#wyll x tara

[shannaraisles]

Imperfect Harmony - @euryalex

For the utterly adorable @euryalex, here is the companion piece to Swan Song - the reunion and reconciliation of Wyll Ravengard and Tara Lunarsong. Thank you so much for your patience, lovely; as always, an absolute pleasure to work with you!

Imperfect Harmony

His eyes hadn’t changed.

Still warm, still longing, still entirely focused on her, even when his expression was so filled with fear. Yet what could Wyll Ravengard possibly be afraid of? He was so much more than the mere Blade of Frontiers he had been when they had met; a hero in his own right, a leader of the disenfranchised, a protector of the needy, and now a Harper, too. Anyone who could endure life at Jaheira’s right hand should fear nothing but that sharp tongue of hers, surely.

There was fear in his smile, even as the expression faded into guilt and worry, an unspoken acknowledgement of what had brought them back together. Tara kept her own lips straight, kept the smile that wanted to welcome Wyll back into her life at bay. Even now, her time could be measured in how the people around her read her reaction to everything that was presented. And though Wyll was by her side ... he had brought with him the broken body of her incidental lover, his companion who had sacrificed his life so that Wyll could come home. 

She laid her hand on Khiran’s chest one last time, her own guilt stirring for the affectionate way she had used this young man’s attachment to her. He had offered her physical comfort when she needed it most, and she had been grateful, yes. But she had never loved him, not in the way he deserved, and now he was dead, mangled in his last moments rather than allow that fate to befall his senior Harper companion. 

Her Wyll.

Her hand fell to her side as she stepped back, fingers twitching with the temptation to twine with Wyll’s in this moment, to seek and give comfort over the death of a companion to them both. A man who might still live, were it not for the tangled web they wove between them. A good man, who could and should have had so much more life ahead of him.

Yet she could not keep the hope from her voice as she raised her eyes to Wyll’s, marvelling at the flame reflected in his dark sweetness looking down at her. 

“Will you come to the house? We ... I would like to see you there.”

Her eyes hadn’t changed.

Still guarded in the first moments of seeing, still offering only flashes of the feeling inside, but when that feeling shone through ... Wyll’s heart felt as though it might burst from his chest. There was sadness there, of course, grief for the loss of her lover so cruelly taken from her and returned in this terrible state by a man she had likely thought she would never see again. But beneath that sadness, he saw - he thought he saw - all the warmth, all the love, all the hope they had once kindled in one another. Could it be true? Was she pleased to see him again, even in the midst of this tragedy?

He stood at her side, under Jaheira’s sharp gaze, and fought not to reach for his Tara’s hand. He could see the shake in that hand as she reached out to Khiran, as she said her final farewells under the watchful eyes of those who had also loved him for his youthful kindness and bright warmth. He wished he dared to take that shaking hand in his as she stepped back to him, yet what right did he have to offer such comfort? Khiran had died because of him; because he had shared too much with the younger man of what Tara meant to him, of what he had once meant to Tara.

Because that good young man had seen the danger first, and rushed to meet death willingly, just so that Wyll could be the one standing here, mourning him at Tara’s side.

He had wanted to hate the boy - man, he corrected himself. Oh, how he had wanted to hate him when he learned of his closeness to Tara. But how could you hate a young man whose only wish was to be your friend, to fight the good fight, and protect the hearts of those he loved? Khiran’s last act had been to extract a promise from Wyll himself, and here he was, struggling to understand how he could fulfil it.

Then she turned to him, and all he saw was her eyes, guarded and warm and inviting, as she offered up words he had never thought he would be gifted from her again. 

“It would be an honour, and a pleasure. I have missed you, Tara.”

The dinner was a simple affair, not at all like the lavish feast that had marked their last meal together. Yet this was much more what they had shared in the early days of their friendship - good food, scavenged from somewhat unlikely places, cooked well by someone who cared enough to make it enticing even to an adventurer who had seen too much viscera for one day. There was no audience this time ... well, not unless you counted Yenna, who had been left with her by a weary Jaheira when the elder Harper passed through in search of her wayward underlings. Tara’s reunion with her much-missed adopted daughter had been tear-filled and angry, but ultimately they had found their balance without the complication of Wyll’s presence to lend a sense of guilt to their enjoyment of one another for a day or two. 

The girl had accosted Wyll the moment he came into sight and monopolised the conversation effortlessly through every course laid in front of her, yet Tara did not mind in the slightest. It allowed her to watch him, to read the experience of their lost years in his face and manner, to understand the weariness in him through the words he gave to Yenna. She saw the favouring of his left arm, tracking it to an old injury in his shoulder; the slight stiffness in his back from walking under the dead weight of a friend for several miles. She saw the Harper, the duke, the hero, the Blade ... and finally, as he relaxed in her company for the first time in years, she saw the man, and felt her heart skip a beat at his smile. 

He was here with her, home at last. Not wearing the title of companion or fiance or playing a role for the masses looking to him. He had missed her. And Tara knew, even as she smiled along with him, that she had never stopped loving him.

The dinner was pure heaven. 

Wyll sat comfortably with Tara and Yenna - the women he had never stopped thinking of as his wife and his daughter - eating a meal even Gale would not have sniffed at, drinking a wine Astarion might have actually conceded was drinkable,, perched on a chair so well cushioned Karlach might have fallen asleep, sharing stories that Shadowheart and Halsin and Lae’zel would have delighted in picking apart in their own ways. For the first time in years, it felt like home, to sit by Tara’s side and listen to Yenna’s excited chatter, glad to see their reunion had gone well in his absence. 

A shame, then, that it had been caused by a loss; a death he might never forgive himself for. How much more hurt had he handed down to her, in bringing back the lover she had taken only after he had found peace in the arms of Cyric’s minions? How much more pain could she take from him? And why, even after all he had done and failed to do, why could he not prevent himself from hoping that Tara might forgive him for everything that had gone before?

His hand brushed hers as he poured her fresh wine, and she didn’t flinch from his touch. Indeed, she smiled, and in that smile he found himself daring to see everything he hoped for. Had it been long enough? Had she missed him as he had missed her? Had her heart ached so much, as his had done, that she had taken the comfort offered by Khiran in that light? Or had he broken her heart once again, and she now sought to spare him that guilt?

She was so beautiful, still. Tempered by sorrow, and somehow more compelling than ever. He didn’t deserve her - never had, and likely never would. He would never be the man she truly needed him to be. He would always carry the blood of the men she had once loved on his hands. 

Hands that she had never flinched from, and even now, laid her own palm upon in comforting solidarity and laughter at Yenna’s antics. Hands that longed to touch and be touched, to hold on and never let go. Hands that trembled as Yenna finally excused herself to her bed, leaving two sore hearts alone in the quiet of a little home, with too many memories unspoken between them. 

Tara leaned toward Wyll as Yenna slipped away, reaching to refill his cup, drawing his attention back to her. After so much time apart, she could not quiet believe how easy it was to slide back into these comfortable, routine motions. How easy it was to read him in all his complexity and raw emotion.

“You couldn’t have stopped him.”

His eyes, dark and storm-filled, snapped up to meet her own, surprised by her words. Surprised enough that he let her hear the bitterness in the huff of laughter that escaped his lips before he spoke. 

“I should have been the one keeping an eye out,” he said, recrimination plain in each word. “He should never have been in that position.”

She stared at him, so mired in his own sense of guilt and responsibility. And she knew she had to take the risk and speak her heart, or he might never rise from the depths to which he was sinking. 

“No doubt people would think me very callous for this, but I cannot be sad that you live,” she said, watching his face carefully, braced for the moment when she might have to escape to protect her bruised heart all over again. “Khiran was a good man. But I am glad that we buried him tonight, and not you.”

“Tara ...” Her name on his breath was heart-stopping, even as he leaned toward her, his face a picture of confused pleasure and pained guilt. “Aren’t you angry? He died to save my life, I can’t ... I can’t bring him back. I can’t make his sacrifice have been worth it. I am still the same man I was. The same man who hurt you.”

Her own smile softened in the face of his confusion, his insistence on holding the blame close to his heart. 

“Wyll Ravengard, you must think yourself a lost cause if you think I ever stopped loving you,” she said, brown eyes intense upon his, daring him to look away and miss the truth of her heart laid bare before him. “It wasn’t you I ran from. I could never run from you. But that life ... what it made of us ...” She drew in a shuddering breath, reaching out to hold onto him as the echo of that old grief rippled through her. “I lost myself long before we lost our baby.”

How could he ever have thought she hated him? How could he think that now?

He stared at her, taking in the tremble, the softness, the weary ache laid bare before him, and his own heart yearned for her all over again. Her name on his breath felt as natural as the beat of that aching heart within his chest, yet still he fought the urge to gather her into his arms. He had to know; he had to be sure he had not poisoned her against him with his accursed luck. 

“I should have been there with you,” he heard himself say, itching to slide closer, opting instead to curl her hands between his own, stroking callused fingers over her knuckles, her palms. “I should have fought back against what the city wanted to make of us.”

“You didn’t know what was going to happen when we agreed to it,” she countered, and he couldn’t help the brief smile that rose on his face at the familiar sense of an affectionate argument he was not going to win. “And it was a choice we made, Wyll. You never forced my hand. Ever.”

“But ... Khiran ...”

“Is dead, and for that, I am sorry.” He heard the regret in her voice, felt it in her touch, saw it in her eyes ... and saw it overtaken by the determined rush of love he had thought he might never see again. “But I meant it with all my heart when I say that I am not sorry you live. If he had brought me your body ... I do not know what I would have done.”

“Tara ... my own dearest heart ...”

In the face of that confession, how could he do anything but take her into his arms, gather her close, let her wash his shoulder in  her tears as he washed her hair with his own? This was what they had not done when the grief fell upon them; this was what had pushed them apart. Not the feeling, but the lack of sharing, the lack of time, the lack of acknowledgment. He had let the city dictate to him who and what he should be; she had done the same.

But here and now, there was no city, no people, no expectation. There was just Tara, his Tara, and a kiss that had been too long in the making.

“Tara?”

The warmth of the sun on her skin had begun to rouse her before Yenna’s unrepentant whisper completed her waking. Tara’s eyes slowly blinked open, her cheek rubbing tenderly against the warm firmness of her pillow as it rose and fell beneath her. For a moment, she found herself wondering why her covers were wrapped so close about her shoulders ... before realising that she was not, indeed, embracing a pillow as she had done for so many nights.

Carefully, she tilted her head back, an unguarded smile bursting forth to light her face as she saw her Wyll, as wrapped in her arms as she was in his. He slept soundly, mouth open, faintly purring snores filling the room, but all the while, he held on tight, beginning as he meant to go on. He had said he had no intention of letting her go again. She had promised he would never need to. Their night had been shared, as much words as caresses, learning what had changed, what was the same, how much they had both yearned for what they had let slip through their fingers thoughtlessly in the face of too many expectations. She drew her fingertips along the line of his jaw, biting down on a laugh when this drew a sleepy snort and a smack of his lips before he sank back into peaceful slumber once more.

Yenna was just barely peeking through the bedroom door, a wide, hopeful grin on her face as he took in the scene before her.

“Does this mean we’re coming home with you now?” she whispered across the room.

Tara’s smile softened thoughtfully. 

“I’ll tell you later,” she whispered in response, wriggling her fingers to dismiss the nosy young woman she had missed almost as much as she had missed Wyll.

As the door closed on Yenna’s giggles, she looked back up at her sleeping lover, the only man who had ever truly held her heart with her full and knowing consent. There were many more words that needed to be said, many more questions and answers to be shared. They were different people now, however much they wanted to believe they had not changed. But for all those changes, all those flaws, the core of who they were together was truly unchanged. 

They deserved a chance to play their song once more, and let those broken chords bring them together once more in a soaring celebration of their imperfect harmony.

[sorcerous-caress]

Taking you as their fake date to an event

[Fluff, suggustive, romance, humour, fake dating, nb!reader]

[Wyll, Gale, Shadowheart, Karlach, Rolan]

Wyll

In the aftermath of clearing the misunderstanding with his father, Wyll found himself back at the centre of attention in Baldur's Gate's circle of nobles. Everyone wanted to meet the famed blade of frontiers, for the last time they saw him was years ago before he fully matured into the man he is today.

Letter after letter were delivered to your camp. Carrier pigeons barely escaped Tara's claws as they dropped the mail on Wyll's tent and left with most of their feathers intact.

Being the son of the grand duke of Baldur's Gate turned all the heads of any sane noble with a marriage allegeable offspring. Invitation for tea parties, hunting competitions, and even balls for the sole purpose of meeting other people. Wyll's hand was slowly going numb from having to write back formal polite declining letters.

If only there was a way to stop them from the source. He'd sigh and vent to his closest of companions. But Karlach wasn't available at the moment, so he had to make do with the vampire.

"Why not just tell them you've already tied the knot with someone or whatever you humans call it?"

For once, Wyll actually considered listening to the fanged devil on his shoulder.

He approached that topic as delicately as he could when it came to convincing you, inviting you to dinner at a restaurant, waiting until after you're both filled and the lighthearted conversation slowed to bring it up.

"My friend, if I may, there is something I could use a helping hand with."

To his relief, you don't seem uncomfortable to his proposal. If anything, you nonchalantly agreed to be his fake date to the upcoming celebration.

He thanks you with a polite smile, yet for some, his heart beat faster when he pictures you holding onto his arm amongst the crowd. Your formal attire matching his suit. The fact he'd get to call you his fiancé for an evening sends an unexpected heat up to his face.

.

Gale

Tara wakes him up with delight in her eyes one morning, her sing song tone of his last name is more chipper than usual.

"Mr.Dekarios, yoohoo~" she licks his face to get his sleepy eyes to focus on her, "Ms.Dekarios sends her regards, along with a mandatory summon invitation for you this weekend." Tara brings her paw up to her face, cleaning the fur and making herself even more presentable.

Before Gale gets a word in, he is interrupted by a paw smacking against his lips.

"Now now, you wouldn't break the heart of your poor old mother by rejecting her invitation when you haven't seen her in years, would you?" The soft beans against Gale's mouth hold the threat of sharp claws underneath.

Defeated and outsmarted first thing in the morning, the wizard reluctantly nods with a sight.

Deep down, he know this day would eventually come. He couldn't hide the orb and the looming threat over his life from his own mother forever, no matter how he naively hoped to find a cure before having to face her. Coming back to announce you've foolishly consumed untamed magic of chaos isn't the most popular mother's day gift.

But maybe, just maybe he doesn't have to let her know yet. If he could find a distraction.

And lucky for him, the perfect distraction was currently standing outside his open tent, rubbing Tara's belly as she purrs and leans into their arms more.

He devised a plan, a great list of excuses and reasons to sell you the idea of why you should go along with his plan of deception, even prepared a bribe if push came to shove.

Well, two bribes, actually. The first one was the massive breakfast prepared and catered specifically for your taste.

Scurrying to sit in the chair next to you before Halsin could, Gale ignored the cofused look the druid gave him before sitting down at another chair.

Either he was too easy to read, or you've picked up on his pattern of gifts and act of service whenever he has a request. Because he only had to hint at the upcoming home visit before you Blatantly stated that you're willing to go as his date.

"Well...this was certainly much easier than I expected. In fact I've deviced a much more elaborate argument and explanation for when you'd initially refuse."

"Why would I ever refuse Gale?"

You gently caressed the side of his face, wiping a small crumb of bread away from his lips before taking your hand back.

"I...well, uhm. You." With a flustered look, Gale wasn't sure how to respond. Did he remember to comb his morning hair? Oh god, wait, is he still in his pyjamas? Does he even look half presentable right now?

.

Shadowheart

A Selunite introduction party, as her parents explained. She never had the afterparty of her ceremony after the woods passage trial, and her mother really wanted her to see her adorned in the moon maiden silvery dress and white flowers.

How could she say no? Shadowheart only wished for both of their happiness, to make up for lost time as much as she could.

While her father never pressured her, knowing he still has plenty of time with her, her mother wasn't offered the same courtsy by life. So he encouraged Shadowheart to bring someone dear to her maybe, just to reassure her mother that she has a loved one, you know how humans tend to get about finding your soulmate and all of that.

But she felt lost. Was there really someone she could call a soulmate?

Your words echo in her mind, how you gently persuaded her into lowering her weapon. The night orchid you've given her is still kept safely in her journal, tucked away between the soft pages to preserve the petals forever.

What if you don't share her feelings? What if she is just another lost soul that has grown attached to you after you saved them. Afterall, you did end up risking blowing your cover when saving that drow women at moonrise tower.

Minthara's respect for you was nothing to scoff at. What's a cleric's faith when compared to a paladin's devotion?

Yet she still took a chance, a leap of faith for you.

One night before the two of you retreated to your own beds, she stopped you for a short conversation. Reluctance in her voice as she lowered her face and looked up at you, eyes glistening under the moonlight.

She explained her situation, her party for her coming of age ceremony that was long postponed, how she wished for you to accompany her as her date.

"Please, indulge me this once. And we can pretend it never happened afterwards...if that's what you wish." The words pained her to say, but the relief that followed at your acceptance made all the pain worth it.

She isn't sure where your heart lays, but for a day, it will be hers. Her faith will guide her, the faith that maybe one day, you too will return her feelings.

.

Karlach

She was nervously walking back and forth outside your tent just after dinner, unsure of how to approach you or even mention the topic.

Her tail aggiated and is switching between curling around her leg and lashing at the ground below. Karlach didn't bury her emotions as the engine in her chest glowed more and more, matching the redness of the sunset in the horizon.

Really, what was she thinking? Agreeing to the double date her friends offered her. She was too excited at having finally met more people from her past, ones that didn't stab her in the back, and one thing led to another.

It's not that she ment to lie to her friends...it was just hard to tell them that even after all these years, she still doesn't have someone to call her own. It felt embarrassing to admit how alone she was, how touch starved and repressed she felt.

Not to mention how every single one of her friends had already found someone. Most of them were married and the other half on their way to get married.

She didn't think they'd make a big deal out of it when she off-handedly mentioned that she was seeing someone, a simple white lie with no harm done. She thought they'd just be happy for her and move on.

But no, instead, it was as if she grew a second head right then and there. Everyone was so excited to meet her so-called partner.

And so she found herself like this, strolling around your tent like a loser, attempting to muster up the dignity to ask you to pretend to be her partner for tomorrow.

Only when bumped into something and lost her balance did she realise who stood in front of her.

Karlach's body pinned you to the ground with ease, even unintentionally her muscles could easily cage you on. Her skin hot against yours, she lifted her head and your faces were mere inches apart.

You didn't miss the way her eyes glances at your lips, the way her cheeks darkned when you licked them. The heacy of swallow afterwards before her lips twitched into a polite smile.

With a quick apology, she helped you up.

"Say soldier, have you ever played pretend before? You know that game that kids play." Very smooth Karlach, she thought to herself. "Uh...do you think the two of us can maybe play it tomorrow? Haha...ha."

You asked what she meant.

"I kinda of...well, I told my friends that I was already seeing someone so. Could you be that person? I'll pay you back tenfolds, I promise."

"Of course Karlach, anything you want." Accepting the awkward fistbump she offered you, in return you gave her a hug that lingered for more time than it should.

"Cool cool, great. I'll pick you up tomorrow?" Her tail was swishing excitedly behind her, a confident smile on her face as bright as the sun.

.

Rolan

He will show them, he thought, he will show his spoiled bratty siblings that he isn't as uptight and "scares away all suitors" as they claimed!

I mean, have you seen him? He is a very talented and capable wizard, how is it his fault that other people are far too dim and slow to realise how much of a catch he is, how his talent more than makes up for his sometimes bitter personality.

Lia was bragging again about the cute bard she managed to ask out, her third date this week. Rolan swears she is mentioning within earshot if him intentionally, hell even Cal gets the occasional longing stares at any tavren they go to.

Rolan isn't less than them and he will prove it. He just well...hasn't put himself out there yet, so what if he has zero experience with dating and romance? He is a fast learner, he is very confident in his ability to become an excellent lover in to time.

A day goes by, then two and three. Suddenly it's been a full week and he haven't had a speck of luck when it came to romancing someone. It's almost as if any person he approaches immediately loses interest the second he opens his mouth.

He is getting desperate, he can't let Lia know about this. She will never ever let him live it down.

So when you find him in the elfsong tavren, sitting alone on a table nursing on his drink with his tail curled around his leg. You stare at him long enough to catch his interest.

He recognises you immediately, you could see the cogs turning in his alcohol clouded mind.

"You, come here." He yells the order across the tavren, catching himself afterwards and clearing his thraot to lessen the embarrassment of the situation. Still his eyes begged you to approch him.

And you did, walking to his table and sitting down. After all your companions were still sleeping upstairs so what's the harm in indulging one drunk grumpy tiefling when you were supposed to be on a supply run.

Rolan orders you a drink too, his treats, he says without meeting your eyes.

And just as you take a sip, he lays it on you bluntly.

"From now on, I'm your boyfriend."

You choke on your drink, it takes him a moment to register the way he phrased his question.

Clearing his throat again, he refuses to meet your eyes as a blush colours his cheek. "No not like this, don't get the wrong idea."

Now you're sitting there, confused as the waiter brings you a towel to wipe down the drink you spilled on yourself. You thank them and take it, giving Rolan enough time to attempt to compose himself.

"I know i haven't made the best of impressions on you." He finally speaks up, "but I need you." His voice is more honest, a hint of vulnerability, "your help I mean. Lia and Cal, I want to prove them wrong."

His glossy eyes meet yours, the alcohol loosened his tongue.

"I'm not unlovable." He whipsers, "I'm not going to beg for a chance, I just need your cooperation for a day or two, just to shut them up."

Your hand goes above the table, wrapping around his own fist softly. "I understand, it's okay." You give it a light squeeze, "you don't have to explain yourself."

Somehow, your few words helped relieve his heart from its burden more than this whole night of drinking ever could.

[euryalex]

Maybe in another life I'll find my way back to you and love you anyway

I got the chance to work with @felrija again for a little Witchblade piece that originally started as just something for their Victorian AU. I'm so glad I reached out to felrija again because working with them is always a pleasure! If you ever get the chance, do commission them!!!!

[bigmilkwet]

'A Perfect Morning In Waterdeep'

[kidheart]

My baldur's gate 3 crew all together around the campfire. I'm really happy with how this drawing of everyone came out.

[definitelynotpants]

This makes me feel better. Im gonna read this often and believe in my head this is canon

Your stories have definitely scratched that Astarion itch that I've had since I started the game!

One thing that's diffently not sat right with me at the end of the game, is how tav and the gang don't run after astarion after he loses his immunity to the sun. I would imagine that if the player character was romantically involved with the guy they would atleast try to shield or comfort the poor guy. A short drabble on that would be awesome!

That's so sad, I heard that's what happens 😭😭 I'm in act 3 and haven't had to see it for myself yet so yes, let's do some preemptive therapy there! And just warning since I haven't beaten the game yet I'm sure this will be inaccurate as fuck, but also with spoilers somehow ~

~

It was an exhilarating feeling, to win against all odds. One that Astarion had never been confident he would experience. It felt good, final. The official beginning of his new free life, even if it was bittersweet.

This was the bitter part, the end of his illithid protection. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, and the burn was already starting. He was being an idiot, standing there with the rest of you like he belonged, waiting for the last possible second before he had to scuttle down in the darkness. But he wanted to see this out. Hadn't he earned that right?

According to the laws of reality, no. No he hadn't, because you had barely opened your mouth before the pain started to overwhelm him. The others would be able to hear it, the sickening sound of his skin crackling.

He was out of time. But before he could make a break for it, you happened. Astarion had been a little preoccupied with his impending doom to pay close attention to what you had been mumbling. But then sudden blackness was blanketing above your heads, opaque enough to make it as dark as night.

Astarion's eyes widened as the pain subsided, surprised beyond belief.

You were looking at him with concern in your eyes, gesturing to the think cloud of darkness above your head, "Will this be dark enough? Can it still get through?"

Astarion stared at you, momentarily confused on why you would do something like that. Before he remembered, oh. Yes. The extended care for his well-being was probably included in the whole love thing. Of course. Obviously.

That was definitely going to take some getting used to.

But the reasoning didn't stop an idiotic smile from blooming on his face.

You grinned back at him, somehow still managing to read his mind even without the tadpoles, "Did you really think I would forget about you?"

He had, but through no fault of your own. One of these days he was going to actually remember that he was worth the effort to keep alive.

"Thank you darling," Astarion said, ignoring the quested as he waltzed up to you. He grabbed your hand in his, bringing it up to his lips to kiss, "Just what would I do without you?"

"Speaking of," You turned to the Emperor, a question in your eyes as you vaguely waved upward, "Is there anything we can do about this particular problem?"

"The astral tadpole is still-"

"I'll pass on that, thank you very much," Astarion interrupted, cringing at the very thought of willingly letting another worm into his brain, "But I appreciate the thought."

There were worse things than living his life in darkness. And Astarion was counting becoming a mind flayer in the top three.

He watched, participated even in everyone's final goodbyes, always eyeing you at of the corner of his eye. It's not that he thought you would leave after you both declared your eternal love for each other, but... the two of you hadn't exactly talked about the specifics of the future either.

But that didn't stop you from leaving together. Astarion hadn't expected you to keep the dark cloud above his head as you walked the streets, startling nearly every passerby. But hells, the heroes of Baldur's gate had earned the right to a little strangeness.

You both had decided on going to the nearest, most windowless inn that you could find. Astarion wanted nothing more than to scrub the brain viscera from his skin and sleep for three days. Preferably with you in his arms.

But before all that... he had to know something.

The question was out of him as soon as you both were behind closed doors, "So what happens next to the great hero of Baldur's Gate? I'm sure you have something in mind."

He was just praying those future plans still involved him.

You blinked at him, head cocked like he was asking a silly question, "We go and find you a cure so you can walk in the sun again of course. What else would we do?"

That took Astarion aback, "I-Do you think that's really possible?"

"Well," You started, counting off on your fingers, "We know that illithid powers can do it. As well as devil contacts and ritualistic demon sacrifices. If that's all possible then that means there has to be something else on the other end of the spectrum, right?"

Astarion didn't exactly share your blind confidence. But you did have a point. The two of you had managed so many impossible feats in such a short amount of time. What was one more?

"I suppose there's a chance," Astarion said, hope fluttering in his chest with every word, "And if there is a chance no matter how small, I'm going to take it. But..."

He didn't want to ask, but he needed to know, "Are you sure this is what you want? I would... understand if you wanted to go your own way."

In all honesty, Astarion would not understand. He'd be absolutely furious. Especially after everything you'd been through. This was more of a confirmation for his waning self-confidence than anything else, versus a sincere to desire to let you go your own way. He had no intention of letting you go, not if he could help it.

But his near certainty in your feelings was the only thing that gave him the confidence to ask the question in the first place. And you did not disappoint.

"No, this is what I want," You insisted, reaching out to take his hand in yours, "You're what I want."

That was exactly what Astarion needed to hear. He used your joined hands to tug you closer, face to face.

"Good, because as selfless as I am, I really did not want to let you go," Astarion smiled, leaning in to lightly press a kiss to your lips, "I hope you realize that my love has made me a tad bit obsessed with you my dear."

"I'm sure it's no worse than me," You sighed, resting your forehead against his own, "You've really ruined me for anyone else haven't you?"

Astarion grinned, leaning in for another kiss. He had every intention of making it stay that way, for as long as you would have him.

[blkgirl-writing]

Valentine's day drabble HCs for the men of BG3 x Reader

These are a collection of small drabbles written in different styles for valentines day! Warning Gales is the longest, whoops.

Gale:

Gales cold warm hands grasped around your waist from behind, squeezing your skin gently as he rested his head on your shoulder.

"The earl grey lavender, please-" He kissed your neck softly, speaking in a quiet tone. It was a perfect day inside his tower, the rays of sun beaming through the stained glass, fluttering rainbows across the cozy kitchen. The kettle whistles quieting down as you took it off the stove.

"It's already in the mug, lovely" You gestured to his favorite mug, a heavy stoneware piece decorated with flowers of purple and pink encased in a golden heart, he said it reminded him of when he realized he had loved you. You never fully asked why, but it made enough sense to be sweet.

"How you know me so well." Gale Smiled. You finished pouring the water and handed him his extra-strong tea. He leaned against the counter, blowing on the drink a few times. "Maybe I should have told you earlier, but I do have a surprise for you."

"I thought we said no gifts!" You batted his shoulder playfully, "though I'll admit, I didn't follow that rule either."

"is that so?" Gale leaned in to kiss your lips through a smile. "We just can't seem to help ourselves."

"So what's this gift?" you asked. He set down his own mug, ducking into the pantry to retrieve a box, unwrapped and simple. He placed it on the counter and patiently waited, his excitement barely hidden in his smile.

You opened the small box to reveal a mug, a matching mug to his, but a dark blue with purple and red flowers, with a silver heart. It was gorgeous, less heavy than his and somehow it felt built to hold within your two hands.

"Oh Gale, it's perfect." You kissed his cheek, refusing to let go of the mug quite yet, the hug would have to wait.

"I had it specifically made by the same artist. Tara now has a similar water bowl as well. She felt left out" Gales hand slipped around your waist yet again. "as much as I love it when you steal my mug, I thought it was beyond time you had your own as well."

"Oh so you didn't want me using yours?" Your teasing turned into pecks, which led to kisses- "Your gift is waiting in the bedroom," You smirked, hand caressing his messy hair. "If that's ok, of course,"

"I was secretly hoping that was the case." His hand intertwined with yours, nearly sweeping you off your feet.

Wyll:

Wyll had been staring at you for some time before you'd woken up, the sun shining down on your resting face, the definition of peaceful. Wyll hadn't remembered pure peace, it had been years since he'd felt fully at rest, but with you, calmness was as easy as breathing. All he had to do was look at you, and he remembered serenity.

He had made sure he was the best man for you, the best man he could be. He loved you with all his heart and made sure you felt like a goddess above every waking moment of your lives together, however long that may be. He loved the small moments you shared, like when you'd tripped and nearly fallen, but straight into his arms. "Well I didn't think you'd be falling head over heels for me this fast," He'd said. And you'd laughed and smiled, and he swore he'd do everything to keep that smile on your perfect lips.

He remembered your first date, where he had tried so hard to reserve a seat at the best restaurant in baldurs Gate, but ended up in a dingy bar, getting more drunk with each cup, and instead of spending the night entangled in each other's bodies, you'd shared barely cohesive thoughts and stories from lives long past. He learned your favorite color, your old friendships, and the star that you felt most connected to, the smaller details that never seemed to have enough time for during your big adventure.

Or the time you'd styled his hair into braided buns, which he'd kept in until his hair was frizzy and far past wash day. But you'd worked so hard on it to be perfectly symmetrical that he never wanted to take out your work. He asked you to help him with his hair, after that, not just because you were good at it, which, hells, you'd made him feel confident in himself for the first time since he grew his horns, but because your light touch sent him into a nearly meditative state of bliss. The way your fingers carefully combed through his hair, spending time to detangle each knot with such care that he had barely noticed it at all. And eventually, you'd taught him how to do your hair, too. Eventually wearing matching styles (if he asked politely), and took turns in the "hair chair"

"Honey?" You whispered, groggy and barely awake, "have you been staring at me again?"

"Is it a crime?" Wyll asked, placing a light kiss on your forehead.

"Only if I was drooling"

"Oh, but you look too adorable when you drool." He chucked, holding you closer to his warm chest.

"Shut up..." You pouted, eyes fluttering open and closed, trying to force yourself awake. But sleep had you tight in it's arms, and so did Wyll.

Astarion:

Red was his favorite color, after all. The room was dripping with it, black, gold, and dark, burgundy. Candles dripping hot wax down into careful carafes, soon to be poured and decorating your skin. It was romantic, it was warm, and it was lustful. Astarions eyes never left you, dancing across your body in pure sin, he clearly knew exactly how your night would unfold, and the only hint he'd give you was the devilish smile on his lips.

"It's going to be a long night, hm?"

"Oh yes, darling" Astarion purred, his hand sliding into your hair and pulling downwards, revealing your neck to him. His fangs scraped against your bare skin, but not piercing it, no, that was for later, with much less clothing and a lot more sweat, when all you could see was his snow-white skin and the blood rushing through your veins.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

@shyminnie07 @makers-breath @claryvoyantfray @black-sapphic @fapqueen

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

(Consider supporting me on Ko-fi)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

[wellen-katze]

Masterpost for all my BG3 fanart

You are probably here for it so here is a list of all the Baldur's Gate 3 Fanart I did so far, please enjoy! whew, that was a lot of work

Comics:(last update 19/04/24)

The circle of degradation - bg3 comic astarion, cazador

Weeping of a bhaalspawn - bg3 comic original Dark Urge Tav

astarion dialogue spoilers

Compassion - bg3 durgeTav, Astarion comic

A fun show - bg3 Astarion comic

Why not - bg3 Astarion, Tav comic

Lae'zel, Voss comicstrip

Needle and thread - bg3 comic Astarion, Halsin [TW SA themed]

the funniest pictures are created(...) - bg3 Astarion, Karlach, Wyll, Shadowheart, Gale, Lae'zel

Moon and stars - bg3 Astarion comic

Farewell of a wizard - bg3 Rolan (Gale) comic

Don't you fret - bg3 comic A.Astarion/dark urge

Hope is for the living - bg3 astarion comic (remake)

Words to care - bg3 comic, Astarion

Lae'zel the artist(?) - Astarion, Gale, Shadowheart, Wyll, Karlach

Filth - bg3 comic, a.astarion, dark urge

Pondering and caring - bg3 comic, astarion

Love of my life -bg3 comic, astarion

Ascended Minds - bg3 comic, Dark Urge x A.Astarion

How it might have started Tav, Jaheira, Astarion, Shadowheart, Gale

Pondering and hatching - bg3 comic Lae'zel , Karlach, Astarion

It's raining - bg3 comic, Gale, Astarion

Far away - Astarion, Gale, Shadowheart

Halsin and ducks

Calamari - BG3 comic, Astarion, Gale

Temptation - BG3 comic, Astarion, Tav 'Yaris'(by Iruka/Sabu)

Bookclub part 3 - Astarion, Gale, Volo

Yellow flower - A.Astarion

Arrow - Astarion, Durge Tav ,Gale Karlach

The past of a magistrate - astarion, durge, wyll, shadowheart, karlach, gale

Taters! -bg3 Karlach PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

Bookclub-time with Gale,&Astarion

The golden hour - bg3 Cazador, Astarion comic

I love you - , astarion,tav

A faint whiff - astarion,tav [tw trauma]

bg3 doodle comic about stupid Tav things2

bg3 doodle comic about stupid Tav things

Family runs through the magic - bg3 rolan,cal,lia comic

Death, life and fun -Astarion, Arabella, Withers, Gale PART1 , PART2 , PART3

Cold skin, colder heart - astarion bg3 doodle comic

The office meme, Astarion, Tav

Not the religious type - bg3 astarion comic

The meaning of Gale of Waterdeep, Tara, Gale

Curse of a vampyr - bg3 a.astarion, tav comic

AstarionxDragonborn Dark Urge lap scene

Path down to the heart - BG3 Dark Urge, Astarion comic [TW blood, violence]

The freedom to love - Astarion,durgeTav bg3 comic

No one is allowed to eat from Tav's buffet lol - bg3 shortcomic

Circular scars - Cazador, Vellioth BG3 comic [TW violence, blood]

Nibbles - bg3 comic [Shadowheart origin spoiler]

The library of a million realms - bg3, Astarion comic [TW trauma]

The fortuneteller - Astarion, Tav

The worst podcast - bg3 comic [epilogue spoilers]

God Gale as a motivational coach and his guest Astarion

POV you are having a very romantic date with Astarion lol - bg3 comic

Durge, Astarion and a bhaalist worshipper, bg3 shortcomic

Dark Urge&A.Astarion PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4, PART 5

Gale's burden - bg3 shortcomic

Bloodtalk -Astarion, Dark Urge,

Gale, Tara and Catstarion

The box - Astarion,Tav bg3 Comic [TW Trauma]

Astarion&Shadowheart, scars, river and talk

Gale and Astarion's Bookclub

Lae'zel is not smiling, you are smiling! -Karlach, Lae'zel, Tav

Bg3 Clown comic - Tav, Astarion, Shadowheart

Gale meets the kids - Gale, Tav, Shadowheart, Astarion

Astarion and the Gur scribble

Gale and his children

Astarion short comic [TW sa themed]

A short Shadowheart comic

Old Astarion comic - Cazador, Astarion

Ravishing Mirror - S.AstarionxA.Astarion R18! (Patreon shop)

Other:(last update 19/04/24)

kisses and hugs for gnome tav, Karlach, Astarion doodle

Shadowheart, nocturne FA

Astarion confession scene, break-up FA

Astarion face doodles

Astarion with child doodle

minthara doodle

A moment of disgust, Astarion FA

7000 pieces, Astarion FA

Gale doodle

Astarion FA

Tav Meme

Midnight chimes, eh? Astarion FA

Astarion Fa

Astarion Fa

Gale would still marry you, if you were a worm

Gale and Tara weee

Catstarion has nine lives

Very serious first 1000 words

let me know if there are any mistakes

[thewritetofreespeech]

Night 162: Children

words: 1131 rating: G pairing: Gale x Tav summary: Gale & Tav return from the Reunion for an afternoon of tea and interrogations from his mother.

Ao3 - 1000 Night Series

---------------------------🟣----------------------------------

Summers in Waterdeep were some of the most beautiful and peaceful in Faerûn. Or so Tav had come to realize.

Baldur’s Gate was nice, with its coves & sunlit ports, but it was nothing compared to the cool breeze off the ocean. The smell of salt in the air. And, of course, the spontaneous evening trips to the shoreline to dip ones feet in cold water and warm sand her husband.

Not that Tav didn’t miss her old home of the Gate. She enjoyed visiting and catching up with old friends. Extending the trip for the party to stop in on the way back to catch up with those who had not been able to attend. The couple had actually just gotten back from their vacation a few days ago, and Gale was regaling his mother on his latest find at Sorcerous Sundries.

“Can you believe it mother?? A real, genuine first edition Arcana Archivist Annals. Practically mint condition!”

“I suppose it helps to know the proprietor, and have his life indebted to you.” Morena remarked as she finished pouring the tea and handed Tav the first cup.

“The 10% educators discount doesn’t hurt either.” The two of women chuckle as Gale huffed and flopped back into his mother’s patio chair with a ‘no one understands me’ sulk.

“And how was the rest of your trip, dear? Surely it wasn’t all books.”

“If Gale had his way….” The man in question glared playfully at her. “But no. It was good to see how the city has grown after the rebuild. It’s odd. It’s all brand new in most cases, but strangely the same. Wyll and his father have done a splendid job of reworking the internal structure of the city as well. He’s done well as Grand Duke.”

“Good to have friends in high places. Not just book shops.” The trio laughed at Gale’s quip this time. Not just at him.

“And there’s…..nothing else to report?” Morena asked inquisitively. Which peaked Gale’s interest.

“No. Unless you want to know more about the weather.” He remarked before collecting his tea. “Is there something specific you wanted to know about our trip, mother? It’s not like you to be coy.”

“Very well. I was hoping while you were away for some time, you might return to tell me your pregnant.” Gale choked hard on his tea and floundered with the fine china for a moment. “I guess not….”

“Pregnant!” Gale replied aghast. “Why would you think we’re pregnant!?”

“Not really thought so much as hoped.” Morena clarified. “I’d very much like a grandchild.”

Gale turned to Tav in a manner for some sort of help, but she was too stunned as well by the conversations to offer any. “We…We haven’t been married that long…”

“Your father and I were married about as long as the two of you when you came into the picture.” The older woman noted. “Besides, it’s not just that. The Dekarios family needs an heir. Surely, you’ve thought about the future of our line.”

Gale shifted from flabbergasted to embarrassed. “Well, I uh….”

“Gale!”

“Well, I’ve been a little busy mother. Saving the world from an Elder Brain and trying not to turn into a mind flayer. Now trying not to get my head blown off by pre-teen wizards. Teaching children does not really rally one to the experience.” Tav had to agree there.

Gale sighed and sat back in his chair again. “What brought all this on mother? This is a lot to…spring on a person.”

“Well, I was thinking about it while you were away and thought I’d ask about your future plans. Neither one of us is getting any younger, dear.” There was a lot of secret conversation going on between the Dekarios kin in that moment as Morena sipped her own teacup. “The two of you should really start thinking about it. Children are a blessing.”

“I agree with Mr. Dekarios.” The people at the table turned as Tara floated onto the patio. Landing delicately on a pillow that was clearly always there for her. “Children are loud, destructive, and impatient little creatures. Like imps, but with better table manners. Or at least one hopes.” The Tressym licked her paw as if to make a point. “You shouldn’t have them.”

“So the Dekarios line just ends with Gale?” Morena asked as a counterpoint.

“Certainly. Better to go out with a bang. Oh, apologies. Was that insensitive?”

Gale groaned and stood up from his chair. “If this conversation is going to continue, I’m going to need something stronger than tea to get through it.” He walked back into his childhood home and straight for the bar.

Tav followed after him while Morena & Tara talk. Her presence in the discussions of their futures seeming not to be a requirement at all. “Are you ok?”

“Hm? Oh. Yes. I’m fine. A little taken aback though.” Gale commented as he inspected one of the bottles and sat it back down. “Don’t worry. I’m not rattled enough to be driven to drink. Just needed to get away.”

“I can certainly sympathy.”

“But my mother….Gods! Springing that on us like that. To force our hands to make a such a decision over biscuits. I never realized she was so cunning.”

Tav chuckle at his remark, but then got serious for a second. “You know….we’ve never talked about it….”

Gale turned to her with an inquisitive, then surprised, look. “Oh…I mean do you want…do you want to….”

She shrugged. “I’m not against children.” What seemed like eons ago, the former adventurer thought about a life long in the future where she would be settled with a family, including children. With everything that happened that dream was lost until she could catch her breath. Now that she had, Tav wondered if it might be time to take that dream off the shelf again. “I don’t think right now. But….yes.”

Gale seemed taken aback for a moment, but only a little. He then seemed to think on it, nod, then gave her a smile. “I feel that way too. Not now, of course. But not never.” The two of them reach out to take each other’s hands. “I quite like that it’s just the two of us right now.”

“I do too.” Tav agreed.

“That is not what I meant at all Tara! You are twisting my words!”

“Your words are already twisted with that harpy’s tongue of yours Morena!”

Gale sighed as he looked towards the open door. “Well…almost just the two of us….”

Tav snickered and squeeze his hand a little tighter. “Come on. Let’s break them up before they say something they don’t mean.”

“Tara just implied my mother was a harpy. I think that ship has sailed.”

[ghoulishlygrey]

The New Mrs. Dekarios Chapter One

Chapter One

Find chapter two here <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale Dekarios x Fem!reader/Tav

18+ MDNI

Tags: weddings, tailor!astarion, bride!reader, oral sex, cunnilingus, wedding fluff, praise kink, soft Gale, sorcerer tav

Read it on Ao3

Enjoy!

Words: 3484

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The Waterdeep breeze tickled your face and sent your veil from out behind you, gracefully floating on the wind. You had just stepped out from the tower, you were wearing your dream wedding dress. You felt so beautiful, the dress fit you like a glove and accentuated all your best features. You stared down the aisle and your eyes met your fiancé’s. He looked so handsome in his formal wear, a deep purple with golden accents around the sleeve and collar. He was misty-eyed as his gaze fell to you, a deep sigh resonating in his chest as he brought a hand up to swipe at his eyes. Shadowheart and Karlach were already at the end, standing off to the left. They looked wonderful in the outfits you had picked out for them, though Karlach looked a tad uncomfortable to be wearing something so fancy. You were glad to have fixed her internal engine, and were glad to have freed Shadowheart from her toxic faith. They both smiled at you from across the venue, sharing the same sentiments. Alfira and some hired bards play a lovely tune in the corner, waiting for the bride, you, to show up. 

Lae’zel sat in the audience, not wanting to take place in such an event, she even used the word *istik* when asked about it. But she was here nonetheless, and that you were grateful for. Astarion unfortunately couldn’t be there, as your wedding took place during the day, albeit sunset. “I’ll show up to the reception, darling.” He assured you, putting another pin in your, at the time, too-big dress. Astarion had tailored it for you, his own little contribution to your big day and his own special way of being there for you. Withers stood in the middle of everyone, big book in hand and a blank expression on his decaying face. Classic. The teiflings you had slain the goblin leaders for made up the bulk of the audience, along with the remaining companions you picked up along the way. Wyll stood next to Gale, as he was presented with the honor of being best man. Tara, Gale’s tressym, sat on a pillow next to Wyll, two rings tied with twine around her collar. 

As you began to walk down the aisle, you thought about every event that led up to this moment. What if you had never been abducted? What if you had never walked past his malfunctioning portal? You would never know, and would never want to find out. After everything you had endured, it seemed to be all worth it in the end. Worth it for this moment. 

You finally reach the end of the aisle, handing off your bouquet to Karlach. It was composed of night orchids, a beautiful gift from Shadowheart that you just had to incorporate in your big day. She was one of your best friends, after all. 

Gale takes your now free hands in his, fingers running over your knuckles. “You’re stunning.” He rasps, a familiar tone to his voice that stirs something within you. 

“Thank you,” You reply, moving your hands to interlock your fingers with his, “You look very handsome.” And you meant it. You had never seen him wear something so extravagant and sophisticated, used to him wearing either light armor or his classic robes. He looked delicious, you thought, and if nobody else was here you’d drag his ass straight back into the tower and tear the clothes from his body, relishing in each button and buckle.

The fantasy doesn’t last long as you ground yourself and remember where you are. There was plenty of time for those shenanigans later.  

“Let’s begin.” Withers says, tone as formal as ever. 

“Welcome to all. We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of,” He says your name, “and Gale in holy matrimony.” 

Withers prattles on with his speech, all the while you’re locked in eye contact with Gale. You’ve always loved his puppy dog eyes, big brown spheres that looked at you like you were the only girl in the world, a gaze that held you in such high regard. You give him a warm smile, one he returns with a slight chuckle, he was just so damn happy. 

“Do you,” Withers says your name,”Take Gale to be your lawfully wedded husband?” 

This was it, the moment you had been waiting for since the first words you had spoken to this handsome man. “I do.” 

“And do you, Gale, take,” He says your name, “to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.” Gale says, words spilling from his mouth the second Withers was done with the question. He was clearly excited, a fact that made you blush. 

“Now, the vows.” Withers grabs your attention, looking at you blankly but expectantly. You clear your throat, getting ready to address not only your lovely fiancé, but your massive audience too. Karlach hands digs in her suit jacket, pulling out a folded piece of paper and hands it to you. You nod in thanks. 

You unfold the paper, trying to swallow the lump in your throat, you were nervous; you weren’t used to giving big speeches. 

“Gale, my love,” you start, taking one of his hands while keeping the other one busy with holding the paper, “Ever since I pulled you out of that portal, I have loved you. I have loved you through our adventures, through our hardships, through everything we have faced. Even when you absorbed my rare magic items, which I still don’t know the logistics of, by the way-” That gets a chuckle from the crowd and Gale. His eyes were sparkling with unshed tears, a reaction that spurred you on to continue your speech, “-I have loved you.” You feel the tears in your own eyes now, you could just feel the love radiating from your lover as he stares at you, listening intently. 

“My love for you will never falter, like a star; when I am long gone my love for you will live on through our poetry, through the friendships we’ve made, and finally it will live through you. I have not regretted a second of our journey together, and if it takes an illithid tadpole for us to be together, so be it. I know we can tackle anything that’s thrown our way, we’ve been doing an amazing job already. So whatever comes next for us, I’m glad it’s with you.”

You hand the paper back to Karlach, turning back to Gale and giving him your full attention. To start, he says your name, voice like honey as he does. “Before you I was lost, wandering through life without purpose. I never knew what real love was, what it could be like, what it could feel like. When I first met you, not only was I taken by your beauty but your kindness. You could’ve easily walked past that malfunctioning portal but you didn’t. Instead you calmed it with your talent in magic, and pulled me out. If not for you I would be lost, you are the leading light in my life, and you have been since the moment I laid eyes on you. You have continued to take my breath away with your courage, valor, and talent and I will love you until my last breath. I shall say it one more time for emphasis; I love you.”

“Tara, if you will.” Withers signals to the tressym, who gets up from her purple silk pillow to rub against Gale’s leg. He picks her up, holding her out so you can take the rings from around her collar. “Thank you,” Gale says into her fur before setting her down, Tara seems to nod before heading back to her pillow, settling in to watch the rest of the ceremony. 

You hand your ring to Gale, holding out your left hand for him. He delicately takes your hand, sliding the ring over your ring finger, a perfect fit. It was your dream ring, everything about it was everything you ever wanted; everything you dreamt about since you were a little girl. 

The ring you got Gale was also beautiful, it was silver with embedded amethyst. Purple, his favorite color. 

You meet his gaze again as he takes your hands in his. You never knew a gaze could hold so much love and admiration until you met Gale, until you had this relationship. 

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride…” Withers looks like he very much wants to leave, or that he couldn’t care less, you couldn’t decide and you yourself didn’t care.

Gale gently moves his hand to cup your face, and your arms go to his shoulders. He pulls you closer before delivering a chaste kiss, sweet and simple. You return in kind, slotting your lips over his. 

The kiss is over as quickly as it started. Everyone in the audience has risen to their feet, applauding you as you take your new husband's hand and head down the aisle and back towards the tower. As you did, you sneak a glance over to your lover who to your surprise is already staring at you. “What?” You ask him, cheeks glowing with a pink blush.

“I’m looking at the most beautiful woman in the world, the new Mrs. Dekarios.” He beams at you, and you beam right back. Soon, you come upon the tower and you reach a hand out to open the door. 

“Ah, ah, ah, what do you think you’re doing?” Gale asks, putting his hand over yours and stopping you. “I’m opening the door? We have to get ready for the reception.” You glanced back at your guests, all of which were mingling, retrieving drinks from the various barrels and crates, and dancing to the music. 

“We do this right or not at all.” Gale says, and before you can question what he means he’s scooping you up into his arms earning a surprised squeal from you. “Gale-!” You say, arms automatically linking behind his head and around his shoulders. 

He gives you a wicked smile before kicking open the door and walking through. “There! Now we’ve done it properly.” He holds you in his arms for a moment longer, taking a moment to gaze upon your face. You take the opportunity to lean in and kiss him. The kiss starts out slow, so slow that Gale is able to delicately set you down without breaking it. However, it picks up quickly when Gale slides his tongue across your lips, requesting access. You allow it, opening your mouth for him, allowing your tongues to clash together. 

You feel his hands skate up your back and your arms around his shoulder tighten, pulling him as close as possible. What he does next makes you gasp into his mouth; he begins to undo the corseted back of your dress, hands expertly undoing your laces. You know exactly what he has in mind. “We can’t.” You say, barely breaking the kiss to get the words out before diving back in. There were so many people just beyond the front door, all of which were waiting on you. Gale just smiles against your lips before continuing his unlacing. He halts the kiss when he’s done, leaning back to get another look at you. “I need you.” He says, voice dripping with lust. And boy, did you want him, too. 

“But the others-” you start, turning your head to gesture towards the curtained front window.

“Can wait.” He cuts you off, leaning back in to make a trail down your neck with his mouth. You moan when he finds your pulse point, sucking lightly.

“Wouldn’t this be bad luck?” You chuckle, hands carding through his hair as he kisses back up your neck and towards your lips. 

“I think we’ve had enough bad luck to last us a lifetime. The world owes us.” He says, pulling back from your face to look into your eyes. His were twinkling, pupils blown wide in want. 

Your eyes glanced at the clock on the wall. The sun was setting steadily outside, the reception started when night overtook the sky. You wagered you had approximately twenty minutes of free time before people came looking for you. Your eyes drift back to his, and it’s like he’s almost reading your mind. “We have to be quick,” You start and you can see the excitement hit his face as it lights up. You slide out of your dress completely left in only your undergarments. He takes a second to take you in, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.  

“I will ravish you properly later, my love, as you deserve. But for now I just need you, and you may have me in any way you desire.” 

As much as you’d love to be full of him, sheathed to the hilt on his cock, you wanted to make this time about him, wanted to give him pleasure. 

You sink to your knees in front of him and the shock on his face makes you chuckle. 

“What?” You ask, hands making themselves busy with the buttons on his trousers. His hands fall over yours, stilling your movements. 

“You don’t have to do that, this should be about us, not just me.” 

“We have all night to make it about us but for now shut up and let me ‘ravish you.’” You quote him to himself and he laughs, removing his hands from yours and letting you continue your unbuttoning. 

“I love you.” He says simply, gazing down at you with that familiar look, the look that made your knees weak and heart full. “I know.” You tease, finally pulling his trousers down his legs. 

His erection is already fully present, restrained behind the fabric of his underwear. Your mouth instantly starts to water, just the thought of taking him with your mouth stirs something in your core. 

You push the waistband of his boxers down and his cock springs free. You grip the base, earning a shudder from your husband. 

“So perfect,” He coos, hand going to your head and massaging gently. 

You just smirk up at him, making eye contact as you take the head in your mouth, tongue swirling around it and lapping up the salty precum. 

Gale’s head fell back with a groan, and his hand made a slight pressure against your scalp, a silent asking of you to take him further. 

You let him go entirely after that, if only for a moment. 

“So impatient.” You scolded light-heartedly.

He chuckles, “You’re the one who said we have to be quick.” 

You hum in response, going back to the task at hand. This time you do take him further, letting him in inch by inch. When you reach as far as you can, you wrap your hand around what you cannot, making sure he was covered entirely. 

You felt your eyes flutter shut as you worked him over, tongue rubbing the underside of his shaft. You hollow your cheeks, creating a suction that makes him gasp. 

“I fo-forgot how good you were at this.” He smiles down at you, the hand in your hair petting you. “Such a good girl.”

Something about his praise ignites something in you, shooting a wave of pleasure down to your core. 

It spurs you on, encouraging you to take him deeper, bobbing your head and opening your throat as his head hits the back of it. You suppress a gag, your saliva dripping from your mouth and down his shaft. 

He grunts and moans at every little movement you pull, whispering sweet little praises all the while. 

“So good, such a perfect mouth on a perfect girl.” He manages to get the sentence out through moans and grunts, hand on your head tangling in your hair, following each movement. 

It was just too much, the pressure between your legs grew with each word and sound he made. You reach down, hand disappearing below the waistband of your panties. Your fingers find your sensitive bud, making small circles around it and you moan against his cock. 

Gale catches what you’re doing and it sends a steady blush across his face. “You look so good doing that.” 

You whine, hand in your waistband moving faster with each breath you take. Soon you can feel his resolve faltering above you, his hips shaking and breath heavy. 

“I’m going to-”

“Do it.” You momentarily slide from his cock to look up at him before continuing your languid motions. 

With a few more head bobs, he’s there, releasing into your mouth. You take it in, lapping up every drop as it shoots in your mouth. Above you, he’s moaning, free hand over his mouth to keep himself from alerting everyone outside to your activities. 

With a little pop, you pull off his shaft, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“I saw what you were doing down there, did you finish?” He asks, helping you up before tucking himself back into his trousers. “No,” You were honest with him, you didn’t have enough time to finish yourself off, but that was fine, that moment was supposed to be about him anyways. But when you look at Gale, he almost looks offended.

“Well, we can’t have that!” He says grabbing your hand and leading you to the couch in the living room. You gasp when he (gently) pushes you down onto the cushions and kneels before you. 

“My lady,” He starts, grabbing one of your hands, “Allow me.” 

You part your legs for him, allowing access to your clothed cunt. “If you insist.” You laugh, allowing his hand to slip from yours as he pushes your underwear to the side.

Even though he’s seen it a thousand times by now, he always is in such awe when he gets to see your sex, gazing at it and you like he was lost in the desert and your pussy was water. 

He wastes no time diving in, licking one broad swipe up your folds. You mewl, back arching off the couch at the contact. He brings a hand to your lower stomach, keeping you firmly grounded.

“I have barely touched you yet you’re soaked, you truly are magic.” He says, momentarily watching you from between your legs. To him, you were magic itself. Somebody that he worshiped, someone that he loved. You knew all this, and returned it ten fold. 

He turns his attention back to your aching hole, tongue dipping in as he makes another stripe. He starts to lap at your hole, tongue moving in and out at a steady pace. You moan, long and loud and it causes him to pop up once again. “We must be quiet, dearest. We don’t want them hearing us.” He chuckles, face glistening with your juices. 

You laugh, making a show of you covering your mouth with your hand and beckoning him to continue. He does, diving back into your pussy with renewed vigor, lips coming to encircle your clit and sucking gently. You bite your hand, choking back a cry of ecstasy as he makes you see stars with his tongue alone. You gasp when he introduces his fingers, plunging one and then two into you. 

He moves in and out of you rhythmically and you find yourself rutting against his face, moaning whenever his nose rubbed against your clit. You were chasing your high, relishing in the feeling of the coil in your stomach tightening with every thrust of his fingers. His fingers are stretching you out so deliciously you can’t help the tears that spring from your eyes. You curse mentally, you’d have to redo your makeup before you went to your reception. 

A couple more plunges and you’re there, cumming around his fingers with a muffled scream. He laps at your hole more, catching every last drop of your orgasm. You collapse into the cushions, panting slightly as he moves to lay next to you. 

“Now *that* was magic.” You sigh, head looking to the side to catch a glimpse of Gale who is already staring at you. 

“Everything we do together is magic, my love.” He sits up, and you catch another glimpse of his beard, dripping with your slick. You blush, adjusting your underwear back to its proper position. 

He stands, “Alright, up you get.” He holds his hands out to you, “We have a reception to attend.” You glance out the window, goddammit, you were already running behind schedule. 

“Race you to the top of the tower.” You say, picking up your dress from its state on the floor and taking position at the base of the stairs.

“Oh, you’re on.” He says, running past you and up the stairs.

“I didn’t say ‘go!’”

You run after him, laughing the whole way.  

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

note: Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my work don't forget to follow me here for updates and more fics.

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

the great war - astarion

a/n: i finished baldurs gate 3 last night for the first time and i just. i couldn't stop thinking about the fact that this is a game where all you do is fight and kill people and spend months thinking you'll die. and no one mentions the fact that those things woudl give you ptsd. so here's what i came up with! warnings: cursing, smut, angst, nightmares, ptsd, crying, MASSIVE spoilers for baldurs gate 3. like explicit details about the ending. general content warning for mature themes and such word count: 2.2.k summary: the four things you tell your companions you've been up to when they ask at reunions. pairing: astarion x gn!reader now playing: the great war - taylor swift "that was the night i nearly lost you/i really thought i'd lost you/we can plant a memory garden/say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair/there's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair/and we will never go back"

Painting

He asks you to teach him to paint on a cold, rainy day. He’s spent hours watching you meticulously replicate various memories and scenes you want to be forever permanent. You paint your old friends.

You paint Gale and Tara curled up on one of the chairs in the Elfsong Tavern.

You paint Astarion with a goblet in his hand, wrinkles crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

You paint Karlach and Shadowheart laughing by the fire.

You paint Astarion in the early morning, his arm draped over his eyes as he rests.

You paint Wyll and Lae’zel sparring as Scratch watches, running around them like an excited toddler.

You paint Astarion sitting by the river, his feet submerged in the water. You remember how peaceful he looked.

But now, he stares at the canvas in front of him with a frown.

“What’s wrong?” You ask gently as you work.

“You’re so good at this,” He whines, “It’s infuriating.” You can’t help yourself. You lean over and gently kiss his cheek. The pale elf’s ears grow red.

“It’s all about practice and time, love.” You remind. “Besides, I also draw a lot. That helps.” You confess. Astarion looks at you curiously.

“I’ve never seen any of your drawings. Not recently, I suppose.” He recalls scattered parchment across your tent, but he couldn’t recall seeing you draw in the past few months. Your heart skips a beat.

You’ve revealed yourself.

You rest the paintbrush and the pallet down, before going to your bedroom. You come back and hand him a sketchbook. He sits down on one of your chairs before taking it, beginning to flip through it.

The pages are full of so many things.

His heart aches just looking at it.

The first few pages are normal. You’ve drawn Astarion, your companions, Scratch..

And then, he starts to see the dragon you fought on top of the Netherbrain. Right beneath it, Arabella grins back to him.

The amulet of Bhaal sits in one corner, and Halsin widdling sits in the other.

This pattern goes on and on, back and forth. A horrible thing is followed by the warmest memory you can reach in that moment.

Unconsciously, Astarion’s arm wraps around your waist and pulls you closer. He goes through the book, and as the horrors you’ve drawn become worse, he notices that a familiar face he now recognizes as himself fills the pages.

He closes the book and puts it to the side. Then, he glances up to you. He pulls you closer, so you’re standing between his legs. You admire him for a long time but neither of you say much. You just admire each other as you quietly ponder everything that you’ve been through

2. Fucking

When you aren’t painting, you’re fucking—You cannot help yourself, and at this point, it’s sort of embarrassing.

You and your darling Astarion live in a roomy but peaceful house where no one can just stumble upon you, they must be looking. You have a small sunroom for your paintings, even an alchemy lab, and of course, Astarion spends most of his time in the study he has made himself.

But that doesn’t stop the pair of you from trying to fuck to death.

Astarion bakes you various delicious treats, and then lays you down on the table to enjoy his own treat—His tongue laps up the sweet nectar that he has found himself genuinely craving you, as if your cum was a lifesaving elixir.

And of course, while he works in his study, your mouth warms his cock, teasing it—When you get too cheeky, he pulls your hair with his fingers, telling you to behave.

One particular night, his teeth graze your neck as he thrusts into you, gripping your hands as he listens to the euphoric moans leaving your lips. He thinks he can probably spend the rest of eternity chasing those moans.

“Astarion,” You breath out, squeezing his hand, and he just lets out a breathy chuckle.

“I know, darling, just wait a few more minutes for me..” he says softly, “Just really feel everything I’m giving you,” He says. His voice is not unkind, and he is focused on giving you what you want.

You fought a Netherbrain for Gods sake, you can at least take a few minutes to enjoy the feeling of your spouse fucking you.

As your moans become whinier, and Astarion feels himself about to cum too, so he bites the shell of your ear, a quiet sign to let yourself go.

And you do—In the midst of a chorus of moans and pants, you take a second to recognize the fact that you’re alive. The two of you are breathing and you’re not mindflayers, and you’re in love. You never thought the feeling of your lover’s cum dripping out of you would be damn near inspirational.

He stays on top of you for a few minutes, and you can tell he’s feeling the same things you are. But eventually he rolls off of you and rests comfortably on his stomach. Your hand comes over to his back, starting to trace those scars.

Those scars that haunt him.

You cannot help the next words that leave your lips.

“Do you ever regret not becoming the Ascendant?” You ask quietly. His eyes study yours. He answers with another question—

“Do you ever regret not taking control of the Netherbrain?” he asks.

Your answer is simple. Unspoken. Obvious.

You just smile gently to him and lean in, kissing his head.

3. Late Night Tea

Astarion doesn’t sleep. Not because he doesn’t want to, but that’s how elves work. But he doesn’t mind laying next to you as you sleep and he meditates.

But mostly, you never sleep through the night.

Sometimes it’s something small.

Raphael’s laughter haunting you. The snake that threatened Arabella in the grove. The sewers of Baldurs Gate.

Other times, it’s intense. It’s vivid and leaves you sobbing and panicked.

Orin with a knife to Gale’s throat. Gortash experimenting on Karlach. The Emporer sucking Wyll’s soul from his head, or sometimes you’re just stuck in the Astral Prism, unable to get out.

Tonight, You’re in Cazzador’s dungeon. You’re standing in the middle of the circle where he attempted to preform the ascension ritual—But this time it’s different. Your companions are levitating, suspended in red magic. When you look behind you, Astarion is there. He’s shirtless, suspended midair.

Your heart drops.

You run over to him, as fast as your feet will take you, but you are halted just a few feet from him, crashing into an invisible barrier keeping you from your spouse. You cannot reach any of your companions, but their faces are all twisted into the same look—A melted, tense look of pain and terror.

You look back to the center of the room and.. You see your dream vistor. The façade the Emperor put on to try and trick you. They hold Cazzador’s staff, and their eyes glow deep red. You charge at the dream visitor, your hands clawing for the face before—

You wake up, sobbing and breathless. You have to take a moment to realize that it is over, that you’re not in that dungeon deep beneath Cazzador’s estate, and instead, are in bed, lying with Astarion.

You sit up, and when you glance over to him, he’s awake, looking at you with this worried expression. It makes him look younger than you’ve ever known him.

“Astarion—” You start, the words getting caught in your throat.

His hand comes over to your cheek, cupping it gently.

“Shh.. Just breath.” He requests gently, wiping your tears gently. His other hand finds yours. “Come along,” He says softly, tugging on your hand, pulling you along to the kitchen. The sun will rise soon. But Astarion leaves the windows open, sensing it will help ground you.

He starts to boil water for tea, as you sit at the table, staring out the window. Your hands wipe away your tears. Astarion brings two cups of tea to the table and sits next to you.

“Thank you.” You say gently, and he smiles gently to you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You shake your head. Then you ask—

“Do you ever get nightmares?”

Astarion tilts his head, admiring you for a few moments as he debates his answer.

“Yes.” He takes a sip of his tea.

“Why don’t you ever wake me up when you have them? You always seem to help me, why not wake me up?”

Astarion slides off the chair and kneels by your side. He kisses your hand gently, looking up to you with those gorgeous red eyes.

“When I wake up and realize that Cazzador is dead, that it was just a rather dull nightmare.. When I remember that you’re safe and by my side, I’m okay.” He says gently. “As long as I can realize you’re safe, I can calm down.”

You kiss him deeply, and you never want to let him go.

4. Growing Back Together

It takes a long time to find all the pieces of yourself that has been scattered throughout Faerun due to the parasite. It takes a long time for Astarion to unlearn two hundred years of abuse and torment.

The two of you become less frail as you grow comfortable. Your stomachs are full of warm soup and bread and rich wines, and as you lose that familiar and constant hunger, your brain begins to clean up, as if it’s repairing itself, mending the walls and putting pictures back together.

You and Astarion spend your time trying to grow together. He teaches you how to play cards, and you accuse him of cheating every single time. You know he is. He won’t ever admit it to you.

You face the inevitability that Astarion will outlive you. That you will grow old and sickly, and Astarion will be left all alone. He will outlive not only you, but your comapnions, too. It will be just him and Withers one day.

And at first, you try to convince him to move on after you die. You tell him that he will have the opportunity to see this wild future, a future that no one can possibly predict. You tell him that he might be able to fall in love with other people, and that he can live this phenomenal life in your name.

But he argues back. He tells you he has no desire for people to forget the battles you fought, that he has no need to hear the very real adventures he went on become a fairytale, a legend that no one truly believes.

He has no need to outlive his friends, loved ones, or even future children you might have with him.

“There’s no desire to live a life without you. You are what makes my life worth living.”

And that is what convinces you. You agree that when you’re old and wrinkly, and you are near the end, Astarion will hold you as the sun rises. That way, the pair of you will die together. There will never be a day the two of you know without each other.

But for the time being, you spend long nights in front of the fire, talking about anything and everything.

One night, Astarion slips a gold band onto your finger and asks you to solidify the legend of the Vampire Astarion and the Savior of Baldurs Gate, in front of your friends, in front of the Gods, and to each other.

How could you say no?

But the two of you, being who you are.. You cannot just rent a venue, buy a few fancy outfits, get a cake, and have a party. There needs to be a special twist on it.

So when Withers sends out invitations for the five year anniversary of your defeat of the Netherbrain (after six months and then a year), you and Astarion look at each other, and realize what must happen.

To declare your love for each other in the place where your love started, it’s the perfect fairytale ending the two of you deserve.

Withers agrees to turn his celebration into a makeshift wedding, happy to indulge you in your mortal celebrations, especially because he knows things you do not know.

So, in that pretty clearing in the forest that he lead you to when you thought you might be illithid by morning, you marry him. You marry him and never look back, do not think twice, and you dive headfirst into it.

When you get back to your house, you spend days buried between silk sheets.

Dirty tea cups sit on the table.

An old game of cards lays abandoned on the desk of his study.

A painting of your wedding hangs on the wall.

The Pale Elf gets his happy ending.

You can hear your own thoughts, there is no tadpole invading them.

And neither of you have flinched in years.

[shannaraisles]

The Warden's Witch, Part 3 - @euryalex

For the indomitable @euryalex, who requested a look at what the dark ritual from Dragon Age: Origins might look like with her transplanted OC Tara and Wyll Ravengard from Baldur's Gate 3. It was fun to write! Came out longer than expected, but it was a joy - thank you so much for your faith in me, lovely!

The Warden’s Witch, Part 3

“That idiot boy will not even speak to me without Cecilia present. One would think he would have developed more sense after our long journey, but, alas.”

Morrigan’s sigh was more genuine than anything Tara believed she had ever heard from her sister before. She frowned, looking over at the other woman, slumped in a chair by the leaping fire. The Grimoire - their mother’s legacy, stolen from her by their friends - lay in her own lap, the open pages mocking her with the ritual they had only one night to complete if their friends were to survive. 

If Wyll was to survive.

She knew he would be the first among the Wardens to snatch up the sword and sacrifice his own life for the sake of the land. He was so irritatingly noble, so utterly unaware of his worth beyond the service he could perform for his land, his king, his people. So oblivious to the fact that more than his heart would stop in those terrible moments when he obeyed his Warden’s Oath to perfection. 

“Perhaps you should have spent more time befriending him, and less time taunting him,” she suggested to her sister, her tone perhaps a little more arch than she really should have allowed it to be.

“I refuse to change myself for the sake of anyone, much less a man whose seed is all I require,” Morrigan retorted with a scowl. “But all hope is not yet lost. You have a pet Warden who may yet be more amenable to our desire.”

“Wyll is not a pet.” Tara’s eyes narrowed at the other woman, mildly disgusted by Morrigan’s insistence on not seeing anyone around her as deserving of basic respect unless they had earned it through personal connection with herself. “And I will not trick him, if that is what you are thinking.”

“All you have to do is seduce him,” Morrigan pointed out. “We can prime you in here, and then you can go and finally have your romantic evening with your doe-eyed prince. He need never know the reason, and they can all live out their lives believing themselves to be the precious golden unicorns that all Wardens secretly wish to be.”

“I won’t lie to him, Morrigan.”

The older woman’s brow rose above an unamused smirk. 

“Then you will have to be very convincing, little sister,” she said, “or this night may well be his last.”

Tara’s scowl matched her sister’s for a long moment, her dark eyes drifting back to the open grimoire on her lap. Could she do this? Flemeth’s magic seemed costly; someone would have to pay a hefty price for this to be a success, but ... what if that price was simply the burden of motherhood? It wasn’t the child she particularly wanted; it was Wyll’s continued existence beyond the battle tomorrow. It was a price worth paying. 

She murmured the words, slender fingers drawing the runes in the air, gathering her mana to her to prime her womb. No matter the strength of the taint that affected his seed, she would conceive tonight. If Wyll allowed it.

Would he understand how important it was to her that he survive? That he stay by her side?

Of course he wouldn’t. She had never told him.

With a snap of leather and parchment, she rose, tossing the now-closed grimoire onto the bed behind her. She didn’t bother acknowledging Morrigan’s knowing stare on her back as she left the room, letting the heavy door bang closed behind her. Her decision was made. All that mattered how was his. 

Arl Eamon’s keep here at Redcliffe was strangely silent in these few hours before the forced march they would soon undertake. Outside the thick walls, an army was encamped, restless men and women trying to snatch a few hours of sleep before they would have to be up and moving, to chase down the darkspawn army and deliver Denerim from certain destruction. Yet here, along the carpeted stone hallways, Tara could have sworn she was the only living being in the entire castle. There was not even any sound of Cecilia and Leliana as she passed their door, though the two of them were incapable of sharing a space without filling it with chatter and warmth. But not tonight. Not when they all knew that death was waiting for them to the north. 

She raised her hand to Wyll’s door, and hesitated, seeing the dirt under her fingernails, the grime of their own forced march that had culminated today in a vicious fight still coating her skin with gritty unpleasantness. Was there time to bathe? Or ... no.

It was only a matter of minutes to seek out a servant, and barely a half hour more when Wyll received a knock on his door, along with a request to admit Tara, a pair of servants with a finely-carved wooden bath tub, and a swift parade of other servants, human and elf alike, bearing great steaming kettles of hot water to fill it with.

“What is this?” He offered up a half-laugh, one hand gesturing to the sudden bustle filling his room.

Tara levelled a particular look on him, one she knew had a tendency to make him just a little bit nervous. 

“Wyll. We both know you are not going to sleep tonight,” she pointed out. “The least you can do is relax in a tub and be clean.”

“And what about you?” he countered, gesturing now to the grimy fingers that had prompted this little act of kindness in the first place.

“I’m not the Grey Warden facing a fight with an Archdemon,” she said, and in her tone was all the gravity of the situation without ever needing to state it outright.

Wyll’s forced smile dropped, the weight of expectation and sacrifice showing plainly on his face as he rubbed a hand over his brow, half-turning away from the quiet exodus of servants and the secure thump of the door being closed firmly in their wake. 

“You knew about it?” he asked, a trace of bitterness in his voice she had never heard aimed at herself before. “Did everyone know but us?”

She bit her lip, glancing toward the closed door as though momentarily contemplating the coward’s way out of this conversation. But no. She had come to him, here and now, for a specific reason. She refused to avoid that outcome just because talking about how to get there was awkward. 

“Morrigan and I know,” she admitted, her voice low enough to complement the crackle and pop of the logs on the fire. “But only because it is detailed in Mo- Flemeth’s grimoire. I highly doubt the others know anything of it. Well, apart from Leliana - those two share everything.”

This had the desired effect - though his face betrayed the stress of the unexpected revelation, he still managed to conjure a brief smile at the reference to just how inseparable their indomitable leader and the bard had become over the past months. A thought that lead to another thought made her own lips twitch into a soft smile; the thought of how close she and Wyll had become since their first unplanned meeting by the demon’s cairn in the Korcari Wilds. She had been curious enough to stop her escape from the Wilds to investigate; he, desperate enough to join forces with an apostate witch. Who would have thought that, all these months later, this Warden and his witch would be instrumental to the defence of not only Ferelden, but the whole world? A hefty burden for even the widest of shoulders. Heftier still, to be placed on the shoulders of such young people who had all found each other by happenstance and luck. 

“Tara, I ...” Wyll hesitated, letting out a low huff of breath as he, too, looked away from her. “This burden belongs to the Wardens. I would not blame you if you chose to leave tonight. You have more to live for than a battle we may not win.”

For the briefest moment, she was shocked. No, she was hurt. It shone in her dark eyes, piercing him with rebuke for even suggesting that she might take this opportunity to abandon him. 

“How dare you say that to me?” she said, each word sharp with retort. “I have stood at your side since Ostagar, and not once have I strayed. Not even in that pestilential Gauntlet. I let you - all of you - see my deepest fears and regrets, and I still stayed. You have no right to ask me to leave you now.”

“But you do not have to fight this fight,” he protested. “You can leave, escape - you can live.”

“I can live, knowing that I turned my back on you when you most needed me?” Tara’s laugh was harsh in the face of his nobility. “How magnanimous of you, my dear Warden.”

“No, you don’t understand, I -” 

He sighed, passing a hand over his handsome face once again, his knee bumping the steaming tub as he flailed for the words he wanted to say. She gave him the time to find those words. They had always had a comfortable silence between them, even when heated words had been spoken. If he needed that silence now, then she would happily give it to him. 

“I made a vow,” he said quietly. “When I Joined the Grey Wardens, I made a solemn oath. True, I did not know what that last line truly meant until Riordan explained it to us tonight, but ... don’t you see? It changes nothing. If I must die so that Alistair and Cecilia may live, then so be it.”

“I know.”

Her own words dropped into the silence like a stone into a pool, leaving ripples of the words that were unspoken to spill from them in the stillness as Warden and witch gazed into each other’s eyes. Those unspoken words crackled between them, arching like lightning across the space between man and woman, linking them and yet not once had either one ever moved to complete that bond they both felt. 

“What if none of you had to die with the Archdemon?”

The shock in his eyes was almost a palpable blow to her gut; his surprise, his ... Hope. She had given him hope, and suddenly she could see exactly how close to accepting his own death Wyll Ravengard was. He had given up all claim to his own life the moment that damned Orlesian Warden had told the Ferelden group the truth of their vow. In death, sacrifice ... But the sacrifice was not that of the archdemon whose death it spoke of. No, that sacrifice was the death of the Warden who struck the blow. Riordan should not have told them, Tara mused unexpectedly. All he had done was ensure an argument at the critical moment as the three young Wardens tried to be the one to die for their friends. At least she could offer them all hope.

“What?”

The word fell from his lips like a startled bird from a branch, falling part way only to be lifted up again on his breath as he leaned forward, eagerly. 

“Tara ... what do you mean?” His hands reached for hers, eyes boring into her own. Needing to see the truth as she explained herself. “Tell me. If you know a way to save us, please ... tell me.”

She gazed up at him, feeling the tingle of the magic cast upon herself still within her womb, ready to guarantee a life planted in her this night and in so doing, save four others in the moment of their sacrifice.

“Do you trust me?” she asked softly. “Not the magic, not Flemeth, not the Wilds ... do you trust me?”

For what felt like a small age, there was silence. Nothing but the sound of the logs in the hearth and the ebb and flow of their breath to break the stillness that had fallen around them. Nothing but the press of his fingers twining with hers, the piercing certainty of his eyes holding her own captive, unable to look away. Nothing but him, even as he considered her.

“Tara.” Her name was barely a ghost on his breath, but oh, how it ached. “Trust is not the word for what I feel for you.”

“Then what word is it?” she asked, unwilling to be left in the dark. Even if he chose to die, even if he went out there tomorrow and gave up everything ... she had to know. She would never be able to live without knowing. 

His answer came without words. A sudden surge of motion, his hands leaving hers to plunger fingertips into her hair, cradle her jaw in his palms, and his lips were brushing her own in a breathless, tender query ... asking to be allowed to go further, to share with her the kiss on the very tip of his tongue that could say so much more than words ever would. She heard herself sob - in relief or in demand, she could not have said - and pressed herself closer to him, closing the last distance, stealing away the question and answering it with passion and sweetness and all the unspoken longing in her heart. 

He growled as her nails scraped over his scalp, the sound reverberating through her, sending a spiralling spear of unadulterated desire trembling through every limb. Her lips parted, asking him inside, demanding something deeper, closer, something more than the kiss that had already stolen her breath and set her heart pounding. As his hands shifted, one falling to her waist to pull her hard against him, she squeaked; a girlish, innocent sound that made him grin into their kiss and draw her ever tighter to him, consuming her even as she sought to match his eagerness with her own. 

Wait ... hadn’t they been talking about something? Wasn’t it important? Whatever it was flew from her mind as his lips tore from hers to trace a possessive line of slick heat from her mouth to her jaw to the sensitive curve of her neck, a tug of his fingers in her hair guiding her head back to allow him more access even as she arched against him. Her voice, unmuffled now, seemed loud in the quiet of the room, unable to quiet herself in this sudden onslaught of all desires fulfilled. She gasped, almost shocked when his fingers found their way inside her scanty robe, only just keeping herself from crying out at the blissful wonder of his bare skin against her own ... yet that very shock was enough to remind her that not all of this tingle was wholly because of him.

She couldn’t do this, not without his full and knowing consent. 

“Wyll ...” 

His lips caught hers, stilling her words. 

“Mmm ... no, Wyll, wait, I ... I need to ...” 

With an effort she felt sure she should be commended for when she looked back on it in future days, Tara laid her hands on his chest and pushed hard, forcing him back from her pliant form, insisting that the intoxicating kisses stop, if only for a few moments more. Hands falling to rest at her hips, he stared at her, torn between hurt and confusion.

“Wh-what?” he asked, breathless himself as they both fought for control of themselves. “Did I do something ... something wrong?”

“N-no!”

She rushed to reassure him, fingers soft on his cheeks even as she sought to keep just a little distance. He was too good, too handsome, too wonderful ... too much to hold at bay if she did not get this out before they fell upon one another again. 

“No,” she said again, gentler this time, swaying into him, seeking to comfort that heat with the warmth of herself. “You did nothing wrong. But I need to talk to you. I need you to know something, before we can do this.”

“So tell me.”

He drew her back with him, settling them both on the bed, hip to hip and hand to hand, reluctant to release her from his grasp as though afraid she might disappear the moment he no longer had her beneath his touch. He was so warm, so trusting. Would he still be so, when he knew what she had come to tell him?

“Wyll ...” She sighed his name, leaning into him for a long moment before gathering together the remnants of her wits to try and form some palatable presentation of what she had to say. “There’s a way - Morrigan and I, we found a way to save you. All four of you. From the ... the sacrifice when the Archdemon dies tomorrow.”

His hands tightened on hers, the only betrayal of the sudden tumult of his emotions. He did not want to die, she knew that for a fact. But he could not see how it could be avoided without resorting to some forbidden magic. And perhaps Flemeth’s spell would be considered forbidden, but Tara felt sure it was not blood magic. It was older than any declaration against blood magic, from a time when magic was just magic, with nothing laid against the act itself. From a time when the intention of the caster made the magic evil, not the magic itself. It did not make her maleficarum, and it would not make him an accomplice to a crime against the Chantry. Yet it would make him, and Cecilia, and Alistair, the focus of a good deal of scrutiny from their fellow Wardens, should their reinforcements ever arrive in full. 

“How can that be?” Wyll’s question was justified. The point of a Warden’s Joining was to make them fit for this absorption of a dark soul, to the point of their own destruction. The circumventing of it was ... unorthodox.

“Your Joining masks your soul from the very essence of the old god corrupted by the taint,” she said, hoping she could explain better than Morrigan’s pitiful attempt to explain to her earlier in the day. “When the Archdemon dies, that soul seeks a new vessel. If ... if an unborn babe was to be close enough at that moment, a babe no more than a few days old in the womb, then that soulless vessel would draw the old god’s soul to it, and the mere act of being absorbed into a truly soulless vessel would cleanse the taint from it.”

He stared at her. She could see his mind struggling to grasp what she was telling him, what she was suggesting. It was unthinkable, yes ... but it was also plausible, understandable. It made sense. She saw the second thought flicker through his mind, too, already smiling even as he opened his mouth to address it.

“So ... are you ...”

“No,” she said, cutting him off before he could hurt both of them by voicing that uncertain suspicion aloud. “And neither is Morrigan. But ...” Tara drew in a slow breath, steeling herself for what she was about to say. “Wyll, if you are willing, we could lie together tonight and plant that seed. And you and your fellows would not be tied to the fate of the Archdemon tomorrow.”

“And you would bear an old god?” he asked, horror now in his tone. “That could kill you!”

She shook her head swiftly.

“Only the soul of the old god,” she clarified. “I don’t know how powerful a mage that may make the child, but they will be a child, a mortal life created from the death of something truly immortal. And- and who better to raise that child than a witch and Warden?”

She had surprised him again, she could tell. His throat worked as he swallowed, and not for the first time, she wondered how often in his life he had been used and discarded with no thought for the future. 

“You would allow me to be a part of the child’s life?” he asked, his voice low, the hope hidden so deeply within that she only heard it because she knew it was there.

“I would slap you silly if you chose not to be,” she informed him smartly. “Wyll, I don’t ... I don’t really care about becoming a mother. I want to save you.”

He let out a mirthless laugh.

“But in doing that,” he said, “you are giving up your freedom, to be a mother to a very precious child.”

It was her turn to fall silent, to hold his gaze and hope beyond hope that he knew her well enough to read truth in her eyes as she stared at him. Her hands softened in his grasp, her whole body softened toward him. Did he truly not know how very previous he was to her?

“For you, I would give up everything,” she said, her voice quiet yet firm. “And I would thank whoever took it that you are kept safe and whole.”

“But why?” He truly did not seem to be able to grasp what could possibly motivate her to make such a sacrifice for him.

Tara’s smile was bittersweet as she shook her head. Was it really so hard to believe that she could feel this way about him?

“Because I love you, you oblivious heap of horse droppings.”

The childish insult did its work, breaking the tension of the moment, delivering first Wyll, and then her, into fits of irrepressible giggles that only grew out of control, urged on by the tension and fear and impossibility of the situation they found themselves in. They dropped back onto the bed together, still laughing, still clinging to one another, until finally the laughter faded away, leaving only the words between them. 

“As charming as that declaration was,” Wyll said, the smile still playing about his lips as he rolled to face her, “this oblivious heap of horse droppings loves you in return. Not because you can save me, though I am deeply grateful for that ... I love you for your strength, your stubbornness, the kindness you think I don’t see, the softness you only show when you think no one is looking. I love you for your eyes, your mouth, your hair. I love you, Tara.” His hand dropped to her belly, to the womb awaiting a seed to save not one, but four lives. “And I will love our child, no matter what soul they bear.”

Her mouth fell open, her turn to be shocked by his acceptance of her offer so casually and meaningfully given. 

“You-you don’t think it’s a sin?” she asked, knowing the Chantry would condemn this if they knew of it. “You don’t think it makes me evil, even to have suggested it?”

Wyll sighed, shuffling closer to her, tucking her into his chest as his fingers rose to stroke her hair.

“I learned today that the great heroic order I Joined of my own free will was created to send men like me to our deaths without our full knowledge until the moment it becomes necessary to know,” he said, and now she realised what that edge to his tension was. He was angry with the deception that had brought him to this point in time. “That my noble sacrifice is expected of me. That it would not be my choice to die for others if I were the one to strike the blow.”

He leaned down, lips touching a soft kiss to her mouth as he stroked a tender touch from her hair to her jaw to her shoulder. 

“Tara,” he breathed, “I don’t want to die. I want to live ... with you, for you. Forget the Wardens. I will do my duty tomorrow, and then we can disappear. No one need ever find us, unless we wish it.”

“We can escape, just the two of us,” she whispered, almost laughing when he tapped on her belly once again. “The three of us.”

His mouth quirked into a half-grin as he leaned down to her once more, hands sure, lips hungry, eyes filled with love. 

“Let’s just make sure that there is a three of us first,” he murmured, muffling himself against her lips as he drew her to him, tender love mingling with lustful desire finally given a voice. “I intend to be very thorough.”

Her giggle was swallowed by his kiss as she melted into him, forgetting the impending battle, the doom cloud hanging over the castle, the army encamped in the valley beyond, the darkspawn spreading their corruption across the land. In a matter of days, it would be over.

And they would be free.

[galedekarios]

what was i after all but a mortal plaything in sacred hands?

out of all the little glimpses into our companions' lives after the game events, i think i like this bit about shadowheart and gale, and the friendship they've seemingly retained after the game's events, the most:

Player: Tell me what you've been up to. Shadowheart: Wandering, mostly. The adventuring life is almost a tonic when you're not constantly threatened by brain monsters and cultists. I can finally see the world beyond the Cloister. Player: I thought you might crave a little peace and quiet, after all that happened. Shadowheart: Peace and quiet will still be there waiting once I've lived a little. Though don't get me wrong - I've got a little cottage with a garden and animals in mind already. Shadowheart: One of my first stops was the House of the Moon, in Waterdeep. It's the largest temple of Selûne in existence. Shadowheart: It seemed like the perfect spot to reflect on my parents, on where they came from - and where I came from too, I suppose. Shadowheart: Hard to imagine, isn't it? Me, of all people, in the lair of the 'Moon Witch' herself. Gods, your truest act of heroism was putting up with all that Sharran drivel I was spouting for so long. Player: Waterdeep you say? Did you bump into Gale? Shadowheart: We had tea on his balcony - Tara even deigned to sit on my lap for a while. You know, I think entire forests must have been felled to quench that man's thirst for books. Shadowheart: He seems to be doing well. In his element.

it's one of the few (if not the only) instance we have of companions keeping in touch with each other after the game ends and i love this for both for shadowheart and for gale.

both of their stories remind me of gale's early access line "what was i after all but a mortal plaything in sacred hands?" and i think they can understand and emphasise what the other went through before and during the game's events in ways the others simply cannot with the added layer of their abuser being a deity and their patron deity.

one taken from her family as a child, indoctrinated, weaponised and isolated, trying to take everything from her, but unable to erase the goodness of her heart. the other contacted by a god's chosen as a child, the very thing he loved for as long as he remembers governed and represented by her, the goddes who was first a mentor, then a teacher and finally a lover.

Shadowheart: Poor Gale. I hope he knows that a goddess abandoning him needn't be the end - I know from experience.

Gale: Poor Shadowheart. The gods are nothing if not vincdictive in their vengeance. devnote: Sympathetic - Gale feels the gods have also punished him

the idea of them helping each other, supporting each other to take another step towards healing old and new wounds through their shared understanding, is something i like a lot.

on a lighter note:

we know that gale values those he calls friends immensely and shadowheart does, despite her aloofness, crave connection, (re-)discovering who she is and what makes her her.

i like to imagine them sharing not only tea, but a glass of wine:

Gale: Sembian wine, Cormyrian ball, Waterdhavian conversation. It's the little things you miss while on the road. - Shadowheart: So Gale just consumes magical items like I do wine?

perhaps sharing the latest chapbook with her since he likely overheard wyll and shadowheart talking about 'the salty mermaid':

A chapbook was a short book which could contain about any content, from political opinions to crafting guides. In Waterdeep, chapbooks often contained memoirs or romantic stories. [x]

(thank you for reading my gale + shadowheart friendship propaganda post! 🖤)

[euryalex]

Years after the Netherbrain's invasion, a new danger looms over Baldur's Gate.

I got the chance to work with the amazingly talented @ziorre again for a Wyll, Tara & Yenna piece and I am so so grateful! I am honestly in awe of Ziorre's talent and if you ever get the chance to work with her, I recommend you do so!

[amandacanwrite]

A Plain Stack of Parchment - Gale x Tav/reader

Pairing || Urchin Backstory Tav/Reader (unspecified gender) x Professor Gale

POV || Second Person

Length || 3,200 words

Scenario || Gale has tasked you with writing your wedding invites so that he can finally take them to the courier. The only problem is, you don't have anyone to send invites to. In hopes of smoothing over the conversation in which you finally tell him that you really don't have any family, you attempt to make dinner....and destroy his beautiful kitchen in the process.

A/n || This is my first piece of fanfic I've ever shared publicly, please be kind to me about it. I don't really know what the rules are. This has been brewing in my head for days, though and I must get it OUT.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” you’d asked. 

“Hah…I suppose I am,” he’d responded.

He’d carried on about how much Tara would love it, and of course his mother. Words to fill the silence while you’d found yourself bound in stunned silence; words to cover his nerves while you’d worked through the shock of having been asked to join his family. 

Family…a real family. You’d never had one before. It had been an easy answer to give, a joyful one to give. 

“I accept. I’ll marry you, Gale Dekarios.”

He’d begun to prattle on again in that way that you’d loved and it’d been impossible not to smile as he spoke about arrangements. That was until he’d said it. 

“--And you’ll have invites of your own to send out, I’m sure…but that’s all to come.”

You’d not had much time to worry about it, though. Moments later he was kissing you, his fingers curled into the hair at the nape of your neck in that way that always made you melt. You could worry about this conversation another time, you’d told yourself. 

But that time never came around. Gale had accepted his position as professor at Blackstaff, and you both had spent so many long nights on repairing the crown of Karsus so that he could finally be free of netherese magic inhabiting the space so dangerously close to his heart. The day Mystra cured him was one you’d remember forever, because you were both finally free of not only the danger looming over your love for one another, but from the ghost of the past Mystra had been since you’d met him. 

But now? Now you felt regret. 

Gale was working late–a problem student he took on as a project needed his help. He implored you for the umpteenth time to please finish your invitations. They really must be sent out, dearest, if our families are to have time to travel for the wedding. 

How could you tell him you had nothing to send out? How could you explain that you didn’t come with a family; didn’t come with any kind of support system? 

His mother had accepted you as one of her own so quickly. Tara had become just as doting and fussy over you as over the wizard himself. But you couldn’t give him that in return–with your there would be no inlaws, no great aunts, no distant cousins…no grandparents should you decide to have a family of your own one day…

You looked at the optimistic stack of parchment he’d left for you, the quills, two pots of ink. He’d even left you his very own signet ring to press the Dekarios clan crest into your sealing wax, so ready for you to join his family that he would let you claim his name prematurely. 

You wondered if that would change once he knew…once he knew that you’d always been scrappy and alone before the tadpoles and nautiloid brought you and the others together. That was why you’d done everything that you did. It was why you helped Astarion destroy Cazador, why you did everything you could to figure out how to fix Karlach’s infernal engine, even now. It’s why you lifted the shadowcurse for Halsin and helped Wyll rescue his father. It’s why you’d urged Shadowheart to endure the pain of her curse…

Because they all had family, and with time they’d become your family. You’d wanted so long to have one, to have a reason to be good. No one had ever asked after you–where you’d come from, how you became who you were. And you were relieved to not have to tell the truth of the matter. 

You were unloved. 

Thrown away by a mother who couldn’t care for you and living off of scraps you could find in the streets or coin you could slip out of the pockets of strangers. 

So all you could do was stare at that pile of parchment and try to scrape every recess of your memory for anyone; any single godsdamned person to send a wedding invitation to. Damn Gale Dekarios for sending off the ones for your old companions. At least you would have had something to show when he got home today. 

In the end, you gave up. You took the time to put the fine linen parchment away and place the ink pots back on the shelf with the others. You placed the sharpened quills back in the glass goblet he kept dozens of others and…and simply placed the signet ring in the middle of his writing desk where he’d left you hours before. 

And then you decided you would make dinner. 

Gale always cooked, even after his longest of days. You’d offered to do it many times but he always insisted that he liked to cook. That he liked to feed you. 

But the sun was setting lazily behind the Waterdhavian horizon, and Gale was certain to be exhausted after dealing with his problem student all evening. Dinner was the least you could do. Sure, you were never much of a cook, but it couldn’t be that hard to roast a chicken and some vegetables, right? There was certainly no shortage of recipe books in the tower. You were the savior of Baldur’s Gate, you’d taken down an elder brain! Certainly you could figure out cooking a bird. 

You got to work. 

Things seemed to be going pretty alright at the start of it, too. Coat the skin in butter and herbs; check. Scallop the potatoes; check? At least you thought that’s what a scalloped potato looked like. Blanch the asparagus…what did blanching mean?    

 Okay. No asparagus then. Gale could be a meat and potatoes man for one night, couldn’t he?

When you put the chicken and potatoes in the oven to roast and started working on reducing some red wine and spices for a sauce that things started to go south. Things started to go south very, very fast.

First, you realized the red you grabbed was not a Waterdhavian red as you’d thought, but a bottle of fire wine. Fire wine was already heavily spiced, so the the spices you added would be too much. Okay, okay–so, you would try again. 

But when you lifted the saucepan to…hide the evidence somewhere, you also spilled that fire wine directly onto the stove, directly into the flame. You eyes landed on the quickly spilling liquid just as the puddle ignited.

“Oh, for fuc–”

The explosion was nothing less than spectacular; it sent you sprawling across the room, smashing into the brick wall on the other end of the kitchen. The room filled up with black smoke as you tried and failed to get back up to your feet. Your head was spinning and you could barely get a breath in your lungs. 

Shit, shit, shit. You needed to get up. You needed to get up and figure out how to clean this up before Gale got home. He was no stranger to explosions, sure. But gods help the man or woman that prevented him from making his morning cup of tea and enjoying it at the kitchen table. 

You steeled yourself. “Come on. Savior of Baldur’s gate. Come on, get up,” you said. 

But as you slowly got up onto shaky legs you heard a familiar voice booming through the room. A second later, a great storm cloud formed above you and then doused the room in torrential rain. Your soft-soled boots caught on the wet tile floor and you slipped, falling to the ground again. Gale had casted Create Water. 

“Nine hells,” he shouted as he ran over to you, cupping your sooty face in his rough hewn hands. “Are you alright, my love?”

His hands patted over your body, then. Your arms, your hands, bending and extending your legs, checking your ribs. “Is anything broken?”

“I’m fine,” you coughed out. “Just…wet. And embarrassed.”

“Better than being incinerated. Did I leave something out–we’re working on disarming traps in class and–”

“No, no,” you said. “I–I was just trying to make dinner.”

His face contorted into an expression that looked almost affronted. “Make dinner?” he said, sounding confused. 

He looked back at the smouldering wreckage of his kitchen. “Oh no,” he said as he slumped onto his knees and slipped his hands into his wavy, brown hair. “What have you done?”

He must not have fully registered the room he’d doused, which you supposed was very sweet in it’s own way. He’d only hurried to make sure you were okay, he didn’t think for a moment on the damage. At least not at first. 

“I just…I thought that you would like to come home to dinner prepared for you, for once. I was trying to surprise you,” you said. 

“Well you most certainly succeeded in that, didn’t you?” he asked, his tone biting. “This is just what I needed after dealing with Jeremi all day. To leave a destroyed classroom to come home to a destroyed kitchen. Just–fantastic.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I just–”

“Tell me that you at least got your invitations done,” he snapped. “That this wasn’t some sorry excuse for a distraction from planning our wedding? That you didn’t destroy my kitchen and almost kill yourself and potentially Tara so that you could claim you forgot again?”

He looked at you, his brown eyes tired and a little sad. You almost wished you had been incinerated. You knew he didn’t need to use Detect Thoughts to read your mind. You were certain your expression said it all. 

“Your silence speaks volumes,” he said as he stood up and started cataloging the extent of the damage. 

You knew he’d just had a bad day, that the vitriol was more because of the late hours and the unpleasant surprise. The sharpness of his tone still cut like a knife. It was all you could do to sit there and watch him clean up after you. 

You usually loved to watch him do little mundane tasks with his magic. You found the delicate flourishes of his hands so charming, loved the spark of joy in his eyes as the weave spun to meet him. But watching him now, watching his sharp, staccato movements as he zipped recipe books back into place and disappeared broken glass into some pocket dimension…you felt like an utter failure of a partner to him. 

You just sat there while he worked, wanting to get up and help, but afraid that another sharp comment would eviscerate you. You’d had disagreements with him before, of course. And he had been sharp with you about a few of your more adventurous choices (he still brought up the time you licked a dead spider once in a while.) But he had never been truly, truly angry with you. Not like this. 

He opened the demolished stove and took out the raw bird sitting on the bed of potatoes. He hissed out a tight breath and brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“I have a feeling I am not ready to hear the answer to this question, but have you changed your mind?” he asked. 

The question took you by surprise. “Changed my mind?” you asked. “About what?”

“What do you think?” he snapped, looking at you. “About the wedding. About…about marrying me.”

“What?” you asked. “Of course I haven’t changed my mind, why would you ever think something like that? I’m more excited than I’ve ever been to be a part of your family.”

“Then why?” he asked. “Why have you been avoiding writing your invitations. I have asked you to do them at least half a dozen times now, and every time you have some excuse to tell me. ‘Oh, I just got caught up in this book.’ ‘Sorry, dearest–the tadpole headache strikes again.’ And now? Now dinner?”

“Is it a crime for me to want to make dinner for my intended?” you said. 

“My love. My flawless, exquisite, darling,” he said. “You are many things. A gifted fighter, an astonishing leader, an excellent dancer, and none too shabby beneath the sheets. But you. Are not. A cook. I allowed you to cook ONE time. A singular time in our travels together and do you remember what happened?”

You pouted. “Everyone got sick,” you grumbled in a low voice. 

“YES! Everyone GOT SICK,” he shouted. “Everyone got so sick that we had to spend THREE DAYS in camp. And do you remember what you swore to me that day?”

“That I would never cook for people again,” you said. 

“THAT YOU WOULD NEVER COOK FOR PEOPLE AGAIN!” he shouted triumphantly. “So then, why, my love. Why would you be cooking now if not to avoid sending your wedding invitations? And why would you want to avoid sending your invitations unless you had changed your mind about spending the remainder of your days with me?”

You nibbled on your lip and exhaled, looking down at your soot-covered hands. 

“I don’t…” you said, almost choking on the words, almost looking for a lie. “Gale, I don’t have anyone to send invitations to. And every time I think to tell you that, I get terrified that you’ll realize the mistake you made in proposing to someone who brings nothing to the table.”

“No one to send invitations to?” he asked, seeming surprised. He looked at you with a quirked eyebrow.  “No, I’m sure that isn’t true. We’ve talked about your family before, haven’t we?”

“Not that I remember,” you said. 

“During our travels, you…we…we shared stories,” he said. “All of those times around the campfire. The nights alone between us.”

You watched as his eyes became distant, as if he’s searching his memory for some cache of data he’s stored about you. He smoothed his hand over his chin before covering his mouth with his hand. His brow furrowed and his expression saddened before he dropped his hand and crossed his arms. 

“Gods,” he said. “Every story you told us, everything you shared…tales of treachery, of bar fights and street brawls, the times you told us you almost lost a hand. All the times you told us about those…strange meals you would scrounge up with that glimmer of warm nostalgia in your eyes.”

He walked slowly over to you and kneeled in front of where you sat, still soaked to the bone and covered in soot. He took your hand in his and squeezed your fingers. 

“I may be an impressive scholar, but I am a fool, my love,” he said. “All of this time together and I was always so caught up in how lovely it felt to be truly accepted and understood. All the times you told me that I was enough for you as I am and I couldn’t even spare the proper courtesy of asking you about your family. You must think me an ogre of a man.”

You forced a little airy laugh from your lungs and shrugged. “Not much to tell about,” you said weakly, swallowing as your throat became uncomfortably tight. “Nothing really at all.”

You bit the inside of your lip and looked down at your hands again, willing yourself not to cry. You promised yourself a long time ago not to cry over this anymore. No one got to pick their hand in life, it was useless to cry over it. 

Gale cupped your cheek in his hand, angling your chin up again so you’d meet his eyes again. “I asked you to write invites to a family you didn’t have. Then you tried to make dinner for me when you couldn’t do it, and I shouted at you for ruining my kitchen. Please forgive me, my love. I have been a miserable, self-centered ass.”

“I’ll forgive you if you forgive me for ruining your kitchen?” you offered.

“You have yourself a bargain,” he said.

He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was soft at first; chaste, even. It reminded you of your first kiss with the girl who sold papers in the lower city. But then it changed. He scooped the hand cupping your chin back into your hair, curling the locks around his fingers before smoothing his free hand up your thigh, gripping your leg and pulling you closer. 

He hitched you up onto his hips and stood, still surprisingly strong despite the more sedentary life you both were living these days. You draped your arms over his shoulders, loosely hooking your fingers together as you tilted your head, parting your lips to breathe in that ever present scent of cinnamon and warm tea. 

He let out a low hum, the sound of his buzzing against your mouth. 

He parted from the kiss and pressed his forehead against yours as he sat you down on the charred countertop. “You are lovely,” he said. “Your beauty, your generosity? As intoxicating as any glass of wine.”

You let out a little huff and are surprised when you feel a few drops of wetness fall onto your cheeks. Gale tuts, backing up just far enough to swipe that wetness away with the rough pad of his thumb. “I’m so sorry,” you said. “I…I never cry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he said. “Don’t you even think about it.”

You gave a sheepish smile and exhaled, nodding once. 

“You know what?” he said. “The kitchen can wait.”

“But your morning tea…” you said. 

“Tomorrow, you and I will get tea together at that little bakery I haven’t had a chance to show you, yet. And tonight? Tonight we’ll walk to the vendor down the road, we’ll get some delicious Waterdhavian street food and we won’t think at all about the origin of said food, trust me, it’s not worth it,” he said. “And then we will cuddle up on the balcony and I will ask you extensively and exhaustively about your life before you met me.”

“What if you don’t like what you hear?” you asked. “What if I was never honest, or smart? What if I didn’t have a wholesome youth like you did?”

“My love,” he said. “When you met me I was a man with a tadpole in my brain and an orb in my chest that would level the whole of Waterdeep if I didn’t eat your precious magic artefacts. I was a man who tried to become a god, and when I thought of making the same mistake a second time, you’re the one who talked sense back into me. You’re the one who showed me that I was worthy of love, just like this.”

You smiled and nodded as he kissed your forehead. “You’re a remarkable wizard of great renown,” you teased. 

“I’m just a man, and a teacher with a student who seems intent on torturing me,” he said. “I’m also remarkably humble.”

“And?” you said. 

“And nothing you do or say could make me stop loving you,” he said, “Not even you…destroying my beautiful, wonderful kitchen.”

“I thought I was forgiven,” you said with a look. 

“I have most certainly forgiven, but I have not yet forgotten, my love,” he said. 

“Perhaps I could remedy that tonight, after your questions,” you suggested, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Give you a bit of a distraction.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time you made me forget something with your diversions,” he said. “That sounds like the perfect way to end the night.”

“Well, then, let’s get cleaned up and go buy some of that questionable food,” you said. 

“With pleasure.”

[madwomansapologist]

my love mine all mine

Meet Kind!Druid!Tav | More Weirdos | AO3

synopsis: It doesn't matter what their first impressions of you were, they certainly did not expect you to be so important in their lifes. And as the days passes, each one of your companions need to understand a simple fact: they love you. They all love you.

warnings: a sequel to that (you don't need to read if you don't want to). song "my love mine all mine" by mitsky for gale. song "class of 2013" by mitsky for karlach. companions (gale, karlach) x druid!tav. background cast (mystra, halsin, lae'zel, shadowheart, selune, astarion, wyll). this game really is about faith and bodily autonomy. hurt/comfort. falling in love.

There is something endless about suffering. Once you felt hunger, nothing can complete that empty spot inside your soul. No amount of hope can ever make you forget about how painful it was to be helplessness. The sun is warm, but not enough to melt winter away from memory.

No brave adult can forget what felt to be a trembling child facing harshness all alone. It would be so much easier to forget how cruel the world was, but all you do is wonder to yourself: why didn't no one helped me? Why didn't no one saved me?

Even the word survivor feels wrong. It implies that something cruel happened in the wild, far away from home. A survivor has a tale to share with pride, scars to proof how strong you became. But sometimes suffering is just suffering, and the wild is your home.

It doesn't end. The suffering doesn't end, even after it does. It haunts you, laughs as you fumble, stains the good moments with sin.

But not with you.

For every time life was painful, you are caring. For everytime it burned and ached, you are gentle. There is something soft about you. No edges to get cut, no harm to be done. You care without shame, and your delicacy is welcome.

It's been long since someone cared for Gale Dekarios. Not for Gale of Waterdeep, the prodigy able to compose the Weave as he so desired, Mystra's lover and worshiper. But for Gale Dekarios, a man and nothing more than that, it's been so long.

Gale's value is his capability to bend the Weave. No one helped him for a reason other that. No one cared, or loved him for something that wasn't his talent or competence.

He was alone, except by Tara, and he got used to it. It's easy to get used to bad things when you think that you deserves them. It's no surprise that he so easily got used to being a dead man walking.

It was fine. Fine that his goddess wouldn't save him, that she would cast him away. Gale took it on himself, he knows that. Sometimes people don't get salvation. Sometimes they don't get a second chance. Sometimes things just end.

But you helped him. You held his hand and pulled him out of stone, unaware that you were actually pulling Gale towards you. You didn't asked for a payment or answers. You just held him.

And Gale held you back.

The world trembled. Poisoned mace. His defenses were already low when the goblin attacked. He knew his party won, but he can't remember how. His conscience was barely a whisper, as uneasy and skittish.

His feet were moving, he could feel it, but Gale wasn't controling them. Darkness devoured him, and the world was reduced to a cold freeze against his face.

"Karlach, you got the first watch," a distorted voice startled him. He wasn't alone. It took Gale a second to understand who was talking. "Halsin, Lae'zel broke her wrist. Shadowheart, follow me."

Gale is half asleep, half dead, but he could recognize that voice anyway. Always demanding, aware of what to do, being right. You. Sweet, caring, loving you.

"Alright, soldier!" Karlach dropped her dripping wet backpack near the fire. Something bumped on his shoulders, and a cry left Gale's lips. "And you get better, mage. I'm counting on you for that!"

Her hand. It was her hand that almost made him collapse. But Gale didn't. That was when he noticed his eyes were closed, and someone was holding him.

Your hands gripping his waist as you tried to walk, your warmth reaching him. He could see a drop of sweat making its way on your neck. Blood staining you silver armor. You smell like... you. He can't describe it in any other way.

"You'll be fine," you whispered. As if you knew his head was about to explode. "We'll take care of you. Close your eyes."

You asked. Gale obeyed.

When he woke up, a black sea stained his vision. He breathed in and out, and understood it was the night sky. Gale stared at the moon, shining down on him, and for a second he though it was staring back.

Gale tried to pray. Would Selune embrace him? If he kneeled and promised his loyalty, would she protect his soul? Gale tried to pray, but no words made to his mind.

When he opened his eyes, you were there. Kneeled beside his bed, so close he could hear you breathing, but looking away. Bright eyes, reflecting the moon, looking down at something. Furrowed brows, lips tense, your shoulder stiff as you moved.

Gale heard the water before he saw the cloth you dipped into it. You agile hands folded it carefully, and placed it on his belly. It was hot. Almost too hot, but you were quick. You pressed it against his skin, and went back to dip it. The white cloth was now stained red.

Oh. You were cleaning him. His eyes noticed the bucket filled with redish fabrics. Gale wondered if cleaning him felt like rubbing wine stains into rugs. If by trying to make it right, you only made it worse. He wouldn't care if you made him worse, not as long as you keep on touching him.

When he reached for your cheeks, Gale didn't even thought about it. He just wanted to touch you, to make sure that you were real.

It startled you, a little gasp escaping your throat. You looked at Gale, analyzing every inch of his face.

For a time, Gale could only look at his hand against your skin. His thumb stroking your cheek, so soft beneath his touch.

"Why are..." that voice wasn't his. It wasn't anything like his. For how long did he slept? "Why are you here?"

You looked at the hand you placed on his waist, and realized how it must be to wake up with someone else touching you. "I was just cleani..."

"That's not what I asked," the mage stopped you. You went back to look at him, and Gale felt your gaze softening his entire being. "Why are you here?"

"I worry about you," you admited. "Specially when you forget what shields are made for."

"Why are you like this?" Gale found himself trying to make whatever was on his mind understandable. That doesn't happen very often. For him to be unsure about his words. "Why do you keep on taking care of me? You don't owe me anything."

"Because you are... you," you went back to cleaning his skin. Gale didn't move his hand, and you didn't seen to mind. "Close your eyes, go back to sleep. You won't even notice I'm here."

With his hand on your cheek, eyes staring at the moon, Gale hoped Selune was staring back.

He don't know what will happen to him after his death. Mystra didn't forgave him, so Gale isn't counting on her protection when his soul is to be judged. But one thing Gale knows: the moon was here before him, and will remain after.

So he prayed. Silently, he begged Selune to protect you. He begged for her to shine on you, the only one who ever made him feel worth something. One day he must die, sooner than later apparently, so he hopes she'll protect you when he's gone.

"Impossible," Gale stroked your jaw. "Utterly impossible."

Every single one of your companions love how sincerely you care for them, but they all see how it can be a problem too. How many times have they told you to not be so welcoming? It makes you you, but it's also the reason why you bleed so often.

How many times have you tried to help someone just to discover they didn't deserve it? How many times will it happens until you finally understand your lesson?

Fainting after a encounter with a ruthless dwarf, Shadowheart thinks it's the best moment to ask you to tone it down, only to be reminded about how you still befriended Astarion even after his introduction. If Wyll explains there is no way you can win this fight, that it isn't even yours, you point at Halsin and he can do nothing but to shut up. And whenever Astarion is a pain in the ass, you explain that mercy and kindness are what brought Karlach to the party.

They are scared for you. No one knows how much pain your heart can take before if finally stops healing. You're kind, and they want you to stay that way, but not if it diminishes your soul. There must be a limit for your hope, and they aren't interest on finding it.

Worried about you hurting yourself, they didn't noticed how that hurted Karlach too.

Few can say they escaped from hell, and even fewer would be stupid enough to not enjoy a second chance. Karlach knows she sounds too distracted at the worst times, too excited when there's nothing to celebrate, but how couldn't she? She won't waste her chance.

If only she could be touched. If she could hug her friends, be near those she loves without hurting them, hold without bruising. If only she could touch you without boiling your precious skin.

Don't matter how affectionate you are, there are thing you just can't do. You showed her only your best sides, so welcoming and caring. After a fight, you rush to check on her. Late at night, you tell stories about your life. When it's peaceful, you show her different ways to tie a know. But you can't touch her.

Karlach thinks you look warm. Not cold. Nothing like distance or indifference. And not hot. Nothing like the infernal machinery inside her chest. You seem peaceful. Calm, in a way that she might never fully comprehend.

You hold Lae'zel's hands to stop her from offending someone. And don't flinch when Astarion pulls you by your waist. It's been some weeks since started to teach Shadowheart how to swim. And Wyll tried to help you with your dance moves. Halsin's hand seem to be glued to your shoulder.

She envies them. Karlach envies everyone that you touch. She just feels so lonely, and she'd already spent too much time pretending not to be. Avernus is behind her, and the person she was there won't ever see daylight again. Karlach is free, and she'll be always true to herself.

Poking the flaming wood with a sticky, trying to make it spread to the others, she was to focused to noticed when you sat beside her by the log. Her mind was somewhere far, far away.

After a few moments, Karlach saw you. She kept herself quiet, just enjoying your presence. As if her silence would make you not want to leave. As if her silence would be enough so she could lay her head at your lap, feel your fingertips undoing the knots on her hair, without burning you in and out.

As she stared at the soon-to-be bonfire, you glared at the sky. You searched on your pockets, looking for a coin, but all you found was a forgotten jasper. It'll do the trick. "Jasper for your thoughts, Mama K?"

Karlach looked at you. "What, soldier?"

"You're quiet today," you said. "Too quiet. Let me help you. If you want to talk, I want to hear. If you want to kick some butts, my boots are ready. So, jasper for your thoughts?"

She opened her hands, and you dropped the crystal on it. Karlach played with it for a second, amused by your words. "I'm tired," she said. "Of not touching. Or being touched. I know I'm not alone but... sometimes I can't help but to feel like that. Even Mama K has her moments."

She has so much love to give. Just like you. If only she could give it as freely as you do. Karlach respects you for it. For trying to be better, don't matter how much it hurts you. Scars are signs of bravery, just as pieces of broken hearts.

You think it's worth the cost, and so does Karlach.

"One day," you breathed in. Looking at the fire, you saw why Karlach was so interest on it. Don't matter how much you learn, it still looks magic. "I will braid your hair. Massage your shoulders. Wash your back. Teach you archery, my chest against you back and my hand holding yours. Take the eyelash that fell on your cheeks. Straighten your necklace. I will let lips do what hands do."

You turned to her, with a beaming smile on your face and wet eyes. "But for now, can you wait? Can you dream for a few months more, until we find a solution? Because I swear, Karlach, I will find one. Don't matter if I'll need to walk throught the Nine Hells. I will find a cure for you."

"Damn, soldier," Karlach hissed. Maybe it was the light, but her eyes were redish. You did the noble thing and pretend to not have seen the tears. "You really are the sweetest hero around."

"So don't think you're alone anymore!" You suppressed the urge to punch her arm. Scratch brought you a red ball, and you caressed him. "I'm here. We all are."

And that's one thing they all will be forced to understand: they are not alone. Not anymore.

Part 3!

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