at Ferelith, the quiet woman who cradled the apron with her books and her singed quill, he did not see a desire for power. He saw a woman with secrets. A woman blanketed by a protective shadow. He took a deep breath.

“Nothing like yourself,” he smiled at her in adoration.

Her eyes, once cold and gazing lost across the river came round to acknowledge the compliment of her companion. He caught the reflection of gratitude within them and knew her smile to be true.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” she looked back out to the water. “It even makes me sound a bit dangerous. But I’ll take the ambiguity as a compliment.”

“I simply don’t know enough about you to say otherwise,” he attempted to correct his statement.

“I appreciate your honesty,” she let a little sigh slip through, leading Gale to believe she was finished with his company. “For the record… you’re one of the kindest wizards I’ve ever met.”

“I do try… my lady.”

“Alright enough flattery,” she waved her hand slightly as he left her line of sight, her gaze still focused on the rolling stream in front of her. “I’ll see you later.”

His footsteps faded out, only to be replaced by another. Ferelith glanced up at the sky, realizing they had a few hours of daylight left before she could retire. There was still much to be done, but she had a sudden urge to be alone. Whoever it was behind her, they were in no rush. And she wondered how long she could stay silent before they urged her to speak.

“The breeze will just get colder as the sun goes down,” she said eyeing the colors shifting as the sun set. “It will draw me closer to the fire. Soon enough.”

“Take your time,” a male’s voice startled her.

Ferelith turned, seeing Astarion with his newly gifted bow strapped to his back, a few crude arrows in his hand.

“Oh, I though you were- well, it doesn’t matter…”

“I was just leaving,” he stated, glancing back to the rest of their party gathering around the pit as Gale prepared a fire.

“And you’re, what? Taking requests?” she smirked over her shoulder.

“I’m afraid the prime rib will be unavailable tonight,” he shifted his weight to his other foot. “But, in order to make up for it, I’ve offered a few bolts to your collection.”

Ferelith lowered her arms, granting him her full attention. “To my what?”

“The village coward dropped his quiver. There were a few arrows in there a bit too short to be considered an arrow. I tossed them onto you bedroll.”

“Oh… thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. At the quality they appear to be in, they could have just been poorly made arrows that couldn’t be used by a proper bow,” he cringed. “They might just snap straight in half.”

“Right,” she nodded, admitting that her thoughts were lost on him.

Astarion could see her drifting back out into the open evening, eyes faded into a distant plane. After what he had witnessed of her earlier that day, he had expected a change to her behavior at camp. The outburst to him meant a reveal of character. Not this reclusive woman who was lost in thought. While Ferelith had been a mostly quiet person from the beginning, there were still those snarky comments between he had rather enjoyed. This was simply just disappointing. She did not even bother to send him away as he turned to leave.

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

After an evening delegating a very passive aggressive discussion between Shadowheart and Lae’zel over what she would consider dinner, Ferelith was forced to resist the urge to turn in for the night. Her head had been pounding, likely a side affect of the illithid’s mental damage from before. Still, she had agreed to have a moment with Gale. And least with him, she knew half of what to expect. That included walking up to see him observing his own double.

“Be with you in a moment,” his voice echoed.

His attention never left the mirror image, his eyes focused upon his own face. Ferelith snorted a bit, rolling her eyes with a sigh as she glanced around for something else to keep her occupied. She allowed him a few more seconds before she grew impatient.

“Is there a reason you’re studying your own image?”

Gale turned, a smirk shot at her to acknowledge the teasing tone.

“Indulging in a spot of vanity. Handsome devil, aren’t I?” he spun around with a wave of his, causing the image to vanish. “Be that as it may.”

It slowly fizzled down to a few sparks. He folded his hands behind his back, very much in the estute sort of way she would have imagine. His brow lowered and she could feel the tone shifting to a more serious manner. Though, she felt she had enough of it that day.

“Ceremorphosis. What does it make you think of?”

“The tadpole,” she answered, knowing it was what he expected.

Still, he responded with utmost enthusiasm.

“Spot on,” he winked. “Day one: fever and memory loss. Day two: hallucinations and graying skin. Day three: hair loss and blood leaking from all orifices. Need I go on?”

“By all means,” she nodded.

“Day four: excruciating pain as the skeleton and organs reform and reposition. Day five: the host's personality has disappeared. Fingers, toes, and limbs elongate,” he became a bit aggravated as a small chuckle fell from her lips. “I take it you get the picture.”

“I’ve already committed to the lesson, Gale,” she grinned. “Might as well get my money’s worth.”

“Day six,” he lowered his brow, clearly not humored by her sarcasm, “The flesh around the mouth splits to make way for tentacles. Day seven: a mind flayer is born. This is the most annotated version, of course.”

“What you’re saying,” she shifted with crossed arms, “is that I can at least keep my sense of humor until the fifth day? I’d say we only have another night’s worth of laughs, Gale.”

“I’m glad your coping mechanism consists of deflecting the seriousness of this problem with jokes,” he replied.

“You’re no fun tonight,” she tilted her head to the side. “But no worries. We’re two days in. We should have clearly turned gray by now.”

“Spot on again,” he flicked a finger at her. “Orifices remain blissfully unbloodied. Our heads remain clear, and our blood temperature is normal. Any expert will agree: this is… abnormal.”

“Don’t question it so much,” she shrugged. “In all my existence, the only reason I owe my life to anything is because of the abnormal. I’m just lucky to be alive.”

“I’ll toast to that,” he smiled uneasily with a hint of intrigue. “The pragmatic in me, however, sees only the silence before the storm. Something to sleep on. We should get some rest.”

“Thank you for leaving me with that imagery,” she gave a slight nod. “I’m sure it will soothe me as I mediate tonight. Good night, Gale.”

“I’m only here to help,” he gave a half solute.

Ferelith grinned, waving her hand slightly to bid farewell as she retreated to her bedroll. They had acquired a few extra blankets. And she was lucky enough to procure an additional pillow. Leaning against her new luxurious cot was her pack, waiting patiently for her hands to dive into it. And standing directly across it from the fire, just as he was the night before, was Astarion. He seemed to be waiting as patiently as her pack.

“I saw you getting a lecture from our magical friend,” he said the moment she glanced in his direction.

“It was quite informative,” she took a break from straightening her blanket to address him. “Descriptive, at the very least.”

“I have to say,” he said leaning forward with narrowed eyes. “I thought you’d look worse. But no. Not a tentacle in sight.”

“Thank you?” she pulled back, turning a shoulder to him. “I’m hoping it will stay that way.”

“Naturally,” he rose a brow. “But I was thinking… what if it doesn’t?”

Ferelith had thought about what would happen if she did change. But the ever growing stubbornness inside her made her truly believe it would never happen. She was not willing to believe it. Nor was she willing to admit to anyone else that it was a possibility. He let the sentiment settle with her for a moment. Though he could see it had little impact. The blank stare with a slow blink signaled him to proceed.

“Of course,” he went on, tilting his chin to the side with a gleam in his eye, “first sign of change and I’ll have to stop that pretty little heart of yours.”

He almost seemed too excited at the thought of putting her down. Like a wild animal. She crossed her arms, as if to guard her chest from his stare. It did not matter, he could hear the sound of her pounding heart. And it had only grown louder from his statement.

“I am open to suggestions. Knives, poison, strangulation – whatever you’d prefer.”

“I’d prefer not to die,” she said dully.

“Well now you’re just being closed-minded,” he teased. “There are some lovely ways to go.”

“First I listen to Gale talk about the details of turning into a terrifying monster and now you’re telling me all the options I have in which you could kill me? Whoever said chivalry was dead must have no taste for macabre.”

“To be fair, you were the one that pushed the wizard to give those wonderful details. I am giving you these options as a gift.”

“I am ever so grateful. Do go on about the beautiful ways in which I can ensue death,” she opened her arms, flicking her wrists in a manner as if she were receiving the said gift he spoke of.

“You know, I watched urchins freeze to death on the street. It looks peaceful – just like falling asleep.”

“Very poetic… I wonder if drowning feels the same.”

“Ha!” his shoulders fell back as he lifted his head with laughter. “Oh, come on. Humor me. If you had to choose…”

“Fine,” she took a deep breath with a few seconds of thought. “I suppose a knife. Straight to the chest. That seems quick.”

“A classic,” he nodded with approval. “One good thrust to the heart and you’re gone. We need a good blade, of course. Don’t want to waste time hacking and prodding with a dinner half.”

It was the first time in a long time it had happened. The welling feeling in her chest. The tightening of her cheeks. The widening of the eyes. The burst of air from her mouths as her voice let out a loud series of rhythmic laughter. It caught her off guard. So much that she covered her mouth, leaning forward, and looking to Astarion with surprise. She rose her brows in disbelief that he had truly made her laugh.

“Well,” he said, leaning forward toward her like they were a couple of children cackling in school, “I’m getting ahead of myself. This is all a worst case scenario, obviously.”

“You’re terrible,” she giggled, lurching forward with one last tit of laughter. “What about you? Is there any way you’d like for me to end your life?”

“Oh, my dear,” he said with a condescending tone. “I’d like to see you try.”

Ferelith reared back, a bit offended that he held himself so much higher than herself. But she knew he was only testing her. Pushing her to see what sort of outcome he could obtain by doubting her strength.

“Dealer’s choice then,” she said firmly. “I’ll make sure it’s a lovely surprise.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you’ll disappoint me,” it was meant to be a positive reinforcement, but the way he said it still made it sound more like a threat. “Now, enough of this talk. Let’s get some rest. The sooner we start tomorrow, the better our chances of keeping this hypothetical.”

“I take it you’re joining us to the tiefling camp, then?”

“Of course, darling,” he replied. “I’ll go wherever you lead.”

“I’d be careful with those words,” she said darkly. “You’ll never know what path I’ll lead you toward.”

“Even better.”

She shook her head at his advancements with a foolish smirk she could not hide. “Good night, Astarion.”

“Good night, Ferelith.”

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

The next day brought a heavy fog over the camp, dampening both their supplies and their spirits. Ferelith could smell the moisture in the air and knew it would lift as the sun rose. And sure enough, the moment they began to snack on their morning rations they could see a bit of orange illuminating the sky. Their pace quickened and they got to their feet, ready to begin to their journey into a new part of the forsaken land they had been thrown into. The human, the gith, and the two elves made their way out of camp, leaving Shadowheart to sulk to herself as they had agreed to take Lae’zel to question the tieflings and seek further assistance for themselves against her wishes. Though Ferelith had promised the temple would come soon, as she had an interest in what laid within it herself.

The path was quite clear to the camp. And Ferelith wondered how they had missed it so easily before. Or perhaps, they had been far too occupied with their troubles and each other to pay attention to path carved among the rocks. She kicked at the dirt, still a bit dry despite the wet morning, and looked up to the back of her companion who was the only one who managed to sustain any of the information the tieflings had given before. He stopped for a moment, glancing behind him to smile at her, then looking to the others.

“I think we should take a moment to really prepare ourselves for this camp,” he said with an overthought of wishful thinking. “Our main goal is information. We don’t want to overwhelm them.”

“It’ll be fine, Gale,” Ferelith stated, slinging her pack over her shoulder. “We’re only asking a few questions. Getting supplies. There won’t be enough time to do any real damage.”

“Oh, I don���t know,” Gale whispered slightly to himself with a shrug. “I can think of a few things that could go wrong.”

She ignored him, rummaging through the items in her pack until she felt the cold texture of leather beneath her fingertips. Pulling them out, she gave them one good look before she turned Astarion.

“Here,” she handed him brown leather folded neatly to show the string tied at the top around the collar.

He took them, a bit disgruntled but willingly. Though he wasn’t sure what she expected him to do as she kept searching through the pack.

“Am I supposed to hold onto these?”

“Put them on,” she directed, otherwise paying no mind.

“Right now?” he dipped his head low as he questioned her, staring her in the eyes while waiting for her acknowledgment.

“Yes, right now,” she finally turned to look at him but only for a moment. “You’ve been wearing the same city clothes for days. You should put on some actual leather. One, because it’s more useful. And two, so you don’t look like a complete lost cause.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that last part because this is a very expensive doublet. And this blouse is of the finest threads in Baldur’s Gate.”

“I’m sure,” she grinned lovingly, looking back down into her pack.

Astarion tossed his new leather armor to the side to free his hands. He began to work on his doublet right away. It was already sliding down his arms when Ferelith looked up, catching the back of him in just his white shirt. He looked… nice. It almost made him feel more humble than he really was. Or at least, more approachable. His hands came up, his fingers loosening the collar. Still facing the rock, he pulled the shirt up and her eyes widened as he lifted it. His back flexed and his hands grasped the bottom of his shirt as he pulled it over. She swallowed… hard… as he turned around. What she had assumed was the doublet in all its puffed out glory… had been the actual thickness of the man’s chest. He was lean, but he far from frail. Seeing it off was a revelation and normally she would have felt annoyed at being so wrong about someone’s character. She inhaled a heavy dose of air, holding it for a few moments as she let her eyes wander. He shook the leather tunic out and she admired the muscle in his forearm tensing as he did. Slowly, she exhaled, observing him turn around with his arms raised trying to pull down the armor. She counted each curve of his abdomen with a small smile. Then, nodding with a bit of appreciation, she looked back down into her bag.

“Well, you certainly have no shame,” Gale nudged her.

“What?” she shrugged with a coy smile. “I’m in the wilderness. My eyes get hungry, too.”

“Careful. Some of the tastiest looking berries are the most poisonous.”

“Better than death by ceremorphosis.”

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

The back of Zevlor whisked away, his tail thrashed back and forth with irritation as he left. There was something about a tiefling that left an excitement behind for Ferelith. Like a small trail of flame. She breathed a heavy sigh, knowing that the flames would grow larger the longer she stared at them. After all, she had just witnessed them in battle. Turning to her comrades, she noticed a slight irritation within their faces.

“What are we messengers, now?” Astarion seemed particularly the worst.

Ferelith stepped close to him, too close for comfort. It made him shift backward, which is exactly what she wanted. He took several steps back just so she could hiss at him out of hearing range of anyone else. She kept her head down as she spoke.

“Listen, we keep all options open. There’s no agreeing. No disagreeing. If we’re stuck here, we best leave all doors open in case we need a way out. That means seeing what we can do about the druids.”

“Ah, I understand, now,” he said, his chest still out further than than his chin to keep her at bay. “This is the sort of thing we should have discussed before our arrival rather than my appearance.”

Ferelith blinked, her eyes gliding up toward him. “I didn’t expect you to complain in front of the whole sodding camp after watching one of them take an arrow to the chest.”

“Like it makes a difference? They’re all going to die anyway.”

Ferelith crossed her arms, her fingers tapping against her forearm. “If we’re not careful, we’ll die too.”

“Fine, fine,” he waved his hand.

“If you’re done,” Gale interrupted. “I believe there’s a merchant just down the hill.”

She gave him one last warning glance before she turned to the direction Gale was pointing. There was a small set up just on the edge of the camp beneath a stretch of a rock archway. It was a grand entrance, nothing at all comparable to a refugee camp. They followed the trail down, glancing further into it and noticing the make shift buildings and rails along the sides. They seemed misplaced to her. Even the shop they approached looked more like a scatter array of things more than any kind of marketplace.

“Refugees… adventurers. No one in years. And suddenly, we’re overwhelmed. Well me,” he greeted them begrudgingly. “Thank you for beating back those goblins. Most brave of you.”

“I do what I can,” she shrugged, not feeling quite worthy of his gratitude just yet.

“Is there anything you need? Act fast if you do. The ritual will be complete before too long.”

“I do,” she paused, observing Astarion round the display. “We’re a bit short on supplies. But we do have a bit of coin. Are they really locking down the grove? I was hoping to rely on the business here for a short time.”

“I know it’s drastic, but more monsters seem to terrorize this region every day.”

“And the tieflings?”

“We druids will be safe-”

The sound of the merchant drowned as she became distracted by Astarion looking through the array of weaponry. She watched as he ran his fingers over the blades along the table, glancing at her with a mischievous smirk. Her eyes shifted back to the vendor, trying to pay attention as best she could. But she kept wandering back to the rogue. He held up a knife, displaying it for her with a raised brow. She shook her head slightly. But he ignored her, giving the air a few jabs and shrugging, setting it back down with a frown. The next one he picked up, waving a hand down in it like it were a grand prize. She swallowed the lump forming to stop herself from bursting with laughter. It did not work and she was forced to clear her throat rather loudly.

“It sounds like these are dire times,” she blinked to regain her focus.

“You sound just like Khaga.”

“Are these the only weapons for sale?” Astarion interrupted, setting down the knife he was holding with a loud thud.

“These are the only ones I am selling,” he lowered his brow. “There’s a blacksmith further into the camp. Though I’m not sure he has much to offer.”

“Thank you,” Ferelith said loud enough to draw his attention back. “Here’s what I have for… oh, I think a few potions will do.”

“Of course.”

She passed Gale the bottles as they were handed to her who began to slip them into the back of her pack. Astarion had lost interest in the wares and moved back to Lae’zel who was impatiently waiting behind them. Her stare was into the gorge, examining the tieflings as if she were able to spot the one with the information she needed. Ferelith was certain she would have already caused chaos if they were not with her. As she turned around, she could hear Astarion grumbling into her ear.

“Things are about to get a lot more dire with those sad excuses for weapons.”

“You’re going to get us kicked out,” she said as she brushed by the two of them. “Let’s find the blacksmith. Find the lead. And get out.”

“Is the blacksmith necessary?” the gith rolled her eyes.

“Yes,” Ferelith said firmly. “I’ve only got two bolts for my crossbow. The ones Astarion found are useless.”

“I warned you,” he shrugged.

“A snapped bolt could have meant my death.”

“It wouldn’t have been my first attempt to kill you.”

“Nor the last,” she said over her shoulder as she trailed further down into the camp.

[weavehearted]

Gale's heartbeat picks up speed as he leans into his neck, threatening to burst from his chest. it’s nervousness mixed with excitement mixed with hesitation. like anyone with anxiety, he could have talked himself out of this, changed his mind, but that wouldn’t do either of them any good. he needs to do this. for Astarion’s sake and…for research. probably. he’ll tell himself it’s mostly for learnings sake, but his rushed mumble of I trust you before Astarion sinks his fangs deep into his neck says otherwise.

it does hurt, as promised, like icy daggers plunged into his skin, enough to make him suck in a breath. but Gale is no stranger to pain and he’s felt worse, much worse. if this is what he needed to put up with to keep Astarion at his best, then he would. again, and again, and again. the initial sting of pain fades as Astarion’s mouth closes around the wound and Gale lets himself get lost in the moment.

beneath the haze, the ache in his neck, his heartbeat loud in his ears, there was that heat again, pooled so familiarly in his abdomen. almost instinctively did a hand find its way to the nape of Astarion's neck, fingers threading very loosely through soft white strands of hair. he fights back a groan, succeeding in keeping it mostly silent-- he knows Astarion can feel the vibration of it against his lips.

why? Astarion was the one lost in bliss, enraptured as he supped upon the essence that kept Gale alive. so then why was he so excited himself? it hurt and the feeling of his own blood leaking down his neck (Astarion always was a sloppy eater, try as he might) was chilling, despite its warmth. but the soft, wet noises as Astarion sucked at his skin was enough to make him shiver.

and all at once, Gale realized.

Astarion wanted him. he wanted Gale as he was, very mortal and very flawed. he wanted Gale as someone who saw his kindness, his patience, his willingness to work on himself. he wanted Gale so entirely, right down to the cursed blood racing through his veins, a constant reminder of a mistake so monumental he feared he'd never recover.

Gale felt wanted, and that alone was ecstacy. he tells himself the hot tears welling up in his eyes were from the pain, nothing more.

Astarion pulls away then and the absence of his lips feels almost wrong. his eyes widen as he studies the vampire, sees his own blood staining his face, dripping from his lips– he looks beautiful, hauntingly so, a newfound energy in those crimson eyes.

Gale lets his head drop unceremoniously upon Astarion's shoulder, suddenly much too heavy to keep upright, and is silently thankful to the arm supporting him. between his previous wound, of which the pain had subsided in favor of the stinging at his neck, and the blood oozing from twin puncture wounds, he felt quite woozy indeed. 

it is his turn to nuzzle into Astarion's neck, breath hot, cheeks flushed, skin burning. the coolness of the vampire spawn's skin was a welcome feeling against his fevered flesh, a lifeline to help him fight his lightheadedness. fascinating, really, how quickly the human body could be drained. he thinks nothing of their proximity, brain a hazy mess, and wraps his arms very loosely around Astarion’s waist, an approximation of a hug. it’s for support, he thinks. he doesn’t trust his legs to keep him steady.

“Thank you? I think.” was that a compliment? it sounded almost like one, but as much as he doesn’t trust his body, he also doesn’t trust his brain to comprehend anything properly at the moment. “I think, also, that I need to stand here…for a second. I do hope you’re feeling better,” he murmurs, “at the cost of all the blood in my body.”

an exaggeration, of course, one he follows up with a hearty chuckle not unlike a man who had one too many drinks.

Gale always cared, hasn't he? Despite the rest of their companions finding the vampire spawn off-putting, it was always Gale who tried to bridge that gap, to include him in camp life despite his curse. It was a strange sensation to sit at a table with mortals, to dip a spoon into a bowl of blood—warmed, seasoned blood, because of course bland slop wouldn't do when the wizard was in charge—and eat like a normal person.

Astarion, too occupied with the enormity of their task at hand and shell-shocked from his sudden freedom, hadn't understood what the gesture meant then.

He does now.

"Ha, ha ha," nervous laughter. So good at lying to himself, so good at ignoring his body's needs. Gale's right—Astarion hasn't eaten in days. His last feeding left him uneven, warier. To leave the safety of Gale's apartment felt foolish, pointless when what prey existed outside were sour animal blood or human marks he would need to seduce. Neither choice sounded appetizing to Astarion anymore. So, in typical fashion, he ignored both.

He flinches at Gale's commanding voice, hating himself for it. Pushing past discomfort, that knee-jerk reaction of fright, Astarion focuses on the wizard's words, remembering him to be kind. "Truly?" Take what you need. A tall order when Astarion knows he could drink the wizard dry, and still it wouldn't sate him.

Well, then. Best to do this now before he loses his nerve, or Gale changes his mind.

Suddenly, tenderly, Astarion brushes hairs away from Gale's eyes. "It's going to hurt," he warns with cold fingers on his warm skin, cradling the back of Gale's neck as he lines up his fangs to avoid the carotid artery beneath. "I'm sorry."

The wizard's skin smells incredible. Kitchen herbs, dusty paper, clean cat fur. Homely. The virile coarseness of stubble. He could stand here and nuzzle Gale's neck for eternity.

It doesn't last long enough, his hunger won't let him. Astarion’s canines pierce Gale's flesh, two ice-hot needles sucking, swallowing despite the intensity of this foulness prickling down his throat like broken shards of glass. It smells, tastes sour. Sour and acidic. The astringent liquid coats his entire mouth with the same staying power as an industrial cleaner. Sharp, arcane bitterness. Gale’s blood thrums with furious energy.

So, this is the Karsite Weave. This is Karsus' Folly.

But like many spells after being scrutinized for too long, the illusion falls apart. Karsus' hunger in Gale's blood dissipates, yields to Astarion's own hunger. Now it's just Gale in his mouth—a golden brown-hued brandy drank in front of a crackling hearth, espresso con panna paired with an ancient, yellowed tome. Astarion knows then, as the blood drips down his throat and pools lowly in his stomach, that it will be a herculean effort not to drain the wizard dry. Astarion wants to crawl into Gale's veins, drink him up from his very heart.

First, the euphoria of clarity blood always brings, then the anger at being denied his true nature for so long, and finally, the lust. Oh gods, the bright-hot lust, from his fangs down his throat and chest, settling as a boiling heat in his belly. He's burning up from the inside out. It's too much, yet he can't stop.

He's going to kill Gale. He can feel the wizard's heartbeat behind his teeth. It's horrifying. It's beautiful.

It has to stop.

Mind hazy and full of bloodlust, Astarion pulls off, holding onto the wizard with an arm tightly under his pectorals. "Gods, Gale," he moans, full of wonder, unsure if the wizard's so light because he's drained to a husk, or because his vampiric strength returned now he's had his fill, "You have the most disgustingly, deliciously complex blood in all of Faerûn." There's gore all over his face, a crimson rivulet dripping down one side of his mouth. But he looks sated.

"Bravo, Karsus."

Happy.

[67midnightwriter]

Misunderstood

A/N: Hey guys! I wrote this little drabble today to fill a prompt for @cabin-fever-bang and for @there-must-be-a-lock’s birthday!! Hope this brings a smile to your beautiful face Lou!!

W/C: 775

Prompt: Person A using a truly awful pickup line on Person B. Bonus points if there are bad puns involved.

Cas x Reader

Y/N mounted the worn leather barstool, propped her elbows on the polished walnut bartop, and mourned the loss of the heavy blue smog that, ten years prior, would’ve hung heavy in the air. She ordered a double, welcomed the burn as the whiskey warmed its way to the pit of her empty stomach, and nodded at the barkeep for a second round. She was here on a mission, chasing away the ghost of a touch and looking for a hard hand to scratch an itch. She spun on the stool, placed her elbows back on the bar, and combed the crowd with sharp, predatory eyes.

She had reverted back to a defensive stance, curled protectively over her whiskey, when the stiff fabric of his trench coat brushed against her arm. She glanced up, a rough quip on the tip of her tongue silenced by his piercing gaze. His eyes were the same shade as the Oklahoma sky in the dead of summer, and she wanted to know what they would look like in the soft glow of the morning sun.

“Did it hurt?” She grasped the first line she could, hoping to elicit a smile or a soft eye roll from his stony features.

Instead, his brow furrowed as he glanced down, as though to make sure there wasn’t some telltale sign of an accident splattered across the front of his suit. She waited until he met her gaze again, head cocked in the mirror image of an inquisitive pup.

“When you fell from Heaven?”

His brows shot up, eyes widening in shock and mouth dropping open. He grabbed her elbow, hauling her away from the bar before he’d even got what he’d come for. She only stumbled twice, adrenaline chasing the whiskey from her head while she attempted to process his reaction. There was no way that pickup line had been this successful, unless he had reached molten core levels of desperation.

“Who are you? How do you know?” His voice was deep and rough, and fear began to prickle on her scalp.

“Cas? Everything okay?” Two more large men flanked them, boxing her in, and she unconsciously set her feet and flexed her hands into tight fists, her body’s fight or flight revving into overdrive.

“She knows Dean. I don’t know how, but she knows.” His eyes flicked between her and the green eyed lumberjack to her right.

“Easy buddy, what happened?” Dean laid a hand on Cas’ shoulder, trying to calm his friend down.

“She asked me if it hurt when I fell from Heaven.”

A cornucopia of looks passed over Dean’s face, and Y/N watched as humor dominated them all. He looked down and blushed, licking his lips and nodding his head.

“I’m going to go get us all some more drinks.” The other man stammered, looking more relieved to have an out to the conversation than anything else.

It wasn’t until she noticed that his shoulders were shaking that Y/N realized Dean was laughing. He was trying his best to stifle it, to hold it in, but to no avail. Cas tore his gaze from Y/N and turned to look at Dean. Y/N’s body was relaxing, the adrenaline fading as the tension left everyone. Dean let his resolve go, gales of laughter shaking his entire body. Y/N couldn’t help but smile, Dean’s joy infectious.

“Dean. I don’t understand.”

Cas tilted his head again, and Y/N’s laugh joined Dean’s.

“Cas, it’s a pickup line.” Dean said once he had finally composed himself enough to form coherent sentences. “You know, like ‘are you from Tennessee, because you’re the only ten I see’.”

“Oh.” Castiel studied Y/N’s face for a few minutes, until Dean rolled his eyes and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

Y/N couldn’t hear what he said, but she could guess by the blush that settled on Cas’ face.

“I am sorry for the misunderstanding.” Cas nodded curtly, and Y/N laughed again.

“It’s alright. It’s what I deserve for scraping the bottom of the bowl.”

They stood around awkwardly for a few minutes, Dean looking from Cas to Y/N. A mischievous grin spread slowly across his face.

“Hey Cas, I think Sam and I are going to head back to the hotel. How about you treat this lovely lady to a drink, maybe a dance, and call us in the morning.” He patted Cas on the shoulder and turned to walk away.

He stopped after two steps, pulled out his wallet, dug out a condom, and pressed it into Cas’ hand.

“Wrap it before you tap it, buddy.”

Taglist:

The Whole Enchilada: @impala-dreamer @adoptdontshoppets @supernatural-idjit-95 @team-free-will-you-idjits-67 @missjenniferb @tumbler-tidbits @maddiepants @crashdevlin @thoughtslikeaminefield @there-must-be-a-lock @cracksinthewalls @mskathywriteswords @rockhoochie @itmighthavebeenintentional @wanderingcas @stunudo @emoryhemsworth​

[yumeka36]

I just got home from the Frozen 2 advanced screening at Disney Studios (as pictured above, got more swag than I thought I would). Gonna give my immediate thoughts and comments, with a more coherent post at a later date. Obviously, if you don’t want to be spoiled, don’t read below:

WARNING! MAJOR FROZEN 2 SPOILERS BEYOND THIS POINT!

-I’ve been listening to “Show Yourself” non stop since the soundtrack came out and it was gorgeous seeing the accompanying animation. The song starts as Elsa is riding Nokk towards Ahtohallan and continues as she makes her way through the cave. What was also unexpected for me is that she transforms into her “final form” at the end of the song, so she’s wearing that outfit throughout a good portion of the movie, not just the epilogue, so I hope that means there will be more merchandise for it!

-After that, she wanders through Ahtohallan which is made up of moving “sculptures” made of snow/ice that show memories: she sees some of herself and Anna when they were young playing with Olaf, various people in Arendelle, and of Iduna and Agnarr (I believe Iduna was saying something about being afraid to reveal what she really is, a Northuldra). Some funny parts, Elsa walks by a memory of herself at the end of “Let It Go” and makes a face like “yeah, I was silly back then” XD But the best part was when she walks by a scene of Anna and Hans about to dance at the coronation. She gives it a cold look and then breaks the Hans sculpture, lol.

-The important memory she finds is that King Runeard was using the dam against the Northuldra - something about cutting off their resources so they’d be forced to trade with Arendelle, or something like that, I don’t remember exactly. A poignant part was when Elsa first sees the memory of Runeard and he’s talking about how he hates and doesn’t trust anyone who uses magic, to which she says angrily that his fear is blinding him. And again, Elsa is wearing her final outfit during all this, so there was so much time to ogle it XD

-The “gone too far” part is when she follows the memory of Runeard as it fades down into a deep abyss. He was talking about something suspicious regarding the Northuldra, so she decided to jump down into the depths to find out even though she remembers the song’s warning. She sees that Runeard attacked (and likely killed) the Northuldra leader. She begins freezing as she’s down there and before she gets completely frozen, she sends a burst of magic up above, calling out to Anna (and the fact that Elsa “dies” here is proof that she’s not immortal even after becoming the fifth spirit). Her magic reaches Anna and Olaf in the cave and shows them what happened. They realize they have to destroy the dam but Olaf starts to “flurry” - pieces of snowflakes peel off him and drift away, and he tells Anna that Elsa isn’t okay. Anna pulls Olaf into her lap and holds him there as he fades away. He doesn’t melt exactly and we don’t see the full process: we see his flurries gently flow out of the cave and land in a pile somewhere else. Bruhni watches sadly from a ledge below.

-The saddest thing to me was that, after the aforementioned scene of Olaf’s “death,” the scene fades to black, then opens up again overlooking the same cave but it looks like a different time of day, then cuts to Anna crying inside - so she was literally crying alone in the cave for what could have been hours! I thought right after Olaf melts is when she’d start singing The Next Right Thing, but she spends who knows how long grieving. That is just too sad 8_8 Before she starts singing, she says “Olaf...Elsa...what do I do?” My heart shattered then. Another part that shattered it more was when Anna confronts Matthias and the soldiers as they try to prevent her from approaching the dam. When they ask her why it has to be destroyed, she tells them and says “My sister gave her life for the truth, we can’t lose anyone else.”

-Oh my gosh, the reunion at the end was my favorite part and so sweet~ After the mist around the forest fades, Anna and Kristoff approach the pillars with Anna looking like she’s ready to burst into tears...until some snow crystals flutter around her and then behind to where the shore is (not sure if it’s the shore of the Dark Sea since it’s daylight at this time, or it could just be a nearby beach). She sees Elsa riding Nokk - she starts running toward her but then stops because she’s still not sure it’s really Elsa. When Elsa says her name and holds out her arms, she runs to her and they share a beautiful hug (while Anna is sobbing). Honestly I can’t remember exactly what was said because I was an emotional wreck at that point, but Elsa tells Anna that she’s the fifth spirit, that Anna saved her, and that the bridge has two sides: herself here and Anna in Arendelle, and they’d fix the past wrongs together. And I also loved the fact that Kristoff comes over and is relieved that Elsa’s okay: he says “Elsa, you’re alright!” and gives her a hug, then (humorously) says “ you look different...did you cut your hair?” She also gives Sven a little pet. I’m so glad they included this part as it shows that Kristoff doesn’t just see Elsa as a cockblock to Anna, lol. Kristoff proposes to Anna here as well (Sven tears up a little seeing it XD)

-As for Olaf’s revival, Elsa tells Anna “I have a question for you” “What is it?” “Do you want to build a snowman?” She then concentrates and we see the pile of Olaf’s “flurries” come flying down from the cave to become Olaf again. Elsa says it’s a good thing water has memory, implying that he still remembers everything despite being “resurrected.” The epilogue just had so many cute moments - Anna and Elsa share another hug as they walk back to the stone pillars, Elsa wipes away a tear on Anna’s face, they put there foreheads together at one point when they’re talking, Elsa takes Anna’s hand and leads her to one of the now tamed earth giants and they both gently touch his giant nose, and Frohana share a warm hug. I cannot wait to get HD screenshots of it all!

-And for Anna’s coronation? To be honest, it didn’t seem like a coronation to me - it literally just had Kai announcing Anna as she walks outside (onto a stage I think? Don’t remember exactly) but right after that she’s out in the streets with Olaf, Kristoff, and Sven, who are dressed up. So it must have been some kind of event, but wouldn’t the coronation have a party in the castle and a ceremony, like Elsa had? We then see Matthias outside with another Arendelle citizen (he’s discovering the new technology of photograph, lol) - wouldn’t they be part of the ceremony if there was a coronation, and not just out in the streets doing whatever. It just didn’t seem like a major event was happening, I’ll have to see the movie again. Regardless, they reveal statues of young Iduna and Agnarr (they should have had statues of Anna and Elsa too!) and Anna notices Gale flying about and asks if he/she (does Gale have a gender?) to deliver a letter to Elsa. Gale carries it over to the forest and Elsa reads it. As we know, it’s a reminder about charades. Anna ends the letter saying “I love you” to which Elsa says “I love you too, sis” (that’s where this line that we heard in one of the teasers came from - pretty crazy they’d use a line from the very end of the movie, knowing we wouldn’t figure it out!)

-I mostly talked about the ending here but I’ll say a few things that stood out in the rest of the movie to me: Some Things Never Change was adorable. Anna and Elsa share a sweet hug at the end, during the “holding on tight to you” lines. And I absolutely cracked up during Kristoff’s verse when he’s doing Sven’s voice and telling him about getting down on one knee with the ring - some nearby townspeople see him and it looks like he’s proposing to Sven and they get the most awkward looks on their faces XD The scene in their parents’ ship was really emotional: Anna and Elsa clinging to each other with tears in their eyes as they see the memory of their parents take shape...my heart was breaking. The ensuing scene where Elsa’s overcome with guilt and runs outside with Anna telling her she’s not responsible for their actions, and she believes in her more than anything, etc., More was said between them here and I’m having trouble remembering it exactly but it was deep.

-Oh, and the post-credits scene was hilarious: it’s Olaf telling the events of the story to Marshmallow and the Snowgies (Frozen Fever is canon!) just like he does earlier when he describes the first Frozen to Matthias and the others (”it began with two sisters...”) The funniest part was his dramatizing lines of the latter part of the story - ”Elsa is dead,” “Olaf is dead,” “Anna’s crying alone” - it’s hard to describe, it’s funnier when you see it.

Later I’ll write a post with more coherent thoughts about the movie itself and not just a spoiler list - I might do that soon or wait until I see it again this weekend. But I will say that I loved it - having seen it for myself, I truly believe there’s no “tragic separation” that we’ve been fearing. There’s really nothing bittersweet about it, nothing like Anna saying “will I ever see you again?” because it’s a given that they can still be a family and nothing is keeping them from seeing each other whenever they want. At this point, it’s not that I dislike the ending as it is “I want to see what happens next!” It left me even hungrier for more Frozen, like a short reassuring us that they’re still a family by having another charades scene or something like that. Or another movie is always welcome! There was also some lore/plot-wise things I’m a little confused about, but that’ll be for another post. It’s 1am here and I need to decide if I can sleep or not, lol. If you have any questions, please send them via direct message. I’ll either answer them right away, or tomorrow if I do manage to sleep tonight.

The shock of finally seeing this movie after six years of pining hasn’t sunk in yet but it will soon.

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Why Lose Hope?- Chapter 1

Part 2 of the All the Little Things Seem so Insignificant Now.

Part 1

Leonard stepped off the porch and whistled for Carmen, their sheepdog. She ran to him and padded alongside as he walked a few fields over to wear their modest flock stood grazing. 

The wind blew her fur back, took the mushed blades of grass in its gale. Up above the sky darkened, she was preparing a storm. He remembered his Nana telling him that storms came when a change was afoot, so be thankful when the rains finally come.

He didn't understand that for a long time, took it as an old woman's proverb that didn't hold true anymore. But now he understood. Storms meant rain, the rain went to the grass and the crops and the crops gave their yield. 

The sheep trotted along as he brought them closer to the house. Another gale fought against him as he walked, he didn't listen to its cries. 

Leo would be back soon. Today was the main market day when everyone would crowd into the town and sell everything they could. Every other day was also a selling day but there was something about Saturday's that made people more social, even though the traditional working week was long gone.

The wind ran its hand over the wood of the house and scattered the dust off the porch, carrying it as it twirled around him. Its usual playfulness was tainted today. The greyness of the clouds and the oncoming promise of torrential rain making its trickery malicious. 

He closed the gate behind him, checking to see if it was locked, and clicked at Carmen to take the sheep into the barnyard. The cows were in there too, thank god he got them in earlier, he didn't think he had it in him to chase them in a gale. 

With a few gestures, he got them all inside to safety and locked the doors of the barn. They didn't want a repeat of two years ago when they didn't lock the barn doors and half their animals died as they ran afraid. 

The first drops of rain landed on his head. He grinned. All his life he'd loved the rain, sat up as long as he could into the night to watch the patterns of the clouds, the direction the rain fell and the lightning off in the distance. 

A few jingles of the wind chime cried out from the roof. Thunderous claps erupted around him as he outstretched his arms to welcome the natural chaos. 

He called for Carmen to follow as he made his way to the wicker chairs on the porch. She lay at his feet, head in her paws, as he settled back to watch the show.

One bolt of lightning struck to his left, perfectly formed and miles away. He counted, one, two, three, then the thunder came. The charade repeated. A bolt would strike and Leonard would count.

One, two, three. Crash.

A bolt landed on a far off tree

One, two, three. Crash.

One, two. Crash.

One, two. Crash.

Leo should hurry up, storms were good for watching but dangerous to travel in. The horse would be rearing as the sparks flew through the air, closer and closer to their whereabouts. 

One, two. Crash.

One. Crash. 

The thunder got closer to the lightning, which meant the lightning was getting closer to him. 

His heart quickened. Leo needed to get here now. He couldn't be out much longer, the rain would soak him through and he'd be bedridden for days. 

A clatter came round the side of the house and he relaxed, Leo was safe. He watched him undo the reins on Billy, their shire horse, and smack his rump to get him inside the barn. The wagon crashed in too and he sprinted to the porch, soaked through. 

"You need to get outta those clothes and straight in the bath, or you'll be in bed for a good week, at least," 

Leo sighed and scratched Carmen's head, "I know, I--" He stopped and inhaled deeply, then sneezed. "I think I'm already sick,"

"Even more reason for you to get wa--"

A familiar hum filled the yard. Sparkles and beams of light floated in from around them. Their breath caught in both their throats.

"A transporter," They both muttered.

Hazy, translucent figures started forming. Two groups, from two different transporters. A head of gold hair, another with black, then brown on one side, grey and black hair on the other.

Leo ran to them, ran to the figures and yelled. All his cares went away, he didn't care if he was sick, didn't care because they could fix that in a jiffy on the Enterprise. He'd be able to see Chapel again, see M'Benga, see Chekov and Sulu and Scotty and Uhura and most importantly Jim and Spock.

"Jim, Spock!" 

"Jim!"

They continued to yell, bellowing with all their might as they heard the hum disappear and the figures fade. A few flashes of lightning and claps of thunder erupted around them. 

Leo threw his hat on the ground, happy the rain could cover the tears flowing down his face as he hiccuped and sobbed.

"Jim! Spock! Come on, where are you, Jim!" He stepped backwards slightly and swayed from side to side, eventually collapsing to his knees in the mud as carried on yelling. "Don't go, you bastards come back, Jim!"

Leonard pulled him up and made his way to the house with a struggle. Leo tried to fight, yelling all the while, but failed. His breathing turned to panting as his voice trailed off into whispers. 

"We need to get you inside, boy, you're burnin' up, and being out in this storm ain't helpin' you,"

Leo still struggled in the embrace as the humming and lights fully disappeared, "I did-didn't imagine it, I-I ain't hallucinatin', I sw-swear," 

"I know, I saw them too, come one, we need to get you warm and dry," 

He led him inside and pulled his arm over his shoulder, helping him up the stairs where he stripped off and collapsed into the hot water. Images of Jim, Spock and the rest of his friends floated past as he was lulled to sleep slowly.

I hope you enjoyed this. I'm going to put which universe each chapter takes place in at the start just because this takes place over 3 universes. This will get funky pretty soon because we're getting gay fever dreams and hallucinations kids!

[emospritelet]

WL verse: 27 Can you have Nurse Faye or someone make a passive aggressive bitchy remark to a recovering Lacey about Tilly being in the ICU?

27: “Is there anything more I can do?”

Prompt list here

[AO3]

x

Lacey Weaver wasn’t used to being sick.

She had always been fairly robust, despite living on the streets and in abandoned buildings for years. After meeting Weaver, and settling down, she had flourished, rarely even suffering from colds. But the virus was indiscriminate, it seemed, and it had affected her badly. Even now, able to breathe again and her fever gone, she was as weak as a newborn kitten. It was some comfort to know that neither her husband nor her daughter had caught it, although she worried for the child that was soon to be born.

She ran a hand over her belly, the IV tube taped to the back of her hand catching on a fold of the blanket. The chair beside her bed was empty, and she hoped that Weaver had gone home to get some proper sleep. It was hard to know what time it was in the hospital, but there was light coming in through the window. Perhaps he and Tilly were eating breakfast together, seated around the kitchen table of their new home in the suburbs with the morning sun streaming in. Or perhaps he had relaxed the rule she herself had set down about eating meals at the table, and was letting Tilly eat her breakfast on her knees in front of the TV. He almost certainly had. The thought made her smile.

The door opened, and Lacey pushed herself up a little further on the pillows as Nurse Faye walked in, pushing one of the meal trolleys. She was efficient enough, but cold and clinical, Lacey found. 

“How are you feeling, Mrs Weaver?” she asked, her tone dismissive.

“Fine,” said Lacey. “A lot better, actually. Can I go home?”

“That’s for the doctor to decide.”

She moved the tray table into place, taking the breakfast tray from the trolley and setting it down. Lacey looked at it without enthusiasm. A bowl of porridge with raisins, a cup of peach yogurt and a bagel. Her appetite had not yet returned, but she knew she needed to eat. The cup of tea to the side was more welcome. Nurse Faye took her pulse, then her temperature, nodding stiffly and making a note on her chart. 

“Stay in bed,” she said, in a tone that suggested Lacey had been planning on racing up and down the corridors on a gurney. “Your fever is gone, but we need to be sure you don’t pose a danger to others.”

“I’m not exactly gonna go around licking the door handles,” said Lacey tartly, and the nurse frowned at her.

“No, but you might decide to go to the ICU to check on your daughter,” she said, matching Lacey’s tone. “The doctors are extremely busy, and you’d only get in the way.”

Lacey blinked rapidly as a cold hand squeezed her heart, making it thump in fear.

“What?” she demanded. “Tilly? Are you saying she’s here? She’s sick?”

“Yes.” Nurse Faye was watching her impassively, but there was the tiniest quirk at the side of her mouth that made Lacey’s hackles rise. “Didn’t your husband mention it?”

Her mouth twitched further, a twist of her lips bordering on a smirk, and Lacey’s eyes narrowed. She gets off on giving people bad news. She likes having that power over the patients, keeping them in the dark until they say something she doesn’t damn well like. Bitch. Dammit, Rafe, why the hell didn’t you tell me?

“I guess maybe he did, but I was half-asleep when he came in,” she said, trying for a calm she didn’t feel. “How is she?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Nurse Faye lightly. “Although if she’s in the ICU, I don’t suppose it’s a mild case.”

Lacey wanted to scream at the woman, but she held her nerve. Her fingers dug into the blankets, fists clenching.

“I need to see her,” she said, and Nurse Faye shook her head, tutting.

“I just told you that wasn’t possible.”

“Then I need to see a doctor.”

“I’m afraid they’re busy.”

“Dammit!” Lacey snapped, slapping the blankets. The smirk grew a little, and she wanted to strangle the woman. “When can I see her?”

“When I tell you,” said Nurse Faye, and nodded at the tray. “Eat your breakfast.”

She closed the door, and Lacey glared after her. Her anger faded into fear as she thought of her daughter, lying in a bed in intensive care, sick and scared. Turning back to the breakfast tray, she pulled a face. Any appetite she might have had was gone, but she needed strength, and so she wolfed down the tepid porridge, followed by the yogurt, and crammed the bagel into her mouth between sips of tea. At least that was hot.

Slipping from the bed, she tested her strength, a little unsteady on her feet. There was a hospital issue gown on the chair by the bed, which she had used on the few occasions she had left to use the bathroom. Anyone seeing her out in the corridor would assume that was where she was going. If she happened to take a detour to the ICU, Nurse Faye would never know.

x

The house was too quiet.

Weaver had not expected to sleep, whatever Nurse Gale had said, but she had been right. He had lain down fully clothed on his bed when he got back home, and the next thing he knew, it was dawn. The house was silent, and the blissful oblivion he had felt on waking from sleep vanished in a flash as he remembered why. His mouth was dry, a foul taste in his mouth, his clothes wrinkled and uncomfortable, and he sat up, running his hands over his face. His wife was in the hospital recovering from the virus, his daughter was in the ICU, and he was sitting on his arse doing fuck all to change it.

Getting angry at himself usually helped him to get moving, and true to form he pushed to his feet, tearing off his wrinkled clothes and heading for the shower. Thirty minutes later, he was clean, dressed, and nursing a cup of coffee in anxious hands, waiting until he could head to the hospital. There were restrictions in place for visitors now. He wondered how Lacey was doing. Whether he could bring her home. He needed to tell her about Tilly, and felt guilty for lying to her, but while she was still weak, perhaps it was for the best. He glanced at the clock, and gulped the rest of his coffee, wincing as it scalded his throat. Time to go.

x

Lacey made her way down the corridor, wheeling her IV on its rack beside her. The floor was cold beneath her feet, and she knew she needed to get back to her room quickly before she was missed, but fear for Tilly made her keep going, turning the corner and almost bumping into a running junior doctor. The ICU was hectic, filled with hurrying staff and the odd desperate-looking family member, and she saw a young nurse with brown, shining hair and an air of calm efficiency herding the visitors out in a line, instructing them to keep their distance from one another. Lacey slipped past her as she was arguing with a particularly vocal woman.

“I told you, only one family member per patient,” she said. “And only when the doctor says it’s okay. I need you to take a seat and wait.”

Lacey slipped through the door, fingers tightening on the chrome stand of the IV as her eyes swept around the ward. There was no sign of Tilly, and she was unsure whether to be relieved or not. Perhaps Nurse Faye had been lying, and Tilly was safe and well, at home with her father.

“Mrs Weaver?”

A familiar voice made her turn, and Lacey tried to look as though she was meant to be there. Dr Milliner was kind and knowledgeable, and had been the one to treat her when she first arrived at the hospital. He looked tired, his eyes hollow and his cheeks unshaven. She wondered when he had last had a full night’s sleep.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “What are you doing out of bed?”

Lacey hesitated.

“I - someone told me my daughter was here,” she said. “Is that true?”

“Lacey?”

She glanced around to where her husband was standing by the door, his eyes wide and frightened. Dr Milliner glanced away, sucking in his cheeks as Weaver strode up to them. He hadn’t shaved either, and looked just as tired. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, sounding as close to scared as she had ever heard him. “Did - did something happen?”

“How could you not tell me our daughter was sick?” she demanded, and he looked pained.

“Lacey…”

“She’s gonna be alright,” interrupted Dr Milliner, before Lacey could respond. “I - look, it’s only supposed to be one parent at a time, but since you’re a patient, Mrs Weaver, I’ll waive that. Come with me.”

He led them swiftly to a bed at the end of the room, where curtains were still drawn around it, and pulled them back. Lacey clutched Weaver’s hand as Tilly was revealed, lying with her eyes closed and a ventilator mask over her mouth and nose, brown hair curled on the pillow. Weaver threaded his fingers through hers, squeezing tight, and Lacey could feel tears prick her eyelids. Machines were beeping, keeping pace with her racing heart, and she shook her head.

“She looks so small,” she said thickly. 

Weaver released her hand, putting an arm around her and pulling her close. Dr Milliner gave them a tired smile.

“You did the right thing bringing her to us,” he said. “Her fever had spiked, and she was having trouble breathing.”

“I was told she was in a bad way,” said Weaver, sounding anxious. “How bad are we talking?”

Dr Milliner shook his head.

“She’s gonna be okay,” he said gently. “Last night I was worried about her prognosis, but she responded well. We’ve brought the fever down, sedated her to calm her down and let the machine do its work getting oxygen into her. She’s stable, and no longer critical.”

“Oh thank God!” Lacey felt like hugging him, and Dr Milliner’s smile widened.

“I want to keep her in for a few days, make sure there’s no sign of pneumonia, but she’ll be okay. She’s a tough little cookie.”

“Takes after her mother,” said Weaver, and Lacey laid her head on his shoulder with a shuddering sigh of relief. He kissed the top of her head.

“Right,” said Dr Milliner. “Well, you should really get back to bed, Mrs Weaver. I’ll be along to run some tests in a while, and if I’m happy with the results, you can go home today. How does that sound?”

Lacey nodded, wanting to cry with relief.

“That sounds great.”

“Good.” He glanced between them. “Now. Is there anything more I can do?”

“No, thank you, Doctor,” said Weaver. “Thanks for saving them.”

“Anytime.”

Dr Milliner hurried off again, and Lacey turned to face her husband, taking his hand in hers. Weaver was watching her with a wary, almost guilty expression on his face, and let out a heavy sigh, opening his mouth.

“I get it,” she said, before he could speak. “I get why you didn’t tell me.”

He seemed to sag with relief, his grip tightening on hers.

“Maybe I should have,” he admitted.

“Maybe,” she allowed. “Would I have, if our positions had been reversed? Probably not.”

He smiled faintly, and leaned in to kiss her.

“Well, you heard the doctor,” he said. “Back to bed with you, or I won’t get to take you home.”

Lacey leaned into him, taking a moment to rest against his firm chest as she gazed at their daughter.

“Are you sure she’s gonna be okay?” she whispered, and felt him nod, his arms going around her.

“You heard the doctor,” he said. “I’ve cornered the market in tough cookies, it seems.”

“Weavers are hard to kill,” she said stoutly, and he chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest that made her cling to him a little harder.

“I’m sure the newest Weaver will be just as tough,” he remarked. “Come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”