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mommykye · 3 months ago

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war beast

young!Ambessa Medarda x pregnant!reader

summary: Ambessa’s wife is the only thing she truly fears in her own sense.

request are open

masterlist

The air in the Noxian war camp clung heavy and metallic, a damp chill seeping from the Black Cliffs. General Ambessa Medarda, a formidable silhouette against the bruised pre-dawn sky, her scarred light armor a silent testament to battles won and prices paid, held her legion in an iron grip of silence. The start of command had forged her presence into a palpable force; a single glance from her steely eyes could still the blood of the most seasoned warrior. Yet, as her gaze swept the assembled ranks, a fleeting tremor, a microscopic shift in her granite composure, betrayed the iron will. Somewhere beyond the camp's perimeter, nestled within this harsh landscape, was her, carrying their child, a walking tempest of fierce affection and the unpredictable currents of new motherhood. Ambessa knew this well. She understood the delicate balance of power in their unconventional partnership, the potent force of the woman who now held her heart captive and whose ire she would navigate with the utmost care.

Your bare feet struck the cool, white marble of their shared estate with sharp thwacks, each footfall echoing through the long halls. The flowing crimson of your Noxian silk dress billowed around your swollen form, a vibrant splash against the pristine backdrop. Your jaw was tight, your lips a thin, angry line. A small, worried entourage trailed behind you: the hushed whispers of the midwives, their hands hovering nervously; the rustle of starched linen as the maids struggled to keep pace with your furious stride; the silent, wide-eyed young male servants, their movements cautious as if treading on shattered glass.

"Honestly!" you snapped, your voice echoing off the high ceilings, causing a flinch amongst your followers. "Do they think I have all day to wait? The sun is practically at its zenith! Does she expect me to simply wither away in hunger?" You punctuated your words with a sharp gesture, the movement emphasizing the perceived slight. "Lunch was hours ago! Hours!"

One of the elder midwives, her face etched with concern, dared to speak, her voice a soft tremor. "My Lady, perhaps the General has been detained by important matters of war..."

"War!" you scoffed, your voice laced with disdain. "Always war! As if a simple meal with her wife, carrying her child, is less important than flexing her muscles on some dusty training ground!" You rounded a corner sharply, the sudden movement causing the maids to stumble. "Does she think this babe sustains itself on air and battlefield strategies? Honestly, the audacity!"

You continued your relentless pace, your bare feet padding with surprising speed despite your advanced pregnancy. The coolness of the marble against your skin was a small comfort, a stark contrast to the simmering heat of your frustration. You passed through the sun-drenched atrium, the gentle murmur of the fountain doing little to soothe your agitation. Your eyes, the color of storm clouds gathering, scanned the familiar surroundings, each elegant detail now a reminder of Ambessa's absence.

"It's always something," you muttered, mostly to yourself, but loud enough for your retinue to hear. "A strategy meeting, a troop inspection, some new dreary report from the front lines. Does she not realize that this," you placed a protective hand on your rounded belly, "is the most important front line of all?"

You reached the grand double doors leading to the gardens, your breath coming in slightly sharper bursts now. The exertion, coupled with your simmering anger, was beginning to take its toll, but you refused to slow your pace. The thought of Ambessa, likely barking orders and surrounded by her stoic officers while you languished in hunger, only fueled your fury.

Pushing open the heavy doors with a surprising burst of strength, you stepped out into the bright sunlight. The meticulously manicured gardens, usually a source of peace, now seemed to mock your inner turmoil. The vibrant blooms and fragrant herbs did nothing to sweeten your mood.

"She probably thinks I'll just nibble on some delicate little pastries," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "As if that will satisfy the hunger of two! This child has her appetite, you know. A veritable beast!" You shot a pointed look at one of the younger servants, who quickly averted his gaze.

The path leading down to the beach and the training grounds stretched before you, a winding ribbon of white gravel. You started down it, your bare feet crunching on the small stones, the sensation surprisingly grounding amidst the storm of your emotions. Your followers hurried after you, their expressions a mixture of apprehension and loyalty.

As you approached the edge of the cliffs overlooking the beach, the sounds of shouted commands and the rhythmic clang of steel grew louder. You could just make out the figures below: Ambessa, a towering presence even from this distance, surrounded by her officers and the disciplined ranks of her legion. The sight of her, so focused and formidable, did little to quell your anger. In fact, it seemed to intensify it.

You began your descent down the winding path to the beach, your movements surprisingly agile despite your condition. The midwives exchanged worried glances, but none dared to voice their concerns. They knew better than to interfere with your current state of mind.

Finally, you reached the sandy expanse of the beach. The air here was thick with the salty tang of the sea and the earthy scent of the training grounds. Soldiers paused in their drills, their heads turning in your direction, a ripple of surprise and curiosity spreading through their ranks. The high-ranking officers surrounding Ambessa also turned, their expressions shifting from professional attention to something akin to nervous anticipation.

Ambessa, her broad shoulders casting a long shadow in the afternoon sun, turned last. Her steely gaze met yours across the distance, and for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossed her features. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a more guarded expression.

You continued your march towards her, your red dress a defiant splash of color against the muted tones of the military encampment. Your bare feet sank slightly into the sand, but you paid it no mind. You stopped a few feet away from Ambessa, your chest heaving slightly from the exertion and your simmering rage.

The surrounding soldiers and officers stood in stunned silence, unsure of how to react to this unexpected interruption. The usual rigid discipline of the Noxian war camp seemed to waver under the intensity of your gaze.

"Ambessa," you began, your voice dangerously low, yet carrying across the hushed beach. "There you are. Busy, as always." You punctuated the word "busy" with a pointed look at the sweat glistening on her brow and the worn leather of her training armor.

"Indeed," Ambessa replied, her voice carefully neutral, though a muscle twitched in her jaw. "Training is essential, especially with the upcoming campaigns."

"Oh, yes, the campaigns," you echoed, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "So much more vital than ensuring your heavily pregnant wife receives a timely meal. I'm sure the logistical strategies of troop deployment are far more intricate than, say, the simple act of providing sustenance for your own offspring." A few of the younger soldiers near the edge of the group snickered, quickly stifling their amusement when Ambessa shot them a sharp, almost imperceptible glance.

"My Lady," one of the senior officers, a grizzled veteran with scars crisscrossing his face, began hesitantly, "the General has been overseeing a new…"

"Unless this 'new' development involves conjuring a roasted pheasant out of thin air," you interrupted, your eyes narrowing at the officer, "I suggest you save your breath, Captain Valerius. My current concerns lie less with battlefield innovations and more with the distinct lack of food in my stomach." Valerius paled slightly and fell silent, his gaze fixed on a pebble at his feet. Ambessa’s eyes flickered towards him, a hint of warning in their depths.

"Surely the kitchens…" Ambessa started, attempting to regain control of the situation.

"The kitchens prepared lunch hours ago, Ambessa," you stated, your voice rising slightly. "Hours! My stomach thinks it's perpetually twilight. And this little… this war beast you’ve planted within me," you placed a hand firmly on your swollen belly, "has inherited your insatiable appetite, apparently. It demands sustenance, and it demands it now."

Another ripple of suppressed laughter went through a section of the soldiers, this time a bit bolder. Ambessa’s gaze swept over them, a silent threat that effectively quelled the noise. You, however, seemed to derive a small measure of satisfaction from their amusement.

"So," you continued, your gaze fixed intently on Ambessa, "since you were clearly too engrossed in your… manly pursuits to consider the delicate state of your wife and unborn child, I have taken it upon myself to rectify the situation." You turned sharply, your crimson silk billowing dramatically. "Come," you commanded your entourage, "we are going back to the estate. And Ambessa," you paused, turning back to face her, your eyes like chips of ice, "you will personally ensure that a feast fit for a pregnant woman – and her ravenous heir – is prepared. And it better be ready before my next hunger pang strikes, or you might find yourself facing a domestic campaign far more brutal than any you’ve encountered on the battlefield."

You turned again and began your trek back towards the estate, your bare feet kicking up small puffs of sand. Ambessa watched you go for a moment, a complex mix of emotions playing across her strong features. A hint of a smile touched the corner of her lips.

"Dismissed!" she barked at her officers, her voice regaining its usual authoritative tone. "See to your duties."

As the officers dispersed, casting curious glances in your direction, Ambessa started after you, her long strides quickly closing the distance.

"My love," she said, her voice softer now, a stark contrast to the commanding tones she used with her troops.

You didn't break your stride. "Don't 'my love' me, Ambessa. My stomach is currently engaged in its own internal war, and you are dangerously close to becoming the primary target."

"I understand," she said, falling into step beside you, her hand hovering near your arm but not quite touching. "My apologies. I became… engrossed."

"Engrossed?" you scoffed. "You were probably reveling in the smell of sweat and steel. Honestly, sometimes I think you prefer the company of your legion to your own family."

"That's not fair," Ambessa countered, a hint of defensiveness in her voice.

"Isn't it?" you challenged, glancing at her sideways. "When was the last time you joined me for a leisurely afternoon stroll in the gardens? Or perhaps read to me from those dusty old tomes you hoard in your study?”

Ambessa sighed. "My duties…"

"Always your duties," you finished for her, a wave of weary frustration washing over you. "This child will have your blood running through its veins, Ambessa. Will you always place your 'duties' before it as well?"

Ambessa stopped, gently taking your arm, forcing you to halt. Her gaze was earnest, her usually stern eyes softened with a genuine concern. "Never. Never would I do that. This child… you… you are everything to me. But you know my responsibilities. Noxus demands…"

"Oh, Noxus can wait for one damn meal," you snapped, pulling your arm away, though the heat of her touch lingered. "I am carrying your heir, Ambessa. That, I would argue, is a matter of significant import to Noxus as well."

A small smile played on Ambessa's lips again. "You are magnificent when you are angry."

"Magnificently hungry, you mean," you retorted, starting to walk again, though your pace had slowed slightly. The path was becoming steeper as you ascended the small incline leading to the estate gardens.

Ambessa chuckled softly and this time, she firmly took your arm, her grip surprisingly gentle yet supportive. "Allow me."

You didn't resist, though you kept your gaze fixed straight ahead. "See that you do. After all, you’re the one who put this… this miniature legionnaire inside me. The least you can do is ensure it’s properly fed."

"A miniature legionnaire," Ambessa mused, a hint of pride in her voice. "I like that."

"Don't get any ideas about enlisting it before it can even walk," you warned, a hint of a smile finally breaking through your stern facade.

You continued your ascent, Ambessa’s steady presence a comforting anchor despite your still-simmering frustration. The midday sun warmed your face, a stark contrast to the cool marble of the estate.

“And don’t think for one moment,” you continued, your voice regaining some of its earlier heat, “that I haven’t considered the implications if this child inherits your… enthusiasm for early mornings and loud noises. If I find myself woken before dawn by miniature war cries and the rhythmic banging of tiny training swords, I swear, Ambessa, I will personally dismantle every piece of ‘essential’ military equipment in this entire territory. With my bare hands.” You punctuated this threat with a dramatic flourish, nearly losing your balance on the uneven path. Ambessa’s grip tightened infinitesimally.

“I have no doubt you would,” she murmured, a hint of amusement lacing her tone. Her gaze drifted downwards, lingering for a moment on the swell of your belly beneath the crimson silk. A soft smile touched her lips, a genuine expression of tenderness that often melted your anger despite your best efforts.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you grumbled, though the edge in your voice had softened.

“Like what?” Ambessa asked innocently, her eyes lifting to meet yours, though the playful glint within them betrayed her.

You sighed, the last vestiges of your irritation fading. “Like you’re already picturing tiny versions of yourself wreaking havoc.”

Ambessa chuckled, a low, resonant sound that always sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Perhaps I am envisioning a future leader with a strong voice and a dedicated training regimen. Qualities I find rather… admirable.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “A strong voice for demanding more sweets and a dedicated training regimen for climbing the highest furniture, no doubt.”

She squeezed your hand gently. “They will have your intelligence and your… persuasive nature as well. A formidable combination.”

The path leveled out as you reached a small, secluded garden nestled amongst the higher terraces of the estate. The air here was fragrant with the scent of blooming jasmine and lavender, a peaceful sanctuary away from the bustling activity below. A stone bench sat beneath the shade of a sprawling olive tree, inviting respite.

“Let’s rest here for a moment,” Ambessa suggested, guiding you towards the bench. She carefully helped you to sit, her movements always mindful of your growing form.

As you settled onto the cool stone, the panoramic view of the valley unfolded before you. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the rolling hills, painting the landscape in hues of gold and amber. The distant sounds of the city – the murmur of voices, the clang of a blacksmith’s hammer – were softened by the distance, creating a sense of tranquility.

The warmth of the stone seeped through your thin silk, a grounding sensation as Ambessa settled beside you, her large hand covering yours on the cool surface. The scent of jasmine and lavender, usually a balm, now carried a hint of the earthiness clinging to her currently light armor, a reminder of the world she inhabited and the constant pull it exerted.

You watched the distant shimmer of the city, its activity a muted hum against the vast stillness of the valley. A gentle breeze stirred the olive leaves overhead, dappling the sunlight on your crimson dress. Ambessa’s thumb traced slow circles on the back of your hand, a silent apology and a familiar comfort. The tension that had coiled so tightly within you began to ease, replaced by a weary fondness. You knew this dance, this push and pull between the demands of her duty and the needs of your unconventional family. It was a precarious balance, weighted by the fierce love that bound you, a love as formidable and complex as the woman beside you, a woman who could command legions with a single glance yet now sat, humbled and contrite, under the soft afternoon light, awaiting your forgiveness and the inevitable, rumbling demand for food from the miniature legionnaire growing within you.

#ambessa medarda #ambessa medarda x reader #arcane #vi x reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader #the arcane #arcane ambessa #ambessa x reader #ambessa league of legends #ambessa x you #ambessa chosen of the wolf #mel and ambessa #mel medarda #mel medara x reader #sevika x reader #silco x reader #vander x reader #jayce talis x reader #viktor x reader

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eroselless · 7 months ago

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─────────────── the spaces between us // 1

series summary: when you accept a job as an au pair in the irish countryside, you expect to spend your days caring for your little new pal but its all upended when his charming uncle arrives to stay for the holidays. [2.2k]

[paul mescal x reader]

masterlist | part 2

warnings: kinda angst, sort of complicated family dynamics

note: heyyyyyy. i've been slowly coming back to writing as the semester has been ever so slowly winding down. as a little treat, i went to see gladiator and kinda became obsessed with paul mescal (as you do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯). i've been using this story as a sort of escape and a way to relax after a long day at my practicums. i've also been feeling rather nostalgic about my brief time in ireland a couple months ago so i thought, why not. hope you guys enjoy this part :)

The bus rumbles along a narrow, winding road that hugs the cliffs of the Irish coastline. Outside the rain-spattered windows, the world stretches in endless shades of green—rolling hills dotted with grazing sheep and small houses, each one weathered by time. In the distance, the sea churns relentlessly, its grey waves crashing into the rocks below, throwing up a fine mist.

You press your forehead against the cold glass, your reflection staring back at you—anxious and pale. The unfamiliar landscape feels vast and unending, twisting something in your stomach as you take it all in. A sharp ding from your phone jolts you upright, the notification reminding you that your stop is next. You sling your bag over your shoulder and make your way to the front of the bus, stepping down onto the gravel as it crunches beneath your boots.

The chill in the air bites at your skin, making you pull your coat tighter around your neck. Ahead, the path curves toward a house perched high on a hill. It stands apart from its surroundings, its modern lines and large windows almost defiant against the rugged beauty of the countryside. To one side of the property, a smaller, traditional-looking cottage sits quietly, its windows dark and shutters drawn tight, as though asleep.

This is exactly how Niamh O’Dwyer described it in her emails. The grey stones of the main house blend seamlessly with the stormy clouds overhead. Despite the allure of it all, you hesitate at the edge of the gravel path. The silence presses in, broken only by the distant crash of waves. You take a breath and step forward, every crunch of gravel underfoot seeming to echo through the still air.

You knock lightly on the door, shifting nervously as the sound of footsteps approaches from inside. The door swings open swiftly, and Niamh herself appears. Her tailored blouse and pressed trousers fit her perfectly, her auburn hair swept back neatly. Bright blue eyes scan you with a gaze that is sharp but not unkind.

She calls your name, her Irish accent lilting yet crisp. “Glad to see you made it in one piece. Come in before you freeze.”

You step inside, clutching your bag awkwardly. The warmth of the house contrasts starkly with the damp chill outside, and you take a moment to adjust. Everything about Niamh—her posture, her voice, her movements—seems as polished and deliberate as the house itself. The cedar-and-floral scent in the air feels curated, like everything else in the space. She takes your coat, leaving you in the kitchen as she hangs it neatly on a peg before returning.

“Let me show you around before you meet Callum,” Niamh says, her tone efficient but not unkind. “He’s napping, which means I have approximately fifteen minutes to get you oriented before chaos ensues.”

You follow her through the house as she walks you through the layout and the routines you’ll need to know. Her voice remains steady as she details Callum’s favorite toys, his bedtime rituals, and the parts of the house that are strictly her space. The house is modern yet understated, with granite countertops and sleek furniture that somehow feels more like a showroom than a home.

When the tour circles back to the kitchen, you find yourself staring out of its massive windows. The Atlantic stretches out toward the horizon, and the waves lap at the cliffs below. The view is breathtaking, though it makes you feel small in its vastness.

“This will be your domain as much as mine,” Niamh says, leaning against the counter. Her sharp gaze rests on you, appraising but calm. “I’ve had a few au pairs over the years, but none of them stuck for long. I hope you will.”

The weight of her words settles uncomfortably in your chest. “I’ll do my best.”

Her eyes flick over you once more, and her expression softens ever so slightly. “Callum’s a sweet boy, but… he’s had a rough time since the divorce. I need someone who’ll be patient with him.”

You nod, your heart tightening at the mention of Callum. “I’ll take good care of him.”

“I believe you will,” Niamh replies simply, glancing at the clock. “And with that, it’s time. Are you ready?”

Callum is small for his age, with tufts of brown hair and wide, curious blue eyes that seem to take in everything around him. When Niamh brings him out, he clings to her leg, his gaze flicking toward you with a mixture of shyness and fascination.

“Callum,” Niamh says gently, crouching down beside him. “This is the person I told you about. She’s going to take care of you while I’m at work.”

Callum glances at you again, his small hand clutching his mother’s trousers tightly. “Like Mam?” he whispers.

The question catches you off guard, but you crouch down to his level, smiling softly. “I’ll be here to play with you and help you with anything you need.”

Niamh ruffles his hair lightly, her lips tightening ever so slightly. “Go on, Callum. Say hello.”

He steps closer hesitantly and holds out a small hand. “Hello,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You take his hand, his fingers warm against yours. “Hello, Callum. I think we’re going to be great friends.”

For a moment, he studies you with an intensity that only children seem to possess, then nods solemnly. Something in your chest eases as he flashes a tentative smile.

The days pass quickly as Callum begins to settle into a routine. At first, he watches you cautiously, his wide eyes tracking your every move. But gradually, he begins to open up—a smile here, a giggle there. He peppers you with questions, each one more relentless than the last.

“Why is the sky blue?” the 5 year old asks one afternoon as the two of you sit on the plush carpet in the living room, the soft glow of the fire lighting the room.

“Because it reflects the sea,” you reply with a smile.

“Why does it reflect the sea?” he counters, tilting his head.

“Because it’s magic,” you answer, your tone conspiratorial.

His giggle is warm and bright, a sound that fills the room and lingers in the air. “You’re funny, Mamaíín,” he says suddenly, the Gaeilge term slipping from his lips effortlessly.

The nickname catches you off guard. Though you don't know what it means, it feels too intimate. The way his little voice says it is far too heavy with unspoken meaning. Niamh overhears one morning and corrects him sharply—you hesitate to correct him yourself, unsure if it would do more harm than good, and you notice Niamh watching you differently after that, her sharp gaze lingering on you in quiet moments.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Bedtime becomes a cherished ritual. Callum clings to you as you read to him, his small hand resting against yours. Many nights, he insists you stay until he falls asleep, his voice drowsy as he whispers, “Just five more minutes.”

One quiet evening, after Callum is asleep, you find yourself alone in the living room, staring out at the horizon. The waves rise and fall steadily, their rhythm grounding and hypnotic. You love the silence of the countryside, the stillness it offers, but some nights it leaves you restless, your thoughts echoing too loudly in your head.

The crunch of gravel under heavy footfalls pulls you from your reverie. You frown, squinting at the figure moving through the darkening landscape, the sun having almost disappeared from the sky. He walks with a casual ease, his strides unhurried and deliberate. You move closer to the door, peering through its frosted glass as he approaches.

The knock is gentle but firm, and you open the door cautiously. The man standing there is tall, his broad shoulders draped in a dark coat speckled with snow. His hair curls slightly at the edges, glistening with moisture, and his smile is warm but faintly amused. Something about the squint of his eyes reminds you of Callum and Niamh.

“Paul?” you ask, blinking momentarily. He smiles and extends a hand. Niamh mentioned him briefly—a stay in the cottage over the holidays.

“You must be the new nanny,” he says, your name rolling off his tongue in a voice that’s deep and lilting. His gaze is steady, curious but friendly. The word nanny makes you pause for a second—it feels a bit off, not quite what you’d call yourself. But you brush it aside, taking his hand in a firm shake.“That’s me. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he replies, his eyes briefly scanning the house behind you. “Callum told me you’re funny.”

You smile, a small laugh escaping. “He likes to say that.”

Paul nods, the faint amusement in his expression softening as his gaze returns to you. “Well, you must be doing something right if he’s saying good things about you. He’s a tough nut to crack.”

“He’s a good kid,” you reply, stepping aside to let him in.

Paul steps inside, his boots leaving faint wet prints on the floor. His presence fills the space immediately, and you can’t help but feel like the house has changed just by him being here.

Paul steps further into the house, his gaze wandering curiously over the photographs on the walls and the furniture arranged with meticulous precision. His presence feels unhurried, yet somehow commanding, as though he belongs here, yet has been away too long.

“She still loves those old frames,” Paul remarks, pausing by a photo of himself and Niamh, their smiles frozen in a moment that looks like it was captured at a birthday party. “Mum used to have ones just like these in her house.”

You nod, unsure how to respond, so you motion toward the kitchen instead. “Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea would be great, thanks,” Paul replies, settling himself at the kitchen table. He moves with ease, his broad shoulders and relaxed posture making the room feel smaller, cozier. His hands rest loosely on the table, their rough edges faintly tensed.

You set the kettle to boil, reaching for a pair of mugs. Paul’s eyes follow you as you work, his gaze steady but not intrusive.

“You’ve done well to keep this place looking so tidy,” he comments. “It’s not easy with a kid like Callum running around.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, smiling softly. “He’s been… spirited, but it’s been nice. I think we’ve found our rhythm.”

Paul lets out a low chuckle, the sound warm and genuine. “That’s saying something. Callum can be a whirlwind when he wants to be. I’m glad he’s warmed up to you, though. Niamh’s been worried about finding the right fit.”

The kettle whistles, breaking the momentary silence. You pour the boiling water into the mugs and place one in front of him before sitting at the kitchen island. The quiet intimacy of the room feels suddenly magnified, blanketed in the dim, hazy light of the early evening.

Paul takes a sip of his tea, his cerulean eyes meeting yours over the rim of the mug. There’s a softness in his gaze, an unspoken curiosity that sends a slight chill up your spine. “So, what’s it like being here? In the middle of nowhere, with a kid who never stops asking questions?”

You chuckle, your eyes flickering out the window to the darkened landscape beyond. “It’s peaceful. Different from what I’m used to, but in a good way. Callum’s questions keep me on my toes, though.”

Paul’s smile widens slightly, a faint glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “He used to ask me why the moon didn’t fall out of the sky. Wouldn’t let it go until I gave him an answer that satisfied him.”

“What did you tell him?” you ask, smirking.

Paul leans back slightly in his chair, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Told him it was magic. He believed me, of course. Kids always believe in magic when they’re young.”

Your smile lingers as you take a sip of your tea. “Magic’s a good answer. It’s been my go-to with him, too.”

Paul laughs gently, his gaze softening. “You’re good with him. It’s clear to see. I think Niamh made the right choice this time.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and you shift slightly in your seat, suddenly aware of the warmth spreading across your cheeks. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Paul nods, his expression thoughtful as he sets his mug down, empty. “Well, I should let you get some rest. I’ll head over to the cottage for the night. Niamh mentioned I’d be staying there.”

“Oh, right,” you say quickly, standing. “Let me grab you some sheets and a pillow. Everything else should already be set up.”

You hurry to the linen closet, pulling out a set of clean sheets and a pillow before returning to the kitchen. Paul stands near the door, his coat draped over his arm. His back is turned to you, the stretch of his shoulders visible through his white shirt, making you look away quickly.

“Here you go,” you say, handing him the bundle. “It’s just across the garden path. I’m sure you know where to go. But let me know if you need anything.”

Paul takes the sheets, his fingers brushing yours briefly. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

You open the door for him, the cold night air rushing in as he steps outside. He pauses on the threshold, his gaze meeting yours one last time. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” you reply, watching as he heads toward the cottage. The crunch of gravel under his boots fades into the dark, leaving you standing there, the house suddenly feeling much quieter than before.

A/N: one last thing, I am aware that Paul's actual sister is younger (and is named differently), but I'm just making the family stuff up :)

#paul mescal x reader #paul mescal #paul mescal fic

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gossamyrrh · 2 months ago

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❛ 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐏𝐓 ❜ ◞ choso kamo

࿔ gn!reader, highschool!au, pining, fluff, sfw , 0.7k words 𓋰 divider by me ⸝⸝ do not use !

letta’s note ✉️ˎˊ˗ : hello, dubai 👽 ! first fluff work. how we feeling?

Like usual, Choso has to wait.

It’s been ten minutes and counting since he arrived at your house—a slanted, rural cottage that sits upon the cliffside—an architectural calamity that he is certain, somehow, shifts farther and farther away each time he bikes to it. Truth be told, if he were just to fare the distance alone, he doubts he would be this winded—this miserable. But when you add the steep, rolling hills and bumpy plains to the equation, it results in a strenuous, tortuous, unfathomably long ride.

Which is to say: he is sweaty, annoyed, and most definitely late.

Again.

Choso bends to pick up a pebble and clasps it between his fingers. Smooths his thumb over the surface, before chucking it over the cliff’s edge, sinking his teeth into his lip to quell his brewing frustration.

“This is the last time.” He grumbles beneath his breath. “Do this again and you’re walking the six kilometres to school. I mean it—I do.” That’s it. That’s what he’ll say when you come sauntering from your house like you hadn’t just wasted his morning. Cost him his afternoon, too, when he’s forced to stay behind for detention and stare at nothing for a couple hours. He’ll utter it past unclenched teeth, and finally—finally—untether himself from your grasp.

You’re not worth half the trouble, he thinks. Which is cruel, considering you’re his only friend. Unfair too, since he’s certain he’s not worth a quarter of the effort he thinks that you owe him. But maybe, that’s the trick of it. What makes the whole thing almost work. Two nobodies encircling the other, in constant motion, never alone in their meaninglessness.

…It’s a sour thought.

Choso scoffs and runs a hand through his wind-wrangled hair, smoothing the long strands, combing them behind his ears. He can’t help but wonder what excuse you’ll have for him today.

Perhaps, that your alarm didn’t ring—a classic. Or, even better, that you soiled your uniform and spent near half the morning trying to clean it. A lie that will slip past your charming smile with ease.

Rarely ever does Choso get the truth. Rarely ever does he need it.

Which is why, when he hears your front door slam—feet skipping down the cobblestone steps in twos—the worn soles of your Oxfords skimming the fractured, battered granite—he doesn’t bother to ask.

Instead, he counts along without meaning to: four, six, eight—until you land on the last step with a soft thud, breathless. Dishevelled. As though along the way, you’d somehow left your kempt behind.

You land beside him in pieces: tie askew, hair snarled from sleep, laces slithering behind you.

“You ready to go, Cho’?”

He fights the snarl that threatens to creep along his face. “Are you?”

You scoff and shoulder your school bag higher once you settle beside him, patting your wild hair as he adjusts his position on his bicycle seat. “Yeah. Obviously. We’re wasting time, Cho’—at this rate we’ll be late.”

He’s almost tempted to ride off without you. “Funny how that keeps happening.”

“Yeah, real mystery.” You smirk. “Now make room for me.”

And he does so without protest. Habit, he supposes.

As he scoots forward, you shimmy your way onto the small, metal ledge above his back tire, the one that you precariously balance on per usual. He hears a soft grunt behind him—feels his ears warm—before you wrap your arms around his torso.

He should say it now, he thinks. Say it now and get it over with—since this is something he wants so badly.

But then you clutch his torso tightly, bringing his back to your chest, exhaling softly against the nape of his neck as he pushes from the ground and begins pedalling.

And the will within him dies.

Sort of.

“You owe me lunch.” He mutters. “I’ll get another sanction cos’ of you.”

You laugh. “Add it to my tab.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He doesn’t believe you. Not even a little.

Still, you clutch his jacket a little tighter as the slope of a hill approaches, and rest your chin against the width of him. “…But thank you for waiting, Cho’. Really.”

His heart stutters.

“Yeah.”

Perhaps, from the thought of the ride to-and-fro that he will have to fare today, he could argue. Or better yet, the ache in his legs that’ll plague him for the next few days. Definitely not from the warmth of your skin. The way you curve into him. A perfect fit.

But, as his irritation fizzes and you begin to feed him yet another unsolicited, ridiculous, entirely unbelievable excuse—laughing in his ear with that…beautiful laugh of yours—he finds that he doesn’t quite mind it.

Being stuck waiting on someone as troublesome as you.

#choso x y/n #choso x reader #choso jjk #choso x you #choso x gender neutral reader #hark the angel’s sonnet 𓂃 ༒︎ ࣪ ˖#choso fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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cetaceanhandiwork · 2 months ago

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youtube

one of the ancestors of "youtube poop" was the internet's love of finding bizarre, funny, or just plain bad video clips and editing them into songs.

this has been happening for as long as there was a way to upload video to the internet; before YouTube, it was Shockwave Flash and/or embedded realplayer files.

one example of this art form that's stuck with me over the years is this 2010 edit of a DVD feature from "Star Trek 5: The Final Frontier (1989)". in the original video, shatner tries to explain his artistic vision behind opening the movie with Kirk freeclimbing a cliff in Yosemite as shore leave. his galaxy brain theory about the appeal of rock-climbing – about granite rock formations being (on some level) living creatures, which climbers are subconsciously trying to make love to by climbing – did the rounds as a minor meme in its own right, but the musical arrangement is what catapulted it to major meme status (to the extent that memes could be major back then).

#star trek #where there's smoke #Youtube

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scealaiscoite · 9 months ago

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.☽༊˚ three hundred one-word prompts

¹⁾ balcony

²⁾ sunlight

³⁾ voicemail

⁴⁾ hillside

⁵⁾ tent

⁶⁾ lavender

⁷⁾ candle

⁸⁾ hipbone

⁹⁾ bandaid

¹⁰⁾ wrinkle

¹¹⁾ scar

¹²⁾ curtains

¹³⁾ armory

¹⁴⁾ shell

¹⁵⁾ bouquet

¹⁶⁾ necklace

¹⁷⁾ shotgun

¹⁸⁾ apricot

¹⁹⁾ cheek

²⁰⁾ floorboards

²¹⁾ jacket

²²⁾ bruise

²³⁾ flight

²⁴⁾ streetlight

²⁵⁾ carafe

²⁶⁾ lipstick

²⁷⁾ scars

²⁸⁾ poolside

²⁹⁾ cockpit

³⁰⁾ petals

³¹⁾ mirror

³²⁾ lawyer

³³⁾ cloudy

³⁴⁾ butcher

³⁶⁾ bleach

³⁷⁾ sawdust

³⁸⁾ crib

³⁹⁾ ribbon

⁴⁰⁾ wallet

⁴¹⁾ pearls

⁴²⁾ steam

⁴³⁾ chain

⁴⁴⁾ deckhand

⁴⁵⁾ whiskey

⁴⁶⁾ frost

⁴⁷⁾ lace

⁴⁸⁾ camping

⁴⁹⁾ bakery

⁵⁰⁾ traitor

⁵¹⁾ cherries

⁵²⁾ lightning

⁵³⁾ hide

⁵⁴⁾ tattoo

⁵⁵⁾ bonfire

⁵⁶⁾ reverse

⁵⁷⁾ passenger

⁵⁸⁾ speedboat

⁵⁹⁾ bare

⁶⁰⁾ concrete

⁶¹⁾ lieutenant

⁶²⁾ chili

⁶³⁾ tiptoe

⁶⁴⁾ office

⁶⁵⁾ skull

⁶⁶⁾ bikini

⁶⁷⁾ cabinet

⁶⁸⁾ lumber

⁶⁹⁾ laboratory

⁷⁰⁾ paint

⁷¹⁾ arch

⁷²⁾ bitter

⁷³⁾ staircase

⁷⁴⁾ priority

⁷⁵⁾ cell

⁷⁶⁾ subordinate

⁷⁷⁾ tapes

⁷⁸⁾ mangoss

⁷⁹⁾ bralette

⁸⁰⁾ whiplash

⁸¹⁾ syringe

⁸²⁾ cinnamon

⁸³⁾ tequila

⁸⁴⁾ garden

⁸⁵⁾ cigarette

⁸⁶⁾ sofa

⁸⁷⁾ rain

⁸⁸⁾ teammate

⁸⁹⁾ oleander

⁹⁰⁾ boss

⁹¹⁾ pillar

⁹²⁾ amethyst

⁹³⁾ footpath

⁹⁴⁾ driver

⁹⁵⁾ massage

⁹⁶⁾ stitches

⁹⁷⁾ jeans

⁹⁸⁾ brand

⁹⁹⁾ blackout

¹⁰⁰⁾ sunglasses

¹⁰¹⁾ lunar

¹⁰²⁾ velvet

¹⁰³⁾ captain

¹⁰⁴⁾ afternoon

¹⁰⁵⁾ ivy

¹⁰⁶⁾ salty

¹⁰⁷⁾ portrait

¹⁰⁸⁾ strawberries

¹⁰⁹⁾ torn

¹¹⁰⁾ cocktails

¹¹¹⁾ roommate

¹¹²⁾ bridge

¹¹³⁾ table

¹¹⁴⁾ hotel

¹¹⁵⁾ jasmine

¹¹⁶⁾ armchair

¹¹⁷⁾ satin

¹¹⁸⁾ bedsheet

¹¹⁹⁾ hedgerow

¹²⁰⁾ thigh

¹²¹⁾ cliff

¹²²⁾ gravel

¹²³⁾ apartment

¹²⁴⁾ keycard

¹²⁵⁾ coffee

¹²⁶⁾ babysitter

¹²⁷⁾ fire

¹²⁸⁾ chalk

¹²⁹⁾ hurricane

¹³⁰⁾ crickets

¹³¹⁾ amber

¹³²⁾ sherriff

¹³³⁾ lamplight

¹³⁴⁾ flag

¹³⁵⁾ airport

¹³⁶⁾ gasoline

¹³⁷⁾ cherub

¹³⁸⁾ clementine

¹³⁹⁾ scalpel

¹⁴⁰⁾ motel

¹⁴¹⁾ parish

¹⁴²⁾ lighter

¹⁴³⁾ highrise

¹⁴⁴⁾ crowbar

¹⁴⁵⁾ sundress

¹⁴⁶⁾ newspaper

¹⁴⁷⁾ screws

¹⁴⁸⁾ uniform

¹⁴⁹⁾ gold

¹⁵⁰⁾ buckshots

¹⁵¹⁾ coast

¹⁵²⁾ handcuffs

¹⁵³⁾ gunpowder

¹⁵⁴⁾ badge

¹⁵⁵⁾ orchids

¹⁵⁶⁾ chef

¹⁵⁷⁾ levee

¹⁵⁸⁾ tea

¹⁵⁹⁾ helicopter

¹⁶⁰⁾ cemetery

¹⁶¹⁾ ice

¹⁶²⁾ heirloom

¹⁶³⁾ tarpaulin

¹⁶⁴⁾ rural

¹⁶⁵⁾ sergeant

¹⁶⁶⁾ tsunami

¹⁶⁷⁾ lemon

¹⁶⁸⁾ debt

¹⁶⁹⁾ skyscraper

¹⁷⁰⁾ caramel

¹⁷¹⁾ hottub

¹⁷²⁾ rum

¹⁷³⁾ pet

¹⁷⁴⁾ tradition

¹⁷⁵⁾ perfume

¹⁷⁶⁾ bracelet

¹⁷⁷⁾ secretary

¹⁷⁸⁾ degree

¹⁷⁹⁾ braids

¹⁸⁰⁾ prescription

¹⁸¹⁾ invitation

¹⁸²⁾ cocoa

¹⁸³⁾ ransom

¹⁸⁴⁾ boxers

¹⁸⁵⁾ theatre

¹⁸⁶⁾ mascara

¹⁸⁷⁾ sand

¹⁸⁸⁾ collar

¹⁸⁹⁾ shoulder

¹⁹⁰⁾ lipgloss

¹⁹¹⁾ membership

¹⁹²⁾ heatwave

¹⁹³⁾ disco

¹⁹⁴⁾ cabin

¹⁹⁵⁾ popcorn

¹⁹⁶⁾ altar

¹⁹⁷⁾ radio

¹⁹⁸⁾ bayou

¹⁹⁹⁾ bodyguard

²⁰⁰⁾ glitter

²⁰¹⁾ mustache

²⁰²⁾ protector

²⁰³⁾ contacts

²⁰⁴⁾ bullets

²⁰⁵⁾ groceries

²⁰⁶⁾ raspberry

²⁰⁷⁾ microphone

²⁰⁸⁾ coconut

²⁰⁹⁾ villain

²¹⁰⁾ earlobe

²¹¹⁾ purse

²¹²⁾ flood

²¹³⁾ shot

²¹⁴⁾ windbreaker

²¹⁵⁾ granite

²¹⁶⁾ highway

²¹⁷⁾ eggshells

²¹⁸⁾ hoarse

²¹⁹⁾ chocolates

²²⁰⁾ trembling

²²¹⁾ buttercream

²²²⁾ rings

²²³⁾ holster

²²⁴⁾ briefcase

²²⁵⁾ wrist

²²⁶⁾ piercings

²²⁷⁾ cowboy

²²⁸⁾ ashes

²²⁹⁾ ankle

²³⁰⁾ neroli

²³¹⁾ orchard

²³²⁾ tires

²³³⁾ salmon

²³⁴⁾ peaches

²³⁵⁾ rooftop

²³⁶⁾ toast

²³⁷⁾ gala

²³⁸⁾ sage

²³⁹⁾ graduation

²⁴⁰⁾ reporter

²⁴¹⁾ belt

²⁴²⁾ antidote

²⁴³⁾ ship

²⁴⁴⁾ officer

²⁴⁵⁾ wine

²⁴⁶⁾ corridor

²⁴⁷⁾ cold

²⁴⁸⁾ hangover

²⁴⁹⁾ fingertip

²⁵⁰⁾ vintage

²⁵¹⁾ cupcake

²⁵²⁾ saviour

²⁵³⁾ gentleman

²⁵⁴⁾ loan

²⁵⁵⁾ hostage

²⁵⁶⁾ evergreen

²⁵⁷⁾ denial

²⁵⁸⁾ housewife

²⁵⁹⁾ riverbank

²⁶⁰⁾ marshmallows

²⁶¹⁾ books

²⁶²⁾ hockey

²⁶³⁾ lizard

²⁶⁴⁾ silver

²⁶⁵⁾ dinner

²⁶⁶⁾ pear

²⁶⁷⁾ bound

²⁶⁸⁾ waiter

²⁶⁹⁾ tender

²⁷⁰⁾ fallen

²⁷¹⁾ banquet

²⁷²⁾ announcement

²⁷³⁾ roast

²⁷⁴⁾ sneer

²⁷⁵⁾ exes

²⁷⁶⁾ stovetop

²⁷⁷⁾ brass

²⁷⁸⁾ clay

²⁷⁹⁾ valet

²⁸⁰⁾ schoolbus

²⁸¹⁾ exhausted

²⁸²⁾ field

²⁸³⁾ hoodie

²⁸⁴⁾ sugar

²⁸⁵⁾ palmtree

²⁸⁶⁾ burnt

²⁸⁷⁾ diner

²⁸⁸⁾ snake

²⁸⁹⁾ fever

²⁹⁰⁾ domestic

²⁹¹⁾ plaid

²⁹²⁾ wreck

²⁹³⁾ courtyard

²⁹⁴⁾ dozen

²⁹⁵⁾ earphones

²⁹⁶⁾ blueberry

²⁹⁷⁾ anklet

²⁹⁸⁾ shower

²⁹⁹⁾ venom

³⁰⁰⁾ lover

#for those of you who also need to find one singular Perfect word to get you to start writing. ily we are cursed to be like this 😔#prompts #one word prompts #one word prompt list #prompt list #writing prompts #writing exercise #rp meme #otp prompts #soft prompts #imagine your otp #otp writing #aesthetic prompts #word prompts

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platycryptus · 1 year ago

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Phidippus purpuratus is a large jumping spider most often found in Canada and the northern US, where they live on the ground or among boulders in exposed, rocky habitats like mountaintops and sea cliffs. This is a rather different lifestyle from some of their more arboreal cousins, and I assume they rely on the warmth of sun-baked rocks to sustain activity in the cold and windswept places they inhabit.

They’re well camouflaged among the lichen covered granite on this mountain in Maine, probably because they have to be- more conspicuously colored jumpers like P. regius and audax often have the option to drop into dense vegetation when threatened, but I saw these hunting on bare rock with nowhere to run should they face the misfortune of being spotted by a bird.

(Maine, 7/26/22)

#arachnids #phidippus purpuratus #salticidae #jumping spider #phidippus #spiders #bugs #bugblr #entomology #biology

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usherdownthesky · 9 days ago

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Rating: General Audiences

Category: F/M

Relationships: Gale & OC Tav

Words: A LOT (7261)

Tags/Warnings: OC Backstory No One Else Cares About, Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Flirting, Nudity, Skinny Dipping, Sensuality, Kisses, Minor Blood and Injury, Introspection, Gale Gets A Darcy Moment, NOT A BOT I JUST LOVE EM DASHES OKAY JESUS

Contains non-explicit physical intimacy and light references to past suicidal thoughts. A celebration of ripped Gale, silver fox Gale, heterochromatic Gale

And typos, probably. I always see them too late.

Summary:

As Tavania reckons with her past and the idea of moving on from her intense loss, a chance midnight encounter with Gale leads them to a place of honest discussion and unguarded closeness-of the physical and emotional variety. As they stand at the brink of becoming something far more, Tav finds herself falling--but Gale still harbours dark secrets that threaten to tear it all apart.

AKA non-Origin Gale gets to touch an Act 1 boob maybe?

I'm posting it here in its entirety for people who might prefer to read on Tumblr, BUT IT'S LONG Y'ALL. UNFURL THE POST AT YOUR PERIL.

and she never wrote anything ever again.

For the third night in a row, Tavania could not sleep.

Every rock beneath her flimsy bedroll might as well have been a boulder—every blade of grass a longsword, piercing her through. Even her skin felt irritated—not exactly feverish, but hot and tingly, like when she was little and her brother used to amuse himself by grabbing her arm and twisting her skin in both directions until she cried out. Given the circumstances, it was hard not to think back on Gale's graphic descriptions of ceremorphosis, all splitting skin and elongation, and wonder if this was finally it.

You're being ridiculous, she told herself. If she was changing, Lae'zel would already be upon her, knife at the ready, boot on her neck. No; this agitation was wholly her own.

She glanced at Gale's tent. The flap was open so she could see him inside, seemingly fast asleep, an occasional soft snore and unintelligible murmur rising from him. A pang of longing precipitated a mad urge to join him. She pictured herself pressed up against his back, arms around his middle as she buried her face into his hair to drown in the sweet, smoky musk of him… How swiftly rest would find her there, she thought. How happily.

Sighing, Tav rolled onto her back to stare up at the cloudless sky. By the hang of the bright, full moon, she guessed that dawn was still several hours away—too many to spend wallowing in her various frustrations. A walk, she decided, kicking out of the thin blanket tangled about her knees; a quick stroll would burn off some nervous energy and help clear her head.

If only it were that easy.

She slipped from camp, crossed the stream and followed its winding shore, skirting the denser parts of the forest. Ever since she was little, the very idea of the woods had terrified her. Too many storybooks full of bandits and goblins, ravenous wolves and child-eating hags, she supposed. Having faced down all those things and more in the last tenday alone, it seemed a silly thing to be afraid of now. Besides, if life had taught her anything, it was that the worst things that could happen to a person often occurred in places they thought themselves most safe: their homes, their beds—inside their own hearts and minds. What was a common hag next to those, most intimate of betrayals?

Still—one could never be too careful.

The stream eventually widened into a small lake that spilled in a misty froth over a crag into the wild river several dozen feet below. Not yet ready to return, Tav followed the cliff edge up out of the forest hollow to a desolate granite bluff high above the treeline. The climb turned out to be much steeper than it had looked from the ground, and the humid night air was as tepid as a cup of forgotten tea, so by the time she reached the ledge she was panting, dripping with sweat, and her legs had gone to jelly.

Tav stood at the edge of the bluff while she caught her breath and was surprised to see how far she had come. All she could make out of the camp from here was a few errant slivers of orange glow, flickering through the forest shroud. On the livid horizon several leagues beyond, the twisted hulk of the rotting nautiloid loomed, its cursed bowels still smouldering more than a tenday after the crash. As they headed up into the mountains in search of Lae'zel's fabled creche—a lead Tav had little reason to believe would bear fruit—she wondered grimly if they would ever escape the wretched thing's monstrous shadow.

She closed her eyes, putting it out of her mind.

Midnight stillness pressed in around her. The silence was uncanny—so thick, even the rush of the river could not penetrate it. A feeling of unease crept along her spine, of trespass, as if in her rush to escape her troubles she had accidentally slipped somewhere she should not be. A place between worlds, not meant for anyone.

Not the living, anyway.

It was not an altogether new sensation. Time and again over the years, at the lowest points of her life, she had found herself here: poised precariously on the edge of some great precipice or another, gazing deep into the face of grim oblivion. One foot in the warm, pulsing present. The other—

The breeze pushed against her back. Tav stretched out her arms and began to unconsciously lean forward. A dizzying sense of lightness swept over her. Calm; pleasant, almost. One good gust and she would be gone.

There was a time, not so very long ago, she would have welcomed it. Not out of despair, exactly, but something more like fatigue—need of a decisive push from some power greater than herself, toward a freedom she did not have the strength to reach for on her own.

The difference was that now, she knew how it felt to fall. It was not what she had always imagined—a wild, liberating plunge into nothingness. No; it was horror, and helplessness. A grand unravelling, time stretched thin to reveal its insides, which contained only regret. Not a single, clean moment of it but a turbulent flood seething with life’s debris. Every chance not taken, every song unsung. No absolution waited at flight’s end—only a bloody exclamation point, rammed violently into the middle of a sentence not yet finished.

The impulse was no longer there. In its place, she found the blunt ache of something far more terrifying:

Hope.

Tav’s eyes snapped open. As she took a gasping leap back from the rocky edge, another realisation hit her, a bolt of the most exquisite agony exploding beneath her ribs: she had not thought of her sister in days. Not since the assault on the goblin camp, their first dashed hopes for a cure, the party, and—

Gale.

So consumed with the business of living, she had had no time for the dead.

All her life, no matter where she was, how much time or distance or twist of circumstance separated them, Tav had never gone a day without thinking of her twin. Long before she was a wound, Lavinia was a lifeline, the pair of them so deeply tangled up in one another, it was impossible to tease them apart. The end, when it came—sudden, brutal, final—left a gaping hole; a hollow space where Tav’s second heart used to beat.

She had tried to fill that space with her sister's memory, holding on to whatever she could like a cherished song, stitching the tatters of her own life around the rhythm of the loss.

But Tav should have known better. She should have known that a song could not be caged, any more than a memory could be made to endure, and both could eventually turn sour.

But what if she kept forgetting?

What if the days she did not think of Lavinia began to outweigh the ones she did?

What would be left of her?

What if she dared to let herself feel something other than her grief?

What if she already had?

You're allowed to have a life, some other, treacherous part of her mind interjected. Haven't you punished yourself enough?

Tav sucked in a wet, trembling breath. Guilt was a difficult lesson to unlearn; moving on was just a different kind of loss.

She remained a while longer, watching the spill of Selune's Tears turn overhead in a sleepy echo of her own. When she finally set off for home, sorrow and slumber dragged on her limbs, leaving her leaden and off-balance. Halfway down the craggy slope, her foot struck loose granite, shifting and giving way beneath her. Tav fell hard on her left side and slid, jerking to an eventual stop at the brink of the sheer drop into the roiling river below.

It took a moment to register that she had stopped sliding. That she was still alive. She lay a there, breathing in ragged gasps, until the pain caught up with her, dull crimson waves rushing up her left side.

Groaning, she pushed herself upright, held her arm toward the moonlight and peeled away her tattered sleeve with a trembling hand to reveal a raw graze that stretched all the way from wrist to elbow. Blood oozed to the surface in bright, wet jewels.

“Shit,” she whimpered.

As she struggled to her feet, the hazy throb sharpened into searing white blades that stabbed her in the hip and knee with every step. Involuntary sobs slipped from her throat as she limped on, wishing even one of her friends were here with her.

Shadowheart, with a timely healing spell.

Wyll, with a sturdy shoulder to lean on.

Karlach, with a rousing 'C'mon, soldier! Knees up!' for encouragement.

Gale, with a tender touch, that charming smile, a story spun in golden tones to help her forget her pain…

Oh, Gale…

You don't need them, she told herself, wiping her wet cheeks with a filthy hand.

No. She didn’t need them. She could make it on her own, as she always had.

But wouldn't it be nice? To not have to fight so hard for every inch? To have someone to laugh or commiserate with? Someone to catch her when she inevitably fell again? Just because she could manage on her own did not mean she needed to.

The contrarian within made no reply.

Back on level ground, Tavania hobbled to the lake’s edge and lowered herself with a grimace, her swelling knee protesting every inch of the way. She dipped her arm, hissing at the sting, but once the initial shock subsided, found the water was pleasantly warm and soothing. Inviting, even.

It was late.

She should get back, take a potion, get some rest.

Instead, she began tugging off her boots. Peeled off her bloodied blouse. Trousers next. With her hands poised at her hips, she hesitated, scanning the tree line, half-expecting a bugbear to come charging out of the shadows—her luck would run that way. But the woods remained still and so, with a laugh, she slipped her underwear down and left the whole lot in a heap upon the shore, wading out until she was hip-deep. There, she sank, stretching out her legs to let the water carry their weight, and leaned back on her elbows. She dipped below the glossy surface, washing the dirt and sweat from her hair in a single breath.

Relief was immediate and complete.

Moments of calm like this had become such a rarity. She was not made for all this…adventure, as the others so frivolously called it; horror was the word she would choose. The things she had seen this week; the things she had done. The things she feared she would need to do if she was to survive this…

It was little wonder she could not sleep.

Each night when she sat down to the evening meal, all she could taste was blood and brimstone. She would chew and swallow in silence, forcing it down without betraying her distaste to the others, all the while wondering: Why her?

What was she next to a fierce githyanki warrior; the Blade of Frontiers; a veteran of the Hells; or the archmage of Waterdeep?

Just a stray witch and musician long without a vital muse. A scrap of worthless by-catch tangled in a net full of far more valuable prizes. Every time she was forced to raise her hands and reach for that murky well of untamed power inside of her, it felt like reciting a prayer in a foreign tongue to a god whose name she did not know, hoping that her graceless fumbling would not be mistaken for blasphemy.

Admittedly, Gale's instruction had been helping. The somatic gestures he had her practice as they walked provided her with much-needed focus, and she could feel them beginning to settle into her bones. In some ways, it was like breaking in a new instrument: painful and stilted for the first while, but then one day, the hands simply knew what to do.

Tav winced, that uncomfortable tightness from earlier returning, twisting its way inside of her thoughts as they gathered predictably around him, and more specifically, their would-be kiss.

A ripe piece of stupidity on her part. Impulsive. Destructive. So like her. Tav wished she could take it back, forget the feel of his satiny lips and breathless need, the roughness of his beard and the hungry fumble of phantom hands… Gods. It had not even happened, yet it haunted her more vividly than some of her actual memories. Even now, as she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend it was his thumb tracing slow, yearning circles along her hip and not her own.

That night, he had left her without any real explanation—only half-mumbled apologies. Things had felt…different since, in a way that transcended simple embarrassment. Outwardly, they had carried on as if it never happened—which it technically hadn’t, no matter how lurid her daydreaming—but subtle cracks had sprung up between them. The way his eyes often avoided meeting hers, and the distance in them when they did, as if his mind were miles away. The careful stiffness of his speech, as if he had wound himself back to the day they met, that polished version of himself—polite, but not completely honest.

A guardedness she knew all too well.

“Cheer up, old girl,” she said, lifting a hand to watch the water rain down her arm. “Could be dead tomorrow, and all this fretting will be for nothing.”

A sound tore through the stillness: the snapping of a twig in the woods somewhere behind her.

Heart hammering, Tav surged to her feet. White-hot pain lanced up her leg, but she barely registered it, her body operating on instinct. With no blade and no armour, she turned instead to flame. Magic surged through her, fierce and primal, but she caught it on her fingertips, dancing through movements Gale had taught her, graceful and sure. The fire burst to life, bright, ready. As was she, drawing back her arm on a held her breath, poised to strike.

A flicker of silver at the treeline caught her eye. A figure, tall and slender, ducking behind the trunk of an ancient cedar.

“Astarion!” she called, instantly vexed by his intrusion. “I see you!”

A hand shot out from behind the oak, the long, elegant fingers gilded in familiar rings. A voice followed, yelling, “Easy! It’s only—” He paused. “Wait—Astarion?”

“Gale?”

Tav’s stomach dropped. What in the hells was he doing here? Had she…summoned him, somehow? In her mindless yearning, had she perhaps accidentally whispered his name too loudly into the Weave? Was that…could that even happen? Gods—what if she had projected something? Again.

“Yes, Gale! You were expecting Astarion?” he cried, his voice pitching high and then cracking apart like skim ice beneath the heel of the other man's name.

“I wasn't expecting anyone,” she snapped. The fireball flared, casting wild shadows across the trees as the heat licked down her arm. “But if anyone was going to be skulking about at this hour like a woodlands pervert—”

“Not skulking! Approaching! Very cautiously, I might add! Speaking of which, would you mind, terribly, putting that out? I would do it myself, but fear that would be awfully nude—rude! I meant rude!”

Tavania blinked.

“Oh, gods!” she yelped, dropping like a stone into the water with a splash, a sizzle and a grey curl of steam.

“Much obliged!” Gale waved again. “I’ll just—turn around and be on my way!”

“Wait—!” She arranged herself into a modest crouch, arms folded over her naked breasts and released a resigned sigh. “You might as well come over here.”

Crickets chirped. An owl hooted. Water burbled apathetically over the rocks.

“…Are you certain?”

“No,” Tav barked, her cheeks burning, “but you’re already here, and I’m already mortified, so—yes. Unless you'd rather summon the entire Sword Coast with our shouting?”

“No! No…” Gale poked his head out from behind the tree—only far enough to reappraise the situation. “Very well. I'm coming over—I shall avert my eyes!” he announced, then extended one long leg from his hiding place. “Here I come, ready or—well, just ready, I hope!”

She dipped her head, snorting a laugh into the crook of her elbow and muttered, with glowing affection, “Idiot.”

True to his word, Gale kept his eyes fixed with studious intent on the ground for the entirety of his theatrical passage, coming to an eventual halt beside her pile of clothing. Her underwear sat on top like a flag of surrender—practically waving at him. Tav bit the inside of her cheek to stifle a sound—half laugh, half whimper; altogether a nightmare.

Gale rocked stiffly on his heels, arms folded so tightly across his chest, he looked as though he might vanish into himself.

“What are you doing here, Gale?”

“Looking for you, of course,” he replied, brows twitching together as if he did not understand the question—why it needed asking.

He drew a short breath before elaborating.

“I woke and saw your bedroll was empty. At first, I presumed you'd gone to relieve yourself, or some such. When you didn't return in a timely fashion, I…well.” Gale hesitated. When he spoke again, his voice bore all the weight and frailty of a grave confession. “I was worried.”

Tav looked away.

Of course he was worried. From the moment they’d met, just a fortnight ago—though it felt like far longer—he had been watching out for her. Not always in loud or obnoxious ways, but with a simple and steady presence he wove around her like a magical armour. A healing potion, pushed into her hand before she could ask; a soft word to bind her together when her nerves or temper threatened to fray her all apart. Always hot on her heels whenever she hurled herself into danger, his concern for her safety often eclipsing any thought for his own. Always loitering at her side after a fight, helping her to her feet when she needed it, steadying her, making sure she was still whole.

Kindness like his had always made her wary; in her experience, it never came without cost. Gale’s did. Not once had he demanded anything from her. When he had asked for help, it was with open heart and open hands, without guile or expectation; she had been all too happy to give him what he needed.

She was willing to give him a great deal, as it turned out.

Now here he was, trembling nervously in the dark because she had gone missing, and he had noticed. And she had nearly set him on fire for his troubles.

“I couldn’t sleep. Decided to take a walk,” she said, guilt twisting keenly in her gut. “I didn’t mean to be gone so long, I’m sorry. For worrying you—and for almost fireballing you.”

“I'm merely relieved you're all right.” He glanced up, smiling so warmly it made her shiver.

“It was an impressive fireball, by the way,” he added as an aside. “A little…enthusiastic, toward the end, but you held onto it expertly and your form was—well. Exquisite.” He paused. “Not that I was admiring your…form, or…” He trailed off into a timid, almost silent whine.

A smirk tugged at her lip, more delight than embarrassment; she knew he would not offer such praise lightly. Whatever else he may or may not have noticed in the course, she opted not to address.

“You're an excellent teacher.”

“I know,” he murmured, absently prodding the sand with the toe of his boot. Then, almost to himself: “Though you’re the first to say so.”

An easy hush fell over them. Tav’s knee began to ache again, and she was about to say something when Gale lifted his head and glanced around.

“Lovely spot, this.”

“Yes.”

“How is the water? I must say, it looks…”

He turned back, his gaze locking onto hers—sharp, steady. In the moonlight, she caught the quick bob of his throat as he swallowed.

“…rather enticing.”

Heat flushed through her, from her scalp down to her toes. The way he looked at her now, clear and unflinching, was precisely how she had hoped he might after their magical kiss. The look of a man who knew exactly what he wanted: to be here. With her.

If only she would ask.

The words slipped from her lips, barely louder than a whisper. “Come see for yourself.”

A slow smile spread across his face as he raised a hand to his shoulder and the three toggles that secured the front of his robe. His eyes never left hers as he painstakingly worked the first two loose. At the third, he faltered. “Forgive me, but would you mind…?” With his free hand, he made a small circle.

“Hardly seems fair,” Tav said with a mock pout, “but fine—I'll even close my eyes.”

A chuckle followed her as she turned awkwardly in place—more of a waddle, really—though she was not sure why she was still concerned with her own modesty when it was clear he had seen…well, enough.

From behind her came the rustle of falling fabrics, the unsnapping of boot buckles. A muttered 'Bollocks!' and then the crunch of gravelly sand.

“Stuck, wizard?” she teased. ”Need a hand?”

“Hah! Never living that down, am I?” he replied. “I think I've quite enough, thank you…for now.”

Tavania smiled and shook her head, a rosy fondness unfolding within her. This was what she had missed these past days of fracture—his lopsided charm, playfulness, his endearing fumbling. The way things were when it was just the two of them, without pretense or pressure to perform.

Her smile faltered—maybe that was the thing that most unsettled her, keeping her awake at night: how easy it was to miss him.

A splash at the shore broke her meditation, followed by a subtle pull in her blood, like the tugging of a loose thread, and a tingling at the nape of her neck. Magic; he was casting something. Curious, Tav cracked one eye open in time to see a handful of pale blue lights scatter like marbles across the bed of the lake, illuminating the depths in a fuzzy, dreamlike glow. Then Gale, diving into the water after them. The light clung to him, shimmering over his bare skin like a divine blessing as his body cut through the water with effortless grace, muscles rippling in a symphony of strength and radiance. For just a moment, she did not see a mortal man, but a godly being stitched together from ancient threads, older and more elemental than time itself. Every line, every muscle, every glorious inch of him woven out of raw, living magic—awe and power incarnate.

Tav forgot how to breathe.

She had never seen a more beautiful man in all her life.

He surfaced with a gasp in the inky heart of the lake, then rolled onto his back with a satisfied sigh, arms flung wide. There he drifted, his hair fanned out around him in a silver crown. As he stared serenely up at the starry sky, moonlight caressed his face with the delicate reverence of a lover’s hand, and Tav felt another pang, her longing this time envious, wishing she were the moon.

She smiled, unable to help herself; he looked so utterly content.

That was the puzzle of Gale of Waterdeep. He was all charm and warmth, quick with a quip to ease the tension or cast light on an otherwise dim moment—but his levity rarely tarried. Over his carefully curated exterior lay an untold sorrow, worn like a threadbare cloak. It suited him, in a way—the thoughtful furrow etched permanently between his brows lent him a sort of scholarly gravitas—but it made her heart ache. Tav did not know yet the exact shape of his burdens, only that it resonated deeply within her. On her coldest days, she selfishly wanted nothing more than to lift the corner of his grey shawl, crawl inside and hold him so that they might find some warmth together.

“You look quite in your element,” she called to him, grimacing as she finally relented, unfolding her limbs and easing back into a comfortable recline. “I didn't realise the ‘of Waterdeep’ was so literal.”

Gale laughed. “A mere stroke of serendipity. Though I do love to swim. It's the closest thing in this mortal plane to experiencing the freedom and lightness of true ethereal delight.”

He stilled as he said this, his tone shifting into wistful lament, as if floating in bleak pool of memory. The moment passed swiftly as the blinking away of a tear. With a splash, he rolled over onto his side and began to swim toward her.

“My tower in Waterdeep overlooks the sea, which is terribly convenient,” he continued, stopping to tread water at the edge of the shallows. “No better way to begin the day than with a cold plunge, in my estimation. Thoroughly invigorating—for body and mind.”

Tav tried to picture it. Gale, rising with the dawn, the salt breeze tugging through his hair as he dove from his tower steps—but her own memories of that city, blurred by time and shrouded in youthful regret, muddied the waters. She backed away.

“Sounds lovely,” she said, a bittersweet taste remaining on her tongue.

“Perhaps, someday, I can show you what I mean.”

Their eyes met briefly. There was something so fragile about it, hopeful and hurting all at once. Possibility cobbled together from wisps of nothing: vivid enough to almost be convincing, but ephemeral and formless. Another well-crafted illusion.

Gale shattered it with an abrupt clearing of his throat. “What about you? Do you swim?”

“I grew up a ways inland—more than day’s walk east of Baldur’s Gate,” she said, now watching her fingers make swirls across the surface of the water. “There was the river nearby, but we were forbidden from going near it; three children were swept away in a storm surge the summer Lavinia and I turned two.”

“Oh,” he said quietly. “My—how awful.”

Tavania nodded. “Two of them were our closest neighbours; the older boy was friends with my brother. He could easily have gone with them that day had my father not needed help fixing fences. I think that made it worse for my mother—that pervasive nag of might-have-been made her a little crazy, which I suppose in turn instilled a lasting fear in me. That’s the way of things in a village as small as ours was. Even a small incident resonates. A tragedy like that, it…alters the rhythm of everything irrevocably.” She stilled her fingers, watched the last of the ripples ebb. “Can feel almost like…like a curse…”

Gale said nothing, and she was grateful for his restraint. The churn of falling water filled the silence.

“I do love the sea, though—from a distance,” she continued, more brightly. “I could sit beside it for hours and just watch the colours shift, squall clouds gather...There’s a certain romance to it, don’t you agree?”

“Completely.”

“And seafaring tales are some of my favourites,” Tav went on. “Gandorra Burr’s Fifty Years at Sea—have you read it?”

“The second volume only,” Gale replied, almost apologetic. “Ironically, I found it a little dry.”

She snorted. “Fair. Though the sparseness of the text added to the experience for me, compounding the dread and desolation. Her description of the Whalebones, for instance: there’s something innately chilling about a natural graveyard, and the matter-of-fact way she described those monstrous bleached ribs jutting up out of the black sand was just so…doleful. Haunting. I think that’s the true appeal for me. Romance, yes, but there is an inherent sense of tragedy about the sea. The loneliness and enormity of it feels quite…otherworldly.”

This time when he did not speak, she risked a sidelong glance and found him simply watching her, smiling dreamily, his eyes shining with a doting interest that was completely disarming.

Dangerous, indeed.

“Perhaps I need to revisit it,” he ventured, scratching his beard. “Or better yet—hear it read aloud by a talented bard with a gift for finding the poetry in bones.”

Tavania laughed. “If we stumble on a copy, I’ll happily read you to sleep, wizard.”

“I’ll begin the search at once.”

She bit down on her lip, blushing. “To answer your actual question…” Tav lifted one leg out of the water and wiggled her dripping toes. “This is as deep as I go.”

Gale’s expression shifted—a certain tilt of his head, a new glint in his eye that fell just shy of mischief. The spark of an idea. He planted his feet and rose in the chest-deep water, holding out a hand.

“Come here.”

Tav blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“Come here,” he repeated, beckoning her this time with his spellbinding fingers, his many rings of gold and silver playing in the moonlight. Then, as if remembering himself, he lifted his other hand to shield his eyes. “Ah—apologies!”

“I think we’re a little beyond that, don’t you?”

He hummed, his smile turning luminous and sly. “True. One can’t always be a gentleman.”

Gale let his hand fall away and he watched her, keenly, as she stood and made her measured way to him. If he noticed the faint limp in her stride, he gave no sign. Merely waited, mute, his hand outstretched and lips slightly parted as he drank her in with something close to wonder, studying her as if she were some rare beauty he could not grasp the meaning of—but would gladly spend the rest of his life in the rigorous pursuit.

By the time she reached him, every inch of her was aflame, and when she slid her hand into his, she felt the same spark she had the very first time they touched, the day she pulled him from that rock. Then, she had dismissed it as magical interference; now, there was nothing else between them but a few scant inches of cold lake, and something far deeper as well. Undefinable. Inevitable.

“Exquisite,” he murmured—so absently, she was not sure he was aware he said anything.

The heat in his gaze was suddenly too much to bear. With a nervous laugh, Tavania looked away—down, to his chest, its vital rise and fall, and the ominous circle of flame branded into the flesh over his heart. The black tendrils that curled up his throat had long intrigued her; she suspected them connected to his mysterious affliction, but the rest he had always kept carefully concealed. Seeing it now, a thing of uncommon elegance laid bare by moonlight, a storm gathered inside her. Sympathy, curiosity, desire…

A bloom of quiet dread.

“Is this”—a breath quivered from him—“all right?”

Tav glanced up, catching his eyes. One, a rich and velvety brown a person could get lost in forever; the other, silver as a frost-laden sky. Dusky tear stains tattooed the cheek below as if he once had wept all the colour out of it.

She was not sure if his question was meant for her, or for himself.

Summoning her most charming smile, flush with rosy light, she asked, “Are you going to teach me to swim, professor?”

With a snort, he said, “In good time,” as if time was a luxury they had in abundance. “For now, I offer merely a taste.”

“Of drowning?”

Gale frowned. “You wound me, my dear.” He sought her other hand beneath the water; his fingers were warm despite the chill. “I hope you know I’d never allow that to happen.”

That quiet ‘my dear’… A slip that sounded so natural, she suspected it was not the first time the words had occurred to him, even if he had never spoken them aloud. Her chest constricted. All she could say was, “I do.”

He smiled. “Are you ready?”

Without knowing precisely what he intended, she nodded; a stark realisation of trust. “Yes.”

“Any time you want to stop, you need only say the word,” he assured her as he began to walk slowly backward, the pull of their joined hands coaxing her deeper with him. “Be aware, there is a sudden drop.”

She nodded again, only half-listening, focused instead the water rising up her arms, her chest, floating her nerves with it. It was far colder here than it had been by the shore; Tav shivered as it lapped up to her collar bones. She her felt herself becoming more buoyant as it breached her shoulders, her footfalls feeling far less grounded in reality. Around them, Gale’s magical lights had dimmed into soft, pulsing pinpricks, drifting constellations that mirrored the stars. Suddenly, they were nothing more than two small, fragile bodies adrift in an ethereal sea of cosmic dark.

And then, on her next dizzying step, the ground vanished entirely.

Water surged up her neck, into her ears, her nose. She gasped in alarm and swallowed a mouthful. Coughed. Choked. Somehow in her flailing panic, she slipped free of Gale’s grip, losing him in a thrash of bubbles as she tried to claw her way back to the surface, but there was nothing to grab on to. Nothing above, nothing below. Only cold, uncaring darkness.

Instead of floating, she was falling.

Her thoughts splintered, half of her back aboard the burning nautiloid, its sinewy walls quivering in the hot rush of wind as it tore apart around her. The tadpole squirmed in her skull. She could not breathe. She was going to die. She was—

And then he was there. His arms wrapping tightly around her waist, lifting her up, his voice cutting through the roil of terror.

“I have you.”

Coughing, she threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him, shaking.

“I have you,” he said again, lips closer against her ear. “I have you.” Again. And again. Until she believed him.

“Don’t let go,” she rasped.

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

She believed him.

Safe in his arms, Tav let her body slacken. Shivering, sputtering, she breathed, matching the steady rise and fall of his chest, finding his rhythm to anchor herself. The cold and the dark remained, but soon she hardly noticed. All she felt was Gale: the warm glide of his bare skin against hers, the subtle shifting of his muscles and the push-pull of the water around her feet as he kicked gently to keep them both afloat.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, squeezing his arms around her. “This was a terrible idea. I’ll take us in.”

“Wait—” she said in a rush, clinging harder, desperate to hold on to this, to him, this precious moment.

He stilled beneath her.

“It wasn’t terrible. I don't know what happened, I just—” Tav exhaled. “Can we just…stay?”

Gale skated a hand up her back to cradle her neck, a warm and solid comfort. “Whatever you wish.”

The river current split and flowed on around them, and they drifted a little in its gentle course, Gale ever kicking to keep them steady. They began to turn in aimless circles, as if caught in the stream of a silent waltz. As the last vestiges of fear receded, Tav began to see the music in her mind: pretty waves of indigo tangled up in midnight blue, threaded through with silver strands against a canvas of star-soaked black. The song made its needful way to her throat, and without meaning to, she began to faintly hum.

“What is that?” he asked after a time. “I don’t recognise it.”

“No, it's…” Not know how else to describe it, she said simply, “Us.”

Gale let out a blissful sigh, resting her head against her temple.

Tav shifted her weight, a sudden sting breaking the spell; the music slipped away from her, leaving only a sharp yellow hiss of pain in its wake.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Tavania Starling,” Gale said sternly.

Rolling her eyes, she lifted her wounded arm from his shoulder for him to see.

“Hells, Tav!” he exclaimed at a glance. “That’s hardly nothing—it’s your whole bloody arm!”

“It’s nothing,” she insisted, an edge of irritation cutting in. “A graze, that’s all. Skin-deep.”

“Skin-deep! You’ve hardly any skin left at all! What happened?”

“I slipped like a clumsy fool coming down the bluff, that's all. Honestly—this”—Tav shook her arm at him—”hurts far less than you calling me by my full name in your grumpy wizard voice.”

“I don't have a—” He huffed, a splinter amusement in it, the rest pure exasperation. At least a little of it with himself for taking her bait.

“I may have also sprained my knee.”

“Mystra give me strength…” he grumbled, taking hold of her wrist for a closer look. He was careful, methodical. She suppressed a cringe as his thumb barely brushed the bitter edges of her wound.

“What’s the prognosis?”

“Quite dire, I’m afraid,” he said, solemn in tone if not in spirit. “And we once again find ourselves confronted with the glaring void in my otherwise formidable repertoire of expertise: the restorative arts.“

“Well, I had a good run,” she said with a shrug.

Gale tutted. “Not so fast, madam. I do happen to know of one very old technique, proven to help ease pain and hasten recovery, popular to this very day among certain wise practitioners of the gentler arts. If you would permit me to try it.”

She raised one eyebrow. “By all means, if you think it might help.”

Gale gently lifted her arm above the waterline, droplets trailing from her elbow as he leaned in, squinting in an exaggerated show of scrutiny. “Yes, I think—”

A soft kiss, just above her elbow.

“Any better?” he whispered, barely lifting his lips from her skin.

Tav swallowed a lump. “Still hurts…”

“I see.”

Another kiss, a touch higher than the last, lingering this time.

“Now?”

She did not answer. Couldn’t.

Gale continued, tracing a deliberate path up her arm with unbearable restraint. Each tender kiss sent a jolt through her—hot, electric, winding her up from the inside out. The fingers of her other hand flexed, digging into the taut muscle of his shoulder, eliciting from him a soft, aching sound; she was not sure if it was pain or pleasure—or both.

At last, he arrived at her wrist. There, he paused, just long enough for anticipation to coil itself around her throat, leaving her breathless. Gale turned her hand, pressing one final kiss into the centre of her palm. Longer. Deeper. His lips warm, his beard soft, his tongue a sweet whisper of heat falling into her heart line. As he moaned again, this one distinctly rapturous, she blearily wondered if he could still taste the scorch of magic on her skin.

He sighed her name, and she cupped his cheek to draw him closer; Gale obeyed, coming back to rest his forehead against hers.

“About the other night…”

Tav winced. “You don’t have to—”

“I have thought of little else for days,” he blurted, undeterred. “Only you. But I acquitted myself poorly—then and since. For that, I must apologise. I was…startled. It’s been a very long time since I was…close…to anyone…in that way,” he said, struggling even to say it, and she could feel his brows pulling into a frown. “In any way, really. Or for that matter, wanted to be.”

“Same,” she confessed in a small voice.

Gale pulled back to look at her, offered a smile that seemed to comfort them both. “To be perfectly clear—I do want to be close to you, Tavania. Very much so.”

A giddy laugh teased the back of her tongue. “We could scarcely be any closer.”

“Oh, I can think of a way or two.” His eyes narrowed, turning his smile wryly suggestive, and Tav felt herself flush again.

A familiar shadow fell over him, his shoulders drooping beneath its weight.

“But, I am…afraid…well, of many things,” he admitted. “A great many things, indeed. Chief among them: the sudden contraction of time.”

Gale barked out a humourless laugh.

“If someone had told me two weeks ago that I would find myself here—dumped unceremoniously in the wilds of southern Faerun, with a deadly parasite squirming in my skull, harried by deranged cultists hailing the coming of a new god”—he paused, his harsh tone softening into molten gold—”with the most magnificent, extraordinary woman I have ever met wrapped my arms…”

Tav nudged his shoulder lightly. “Charmer.”

He flashed a quick grin. “Suffice it to say, I would have declared it the ramblings of a madman—or the stuff of an overwrought, implausible bodice-ripper, replete with gross misrepresentations of my character.”

“True,” she agreed. “To my knowledge, you’re yet to rip a single bodice.”

“Yet…” Gale emphasised. “When it happens, you shall be the first to know.” He sighed then. “The timing of all of this, however, is—”

“I know.”

“—inopportune. To say the very least.”

What neither of them said loomed loud in the ensuing silence: This might be all the time we have.

Tav’s gaze was drawn again to the grim brand above his heart. Her hand slipped from his cheek, fingertips tracing the searing circle’s edge with a feather-light touch. Gale held perfectly still, failing even to breathe, and she thought she felt something stir beneath his skin—a faint pulse that did not belong to him. Something other. Something wrong. In her own blood, her magic thrummed like a struck chord and then…recoiled. As if even her wild and untamed power feared what lay within him.

Gale caught her fingers in a sudden vice grip and wrenched her hand away—too rough to be intentional. Guilt followed instantly; he brought her hand to his lips, kissing the backs of her fingers in trembling apology.

Tav gaped at him, a chill creeping through her that had nothing to do with the icy water.

The terror in his eyes just now…

“We should head back,” he said hoarsely.

She nodded.

With one arm still around her waist, Gale turned and swam them back toward the shallows from which they had drifted. Tav clung to him, numb, barely kicking her trailing feet. At last he slowed to a stop in the shallower water and set her down, making sure she had her feet fully beneath her before letting go.

They looked at one another. Tav saw the distance gathering, tendrils of creeping fog come to pull him away. She was losing him again.

Without thinking, she brought her hands to his face, pulled him closer as she leaned in, and kissed him. Softly. Briefly. Nothing at all like desperate, hungry the thing she had imagined nights ago.

But it was real.

And it was perfect.

Left as waypoint for him to find her by when he was ready. If he ever was.

Then she let him go, limping the rest of the way to the shore on her own.

#words & musings #bg3 fanfic #oc: tavania starling #starlingale #gale x tav #gale romance #galemance #ao3 link #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #bg3 tav #fanfic #fanfiction #archive of our own #ao3 writer

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