#gale is on my mind 24/7

[senualothbrok]

I was doing so well, engaging in my work meeting, listening to my colleagues' updates, even throwing in the occasional comment

Then my boss used the word "wizardry"

Cue my brain:

The Gale brainrot is real 🫠

[motherfuckerunleashed]

i lub himn

collected from (x) and (x)

[frantic-fiction]

May I request some Jealous!Fem!Reader x Astarion? Maybe one where someone from Astarion’s past makes an appearance and while Astarion sees this woman as just a friend, reader can see the woman blatantly flirting with her vampire spawn and she doesn’t like it one bit. ESPECIALLY if Astarion’s oblivious to the woman’s advances and innocently engages (because let’s face it, our boy loves being praised & complimented 24/7). Reader decides it’s her turn to stake her claim on our little sassy vampire and remind everyone who he belongs to ;)

Yes! Yes! Thank you for the request!

Jealous

Astarion x gn!reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.5k

Masterlist

It was nice being back in the city. Yes, there was still the ever-looming threat of the Absolute, but most of the party was back home, and for once, it felt like, for a moment, everyone could breathe. You had a fluffy bed to sleep on instead of a lumpy bedroll. And while Gale always made whatever perversions the party scavenged taste good, the warm, hearty tavern meals you've been treated to as of late were too good to beat.

But the best part of being back was taking any moment to drag Astarion out into the city to wherever he fancies so he can explore Baldur's Gate in the daylight without the darkness of Cazador. He wanted to visit the farmers market today, so you wandered the vendors' stalls, stopping to take moments and smell flowers and sample wares.

Astarion politely conversed with a tailor about the fabric quality used for a shirt he wanted. Frankly, they had been talking longer than your attention span could handle, so when your eyes wandered to a stall full of beaded jewelry, you wasted no time giving Astarion a quick peck on the cheek and telling him where you'd be.

The pieces were beautiful and skillfully crafted—brightly colored beads and gold inlays, gems of various minerals, all catching your eyes. The older halfling woman propped highly on the stool, greets you politely, and gives little details and facts about each one you set aside for closer inspection. Maybe you should get something for Shadowheart and Karlach? Probably not Lae—

"Astarion!"

A feminine voice has you snapping your head back to your partner. A frown instantly settles over your features when you see a tall, elven woman pull Astarion's hug. Her brown hair is intricately braided into a top knot decorated in sparkly chains. Her dress hugs her curves, framing her body perfectly.

Why are they still hugging?

"Oh Gods, it's been too long. You're looking amazing." Her nasal voice filters down the markets. "How are you, love?"

Astarion finally manages to break the hug, giving the woman an automatic flirtatious smile, the tailor long forgotten. "Eleanor, I've been well. I do hope the same can be said for you."

Dropping the beads with little care, you leave the stall, ignoring the halfling. You don't like this woman. You don't like how her hand still lingers on Astarion's forearm or how she leans ever so slightly closer as if daring him to kiss her.

"I've been fine, though I'm upset you haven't visited in quite a while. It's been rather dull without you." She runs her hand up his arm.

Astarion laughs, flicking his hand in the air and clearly enjoying the woman's words. "I could only imagine, my dear. Those brutes are fowl at their best. Who wouldn't miss me."

Your jaw clenches when her obnoxious laughter rings in the air. Pushing past a family of four throwing a half-ass apology, not paying mind, too pissed off. Who does this woman think she is putting her hands on Astarion as if he's hers?

"Astarion, you always knew how to make me laugh." Elenor ducks her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "If I'm being honest, I was always jealous of the ones you took home. But now that we're here, maybe…"

Oh, hell no! You practically jump the rest of the way and run into Astarion's arm. He lets out a breathy oof, arms tightening around your waist to keep you from tumbling to the ground. Pretending you weren't aware of the woman, you capture Astarion into a chaste kiss before beaming up at him.

"I hope you found what you were looking for, my love." Your voice is sickly sweet as you trail your thumb across his cheekbone. Then you turn your head and feign innocence, looking at the elf. "Oh, I'm sorry, Star. Who is this?"

Astarion gives you a look but recovers quickly. Clearing his throat, he speaks, "Darling, this is Eleanor. She owns a tavern I frequented. One of the only decent companies I've had before we met."

Moving away from Astarion's side, you reach your hand out in greeting, giving her your name, "It's a pleasure to meet a friend of my Star,"

Eleanor looks a bit taken aback, staring blankly at the two of you, clearly not expecting this change in her plans. You're internally preening. She takes your hand in a limp shake before dropping it and stepping back. Eleanor quickly wipes her hand on her dress slyly and chuckles.

"That explains why I haven't seen you in a while."

You sneer at her, wanting nothing more than to punch her. Instead, you drop your hand onto Astarion's chest, nuzzling warmly into his side. "Yes, sorry about that. I've been a bit selfish. Sometimes it hard to get out of bed."

"Right…" Eleanor says. Astarion, I never took you as one to settle down, especially someone as… unique as them."

"What is that supposed to mean?" The venom drips from your words, and Astarion has to keep you in place.

Eleanor smirks. "Oh, I meant nothing bad." The mocking tone alone reinforces that she meant this to be as insulting as possible. "I'm just stating you're rougher around the edges."

Astarion's hold on your waist tightens as you move to step forward, hand reaching for the dagger discreetly hidden against your thigh. There is no possible way this woman values Astarion in any way more than as a body to conquer. That thought alone has you practically baring your teeth.

"What the fuck does that mean!"

Astarion steps in before you can do anything extreme, "Eleanor, it was lovely seeing you again. We'll have to come and visit sometime for a drink, but I'm afraid my love and I must make our leave."

"Oh yes, of course!" Elenor says, her voice a bit too filled with fake cheer. Her smile is strained, and her eyes stare daggers into your skull. "I hope I can see you at the tavern sometime soon."

"Yes, we'll come down for a visit sometime soon. " Astarion calls over his shoulder, practically dragging you down the cobblestone. You think about ripping your arm out of his hold and turning back, but you let him pull you along with only a death glare sent toward Eleanor.

As soon as the two of you are in a secluded place, Astarion drops your hand and turns on you. "Darling, what was that?"

Picking at your nails, you shrug your shoulders. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Astarion takes your hand and, with a finger, tilts your chin to force you to meet his eyes. He has a shit-eating grin, and his fangs are even more prominent in his smile. "You were jealous."

Swatting his hands away, you step back. "I was not!" You lie and storm down the alleyway. You didn't get far before Astarion caught your wrist and spun you into his chest.

"You were jealous." He repeats. "But you really shouldn't be."

"She was all over you."

"It was a hug, my dear, from probably the closest normal friendship I had before the tadpole."

"Friendship? She was practically begging you to fuck her." You huff, fiddling with the lapels of Astarion's shirt.

Astarion chuckles deeply and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Gods, you're cute when you're jealous."

"Don't make fun of me, Astarion."

Ignoring you, he continues. "For argument's sake, if she was begging me to fuck her, as you so eloquently put it, who cares? I certainly don't, not when I have this beautiful, strong, incredibly understanding partner who knows all the darkest parts of me and still stands by my side?"

"Well, I am pretty noble for putting up with you when you're hungry." You smile, looping your arms around his neck, all jealousy draining from you like water from a colander.

"How could another soul handle me in that horrid state." Astarion runs his nose against yours. "I love you and don't plan on stopping soon."

You beam and kiss him breathlessly before mumbling, "I love you too," against his lips. "I think we should head back to our room."

Astarion chuckles under his breath, running his hands down the curve of your spine. "Oh, what for my sweet?"

"Well," Crawling your fingers up his chest, you press your lips to his ear and whisper. "If you'll let me, I want to mark every inch of your neck." "Mark me as yours, darling?" Astarion hums.

"Mhmm, we could go further, but" you continue. "Tonight, I want you to show me this tavern Eleanor owns. I think we deserve a date night."

"You are jealous."

"If I agree, will you take me out?" You lean in for a kiss.

Astarion presses forward, brushing his lips against yours. "As long as I have a necklace of your pretty love bites."

"Then yes, my love, I am very much jealous."

I've been struggling with inspiration lately. Moving was super stressful and I had to leave a hostile work environment very quickly so life's been a bit messy. But I've got my kitty cat and don't have to deal with a shitty boss so hopefully things will go up from here.

I'm kinda iffy on how I feel on this one but that might just be my current mindset. I hope you all enjoy it regardless, and stay tune because I plan on have something spicier posted soonish...possibly Astarion discovering his breeding kink 🫣❤️

Taglist: @heartfully10@ayselluna@marina-and-the-memes@anixson@canonicalchaoticneutral @toadsbitch @meulinkitten-blog @ambr4armr @lotusandcrystals @venussakura @synapticjive @skittleabyss@asterordinary@lariatbunny @whispering-depths@butchboi-chihuahua-slumlord@darkest-part-of-the-forest@queenofcarrotflowers-s@sessils @d20bunny@cherifrog@ophelia-ophelian@bgthree@darlingxdragon@mothynyx @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf@babyqnn @mmendez0124@kokoyu-art@lilah-asteria

Want to be added to the taglist? DM me please!

[yandere-sins]

Hello! Another bg3 fan, your Ascendent!Astarion fic was delicious. I saw you mention yandere gale, and omg I'm losing my mind at the idea.

Man literally fell in love with a God, and yet somehow he found someone even more perfect.

Imagine being locked in the tower with him, resigned to your fate, and instead trying to play to his kind side. You'd rather he cast spells for minor things, like the sparkle light trick, rather than return to 24/7 Hold Person.

The man is a Archmage, I'm sure he would know a way to freeze you in place until you had agreed to behave.

I'm looking forward when/if you decide to follow through writing about him!!

Best wishes

-🌟

Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed the Astarion fic, and thank you for giving me a small idea for some Gale ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Gale didn't look up from his book until the moment he felt your hand reach out to the little sparks he sent from his fingertips over the armrest of his reading chair for you.

Turning his head away from the pages to look at your sprawled-out form on the floor next to his chair, he watched as you tried to reach for them, always just a second too late before they disappeared. Even if you caught one, they wouldn't have done you any harm, but he knew that his magic amused you, albeit just for a while. Still, he watched in awe as you passed your hand through the illusions, leaving glittering tails of magic in the air, the sight of you mesmerizing him.

You had been awfully silent while he was reading, the comfy lounge chair across from him empty as you decided to spend your time on the wooden floor instead. It was a comfort thing you once explained, although he didn't understand why you needed to hide between amenities and piles of books to feel comfortable at that moment. You two had long passed the stage of getting hurt by each other's words and one or the other lashing out, Gale's punishments sometimes sending you into a flight instinct that could only be resolved by hiding somewhere in his tower.

Yet, knowing you stayed by his side despite feeling like you needed to hide yourself, gratification went through every inch of his body.

Life was peaceful now. He got to love you, got to care for you. Even if you didn't reciprocate his feelings unconditionally, he had learned to live with your compliancy. It was so much better than your anger and outbursts. All the days spent crying and throwing things against each other, with you inevitably ending up in a holding spell or hurt and desperate, were over, and Gale never wanted to return to them.

Closing his book, Gale leaned over the armrest of his reading chair, resting his head on his arms and watching you lay there silently and expressionless, with only your eyes moving to meet his. Even this small gesture reminded him of why he loved you so much. He loved every second he got to spend with you locked in this tower. Every minuscule day that passed was filled with euphorical love. Every spell he showcased to you, every moment of intimacy and affection you two had was ingrained in his memory. There was no one Gale would ever love again like he did you. It was sheer impossible to ever feel the same heart-wrenching, downright sickening amount of affection he felt looking at you with anyone else.

You wouldn't leave him. You'd always be waiting for him, no matter what, never letting him down or abandoning him. Even if it wasn't willingly, you'd stay here with him until the end of both of your times. Even then, Gale hoped the gods would give him a boon for his devotion and unite you even in the afterlife.

"You're beautiful," he mused, eyes twinkling with affection. Yours had long lost their spark, but knowing you were alive was enough for him. "I love you so much."

"Do it again," you asked, ignoring his comment and pointing your index at his hand. "The sparks."

Unlatching his arm from under his head, Gale hovered it in front of you, summoning back the sparkles. Their flashing colors reflected so beautifully in your emotionless eyes that it almost made him tear up. You almost looked like you had before he took you with him to this tower and locked you up for his own selfish reasons. It reminded him of how he fell in love with you, which only made his heart swell more.

You reached up to inspect his hand, softly touching him like a cat, pawing at a toy, as you tried to see where the sparks came from and find out how he did the magic that eluded you. Gale would have loved to teach you all he knew about the magic he loved nearly as much as he did you if you weren't at risk of using it to hurt yourself or him. His dream was to join you in your magic, connecting to you on a level much deeper than just his love for you. But for now, he'd content himself with the feeling of your touch against his fingertips, every one of them making his heart jump and other parts of him uncomfortably tight as his mind raced with thoughts.

It's been too long since you touched him, your affection so sparse and selective. Who could blame Gale for being excited like a little boy on his birthday when you shared some of it with him?

"Mind if I join you down there?" he asked, his voice cracking as he tried not to sound too needy. You stiffened, your explorations stopping abruptly. Your gaze shot up to his face, and your expression twisted into disgust, seeing the light blush around his cheeks. You didn't want him to join you.

It wasn't a question, though.

You shrieked pitifully as you tried to get away, noticing the changes in him just a second too late. Towers of books collapsed around you, undoubtedly bruising you where they hit, but at the end of the day, he was the hunter and you the prey, and the years had worn you down, so your advantages against him had diminished. Gale had always taken what he wanted. Right after the fight against the mind flayers ended, he swore he wouldn't let anyone else but himself dictate his life ever again, and that included you.

Even when you shivered, trying to worm yourself out of his grip as he pinned you down, fear and disgust wretching your beautiful face into a grimace, everything about you screaming that you were unwilling to comply with his lust and desire, Gale simply had to have you. He'd never have enough of his curious little kitten, the one so easily amused by low-level spells that he'd produce for you all day long if they made you stay by his side. He'd never tire of your touch or the memories of your body against his, and it was time to make more of them, lasting him even on the days you didn't love him at all. Memories that would break you down if they had to, as long as it meant he would get what he wanted.

And what Gale always wanted was simple—you.

So as he smiled down at you, his eyes filled with the madness of a lonely wizard while his lips quivered in anticipation of a kiss, his grip only tightened, and the word that you hated the most escaped him before Gale could even realize what he was doing to you.

"Hold."

[moonselune]

Eyooo was wandering if u could do the ladies reacting to a gn Tav using their entire body to shield the women from a fireball blast? Like they hear the spellcaster going for it and they just engulf the ladies in what is essentially a bear hug that fully covers the ladies so they don't get affected by the blast please?

Icl all I thought about whilst writing this was the Sean Paul 'Fireball' song, hence why this came out less angsty lmao

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

The battlefield was chaos, a cacophony of clashing steel and arcane energy. Amidst the fray, you spotted the enemy spellcaster, their hands already weaving the intricate patterns of a fireball spell. Your heart lurched as you realized the blast was aimed directly at Karlach, her back turned as she fought off a group of gnolls.

Without a second thought, you surged forward, throwing yourself between Karlach and the impending explosion. Wrapping her in a tight embrace, you used your entire body to shield her from the blast, feeling the heat and force of the fireball scorch your back. The pain was immediate and intense, but you held on, determined to protect her.

As the fireball dissipated, you slumped to the ground, your body charred and smoking. Karlach spun around, her eyes wide with horror and fury.

"Are you out of your mind?" she roared, her voice a mix of anger and concern. "I’m literally fire resistant, you idiot! I'm basically on fire 24/7. Why did you do that?"

You managed a weak smile, your voice barely a whisper. "Couldn't risk it… didn't want you to get hurt."

Karlach knelt beside you, her hands shaking as she tried to assess your injuries. "You're a damn fool," she muttered, her tone softening as she saw the extent of your burns. "But you're my damn fool."

Shadowheart arrived, her face set in a mask of concentration as she began to cast healing spells. Karlach stayed by your side, her anger giving way to a fierce protectiveness.

"You're not doing that again, you hear me?" Karlach said, her voice choked with emotion. "You can't keep risking yourself like this."

Despite the pain, you reached up to touch her cheek. "I'll always protect you, Karlach. Always."

Her eyes softened, and she leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "And I'll always protect you, too. So no more heroics, okay?"

You nodded weakly, comforted by her presence and the knowledge that, and despite your recklessness, Karlach would always be there for you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The din of battle was deafening, and amidst the chaos, you heard the ominous chanting of a fireball spell. Your heart raced as you saw it aimed straight at Minthara. Without hesitation, you sprinted towards her, your body moving on instinct.

"Get down!" you shouted, throwing yourself around her in a protective bear hug.

"What are you—" Minthara began, but her words were cut off as the fireball erupted against your back.

The intense heat seared your flesh, the pain nearly unbearable. You grit your teeth, holding Minthara tightly to shield her from the worst of the blast. The flames licked around you, but you refused to let go until the fire had passed.

When the magic finally dissipated, you crumpled to the ground, your body charred and smoking. Minthara immediately knelt beside you, her eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and worry.

"You fool!" she snapped, her voice trembling. "There was no need for this. I could have taken the hit."

You coughed weakly, managing a small, pained smile. "Couldn't risk it," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Had to protect you."

Minthara's expression softened ever so slightly, but she still looked furious. "You reckless idiot," she muttered, her hands moving to cast a healing spell over you. Divine energy flowed from her fingers, mending your burnt flesh and easing your pain.

As she worked, Minthara glanced over her shoulder and barked, "Shadowheart, tend to Gale. He's likely to get himself killed without supervision."

Shadowheart nodded and moved to attend to Gale, leaving Minthara to focus on you. She continued to channel healing energy, her touch surprisingly gentle.

"You should not have done that," Minthara said quietly, her anger giving way to a more vulnerable tone. "Your life is just as important as mine."

You reached up, your hand trembling, to touch her cheek. "I couldn't let anything happen to you," you murmured. "Not while I could still do something about it."

Minthara sighed, her eyes closing briefly as she leaned into your touch. "You are a stubborn one," she said softly. "But I suppose I cannot fault you for your loyalty."

She finished her healing spell, the light fading as she helped you sit up. "Just promise me you won't throw yourself into danger so recklessly again," she said, her eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of sternness and concern.

"I'll try," you said, knowing full well that it was a promise easier said than done. Minthara shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"You're impossible," she murmured, but there was a warmth in her gaze as she helped you to your feet.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

The battlefield was a chaotic clashing of weapons and arcane spells. Amidst it all, you fought alongside Lae'zel, your heart pounding with the rhythm of combat. Suddenly, a sinister voice rang out from the enemy ranks, casting a familiar and dreaded incantation. Ignis.

Your instincts took over. You saw the spellcaster hurling a bead of intense flame towards your group, its trajectory set to engulf Lae'zel. Without a second thought, you lunged towards her, wrapping your arms around her in a protective embrace. Your larger frame enveloped hers completely, creating a shield with your body.

The explosion was deafening. Heat seared through your clothes, burning your skin, but you held firm, refusing to let go. The pain was a distant sensation compared to your determination to protect Lae'zel. When the flames finally dissipated, you collapsed to the ground, smoke rising from your charred body.Lae'zel disentangled herself from your embrace, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and fury.

"Why did you do that, you fool?" she demanded, her voice trembling despite its harshness. "I am a warrior, stronger and more resilient than you. Sacrificing yourself was unnecessary!"

You managed a weak smile, your voice raspy from the pain. "Lae'zel, I love you… but you need to shut up and go get Shadowheart. Now."

For a moment, she seemed to struggle with her emotions, her grip tightening on her weapon. Then, with a frustrated growl, she nodded and sprinted towards the camp.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

The battle was fierce, with spells and steel clashing in a chaotic dance of death. You and Shadowheart were in the thick of it, fighting side by side against a band of ruthless mercenaries. The enemy, seeing the tide turning against them, began chanting the incantation for a fireball, the air around him crackling with arcane energy.

You heard the familiar and dreaded sound of the spell being prepared and saw the fiery orb forming in the enemy's hands. Your eyes darted to Shadowheart, who was focused on healing an injured companion, her back turned to the imminent danger.

Without a second thought, you launched yourself towards her, engulfing her in a protective embrace. Your arms wrapped around her tightly, and you spun around, placing your body between her and the incoming fireball. The moment seemed to stretch into an eternity as the world around you slowed down.

"What are you—" Shadowheart started to protest, but her words were cut off by the deafening roar of the explosion.

The fireball hit, and the searing heat and force of the blast tore through you. Pain unlike anything you had ever felt surged through your body, but you held on, using every ounce of your strength to shield Shadowheart from the brunt of the attack. The flames licked at your skin, burning and blistering, but you refused to let go. Your only thought was to keep her safe.

When the flames finally subsided, you collapsed to the ground, your body charred and smoking. Shadowheart, unharmed but wide-eyed with shock, immediately pushed herself up and turned to you.

“Y/N!” she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of anger and worry. “What were you thinking? That was so stupid, you idiot!”

You managed a pained smile, your voice weak but filled with determination. “There was no sense in the healer getting hurt,” you croaked. “We need you to keep everyone else alive.”

Shadowheart’s expression softened, though her eyes still blazed with a mix of emotions. She knelt beside you, her hands already glowing with the healing magic of Selûne. “You reckless fool,” she muttered, but there was a tenderness in her tone. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” you replied, wincing as the healing energy began to mend your burns. “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

Her hands moved over your wounds, the light of her healing magic soothing the pain and repairing the damage. She worked quickly and efficiently, but her touch was gentle, almost reverent. “Next time, let me handle the danger,” she scolded, though her voice was soft. “You’re too important to risk like that.”

“I’ll try,” you said with a faint smile, feeling the pain ebb away as her magic did its work. “But no promises. I’d do anything to protect you.”

Shadowheart sighed, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You’re impossible,” she murmured, finishing her healing spell. She leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “But I suppose that’s one of the reasons I love you.”

“I love you too, Shadowheart,” you whispered. You reached up, your fingers lightly brushing her cheek, then with a final surge of healing energy, she restored your strength, the burns on your skin fading away.

“There,” she said, helping you to your feet. “Try not to get yourself killed, alright?”

“I’ll do my best,”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

The skirmish was intense, the air thick with the scent of ozone and blood. You fought side by side with Jaheira, her movements a graceful dance of deadly precision. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw an enemy mage chanting, his hands weaving an ominous pattern in the air. One you recognised as 'Fireball'.

Your heart lurched. You knew the spell well and its devastating potential. Without hesitation, you threw yourself towards Jaheira, wrapping her in a bear hug that used your body as a shield. The world exploded in a torrent of flame, pain scorching every nerve ending as you took the full brunt of the blast.

When the flames subsided, you fell to the ground, your body smoking and charred. Jaheira gently extricated herself from your grip, her eyes filled with concern and something deeper.

"Why?" she asked softly, kneeling beside you. "Why would you take such a risk?"

You managed a pained chuckle, wincing at the effort. "Because, Jaheira, your ancient bones are just too flammable."

A spark of amusement flickered in her eyes, though it was tempered by worry. "If you weren't already burnt to a crisp, I would hit you."

You smiled weakly. "Just get Shadowheart. I might not be able to take another one of those for your brittle bones,"

Jaheira squeezed your hand briefly, her expression softening with tenderness. "Stay strong, my dearest," she murmured, before hurrying off to find Shadowheart.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

What do we think about adding Jaheira to the main roster of BG3 ladies, pls lmk because I may start adding her - Seluney xox

[galesdevoteewife]

Let’s talk about Mystra

Hello everyone, I wanted to talk about Mystra👋🔮

As much of a crazy lover as I am for my fictional wizard, the more lore research I do, the more I feel like Mystra deserves some love too. This goddess lives a cursed life. I know I know she asked Gale to kill himself, but bear with me; here are my arguments:

A bit history of Mystra

There’re 3 Mystra: Mystryl -> Mystra (Elminster’s Mystra) -> Mystra (Midnight)

In short, Mystryl is the fourth deity in the universe, composed of Shar & Selûne’s essence. She is one of the primal existences while the universe is still new and trying to settle down, a significant component of the universe itself. While Mystryl’s spirit was born naturally, Mystra and Midnight were both once mortal and raised by AO to inherit Mystryl’s power.

Is Mystra bad?

Midnight, “Mystra 3rd ” is who we met in BG3. She was a human magic user born in 1332 DR. Midnight was aiding Mystra 2nd at the time of troubles. She’s a kind-hearted and humble woman who ascended in 1358 DR. She didn’t want godhood at all; she only did it to counter Cyric, the bad guy.

From comic book Avatar (1991)

For decades, she even tried to allow only the good use of magic, later learning her duty and place as the guardian of balance and impartial arbiter of the Weave; no matter how Midnight feels or hopes things could have been. She was only 26 when she had to wave goodbye to everyone she knew, shouldering the 24/7 goddess duty. It’s true that she will inherit other Mystra’s memory, but personality-wise she is only 160 years old; even Halsin is older than her. (Not to mention she spent 94 years in dormant)

Note[1]: Later on all the Mystra mentioned I will be talking about Midnight

Note[2]: Dec17/2023 I will come back and edit this section; it's misleading according to Ed Greenwood's tweet. The current Mystra is likely a blend of all three Mystras with an unspecified proportion. I will provide details on the stories and deeds of the other Mystras.

Being Mystra sucks. Truly.

Imagine your body is just a thing lying on the street; anyone can command you to dance for them so long as they know the right spell. While you CAN reject it, you are NOT ALLOWED to.

What’s worse is that too many mortals and too many gods want the Weave, but it’s not something that she can “give”. Like no one can give away their body to someone else. She IS the Weave; I think of it as the Weave being the cells that compose her. Whoever wants to take it away will have to separate her mind and “body” by:

killing her and inherit the Weave, where all the attempters failed step 2, then only resulted in a broken/Weaveless crisis

or completely manipulating her mind, which is the option no one ever considers; they all go straight to killing her

Whenever DnD wants to change the rules, they kill Mystra.

Shar wants the Weave, Bane wants it, countless mortals want it too. According to the conversation between Gale and Lorroakan, it’s almost a common conversation trying to dethrone the goddess and take the power for themselves.

And no one is there to protect Mystra; she fights alone. Although she has a good relationship with gods like Selûne or Azuth, nobody lent a hand when she was murdered. She relies on her chosens and her own power.

On top of defending herself, aka protecting the Weave, another important duty is to maintain the Weave. Whenever a spell is cast, it damages the Weave, and she is the one to patch the holes. The more powerful the spell is, the bigger damage it will cause. That’s why her dogma includes “Use the Art deftly and efficiently, not carelessly and recklessly.” She also needs to keep an eye out for possible upcoming threats. A tough and tedious job, and no holidays for the goddess.

It might sound a bit twisted, but she is taking care of the world by taking care of herself. Anything happening to her means catastrophe for the world. (e.g., Spellplague, where magic caused mutations to the users, see wiki here)

But she asked Gale to explode himself!

Yes, and she also promised Elysium once he’s dead. There is actually a thorough afterlife setting in the Forgotten Realms DnD setting. In short, a spirit doesn’t perish when a mortal dies; it would be drawn to the Fugue Plane and wait for the god they prayed to in life to send a servant to take them to their heaven.

It’s a terrible fate for the faithless or false spirits, those who either defy their gods or never choose one. They are forever punished in this grim plane and even become part of the Wall of the Faithless.

Fugue Plane and Wall of the Faithless: those are spirits piling up into a wall

In Mystra’s case, her heaven is Elysium, judging by the name, you can already tell it’s likely a heavenly place. Significantly better than the Fugue Plane, that’s for sure.

It’s a fixed truth that all will die someday, and Gale’s afterlife options are:

Defy Mystra: When he dies, he will be forever punished as a false in the Fugue Plane. Not to mention Kelemvor, Lord of the Dead, is also Midnight Mystra’s former(?) lover, and he detests cowardice.

Defy Mystra and try to gain favor from another god: I think this will mean changing class and profession for him, as a wizard he is tied to Mystra after all.

Serve Mystra and be taken to Elysium: And who knows, since he is chosen of Mystra, she might even revive him someday. Mystra 2nd did that for her other chosen before. Note: Interesting reading about how her chosen become weaveghost after death, see wiki here.

Obtain godhood: When the god Gale dies, he will go through a completely different process.

An interesting thought here is whether Gale knows about all these. It will largely define what his true colors are. It wouldn’t make sense if he is completely ignorant of afterlife logic, though. His background is an experienced wizard (probably studied some necromancy), goddess ex, and apparently visited heavens before.

Is Mystra power-thirsty?

I wouldn’t say so. She is already OP, and AO asked her to nerf herself by sharing and storing power in her chosens. Even if she were to gain more power, she is not allowed to keep it.

She wants the Shadow Weave

She sees Shar’s secret creation, the Shadow Weave, as a threat and aims to eventually subsume it into her portfolio, even if that means sacrificing her last remaining goodness and humanity.

From the DnD book “Faith & Pantheons”

We see how Shar is using her Shadow Weave in the cursed land, and it's safe to say it's not an ideal living environment for most beings. Shar has been very keen to kill Mystra and take over her power; I don’t think the world would be a better place in her hands than in Mystra’s.

She wants the Karsite Weave

The same logic could apply to the Karsite Weave. While we can argue whether Gale has a good heart and can be trusted with godlike power, he did show some concerning traits, did he not? Maybe in the future, when he is wiser and calmer, that's how I read Mystra’s line when she tells him to be patient.

Why doesn’t she just cure him since she can?

This is 100% headcanon. I think Mystra as a goddess is able to foresee some future. In Elminster’s story series, Mystra 2nd often asked him to do things that seemed irrelevant but were actually needed in the future. In Gale’s case, could it be that’s what Midnight meant to do? To mentor and humble him? Even prepare him to go through this journey? (Hardly imagine the prime archmage Gale joining our little merry band, and Elminster did say, “Mystra was anything but idle- she chose you as her champion.” What could that means?)

Gale has a curve where he goes from being “irked by untalented apprentices” to “enjoying teaching a lot” if not using the crown. He could have been relying on magic too much, and his ego or pursuit of power had led him astray from his good nature. If you look from this perspective, offering to use the orb before the final battle could be him still having doubts about the team's ability and having more faith in magic aka his own power (mixed with his deep love for everyone that he'd rather die than see their lives wasted, of course).

She is a terrible lover, and she doesn't care about Gale at all

According to patch 5, how time feels in the outer plane is very different from the material plane. God Gale came back in 6 months, and he seems not aware that it has been months. With this logic and putting myself in Mystra's shoes, she got mad because Gale recklessly activated a magical nuclear bomb and ignored him for a couple of weeks.(~1 year in the mortal world) When they meet again, this grumpy jumpy bean is thinking of the possibility of killing her for her powers already. Excuse me???

I will say there could be more considerate ways to handle this subject other than asking him to bomb himself. This long-distance cross-race romance was very problematic, but I will reserve my opinion on how much love she holds for Gale. Probably not seeing him as an equal partner, of course, but drawing the conclusion that she doesn't care a tad about his well-being might be too hasty, in my opinion.

A screenshot of Mystra telling Gale that she wasn't the one who took his gifts away from him. That's not an expression of 0 sympathy to me. I've never seen her make this face except for this line.

*UPDATE on Dec 11/2023* Add a tweet from Ed Greenwood, the creator of the Forgotten Realms. Ref: X

*UPDATE on Jan 11/2024* • Add a screenshots during Gale's meeting with her • Add a note on DnD weaveghost setting *UPDATE on Apr 15/2024* • An great analysis of Gale & Mystra's relationship and Mystra's behavior logic

-DISCLAIMER- I am very new to the DnD world, but these are what I dug up and puzzled together. I could be very, very wrong, but please be kind; I did all this out of love for my wizard 💜💜💜

[bl3ss3dbyt1amat]

misc bg3 companion hc

this is so much. i have no idea and im also sorry. all of the origin companions included under the cut

astarion:

i feel like he claps funny. like hes clapping but its that specific way thats meant to be like quieter? like clapping on the palm of his hand. this might be projection but i feel like hes also the type of person to do like a little clap or a spin or his trademark ridiculous giggle whenever hes happy.

i think that hes prone to dramatics like. like pretending to fall on the floor and die if you say hes actually not on your mind 24/7. oh whats that? you dont think im the prettiest princess in the entire world? well astarion has dramatically fallen to the floor

in the early game astarion most definitely practiced his lines loudly and publicly (in camp). he cant even see himself in the mirror but hes trying to look all suave and being like "shall i compare thee to a summers night" while lae'zel and shadowheart both shout "NO" from across the camp. (can be interpreted as bloodiedblade/wyllstarion but i think wyll would be amused and even finish the quote).

wyll:

this man is probably good with basic medicines and ill die on this hill. hes got aloe vera type shit on him at all times. sure, hes not a cleric or healer or even a bard, but he'll stay with you and try his damned best to cheer you up when youre hurt or sick.

on a related note i feel like wyll would be absolutely DELIGHTED by a bard tav. he would just be so amused and filled with whimsy. never gonna complain about playing, even if its like 2am. just occasionally putting in song requests. hes so incredibly enthusiastic like spinning tav around like "THAT WAS BRILLIANT!!!"

wyll probably keeps houseplants. (minor blazingblade but i feel like karlach would accidentally kill one of the plants and actually begin weeping. once she gets her engine fixed wyll tries to teach her how to garden. this goes weirdly) furthermore i think he like goes around his house like humming merrily and watering his plants and crap

gale:

i dont think hes coordinated at all. like this man is tripping down the stairs on a daily basis. he is dropping his tea, his book, his body, ect. to the point that hes got a habit of just hugging the railing for dear life every time he has to go down a staircase. this made traversing shit like the underdark actually literally horrible. every time he falls karlach is so overly concerned and probably offers to carry him. astarion, to everyones dismay, dies laughing each and every time

pretty sure wyll and shadowheart have a conversation about weird book porn. i am here to say that gale was holding back his power while that conversation happened. gale has read so much book porn and if you knew the real scale of it you would be concerned. tara is concerned at least.

shadowheart:

especially during early game, i feel like shadowheart was literally clenching so hard to avoid admitting cute things were cute. like "oh.. a stray mutt... charming I MEAN IN LIKE A GROSS WAY". she was trying to hard to be all scary and into shar and shit but she just really likes puppies and other animals and crap

if she were modern i feel like she would really like pixar movies (inside out comes to mind for reasons i cannot explain) and wear long jean skirts. i cant explain any of this but it is fact in my mind. even in the bg3 setting i do feel like she would wear very long boxy type skirts. sort of plays into her whole "dark priestess" sort of vibe

shadowheart was sitting in her tent with scissors fucking losing her shit with anxiety trying to cut her own bangs without a mirror. it is a literal miracle from selune that they dont look like complete and total shit. no wonder halsin was surprised. (minor silverheart/shadow'zel: when she first like actually properly noticed what shaodwheart did with her hair, since the initial joke is she cant tell what changed, i think lae'zel was very impressed. she even likened it to like a sort of war paint against shar. also we KNOW lae'zel likes silver)

(can be interpreted as bladeheart/,,, do wyll and shadowheart have a ship name yet? HM. well anyway i think that in conjunction with the previous headcanon about wyll gardening, he and shadowheart garden together and he specially grew her night orchids)

lae'zel:

ever since i looked at her stupid little mindflayer training dummie in camp ive had the image of her in my head very angrily and intensly carving up a turnip to look like a mindflayer. draws a little mean face on it like the worlds most violent six year old. every time she messes up on her little DIY project shes muttering curses in tir'su.

lae'zel will take any opportunity to infodump about githyanki culture. specifically red dragons. if she met a red dragonborn or even maybe a follower of tiamat or some shit she would be so hype. in her "i hate everyone SVAH" way ofc. but like. trying to casually slide trivia into battle conversation or party banter with all the subtlety of an owlbear. "yes... the battle preparations are proceeding as expected... as expected a red dragons hibernation cycle..." and everyone just has to turn their head and ask what the fuck shes talking abt

(can be thought of as silverweave: lae'zel and gale talk in draconic about dragon history and the celestial plane. hes so tickled to have a mutual interest with lae'zel)

no one hears lae'zel laugh but when they do its so weird. like its some weird like hissing sort of sound and everyone has to do a double take and make sure theyre understanding what the fuck is going on for a second. lae'zel is incredibly defensive when people notice it but theyre not trying to be mean

karlach:

before her engine gets fixed but like early on to where shes not used to it, karlach keeps trying to touch things and keeps breaking them. this fills her with genuine despair and she will start crying (everyone in camp has to go on a group effort to calm her down). she just thinks the world is so beautiful and is so sad she cant interact with it

she likes to dance but in like a boot stompin way. karlach is probably just an absolute party animal when she gets her freedom back because honestly in her situation who wouldnt be. SHE JUST GOT TO NOT BE ON FIRE LET THE GIRL PARTY

once shes been fixed to the point where she can touch people, she just never stops. manhandling everyone in the party constantly. oh whats that? tav is on low health? dont worry karlach is sprinting over to put tav on her shoulder. literally any problem can be solved by karlach hugs and i wont be taking feedback on this

[thegreenthepeacetheorange]

Everlark (The Hunger Games, Ch. 23)

katniss hoping the camera doesn't pick up her blush at peeta saying "best thing that ever happened to you." peeta is such a flirt. like he couldn't talk to her for 11 years and you'd think he'd fumble at this stage but nope, the man is on fire

while she's in the sleeping bag she's sharing with peeta, with her head on his shoulders and his arms around her, katniss thinks: oh haymitch probably wants me to keep up the act, i better do something lol

"i noticed just about every girl but none of them made a lasting impression but you" i cannot

when they find out thresh has died, and katniss goes to sleep with her hood over her face to hide her emotions, she says that during this time, she silently says goodbye to thresh and thanks him for her life, she promises to remember him and do something for his and rue's families if she can and i think it's so beautiful that during the victory tour in catching fire, peeta essentially does this with no prompting. he remembers them and pledges to help them on his own accord. and no wonder katniss loves him for it. he is just a wonderful person and he is so in tune with her.

katniss is comforted by peeta's steady warmth

right before katniss says that she's never going to marry or have children because of the games, she thinks of haymitch, living alone, without a wife or children, drunk most of the time, and says she doesn't want to end up like that. so deep down, she wants a family, she wants companionship (for all those people who think she should've been alone at the end of mockingjay)

and then again we have her watching peeta as he sleeps and wondering what he/they will be like when they return home. she admits that she feels like he is actually in love with her and not just pretending.

"he will always be the boy with the bread". - he won't just be a friend because he's the boy with the bread and that is a lot more to katniss. when she thinks of anything beyond friendship with peeta, she feels like gale is watching over her which is very interesting. (would love to hear your thoughts on why because i'm still trying to understand how katniss's mind works). in my head, i feel like she saw gale as her obvious future partner just because of the nature of their relationship but now she's imagining things "beyond" friendship with this other boy peeta and it's conflicting for her. this want of hers for peeta (which turns into a need) that now disrupts what she thinks was a normal necessity in her life.

them and their constant long kisses and absentminded kisses. which katniss doesn't try to stop. like she just accepts them (and i believe participates in them) with no particular thoughts. she just casually mentions they're kissing every few sentences. like girl. i can't believe they gave us extra non-existent gale kisses in the movies but didn't give us the 24/7 smoochathon these two were having in that cave.

the ease with which they touch each other. the way katniss covers his mouth with her hands without thought. the way peeta makes her genuinely laugh while they're stuck in this nightmare

when they're out hunting and she thinks she's lost peeta/he's dead, she's actually completely irrational. her desperation and fear comes out as anger and snappiness but her thought process is irrational. she's so worried about peeta dying that she doesn't stop to think that she would've heard a cannon/seen his body be collected if he was dead by now.

she's so worried by the thought of peeta dying that she is trembling. i really think that after all their days and nights in the cave over the last few chapters, she has developed real love for him. the kind where the thought of him not being with her/in her life would cause her to seriously grieve. not in a oh that was the boy from my district way or oh that was the boy who helped me way or like the other tribute deaths - no, this is peeta and she wouldn't come back from his death.

it's funny that a lot of the time when she's confused about her feelings, it means poor peeta is dealing with her anger. like her throwing a strop and acting like she doesn't want the food he's found or picking at him for eating without her even though she doesn't care. she's so petty.

[monsterlimbs]

Stinky little idiots <3

I cannot stop writing these two together. I love them. HATE Gortash but love him with durge.

RAMBLE AHEAD!! Also maybe spoilers??? I realized the format didn't work properly so I edited out all the spoilers I believe, but just in case, if you don't like spoilers, scroll SUPER fast. I doubt anyone will read it all because it is VERY long but I just really needed to get it out somewhere and if someone does read my ramble even just a little bit of it, heads-up for spoilers and shit grammar pfft!!

This is part of something I drew because I have in mind for an AU where Mordriel wakes up in the ship, thinking of Gortash. In my "canon" story for him, he sees Gortash in his visions when something reminds him of his background, but for this AU, Gortash isn't just passing visions here and there, with no name only face and vibes, he's in Mordriel's mind 24/7 essentially. Along with Gortash being his first though, he never met Neil (his sister) again after losing his memories, which means he never saw Neil care for Karlach, which meant he never even met Karlach or heard of how Gortash treated her, and because of this, never saw Gortash as a creepy little guy, only as his beautiful little lover. On top of that, without meeting Neil again, he falls into his deepest "dark urge-est" life. He only really had control because of Neil, because he was scared to hurt her again after his first transformation (even though partial), he lost full control and hurt her trying to protect her. So, without needing to be careful of hurting his little sister, he has no reason to hold back.

He also never caught feelings for Astarion because he knew he already had a lover waiting for him. Although, that didn't change his and Astarion's relationship very much because Mordriel treats his friends with just as much love and value as his lovers, just with less kissing sometimes. The only real change in the relationship relationship is that Mordriel didn't sleep with him at all. He still adores Astarion deeply, and takes care of him just as he takes care of Lae'zel and Gale and Shadowheart and all of the others he's taken in.

This drawing is kinda after their first reunion. In both his "canon" story and this AU, he goes to meet Gortash alone. Only in his regular story it's because he's worried of Gortash's explosive personality bleeding out towards his precious party members, and in this AU, he really just wants to see his boyfriend alone and be able to get all sappy and emotional without Astarion in the background scoffing at the sight of emotions. After they talk for a long while they go out to the woods together by Mordriel's request and have a ton of cuddles. And a little more, but it's way more emotionally driven than just being horny. It's so much more than being horny, it's seeing your lover in what feels like eternity, having only your own thoughts for solace when your lover had been your everything for the past fifteen years.

Another thing is that I just love him now?? I hate him but I love him?? I don't know, I'm a sucker for dramatic, over-the-top, evil little emo villains with big noses and sad eyes and smile lines. He reminds me of Lucio (from the arcana) in a way, because I LOVE Lucio in his route. He's my sad little sweet man and I'd kill for him. He's just a sad guy who needs some love and care, and someone to show him he's worth loving. But then in Muriel's route, just Lucio's name sets me off. Which is how I feel about Gortash

Okay I'm done :)

[amiserableseriesofevents]

Wherever you find love (it feels like Christmas)

24 Clegan Christmas drabbles for 24 days!

Prompt from here (but randomized)

[Day 1] [Day 2] [Day 3] [Day 4] [Day 5] [Day 6] [Day 7] [Day 8] [Day 9] [Day 10] [Day 11] [Day 12] [Day 13] [Day 14] [Day 15] [Day 16] [Day 17][Day 18] [Day 19] [Day 20] [Day 21] [Day 22]

[Read on AO3]

Day 23: Skiing

Modern AU, wc 1307

“Come work for the ski season,” Marge had told him. “It will be fun,” she’d added, like a fucking liar.

There’s nothing funny. It’s an absolute fucking nightmare.

From his experience Gale already knew people are prone to hurt themselves in the most idiot ways but apparently when you throw ice, winter sports, and alcohol in the mix the situation can only get much worse. He’s been here a week and he’s seen more contusions, set more shoulders back into place than he ever thought possible — and he’s gonna be here til New Year, he dreads to think what else is gonna happen.

Today it’s been calmer than usual, though. It’s two days before Christmas and he’s only had to check on a kid who slipped on the icy floor of the parking lot and fell face-first to the ground; he got away with just a little cut over his eyebrow that Gale assured him won’t scar, and a lollipop for his troubles. Now Gale’s just been filing paperwork for the past few hours, figuring people are more careful on the slopes today since Christmas is close and spending it in the sickbay with a concussion it’s not the best.

He should’ve known, it never pays to be optimistic.

A guy in full skiing attire, minus the skis, barges in, breathless. “We need a doctor!” He shouts and Gale flinches. With a defeated sigh he stands up from behind his table and walks to the guy, putting on his gloves. “I’m here sir, what seems to be the problem?”

The guy, a bit shorter than him and with a bright orange mirrored ski mask on his forehead, looks at him panicked like he has no idea why Gale’s talking to him. “No, not me! My friend, they’re taking him inside!” He says.

Who’s they? Gale barely has the time to think before three more guys barge in, two of them carrying the weight of the third between them. “I’m fine, guys, I’m perfectly fine!” The third guy keeps repeating but from the amount of blood smeared on his face Gale doesn’t think he really is; he gestures for the guy’s friends to sit him on a bed and goes to him.

“Sir, can you tell me your name?” He asks in his most professional voice, assessing the situation: the guy’s nose is bleeding profusely but it doesn’t seem broken, he’s pretty lucky. The worst seems to be his right shoulder, hanging at a very wrong angle.

“I’m Bucky,” the guy says. “What’s your name, doc?”

Gale ignores him. “Can you tell me what happened, Bucky? Did you hit your head when you fell?”

“I did not fell!” Bucky says, indignant. “I was minding my own business on the slopes when a fucking kid came barreling at me like a cannonball,” he adds, tries to wipe his bloodied nose with his right hand and hisses in pain when he can’t get to move it. “I dove out of the way so he wouldn’t get hurt, but I lost my balance.”

“He smacked his face in the snow,” one of his friends offers, panicked voice with a slight Chicago accent. “And then he rolled downhill for a bit. When he stood up there was blood everywhere and his shoulder was… like that.”

Gale hums, pouring some disinfectant on a cotton swab to carefully clean Bucky’s nose; the guy hisses again but stays still under Gale’s ministrations and he has to admit it, he’s pretty good looking without all the blood. Blue eyes wide with adrenaline, a slightly crooked nose that’s been broken before but today got lucky and only suffered a cut along its bridge, strong cheekbones and wavy dark hair peeking out of his beanie.

“The nose’s not broken, but the cut will probably scar,” Gale tells him apologetic. “I’ll relocate your shoulder now, ok? Take a deep breath,” he adds and it’s the only warning he gives Bucky before snapping the joint back into place. Bucky groans, then starts laughing like it’s being punched out of him. “Jeez, Buck, warn a lady first,” he says, voice a bit slurred all of a sudden and that worries Gale.

He finishes putting Bucky’s arm in a sling and picks up a penlights to shine it in his face, tells him to follow the light with his eyes and he obliges, docile like a dog waiting for treats. His pupils are still wide, eyes a bit unfocused but Gale thinks it’s for the pain, not for a concussion. Still, better be safe than sorry.

“I don’t think you have a concussion, Bucky,” he tells him. “But I’d still like to keep you here under observation until tomorrow morning, if it’s ok with you.”

“Stayin’ here with you all night Buck? Feels like I’m the luckiest guy alive,” Bucky shoots back.

“You are lucky,” Gale points out offering him a glass of water and some painkillers. “You only dislocated your shoulder and cut your nose, it could’ve been a lot worse. You need to be more careful on the snow, not only of yourself but of the others around you. You have no idea how many accidents I’ve seen since I started working here.”

“Must’ve been this,” he says cheerfully, fishing out of the pocket of his snowsuit a damp two dollars bill. “My lucky deuce.”

Gale gives him a polite smile in response, then turns to his friends. “You can come pick him up tomorrow morning, if there’s any problem before that I’ll need a number to call.”

“Here,” the third guy says, writing it on a piece of paper.

Bucky looks at him, wounded. “Johnny! Are you trying to steal the hot doctor from me? What about your boyfriend?” He laments and both Gale and the other guy, Johnny, blush fiercely. The other two laugh, and Chicago guy shakes his head. “Don’t worry Bucky, I’m not jealous.”

“I am!” Bucky protests again, and his friends take it as their clue to get out of Gale’s hair, waving goodbye to Bucky and telling him they’ll miss him on the slopes.

Once they’re alone, Bucky shoots him a lopsided grin. “Hey, handsome, you come here often?” He says with a wink and Gale knows it’s the adrenaline and the drugs but still he can’t help but snort.

“I kinda work here,” he indulges him. “How are you feeling? You need to tell me if your head starts hurting.”

“I might lie just to have those hands of yours on me once more, Buck,” Bucky continues, valiantly.

“Name’s not Buck, it’s Gale.”

Bucky looks outraged. “Nah, you don’t look like a Gale. You’re Buck the hot doc,” he says with another grin.

With a faint blush on his cheeks, Gale ducks his head. “Well, call me as you wish: as long as you don’t fake being sick just to get more attention,” he says and Bucky places his good hand on his heart like a good Boy Scout. He stays quiet for a while, leaving Gale to his paperwork, then his voice rises once again.

“Hey Buck? If I’m good and I don’t have a concussion come morning, can I have your number?”

“Why?”

“Mh, cause you’re hot? And I don’t think I’ll be able to ski again during this holiday so I might just stay alone in my hotel room, bored, and texting the hot doctor from the ski clinic might be a good way to fill my free time. Especially if the hot doctor is also bored in his clinic and needs a fun pastime.”

“Like what?”

Bucky smiles so wide it almost blinds Gale. “I can think of a few things I won’t need two fully functional arms for,” he offers.

This time Gale smiles back. “We’ll see,” he says; maybe he’ll have to thank Marge, after all.

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

Mature Rated Fics Masterlist (26)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / Part 14 / Part 15 / Part 16 / Part 17 / Part 18 / Part 19 / Part 20 / Part 21 / Part 22 / Part 23 / Part 24 / Part 25 /

Created: March 6th, 2024

Last Checked:------

"I Am My Beloved's..."-chele20035 (ao3) Summary: What happens when you run into your ex-boyfriend's bakery on a too wet Christmas Eve? 1968-annieoakley1 (ao3) Summary: This would have happened anyway. But it is always their choice, never just destiny. A series of snapshots as Peeta and Katniss find each other at certain points throughout history. Part 2- Katniss and Peeta in New York, 1968. 3rd Down-Court81981 (ff.net) Summary: Modern AU. She swore she didn't date athletes. Then she met Peeta Mellark. A Brief Madness-ashyblondwaves (ao3) Summary: Mr. and Mrs. Mellark fought for hours that night. It was a screaming match that Peeta was sure the entire town could hear. “Seam Brat” and “trash” were shouted countless times, causing Peeta to cringe every time his mother’s shrill voice uttered those awful words, and by the end of the night, only one thing was clear — Gale Hawthorne was coming to work at the Mellark’s Bakery. In Panem AU. A Clockwork Orange-Abagail_Snow (ao3) Summary: Being the adventures of a young man … who couldn’t resist pretty girls … or a bit of the old ultra-violence … went to jail, was re-conditioned … and came out a different young man … or was he? The early hijacking of Peeta Mellark. A Dense Mask-Dispatchesfromdistrict7 (ao3) Summary: When the rug is ripped out from under Katniss’ Capitol life due to a horrible misunderstanding, she decides to go back home again to District 12, where she has fond memories including the boy she left behind, Peeta Mellark. An Everlark interpretation of the English fairy tale, “Cap O’ Rushes.” Aeternum-Abagail_Snow (ao3) Summary: Peeta isn’t the only part of Katniss that is rescued from the Capitol. Set during Catching Fire through Mockingjay A Favorable Wind-Court81981 (ao3) Summary: Historical AU; in 1832, sixteen-year-old Katniss Everdeen boards The Mockingjay, a ship bound for her family home in America. What awaits her is a perilous journey, one that finds her caught in a rebellion, accused of murder and falling in love with sailor Peeta Mellark. Affairs of Court-burkygirl (ao3) Summary: The heir to Panem's throne is about to come of age. Each district has sent a representative to be considered as her potential spouse. But Princess Katniss Everdeen has made up her mind already. If she is to be Queen, she will choose no King. A Journey North-DustWriter (ff.net) Summary: An AU set in a true time of war. Struggling to find her way in a new life and a new land, frontline nurse Katniss meets a stranger as lost as her, and her life will never be the same again.

[wisteria-in-winter]

Too Busy Being Yours 💙Master List💙

They had not gotten along, at least at first.

Bal had acquaintances along the Sword Coast but none were wizards. A few fellow sorcerers but most definitely no wizards. By the nine hells did she find them arrogant and, consequently, difficult to get along with.

In her opinion, Gale embodied all the worst traits of wizardkind. The man was pompous, hubristic, and by the gods he never shut up.

---

Bal hid away from the world for three years in Baldur's Gate to deal with her grief, unfortunately, that didn't save her from being snatched up by the nautiloid. Begrudgingly saddled with the title of leader, she tentatively begins to make friends again, opening her heart to her fellow tadpals, and carving out a special place for Mystra's former Chosen.

But the weight of the Sword Coast's fate rests heavily on her shoulders, and love is not always easy. When further loss and expectations take their toll, she flees from the one she cherishes most, unable to handle that he will pass long before she does.

Time and soul-searching will heal Bal's wounds, but only if she can face her fears and doubts.

---

Behold, the master list for my BG3 Gale X Fem!Tav/OC fic!

Chapter 1: How many secrets can you keep?

Chapter 2: Some things just aren't that simple.

Chapter 3: And your tears have been worthwhile, they got you through.

Chapter 4: Down, down, down by the river.

Chapter 5: Lost in the moment, years too late.

Chapter 6: Exposing cold steel, fire, beauty and rage.

Chapter 7: Leave all your shame behind the door.

Chapter 8: If I told you how I really feel would you let me in? Would you tell me all your secrets? Tell me where you've been?

Chapter 9: Shrinking walls of freedom's fantasies.

Chapter 10: Fear for naught for I'm here and I'm made of your love.

Chapter 11: The night will hold us close, and the stars will guide us home. (Smut)

Chapter 12: I think it's funny, but it seems to heal me. (More smut)

Chapter 13: Did you ever think ascension could turn you into something frightening?

Chapter 14: Now that we've come this far I bet their eyes are watching us move.

Chapter 15: For you, for you, I would bring down the heavens on this earth.

Chapter 16: Save tonight, and fight the break of dawn. (Smut. Again)

Chapter 17: Made me feel so stupid when I burned your trust tonight.

Chapter 18: Oh, how I love you.

Chapter 19: Will you love me for who I am, not who I was?

Chapter 20: They call her Mississippi, but she don't flow to me.

Chapter 21: I've just got to get a message to you.

Chapter 22: So good at being in trouble, so bad at being in love.

Chapter 23: Give peace a chance. Let the fear you have fall away.

Chapter 24: I'm on my way to being so complete.

Chapter 25: Tonight, you're all mine. (Smut)

Chapter 26: My love for you insatiable. (Rehashed smut, but from Gale's pov)

Chapter 27: But if it's forever, it's even better.

Epilogue: Dreams are nothing on my reality high.

This little project of mine is still ongoing, but I should be wrapping it up at Chapter 20. NEVER MIND, THAT AIN'T HAPPENING. I hope you enjoy reading about Bal and Gale's love story because I've enjoyed writing it.💙💙💙 Holy shit, it's finished! :D Behold the one-shot section! It's self-explanatory.

Here Be Rewards To Gain: Karlach and Bal make a bet, and Gale learns something new.

Eyes On Me, My Love: For Kinktober 2024 (Gale/Bal/Simulacrum threesome smut)

Research and Rutting: A Distressing, Yet Delightful, Draconic Dilemma: Late Kinktober 2024 entry. Childfree breeding kink with Bal/Gale.

[verai-marcel]

Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 25 of 28)

Summary, Notes, Tags, & Part 1 are here.

Act I - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Act II - Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | 

Act III - Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 (18+) | Part 28 (END)

AO3 Link is here, my sweet.

Word Count: 4,798

------------------------------

Act III, Chapter 4 - The Twist

Astarion watched his witch sleep comfortably in his arms, her deep breaths coming slow and steady. Compared to how agitated she had been before, he was glad to see her so calm. Extricating himself carefully, he left their bed to go hunt. But he had only taken a few steps when he heard her whimper. Turning back to her, he saw her curl up into a fetal position and start trembling, a slight keen coming from her throat as she began to hyperventilate.

Immediately he returned, touching her forehead. She began to calm, but her brow was still sweating from whatever was afflicting her.

“Fuck,” he muttered. Crawling back under the sheets, he pulled her into his arms again. Her shaking died down to a slight tremor and her breathing calmed. He could feel her muscles relax and her body naturally curled around him, seeking comfort.

I would kill Orin all over again for what she did to you.

He gently tucked hair behind her ear before he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

I’ll be here, my sweet.

***

The next few days were a blur for you as the others came in and out, seeking allies in the fight ahead. You overheard something about a prison break, fighting an undead dragon, and another prison break, but underwater. You saw Wyll’s father weakly entering the Elfsong, and staying with everyone while he healed.

You heard that Gale had gone to talk with Mystra, and after a long talk with Shadowheart, he had decided to give the crown to the goddess in exchange for getting the orb out of his chest. 

So many plans were coming to fruition, alliances sought and won all across the city, and the pile of loot was ever growing. At least it kept you busy. You were physically healthy, but… 

Sometimes your mind would scream, and you fought down the madness with all your might, despite your urge to scream along with it. 

To your surprise, Astarion stayed with you the entire time, touching you whenever he could. The madness that Orin had inflicted upon you still lingered in the back of your mind, but you managed to force it down, even though you sometimes had to stop and fight the echoes in your head. It was at those moments that Astarion would pull you into his arms, touching your skin, his cheek pressed against yours, telling you to take deep breaths, and that he was here with you.

You recognized the looks some of the others gave Astarion, as if he was being too protective and overbearing, but you knew that it was because they didn’t know the extent of the damage you had taken, and he had not shared with them your empathic abilities.

“Should I tell them?” you asked one night when the two of you were alone.

“It’s up to you,” he replied. “I wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “It’ll invite more questions. And it’s not like you’ve used it to do any harm. No need to mention it.”

For the time being, you decided not to tell them.

On the fourth night, when the others came up to Astarion, asking if he’d fed recently, even volunteering to watch over you while he went out to hunt, he refused. You realized that it had been days since he had fed. He refused to feed from you while you were healing, and he hadn’t left your side. Your attacks during the day had gotten less intense, so you figured you could handle Astarion being gone for a few hours.

“It’s alright, go hunt,” you told him.

“Excuse us a moment,” he said hastily to the others before pulling you outside, up to the roof.

“What are you doing?” he demanded once he confirmed that no one else was around.

“You haven’t eaten in days.”

“I can handle it,” he said. “You, on the other hand, can’t handle being without me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, growing irate.

“Something might happen while I’m gone,” he replied.

You realized that you had been kidnapped twice in just as many weeks while Astarion had been away. “Let one of the others watch over me while you’re out hunting,” you replied. “Surely I won’t be kidnapped again with everyone on guard.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, stepping closer to you. “I meant your… attacks. Whatever Orin did to you, it’s lingering.”

You shrugged. “It’s getting better. I can handle it.”

When he looked at you quietly for a little bit too long, you had a hunch. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

He held out a hand to you. You took it and felt his anxiety, thrumming like the vibrations of a lute’s strings. “If I don’t hold you at night, you start to shake and”—he stopped himself, shrugging helplessly with a sad look on his face—“I can’t leave your side, knowing that you’re fighting something like that inside of your head.”

You blinked. “Is that why you haven’t left?”

He nodded.

You let out a sigh. “So it’s worse at night, when I’m sleeping and unable to mentally protect myself,” you muttered. Looking up at him, you tapped his chest lightly with the back of your hand. “So go hunt during the day. You’re not going to be able to take care of me if you’re weakened.”

He tipped his head as he stared at you, contemplating your reasoning. “You have a good point,” he finally conceded. “But if you feel so much as a slight shortness of breath, you had better tell me.”

“I never pictured you as a worrywort. You’re starting to sound like Gale,” you teased.

Astarion’s face wrinkled with disgust. “Ugh. Alright. You’ve convinced me. I’ll go hunt in the morning.”

Returning to the others, you sat down in the main area and accepted the dinner plate that Gale handed to you. 

Should I tell them about my ability? 

You pondered while you ate, listening to the conversation around you. It sounded like they were going to storm Gortash’s base tomorrow and get the last netherstone. After that… would be the Netherbrain. They were almost there. Save the city, save themselves.

No. They don’t need to know. They have enough on their minds.

The rest of the night passed with battle plans and an early rest.

***

“Go.”

“Are you sure—”

“They’ll need all the help they can get,” you insisted. “Seriously. I can handle it. I promise.”

Astarion stared at you for a few moments more before finally nodding. “Fine. You had better keep your word.”

You grinned. “When have I not?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, but then he gave you a seductive little smirk before leaning in and whispering in your ear. “If you don’t, I’ll have to punish you, darling.”

“Astarion!” you said, feigning offense.

Giving you a knowing smirk, he left with the others, but not without one last look at you, his eyes clearly scanning you for any symptoms. You shooed him off, and as the door closed, you went back to the bed and curled into a ball, breathing heavily and deeply.

“Fuck, I hate lying.”

You weren’t entirely lying. It was getting better with each day. But you still had those attacks, and one had just happened to occur right as everyone was leaving. You had managed to hold it in just long enough to get them all out the door, but now that they were gone, and while the camp guests were still resting, you could hide in your bed and just breathe.

After about ten minutes, you rolled out of bed, mostly good as new, just sweaty from your mental battle with the remnants of Orin’s insanity.

You spent the day sorting through the pile of loot and the pouches of alchemical supplies that the others had brought back while you were recovering. The potion supply had run low, so you also began to make potions.

It was mid-afternoon when Karlach returned all alone. She paced in front of the fireplace, muttering and wringing her hands. You quietly stayed out of the way, making sure she didn’t burn anything by accident, until she finally slumped down to her knees and put her face in her hands. You heard tremulous breaths, followed by a lot of deep, slow sighs. When even those quieted down, you slowly approached.

“It’s not fair,” she muttered as she turned to face you, a melancholy expression on her face. “I thought I’d feel better, after killing Gortash.” She stared down at her hands. “But in the end, I’m just going to die anyway.”

Your heart clenched. Hesitantly, you reached out and touched her arm, prepared for her emotions. At least, you thought you were. The despair hit you hard, bringing tears to your eyes. How could she stand it?

But you looked at your friend, who had begun to smile. “But would you believe it?” she asked in a hushed voice. “Being here, right now, alive… I’m actually happy?”

You could feel a fluttering of hope in her heart, like the soft beats of a butterfly’s wings. “I believe you,” you said softly, sharing her smile. “Despite everything, you’re here now. And we’ll be here with you for as long as possible.”

She opened her arms. “Hug?”

“Of course,” you said, hugging her tightly. You could feel the heat beneath her skin, pulsing more hotly than ever before. She was still touchable, but just barely. Closing your eyes, you felt for the lines of power around her engine.

Odd. It’s almost as if there’s a line missing…

Pulling away from her, you nodded towards her chest. “Can I try something… on your heart?”

Karlach nodded and gave you access.

You imagined a wet towel, cold and refreshing in the summer heat. Singing a song similar to what you used for her tent, you weaved a light blue web and wrapped it around her engine, hoping that it would bring at least a little bit of relief. You finished the spell and the lines of the spell sank into the metal.

“Oh?” Karlach touched her chest and took a deep breath. “I feel… a bit better!”

“Thank goodness,” you breathed. “I was afraid I would accidentally freeze it too much.”

“No, no, this is great! I… I feel like I can go on!”

In her excitement, you could feel the strands of your spell snapping under the pressure. “Wait, wait, calm down, Karlach. This is only a temporary relief. The spell is already starting to snap apart.”

She nodded and took another deep breath. “All right. Got it.” Then she smiled at you. “Thank you for trying.”

You hugged her again and felt her emotions in full force: her despair that she was desperately pushing down and her determination to live out whatever time she had with no regrets. 

“My strong, sweet friend,” you whispered.

She told you everything that happened on the way to fighting Gortash, and wrapped up her story just as the others returned.

“Feeling better?” Wyll asked as he immediately headed for Karlach, touching her shoulder.

She nodded, and the two of them smiled so softly at each other that you quietly snuck away to look for Astarion. You were surprised to see him looking a little down. He held out his hand to you.

Delicately placing your hand in his, you felt a somber emotion, humming quietly in his heart. You gently cupped his cheek, watching him close his eyes and lean into your touch. 

“I’m still thinking about Karlach. About what she said,” he murmured. When you tipped your head in confusion, he paraphrased for you. At the end, he frowned. “Gods. There really is no justice in the world.”

You could feel his sympathy, and it aligned with yours. “There has to be a way to find a cure.”

He shrugged. “I hope so. For her sake.” Then he blinked and looked at you. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you replied truthfully. 

Astarion nodded, taking your hand from his cheek and moving it to the inside of his elbow, escorting you back to the others. “I believe you, even though you lied to me this morning.”

Your jaw dropped. “How did you know?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You seriously think I can’t tell when you lie? You were sweating and your cute little pulse was practically jumping out of your neck.”

You sighed. Of course he could tell. “Good to know,” you muttered.

***

One last night together. They had all three netherstones. They had gathered their allies. Tomorrow, your friends would go off to face off with the Netherbrain. It was all or nothing.

After a nourishing dinner that you personally cooked, adding herbs that would increase their strength and energy, the others prepared their weapons and got ready for bed. You finished helping to mend everyone’s armor and clothing and finally called it a night, crawling behind Astarion as he sat at the edge of the bed, cleaning his daggers.

You wrapped your arms around him and lay your head on his shoulder.

He turned his head toward you. “Are you alright?”

“I… I want to go with you.”

You heard him set down his dagger and rag. Then he turned his whole body towards you.

“No.”

“But—”

“You must stay here.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but behind his vehement glare was something else. You touched his hand.

…fear…

“Why are you afraid?” you whispered.

His frown changed to a sad, helpless expression. “I… I can’t fight to my fullest if I’m distracted by… by what could happen to you.” He held your hands in his and brought them to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “I just want you safe.”

“You do realize that if you lose, nowhere is safe.”

“Yes, yes, it will be all tentacles and blood.”

“So let me help.”

He still shook his head. “You don’t have the battle experience,” he argued. “Look, I know you want to help, but you have to trust us. Trust me.”

You closed your eyes. Should I go anyway? No, let's be real. I can't fight. I can barely defend myself. Opening your eyes, you met his gaze. “All right. I won’t join you. But you better return.”

“Of course, darling.” He brought you in for a soft kiss on your forehead. “We still haven’t consummated our relationship, after all.”

“Astarion!”

He chuckled before gazing at you with adoring eyes. “My heart.”

Damn him and his charm. You couldn’t resist. You pressed your forehead against his. “My star.”

“You’ll be here when I return, right?” His voice sounded confident, but you could feel apprehension in your touch.

“Of course. I’d never leave you alone.”

He smiled and let out a small sigh of relief, nearly imperceivable if you weren’t also sensing it. “I’ll hold you to that,” he whispered.

***

While he was loath to leave his lovely witch, Astarion had to test her mental state. Once she was sleeping soundly, he pulled away from her, keeping a bit of distance as he watched her sleep. 

She frowned and shuddered, but she didn't curl into a ball. Her body tensed for a few moments, but then relaxed again. 

She wasn't entirely lying, I suppose. 

He lay back down next to her and watched her breathing for a little while longer before he went back to his trance state. 

***

Your companions left, armed to the teeth, ready to face their destiny. They told you to lock the room and hide along with Shadowheart’s parents. You nodded, told them you’d defend them if push came to shove, and sent them on their way.

The sounds of the battle raged around the city, but you stayed inside as they told you, your dagger on your belt. Arnell stayed alert, watching for any intruders, while Emmeline rested quietly.

Your seal suddenly began to pulse hard as you were kneeling in front of the fireplace, mending a pile of clothes. Heading to a window, you peered outside. The mind flayers were being pushed back, felled by anyone with a weapon. In the distance, out above the upper city, you saw the Netherbrain shudder and begin to veer toward the river. 

You closed your eyes and focused on its trajectory. 

Where are my friends? 

In your mind's eyes, you could see a spectrum of colored strands leading towards the docks.

You quickly grabbed your pack and stuffed it full of healing potions. Telling Shadowheart’s parents that you were headed out, you ran outside, dodging all the chaos and mayhem. When you finally reached the docks, you could see your friends standing at the end of one of them, the impact from the Netherbrain causing impressive waves. 

You started to call out to them, but stopped when you saw a mind flayer with them. Quietly, you walked up to them to listen. By context, you figured out that the mind flayer was, in fact, Prince Orpheus! You heard Lae’zel take on the duties of leading the rebellion, heard the prince argue for his own death by her hand.

“...Give me my freedom from this form, release my soul to the Astral Seas while I still have one to call my own.”

Lae'zel held Orpheus’ dagger, her expression sad, yet determined. 

“Wait!” you cried out, surprising the group with your presence. “There has to be another way.”

“I won’t become ghaik!” Orpheus declared emphatically.

 Lae’zel turned her gaze at you, her emotions complicated.

You came closer to him and gently reached out to touch his hand. The screaming inside of his mind was piercing, making your temples pound. How was he withstanding this? And yet…

Through the screaming, you could hear a pattern. You hummed a simple tune, countering the high pitched wails with a low harmony that balanced the sound.

Orpheus stared at you. “How are you doing that?”

“What is she doing?” Lae’zel asked.

“The screams… are quieter,” he said in astonishment.

“You may not be able to return to your people,” you said carefully. “But don’t you want to see this to the end? Don’t you want to witness their return?” You came close and knelt down to look Orpheus in the eyes. “Don’t you want to be there to provide guidance if they ask for it?”

He closed his eyes and bowed his head, deep in thought. 

“I can teach you this song, to subdue the screams,” you added. You hummed it again, a simple set of notes that he easily followed.

After a few minutes, he quietly spoke. “Perhaps you are right. I may not be the one to lead my people, but I can still bear witness to their glory.” He stood. “I shall find a place for myself in a corner of these realms, for even in darkness, the stars of Tu’narath will shine upon me.”

Prince Orpheus turned to leave, but he looked back at everyone. “You have all been worthy allies.” He nodded his head at you specifically. “I will take your words and your song with me.”

You watched him walk away, hoping that he would eventually find a path forward that would lead him back to his people. Lae'zel called for the red dragons, and as she mounted one of them, she looked at everyone in turn, her eyes finally resting on you. 

“I will not forget our time together. I have learned much, and will use our experience in the future.” She was silently pensive for a moment before she continued. “I am grateful. And I will miss all of you.”

She flew away, a new mission, a new journey across the planes. Your seal tingled in time with the beat of the dragon's wings. 

We'll see each other again, surely. 

As you turned back to the others, you noticed that Karlach had backed away from the group, and was now kneeling at the end of the docks, staring out into the water, clutching a hand to her heart. She was clearly in pain, and the flames around her were growing bigger with each passing moment.

“Karlach!”

You ran to her, touching her arm. The infernal fire was burning hotter and hotter, and you pulled your hand away from her skin with a hiss of pain.

“I can’t… I can’t go back…”

“But you’ll die!” Wyll said, who had joined you, kneeling beside her.

The smile she gave absolutely broke your heart. “I’d rather die free than be trapped in Avernus again.”

No! You reached out and placed your hand over her heart. “I can’t… I can’t let you die!” you cried out desperately.

Taking a deep breath, you sang. Cages of metal, chains of mithril, lining of ice, shields of cold, you sang and sang as your magic reinforced the insulating chamber that Dammon had made, becoming a self-cooling object, powered by the very infernal heat it produced. Closing the loop on the magic rune, you finished the song with hardly a breath left in your lungs.

“It… it worked!” Karlach looked at you in awe. “I think you fixed it!”

You shook your head. “Only for now. The rune will have to be renewed at some point, but I poured a lot of energy into it, and it feeds off itself to some extent.” On shaky legs, you slowly stood. “You’ll have to find something more permanent some day.”

“Still, that’s better than—” she stopped. “You don't look good.”

Your heart was beating fast, and you felt faint. Taking a few steps back, you bumped into Astarion, who stepped around you so he could look at your face.

“Darling?”

“I’m fine—” 

Your seal burned hotter than it ever had before. You fell to your hands and knees and screamed in pain. You reached for your back and tore at your shirt, exposing your seal to the cool air. It didn’t help much.

Astarion tried to touch your back, but he pulled his hand away quickly, his skin smoking.

“What… what is happening?” you cried. You felt as if your skin was being sloughed off, the burning sensation spreading from your seal to the rest of your body.

“Your seal is cracking,” he said. Astarion tried once again to touch you, but his hand burned with the effort.

“Don’t touch me!” you yelled. “You’ll only hurt yourself!”

He pulled away, fear in his eyes. Fear for you. Then he frowned and turned to the others. “Help her, dammit!”

Everyone else had gathered, trying to figure out how to help. Shadowheart tried all kinds of healing spells, but none of them worked.

Finally, finally, the pain began to wane and you could breathe again. You slowly stood up, and everyone stared at you in awe.

You looked down at yourself. Your clothes were burned at the fringes, your skin the same golden hue as when you had transformed. Your hair had burned away the ribbon that had held up your loose bun, so it flowed around you like flickering flames, the color of the setting sun.

“Are my eyes glowing?” you asked, and you were shocked to hear the sound of your own voice. It was as if it was inherently more melodic, like three layers of your voice coalescing to one.

You felt… powerful. You looked out at the horizon, the sun beginning to set, and felt like a new beginning was in store for you. The seal was gone, that tingle that used to be only on your back was now coursing throughout your entire body. The power…

Wait. The sun.

You quickly turned to Astarion and grabbed his face.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his eyes wide in surprise.

“I… I can protect you from the sun.” You began to sing, almost desperately, the words coming to your mind quicker than you could get them out of your mouth.

A silver web began to form around Astarion, and slowly, each section of the web filled in with a bluish-silver film. Each lyric filled in another section, but there were so many, so very many…

A loud thunderclap went off near you, but you didn’t look. You were so focused on weaving your spell that you didn’t realize anything was happening until you were yanked away from him, as if an invisible hand had grabbed you and flung you out toward the sea.

***

It all happened like a flash of lightning. She was here. She was just here. And then she was torn away from him, thrown over the dock, over everyone’s heads, and into the sea. But there was no splash. Only a strange portal closing so suddenly that there was no chance of anyone following.

Everyone else was calling out her name, as if she would re-appear, just like that, and tell them all, just kidding, it was a joke.

Astarion fell to his knees. He felt so, so numb.

Somewhere, far away, he could hear people yelling at him to get up, to get away from the dock. He felt Karlach picking him up and dragging him away, felt Shadowheart healing his wounds (I’m wounded?), saw Gale cast Darkness above him as they took him inside the closest building to hide him from the damned sun.

But it all seemed so far, far away.

***

“He’s in shock.”

“No shit.”

“I don’t blame him. I can’t believe she just… disappeared.”

“Astarion. Astarion!”

A slap to his face didn’t seem to work. A second one did. He stared at Shadowheart, who had grabbed him by the collar, her hand raised to slap him once more. 

He pushed her away. “Enough!”

Shadowheart stepped back gracefully, and glared down at him. “Are you back?”

Letting out a tired breath, Astarion nodded before leaning his head against the wall. He looked at the others from his seated position and realized that they had taken him somewhere dark, with no windows. “...Thank you.”

Gale patted his shoulder, and while he’d normally be annoyed, he didn’t have the energy. He even felt… a bit appreciative? 

Gods, she’s gone.

A wave of despair crashed over him, but he pushed it aside. Hope was not yet lost. “So how do we find her?”

Everyone was deep in thought.

Jaheira and Halsin looked at each other for a moment, and Astarion immediately caught their glances. “What is it?”

“We need to go back outside to make sure. We’ll be back,” Jaheira said before she and Halsin walked away.

Minutes felt like hours, but they returned soon enough.

“We think we know where she is,” Halsin said. He paused, glancing at Jaheira.

Astarion stood straighter. “Well? Spit it out.”

He sighed. “She's probably in the Feywild.”

No one said a word for a few moments as they chewed on the theory.

“Most fey crossroads malfunctioned after the Spellplague,” Gale muttered. “How was there one here in a major city, unbroken?”

Jaheira shrugged. “Sometimes one will appear and reappear in relation to some kind of cycle. This crossroad was probably one of those. Probably.”

“Probably?” Astarion asked incredulously. 

Halsin nodded. “Given that we don’t know how to access it nor where it leads, we should wait for her to return.”

“Or we can search for another fey crossing somewhere and look for her,” Karlach said.

Both druids shook their heads.

“That is not a good idea,” Halsin replied. “It is easy to lose your way and never return. And time works differently there. You could enter for only a few minutes and come out a year later. Or worse.”

“You could miss each other by weeks, or decades,” Jaheira added. “I agree with Halsin. Better that one party stays in a stable location instead of two parties trying to circle around the Feywild looking for each other.”

Astarion could hear the logic in their words, see the reason in their conclusion. But he felt lost.

Shadowheart patted his shoulder. “She’ll find her way back. After all, she still needs to feed you.”

He looked at her. “So am I supposed to just sit around and wait for her?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

Hanging his head between his knees, he shut his eyes and willed himself not to panic. Who knows when she’ll be back. If she’ll be back.

“There’ll be plenty to do around the Gate,” Wyll said. “And those spawn you released may need some guidance.”

“He’s right. Do something nice, impress her when she returns,” Karlach said, giving him a light punch.

“Don’t you believe in her?” Shadowheart asked, daring him to say otherwise.

A small smile tugged on the corner of his lips. Of course she’ll come back. She wouldn’t leave me alone. She promised. Through the despair, he felt a glimmer of hope. 

Perhaps I could do something while I wait.

----------------------------------------

Act III, Chapter 4 End notes: Oh snap, did any of you expect that? Did I surprise any of you with that twist? Or did you see it coming a mile away? Let me know in the comments what you think happened to her!

Tags List: @numblytemporary @xalphafox @avitute @stormyjane7 @kmoon21

[bucking-mustangs-with-wings]

okay listen I’m back on my BWH shit. they’re cowboys, right? So at least one of them has to know how to play the guitar. that’s cowboy territory. And I’m very torn here because I definitely want Curt to sing a little song for Kenny but. Gale serenading John has been on my mind for literal days?? I heard Pearl Jam’s Future Days a while back because I have it on one of my playlists and I know it’s not country (sorry) but. Gale plucking away at some guitar?? “All the promises at sundown, I meant them like the rest”??? “I believe ‘cause I can see our future days, days of you and me”?? Doe eyed and bashful smiled Gale Cleven singing to starstruck Bucky is just on my fucking mind constantly and I felt like I had to get this out 🫡

Troy Baker’s version of the song just feels. very Gale.

- @stoneinyourshoe

anon, you have plucked this straight from my mind because one or two of them definitely knows how to play the guitar.

And Gale would definitely be one of them! That voice?? Ugh, strike me down where I stand because god damn he would sing. Doesn't do it often, not many know he does or that he can play the guitar. But Bucky has seen the guitar in his trailer, tucked away half hidden and he can't stop thinking about it since he saw it.

Out of all the other boys, I genuinely hc that maybe even Ken plays the guitar and sings. He may be a rodeo EMT but one night during one of the bonfires he just busts out a guitar at the goading he gets from Douglas or DeMarco and Curt just... stops breathing because hooooly fuck since when??

God, I love my little cowboy universe, so so much. Thinking of it daily, 24/7

[thedreamlessnights]

A Little Rest

Here's my last fic for @bg3-apprecimaytion! I knew that I would have to write something for @davenswitcher's Rockstar!Astarion from the beginning of this event. It's a bit late, but here it is! Ever since I read this fic, he's been on my mind 24/7 - I had so much fun crafting up this fic for him and his favorite groupie, and a soft moment between the two! It's set at some point in the future of their relationship, post-Cazador ♥

I used the prompts sick and borrowed clothing, and I hope you enjoy @davenswitcher! You are so lovely and talented, and this fic has me on my toes with every update! I can't wait to read more of your beautiful lyrics ♥

AO3 Link

Warnings: Descriptions of a headache and general cold symptoms, mentions of being overworked, and past addiction. Explicit sexual content - slightly rough sex, fingering, praise, and penetration.

The headache is the first sign. 

Astarion is no stranger to those. He’s spent more time in the last few years with a throbbing skull than without. Still, from the very beginning of the ache in his temples, it’s clear that this one is different from the others. 

Unlike the slow, steady build of his migraines, the pain comes out of nowhere. It’s as if someone has struck him across the head. As it goes on, it spreads outward – circling around the crown of his head until it feels as though his skull is being crushed by some invisible force.

Still, it’s manageable. He’s performed in much worse conditions. The pain isn’t blinding, and though his thoughts feel a bit slow, filtered out through the ache of it, he should be well enough to concentrate on the lyrics.

Then comes the sore throat. Concerning, but nothing new, even combined with the discomfort of his head. Many of his mornings have started off with a scratchy throat and a pounding headache – the price of his indulgence the night before. But he’s been sober for months now, and considering the amount of tea he’s been drinking, there really shouldn’t be any irritation.

When the exhaustion sets in from limb to limb and his nose starts running, Astarion is finally forced to admit to himself the thing he’s been skirting around all morning: he’s well and truly sick.

A cold, likely, but enough to make him want to curl into his bed with a soft blanket and sleep the day away.

But, of course, he has a concert scheduled later that night.

He’s missed several shows in the past, and been late to even more of them, but ever since Cazador was finally booted from his life, he’s been trying to be more consistent. Huge crowds of people have flocked to the city just to see him perform, and the thought of letting them down blooms guilt deep in his gut.

So, as he has so many times in the past, he pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Gale.

A: Gale? Wru?

G: At the store, getting some equipment for tonight’s show. Why?

It’s the answer he was hoping for. Thank the gods that Gale had finally learned his commonly-used acronyms, because every second Astarion spends staring at the blinding light of his phone is worsening his headache. 

A: Need medicine ASAP. Head is killing me. Feeling ill

G: I bought you painkillers a week ago. Check your belongings?

A: Cold medicine. Sore throat. Nose won’t stop running

Gale spends a minute or two typing, all of which has Astarion anxious. Gale can be a pain, but surely he’ll bring the medication. Won’t he? 

Finally, the message comes through, and Astarion can’t help but scoff when he sees it.

G: The best remedy for sickness is rest, Astarion.

A: Gods, Gale, I know!

A: Just bring it.

A: Please.

G: Fine 🙄

Gods, who had taught him how to use emojis? Now he’d be insufferable.

Trying to ignore the sensation of his skull splitting in two, Astarion drops his phone on the bed next to him and shuts his eyes, hoping the pain will fade. When that doesn’t work, he stares blankly up at the ceiling, mindlessly counting away the seconds. 

It’s agony. The store can’t be far, but every moment of waiting feels like decades. His nose keeps seeping liquid, and no amount of blowing or wiping alleviates it. When he finally hears the door opening, he lets out a breath of relief and sits up.

“Thank the gods. It took you long enough–”

But it’s not Gale who is at the door, holding the treasured bag of medication. It’s someone he’d much rather see, giving him a bright smile, her multicolored eyes shining in the light.

“Estellé,” he breathes.

The sight of her alone is enough to dull the throbbing of his skull.

“Gale told me you weren’t feeling well,” she says, stepping closer and setting the medication out on the bed. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Now that you’re here?” he starts, flashing a smile. “I feel well enough to take on the world.”

But to his horror, just as he’s finished speaking, a sharp cough rips from his lungs, startling him and ruining all his attempts at being debonair. “Oh, for hell’s sake,” he groans, leaning back on the soft pillow and shutting his eyes again. 

What a horrid thing this sickness is, robbing him of the sight of her.

But Estellé simply lets out a laugh in response, sitting beside him and smoothing the hair away from his face. “How has everyone taken the news?” she asks. He can hear her twisting open the medication, shaking out a pill or two and pouring some water for him from the bedside pitcher.

“News?” he asks.

She places the water in one hand and a pill in the other, and he forces his eyes open to gulp it down. The sooner he gets it into his stomach, the sooner the blasted thing can work.

“The concert,” she says. “Were people angry it was canceled?”

“No, my dear,” he answers. “It’s not being canceled. Believe me, I fully intend to go out there and give them the performance of their lives.”

He can’t see her face, but he can hear the sharp intake of her breath. “Astarion,” she says, and her tone has taken on a hint of chiding. “You have to cancel it. You look terrible.”

“Darling,” he exclaims softly, drawing his hand over his heart. “You wound me!”

“You need to rest,” she insists. “It won’t help anyone if you make yourself feel even worse.”

“You sound just like Gale,” he grumbles. “But fine – for you, my lovely Estellé, I’ll cancel.”

Once again, he opens his eyes, squinting and feeling around for his phone. As his fingers close around the cold metal, a flutter of shame moves through his chest. It’s rare that he cares about the negative newspaper articles, but ever since he met Estellé, something has changed.

He doesn’t want her to think badly of him. He wants to show her what he can be. She’d helped free him from Cazador, and that isn’t something he takes for granted. It isn’t something he intends to waste, lost in the drugs and the sex and the fame, as he used to be.

But she’s watching him with a muted anxiety, as if she’s worried he’ll attempt to go out anyway, and he really can’t resist her. 

When he swipes his phone open, he finds a text from Karlach.

Hey, Star. You alright? Need us to cancel the show?

Ten minutes ago, he would have denied her offer in a heartbeat. It’s almost painful to take it, even though so much of him wants to.

Unfortunately, yes, he writes back. I’d love to perform, but…

But his head is squeezing in on itself like a fist around a stress ball.

But his voice can barely rasp out his words, much less croon one of his songs to the audience.

But his girlfriend is here, looking as though she might cry if he decides to move.

But I don’t feel well enough to go on, he finishes, sending the message through.

Aww, Karlach writes. That’s okay, Star! Get some rest and feel better – we’ll handle it. 

A rush of gratefulness for his band washes over him. They’ve been there from the beginning, dealing with his lashing out, his anger, his irresponsibility. He’s been through horrible things, but everything he’s experienced would have been so much worse if they hadn’t been there for him.

He doesn’t even want to think about what that would have been like – performing nightly with strangers who didn’t give two shits about his well being. Trapped with Cazador, battling out the urge to drink.

Gods, he thinks, suddenly overwhelmed. Maybe it’s his illness getting to him, or maybe the medicine is just starting to kick in, but he’s feeling well and truly sappy.

He drops his phone and flashes Estellé a grin. “There you are, love. I am now yours for the evening.” 

Estellé affectionately rolls her eyes, scooting closer and brushing damp strands of hair away from his clammy forehead. Then she rests the back of her hand against his skin, and her brows pinch.

“You’re burning up, Star,” she says.

“It’s just the effect you have on me,” he shoots back, wanting to see her smile.

As predicted, the corners of her mouth pull up, but the concern doesn’t fade from her eyes. Still, she bends down, grazing her lips against his temple. “Stay here,” she instructs. “I’ll be right back.”

The moment she leaves his side, Astarion immediately feels worse. The throbbing behind his eyes is suddenly awful, and his mouth and throat are unbearably dry.

He can see glimpses of her in the bathroom, fiddling with something in the drawers. He hears the water faucet turn on and off, and then she’s coming back to him, dabbing a washcloth over his burning forehead.

It feels heavenly. Her touch always does.

When she pours him another glass of water, she tilts it back for him, and it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. His dry mouth abates, his sore throat soothes, and he contentedly lays back against the pillow, watching her.

The next few hours pass like that, with her slowly getting comfortable. His nose continues to run, so she keeps him supplied with a box of tissues, occasionally re-dampening the cool cloth on his forehead. She turns on some awful TV show, but he happily watches it with her, holding her hand and drifting in and out of sleep. Eventually, it takes him fully, sweeping him away from his hotel room and into the emptiness of sleep.

When he wakes, he finds a cup of tea with honey at his side, as well as a bowl of soup. Next to him, Estellé is curled up with a soft blanket, her eyelids fluttering as she sleeps. The TV is still on, so he leans over her to grab the remote and shut it off.

She looks so incredibly peaceful like this, tucked into his chest, the soft puff of her breaths brushing against his skin like silk.

If he didn’t feel like he’d been run over by a truck, he’d say that getting sick isn’t so bad.

Eventually, he gulps down the tea and eats some of the soup, finding it still warm. It’s comforting and nostalgic, and the thought of her caring for him like this makes the sap he’d felt earlier grow until it feels like it’s splitting his chest open with the feeling of it.

Love. The word comes without warning, and without permission. He’s in love with her. 

Maybe it should have been obvious earlier, but it feels fragile and new in his mind, and it’s accompanied with a healthy amount of fear. For months on end now, she’s been the thing he looks forward to each morning, and the last person he wants to talk to at night. The person he truly feels comfortable with, the one who truly sees him. 

To her, he’s so much more than his fame. It’s a rare thing, to not feel the need to put on a persona like he does with everyone else. Still, even after everything she’s done for him – love? Does she love him back? If he conjures up the nerve to tell her, what will she say? Is it too soon, when they’ve been seeing each other for so long?

Love isn’t necessarily new. After several bottles of wine, he’s admitted his love for his band. He loves his parents. 

Why does it feel so different with Estellé?

Something tugs at his chest when he thinks of her, but love is not something he’s ready to jump into quite so fast. It’s delicate, like fresh ice formed over a lake in the wintertime, threatening to crumble with too much weight.

After much deliberation, he decides that this is a subject to explore when he’s not feeling like there’s something drilling into his head. After all, he shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions – who knows was in that medication Gale bought for him.

Yes, the love debate can come later. For now, more rest. Recuperation. If the gods are merciful, perhaps he’ll feel better next time he wakes, rather than worse.

With one last glance at the beautiful image of Estellé sleeping peacefully next to him, he settles down, closes his eyes, and allows the sweet lullaby of rest to sweep him away once again.

The lullaby of rest, he thinks, on the verge of sleep. That would make for a good song.

When Estellé wakes, for a moment, the room around her seems like a dream.

She’s stayed the night at Astarion’s hotel room before, but it’s still a rare occurrence, given the risk of paparazzi seeing them out and about. Anyone who lingers too long in his life is dissected in the papers, pulled apart piece by piece for strangers.

They’ve been decently cautious (most of the time, at least – even she can’t resist his occasional impulses to throw caution to the wind and fuck on the beach) and so far, they’ve only been spotted together once or twice. Most nights spent together have ended with getting redressed and heading home.

Waking in his bed is still new, and she tucks the feeling of it away to cherish later.

Astarion’s body is warm, but not searing like it had been the day before. He’s still resting, but when she tests his temperature with her hand, she can already tell that he’s doing much better. There’s more color in his face, and his expression looks less troubled.

When she looks at the nightstand next to him, it’s clear that he drank the tea she left for him, and ate a helping of soup.

It’s a good sign that he’s eating. Overall, she’s much less worried than she had been last night.

When Cazador was still his manager, Astarion had been so overworked. Now that he’s free, she’d expected him to rest, but he’s been more determined than ever to put on a good show. It’s a sweet thought, but concerning - especially since she had to talk him into canceling yesterday’s show.

What was he thinking, wanting to go to the concert? From the moment she walked in, already worried from what Gale had told her initially, it was clear that he hadn't been feeling well.

His silvery locks had been tangled and messy, spreading around his pillow around him – so unlike the casual, chaotic air he usually embodied. There were dark circles under his eyes, his eyes were puffy, and his nose was pink. When he talked, it sounded like he was pushing out the words through gravel.

Gods, she thinks, looking at his sleeping figure. The peace in his face, the even rise and fall of his chest. His perfectionism would be the death of him one day.

Taking one last glance at Astarion, she decides that he’s sleeping soundly enough that she’ll be safe to go grab the two of them breakfast from a nearby bakery. Her clothes are wrinkled from sleep, so she rummages through his belongings and finds one of his shirts, slipping into it. Last night’s jeans will have to do, though.

After slipping out of the hotel, she finds the morning air brisk and the streets clear – no lingering paparazzi. It’s easy enough to make her way to the bakery and select a few different pastries to be shared, then return to Astarion’s room.

At the sound of the door closing, he stirs. 

“Estellé?” he asks groggily.

“I’m here,” she assures him, setting the pastries down on the nightstand. 

He opens his eyes, smiling when he sees her. When his eyes sweep over her clothing, he stalls. “Darling, is that my shirt?”

“Yes,” she admits. “I didn’t bring any spare clothes with me, and I borrowed it. Is that alright?”

He props himself up on his shoulders, and this time, he takes his time taking the sight of her in. “It’s more than alright,” he grins. “You should wear my clothes more often.”

She laughs, turning to grab some of the pastries. “Alright, handsome. Here. I bought us breakfast,” she says, sitting beside him. “You can have the first choice.”

He digs through the bag, eventually picking an éclair and chomping down on it. He really does look better today. His cheeks are flushed with color, and his blue eyes are bright and clear, the flecks of gold inside them sparkling in the hints of sunlight that stream through the gap in the curtains. 

Still, when she places a hand over his forehead, he closes his eyes and leans back onto his pillow, sighing contentedly.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Dreadful, darling,” he croaks, accentuating the words with a melodramatic groan and a forced cough. “At this point, I’ll be shocked if I ever recover.”

“That’s a shame,” she replies, biting back her smile. “Looks like you’ll have to stay in bed, letting me take care of you.”

He hums in response, his eyelids fluttering. “You’re right, my dear. I feel much too ill to move. How awful,” he says. 

Once they’ve finished eating, she takes to doting on him – wiping his brow with a damp cloth, brushing out his hair with careful precision, massaging his tense shoulders. He’s much more present than he was yesterday, and every time she turns away, she can feel the heat of his gaze on the back of her neck. 

“I think a shower would do you good,” she tells him. “Do you feel well enough to get up now?”

“Maybe,” he answers, his gaze fixing on her shirt again. “If… you were to come with me?”

Insatiable, she thinks to herself, a streak of arousal shooting down her spine.

“Alright,” she agrees. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

This time, she can’t suppress her smile.

He gets to his feet with seemingly no trouble, giving her one last heated look before he makes his way into the bathroom. After a moment, she hears the water kick on, and the muffled sound of him humming Love Bites follows shortly after.

She pushes the door open and finds his clothes in a pile on the ground. Through the clear shower door, she can see his foggy silhouette in the steam that’s rapidly filling up the room.

It doesn’t take her long to discard her clothes, leaving them on the floor next to his. When she steps inside, she finds him shampooing his hair, his silvery locks doused with water and hanging down his back. His body shimmers with glistening droplets that cling to his skin, and even though she’s seen him hundreds of times, she can’t help but be struck by the sight of him.

“How’s the water, handsome?” she asks.

“Better with you in it,” he says instantly, turning toward her voice. When he sees her, his head tilts. His eyes sweep up and down her body, and his gaze darkens. “Well?” he asks.

She moves closer, slower than she knows he’d like her to, letting the warm water pour over her. It’s hot but not boiling, and as it wets her hair, it melts the tension away from her shoulders. She makes a show of running her hands down her body, all the while watching Astarion’s face grow impatient.

He pulls her in, settling his hands on her waist and positioning the two of them so the water isn’t hitting their faces. Then, after tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, he kisses her.

It’s hungry and desperate – soft lips against hers, the heat of his body pressing against her, her back meeting the cool tile of the shower wall behind her. He kisses her like a man starved. Like he hadn’t taken her three times only two nights ago, and left marks on her neck, breasts, and thighs that still stain her skin. 

Want pools in her gut, hot as flame. She grasps desperately as his shoulders, leaning her head back as he kisses down her jaw. It isn’t long before he’s nipping at the skin, leaving more marks to match the others.

“Astarion,” she breathes. 

He groans against her skin. “Estellé,” he says, his hold tightening on her waist. 

Her knees already feel weak, and she knows that they’ll only continue to buckle under his touch. Luckily, he’s steady in front of her, his arms strong and sure from all his time at the gym in the mornings, keeping her upright and stable. 

He crowds her against the wall, his lips moving back up her neck, and this time, he slips a hand between her legs. Just as she’d predicted, her legs nearly give out underneath her at the feeling of his talented fingers. And he knows her much too well – knows what drives her crazy, what makes her tremble. 

It’s an embarrassingly short amount of time before she’s shuddering into a climax, her back arching against the wall and Astarion coaxing her through it, keeping her feet planted on the floor. The sound of her panting echoes in the small space, evidence of her pleasure meeting her ears in waves, over and over.

“You are perfect,” Astarion murmurs, pressing an uncharacteristically soft kiss to her lips. “Every time. Although….” 

His thumb rolls against her clit again, and she gasps – sensitivity and overwhelming pleasure mixing into one dizzying sensation. 

“I think you can give me another,” he says. “You’ll do that for me, won’t you, darling?”

“For you?” she chokes out with a laugh, rolling her hips with the movement of his hand. “Anything. Anything you want.”

“Good girl,” he replies, and that’s nearly enough to send her crashing over the edge right then and there. By the grace of the gods, she holds on a little longer, because she wouldn’t be able to stand the inevitable teasing that would follow if she instantly came like that.

Still, the sensuality of his slick skin against her, the maddening rhythm of his fingers, and the hungry look in his eyes – it all leads to another very quick orgasm, sparking through her limbs with just as much intensity as the first.

When her body finally comes back to her, he kisses her again. There’s something about him that’s unusually restrained, although it might just be the remnants of the sickness in him.

Then he props her back, nudging his knee in between her legs to hold them apart. One finger slips into her cunt, then two, then three, all with relative ease.

 “Oh, you’re ready for me, love,” he practically purrs. “Turn around.”

She makes a show of it – slow, graceful movements that show off her ass as she braces her arms against the shower wall and bends over for him, hearing the sound of his breathing go heavier behind her. 

Water drums against her spine, slowly growing cooler by the minute, but it’s the last thing on her mind. All she can think about is Astarion – his smile, the color of his eyes, the look on his face when he sings to her.

The sound of his voice in her ear, and the warmth of his skin when he holds her. The pet names he gives her, and all of the times he’s told her she’s special. 

The fleeting hope she has that maybe, despite all of the logic screaming in her mind, she might spend the rest of her life with him.

He positions himself against her entrance, drawing her back to the present as he places his hands on her hips and slowly presses into her. “Gods,” he groans. “You feel… hells. Incredible.”

In response, she lets out a soft whine, rolling her hips back to meet him. His grip tightens and he groans again, setting a rough, quick pace that has her struggling for breath. 

He feels so fucking good inside her, filling her up, his grip almost bruising on her hips. He rambles out praise, telling her how good she feels, how beautiful she is, how he wants to keep her there with him and make her come over and over until she can barely move. Judging from their past experiences, she knows that he’s being completely and utterly truthful. 

“Fuck, Star,” she whimpers. “I’m close.” Her cunt clenches around him, and he lets out a choked noise, thrusting harder. Her body starts to tense, coiling up from head to toe, and he fists a hand in her hair.

“Come for me,” he instructs.

Her body obeys immediately. Her vision blacks out, and for a good few seconds, she can’t remember how to breathe. Her knees are trembling, her mouth is dry. The water has gone ice-cold, and she’s not sure she’ll be able to walk out of the shower on her own after this.

Behind her, she can hear Astarion reaching his own climax, moaning out the sound of her name as his thrusts lose rhythm and he finally spills inside her.

For a moment, neither of them move, both still recovering from the aftershocks of pleasure. Then he pulls out of her, gently easing her upright. She’s expecting him to shut the water off, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lathers her up in soap, gently massaging her aching muscles, kissing over the blooming bruises he left. 

“Was it alright?” he asks softly. 

“It was perfect,” she responds, lost in the bliss of his touch on her skin. 

It seems to be enough, because he carefully washes the soap off her skin, moving on to shampoo. He takes care not to get it in her eyes as he rinses it out, then he does the same with conditioner. It smells like him – herbal and sharp, mixed with a hint of warmth. 

Only then, when both of them are clean, does he turn the shower off and help her out. Her movements are slower than usual, and she knows that she’ll be feeling the effects of their shower later.

“You might need to be the one caring for me tomorrow,” she teases.

“In that case,” he says, giving her a grin, “I’ll be spending the day with the loveliest woman in all of Faerûn.”

[foxblood]

The Threads of Memory: II In Case of Rain

Chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25

The bronze guise of Silvanus reached an arm across the marble arch for Meilikki, and she on the other end of the pillar pulled her bowstring taut and aimed an arrow at his heart wreathed in oak leaves.  The plaque above their heads announced “University of Waterdeep Botanic Gardens”.  An old couple sat on the benches beneath the gate, shoulders close together behind the half-sodden pages of the Waterdeep Digest.  Beyond them, the manicured meadow entry and gardens beyond swayed red and gold against the mist that settled heavily over the Castle Wards as it blew in from the ocean.  Gale took his place on the vacant bench beneath the entrance and pulled his robes tighter around him as the damp worked its way through the wool.

He crossed his ankles and dug a pamphlet out of his pocket.  The pages felt thick and sluggish in the humidity when he turned them, the cover advertising the 10th release of the Journal of the Netheril Archaeological Society.  After each line of self-important text, he glanced at the entrance until Velim appeared on the path and stood up to greet them, retaining nothing from the pamphlet.

Velim looked both ways as they crossed under the entryway as though they thought someone may be lurking at the corners, then pulled off their hood and smoothed the neat braid behind their head.  A shy smile crossed their face, but they buried their hands in the pockets of their coat.  

“Sorry I’m late,” Velim nodded into the meadow so that Gale fell into step beside them, “not really my neighborhood.”

“That just puts us back on even footing,” Gale smiled back to put them at ease.

“Yes, well, it’s my own fault for leaving on time.  I should have prepared to get lost,” they pulled a gloved hand out of their pocket to run their finger over the water condensing on the arched railing of a bridge crossing a creek.

“I didn’t take you for one to lose your way.” Gale inhaled the wet autumn day as they stepped onto a path between the trees covered in the leaves falling gold from the ginkgo trees above them.

Velim’s eyes turned toward the canopy.  “I contain multitudes, including a chronic inability to read maps.”

Gale offered his hand as they climbed a steep stone staircase, but Velim kept their hands in their pockets and he pulled it away.  “You must travel with a companion, then?”

They shook their head.  “I find my way regardless.  Would you like some lunch?  My treat.”

“That’s not necessary,” Gale said.

“Nonsense, let me buy you lunch.  I just got the advance for my next publication, something to work the chill out of my hands is hardly going to break my finances, and I was late this time,” Velim insisted.

“Is that so?  Which publication?” Gale asked, “something grand?”

“Not my contribution,” their fingers brushed the fine hairs on the underside of a cherry-red leaf and read the stone with the name of the plant engraved upon it, sanddusk creeper, “but the copper etched illustrations, well, those are quite grand.  It’s a textbook documenting the physiological impacts of magic mediated illness.”

The memory of a wizard Gale once knew flashed before his eyes, the skin of his face melting due to a backfiring healing spell intended to clear his acne.  “Are you an expert in such things?”

“No,” they paused and looked over the side of the pond where bright orange fish swarmed at the banks, begging them for food, “well, perhaps I am now.  I was selected as the ghost writer, each article is informed by the true experts of the individual ailments.  The only magical ailment I’m intimately familiar with is invoked hyperplasia.”

“Because the only intervention is surgical, yes, I have no doubt you would be,” his face tightened with concern, the memory of his school friend stuck in his mind, “a terrible condition indeed.”

“People have difficulty wrapping their mind around healing invocations,” Velim began, each word considered before being voiced, “they see a wound close, and believe they’re seeing some process reverse bodily damage when the truth of the matter is that the invocation is a calling forth of cellular regeneration.  A less-than-precise use of such a spell leads the body into devouring itself to feed whatever retains a splinter of the invocation,” they sighed, “forgive me, I see it so often that I find its continued prevalence exhausting.  Were you ever a student here?”

“I spent a great deal of time as a joint researcher between the archaeology department and the Blackstaff Research Institute, but, no, I was always destined for Blackstaff’s program.  In fact, an old colleague of mine in the archaeology department was the first person to show me this,” he gestured to the turning leaves above them, catching the mist and releasing it as heavy droplets, “I’m sure she’s industrious as ever in Baldur’s Gate, but I do miss her.  She makes a brilliant collaborator.”

“Always a shame when a great researcher moves out of reach,” Velim looked above them and watched droplets slide off a dome of magic above themself and Gale.  When had he cast that spell?  Now that they were paying attention, they could feel the threads leading back to him.  Effortless.  A small voice in the back of their mind wondered if he might teach them such a thing, “you’re quite skilled.”

Gale followed their gaze to the shield above them as the rain finally reached them from the sea in a soft patter on the leaves.  “What, that trick?”

Velim couldn’t cast a shield spell with that ease -- not at all.  They had tried and splashed their apartment with acid.  “I didn’t see you cast it.”

“Are you at all familiar with the Arts?” Gale asked, admiring his own work as other walkers on the path scrambled for cover in the steadily intensifying rain.

Velim considered their answer, letting the pause drag on almost too long before responding.  “I learned only what kept me from discharging magic accidentally.”

Gale’s eyebrows rose.  “A sorcerer?”

They shoved their hands into their pockets again.  “Yes, but I couldn’t tell you from what source.”

A flush rose to Gale’s cheeks, turning them redder than the flush that cold already brought to his face.  “My apologies, I don’t mean to suggest -- well, I’ve met many sorcerers with less intellectual acumen, if you’d allow me a modicum of judgment.”

Velim smirked at him, but their hands remained firmly in their pockets.  “The best of us don’t attend arcane academies.”  Including themself in that number felt wrong, but Gale was too distracted by his own embarrassment to notice the bitterness in their expression was directed at themself.

“Neither of your parents were gifted?” Gale recovered.  The shield above them never wavered.

“I can’t say, I don’t know them.” Velim waited for Gale to press further.

Gale shuffled his feet through the fallen leaves.  “I see.  I’m sorry for your loss.  I lost my father before I could remember, myself.  Do you mind if I ask how it happened?”

The time he wasted on apologies gave Velim time to set the pieces of their story in order.  “I’m not sure if they’re dead,” they watched Gale’s face change in surprise, “I fell from the roof of a building when I was 14, took on a severe head trauma.  I can’t recall anything before waking up in a surgery in the middle of a quarantine for fever.  I couldn’t leave, and I had no way to tell anyone who I was or where I came from, so I began my apprenticeship as a surgeon as soon as I had hands that worked.”

“And they never came looking for you?” Gale pressed.

Velim shrugged, unwilling to twist any more of their past into something fit for consumption.  “When you were working on that joint committee with your colleague, were you looking to investigate that site you mentioned in the Silver Marches?  The one involved with the Ortenkus story?”

“The project was intended to map the annual travels of each known enclave in Netheril based on historical accounts and traces of weave modified by the passage of the mythallars.  No time for old Ortenkus, I’m afraid,” he turned, the grin of a teacher about to drop some semi-secret knowledge on his student forming at the corners of his mouth, “The towns that dot the Silver Marches now, you know they follow the paths of weave left by the mythallars?  The very roads of northern Faerun follow those ancient cities.”

Velim returned his smile.  “I did not know that.  Did the mythallars raise the earth out of the swamp, or is there something further at play there?  It seemed nigh-impassable to me.”

“Unfortunately not,” Gale trailed off when he noticed Velim wasn’t looking at him anymore, their gaze following a pair of arguing voices obscured by foliage, “probably just a lover’s spat.”

Velim cocked their head to one side.  “Probably,” they echoed.

“Are you worried about someone seeing us together?” Gale’s voice dropped, hoping the worry that the time they spent together may be complicated by their inescapable pasts came out as concern for their well-being.

They shook their head.  “No, not at all,” and turned to him, “just an old habit.  Few folks like seeing a Vulture in their village.  You learn to watch for people about to make a bad decision.”

Gale’s posture loosened.  “I see, and those two are about to make a poor decision, in your estimations?”

Velim glanced through the trees, trying to catch a glimpse of the arguing pair.  “Maybe.  Shall we find somewhere dry for lunch?”

“Sounds like a fine idea, this way.” Gale led them down a path that cut between the trunks of two thick maples twined together through some feat of magic or botany.

Velim hesitated at the path’s start, but jogged to catch up before Gale noticed the delay and they got caught in the rain without the shield spell for an umbrella.

“I have something to ask you, and you may feel that it’s coming on a bit strong, but I assure you that my intentions are purely platonic,” Gale waited for Velim to match his stride before continuing, “do you have plans for Liar’s Night this year?”

“None I couldn’t be persuaded to change, though I will be walking with the rest of the Vultures in the parade,” the path narrowed and Velim bumped Gale with their shoulder, “Are you in need of a plus-one for a party of preeminent citizens?”

“No -- well, yes.  Blackstaff Tower holds a Liar’s Masquerade annually.  Normally I would attend alone, but with my extended absence I thought I might benefit from some company this year.  Of course, if you aren’t comfortable with such a thing you need only say the word and I will not mention it again.”  Gale leaned into their weight, following Velim when the path widened again and they pulled away.

Velim kicked through a pile of wet leaves before responding.  “I find it difficult to believe you’ve never taken a guest.”

“Well, I was never alone, I simply arrived alone,” Gale waved the notion off, but his face grew redder, “I once had a full dance card.  It’s only that after a full year of absence, the things that once were easy are no longer.”

“I’d be happy to accompany you, of course,” Velim assured him, “you’ve never brought a date?  Truly?”

“Not for any lack of experience.” He pulled the collar of his coat up.

“Happy to be your first, then,” Velim shot him a crooked smile that sent feathers fluttering through his stomach, their teeth sharper in the expression, “I’m sure I’ll make some poor soul terribly jealous.  Should we plan to match, or let the cards fall where they may in terms of dress?”

Gale feigned a cough to keep his voice from cracking.  “No time to draft up something new, we may as well don the costumes of yesteryear.  I expected more resistance to the idea.”

“Oh, no, I adore a masked party,” Velim buried their hands deeper in their pockets, but their step skipped ahead and stretched the shield that now carried them both beneath a curtain of rain, “They make for good people watching.  I only warn you that I can’t dance.”

“I’m not exactly in the practice of it myself,” Gale ran a hand through his hair and breathed in the smell of wet earth as they approached a covered walkway with scattered food carts meant to feed the students and staff of the university, “I’ll survive a crushed toe or two, should we find ourselves in a dancing mood.  I wouldn’t have thought you the type for parties.”

“Then you thought right,” Velim admitted, walking ahead of him and into the cover of the walkway where the smell of cooking meat swelled beneath the roof, “but variety is the spice of life, is it not?  And I’ve never been to Blackstaff Tower, you might show me around.”

The rain continued falling over the botanical gardens long after both their bowls were empty and replaced in the bin of used dishes beside the noodle cart.  Velim leaned on the railing separating the walkway from the cobblestone paths of the garden and watched the rain slide off the roof in thick rivulets.  Gale leaned against the column beside them.

“Quite the day for a walk in the garden,” Velim glanced sideways at Gale, “I’m tempted to ask you to walk me home with that shield spell of yours.”

“I would be honored,” Gale said with a little bow, “shall we take the path through the trees?”

Velim watched Gale as they stepped out into the rain together, the deluge parting.  Gale glanced back at them back with a sly glint in his eye.  They didn’t notice so much as a twitch of his fingers, and realized he had never dropped his concentration.  

They came under cover of the trees, and Gale stumbled on the uneven path.  His knees buckled as the orb spasmed in his chest.  Velim caught his elbow, his weight dropping them both for a sickening second before Velim pulled him upright.  They searched his face for the ailment, noting the pinch of pain at his temples and corners of his eyes, one hand firm on his arm to hold him steady and the other bracing their shoulder against his weight.  Gale blinked hard, his mouth opening in silent apology.  Velim dragged him to a bench and sat him down.  The chilled rainwater soaking into his coat fought the tearing sensation radiating through his chest, the orb grasping frantically for Velim’s hand on his arm.  He pulled away.  

Velim sat on the bench beside him a few inches apart, hands back in their pockets.  They waited for his back to ease out of its tense arch, his hand massaging his chest as he sat back against the bench and let the chill slip over him as raindrops fell fat and heavy against his skin.  He spoke the word and circled his fingers in the air and the shield reappeared above them.

“Has this happened before?” Velim asked.

Gale took a deep breath, his lungs straining against the pressure of the orb.  “Yes, occasionally.  It’s no trouble, really, I’m sorry to bother you with it.”

“Rain check on walking me home,” Velim joked, their bedside manner slipping into place, “have you seen a doctor about it?”

“Yes,” the affirmative was always the correct answer, “nothing for it, I’m afraid.”

“How long do these episodes typically last?” Velim ran down their list of questions, filtering the ones that seemed too personal for a concerned exchange between friends, “and do you have something to take for them?”

“Not long,” Gale’s voice wavered, “but I’m afraid I do not have the medicine on my person.”

Velim searched his face for something and Gale thought with a jolt that they knew he was lying to them until they blinked and glanced at the mosaic of leaves dotting the path.

“Very well,” they conceded, “when you’re ready, allow me to hail you a cab.”

Gale thought to deny the offer, but he knew it was a command and not a request.  He dragged the last moments out, watching the rain cascading over the shield spell and turning the world into a watery smear of red and gold.  “Shall we?”

Gale stood up before Velim could offer their hand, so they kept their hands where they were and matched his slow pace.  Their footsteps were drowned out by the rain and puddles were beginning to form in the low points of the walkways.

“My apologies for cutting our time short,” Gale said once the pressure in his chest eased down to a flutter, “I did very much enjoy it.  Don’t think my outburst is in any way related to a lack of desire to see you home safely.  Please.”

“I also enjoyed it,” Velim assured him as they entered the courtyard at the entry, the dead stalks of wildflowers giving off the aroma of sodden hay, “and I imagine I’ll enjoy the Liar’s Masquerade just as much, but promise you’ll get some rest and see your doctor again before the event.”

“I promise.” The orb pulsed hotly around a tightening in his chest.

They arrived at the street and Velim flagged down a carriage.  They pulled up their hood and saw him safely inside the covered cab, then tried to offer the driver payment.

“No, no,” Gale pushed a few nibs into the driver’s open palm, “not after you bought lunch.”

Velim put their change back in their pockets.  “I’ll see you on Lair’s Night, Gale.”

“You will.  I promise you, you will.” Gale sat back in the cab as the driver kicked the horse into gear.  He massaged his chest, the faint black lines of the mark pulsing as molten metal beneath the surface of his skin all the way up to his eye where his vision blurred with each hard beat of his heart.

The shield spell vanished with Gale, and the rain resumed falling on the oiled leather of Velim’s duster in a way that pressed the cold into their skin through the waxed seams.  They waited for the carriage to turn out of sight to begin walking, scolding themself for offering to let Gale walk them home in the first place.  A foolish idea, and something they should never have considered extending to someone who knew them not at all.

Without the shield, the cold crept into their shirt and pulled the scars on their chest taut.  They rubbed along the line of them, from sternum to clavicle on each side, smoothing the scales and soothing the prickling scar tissue beneath.  Their shoulder ached where the muscles had strained against Gale’s weight.