#gale in isolation post

[trashcatsnark]

You ever think about young university, baby Gale, watching his peers have a more fun kind of traditional university time, finding partners, having messy little love affairs and of course they invite him out for the parties and events, it's a fucking wizard university and he's a chosen of mystra- and all jokes aside, that means something. But it also means people treat him less like a peer and more like a novelty at best and an arrogant ass at worst- they don't quite talk to him the same way as they do each other, maybe they play nice for his stories and his hyperfixation rambling, let him give a speech or two- but always seem eager to move on and talk to their real friends. And he's there but he doesn't feel a part of it, watching at a distance- telling himself it's okay because he's a chosen of mystra and that's an honor, a privilege, these people are having messy dorm hookups and he lays with a goddess in the astral plane, so then why is he the one he feels so utterly alone? why does being with a goddess sometimes just feel like another form of solitude?

[arolesbianism]

Ok no one asked but I've been tempted to make Jackie and Olivia stalien designs since I've been working on some new icons for the eternal gales stalien kiddos and it's been making me also think abt how disastrous it would be if they were in the same stalien society that the main cast are from because dear god would they either die instantly or make things so much worse. Even if they did get lucky enough to be able to be remotely near a position to found a stalien version of gravitas, no way in hell they'd be able to get far enough to even begin their own morally corrupt downfall before one of the other big companies forcibly assimilated gravitas into their own corporations and do the same shit but way WAY worse. Even if Jackie Was in a position to eventually climb the ladder enough to get to a more ceo position shed probably end up painting a target on her back way before she could get there, as her and Olivia's whole infinite power research would be very much unwanted by most of the ceo elders. Oh and Olivia would be fucked even beyond that because she's a biologist lol so at best she's going to be forced to drop every last one of her morals and barely scrape by

[chisatowo]

Thinking abt eternal gales past timeline stuff again

[messiahzzz]

i have seen several posts around that addressed how discouraging gale from taking the crown of karsus is “keeping him from realizing his true potential.” that tara is merely upset at his choice, instead of being utterly devastated at the loss of her little love. that it’s not a bad ending per se because to get there he didn’t need to sacrifice 7000 innocent souls in the process. gale isn’t continuing the cycle of abuse either, he still appears to love tav and does come back for them to offer them ascension. he wants them to be equal, so it can’t possibly be an unhealthy dynamic, right?

but what of gale himself, his own convictions, values, and everything he holds dear? everything flawed and human that shaped him into the person he is?

player: are you saying you want to ascend? claim godhood?

gale: no, not like that. i don't want to join them. i want to better them. a god's powers, paired with a mortal conscience, a mortal heart.

gale’s motivation for acquiring godhood is that he will able to aid mortals in a way no other god has ever done before. he won’t hide behind pretense nor require blind devotion of his followers. he will understand and be able to empathize. he wholeheartedly believes that he will be different - he will act.

gale: [..] the gods could aid us if they wished, but instead they cower behind ao. so let us act ourselves.

gale believes that by becoming a god he will kill two birds with one stone: aid mortals and acquire enough power to quash any of his insecurities and enemies in the process. that by ridding himself of every perceived flaw he'll finally feel like he will have enough to offer - maybe, just maybe he'll even be content. his flaws are merely holding him back from becoming the best version of himself, and by ridding himself of everything fallible, he will be whole. maybe this is what all of his suffering has led up to. maybe the orb chose him. maybe the reason he had to endure all the pain, isolation, and excruciating loneliness was so that he could realize that he was meant for something even greater. after all, power feeds ambition. and what is more powerful than a god? his convictions were certainly naive, he possesses enough knowledge to know better. don't get me wrong, part of him definitely wants to spite mystra a lil. but his intentions at that time were mostly pure. a reflection of his self-hatred and feelings of inadequacy.

player: this is wrong, gale. that power will corrupt you, even if you can seize it.

gale: it won't, i swear to you. it's merely a tool - a means to an end.

once we meet gale at the party in his new godlike form, it is apparent that even with all the power at his fingertips, he has reached no greater knowledge about himself. his insecurities are still as present as before, he merely is less subtle in his compensation - repeatedly highlighting his grandeur and how dull life on faerun is compared to the wonders of elysium. it is also genuinely crushing to see how little he thinks of himself even now.

gale: i was nothing. a drifting dust mote of a wizard, abandoned by my goddess, my powers lost, my reputation destroyed. and look at me now. i'm their proof.

any perceived dismissal of his Greatness™ is met with immediate disdain.

gale: a bold decision to treat a divine being with such cold indifference.

nodecontext: aloof, annoyed you weren't impressed with him

gale: you mortals do love to live dangerously, don't you?

nodecontext: the slightest hint of a threat - you've probably made an enemy here today. or at least, you've lost a friend.

he is still desperate to impress. emphasizing what an honor it is that a new-born god chose to bless their little soiree with his presence. gaze upon all his divine glory! gale has now become the embodiment of everything he criticized about the gods. his original intentions and plans are discarded and long forgotten. he assuages his erstwhile companions by telling them to simply pray to him, in case they should ever require aid. if they're lucky and their ambition pleases him, he might even deliver.

player: what does the 'god of ambition' offer to his followers?

gale: i 'offer' them nothing. i inspire them to seize their destinies for themselves.

player: interesting, so you help mortals help themselves?

gale: precisely. though that isn't to say i'm averse to the odd bit of direct encouragement.

gale: [..] my aims are set a little higher than offering cursory blessings to just any half-decent spellcaster.

gale: regardless, ethical quandaries are more the remit of my mortal devotees. they do love to talk, and faerun is starting to listen.

aiding "any half-decent spellcaster" is unbefitting of his status. he isn't concerned with questions of ethics and morality either. deeming such matters beneath his divine capabilities.

once gale has ascended and established his domain, what remains of the gale we knew? what of his mortal heart?

minthara: your ambition is not cruel, but you fear that if you indulge it, you will lose yourself in the mysteries of the weave and unravel the world.

minthara: you are afraid of so many things, and it is that fear that keeps you true to yourself.

gale did lose himself and ultimately became one of his biggest fears. considering that his existence as a being of pure ambition leads him to constantly seek out greater heights, it isn't farfetched to believe that raphael's prediction will indeed come true.

player[astarion]: ambition? finally, a god i can get behind...

gale: i assure you, this is merely the prelude to a far grander vision. elysium's in for something of a shake-up.

all that remains of gale is a thin veneer of the person he used to be. what he presents is a hollow echo of the old gale. he does retain some of his mannerisms and quirks, but he is definitely a lot colder and more condescending. if his personality already changed that drastically after a duration of only 6 months, what will he inevitability turn into when he has eternity at his disposal?

essentially, you are aiding gale in the eradication of himself. eradicating everything about him that made him into the loveable, charismatic, awkward, kind, buoyant person he was. everything about him that he perceived as defective, flawed, and lesser-than. before, his hubris was merely an expression of his own discontentment and low self-worth, but now he is hubris incarnate. all of his worst qualities have been amplified.

gale: i am ambition incarnate. as indistinguishable from that most potent sensation as mystra herself is from the weave. and word is spreading.

nodecontext: palpable, almost unsettling excitement from him - hint of megalomania

he put his trust in tav, trusting their judgment and relying on them to nudge him in the right direction. after all, they had plenty of opportunities to show him that they are an ally worth following and confiding in. but in the end, the prospect of what he could be, the things he could give them, the enemies he could yet conquer, won over the desire to simply accept him and help him rebuild a life on solid ground. tav denied him the unconditional love he craves most out of their own selfish desires.

tara: you were looking out for him. i expected better of you.

as i've already mentioned, gale desires nothing more than to be seen, accepted, loved, and valued. having a partner who wholeheartedly supports and believes in him is enough to make him feel content. most importantly - he just wants to live. to enjoy life with everything it has to offer. his ambition can’t be quenched because he hungers still. believing that only by acquiring more power will he finally be enough and reach said acceptance.

we see in his good ending that his own contentment was even able to influence and (temporarily) sate the orb's ever-present hunger:

gale: [..] or perhaps the orb's hunger was fuelled by my own, and my contentment influences it in much the same way.

gale: that's how i feel with you - content. it's a rather unfamiliar feeling, i must say. not something gale of waterdeep ever craved.

it is devastating that he doesn't reach the same feeling of fulfillment if he chooses to pursue godhood, and is instead compelled to continuously surpass his own accomplishments. not being granted rest or reprieve.

gale: i achieved everything we hoped i would, and still i'm not good enough for you?

gale pursuing godhood isn't evidence that he "has been evil all along" or that he "just waited to be unleashed" either. we can't diminish tav's influence in this outcome, they are after all an extension of the player. able to steer every companion toward a path of redemption or to enable them in their worst traits. fandom has already established that by letting astarion ascend you are actively supporting him in becoming the very thing he despises most, putting your own ambitions and idea of what you want him to be above his healing, this is no different.

tara: the gale i knew wasn't like this. he recognised his mistakes. he was contrite. all he wanted to do was live.

tara: unfortunately, he fell into company that turned his gaze towards foolishness. yes, i mean you.

player: gale is his own man, tara.

tara: false. he was mine. though now he belongs only to his own pride.

yes, the epilogue cutscene is beautiful and there is something bittersweet and romantic about his love for tav being one of the few emotions that remained a constant throughout the past 6 months. he didn't need to come back for them, but he did cause he loves them still. no matter how warped his definition of love may be now. while it is abundantly clear that tav ranks lower on his priority list than they did before, his commitment remains.

gale fears isolation, hoping to never return to the time when he was hopeless and alone, stuck inside his tower. by heading in this direction he is once again creating a self-fulfilling prophecy.

tara: [..] if i pretended you hadn't turned tail on every lesson you set out to learn, i'd have no right to call myself your friend.

morena may as well have already resigned herself to her son’s death. elminster partly blames himself. for his lapse in judgment, as well as being the one who plucked him from obscurity in the first place. mourning the kind, bright-eyed boy who cried at the scorched roses in his neighbor's garden. tara won't be here anymore to care and look out for him either. he has lost his oldest and dearest friend, the one who witnessed his downfall from grace and never left his side. who believed him to be the finest mind AND the finest wizard she's ever had the pleasure to know. who was certain that he’d find a way out of any crisis no matter the circumstances. ...and if tav declines his offer to ascend with him? what does he have left?

gale: yes, i am rather radiant, aren't i?

tara: don't flatter yourself, gale. you've debased yourself in ways i could never have fathomed.

tara: goodbye gale, i hope the heavens are worth it.

gale’s godhood ending deals with the loss of humanity, the loss of oneself, and everything one holds dear. it is a devastating and bone-chilling narrative. it is a tragedy.

gale: i hope you don't think less of me. great ambition should not come at the expense of what you already hold dear. i see that now.

if gale could see himself, he would be horrified at the losses he deemed necessary to get here. he would be horrified at what he’s become.

[gale-dekarios]

i personally HC gale's bodytype as Recently Skinny. in the way where you lose a lot of weight in a short space of time, so you end up looking a little haunted, a little sickly, a little grey, the skin just a bit looser than usual. i just dont think gale took care of himself properly during his year of isolation, and the weight, both from that, and probably also from stress, just fell off him really quickly.

now POST-game gale, provided he stays alive and stays human? now THAT gale has chunk. most grabbable man in faerûn. especially when romanced, he's indulging with his partner in this, that, the next thing. complicated, high fat, high protein dishes he spends all day preparing. full-bodied wines and spirits to sip on as you watch the sun set together on his balcony. he seems like a chocolate dipping kind of guy. strawberries being the classic, ofc. he's the type of guy to wiggle his fingers and say 'dont mind if i do' when you offer him something sweet. he spent so long in isolation, he's spending the rest of his life making sure you're both indulged in every pleasure life has to offer.

his cheeks fill, his skin looks brighter, his hair shines, the looser skin from rapid weight loss filling back out over time. you know his mother's thrilled.

[galedekarios]

minsc & gale

recently i've been doing a playthrough taking minsc along during the limited amount of time we do get to connect with his character in the game and i have to say he's growing on me in a way he didn't in previous titles.

i wanted to take the opportunity here to write a short post about his relationship with gale because that, too, is something i found myself enjoying despite the (too) few interactions that we have between them.

minsc's initial thoughts about gale

Player: How are you and Gale getting along? Minsc: I do not wish to speak of the wizard. Minsc: I could not have said it better myself. - Player Option 1: Gale's great - what's your problem with him? Minsc: He came to me one night with a little book of mischief - full of words and their meanings. Minsc: 'Posterior', he says. 'Can you say 'posterior'?' I refused! Minsc does not need to know the language of wizards. Player: 'Posterior' isn't wizard-talk - it's another word for 'butt'. Minsc: It is an inferior word. Far too long to use in a battle cry, which is where a 'butt' belongs. Minsc: Gale would do better to educate himself in the ways of sword and steel than to throw these pointy words at Minsc. Minsc: Ai, yes. Gale also owns a cat. A cat with wings! That is most unnerving for poor Boo. Player: You should give him a break - he's only trying to help. Minsc: Never! If he is not careful, Boo will shred his books and use them as bedding! - Player Option 2: Did you know that he has an explosive magical orb in his chest that could destroy a city? Minsc: WHAT? Minsc: That is a thousand times more interesting than anything that has ever been written in a book. Minsc: GALE! MY GOOD FRIEND! WHERE ARE YOU? MINSC AND BOO WOULD LIKE TO HEAR ABOUT THE EXPLODING.

they may not start off on the right foot, but with gale's genuine interest in other people's cultures as well as his perception and easy-going nature that changes:

sorcerous sundries

Minsc: Minsc has never trusted places such as this. Too much of a wizard's power can be simply packaged and picked up. devnote: Grumbling as we make our way through the shelves of Sorcerous Sundries Minsc: Well, picked up by all but Minsc. When he touches the many delicate little jars, oh how the wizards shout and stare! devnote: Revealing that his objection of Sorcerous Sundries is not in fact a deep philosophical belief that wizards have too much power - they just make him feel stupid and awkward when he pokes at their things Gale: Fear not, Minsc. You have a wizard at your side who positively encourages such curiosity. You'll fit right in. devnote: Reassuring Minsc: Obliged, wizard. Should we find our way to a weaponsmith, Minsc will rough you up a little - so that you too can fit in. devnote: Warm, comradely, would genuinely be doing Gale a favour

i feel like it truly speaks to gale's character that he doesn't dismiss minsc here - neither his feelings of inadequacy nor his innate curiosity about the things he perceives as wizardly.

it would've been very easy for gale - the wizard prodigy, the former chosen, to archwizard - to act the part of the haughty scholar, akin to the arrogant wizards that minsc describes in this banter, looking down on him, shouting at him, but gale doesn't.

gale reassures minsc, encourages him, telling him he'll fit right in. it reminds me of the way he treats karlach and fostering her interest in books and reading. another pair of seemingly polar opposites that still find a connection. i do think gale is quite natural at this, despite his long time spent in isolation.

and minsc does appreciate it - his tone changes to one of warmth, one of camaraderie - and i think this is also when minsc's perception of gale changes: from the annoying wizard to someone he sees as a companion and friend.

rashemi traditions

Minsc: Gale. Minsc worries you might send a fireball up his butt, with all of this stringy hair in your face. Gale: Is that why you keep your head shaved? I assumed it was a custom of some sort. devnote: Curious, referring to Minsc's origins Minsc: Oh, no! Most warriors of Rashemen wear long battle-braids, weighed down with stone. Minsc can show you, when next we camp? Gale: Thank you, but I'm more wizard than warrior. I'm not sure my scalp would stand up to such a plaiting. devnote: Very politely declining

i like this banter for several reasons: i think not only does it show the progression of their relationship with minsc offering to show gale the traditions of his homeland, gale also shows the same curiosity he shows many different cultures and ways of life, same as he does with lae'zel for instance and githyanki culture.

when he declines minsc's offer, he does so politely, without insulting minsc's traditions, putting the onus on himself instead. he's the wizard, not the warrior.

house of hope

Minsc: Gale! You will perhaps able to explain where Boo has not - what exactly is the difference between a devil and a demon? Gale: A fascinating question, one that boils down to which criteria we choose to apply. Are we speaking about the physiological? Theological? Etymological? devnote: In teacher-mode - up for an in-depth, intellectual discussion Minsc: Eh. Just how-to-kill... -ical. devnote: Non-plussed, echoing Gale's ending every word with 'ical' Gale: Oh. Then for your purposes, they are exactly the same. devnote: Disappointed

this banter genuinely made me laugh. again, i like how it shows the progression of their friendship, to the point of where minsc goes from finding gale annoying to imitating his speech. and gale doesn't put it beyond minsc to have an 'in-depth, intellectual' discussion... even if he is disappointed by the end of their banter, realising that minsc's priorities are... elsewhere.

wychlaran

depending on your party composition and who you take with you, minsc can also call gale his wychlaran.

The Wychlaran, meaning "wise old women" in the ancient language of Halardrim, also known as the Witches of Rashemen outside their lands, were the spiritual leaders of Rashemen, communing with the spirits and guiding the souls of the Rashemi people.

minsc does use it, too, to describe a special bond and a sense of duty and protectiveness to the people he ascribes this title to. he did so in bg1 with dynaheir and in bg2 with aerie.

elminster

Minsc: It must be difficult for Gale to imagine great Elminster a-courting. Writing poems. Doing... certain... deeds. Gale: Long before my time, thank goodness. That's not an image I care to dwell on. Minsc: Ugh. It is difficult for Minsc to think of, too. Let us speak no more of it. Minsc: ... Minsc: Of Elminster and the sex, I mean.

another banter that did genuinely make me laugh despite the seriousness of the situation, especially given the bond that elminster and gale share as well, which speaks of paternal feelings on elminster's part that come with a certain sense of responsibility, as well as gale's admiration, but also often exasperation with his former mentor.

on a more serious note, minsc offers great insights in his interactions with gale and gale's story:

mystra and the vremyonni

The vremyonni or Old Ones were an arcane brotherhood in Rashemen. Men that were arcane spellcasters in Rashemen had two choices, exile or to join the vremyonni. Many vremyonni were kept alive for eons by longevity magic. Vremyonni were expert weaponsmiths and magic item creators. On very rare occasions, vremyonni would fight in the defense of Rashemen. Vremyonni used secrets of magic that even the Witches of Rashemen did not use, destructive spells forbidden among the wilds of Rashemen, in case such magic was needed. The Running Rocks harbored secret strongholds of the vremyonni. All vremyonni wore masks.

Minsc: Gale reminds me of the vremyonni of my homeland. The man-mages of Rashemen. Minsc: 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. Minsc: It is an old custom, not well-observed. In truth I thought it born of caution, after some catastrophe wrought by wizardly men-folk of old. Minsc: Now I wonder if it was not done to hide them from Mystra, and the snares she sets for young and prideful boys, hm? Minsc: Though this suggests that Mystra has never tempted a witch into foolishness. Not that I would blaspheme by suggesting otherwise. Minsc: I forget why I began this long and winding story. Yes Boo - we have been spending too long around the wizard.

i think this is a very interesting banter, especially since it's also only marked to trigger if gale agrees to return the crown to mystra.

it's easy to dismiss this banter, laugh it off as just another instance of minsc being minsc, but i think it's important to consider it within the context of game canon and what has been shown to us.

it's a story and everything within a story is there for a reason.

another great insight from minsc comes if gale is pushed towards the crown by the player:

gale and godhood

Minsc: Who among us has not been spurned by a lover? But a word of advice, if Minsc may be so bold: Minsc: Let the wizard lick his wounds. Write some rickety rhymes, and weep most manfully into his hamster's hide. Eh - his cat's hide. Minsc: But... his boasting is unbecoming. 'Claim godhood', he says? Will this make him any less a man with a half-mended heart?

again, minsc does at times share great insight into other characters and he does so here again with gale:

will this make him any less a man with a half-mended heart?

i think it quite accurately goes straight to the crux of what makes it so very easy to push gale towards godhood: he is hurt. he feels abandoned. by his goddess. by his former lover. both as a mystran and on deeply personal level.

he is drifting, seeking something to hold his head above the water. if it's not the protag's love or friendship, it will be the crown.

anyhow, i never expected to write this when i first learned that minsc would be a companion, but i truly did enjoy him and his interactions with gale in particular.

[loviatarsluv]

Request!

I posted details here, it’s for Gale!

https://www.tumblr.com/cherifrog/739699979425333248/anyone-else-interested-in-like-a-super-jealous

YUHHHHH now THIS is what im talkin about!!!!!!!

*cracks knuckles* lets get this party started shall we

(I am so sorry to be answering this literally a million years too late I’ve redone and rewritten this prompt like 100000 times but I finally like this version!!! so here we go!!!)

Gale x AFAB f!tav

rating: oh boy this one is certainly rated M for mature

CW: smut, inappropriate use of mage hand, rough sex, PiV, oral, gale being jealous and going absolutely FERAL

word count: 5.4k

let’s get itttt

If looks could kill, surely, Astarion would have been long dead— well, even more so— by now. 

Gale was never exactly fond of the pale elf from the start, and he was well aware the feeling was likely incredibly mutual— but gods, he swore he was beginning to actually hate him. 

At least, he hated the way he looked at her. The way he leered at her. The way he purred her name with that practiced and over-rehearsed seductive charm of his. The way he would lock piercing crimson eyes with Gale’s blazing umber ones as he cozied up to her at the fire with that deviant and knowing smirk on his stupid pointy face. The way she would smile at him the warmest, kindest, most hopelessly and adorably oblivious smile in response to the charlatan’s blatant advances. 

Maybe he did hate him, upon further reflection. If only for the last reason alone. 

Astarion would find any way to touch her and be able get away with it— his hand lingering on the small of her back as he passed her, touching her shoulder to get her attention, brushing hair out of her face when stray pieces fell over her eyes— all things that seemed innocent enough until you realized who was doing them and the devious smirk on his face when his gaze would meet that of the wizard that was surely plotting his second untimely demise. 

Though, he could hardly blame him. 

And Gale never got upset with her, of course, he knew it wasn’t her fault and honestly, he truly didn’t blame Astarion for wanting her— gods, who could possibly resist her? 

Certainly not Gale, not even if he tried; and he had tried, to no avail. Yet that didn’t quell his frustration toward the silver haired and equally silver tongued vampire for attempting to swoop in on what was likely the first real chance at mortal love he’d had in a very long time.

He’d spent the early days in their adventure together absolutely beside himself with how taken he was by her nearly instantly. He felt like a smitten schoolboy all over again when he thought about the feeling of her soft but strong hands gripping his as she pulled him from the stone by the nautiloid crash with most impressive ease, the way she looked at him with wonder and curiosity, and even a flicker of something else that he recognized as attraction because he imagined it was mirrored in his own face at the sight of her. 

It was then only worsened by the night that they channeled the weave together and the kiss she’d pictured them sharing— the way their limbs tangled and their lips pressed together softly, then passionately and fervently. Her fingers wrapped in his chestnut tresses and his hands gripping the fabric at her waist— that image will be burnt into the fabric of his mind forevermore, he’s certain. 

Not to mention, the way her pupils dilated and her cheeks flared and flushed a heavenly shade of pink at the way he praised her as she successfully mimicked the incantation and his motions. It was enough to have him panting and attempting to tame the straining erection in his trousers when he retired to his tent that night. 

He thought he’d mastered the art of managing to keep such thoughts like that at bay during his time of isolation as he tried to keep the orb sated and calm and very nonexplosive— but that was before her, after all.

It was pathetically easy at the time, considering his amount of interaction with other humans had gone from healthy to nonexistent entirely so he didn’t have much to think about aside from himself; perhaps when he was truly desperate or feeling especially lonely, he’d think about Mystra and the nights he’d spent in Elysium with her (literally and metaphorically). 

But now, any attempts to be chaste or think chaste thoughts were moot in her presence.

Especially after the night they shared under the stars in the wilderness of the Shadow Cursed Lands.

They’d hardly been able to go more than a few hours without some kind of touch in the days following that perfect evening— whether it be a hand on her lower back, or holding one of her much smaller hands in his as he helped her scale a wall or hop across a boulder that she was more than capable of managing herself. A stolen kiss when no one was looking. Or, if they were lucky, they could steal a few moments alone in some ruined and crumbling crypt where he could bury himself between her thighs and send a silent thank you to whatever gods had a hand in creating a creature as divine as her. 

That being said, they hadn’t been entirely discreet about their affections— not that they really wanted to be. Gale certainly had no reservations about making it known that he was claiming her for himself, despite his gentlemanly nature chastising him for it and reminding himself she was a person, not a prize to be claimed. 

He would never say that she was, anyway, do not mistake it— being raised solely by a woman such as the inimitable Morena Dekarios had beaten into his core that women were not to be claimed or to be owned but to be cherished and treated as your equal. He would never claim otherwise, he couldn’t. 

On the other hand, he was also acutely aware that his were not the only set of eyes that wistfully tracked her every move and every breath throughout the day within their strange band of wayward souls, and a very base part of him needed to send the clearest message he could muster without flat out verbally declaring that she was his. 

It was very unlike him, this sort of possessive and primal nature, but he couldn’t deny that a small fraction of himself that he usually shoved into the deepest recesses of his being loved it for that fact. It was a part of him reserved only for her, as she was the only one who’d ever been able to coax it out of him. 

And thus, he felt absolved of any guilt about the way he glared daggers at the side of Astarion’s head and pictured hurling a fire bolt at the undead man as he spoke to her in hushed tones across camp. 

At least he knew it wouldn’t kill him. Although, he’d probably slit Gale’s throat for singing his singlet in return. 

It was enough to keep the heat in his palm at bay for the time being. 

He tried to discreetly move close enough to hear their conversation, moving toward Wyll’s tent that happened to be just a few paces away from Astarion’s and disguising his intentions as simply having a chat over a glass of wine with the warlock. 

Wyll’s eyes light up as the wizard approaches, shooting him a dashing and very princely smile that he was certain had made many a maiden swoon in his younger years as the duke’s son, galavanting through ballrooms and dragging said maidens to the dance floor after either one too many glasses of brandy or none at all.  

“Gale, my friend! Fancy a glass of wine?” He kindly proposed, tilting the glass in his hand in Gale’s direction. 

Gale offers an almost genuine smile, nodding. “Thank you, Wyll. I think a hearty glass of wine is just what I need at the moment,” he laments with a sigh. 

Wyll disappears for only a moment before returning with a glass and wine bottle in hand. “That bad, huh?” 

Gale gratefully takes the silver glass and holds it out for Wyll to pour the rest of the Amnan Liquer he’d been holding onto since their escapades at the former Rosymorn Monastery turned Githyanki Crèche. 

He turns his body just enough to keep both his lover and the offending vampire in his line of sight, attempting to tune into their conversation and realizing that he can faintly hear the melodic hum of her voice, as well as the silky tones of Astarion’s. 

Firebolt. No, no. 

Wyll’s eyes dart between Gale, then Tav, then Astarion, his eyebrow raising. “Astarion certainly doesn’t lack in the gall department, I’ll give him that.” 

Gale huffs a bitter laugh. “Can’t fault him. As much as I want to.” 

Wyll gently bumps his shoulder into Gale’s with a reassuring smile. “One can’t always be a gentleman, Gale. I respect your restraint, but if I were you, even I would be cutting in on whatever it is that he’s doing with her. Love the fellow, but I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.” 

Gale goes silent, giving himself a moment to try to catch any of what was being said between them, only hearing the sound of her laughter intermingling with Astarion’s— and suddenly Wyll’s advice had become all the more tempting to follow. 

I could just go over there, he thinks. ‘Assert my dominance’ the old fashioned way. Or…

A wickedly devious idea flutters across his mind, and a smirk forms on his lips. Before he can realize it and stop it, Wyll’s tadpole connects to his, and Wyll snorts as he sees what debauchery Gale’s brain had concocted. 

“She’d have your arse in a second,” he jokingly warns. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Gale wanted to listen to reason (Wyll Ravengard being the voice of reason, in this instance) and just do the diplomatic thing as he always did— but a part of him wanted to make a show of it all. To show her as well as everyone else the lengths he’d go to for her. 

He whispers a simple cantrip and waves his hand, blue light glowing from his palm as he calls for a spectral hand to appear before him. He eyes the mage hand for a moment, waving his fingers and watching it as it mirrors his movements with perfect accuracy. A rush of excitement passes through him as he ponders the possibilities, but debates for a moment whether he should— only to hear the lovely melody that was her laughter once again and his decision was sealed. 

He commands the hand to become invisible, the only way for him to tell it was still there was the very faint outline of it that you could only notice if you had been looking for it. He flicks his hand in her direction, commanding it to fly toward her. 

“Your funeral,” Wyll chuckles, taking a long sip from his chalice, eyebrows raised. 

The hand obliges, quickly floating to her but stopping just beside her. She shivers slightly as it grazes her bare shoulder, her head snapping in the direction of the sudden sensation. 

Gale freezes for a moment, praying she doesn’t catch on too soon. When she finally turns her attention back to Astarion, he relaxes, then motions for the hand to gently brush her hair over her other shoulder, causing her to jump and look again, her eyes narrowed as she scans the area. Her gaze lands on Gale, and he tries to remain composed but cannot hide the pleased smirk on his face. She furrows her brows, a look of confusion and suspicion on her face as she turns away once again. She still hadn’t caught on just yet, much to Gale’s delight. 

He continues once again, now commanding the hand to gently caress the back of her neck, the cool sensation of its spectral palm causing goosebumps to rise and her hair to stand on end. She sucks in a sharp breath, causing Astarion’s eyes to snap up to her.

“Everything alright, dear?” He hears Astarion ask, his signature shit-eating grin still on his lips. 

She nods, clearing her throat. “Mhm, sorry, I just— ah, got a bit chilly.” 

He cocks a brow at her. “I would offer to warm you, but I don’t think that I am qualified for the task,” he jokes, causing Gale’s jaw to clench. 

Firebolt. Ooh, better yet, Fireball. Ice knife. Lightning bolt, perhaps?

She laughs, then gasps once again as the hand has now relocated to the front of her, gently tracing the outline of her collar bone. It then follows the curve of the top of her breast, settling between her cleavage for a moment before continuing down further and further, grazing her abdomen before stopping just at the waistline of her breeches. 

“Gods, I shouldn’t be watching this,” Wyll grunts, shaking his head and allowing his gaze to drop to the ground.

She turns and shoots a piercing look at Gale, now fully aware of what was happening. He winks at her, before commanding the hand to continue its journey down her body, ghosting over the spot between her thighs. She squeezes her legs shut tight, in an attempt to quell the heat pooling low in her core despite her rising frustration toward Gale and her embarrassment. 

“Darling, do you need a blanket? Perhaps we could move into my te—”

“I’m fine,” She blurts, loud enough so that she knows Gale hears her, as she refuses to give in to his childish behavior. “What were you saying?” 

As Astarion continues whatever riveting story he’d been telling before she distracted him, she shoots Gale one last pathetic glance, not sure whether she was begging him to stop or keep going. He smirks, taking her pleading eyes as his queue to continue, moving the mage hand southward and grazing her blazing hot center. 

She sucks in another breath, this time a lot quieter, her head falling back that she attempts to play off as if she were simply looking up at the stars. 

Astarion’s head shoots up to look at her again, almost as if he were beginning to get frustrated.

“S-stars are bright tonight,” She stammers, eliciting a chuckle from Gale. He was enjoying this far too much to stop now. 

He wills the hand to press two fingers down right where he knows her clit is, reveling in the way her back arches at the sudden touch, right where he knew she loved it. 

Astarion’s eyebrow raises as he eyes her, her face flushed, her hair in disarray and her legs clamped shut tight. He was— unfortunately for her— very good at reading body language, even more specifically hers, and he was beginning to catch on to her predicament. His eyes dart over toward Gale who was not at all subtle with the devious smirk on his face as his hand continued commanding the spell.

“Your wizard is clever, I’ve got to hand it to him.” He smirks, stifling a chuckle. 

Her eyes go wide, the hot blush in her cheeks only increasing. 

“I’m going to kill him.” She hisses through gritted teeth, before twisting and facing Gale, who could not contain the triumphant grin on his face despite her very displeased expression. 

“Do it out where I can watch, won’t you, darling? I’m quite overdue for a good show.” He calls after her, watching her storm toward Gale, shaking his head and chuckling with delight.

Gale dismisses the spell as he spots her making a very angry beeline toward him, then crosses his arms behind his back innocently as she approaches him. 

“I warned you, you cheeky bastard.” Wyll grumbles, watching with anticipation and vaguely hidden amusement as she stomps toward the wizard beside him with murderous intent. 

Gale offers her a smile as she approaches, to which she only offers a grimace.

“Hello, my love. Feeling alright?” He says equally as innocently, in spite of the devilish grin on his face. 

She shakes her head. “Tent. Now.” 

He raises his hands in defense, shit-eating smirk ever persistent. “Your wish is my command, darling.” He draws out the pet name to mimic the way Astarion says it, earning a rather angry eye roll. 

He trails behind her as she continues her warpath toward his tent, his heart racing as he imagines exactly what he plans to do the second he gets her alone— he’d saved those thoughts for after Wyll’s tadpole’s connection broke from his own to spare him the filthy details. 

She ducks into his tent brusquely, the flap slapping closed behind her before he makes his own way in after her. He chuckles at her ire, and the fact that in any other situation he’d be on his knees begging her for forgiveness in response to her irritation toward him— but this time, he planned on using it much to his advantage. Fuel for the fire, so to speak. 

The second he enters the tent, her wild eyes are on him and she’s standing with her arms crossed over her chest which was still heaving, her face still completely flushed. 

“What the hells is wrong with y—” 

Her tirade is cut off by lips roughly crashing onto hers, her words being instantly smothered then swallowed by him and his tongue and the bittersweet taste of wine on his breath. She wants to fight back but finds her efforts moot as she instantly melts into him, allowing him to maneuver her exactly as he wishes. 

Rough but elegant hands grip her waist, pulling her body flush to his, enough for her to feel the erection straining to be freed from his pants against her lower stomach. The heat that had been coiling and pooling low within her had only reignited with a vengeance now, partially fueled by her anger toward him and mostly fueled by her ever present desire for him. 

His hands migrated to palm the swell of her ass, kneading the plush but still firm flesh that always caught his attention even in the worst moments such as the middle of a tense battle— something he almost felt the need to punish her for, even though it wasn’t truly her fault. 

His tongue explores her mouth hungrily as her hands move to begin undoing the buttons of his linen shirt, before one of his hands catches her wrist and holds it, lacing her fingers through his. He breaks the kiss, dark umber irises pooling with pure liquid lust and carnality as they meet her more perplexed ones. 

Leaving her unspoken questions unanswered, he unbuttons her pants with one hand, yanking them down her legs until she takes it upon herself to kick them off and discard them somewhere on the ground within the tent. He tugs at the bottom edge of her shirt, and she wordlessly grants him permission with only a small nod and a raise of her arms to afford him some ease in ripping it over her head and adding to the growing pile of clothes scattered across the floor of the small space. 

She’s lit only by the soft orange glow of the campfire leaking in through the crack of the tent flap that neither of them had bothered to seal, her skin radiant even in the dimness of the night. He drinks in her frame, eyes skimming along every contour of her body, every rounded edge and every sharp one— even the shadow she cast against the back wall of his tent was erotic, all hips and curves and the most heavenly structure. 

As if she’d been lovingly built by Sune’s own gracious hands. 

“Lay down,” he commands, pointing to the bedroll that he’d preemptively fixed and made extra comfortable with several more layers of blankets, pillows, and furs. “And spread your legs for me.” 

She obliges instantly, quickly but gracefully laying atop the nest of cotton and fur and velvet, her hair splaying around her head and framing her like a halo— only serving to make his already painfully stiff cock twitch against the fabric of his pants and a bead of precum leak from the tip. He feared he may not even be able to make it long enough to be inside of her at this rate. 

“That’s my girl,” he almost moans, his voice low and husky and reverent as he drops to his knees before her, moving to kneel between her legs. “My beautiful girl.” 

She blushes and shyly looks away, her bottom lip caught between her teeth to bite back a smile. He leans over her, gently gripping her chin with his fingers and moving her face back to look at him. “Eyes on me, my love. My love.” He drawls, dragging out his words in hopes that they’d have more time to sink into her precious mind that he cherished just as much, if not more than her wholly divine body. 

Gale was all together a typically patient man. He did almost everything meticulously and gracefully. He would spend hours studying a particular topic just to ensure that he’d get it right the very first time. 

Gale as a lover was no different. 

He’d spent hours and even days at this point learning everything he could about her body— every sensitivity, every weak spot, ticklish spot, every scar or freckle or blemish. The things she was insecure or shy about, the things that would send her eyes rolling back into her head. 

He had become a consummate virtuoso at worshiping her body and what granted her the most pleasure possible. He lavished her in it, bathed her in every ounce of bliss he possibly could until she could no longer speak, much less think properly. 

Tonight was no exception— though he was considerably less delicate than was typical for him, as he hungrily lapped at the heat between her thighs as if it contained the last drop of honey on the face of Faerun. He licked and kissed and sucked and drank in every bit of her essence he possibly could, not stopping even after she’d already come just to wring out every last bit of her pleasure for his own selfish need. The selfish need to taste her, to savor her. To devour her. 

He didn’t stop until she was a tangled mess of shaking limbs and clammy skin and teary eyes, and she whimpered his name like a plea. Whether it were a  plea to stop or to keep going was unclear for both of them. 

He lifted his face, his beard and lips drenched in her slick as he licked the remains of her off of his lips and fingers, causing her to clamp her legs together at the sight. He smirks triumphantly, knowing full well that she was nearing being entirely spent and yet she still wanted more. 

“Please,” she whimpered, leaning up (very unsteadily) to finish unbuttoning his shirt, her fingers fumbling with the buttons and the fabric. He relents and allows her to make her best attempt with her trembling fingers before he takes over for her, lifting it over his head and discarding the linen nearby. 

Her finger gently trails from the dark purple mark of the orb on his chest down the hard planes of his torso until she reaches the waistband of his pants, dipping her finger underneath and tugging at it. Her eyes meet his full of intent, and he feels the tadpole in his head stir as she tries to connect to him. 

I need to suck your cock. Please. 

His eyes darken as he looks at her, the image of her perfectly pink lips wrapped around him searing into his mind— whether it being his own thoughts or hers invading his didn’t matter— but he shakes his head, then severs the connection. 

She frowns, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout. He rubs his thumb along the swollen softness of it as he caresses her chin, tilting her head back slightly to get a better view of the elegant column of her neck. He had plans for the perfect and smooth expanse of the area between her jaw and her clavicle that he soon intended to enact. But not yet. 

“Naughty girl,” he chastises her, but not without a devious smirk and a hint of lustful playfulness. 

She whimpers again, sending goosebumps down his arms and the hair on them to raise on end. “Please, Gale. I want to make you feel good, I need to make you feel good,” she stammers, her eyes peering up at his, wanton and needy. 

It was enough to almost oblige her request, but he knew if her mouth came anywhere near his already all too sensitive cock that he’d come apart at the seams instantly, and that just wouldn’t do. 

“And I need to be inside of you,” he retorts, his voice soft but stern. “I need to claim what’s mine.” He nearly growls. 

Gentleman Gale reprimands him in his mind, but is quickly overtaken by Her Gale— the one that only answers to her and belongs solely to her. The one that hoped with everything in him there was also a part of her that was his and only his. 

Her mouth opens to speak, and he half expects her to yell at him and berate him for reducing her to a prize to be claimed— and is pleasantly surprised when she doesn’t. 

“Please. Please come here, please fuck me,” she begs, the rasp in her voice as she does nothing short of absolutely erotic. 

He needs no further instruction, and quickly removes his pants and undergarments, his erection springing free and already slick with his own desire. She eyes it with a hunger that he recognizes and has to ignore before the temptation to fuck her mouth grows any stronger. 

He presses his strong but gentle hand against her chest, slowly pushing her back against the pillows as he moves to position himself at her entrance, her legs wrapping around his hips and urging him forward impatiently. He taps the side of one of her thighs in warning, rubbing the head of his cock across her already soaked folds to further lubricate it and tease her. 

“Eager little thing, aren’t you?” 

She whines, her voice broken as if she truly might cry if she goes another second without him inside her. “Gale.” 

He chuckles darkly, once again pressing the swollen head of his cock at her entrance, slipping in as slowly as he can manage, mustering every bit of strength and willpower he has left not to just bury himself in her as deep as he can. 

“Tell me,” he commands, his voice low and gruff but still needy, almost desperate. 

She connects the dots instantly, knowing exactly what he wanted. What he craved. “I’m yours, Gale. Only yours.” 

She cries out in shock, slight pain, and pure ecstasy as he harshly snaps his hips into hers, his cock burying to the hilt in her velvet heat. 

Home. This felt like home. 

He knew that he probably should have given her more time to adjust to him, and it was something he’d surely feel guilty about later, but Her Gale wanted her to feel it tomorrow. He wanted her to be reminded of this moment as she goes on about her day through the ache between her legs as she walks, constantly reminding her who fucks her like this, who loves her like this. 

“My pretty girl, my perfect girl,” he chants, his words leaving his lips like a litany of prayer as if he were in a temple of worship. He’d always been a man of religion, but this was holier and more divine than anything he’d ever experienced— even sharing a bed with an actual goddess couldn’t compare. 

She throws her head back, her eyes shut tightly and she desperately grips at the pillows around her to ground herself, her neck on full display. He leans down to place wet kisses in a trail from her jaw to her collarbone, biting and sucking in very obvious spots that she’d be hard pressed to be able to cover in the morning. 

She writhes and moans underneath him, one of her hands moving to grip the back of his head and fist the hair at the nape of his neck, the sensation of her fingers tugging at his scalp blending from slight pain into pure pleasure earning a throaty grunt from him that rumbles in his chest. 

He feels her tighten ever so slightly around him, her walls clenching and pulsing in a sort of warning. He continues his pace, driving her closer and closer to the precipice. 

“Gale, I’m gonna—” 

“I know, sweet girl, I know,” he coos, leaning down and pressing his lips to her sweat slicked forehead, then whispering, “come for me, my love.” 

It wasn’t so much a demand as a desperate request, as his need to feel her come on him and to ride out the waves of her pleasure alongside her became almost devastating. 

To urge her on even further, he slipped a hand down and began to rub quick circles around her clit as he pounded into her until she saw stars— it wasn’t long before she completely shattered underneath him, tumbling into free fall off the edge of the best orgasm she’d ever had. 

She cries out a jumbled mess of I love you and I’m yours with his name sprinkled throughout as she reaches the peak and dives off the edge, her hips rocking upward into Gale’s as he continues to fuck her through her orgasm. He feels himself quickly approaching his own finish line, the feeling of her cunt pulsing and hugging his cock tighter and tighter driving him further and further. 

A few more thrusts and he was done for, spilling everything he had in her and grunting her name as he came, the entire fiber of his being ripping apart and repairing itself as he went limp above her, barely having enough strength to brace himself with his hands on either side of her head as he gripped the pillows so that he doesn’t crush her under his weight. 

They both fall silent apart from the sounds of their breathing steadying and slowing to a calm and regular pace, the only other sounds being that of the distant crackling of the fire and the even more distant sounds of their companions still wrapping up for the night and preparing for bed. 

Her eyes flutter open to find his in the dim light of the fire, her hand reaching up to caress his cheek. He sighs and leans into her touch, turning his head to place a kiss to the center of her palm, the coarse hair of his beard scratching her skin and tickling it, making her giggle quietly. 

“I’m still mad at you, you know,” she jokes, causing him to nibble at the skin of her palm playfully. “That wasn’t funny, Gale.” 

He smiles and reaches for a rag to clean her up with. “I had hoped this would serve as an adequate apology.” 

She sucks in a breath as he pulls out and rubs the rag across her still sensitive and throbbing core, her hips bucking upward slightly with some discomfort. “You expected to fuck me into complicity?” 

He chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest as he finishes cleaning her, then tosses the rag aside and lays beside her, pulling her onto his chest. 

“Not exactly,” he says, earning a disbelieving grimace from her. “I am sorry, for what it’s worth. I just— I don’t think you realize that seeing the way he interacts with you and the way you interact with him is nothing short of agonizing for me.” 

She saw the hurt in his eyes even in the dark— the ache and the gnawing need for reassurance. She understood it all too well, as she’d done the same when the topic of Mystra would get brought up in the earlier days of their relationship. 

“There is no other set of arms I’d rather have wrapped around me right now than yours. There is no other company I’d rather share in the way I share in yours. Don’t you know that?” She asked, shifting so that she’s leaning over him, his big brown eyes resembling those of a puppy being told it was a good boy. 

“I am yours, Gale Dekarios,” she whispers. “Body and soul.” 

Relief and pure elation smoothed out the concern from his features. He pulled her closer to him, until she was mostly on top of him and her head rested on his chest and he could press a long kiss against the top of her head, breathing in her scent and shutting his eyes, both of them drifting into a peaceful slumber. 

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Those Who Can || integrated Female Air Force series

Introductory part 1: Flintenweiber, or “Rifle Broads”.

Summary: The American War Effort had conceded to the enlistment and commissioning of women into the Air Force at semi-integrated status. Deemed a more reliable if not safer combat post, the going rank of officer in the Air Force was intended to secure fair treatment and combatant status for these women, as it had for their male counterparts. Like most things in war -or life if one is a woman- such recognition must be fought for.

Authors Note: this is an Au, obviously, and I intend for the de-segregation in the force to not be entirely full, in fact in some ways they would mirror that of the Tuskegee Red Tails where they were held back from many opportunities and placed at a disadvantage, to say the least. However, as this is primarily a POW fic that aspect only effects their reception into the Stalag and the timeline of their crashes.

Inspo: thanks to all of y’all who contributed with suggestions and advice on this fic. I want to say that I based a great deal of the brutal treatment and indignity heaped on these fictional OC’s on the true and horrific treatment of the Soviet Female Soldiers taken as POWs. Taking into consideration that American ties would give these OC’s some leverage, I have moderated these horrors if anything, however as I intend for these girls to be some of the first of their kind, they in many ways endure the brunt of the cruel initiation. If you’ve got any questions or suggestions about this, have at the inbox.

Warnings: 18+ for disturbing content. War, brutality, cruelty, and references to sexual violence. Specifics: a woman’s head is forcefully shaved, a woman is kicked to death, a dog turned loose, concentration camps, brief infighting between Soviet’s and Americans, past tense illusions to rape which are underplayed and may be consequently more disturbing to some. Quite angsty ok?? It’s women at war. Rampant misogyny by Nazis.

Familiar faces: Gale Cleven, Benny Demarco, John Brady, “Hambone” Hamilton

Original Characters: Lt. Maureen Kendeigh (bombardier), Lt. Colonel Ida Brady, Lt. Tallulah Smith 

If Maureen Kendeigh heard the word “degenerate” used one more time in regards to her profession, her sacrifice and skill, -she just might do something regrettable.

By this point she was ready to get off this cattle car and go back to talk with Interrogator Glasses about stupid and unnerving shit like why the clock in the mess hall at Thorpe Abbots had a broken arm. Her distressed inner monologue of “how did he know that??” at the time was preferred to this newest method of demoralization: death by aspersion and suspense.

It was nice to be back with the girls, ones she knew and ones from other squadrons. But that held a misfortune too, the fact that it was just the girls, still not a single male crew member in sight. Apparently the Gestapo and the Luftwaffe were having a spat over who got to keep them, these Flintenweiber: “Rifle Broads”.

In the meantime Maureen and her fellows got punted back and forth between the two institutions like unwanted stepchildren. First the horrible isolation but humane treatment of the Air Force interrogation cells. Then back to the prison where all bets were off and the hope of safety came from a herd-like defense of each other against the ever more erratic guards. In these holdings, if one of their members hadn’t been executed by a pistol to the temple by end of day, it was considered a successful defense by the whole. All other atrocity, indignity and assault were unbearable’s that required bearing for the time being until the Luftwaffe took them back.

And then handed them back over.

And on and on it went.

It was effective, Maureen gave them that, after each hosting by the Gestapo, the girls were softer, tenderized and more susceptible to any deal that might procure them a shred of honor and safety. Only Ida Brady, the most senior amongst them at the incomprehensible rank of Lt. Colonel, had held ranks together, spine of steel and bearing more terrifying than most men’s, she’d fought for every grueling respect of rank they had been afforded. Even if it landed them in harsher conditions, worse interrogations -anything to ensure that what happened to her girls were considered as war crimes against lawful combatants when the time came for justice.

But they’d been collecting the downed girls and holding them apart like prized anomalies while conflicting orders came in from Berlin, and while the Red Cross fussed regarding combatant status. Now they had a tidy number collected, well over fifty by the time Maureen saw Ida Brady pushed into the cell, having been downed with a significant portion of them after Munich.

But now they hadn’t seen Brady in over a day. Not since they’d been loaded on this rail car headed to god knows where by soldiers with the dreaded lightning bolts on their collars.

The SS.

With Brady missing, Maureen supposed that made her and Lieutenant Smith a leader of sorts. Most of her “leading” currently took the form of not responding to a single vile threat or taunt by the guards mingling amongst them in the ever rocking car. Ida would be proud of her emotionless detachment at one guard’s suggestion to let the dog loose and see who it chose to maul.

Lieutenant Smith -tender hearted Tallulah with the bronzed skin and knack with animals that rivaled Snow White’s- had made the cryptic observation in Maureen’s ear that she’d never known a dog could be trained away from the throat to go for the breasts instead.

As of last Sunday they now knew, and none of them were likely to forget.

“I’ll be faster next time,” Smith had mumbled in a simmering rage, “I’ll be faster. I’ll have my fist down that cur’s throat before they finish slipping the leash.”

It was a nice sentiment, would’ve been made more so if Maureen wasn’t so sure it would land dear Smith with a bullet in her head. Would be made more so if Sergeant Forsyth had lived from her injuries long enough to benefit from it. Lots of things would be made nicer by heavier coats and the presence of drinking water.

One of the new ones, a terrified little replacement who wore her ordeal on her face, made the rookie mistake of asking for a drink. She’d been given the predictable initiation of being pissed on by a guard in answer and now she bore her thirst as doggedly as the veterans.

When the train cars rolled to a halt, and the great door was hauled back, sprawling out before them appeared the most idyllic scenery one could ever hope for. A crystalline blue lake, dotted on its border with charming structures adorned with red tile roofs, a quaint church of the same, lush fields and sparkling water and deep forest for miles. Maureen did not think they would haul them so near a town only to execute them. But then what did she know?

Nothing, not even where she was.

When they had lined the girls up, some in worse shape than others and a motley collective group from various military branches, they hauled off Ida Brady to the head of the pack, her bruised face considerably more busted than when she’d been loaded on. Maureen could see her craning her neck as she was drug past, counting down her flyer girls, looking for any missing from the trip.

They were marched, four abreast and with guns at their backs, down a wide and well traversed road into town, past cottages on its outskirts with little garden plots and clothes blowing on the line. Maureen was reminded of the idyllic countryside she had landed in with her chute before being seized and hauled off. There were women and children in row boats on the lake and the path they took through the woods was more peaceful than ominous. A traitorous sort of hope began to bloom in Maureen’s heart.

That was dashed when the tree line broke and out before them stretched what seemed to be miles of wire. And beside it a sign, welcoming them to Ravensbrück -a concentration camp. A camp for civilians, a camp to never return from.

Their new guards were ready for them, smiles on their faces and whips in their hands. Among them were a few remarkable for their sex, they were women too -if women who enjoyed such craft could still be called that. And for all the horror inflicted on them by their male captors so far, there seemed to be a general presentment amongst the arriving girls that the finer arts of terror had not yet been endured.

Standing for hours in the infamous square inside the compound, roll call and registration took on a form of torture yet unheard of. Round and round it went, repetitions of ranks and serials over and over and each time they were met with two alternatives. Renounce the ranks and be admitted as civilians with no further targeted harassment. Or-

“If you insist on being special, we will be forced to make you special.” as one officer put it to Brady’s stone cold face. “Ask your Soviet compatriots, the ones who wanted to be special like you. They claimed to be officers too, and now they service officers in Buchenwald. They have not left their beds in months. Special, no?”

“I’m not ‘claiming’ a goddamn thing.” Brady would go round and round with them in turn and up and down the line was the echo of ranks and serials.

Nothing but ranks and serials.

The minute they dropped one or the other, they’d be freed from this standing purgatory, and they’d be as good as dead. They might wish it were so anyway, if the threat was carried out but they’d suffer as officers, with honor. Whatever that meant this far from home and any appreciation of it. A fresh batch of guards relieved the first and the banter continued, even through roll call of the general camp where a mass of the most miserable specters of female kind poured out of the huts and were made to await the call of their one single number.

A serial for a serial. Maureen would keep hers. By dawn she had kept it, as had all but one of her group, a navy nurse with a broken leg who’d succumbed to the allure of a chair.

Civilian status for a seat.

Maureen thought a drop of water might be her own undoing were it offered, but one look at Smith's cracked yet unmoving lips cemented her in her own determination. As did Ida Brady’s talk, straight back in front of her, trousers bloodied on the inseam but not a cringe to be discerned in her stance.

By morning roll call for the entire camp, their guards were tiring of them, or else thought a new method of persuasion more likely to bring success. Off they were marched to their new billet to “meet their Allies” and what Smith wouldn’t give to have her brass knuckles back when met with a hut full of Soviet soldiers. Females, if females could have shoulders like that. They were impressive women with murder on their faces at the intrusion of a new gang of American blowhards.

“Did you give up already?” The one with the most English taunted and for the first time since capture, Maureen saw Ida Brady’s spine bow backwards just a fraction -a pacifying gesture in the face of the Russian’s nose to nose staredown.

“Hey, we’re not here to make trouble.” she insisted, cool and stern. “Did you?”

“We’d rather die.”

Brady gave a sharp nod, “Then we’re Allies in that, too.”

“Your precious Red Cross won’t come for you here.” That likely verdict seemed to bring the woman satisfaction, and Maureen wondered how many months, weeks, hours of this grueling place it would take before she too took savage satisfaction in another’s misfortune. How long before all better impulse to be glad for others was stamped out and all that was left was crowing self preservation. “You are not the firsts. There were others, Americans, like you, they are now wearing the ink of field whores- or they are dead.”

“One might assume the same of your predecessors.” Brady pointed out mildy, and both groups shifted behind their leaders, ready and tense.

“Anyone who accepts-“ the Russian warned, “-we kill.”

With that incentive clear, a tentative peace was made, which included a few trying to fraternize, converse and share news. There was little that aligned to create any cohesive figure, despite their shared experiences and sufferings.

When night fell they were hauled out for roll call amongst the masses, and together after hours of waiting to be called upon, they answered with their ranks and serials, each in their own language. The Russian who had confronted Brady was beaten so badly she did not rise again after it. The guard left her lying there and asked Brady herself what her occupation was.

“Lt. Colonel in the United States Air Force.”

The unfortunate rookie who had so ill advisedly asked for water on the train stood beside Brady; and got a bullet to the head for her superior’s answer. What Colonel Brady thought of her judgment being given to another did not show, her face white and her lips sealed, only the speckle of blood on her profile stood in stark relief in the early morning.

“Kneel.” a very shiny Luger barrel was pressed, still smoking to Brady’s temple.

She did so, braced for the inevitable execution. A soldier's death, it’s what they’d signed up for. The Kommandant waved over one of the female guards and spoke to her in German. She took off at a run to one of the buildings with a bright smile, and Ida Brady stayed kneeling, the splattered brains of the unfortunate dripping out of her hair and into the leather of her jacket, a mockery of her own upcoming fate.

The female guard returned with scissors. “Your poor hair, so pretty. Now it is ruined.” the Kommandant bemoaned, gloved fingers sliding though Brady’s wet tresses, “See what happens to beauty when you pervert the order of things? Now it must be sacrificed. Perhaps then you will see how ugly you are become.”

Maureen felt Smith’s restraining arm before she had even registered her impulse to charge forward, caught about the middle she strained against her friend's surprising strength and in the end was forced thusly to keep ranks and watch with the rest as the Nazis fucks scalped the Colonel of her femininity with a pair of sheep shears.

Dribbling blood down her face and shaking with rage, Ida was in better shape than her Russian counterpart. When her ordeal was over, she rose again, even if she swayed dangerously upon doing so.

And when asked, she had her serial at the ready.

Crowded back into the hut, Maureen and Smith watched the Russians hopelessly fuss over their insensible leader, knowing all too well how likely it might be that they could be found doing the same tomorrow, in a week’s time, who knew. For now, Brady sank down against the wall with the rest of them, the scowl of her formidable brows deflecting any potential commiserations for her battery.

When the navy nurse was pushed into their hut next evening, a dead silence greeted her. One of the Soviets, a sniper by her markings, came up to her and unceremoniously tore open her shirt. If the girls had doubted the Russian’s warning about “wearing the ink of field whores” upon their skin as mere hyperbole, such speculation was removed. It was a dreadful tattoo, large and damning as was the reaction it elicited amongst the servicewomen.

By the end of the night there were two dead bodies on the hut floor. And it didn’t seem to matter who had killed which. One had died for honor, the other for giving it up. And in the end? Where was this ephemeral honor? Ida Brady could only find it in the tense faces of her girls, lining the room from their places along the wall, waiting for another roll call or worse.

But in war, as in peace, sometimes the dead sent favors and in this instance it came to them with screams of:“Amerikaner Soldat!” in the middle of the night. They were marched out to the square and stood to attention once more in the sweep of the spotlight, all the while were shouts of “Amerikaner Soldat!”

All they knew was the bitter waiting in the gray dawn chill and the choking anticipation of some sick, final joke, or some methodical mass execution. Maureen wished she could knock her shoulder into Ida’s one last time and tell her she’d been a rock -she was a rock- but Brady stood there in front alone, as was her privilege and her curse. Talullah Smith would not meet Maureen’s side eyed glance for a farewell. Maureen wished she had less of a roar inside her, wished she could step off calmly into whatever was on the other side but the idea was repulsive, even after all she’d endured, and she looked about in vain for some semblance of the same revolt on her fellow’s faces.

What came instead was the dreaded whistles and the order to march. They were marched right out of the gates and down the idyllic lane they’d been marched up days ago, back through town to the railway station. There the soldiers herded them back up into a cattle car that smelled more of death than livestock, and then the train pulled away, hurtling south -perhaps the only one to do so with living cargo.

There were no guards inside the car, only the cramped space to keep them docile and the lack of promise that the great door would ever grind open again.

“The hell do you think happened?” Maureen hissed to Ida, finding her superior propped up in the corner in a suspiciously casual pose that she suspected hid a limp and unfathomable fatigue.

“Haven’t got a clue, Kendeigh.”

“Maybe someone got word out.” Maureen suggested, thinking of their predecessors, thinking of the useful dead.

“Or we’re headed to a nice rural dumping ground.” was all Ida would speculate. “Or brothels.” she added after a long minute.

Maureen chewed her cheek and kept peering out the slats at the beautiful countryside flashing past. “Well, at least they’ve ensured you’ll be least wanted of the bunch at such an establishment.” she joked and watched with the careful precision of a trained bombardier as her mean joke landed and Ida Brady’s legendary eyebrow ticked up in something that might have been amused disbelief, had she any energy left for such a display.

“Pistol whipped in the mouth and still no respect for rank, Kendeigh.” Brady observed and it was so like her brother John’s flat lined humor that Mauren’s heart throbbed with something alarmingly akin to sentimentally. For John Brady -and all the other lucky souls still at Thorpe Abbots, God willing. “I’m not laying on any damn beds for them.” Brady suddenly broke the silence again in a low voice, one Maureen knew was meant between officers only.

She pitched her head closer in agreement. “Me either.”

“I don’t care if they shoot me first,” Ida went on, as if reciting it to herself, “-and I don’t care if they shoot all of you first. I’m not going to.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.” Maureen agreed again, vacillating briefly in her intent before proceeding to say, “That Sergeant -she wasn’t your fault. The nurse either.”

“I know that Lieutenant.”

“I know you know,” Maureen muttured, “but some stuff bears repeating. Places like these, we’re liable to lose our bearings without a little repetition.”

“Mm.”

Maureen shuffled beside her and wracked her brain for pleasant conversation, something besides the Soviet girls they’d abandoned and the skeletons they’d seen at Ravensbrück. “Ya know,” she remarked tiredly, “if someone in here’s hydrated enough to pee, I might be ready to drink it.”

Brady slowly turned from her view out the slats to give Maureen a blank faced stare. “Should I make an announcement or are you hoping to keep that between us?”

“Oh hell, Colonel,” Maureen grinned, mischief bubbling to the surface at the first chance, “I wouldn’t trust anyone else but you, liable to get stds from this lot.”

“Kendeigh.” Ida hissed warningly but there was that disbelieving wobble to her stern mouth, “That’s not funny -not with where we’ve come from.”

“It kinda is.”

“It’s not.”

“It is- a little. Admit it, a little.”

“It’s not.” And still her cheeks were pink with suppressed amusement, just like John’s got when Maureen pressed him on a dig about basic training.

“You sure you’re ok?” she ventured again, eyeing Brady’s extensive injuries visible above her clothes.

“Yeah?” Ida looked nonplussed, “I mean -what’re you ranking as ok, these days, Lt. Kendeigh?

“It’s just,” Maureen bit her own busted tongue briefly as a spur to get it out,

“-you’re bleeding a lot, Ida. Couldn’t help but notice.”

Ida Brady didn’t even glance down at her trousers or make a motion to feel her lacerated scalp, instead she answered in the same, almost bored way she always did, “Yeah, Candy, it’s called being a good Catholic.”

Maureen blinked. “Oh. Oh Shit.”

“You know, maybe some of you girls had the right of it,” Ida actually winced before staring back out the slats, “go off and do it ahead, in peacetime. But here I am, twenty seven and as sacrosanct as the Virgin Mary, dropping into occupied territory. What could go wrong!” To her credit, her snort was wonderfully genuine.

Maureen kept after her, “You signed up to fight, to get fought against. We all did -never this.”

“Mm, well, couldn’t choose a better gang to get put down with.” Brady smiled, begrudgingly raising an imaginary glass of her own to Maureen’s already raised one.

“To bitches who bite back.” Maureen toasted.

“To bitches who bite back.”

——————————————————-

Two cases of MIA troubled John Brady the most: Egan, who he had seen jump first after their dispute, and Maureen Kendeigh who he had learned from Blakely had jumped over Bremman. That’s two flyers who should’ve been here by now, before him even, in the case of Kendeigh, and yet they weren’t.

He went round and round the argument with Cleven and Crank and Hambone, all three downed from separate missions yet here together - proving his point. Cleven held staunchly to the belief they were being kept segregated, as befitted their ranks and sex. They could be one sector apart and not hear of them. It was the only hopeful response, it was a leader’s response. There had been women downed before Kendeigh, not many but a few of the escort fighters, and none of them had showed either. Brady wasn’t sure that was a good sign at all.

“So where’s Egan then?” he’d always hit back with, “They mistake his shoulders’ for a dame’s?”

“I dunno John.” Cleven would reply with that newly blank gaze of his somehow enhanced by the twin cuts on his cheeks.

Demarco took Brady aside when he arrived to tell him that whatever had happened to Cleven in interrogation wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t ethical. Those cheek scars weren’t both due to flack. Like a dog with a bone, Brady took this already suspected information about his stoic superior and ran with it, pointing out hotly to an uninterested Demarco, “if it’s happened to Cleven, what about them?”

“What can we do about it?” Was Cleven’s demand that always wrapped up the little circular arguments as they sat huddled in their hut. “Red Cross knows they’re not here, no colored flyers either. They know where they are. What can we do besides ask after them?”

He was right, there wasn’t anything, but still, like a presentiment hung over him, Brady found himself leaning on the wire each time a new batch was marched in, counting heads and scanning faces.

“Ida hasn’t even been shot down, John.” Crank kindly reminded again and again.

“As of two weeks ago.” John snapped.

As of two weeks, and then as of three, and then it became four and -where the hell was Kendeigh? Gale had stopped arguing when the subject came up, apparent but impotent fury slowly racking his wiry frame, face gone wane already above his grimey fleece collar. Winter wasn’t even here and they were fading.

And then it happened, what John had been waiting by the fence for, and boy was there a crush at the wire to see them marched in when they came up the muddy enclosure through the gates.

“The fuck are they bringing the women here for?”

“They don’t belong in here, bastards!”

“Ar’those Brady’s Banshees?”

“They’re not gonna hold ‘em here are they?”

Like he’d been reanimated by the presence of a cause, Major Cleven cut his way through the rabble to the front, addressing the German officer escorting them.

“Hey, hey you can’t bring them in here. They’re women, they belong in their own section.”

“If they are women,” the Commandant pointed out, not unkindly, “then perhaps your country should have recognized that before enlisting them? They belong here.”

Cleven shook his head, vehement in his conventions and rules, “It’s not right, you know it’s not.”

“Then tell your Lt. Colonel to stop fighting for combatant status.” he jerked his chin towards Ida Brady and Gale’s eyes widened at her injuries and tufted hair, “The SS had them tucked away at our most prestigious female camp. But they would not accept. They want to be men.”

“Combatants!” Gale argued the point Ida had been making since her feet touched occupied soul.

John Brady yanked his arm, whispering urgently in his ear, “She’s makin’ sign to me, torture, she says. Don’t fight it, Buck.”

Cleven searched the battered faces, some he knew like Ida, T.Smith and Maureen, and some from other squadrons, -ones who must’ve been damned unlucky to get captured considering their safer postings.

“If it can happen to you it c-“ John Brady was a bit of a pain in the ass, Cleven had found, but he had never found him to be wrong.

“Roger, loud and clear, captain.” Cleven warned him his point was made with a bite in his own tone.

“Have we come to an understanding?” The Commandant, amused by the fluster his female charges had caused, it was ample proof that women could never be fully integrated, not even by a society so pervertedly equal as the American’s. “Ja? Sehr gut. It wasn’t like you had a choice anyway, was it?

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Feedback is a writer’s life blood, let me hear your thoughts and screams, they mean so much to me.

We have so many prompts already thrown around for this AU, I can’t wait to explore them, and I welcome any more if you have them.

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[clericofgale]

Spoilers for Patch 5 and the whole game.

I posted my thoughts about the new ending Gale got in patch 5 on Reddit first, but I might as well post it here with some revisions. I'll say it, I love the god Gale ending. But it is NOT his good ending to me. Before I would never have pursued it, but now it is tantalizing to say the least. I'm into it though Gale the mortal is still my preference.

"Gale Dekarios cuts a poor figure next to the wizarding prowess of 'Gale of Waterdeep. You like so many things about me I'd have sooner discarded…"

By ascending Gale, you are killing Gale Dekarios. The nerd that hits on you in front of everyone while you're covered in zombie blood, procced to infodump an entire tangent to complement you, and yet somehow stick the landing to hit you with the most romantic poetry you've ever heard. A sensitive man who wears his emotions on his sleeve and wants to make the world a more beautiful place. An artist of the weave and a poet. The owner of the most overbearing tressym in the world. The moment the spell was complete, Gale Dekarios died and Gale the divine was born.

Even then, why is god Gale now so enticing to me unlike ascended Astarion? Because he loves you. He wants you by his side as an equal. It's actually sweet and romantic, just like all of Gale's romance is. I'm nothing if not a sucker for a romance.

"Follow my Lead" "Show me more. Show me it all." "I want you to seize the crown and make us a new world"

BeMyGod is the name in the data file for the boat scene where Gale asks you if you'll be with him when he seizes the crown. I know file names can be arbitrary, but if you agree to his proposal, you really are asking Gale to be your god. It's so easy to say yes. You're in the stars, Gale says I want to show you so much more, but it's not worth it without you. All you need to do is say yes. You're angry at Mystra who demanded so much of Gale, caused him such suffering and won't lift a finger to help. So You say yes. You love him. He loves you.

When Gale ascends, even in 6 months he is a different entity. The devs indicate: "His posture/demeanor here should feel slightly more aloof/detached than the regular Gale - he's been immortal for six months, his ego is as powerful as his magic. The real Gale's insecurities still lurk beneath his godlike confidence, as does his love for the player, but this is clearly a Gale setting out on a darker path."

The Gale here is a twisted version of the one we loved. His flaws are worse, he good traits have mostly disappeared. Namely his kindness and tolerance to deprecating humor. He no longer tolerates any perceived slight or jab. He doesn't let go of his bitterness towards Mystra. His ego is large yet fragile. You saw a glimpse of it at the ritual circle scene if you succeed in upstaging him in magic. Now it's only gotten worse. Yes even his insecurity. If you rejected him after accepting the proposal, Gale says this.

Tav: No, I think it's the end. What happened to the man I once loved? Gale: He's the god he deserves to be. I achieved everything we hoped I would, and still I'm not good enough for you?

He's also lonelier than ever. His last 6 months were in isolation, with nobody he could trust while dealing with the crown and celestial politics. Immortals don't really have friends. They have allies and lovers. He stops talking to his mother who was so dear to him. He develops a spell to polymorph people into Tara, his oldest friend who rejects him after ascension. He then develops a spell that summons Shadowdark ale and forces people to dance and be happy, just like the vignette he told you about the Yawning Portal. The third spell is Power word: Ruin. he's finally back to speaking death into being with a single word, just like he used to.

Gale wanted to be a god to make a better world, but now he's a neutral god answering prayers from any alignment. He doesn't care if they are Thayan wizards aiming for lichdom or unscrupulous Amnian merchants. Ambition is a neutral idea. Ambition also drives healers to develop a cure. For adventurers to slay monsters.

What's the most noticeable remaining good trait in Gale? Gale still loves you. He's much nicer to you if romanced. He refuses to be with you if you don't go with him because he doesn't want to hurt you. He admires your good heart if you want to honor the pact with Raphael. He calls you my love just like before. He will fulfill the promise sealed that night in the astral sea. All you have to do is say yes. And the ascension cinematic is a callback to the romance scenes from before.

"Follow my lead. Close your eyes. I have so much more to show you."

And you know what. I'll go with you. Even if we will eventually lose both our humanity in our folly, and dreams become nightmares. Even if I'll come to regret that night when I said yes to the mortal you, I don't want you to be lonely. Where ever you go, I'll go. You'll always have me. And I'll always have you.

As God Gale would say… "A toast then, to our myriad ambitions. May we each get what we deserve."

[likethelightfromorionabove]

The Degenerate of Waterdeep

With Elminster's little charm relieving the fear of imminent explosion, Gale seeks out a little solace and finds more than he had bargained for.

Pairing: Gale/ Unnamed GN Tav

SPICE Rating: 4/5 Content

Warnings: Voyeurism, mastrubation, general degenerate behavior

Smut below the cut dolls, enter at your own risk

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With the usual din of camp finally quieted, Gale tried to step lightly as he snuck to the edge of the treeline. Privacy was hard to come by and once they hit the shadowcursed lands it would likely be nearly impossible. So he did his best to quietly climb to a secluded spot where he would perhaps have a little time to himself.

Elminster’s little charm hadn’t done much in the way of raising his spirits, but it did have one small perk. The orb had always been…temperamental and the risk of tipping it too far one way or the other with any undue excitement was a risk Gale hadn’t been willing to take. In his isolation, it really wasn’t much of a bother. Between the pain of Mystra’s abandonment and his constant anxiety that the orb would overtake him, in truth Gale hadn’t thought of it much. In recent weeks, however, things had become far more…mercurial. 

Meeting Tav was the furthest thing from what he had expected when he was abducted by mind flayers, but it was certainly the sweetest. It was also, perhaps unsurprisingly, the most maddening. Every slight brush of their hand when they walked beside him, every glance that lingered slightly too long, every post battle smile, red as the setting sun. Neither of them had necessarily been secretive about any affection held, but there wasn’t exactly anything that had been directly said.

He had considered approaching Tav, asking them on a late night stroll or perhaps something more bold. Were he a braver man, perhaps he would have, but for tonight, Gale had decided to simply do something for himself. As he entered the cover of the trees at the edge of camp he could feel his pulse beginning to pound, blood rushing slightly. With a low groan he palmed his already half hard cock through his trousers and sped up a touch. The sooner he was alone, the better. 

To his disappointment, there was rustling in the trees ahead of him. He was nearly certain everyone had been accounted for back at camp, his ears pricking towards the sound as a spell played at his fingers. There was the soft sound of a hushed voice, followed by strained panting on the wind. It sounded like…Tav? Gale pressed forward, concern crowding out his other plans for the evening. Unfortunately, or perhaps all too fortunately, the sight he came upon wasn’t the one he was expecting.

Tav was leaned against a nearby tree, face screwed into a grimace. For a brief moment Gale worried they were injured until he followed the path of their arm down to where their forearm met their wrist and disappeared beneath their waistband. His ears burned as he stumbled backwards, torn between the embarrassment of stumbling upon something he wasn’t meant to see and the enthralling rush of being so close to something he had so deeply desired. 

His back hit a nearby tree with a soft thud and he froze, certain Tav would have heard his movement. By Mystra’s grace, they seemed to be too caught up in their own relief to notice. Absentmindedly, his hand wandered, settling to grasp at his cock. The flame across his face burned hotter, something between shame and desire licking at his mind. He should leave, allow Tav their privacy and seek out his own. With a soft moan, he started to turn to go when Tav suddenly voiced a clearer word.

“Gale…”

Panic seized the wizard’s heart as he locked his eyes back to Tav, an apology and excuse bubbling to his lips. However, their eyes were still screwed shut, breathing heavily. Gale sank to his knees, heart pounding in his throat, fingers fumbling with his laces. The sound of his name falling from Tav’s lips again chased any lingering shame as his hand wrapped furtively around his length with a whimper. 

“Gale…please…”

He tried to suppress his groan as his hand stroked, subconsciously keeping pace with Tav. His legs were already shaking, his end closing in on him more expeditiously than he would have hoped. Yet he couldn’t stop. His name was now multiplied on Tav’s tongue, mingling with a few soft swears and pleading noises. The orb in his chest began to glow and a distant voice in his mind urged him to finish and abscond with his shame before he was discovered. 

Gale didn’t know how he would face Tav the next day, but his mind was too far gone for it to truly matter. His head spun slightly as he approached the cliff, eyes fluttering closed as he soaked in the symphony of their voice. Their final cry matched pitch with his own as they tumbled over together, the crash of his pleasure knocking Gale off balance. He fell forward onto one hand as his other milked his remaining spend from his oversensitive cock, shuddering as his body thrummed for more. 

The force of his release left him slumped on all fours, no longer worried about running in shame, only focused on the intensity of his senses. A low chuckle in front of him pulled him from his haze, snapping his gaze up to meet Tav’s amused one. 

“That…That was quite the performance wizard.” they rasped, a hand extending towards him expectantly, “Perhaps we should see what else you can do.”

[mumms-the-word]

In Fathoms Below - Ch. 1

Ch. 1 - The Adventure Begins

Characters: Gale, Karlach, Wyll, Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Astarion, Halsin, Minthara, Gortash + other OCs; pairing is Gale x fem!Tav Plot: The island city of Nautera disappeared over 4500 years ago, if it ever existed at all. Now not a single, legitimate record of Nautera exists, save for one. The Nauterran Account. Long thought lost, it has recently been retrieved from the depths of Candlekeep’s archives and placed into the capable hands of one Gale Dekarios. With the Nauterran Account in hand and an eclectic team of Baldurians and other allies mounting an official expedition, Gale journeys to find the ruins of Nautera…but hopes to find so much more. A/N: The adventure begins! Gale is setting off to meet with the expedition team, but first...how did we even get here?

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A strong sea breeze ruffled Gale’s hair as he stood on the deck of a ship nearing a small spit of land just east of Waterdeep. The island itself was nothing special, he knew that, but the people located there…they might be able to change everything.

He took a deep breath through his nose, scenting the salty air and wondering if today would be his last day breathing in fresh air for a while. Where he was bound to go, there would be no sun nor sky for some time, no wind to lift the hair from his neck, and no guarantee that he would make it back. But this was a chance in a lifetime. If he didn’t take it, he’d never get another opportunity to sate his curiosity.

Or set things right with Mystra.

Grimacing, he rubbed a hand absently against his chest, where the year-old dark mark of the Netherese orb lay dormant, hidden beneath his robes. For an entire year, he had isolated himself in his tower, trying to research ways to counteract the orb’s insatiable hunger for Weave magic, and failing that, trying to distract himself by researching nonsense. He’d all but mastered the dead languages of Netheril, both Netherese and Loross, and from there had gone on a whim to try and learn what he could of other languages, if only to have access to more reading material. But no arcane text in any language held the knowledge he needed. 

The knowledge of how to cure, stabilize, or rid himself of his greatest mistake, now housed in his chest, functioning as little more than a ticking time bomb.

Instead, he’d found himself absorbed with studies of the magics of old, the magic that existed before Karsus’s Folly. Magic like mythallars, great big orbs of power that could make entire cities float in the sky or submerge them completely underwater, yet allow for humans to walk and breathe air as easily as if they were on the surface. No such power existed anymore, except in histories and myths. Such colossal magic had long since been replaced with lesser magics, adhering strictly to Mystra’s post-Folly rules for the Weave. Not a single mythallar was left in all of Toril after Karsus’s Folly had destroyed the Weave and shattered them all.

Yet in his reading and research, he found himself returning again and again to the idea of mythallars, and specifically to one city that had housed the oldest one. Not a Netherese city, no, but a city that vastly predated Netheril. A city that was rumored to have gifted Netheril with the powers of flight.

Nautera.

It was all legend, of course. An elven city located somewhere in the midst of the sea, halfway between Faerûn and the elven country of Evermeet, home to the very first mythallar in existence. An island that no longer existed, disappearing a few thousand years before Karsus’s Folly, leaving nothing but open sea from Faerûn to Evermeet. No trace of it had ever been found, so these days everyone simply assumed it was an old bedtime story at best.

Besides, according to every human scholar, it was all hogwash. The city, the first mythallar, all of it. It was preposterous to think that the elves had invented mythallars before Ioulaum, the great mage of Netheril, had. Everyone with sense knew that mythallars were Ioulaum’s invention, a testament to human ingenuity, not elven trickery.  

But “everyone” hadn’t been following the clues the way Gale had, tracing connections between myths and histories to find kernels of truth, hints to suggest that Nautera had been all too real, once upon a time. Not only that, but that Ioulaum had been there sometime before he had invented mythallars. It was all hidden in throwaway references, marginalia in old manuscripts that no one cared to read anymore, footnotes long forgotten. But Gale, with nothing but free time on his hands while living isolated in his tower, had followed each breadcrumb meticulously from one to the next, growing more and more confident in the existence of Nautera.

That is, until he hit a wall. All signs pointed to the same source, an old text that, if it even existed, was likely lost to time or kept so deep in Candlekeep’s archives that there was no way Gale, newly humbled and fallen from grace, would ever be allowed near it. The Nauterran Account, it was called. A record written by an apprentice of Ioulaum’s recounting their journey to Nautera and the wonders they found there. If it existed, it was the last piece of the puzzle, the final source that would confirm whether or not Nautera actually existed…and if there really had been a mythallar there, centuries before the cities of Netheril ever took to the sky.

By the time Gale had realized the importance of the Nauterran Account, there was no use in trying to find it. He didn’t know the first place to look, beyond Candlekeep, and with the orb in his chest growing continually more unstable, the libraries and archives of Candlekeep were the last place he wanted to put at risk. His days were drawing to a close. He should have been preparing for a journey deep into the Underdark, or north to a secluded, icy vale, where he could wait out the inevitable explosion of the orb far away from anyone who might get killed alongside him. 

Yet he remained, unwilling to plan that kind of final journey. His thoughts were consumed by Nautera. But without that book, he was at a loss. Nothing else appealed to him. No other research mattered. He spent days either reviewing his notes, landing on the same old conclusions, or sitting on his balcony, looking eastward over the sea, wondering. Wishing. Dreaming. Not even Tara could distract him when his thoughts were on Nautera.

It was on one such dreary day that Elminster Aumar appeared.

Gale hadn’t been prepared for anyone to visit, let alone Elminster of all people. After a brief dinner and idle chatter, Elminster finally admitted he came not for chatter, but to give a message—both a promise and a warning, a gift and a deadline. Mystra was willing to offer what she considered forgiveness…but only on her terms. 

His message was simple. Mystra had agreed to stabilize the orb in exchange for a promise: that Gale would find a use for the orb’s errant magic before her charm wore off. He had, in effect, about six months to find something suitable. But “a use” could mean anything, and Elminster had gravely clarified that Mystra’s charm meant that Gale himself held the trigger to his own demise.

In other words, Mystra was asking him to die at a more convenient time and place.

No matter which way Gale turned it over in his mind, “a use for the orb’s errant magic” merely meant a suitable place for him to explode. So much for Mystra’s forgiveness in life. Death seemed inevitable. He was all but certain there was no spell on Toril that could cure him of his condition or siphon off the orb’s power, no scenario in which he would be able to give up the power locked within him freely without dying. And if he failed to find a use for the orb after six months…well.

It probably didn’t matter. He’d be just as dead.

But a command from Mystra wasn’t all that Elminster had brought. Though he had come professing to deliver a message, he had left behind a physical gift. “Some light reading,” he had said, chuckling to himself and passing over the canvas-bound package. Gale had looked cautiously at the old wizard before carefully unwrapping the canvas.

There, in his hands, was the long-lost Nauterran Account.

When he looked up, Elminster was gone, having disappeared without offering any further explanation, leaving behind only a single letter in the chair where he had been sitting. Written in an unfamiliar hand, it was a formal invitation (or perhaps proposal was the better word) for Gale to join an undersea expedition as a resident expert in arcane languages. Though the invitation lacked details, promising them on arrival at a small island to the east, Gale could readily connect the dots.

Elminster had opened up a path for him to Nautera. 

Whether Nautera held Gale’s salvation or not remained to be seen. By all accounts, the city should be in ruins. But if even fragments of their magic survived, if there were tablets to read or accounts to save…perhaps Nautera would have answers for Gale. 

And if not, well…the ruins of Nautera wouldn’t be such a bad place to die. Especially if aiding the expedition to get there meant proving to all the world that Nautera existed and that everything they thought they knew about Netheril was wrong. At the very least, he could go down in history as the man who proved thousands of Candlekeep and Blackstaff scholars wrong about the fabled islands of Nautera. 

That, if nothing else, was consolation enough.

Gale had answered the invitation immediately and wasted no time in packing his things, telling Tara to take good care of Morena while he was away, and to not breathe a word of what he was doing until he returned.

Now, several hours into the brief journey from Waterdeep to this tiny island, with the sea breeze on his skin, Gale was torn between a longing for more of this—sailing off toward a horizon, hoping to see more of the world—and a resignation that his final destination would be the ruins of a city far below these deep blue waves. He sighed and turned to sit on a long crate.

Only to hear and feel something bump within the crate as he sat down.

He sprang up again, staring at the wooden box with a baffled expression. Other than the sailors manning the small sloop, no one else should have been on board. Neither man, nor creature.

Narrowing his eyes, he reached for the lid of the crate. “Tara, you little minx, if that’s you in there…”

But before he could open the box, a sharp whistle sounded off behind him from the upper deck. “Reef the sails! Bring us in nice and steady, mates!”

It was time to depart. Gale cast one last suspicious look at the long crate before turning away to face the rudimentary docks constructed on the island.

Island was a bit of a generous term for the place where the ship docked, considering Gale could see every inch of land simply by turning his head. The island housed only a single stone building and a small pier, but this was where the invitation had directed him, and sure enough, someone was waiting for him on the docks. 

A red-skinned tiefling woman stood there, arms folded, watching them approach. She was tall, easily taller than him, with dark hair and one horn broken off. She sported a variety of black tattoos, but perhaps the most notable thing about her was that she was on fire, and yet barely seemed to notice. She grinned at him as the ship drew slowly to a halt, the sailors hopping off to secure the ropes.

“I take it you’re our expert in gibberish?” she called up to him. “Man with the words and all that?”

“I suppose I am,” he responded, shouldering his pack and walking down the gangplank the sailors had set up. He offered his hand for her to shake. “Gale of Waterdeep, at your service.”

“Karlach Cliffgate,” she said, taking his hand for a very quick but strong handshake. She let go and hooked her thumb over her shoulder. “Come on, the boss doesn’t like to be kept waiting. He’s been itching to get going.” She turned to the sailors. “You know where to store that stuff. Bring it downstairs, nice and easy, yeah? The sooner it’s on the submersible, the sooner we can shove off.”

“You got it, mate,” was the sailor’s reply. 

Without waiting to see if Gale would follow, Karlach turned and led the way toward the stone structure. Gale glanced back at the ship, wondering what was inside the crates, but figuring he’d probably find out soon enough. They were all going to the same place, after all.

The building contained only a small, sparsely furnished room and a staircase that led down into an underground space. As he followed Karlach down below, descending into darkness and emerging in torchlit passageways that seemed to lead deeper and deeper underground, Karlach kept up a steady stream of conversation.

“So, s’this your first time in a submersible?” she asked. “Mine, too, if I’m being honest. I know the boss loves these things, and I’ve worked with him for years, but I’ve never gone down in one of them. Gotta admit, I’m a little nervous.”

“Nervous?”

“Well, sure. I’m using to tackling things head on, you see. It’s my job. Bodyguard and all that. Assistant to his lordship. Big gal who carries all the smokepowder barrels. Whatever my boss wants me to do, you know? But if I’m trapped inside a bit metal ship…” She shrugged. “Doesn’t do much good to punch the walls.”

Gale decided that he liked Karlach immediately, though he was surprised she would talk so openly about her role on the expedition. It was his understanding that the expedition was rather hush-hush. Then again, they must be two or three levels below the surface by now, and well away from the other sailors. 

“Fear not, Karlach,” he said. “If anything should go wrong in a submersible, I’ll find a way to give you something to hit that isn’t a metal wall. I’d hate for you to feel left out.”

She laughed. “Okay, I like you. I think you’re gonna fit right in with the rest of the team.”

“The rest of the team?”

“Yep. Come on, that’s where we’re headed. Once we’re all together, we’re shipping off.”

The underground passageway soon gave way to thick glass, steel bars, and metal floors, all sloping gently downward. They had emerged in some kind of underwater structure, built out of the side of the island. Dappled sunlight filtered down through the glass ceiling, blue-tinted and faint, while schools of silver fishes drifted silently by, unfazed by the fiery tiefling and the purple-clad mage walking nearby. 

Through the windows, Gale could see a larger glass-and-steel room up ahead, with a branching passageway that connected to a glass-enclosed dock. There, laid out along the side of the enclosed dock, was the biggest submersible he had ever seen. Shaped similarly to the body of a dolphin, complete with fins and a long, trailing tail, it was easily as long as his tower was tall and as wide as a modest estate in Waterdeep. By appearances alone, it looked large enough to house and feed an entire village of people. At one end, the “head” of the body, the structure tapered off into a blunt point. Thick glass made up most of top half of the head, allowing for visibility when navigating the submersible. Or so he assumed. He knew very little about constructs and mechanics.

“Impressive and terrifying, isn’t it?” Karlach asked, glancing over her shoulder at him. “We’ll be inside in a minute.”

“I can’t wait,” he mumbled to himself, though a familiar anxiety thrummed just beneath his skin. He reminded himself that he had a fresh new spellbook with plenty of helpful spells, for breathing underwater, darkvision, and more, and that he would be fine. But even so, the thought of being trapped thousands of meters below the sea with people he had never met before…

It wouldn’t have been his first choice of adventure.

He focused on the task at hand, following Karlach into the wider glass room that connected the passage from the island to the underwater docks. This room was alive with activity, with sailors and workers moving to and fro organizing supplies and getting them down into the submersible. A few, more colorful characters were lounging in various places around the room. Gale was surprised to see a githyanki woman, of all things, among those gathered, as well as a smartly-armored drow woman.

The githyanki lounged casually against a table at the center of the room, arms folded, watching the workers with narrowed eyes, while the drow leaned over a map on the same table, frowning down at it. To the left, a dark-haired half-elven woman stood with a much, much taller, broad-shouldered elf dressed in druid regalia. Both were examining the contents of a crate, which seemed to be full of potions and herbs, and speaking in low tones. Karlach broke off to go talk to a dark-skinned human off to the right, a handsome man who greeted her with a smile and a curious glance Gale’s way. 

The drow woman looked up as Gale drew nearer, eyeing him with sharp, analytical disdain. He could see her crimson gaze flicking quickly between his robes, his pack, his stance, and his face before she straightened and set a hand on her hip.

“Wizard,” she said. “You must be the one with the book.”  It wasn’t a question.

“Excuse me?” he asked, blinking in surprise. 

She ignored him. “Stay here. I will fetch his lordship. It is about time this operation was underway.”

Gale watched her move toward a figure standing at the far end of the room, a dark-haired man watching the proceedings out the window with his hands clasped behind his back. The man leaned his head to listen to whatever the drow woman said and then looked over his shoulder. A quick, charismatic smile stole over the man’s features as he spotted Gale and he quickly made his way over to the table, rounding it to draw nearer to Gale.

“Welcome, welcome,” he said genially, spreading wide his arms. “Just the man we’ve been waiting for. Gale of Waterdeep, I presume?”

“The very same,” Gale responded, trying not to sound as cautious as he felt.

The man continued to smile. His eyes were almost completely black from pupil to iris and his smile, though seemingly geniune, was likewise oily. Gale knew on instinct that this man was used to controlling a room, whether that be through charm or pressure. 

Better to stay on his good side, for now.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the man said. He placed a hand on his chest and bowed his head. “I am Lord Enver Gortash."

[chisatowo]

I do not talk abt Tali remembering past timeline stuff enough cause hoo boy does it Mess With Her

[messiahzzz]

this informational piece is directed to the gale fandom specifically:

grooming is a tactic where someone methodically builds a trusting relationship with a child or young adult, their family, and community to manipulate, coerce, or force the child or young adult to engage in sexual activities.

1. Choosing a victim - The predator often chooses a child who is obviously vulnerable. Children who are withdrawn, low on confidence, emotionally deprived and with less parental supervision are particularly at risk.

2. Building access & trust - Sexual abuse often begins with friendship. The abuser can also take on other roles such as a romantic partner, a mentor, a caregiver or an authority figure. The abuser spends time in getting to know the victim's likes, dislikes and habits and pretending to share common interests. The perpetrator establishes trust with the child by making them feel special, sometimes through gifts or excessive compliments and attention. This is especially dangerous for vulnerable children who do not experience attention in their daily lives. In the trust development stage, offenders aim to develop a trusting friendship or relationship with their victim. This can involve several tactics, including:

a) praising the child for their maturity and intelligence;

b) encouraging the child to disclose personal information;

c) syncing their language with that of the child;

d) highlighting mutuality (i.e., similar interests, attitudes and behaviors between the offender and child); and finally,

e) portraying themselves as being trustworthy and nice.

3. Filling a need with gifts & favors - Giving the victim small gifts and favours is a strategy used by perpetrators to make the child feel indebted. Trust is further built by sharing intimate life details, going on special outings and giving the child access to things they normally wouldn’t get. Once the offender has identified a child’s needs, they will try to be the “hero” to the child who gives them what they desire. Examples include gifts, extra attention, or affection. This causes the child to see them as highly important and even idolized. They won’t want to upset them in risk of not getting the void in their life fulfilled.

4. Isolating - The groomer actively tries to isolate the child from people who may be watchful or helpful. This kind of isolation creates deeper connection & dependency. The offender also exhibits exemplary behaviour before parents of the victim & manipulates them into trusting the relationship. They will use this trust to create situations in which they are alone with the child. Time spent alone also reinforces the “special connection” the child feels they have with the offender. This “special connection” is further reinforced when the offender convinces the child that they love and appreciate them more than anyone else.

5. Initiating sexual contact - With the power over the child victim established through emotional connection coercion or one of the other tactics, the perpetrator may eventually initiate physical contact with the victim. It may begin with touching that is not overtly sexual (though a predator may find it sexually gratifying) and that may appear to be casual (arm around the shoulder, pat on the knee, etc.). Gradually, the perpetrator may introduce more sexualized touching. By breaking down inhibitions and desensitizing the child, the perpetrator can begin overtly touching the child. At this stage, the offender will exploit a child’s natural curiosity through physical touch and excitement. They will begin to teach the child sexual preferences and manipulate what the child responds to. The child begins to see themselves as a sexual being prematurely and the relationship with the offender now takes on a sexual term.

6. Post-abuse maintenance - The goal of the final stage is to ensure the child remains trapped in the cycle of abuse and loyal to the abuser, by either reinforcing and maintaining trust in order to prevent disclosure, or by explicitly threatening or blackmailing the child or their loved ones. This can also be reinforced and maintained by, for instance, giving the child affection, praise or encouragement for one’s actions.

[gale-gentlepenguin]

Gale’s Analysis: Movie!Adrien vs Show!Adrien (which is better?)

That’s right people it’s time for the fight you’ve been waiting for. The Shows ball of sunshine and depression vs the movie’s Careless whisper enthusiast

Now for this post I will be comparing them in the following categories as well as the points of each category.

Do remember that this is also based on opinion and can be taken with a grain of salt. (And let me know your thoughts.)

Design (2 points)

Personality (3 points)

Relationships (6 points)

Agency (3 points)

___________________________________________

Design

I’m gonna cut right to it. The movie’s design for Adrien and chat noir look better than the show

Now the only clear difference really is the animation budget increase, but if you watch the movie, Adrien and chat noir appear to look softer, it’s less like a shiny suit, more of a sleek and slightly more padded costume. Also I like that the bell is slightly smaller, the suit isn’t as skin tight. It looks more useable. Even his clothes as a civilian look softer and more useable.

But to be fair I will not give movie Adrien the full two points. Since they don’t really change much of his outside just give him a budget increase

Movie!Adrien: 1.5 points

Show!Adrien!: .5 points

Personality

This is where we dig into the meat and potatoes of what makes each Adrien tick. The 3 points of this category will be distributed as follow.

1. For Personality as Adrien

2. For personality as Chat Noir

3. For personality at his core.

1. Personality as Adrien.

So this is where differences really seem to form. The key personality Traits of Show!Adrien are that he wants freedom, wants to be loved, and sees the best in everyone. He is basically a golden retriever. He is a kid that has felt trapped by his strict father and wants to see the world. He is a model and despite being ‘Perfect’ feels like he isn’t that great.

The Key Personality traits of Movie!Adrien are Withdrawn, insecure, and wants to be loved. He is a sad little cat. He is a kid who lost his mother and has a father that threw himself into his work to avoid grief. Thus Adrien in this world is withdrawn and feels empty. Deep down he is a kind soul but he himself feels hollow. The isolation he feels isn’t forced on him as much as he himself put the walls up.

Now for this one, I’m giving the point to the Show!Adrien.

Show!Adrien: 1.5

Movie!Adrien:1.5

Both are good takes on a character for their respective medium, but It’s clear Show!Adrien has a more 3 dimensional motivation and while there are peaks and valleys, they are really good peaks.

2.Personality as Chat noir

Believe it or not there is actually not as big of a difference on these two takes of chat noir than one would think.

Show! Chat noir is a pun loving act first kind of hero. He is playful and likes to flirt and tease ladybug. But deep down is the emotional core that keeps Ladybug centered. One of the problems is that this chat noir does have trouble separating personal emotions from the mission

Movie!Chat noir is more cocky but just as playful. He is trying to play the confident hero at first but that bravado quickly melts and he confesses he’s new to this. A LOT of people fail to realize it’s an act when watching the movie. And despite that he is actually professional afterward, when Ladybug tells him “Not to push something” and the situation is serious he stops immediately and focuses on the task at hand. But really this iteration has more overlap as Chat noir is able to be more open with Ladybug. They can flirt, they can play, they can actually be more open without the shows restrictions on identities must be kept. Which actually gives Them both more freedom.

So this one is a bit surprising to me, but I have to say it’s a draw for me.

Show!Adrien: 2

Movie!Adrien: 2

The movie and the show have peaks and valleys with chat noir. But in the movie chat noir actually feels important in general rather than just being told he’s important. The show has him get controlled a good chunk early on or have his emotional conflict be half the problems, which for a show is fine, but for a movie wouldn’t work out. Though I will say Show!Chat noir is also MUCH more developed and grew a lot more to be the solid partner he is. Movie! Chat noir didn’t have nearly as much growth… he does have significantly more game and is quick to admit his own short comings. (When he’s being himself and not the bravado)

3. The personality core

Adrichat should be defined by 5 traits. 1. Loyalty. 2. Kindness, 3. Wanting love, 4. Emotional, 5. Wanting freedom.

And of the two only Show!Adrien has all 5. Movie Adrien could potentially have 3 to 4 but he is by his own admission (hallow). Show!Adrien does have his problems but at his core he has more to give and I gotta give the ball of sunshine his due

Show!Adrien: 3

Movie!Adrien: 2

____________________________________________

Relationships.

Okay so this obviously can’t encompass all the relationships Adrien has. So I cut them into the main ones we can compare. The rule being he has to at least have 3 interactions with them

With Plagg: 1 point

With Nino: 1 point

With Ladybug: 1 point

With Marinette: 1 point

With Nathalie: 1 point

With His Father: 1 point.

So let’s get into it.

With Plagg:

It’s Show!Adrien and not even close. Plagg in the show is one of the best characters and the dynamic and care between the two is so crucial to show!adrien’s growth. Even if you only took 1 season of the show to compare to the movie, each one beats out the movie dynamic by a country mile. Movie!Plagg is a fart machine and while he does comfort Adrien and tell him to move his butt when things are serious, the gap of this battle is massive.

Show!Adrien: 4

Movie!Adrien: 2

With Nino

Interestingly enough, I’m going movie on this one. Sure Adrien and Nino have some good interactions in the show, but in the movie I think it demonstrates it more that they are closer than in the show. Adrien sought out Nino for advice, Nino and him have a friendship and show they hang out more. Idk it just felt to me more natural in the movie than in the show. I think maybe it’s because when you stretch it across 5 seasons, Nino’s friendship with Adrien seems minuscule especially in the later seasons. The reason Adrien isn’t as close to Nino in the movie makes more sense then in the case of the show. That maybe a controversial take but it’s where I stand on it.

Show!Adrien: 4

Movie!Adrien: 3

With Ladybug

So this one is not as cut and dry as one would think. Because the real question is, what do you prefer. A complex dynamic where they both care about one another but one side is constantly feeling as though they aren’t helpful or even equal in the dynamic only to have it glazed over then move to a platonic friendship. Or a simplified dynamic where both sides had some trouble getting along initially before finding their way and even starting to fall for eachother and open themselves up only for their personal lives to muddle things up and only for things to clear up and for the masks to drop.

I am shocked by how difficult this choice was. Because if I’m being honest, the show does have good Ladynoir moments but it also has a ton of complex bullsh*t that COULD have been great development only for it to get sidelined. And my favorite episode is strikeback, which arguably has the best Ladynoir moment of all time. But if I’m going to judge this correctly I have to judge this relationship on its highs AND it’s lows. And trust me some of the lows are really low.

But let’s not pretend that the ladynoir in the movie is perfect either, yes it has good scenes, but it also has some cringe. It does miss some of the best beats that can only be found in the show. But at the end of the day, what dynamic do I think fits the ideal of what I think Ladynoir is?

Show! Adrien: 4

Movie! Adrien: 4

It really did come down to the wire. But I ruled in favor of the movie, because in the end, the ladynoir in the show fizzled. And Movie!Adrien gets to be closer to ladybug then show!adrien ever could be. No masks between them.

With Marinette:

I’m not gonna sugar coat this one. Show!Adrien wins this one so easily it’s not even funny. Adrien is constantly growing closer to Marinette throughout the show, while his relationship with ladybug is all over, his love and care for Marinette grows. Not to mention, show Adrienette has so many moments that are much higher than any in the movie. The umbrella scene, the statue scene, the picnic scene. And before you ask, why this and ladybug are a separate category, it’s because to Adrien in the show he doesn’t know. Now let’s not say the relationship doesn’t exist in the movie, I actually like that the two can talk early on, and hang out as a group. Movie!adrien even opens up to her. But it doesn’t make sense why Movie!Marinette is picking Movie Adrien over chat noir.

Show!Adrien: 5

Movie!Adrien 4

With Nathalie

Another sweep for Show!Adrien. Nathalie in the movie does show some concern for Adrien, but it is not as clear as the care shown by Nathalie in the show. We see Adrien in the show help and thank Nathalie. Though it makes sense that movie!Adrien would be more withdrawn with Nathalie as set up by his personal arc in the movie. His dynamic with Nathalie is not as deep. Maybe if they had another scene together it could have worked but… it didn’t shake out

Show!Adrien: 6

Movie!Adrien: 4

With His Father

I can’t even begin to describe how EASILY movie! Adrien wins this. Like the dynamic in the show is such a mess that most people are clamoring for Gabriel’s death. Heck! That’s the one universal agreement on the season 5 finale that everyone likes. They like that show!Gabriel is dead. His dynamic with his dad in the movie is much more grounded and understandable. Adrien is hurt by his father being distant, and has sadly gotten accustomed to it. Adrien even calls out his father without the need of encouragement. He was emotional and vulnerable and called out his dad’s neglect. There we even see the parallel of how the two view heartbreak, shutting themselves off. but we see that even in his grief and madness Gabriel still cares about his son, worrying about him, and even when he’s about to get what he wanted; he stops when realizing he hurt his son. We see why Gabriel couldn’t bear the grief, how much his baby boy matters to him. We see that Adrien understands his fathers grief and wants to help him let go. And we get the most genuine moment between the two in the entire franchise. Something 100 pancake breakfasts couldn’t do.

Show!Adrien: 6

Movie! Adrien: 5

____________________________________________

Agency

If we removed Adrien from the plot, how much would actually be impacted?

So this is where things get kind of murky. Because in the movie, does drive a section of the plot and his actions do have some consequences.

And if someone else was Chat noir, Hawkmoth would have won. No questions asked.

In the show, Adrien is arguably the most critical character to the plot, Marinette’s motivations are heavily entrenched in Adrien. And Adrien being there did basically set all the plot for the Agreste in motion. But he is often sidelined. It’s more of Adrien existing as a MacGuffin then a character at times.

But Adrien’s inability to make choice for himself actually becomes a plot point with him being a sentimonster.

It’s hard to really judge in some aspects because in the end Adrien’s choices in both mediums aren’t as impactful as one would think.

So if I had to call it.

Show!Adrien: 9

Movie! Adrien: 5

Adrien in the show and in the movie both have an agency issue, but in the grand scheme of things, Adrien’s actions in the show do hold more weight, even if a lot of them get negated.

_________________________________________

Ending

Now in truth I think it is difficult comparing the portrayal of a movie character to one from Tv, especially when both are trying to accomplish two different tasks.

I enjoy both iterations and I can recognize the flaws that are within each.

It really does make me wonder how different things would be if Zag and Astruc were more in step rather than clashing because if both Adrien’s could be mixed there is something amazing here. I do want a sequel to explore movie Adrien more, and I want to see how things would go with Adrien and Marinette not having to deal with the identity shenanigans.

But if there needs to be a winner

Show!Adrien wins

TL:DR

Show Adrien wins because more writing is often better but the movie Adrien does have some things going for him.

[galedekarios]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

on a lighter note:

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

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

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

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

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

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

[dragonagitator]

Here's an excerpted list of optional sexual effects for D&D spells that Gale might plausibly use. Not all of them are Wizard spells, but he could get access to spells from other classes via scrolls, feats, multiclassing, etc.

The complete list of optional magical effects for spells is in the 5E Guide to Sex but be forewarned that the ones I left out of this post were left out for a reason.

What Gale might know when:

Pre-Orb: Gale tells us that he was an Archmage before the Netherese Orb implanted in his chest, which means that he was at least an 18th-level character and thus could have cast all the way up to 9th-level spells (so, the whole list).

Isolation Year: Gale lost his powers/levels until he was back to 1st level.

During BG3: The game caps at out at 12th level so 6th-level spells would be the highest he could cast by the end.

Post-BG3: How long it takes Gale to level back up to 18th-20th level is of course dependent on how many XP-worthy adventures you choose to write into your post-game fanfics.

The more I (re)learn D&D mechanics, the more I understand why Gale is so massively insecure about his abilities. To drop from being 18th-20th level to 1st level nearly overnight is a hell of a downgrade!