#pov gale

[word-ghost]

sunspots // 2

Gale squeezes his left shoulder, glaring at the book propped open in his lap. It’s not yet highsun and he can’t decide what to do with himself, other than sulk by the water’s edge and wait for what isn’t coming. 

Idle. Useless. 

He didn’t have to abide Ysara’s request that he remain behind. The choice bordered on irresponsible.

Lae’zel might keep the group on track, if she and Shadowheart can refrain from provoking each other. The ‘Blade of Frontiers’ boasts considerable skill and greater power, but Gale can’t help but wonder what the latter cost. Most definitely more than an eye.

He doesn’t have to wonder why the lad boasts. Wyll’s admiration for Ysara is as obvious as it is untimely. Yes, Gale can admit she’s good in a fight. Agile—rather graceful, if he wishes to be forthright—and stronger than her slight build would suggest.

Despite that, had he not witnessed it, he’d never believe she—the one always wandering off the path to pluck flowers or consult with a bluebird—could convince the interim First Druid to hear reason.

Ysara ensured a child’s safe return to her parents’ embrace and asked for nothing in return. Graciously declined her mother’s meager offering. 

Gale hates how much he hates her for it. 

That spot in his chest throbs, and he wishes he never laid eyes on that damned locket. 

As if it might make a difference. 

It’s been six days since he could placate the insatiable darkness dwelling within him. Gale can’t be sure how many more might lie ahead. Or how few. 

And she’s left him here, where there’s no chance of finding anything that might ease the worsening ache beneath his ribs. 

Gale huffs and turns the unread page, nearly letting out a frustrated groan when the rustling of someone’s approach further impedes his nonexistent concentration.

He expects to find Astarion, weary of his own company, coming to force it upon him instead. Of course it would be the object of this moment’s loathing, covered from braids to boots in a mess of dirt and dark blood. 

keep reading

[amoebab22]

Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gale (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Gale (Baldur's Gate)/Original Character(s), Minor or Background Relationship(s) Summary:

Gale has been enjoying life post-Absolute, mostly. Oh certainly he felt a bit lonely no longer having the tadpole crew around, and teaching certainly wasn't as thrilling as adventuring (far easier on the knees, however), but he liked it well enough. He hadn't managed to make many friends, however, despite his best efforts. But that was just the way of things, really.

Or it had been, until the day he nearly ran into a short tiefling sorcerer in the academy library.

[bunnieswithknives]

Mostly familiar stuff, but I'm doing my best to keep it interesting ! Dorothy was surprisingly hard to draw at first, but really fun and cute once I figured her out :3

[Prev][Next]

[yaoiconnoisseur]

This is so Bloodweave coded oh my god

[letmebegaytodd]

Everyone at camp has their titties out every night, meanwhile Gale's in his comfy clothes like this

[nobodysdaydreams]

I already know the Wizard is probably gonna be so scared of Dorothy for so many reasons.

First of all, she’s from our world and from the same region of the US, so she knows exactly where he’s from and the technology he’s using to fake his magic. In fact, if time in Oz and Kansas/Nebraska are moving at the same rate, Dorothy should be from a time period ahead of when the Wizard came to Oz and should be able to easily explain most of his “magic”.

Second of all, the Grimmerie’s prophecy is that it will be read by someone from the sky in Oz’s darkest hour. Obviously, that’s Elphaba counteracting the Wizard, but the Wizard has everyone convinced it was him fixing things after the drought. But now, Oz is under “threat” of the witch and a young girl from his world shows up, kills the sister of the Wizard’s enemy, and has a dog with her, possibly a talking one. Everyone thinks Dorothy is super powerful, she fits exactly what the Grimmerie predicted, and she has everything she needs to expose the Wizard. He’d be terrified.

This is how I picture it going down:

Some guard: “The girl is quite powerful, sir. She came from the sky and immediately killed the Wicked Witch of the East. She claims it was easy, unintentional even!”

The Wizard (to himself): “Nothing to worry about. That was technically Morrible’s doing, the fact that she came from the sky is coincidental. I’m certain she has no real power.”

The guard: “She also acquired the dead witch’s shoes and when the Wicked Witch of the West showed up to take them, it was discovered the witch had no power over the girl.”

The Wizard (trying not to freak out): “You mean…Elphaba was powerless to stop this new witch-killing visitor from the sky? One that killed her sister and stole her property? You don’t say. And um… did the girl happen to say where she was from?”

The guard: “Yes. Kansas. She claims it’s a place without magic or talking animals.”

The Wizard (slowly becoming paranoid and trying to play it off): “Oh really? Haha… how silly. Never heard of a place called Kansas or anywhere without magic seeing as I’m clearly a powerful Wizard. And um… where is this girl now?”

The guard: “Why, she’s on the way to the Emerald City right now along with two animals, a least one of which can talk, and two men cursed by the Witch of the West. Apparently, they want to see you, specifically.”

The Wizard (sweating): “They want to see ME? I mean um…who wouldn’t? Haha… but whatever for?”

The guard: “Well, they’re demanding you fix the condition of the two men the witch cursed, give the girl passage home, and help the talking lion overcome his trauma. Seeing as they are celebrated throughout Oz for killing one wicked witch for us, surely it is appropriate and well within your power to grant their requests immediately.”

The Wizard (slipping into madness and frantically trying to hide it): “Indeed it is I am a generous man yes, and I can totally do that for sure, yes of course, I have the power, but first, let’s take them all prisoner upon arrival just in case can never be too careful these days.”

The guard: “Sir… are you saying you want us to…”

The Wizard (shouting and trembling in fear): “Throw that little girl in prison, put those Animals in cages, and keep the two the witch cursed out of my sight! Tell them I’m busy! Tell them I have the flu! Tell them I’m out of town! Any excuse, I don’t care what it is, and whatever you do, DO NOT let that girl escape!”

By this point, the Wizard is paranoid out of his mind, assuming they are on the way to kill and/or expose him and given the company Dorothy keeps, it’s unlikely the Wizard will be very successful in getting her on his side. His goal would likely be to cage the Animals, find a way to deal with Boq and Fiyero (if he even recognizes them), and capture Dorothy as a potential enemy.

Maybe Elphaba writing “Surrender Dorothy” in the sky with her broom in this version of the story isn’t asking Dorothy herself to surrender, but demanding the Wizard to give Dorothy up because he takes her prisoner out of fear that she will expose him and the Wizard lets her go on the condition that she proves her loyalty by killing the Witch. The Wizard probably figures it’s a win/win for him: either Elphaba or Dorothy will die, and one of his enemies will destroy the other. What he wouldn’t expect is them working together, because as far as he knows, Dorothy has stolen the witch’s sister’s shoes and befriended two men cursed by the witch.

[vixstarria]

Mark me as yours

This takes place immediately after and is interlinked with 'Missionary with the lights off' but from Astarion's rather than Tav's POV - check it out if you haven't already, the fics complement each other.

Soft sassy Astarion, F!Tav, Gale, minor appearances by other origin characters, Astarion POV

Fluff, humour, banter, pining, non-explicit sexual references

A day in camp in the life of Astarion. Features brooding, sewing, doing laundry, being dramatic, engaging in improper use of archmage of Waterdeep, reading erotica, and more!

Approx. 2,000 words

AO3

You frowned at the stuffed bear you held in your hands, weighing up your desire to showcase your skills against the absurdity of the task at hand.  

The whole thing was coming apart and needed to be washed and restuffed if you were to do this properly. What was inside, anyway? Fur..? You supposed you could go hunt something furry. Or maybe save yourself the time and just give Scratch a quick partial shave, he wouldn’t mind – the mutt lying at your feet was stupid enough to like you. To prefer you over anyone else, in fact.  

You reached down to give him a fond, absentminded pet.  

And then there was the matter of not letting it burn to a crisp the moment Karlach touched it. 

“Is there a flame ward enchantment on this..? Can you reapply it?” you asked Gale, who was nearby at his usual spot by the fire, concocting something edible for the rest of your group. 

“There is and I sure can,” he replied.  

Great. You had gotten yourself into a group project with the wizard to rescue a teddy bear.  

“Don’t tell me this is what Wyll was so concerned about earlier...” Tav had finally made it out of your tent and sat down next to you, looking somewhat less disheveled than how you’d left her.  

“The bag of holding finally tore. Naturally I was the only one competent enough to fix it.” 

You gestured with your thumb towards a towering pile of assorted crap that Wyll and Lae’zel were still sifting through: Lae’zel inspecting and setting aside any weapons and armour she deemed worth keeping, and Wyll sorting through an array of scrolls and potions no one was ever going to use, or would forget were in your possession if the need for them ever did arise.  

“Darling, this is your fault, you know,” you added. “Must you pick up everything?” 

“Karlach made me do it. Also I don’t know what you’re talking about, I am prudence and sensibility personified,” she said. 

“You’re uh... You’re also bleeding,” Gale said, pointing at her neck. 

A trail of blood had started running down from the puncture wounds, which must have reopened.  

Shit. 

Before you could reason yourself out of it, your instincts kicked in and you pressed your mouth against her neck, licking the blood off. By the gods, she actually leaned into you as you did that, not away. You glimpsed a guilty, sheepish smile she threw at Gale, as you pulled away.  

“Idiot... Here, apply pressure, I’ll get the amulet,” you said. 

“I’m the idiot?! You’re the one who ran off to resolve a sewing emergency, like a good little seamstress, before sorting me out!” 

You strode over to your tent, in part to grab the amulet of Silvanus, in part to discreetly tuck away the erection that had immediately started developing as soon as you tasted her blood.  

Hells, am I 239 or 15? you thought, annoyed with yourself.  

“An amulet? I was wondering why you’d stopped visiting me in the mornings...” you heard from Shadowheart. 

“We have a system,” Tav replied.  

“Clearly,” laughed Shadowheart. 

A scene from the night sprung up in your mind as you went about your day: 

She’d fallen asleep on your shoulder, half lying on you, her nose buried in your neck.  

It was... nice. Really nice. And you didn’t think this bizarre scenario would ever happen again.  

And yet, pleasant as it was, she still felt too far. You needed to feel her closer. Perhaps you were being greedy, but after all these years, why should you get anything less than exactly what you wanted? 

Carefully, very carefully lest she stir awake and leave, you rolled over onto your side, holding her against you.

She was still asleep. Good...   

You cautiously slipped lower and lower until your head was at her chest, delicately wrapping your arms around her torso. 

Then she stirred.  

Shit. 

Without waking, she sighed, drawing you into a tight embrace, clutching you against her chest, complete with throwing a leg over your hips to pull you even closer. 

You finally relaxed, your arms wrapped around her waist. 

Perfect... 

She felt so warm... She smelled of comfort. 

You could indulge in this for the night. You would wake up before she did anyway.  

You drifted away, lulled by the beating of her heart. 

You didn’t have any nightmares that night.  

“Is your boyfriend coming?” you heard Karlach somewhere in the distance.  

You cringed at the juvenile term. Still, you were curious how she would answer.  

“He’s on laundry duty,” she responded. “Just us gals today.” 

“So your idea of doing washing is to pawn everything off to me,” said Gale. 

“Vampires and running water, remember,” you said. “Also you don’t look like you’re exerting an awfully large amount of effort yourself... Although I must admit, this is ingenious.” A little flattery wouldn’t hurt.

Gale sat at a riverbank at a deeper section of the river. Some sheets and clothing were being tossed and spun in a small bubbling whirlpool within the water, together with foaming slivers of soap. 

“Surely few archmages possess such finesse and creativity?” you continued. 

Gale sighed and motioned for you to throw your bundle in as well, expanding the whirlpool.  

“Just toss your shirt in too, it's splattered with blood,” Gale added wearily.  

Her scent lingered on it. The last thing you wanted was to wash it off.

You pulled the shirt over your head and hurled it into the whirlpool.  

“Not Tav’s creative nailwork, I presume..?” Gale asked with a wince, looking at your back.  

“Nope” was all you said, as you pulled a book out from your pocket, making yourself comfortable on the bank. To his credit, the wizard did not probe further. 

‘Mark me as yours’ 

Those words had been echoing in your mind over and over all day.  

It couldn’t have meant anything.  

A little expression of some vampire fetishism finally poking through – you shouldn’t have expected any different from her, she did offer you her blood consistently, not even asking for anything in return.  

Still, you’d felt like something inside you might burst from your desire and thrill when you heard those words.   

And then everything that followed after... 

You had actually lost yourself for a short while. Not dissociated and detached. Lost yourself. In bliss. In the scent of her skin, in the sounds of her need for you, in the sensation of her blood merging with yours and flowing through your veins. 

And now she was walking around somewhere, with telltale bitemarks on her neck for all the world to see. Scandalous... 

No, it couldn’t have meant anything.  

‘Mark me as yours’ 

Still... What a pleasant little fantasy... 

‘Yours’ 

“You’ve been smiling at that page for ten minutes straight now,” Gale’s voice snapped you out of your musings.  

“It’s my favourite page,” you retorted. 

“What’s it about?” he asked snidely after a short pause.  

“I have no idea,” you confessed, begrudgingly, snapping the book shut. If the wizard knew what was best for him, he would abstain from any further comments.  

“She’s quite fond of you,” Gale said sombrely after another pause.  

“Is this about to turn into one of those ‘You break her heart – I'll break your face’ talks?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. 

“Oh gods no,” Gale laughed. "No, I would go straight to incineration... You just strike me as the type that needs to have the obvious spelled out for them.” 

“I am not entering this type of discourse with someone who’s presently washing my spend off my bed sheets,” you said, laying back and shutting your eyes, to bask in the sun. No answer followed. 

Not even a minute had passed when a shadow fell over you.  

Odd, you thought. There hadn’t been a single cloud in the sky. 

You opened your eyes to see a giant water bubble hovering a few meters above you. Was that... a bedsheet floating in the middle..? 

Worth it, you thought just as the undulating bubble spilt and crashed over you.  

You coughed and spat, trying to untangle yourself from the sheet, as the unleashed torrent nearly swept you off the bank. And yet, above all else, you found yourself curious. 

The water had no longer been running as part of the river, true, but given its sheer volume and the velocity at which it hit you, it should have hurt more than merely your pride.  

You made it to the edge of the bank, and cautiously dipped a finger in.

Nothing...

You proceeded to submerge your hand, then your entire forearm, to your elbow. 

Nothing.  

Of all things... Why this? Why not your reflection? Why not the blood craving? Oh well. Beggars, choosers... 

You were laughing.  

“This tadpole,” you turned and shouted at Gale, unabashedly stripping yourself of your pants, as Gale turned away, muttering something about going blind, “is the best thing that’s happened to me in centuries!” 

The best? Maybe second best? It had some tight competition, but you supposed nothing would have been possible without it, so it reigned supreme. 

You leaped into the river, diving and letting the gentle current carry you downstream for a while.  

You knew what you would be doing later that evening with her.  

“What have you got there?”  

She slid onto your lap like a cat that refused to take ‘no’ for an answer as it sought attention. You had been idling away your time by your tent, with some pulp you had picked up earlier. The rest of the group had been drinking and roasting something at the campfire.  

“Trash. Disappointingly boring trash, this time,” you answered. 

“No pulsating flesh tunnels in this one?” 

“Alas... There were not one but two mentions of ‘velvet-wrapped steel’ however, and plenty of ‘sword-sheathing’.” 

“To the hilt?” 

“Is there any other way?” 

“Wouldn’t want to sheathe it only partially, I suppose...” she mused. “Come join us. We found some half-decent wine. And you don’t have to be alone all the time, you know.” 

“Spare me, I’ve had enough of Gale’s lectures and Wyll’s tales for the day. And besides, ugh, all those chewing noises!” You made a gagging sound. 

None of them want me there. 

“Oh don’t be such a delicate princess,” she rolled her eyes. “How’s this: it’s our joint meal time. It would be rude and completely unfair to exclude anyone. You should sit down with everyone, bite down on my wrist and make a great deal of slurping.” 

“You can’t be serious.” 

Delightful. Simply delightful. 

“It will be funny!” 

“I fear you might be the only one laughing, darling.” 

That is hilarious, I can just imagine Gale squealing or getting sick. 

“Is there anyone else you’d care to make laugh?” she asked with a slight upturn of her lips. 

Not in the least. 

“I could die again knowing I have accomplished something if I ever make Lae’zel laugh. But perish the thought – I am perfectly happy right here with my literature.” 

“Well, if you don’t want to join the group, perhaps I will stay and you can...” She snatched the book from your hands and tossed it aside, leaning in and bringing her lips up to your ear. “...Release your kraken in my field of rose petals,” she purred in a sultry voice. 

“Stop,” you choked back a snicker.  

“Get tangled up in my beef curtains?” she continued with the same tone. 

“You’re disgusting.” 

“Sink your meat shaft in my cream tart!” she persevered.  

“By the gods, woman, I am never having sex with your again.” 

“Suckle the nectar from my weeping core!” 

“Alright, fine, I’ll go, anything is better than this.” You got up, pushing her off your lap. 

“Taste my forbidden, oozing fruit, Astarion!” she cried out from the ground behind you as you covered your ears and shouted “LALALALA”, making your way towards the campfire. 

You would endure the prattle of your companions.  

Then you would take her for a moonlit swim in the river.  

Then you would see if she might spend the whole night in your arms again.  

Perhaps she could sleep in your shirt and leave her scent on it again – it was foolish to sleep completely in the nude out in the wild after all, what if there were intruders? 

Everything was going according to plan, you reminded yourself.  

~~~~~

Next in series - Down by the river

Series master list

AO3

Tags: @littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny

Also @spacebarbarianweird - you haven't asked for a tag but sounded interested

[a2zillustration]

gently places the Gale and Croissant dolls in a little box and VIOLENTLY SHAKES IT

Also here's what Karlach was right about if you forgot.

| First | | Previous | | Next |

[[ All Croissant Adventures (chronological, desktop) ]]

[[ All Croissant Adventures (app) ]]

[miradelletarot]

Kneading

It was meant to be a quiet night in. A nice dinner for two, made lovingly together and paired with your favorite Waterdhavian vintage while you sit by the fire. Though, things don’t always go according to plan. *Spicy things under the cut!*

Gale stands behind you, helping you work the dough into a soft, manageable mound before creating parchment-thin sheets and turning them into flowing strands.

What started as an innocent and playful nuzzle against your cheek turned into soft kisses pressed to the column of your neck.

“What are you doing?” You giggle softly as his attention on the dough falters and his hands begin to wander.

He huffs and you can feel him smile against your cheek as he chuckles. “Making pasta,” he purrs, clearly pleased with himself.

Your pulse quickens in reply, biting your lip as your hands grip the edge of the counter. Clearly, dinner can wait.

He glides his hands down your waist and hips and up again, leaving faint trails of flour on your sundress, but you’re too aroused to care. You let out a strangled moan as he cups your breasts and teases their peaks with the tip of his finger through the thin fabric of your dress. And he'll hum. That deep, sexy, satisfied rumble as he continues to massage your breasts and press his hardened arousal against the swell of your ass. Read the rest on AO3!

[jibberjibbsart]

Lae’zel tries to help Gale part 2

Someone dubbed Gale and Lae’zel’s friendship as Lae’Gale and I’m accepting that as canon

[mumms-the-word]

Choosing to Live

Pairing: Gale x Tav (you/reader POV) Summary: Shortly after Gale decides to defy his goddess and not self-destruct in the caverns below Moonrise Towers, you turn and see him struggling with the conflicting emotional fallout of his decision. CW: death, suicidal ideation, panic attacks, survivor's guilt (implied), coercion (implied) A/N: I was inspired by @gangstagandalf's emotional fanart of Gale and Tav just after Moonrise. It's not quite the same scene as their art but I just couldn't resist writing my own angst version. Check them out, their art is lovely! @gangstagandalf I hope you don't mind if I borrowed a few of your lines from your original post! (Pic is of my tav Dani because that’s all I got) UPDATE: Now on AO3 woooo

You watch as the husk of Ketheric Thorm collapses at your feet, a hollow shell of dessicated flesh and heavy armor. You’ve done it at last—you’ve defeated the Bone Lord’s Chosen, the first of three enemies who have enslaved an Elder Brain through the power of some sort of crown it bears. 

At the thought of the crown, you turn your head, seeking out the person who had first pointed out the crown to you. It was the thing that seemed to wake him from his reluctant obedience to his goddess’s command. There had been hunger in his eyes, more than you’d ever seen in him before, and for a brief moment you had thought yourself and him safe from the commands of the goddess of magic and mysteries.

But then he’d steeled himself. You’d watched as he physically and mentally struggled with the weight of the goddess’s demands, preparing himself for what he thought was inevitable.

Death. Destruction. Catastrophe. But one that would supposedly thwart mass enslavement at the whims of an elder brain and three evil Chosen. A noble sacrifice, but one that would kill dozens of innocent lives, too.

You don’t remember what all you said in those panicked seconds between him making his decision and you being dragged into a battle against Ketheric. You recall, vaguely, that you had clutched his robe in your hands and told him you loved him. There had been other words, too, but they were lost to your memory. Whatever it was, it had been enough. Because as of this moment, the elder brain has disappeared, Ketheric is dead, and you are not.

Your eyes find him, your love, your Gale, standing on a far platform where he had climbed to better aim and prepare his spells. He stands, leaning against his staff, panting, staring at the lifeless and inert body of Ketheric at your feet, and then his gaze shifts to you. You, covered in your blood and Ketheric’s black, fetid ichor, in bone dust and illithid matter. You probably look horrible, you think. You know you should bend down to examine Ketheric’s body and see what the glowing stone in his chest is all about, but you can’t look away from your love. Not now.

Not when you were so close to losing him to his goddess’s arbitrary and cold demand. 

But you didn’t. He’s alive. He’s alive. The thought pumps outward from your heart, warm and reassuring like the blood rushing through your own veins, reminding you that you too are alive. Your only thoughts now are of closing the distance between the two of you and peppering his face with kisses, telling him how proud you are of him, how brave he’s been, how much you love him. But as you take a step toward his platform, a shift in him gives you pause.

He slowly kneels down, still leaning heavily on his staff, and for a moment you think he’s praying, in the same way Shadowheart kneels to pray to her goddess. But no, his eyes are wide, staring, unfixed, not closed and reverent. After a moment, he sits fully on the ground, his staff falling with a clatter against the surface of the platform, and he buries his face in his hands.

You go to him immediately, using a last rare scrap of magic to misty step directly onto his platform. He’s shaking with fine, shuddering tremors as you approach, your steps cautious and soft but your heart aching and yearning to rush over. You reach out a hand, your own fingers trembling as they hover suspended above him, and you whisper his name uncertainly.

“Gale?”

You hear his voice but his words are muffled by his hands. You bend closer, making out fragments as his words tumble forth in a soft, whispered babble.

“Oh gods, oh gods,” he gasps. “I nearly—I almost—I could have—the orb. What have I done—”

“Gale,” you say again, finally kneeling in front of him and laying a hand on his shoulder. He jolts at the touch, stiff and startled by you, but you don’t let it deter you. You squeeze his shoulder in what you hope is a reassuring touch, even as the tears threaten to choke you as you watch and feel him tremble. “It’s all right. We’re safe. My love, you’re safe.”

He lowers his hands, one clenching the fabric of his robe over his chest, his breaths coming shallow and quick. His gaze on you is so different than before, all the warmth and steadiness and gentle, shy uncertainty that came with looking at you replaced with abject horror and unfocused panic. You get the sense he isn’t really seeing you, but staring through you to some theoretical what-if nightmare. One where you didn’t make it out alive. 

“I very nearly killed us all,” he mumbles, still clutching his chest. "I nearly killed you."

“But you didn’t—”

“I was so close to—to—th-the orb, I could feel it stirring, like it wanted me to—” He breaks off, his hand tightening in the fabric of his robe. The mark of the orb glows faintly, the barest hint of illuminated magic threading upward toward his eye, casting an orchid-purple sheen to his dark iris. He bends forward slightly, combing a hand roughly through his hair and clutching brown and gray strands tightly in his fist, his eyes wide. You half-expect him to be sick as he presses his other hand flat against his chest, breathing heavily. “And now I’ve defied my goddess. I—”

He turns suddenly, sharply, twisting to prop himself up on hands and knees away from you as his body rebels against him and he retches. Very little comes up—he hasn’t been eating well since you first stepped into Moonrise and he found himself faced with the very real possibility of sacrificing his life—but his body shudders and bucks violently as it attempts to dispel everything inside him. Not just the contents of his empty stomach but the fear and loathing and terror too. 

You don’t shy away from him. You shift closer, sitting on your knees at his side as his body settles into little shivers, his hands pressed flat into the surface of the platform. Your eyes are burning with tears now and you want to sob, your heart shattering for this man, your love, your heart’s song, but you have to be strong for him. You smooth his hair from his face, fingers brushing against his sweat-slick skin, and you cradle his feverish cheek in your palm. You say the only words you know to say and you repeat them as many times as you have to before they break through the haze of his clouded mind and resonate within him.

“Shh. You’re safe, my love. I’m here. I’m here with you. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, my love. You are safe.”

He leans into you and you gather him in your arms, rocking you both gently as he rests his head on your shoulder and wraps his arms around one of your arms. His shoulder is awkwardly pressed into your chest and he’s half-curled into your lap, weighing your knees uncomfortably down into ground, but you don’t mind. Discomfort and awkwardness don’t matter. What matters is that he is alive and so are you. You remind him of that in words, in your stream of murmured comforts, along with all the rest. 

It takes several long moments for his breathing to even out again, and another few for him to finally rest against you without an errant shiver wracking his body. But he calms at last. The tears on your face have since dried, but your heart aches no less than before. To think that your love would suffer so for making the right choice—the choice to live—but to suffer nonetheless out of a sense of guilt and fealty to a goddess that had thrown him aside like a broken toy.

It fills you with an uncommon rage. The gods are ever cruel, but the goddess of magic—you dare not even give her the honor of her name in your own thoughts—she is among the worst in your eyes. Even now, as your love struggles to compose himself, it isn’t a goddess’s arms or a goddess’s blessing that are there to comfort him.

The arms that are wrapped around him are your own. The comfort you have to offer is that of warm flesh and soft breath, mortal and precious. And it is better—better, you tell yourself with all the prideful conviction of a mortal soul—than anything an immortal, unfeeling goddess could offer.

He finally stirs, straightening up to look at you. Or look at your shoulder, rather, unable to meet your gaze. His expression is hollow, sorrowful, but calm. You know the road to him accepting and finding joy in his decision to defy his goddess is not yet over, and the path ahead may still be thorny.

But at least he has the chance to try and walk that path, rather than ending it all here.

"Forgive me," he says softly. He seems to want to say more, but the words don't come easily. You shake your head, not caring what he's trying to apologize for.

"There's nothing to forgive, my love. You made the right choice." You caress his cheek, wiping away the grime and the tear tracks that have collected there. “I love you, Gale.”

He finally meets your gaze and oh, your love, he looks so exhausted. But there is a flicker of his old self still there, a warmth that is familiar in his dark eyes. You press your forehead to his, still caressing his cheek, and close your eyes. 

He’s alive. That’s all that matters. You can figure out the rest as you go.

“I love you, too,” he whispers.

You have to get out of here, out of this cavern of flesh and stone and brine. You have to face the problems of the world at large, the threat of the elder brain and more. You know that. But you steal a few more moments for yourself, breathing softly with Gale, treasuring every breath as though they were more precious than diamonds.

———

You set out to leave the shadow-cursed lands at what you think is dawn the next day. Even with the curse waning, it’s hard to tell the time with the sun still obscured. But the hope is that as the land fades away behind you, you’ll be walking forward into sunlight and not more night.

You and Gale walk at the back of your little group, your companions moving on ahead. With each step, the shadow curse lightens. There are hints and signs of new life all around, tiny green leaves fluttering against once-dead branches, thin shoots of grass poking upward from the cold, dry ground. It restores your hope for good things to come. Not just for these lands, but for you. For your love.

He’s been quiet since the fight against Ketheric. Contemplative. Thoughtful. You had spent the night wrapped in each other's arms, counting his every heartbeat and breath until you were pulled into slumber, suspecting that he had done the same for you. When you woke you both pretended that sleep had cured you of the previous day’s torments and used the task of breaking up the camp to travel onward as your distraction from your concerns. But you watched him across the camp anyway, a knot of worry in your stomach.

Sometimes, both this morning and in the moments traveling now, you see that hunger in his eyes as you did when he first saw the crown atop the elder brain. But sometimes you just see a lingering sorrow. You haven’t been able to bring yourself to ask him about it. Not yet. It’s enough that he’s here with you, and you trust him to speak to you about what weighs on his heart in his own time. But you still worry.

Just up ahead, the shadow curse seems to fizzle out entirely, like a fog that dissipates as the sun burns it away. Beyond the threshold is sun-warmed landscape. Though scarred by the smoldering and abandoned remains of the Absolute army’s campfires and shelters, nothing has ever looked so inviting to you before. You rush ahead, eager to feel the sun on your skin again.

The difference in temperature alone is enough to reassure you that the shadow curse is behind you at last. One second you are enveloped in the chill and dimness of the shadows, and the next you are warm and bright in the light of the sun. You pause just a few steps into the sunlight, stretching out your arms and lifting your face toward the sky, drinking in the warmth. At last. You feel as though you can breathe freely again.

You turn to smile at Gale, but he is not at your side. He lingers in the shadows, watching you. The shadow curse is like a sheer black veil between you, obscuring his expression slightly, but as you step closer you realize his eyes are glimmering with unshed tears.

“Gale?”

He blinks, as if awakening from the depths of his thoughts, and quickly rubs his eyes. “Ah…my apologies. Lost in thought, I suppose.”

You hesitate to leave the warmth of the sun, but you sense this is more important than sunlight. You step onto the threshold of the curse, reaching out a hand to him. You want to pull him out of the shadows and into the light with you. He stares at your hand a moment before taking it, but he doesn’t move. Like he isn’t ready yet. 

“Tell me what’s on your mind, my love,” you say gently. “Tell me how I can help.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but for the first time, words seem to utterly fail him. He swallows, gazing at you with a stricken expression, and tightens his hold on your hand.

“It’s simply…I am…in awe,” he says at last. “Of you. And I am mortified with myself. No, more than mortified. I nearly…”

You sense the flow of his thoughts instantly, your minds connecting via the tadpole, his thoughts unconsciously opening up to you. At first he resists, his mind shutting down like a trap to spare you, but then the shields waver and fall away, and you are pulled into his memories. You feel the struggle within him as he stares at the elder brain. You feel the heat and pain of the orb inside, as if reminding him of his purpose. You see yourself through his gaze, the fear and love warring in your expression as you beg him not to go through with his sacrifice. You feel the moment he makes his decision, his resolve hardening like steel in flame, only to shatter, brittle and broken, the moment the brain disappears, the pieces transforming into needles of doubt that bury themselves in his psyche, his heart, his body.

As the familiar, terrifying sight of the colossal avatar of Myrkul rises into your vision once more, for one fleeting moment, you sense the desperate desire to end it all now, to end the storm of uncertainty in your mind, the pain of the orb, the fear of disobedience, the exhaustion of facing another battle with impossible odds. For one fleeting moment, you consider letting go and letting the orb obliterate you and everything around you.

And then the connection ends, and you are left standing at the threshold of the shadows with Gale’s hand in yours.

“I nearly killed us all with one rash thought,” he murmurs quietly. “The thought of my sacrifice never left my mind, even as I swore to you I wouldn’t go through with it.”

He takes a shuddering breath and a tear drips down his cheek. You catch it with your fingertips as you cradle his face with your free hand, your heart breaking for him all over again. His tears prompt your own and you struggle to hold them back, for his sake.

“And now,” he says, his voice altered, thick with tears. He swallows. “And now I see what I fool I was to doubt. To doubt you and your wisdom. To wish for death so quickly.” 

He meets your gaze and you see a thousand words he hasn’t said yet there in his brown eyes. A hundred apologies, a hundred ways to beg forgiveness, a hundred confessions of love, a hundred praises, all about and for you. It’s a torrent of love and longing and guilt in his eyes and your knees nearly buckle at the sight of it.

“I would have condemned the brightest of stars to death,” he says. “I would have robbed the world of its greatest treasure. And for what?”

“Oh, Gale,” you whisper. You abandon the sunlight to join him in the shadows and embrace him, holding him tightly as he struggles to regain his composure. “No more. You made the right decision. You’re here with me. I’m here with you. We’re alive, my love, because of you.”

“But I could have—“

“But you didn’t.” You pull back to cradle his face in both your hands and wait until he’s looking you full in the face. You want him to see your own resolve, but also your love, your faith in him, your pride for him. “You chose to live, my love. That is the most important thing. That is all that matters right now.”

He stares at you, letting your words sink in, until at last he smiles. Though it’s still tinged with sadness and guilt, it’s genuine. It soothes your spirit and settles some of your worries. 

“I don’t deserve you, you know.”

You shake your head. This isn’t about deserving, but you know that’s a battle you won’t win here. Instead you kiss him, your lips soft against his, and you let that suffice for words for a moment.

When you finally pull away, he seems a little restored. The love is back in his eyes and his smile isn’t weighed down as it was before.

“I love you,“ you say.

“And I love you,” he responds. “Immensely. More than I scarce dreamed I could love anyone.”

“We will find another way to deal with the brain and quiet the orb inside you. Some way that keeps us both alive and together. I swear it.“

“I believe you.” There isn't a trace of uncertainty in his voice when he says it. “I want that more than anything.”

“Want what?”

“To live. With you. To see the dawn of a new day with you, the dawns of a thousand more days. To know that the road ahead, whatever it holds, won't be spent alone, because I'll have you by my side.” He pauses, as if a thought is only just now coming to him. “I can...I can have that hope, now. Thanks to you.”

You smile. You take both of his hands in yours and step back, placing yourself once more on the threshold between shadows and sun. “Then will you join me in the sunlight?”

He looks at you, then at the sunlit road beyond, and then back at you. He nods, letting go of one of your hands but tightening his hold on the other. “Yes. I’d love to.”

Without another word, he keeps his hand in yours as you lead him forward step by step.

Away from the darkness and into the light.

[lunian]

Gale, before Astarion's Ascension:

Gale, 5 mins later:

[johnslittlespoon]

Only You Can Cool My Desire

[WC: 6K | Gale Cleven/John Egan, Tough And Sweet AU, Summer, Heatwaves, Ice Play, Blow Jobs, Light Dom/Sub, Teasing, Orgasm Delay]

“Gale,” John gets out, wriggling where he’s trapped beneath Gale’s arms. “I’m cooled down, please, can you–”

His plea breaks off into a curse when Gale lets the ice cube in his palm slide onto John’s stomach, watching as it settles in the dip of his belly button, John’s skin so fever–hot that Gale can immediately see the smallest pool of water beginning to form.

“You’ve been whining about being hot all week,” Gale says, pressing his lips to John’s thigh, feeling the muscle twitch at his touch. “I’m just helpin’ you out.”

[AO3 LINK]

[window-on-the-west]

Not sure if I'll end up using this, but I wrote a blurb last night and I like it. It's a little over drabble-length, but I may incorporate it into a bigger idea I had. Act 2 romance scene: Gale sees Giliath unclothed for the first time.

~

And so now Gale saw him with his armor all shed, and he was far more slender than he had wagered, fragile and small and with wounds that gushed starlight. 

Do you see now? he said. Do you see why I am ashamed?

Tell me, said Gale.

Because, he began. When I take up my sword, my hands callous over. When I don my armor, my skin splits underneath. A flesh and temperament soft as butter, and I play at being a protector.

And? said Gale.

And now it is laid bare in starlight, he said. Tell me: Is this what you had hoped to see?

Yes, answered Gale. 

Yes—Why?

Because I see you.

[parkouringrabbit]

We are celebrating EA Gale today in the Gale thirstposting server, which has been renamed to Dale thirstposting. A few little trinkets to celebrate, including a heart-felt reading by Tim, a new banner courtesy of the amazing @mission--control-art-crimes , and a piece I wrote inspired by Dale. Have a wonderful day, folks, and happy Dale (EA Gale) posting.

So pop out your folding lawn chair in front of your trailer and look out for tornaders.

My Heart Resides in a Single Wide

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64235896

[kemendin]

A Bit of Well-Deserved Softness

Gale basks in the quiet delight of his home in Waterdeep, and the drow with whom he shares it. Gale x Ace!Tav Words: 3200 A/N: This all started when my dear friend @deeafrotailmisstress gifted me this wonderful Dhamari/Gale art for my birthday a while back. And of course I went 'well now I've gotta write a fic to go with this'. And so here is the result! Post-game fluff, so general spoiler warning.

Waking up each morning was not, strictly speaking, Gale’s favourite part of the day.

But it was undeniably one of the best parts.

It was the breeze that always stirred his senses first, cool and light and laden with salt as it tumbled in from the open window. Cavorting round the bedroom like an eager sprite, sweeping up the scent of well-worn books; until at length it darted through a gap in the gauzy bed hangings and Gale could draw in a long, full draught of it as he lay there. Breathing happily of home.

Then the sounds would start to filter in. The cry of restless seabirds outside his window, and the multitudinous clamour of the city below, gently muffled by the bulwark of his tower’s enchanted walls. 

Sometimes, as he listened, he would make a game of it - keeping his eyes closed against the dawn as he sought to isolate one distant sound or another, then supposed what it might be and its location.

On this particular day, however, very little focus was required to recognise the heavy peal now echoing across the city of Waterdeep, signalling that the morning was already half spent. 

Gale scrunched his face in astonishment, and hurriedly palmed at his eyes to open them. He was greeted by a room radiant with sunlight, warm and strong even through the semi-translucence of the bed canopy; and in that moment he had no alternative but to acknowledge that it was, indeed, quite late.

A rueful huff of surprise fell from his lips as he turned his thoughts back to the previous evening. He hadn’t greeted his pillow until well after midnight, and truthfully, he wasn’t accustomed to retiring at such an hour. Months of gruelling travel had impressed upon him the need to retreat early to his tent - to rest, if not to actually sleep - because daybreak came soon for weary bodies and even sooner for brooding minds. And in what seemed like another lifetime - in the years before he was daily being menaced by threats of ceremorphosis and self-combustion - more often than not he would become so absorbed in his evening literature that he simply didn’t go to bed at all. Why bother with such mundane things as sleep, when he could instead be seated in his favourite chair by the hearth, with a heavy tome and a purring tressym vying for place upon his lap?

And so instead of slumber, the night would pass in glints of wine, and in the crisp sigh of pages, and the fire would crackle its soothing counterpoint to the clink of ivory keys, until at last even the flames fell quiet and there was only the piano’s solitary melody to usher in the dawn.

But now - now things were different. Now he had something else to stay up late for, and something - someone - to retire with. And he looked forward to both occasions immensely.

Read on AO3

Gale gave a lazy turn onto his side, and felt a fond smile tugging at his mouth. The ‘someone’ in question was currently well-burrowed into the blankets beside him, hardly visible at all save for a mane of wild black hair flared across the purple-cased pillow. It was he who’d insisted on curtains round the bed; even after several years spent living on the surface, abrupt sunlight was still painful on his eyes, and he’d grumbled enough each morning that before their first week in Waterdeep was over, Gale had held up his hands in defeat and promptly gone down to the tailor’s shop to have some hangings made.

Levering himself up, Gale leaned over his bedmate, and after a moment he lightly eased the blankets back so that he could consider the drow beside him. Dhamari was resting on his stomach, a fact which on its own spoke volumes to his level of comfort. He’d confessed once to the wizard that he was careful never to leave his back exposed while sleeping, lest an enemy take him by surprise. Gale had gotten the impression that when it came to survival in the Underdark, trust was frequently considered to be the greatest enemy of all.

But this was Waterdeep, not a backstabbing drow metropolis. This was Gale’s tower, safe and secure. And although Dhamari rarely required the wizard’s protection, Gale was of course always ready to offer it, should such necessity arise.

He continued to hover over his partner, gently studying the sleeping sorcerer - his face like a page from a favourite book which Gale had long since memorised, yet never tired of reading. Skin the muted blue of an early twilight (save on those rare occasions when he became flustered and warmed to a faint purple, which Gale personally found quite endearing). A visage marked with sharp tattoos the colour of storm clouds, curving down from his brow to cradle his eyes and cut across his cheeks, emphasising the narrow angles of his face. So often Gale would see Dhamari’s lips drawn back in fury as he bared his pointed teeth; but now his mouth was closed, and soft with sleep.

Gale sighed, slightly wistful. A glance in the mirror each morning reminded him that their shared adventures were penned in deeper lines fanning around his eyes and across his forehead, but Dhamari appeared virtually unchanged. He was still young for a drow, not even midway through his second century, whereas Gale was… well, he preferred to think of himself as accumulating wisdom, rather than gaining years. But he knew that unless he borrowed a page from his old friend Elminster, and sought out some arcane means of extending his own life, Dhamari would far outlast him.

Yet what would ordinarily be rather melancholy musings seldom troubled him these days. After all, he’d had his chance. He had gazed upon the promise of immortality, wrought of metal and Netherese magic, and glimpsed for a moment the very summit of all his fervent strivings. And then he had glanced beside him, and seen again the choice he’d made in the depths of Moonrise Towers. And in the end he’d found that he couldn’t bear to release the soiled, bloodied hand caught so tightly within his own, when becoming a god would make him, for better and for worse, untouchable.

Whether I condemn this world or not, he’d said, I choose you.

And Gale held no regrets for making that choice. Wonderings, yes - that was only natural. Speculations and suppositions, silent imaginings of what might have been, had he faced both Karsus’ folly and his own, and decided differently.

But regrets? No, none that he could find. And he had no intentions of spoiling his remarkably good mood by looking for them.

Canting his head, Gale reached and lightly brushed his forefinger along the curve of Dhamari’s long ear. It twitched beneath his touch, and the wizard chuckled in quiet delight, knowing now that his partner was at least marginally awake.

He nudged the ear again, more firmly this time.

“Come on, Ari. Time to face the day.”

He drew the blankets back farther, eliciting a barely-audible grumble from the drow, accompanied by a small expression of displeasure. Dhamari clutched defiantly at the pillow with both hands, and pressed his face deeper into its plush embrace.

Gale smiled even as he shook his head in admonishment. “Come on now, up you get,” he said in a mild voice. “We’ve plans for today, remember? Need I remind you, the bazaar only remains on the Material Plane until sundown - and that is now several hours closer than I’d initially projected. As things stand, we may only have time enough to peruse two-thirds of it.”

At this, Dhamari twisted his head enough so that he could crack one eye open. To Gale it often looked like drawing back the shutters on a narrow window at night - seeing the drow’s moonlike iris floating in a field of black.

“Unless more than two-thirds of the offerings are books,” mumbled Dhamari, “I doubt that will prove a problem.”

Gale huffed archly. “While rare tomes may be the main attraction for me, this market offers much more than books, I can assure you,” he replied. A barely restrained eagerness crept into his voice as he leaned himself over Dhamari. “Just picture it - wonders from across the realms, laid out at our very fingertips. And,” he added, “most of them brought from places of which you have never even heard, let alone clapped eyes on.” He tapped a teasing finger on the end of Dhamari’s nose. 

“Be warned - I may very well decide to quiz you afterward. So you had best be sure you’re paying attention to what we find there.”

But Dhamari made such a face in response to this, his nose wrinkling and his upper lip curling unpleasantly, that Gale burst out laughing.

“You’re an awful grump in the mornings now, do you know that, Ari?” he chuckled. “I don’t recall you being anywhere near this cantankerous in Baldur’s Gate. Not until you’d picked your first fight of the day, at least.”

“That’s because you’ve spoiled me,” grunted Dhamari. “You’re making me soft, Gale. Soft and lazy.”

“Ah, but is that such a terrible thing, my love?” Gale asked him, his lips still quirked in amusement. He wriggled forward until he was nearly draped over the drow. “After all those months slogging through mud and brambles, staving off darkness and despair - personally I am more than delighted to give myself over to a bit of luxury. And by that I mean hot baths, silk sheets, stout meals, and a bottle of wine that doesn’t smell as though it was left to age inside someone’s forgotten pair of farming boots.”

He set his chin on Dhamari’s shoulder for a moment. His smile broadened when he saw how the drow’s own mouth had curved grudgingly at the corners, and so he pressed on:

“We deserve that, you and I. We deserve a bit of softness. A few weeks, at least, free of fighting and fear -“

“And full of food, if you’d have your way,” Dhamari broke in. “You spent five hours in the kitchen yesterday. Who are you expecting will eat all of that? Tara?”

“I thought I might pack up most of it and take it with me when I visit the Academy tomorrow,” Gale answered brightly. The invitation to meet with the Blackstaff in person had not been a complete surprise, considering the sum of both recent events and his exploits as a former apprentice, but he’d read it with anticipation nonetheless. “I’m sure there are at least a dozen famished young wizards-in-training there who would appreciate a lavish, home-cooked meal.”

Dhamari’s lips pursed lightly. “So now that you’ve succeeded in spoiling me, you’re branching out,” he noted. He stretched his shoulders back - as much as he could beneath Gale’s weight - then added pointedly, “That sort of decadent treatment would never be allowed in any drow academy.”

“Then it’s a good thing we aren’t in Sshamath,” returned Gale, his smile unsullied by the drow’s griping. “For any number of reasons, I daresay.” 

Dhamari still kept much of his drow life to himself, and rarely talked of the city where he was born. Gale suspected this was not so much due to discomfort on Dhamari’s part, but rather an attempt to avoid shocking the wizard with tales of his Underdark existence. Such light treading was hardly necessary; Gale had seen more than his share of horrors over the course of their conflict with the Absolute, and he’d gleaned enough from what Dhamari did say to form a rough, unhappy picture of the other’s past. But there was something touching, something unexpectedly tender, in Dhamari’s wish to shield him from such understanding, and so Gale did not press the point.

He saw his partner’s visible eye narrow slightly; but then it closed in a slow blink, and when it opened, the drow’s manner was easy again.

“Yes,” Dhamari agreed, and he offered a wry little smile of his own. “A very good thing.”

Gale grinned. “Now we are in Waterdeep,” he proclaimed grandly, with a small sweep of his hand. “The Crown of the North, City of Splendours.” Tipping his head, he set his cheek on Dhamari’s shoulder, and his eyes were alight as he went on with quieter zeal, “And there is so much I want to show you. To share with you.”

He let a heartbeat pass, a moment of pure bliss as he gazed into the drow’s open eye, and saw his devotion reflected in the obsidian depths. Then -

“On which subject,” he added, and in one dramatic movement he sat up and swept the blankets off them both. “Time to get up.”

Dhamari let out another long, loud groan in protest; but under the encouraging knead of the wizard’s fingers into his back, he reluctantly levered himself up. Chuckling, Gale reached over and smoothed down a few of the most aberrant strands of the drow’s wild hair. Dhamari glanced at him across his shoulder, squinted, and then gave a hard, deliberate shake of his head, instantly nullifying the other’s efforts. 

Gale huffed fondly. “Alright,” he said, “suit yourself.” He leaned away to tug aside the bed hangings, and then swung his legs over the edge of the bed; but further efforts towards verticality were impeded by the drow who now latched himself onto Gale’s shoulder.

Gale turned his head, arching his brows at the offender, but any mild rebuke melted away as he watched Dhamari almost idly nuzzle his forehead against his shoulder. The drow had been immensely touch-averse at the start, so much that early on Gale had considered their holding hands for pleasure as well as purpose to be a noteworthy accomplishment. He’d never pressed Dhamari into closer contact than was comfortable, but gradually the sorcerer came to realise, with the other’s reassurance, the rewards of gentle physicality. To see him be so easy with it now, without flinching or fear - Gale could feel his own heart brimming with elation, and with pride.

He reached around with his free hand, again combing his fingers through the narrow mane of Dhamari’s hair, and he smiled when his partner leaned automatically into the touch. After a moment the drow lifted his head, but it was only to prop his chin on Gale’s shoulder this time. He blinked still bleary eyes up at Gale, and then his gaze wandered slowly from the wizard’s face down to his chest.

“I like this,” Dhamari murmured at length.

Gale’s smile widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “As do I,” he assured him.

Dhamari shook his head. “I mean this,” he said.

Gale felt an unanticipated brush upon his chest. Tucking his chin, he looked on with faint bemusement as the drow’s finger traced the dark line of the orb still marked upon his skin. 

“You do?” Gale’s brow furrowed quizzically. The ball of half-formed Weave still buried within him slept now, thank the gods. No longer throbbing tortuously beside his heart, its gnawing hunger assuaged at last; and by this point he wasn’t overly concerned that it might reawaken. All the same, it remained an uncomfortable reminder of what his hubris, more than once, had nearly cost him, and he would have vastly preferred to be rid of it altogether.

“Yes,” replied Dhamari, through a jaw still braced upon Gale’s shoulder. He splayed his hand out over the orb, and smiled a little. “It’s… striking. It suits you.” He flicked his eyes up again, one ear angling lower in an almost shy expression. “And it makes me think about our first night together.”

Gale pushed out a rueful breath. “The night when you categorically tore me apart for allowing the orb to control every facet of my existence?” he asked. “How could I forget? I’ve rarely been subject to such a brutal awakening.”

“You needed it,” said Dhamari, and both his face and tone were, for an instant, unrepentant.

“I can't argue with that,” conceded Gale. He’d been so long mired in misery and woe that he hadn’t been able to recognise the dark depths to which he had fallen; not until Dhamari’s harsh candour yanked painfully at his numbed senses, and showed him a better path than the precipice beneath his feet.

“Good,” said Dhamari. “We argue enough as it is.”

His fingers continued to trail thoughtfully along the lines that flowed up the side of the wizard’s neck. But Gale caught his hand and brought it to his lips instead, and pressed several long, leisurely kisses to the drow’s twilight skin. It was an act of consecration to him, of worship - but a different sort than the one he’d once ascribed to. One that now asked nothing of him, save what he desired to give.

Not for the first time, Gale wondered that he could ever have bowed his head before she who demanded his death, and called it love.

He lifted his eyes again, and from their corners he could see Dhamari. Still with his chin set on Gale’s shoulder, the harshness of his features now made so much softer by the contentment - the happiness, Gale dared to deem it - hovering on his face. Gods, how he loved that expression. He wanted to sit here for an eternity and drink it in, certain it could fill him as well as any wine, and would grant an even headier feeling of delight.

But they did have plans for today, after all, and Gale was not about to give them up, no matter how distracting Dhamari could be.

Not this time, at any rate.

“Come on.” He placed one more kiss on Dhamari’s knuckles for good measure before straightening up and passing his partner’s hand back to him. “Enough of your moon eyes. We’ve got a magical bazaar to peruse.”

He gave a little pop of his shoulder, enough to dislodge the drow leaning on him, and got to his feet before Dhamari could latch on again. He padded over to a chair nearby to retrieve his purple houserobe, glancing back towards the bed as he shrugged it on. 

Dhamari had scooted to the edge of the bed, and was now perched there with his legs - rather shorter than Gale’s - dangling above the rug-festooned floor as he yawned, stretched, and tried without much concern to rake down his rumpled hair. Gale felt his lips twitch in fond amusement at the sight. The drow was a danger, a menace, and yet here and now he looked so domestically harmless that Gale almost couldn’t believe the stormy trails of destruction that Dhamari tended to leave in his wake.

Almost.

With a rueful shake of his head, Gale turned and strode briskly for the bedroom door. “Up!” he called back over his shoulder. “Before I send Tara in to drag you up with her claws.”

The last thing he saw before closing the door behind him was Dhamari’s disgruntled face, glowering at him in (mostly) feigned outrage over the wizard’s tressymic threat.

Gale laughed quietly as he headed downstairs, mentally framing each moment of the last half hour. Perhaps there might be days, he thought to himself, when waking up was his favourite part.