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pocketthealer · 5 days

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I’m sobbing omg

It was amazing that someone so beautiful could come from something so ugly.

Link rocked the baby in his arms, unable to look away from his soft, sleeping face. He was so small. Link wasn't a big man, but his hand completely covered the baby's tiny head.

A baby. His son. Link's eyes burned. He held the baby closer and hummed a lullaby his mother used his hum to him so long ago.

Lana watched him, her anxiety and hope clear on her face. Link had been angry at her during the war for keeping her secret for so long and he often felt edgy around her. She made it clear what she wanted from him, but unlike Cia, she had never forced it. It was painful but it was something in her favor. Link had felt uncomfortable and stressed but until today, he had never hated her. The brighter the hope shone in her eyes, the more that pain and rage and hate grew, no matter how much Link wished he could control it.

His son's tiny left hand was empty. Clean. Link rubbed it between his fingers. His thumb covered the back of his son's hand.

"Link," Lana said quietly.

"Does anyone else know?" Link cut off. He didn't want to hear it.

Lana hunched in on herself. Her gaze remained fixed on him. "Volga might know," she admitted. "No one else. She kept it hidden."

It felt hard to breathe. Link just wanted to sit in the corner and curl around the innocent baby in his arms. He wanted to hold him close and block out the world. He wanted to grab his horse and flee with his son.

Further up his son's left arm, just by the armpit, there was a small, heart-shaped mark. It was appropriate. Just looking at it was breaking Link's heart.

"And you," Link said. The threat was clear in his voice. He took no satisfaction when Lana flinched.

"And me," Lana agreed. Her voice wavered before her awful hope rose again. "This baby... He's your son. And Cia's. Which means --"

Link cut her off again. If he didn't, it would be his sword and not his words silencing her. "Which means he can't stay here."

Lana faltered. He knew what she wanted. He knew what she was going to say, and he didn't hate many people but right then, he hated her. "I don't. I don't understand."

Link recognized that birthmark. Years ago, he had washed mud and other things off a squirming, complaining gremlin of a child. He had seen it then. He had seen it when he helped that child change and helped bandage his wounds and when he helped wash him after too many adventures. He had seen it later when that child stood before him as a man, helping bandage his wounds again and again.

He had thought he knew pain. He was wrong.

"He can't stay here," Link said. "If he stays in this era, the truth of his birth will become known, and survivors of the war will hunt him. He'll be hunted by Hylians and Ganondorf's forces alike."

"But --" Lana tried again.

Link tenderly kissed his son's head. How strange that he knew his son first as a child, then an adult, and now a baby. During the war, people had teased them and called them father and son. If only they knew.

"But nothing," Link said quietly. "Open a portal. You know where he must go."

To the Lost Woods centuries in the past. To be raised by the Great Deku Tree.

Link knew his baby would meet him again, but he would never know what Link was to him. He would never know how deeply he was loved.

"If you ever breathe a word about this," Link continued, "I will kill you. No one will ever find your body. No one will ever know what happened to you. Do you understand me?"

The hope was gone from Lana's eyes. Link took no satisfaction from that, either. "I understand."

Link nodded and kissed his son again. How strange that Cia's obsession with the spirit of the hero gave birth to one of the greatest heroes of all.

It was also terribly fitting that the legendary Hero of Time would become a hero in a time not his own.

"I love you, Link," he said softly. "I'll always love you. Good-bye."

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pocketthealer · 18 days

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THE PEOPLES SWAN

The large swan just sat there staring at him, and Time couldn’t help but stare right back. He was fighting very hard not to laugh at how utterly ridiculous the whole situation was, but here was his brother, with a little blue scarf around his neck, in the form of a swan.

“And this…” Time paused to clear his throat, not breaking eye contact with Warriors. “And this happened how?”

“He touched my crystal,” Twilight answered miserably, throwing his head into his hands. “I tried to tell him not to but it was too late.”

Warriors waddled forwards and Time had to bite his tongue. The poor captain was clearly not at all used to his new form, and moving around looked very awkward for him. Time didn’t think he’d ever seen a bird look so pissed before in his life, it was incredible how expressive Warriors was without the ability to actually frown and put his hands on his hips like he so often did on a normal day. When he was a normal hylian. Like he should be right now.

“And we don’t know where Sky or the others are?” Time asked the rancher, reaching out towards Warriors and snatching his hand back when the swan hissed at him. “That wasn’t very nice, Captain.”

Warriors gave him a look that said, “I’m going to bite you if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

And that was completely fair.

“No, we have no idea where Sky or the others are, he’s stuck like this,” the rancher sighed, face still buried.

Warriors was not very happy to hear that, he spread his wings and waddled towards Twilight making very angry noises.

“Don’t attack Twilight, it’s not his fault,” Time scolded when Warriors started trying to bite at the rancher’s boots. In hindsight he really should’ve anticipated that what he said was only an invitation for the bird to come at him.

Twilight groaned, peaking between his fingers at their brother as he stomped around making little sounds. “At least you look great, Wars, lovin’ the scarf, buddy.”

The swan did not look amused, and Time was starting to feel a bad for poor Warriors. Without Sky and the master sword they had no way of turning him back; for the foreseeable future, the captain was stuck as a swan.

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pocketthealer · 21 days

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Perfect

Aren’t you married? (1200 Follower Raffle)

This time first place winner was @my-insanity-is-an-artform

They asked for Warrior in the sense that he didn’t fall into love, more so stumbled into it and didn’t realize it until much later.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

Keep reading

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pocketthealer · 22 days

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So soft

Oh the requests are open again? .3. Mmm… how about cuddle time with Wars? I got his stupid face in my head now… Anyways nothing to big, just two beings enjoying each other’s company. Those if you would like to go NSFW then by all means, feel free. Use any kinks you want… I’m still bad a kinks… well actually… I do have a slight spanking kink… just a small one… it just happened to me one day, don’t even know how it happened… Apple time! 🍏

I do appreciate my apples.

So i didn't go straight NSFW bc im in a very fluffy mood rn so... Get some fluff!

And I know yall have been missing Sage. So I'm here to amend that...with wars bc absence makes the heart grow fonder or something-

Throwing you an orange this time!🍊🍊

Just a heads up BTW! I may not be very active today as I'm on that break I mentioned. I'm vacationing with the family all day today, but I'll still check in every now and again!

This day couldn't have gotten any better in his eyes.

It really couldn't have.

He had woken up, with you in his arms, his beloved Goddess divine, still breathing evenly and looking so at ease. Your facial features were lax and glowing in the limited light in the room, sunrise barely kissing your features and it truly made you look effervescent. Your lips even had a soft upturn to them, as if just his mere presence with yours was enough to keep your subconscious buzzing happily.

Exactly the way he wanted it.

When you had awoken, gently blinking your eyes open you had greeted him with what was certainly a cavity inducing smile. In your hazy daze of consciousness you had bestowed upon him kiss after kiss, lacing his jaw in your badges of love. Fingers lazy and heavy ran through his hair, messing it in all sort of ways before combing it back. And when you let out the symphony of sleepy giggles when he returned the affections? He swore he could've died then and there and it would not have been in vein.

While he had eventually been forced to pull away, those sweet moments kept him sane for the day. It was lackluster without you, dull, but the knowledge that he'd see you later had him gritting his teeth and baring it.

Just simply the thought of you had him melting just a bit.

From your soft skin to the way your body curves, and your serene smile that just lit up your face whenever you saw. You delicate traces along his skin as you laughed, clinging onto him and trusting him enough to catch your weight as you fell back. Just the sound of your voice as you told him about you day, going on about So-and-so or complaining about what whats-his-face did. He would listen like the devoted follower he was, clinging to your every word. Anything you would bestow upon him, be it word, touch or just simply your presence, he would hold it close and cherish it. Commit it to memory.

Anything to preserve his loyalty to you. Undying and unyielding.

And now he would get to see his beloved dearest.

Opening the door to your shared room, he poked his head in, scanning the room before his eyes landed on you. You were sitting at your vanity, brushing your hair and undressing your self from the day's filth. You looked so at ease there, humming lowly before shaking your hair out and turning to look at him.

"So, gonna give me my welcome home kiss or are you just gonna stand there all night?"

He was taken aback for a second before shaking his own head with a low chuckle, slipping into the room before shutting the door behind him. It clicked lowly, the lock falling into place, as he stepped forward, gently cupping your cheek with one hand before leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. You hummed happily, smiling against his own lips as you stood, making him straighten with you. One of his hands eventually landed on your hips while your own wrapped around his neck. Every part of this felt so right. Righteous in a sense. Like this was a religious experience. You fit perfectly against him.

He knew you were his. Sculpted by the Golden Three for him and him alone.

And oh, how he treasured you.

When you pulled away, chin laying on his collarbone, he swore he could see the stars in your eyes. Constellations that wrote your story, laid it out for him in a collection of shapes and colors. He loved your eyes.

He loved you.

"I've missed you, princess." He hummed, gently swaying side to side for a second as he moved his hands to wrap around your waist. They squeezed you closer to him as he leaned down, following you when your arched backwards just a bit, so he could rub his nose against yours. You laughed, cradling his jaw. "I missed you too, pretty boy. How was work?"

Who cared about work when he had you in his arms? He'd entertain you, of course, but truly, you shouldn't worry yourself with the pathetic little pests under his command.

"You know how the knights are," He hummed noncommittally, pressing a flurry of kisses to your cheeks, temples, nose, anywhere he deemed acceptable (everywhere with that logic).

"Link!" You squealed, trying to pull away from him as he gently directed you towards the bed. One of his hands slipped further down your waist before grabbing a hand full of your ass and giving it a squeeze. You shout turned from glee to scandalized, making him grin further as he gently nipped the apple of your cheek.

With a small sweep of his foot, he took your own feet out from under you falling with you onto the bed. One of his hands come out to catch his weight as he stared down at you. Gloriously gorgeous you.

Goddes, he loved you. He loved you. He loved you. He loved you. He loved you. He loved you. He loved you. He loved you. He loved you. He loved you.

You were never leaving him. Never. He wouldn't let that happen. He'd burn the very kingdom he had sworn to protect to the ground if you so wished.

Anything to keep you, laughing and smiling you, right here with him.

He pressed another kiss to your smiling lips.

He loves you so much.

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pocketthealer · 1 month

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Link’s expression in the last panel is priceless

Played a LOT of Breath of the Wild to keep me sane during lockdown, and now playing Age of Calamity and having a lot of feelings about that gap of 100 years in between…

Patreon | Twitter

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pocketthealer · 1 month

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Here, have a worm!🪱

hhhh,,, skyward sword,,

screams incoherently

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pocketthealer · 1 month

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😍

link got tired

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pocketthealer · 1 month

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I’m 25 chapters in, bro this is wild. Good as hell but wild.

Has anyone ever read that one FD x Reader on quotev???

Please tell me someone out there has read this (I’m like 14 chapters away from finishing)

And ik quotev is pretty dead but hear me out!! Desperate times called for desperate measures

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pocketthealer · 2 months

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Damnnnnn

Hellooooo? Is anyone alive? Is ok if you do... A part two of the yandere fierce deity? Please?

Order up!

Ngl this was actually really difficult to write! Y’all seemed to like Part one, so here’s the continuation!

Tw: Described murder and violence, obsession

Hope you enjoy~

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The sigil had since faded from the back wall of your home. It had taken many moons and many storms before the blood had truly faded. But it wasn’t gone. You picked up on the marking more and more, the swooping V shape with two lines intercepting. You saw it carved into the trees you tapped for sap, in the bones of the elks still left at your door and —perhaps most concerning— scratched into your skin. You awoke to it after awaking from a nap, and it came with a sense of all-consuming numbness. You bled, despite no knife piercing your skin and felt a hollow pain looking at the wound… but the gash itself was not painful. The scab on your palm itched as you walked through the markets, and despite switching the hand that held the basket, it only seemed to worsen. An itch is not bad so much as it is annoying. An instinctive feeling to pick and prod until a disturbance is removed. But the sensation has festered into thorns digging into your nerve with every graze of another’s hand.

“That’ll be… 300 total” The farmer handed over the produce youd carefully picked out, a frown of dismay pulling at your lips.

“That’s double last time” His smile faltered and his eyes darted far behind you, glassing over for a moment. He breathed out until his lungs had no more to give and his lips fell shut. It was only when you were about to turn around to see what had enraptured him that his tongue farted over his lips and he picked back up where he’d left off

“Sorry you must understand, it’s-“ His voice faded into the chatter of the crowd, a low hum fading into the back of your mind with a throbbing pain. So much for living here all your life, there was no reason for produce to cost half your wages. It’s not like anyone in this hamlet made much, nor was there any reason for one to struggle. The is community held up on its ties, it's only as useful as its people make it.

“Keep- Just keep it.” You would’ve felt bad at the way he sunk in on his feet with upset, but it was beyond your responsibility to help. Not without proper food in your stomach. You’d need to forage if you had near any hopes of not starving through the week. And so, basket in hand, you returned to the eerie empty of the wood.

The thicket was empty. The berry bushels had since been picked clean by the birds and the wild sprouts trampled or rotted in the soil. It was foolish of you to hope that perhaps whoever kept leaving you meat —your only source of sustenance— could provide you with something that could possibly go with it. Your spice cupboard is beginning to run dry and you had nothing aside from the carcass left behind to prepare.

“If only I had some potatoes… carrots… something- anything!” You threw your wicker basket to the ground, the thin fibres crackling. Anger burned within the humid draws of your breath, seeping into your lungs and through your blood and settling among your being. Thunder rolled in the far distance, but the wind had already made its way to you. The whispery gusts combed through the long grasses and shook the old trees, the wood croaking and groaning. The path back home was no different than it had been recently. No humdrum that followed life, only the cawing of crows. But, rather disappointingly, even they had disappeared as of late. The shadowing of the storm mounted atop your already heavy-hung gloom. It seemed as if every living thing, even those that surpassed mortality had vacated the forest. And as you pushed inward to the unkempt of the wild, you could only feel like you were leaving yourself to the execution block. Your legs faltered and trampled, your limbs felt stiff. And like a corpse of those slaughtered, you fell.

The deity knew that mortals were cruel. He didn’t need much knowledge about the world to know that fact. With such a gift of consciousness, Hylia’s creations were tainted with such bitter malice. That is what made them mortal. Their innate ability to surpass their better moral to kill and to hurt. He saw it every time someone used the likeness of his face. He saw the blood. He felt their drive— to stick cool, unforgiving metal within another. To crack and break and destroy the fragility of the world. The fragility of other people. Hunt or be hunted as it was. There was no matter for if they were above animalistic intent, for they were every bit predator and prey as the wolves and the rabbits. That is why he is so keen on protecting you. Only you have been so kind and pure —A divine among mortals, he’s certain— and such purity can only be tainted within a world so vile. The mortals even admit to it. Making their societies guard such fragility from the maw of itself. It was only himself he could trust to be your guard. Only he could be trusted to deliver you from such a system. He knew the cruelty of mortals upon one another. But for you to be denied sustenance? That was sacrilegious. Did they not understand that they were blessed to have been with you? If that was such a case then perhaps they weren’t worth the salvation you offered. The wretched mortals should bow at your feet, stumble over eachother and themselves to leave you offerings. For one to deny themselves such a right is to deny one’s god. And so, as the twists of his blade delicately carved out the heart of the worthless farm boy, he hoped this would serve a sufficient offering. He could afford to spend more time with you tonight with the storm’s onset. The rain would do most of the work cleaning the blood. The body would mingle from the earth from whence it came and be no more. Maybe if the damned was lucky, his blood could nurture the soil to make plants that you could eat from. Maybe then he’d have paid penance for his sins. Heart and produce in hand, he displayed them all lovingly in your discarded wicker basket and left it looped around the elk horn. He held his offering in one arm and your limp body in the other, carrying you the way to your little temple. The basket was hastily discarded upon the porch —though he doubted you cared much about the presentation— and he tucked you into bed. On his exit he wrangled the body so it would be easier for your untrained limbs to carry indoors. Offerings should be prepared to the highest degree— and you only deserved the best. He’d deliver the world to you exactly as you’d expected of him. Although the procurement of spices would certainly take a while longer, he’d meet your demands in full. Such is what’s expected of him as he’s courting you. Such is the way of devotion.

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pocketthealer · 2 months

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Omg this was such a beautiful ending

Comfort [Mer!Warriors + Reader]

All it takes is a single moment for everything you think you know to flip on its head.

I originally had different plans for this AU continuation, but I came across a post of someone asking for a comfort fic and thought I'd try.

Masterlist

Part: 1 / 2

TW: Maybe? Hard to tell sometimes.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise. Linked Universe is the fan creation of jojo56830.

---

It had been a long day. Between back breaking work and the weariness of too long spent fighting to maintain your composure, the weight of all your hardships seemed to have finally caught up to you. You were just so tired, but even the promise of escape sleep offered seemed impossible to achieve.

Not with this overly spoiled creature screeching (elegantly, somehow. God damned elegantly. like a fully accompanied angel's choir) for your attention. As though this was something you two routinely did (for the record, it wasn't. you didn't know what his damned problem was). And ignoring him wasn't working, as it was going on the second hour now and he had somehow only gotten louder.

You honestly just wanted to cry. You just wanted to sleep.

You just wanted a break that didn't make you feel guilty. Guilty for not wanting to live up to everyone's expectations for once. For just wanting to sit down, eat something horrendously unhealthy, and then maybe nap for a few hours before dinner. And then go right back to sleep without everyone expecting you to fix every damned problem that blew their way.

The perfect day (but it wouldn't be. not really. because you couldn't even imagine closing your eyes when there was still so much to do). And it was being thoroughly destroyed (it was never something that existed anyway) by the unceasing, unholy (ethereal) screeching of the Center's resident golden boy.

How the mer knew just when to start acting up when no one but you was around, you'd probably never know. But it was damned concerning, and annoying. Especially when he decided to be difficult. Like now (oh God. why'd it have to be now when you were at your lowest).

You'd give in eventually, you knew. It was inevitable, and both him and you knew this. You couldn't afford to leave him to his own devices for too long, especially when he had a habit of taking out his frustration on your co-workers when ignored (and not even in an obvious way either. but underhandedly. like 'accidently' splashing water on their phones and equipment during his more enthusiastic performances).

You heard his screech again, but this time you could hear the low edge that entered his cry. Like the threat of a blade gliding delicately under a silk cloth, smooth and lilting and deadly in its sharpness. A dark, foreboding promise all wrapped up in a beautiful symphony of sweet nothings.

"I'm coming! Just give me a moment!" You finally called out, wincing at the way your voice nearly wobbled. Frustration and exhaustion mixing together into a singular moment of weakness.

It was silent then, and a form of primeval dread filled your stomach at the sudden stillness in the air. Because there was no way he hadn't heard the shake of your voice, nor the emotions that caused it. There was absolutely no way he didn't realize how vulnerable you were at the moment.

Numb. Suddenly, you were numb all over. From your ears to your toes, you could feel the cold pinprick of tingling nothingness itching just below your skin. But through it all, even as your feet took you to the bottom of War's tank ladder, you felt oddly detached from your body.

Ah. You were afraid. As tired and as emotionally drained as you were, you still somehow managed to drudge up enough self-preservation to be afraid of Wars. And you weren't sure how to feel about that. You hadn't really thought about it in a long time. Just how much power he now had over you, after that fateful day you'd come to his tank and cut him a deal.

You still didn't want to think about it. You just wanted to get this over with and go to sleep. You didn't even care that you'd regret this later, when you could finally think past the numbness that had settled over your limbs.

And there he was, from one step on the ladder to the next. Quiet, still as death and submerged up to his eeriely shining, dilated eyes in the dark water of his sleeping tank. The inky blackness of the night around him fading the long, billowing ends of his fins into a smoky wisp of shimmering starlight.

You'd forgotten how beautiful he was at night, when the faint luminescence of his fins and scales ran golden fireflies across the darkened navy of his elegant blue fins. How his enchanting, predatory eyes caught even the faintest hints of starlight and built entire galaxies along the darks of them. How he smiled so prettily when he rose from the water, even if you knew it was a lie (fake. dangerous).

The smile was different this time though. There was something sharper about it, so similar yet so different from the charming upturn of plush lips he so often used to entice the unwary into his clutches.

It was enough to unnerve you, this unknown expression that had settled so distinctly upon his pretty face. Enough even to pull you from your exhausted haze and into something almost approaching alertness. Your nerves firing with renewed unease, even several meters above the water and (allegedly, though you didn't believe that for a second) out of War's reach.

And then he lifted a single, elegant hand. Raised a single, elegant finger. And beckoned you to him in a gesture so human it nearly drew a blush to your cheeks (much to your shame).

If you ever discovered who taught him that gesture, you'd skin them yourself. You swore it. But that was for later, because right then you were frozen in shock. Not even because of the connotations behind such a gesture while an attractive male such as him was behind it.

No. It was the meaning behind the gesture.

"No." You said, so pumped full of adrenaline you didn't even feel the exhaustion that'd been weighing down your bones just moments before. "I'm not that far gone, Wars. No matter what you think you heard."

His eyes narrowed just the slightest bit, condescending and frustrated both. Flickering. Dilating. Contracting.

It would be almost funny, to see a mer as smug and put together as Wars showing anything other than slight annoyance (and honestly, it usually is). But right now, with the darkness closing in from all sides and the weight of everything haunting your every step, it was a reminder. A reminder that for all you had managed to keep your composure around this predator, you were still afraid.

You were afraid. And you always had been. From the moment you set eyes on him and knew (just knew, when no one else could see it) that this creature was hunting you and everyone else around him. Even bloodied and mangled and trapped as he was, he had never stopped hunting. That he watching you, just as you were watching him. Always.

He gestured again, tilting his head slightly. Another gesture that sent warning signals straight into your brain, causing your breathing to pick up and a light sheen of cold sweat to start forming on your shoulders, back and forehead. His eyes had fully dilated by now as well, adding an even more alien quality to his unnaturally beautiful features.

You swallowed, trapped between your self-preservation instincts screaming at you to turn tail and run, and the logic of your mind quietly reminding you that this predator would have killed you already had he wanted (that he could kill someone else too, if he felt the need to call your bluff). Because he would. You knew that. Accidents happened all the time. What was one more? (He'd probably fake tears too. the bastard.)

You glanced off to the side, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end under this unnatural stare. "Wars I- You know that's not how this works."

You were met with silence. You were too shaken (too compromised) to even think of meeting his gaze. The sharp, unfaltering, stunningly inhuman gaze.

The faint rippling of water. A slight swoosh. And then.

A great, echoing splash. The catwalk under you shaking and nearly tilting as a great weight was suddenly upon it. The flash of shimmering gold across a sea of dark blue. And suddenly he was in your face, so close you could see the ring of blue, blue, blue encircling the dark pools of his eyes.

You couldn't move. You couldn't scream. You couldn't even breathe. Not when he leaned further into your space (so close now you could see the glitter of scales under his eyes. like gold dust). Not when a clawed, webbed hand came up to your fear stricken face. Not when your skin touched for the first time (warm. soft. supple. nothing like your mind had always imagined it).

Not when his powerful (deadly. predator's. killer's) arms gently (so gently. almost tenderly. but that can't be it because he's him and you're you) pulled you into his chest. Not when he pulled you both down until he was laying along the catwalk with you laying flush on top of him. And not when he buried his face (his mouth. his lips. his teeth. teeth. teeth.) into your hair and just...breathed.

In. Out. In. Out. Steady. Even. Inevitable. His large, warm hands on your back, claws delicately kneading into your clothes. His chest rumbling, so faint you'd have missed it entirely had you not been tucked up under his chin (had he not been pressing you into the place in his chest the vibrations were strongest).

Slowly, your breath returned to you. You began to calm. Your mind begun to clear. And you realized, with sudden clarity, what it was that was happening. What this behavior was.

The gentle nipping at your hair. The tender kneading of his (sharp) claws into the thick ruffles of your clothes. The way he had cradled your significantly smaller body into his larger form and curled his silky (thick, powerful) tail fins around you as best he could with so little space.

The way his whole chest seemed to vibrate. The sound so low it was nearly nonexistent. An action you hadn't known Wars was even capable of, let alone willing to utilize. For a human of all things.

You swallowed, not daring to take your eyes off the gleam of his collarbone (shimmering, even in the dark). "Are you trying to comfort me?"

He pushed you harder into his chest, under his chin. His face nuzzling deeper into your hair, until his mouth was pressed softly against the shell of your ear. His hot breath fanning against your sensitive skin.

"Mine." He cooed (disjointed and raw, unnatural but hauntingly beautiful), one hand having found its way up into the fine hairs at your nape. Just holding them between gentle fingers, thumb caressing your exposed neck. "Strong. Brave." He hummed.

He nosed at the delicate lining of your ear. Nuzzling you. "Beautiful." He purred, pulling away just enough to force you to meet his eyes. His gaze so black you saw yourself reflected in them. "Always mine. Give me. Everything bad."

Looking into his liquid night, blue-mooned eyes. Feeling his hands cradling you protectively, possessively, trying to separate you from the world beyond. You finally understood. Everything.

Wars was territorial after all. Of his space. Of his food. Of his resources. Of anything, everything that was his. That he'd claimed.

Knowing that, how could you have forgotten the most important resource a mer can ever possess? When it had been staring you in the face this whole time?

Warmth began to build behind your eyes, and try as you might, you felt the gates you had held so tightly closed for so long beginning to slip from your grasp. And you just couldn't believe it. That this was really about to happen.

In front of Wars of all creatures. The one predator that had everyone fooled.

But that was the thing, wasn't it. From the very beginning, for all his smiles and sweet nothings, never had he truly tried to hide his fangs from you. Never you. Even as he kept the rest of the world at an arms length away.

He had let you in (had reeled you in). He had let you see (had forced you to see) the dark shaded colors of his heart. His truest self.

Honesty, completely and utterly, from a creature that thrives off deception. How could you have been so blinded by your fear you'd not noticed.

The first few tears finally escaped down the curve of your cheek, and when a gentle, tender, loving thumb came to wipe them away. You broke, and it all came pouring out. In the arms of the predator you still feared so much, but knew, without question, would never allow harm to befall you.

Because he is a territorial mer. And there is nothing a mer covets more than their pod. Their family. Their reason for everything else that follows after.

And Wars, the mer who never wanted to leave. Who, after all was said and done, was still a mer like any other. Had no one but you. Only you. By choice. By fate.

By design.

You'd been hunted. And you'd been caught. And now he would never let you go. And he would protect you from everything.

For as long as he lived.

---

Back to the shadows.

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pocketthealer · 2 months

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Incredible. The pining is just 😘

He refuses to fall for the first person to show him kindness. He may be feeling sorry for himself, but that's a bridge too far.

Even if they are beautiful. And kind to everyone, not just him. And brave. And clever. And strong. And they love animals, and reading. And they have a wry sense of humour that he adores.

He won't. He can't. Besides all else, this is decidedly not the time. A bomb in his chest and a worm in his head and a weight on his shoulders and a shame in his stomach and a shattered heart he's still trying to gather the pieces of. Desperately clinging to the cloak of his past, wrapping himself in his former confidence, pretending it hasn't been worn threadbare with time in isolation and eaten ragged by the moths of doubt and fear and past mistakes.

He fell from grace so far so fast, but he cannot beg affection off the first hand to offer him help up, even if it is the first time he's touched another person in months. Even if that hand did send a sudden warmth through him and feel so right in his own he could almost cry from it.

...This is getting out of hand.

He can just be friendly with them, surely. How does one make friends, again? Shared interests? He mostly just has the one, so he'll share what he can. They pick it up quickly, and the warm magic that surrounds them is a balm on his soul. Right up until they imagine kissing him, and his heart skips a beat. It can't be. It can't be. They can't want him back. It's not possible. And how, after it all, after everything, is he meant to resist the overwhelming temptation of being wanted?

They don't let up, either. Lingering glances. Warm smiles. All but propositioning him at the tiefling party. If there is a single positive thing to be said about his year of orb-imposed abstinence, it's that the willpower he had to build up and the practice denying himself were the only things that enabled him to decline their advances.

Well, that and the risk of blowing up the both of them, along with everyone else in or near the camp.

The warm smiles and lingering gazes and casual touches still continue, though.

This is fine. He's fine. He can't remember the last time he felt like this, someone cared for him like this, and he can't do a damn thing about it, but he's fine. Everything is fine. As fine as it can be, anyways, given everything else about the situation.

He supposes he should probably be more upset about Mystra's orders. At this point, though, it's hard to feel like it's anything besides a way out. A relief that he can be good for something. One more miserable experience, and then he's done with it, and all their problems are solved. There are worse things.

Except.

They're so angry about it. Everyone is, but them especially. Arguing with both him and Elminster the entire time, insisting there's another option. That they'll find or make one. Whatever they have to do to keep him around.

Gods help him, but he does want to stay with them. Stay for them.

He sleeps that night, and awakens with a jolt, a groan, and a realization. He's glad that prestidigitation exists to clean himself up without leaving his tent and risking the others' notice. His body had, apparently, caught up with certain implications before his brain. Though from what snippets of his dream he remembers, maybe it was only his waking mind that had been lagging behind.

He wants them, and he can finally have them. Can give them as much of himself as he's able, in the time he has left.

He had refused, at first, the idea of falling for the first person to show him kindness. And he hasn't. He's fallen for someone who is so much more that that. And he will not, cannot, die without letting them know. If he has to leave them, and he fears he will, then he will not leave them feeling unappreciated, or uncherished, or unloved. Not when he can finally embrace the full depth and breadth of what he feels for them. Has felt for them for what can't have been more than a tenday or two, but feels like a lifetime and a moment all at once.

He will not leave without showing them the full scope of his admiration and appreciation and sheer joy at their presence. The full scope of how impossibly deeply he already loves them. Not while he has any say in it.

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pocketthealer · 2 months

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Damn.

OK we all know what it's like being feral for Gale, but what is Gale like when he's feral for you? Gale and feral don't seem to belong together.

He's always open about his affection, of course, and isn't shy about how much he desires you, is almost assertive in his selflessness in bed. Watching him lose himself in giving you pleasure is as sweetly mind-altering as the heights he drives you to--feeling yourself to be the center of that incredible focus, all of his that formidable skill and dedication, is at once humbling and elating. Addicting.

But... he always takes care of you first, his enjoyment flowering from yours. His attention, skill, all of it--that lovely mind of his never shuts down, never permits itself to be entirely lost to the moment. It's no slight on your abilities or how much Gale loves what you do to him, it's that Gale's intent is that tireless, that unshakeable in its purpose. No matter how distracting you try to be, you can never sway him from his goal.

So one day, after an extremely close call that shakes both of you, Gale's legendary restraint snaps and you find yourself pushed down on your bed and Gale on top of you like a whirlwind. Through the haze of Gale pulling off your clothes and pressing starving kisses to your neck, he mutters a question, a demand, in your ear--tell me this is all right, please is it--all you can do is say yes and hold on for dear life.

Gone are the sweet words and calculated touches, anything designed to give. All that's left is taking. Gale's hands roam greedy-clumsy over your body, taking his fill of skin and muscle, every dip and curve and every slick and eager inch of you. His mouth follows along, tasting and more than tasting, consuming, leaving behind marks that will blossom into proud bruises tomorrow morning. He doesn't object when you briefly try to cage that desperate strength in your arms, but he won't be contained by you. He moves within your grasp like water or fire, drowning you and burning you as he goes, slipping from you when you realize it's best to let him have his head.

All that Gale doesn't take is time. He sweeps you along like his namesake storm wind, his breath only incoherent growls and moans, obscenity even though he's beyond words, a deep, ragged inhale when he buries his face in the curve of your neck. The hands ordering your thighs apart have lost all their gentleness; the glimpse you get of his face as he pushes into you shows you only that he's utterly lost. There's no grace and none of his usual sweet gratitude; he takes what you offer and demands more, over and over again, chasing euphoria, pulling you along in his wake. Your world narrows down to the overwhelming, hungry presence in you and around you, and you cling to the sweatslick expanse of his shoulders, your only tether to reality as he fucks you into oblivion.

When you come back to yourself your entire being aches with throbs and stings and echoing pleasure. Your blood hums with a pleased exhaustion and you're not entirely sure you remember your name.

Gale is still on top of you, face tucked into the sheltering curve of your neck. His chest ebbs and flows against yours, in and out with breath that gradually staggers to a walk as he calms. You stroke slowly--gentling, you hope--through waves of disheveled hair, fallen free from its tie. A clumsy hand finds one of yours, fingers twisting together.

JESUS H CHRIST, MY FRIEND 😳

You have ruined me with this one. I kid you not when I say I had to take several HOURS (and a cold shower) before answering this.

And speaking of ruin…

———

You finally know the true meaning of ruin.

You have craved it before, pleaded for it, dreamed of it in the deepest, darkest recesses of your mind. And he has always given it, in his own way: a gentle sort of unravelling that is less urgent, primal need and more ‘let me love you, let me give you everything”. And he has always given it freely, reverently, adoringly. Because supplicants do not defile their gods, they can only worship.

But this — this is different.

You see it in the way he looks at you, all hunger and lust-crazed fire in his eyes. You hear it in the grunts, the wanton moans, and the obscene litany he incoherently recites into your ears — you would be shocked to hear such profanities uttered by his elegant, gracious mouth, if it didn’t turn you on so bloody much.

But, most of all, you feel it. You feel it in the way his hands grab at you, dig into you, wrap around the column of your throat and squeeze just enough to make you see stars. You feel it in the way his mouth devours every available inch of you, sucking, biting, tasting for the sake of his own selfish pleasure. And you feel it in the way he ruts into you, desperately, roughly, as if your velvet heat is the only thing tethering him to this world, as if the intoxicating feeling of you taking him is his only anchor to the material plane.

And so he relentlessly snaps his hips against your bare flesh, over and over and over again, chasing his pleasure with the same zealous fervour he once briefly thought of applying in his pursuit of godhood. And perhaps he does feel like a god now as he takes, takes, takes. Because that’s what gods do, he’s learned it the hard way.

And you don’t mind being used this way, not when the pleasure-pain is so strong you see entire new worlds behind your closed eyelids. Not when each bite and scrape and bruise sucked into your skin is a lingering reminder that you belong to him. Not when the way he claims you, desperate and urgent, makes you feel so deliriously alive.

And when he finds you again, when the hazy fog of his desire has lifted from his eyes, when incoherent moaning gives way to gentle, praising words, you melt into him and kiss away his unspoken fears — I love you, I still love you, I will always love you.

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pocketthealer · 3 months

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Love it

man idk

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pocketthealer · 3 months

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Perfect.

You’ve never heard the word so many times before. But with Gale it’s become a mantra, a chant that he repeats over and over, a litany that punctuates your everyday lives. Is it a prayer? Is it an offering to a higher power? Whatever it is, you know his god won’t listen, and it breaks your heart.

His magic needs to be perfect, his cooking needs to be perfect, his fighting need to be perfect. His love needs to be perfect, too: a well-coreographed dance, a wonderfully-written symphony that he conducts with eased mastery until he has wrung every last drop of pleasure out of you.

He needs to be perfect. It’s what has driven him all his life — driven him to destruction, almost.

You look at him from across camp, the glow of the firelight casting a warm light onto his beautiful features, and wish he could see himself through your eyes.

He is tired, dishevelled, caked in the dust and grime that seem to be unavoidably everywhere these days. He rubs his eyes and stifles a yawn, unaware of the way your gaze drinks him in like a tonic. Sleep is not exactly a commodity he has in spades. First the orb — thrumming, rending, ever hungry — and now a different kind of hunger fuelling his appetite. He’s told you many times before: sleep is but a waste of time, and he’d rather while away the hours with you in his arms.

There are deep, dark shadows under his eyes, and his hair is a tangled mess of unruly waves. No matter how many times he swats at it in frustration, wayward wisps fall back onto his forehead and into his eyes as if moved by an invisible hand.

There is a bruise on the left side of his face, almost blending in with the tendrils of Netherese weave stretching upwards from the orb in his chest. A small reminder of how your adventuring days could have been cut short, but didn’t — he made sure of that, with razor-sharp precision and cleansing fire.

This is the Gale you love the most. Real, unaffected, beautifully raw. This is the Gale you want to drag into his tent and worship until time melts away and you’re nothing but motes of dust in the wind. You wonder what it would take for him to finally lose control, to abandon his flawed idea of perfection and let you shake his foundations to the ground so that you can raise him back up again — not better, but stronger.

Suddenly he looks at you, all wide-eyed and unaware of the power he holds. And, in that moment, you swear you’ll make him see the truth — now, later, and until the end of time, if he’ll have you.

Because this — because he — is already perfect.

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