#the shadow of the simulacrum

[videovamp0808]

I'm so excited to officially share the cover of my fanfiction, created in collaboration with the incredibly talented artist @s3when

Follow me on Wattpad (Miss _Mbav) so you don't miss "The Shadow of the Simulacrum," which will be released in both French and English versions! (PART ONE ONLY)

[videovamp0808]

It was a great collaboration! 💕

Comission done for @videovamp0808! Art cover for the wattpad fic "The Shadow of the Simulacrum" coming in August. Both english and french version!

In this reimagined tale of "My Babysitter's a Vampire,' delve into the passionate and tumultuous romance between Sarah and Jesse before the life-altering transformation. Their relationship unfolds amidst a blend of supernatural intrigue and emotional intensity. Drawn to Jesse's enigmatic charm and protective nature, Sarah finds herself enmeshed in a romance that is both exhilarating and perilous. As their bond deepens, Jesse's inner conflict intensifies, torn between his ambitions to rule Whitechapel and his desire for Sarah to embrace his vampiric existence. Uncover the dark and tragic past of Jesse "Horace" Black alongside their stormy romance. Journey back to the 1800s, where Horace, the son of a relentless reverend, is burdened by cruelty and suffocating familial expectations. Beneath his powerful exterior lie painful secrets and a desperate struggle to defy a grim fate. This tortured past illuminates the depth of his obsession and the heavy cost of his choices, casting a dark shadow over his love for Sarah.

[batlovebites]

Thinking about how the beasts would deal with a mortal partner's mortality catching up to them. Here's some quick thoughts on that.

Content Warning: death (via old age or sickness) and murder (because these guys do not handle it well.)

Shadow Milk seems like the one who deals with the idea of his partner's mortality the best, up until his partner is on death's door- if its sickness, he'll stop at nothing to find a way to cure it. If its age, though...

I think he'd try to find a way to make his partner immortal, too. But when that fails, I think he'd immortalize them as a puppet. Its not the real them, no, but its them from before age started to take them from him. Its them in whatever the 'best' period of their life was.

After they pass he uses it to cope but he has to control the simulacrum's actions so it actually just makes him feel worse because its obviously not them. It looks like what they looked like at one point, it acts how he remembers them acting, but how he remembers them isn't the same as how they actually were. But he doesn't stop because he'd rather try to convince himself of the lie they're still around than live with the truth that they're gone.

The illusion/puppet he makes progressively becomes less and less convincing as his memories are altered and exaggerated with time and repetition. In their absence, Shadow Milk starts to glorify them in his memory, completely disregarding any of their flaws or negative aspects that made them an actual full person; Which then makes the puppet act progressively less and less how they actually did.

Eventually probably disregards the simulacrum as its no longer even slightly convincing. But sometimes, when he thinks about them again and his heart starts aching, he conjures it up again to try to live the lie that they're still here again, just for a little bit longer. It always falls apart again, but there's brief moments where he can almost convince himself, so he keeps doing it.

Burning Spice is. Complicated! Would also want to make his partner immortal probably, but if that's proven to be impossible... I think he 'mercy' kills them, before age can affect them too much. When their hands start shaking, their memory begins to slip, their body slowly turning to dust beneath them, so slow they can hardly tell its happening- but Burning Spice has seen time claim a hundred thousand lives before, and can see it happening to them all too clearly.

Burning Spice doesn't want to let time take his partner from him, so he does it himself. Having control over their demise makes him feel better about it, if only slightly. Doesn't let them know its going to happen, because he wants their last memory of him to be pleasant. Just embraces them- and then promptly snaps their neck. Quick. Painless. Over before they could ever even know it happened.

He does view it as an actual mercy in a way, but its mostly a matter of him needing to feel like he was in control of when and how they died as opposed to them being taken from him. Change and destruction is his domain, he does not like it when those things are happening beyond his control, so he takes control of the situation himself.

Burning Spice is also quick to redirect any other emotion into anger because that's easier to manage, so the stages of grief he goes through are all just filtered directly into Anger and used as fuel to destroy more things. No one else would even be able to tell he's mourning at all, but deep down, he is, even though he doesn't want to. He's seen this happen over and over again, it shouldn't affect him anymore. He's angry at himself for letting it affect him. For letting himself grow attached to something- someone- he knew would be nothing but ash beneath his feet within a century in the first place. And yet...

Mystic Flour would perhaps put some effort in looking into how to make her partner immortal, just so that they could see everything else be reduced to flour with her before they both also were reduced to nothing. But she's not too torn up about it if unable to.

She starts to treat her aging partner as if they were already dead at a certain point, which certainly doesn't feel great for them. Comforting them about their inevitable and rapidly approaching fate is not a very nice thing to hear when they are currently still alive, probably have at least a few years of life left in them, and would probably like to enjoy those last few years rather than just think about their approaching death the whole time.

If their old age comes with any particularly high amounts of pain or memory loss, she's likely to speed up the process as a 'mercy'; Inflicting them with the Pale Ailment, which kills them within the day.

The whole day she holds and comforts them until they are reduced to flour, telling them soon they will feel nothing- no joy, yes, but also no pain. That there's nothing to fear. She sits there for a little longer after they're gone, still speaking comfort. Then she gets up and leaves; She feels nothing about it. Nothing at all.

Yet... a part of her, buried deep under layers of apathy, does wish they had lasted longer. Been at her side to see the rest of the world be reduced to flour first. Oh well.

Also, while I can't give proper thoughts until she's released, I think Eternal Sugar would probably Sleeping-Beauty her partner. Lock them in an eternal rest where they're basically dead, but their body does not age or rot further, and they're technically still breathing, so its like they're still there with her! (<- Coping extremely hard.)

[moyazaika]

indulgence.

m! yandere x gn! reader / nsfw; shadows, phantom limbs, tongues, a degree of infantilisation. stalking && obsessive thoughts. ( mdni. )

beware; for here there be monsters, and this one is hungry.

“oh, there you are, sweetheart,” he drawls, and you feel something wet and slithering against the hollow of your throat, over the drool on your slack jaw and right up to your swollen lips, which part for him in silent submission. “you taste delicious. far sweeter than any cloying nectar.”

“i think i might just…” your back arches against the soft tablecloth he has you laid over, flushed skin slotting up right against an abyss; shivering against the yawning chasm of his own body (could you call it that?) which threatens to devour you whole. through the darkness, you can make out the shape of a man barely-there. pathetic glimpses of the features of your generous host.

“yes…” two more tongues, you miraculously manage to count through the daze of your poor, confused mind—squirming helplessly under the wet muscle as it licks the tears that well up in your eyes, whilst simultaneously lingering at your belly button, moving lower and lower—a hum, “i think i might just eat you from the inside out.”

“ah!” your hips buckle. it’s something cold, and slimy. invasive in its nature, as it slips over and under your slick skin, pulsing with need. “please, please, please.” the string of pathetic pleas leaves your bruised lips like a chant. “please, please!”

and your host, who had let you in so graciously when you showed up at the door of his crumbling manor, lost and in need of shelter, has always been nothing but generous. phantom lips brush against the shell of your ear, as he promises to take such good care of a sweet, lovely, needy human like you—

“sing for me, songbird.”

—and, you do.

the loveliest little sounds just for him, for the cold, wispy touch that digs into the plush of your thighs, holds down your arms so you’re rendered completely helpless to him (it, you remind yourself. this is no mere man) as he paws at your heaving chest, kneading and pulling and pinching. a sort of detached awe. fascination for how humans can be so soft and pliable.

“how utterly adorable.” unblinking eyes look down at you, truly a feast the way you’re laid down on his expansive dining table like one. an unwavering gaze through long, dark lashes, against impossibly cold skin. “you’re so helpless, spread out like this on my table. you should know you’re also incredibly lucky, sweetness.”

“oh, so very lucky,” he grins, flickering before your eyes, shadows lurking beneath the stolen skin that’s wrapped over weary, ancient bones. those lips of his, curling into a crooked grin. “that i only want to take good care of my little human guest. lucky—” you gasp when his nails, sharper than they were only a second ago, scrape and claw and dig into the most sensitive parts of your quivering body. “—that i’m not some big. bad. monster.”

the simulacrum of a man—his facade falls apart at the seams as he has you coming on fingers and tongues with no solid state; shadows that leave you gasping through the wisps that tickle your sensitive skin, against a hand, the lithe shadowy digits willing (eager, even) to pull you past the brink you’ve been teetering on for the past hour; an act of mercy, that has you twitching in all the right places—and coming, with a long, petulant whine, incredibly and completely undone over the palms of his cold, cold hands.

“yes; you’re quite lucky,” he hums pleasantly, when the cold shadows curl against your ankles only mere minutes later, to pull them over his broad shoulders; now solid, like the sharp, greedy teeth that sink into the swell of your chest. his eyes flicker to meet yours, as he bites down. “that i love you.”

†

hours later, when you make to leave, thanking him profusely for his generosity, for allowing you a safe place to stay and… taking such good care of you; a lost traveller, in more ways than one; you fail to notice something important.

it comes as no surprise to your host, of course. you’re too soft to be left to your own devices. too sweet and darling.

it doesn’t dawn on you that your shadow is missing.

even as the sun sets, casting you in its dying glow, there is no trace of the shape of your constant silhouette that should be projected onto the forest floor. no mark of your existence, against the marvellous red sunset.

instead, your shadow is entirely separate. no longer attached to you, it follows behind instead, curling around the thick trunks of trees and slinking across the mossy forest floor; following close behind you, stepping right into every step you take, but never quite passing by; and when you find yourself lost, inevitably, it will return back to the crumbling manor you were in only hours before.

it will phase right through the main grand doors and the walls with their old, cracked paint; right besides the being who ordered it to follow you in the first place. a pleased smile on familiar lips, when he’s told the news, rejoicing in the act of ignorance; like he didn’t already know your exact whereabouts in his own domain, “oh, is my little human lost again?”

“very well,” he’ll make a show of sighing, though there is no attempt to mask the glee in his gleaming eyes. “i suppose i’ll have to find them, again. hm, it looks like i shouldn’t have let my pretty songbird fly away so soon.”

rest assured, he doesn’t intend to make the same mistake twice.

he’ll pull on a coat, then. not because he needs it, but because he’ll drape it over your shaking shoulders when he stumbles upon you, once again, ‘completely by chance.’ sweet, helpless thing like you, clinging to him in the darkness of the forest.

he descends the steps of his crumbling manor, shadows parting with every step he takes, a darkness swirling restlessly underneath cold, taut skin. he whistles a merry tune, itching to get all of his hands and tongues all over you again; driven by an insatiable hunger.

and this time, when he finds you (and he will; for there is no way you can outrun your own shadow) he intends to have his fill.

he will gorge himself, like a man long starved, on the feast that you are. oh, you’ll be dribbling down his chin and smeared all over his jaw as he works to drink you dry, and he’ll lick up every last drop. this time, the abyss doesn’t intend to let you go. you will stare into the yawning darkness and lose yourself, just as he has lost himself in you.

humans are often told not to play with their food, he recalls—

—it is a lovely thing, then, he supposes, that he was never human.

[shewolfofvilnius]

you do an absolutely ridiculous amount of stuff in BG3

i mentioned this in a reddit reply to a post i made but the amount of stuff you deal with in BG3 as a player is enough for like twenty individual DND campaigns - and instead you have ALL OF THIS going on at the same time:

It's wild given the duration of time but that is such an active period of time in terms of what you're actually doing.

*Stop an elder brain infused and overpowered with Netherese magic

*Kill at least two of the Chosen of the Dead Three, one of whom has a boss form that is a transformed avatar of that god

*rescue Selune's daughter (or kill her)

*potentially overturn a century-old Sharran curse that killed thousands AND later confront Shar herself after (probably) killing the Mother Superior of the Sharran cell of Baldur's Gate (AND possibly setting up your companion to become her chosen)

*stop a centuries old vampire overlord from slaughtering thousands of spawn in order to become an Ascendant Vampire (and possibly help your companion become one)

*potentially kickstart a githyanki civil war that leads one of the two factions to possibly reunite with the githzerai, which is insane,

*potentially install a new Archmage of Baldur's Gate after probably killing the old one (alternately, helping the old one achieve immortality)

*and along the way you also spite Mystra a couple of times (and possibly set up a companion to become a rival god) which leads to Elminster (or at least a simulacrum of him) showing up in your path twice.

*You can possibly have to deal with the kua-toa imbuing a redcap with a tiny sliver of the power of a god (enough that if a Durge pledges to be BOOOAL's chosen, Bhaal gets legitimately pissed and you get a big hint as to Durge' identity WAY earlier).

*Silvanus clearly has a hand in the events of the grove, and seems to be eyeing Arabella as either a powerful follower or possibly a future chosen, and you're placed in the position of potentially helping her.

*A son of Mephistopheles actively tries to get you to deal with him so that he can seize total power over the universe.

*You have two different but intersecting plot chains at least tangentially involving Zariel (Wyll & Mizora, plus her top fighter/pet Karlach), while the main non-companion B-plot of the game (Elturian Refugees) is a direct epilogue to the Descent Into Avernus campaign.

*You find out what happened to both Balduran AND his legendary dragon Ansur and have to do something about it.

*Jergal just chills out in your camp making fun of your love life, and you just have to sort of put up with it.

*And related to above, along the way you probably meet the person who becomes your spouse/beloved, all but one of which tie into the above.

*And Minthara (the only one I hadn't mentioned yet) was at one time in her life a highly favored woman of her powerful house who was personally handpicked by two of the aforementioned Dead Three's chosen, and you can either slay her or recruit her.

*AND if you're Durge you also get the fun happy b-plot of your own showdown with not just your sister but your father, and either becoming Chosen of Bhaal or at minimum personally resurrected from the dead by Jergal if not made his Chosen (it's conflicting exactly what Redeem Durge' status is w Withers/Jergal exactly).

*and that's not even including rediscovering the ancient Sharran grymforge, the Shadow Druids' plot, the fate of the Harpers, the dude who wants to blow up refugee kids, the gondians, the ironhand gnomes' misadventures, Mol's whole deal, and like 30 other side plots.

That is a lot. No wonder we make it from level 1 to level 12 in just four months.

[decafdrawing]

Sometimes the brightest lights cast the longest shadows.

The late Sylvia Va'lens had many secrets up her sleeve. One of these was a simulacrum made in her image. She called herself 'Two', and took on the work that her mistress could not be seen doing.

[thevampiremarie]

THE KNIFE OF MUAD'DIB (Paul x OC!Reader x Chani)

Wherein na-Duke Paul Atreides is not the Bene Gesserit's only prospect for the Kwisatz Haderach. Raised by Paul's side as his playmate and servant, Chryse, the Bene Gesserit's cuckoo child, will forge a new future for her master.

(previously posted on AO3 as Themis)

PART I: JESSICA

Lady Jessica focused her intent gaze on the Reverend-Mother’s... gift. This gaze, to which the minutiae of observation was second nature rather than practiced pretense, followed the lines of the girl-child’s high cheekbones up towards large eyes that appeared to overwhelm the face they were set in.

She’d seen that look in those eyes before. Perhaps a thousand times over, a million times over. Reflected in the mirror back at her on Wallach IX, reflected in the shadowed eyes of the girls she barely remembered. The girls that one by one fell, until amongst a hundred girls there stood five Bene Gesserit.

Jessica’s skirt rustled against the floor as she stalked closer, circling the child, examining every angle.

How interesting.

Such control in the child’s bearing, belied by such fear.

Paul had always been fascinated with off-world animals in the filmbooks; the agrarian creatures that inhabited Caladan for over twenty generations bore no thrill to her clever son. Jessica had never understood his fascination as the filmbooks rendered such organisms dead to her. Mere simulacrums of life with soulless eyes.

Perhaps one such simulacrum stood before her now in the form of a human girl. “Reverend-Mother, does she have a name?”

“We call her Chryse. However, if that name does not suit you, Jessica, you may name her as you wish. It is of no consequence to us.” Reverend-Mother Mohiam’s demeanor certainly hadn’t changed in the slightest from the days when she served her overtly. When Gaius Helen Mohiam spoke, everything from her inscrutable countenance to the even tones of her voice commanded subservience. “You will not harm nor bring harm to the girl-child. It is our one order.”

Jessica watched as Mohiam brushed her fingers against Chryse’s jaw to tilt her still face up towards the sallow light of the glow-globe. Not even a muscle twitched in her smooth facade. Jessica wondered what sort of chaos lay beneath, whether the girl would be like the jagged rocks under the beckoning surface of Caladan’s oceans. Only a fool would dive into the dark water blindly.

There was no other option but to acquiesce. “You have my word. She shall not come to harm under my care or the care of House Atreides.”

“Good.” A look passed between them, lasting only a second. Within that second lay an eternity.

The Reverend-Mother strode from the room with an economical gait, not sparing another iota of energy to look back.

Jessica knew then the precise nature of this “present”.

How many men had failed in the making of the Kwisatz Haderach? How many years, decades, centuries had her sisters carefully tended the most sacred plant, a mind that could bridge space and time. If Paul failed -

She stopped that fearful thought in its tracks, held it in the cradle of her mind’s eye, then let it pass through.

The Bene Gesserit were patient like mountains were patient. Time was an endless resource. It was better to cultivate many plants of good stock than to nurture a small garden and watch as its leaves shrivel and diel. Chryse was not and could never be the Kwisatz Haderach. Perhaps that fact ought to have assuaged Jessica’s fear. Yet - if Paul should die while he was only eleven, the House of Atreides forever extinguished, the child seemed poised to become the next vessel to carry the bloodline of the Kwisatz Haderach. Only ten years old, and she had mastered the prana-bindu like an adept three times her age. Who knew what sort of terror she had been bred to create?

Her son had already shown promise even without her training. Paul might flourish, grow into a man, grow into the mind that the universe needed. That would never come to pass if Chryse supplanted him.

Mohiam must have felt some minute degree of affection towards Jessica. If she hadn’t, the Reverend-Mother would not have left the girl in her care. The blade was double-edged; the Bene Gesserit cared not for which of the two survived, only that one of them did. Motherhood had softened Jessica to the point where she felt some empathy for her poor charge. Not enough empathy to entirely stay her hand, but enough that she wanted the girl to live. Enough that she intended to lift the burden of killing her from Paul’s narrow shoulders.

“Come here, girl.” Once she was close enough that the Bene Gesserit-trained woman could stretch out a single, finely-boned hand and press her fingers to the weapon’s temple, she bade her stop.

Jessica brushed her mind carefully up against Chryse’s, wary of the mind traps the girl had surely been taught from birth.

There were no traps. Not even a token protest.

Chryse had fewer defenses than a newborn infant. Her mind was splayed out in the open; even the slightest whisper of Voice guaranteed complete obedience. The Bene Gesserit had truly forged a weapon of a girl. She hadn’t a psyche of her own - where there should lay a personality was instead filled with iron bars of mind conditioning. Jessica’s heart ached for her. No child deserved to live like that.

A moment passed wherein she further plumbed the depths of her mind. Jessica knew then that Chryse could never use a Voice of her own. The same breeding that had left her mind wide open had left her unable to Speak. But of what use to the lineage of the Kwisatz Haderach was a girl entirely unable to use the Voice and critically susceptible to it?

The vision came on suddenly, as the waves did against the shores of Caladan. A figure whirled amongst dozens of men as they fell to their knees. The lady knew those movements by heart even though they felt wrong. It was the Weirding Way, without a doubt. At the same time, every action was utterly alien. Chryse moved through the battlefield like a valkyrie of old with hands that created ruination with every twitch. Her deficit of Voice was more than made up by her complete mastery over the physical realities of others. Lungs collapsed inwards; hearts refused to beat; nerves froze. Blood. Oceans of blood.

Without meaning to, her fingers fell away from the girl’s temple in astonishment and the vision dissipated like morning mist.

The Kwisatz Mother had bred an abomination.

The laws of nature should have forbidden such a being from coming into existence. No doubt, she wouldn’t have without the careful guidance of the Bene Gesserit. What infinite combination of genes could produce a person who could bend human bodies to their will? A weapon to be wielded against the very molecules of anatomy? Chryse had quite a bit further to go before she would become the war goddess Jessica saw in her vision, but her raw talent remained a cudgel poised over Paul’s head and ready to end his life.

This was an unacceptable outcome.

Forgive me, Jessica thought; forgive me for what I must do. “You will never harm Paul Atreides. You will never allow harm to come to Paul Atreides. You will always remain loyal to him and never betray him in the slightest. You will lay down your life for him.” She swallowed down her guilt as she watched her Voice take root in the blank shell of the young girl’s mind. That Chryse was now freed from Bene Gesserit absolute control was a small consolation for the crime done against her. For Paul to live, this girl must be subjugated.

Her wide, dark eyes blinked. There it was - a tiny spark of life in her young, solemn face. Chryse was just a girl. A young one, at that. Innocent. Guilt ensnared Jessica’s heart and held it in a chokehold. The sisterhood had not completely uprooted her weak personality, but there was no doubt that their conditioning program left permanent scars. Jessica’s Voice would not have affected Chryse nearly as much without it.

The lady resolved always to be tender to the girl. At a minimum, she could improve the quality of Chryse’s life. Jessica told herself this as she called for servants to take the girl, bathe her, dress her, and prepare a chamber for her near Paul’s. Was it so selfish of her to want her son to live? At any cost? Paul’s new companion would always be treated well and never punished. There were worse fates. For the Kwisatz Haderach, the Bene Gesserit could commit any number of sins.

But Jessica knew her mind and herself. This was a blood debt that she could never repay.

Paul would be safe, and the girl’s powers would never be used against him. That would be her consolation.

-

Her palms smoothed over the muscled plains of Leto’s back. The Duke was her husband in all but name, and Jessica reveled in how he relaxed at her touch. At the school on Wallach IX, she’d learned everything but the warmth of trust and partnership built from deep, mutual love. There was no room in the lives of the Bene Gesserit for any kind of love besides the love of the sisterhood. It was this trust and love that had led Jessica to birth Leto a male heir instead of the daughters she’d been commanded to produce.

Leto reluctantly pulled himself away from her to pick through some papers strewn across his desk. “What’s this I hear about a new handmaiden joining our household?” 

Involuntarily, Jessica inhaled. “Ah, my new charge. Chryse. An orphan, Bene Gesserit trained but not suited to the task. Reverend-Mother Mohiam, the Imperial truth-sayer, has entrusted her safety to me.” She kept her hands out of Leto’s line of sight so he couldn’t see the tension in her white knuckles. Ever so slowly, the lady exhaled. Again, guilt. The guilt threatened to consume her whole.

Her husband had always been far too intuitive for his own good. “She is young.” Sometimes a conversation with him was like playing chess. Every word, every tone, every movement playing off those of the other. Jessica enjoyed such a conversation far more when the stakes were not nearly as high. Perhaps he knew even subconsciously what she felt, what she had done.

Jessica let the silence in the air hang.

Leto sat at his desk, his brown eyes never leaving her smooth face.

She conceded first. “It will be some time before the girl will serve as my handmaiden in truth, but is she not of an age with Paul?” Not quite a lie, not quite a truth. A certainty presented as a question even though she had already decided the answer.

With no other child from her in sight and no political marriage alliance contracted to provide others, her son remained at the forefront of his father’s concerns. “Paul must keep his attention turned towards his lessons. I trust you, Jessica. He cannot be distracted.” Leto was known to others as inscrutable and honorable. She could read every emotion that flickered across his handsome face. He was worried; that much was plain. He was worried about what the legacy he’d built and the enemies he made might do to his kind son. His only son.

Even though he would never know it, the solution to his worries was close at hand. “My love, every child needs a companion. There are no children of an age with Paul on Caladan and certainly none suitable for his station. I’ve seen his loneliness. I know you have too.” The truth in her words was undeniable. Only eleven years old, and Paul had never known a friend his age on Caladan. He glued himself to his filmbooks and the stories of Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck. Leto cared for more than just raising an heir. Jessica knew he loved Paul. He worried about his well-being. Her husband would grant her this wish. Check.

“What better place for a friend than a girl in his mother’s service? They won’t have to be parted for quite some time. And there is no better judge of caliber than the Bene Gesserit.”

His resigned sigh echoed in the quiet of his study. Checkmate. “You’re right.” Leto’s footsteps as he got up and drew closer to her were a comforting rhythm. She knew that rhythm by heart.

“I do tend to be.” The impulse to feel the rhythm of his pulse beneath her hands overtook her, and she let it. Jessica reached out to press herself to him. Her Duke responded in kind as he gently drew her arms around his neck and brushed his forehead against hers.

It was more than enough sometimes to breathe in the same air as her beloved. To know that she shared space, time, and life with him.

Leto pressed a kiss to her mouth. Without any further words, he left the room.

Her fingers pressed against her closed eyes as if to alleviate the burden she’d taken upon herself. All of this would be justified in the end. Jessica had to keep faith in that.

Reposting this unfinished dune fic i started during the 1st movie and orphaned on ao3! Seems as if there's interest. LMK if you want on the tag list.

[yuesya]

The barrier breaks.

It’s too soon. The thought flashes across her mind like lightning. Swift and sudden, without any time to dwell on it; for there is an overwhelming surge of sheer destruction wreaking havoc everywhere –with her standing in the very epicenter of it.

Balor stumbles, as her barrier falls. As it breaks. Far too soon, releasing all the mindless rage and malevolent energies of the god she’d just killed into the world around her. A veritable flood of darkness, with roiling shadows that twist themselves into bestial forms. Simulacrums of the thralls that the Mistress of Dreams had commanded in life, that turn on her and lunge forward viciously.

Exhaustion tugs at her limbs, from both the high expenditure of energy and the backlash from her barrier being forcibly broken. The two factors only serve to compound the lethargy and numbness in her body. It’s been so long since she’d been drained like this, but Balor knows that this is not the time to be showing any weakness. Not now, and not ever–

Her powers have yet to recover–

She cleaves the shadow-beast in front of her in two; but there are claws aimed at her back and three more beasts plunging down from above–

Something crashes into her, bodily knocking her aside. Briefly, the breath is knocked from her lungs.

Balor looks up, only to see a wind spirit crouched above her like a protective guard. The avian spirit’s chest heaves visibly, clearly from its own exhaustion, but sharp gold eyes remain locked on the shadowy enemies circling them. These beasts born from the Mistress of Dreams’ lingering malice are focused on Balor –and yet this wind spirit does not move to escape.

He’s bleeding. Blood drips down from open wounds, and the heat and miasma of it scorch her skin.

Wordlessly, Balor pushes herself upright from the ground. The wind spirit obligingly moves to crouch at her side instead, lowering its head in a deferential bow.

Why?

… She shelves aside the question for now. For all that the wind spirit had formerly been one of the Mistress of Dreams’ thralls, it no longer appeared to be actively hostile, and there were currently far more pressing matters for her to deal with.

Eyeing the prowling shadow-beasts for a moment, Balor takes stock of her surroundings –so many dead humans; so many corpses– and then turns to look up towards the skies instead.

Almost as if on cue, a massive tremor shakes the air. Golden swirls of Geo energy surround the half-dragon entity clashing against a five-headed Hydro serpent, each head hissing with laughter. The half-dragon’s Geo spire is blocked by a twisting pillar of water; shattered pieces of stone go flying everywhere, followed by a deluge of water spilling down from the heavens.

No wonder her barrier broke.

Still, she’s not exactly pleased that apparently two gods decided it was a good idea to start a fight right above her barrier before she’s had a chance to tidy everything up properly. Decarabian had impressed upon her the potential dangers that could occur when a god was slain in combat, so this was…

Balor clicks her tongue.

She lets go of her sword, allowing it to dissipate in a shower of brilliant sparks. A new weapon materializes in her hands instead, a curved bow. Accented with gold and traced with an almost feather-like pattern upon its head, white and indigo hues entwined in harmony. Unlike her sword that is only a simple weapon of mortal steel, the bow radiates power, and even just holding it is enough cause for Anemo energy to begin gathering around her.

As it should.

Balor pulls back the bowstring. A glowing green arrow of pure Anemo condenses beneath her fingertips in the empty space where an arrow should be, and the wind picks up in her surroundings.

She calmly points Decarabian’s bow towards the two gods battling high above, and loosens the arrow; a thousand howling winds instantly fill the skies.

[kimberbohwrites]

Birthday in Waterdeep

For the amazing, beautiful, talented, wonderful @orangekittyenergy on her birthday. Make sure you show her love today or whenever you see this. <3 Rating: SFW! Fluff! Word Count: 1146 (Fic and hilariously bad Gale art by me)

You come home from the markets to find the Tower quiet. It’s not unusual, your wizard is partial to getting lost in ancient tomes and weathered parchments, not to mention the stresses that come with his job at Blackstaff. In fact, he’d had his nose in a book since first thing that morning and had hardly looked away when he asked you to run to the markets for him. You’d thought he’d been joking at first, but it seemed Gale hadn’t remembered the significance of the day and just needed a few potion making supplies from a vendor on the far side of the city. A chore that takes all day and you are just making it back now at dusk. Even now you swallow the bitter sting in your throat that threatens to turn to tears and remind yourself that he is a very busy man, and you hadn’t reminded him that today is your birthday.

But it is unusually quiet within the tower — you don’t hear the sweet tinkling of the piano he listens to while he works, the bubbling of potions, or even the voice of Tara welcoming you back home. You can’t help but feel sad.

The heavy front door swings to a close behind you and you enter the familiar darkened foyer. With a deep breath you lock the door behind you and turn to face your surroundings, the tears that you’d been fighting back begin to spill freely down your face. There on the hall table, waits a dozen red roses swirling with a shimmering glitter — the weave clearly preserving them in their moment of perfection. A dress box with a simple bow sits in front of them with a note on it in familiar handwriting. It reads,

“My love, My humble personage requests the presence of your divine beauty for dinner this evening. If you would do me the honor of wearing this and following the rose petals, I will meet you presently.

Yours devotedly, Gale

ps- no simulacrum this time after that ghastly impression you said he did our very first night together when I invited you to look at the stars”

You smile at the joke in his postscript through the tears in your eyes, remembering the silly simulacrum who had met you at Gale’s tent in the Shadow Cursed Lands. Wiping at your face, you set down the note and open the box with an excited gasp. The dress that awaits you is the most beautiful piece of clothing you’d ever seen in your life and in your favorite color. You weren’t sure how he’d picked out such a beautiful gown, maybe he’d asked Astarion for his help — the vampire did have the most fabulous taste in fabrics.

You excitedly change clothes while touching up your hair and makeup. Gale had truly thought of everything and left a mirror and your beauty supplies on a nearby side table. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror makes you gasp — you look like royalty. Following the rose petals down the hall and up the stairs is easy, they sparkle with the same bits of weave as the roses in the hall vase. If there is a downside to living in a wizard tower it is the stairs and while you’re not sure where this trail leads, the dress wasn’t easy to ascend them all in.

On the landing between stairs the trail stops again, and you find a single rose on top of a velvet jewelry box. Another note awaits you, this one much shorter:

“I believe this might help, my love. Yours -Gale Ps- when you’ve put it on, simply speak the incantation I’ve written below”

Within the box is a beautiful necklace, a large clear peridot sparkled in a silver setting that seemed elven in nature — the flawless vines of silver that held the stone were too fine to be anything else. The pendant was on a silver chain and had the familiar sparkle of magic to it, not surprising considering Gale’s note. You wonder what he could possibly have in store, but the anxiety is short-lived. If Gale had proven anything to you in your time together it was his absolute devotion. You knew you were safe.

Once the necklace is on, you speak the incantation that Gale provided. Instantaneously, you are surrounded by the smell of rose water and your beloved wizard. You can no longer feel the ground beneath your feet, but you feel safe and secure in the arms of Gale’s magic as the spell works its magic. Seconds later you feel the ground beneath your feet once more and you open your eyes to find Gale standing before you on the Tower balcony. His eyes widen and his breath catches when he sees you in the dress and necklace he’d chosen for you.

“H-Happy Birthday my love, you look…” He struggles and gapes at you as his eyes rake hungrily over your form, “You look ravishing, you a visage of the most divine beauty and I find myself hardly worthy to look upon it.”

He drops to his knees before you, gently grabbing your hand and kissing the back of your palm like a lord swearing fealty to their king. You begin to pull him to standing, hungry for a kiss when you fully take in your surroundings. Once again, your eyes fill with tears as you take it in. A candlelit dinner has been laid out on a grand table. The food is clearly Gale’s handiwork and features all your favorites and a few sweet treats as well. Bottles of wine have been uncorked and await you. Knowing the way he loved to spoil you they were likely some of the finest bottles he had in reserves.

Magical lights, lanterns, and candles float in the air all around you — giving the entire area the most romantic glow against the night. And above it all you see the night sky. Your jaw drops when you fully look at the sky. You throw your arms around Gale who has stood back up with a grin. If the night sky he had conjured for you in the Shadow Cursed Lands was a love song, this one could only be an entire symphony of the deepest and most profound love, crafted just for you.

“I had to make your first birthday at home in Waterdeep special, my love” Gale whispers into your hairline, still holding you tight within his arms and leaving a tender kiss on your forehead.

“I thought you had forgotten,” you say— your voice is almost raspy with emotion.

“Forget you? Never. But please forgive my deception, my dear”

You can only nod in response, tears running down your face as you both sway in the safe embrace of one another. This night is perfect, and you are so happy to be home.

[birdsagainsthumanity]

SO UH. I decided to write up a short Gale/Tav fic for @dekariosclan as a quick Christmas Midwinter Present to thank them for all this wonderful Galemancer quality content that has been supplied this year! And then, unfortunately... it got away from me a bit. Heads up that I know fuckall about midwinter festivals in DnD so this is basically just christmas with a few little nudges to the fantastical lmao.

Title: Perfect. Wordcount: 3389 Characters: Tav (she/her), Gale. Rating: Teen. Features some implication towards adult activities, but nothing more explicit than kissing. Synopsis: Gale has made it his duty to make a perfect midwinter festival for Tav, after his last few years of loneliness and the hard journey they've been on. Things don't go quite to plan.

It was going to be utterly perfect.

He was going to make sure of it.

Gale had been planning this particular celebration for weeks, now. As the holidays had inched closer and closer, half of his time at work had been spent in distraction; he had found that his students had, on more than one occasion, had to call him back to focus on the class he was meant to be actually teaching. Now that they had finally broken up for their few scant weeks of holiday time, well – he had been able to actually, truly buckle down on making the fantastic celebration that his dearest Tav deserved.

He remembered distinctly the very first time they had discussed these very days. After Tav had agreed to marry him – an unbelievable thing, in and of itself, a crazy moment of throwing everything to the wind, very much in the spirit of their chaotic journey – they had returned to Waterdeep. What a fraught few weeks that had been! Getting the tower back into any condition to entertain company, disabling the myriad of charms and warnings, on more than one occasion having to rescue a rather terrified Tav from his simulacrum who was politely yet firmly insisting they leave whilst preparing to send them tumbling from a window – at last, it seemed, their home had been purged of all such dangerous protections and he had sheepishly admitted to what a lonely time he’d had before…

The orb was stable. Everything was… okay. These lonely halls and dusty rooms suddenly seemed so much brighter with her here. The way she lit up even the most shadowed of corners. The way she swept into the space, seeming to feel every iota of loneliness that had been stored into it. Throwing open windows, dusting furiously, making the place feel… warm again. Shopping, for the first time in – Gods, he couldn’t even think. Insisting that they go explore the markets of Waterdeep, get local foods, breads, cheeses. Restocking his abandoned larder, treating themselves to nice wines, splashing out with the gold they had – uh, well, looted – on their journey.

He could never have imagined that such a warmth would be in his home again, and yet, here they were. Greatly enjoying his rich, four poster bed, sinking between it’s sheets every night, declaring he wanted to have a second library to house everything he would learn about her body… and being rather grateful for how much kinder the mattress was on his knees versus the rough floor of a tent.

One quiet night, a book in hand and her body curled up to his, his eyes were barely paying any attention to the words; more focused on the warmth of Tav, tucked under his arm, resting against his chest. His mind had begun to wander. Back to how it had been, before. The cold, empty tower. The exhausted wizard. The closing in of the wintertime. Invites came; thicker at first, then slowly dwindling. Polite rejections all, of course. Tara’s concern; near begging him to risk just one night away. But no festival, no party, no visit could possibly be risked. His folly burned away in his chest. It drew at his power, shadowed his eyes, greased his hair. He spent more time in bed than out of it; if it wasn’t for Tara’s insistence and the potential danger of his demise, he would perhaps have faded away entirely.

“Do you celebrate the winter festival at all?” he’d asked, voice soft in the low warm light of one candle. Tav had shifted a little against him, to peer up at those doe eyes. Gods, she was beautiful. He was nearly unbearably lucky. “Yes.” she’d replied, sleepy yet still clearly curious. “I spent the last one with my family, although it’s always been a small affair. What about you?” “Ah… well…” he hadn’t wanted to mention about his… difficult last year, yet he felt it was important to be honest with Tav. She’d been trying to encourage him to open up about everything he’d been through. “I usually do, yes – either the faculty party, at the least, or I’d quite often spend time with my family, too.” he admitted, “We’re a fairly big clan, us Dekarios’.” he chuckled, “And, of course, you’re one of us now.” he reached down to stroke his hand through her hair, feeling Tav nuzzle into his soft pyjamas. “I know we’ve had to delay the wedding, somewhat…” he’d actually yet to introduce Tav to his family. His mother had been informed, and had send a very long, very excited letter back, eager to meet her – that needed to happen before she ended up barging down his door her very own self. “But you are very much a member of the family, even if you’ve yet to take my name.”

“Where did these thoughts come from?” she asked, reaching up to scratch her nails gently through his beard, “Definitely not from -” eyes flickered over his book, “- the structure and definition of transmogrification magic in the underdark? What?” “Oh, it’s quite the engaging read, I reassure you!” he said, beaming, “It’s fascinating how the effects of the underdark – no, no, I’m not going off track.” he took a breath, and Tav laughed; he could feel the jump of her chest against him, sending a wave of warmth through his body. “No, I was thinking about the last time these holidays came up. I spent most of the day alone in my bed; barely even knew it was any time for celebration.” he sighed, shaking his head slowly. “I had nothing in my life except searching for a cure for the orb.” book settled on his lap, he reached up to rest his palm against the markings the orb had left in his chest. Yes, it shouldn’t bother him any more… but he did still worry.

“Well, next midwinter,” she said, softly, turning and sitting up to rest her arms across his chest. He smiled down at the shape of her, resting against his torso, peering up with her beautiful eyes; the soft warmth of her hand, still stroking over his cheek. “Why won’t we have a great celebration… with just the two of us, hm?” and she’d laughed so softly. “We’ll make this place feel like home. For good.”

“I’d like that.” he kissed her forehead before sliding down into the bed, resting his book onto the bedside table, blowing out the candle, curling up with Tav tucked perfectly in his arms.

And so, here he was. It had taken a surprising amount of subterfuge and creative storytelling to convince Tav to spend the night with her parents, insisting that she must spend at least some of the holidays with her family in the usual fashion. She had nearly begged him to go along, and of course, he had felt hideous refusing, but he needed the time to get everything ready. Tara had assisted, too; and now, on the morning of, he woke up without the crushing exhaustion in his heart that had made last year so abysmal.

The tree had been raised and decorated; admittedly, he had used his magic to do so. Next year, they would do so together, but this celebration he wanted to be a surprise for Tav, so it had to be perfect. It glittered and shone, perhaps a touch over-done, but he thought it was excellent. The perfect centrepiece in the library-turned-drawing-room, the fire dancing merrily, stockings hung… he had been gathering gifts for quite some time, and had even resisted the urge for them all to be books! Every time he had noticed Tav considering something particularly special and denying herself – something she did rather too much – he had taken note to swing back later. Of course, once or twice he had been unable to stop himself from purchasing it and giving it to her immediately, even as she babbled and insisted it was a trinket she did not need or a treat she didn’t deserve – thankfully, he was getting through to finally break her of those thoughts.

The bigger gifts below the tree were expertly wrapped. He enjoyed the process of doing so; making sure to fold the shimmering paper in perfect lines, a bow on top… there was something calming and so very in the season about it. There weren’t as many as he would have liked, admittedly, but a few sizeable items were tucked under there. (And maybe a few things for Tara, too.)

The smell of roasting food filled the air, too; he had tried to not be ridiculous with the amount he’d prepared but there was always something else he’d wanted her to try… they would be eating leftovers for days. If it would come out as delicious as he thought, well, that might not be a bad thing. Gale found his heart far lighter than he could have imagined over the last few years. Mystra did not observe such things, of course; and, well, his loneliness of the last holiday felt so very far away now. He was full of love, and joy, and making his beloved Tav a most wonderful feast.

A goose was sizzling away as he carefully decorated the cake he’d baked earlier. Pears were poaching in sweet liquid; ready to go atop the chocolate-rich dessert… he half-mindedly summoned a mage hand to stir the bowl behind him…

“Mr Dekarios! Mr Dekarios!” Tara’s voice echoed towards him; a touch worried, at least from the sound of it. He straightened, putting down his icing bag, wiping his cheek and feeling the smear of chocolate left behind. “Tara?” he called out, before he hurried out of the kitchen. She was stood in the corridor, wings fluffed up and half spread. “Ah! Mr Dekarios, there you are – I’m ever so sorry to bother you in your preparations -” “Tara, what’s wrong?” It was then that he picked up on the smell. “The tree -” “Oh, no.” he realised, with an ice cold bolt through his chest. He took off at a dash, following the thick smoke that was filling the air – into the study – already drawing the weave around himself. The tree was blazing, the smokey resinous scent that would have been pleasant if it wasn’t so terrible. He summoned the words in a breath, a miniature rainstorm that extinguished the tree and the fire. When it dissipated, coughing and covering his mouth, Gale threw a window open to help dust out the smoke.

“Oh, Mr Dekarios… I am so sorry.” Tara said, wings drooping. “All your hard work.” “Oh, I’m sure it’s… fine.” Gale said, but his heart was sinking. Even with magic, there was no easy fix for the tree, blistered and half burnt away. The decorations had melted; the stockings had fallen. Even the room itself had suffered; his poor books, smoked and sodden… thankfully the most valuable of his tomes were not kept in this area, but it was still a great loss. “We’ll figure a way to fix it all up, I – I’m sure there’ll be a way to repair the books. And the tree…” he sighed. “Well. It’s fine! We still have the din – the dinner -!” he realised.

The last thing he needed was more smoke in the tower! He turned on his heel, leaving the smoldering remnants of the study to make his way back to the kitchen. There was no smoke, at least – feeling a wave of relief as he stepped into the space and – “What are you doing!?” the mage hand, the damnable mage hand – poached pears splattered the floor. The door of the oven was open, the goose clattering on top of the destroyed fruits. The wizard dispelled the hand with a gesture, but – it was no good.

“Gods alive!” he declared, trying not to despair, but… as he surveyed the damage, Gale rubbed a hand slowly over his face. “It’s all ruined.” he admitted, feeling Tara come to a stop next to his leg. The tressym also drooped, taking in the wreckage. “Mr Dekarios…” she said, shaking her head, “Surely we can rescue some of it? There is some goose that is not on the floor -” “I’m not serving Tav anything that’s been on the floor, Tara.” he sighed. “I won’t waste it, don’t worry; you’re welcome to have some. All of that honey basting…” his eyes drifted around the ruined space. With a few gestures and a drawing of the weave, the mess began to be cleared up – dumping the wreckage of his hours of cooking and preparation into the bin.

He let the ruined goose sit on the side, to rest, or rather… because he couldn’t face trying to carve off anything for Tara right now. Slumping to sit on the floor of the kitchen, he pressed his face into his hands. All of this work, and for nothing… Gale had so desperately hoped to make this a wonderful celebration with just the two of them – and Tara, of course – he had such great plans, that, of course, ended up in the bedroom…

“Gale?” “Oh, no.” just what he needed. “I know I said I wouldn’t be back until later, but – I wanted to spend today with you.” her voice echoed down the corridor. Gale sighed, leaning his head back against the cabinets. “I’m in here, my love.” he called. She appeared in the doorway – eyes raking over all of the mess – and then finally settling on him. “What’s going on?” she asked, softly. “Why does the tower smell like smoke? What’s wrong..?” She crouched next to him, leaning in to steal his lips in a soft kiss. “Gale, love..?” “I had it all planned out, Tav.” he said, shaking his head. “I was going to give you a midwinter festival like you’d never experienced! Just the two of us, as you said. A great meal, gifts, celebration…” he chuckled, “Everything that could have gone wrong has. The tree has been set ablaze, my mage hand malfunctioned and wrecked the dinner, and your gifts, I’m afraid, suffered the same fate as the tree.”

“Oh, Gale.” she whispered, and started to laugh. It went from a chuckle to an open mouthed guffaw. “Are you – are you laughing?” he demanded, unable to believe it. “Tav -” “I never gave a damn about all the bits and pieces, Gale. You should know that! I wanted to spend the day with you. You. I don’t care about decorations or fancy food or presents.” “Oh, I know… I know that.” Gale found himself laughing, too, at the ridiculousness of it all. “You would not believe how quickly it all went wrong, Tav. Truly.” “I can imagine.” she slid an arm around his back, yanking the wizard to his feet and looking around the kitchen. “Now, look; that cake still looks absolutely fine. And delicious, if your baking is anything to go by.” she said, nudging his arm. “The goose seems… a little messy on the bottom, but I’m sure we can rescue some slices from the top.” “Oh, I wouldn’t want to give you food that’s been on the floor -” “Gale. I have eaten rotten fishheads and moldy bread. Floor goose is luxury.” she insisted, taking his hand. “Show me the tree?”

“Oh, it is… a true disaster, I reassure you.” he said, but allowed her hand, leading her through to the study. The ground was still sodden, the air still smokey. Tav stilled in the doorway, taking it all in. “You did all this for me?” she asked, softly. “Oh… no, your books. Are they salvagable?” “I believe so.” Gale murmured, “Although it will be some work. I had not yet wanted to think about it, I admit.” he added, dryly. “A little caught in my whole misery of the situation.” Tav wandered to the split and torn stockings, taking in the damaged gifts on the floor; she recognised the blistered and ruined face of a Waterdeep snow globe she’d been admiring, some melted sugar mess that had been those ridiculously delicate sugar mice she’d seen in a confectioner’s window, and then under the tree… the smoking remnants of a beautiful coat she’d admired… oh, and it had been so expensive, too…

The decorations on the tree had mostly been ruined, of course. She could see where the baubles had twisted, the delicate crystals had cracked and blackened… but paused. On the less damaged side of the tree, she reached out to pull one of those shimmering round nodules, turning it in her hand. It was no normal bauble – it was clearly enchanted, because where it caught the light, she could see an image inside. “Is this -” “Us? Yes.” Gale said, softly. “I imbued each of them with a little illusion, a small memory. This is when I told you I loved you; you were… so stunning, beneath that pretend sky.” he admitted, smiling fondly. “I wanted these to be a reminder of our time together, you understand. Something that is us. I had hoped to add more, as the years go by…” he sighed. “A few of them we might be able to res- mmf -” he broke off as her lips collided with his, before pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re the most thoughtful man I have ever known.” Tav whispered. “Gale, I’m sorry that this all went so wrong. But it’s still perfect. I promise you – it’s all still wonderful.” “You think so..? Even with the fire, and the food being ruined -” “Yes. I promise. Let’s get these books down and aired out, okay? Then we can have some goose and some cake, and you and I can retire.” “You know? That sounds like a most excellent idea.” he murmured, finding himself starting to smile.

--

The books were laid out across all of the dry surfaces in the tower; a magical breeze keeping the pages turning back and forth. The smell might linger, but at least they were all salvagable. The melted items were removed and disposed of; they trimmed back the tree until it was only the mostly-green parts left, and laughed at the ridiculous triangle of a bough. Whilst Gale’s eyes lingered sadly on the destroyed gifts, they were disposed of as well. Tara joined them for the admittedly delicious piece of goose, Tav rustling up a strange assortment of vegetables for a side out of what he had dried in storage. Whilst the pear would have accompanied it well, the chocolate cake was rich and delicious, and paired beautifully with a sweet wine. Rather tipsier than they’d begun, Gale led the way back to the bedroom, kissing up Tav’s neck until she was gasping like a fish out of water…

“Wait, wait.” they’d tumbled into the bed, Tav holding up a hand and pressing it against Gale’s chest. “I forgot. I have something for you. Nothing massive, of course.” she prefaced. “My dear, the only thing I want right now is you -” he objected, smiling as he nuzzled into her perfect skin. “Ah! Yes, but – hold on -” she reached into her bedside table, pulling out a palm sized square. It wasn’t as nicely wrapped as his had been, but still. “I got this made for you, Gale. I love you.” Drawing back a touch, he carefully turned it in his hands before peeling away the wrapping, making sure to treat it with the reverence it clearly deserved.

“Tav…” he paused, swallowing hard. “I love it. It’s perfect. Thank you.” he turned the painting around in his fingertips; taking in all the details of it. It was simple, but so perfect in it, a rendering of the both of them, Gale kissing Tav’s cheek as she laughed, face scrunched up, Tara sat on their laps. He reached out to rest it on the bedside table, admiring it for a few moments more. “I think you’re right, actually…” he leant down to resume his kissing and nipping at her neck. “This has been a most wonderful midwinter. And, let me just say… I intend to make it even better.” and he laughed, slightly husky, as he started to slide down in the bed. “Lay back and close your eyes, Tav…”

And it was a very happy midwinter indeed.

[amorgansgal]

A Quiet Evening

Finally posting part 6 of my fat female tav/reader x Gale fic! I'm still not quite pleased with how it ends, but I think I would spend months rewriting that over and over again and still not be satisfied. So it is what it is. I hope you all enjoy! I think I might leave this as the last one.

Fat Female Tav/Reader x Gale

CW: Sexual content, oral sex, penetrative sex, some reference to suicide

It filled your mind. Every time you saw Gale or had a quiet moment to yourself you would think about the charge Mystra had given him. Every time you all ventured out into the shadow curse lands, trying to get closer to Moonrise towers so you could find out more about Ketheric’s immortality and invulnerability, you felt like you were choking. And it wasn’t on the dark, ever present shadows that made the atmosphere heavy and gloomy. A tight thorny vine had wrapped itself around your heart and lungs, making it difficult to breathe and you wished you could claw it out of your throat. But it felt impossible to even talk to Gale about it. He seemed so determined to act like nothing was wrong, even though you occasionally caught the melancholy behind his eyes at times. You were so wrapped up in your own concerns, both for him and undoing the shadow curse, that it was sometimes days when you would share a kiss. And even then the kiss was distracted and half-hearted. It was no longer the passionate storm that left you clinging to him. You missed him, but you were so fearful about loving him again if it was all for naught, if in just a few days or weeks he would do as his goddess bid and destroyed himself to stop the Absolute.

You kept meaning to talk to him more about it, to beg him to reconsider, to tell him that you selfishly wanted him to stay alive, because he meant the world to you and you didn’t want to face the world without him, that you both had already lost so much time to mistakes and fear that it wouldn’t be fair to lose him entirely when you’d had so little together. That Mystra was content to let him throw his life away, but you cared about him so deeply that you feared the wound he would leave in your life with his departing would never heal.

Now you were trudging back to camp, tired and drained after a long day in a strange, dark hospital and Astarion had been clever enough to convince a mad surgeon to let his creepy, deranged nurses practise on him, rather than on you all. Then when you found a lute within the hospital and realised it belonged to the flaming fist who was lying in the Last Light Inn, still muttering his strange song about Thaniel, you had to return to the inn and been fortunate to revive him from his cursed slumber. You insisted on rest though, even though Halsin wanted to find Thaniel while he was lost in the shadow curse. It would keep for one more day and you were keen to see Gale again.

When you finally reached the campfire though and warmed your cold fingers, you could see that it was not Gale who was waiting by his tent, but his simulacrum. You frowned in puzzlement and approached it, wondering why Gale hadn’t just written a note for everyone to read if he needed to go somewhere. You approached it apprehensively.

“Good evening!” the simulacrum cried, rather exuberantly. “I am here on behalf of Gale of Waterdeep. He wishes to extend to you an invitation for a private conversation in a more suitable locale.”

This was even stranger. Why couldn’t he have just asked you for a private conversation in person? Why was he making his simulacrum do it instead? You almost felt tempted to say no and that whatever Gale had to say he could say it when he got back to camp. But you supposed you were too curious about it to deny him and also you felt a bit bad for being so moody and sullen, but it was harder now to feel cheerful or good about anything.

“Very well, where is he?” 

The Simulacrum beamed and gestured to a path that curved round the riverbank. “Simply follow yonder path and soon you will find him.”

You nodded. “I’ll be there soon, if you can tell him that. I’m just going to wash off and change.”

The simulacrum gave a rather flamboyant bow and you wondered if Gale had intended for his copy to come across that way or if it had caught wind of his more excitable, extravagant side. It made you smile for once, and you quickly washed off in the nearby river. The air was still cold and you wrapped a cloak around you, before following the path along the river and into the forest. It didn’t take you long to see your wizard, sat on the ground, his arms outstretched towards the heavens, little flickers of the weave floating through the air and as you came near him you could see he had conjured up a galaxy of shimmering stars. 

The sky was bluey-green with streaks of purple overhead and for a moment you were mesmerised by the sight, until Gale turned to look at you. He lowered his hands and leaned back, and you headed over to join him. You sat down and were rather surprised to see the dark, intense look in his gaze, it instantly brought you back to your academy days when he had begged to let him have you. You quickly looked away, though you could not deny the rush of desire you felt at his keen look or the hot flush on your cheeks.

After a moment of silence, Gale began to speak, “I love this time of night. There’s an almost reverent silence that accompanies the peak of darkness, when you’d almost believe the dawn would never break… The cradle of eternity, the timelessness of lovers, that most beautiful of fantasies.”

You had lifted your head to look up at the sky again and caught his eye once more. That intent look had returned and he was watching you, as though you were the beautiful stars overhead, the most incredible wonder he could conjure up. You bit you lip hard, struggling to come up with anything to say. He sounded so poetic, so caught up in the magic, that you didn’t want to disturb it. You wished you could rest your head on his shoulder, but you felt strangely nervous.

He smiled softly at you, almost wistful, and continued speaking, “The curse is still present of course - just veiled and at arm’s length for now. Not a trick I can repeat often, but tonight? Tonight is different. This may be my last night alive, I wanted it to be under a canopy of beauty and wonder. I thought this place might bring me peace. I thought it might make the weight of what I must do feel a little lighter… but I am not so sure.”

You sighed heavily and clasped your hands together over your legs. “I still refuse to believe that,” you insisted. “There has to be another way.”

He laughed quietly and reached out to tenderly stroked the curve of your ear, making you shiver at the touch. “I am always grateful for your dogged determination and I know I was so lucky to meet you again, to get to hold your hand and kiss you again. I had thought on it, very often when you left, hells even with Mystra-”

“You don’t have to lie, Gale,” you said quickly. “I won’t be offended that you forgot about me, especially when you were with-”

Gale scowled, though it was still gentle and playful. “I’m more offended that you think I would lie at all. I often thought back on it, wondering if I could have done something different and it was the first time I got in trouble with Mystra… I unthinkingly compared your kisses in my head, forgetting she could easily delve into my mind and read it like a book. She was not best pleased.”

“I don’t think I was a very good kisser then-”

“Well, neither was I, but I liked that about it. It was messy, desperate, passionate,” he glanced at you and smiled wickedly. But the smile gradually drifted away and he stroked your cheek again. “One moment with you could sate me for a lifetime and prise the fear from my heart. I know this is all unreal but I created it for you. You must know that you’re… you’re very special to me. If things were different, if I had not been a complete fool at the academy, or even if I had but I got to meet you again in different circumstances, then I’d have taken time to do things properly. To say it all better. But time is short.”

He sighed heavily, then looked up at you again. “I’m in love with you. I don’t think I’ve ever stopped loving you.”

Your breath caught in your lungs at his confession, at his deeply longing, earnest gaze and for a moment you just sat there dumbfounded, until Gale shifted, his eyes flickered between desire and fear. “Sorry,” you breathed out.

“Sorry?” he questioned. “You’re sorry you don’t love me or you’re sorry I love you?”

“No!” you said with a laugh, a rush of swirling emotions had taken you by surprise, you were torn between joy that he had confessed to loving you, that ever clinging fear he would still do Mystra’s bidding and destroy himself in order to earn some petty form of forgiveness, anger that she had asked it of him, regret that you had lost so much time, and love… deep, overwhelming, deliciously sweet love for him, for this man who had been inspired by you to conjure stars. “I love you. I love you more than I could possibly ever say.”

He smiled. “Well that’s a relief. It would be a shame to keep up my habit of making an ass of myself!” He got to his feet, then offered you a hand and helped you up. Gale drew you close to him. “I want it to be perfect - to bond with you in the way that the gods do… intertwining our spirits in visions of the weave.”

He sounded so excited, yet you hesitated. You loved him, wholeheartedly, and you loved magic and you loved his excitement when he spoke of magic. But strangely you didn’t want visions and illusions and the weave or Mystra or anything else like that, you just wanted the man before you. You wanted the warmth of his hands on you, the feel of his lips on your neck.

“Gale, I just… can we make our first time just with us? No magic, no illusions or visions, just us.”

He looked staggered by the idea, as though you had utterly thrown him. “Are you sure? I could conjure up any sight you could dream of and a few you could not. I could use the weave to make us feel sensations beyond reckoning. I could do more than woo you, I could wow you.”

You raised a brow. “I think I remember your attempt to both woo and wow me.”

“Ah… well it wouldn’t be like that. I like to think I have become more considerate since then.”

You came closer to him and kissed him. He let out a small moan as you did, his arm wrapped around your waist and tugged you even closer till you were pressed against him. His lips trailed down your cheek and neck. Gale lifted his head, looking almost drunk and dizzy with love for you and you instinctively smiled at the half-lidded gaze and his messy hair. “Are you sure?” he asked again. “You just want me? Ordinary Gale?”

“You’re still extraordinary, but yes, that’s all I want.” 

He smiled at you, his thumb still rubbing over the back of your hand and he almost looked apprehensive, as though you might run off all over again. You looked down at the rough blanket Gale had brought with him to sit on. And while you were all for sticking to mortal pleasures, you figured you could both do with at least some comfort and you would allow yourself one bit of magic. You gestured with your hand and conjured a bed. It looked rather strange in the forest, with plush pillows and blue-grey covers, but Gale’s eyes glimmered with excitement. 

“A very good idea,” he said. 

You suddenly felt rather bashful about him seeing you. He’d seen your most intimate parts, but you had kept your top on. Perhaps if you could just undress as quickly as possible and climb into bed, he wouldn’t see all of you. You turned away and began to work on your corset.

“Uh… what are you doing?” he asked.

“Undressing.”

“Don’t I get that pleasure?” he wrapped an arm around your waist, halting your efforts and gently pressed kisses against your neck. “We might only have a few more nights together, but I want to take all the time in the world with you. I want to unwrap you, treasure you, make you feel like the goddess you are.”

You let out a small snort of contempt. “I’m no goddess.”

“Yes, you are,” his hands cleverly worked at the laces of the corset and finally freed you from the confines. “I would know.” He cupped your breasts through the linen shirt you wore and he let out a small groan, teasing your nipples into hard little buds and making you bite your lip hard to stay quiet as a little spike of desire rushed through you. He turned you to face him, cupping your face and kissing you, then tugged off your shirt. You instinctively put your arms over your chest. Gale frowned and tutted, then pulled your arms away.

“You’re too beautiful to hide away,” he murmured as he lowered his head again to kiss your cheek and necks, his teeth nipping at your earlobe and making you gasp. You clenched a fistful of his hair in your hand and couldn’t help leaning back so he would keep kissing you. He wrapped an arm around your waist, and you wondered if he’d have the strength to hold you up if you were getting so weak at the knees.

“Gods, I’ve thought about this for years,” he said. He let go of you, suddenly frantic and desperate, he made quick work of your breeches, then pulled off his own shirt as though he couldn’t bear the thought of waiting for a single moment. You climbed onto the bed and turned to face him, you thought about wriggling under the covers, but he was already crawling over you. You felt rather shy about touching him, he was so handsome. All lean muscle and firm chest and a little trail of hair that ran down to his groin. You quickly brought your eyes back to his face, your cheeks warm even though you hadn’t done anything wrong. Gods, you were acting like you were still your 20-something virgin self! You’d seen a cock before and felt Gale’s hardness pressed against you many times, but actually seeing it- you hadn’t expected it to be quite so long. 

“It’s just as well you wear a robe,” you said and could’ve cursed yourself for coming out with something so fantastically stupidly, that you wanted to immediately dive under the covers and hide away forever!

Gale stopped, a wicked smile on his lips, his body hovering over yours so you certainly couldn’t hide even if you wanted to! “Excuse me… are you saying I’m well endowed?”

You covered your face with your hands. “Please, don’t tease me… it’s been a long day and I wasn’t thinking.”

He tugged your hands away from your face and ran his hands down your body. A battle of desire waged war with the age old feeling of shame and discomfort at your soft, fat belly and the rolls around your waist. You still struggled with the idea that he might find you in any way desirable. 

“For a woman who is so very smart and intelligent,” he said, pressing kisses down your body, until he reached your thighs, “Some of my favourite moments are when you’re not thinking and just say whatever’s in your head.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“Admittedly, part of me does want to crow it from the rooftops, but I shall not tell a soul that my love thinks I am impressively girthed!” He gave your thighs two loving kisses. “I have dreamt of your thighs, how tight you had them wrapped around my head, the sweet noises you made.”

He slipped his arms underneath your knees and opened you up to him. His eyes darkened on seeing your slit and you clenched your hand tightly to stop yourself from covering it up. “Let us see if you still make those same noises or if they have changed.”

All had been forgotten, you were at sea, adrift and awashed in pleasure, no longer caring about your size or if Gale found you desirable or if he still longed for Mystra. His tongue was magic, it had to be, the way he could so easily draw you to the peak and keep you there, tantalisingly, achingly close, and you were a mess, begging and pleading and gasping for pleasure. You occasionally caught glimpses of his smug smile, but he would swiftly return to his work. You could feel him rutting against the bed and heard his moans, and the thought of him being so utterly turned on by your own pleasure, by the taste of you, by the warmth and weight of your thighs made you utterly desperate to cum.

“Gale please!” you cried. “Please let me cum, please, I’ll do anything!”

He raised his head, his hair sticking to his forehead, his mouth and beard drenched with your slick, a brilliant smile on his lips. “Anything?”

“Gale!” you howled.

“I think you’ve earned it, you can cum, my love.” He buried himself back between your thighs and fiercely sucked and licked on your clit, slipping his fingers inside your aching, needy cunt that clenched around the digits tightly as you unravelled and the waves of unrelenting pleasure made you moan loudly, uncaringly at the stars overhead. 

You caught your breath back and Gale slipped up your body, his cock twitched against your dripping slit. He kissed you, that desperate, heady kiss of him wanting you to taste yourself on his tongue. 

“You’re still utterly delicious,” he murmured, he was instinctively rolling his hips, his cock becoming slick with your desire and you could feel how easy it would be for him to slip inside you. Though you saw a flicker of concern in his eyes and he stilled, gripping the cover tightly in one hand. You gently cupped his face, stroking his cheek. “We can stop, if you want,” he said.

“What?” you asked, still a little delirious from the wonderful orgasm he had just wrought from you.

“We can stop, if you’re not comfortable or would rather not… I remember last time, I remember…”

“Gale,” you soothed, kissing him. “Forget what happened in the past. We’re both here, we both want this, I’m not running away again.”

He smiled, relief flooding his face. “Good,” he said, and his cock easily slipped inside you, making you gasp at the sensation. Gale whined and buried his face against your neck. “Fuck, you feel good.” He took a shuddery breath and raised his head. “I won’t lie, it’s been years and…” he couldn’t even finish his sentence, he groaned again and sharply inhaled. “I haven’t lain with anyone or touched myself… because of the orb… so I can’t promise I’ll last long, especially because you feel so, so good. And I’m sorry if-”

You wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down into another kiss. “Gale, just have me, you’ve already given me pleasure and I just want you. This doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be you.”

Gale smiled, his hands stroking down to your thighs and gripped them. “I will try to make this perfect, all the same.” He thrust in slow and deep and let out another tight moan. “Gods above you feel perfect.” He lowered his head to your breast, lathering the breast with kisses and then enveloping the nipple with his warm, wet mouth, sucking on it till the tight feeling in your belly was too much to bear and you wriggled against him, though he would not let you go. 

He clung onto you, as though you might melt away into the bed, but soon the self control he had slipped and he pressed your legs wider, thrusting into you furiously, his mouth everywhere, your breasts, your neck, your jaw, your lips. You breathed him in, he smelled like home, like Waterdeep, bergamot and sage and roses and books and the seasalt air. You gasped as his hips smacked loudly into yours and he frantically kissed you, as though he would swallow the sound. He pressed his forehead against yours and looked into your eyes.

“I’m close.”

You kissed him, tasting his mouth and teasingly nipping at his lower lip. “Come inside me.”

He let out a tight moan and buried his face against your neck, you groaned as he bit down hard on the flesh and felt him cum deep inside you, his hips still grinding, the last few weak thrusts, until he stilled and breathed hard. 

Eventually, he slowly raised his head, his expression so full of adoration and happiness that you smiled in turn. Gale kissed you and carefully moved off you. You rolled onto your side to look at him and he smiled, his fingers trailed down your face to your shoulder, he entwined his fingers with yours.

“Thank you,” Gale said. 

You laughed a little at that and he kissed you again. “I wish I could stay awake with you forever,” you murmured, feeling sated and absurdly happy. Gale curled up next to you, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, gently nuzzling kisses against your shoulder and neck. 

“We need to sleep, it’s been a long day, doubtless it will be a longer one tomorrow,” he said.

Despite how much you wanted to stay awake, a deep, sweet, dreamless sleep called to you and for the first time in weeks you felt utterly peaceful and content, safe in Gale’s arms.

[cupcakeslushie]

Hello,

HOLLY SH*T (about the last update)

When Leo gets his memories back does he also remember those (f*cking)400 days?

How would Leo have grown up to be like, if his memories weren't taken from him? (would he have become kind of like Donnie?)

will he ever open up to someone about this?

Does he have some kind of triggers left from the experience, even though his memories wee taken from it?

I adore your work and Have a great week 😁

1. 🤗

2. So, Leo’s issues are like a leak in a dam constantly trying to be held back. Kitsune’s magic can suppress or manipulate his memories, but a lot still manage to get through. Hence the need for the repeated sessions, and then later the Empyrean, to act as a booster to her magic—as Leo has built up a tolerance over the years, making it less and less effective. Leo does remember some things. Unfortunately, every time he starts to ask questions, he’s been so conditioned to seek out Kitsune to ‘fix’ his mind and suppress his emotions. But some of his memories were impossible to erase completely. They followed him around like little shadows, haunting him, and his choices. Leo is not stupid. He more discerning than he let’s on, and like Saki said, fear can be a powerful motivator. By the time Leo’s managed to claw his way up to a better position, he’s been fed so many lies that he doesn’t even trust his own reasoning. It’s just easier, and less painful to follow orders, no matter what his brain is constantly trying to tell him.

3. Tbh Leo probably wouldn’t have been very different from how he is. Shredder is a lot more…calculating in his abuse of Leo, than Draxum was for Donnie. Draxum was so unpredictable and volatile in his abuse. Everything that Donnie tried to do better, never seemed to help lessen his torture. It was just pain for the sake of pain. Shredder may be a monster, but his abuse had a goal—to make a warrior he could puppet into killing Yoshi. Saki didn’t just provide constant trauma, he gave positive reinforcement when Leo did something right, and used careful manipulation to bend Leo over to his side. All Kitsune’s spell did was make it easier and faster. If Shredder hadn’t had magic at his disposal, then it would’ve just taken more time and effort to break Leo and remold him, or Shredder might’ve just cut his losses and killed him.

4. Leo doesn’t want to burden his brothers with things that have already passed, and that feeling only gets stronger after he’s been saved from the Dark Armor. He’s constantly insisting that he doesn’t feel one way or the other from those days. It happened, but he says he feels so disconnected from it all. Leo’s earlier return to his family had already been filled with so much fighting, thanks to his withdrawals when he was first brought home causing him to act so erratic. Leo thinks as long as he’s not shouting at his brothers, or trying to attack Splinter, that he’s dealing with everything pretty well. Obviously that’s bullshit. But he’s gonna do a lot of healing during his trip with Usagi.

5. Leo’s worst triggers are when his family is in danger. Those times are when he falls back into either total bloodlust, or a more ruthless mentality, in order to protect them. Leo getting recaptured and thrown back into a cell will be like a wave of memories and trauma hitting him at full force. Like I’ve mention in point 1. He never totally forgot certain things, but the months spent free of Kitsune’s influence makes his second capture so much worse. He’ll be feeling all that fear and panic unfiltered, for the first time in years, and he’ll be able to recall the true horror of it—not the watered down, warped simulacrum Shredder wanted him to remember. Which loops back to point 4 about Leo’s lack of admitting his feelings being a coping mechanism. Once he gets rescued, unconsciously, he’s trying to mimic the dampening effect of Kitsune’s spell, by insisting through sheer force of will, that everything is fine. He can only convince himself that he’s unaffected by everything he’s experienced for so long.

6. Thank you!!! I hope you have an amazing week as well!

I’m sorry if this is kinda rambling, all these ideas be more clearly implemented in the comic, (at least I hope lol).

I also can’t remember how long ago I’ve even talked about Leo’s memory problems in one of these replies. I might be totally backtracking cause I think I’ve said before his memory was wiped completely, but I’ve been thinking it would give more complexity to his choices, if it was revealed his memory was actually more intact than Mikey’s this whole time. Mikey brain just needed a little boost from Raph, because his issue came more from him being so young that things faded over time. With Leo, it’s like a battle where his brain is trying to latch on to what it can to fight the effects of Kitsune’s spell. So his memory may be full of holes and beaten with a stick over and over, but it’s still knocking around in Leo’s head.

[sorceresssundries]

Writing prompt - Gale surprises Tav with a bunch of red roses and a candlelit dinner.

The Rose of Reithwin

Pairing: Gale x gn Tav - SFW

Word Count: 2k

You must have sensed i'm struck in a rut! Here you go, my lovely anon. I got a bit carried away. I hope you enjoy <3

Tav ached all the way down to their bones. The lack of sunlight, breeze, and even the stagnation of time itself was a burden which they could feel cloying in their veins. Tav dreamed of flowers and sunlight, of food that wasn’t dried out and looted from long-rotted barrels or the backpacks of fallen soldiers. Tav ached for comfort in a land which still throbbed with ongoing pain.

After a long needed wash in whatever water they could find amongst the shadows, Tav headed back to camp, hoping to find some solace in Gale’s warm words and strong arms. It had been a couple of nights since they had spent their first, proper night together. Just the memory of it was enough to spark a small flame of comfort, but Tav needed to be in his company for it to fan into a heat warm enough to melt away the icy shards of the shadow curse. 

To Tav’s surprise, Karlach was hovering outside Gale’s tent,  excitement evident in the sparks and flickers glowing from her engine. She couldn’t stay still, practically vibrating with energy. She was dressed... unusually.

“You’re wearing a bow tie?” 

“I know!” Karlach’s ability to light up with even the slightest taste of joy was enough to keep even the darkest shadows at bay. “I found it on a corpse!!” She added with unbound enthusiasm.

“Oh, well... well done?”

“Thanks! Oh, wait a minute.” She rummaged around in her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper covered in elegant writing, along with a single, slightly flattened, rose. “Sorry, it looked better before I sat on it.”

Tav took the paper, perplexed. “This... is a menu.” They read over the intricate, swirling script in total confusion.

“Yeah! Gale asked if I would help him, and well... he said I may have gone a bit too far with everything, but I thought I could help! He, um, said the Simulacrum freaked you out a bit last time.” She mimicked the jaunty pose that Gale’s mirror image had performed a few nights ago, and Tav tried their best not to laugh at the impression. “And he was busy concentrating on other magicky, wizard stuff, so I told him to leave it with me.”

“So... here I am, my liege.” She bowed dramatically. “Mr. Dekarios awaits the pleasure of your incom... incom... incompra...” She suddenly unfurled another, smaller note from her top pocket and scanned over it, mouthing the words soundlessly. “Fuck it, his handwriting is awful. Gale is waiting for you at the Waning Moon.”

The abandoned pub was not far from where they had set up camp, and Karlach pointed to a trail of floating lanterns illuminating a path for Tav to follow. They glowed with gentle magic, and Tav grinned to themselves, amused by the wizard's flair for the dramatic. Gale was always one to create a sense of wonder, and it seemed like whatever he had planned for the evening would be no exception.

When Tav reached the building and pushed open the doors, they could not believe the view. 

In the centre of the room stood Gale, his hands aglow with arcane energy as he conducted a symphony of magic. With a wave of his hand, ribbons of light twisted and twirled, weaving themselves into elaborate decorations. Flowers bloomed from thin air, their petals unfolding in bursts of colour to settle upon various neglect-scarred surfaces.

“You’re here!” Gale said, his voice filled with warmth and excitement. “I’m almost finished.”

Tav watched in awe as Gale orchestrated the magic around them, bringing the abandoned building to life with his spellcraft. Tables appeared, draped in luxurious fabrics and adorned with silver candelabras that flickered with ethereal flames. Chairs formed from wisps of mist solidified under their touch, their cushions embroidered with intricate patterns that seemed to shift and shimmer. The cracked wooden floorboards were mended, and gleamed under the soft glow of floating candles. The grimy, stained walls had brightened, and were now streaked with vines of ivy that bloomed with small, colourful flowers.

In the centre, a table for two stood, set with fine china, crystal goblets, and a centrepiece of roses that flitted between various shades of rich red in the candlelight. The once dingy bar was now a haven in a hellscape.

“You… you did all this? For me?”

Gale made his way over to hold Tav’s hand, and the contact immediately relieved a tight coil within their chest. “I meant what I said. If we had more time… well...” He gestured to the scene around him. “I would do it all better.”

Music spilled from an unknown source, soft and comforting. It had been so long since Tav had heard music, since the air around them had been filled with anything other than death and shadow. The song was familiar, warm...

Gale seemed to pick up on their thoughts. “You may not remember, but... it's a song Alfira played at the party with the Tieflings.” He blushed slightly, the pink in his cheeks glowing in the soft candlelight.  “It was playing just after our conversation, after I told you to go enjoy your evening.”

Tav let a smirk play at their lips, recalling their attempt at propositioning the wizard. The heady mixture of joy and wine had urged them toward Gale, to flirt with the man with the disarming smile, who had very gallantly turned them down. 

“So… you did want me that evening?”

“Oh, I wanted you.” All hint of self-consciousness dropped from his expression, leaving only raw sincerity. “This song was playing when I realised I was falling in love with you.”

Tav’s heart fluttered. The music made the air feel lighter. For a moment, they were not soldiers in a battle-scarred town but two lovers in the bliss-filled infancy of a new relationship. Where possibilities crackled with lively potential. Where each touch and loving word was a promise heavy with pure, unfiltered intention.

“I remember that night,” Tav said softly. “I remember wishing for more moments we could just be us for a little while.”

Gale’s eyes were a mixture of hope and regret. “Maybe we can still have those moments. Maybe we can find a way.”

Tav squeezed his hand. “Maybe you already have.” “I hope so.” He kissed Tav’s poor, battle-worn fingers. “I am torn between wishing you had never had to endure any of this horror, to being extraordinarily grateful to have met you.” He was suddenly aching with sadness. “It is a heartbreaking realisation, to know the person you love is in your life due to a tragedy you wish had never befallen them.” He cupped the face of his love, and stroked his thumb along fresh scars and the fading stain of bruises which lurked just under their skin. “No-one should ever have to learn how brave they can be.”

He leant forward then, and brushed his lips against theirs. Chaste and gentlemanlike, the kind of kiss one would expect from a gallant partner on a first date, and Tav couldn’t help but think of the heavy, moaned kisses which Gale had lain across every inch of their body just a few nights prior. He really was doing everything backwards. 

Tav decided they would play along with the honourable behaviour, for now, and instead turned their attention to the beautiful display of roses. 

“A very traditional choice, Mr.Dekarios.” 

“‘Rose is a term of endearment in Waterdeep. To refer to one’s beloved.” His eyes were soft and shimmered in the light. “I thought they would be fitting.”

Tav picked up one of the roses and admired the velvet of its petals, the rich, wine-like scent, and the sharp bite of thorns.  “I hope you do not think the thorns are due to any slip in my arcane proficiency. I know it’s just illusionary, but.. I wanted to make the whole thing as.. human as possible. The old ways, if you will. Thorns and all.” 

“Well, whatever you’ve done - the food smells incredible.” The savoury scent of roasting meat mingled with the earthy, buttery smell of cooked vegetables and fresh herbs enveloped Tav in much-needed comfort. 

“That is no illusion, my rose.” He pulled out one of the chairs, and motioned for Tav to sit and with a click of his fingers two mage hands appeared with plates of fresh, steaming food. “That is the dedicated endeavour of a man with exceptional culinary skill and limited resources.”

“How on earth did you find all this?!” 

“Well, I may have used some of my charm and resorted to a bit of bribery.”

“You’re rubbish at bribery!

“Yes, okay, that’s true. But Astarion isn’t, and for a small fee, he was able to get me what I needed.” Gale raised his hands at Tav’s indignant expression. “I did not ask too many questions, and he gave no answers—so, for all intents and purposes, this food has been legitimately acquired and therefore should be enjoyed guilt-free.” He smiled his lazy, heart-melting smile and tucked into the meal.

The food was delicious, the wine full and rich, the company unrivalled. 

Tav thought how full of life this little pub in Reithwin must have been all those years ago. How locals would come through the doors after a day's hard graft. How mason’s would grip pint glasses with dusty hands and let the cold beer soothe their calloused fingers.

This place must have been filled with wine-fuelled singing, drinking games and endless, mindless, repetitive stories of the residents of Reithwin. A place for midday companionship, and late night solitude. This little heart of Reithwin town would have beat with stories and laughter of those lost to shadow.

And for a little while, in the long-dead town of Reithwin, life returned. The glow that enveloped Gale and Tav outshone that of even the moon’s blessing. There was light enough here to cast out curses, just for a little while. Just for two lovers in that hopeful, crack of a dawning relationship, where the impossible danced and shone, and took no notice of lurking shadows. 

As they ate and laughed and shared stories of times before tadpoles and curses and nautiloids, Tav took in the unrivalled beauty of the setting Gale had conjured with awe.

“I’ve never seen illusionary magic like this.” Tav ran their finger through one of the flames from a candle, and felt the heat bite their skin.

“That's because this is no ordinary illusion.” He reached over to hold Tav’s hand across the table, stroking them gently with his thumb.

“This is a promise of things to come. This is an illusion that I intend to make into reality, and the magic is all the stronger for it.”

There were no words, conjurations, or illusions powerful enough for Gale to express his gratitude, or his genuine intention. He knew that promises and declarations would not be enough, that these conjured roses were just saplings in the entire sun-filled garden he wanted to grow for Tav. It would take time, it would take nerve and messy, mortal dedication. But he would do it. 

He would plant seeds, feed them with water pulled from the deepest well . He would sweat and toil under the relentless summer sun, remaining vigilant through the bleak winters. With human hands, he would grow flowers, watching patiently as the slow spell of time brought life and beauty from nothing. He would wait, earning each soft-petaled rose, cherishing the joy they would bring, ribbon-tied and wine-scented, to his brave love. He would place them in crystal vases, where light would dance through and spill colour throughout their home.

And, when the inevitable happened, when the petals curled and dipped and eventually fell like feathers. It will have been worth it. All the toil and grief and mortal determination of it all will have been worth it, just to remind his love of the promise made in that hopeful night in Reithwin. 

[pasdetrois]

i've been thinking about how haunted the outsider's marked must be—noticeably so, to the extent that any passerby can see it. as the most liminal character of the cast, it's most often remarked upon by people speaking of and to corvo (with the countless characters unnerved by him and describing him as some otherworldly spirit), but there is some measure of uncanniness present in all of them. but then, how could there not be? they're branded like sacred livestock (as though by an actual iron, if the animation is anything to go by), implied to be damned (see the heart line that says the void is where they draw their power from, but will ultimately be the place of their doom), and have been given a type of second sight and reach that hitherto only existed in blood soaked strictures and occult rumor.

consent is not even an afterthought here, and you certainly can not ask—to even try will likely earn you nothing more than the outsider's disdain. but if you are chosen, if there is something in you that has caught his eye, the trajectory of your life will be forever altered. you're no longer a human, but a character, a tragicomic figure that is allowed a glimpse behind the stage curtain that you have been suddenly made aware of, and given only one set of instructions: be interesting. and now, for a time, you're god's favorite, the darling of the narrative. until you're not. until he loses his interest in you—which he will! whether he leaves you with a fond accolade or a cold premonition, his favor is not infinite. human lives are short and the novel excitement of their decisions is even shorter, and there will always be someone new to catch his eye—and you're left to search for him in shadows that he no longer deigns to step foot in, while the play continues around you. and there is absolutely no one you can tell about it—how can one even sufficiently put it all to words? the only options left are to remain silent (as corvo does) or extend a fraction of his reach unto others (e.g. daud with the whalers, delilah with the brigmore witches, granny rags with the executioner). a simulacrum, ultimately, for the one who is and is not beyond humanity.

[videovamp0808]

‼️Why was Gord interested in Erica, if we forget about the blood and consider something more strategic ? 🩸

✨I’m sharing another theory with you that would make sense of the reasons leading to this storyline during the events of the film.

🤔Hence the plot twist at the end of the movie, where Jesse wants to claim the souls of Dusk’s fans.

🤓The writers clearly knew what they were doing. I only take into account all the clues from the movie and the series to arrive at this conclusion.

🥹 As much as I dreamed of knowing the story between Sarah and Jesse before the bite, I ultimately created and wrote it based on analyses of the film.

📖 My fanfiction, The Shadow of the Simulacrum, respects the original narrative and the way the characters were written. I invite you all Mbav’s fans to read my fanfic on Wattpad.

ALMOST 6K readers THANK YOU SO MUCH!!

😏 Btw Im writing the part 2

🎨 Credit for the cover of my fanfic: @s3when

Follow me on TIK TOK we are almost 10k : video_vamp 😍👏🏼

[veryflirtytransportalate]

The Nuka-World Purge,

Pt. 3

Nick Valentine couldn't feel pain. He never had. He never would. His brain had a subroutine labeled simulacrum, and the subroutine had a module labeled pain_sim: that was as close as he got. But it wasn't pain. He knew what pain was. He remembered it like a bad childhood. The shock. The singe. Tremors up the skin. The cool of ice and the warm of whiskey. It lingered in his head like a shadow in a corner, the kind that made you watch your back when you left the bar. He knew fear. He knew anger. Pain was an old fling, but she didn't return his calls.

So when a bullet caught his hand and pain_sim flared up, he swore to himself. Automatic responses from an autonomous body. He couldn't help but whip his hand away, Deliverer flying from his fingers.

Nick threw himself to the floor as another burst of automatic fire failed to find his face. His mechanical fingers scraped the steel of the catwalk like a switchblade against glass. He wanted to roar. He wanted his lungs to breath air and his throat to stroke fear. He wanted sweat to roll past his eyes as the thrill of the hunt pounded on his heart. Instead, he felt nothing. He never felt anything. Not anymore and never again. Nick slammed his fist into the ground. And he did it again. And again. He looked up at the raider, leaning over the railing, round after round after round pouring from their rifle and down at his friends. His fleshy, feeling, human friends. Next to Nick's fist was an ancient tool. Abandoned. Rusty. The iron was heavy below his fingers.

Nick stood. He had no breath in his lungs, but his voice called out, "Hey, punk."

The raider turned. Nick's yellow eyes burned in the dark. Twin headlights of a runaway car.

"I ain't dead yet."