#I'm rooting for you Gale (always).

[recitedemise]

𝗠𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲'𝘀 𝘃𝘂𝗹𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗱𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗽 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘂𝗺𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝘀, 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗠𝘆𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗽𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿. This lengthy headcanon will refer to canon dialogue from mostly Gale, sometimes others. Reader's discretion is very much advised. There will be in depth explorations into grooming, emotional abuse, heavy manipulation, and suicide.

First, let it be said that Gale, a mortal man, will always be the powerless one in his dynamic with Mystra. Of course, nearing forty years of age, he remains entirely responsible for his own actions, his own foul blunders and every hurt he'll cause, but it's important to remember who formed much of who he is: his goddess, his deity, and egregiously, his lover.

Mystra is power. Mystra is possibility. She knows what sway she holds over her Ioyal, vulnerable, and entirely mortal followers. In all ways that matter, they are but lambs she can steer and herd as she sees fit. She knows they can't deny her, and knows they'll never want to. Gale's sheer servitude and complete devotion; to the very quick of his bones, she lapped them up.

Gale: I was just... practising an incantation. Player Character: No, there's more to it than that. I know devotion when I see it. Gale: What can I say? She's—she's Mystra. I can't describe it, the need I sometimes feel to see her - to draw the filaments of fantasy into existence... Mystra is all magic. And as far as I'm concerned, she is all creation. Player Character: I didn't realize the depth of your devotion. Gale: Magic is... my life. I've been touched with the Weave for as long as I can remember. There's nothing like it.

Gale, orb in his chest, doomed to be eaten by the very thing he loves the most, still speaks so reverently of the goddess, of his lover that has left him to die. He conjures images of her memory—and she is all the while forgetting about his.

Minsc: Gale reminds me of vremyonni of my homeland. The man-mages of Rasheman. While the girl-folk go on to rule as wychlaran, Weave-touched boys were hidden away. Trained to work their craft in silence and secrecy. It is an old custom, not well-observed. In truth, I thought it born of caution after some catastrophe of wizardly men-folk of old. Now, I wonder if it was not done to hide them from Mystra, and the snares she sets for young and prideful boys, hm?

Tales of Mystra's treachery spreads far, leaving those familiar waters surrounding Gale's tower in Waterdeep. They whisper her name, afraid to utter it one time too many, suspecting, perhaps, that she'll show in their mirror like some Faerûnian Bloody Mary.

Talent rouses Mystra. She can see who uses the gift of the Weave and feel them, sampling whatever delight sings their veins as they pull from her domain. Not unlike a spider, she'll follows every tremor that strikes her as just a sliver more profound; and Gale, a prodigy, plucked the Weave's web to so garner her focus. And like some black widow scurrying, she surged down that ripple to prey on a boy. There, Gale, so impressionable, was just a mite older than twelve whole summers. He sat so stunned, beholding Mystra as she lured him into the cradle of her Astral domain. Bathed in her magic, pleasantly coddled within that glittering cosmos, Gale felt blessed in a way he'll struggle always to recount, no word, no language, fit to describe it. He felt chosen. He felt seen. And potently, to a child, he felt loved. Now, imagine a child experiencing something like that. Imagine what they'd think, how brilliant they must be when stood beside the rest. She told him he was gifted, made his heart swell not unlike a child's appetite for praise. She knew what she was doing by offering these morsels, by preying on a child's most delicate mind, and Gale, child prodigy, was already so awash in the idea that his value was in magic. Unfortunately, Gale, susceptible, had no way of squirming out of his goddess' grasp.

Reality: She's laid down the seeds to creep into his heart. When he's just old enough—seventeen's sufficient, she thinks—she stakes her claim and makes him hers.

Gale: My virtuosic talent once caught the eye of the goddess of magic herself, Mystra, who named me her chosen and her lover.

Gale is stunned when she takes him to bed the first time. (Is this really happening?) Mystra claims his mouth in a kiss, taking everything she knows he offers so willingly. Mystra, of course, is not so stunned.

Dream Visitor: An elder brain... one of the cruelest and most powerful creatures in existence, enslaved by mere mortals. Gale, tasked with Mystra's missive to sacrifice himself: This is it... I must do as Mystra commands.

Gale has worryingly low self-esteem beyond his magic. As already explored, his entire worth as a man hinged on and was built entirely off his talent as a wizard. He fought tooth and nail for any crumb of affection Mystra would offer his way, something she only gave him at all seeing his gift as a child. He wants her forgiveness. He desires it genuinely. He believes so firmly that he has wronged his goddess, buying into the idea that sacrificing himself will right his wrong. She holds such dominion over him, making him reduce his confidence in himself into a mere, trifling pittance; after all, she wasn't just his lover, but the patron deity he prays to. And regardless, Gale is a people pleaser, his initial acceptance of her missive coming as no surprise.

After all, Gale, at times, goes to incredible lengths to appease his audience. This habit, compulsion, impulse, whatever you want to call it, is a quality that was relentlessly exacerbated in his relationship with his immortal paramour. He wanted to content her, felt all he did was never enough, for as a matter of principle, he was oceans, leagues, and entire galaxies beneath her. Gale figures: well, how can a short-lived dalliance satisfy a god? He had to make her happy. Indeed, he'd done everything she'd ask. He'd bedded her how she liked, kissed her how she wanted, and of course, even said those words she'd said tasted best. She was his lover, a lover that never tended to his own needs and pleasures, and he fooled himself into thinking that's enough. He won't bend backwards for everyone, mind you, but if you're of the ones he would, he would stop at nothing to make you happy. After all, people pleasing is a way to keep oneself safe, a trauma response to sidestep discomfort, and though it achieves only a direly tentative peace, when that is all you've been fed, you will pursue it.

Gale did not want to lose Mystra; he couldn't bare the sting of it. And so, when Elminster visited him, Mystra's call for his death offered oh so callously, Gale, heartbroken, felt that part of him kick up. He couldn't endure the guilt, was so hungry for a chance to let his weighty heart breathe, even if it meant dying in the process.

At least this way, he'll finally do something right. At least this way, Mystra will forgive him, and all his friends will survive.

Gale: After I was afflicted with my condition, I locked myself in my tower for an entire year. I was inconsolable, wallowing in my self-inflicted tragedy. I'd given up on myself.

As a byproduct of people pleasing, Gale, too, is all too quick to accept all guilt. He self-deprecates, gaslights himself to a venomous degree, and twists his reality in so cruel a way as to make him the villain Mystra'd led him to believe. He self-flagellates himself, the first one in the world who will throw Gale of Waterdeep a mental punishment. Mystra's a goddess, after all, seen as utterly faultless, and twined so tightly with a being so mighty in esteem, Gale slipped into the role of the guilty often. When tied with anyone with grandeur like this, so immeasurable in their own self worth, it's important to keep in mind this: you are nothing but a prop in which to fulfill their ego. Gale was not Mystra's, not by a long shot. Rather, Gale was a tool, simply her mortal extension.

And he took every blow meant for her... a common and terrible habit for many people in imbalanced, ego-fueled relationships.

Gale's life beyond her wasn't something that interested her. She took most of Gale's devotion, manipulated his life to be her sole mantle of attention, for Mystra is not a goddess that shares very happily.

Indeed, long before his self-imposed isolation, this jealous deity did well at keeping him isolated.

Player Character: Picture kissing him. With tenderness. Then, with passion. Gale: I... I didn't think— Narrator: You perceive quick-fire embarrassment, trepidation, and finally... elation.

And so, cheated out of love, so reduced in his value as a man and lover both, suffice to say, Gale's slow to believe he can ever be loved. That's what happens when you're with someone so cold, consistent only in their infinite lack of respect. Gale looks at fondness, and he feels—confounded, to be sure. He thinks, is this truly mine to have? He doesn't know what to do, is nearly forty in game, and despite having lived decades devoted to one relationship, he feels, at the same time, entirely out of depth. To be frank, he greets it with embarrassment, like he's been caught red handed with something not his at all. He's like a child caught rummaging with his hand in a cookie jar, all this isn't mine to enjoy, not mine to indulge in, but he thinks, startled, but god, do I want. He wars with disbelief, uncertainty, and need, and in so many ways feeling utterly starved, with just a glimmer of affection, he falls fast into love.

Scenario: (And if properly romanced, it changes his world.)

Gale: In her (Mystra's) likeness, I used to read a thousand stories. She was beauty, wisdom, elegance, power... she contained universes. But now... it is hard to see any redeeming qualities in a lover who condemned you to death. I'd much rather gaze into your eyes than hers. Yours are capable of tenderness and feeling... No god could ever compare.

He says it with sincerity. There is such wonder, such love, and such awe in his eyes. He makes the act of kissing him feel like you've just reached into the trenches to but pluck him soundly from his ruin and despair. You think, Gale Dekarios, how unloved have you been all this time?

Gale: To know you love me for the man I am, and not the magic I command… none have loved me so purely before.

The answer is: entirely.

For so long, Gale thought love was simply being chosen. He knew nothing of being favored for the quality of his character, to be cherished and accepted even in those ways he fumbles and lacks. Again, his needs were seldom met, often treated with utter indifference by Mystra herself, and to meet someone so eager to treasure him, dote on him in a way his heart, his body is somberly new to, raptures his spirit and captures his soul. He's seen for who he is. He's... loved, desired for his silly quips, his easy smiles, and his growing affections. He bares himself to them, and in turn, they cradle his heart like something entirely precious. Gale thinks this has to be dream. He says, at times, you are more than I deserve.

Scenario: (But sometimes, he hopes too strongly and loves too greatly. As it always does, then, like he's once more wanted too much, he watches something beautiful slip right through his fingers. Of course, Gale Dekarios. Of course it does.)

Player Character: I didn't know you felt so strongly, Gale. Gale: Perhaps I should have done more. Been more charming, more flattering, harder to reach... but I was only myself, and sometimes that isn't enough.

They don't love him anymore. It breaks his heart. He hurts so much, so profoundly and deeply, and he doesn't realize that he breaks their heart in turn.

Unable to ever voice his feelings with Mystra in any way that amounted to much, Gale's a tendency to wallow, expressions coming off as potentially 'guilt-tripping' and even, on occasion, passive aggressive. Firstly: Gale NEVER means to manipulate emotions, and he's no intention of twisting anyone's arm, either. Fact is, Gale, never taken seriously when he'd bared his vulnerabilities to the Mother of the Weave, can end up saying just a little too much. He feels very deeply, and for most his life, seldom had an outlet for these weeping sentiments. He sometimes lets slip raw words and oftentimes heart-wrenching expressions; all the same, it's not so pitiful as to shepherd an outcome, but rather, is a gesture taken by a man so desperate to be heard. It may feel like scheming, but the truth is far, far greyer: feeling as though he's no right to share the depth of his heart, Gale simply lets it geyser out in a way he can't cork up. In ways he doesn't realize, he's adapted to this ache, passively reacting so his feelings can at least be seen and recognized—no matter how pitifully unwhole. With someone who values so little his thoughts... well, when he slips into these moods, one can hardly feign shock.

Situation: (And if no one shows him trust and tenderness, any true care in his character or worth, Gale gets swallowed up by how wronged he was.

He thinks: Let me be a god. Let no one hurt like me anymore.)

Gale: They only want us to serve them, pray to them...and ultimately, to die for them. But what if we didn't need them? What if we wielded their power instead and helped ourselves in all the ways they refuse to? I could make that happen.

Gale is not above anger, and as stated, he is not above pettiness; however, more than that, he is not above righting himself whatever wound he was struck. Gale, if not offered much by ways of affection, understanding, is made to believe that one idea that's lived growing in his mind: Gale Dekarios is far from sufficient; he has to be more. He has to be better. Gale, in such an unkind ending for himself, sips too desperately—and perhaps greedily, too, but desperately serves as a far better word—at that idea that he needs power. And so, wresting the Crown of Karsus for himself, he spites Mystra in his own way, becoming a god he feels is leagues better than she will ever be. Damn her thoroughly. Damn her ego, her power, and her endless indifference. He will serve the people, protect them, and in ways Mystra never could, better the world.

Situation: But as a god, he loses all sense of his kindness. Humanity. All who loved him leave him, and even Tara spurns the image he's become. With power, he's gained the respect he thought he always wanted... but in turn, he lost in even greater measure all the love he's known.

Endnote: But healing, knowing to forgive himself and knowing he's deserving of care simply for being Gale Dekarios will remain, always, the best path for him.

[kiame-sama]

Warnings; bg3, full party (because I want them all there to talk), Druid Tav*, Slight druid path spoilers I guess?, Owlbear, Protector type Tav, yandere companions (ALL of them), basic identity spoilers for first act followers, slight early story spoilers, they/them reader, yandere Raphael makes an appearance too.

* Tav is the name that always appears in the character generator first, so technically Tav is the unofficial term for the player character- or Reader in this scenario.

~~~~~~~~

The large owlbear lumbered slowly amongst the fallen undead, using the sharp beak to pick around the bodies for anything useful. Of course, not everything picked up by the defacto leader of the group was typically deemed useful. Such was the way of the unusual soul the group found themselves following the every whim of.

Countless battles had been won with their leadership and each companion had true respect for their leader, even if respect for the other companions was variable. To take them from desperate and hopeless about their plight to truly believing they could succeed their impossible mission. Each odd soul brought in to the fold by the odd druid may not believe, but they believed in how much their leader believed. For them, this was enough.

This meant that when their trusted leader wandered around as a creature that could feasibly carry three of them, they just followed along and grabbed what they wanted if their leader didn't pick it up first. They trusted their leader to distribute loot and treasure adequately based off of who could best use what was collected. Still, that didn't make the experience any less surreal, even for those who were familiar with druids that favored their bestial forms.

"Astarion, do you ever feel like we, as a group, just adapt to everything around us a little too well?"

Gale, the wizard of the group walked next to the rogue vampire spawn, his arms crossed in a contemplative way. Never before would he have imagined himself having light banter with such a being without bloodshed, but here he was regardless.

"Do tell me you are joking, right?"

"No, should I be?"

"God's, Gale, we're all stuck here as a group with only one thing in common- the fact that we're facing impossible odds to simply survive- and we can barely keep ourselves from killing each other. On top of that, just what do you think we're doing right now? Hm?"

"... Collecting the spoils of our battle?"

There was a distinct moment of silence as the beautiful vampire spawn stared at the wizard with a look of disbelief and disgust. The apparent pause catching the attention of the rest of the party- minus the owlbear lumbering ahead of the group- as they all decided to listen in. It was good fun to hear the others squabble and it gave a sense of comradery despite the situation they were in, misery loving company in most ways, though things weren't seeming too miserable now.

"We are in a temple that is inside of a crypt- some depth underground- picking amongst the remains of reanimated corpses that have all been stomped to death by our Owlbear leader. Not to mention this leader who just so happens to be the most balanced person among us and somehow isn't corrupt as all hells while doing it."

Some of the others nodded along in their own ways, knowing Astarion's assessment wasn't too far off from the crux of the situation they found themselves in. A few cast glances at the afore mentioned owlbear leader who seemed rather content rooting through what little remained from their earlier rampage.

"And they're hot as the hells while doing it."

Karlach, the literal flaming tiefling barbarian, commented, putting herself in the conversation with a wide grin.

"You're one to talk, Karlach," Wyll playfully jabbed back, "You've literally got fire coming out of you!"

"You know I'm right though!"

"Well, I didn't say you were wrong."

Before the two could continue, Astarion cut them off, bringing the now group conversation back to Gale.

"Anyways, my point still stands. We are not the ones who make this all work. They make it work for us. We are stuck together- like it or not- and they call the shots. We can get used to anything because they can get used to anything. Don't pat yourself on the back too hard now, it might get you excited."

Gale slightly winced at that jab, given the fact that he was the most obvious about being smitten with the group leader, and yet his beloved was completely unaware of how hard he had fallen. How hard they all had fallen.

"Are you all fools," Shadowheart hissed in a low voice, "you know they can hear us, right?"

It was Lae'zel's turn to bark out a laugh, her lips curled in a sly grin as she regarded the Sharian cleric. It gave the Githyanki soldier a sense of satisfaction to know something about their leader the cleric didn't.

"They can't understand us in that owlbear form. Why else would these fools talk so plainly?"

Unknown to them, their leader could understand them, but simply didn't want to cause in-fighting or favoritism to arise. So they simply carried on as if unaware of the conversation, just trying to focus on finding what was salvageable.

Unknown to them all, a demon watched from the rafters. His arms were crossed and a grin played across his lips. He had to admit, that druid was certainly a fetching prize as they clearly enamored not only their mismatched companions but him as well. Time would leave him the last among them by the druid's side, he would ensure it. Besides, he had plenty of time to wait.

[thegreenthepeacetheorange]

On Gale and patriarchy/toxic masculinity

I really want to do a reading and analysis of Gale's character as upholding patriarchal values and expectations of toxic masculinity because this stuck out to me as I listened to the CF audiobook before bed last night. From chapter 1 of CF:

I think of Gale, who is only really alive in the woods, with its fresh air and sunlight and clean, flowing water. I don't know how he stands it. Well ... yes, I do. He stands it because it's the way to feed his mother and two younger brothers and sister. And here I am with buckets of money, far more than enough to feed both our families now, and he won't take a single coin. It's even hard for him to let me bring in meat, although he'd surely have kept my mother and Prim supplied if I'd been killed in the Games. I tell him he's doing me a favor, that it drives me nuts to sit around all day. Even so, I never drop off the game while he's at home. Which is easy since he works twelve hours a day. 

Highlighted the part that really made my ears perk up. There's something to be said about Gale's stubbornness and his pride, which is very similar to Katniss's but he always takes it another step. Whereas Katniss learns to accept others' help, to forge these connections, Gale doesn't. It's giving "I'm the man and this is my job." For someone who wants nothing more than to help keep his family alive, it's weird that he refuses any help.

At first I thought maybe he doesn't want her money because it's from the Capitol and he despises it that much but she says it's hard for him to even have her bring meat in from hunting. Which points to his pride. He wants to be the provider. The one taking care of her. And it leaves Katniss in a kinda tricky place. It's like she's walking on eggshells around him here - purposely not dropping off game at his house when he's there.

Compare that with Peeta (which as a reader, like Katniss, you end up doing when either of these two guys come up) and it's so different. We know Peeta is strong and smart etc. He's not a hunter but he's also still a provider (of bread). And he has his own pride too. But going through the Games, Peeta and Katniss have a balanced push and pull. She helps him, he helps her. She takes care of him, he takes care of her. When he's hurt, he lets Katniss help him. He's not too proud to try and do it himself. Same with Katniss. She lets him take care of her when she needs it. And this is something they learn from the Games, particularly Katniss; how to accept help from others. And we see her development in this over the course of the trilogy.

Gale is interesting in that I really think he is one of the characters in the books who really doesn't grow as such. In my mind, he's rooted in place in many ways. From his ideals, to his thoughts, to his strategies, to his actions, he doesn't really develop much. He has moments - but a lot of those moments are tied to wanting to apologise to or be better for Katniss (and still he comes up short). I'm thinking of the moment where he makes her feel bad for defending her prep team in 13 and then later tries to smooth things over in the canteen by being kind. I believe that's something he did only for Katniss. She's his motivation to be different (but turns out that's not enough still.)

I'll maybe build on this another time but this passage made me think of what he says when he sees Katniss after Prim's death. "Does it matter? You'll always be thinking about it... That was the one thing I had going for me. Taking care of your family." Instead of apologising for helping to create such bombs, instead of asking for forgiveness, instead of crying with her, instead of expressing his sorrow and regret at what's happened, this is all he's able to say. Which is odd to me. To not even try to comfort your supposed closest friend at such a time. To say that's all you had going for you? It's this relationship of transaction. 'I take care of your family and hunt with you so you should end up marring me.' I really don't think that's far from what Gale expected.

I think there's even more to say about Gale as a patriarchal character but I've rambled on enough at this point. But his attitude and perspective throughout the book, while aligned with that of a traumatised young adult in the midst of oppression, also aligns heavily with patriarchal constructs. The way he thinks of war and people and human relationships, the way he thinks of fighting and death, and the way he thinks of doing whatever you have to do to achieve your end, no matter what happens or who gets hurt in pursuit of it. If anyone has any reading on Gale in these areas I'd be so interested in it!

[callumsgirl]

ONE SHOT

I was listening to Call out my name by The Weeknd and my brain created this scenery in London.

OR...the first weekend that Bucky and Buck spend completely alone together, and Bucky made a promise to himself: all night long, he will let Gale moan and scream his name.

CALL OUT MY NAME

It has been the longest weeks of his whole life so far. John had been deployed to England first and it took weeks for Buck to follow him, and damn - it has been a long and quiet few weeks without him.

Normally Gale Cleven was the quiet type. It was hard to get him to grin, to laugh out loud - it made Bucky all happier and prouder that he always managed to get him to grin and laugh.

There were times when it seemed to John that Buck had built up a wall around himself and around his heart. Almost as if love had become a weakness.

Bucky had made it his personal mission to bring a smile to Buck's lips as often as possible.

But in the last few weeks, as they watched so many friends crash into burning aeroplanes, those moments had faded.

Nevertheless, John didn't give up and tried even harder.

So every time he managed to elicit that angelic laugh from Buck, John made a note of it as a victory.

Then came the long-awaited weekend pass, and Buck and Bucky went to London together. They shared a beautiful and luxurious hotel room, and when the sun finally set and the stars were in the sky, Bucky kissed Buck slowly and sensually.

He finally had the time and space to fully explore Buck. Without stress or fear of being caught - kissing another man and damn it…forbidden erotic touch.

The few times they had kissed quietly and secretly in the barracks, Buck had always remained almost silent.

It was a rarity that Bucky had managed to elicit a moan and a sigh from Gale.

This time everything was different.

John seduced Gale with all his intimate kisses, tender touches and the way his lips felt around his cock.

"I want to hear you, honey," John murmured between two wet kisses on Bucky's bare thighs. His left fist closed a little tighter around his hard cock and he watched Bucks breathing quicken.

"Just don't be such a tease, John," Gale whispered back in a raspy voice, pressing his head into the soft pillows.

"I'm not teasing you…I just want to hear you moan." He began to pump a steady rhythm. His moist, warm lips closed around Bucks tip again.

"Bucky," Gale warned him before he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, exaggerating the plump curve of his top lip and drawing John's gaze from between his legs there. The crazy thing was that he probably wasn't even trying. Being a damn tease just came natural to him.

"I see your point…but can you please speed up," Gale asked him, breathing heavily.

The corners of John's mouth twisted into a dirty grin as he momentarily let go of Gale's cock.

Now they were getting somewhere, he thought.

John slowed the pumping of his left hand. At the same time, he increased the pressure around Gale's root and planted more kisses on his thigh. Then he lifted his eyes up and licked over Gale's stomach with an open-mouth, kissing his chest and finally propping himself up with one hand on the mattress next to his head.

He enjoyed the small gasp that escaped from Buck’s throat. Now they were eye to eye. John was so close that their noses touch and he felt Buckys minty breath on his cheeks.

“What was that, huh? Couldn’t quite hear you, Baby", he teased with a smirk on his gorgeous pink swollen lips.

Buck squinted his eyes hard and lifted his hips rhythmically against John's hip an tried to make him move against him. To make matters worse, Bucky now stopped his hand movements completely.

Buck exhaled angrily and desperately. "I told you to speed up not to stop!" he grumbled.

"Did you?" asked Bucky innocently. Buck could see the glint in his dark eyes and placed a hand on his chin. "If you don't get on with it now, I'll do it myself, John. Maybe you'll hear me then."

They both knew Buck was just teasing him back and damn it - Bucky wasn't going to let Gale touch his own body. Not when he was so happy and turned on to do it all by himself.

John had half a mind to just give in. His cock was certainly ready to fuck Buck’s ass, and they’d both waited so long already. But John felt like he deserved to be greedy. 

It was just one of his biggest wishes to hear Buck going wild and lost his head.

"Do me the favor", Bucky begs. "Let me hear you...don't be shy. Nobody will hear you, it's just you and me, Buck."

He stroked Buck's chest and stomach muscles. His fingertips left goose bumps on Buck's bare, warm and partly sweaty skin. He could feel with every fibre of his body how hard it was for Buck to hold on, to wait for John to finally touch him again. Here we go.

"Please," Gale begged. Ready to tell and show him everything. "Touch me and I'll do my best to let you hear me."

Now John understood there was no time to waste during times of a war. He was letting himself want everything. And what he wanted was to drive Buck so wild that all the words of adoration John longed to hear would slip past Buck’s defenses and drip from his swollen lips.

“Hmm,” John hummed and finally started to pump Gales cock again. “Please what? I need more details."

"God damn it" Gale cursed. "Jerk me off, suck me off, fuck me..do something."

Finally, thought Bucky. I've broken through the first wall. One of many he guessed.

Buck cursed under his breath again, and John lowered his lips to Buck's skin. He brushed his teeth over the sensitive skin above his hipbone and sucked until a hickey formed.

"You are all mine," he whispered and broke another wall down. He could almost hear the invisible wall collapsing. Gale's stuttering breaths sent shivers down his spine.

Gale slid one of his hands into John's brown, curly hair and the other under his pillow as he lifted his hips.

Bucky marked Gale with more love bite on his stomach and on his thighs too, before he began to suck him off. He began to work his cock with deep movements. He moved his head up and down rhythmically, letting his tongue circle around the tip of Gale's cock.

"Yes, just like that." Buck sighed and took a deep breath through his nose. "This feels awesome", he added.

John repeated the circular movements of his tongue, driving Gale slowly crazy.

"Fuck…yes," he moaned and Bucky was sure he'd never heard anything more sensual. The way Gale moved under his touch and the way his raspy voice sounded a little more brittle turned him even more on.

"Faster and harder", Buck begged without breath.

John bit down on his bottom lip, as he came up for air just for a second. Then sucking again on Gales cock. He squinted hard to contain his own desire. He’d never heard Buck be so filthy before.

Buck wasn't done talking yet and he added: "I want that you fuck me, deep and passionate."

Finally Bucky heard the words he needed to hear. He came up again and when their lips collied they shared the taste of lust, sex and sweat.

"No we're moving in the right direction, huh", Gale teased him with a smirk on his lips.

"Yeah", he replied. "Just one step away from sliding into you. First i want to make you come hard and call my name."

John squeezed Buck’s dick in time with his thrusts, as sweat dripped from his brow onto Buck’s thigh after he got down again. He speeded up the movements of his fist and suck again - hard and deep this time.

His tongue was dancing around the tip of Gales dick and for a short moment, there was no war going on outside. There was just Buck, lost in lust and John who's jerking and sucking him off.

"Fuck I'm coming."

Buck tensed up all over, and John sucked hard one last time. He twisted his fist over the head of Buck’s cock, and then the magic happened.

Buck groaned uninhibitedly and screamed his name: "John…" As he came, his entire body vibrated and his hips lifted off the bed sheets.

John felt the cum pour warm and thick in his mouth. He could barely hold on as his own body trembled badly.

While Buck enjoyed the aftermath of his orgasm, John gently pumped his cock up and down a few more times.

"God! This was out of this world." Gale barely managed to catch his breath.

"Absolutely stunning!", John agreed slowly with a husky voice. "Never thought you had such a mouth on you, darlin'."

This made Buck blush instantly and he closed his eyes in embarrassment. Gale was always just a fingertip away from being blushed.

"Hey, don't hide from me any time", Bucky begged him gently.

He leaned in and kissed him slow. After that kiss Gale touches Johns cheeks and wispered in his ear: "Now it's my turn to drive you crazy, major."

Happy weekend, Fallas!

It's a wrap i guess. One of my first dirty scenes online here. What do you think about it?

Should i write more scenes like this for you?

xoxo callumsgirl

[elspethdekarios]

Last Light: Gale x Tav

NSFW!!! 🔞

This fic takes place directly after the crew return to Last Light after defeating Ketheric. It's half emotional and sweet, half smut. Yeah, I know it's unrealistic to think that anyone has enough energy to bang after the Moonrise fight, pls suspend your disbelief lol

I hope you enjoy, I put a lot of time into this and I'm quite proud of it 🥹💜

Before you read, you should know a small bit of background info:

My tav, Elspeth, has a ring she's worn for decades that was given to her by her family's housekeeper, Tessie, who thinks of Elspeth as her own. She's always felt more loved by Tessie than she has her own family. The ring is special to her, and it broke shortly into their journey.

------

A crack ran along the surface of the Selunite dome protecting the Last Light Inn, spreading in fractals like the roots of a tree. Slowly, the dome dissipated, following the motions of Isobel’s raised hands. It was still dark outside, but a different darkness–the inky depths of a night sky instead of a green necrotic glow. The air in my lungs felt cleaner, lighter. All around the inn, tieflings and Flaming Fists and Harpers rejoiced with excited squeals, hugging their still-standing loved ones and marveling at the miracle we were witnessing. A hundred years this blight cursed the land–and suddenly, it was gone. 

“I won’t fully believe it until the day breaks,” Jaheira said from Isobel’s side. “But I will celebrate all the same.”

I sat on the ground nearby, propped up against a trunk of supplies. My limbs ached, my armor was bloodied, my spirit renewed and spent at the same time. I peeled off my gloves to stretch my fingers, the night air cool and soothing on my sticky skin.

“Alright, soldier?” Karlach’s familiar heat told me she was nearby before she spoke. And the smell of beer. She handed me a mug, frosty and overflowing with foam at the top, and clinked her beer against mine. “We fucking did it! You did it!”

“Yeah, we did,” I said as I gulped down the cold beer. It was the most refreshing drink I’d ever had in my life–and beer was never my beverage of choice. “Though I’m not sure how much of me is left.”

“You lose a limb or something?” she asked. I shook my head. “Didn’t think so. You’ll be good as new after some rest.”

I let my head fall back against the trunk behind me. Just keeping my neck upright was exhausting. We watched the celebration unfolding around us–the residents of Last Light draining the kegs, passing around fresh bread rolls and what fruit we had left. Dammon had even left his forge to join in, laughing in conversation with some of the others. Karlach kept looking in his direction, just briefly, before she would conspicuously look up at the sky or crane her head to the opposite side.

“You like him, don’t you?” I asked.

“What? Who?”

“Dammon.” I nudged her shoulder with mine.

“I don’t–” Karlach protested, but paused when she turned her head towards me and sighed. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

“Go talk to him!”

“I don’t want to leave you alone, El.”

“I’m not alone. Look at all these people,” I gestured around us. “Besides, I’m about to go and find Gale. Not sure what he’s up to, now that I think about it….”

After we finished our beers and Karlach strode across the lawn to join Dammon, I headed inside. The bar was lively, a Fist and a tiefling pouring drinks for anyone who wanted one, but not quite as crowded as outside. I supposed everyone wanted to see the sky without the shadow curse as much as possible. Among the few patrons was Gale, leaning on his elbows against the bar as he waited for a drink. Two drinks, actually.

“Are those both for you?” I teased as I slid into the space next to him. He was impeccably clean, clothes and all. He had either taken a bath already or used some spell of his devising. I felt even filthier in comparison. 

“That, I am still deciding.” He kissed my forehead and handed me one of the goblets. “You were magnificent.”

“As were you.”

“We make a good team, then.”

“Are you… feeling okay? About your decision, I mean.”

“I will be,” he said. “I’m glad we’re still alive, of course. I’d choose you a thousand times over. I’m upset with myself for being so… willing to destroy myself and the people around me. But–” he took a gulp from his cup. “Tonight is for celebration. I can work through my emotions tomorrow.”

I placed my hand over his with a sad smile. I was trying my hardest to stay upright, my eyelids were beginning to fall involuntarily, my head threatening to do the same.

“Do you want me to run you a hot bath? Might be a good time for one, with everyone still celebrating.”

“That would be lovely,” I said. “But only if you can help me get up the stairs and take this bloody armor off.”

“Deal,” he smiled, offering me his arm.

In our group’s shared bedroom, Gale helped take off my armor, piece by piece, and added them to a pile of washing to be done. First the pauldrons, then the chest plate, and so on until I was only in my underclothes.

“I’ll go start the water,” he said as he walked to the washroom, turning to face me again at the door frame. “Do we have any fresh towels in here?”

“I have some on my bed. I’ll get them.”

I had placed a stack of folded towels on my bed days ago–my bed that I hadn’t been sleeping in. I’d been sleeping in Gale’s. The towels were untouched, still neatly folded where I left them. Only now, a small golden pouch sat atop them, tied with a green ribbon that also held a small scroll. I unrolled the parchment, the smallest hint of magic in my fingertips as I did, and read:

“My dearest Elspeth,

Words alone can never express how much you mean to me. Actions, perhaps, may let me get closer to the heart of it. I know not where our journey will take us. I feel it may be blasphemous to think about the future, but sometimes those fantasies are the very anchor to which I hoist my soul. When sleep is futile or all hope seems lost, I think of you. I imagine holding your hand as I show you around Waterdeep, showing you my favorite spots and learning which places will become yours. I see you curled up in front of the fire in the library, an open book discarded next to you as you sleep without a care in the world. I see a life with you–a normal life. I want that more than anything in the world.

Despite my waxing poetic about our future, this gift is simply that–a gift. I love you.

Yours always,

Gale”

Inside the pouch was Tessie’s ring. The crack had been soldered together with silver, leaving a subtle seam in its place, remnants of the molten metal’s shape before it dried. I looked up through the tears welling in my eyes to see Gale leaning against the door frame, scratching his beard and averting his eyes to the ground.

“I hope it’s okay,” he said. “I didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries, and I know there are flaws, but Dammon and I–”

I bolted over to him, interrupting his rambling by pulling him into a deep kiss. I could feel the tension in his body melt away as he rested his hands on my waist. The steam from the bath enveloped us in a cloud of fresh rose and mint–where did he even get this soap?

“It’s perfect.” I embraced him, resting my head on his chest as he squeezed me back. “Thank you.”

“I’m so glad you approve,” he said. “I was worried I went too far, altering something so sentimental to you.”

“This means so much to me, Gale. You mean so much to me.” His eyes found my own,

glassy and emotional, juxtaposed against his upturned lips. “Thank you for choosing me. For staying here with me. I… don’t know if I could go on without you. The possibility of our future is the glue that keeps me together. I know it’s hard to talk about, considering everything, but Gale–I’m yours. I want to be yours forever. I want to wake up next to you every day without the lingering thought that it could be our last. To love you with my whole body and soul and declare it to the entire world.” I caressed his face, looking deep into his eyes. “You are so precious to me.”

My voice broke on the last sentence and teardrops stained the blue fabric of his shirt. He kissed me again and pulled me close.

“Sometimes I wonder if this is all a dream,” he murmured, forehead pressed to mine, pushing a section of loose hair behind my ear. “I don’t know how else I could have managed to get you to love me.”

“It’s not a dream,” I whispered into another kiss, a gentle one, lips light as air. “I love you. All you ever have to do is exist, and I’ll love you.”

He ran his hands down my shoulders, my arms, and back up again. I took his top lip between mine, my tongue gently moving into his mouth. He caressed the thin strap of my bra with the back of his fingers and gently pulled it down my shoulder, smirking.

“I have to get cleaned up first,” I whispered into his mouth. 

“I can be patient.”

Once I was sunk to my neck in the hot water, Gale excused himself from the room.

“Relax, my love,” he said. “I’ll be back in just a few moments.”

The weight of my body dissipated as the heat worked its way into my sore muscles and aching bones. The fresh, soapy aroma, the steam, the twinkling lights Gale conjured across the ceiling of the dim, candlelit room–it felt like a luxury spa rather than a washroom in a nearly abandoned inn. Alone with my thoughts, images of the illithid colony flooded my mind’s eye. I kept remembering the tendons holding the place together, the bugbear dismembering bodies, the abject image of Ketheric Thorm himself…. I plunged my head under the water, which felt almost scalding hot on my face, and tried to clear the thoughts from my mind, but it wasn’t working. Nothing was working. I tried to cast a spell to calm my emotions, but my magic was spent. 

Gale returned moments later with two large cups of ice cold water and a knowing smile on his face.

“I think we’ve both had enough alcohol for the night,” he said, sitting down on the floor beside the tub. “We’re already in for a rough morning after such a fight, and nursing a hangover won’t make it any easier.”

After gulping down the water, I began to wash. Gale insisted on washing my hair, his strong hands massaging circles into my scalp. It was enough to put me straight to sleep. Once my hair was rinsed and my body thoroughly cleaned of grime, Gale wrapped my shoulders in a towel as I stepped out of the tub.

“I have another surprise for you,” he said, kissing the pointed tip of my ear.

“Another? Gale, you spoil me,” I teased him and wrung my wet hair into the towel. He only held up a dangling keyring and grinned.

“I asked Jaheira for the private bedroom downstairs. It’s ours for the night.”

“You really know how to smooth talk your way into anything, don’t you?”

“She can hardly say no,” he said. “We just saved this place and killed her sworn enemy.”

I moved to pull on my nightclothes, but Gale stopped me with a gentle hand on my wrist. “No need to get dressed when I’ll just be taking everything off of you.”

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, and he could see it, judging by the devilish grin that crossed his face.

“And how exactly am I supposed to get downstairs?”

One invisibility spell and a couple of arcane locks later, Gale and I were lying naked on top of the surprisingly soft duvet in the bedroom downstairs. A very faint steam rose from my skin in the cool air as I propped myself up on my elbows like a sphynx, hovering over Gale’s devoted, sleepy face as I played with his hair.

“You went through all this trouble just to fall asleep on me?” I teased as I watched his eyelids flutter shut.

“Your fingers running through my hair may as well be an enchanted lullaby,” he said before forcing his eyes back open. “In truth, I’m exhausted.”

“I know you are, love. So am I. We can just lie here if you want.”

With a hand on the back of my head, he pulled me close for a kiss.

“I want to make love to you,” he whispered against my lips. “I want to show you that when I chose you, I meant it.”

A burst of energy ran through me with his words. I swung a leg over his body, straddling his hips as I knit my hands deep into his hair and pressed kisses into his neck. The musk of his skin was intoxicating, a warm, clean sweetness with a hint of something spicy underneath that was impossible to resist. I ran my tongue over the indented scar that trailed up his neck, sucking soft love marks down to his collarbone, savoring the salt of his skin. 

He sighed with pleasure and trailed his hands down my body, gentle and deliberate–my skin an ancient carving, his fingertips an artist’s charcoal capturing its relief. I lowered my hips to match his, guiding him to me, movement taking over my body as I pressed myself into him, sliding his length through me again and again. His low moans grew guttural. He was perfect–he was everything. Exhausted as we were, I wanted nothing more than to take fully of him until the first hint of morning light.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed into my ear, pushing my damp hair over my shoulder for full access to my neck. I felt his lips start kissing beneath my jaw and move down my tattoo–over the rose, the leaves that climbed towards the center of my neck, and down to the thorny vines reaching towards my collarbone. He took his time, lingering on the dip of the bone to my chest before his hands on my waist pulled me up so that my breasts fell directly over his face. His hands–gods, his hands–were squeezing gently, fingers caressing over the peaks before doing the same with his tongue. 

Gale’s breaths became quicker and he moaned into my skin as I pleasured myself with him, grinding my clit over the ridges of his cock, slick now with my desire. I was lost in him. My face was buried in his neck, my hips becoming the only alert part of my body. All the thoughts and worries in my head had given way to the carnal need I had for him, the ache I felt deep in my core as I looked upon his face. His neck was arched over the pillow, pushing his chin towards the ceiling as exhales and low moans escaped from his lips, the apex of his throat pulsing with each sound. The orb glowed a bright violet from the center of his chest and up his neck. A faint light even could even be seen beneath the skin of his face where the orb’s tendrils reached towards his eye. 

Gods, I loved this man. The curve of his lips when he smiled, the stray hairs that fell in front of his face no matter how many times he pushed them back, the freckle on his temple–I was certain there had never been a more exquisite man to walk the face of Toril. 

As if he could feel me staring, he opened his eyes and began to sit up, holding my waist as he moved me into his lap.

“Are you enjoying yourself, my love?” he asked with a smile, and I nodded as I fervently kissed every inch of his face. “Let me take over, dearest. It was my idea, after all.”

“You said you were tired,” I said between kisses. 

“Mm… not anymore” he mumbled while my lips trailed over his. “Turn around.”

I did as he said. Still upright on my knees, eager hands found my waist as Gale pressed our bodies together and kissed the back of my neck and shoulders, his warm breath sending chills down my spine. One of his hands grabbed my breast while the other dropped between my legs. He ran a feather-light finger through the center, barely parting me. My body twitched in anticipation of his touch, but he only repeated the motion, softly chuckling into my shoulder.

“Gale,” I begged. “Please.”

I expected him to continue teasing me until I was pleading, but, to my surprise, he parted me with two fingers, swirling slow circles around my clit. My hips jerked of their own accord against his movements, and I could feel the climax growing inside me, threatening to come to the surface. I placed my hand on top of his, pulling it away.

“Not ready yet,” was all I managed to say, language suddenly nonexistent in my brain. 

“Okay, love.” Gale ran both hands down my sides and over my thighs, slowly and deliberately, until I was begging for him again. 

He slipped a hand between my legs from behind and pumped his long fingers into me. The breath hitched in my throat as I cried out, his fingers moving in and out at a sensual pace, eager but reveling in the moment. There was no way I could stay upright, so I lowered onto my elbows, positioning myself for him, watching him as best I could from over my shoulder as he continued.

“My beautiful girl,” he said with awe as he took in the sight of me spread fully before him. He removed his fingers from me, glistening wet, and sucked them into his mouth, humming in ecstasy, eyes rolled back like he was savoring a luxury meal. “How did I get so lucky?”

Rhetorical question or not, I had no time to answer before he pulled my hips closer to him and sank himself into me slowly. We moaned simultaneously, his cock pushing deeper until I had taken all of him. His first thrusts were tender, each of us relishing in every ridge, every sensation of each others’ bodies. An involuntary groan escaped my mouth each time he plunged into me, and I was thanking the gods that people were still celebrating outside the inn.

As much as I was enjoying the pure bliss of his unhurried pace, my body was begging for him to take me, all of me, with wild abandon. I found his rhythm, my hips bouncing along with his thrusting until he was slamming into me, my cries feral, his panting loud between moans. Gale pressed me into the mattress with a strong, loving hand on my back before taking full control and pounding into me, all caution gone, carnal desire overtaking him. I could feel sweat beginning to dampen his skin as he panted, huffing with exertion, grunting and moaning and losing himself in the moment. After several minutes of vigorous pounding, his pace began to slow, and he sank back to his knees. I rolled over to face him.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, catching his breath, orb pulsing with the beat of his heart. “I got carried away.”

“Never apologize.” I crawled towards him, gently pushing him onto his back. “I’m yours,” I whispered in his ear. “You can have me however you’d like.” 

“Is that so?” he grinned and I nodded, dropping a kiss to his lips. “Then come here.”

His hands pressed into my thighs as he pulled me to kneel over his face, his tongue lapping and flicking as I held onto the headboard and tried to muffle the whimpering cries escaping my lips. My hips bucked beneath me, grinding against his face, dizzy with ecstasy and anticipation.

“Can’t… Gale… going to–”

The tight pressure in my core sprung loose. I cried out, gods only know how loud, as Gale held my thighs in place and drank from me deeply as I came. His own low moans vibrated against my already-spasming flesh, tongue still lapping against me as the wave of bliss began to subside and my limbs became impossibly heavy. Hypersensitivity made me squirm and whimper.

“Gale!” I pleaded between sharp gasps and yelps. He finally let go of my legs, a desperate desire on his glistening face when he emerged.

In one swift movement he had me on my back with a leg over his shoulder. I caught only a glimpse of his sculpted cock, stiff and flushed, before he thrust inside of me. His eyes roamed over my body, but settled on the dripping valley between my legs where he watched as he fucked me, biting his lip in concentration. 

I caressed his face, and he kissed the inside of my palm before melting into me with all his weight as he took everything he needed from me. Sweat coated his back where my legs wrapped around his hips. I held him close to me, his jagged breathing loud in my ears and hot on my neck. Wild thrusts took over his body until he unraveled, panting and gasping and crying out until he was spent. He collapsed on top of me and I hugged him close, his chest heaving against mine as we caught our breath.

“I love you,” I whispered, kissing his temple. “Thank you for choosing to stay. For choosing me.” 

Gale let out a long sigh before rolling onto the bed beside me and lacing his fingers through mine. “I love you, El. Although the word ‘love’ doesn’t feel like enough when it comes to my feelings for you,” he said, kissing my hand. “Unfortunately, my brain and body are currently too far gone to find a suitable alternative.”

I laughed and snuggled into his side. I felt safe. Secure. I knew Gale felt the same. We had no need to hide any parts of ourselves, no matter how flawed. We held each other as sleep closed in, our souls as bare as our bodies.

[mega-aulover]

Can we appreciate just how amazing Peeta Mellark is? I mean a teenage boy who basically slept in the bed of the girl he was in love with, adored, obsessed with, and never crossed the line. I think it was @arbyeatscheesebuns hubby @hubbyofaneverlarkedwife who pointed out Peeta was playing the long game. Peeta was just a nice guy who always wanted to do the best thing for Katniss.

Nice guys don't always finish Last.

Peeta sacrificed everything for Katniss. She was important to him. So much so that Peeta was the only one who acknowledged Prim's death.

No one, not Haymitch, Not Greasy-Sae, Not Mrs. Everdeen, Not the Capitol, Not Paylor, Not Districts, Not District 13, Not Gale, Not the Hawthorne Clan, NO ONE - Except Peeta - acknowledged Prim's death.

He understood what Prim's death meant to Katniss and how devastating that was for Katniss. The first thing he did when he came from the Capitol was spent the entire morning seeking Primrose Bushes in the woods (which he's not familiar with!) and then proceeded tp plant them as a memorial to Prim, on the side of Katniss's house.

I wake with a start. Pale morning light comes around the edges of the shutters. The scraping of the shovel continues. Still half in the nightmare, I run down the hall, out the front door, and around the side of the house, because now I'm pretty sure I can scream at the dead. When I see him, I pull up short. His face is flushed from digging up the ground under the windows. In a wheelbarrow are five scraggly bushes.

“You're back,” I say. “Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday,” Peeta says. “By the way, he said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone.” He looks well. Thin and covered with burn scars like me, but his eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look. He's frowning slightly, though, as he takes me in. I make a halfhearted effort to push my hair out of my eyes and realize it's matted into clumps. I feel defensive. “What are you doing?” “I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her,” he says. “I thought we could plant them along the side of the house.” I look at the bushes, the clods of dirt hanging from their roots, and catch my breath as the word rose registers. I'm about to yell vicious things at Peeta when the full name comes to me. Not plain rose but evening primrose. The flower my sister was named for. I give Peeta a nod of assent and hurry back into the house, locking the door behind me. - Mockingjay CH 27 S. Collins

He was the only one of all of the people who knew Prim, that openly mourned her death. Peeta showed the depth of emotion he had for Katniss and her family. It was a sign of respect and love.

[mightymizora]

hello new followers!

I've had a lot of new followers recently and I'm going to take this opportunity to plug my fics, because that's why I am here (between shitposts and rushed meta.) So! I'm going to do a game I've been threatening to do for a LONG time, and I'm going to invite other writers to do the same.

Rules are that you plug a handful of your fics from your current fandom(s), give a quick summary, and then put in 1-2 lines from comments as reviews. Because fuck it, self-promotion is fine actually.

The Portrait

BG3. 6.5k one shot, Enver Gortash/The Dark Urge. Lord Gortash requests a portrait of his paramour. The pay is good, the contract legitimate. It seems almost too good to be true... In pre-canon, a young artist takes a job from an upcoming player in Baldur's Gate society. "The voice was amazing, the descriptions are poignant without getting too far in the weeds, you show so much without telling explicitly." "if i could frame this fic and put it up on my wall, i would in a heartbeat! literally the definition of perfection"

Monster, Mine

BG3, 7k one shot. Enver Gortash/The Dark Urge. There is a beast haunting the city, and there is a tentative reaching of hands across the table. In pre-canon, Enver Gortash tries to find the truth of the Slayer. "This is a genuinely stunning piece of fiction." "Their poisonous codependency and joint descent into it is the absolute delight to read!"

Even if Love

BG3, 8k, short chapters. Multiple. Shades of love for The Dark Urge, Orin The Red, Enver Gortash, Wisteria Jannath, Sceleritas Fel, Kressa Bonedaughter, Lae'zel, Minthara Baenre, Sarevok Anchev and Araj Oblodra. Can be read individually, but they do build a narrative together. "it is a crime that AO3 only allows one kudos for a whole fic" "All so distinct and sharply observed, and such gorgeous writing throughout!"

Blood and Bone, Bone and Blood

BG3. 3.5K one shot. Ketheric Thorm/The Dark Urge A collection of moments between Bhaal and Myrkul’s chosen as they are bound together with Gortash as the chosen of the Dead Three. "It simply drips with style. Gorgeous prose." "Feral about this fic"

The First Leaf on the Tree after Winter

BG3. 9k, multi-chapter. Halsin/Jaheira. Background Wyll/Karlach. Their time was a century before, she thinks. What can they be, these old souls rooted in their ways, these observers of the world, these failed heroes? "All the kudos here. The ultimate kudos. Oh I really loved this." "I reached the end with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. so bittersweet and beautiful. I adore every word."

Breath and Rosewater

BG3, 20k, multi-chapter ongoing. Gale/Tav She has always loved music for many reasons; the patterns that present themselves, and the sheer joy of playing. Working out the fingering, and bringing joy to others. The breath before the first note. The freedom that comes from following your heart and letting it soar. He has always loved magic for every reason; the study of it, the power in it. The quiet contemplation of hours of learning, the thrill of application on the battlefield, and off of it. The understanding that comes from complete control of your craft. "most well-constructed intro paragraph that i've read in awhile—we get such a strong sense of glim, her expertise, her pride in her art, in just four sentences." "Oh this whole thing is so beautiful. i adore your prose."

[writingquestionsanswered]

I'm a newbie writer and something I struggle with is that my ideas are too big and I feel overwhelmed, and I never really had a short story idea that I liked. I'm already trying to consume short stories (written works and video fiction), so I wanted to know if you have other tips to develop small ideas, ideas better suited to short stories.

Newbie Writer Struggling to Write Short Fiction

Short fiction is a great way to practice writing, but if you struggle to come up with ideas, that doesn't help much. One thing that can help is to remember that short stories don't work like longer stories/novels. You're not developing a whole cast and world around a big conflict. Short stories are pictures within pictures.

If The Hunger Games was a short story, it would probably be Katniss waking up, walking through her district, hunting with Gale, and then Prim getting chosen in the Reaping. That would be the whole story. She was so fixated on the fear of herself or Gale getting chosen--which there was such high odds of happening because she'd put her name in so many times in exchange for food stamps--the last thing she ever expected was her sister being chosen. That's the twist... that's the point of the whole short story. If Twilight were a short story, it would probably start with Bella's first day at Forks High School, would follow her introduction to the Cullens, the weirdness with Edward as her crush slowly developed, and would probably end with her finding out he's a vampire. It could even go a little further to where they date, then Edward's brother almost kills her, and he breaks up with her in the middle of the woods--gone from her life as quickly as he got there.

If you're struggling to find short story ideas that you like, try looking for writing prompts. They're all over tumblr, you can find books filled with them, there are lists of them all over the web. Writing prompts can fire up your imagination without you having to pluck an entire idea out of the air. Another option is to do memoir-style short stories. Instead of trying to write something more elaborate, just take a notable experience you've had in life and... if you want, you can fictionalize it. For example, maybe you have a funny memory rooted in a friend's birthday party. Write about that. If you want to, you can even fictionalize it... what if it happened to someone else? What if the funny thing that happened was something different? What if the outcome was different?

The thing to remember is this: when you're writing short stories for writing practice, they don't have to be perfect or even good. You're not writing these for publication or sharing. You're writing these to learn how to craft sentences, write description, develop characters, and flesh out setting. The first time you take a lump of clay and try to make a bowl, it's not going to be amazing. Neither will the second, third, or fourth one. But as you master the basics, learn new methods, get better with tools and find new ones, your bowls will get better and better until they're something you can share. You have to let yourself make some misshapen and unappealing bowls if you want to learn to make nice ones. Writing works the same way. :)

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[dreamingofthewild]

After that post, I got thinking about Bloodweave again. Specifically the way Gale loves and how he would be just as a good fit for Astarion as Karlach, Wyll, or Halsin.

Gale's devotion to his loved one is absolute. He's a kind-hearted soul— the very reason he could summon Tara. He's willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good. In an origin run, he proclaims, "...one wizard for the whole of Faerun seems like a fair trade to me."

Gale may not be your typical storybook prince or hero, but his hopeless romanticism shines through a belief in altruism and selflessness. This is a man who says things like "you put the stars to shame" and "with you, I forget my goddess." His devotion transcends physicality, even embracing a romanced, illithid-infected Tav. No mere 'gosh' escapes him when facing the reality of Durge's Bhaalspawn heritage.

Gale approves of helping people, and two of his mini-romance scenes are after you have saved someone. He can only be manipulated into joining you in an evil playthrough because of the orb in his chest. He is a good man, a good man who cried because he accidentally burnt a neighbours rose bush when he was 8.

His love is rooted in personality, not appearances. Gale values commitment, believing sex is an act of profound connection between body and soul. He's the antithesis of the shallow encounters Astarion's was forced to endure. Gale's steadfastness would have made him an unlikely victim for Astarion's seductions. A fact that annoys me in a Gale origin run, as you should be able to say that you can't have sex like you can in a Karlach origin run.

Astarion would find Gale's authenticity refreshing. He doesn't need to put on an act in front of Gale. In fact, Gale prefers the truth. Gale, ever kind, would even offer to help kill Cazador without asking for anything in return. That's simply who he is.

Astarion needs someone selfless, patient, and understanding – qualities Gale possesses in abundance. A romanced Astarion, in turn, deeply cares for his partner once his masked as slipped, and he realises that he is in love (albeit I haven't played his romance out yet).

He repeatedly encourages Gale to think independently ("Where is Gale's will?") and challenges his self-sacrificial tendencies.

Their bond grows over books and shared interests. Contrary to belief, a romanced Astarion would not want Gale to ascend to Godhood. A romanced Astarion would selfishly want Gale to himself.

I'm convinced Gale offers a fulfilling romance for any companion.

Gale and Wyll are not too different. If one is a good fit for Astarion, then so is the other. And if Astarion is a good fit for one, then he is a good fit for the other.

Saying that Gale is too easily corruptible or morally ambiguous to be "good enough" for Astarion is really doing an injustice to Gale. Gale is kind-hearted and morally sound enough to encourage Astarion to be a better person. Gale is neutral good, just like Wyll is. Gale's actions always have good intentions behind them.

Also, I'm not saying people have to like Bloodweave, but I just understand that there are often deeper reasons people like the ship.

[meanbossart]

Misc. Ask compilation

These aren't all of the asks I want to reply to, just some that I can answer relatively quickly to clean the ol' inbox out before things get out of hand. Thanks for your patience!

HAHAHA THANK YOU FOR PERUSING AROUND and for enjoying my work! I had a... Weird Gale experience my first playthrough which led to his characterization being what it is in my comics. Here's the beat-by-beat of all the shenanigans: https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/740827466716807168/alright-i-am-like-90-sure-there-is-one-line-in-a

And here's just some of my personal thoughts on him! https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/736193145686114305/can-you-tell-me-more-about-how-you-would-make-gale

I would be lying if I said I'm not conflicted to know my style still bears some remnants of my edgy teen roots (not your fault not noticing it though, you aren't the first and won't be the last) BUT... That comic did mean a lot to me as a youth, so I guess I should be proud 🤷 and honestly it is a little cool that such a thing would survive for so long in what I do, crazy how that works.

LMAO, re: the bottom/top debacle, I was honestly so surprised to see people react to it like it's something novel. If I ever expected to get any push back on the matter, I thought it would be from people assuming DU drow was the top and taking issue with how violent and big he is (and yknow, some people are weirdly protective of Astarion as if he isn't a sneaky murder machine rippling with lean muscle)

Very disheartening to see that mindset still so alive and well among young people, but I guess it just means I gotta draw DU drow throwing more back and Astarion drooling over more ass until the stereotype is forcefully banished out of people's minds!

(more asks below the cut)

"Sleeper agent activation phrase" absolutely took me out, Thank you so much LOL

YEAH I got it pretty late though, Astarion had already told my durge that he was a vampire of his own accord (and the response was, of course, "no duh") I forgot wheter this happened before or after the first romance scene triggered, but I think after.

Since this was after DU drow decided he was gonna fuck him out of pure contrarian spite and was shamelessly laying it extremely thick, He happilly let Astarion drink his blood. Hell, he was probably a little Too Eager - the guy likes pain and he likes letting people he trusts do with his body whatever they will, and while he didn't yet trust Astarion at that point, that event might've very well reminded him of something from his past that planted a seed which would eventually grow into his genuine affection for the guy.

Ah, he definitely got a half-chub as it happened too. I'm sure Astarion noticed it and just walked off rolling his eyes and thinking "eugh of course" lmao.

Hello!!!

Oh man, I grew up fascinated with horror things. I remember from a very young age just looking at the covers and backs of horror movies at the film-rental even though I wasn't allowed to watch them. I was also easily scared but I sought those things out anyway - I think i just enjoyed the visceral reactions it drew out of me and was always curious about most things taboo.

When I got access to the internet that just opened a (very unfortunate) door to all things vile and awful like it did for so many people at that age in time. Though my tastes have changed a lot since then (Less August Underground, more The Devils kind of guy nowadays) my stories and art are just always going to fall into a horror-y category because I just... Don't think there's many better ways to showcase the human experience and emotional range without many of the elements native to the genre, and I'm all about that.

Thank you for your question and your sweet words, have a good week yourself!

I did a little write-up about that over here! https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/742508493562593280/i-dont-have-a-particular-question-in-mind-sorry

That's the result of a scene that happens relatively early in the story I'm writing ("A Novel Experience" on Ao3).

{SPOILERS} DU drow accidentally passes out on a blade which puts a relatively deep gash on his hip. Meanwhile, Astarion is weakened and starved after certain events that transpired the prior night. They have a private exchange both in a somewhat hazy-state of mind and Astarion ends up prodding and prying at his wound while feeding, so it's a laceration and bite mark that just scarred over badly.

Elves apparently don't grow body hair so never LOL guess they'll just have to slip&slide up on each other for heat

[baldursgat3]

follow up to this. honestly I was torn between like three different reactions and I still might fuck around and finish up the fluffier version of this.

for now though, local vampire fucks up, locks lover inside their own head for a year and kind of experiences an consequence

~*~*~

You could see the look on his face as he strode towards you, on the heels of Shadowheart. The same calm, tight smile you always got when you were in trouble in front of company. You only smiled warmly back at him, seemingly unaware.

"Dearest." His voice as silky as ever as he took his place beside you. "How on earth did you find yourself over here. I thought you were managing the food." He spoke as though he wasn't receiving a stare down from each of their companions.

"I'm sorry, love." Your voice came out as your head tipped down, reverently. "It wasn't going anywhere and- and besides, we wanted to chat. It would've been rude to crowd the refreshments."

He paused, you saw his eyes flick to the side where he knew Gale was watching. Everyone was watching. "You're always so aware of things like that, darling. Forgive me?"

"Of course." Ugh. The way you smiled back at him made you nauseous. It was so sweet and fake. Besides, you knew the only reason fake you got away with it was because everyone was watching.

"Cut the crap, Astarion." Karlach spoke up first, clearly irritated by the entire scene playing out before her. "We know what's up, let them go."

He turned to face her before you could get a good look at his reaction. "What are you talking about?" His voice had just the hint of an edge to it. He wasn't angry, not yet anyway.

Gale crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing at the man in front of you. "I can hear them in there. Whatever compulsion you've got going on needs to end, Astarion."

"You don't know what you're talking about. I don't compel them." His attitude slipped into irritation but, still, not anger. You were a little surprised, honestly.

"What part of 'I can hear them' did you not understand?" Gale stepped closer to Astarion, confidence bolstered by the ever imposing Halsin rooted behind him.

You watched as your darling's eyes took on a dangerous glint and you suddenly found yourself deeply worried for your wizard. You wanted to reach out, to step between the two of them. Surely Astarion wouldn't cause a scene here but Gale was treading dangerous waters.

He was outnumbered anyway. "I'd advise, rather strongly, you keep your nose in your own business." What was he doing? Why was he being so obstinate?

Halsin took a step forward, in your stead, placing himself between the two. "We can behave like civilized adults here. There's no reason to take up arms."

"Pfft. Tell that to the spell slinger. I'm unarmed, he never is."

"As though you aren't loaded to the pointy teeth with your own power, you demi-god jackass!" It almost would've been comical, the way they both craned their necks around Halsin to fling their insults. Almost.

"Gale…?" You tried, tentatively hoping he was still focused enough on your connection to hear.

Clearly he was, you practically saw his ears perk up. "Ah! There! Clear as day. You know, perhaps if you just listened you would hear. Aren't you supposed to be connected to your thrall, or something-"

"They are not my thrall." Astarion hissed. "I don't compel them. We're partners in this. And you all are guests in our home, I'd suggest you remember that."

He straightened up, squaring his jaw and turning his attention towards the rest of the group. "If you'll excuse me, I do have other guests to tend to. Dearest, I'd like you to join me."

"Yes, love." Your body moved to follow him as he turned on his heel, taking your friends away from view. You couldn't help the panic you felt in your bones at the idea of being alone again.

"Astarion, you can't do this. You can't just leave them like this!" You heard Gale call from behind you. "I don't know if you forgot or what but they're in there and they told me you caused this!"

Oh gods you wished you could've flinched. He always had to talk just a little too much. You saw Astarion tense up for a moment before he sighed, snapping his fingers.

In an instant, one of the spawn was at his side, awaiting his command. "Would you be so kind as to show Mr. Dekarios to the door. I'm afraid he's overstayed his welcome."

You heard Wyll's voice next, firm but still gentle. "Astarion, think about this. It doesn't have to be this way."

"And feel free to take along anyone else who would like to continue this ridiculous conversation." He waved the servant on, as he strode away. "Come along, love."

As your body walked away from the one connection you had to the world outside, you felt your heart sink into your chest. The door was closing, the light was fading. You crossed the spell's boundary, and you found yourself in darkness again.

~*~*~

The night dragged on, even more than it had before. Now you were stuck to Astarion, laughing politely and speaking when spoken to.

You felt like you were drowning. Slowly, slowly, agonizingly slow as you sunk into the darkness that seemed to swallow you whole. The one glimpse you had of light made this life you'd gotten used to seem so much more hopeless.

Not only had he forgotten you, he refused to even consider that he had. The only hope you had ever clung to, the idea that he would some day hear your cries, was dashed upon the rocks. He would never hear you. He wasn't even listening.

The night was endless and the future was barren. You didn't even have the autonomy to end your own misery. The party faded away around you, your own voice nothing more than a distant whisper.

Were you truly doomed to an eternity of this nightmare? What in the hells had you ever done to deserve such a fate? At the hands of your own beloved, no less.

You felt as though you could've been floating in that empty void of hopelessness for a lifetime before you were pulled out of it. With what felt like horror, you realized it couldn't have been more than a few hours. You were in the same dress. Astarion was in the room with you, quietly undressing from his formalwear.

"You are in there, aren't you?" You heard his voice, though he didn't turn to look at you.

It was like a tension wire snapped, all of a sudden you were thrust back into your body with a sharp gasp. You hadn't realized how dulled your senses had become over the time you spent away. It all felt like too much.

The gentle floral smell that filled the room threatened to choke you. The candle light and shadows dancing on the wall made you dizzy. The crackling of your fireplace may as well have been dozens of fireworks bursting inside your skull. It was all just far too much.

You clutched at your head with a pained cry and collapsed to your knees, attempting to curl into yourself as much as you could.

Then, like a flame, you felt his gentle touch on your shoulder. Without thinking, you wrenched away from him with another choked out sound. It was too much, it was all just too much.

The sensations, the emotions, the stress. It was overwhelming. You heard Astarion's voice blend together with the cacophony of sounds that barraged you now. It felt like you were spinning in circles as your senses went ballistic.

And then you woke up.

The very first thing you noticed was the hairpin jabbing into your head. You reached up to feel for it, vaguely recalling having more than just the one put in as you prepared for the party.

You were in one of your more comfortable pairs of night clothes, tucked snuggly into your plush bed with its silk sheets. You could see sunlight behind the thick curtains that hung in your bedroom but that was a poor indicator of time now.

At least your senses seemed to be more under control. Your touch was almost certainly still heightened, though. You would swear you could feel each individual silken thread under your fingers.

Your body felt heavy and almost unfamiliar and gods you were exhausted. You could feel yourself drifting in and out of consciousness for a while, unsure what to even do next and, honestly, unwilling to get up and figure it out right now anyway.

It could've been minutes or hours but, eventually, you heard the door to your room creak open. A faint candlelight flooded the room for a moment before the door shut again. "Ah! You're awake, now." You heard Astarion before he appeared at your side. "You've been out for a few days, I was beginning to worry, my love. You must be starving, I'll have a breakfast made for you."

He disappeared for a moment, you heard him walk back out the door and speak to someone. You didn't really care about food right now but you weren't going to stop him. Besides, he was at your side again just as quickly as he'd left. "How are you feeling?"

You blinked up at him, almost trying to remember how to speak as you searched for your words. "Tired." You finally managed, quietly.

He laughed softly, brushing your hair from your face. "You've been asleep for three days and you're still tired?" He was so tender right now, so sweet. It almost made you forget how you got here in the first place.

"Astarion…? What-"

"Shh…" He cooed, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek. "It's past now, pet. I'm sorry it took so long."

Well, that was an apology at least - a very strange one, albeit. You had expected something bigger, more dramatic. You expected anger or sorrow or even just denial, but this? You had no clue what to make of this.

"Why did you-"

"Dearest." He sighed, moving to sit just a bit closer. "I know what happened was difficult, and I am sorry. I'm done with compulsions, sworn off them. Well, for you anyway." He chuckled. You didn't find it very funny.

You opened your mouth to say something but he continued, his eyes darkening as he spoke. "I've had quite enough of Gale, by the way. He acts as though he's in any place to judge my actions. I'm grateful he found you, don't get me wrong, but gods he couldn't have had a little decorum about it?"

He jumped so quickly from thought to thought as though each sentence wasn't cracking you over the head with it's implications. Gale had found you, at least that meant Astarion had forgotten. It also meant he chose to leave you that way and lie to your friends the rest of the night.

More importantly, he seemed largely hung up on Gale's position in this. "I didn't want to invite him but he's such a pest. I shouldn't have invited Wyll but imagine what people would think if I snubbed the Ravenguards." Politics, always politics. "I hate the way Gale looks at you, you know. Gods, if I had my way no one else would look at you at all but… well anyway."

It wasn't the first time he'd expressed that sentiment. You've known for a long time that Astarion was just a touch obsessed with you. It didn't help that you liked the attention, which only fueled the flames. Something about this time, though, something set off an alarm in the back of your mind. Suddenly, that idea looked more like a threat.

"Are you… really not going to compel me again?" Your voice was so meek, like you were afraid if you asked too loudly he might change his mind. You had so many questions but they could wait. You just wanted to know that he would let you keep your freedom.

The pained look that took over his face gripped your heart, for a moment you almost regretted asking. "Yes, my love… I was… It was foolish of me to think that I was any better than Cazador, just because I had better intentions." He laughed, bitterly. "What does it matter if I still hurt you?"

You finally moved at that, reaching out to grab his hand. "You're nothing like Cazador." It was true, Cazador wouldn't have put you to bed and taken care of you like this. He wouldn't have apologized, wouldn't have made this promise.

Astarion turned to you with a sad smile. "Only you could say that after all of this." You really didn't understand his reaction. He seemed upset at what he had done, seemed to grasp just how horrible it was. Yet, you had expected something bigger. A grand display of romance to prove his love or even just a fight about how he had had it so much worse.

A gentle silence hung in the air, neither of you fully sure how to move on. You found yourself wishing your promised breakfast would arrive just to break the quiet. Instead, Astarion spoke again, quieter this time. "Do you regret this?"

It was a vague question. You knew it was done on purpose, too. He asks a vague question to let you give the answer you want. It kept him from being too vulnerable before forcing you to take the first step. Even if it annoyed you, you understood why he did it. Asking him to clarify would defeat the purpose, so you chose the question you would answer.

"I haven't regretted a day in your arms, my love. I only wish I could've been the one you held these last few months." You weren't sure if that was a satisfactory answer or not but it put a small, hopeful smile on his face. That was good enough, gods you loved that smile.

He reached out to tenderly cup your face. "I love you. So, so much. Would you…" He took a small, uncertain breath before continuing. "Would you promise me something?"

"Anything."

"Stay away from Gale." Oh. Gods. Gale was the only reason he had remembered you in the first place, was he really that upset?

Your hesitation brought more desperation into his eyes than you had expected. "Why are you so angry with him?" You spoke with a practiced evenness, aware you were walking a minefield. "Why did you lie to them if you knew he was telling the truth?"

"I don't trust him, love." There was more behind his eyes than his typical desire to have things go his way. He was desperate for you to feel his concern. "He hates me, it's so obvious. He hates that I have this power, that I have you. I couldn't give him more ammo to fight me with by owning up to this in front of everyone.

"He's so smart, you know? And he can talk his way into things just as well as the rest of us. He managed to bed a goddess while I fought tooth and nail just to have you. He'll get into your head, he'll turn you against me, use this against me. I couldn't let him have it."

"Astarion, no one is turning me against you." You reached out to card both of your hands through his hair, bringing them to rest at the nape of his neck. "Gale is my friend, though. They all are and-"

"I'm not asking this for everyone. I know how… lonely it can get in here. Gale has cause to want to take you away. Please. I don't know what I would do without you…"

You hated seeing such desperation on his face. He really believed Gale was a few clever words away from snatching you away from him. You adored the wizard, he was a dear friend but you never had any interest in him beyond that. It didn't matter that you've already told Astarion this dozens of times, he was perpetually convinced that Gale was his opponent in a battle for your heart that he had already won years ago.

It didn't seem exactly fair that you were the one making a sacrifice to mend what was broken between you after all this. It felt fairly obvious that he was the one who should be making amends. But if this is what it took to make him feel safe in your love again. "All right, my darling. I promise."

[sky-scribbles]

(Overhead inside the Stormshore Tabernacle, from a supplicant who stood for some time before the shrine to Mystra.)

I don’t know if you’re listening. I don’t know if you care to listen. I can’t imagine you’re inclined to pay attention to the words of your ex-lover’s lover. But I’m here, and I’m going to speak.

You took Gale to speak with you alone. Might be for the best. If I’d come with him, if I’d had a chance to speak with you… there might have been some yelling. And some swears. And you'd probably have got pissed and turned me to dust, or whatever it is that gods do with mortals who piss them off. But... I've noticed that he always seems to end up alone when you're involved. No friends except for a tressym. Locked in his tower, keeping the world away.

You’re the goddess of knowledge, you know things, so you probably know: I don’t like how you’ve treated Gale. And I’m not just talking about the whole orb detonation – thing. I’m talking about how you started a relationship with him when you… you’d been the roots of his existence for so long. He built himself on you, and you built him on you. You were always going to be special and – and everything to him in a way that he could never have been to you. You could erase him from existence with a thought. There was no world where you could have looked him in the eye as an equal.

And I imagine you’re up there in your, I don’t know, your god place, thinking, who the hells is this person to me like this. Well, I’m Fern. That’s somebody. I have a voice; I can speak.

I’m the one who’s living with the man you made of him. I’m the one who watched his face when you sent him your message, a message you knew he’d listen to. Don’t tell me you didn’t know – because, again, goddess of knowledge – that his regret would make him cling to the idea that you needed him, even if all you needed from him was his death. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that your forgiveness was an altar he was ready to cut out his heart on. You knew, and you used his guilt against him to make him dance to your tune.

But that’s done now. He didn’t do what you wanted, and now we’re here, and he’s talking about becoming a god.

And however many times I might have lain awake at night, watching that orb glow and fuming at you – because seriously, you could have fixed it any time? Literally any time, and you fucking let him hurt all that time –

Okay. I swear I didn’t come here to rant. The point is, we’ve got something in common right now, which is that we don’t want this for him. I know our reasons are different. And yeah, I'm being selfish here. I don’t want him to be taken from me. I don’t want him to be something aloof and above. I don't want him to be torn away, taken up in the cold of the stars and away from the warmth of the earth.

I don't want him to become what you are.

But it’s not just that. It’s because I see him. And I don’t think for a moment this would give him happiness or peace. Did you ever tell him, back then – when you told him not to push beyond the boundaries of magic, did you say Gale, there are some powers that mortals don’t get to have, or did you say Gale, you don’t need to do more, achieve more, be more. You don’t need to strive; you don’t need to prove anything to be worthy of me. Or to be worthy at all.

Did you ever say that he didn’t need to break himself open trying to be special enough for you? To deserve your attention, your love? Did you ever tell him that? Did you ever tell him that every flaw and failure, every bit of his brokenness, is worthy of love?

I don't need an answer to that. I know what it is.

So do you have it in you, to ask him again for the right reasons? Not because he owes you, not because mortals just aren’t allowed to do this, or because you’re a god and being obeyed is just what happens to gods. Ask him in a way he’ll hear. Do you have it in you to ask him because you care? Did you? Did you care at all, even in what whatever distant and patronising and fucked-up way a god cares for a mortal?

Ask him, because that man – just as he is – could rearrange the stars.

Ask him again. ‘Cause the way I see it, a god shouldn't be too different from a queen or a mayor or a fucking archduke. You have so much power over so many, and that just makes it easier for you to do harm. So when you do, then like peasants rising against a shitty king, people should get to call you to account. And you can lounge on your clouds and say that we're beneath you, or you can listen.

Ask him again because you want better for him that some lonely, cold, distant existence, comforted only by the brief moments where you get to hold mortals who you can never love like they deserve.

And if none of that means anything to you, then ask him for the simplest reason. Ask because you don’t want to be destroyed to make way for a new god. Because you don’t want to die. Tell him, I want to live.

Sound familiar?

I want to live.  What other reason does there ever need to be?

But you won’t. You won't say any of this. You won't apologise, and you won't tell him that he’s enough, that he’s loved. But that’s okay, because I’m going to say it. I’m going to say it again and again, as many times as it takes, until he believes me.

[bucking-mustangs-with-wings]

Buck x Bucky Sorcerers vs Fae AU - WIP

I've got this one now in the works, as well as more for the Rodeo AU, my brain is fluttering back and forth between them atm, but I wanted to show a small bit of one of the scenes I'm working on for this. (Rough Draft).

The trees blurred in his peripheral, everything disappearing like the breath disappearing from his lungs, the panic pushing everything to the forefront. Just an adrenaline fuelled staccato beat thundering in his chest. Sweat beading at his brow.

Keep running. Just keep running, don't look back. Don't look back, or you're dead!

It was second nature to avoid the roots underfoot, the gnarled branches grabbing at the edges of his clothes and brushing his skin like long dead fingers trying to pull him down to the depths of hell. A cruel voice echoed in his head, that he was already there. He had already seen it. Hell was not far behind him, left in the debris littering familiar streets and captured under crumbled walls and burning in the flames of deliberate blue fire.

He could feel tears prick at the corners of his eyes, stinging and harsh. Could still feel the remnants of those flames licking at his skin. Could still hear the screams, anguished, terrified. Dead.

The sounds of magic, whirling like bullets past his ears still echoed in his skull, still kept their grip on his psych. It was as if he could still feel that dangerous energy in the air nipping at his heels like savage dogs, maws foaming with the need to watch him fall, clip his wings like a bird and send him tumbling down into the dirt.

"You can always tell, when that magic is about," his mother would always say, sitting in her chair at the dining table with a pair of knitting needles between her fingers, silver yarn spread over her lap and trailing off somewhere throughout the house. "It's like when a storm is coming, you can feel the shift in the air, the un-easiness settle in your stomach like you've swallowed iron weights. The hair on your arms stands on end like it's trying to sway away from it. You can taste it, on your tongue. You'll always know when it's close, Gale. When they're close. You'd do best to listen to what your instincts are telling you."

He tries to shake the image from his mind, vaulting himself over another moss covered root as thick as his arm. Of a familiar mouth, usually in a smile not unlike his own, now parted in shocked slack, crimson dripping from it's corners. An old, worn calloused hand with red painted nails outstretched in his direction, but still, lifeless. Eyes the same. Boring into his soul, frozen forever in an expression of pain and fear and emptiness. Nothing behind them. No light, no gleam. Just vacant and haunting and carved forever into the back of his mind like an etching in cement.

The air around him burned with every inhale, searing his over-worked lungs. His whole body was screaming at him to stop, that it couldn't take much more. It couldn't keep him going. It was on it's last legs, starved and exhausted and battered and bruised. Everything hurt.

A split second decision had him digging his heels into the soft forest floor, banking a hard left and flattening his back against a huge tree about three times his width. His shoulders heaved and shuddered, trying to draw in air, trying to keep his breath steady enough so that no un-necessary noise was made. The blood pumping through his terrified nervous system sounded like crashing ocean waves in his ears, his vision pulsing in and out with his heartbeat. He couldn't hear anything around him, could hardly see.

Squeezing his eyes closed, he kept his focus on the rhythm of his breath, palms squeezing, nails cutting into his flesh with enough force he was half expecting blood to drip between his fingers into the moss covered ground below.

His father's voice echoed in his head now, low and gruff but strong, serious and brave.

Controlling your breath can mean the difference between life and death out there, Gale. You control your breathing, you control your heart. They can sense your heartbeat, they have spells for that now. Shows them the echoes of it like damn fireworks. You don't want the wolves to hear you. Don't want them to see you. Or they'll empty those fireworks out of your chest and show it to you before they crush it under their boots.

Lifting his chin skyward, he focused what little eyesight he could properly see with with on the small sliver of blue sky peeking through the branches above his head. So plain and bare, normal. Completely oblivious to the horrible events taking place under it's enormous expanse. The more he stared, the more the roaring of his blood quieted in his skull, the more the incessant pulsing behind his eyes settled and he was able to take in the complete and utter silence that was enveloping the forest.

The thump-thump-thump buried deep in his sternum flowed more smoothly, but that hint of fear still had it's grips on him. Was still sinking it's teeth deep into his core like a splinter that would never be able to truly be plucked out.

If he could just get his bearings, could just sit for a moment, he could gather what few sensible thoughts were rattling around in his head and figure out where the hell we was supposed to go from here, what he was meant to do.

He could feel his legs trembling underneath him, his knees all but ready to give out and send him sinking down onto his haunches. He had to find somewhere safe. He had to find somewhere to rest for a few moments, a few hours if he was lucky enough.

He was just about to give in to his body's inconvenient exhaustion, let himself sit and allow his muscles and his still mildly racing heart to calm just that tad more, but the indistinct snapping of a branch far off to the right made every muscle in his overworked body freeze. His eyes shot down from the sky to stare straight ahead, his breathing caught in his throat, even though his lungs still protested at having their much needed supply of oxygen once again denied them fully.

But he couldn't let himself.

An acrid, sour taste crawled up his throat, coating his tongue like he'd just licked a copper penny, sparks dancing over his teeth and sending painful pulses through the very bone of his jaw. The fear quickly followed it again, his heartbeat beginning it's frantic and loud race and gripping his very soul like a cold blanket of electricity. He felt the sensation creep it's way through every cell, every vessel, every nerve. Like being submerged in freezing water.

Like a deer cornered by a wolf, he flickered his gaze down to his arms, held down by his sides.

Every hair was lifted and pointed skyward like they were trying to get away from something sinister.

"We got another one up ahead!"

[avonne-writes]

https://www.tumblr.com/avonne-writes/744275916307496960/i-headcanon-bucky-as-someone-who-likes-to-mark

oh this is so incredibly real. and he loves seeing them later on, it immediately gets him going 😅😅

also i say this way too often but! i think that this is just another thing that bucky does that makes buck feel very loved and wanted

I totally agree ❤️ sorry, I ended up jotting down another drabble...

Gale is just trying to get dressed in peace in the officers' quarters, but to Bucky, it's like a personal morning show. He's there for it as often as he can get away with it. There’s nothing he loves more than the moment when Gale puts on his undershirt. As he stands there and watches him, glad that no one else is around, he catches a glimpse of his kisses' imprints on Gale's torso. He's instantly, desperately aching for Gale the moment he spots them. He wants to spread Gale out on the nearest flat surface and retrace the marks on the map of Gale's body. When Gale looks up, now in the process of buttoning his uniform, he catches the look in Bucky's eyes and his lips curl into a small smirk.

"One might just think you saw a pin-up girl in the flesh."

Bucky leans back against the wall, knowing full well that Gale can see how tight his pants got. "Gonna be a new moon tonight."

Gale hums, deliberately not picking up what Bucky’s suggesting. It’s a game he plays sometimes - he wants Bucky to say what he wants as specifically as he dares. It turns him on.

Bucky tries not to smile. It will come back to bite him in the ass if Gale gets too into the push-and-pull of it and makes him beg later. "Will be all dark outside."

"Nice time to sleep."

"Sleep, yeah." Bucky bites his lip, staring at Gale as intensely as he can until Gale finally looks at him, mischief in his blue eyes.

"Did you have something else in mind?"

Bucky double checks that the door is closed, then steps close to him, leaning in to run the tip of his nose along Gale's cheek to whisper in his ear. His hand presses to Gale's stomach, his thumb tracing one of the love bites he knows to be there under Gale's clothes. "How about a rendez-vous in that abandoned barn I found?"

Gale touches Bucky's hand with his fingertips, down the line of Bucky's thumb. "Romantic."

Bucky presses a kiss to Gale's cheek. "Are you game?"

"Depends." Gale turns away from him to go root around in his footlocker. Bucky follows as if glued to him, his hands fitting themselves to Gale's hips from behind.

"On what?"

"Your intentions." Gale teases.

"All noble. You know me, I'm a gentleman." Bucky pulls Gale to his chest when Gale straightens up, wrapping his arms around Gale's waist. He kisses Gale's neck. "Only the best for my doll."

As always, Gale softens when he sweet talks him. "In the barn, you said?"

Bucky hums against Gale's skin. He can’t resist any longer - he knows that Gale’s going to play with him until he tells him what he wants. "I want to put new marks on you. These are fading."

He can feel Gale melt into his embrace. More of his weight presses to Bucky's chest. "I like the sound of that."

"I'll even suck you off."

Gale huffs a quiet laugh in surprise. "I see."

"Come on, Buck."

Gale rubs at Bucky's forearms. "How about that, but the other way around?"

A wide grin tugs at Bucky's lips. If that's what Gale's wants... He squeezes Gale's waist. "Deal."

[sprout-fics]

I dont know if this’ll make sense so I will try my best, but I hope in the end it’ll just help ease the anxiety you might have cause I’m normally a silent observer and like watching and reading and enjoying from afar

But you know Christmas cacti? It’s a plain little succulent that quietly makes a space in your home green and pleasant? But during the cold months it’ll make these bright beautiful flowers that are just so vibrant and pretty compared to the leaves and it’s hard not to look at cause gosh is it pretty. And they’ll stay for some time, a good couple of weeks, and then the blooms will fall off and it’s back to its sleepy self again till next season.

That’s how I come to this blog, and your writing. It’s so lovely, even when you haven’t posted anything. It’s a comfort to come back to and I enjoy each and every time cause it was great from the beginning. And when you post something new, it’s so exciting and I come running.

So if you find yourself just wanting to sit back, not posting so often, I’m very sure so many of us will come flocking to your writings or posts anyways cause even if it doesn’t last long or forever or it’s only a short time, we’ll enjoy what you have to give cause it’s a treat every single time. Like a Christmas cactus

Does that make sense? Anyways. I will always look forward for what you have to give, even if it’s weeks, months, or years in between each release of anything. Cause it’s worth it to me and it’ll feel just as good as the first, second, and third time, ya know?

Happy belated birthday, sorry I didn’t say it sooner, but take care of yourself. You deserve every good that you get so take it! 😊

I've read this message several times within the past day. I think it's one of the sweetest, kindest, most thoughtful messages I've ever had the pleasure to receive. I wish I had words to express how much I cherish it. I am so honored to be the recipient of this.

I used to feel the same way about this blog. It was a shelter from the rainstorm, a gentle place to land. Now, it makes me anxious and nervous- like being thrust outside into a gale and not knowing where to go. I think it's time I take a long, very long break. I tried to take one a little bit ago, but I don't think it solved the root issue of why I'm not enjoying myself, whatever that may be. I wish I knew. I wish I knew so I could fix it.

I'll be gone for a while. I'll still be uploading to ao3, but I don't find myself having the energy to crosspost here anymore. I'm not going to stop writing, but I am going to start doing it in a way where I'm writing for myself again, and not for others. I need to find the thing that made me start writing in the first place, so that if and when I come back, it will be through joy, not through an obligation of doing things just to do them. I have to stop treating myself like a content machine.

I'll still reblog things to @sprout-fics-reblogs probably. I like being here and seeing others' art and fics. I just won't be posting myself. I think I'm going to turn off asks as well. Just trying to shrink down and allow this blog to go dormant.

I appreciate every single person who has reached out to me. I have so many kind people following me and I think I take that for granted sometimes. Thank you. If you want to reach out to me, feel free to DM me, and I'll send you my discord.

Talk soon. Thank you. I love you. Bye.

[vitanithepure]

I'm getting back into the groove with my writing after a short period of totally forgetting how to form coherent words, and my mind instantly went to my BG3 comfort pairing. That being Gale/Astarion, or bloodweave if you prefer, if anyone reading this is new to my tiny space on tumblr.

And I remember seeing people wonder why choose this ship when it's obviously "not gonna work". Usually in unposted anons I got, and usually in a very much more passive-aggressive tone, but whatever. It just got me wondering why do I like them together so much? Because I just saw them and went "yeah, that's it, they fit" without considering why.

Because yeah, I agree, that at first glance it's a weird pair to ship. They have those surface level differences:

streetsmarts vs booksmarts

improviser vs planner

flirty vs seeking connection

indifferent vs caring

(wanted to say extrovert vs introvert but that was just Astarion fooling me, yet again, into believing he really is as outgoing as he leads on. Sneaky vampire.)

But the beauty of BG3 characters lies in their complexity, and in that one doesn't need to dig that deep to find similarities that amazingly make each of them…shippable with each other. The themes they got going on in their personal stories just reflect each other so well done.

So we have those two men, both servants to beings indefinitely more powerful than them. One unwilling, the other quite the opposite, but both deeply mistreated. Both carry their shares of scars, both physical and not.

They both seek power because of this, and no other origin companions share this trait with them. They want it to gain freedom and regain agency in their lives. And this is what I love the most about this pairing - that quest for power can lead to so many different outcomes and I am inspired by all of them. I can't name my favorite, because there is beauty to be found in each. Even if it's fleeting, giving way to tragedy down the line. I enjoy a good dose of that angst as well, not gonna lie.

They can both forgo their quest for power completely, find what they are looking for in each other. Astarion will always be safe with Gale, and Gale will find that lifetime commitment he craves so much with Astarion. And imagine how hard Gale will look for a way for his lover to enjoy the sun again? To what lengths he would go to for this alone? And how Astarion would be not letting his beloved wizard to hurt himself in the process? But at the same time, being right next to him, believing in him? In them?

Or they could go batshit crazy with power and it's fine, too. They become powerful together. True, it requires a bit of headcanoning here, but since when did this stop ships from happening? It also is true that one becomes a monster, the other indifferent with time, but the years they spend together? The wild devotion they will have for each other? The burning passion that you never know if it will consume them or just explode and burn out?

And there are a few dynamics in between! What if Astarion ascends, but Gale doesn't? What if it's the other way around? What if one regrets their decision? And I love exploring this, and I'll always root for the dorky wizard who has so much love to give to this stray vampire spawn that has enough holes in his soul to let it sip in, slowly but steadily.