#shadowweaver

[cyborgmythweaver]

same energy

[mylesofartistry]

Is that trend where two characters that share a voice actor and would absolutely hate each other still relevant? Because I think Queen Valerin from Nimona and Shadow Weaver from She-Ra 2018 would be perfect for this, both voiced by the ever talented Lorraine Toussaint.

And considering that @gingerhaze created both characters, I do wonder if them sharing a VA despite the juxtaposition of their personas was meant to be an intentional choice on Nate's part...

[carasilvaart]

Shadow Weaver

I love Shadow Weaver so much. I’m so gay for this character. ; w;

[savagepowersofgrayskull]

More of Tess Fowler!

[jidblogger]

Would Shadow Weaver have had better luck trying to manipulate Adam than Adora?

Hmmmm, good question! IDK. I think at least my Adam is a bit to laid back, but that also helps he was raised in a happy home

[laurikarauchscat]

I'm so sorry but I have to Show you this because I love Shadow Weaver too because aauugghhhhh okay sry imma go now have a day ^_^

Ahh !! I've found another MILF lover 😍 🥰🥰

[equallyloyalandlethal]

Okay, but someone needs to do a rewrite of this from Catra's perspective on Shadoweaver...

[chena-h]

*Checks my nonexistent watch*

Well, would you look at that? It's time for me to ramble about spop for a bit.

Disclaimer, I guess? So, this is all fairly off the cuff. Also feel like mentioning that I haven't gone back to watch spop since the final season aired. But, you know...whatever.

Among my laundry list of nitpicks with spop's last season, one of them that stuck out to me recently was the resolution to Shadowweaver's story. Like killing her off (even as a noble sacrifice for her adoptive daughters) felt a bit underwhelming. For a character that influenced so much of the story, her ending seemed too abrupt to me, you know what I mean? Also, like, given the show's anti war message (and the decision to keep Hordak alive), I would have liked to see Shadowweaver get some further development during the final conflict.

Personally, I think it would have been cool (and maybe narratively satisfying) for her to have been involved in the fight against Chipped! Micah. Idk, just something about her going up against her former student is really interesting to me. Like, I think it could have brought her arc full circle in a way, by having her go up against him and be overmatched. Maybe she could have had a moment in that fight where it looks like she's going to die and she has a monologue about her story up to that point wherein she concludes that death is the only option for her, only for Glimmer to come to her aid and help fight off her father. Like, for Shadowweaver to see Glimmer not give up on her could've maybe helped her realize that her worth isn't measured by how powerful she is, but by the fact shes actively choosing to do good outside of personal gain or something? And That her redemption so to speak doesn't have to just be about penance. Idk, I think that would have been neat for her character.

The reason I'd keep Glimmer in that fight is because her arc kinda parallels Shadowweaver's arc (at least in S4), so I think it'd be interesting if they both worked together to save Micah.

[ssalballoon]

i think they'd be very gentle with each other 🪻

[tis-i-dezzi]

I have been thinking Morena Dekarios would love anyone Gale brought home as long as they treat him right:

Astarion- This would be met with such fawning, "My goodness such a charming young man! He compliments me every time I see him! No wander Gale fell for him!"

Shadowheart- "What a fun girl! She picks the best wines and always has such a funny quip ready. Plus Tara seems to like her!"

Wyll- "Gods! A Duke's son! Well isn't he so Charming and well behaved. I always said nothing but a prince is good for my Gale."

Minthara-"Again intense, but she shows so much respect to me and compliments my status as a matriarch for our household. Very protective of Gale, I love it!

Lae'ze/- A bit intense, but always willing to help move heavy objects and seems very protective over my son!"

Karlach-"What a wonderfully enthusiastic girl! I love it! She wants to get Gale out of the house and talk to people? I adore it!'

Halsin- "My what a wonderful man! He always perks up my plants when he is around and tells me some herbal remedies! What a Darling!"

[forsakenwitchery]

daily galeheart gifs incoming. :D

who wanted to hug the wizard? 😺 I remember someone in the tags wanting to give Gale a hug. So I give thee the hug from all the angles. 😈

[all my bg3 gifs] & [all my galeheart thingies]

bonus gif with Tara:

[savagepowersofgrayskull]

Hordak was the real benefactor

[kockaslili]

ShadowWeave 💜 Happy ending

Requested by @godd3ssastrid

Close up render coming soon!

[trippingbhaals]

me when the attractive side character with trust issues and terrible personality has something to say

[amorficzna]

hiiii a prompt for you: galeheart + reaching out with their hand without saying anything, wanting the other one to grab it

yayay thank you for this one rowan, it really got me writing, and I ended up folding the prompt I haven't yet (completely) filled for @kvella into it as a shorter, completed story. I hope ya both like it <3

(alternatively, read on ao3)

The first time she is downed - too busy making sure Lae’zel can handle the goblin charging after her - she reaches out; for what or who, she doesn’t know, and assumes her body remembers the rites the way her mind can’t. She is no doubt reaching out for Shar, as penance, as the blood slips past her ribs and into the ground below, into the dark of the dirt.

The morningstar slips through her fingers, and it could be nothing more than her body crumpling beneath the heavy swing of the bugbear, but there’s more to it than that: her fingers stretch, and wait, and she feels the distinct prickle of something missing, though it isn’t her armament. 

There are muffled cries around her, and she blinks at the bleary image of a purple mass coming towards her; beneath the numbness of her skin she feels the warmth of a hand in hers. 

She doesn’t remember much after that, doesn’t bother to, until she awakes in camp. The hem of Gale’s robe is torn and there is a purple rag soaked with brown blood that lies at the edge of her tent. 

Her fingers flit across her palm. 

—

There are years of memories between that moment and this one, yet of all their time spent together - years and years and years of a life she can claim to remember now, with no uncertainty to it - seems condensed into that one moment; one that she cannot remember more than half-fully. 

Her Gale is old now; truly wizened, with his soul to match. He is grumpy, though in a light-hearted way that usually doesn’t match her on some of her best days. His face is alight with scars and wrinkles that she caresses in the evenings, when he snores and the winds of Waterdeep are too cold for her to wander onto the roof and look at the stars; to contemplate those celestially long lives, and remember an old friend. 

She is old now too, but not old enough.

Tonight the winds die down as she makes her way to the rooftop, Gale’s form sagging harshly against their mattress. The clouds are clear and she knows what omens are, how they manifest, like the way they did before Morena passed. The night sky was clear then, too, and the snow falling across city was so gentle it kissed her skin where it landed. 

She looks down upon her garden from her perch on the roof, for it really is hers. Her trees are ripe with blossoms and early spring fruits. The moon casts shade upon a sprinkling of every kind of flower and bush she could find, once upon a time; anything that would grow lies scattered haphazardly in the small thicket Gale once gifted her. 

In the middle of the lush of nightshades and crocus and night orchids peeks through the stone grave of Morena Dekarios. And beside her, the dirt still clinging to her nailbeds, lies another empty plot. 

She draws her knees up close to her chest, and looks upon the stars. 

Gale told her once of a tradition among Waterdhavians, or so he claimed. He less told and more performed, his hands whisking the Weave around them as an empty bottle of wine rolled haphazardly towards the edge of the roof, their lips stained plum, his smile bright. It was about wishes and falling stars, and how the Gods, who looked so fondly on those doomed celestial bodies, found it within themselves to grant wishes for even the lowliest of mortals. 

Now, as she looks at the sky, a piercing blue streak crosses past, just below the heavy full moon. 

The ache in her chest tightens anew as she wonders on it - if she should test her luck with some erratic half-formed tale from a night of drinking. But her children and the last of their friends will be here tomorrow, and her Gale is old, and she has spent many years with him, on this roof, in their bed, out in the garden; it will have to be enough. 

As the night turns golden with the rising sun she slips back inside. He is already awake, his eyes bright and warm as he sees her come in, his hand equally so as he wipes the dried tears from her cheeks. 

“My love,” he says, “My dear heart.”

“It’s been a good life.” 

“And it will be.” 

She runs her hand against his chest and the thin skin there; where his skin indents like an old scar, or a burn that never healed quite right. She spent many nights rubbing oils and balms into the skin there, out of sheer spite or blind stubbornness she isn’t sure, but the mark stayed, and they learned to grow around it instead. 

She wonders, in this last morning together, if she should bring up this half-formed memory of a life long ago. 

Instead she reaches for him, and he meets her halfway, their fingers entwining, his knuckled and swollen, hers a bit spotted and soft but still much the same, and that is answer enough. 

—

The sun is barely cresting over Deep Harbor when the first of their children appear - Marino and Arianell, their own families in tow. Shadowheart sends a mage hand to greet them, their light steps creaking against the old staircase as they make their way towards their parent’s bedroom. She runs her fingers softly against Gale’s forehead, his hair long and wispy and starkly white. 

His smile deepens the wrinkles and lines of his face, and he welcomes his twins with open arms. 

“Father -” Marino cries, but that is all the boy can say before the three of them are swept up in sobs and cathartic laughter.

Shadowheart rubs her hand against her daughter’s back, and sees so much of Gale in the both of them. Below her children’s partners and her grandchildren await, and she knows she will need to see to them soon as the day becomes long and the night will be upon them, but for now she feels the warmth of her son’s arms around her, and the hot trail of her husband’s tears, and she allows herself this indulgence.

—

Ama arrives before noon, her youngest daughter holding herself together with stark calmness as she wobbles up the stairs to see her father, always closer to him than Shadowheart. 

Shadowheart will speak with her later, and they will share their grief in their own ways, but now she holds one of her granddaughter’s close, and looks at her garden and the way its snaking vines slip through the open kitchen window and into the small cracks of the wizard’s tower.

—

The sun is casting orange and purple streaks across the walls of their bedroom once Astarion and Halsin arrive. They are quiet as they make their way to the bedroom, where the rest of the Dekarios clan sit upon the bed, sharing in stories and laughter, Gale’s presence the center of their small orbit. 

Halsin is like her, and she knows she will make a pilgrimage to Reithwin once her husband’s bones are settled into the ground; she will have to speak with him on this grief that is slowly twining around her heart like the mark upon her hand once did, though this one is not born of any malice. But it will still hurt, and it will hurt long, and hard, and she knows Halsin will share the wisdom of hundreds of years to guide her through it. 

But for now Gale is here, and he is so lovely, with his hair as white as her own, and his smile still so wide and warm, and his laugh coming out in soft, rumbling huffs. 

The night is coming faster than she thought, and there is the sharp slice of panic that rips through her as the sun continues its gentle decline into night; the moon is near, and between them lies her three children, and Astarion, and Halsin too. 

They all stay like that, long into the night, all of them crowded onto their bed. Even with so many of them, it doesn’t feel cramped, as if by some magic it stretches to accommodate all of Gale Dekarios’s loved ones.

Even with so many years and so many memories between them, he feels so far away in this moment, as if she will never be beside him again, her body never pressed against his, their hands never fumbling to pull the other close. She doesn’t mean to cry, and she doesn’t, but as they continue to swap tales - each more outlandish than the last that Shadowheart wonders if they are weaving the legend of the Great Wizard of Waterdeep as he still yet lives - she feels it; it is the gentlest of pulls that guides her hand open, palm up, reaching out towards the infinite space of night. And in response there is the turn of her husband’s head to meet her eyes, and across that infinite space she feels his hand in hers, like a gentle tickle against her palm, and she weeps.

—

Her children and friends stay for another tenday to help her with the funeral rites, to help her carve the stone and set the grave, to put his body to rest and to celebrate his life with rich wine and well-spiced foods. 

Her children hold her close, and she promises to visit them - and she will, in her own time. 

But once her house is empty once more, and her bed is missing its best half, and the hallways are too silent, and the mage hands have died away, she slowly makes her way to the roof. She wonders, as the wind whips against her face and hair, which of the stars her celestial husband has become to watch over her. 

“I miss you,” she whispers, “I already miss you. Wait for me,” she pleads.

A bright streak of blue answers her.

[n-evermores]

Gale describes Shadowheart as “unspeakable” “a bud on the cusp of bursting into a rose” and as “deadly nightshade”

Gale really is poetic and I’m screaming, crying, throwing up. As a Galeheart shipper this makes my heart so happy. Gale is straight up saying he thinks Shadowheart is beautiful and it’s just so fitting. Ugh. I love this ship so much. Also the way he says all of this, and the way he wistfully looks up at the sky as he talks about her. The man has a crush and you can’t deny it.