#gale poetry

[bhaal-battle-beer-bard]

Gale aesthetic

Here the bardic aesthetic version of the Gale poem "Wash my pain away" did for @alpydk 's Book of Gale

[riddlerosehearts]

i really need everyone but especially anyone who romanced gale with a bard tav to know about this interaction from early access that larian took from us

[thoughtkick]

Sometimes quiet people really do have a lot to say. They’re just being careful about who they open up to.

Susan Gale

[poetryvampire]

Dingdong! Horny Gale hours

✨️Nsfw ✨️

Hear me out. Riding Gale while he's reading you poetry.

♡ Oh boy. He's already over the moon to have a partner that he can nerd out with over the most romantic bullshit you've ever heard. I'm talkin' Shall I compare thee to a summer's day, She walks in beauty like the night romantic bullshit. So he's blushing like mad when you ask him to read.

♡He starts out so excited and so confident, really putting the energy in (so many hand motions omg). But you're here to put that practiced tongue to work.

♡After a few poems you sit right in his lap and his brain just short circuits. You go on like nothings happened and whine about how he was just getting to the best part.

♡Gale's stuttering and stumbling over his words sooo awkwardly. He's wild about feeling you pressed against him and can't think about anything other than how you're wiggling your ass.

♡You're teasing him and singing his praise, telling him how sexy he is, how hot his voice gets you, how wet it makes you. You're bagging him to keep reading but Gale barely remembers his name.

♡You start jerking him but stop the second he pauses too long. He's a blushing embarrassed needy mess. He's so hungry for your touch but he's failing miserably.

♡Until you really grab him by the praise kink. He gets through a couplet ok and you're gripping him hard telling him how good he's doing, how good his sensual voice makes you feel, and he wants to make you feel good right? Gale wants to be your good boy like he wants to breathe.

♡It lights a fire in him and he's reading with vigor. Growling and panting through verses, every word thick with his desire.

♡You're still showering him with compliments and pleading him not to stop even as you're finally sinking on to his cock. Honestly you're the one having a hard time now.

♡Gale doesn't do things half way. He sees you're enjoying it so now he's the one turning up the heat. Now he's finding a toe- curling rhythm between his words and hips as he's rutting up into you. He purposely switching between slow and fast paced poems. Now whose the tease?

♡Will even switch to vividly erotic subject matter and whisper it low and husky right in your ear. Think Sappho, Pablo Neruda or Ee Cummings (or their high fantasy equivalent lol). He's punctuating particularly sizzling lines with some powerful thrusts and you're a babbling mess.

♡Needless to say you two make it a thing. You have a little poetry club now ya nerds 💜

[harpyqueen714]

Since Larian didn't give us Gale reading any poetry in game, I had to go to the man himself--the incredible Tim Downie--to correct this horrendous oversight.

Loss and Gain - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

since feeling is first - E. E. Cummings

Dirge Without Music - Edna St. Vincent Millay

Thanks, Tim, for an amazing performance that brought Gale to life!

[worfs-glorious-hair]

“I decided to drop this whole ‘Gale of Waterdeep’ business. It’s a bit pompous, don’t you think?”

[perfectfeelings]

Sometimes quiet people have a lot to say, but they don’t open up to just anyone.

Susan Gale

[missmargaretcarter]

High Flight by Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee Jr.

[perfectquote]

Sometimes quiet people really do have a lot to say. They’re just being careful about who they open up to.

Susan Gale

[sadmages]

Durge thoughts

[thehopefulquotes]

Sometimes quiet people have a lot to say, but they don’t open up to just anyone.

Susan Gale

[bhaal-battle-beer-bard]

The Wizard of Waterdeep - Gale Poetry for @alpydk

Flaming stardust - Diamond flood of cosmic light

Gale of Waterdeep Poetry

Is it a foolish human mistake to believe in love? Stars and gods above Hearts of the mortals below Can you be my true love’s show? I want to see you so bad, love you so bad Even an illusion of you Is it sad or is it true? The fading cosmic light of a dying star in your chest Were you cursed, or were you blessed? Tell me chosen one, Will there be a flaming flood of thousand dying stars when you are gone? Show me where the night leads Show me where the night falls Before the world gives us its turn back calls Return to a world of sorrows, danger and fear Blood and pain all over this sphere Let us forget about that for tonight Only tonight Filled with endless potential in our sight Your enthusiasm brings me the stars In our eyes, in our hearts With obsidian comet shards in your hand, Glistening stardust in your eyes where you stand, Devouring flames of love on your lips, Pulsar light of endless nights between your ribs, The ocean under the waning crescent moon in your soul, The diamond flood of stars in your heart’s lunar pole The pain will always wash away

for @alpydk

You had no specific prompt, so I decided to put a little angst into the mix 😉 a tiny little bit at least

[powdermelonkeg]

Thoughts on the thunder wizard again.

Genuinely, I find Gale's relationship with Mystra to be fascinating when you consider all its facets. Unhealthy, imbalanced, definitely poisonous, but also very, very intricate with a lot of blurred edges to it. One of those things where you're both like "wow, what the hell, that's horrible" but also "that makes perfect sense for their characters, and while I would NEVER, I know why they would, and why it happened."

You've got a wizard who doesn't know what real love is, who thinks he's finally being shown it by the person he adores most. His greatest fantasy, his most potent joy, his most heartfelt aspirations, and they were all offered to him.

And he wants to see what all she's hiding from him, because of course he does. She's the keeper of all things forbidden to him. The empire of Netheril reached magical heights that will never be touched again, and all that knowledge is beyond her curtain. She loves him, right? Surely, if he proves himself enough, she'll let him grasp that power he so desperately wants.

And not even in the power-hungry sense! All that magic Mystra's locked up was accessible during Mystryl's reign. Think of all the answers to theories about the universe that are back there. Every question of "can this be done, and what would it do" would be answered, if he could just bargain hard enough.

She loves him, right?

Surely, if he proves himself enough...

And then, on the other hand, Mystra. Once Midnight, her human personality has been subsumed by the goddess of magic and her duty to the Weave. She has a responsibility to magic, she IS magic.

Then along comes this mortal boy who knows how to handle her Weave. Who doesn't try to wrestle with and dominate, who sings to it. He handles it with such ease and grace—it's not just that he could be Chosen, but he deserves it. To put her Weave in the hands of someone so intrinsically in tune with it, who understands its potential with a wonder like no other. Few enough can handle the raw power that comes with being Chosen, but this one? This one is perfect.

And he adores you. And you adore him, like one would a beautiful butterfly that's landed on their finger. And he's willing to be devoted to you in all things, not out of transaction like most of your worshipers are, but out of love for you, your craft, your magic. You're so deeply and utterly charmed by him.

And it's not like Mystra hasn't walked this path before.

She gives him what he desires, because what he desires is her. And, in a different way, she desires him. She wants him to be her representation in the world. She indulges his adoration with her own presence, and takes indulgence herself in mortal comforts. He's never satisfied with her answers, but who could blame him? She keeps a whole world away from mortals, because she knows what such unfettered power might bring about (again).

And the wizarding prodigy's ambition is lit (again).

And the height of power is reached for (again).

And she stops him (again, again, again).

She does care for him. She doesn't want to see her little butterfly burn himself, and she doesn't want to be the one to ruin those wings.

But then he's not a butterfly. He's a mortal, wielding a weapon of murder, of her murder, and he's brought it to her doorstep because she told him "no." And he's cut himself on it, he doesn't know what it is, but it's hurt him—and it's only a fraction of the hurt it could do to her. How dare he want her help after threatening her?

(He didn't mean to.)

(He only wanted to help.)

(He only wanted. How human.)

She doesn't help him. If he wants to pursue Karsus' weaponry, it's his responsibility, his hubris, that led him to injuring himself on it. She's furious. She's hurt. She's cold.

(What fools these mortals be.)

But then, there's a greater threat to her. Something that could drown the Material in Karsus' failings. And that little boy, who nicked himself on the sword he lifted, still wants her help.

It's a fair trade, isn't it? She'll forgive him, let him into her domain again, if he accepts his punishment and goes into battle for her. He picked up a sword, it's appropriate that he learns to use it in her name, right?

If he was telling the truth, he wouldn't hesitate. If he really wanted to serve her with the Netherese Orb, he would jump at the opportunity to do so. He would have to give up a few petty things in the process, ("petty," she calls mortality, as if family and home mean nothing, as if friends and love are finite. Because to her, they do mean nothing. Because to her, they are finite.) but it isn’t atonement without sacrifice, is it?

It's the tactical move. She's not above hurting one man to save a nation. It's not even the first time she's done it.

(Dornal Silverhand sends his regards.)

If he loves her, he'd die for her, because she'd let him into her paradise. If he doesn't love her, he won't, and she was justified in removing him from her grace.

He doesn't love her. Not anymore.

Does he hate her enough to try to take his dues?

Ambition has always been man's greatest folly.

[thoughtkick]

Sometimes quiet people really do have a lot to say … They’re just being careful about who they open up to.

Susan Gale

[gale-force-storm]

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

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

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

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

...This is getting out of hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[resqectable]

Sometimes quiet people really do have a lot to say … They’re just being careful about who they open up to.

Susan Gale