You'll see a lot of blood here because I obviously have a… ahem, certain passion for it. BUT! You'll also see a lot of love, affection, fighting for life and future, and Astarion's insufferable temper.
Not that I'm very proud of this art, but it's definitely one of my favorites.
Summary: Blood and Ambition will be Mystra’s ruin. That is certain as God Gale and his Goddess, the former chosen of Bhaal serve justice on Gale’s former goddess… an exhilarating scene that causes more than blood to pulse.
CW: Implied torture of Mystra, Dhampire!Durge, vampire sex, blood drinking, throne sex, lap riding, power couple of the heavens
Ao3 Link | BG3 Masterlist
Blood and Ambition. A heady combination. A deadly marriage. A match made in love and harmony, in worship and lust.
One that wracked the heavens and shook the foundations of the earth.
And by all he loved in Elysium, she was perfect.
His chosen. His goddess. His love eternal.
No longer freckled, elven flesh, her body was crafted from pure power. His power. Every inch and graceful sinew was made from flawless, unadulterated Galerian weave, and he craved it against his own every second of every moment. To join with her body made of his own magic, it was a thought that aroused him near constantly.
It made him a lousy god at times, too busy worshiping her body, her cunt, to hear the prayers of ambition whispered his way from the mortal planes. Gale struggled to care, more often than not.
After all, by her side, they shared a greater vision, a domination of not just blood and ambition but of the heavens themselves.
And it began with the display taking place before his celestial throne. The debasement of one goddess at the hands of his own. Merelind stood over her cowering, crumpled form. Her glowing body of pale gold, edged with lines of blue and crimson, spattered in the essence of her prisoner.
It made Gale smirk. Her domain was chosen so fittingly. Destined for his half-vampiric love from the beginning.
His Goddess of Blood.
Gale breathed heavily, watching her knives work on his behalf, the just wrath of his heavens. Of course, watching as she licked her blade clean, her face twisted in unholy enjoyment of repaying abuse with blood, this wasn’t the first god from whom she’d demanded justice.
Casting off Bhaal hadn’t been enough for Merelind Bloodhollow. She needed him dead. Needed him to pay for using her, for wielding her.
And her lover was the one to do it, side by side among the heavens.
Now he sat enthroned in Elysium, her lover, a victim of divine abuse as well, denied for his ambition, condemned to self-sacrifice… an unavoidable fate. Or,so it would have seemed, save for the fact he met his match, his life’s tether, the reflection of his own passion in Merelind.
He’d already thanked the Netherbrain for its plot of the Absolute to bring his love to his arms… his gratitude for the Crown of Karsus repaid with the fall of their empire…
The memory made the silver flesh of his lips twist in a nostalgic smile… Those memories of his mortal life remained nestled in his heart of hearts.
But there is no room for such sentiments once you are a god.
Not when his goddess glowed in flames of powder blue and crimson, licking around her ethereal pale form, matching her mismatched eyes.
His goddess now was at least worthy of him… and he of her.
Not like Mystra… the goddess of his shame and past, the one who wrapped his young heart around her little finger with the promise of power and praise, only to rip it from his grasp in the end.
To deny him and condemn him to death.
He smiled as he looked upon his goddess now, the way her face looked spattered in divine quicksilver blood, the way her mismatched eyes, one blue as the heavens and the other bloody red, glowed from within as she stood over her latest offering… as Mystra cowered at her bare feet. She hummed with power, his Goddess of Blood, his weapon to wield in pursuit of his ambitions.
He watched, reclined with legs spread, his right hand conjuring strands of magic absentmindedly as a mortal might doodle on a page. Just something to keep his hand busy… and off his cock to pleasure himself as he watched his love, his queen, his lover, his Chosen making his old mistress sing so sweetly at the end of her blade. The undeniable arousal he got just from watching the way she drew the rivers of silver blood from Mystra’s helpless flesh…
Gale lowered his hand, bracing it now on his thigh, unable to handle much more without requiring release. It was a masterpiece, spills and looks of silver lilac blood at Merelind’s feet, a large mirror refracting the breathtaking sight of vengeance. For where he bore witness to her art before him, the reflection, the uncanny mirrored actions in the pool of blood only heightened his enjoyment.
And it was his ambition to thoroughly glut himself on his enjoyment of it all.
But he couldn’t let his beloved kill her…
“My darling Chosen,” Gale’s voice echoed in the wall-less void of his throne room. “Enough,” he smirked dangerously as he stood, blue robes flowing as he descended, careful not to trod in the excrement of her torture. “For today, it is sufficient, my beloved Merelind.”
“Of course, my love,” she purred, instantly lowering her bloodied blade and stowing it back at her hip.
But not before she licked it clean, silvery blood coating her own tongue, her fangs once a white gold like her body dripped with the unholy offering splayed at her feet.
Mystra trembled. Chained by Weave on all fours. His weave. One her polluted, tortuous hands would never touch.
“Blood…” her once musical voice spat, “Ambition… to think such mundane things could threaten me.”
“Oh,” Gale hummed, drawing short of her collapsed figure, savoring the way she shook at his feet. “Blood and ambition will do more than threaten you… We will ruin you.”
He chuckled low and sinister, grimacing at the hateful look she flashed up from beneath him. “Oh, something vexes you, Mother of Magic? Could it be that an irritating, upstart boy rose so far above you, that praying to him for death would be a truly ambitious ask?”
Gale kneeled down beside her, bolts of his magic sizzling in the air over his skin.
“Not that he would heed such base… insulting prayers from those poisoned lips…” he hissed, eyes aglow with flickers of blue. His rage built and doubled, power coursing in the air between them, until a hand rested on the bare skin of his shoulder, a hand warm with spilt divine blood on her fingers.
“My love,” Merelind preened, running her bloodied touch down the line to the bare expanse of his chest where his robes pulled to one side. She let out a whine as she pressed her nose against where she had painted his pale, glowing flesh with the silver offering my Mystra’s essence. “You promised I’d be filled,” she whined. “Don’t you wish to glorify your Goddess of Blood, my groom?” Even her petulant tones were musical as she licked a stripe of iridescent blood off Gale’s shoulder.
“Oh, do not think on such a small scale, my love. Today is but the first of her eternal torment,” he stood, pulling back the hem of his robes with a swish. “I do not wish to serve as causation for a third Sundering, so your skilled hand will just have to be put to other more glorious uses, not today, anyway.”
Lacing his fingers in hers, he brought her steady, deadly hand to his groin, whispering in her ear. “Perhaps a different length you wish to grip and wield and sheath tightly, hmm?”
His robes did nothing to hide his increasing arousal, and now, with their enemy brought low, his true love bespeckled in her blood… there was no denying it or hiding it.
“Aren’t you going to kill me, Gale of Waterdeep? Take the Weave as your own at last?” Mystra scoffed, spitting to the ground to clean out her bloodied mouth. “Your life’s greatest ambition…”
“Oh yes,” he replied, his cool lips making an even cooler smirk of dark delight. “But I don’t need to see you dead for that.” Gale paused, a little laugh in his throat. “Far easier for me actually if I don’t.”
Merelind’s lithe fingers left his body to dance along the hilt of her blade still stowed away. “Incorrect,” she gave a chilling laugh, her blue and red eyes narrowed as her murderous grin twisted her ethereal face. “That is my ambition. I’ve felled two gods… the Absolute… my dear old father, Bhaal… and you, Crone, will complete my list of divine vengeance.”
Gale’s hand fell suddenly, encircling her wrist, stilling her even before she could pull that curved scarlet blade back out, her beloved Bloodlust, the aptly named tool of her worship. “Patience, sweet Chosen. When the time is right, then all the Weave will be mine. Until then, she will be our guest.”
Merelind pouted up at him, “Fine. But only because your divine will always makes things so much more… delicious in the end.” Her mismatched eyes turned to look with contempt on their prisoner. “Now, if you’re done watching me play, perhaps… we could turn to more pleasurable pursuits. All that blood has really gotten mine afire,” she purred, pressing her scantily clad body hard into his, her still-bloodied finger tracing over the mark of his power, his flamed orb etched and glowing in his chest.
Jagged lighting sizzled in the air, wrapping the former Mother of Magic, caging her in its hissing bolts. Merelind nipped at Gale’s ear, her body curving into his, the lights of their forms merging, a blur of blue and red that melded into a deep, glowing purple aura about them. “She’s so nice when she’s silent… and bound” A cruel smile pulled at those full lips and brought a shine in her kohl-rimmed eyes. “Not to mention utterly and completely at our mercy.”
“Isn’t she?” Gale hummed back in agreement, sucking in her lower up to bite in his blunted teeth. “But listening to her screams, I grow tired of it.” He wrapped a hand around her smooth throat gently, pulling her to stay brushed on the tip of his tongue as he spoke.
“I’d much rather hear yours now… my lovely goddess.”
Merelind whined beneath the hold on her neck, licking her lips as she melted into him. “Is the bitch going to watch?” she purred, delighted, eyes widening and darkening with desire.
“Not this time,” Gale kissed those taunting berry shaded lips. “One day, she may endure watching us share in celestial, domestic, carnal bliss with her own two eyes instead of peeping at us like a degenerate through her inferior Weave.”
He lifted his head a moment, parting their lips as Merelind lamented even their brief loss. Gale narrowed his eyes, a wave of his hand and magic like lightning crackled around the toppled deity. One more burst of light, and her bound body was gone. Only the pools of shimmering, lavender blood remained.
Teeth nipped at her pointed ear, making her shiver in his arms. “I bet the view is magnificent from my throne, don’t you think, my goddess.”
Merelind’s face lit brightly in delight to be pulled up the steps of the dais to the large gilded seat at its summit. The scent of blood was too fresh in her nose as her bloodlust coursed through her limbs. She clung to him. Needed him. More than she needed air as a mortal. Not too long ago.
Gale settled himself in the throne, pulling her close, flush to his chest. Lips caressed her neck instantly, the warm crackling drag of his tongue to the base of her pointed ear making her shiver harder, the briefest of moans tumbling from her parted lips.
“I have no intention of you giving that traitor one moment more of your sweet attention.” He gripped her chin, turning her by its curve to face him….
“Eyes on me, my lovely goddess.”
Those hands slid the straps of her dress off her toned shoulders.
“Let them wander nowhere else but on the god that worships you…”
A tingle of power like lighting pulsed between them, all bolts of reds and blues darting from their divine bodies faster as they joined, as he bared her breasts to his gaze and lowered his smirking lips to suckle at them gently. Open mouthed kisses sucked at the pale, glowing skin of his beloved until those shimmering trails of Mystra’s blood were kissed or sweated away. And with the way her lithe, once-elven form undulated on his lap, there wasn’t a part of her that wouldn’t soon be remade by him once more, with sweat and tears of bliss.
She gave a low, musical moan, the skirts of her gown parting with ease as she moved to straddle him. “Only on you, my god, my love. Tell me what sort of offering would best please you?” she murmured, pressing her bare sex over his, where he prodded through the fabric of his robe.
Gale wasted no time, sliding his finger that teemed with magic into her, finding her slick. “Only the libation you carry for me constantly, my love. I want nothing more than the gifts you bear for me between your thighs.” He groaned, crooking his finger to catch that sweet inner spot he knew by heart, its texture, its placement burned long ago into his once-mortal memory. Her walls clenched and fluttered at his touch, that shock of his power as it tingled inside her making the sweetest of moans fall from her lips.
“Mm, the dulcet hymns of your love, goddess mine, are the only music I wish to hear.” He chuckled as her restraint slowly slipped. Those two-toned eyes leveled at him as she grinded on his touch, her arousal thickening and leaking into his palm. Sighing delightedly, he drove her right to the delicious edge of her orgasm before pulling her back, pulling his hand from that soaked cunt.
Raising his fingers to his quicksilver lips, Gale gave a wicked smirk, licking up the remaining slick. Merelind eyed the display with a strangled sound, licking her own lips as her gaze fixed on his mouth. “And? Is my god satisfied yet? For I dearly hope he finds my devotion lacking as of yet,” she managed to tease, lips drawing near his to brush them for a taste of herself on his skilled tongue.
Gale groaned, tangling, dueling their mouths as one. That intoxicating tingle of his weave passed between them as he allowed her to sup on her own slick. “I am far from satisfied, my love. Do… better. Show some… ambition,” his voice rumbled from his chest as he pushed their robes aside to free his length.
Taking its thickness in her grip, Merelind stroked it, fingers curled around its hard, velvety shaft. Of course, she had insisted he felt the same, from mortal body to immortal. She’d have him no different than before. It was both flattering and humbling, watching her hands work him harder, teasing him as if they had not risen to godhood. As if they were nowhere else but in his tent once more, not in the heights of Elysium with a deity as their captive.
Their enemy’s Weave at their fingertips, ready to be consumed once and for all time.
The moment that very thought crossed Gale’s mind, Merelind sank her warm, tight depths around him, instantly making him open those silver eyes in blissful shock. “Hgnf, my love!” he cried out, hands flying to her hips, holding her steady, but more to ground himself as she started to bounce on his lap. Her hand fisted in the locks at the nape of his neck, her motions on his lap, on his cock, sending sparks of Weave racing down both their forms.
“My god, whom I adore,” she rasped as she rode him, her blue and red eyes shining, glowing with her own power, the rush of her bloodlust demanding to be satisfied in their coupling. “Am I not… a perfect Chosen?”
Gale groaned, her walls tight, her thighs shaking as her body slapped each time she landed on his own. “Perfect… flawless, immutable… immeasurable… choose any word of praise for your splendour, my heart. There are not,” he moaned as his hands dug into her divine flesh, “enough words in common or the tongues of the celestials themselves to glorify you duly.”
He leveled his head to meet her stare, the orb in his chest glowing and pulsing faster, the telltale sign of his release.
“You are mine, my love, my right hand…. My chosen and my goddess…” Gale’s quicksilver eyes darted over every part of her face, her body, determined to drink her in.
“A goddess of blood as your Chosen, your heavenly bride? Tch,” she sucked her vampiric fangs. Leaning in, she suckled at the flesh of his neck, as she was wont to do, “how ambitious of you.”
He groaned, thrusting up into her even as her dhampire hunger flared, her lips sucking those wounds. What once was bile to her tongue now tasted of sweetest ambrosia with the power of his Galerian Weave. There was nothing he would not do for her… no part of him he would not make to please her, satisfy her. And as she rolled her hips, her panting mouth dripped his own shimmering essence. The sight, the sound, sex like this, mortal and immortal all at once unmade him in a flash. Gale sighed deeply, voice roughed by his approaching release.
“You know me…” he panted, breaths rough and stilted as he thrust up into her, “unparalleled in regards to ambition, as well as in my love for you.” One hand clawed harder at her hip to keep her in place, the other slid down, teasing her clit just perfectly, as he had innumerable times since they first shared in a divine embrace. A time so long ago, and yet so fresh in his eternal memory.
Gale groaned to feel her clenching and shuddering in his arms as she screamed his name to the heavens for him. He locked onto her face, the way her lips parted, the half-masted gaze she gave him with those mismatched eyes, he could do nothing but drink that look in as the perfect offering.
The Bhaalspawn, bathed in blood, ambitious enough to love a god. She was perfect. And all his.
As he spilled inside her with a groan, he buried his head into her shoulder. “My love, divine,” he rumbled in his chest, orb mark pulsing in time with the twitches he made inside her.
One last look into her eyes, and he thumbed away a bit of remaining blood from her chin. His or his enemies, it did not matter so long as she was smiling, as she was. Gale sighed, leaning back in his seat, pulling her to rest her head atop his marking. “For what it’s worth, my love, even with a goddess in our capture, there is no greater ambition now than to see that smile, my goddess of blood, my ambitious chosen.”
A fanged, exhausted smile was his reply, as she settled to rest, cradled for eternity in his lap, in the heavens.
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