#gale with glasses is my new weakness

[gaiah]

Save me Professor Dekarios

—

Reference

[dark-and-kawaii]

I’ve really been enjoying your Raphael content and I was hoping to request something along the lines of Raphael reading to tav. Bonus points for dadphael

༺ 𝒜 𝒯𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝑀𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 ༻

Summary: Raphael Reads To You And His Unborn Child.

Note: This was a lovely request, thank you xoxo

No Warnings, Pure Softness

Raphael lounged in his chair, sipping on a glass of wine as his eyes scanned over his newly acquired poetry book you had brought back for him. As always, you had an uncanny ability to choose books he thoroughly enjoyed. Setting down his glass he glanced down at you. Your head rested on his thigh, your arms wrapped around his leg holding him close to your chest while you sat on the ground next to him.

He gently played with your hair, letting the strands fall through his fingers before gently massaging your scalp. You let out a soft little mewl as he hit a particular spot on your head, causing goosebumps to form on your arms. It made Raphael chuckle. You were practically purring under his ministrations.

"You’ve quite the talent for bringing me the finest of treasures." he murmured, a smile on his face as you tilted your head back to look up at him. You returned the smile with a soft hum, letting your cheek rest against his thigh.

"You deserve nothing but the best, my love." you said softly, your hand lightly stroking his calf. "I like seeing you happy... I only wish i could've gotten you the crown, but Gale..."

Raphael shook his head, his fingers leaving your hair to cup your chin. With a tender tilt, he guided your sight to lock with his own. "All in due time, my precious little mouse. Time shall turn the tide, but for now we must embrace patience. Upon the arrival of my child, our ranks shall swell with another soul to seek the crown."

You nodded slightly, nuzzling his palm as his hand shifted, your lips graced by his thumb before it finds its way back to your hair to resume its work.

You relaxed, your eyes closing while massaging your swollen stomach, "Read to us, Raphael?" you requested, "Please? It's something i truly enjoy, besides... Your voice, it's so beautiful... And I can't imagine your little one not liking it either."

How could he not concede to such a heartfelt plea? "Very well," Turning his attention back to his book, he started to read aloud a poem from his new volume. His voice low and melodious, soothing you, your eyes fluttered closed as you listened.

"In the bristling thicket, small and meek,

A mouse with a spirit far from weak,

Nibbled on seeds, a feast so slight,

Aware of the fox in the pale moonlight,"

-The rhythmic tone of his voice, the smooth flow of his words, it made a tingle of heat form within your belly-

“Not a hunter, but a friend,

Vowed to shield her to the end,

Against the hawk, against the owl,

In the night when creatures prowl.

A pact unseen by day's bright light,

Forged in trust through the quiet night.”

Your hand slid up his thigh and he shifted, spreading his legs open. A subtle invitation for whatever it is you wished to do. You shifted, rising to your knees and leaning forward between his legs. Your arms wrapped around his waist best they could so you could use his stomach as a pillow.

“Each night beneath the star's gentle sweep,

He guards her dreams, her peaceful sleep,

Whiskers twitching, she slumbers unaware,

Of the fox’s gentle loving stare.”

Raphael paused, glancing down at you. Your eyes were shut, your breathing slowed. Like the mouse in his book it would seem sleep had taken its hold on you.

Setting his book aside he carefully shifted you. He pulled you into his lap, his hand finding its way to the swell of your stomach as he held you in a protective embrace.

Raphael could feel his little one wriggle and shift in the safety of your womb. Gently he brushed a strand of hair out of your face, his eyes studying your features.

Just like the fox in the book, Raphael silently vowed to protect you and his little one to the very end. And that the hells would bend to his will once he has the crown, and all will be well.

[druidrot]

Okay 1 and 13 from the sultry prompts list feel VERY Gale to me, if that inspires you at all!

Your honor, based on provided evidence the jury has come to the conclusion that Gale Dekarios is indeed guilty of being a munch. Not actual smut but like pretty damn suggestive. It borders on it. It’s dirty. Don’t talk to me 😭😭

Real talk I’m sorry this has sat in my drafts for so long. Anon, you deserve better but work has been draining lately and tonight for some reason was the night my mind decided to work. Anyways muah i love u thank u for requesting, i hope you enjoy!!

Pairing: Gale Dekarios x Reader

Prompts:

1. A kiss to the thigh

13. You are constantly finding new ways to surprise me.

Rating: Explicit - MDNI

warnings: foreplay, like lots of it. this came out a lil worship-y but gale is a fucking loser and I’m so weak to that shit. i say that with the most love but 😭😭. allusions to good ole’ cunillingus babey!

unsure of the word count

Gale takes his time tonight.

There is no urgency in his actions, no desperation–just pure, unadulterated adoration. His hands are gentle against your skin, soft, like too much pressure might shatter you like glass. He is resolute though, driven, unyielding in the face of his desire for you. He knows exactly how to touch you; he knows exactly where to touch you. It's like your body was made to be known by him, to be loved by him.

You sit comfortably in the big armchair he has nestled in his study, legs spread wide to accommodate his frame. He is kneeled before you like a man devoted; like a man pious, besotted and yearning for you . He looks so very hungry when he turns his gaze up to meet yours, though his smile is soft, beckoning, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. You answer his smile with one of your own, smoothing a hand through his hair as he begins to creep his hands under your dressing gown.

"I will never tire of this," he murmurs, reverent, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your knee. "I will always be starved for you, my star. I will never have enough; there will never be enough to satiate the hunger you inspire.”

You can’t help the silly, lovesick grin that pulls at your lips. To you, he is breathtaking in his want for you, unabashed and proud. You love the way he loves you, so fully, so complete, like this is what the two of you were made to do together. It is intense, all-encompassing, makes your insides twist and turn.

“You spoil me rotten,” you whisper, all sweet smile laced with heavy-handed desire. “I burn for you, Mr. Dekarios. You make me ache.”

He offers a punched-out sound, a chuckle, and his molten eyes darken in the heat of his want. His kisses grow heavy, then, hot where they land on your skin, teasing where they trail up and up and up…

“You are my renewal and ruin all at once,” he breathes, sticky with need. “I am lost to you, my darling. Eternally lost to you.”

You mewl, tangling your fingers in his chestnut hair. “Show me, my love. Show me how you love me.”

He grins a wickedly handsome smile, pressing another hard kiss to the soft flesh of your thigh. He bites down gently, teasingly, basking in the sultry moan that rumbles in your chest.

“Gale,” you urge, pleadingly. “Let me see how lost you are. Let me see what I do to you.”

He squeezes the flesh of your opposite thigh, tongue laving over the little indents his teeth left in your skin. His eyes are sharp, heavy with lust, and you think you might drown in their depths forever.

“How desperate you are,” he teases, hands now moving to push the fabric at your hips up higher and higher. You can only sink further into his touch as his intentions become clear.

“You are constantly finding new ways to surprise me,” he muses, eyes locked on your pleading gaze. “I sometimes forget how eager you are to have me. But no matter, my star. I will happily oblige your desire to be tasted.”

You can only gasp, body pliant, mind foggy, already drunk on him as you surrender to the heat of his mouth.

[baldurs-gape]

True Freedom

Tadpole or not, 200 years of habit was hard to break. The fact Cazador had offered to ally himself with the party in exchage for Astarion had been sickening. Even worse was that the answer wasn't an immediate "no" or "fuck off" which Astarion had really been needing to hear. Instead they had reached a stalemate of sorts that was to be resolved over a glass or two of wine and blood. If only Astarion hadn't been pulled aside into a lavish room and told to make himself presentable; which meant finery, demurely revealing clothes and a complete wrapping up of the personality Astarion had managed to tease out during his freedom.

While Astarion was sorting himself out, Cazador glided back to the rest of the party with a small, almost apologetic smile.

"You'll have to excuse the boy, he's been acting under my orders."

"Your orders mean nothing, not when a tadpole has ousted you," Gale replied, finger raised and wagging to drive his point home. "Astarion's been free for the first time in so long."

Something akin to pity made Cazador's face twist into a mockery of emotion. "My dear, you are too young to understand such things. I didn't want to hurt you, but allow me to prove my point. Astarion, as always, has been loyal to me and only me."

Even Halsin looked a little put off by that, face scrunching up in concerned disagreement.

"Are you saying he feigned being in love?"

Laughing lightly, Cazador shook his head. "I am so sorry if he has hurt your feelings. Astarion has always been a bit on the greedy side when it came to feeding his ego. But the only thing that boy loves is himself."

"I refuse to believe that!" Gale stood up, helpless to do anything in the face of such words. No spell could refute the words, make them fall on deaf ears.

"Very well. Allow me to prove my point. If you'd be kind enough to make yourselves invisible, I'll permit you to be present while I talk to the boy."

Exchanging glances, the group nodded to each other. Vials of potions of invisibility were distributed and murmurs for scrolls and spells filled the air. Eventually, they were all invisible and headed to the room where Astarion was veritably lounging, a goblet of something deep red in his hand. He looked comfortable and cocky in a way he hadn't been at camp. In fact, he looked right at home.

"Tell me, my boy, how have you ingratiated yourself with the be-wormed group?" After a beat, Cazador added, "Tell me like you'd tell Petras, be concise and clear so he could easily understand."

"Master-" Astarion swirled the liquid in the goblet before setting it aside, "-even Petras could do it with ease. As long as he can remember who is who."

"And who, exactly, is who?"

"The group is made up of six core members, they each have their weaknesses. Take Wyll for example, a desperate boy at heart in need of feeling like he could be a hero and his daddy would approve of him at long last. Simper about monsters to him, present one bigger than yourself and he'll be eager to become the shining night to your damsel in distress."

"Good. Who else?"

"Lae'zel, all that's needed to win her over is to give her a decent fight. I've calculated that a 60-40 ration of losses to wins is enough to keep her at peak attention. Let her win 60% of the time so she's not disheartened but grind her to dust the other 40% of the time. Give her a hard fight plus a hard fuck and she'll do all the fighting for you."

"That's two, what about the other four?" Through it all, Cazador stayed impassive, watching Astarion who seemed hesitant for a moment until Cazador pressed, "Tell me, little one."

"Shadowheart is a mean bitch. A bottle of wine and some barbed comments and she's your new best friend. Meanwhile, Karlach is the opposite in a way. She wants a friend, she craves touch since her engine has been contained. A friendly shove, a pat on the back with some praise and she's putty."

"That leaves Halsin and Gale, am I right?"

"As you always are." Astarion smiled though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Pitiful really. A tree hugger who likes sex almost more than nature. Bend over in a field of flowers for him, let him be as animalistic as he wants and he'll be like a pathetic puppy, ready to roll over and do as told." Swallowing, Astarion looked away from Cazador who stood, waiting and immobile. "Then there's Gale. Discarded and demoted. Marvel at his silly little cantrips, praise him for any spell and give him a bit of good old mortal romance. All he needs is some admiration to wrap him around your little finger."

Cazador nodded. "I see. That will be all for now. Be good and stay quiet until Godey comes to fetch you."

Like that, Cazador marched out and the invisible group followed like disillusioned ducklings. Back in the room Cazador had set aside, they all slowly turned visible again.

"As you can see, he has always been working for me. He needed your protection and needed to bring you to me. Initially you were to be a meal but I see now your value in fighting against The Absolute." Looking them all in the eye in turn, Cazador spoke, "Drop the foolish endeavour of keeping him 'safe' and being his 'friend'. Allow him to return to my side and I'll offer assistance in the fight to come with some of the bravest and best spawn. They'll make you forget Astarion and the heartbreak he's wrought."

Anger and disappointment made for a bitter mix. Without having to really even discuss it, the group trailed out, Halsin's arm around Gale. The soft "but I loved him" was met with "I know, me too", voices drenched in heartbreak.

With the group out of the way, Cazador sent for Godey to fetch Astarion. His wayward spawn was harshly shoved to his knees even as he glanecd around desperately for the others.

"What have you done to them? Where are they?" Panic clawed at Astaion's throat.

"Left. They weighed up your worth against mine and made the obvious choice. Did you really think you could win against me in any race, little one?"

Face falling, Astarion snarled. "You monster! I hate you!"

Staring impassively down at him, Cazador watched. "When you're quite done." He waited a beat but Astarion remained silent. "If you're so miserable here then I release you. No more compulsions. Go if that's what you desire. I have no need of you."

For a moment Astarion didn't move. Then he was scrambling to his feet and staggering towards the door, eyes wild at the prospect of escape.

"That's it," Cazador sneered. "Run if you want to. I've already replaced you, no doubt so has your little party of so-called friends. You'll be crawling back here in no time, you'll see."

"Never." The word was near enough spat as Astarion turned and scurried towards freedom. He had to find the rest of the group, give them a piece of his mind about being left behind. But he could maybe forgive them because, deep down, Astarion knew his help was worth less than Cazador's. Maybe, if he hadn't given his cold dead heart to two people in the group, he'd have chosen the same.

It was only back at the Elfsong that Astarion caught up with his friends. Near enough tumbling through the door in desperation to get home and share the news of his freedom, he clattered through the door. Icy silence greeted him and cold eyes stared.

"Well," he huffed, trying to break the strange mood, "an apology would be a nice start."

"I don't think my father would approve of me apologising to a monster," Wyll called, eyes narrowed to a glare.

"If you want an apology, I'll need to start winning our sparring sessions under my own merit." Walking closer, Lae'zel had her sword in hand in a rather unfriendly merit. "Even if by some miracle our ratios swap."

Gulping, Astarion tried to place the words and the hostility. He eyed as Halsin approached, looking more heartbroken than angry. "I would have helped protect you without you needing to trample my heart. Gale's heart. You could have always said no to my advances, especially if my wildshape caused you more harm than pleasure."

Helpless, Astarion glanced towards Karlach who snorted. "Don't look at me. Even your gaze repulses me now, let alone your touch."

"I had to say all that!" Astarion's voice buckled. "What did he tell you?"

"Nothing." Gale stepped next to Halsin, eyes red rimmed and puffy. "You did all the talking. Were we ever worth anything to you?"

"Just take what's yours and leave," Shadowheart butted in. "You're not welcome here but it seems I'm the only bitch mean enough to say it. Gather your belongings, you have a minute."

The group parted and Astarion hesitantly walked past, head turning to keep an eye on Lae'zel and her sword. Once past them, he darted for his bed where he kept things stashed. Except, truth be told, none of it was his, not really. Everything was stolen, borrowed with no intention of returning. There was only one thing that was his and only his. Grabbing the flimsy, moth eaten blanket he'd taken from Cazador's palace, he had one more thing to do. Dressed in his old clothes, the only ones he could truly call his, he headed for the door.

"I didn't mean any of it. You don't understand, if I didn't say what he wanted to hear, how he wanted to hear it, he'd have killed me! Now he's set me free." His words went ignored as the group sat on the couches, turned away from him. Desperate, Astarion threw one more thing out, wanting Halsin and Gale to look at him, to maybe see the truth in his eyes. "I love you!"

Shadowheart approached and gave him a flat look. "Your silver tongue isn't going to get you anywhere. Go running back to your master, little spawn. You already took more than your fair share from us. There's nothing left for you here."

Just like that, Astarion trudged out of the Elfsong. He looked back over his shoulder and watched as Shadowheart closed the door in his face with a finality that made something ache with terror in his chest. The whole world was his oyster yet the only place he wanted to be was now forever denied to him.

In the tavern, the mood was somber. Nobody quite knew what to say and Gale intermittently sniffled as his broken heart's jagged edges caught on hiw raw emotions. It was safe to say they were all in various states of shock, the betrayal of their companion sat heavily upon them. They stayed up late into the night, half expecting Astarion to try and sneak back in. Instead there was a knock on the door.

"Do you think it's him?" Gale whispered to Halsin.

It was a blessing yet a curse to find Dalyria on their doorstep. She looked behind Wyll, as if searching for someone. Shifting to block her view, Wyll tried to be kind. "Can we help?"

"Please. I don't know how you did it. He was always the favourite. But if Cazador has let him go, maybe he'll let the rest of us free too."

Nostrils flaring in annoyance, Wyll shook his head. "We did nothing. Astarion returned to his master as he wanted, of his own volition."

A small laugh escaped Dalyria. "No. Astarion would never return by himself. He was always plotting his escape, even when he could barely move, he promised me he'd get out and he'd try and take us with him. Promised through a broken jaw and barely intact throat."

"If he set you up to this, please, just leave. We know what he thinks of us, heard it right from his mouth. You'll need to take up the matter of your freedom with Cazador, that's not something we can do for you."

Dalyria's face fell. "I don't know what you heard. But I had to help him get ready for his meeting with Cazador. He said that if anyone can help it would be you. Even if you didn't think him worthy enough not to trade away for more firepower. I've never seen him so hopeful. Or healthy."

Uncertainty took root in Wyll. As much as he didn't want to believe Darylia, wanted to stick to his own truth that Astarion had used them, it just didn't feel so true now that the harsh burn of hurt had ebbed away.

"Stupid istik!" Lae'zel's words snapped Wyll to attention and he turned to find her. The others were also migrating towards the other side of the large room where she was sifting through what Astarion had left behind. Or rather, all of Astarion's belongings. There were pouches filled with insignificant magic trinkets and the emroidery on the canvas simply read 'snacks' in a rich purple. In another bag were healing potions, scrolls, alchemical ingredients. Not to mention the armour and weaponry that Astarion had been so fond of. "The she'lak only took what was literally his."

"What does that mean?" Gale looked helpless, hands fisted in his robes so he didn't clutch the snacks bag to his chest in place of where he wanted to hold Astarion.

Eyes closed, Halsin took a deep breath. He was beaten to speaking by Karlach.

"I think it means we made a real mess of things, soldier. Astarion always said Cazador was a master manipulator."

"We need to find him," Halsin said softly. "We have connected some dots but missed the picture as a whole."

It was easier said than done. Baldur's Gate was sprawling with ample places for Astarion to hide, especially given his knack for getting into places he shouldn't.

"He used to spend time in the graveyard," Darylia offered. "He probably went there."

An odd place for a vampire to want to spend time. There were a few other places to search first, taverns and houses they'd gained access through via not quite rightful means. Astarion wasn't in any of them. Reluctant to believe Darylia, Halsin and Gale made their way to the graveyard. Shadowheart was already there, searching with Wyll.

"Over there!" Karlach called as quietly as her excitement allowed. "By my parents' graves!"

Sure enough, a lone figure was huddled by the headstone of a grave near Karlach's parents. He didn't move when the others stood around him.

"Astarion? What are you doing here?" Halsin asked. Slowly, he sank to his knees within reaching distance but he held back from reaching out.

Slowly, Astarion turned to look at him and eyed all the others.

"Come to do what I couldn't?"

"Which is?"

A stake clattered on the ground by Halsin's knee.

"No! Little star, never!"

Gale joined Halsin on the cold ground but he didn't hold back from extending a hand and squeezing Astarion's shoulder. "What were you going to do instead?"

"Go to the palace." The words were nothing more than a whisper. "He said I'd go crawling back and he's always right. It's the only place where my presence is accepted in this world."

Swallowing thickly, Gale had to hold back his tears. "But all those horrible things you said?"

"It was what he needed to hear. I didn't want-" Astarion cut himself off, eyes squeezed shut. "I didn't want you to see what he could reduce me to. And you needed him for the fight. Between him and I, we all know who has more value."

"You do," Halsin rumbled. He copied Gale and reached for Astarion. Rather than just touch, he tugged and ended up with a lapful of cold, shivering vampire.

"I have nowhere else to go. Just wanted to see one last sunrise. He'll take it from me, no doubt. Wanted to see my grave in the light just once."

Sure enough, it was Astarion's grave they were sitting by. Something made Gale's throat tighten but he pushed through it.

"Come home. Come back to us."

"I'm not welcome there anymore."

Various murmurs of disagreement went up as the others tried to reassure Astarion that he was actually very much welcome there.

"You left most of your shit at the tavern," Shadowheart grumbled. "I'm not cleaning up after you."

Something akin to a wet laugh bubbled out of Astarion. They had a long way to go yet before things were fixed again, nothing was resolved yet. But there was hope and that had to be good enough for now.

[donotnomi]

WIP Wednesday Monday

Guess who's the genius who decided to make Wednesday her publishing day—on the same day as WIP Wednesday? Yep, that’s me.

So, I'm jumping the gun a little here. Thanks @london-cowboy for tagging me—I really needed an excuse to share a sneak peek from not one but two WIPs!

For all MOTA readers, here's a little snippet from Chapter 2 of  Stripper, Occasionally Hooker aka the MOTA Lap Dancer AU. Still in the middle of revisions, so keep that in mind!

“Six whiskeys and a ginger beer, miss,” Fukunaga called out, clearly excited. Bucky turned sharply toward Gale, draping an arm around Fukunaga's shoulders as he eyed the glass in front of Gale. “Someone here doesn’t drink on the job.” Gale couldn’t resist correcting him. “Someone here never drinks.” Bucky took it in stride, slipping two fingers into the pocket of the delegate on his left, pulling out a golden cigarette case without even looking. Gale was speechless. Bucky flipped the case open with a snap, took out a cigarette, and only then turned to the Japanese man for a nod of assent. The man, his face flushed, offered him the entire cigarette case, likely made of gold. Bucky placed it back in his pocket after taking out a second cigarette. He put one between his lips, and at that moment, five lighters flicked open. The entire Japanese delegation paused for a second in a Western-style standoff. Then, four lighters retreated. The head of the delegation leaned in. Without leaving Fukunaga’s lap, Bucky craned his long neck toward him, locking eyes as he brought the cigarette to the flame. Half the room was watching. Bucky leaned back, resting completely against Fukunaga’s chest, letting his head fall onto one shoulder as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. Gale observed his broad, powerful neck stretch impossibly, much like it likely did in other acts. He felt the need to look away, aware that Bucky’s robe was beginning to slip off the sides of his body.

For Slow Horses readers, yes, Paris Rules will be back soon, next Sunday I hope, with a massive new chapter. Again, it's a draft.

He needs to vanish from anyone who might review the footage later, in case someone starts tracking him. That’s why he’s already got a second hat stashed in his pocket—a different color, a different style. As he exits the station, of all things, it’s Spider’s voice that guides him. Spider, lying lifeless in one of the city morgues, his body no less cold than the metal cell he now occupies. Not now, River mutters to himself. “Style and taste, Cartwright, don’t depend on money but on intelligence. You, for example, couldn’t dress to save your life even with the royal family’s budget, whereas I, with 25 pounds and a Salvation Army store, could easily pass for one of them.” River hoped the store was still there, the one they ducked into to see who would win that bizarre bet. Just a few weeks before Stansted, River had willingly accepted Spider’s challenge, fully aware of his own weakness in that area. Their relationship had felt strained, both knowing how strong River was in the skills that mattered for their work, their internal competition. River had deliberately exposed his vulnerable side, choosing to take a hit to the gut rather than extend a hand and embarrass them both with the implicit, mutual acknowledgment of the imbalance between them.

Just realizing it's the first ever relevant appearance of Spider in one of my fics. Crazy! Tagging @middlingmay @c-goldthorn @whirlpool-blogs @soliloquy-dawn @angelfruittree @joeyalohadream

[powdermelonkeg]

Out of curiosity, why Gale/Taliesin? I'd have thought you'd match Astarion with Taliesin and maybe Lucien or Remiel with Gale. Not to say I dislike the ship, I can see the potential, but I'm curious where it came from.

Funny answer:

"I have a cat, a library, and a weakness for a good glass of wine. And if the mood takes me, I'm known to try my hand at poetry."

Divines, ask him to dinner before you make a proposal, Gale! Have some decorum!

Serious answer:

So, I do get the impulse to match like with like. Astarion and Taliesin have a LOT in common; roguelike qualities and smooth, self-assured charm, an affinity for knife tricks, sass and drama, some good vanity. Same with Gale and Lucien (can't say anything for Remiel, haven't had a chance to do a proper playthrough with her yet).

But camaraderie and shared personality traits don't necessarily mean they'd compliment each other in a romantic sense.

Let's start with Lucien. He's the youngest of the group, younger even than Wyll (iirc, Joseph said he was 21? He might be a couple years older, but regardless, Wyll is 24). Bubbly, bright, full of enthusiasm and scholarly wit, with a penchant for jokes and a drive for exploration.

Can Lucien talk Gale out of blowing himself up for Mystra?

Would he, Mr. I'm-going-to-ride-a-daedric-horse, my-new-best-friend-is-a-murderous-automaton, discourage Professor Hubris from claiming the Crown of Karsus?

I think Lucien would be concerned for Gale. I think he would know the right option. But I don't think he has the finesse to navigate the tangled weave (heh) that makes up Gale. Lucien is naive, he's sweet, he's willing to accommodate, to the point that I don't think he could tell Gale "no" when it mattered most.

Would they get along? Absolutely! Lucien could teach Gale how to handle magicka, Gale could teach Lucien how to conduct the Weave. Both of them could have lengthy philosophical debates that go over everyone else's heads. Gale would have enough caution to temper Lucien's dwemerology enthusiasm, Lucien would encourage all kinds of discovery into Tamriel's wonders. But I see that manifesting as a mentor-apprentice sort of relationship. Still very close, but having them depend on each other in the way Gale approaches romance would be...self-destructive, I think.

Taliesin and Astarion are a similar, if slightly more dark-tinted, deal. Tally's just gotten out of an organization of horrible, horrible people, whose actions in which he was complicit. He's trying to be better. Astarion has just left a situation of literal slavery to one of the most awful people on the Sword Coast. He's enjoying the chance to be worse. We know how Astarion feels and his opinions on things; he likes hurting people, he's very self-centered, he has a lot to work on himself across his entire character arc as he comes into his freedom.

Personally, I think they'd make each other worse.

That's not to say that I can't see it happening. I could, definitely. It would take a good chunk of meeting in the middle, tiptoeing around each other's baskets that they're struggling to unpack, Tally's aversion to vampires, Astarion's casual cruelty as he lashes out. My personal opinion is that any getting involved would be via Astarion's seduce-and-fling strategy so he gets that foot in the door for Tally's sympathy, and Tally not ever taking it further because Astarion reminds him too much of his fellow justiciars and never assumed it to be more than transactional.

If they DID somehow make it to the endgame, assuming they did everything right, I can see it all falling apart at Cazador.

Tally would probably object to Astarion becoming the Ascendant. Everything in Astarion's life points to ascension being a dangerous thing--if not for continuing Cazador's reign of terror, in subjecting mortals to his will and viewing them all as beneath him, because Astarion's cruel streak would get all the power to fuel every whim it draws up. That kind of dynamic, on a romantic plane especially, is SCARY. If he fails to persuade him but still refuses to help, Astarion leaves him: "I hope you die screaming."

But say Tally DID let him become Ascendant. Whoever the man he fell in love with before ascending is dead. Astarion is a wholly different person with that much power. And he wants to make you his spawn. I can't see Tally willingly becoming a vampire, and I DEFINITELY can't see him becoming a vampire without free will. His whole deal with leaving the Thalmor is getting his autonomy back and being able to make his own decisions. So they leave each other.

I see Tally/Astarion ending in abject tragedy either way. An entertaining story, definitely, but one that brings out the worst in both parties until its inevitable spiral, if it even takes off the ground.

Hence, why Wyll is with Astarion in my plans. He'd bring out the good in Astarion, Astarion would crack the self-sacrificing shell Wyll has. They'd compensate for each other's flaws and compliment each other's strengths. I could write an entire essay about their potential dynamic, not to mention all the flirty lines between them in-game.

Would Tally and Astarion be friends? Absolutely. They share gossip and snark around the campfire. Would Tally help Astarion absolutely gut Cazador? Would Astarion offer to carve out Tally's dad's throat? Definitely. The two are inseparable, and would kill anyone who dared raise a finger against the other. They'd mull over their shared plights of terrible overlords and being used and abused. They'd push each other's buttons and be petty together until it was time to buckle down and win a fight, then celebrate after. But a romance would require so much compromise on one side or the other that I think they both risk falling to pieces over it. There's much more room for differences in lifestyle if you're not planning to spend your life with someone and pour the whole of your heart out to them.

Now, the crux of the question: Gale/Taliesin.

The way Gale shows love is in unwavering devotion. However, he never expects it in return; he's prepared to make his case many times over when he first asks you for an artifact, and half-expects you to throw him away when he reveals the bomb in his chest.

Taliesin is willing to follow his rescuer to the ends of Nirn if you save him. Even into dwemer ruins that terrify him, even if you (to his knowledge) go as mad as Septimus when you read the Elder Scroll, he's prepared to look out for you. Even when it's your destiny to fight the end of the world and be surrounded by death as you do it, with a high probability that he'd be a casualty.

Gale's fatal flaw is his hubris. Tally would have no problems telling him "no" when the Crown came into play, or any other similar power for that matter.

If you talk to Taliesin about his past, he mentions that at one point, his father made him resent many aspects of himself, "even [his] own body."

Gale is willing to marry a MIND FLAYER if they're the person he's come to love. Completely seriously! He loves them! He doesn't even flinch, he even pays them mind flayer-specific compliments in the epilogue and means it with his whole heart!

Would Tally be willing to hang out with the walking apocalypse? Would he be able to talk down detonating the orb, and beg Gale to choose him over the Absolute's demise? Would he be able to tell Gale that going for the Crown of Karsus is a bad idea? Would he be willing to put his enchanting skills to use to buy Gale a few more days of life? Would he like Gale for the man he is over the magic he commands?

Would Gale be able to commit himself to Tally, regardless of how different Altmer are from Eladrin? Would he appreciate every part of Tally, no matter how he differs from conventional Altmer standards? Would he be willing to stand between Tally and his dad, and do it without shattering the rest of Tally's family (as murder threats would)? Would he appreciate Tally for the mer he is, the mer he's TRYING to be, as Tally leaves the Thalmor behind?

They both share a taste in books, both educational and spicy. They both like cooking, and Gale would be willing to cook up vegetarian meals in a snap. They both have a curiosity for culture and knowledge they have yet to encounter. They both love cats and a good bottle of wine.

The clone spell would let Gale match Tally's lifespan.

Tally would love and pay perfect respects to Tara (as everyone SHOULD).

Misty Step could be a solution to crossing bodies of water, and Ice Spike could be an upgrade to Ray of Frost.

Imagine, after several tendays of roughing it, a perfect illusion of a fancy date on a warm shoreline under the stars.

Imagine the two of them reading together by a warm hearth while it pours outside, wearing silk robes and sipping Alto Wine.

I think they'd bring out the best in each other, they'd enjoy each other's company and each other's idea of relaxation, and they'd share enough interests that they'd be happy to trade back and forth.

Also I think Gale's mother would absolutely love him. She HAS to meet him. And spoil him. He'd join her and Tara for tea and gossip, I guarantee it.

[sorceresssundries]

I'm usually better at this...

Hello! My name is Jourdane. I have a dog, no library and a weakness for a good glass of wine. I've even been known to try my hand at poetry.

Not but for real though I will probably be posting poetry at some point.

I'm new here, and am currently writing a Gale/Female Druid Tav fanfic on AO3, I'll be posting it here too!

I'm loving the other fics I've been reading so far, if anyone has any good recommendations for BG3 fics I'd be more than grateful!

[alpydk]

🌿 🌸

Good morning anon. Thanks for the ask, talking about fics I love! I did a huge post the other day so quickly going to add them in here as well. - Recommend only one hahahahahaahahahahahaahaha.

🌿Rec someone else’s BG3 fic and tell us what you like about it!

The 5 from the other day (Find the post here to see why)

Alchemy 410 Broken Horizons Weave me the Sunshine Professor Dekarios Twin Compasses

And now some more that I didn't link Weave and Woods - @weaveandwood - Honestly I just love the pairing. Auroria is such a good character who I genuinly see ending up with Gale. And it's not been all that eay relationship where they fall in love and are happy. They have their challanges. I most of all love seeing her learn new spells because that doesn't really happen in fics and its great to see. (Especially how proud she is with it.) "The second, third, fifth, ninth tries were similar. On the tenth try, she thought she saw a few sparks of electricity surrounding the arrow, sending a surge of pride through her. She was close, she could feel it. " - Come on Ori, you can do it!

---

Strange Highways - I have been on about this fic since chapter one. No fic has caught be like this. It's like it calls to my chaotic nature and I will keep screaming it into the Tumblr void like some insane looney fan. Just me alone with my billboard - READ THIS FIC. It's Cazador in a rock group in the 80's. It's funny, has amazing music referances but most of all it's just so fucking good to read.

The words spoke to his soul, into the very depths of it. He felt them with every cell of his body. This was not like the weak melodies bards played back in Faerûn. This music had authority. It had power.

Master of puppets, I'm pulling your strings

Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams

Blinded by me, you can't see a thing

Just call my name, 'cause I'll hear you scream

It was perfect. He imagined saying the words, making them his own. This was a supreme incantation, it had to be. This one would make people obey. Just Fuck Yeah!

--- Paperback Writer - (Short 600 words) - Haarlep edits Raphael's novel. It's fucking funny and I love it. Simple as. "Quivering, the hero took my hand I’m pretty sure Tav told you not to touch them, and it made you pout for a week."

And now the non Bg3 ones... because oops...

RE: Umbrella Asylum (Resident Evil) - @judasiskariot - It's got that lab, depressing, in your head build up mood. You know the one, everything is clinical but there is evil shit going on. The descriptions are fucking beautiful and I love it. "Icy blue eyes that were at least as cold as the black lenses of the glasses." - Just that about Wesker. I still think of it even now. ---- La Petite Mort - One of the most beautifully written crackfics I've ever read. Barbie/Dracula. - Just try it and love it. He should have gotten rid of her by now. Made a meal out of her, at least, even if only the once: her blood will surely be sweet, so sweet, heady and deep and dark when he drinks from her.

But he keeps finding excuses.

Not yet. If I'm honest my reading of fics has been limited recently. I have a few too many that just seem to have been abandoned and I'm becoming hesitant to start up reading newer chapter fics. I'm also a little put off when I see things at chapter 54 and then find its over 200k worth of words to catch up on. Yeah, I need to have people recommend fics to me so if people want to send me asks with their recs go ahead.

🌸Rec one of your fics and tell us what you like about it! Only one.... But I'm so good. (They say, going through the 40 fics knowing they really could be better.) I'm my own worst critic. Fuck it, you get more than one. This is my answer!

Cabinet of Oddities - It's Nana's story. What started all this chaos. It is love and adventure and mental illness and healing all rolled into one big Galemancer sized ball. 56k words of just me. I may also be writing the sequel/prequel right now... “A kiss does not necessarily have to mean love though, just as a hug certainly does not. Is that what you were expecting to feel?” He looked into her eyes. He had always been that of the hopeless romantic. As much as he wanted to believe his own words, he knew he was not the type to kiss without love, or at least potential love.

She gazed back at him. “I’m not sure. I wasn’t expecting to feel fear though.”

“And, do you fear me?” He hoped that she would say no. That maybe this feeling could blossom, that all their unspoken feelings could be revealed and yet he was also nervous of her answer. That if she said no, it would be something else holding him to this mortal coil, someone else who would eventually realise he was not good enough.  Just look how fucking good that is. (I'm not allowed to be down on myself so the other end of the spectrum it is)

--- Tattered Souls - RuganxGale (Also writing the sequel right now) - This is my ZhentWeave baby. This is all for me. I love it and that's all that matters. Honestly writing something like has been extremely liberating and I recommend everyone write something like this at some point. “Just get out of here...” Rugan’s voice was weak, his gravely tones quiet, and he tried to lift himself from the ground.

Gale spoke calmly, keeping his eyes on the mercenaries in front of him. “Not without you.” He could unleash the lightning bolt and possibly fire a magic missile before being hit if he moved quick enough.

“This isn’t your fight.” A hacking cough brought up small amounts of blood, which were spat onto the ground. “Just leave.”

An arrow flew from a trigger-happy archer whistling past Gale’s ear and he almost unleashed the lightning bolt in reaction, stopping only as he saw Rugan stand before him in defence of the female Zhentarim.

“Gale, not your fight...” Love me some cliches and tropes. Love them.

--- Okay, last rec. Not that anyone will read all of this, anyway. You're all looking for your own fics after all (I do that then get quietly depressed when my name isn't on the list... But we all do that, right? Right???)

Where is that child now, I wonder? - Gale past short (500 words). I keep thinking of this one a lot recently. Of young Gale and his relationship with his father. This is probably more a head cannon than an actual fic but it's stuck with me. - I recommend a read if you're looking for ideas. "No! I won't let my son read poetry and become like a delicate flowered prick of an elf. Weak, pathetic! No, he will do as I say and do it when I tell him to!" 

Again, thanks for the ask. I do love talking about recommendations and I have a number of Chase whump fics on the bookmarks list, as well as a few quick one shots I've enjoyed. Would love recs from others as said - The more angst the better. :)

[katnissmellarkkk]

bookcomb for every time someone picked katniss up throughout the series 🩷.

-

He steps in and I feel myself lifted off the ground. The room spins, and I have to lock my arms around Gale’s neck to brace myself. He’s laughing, happy.

-

“Take her out,” says my mother. Haymitch and Peeta literally carry me from the room while I shout obscenities at her. They pin me down on a bed in one of the extra bedrooms until I stop fighting.

-

My mother gives me a cup of chamomile tea with a dose of sleep syrup, and my eyelids begin to droop immediately. She wraps my bad foot, and Peeta volunteers to get me to bed. I start out by leaning on his shoulder, but I’m so wobbly he just scoops me up and carries me upstairs. He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there.

-

Each afternoon he carries me downstairs for a change of scenery and I unnerve everyone by turning on the television.

-

Over his shoulder, I see my mother and Prim clutching each other in the doorway.

[…]

My knees give way and he’s holding me up. As the alcohol overcomes my mind, I hear the glass bottle shatter on the floor. This seems appropriate since I have obviously lost my grip on everything.

When I wake up, I barely get to the toilet before the white liquor makes its reappearance.

[…]

I turn on the shower and stand under the warm rain for a minute before I realize I’m still in my underclothes. My mother must have just stripped off my filthy outer ones and tucked me in bed.

-

“It’s not him, Katniss! It’s a mutt!” Finnick shouts at me. “Come on!” He moves me along, half dragging, half carrying me, until I can process what he said.

-

I know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently. It takes a long time before I begin to relax the iron grip on my body. And when I do, the trembling begins.

“It’s all right, Katniss,” he whispers.”

-

“We’re to get to the airstrip. Immediately,” Boggs says, lifting me to my feet with one hand. “There’s a problem.”

-

Boggs quickly examines my face, then scoops me up and jogs for the runway. Halfway there, I puke on his bulletproof vest. It’s hard to tell because he’s short of breath, but I think he sighs.

-

The others are shouting at me, but I can’t seem to respond. Strong arms lift me as I blast the head off a mutt whose claws have just grazed my ankle. I’m slammed into the ladder. Hands shoved against the rungs. Ordered to climb. My wooden, puppet limbs obey.

-

I transform into a wild animal, kicking, clawing, biting, doing whatever I can to free myself from this web of hands as the crowd pushes in. The guards lift me up above the fray, where I continue to thrash as I’m conveyed over the crush of people.

-

Home? What’s he talking about? My home’s gone. And even if it were possible to go to this imaginary place, I am too weak to move. Strangers appear. Rehydrate and feed me. Bathe and clothe me. One lifts me like a rag doll and carries me up to the roof, onto a hovercraft, and fastens me into a seat. Haymitch and Plutarch sit across from me. In a few moments, we’re airborne.

-

“She’s dead.” I clutch my middle to dull the pain. Sink down on my heels, rocking the pillow, crying. “She’s dead, you stupid cat. She’s dead.” A new sound, part crying, part singing, comes out of my body, giving voice to my despair. Buttercup begins to wail as well. No matter what I do, he won’t go. He circles me, just out of reach, as wave after wave of sobs racks my body, until eventually I fall unconscious.

[…]

Because hours later, when I come to in my bed, he’s there in the moonlight. Crouched beside me, yellow eyes alert, guarding me from the night.

-

[sorcerous-caress]

A thought I've had about the whole human kink thing is how viably we can modify ourselves, like basic tattoos, piercings, and the more extreme tongue bifurcation and horn implants. There's also what Faerun can offer humans, be it through inking our skin with runes, magical glass eyes, magical prosthetics as replacement limbs, and even just straight up growing new limbs if the circumstances are right. Wyll pops into mind, and Mizora just snapping her fingers and making him partially devil is insane to me. What exactly does that even entail, like does he burn hotter, is he prone to vices, or is it literally all aesthetic? Draconic sorcerers growing wings and a tail comes to mind, but I personally think we should have more crazy shit like it. Watch the stupid tiefling that made fun of you for your fat forehead as you become a druid and learn how to grow big deer horns to assert dominance. Wizards studying winged races like the aasimar in order to grow their own and accidentally recreate Icarus (hahaha wizard hubris haha draco sorcs can already do that) Wyll has already proven that warlock patrons could just slap something on you and call it a day, could you imagine what an eldritch horror could do to a guy? It could force you to be a catgirl, scary stuff

Scary stuff indeed. So like, anyone got Cthulhu's address or something? Just wanna bang these pots and pans in front of his house, no reason.

Realistically, in Faerun, only 20% of humans would be adventurers, and only 5% would manage to become powerful enough to reach the high levels in their class to alter their appearance. The remaining humans would just be your average normal human, maybe with coloured hair or piercings.

Luckily, there is a fuck ton of humans. So going by our current numbers of 8,082,949,811 population. 1,616,589,962 of it would be adventurers. One billion and half.

And 404,147,490 would be the powerful ones at high levels. Draconic Sorcerers, for example, need to reach level 11 to sprout wings, and reaching level 12 is considered to almost be demi-god like in power. Almost half a billion demi-god like humans just waddling Faerun.

Also I pulled these percentages out of my ass, source: trust me bro. It does sound kinda reasonable so eh.

The fuckery these 5% of humanity gets up to will have the whole planet on a toll. Wasn't Karsus himself a human that had his ego stroked and inflated by the elves endlessly?

Think of how quickly Gale ascended to divnity in mere months after the endgame when he reached level 12. It normally takes a person years of dedicated study to level up once.

Maybe a group of nonhuman adventurers meet a really powerful and cool looking person that saves them from a dragon. Killing it so easily. Maybe they have wings themselves or mayhe an aura of holy magic that surrounds them.

They have horns, glossy skin and glowing limbs. Eyes shaped like stars with the galaxy inside and hair flaoting around with no regards to gravity.

The party asks who is this benevolent deity, and you reply with, "pfft, a deity? Please, I'm just a simple human."

Also, with Wyll's transformation. Remember, Mizora works under the arch-devil zariel. The punishment was probably casted by the arch-devil herself but handed by Mizora.

Transforming someone into another being is never easy, but I feel like fiends and celestials can get an exception, yk?

Like Corellon and his pantheon can change other races into elves at will. Fiends can be born out of hate or sins, and Wyll already handed in his soul in a contract. It would be easy to infect it with enough sin by dragging it through the hells to make him a devil, or just have the appearance of one.

His ingame status never changes, tho. It still describes him as human, and he still has all human weaknesses and none of the fiending bonuses. So maybe it didn't transform him but just altered his appearance? Like a cure or something?

[leftnotright]

Writing Patterns Meme

[Plain text: "Writing Patterns Meme" in big text. /End PT]

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

I was tagged by @hopeswriting, thanks for roping me in! First time I've done one of these, very exciting

“The Tri-Ni-Sette machine is failing,” Verde announced to the room. [Proof Apollo Wears Hawaiian Shirts]

The previous Cavallone Don’s study was full of old clutter and new dust. [A Textbook: Education]

Silvestro gazed out the window blankly and the morning bus grumbled at the station, engine shivering in the cold morning as those poor dawn commuters stumbled into empty seats, dropping down in isolation, not wanting to share the space they had. [Not of Glass, But Diamond]

How should I start this? [The Baker's Daughter]

‘Wear heels,’ they had said. [Help Line]

Xanxus stifled down a shiver as a gale blasted through the streets, refusing to show the people side-eyeing him any sort of weakness. [The Xanxus Manuscript]

Death was an odd experience. [Strawberry Kisses]

BigBang joined [Trust Issues Abound]

"Hey Hark! See ya later, don't be a stranger! Come around any time you want!" [Guardian of Life]

(Bonus WIP cause I just missed the mark 10. It was a good day. A warm day. Perfect for the beach [And A Boat])

What have we learned?

[Plain text: "What have we learned?" in medium text. /End PT]

It looks like I tend to use dialogue as a launching point, especially for stories I remember having a hard time getting started. Like you Hope, I also often name the key players of the fics. Other than those, I can't really see a pattern, possibly because of the stretches of time between each of these lines being written. If anyone can see a theme, feel free to call my one trick pony ass out.

Overall, I can comfortably say that my opening lines have gotten better over the years, with Baker’s Daughter my oldest, and Apollo my most recent. Opening lines still suck though XD

I tag @evilminji and anyone else who wants to jump on!

[heavensbeehall]

"Mockingjay", Chapter 16

Part 2: The Assault

Chapter 16: Katniss comes back to consciousness (again!) after being shot and remembers the "Stay with me"/"Always" exchange with Peeta from the second book. Johanna Mason--what a queen--shows up to steal some drugs from Katniss. Johanna is addicted to "morphling" now, but in a fun way. Katniss and Gale fight about killing people but District 2 is now in Rebellion hands. Even though she lost a spleen, Katniss is made to return to work. Plutarch talks about "Panem et Circenses" for all the English teachers in the audience. Annie and Finnick are getting married! Katniss is stunned when the cake is wheeled out and it was obviously made by Peeta, who has been getting better after his first breakthrough. At midnight she goes to talk to him (and I have questions about why the staff at 13 is all around at midnight but they are not addressed. Perhaps they wanted a good Hanging Tree reference for this uncomfortable encounter). Peeta is pissy which I will allow since she was tortured for weeks. He sees Katniss through a new lens. She thinks it's "the truth" because she hates herself and is depressed and clearly needs medication--not to the responsibility of a rebellion. But it's more like he sees her through Snow's eyes now. (That women are not to be trusted and love makes you weak.)

Thoughts:

-- This book depresses me a bit and my own mental health hasn't been great lately. I should remind myself there is more Johanna. Because I really do like the part where they are roommates.

-- When Johanna calls Gale "gorgeous" and then laughs, it makes me think she is messing with him the way she did with Katniss in book 2. But I don't know if she is messing with Katniss or Gale, actually.

Quotes:

"You should have been the Mockingjay. No one would've had to feed you lines," I say. "True. But no one likes me," she tells me.

Given that Suzanne Collins has said they have tried to use previous victors (she particularly cited Finnick) as a rallying point for rebellion, I wonder if she says this from experience. The way Johanna won--by pretending for the camers--is actually quite smart. She used the game against the Gamemakers. Her "act" would be mostly in things we know Snow added to the Hunger Games--the interviews, the betting odds etc. If they had just thrown her into an arena, like 1-10th, then this would not be possible to do. Nor do I think crying or being sad to fight to the death is abnormal. We have seen Lamina (also a female tribute from 7) portrayed as somewhat weak during her Games but be mentally tough. I imagine it was easy to dismiss Johanna. But then when she won, it seems (as with many reality shows) she was not lauded for her cleverness but instead portrayed as a liar and a bitch.

Does anyone have strong headcanons about Johanna? For some reason, I assume she had siblings that were killed. Possibly because of how she interacts with Katniss and Finnick, like she is used to having someone close to her who is her age. But that person or persons is gone now.

Somehow staging some perverse wedding between Peeta and me. I haven't been able to face that one-way glass since I've been back and, at my own request, only get updates about Peeta's condition from Haymitch. He speaks very little about it. Different techniques are being tried. There will never truly be a way to cure him.And now they want me to marry Peeta for a propo?

I read a fanfic about this once. Anyway, you will note that Katniss instinctively assumes Plutarch will use her the same way Snow did which doesn't reassure me much about Plutarch's vibes.

... the music is provided by a choir of children accompanied by the lone fiddler who made it out of 12 with his instrument...

We think this is Clerk Carmine's fiddle, yes? I don't know where you would buy a new instrument in 12.

Sure enough, Greasy Sae grabs Gale by the hand and pulls him into the center of the floor and faces off with him

Get it, Greasy Sae! (I do not necessarily hold to the theory that Lucy Gray is Greasy Sae, but I do think--since she sells her wares at the Hob and has been around awhile, she would probably know the most about the Covey. I'd love to interview her for my fictional documentary about the history of the Hunger Games.)

"I must have loved you a lot."

I would like to think that Peeta need not be "in love" with Katniss to give her some bread. It's very "Snow-like" to assume that he would only do that if he was in love with her, and the love was like tricking him into something (which I think is how he comes to see everything he did for Lucy Gray, as some grand manipulation) when it's just normal to not like seeing someone else suffer.

[jynxeddraca]

BG3 Tavs - because why not?

Because I can, here's all the Tavs that I have made for BG3:

First is first: Meet Tav Moonridge, my original lady named before I realized that 'Tav' is the default name. She is my Zariel tiefling bard and silver-tongue extraordinaire who has zero idea why she ended up leader of the Tadpole Squad. Grew up as an urchin with her sister in the Outer City, believes that "When the world demands cruelty, you should choose to be kind". She is 5'2" and would rather talk her way out of trouble where possible - handy as she manages to talk herself into trouble fairly often. She is fiercely protective of her friends and any children she comes across and will cut you if you hurt them. Chaotic-Good, she mostly adheres to laws but has no issues bending or breaking them if need be. Started a fling with Astarion thinking it'd be casual and they both caught feels - much to Astarion's confusion. Somehow every screenshot I have of her she's either concerned or angry.

Next up is who I stream with: Averona! She is beauty, she is grace, she will pulverize your face. Gives 6'+ vibes but is only about 5'5". Averona is a noble-born, Zariel tiefling paladin with the Oath of the Ancients - her parents don't really get the appeal but they're very supportive. She is fairly no-nonsense, somewhat blunt, with a dry sense of humor. Strong lean towards Lawful-Good but understands there are exceptions to every rule. She wants all sides of the story before she fully commits to anything. I'm still hashing out her background but I'm feeling that she's not from Baldur's Gate, or at least not originally. Loves a good glass of wine and dancing on evenings where she can. Just as comfortable in evening gowns and ballrooms as she is in armor on the battlefield. Flaming lesbian with a weakness for puppy dog eyes and rescuing maidens. She laid eyes on Karlach and fell hard but - in true queer fashion - has no idea how to proceed.

Latest one is Auren - a half-elf wild magic sorcerer who acts super bubbly constantly - but will not hesitate to fuck someone up. Puppy dog eyes constantly. Gives short energy but is like 5'8". Her hair is naturally brown but due to a wild magic surge it's permanently pink - her favorite color. Grew up in a remote monastery that she was abandoned at, basically had no real friends, and is now utterly stoked of all the new friends she's suddenly made after being kidnapped by mind flayers. She is book smart but does not read social situations terribly well and will get in your personal space or read your mind. She embraces chaos, is just as likely to help or hinder someone depending on her mood and what she thinks could be interesting. Starts chaotic-neutral, probably leans chaotic-good. So far will be the only character to try out using the tadpoles powers. Decides to give Gale grief for telling her she wasn't learned in magic and ends up totally devoted to him.

[dalmascan-requiem]

Dalmascan Requiem: Mentor

(Vierapril Day 13 - Mentor)

-------

While it's important for the two Viera to learn how to acclimate to life in Dalmasca better, perhaps bartending isn't their forte.

-------

Read on AO3 or keep reading after the jump

content warnings: mention of alcohol

Check out the main Vierapril 2023 post here

------

This particular fic focuses on Gemna, who was definitely a mentor to the two while they acclimated to life outside the jungle. And also she's just great, I love writing about her, lol. I do plan on making this one a "chapter 0" of sorts to a longer fic, when I have the time, so I'm just using the prompt name for the title of this one, for now!

"Gods, you both are hopeless."

Gemna takes the shaker cups away from the two Viera. "They're shaker cups. You shake the drink in them then pour it into a proper glass for the customer. Were you two raised in a barn?"

"No, we were raised in the jungl--ow!" Gale rubs his nose where Gemna flicked it. "Why did you do that?!"

"For getting smart with me." Gemma lets out an exaggerated sigh as she pours one of the drinks into a glass. "See? Looks much better, doesn't it? Come now, have you ever gotten a drink in a cup like this?" The Bangaa gestures towards the shaker cups.

Gale hesitates for a moment, no doubt contemplating if it was better to tell Gemna the answer she wanted to hear, or to tell her the truth. Eventually, he lets out a huff. "...I don't know, I've never really paid attention to the glass my drinks were in…"

"Well, you should." Gemna holds the glass up near her face. "Clear glasses let you see your drink. Of course, it's nice to look at, but you can also make sure there is nothing off about the drink. Whether that's malicious intent or merely badly made… Speaking of."

The Banjaa suddenly spins towards Laurent, who, while originally bemused by the two arguing is now concerned he's the center of attention. "Laurent, what in the hells even is this?"

Gemma pours the contents of the other shaker cup into a glass, which looks decidedly different (and looks decidedly less appealing) from Gale's drink. "I gave you both the same instructions. Why is this so dark?"

Laurent crosses his arms and grumbles. "Recipe looked like it needed something."

"Needed something? It's a recipe for a reason! You follow it!"

"It looked like a weak drink."

"You barely even drink, how would you know?! What is in this?!"

Laurent looks to the side and mumbles, barely audible. "...More alcohol… and… maybe some of that…" He waves non-distinctly in the direction of the bottles behind the bar, not pointing out any particular one.

"I swear--" Gemna takes a deep breath, then hands Laurent the drink. "Drink it."

"...I don't really want to--"

"If you're making a new recipe, you need to test your creation before serving it. So… go ahead, take a sip."

"Wouldn't it be better if--" Laurent suddenly cuts himself off when he sees the look Gemna is giving him. With a sigh, he frowns down at the alcohol. After another moment, he takes a drink, downing half the glass before setting it down on the countertop.

"Well, how is it?"

Laurent doesn't respond, opting to stare at a spot on the wall instead of acknowledging Gemna's question. She chuckles. "So bad you need to use all your willpower to keep it down. So stubborn." While he continues to say nothing, the furrow in Laurent's brow suggests that the Bangaa is not wrong.

"You'd think making a drink is harder than figuring out where to stab a man the way you two handle it." Gemna throws her hands in the air in a dramatic fashion. "Well, at least Gale's drink doesn't look toxic, I suppose."

Gale uses this moment to interject. "Gemna, while I… appreciate learning new skills, I don't know how well-suited for bartending we are. And stabbing men is easier, you don't need a recipe to know where the heart is." The blue-haired Viera gives a small shrug before continuing. "Why are you so determined to teach us how to run the bar?"

Gemna crosses her arms, and when she continues the Bangaa sounds serious. "I'm old, and I'm not getting any younger, boys. We Bangaa don't live as long as you do. You two can't keep doing what you're doing now forever." She shakes her head. "I just want to make sure you can take care of yourselves when you need to move on. And when I'm gone."

Suddenly, Gemna chuckles. "Sometimes I worry you two wouldn't even be able to feed yourselves!" 

Gale looks surprised for a moment, before letting out a small chuckle himself. "I know how to cook already, Gemna. And I worry Laurent would poison himself if he tried to learn."

Laurent glares at Gale. "That was only one ti--" He suddenly stops talking again and goes back to staring at the wall.

"My love, you don't need to try and convince us the drink you made is something any of us can stomach. Don't make yourself sick trying to do so."

The dark-haired Rava shoots an angry glance at Gale before turning on his heel and walking out the back door.

"I believe he is mad at you, Gale."

"Laurent will be fine once his stomach feels better." Gale turns away from the door and back to Gemna with a soft smile on his face. "I don't think we thank you enough. I'm not sure why you have taken a liking to us, but thank you. For everything."

Gemna scoffs and waves Gale off. "Please. I just don't want to deal with you two causing trouble in front of my bar. And I needed some employees." With that, the Bangaa takes a sip of the drink Gale made, only to frown. "Godsdamnit, Laurent was right."

"What do you mean?"

"This drink is weak."

[stellar-sys]

Maybe this journal will actually be stable and coherent...

...Unlike the last one, that I'm not proud of.

So, Shay dissociated through therapy again. We weren't aware that was a problem, but apparently it is now!

Mom n Mike keep making shit-- chaotic.

I never imagined we'd be 28 and still existing in the trauma that made us.

Fucking Christ we want out so bad it's unreal.

We've finally started... Acclimating. We're making it a little more comfortable.

I'm sure Dad's pissed at me for snitching again. That's nothing new. (Am I reliving trauma and projecting or is he literally exactly the same?)

It feels the same. My body remembers this.

No one ever tells you what the life of the kid CPS failed was like. Even now, talking bad about my abusers hurts. It feels like I'm eating glass. Should we tell KC about that?

Probably.

We're having nightmares again. Ripping, tearing dreams. Fortunately, the memories are always p hazy. It's just the feelings.

I can still feel his teeth

We're all so tired. How much longer do we have to do this?? I'm so... Weak. I'm exhausted.

Signing of for now,

Gale

[starfleetteddybear]

Twisting Fates of Balduran's Gates

So, I just published my first work on ao3. Feel free to check it out if it's your cup of tea. I am going to post it here on Tumblr too.

Preview:

"Well, my husband Richard is dead. My friend Gale is missing in action when I need him most. Oh, and when I visit Baldur's gate I get abducted by a Mind Flayer ship. Things can't get worse, right?"

Spoiler alert: it's gonna get way, way worse before it gets better. All the gang's here to support her though! Eventual Halsin romance (we get there when we get there). Our protagonist is an accomplished wizard in her late thirties who can't catch a break. She will be processing the loss of her husband Richard while dealing with romantic feelings for a new person (Halsin). Also, her relationship with Durge gets complicated. Durge will be Durge, but he is trying to be his best self most of the time. Durge has some mental illness/daddy issues, but don't we all? The author has played BG3 many times but will change story events and event timing sequences for the drama. This is not a faithful retelling of the game, but an exploration of how things could play out differently. Let's just have fun with it, and not take it too seriously, huh?

Chapter 1: Seduction and Abduction

The atmosphere was jovial in the Elfsong Tavern. It was just after sunset when all the reputable businesses closed their doors and patrons sought to sate a plethora of different hungers. A large group of dock workers loudly sang bawdy drinking songs and clinked glasses in time to the beat. Young would-be lovers canoodled in the alcoves, flirting and trading hushed whispers.

I miserably sat at a booth in the farthest corner, staring into my cups with a sour stomach. Richard’s ashes sat across from me as if mocking me with their very presence. My lips twisted in disgust at myself and my weakness.

“I couldn’t do it, Richard. Traveled all the way from Waterdeep, dodging bandits and pickpockets. Even minced words with a very handsy coachmen driver to make it to the tourist trap of Sorceror’s Sundries. You would have been so disappointed. It was a glorified gift shop.” I confessed, downing the rest of my cup in one go. Richard, of course, did not reply.

I waved my empty cup at a waitress who made eye contact with me. Her eyes roved over my roadworn appearance, taking in my wizard robes and my pallid complexion from long nights of study. I noted with a twinge of chagrin that her eyes lingered on the bags under my eyes and the new spouts of grey near the crown of my hair. Grief had aged me more in the last few months than my 38 years ever had. 

“No offense love, but it looks like you’ve had enough to drink today. You should go upstairs and sleep it off.” She offered, not unkindly.

An unwelcome chuckle rose out of me. “I already have a room upstairs, and I plan to return once I am insensibly drunk.”

She frowned at my response, her eyes narrowing as if she was considering chiding me. A feeling of embarrassment only grew in me, as this woman at least 10 years my junior was going to scold me. 

“Are you really going to cut me off, in front of my dead husband?” I gestured to the urn next to me with both my hands, knocking over my empty cup in the process. My face flushed from full-fledged embarrassment and all the drink rushing through my body.

Before the waitress could reply I felt a man’s warm hand rest on my shoulder, drawing my attention to his face. He was exceptionally handsome for a human man, with a strong jawline a god would envy. His eyes were so crystal blue it was like getting lost in the ocean. I felt my jaw drop open, and I might have audibly gasped in shock. 

The man gave me a megawatt smile as he ordered, “Bring us two pints of the house brew, and keep them coming.”

If the waitress was going to protest it died on her lips when the man threw down a shocking amount of gold pieces on the table. He slid into the booth with me. His arm wrapped around my shoulders, engulfing me in his warmth and the scents of soft leather and incense. The drink must have all gone to my head because I only sighed and rested my head against him. I closed my eyes imagining Richard next to me instead of a stranger, no matter how handsome he was. 

Soon the waitress came back to our table with a large platter on one arm laden with several mugs of spiced wine, and some fragrant baked goods that made my mouth water at the sight of them. I didn’t hesitate. Grabbing a gooseberry danish in one hand and a mug of wine in the other I began consuming with gusto. The quiet stranger only sipped at his own goblet and huddled me closer. I downed the first mug of wine and quickly moved onto the second hoping the alcohol would make me feel braver than I was. I felt very out of practice with the idea of spending time with a stranger. Was this how single people dated these days?

The man crooned in my ear, “Such a shame for such a beautiful woman to be left all alone on such a fantastic night such as this.” Then he sniffed my hair and his breath sent goosebumps alight on my skin.

I snorted in disbelief, and refused to look at him. “I’ve literally never looked worse. If you are looking for a sweet young thing to warm your bed tonight I’m sure there are plenty of takers with a face like yours.”

“I know a lonely soul when I see one. And any fool knows that women age like fine wine, especially in bed.” The tall, dark, and handsome stranger began kissing my neck, sending sparks down my spine. He whispered against me so quietly I almost didn’t hear his next words. “And I can’t wait to devour the sweetness of your skin. Do you taste as good as you smell? Like vanilla, patchouli, and parchment.”

I felt myself blush so hard my ears began burning.“M-Mystra’s crumpled stockings, do you kiss your mother with that mouth? I’m old enough to be your mother for goddess’ sake.”

I turned my face to see if he was mocking me, or if this was all a joke to get a big laugh for his friends hiding somewhere in the distance. His gaze was intense and sensual as he looked down at me. I saw no mocking pity there, or even humor staring back at me. He took my chin in one of his large hands, his thumb brushing over my lips. 

“Little wizard, has no one ever seduced you before?” His eyes held a hidden mirth, like only he knew a secret about me. “You seem very out of practice.”

My heart began thundering in my chest like a rabbit spotting a predator. My mouth opened, but no sound other than an embarrassed “huh?” fell out. My drink-addled brain wasn’t doing much better. This handsome man really did look at me like I was something he wanted very much to devour. No other man had ever looked at me that way in a decade, not even Richard. I had always been the one to chase him in our courtship. I was the aggressive seducer in our relationship. It felt…exciting and terrifying to have the shoe on the other foot for once.

I was so absorbed in my thoughts I startled when he surged forward closing the distance between us. His lips were on me like he was a drowning man at sea and I was the last dregs of air. The wave of want hit me so hard it was like a punch to the gut. My hands roved over his chest and his hands sunk down to my bottom pulling me onto his lap. 

“My room is upstairs if we want to take this somewhere more private,” I gasped out of breath when we came up for air. When my make out partner moved onto lavishing my neck with love bites I let out a mortifying moan that would have put sober me to shame.

He made a noise of approval against my neck, and we both hopped up. I wobbled on drunken legs, and stumbled over a chair before he scooped me up in his arms like a groom carrying his bride. A few patrons not so deep in their cups wolfishly whistled at us as I directed him up the stairs and to the room that I rented for the night. A giggle more befitting of a girl rather than a grown woman escaped me as he tossed me onto the bed, and crawled up my body to kiss me more.

“I don’t normally do things like this. Why, I don’t even know your name,” I whispered scandalously, helping him unbutton my robe. “My name is Vanessa. I’m from Waterdeep. Are you native to the gate?”

He tossed his shirt over his head, revealing a well-muscled chest. As he worked off his belt he answered in a frustrated huff, “My name is Tav, and I work down at the docks unloading ships. Keeps me fit, but man is it boring. Are we going to talk the whole night, or am I going to get lucky?”

The conversation stalled as soon as he got his pants off. I pulled him back down to me and we continued kissing as if we were dying. We didn’t bother with foreplay, both too impatient to wait longer than it took to remove our underwear. After only a moment he sunk into me, both of us moaning in delight. His pace was fast and rough as he bowed over me, but he felt so good after being alone these past few weeks. I felt my body reacting to him, but my passion cooled as he gripped me painfully tight with fingers that would leave bruises. Richard knew how I liked being touched without having to tell him. 

Rather disappointedly, the fun ended far sooner than I wished. Tav crushed me to himself right as he finished. He lay collapsed on top of me, breathing hard as I stared up at the ceiling feeling the cold wash of regret crash over me. This was a mistake. And very stupid for a smart lady like myself to do, even while drunk. I didn’t even know this man. And what I really wanted was Richard. His fingers running through my hair as we lay relaxed in bed and talked about our days. The comforting touch of his back against me as we slept. His gifted hands and mouth as he teased me to orgasm. My heart twisted so painfully in my chest I let out a audible sob as if I’d been struck and my eyes burned.

“Well, this was lovely, but I’d like my room back to myself I think,” I coughed, trying to shuck the man off me. 

Tav lifted himself up and his expression was furious. The most alarming thing about him was his bright blue eyes were now frighteningly red. Without warning he wrapped his hands around my neck and squeezed with terrifying strength. I thrashed against him and tried to break his hold with my hands, but he only tightened his grip. I couldn’t think of any spells as the mix of adrenaline and alcohol rushed through me. I would have begged for my life had I had any spare air in my lungs. I felt the blood rush around my temples. The pressure made me feel like my brain was going to explode.

That was when the room actually did explode from some big impact outside. Debris rained from the open holes in the roof and where the window used to be. Tav was knocked off of me, and I lay gasping and coughing in oxygen as the screaming from all directions began. I found the strength to pick myself off the bed. My eyes flashed over to Tav, still crumpled on the ground with his hands buried in his hair. 

“I’m sorry,” He babbled, his blue eyes filling with tears. “I’m so sorry Vanessa. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I-” 

I didn’t wait to hear the rest of what he had to say as I grabbed my still-packed bag off the wardrobe, and my outer robe off the floor as I ran out completely naked except for my bra. I stumbled down the stairs but managed to stay on my feet as I made my escape. No one paid me any attention as chaos like I never heard before blared from outside. Some people were hidden under tables while others were fleeing toward the kitchen cellar.  I was halfway out of the room before I stopped in my tracks.

Richard’s urn sat on the table near the half-eaten food and empty cups. I opened my pack and stuffed him inside, a twinge of guilt hitting me. I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself because then I heard Tav on the stairs. 

“Vanessa, I swear I wasn’t myself. Forgive me, please!” He begged, running towards me. 

I raised my hands casting grease by his feet. He lost his balance by surprise, not even catching himself as he crashed face-first into the tile. I frowned fiercely as he groaned in pain, hoping he chipped a tooth. I wrapped my wizard robe around myself, cursing inwardly that some of the buttons had been ripped off in our haste. As he struggled to get up I hoisted up my pack on my back and dashed to the door. 

The sky was full of strange tentacled ships, and squid-man creatures were attacking people. I hesitated to leave the tavern, but I wasn’t about to stay to be attacked by a worse monster. I ran through the chaos and confusion, unsure where I was going. Somewhere safe would do. Anywhere away from Tav, and what was almost the last mistake of my life.

It was just my luck that I got grabbed by a mind flayer ship. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.