Greetings from Waterdeep

She/Her | Over 38 | 18+ and mature posts on occasion | NO MINORS

[dekariosclan]

Hi! This is a blog dedicated to the Rizzard of Waterdeep 💜

I was asked to create a blog master list, so I’m happy to oblige. Below are links to my design works, my answered asks, and some fic rec lists.

I’ll have my Ask Button active whenever possible. If it’s deactivated that just means I’m catching up or cannot answer at this time. See the EXTENSIVE list under the cut for previously answered asks!

Thanks for visiting :)

Graphic Designer Gone Wild:

Bg3/Gale Spoof Magazine #1

Bg3 Spoof Magazine #2

Bg3/Gale Spoof Magazine #3

Gale’s Compendium of Puns

Gale and Tav’s Wedding Invitation

Galentines

A Magical Valentine from Gale (different each time you click)

Answered Asks *rules about submitted asks*

How would Gale deal with:

an elf Tav with a long lifespan

a rude salesperson/fast food worker

making amends to Tav after being immersed in research

an ill Tav

a weary Tav who refuses to rest

romantic competition for Tav

a Tav who isn’t doing well emotionally or mentally

jealousy between Tav and Tara

celebrating Tav’s birthday

warding/protecting his tower

Tav teasing him/making him feel flustered

A Tav asking for book recommendations

a pregnant Tav especially one who is trans/gnc

he and Tav adopting & hatching the githyanki egg

18+ Tav sending him a naughty message

companions losing their minds when they see he has abs

Tav confessing they are a Bhaalspawn

the stress of writing/being creative

an overworked/stressed Tav

A Tav who is legitimately angry at him

The neighborhood HOA filing complaints against him and Tav

A Tav who is desperate to keep Gale alive

Celebrating Valentine’s Day / courting Tav

a Tav that previously was in an abusive relationship

Marrying a Tav with little/no family

18+ an anxious Tav who avoids eye contact

Family disapproval

His beloved’s unique mannerisms

Mystra threatening Tav’s life

Finding Tav reading a smutty book

What are Gale’s:

flaws

preferred ways to exercise

compliments he gives to others

thoughts on tattoos

thoughts on sharing his home with Tav

things that give him the ‘ick’

motivations for his shadowlands flirting

18+ best and worst things in bed

Would Gale still love Tav if (tldr; the answer is always yes):

Tav was a gnome

Tav struggled with horrible nightmares

Tav had chronic pain

Tav was drunk

Tav gained weight

Tav was plus-size or chubby

Tav had sensory issues

Tav was never desired by anyone/has always been overlooked romantically

Tav had scales

Tav was a Dragonborn

Tav had PTSD

18+ Tav was vanilla/not kinky

Tav was quiet/not a yapper

Tav was ace

Tav was NOT quiet/IS a yapper

Tav had an overbite/is insecure about their smile

Tav was from our world

Tav had stretch marks/physical imperfections

Tav was ‘wild’ / uneducated

Tav wasn’t very confident in themselves

Tav didn’t think they had a good personality

Tav was………a bit gassy

Tav had epilepsy and struggled with seizures

Tav was a vegan or vegetarian

Tav was transforming into a drider

Tav was from a noble line and in grave danger

Various:

18+ Gale may have picked up some Tressym mannerisms

What would Gale’s mother Morena think of Tav

Gale loves Tav much more than he ever loved Mystra

Gale’s shared interests with each of the companions

What type of music does Gale like/what instruments does he play

Dad!Gale watching Tav and their little one

18+ Tav making Gale fail NNN

18+ Gale succeeding at NNN and being rewarded

Would Gale give up his Godhood to be with a mortal Tav

Could Gale ever end up with a Tav who refused his proposal

Can Gale sing

18+ is Gale more of a boobs or butt kind of guy

would Gale put up mistletoe for the holidays

Gale as a girl dad

18+ Why do Gale’s boxers have magic/why are they enchanted

About Gale’s kisses

About Gale’s romance endings

18+ Would Gale enjoy…

how does Gale immediately know Tav is a wizard/sorcerer/non-magic user

‘Early Access’ Gale and Mystra

Gale left waiting in the fugue plane

Fic Recs for Galemancers

18+ General recommendations

Comfy/Cozy fics

18+ Smut fics

[dekariosclan]

“You put the stars to shame.”

[dekariosclan]

Gale’s Epilogue Titles

I apologize if this is super obvious/already well-known to everyone else, but it was new to me & I wanted to share.

So, at some point in the last year, Larian added titles under (almost) everyone’s name in the epilogue…and I didn’t realize it until now, because the titles do not show up when loading old epilogue save files. Yes, I have been living in a cave lol

This is what loading up my old epilogue save gives me for a romanced Gale, no matter what path he took:

He was Just Gale™️.

Now, with the titles, we get this for Professor path:

Or this, for Baldur’s Gate adventurer Gale:

Or this, if he goes with Karlach:

I think that last one might be my favorite…I feel like Wyll would be delighted that Gale chose that title (or perhaps Wyll was the one who suggested it to him!)

I don’t have a screencap for GodGale, but his title is “Ambition Incarnate.”

Now, I’m not sure if there are other titles for Gale with other romances (for example, if he goes to the underdark with Astarion) but I thought this was a nice little touch to add to all the endings and different possibilities for each character!

HOWEVER, there is one oversight that I wanted to bring up.

So, Scratch gets this title, which is absolutely 100% accurate and perfect:

10/10 no notes.

But then, when I get to Tara?

???…no title for Tara?

No “Definitely NOT A Cat” or “Best Friend To Mister Dekarios” or even “Withers’s Favorite Tea Party Companion”??

Really?

(To be fair, it appears that Withers doesn’t have a title, either…seems like a big L to not have him be “Bone Daddy” but, I digress…)

Anyway, just wanted to bring this to everyone’s attention for any other folk like me, who have been blissfully living under a rock and were unaware of this development.

And I’ll still keep hoping Tara gets a title worthy of her brilliance at some point!

[lemonwoodwrites]

A holiday in the Cloakwood

Pairing: Gale x Karlach Rating: E Length: 14k words

‘... and you’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you,’ says Gale resignedly.

She wonders for a brief second what gave it away. Probably the fact that she’s grinning widely at him instead of nodding along solemnly to his important wizardly anecdote.

‘I was just thinking,’ she says. ‘When’s the last time you took a holiday?’

Read on AO3

[dekariosclan]

FIC RECOMMENDATION ⬆️⬆️⬆️

My fellow Gale/Karlach shippers (I see you out there, all 2-3 of you!) come and rejoice, for we have not only been fed, we have been given an absolute feast with this incredible fic by @lemonwoodwrites.

But also! Non- Gale/Karlach shippers, please come and partake in the joy of this fic, because even if you aren’t swayed to join the ranks of us Bombsquad / Heatweave members, you’ll still get everything you could want in a Gale fic:

Gale in his 40’s

Sex

His bad knees

Sex

Classic Gale sweetness, tenderness, and a slow burn romance

Karlach being perfectly, amazingly Karlach

Gale asking ‘May I f*ck you?’

And, most importantly: a sweet ending that will leave you feeling as warm as if you just received a hug from Karlach herself 🥹

[dekariosclan]

[dekariosclan]

“I said exactly what I meant: I love you. You should never, never doubt that.”

[dekariosclan]

Gale’s face when warning Tav about the dangers of shadow magic:

Gale’s face when Tav asks what would happen if they tried to use it:

Gale’s face when Tav asks if Gale could use it:

———

*Gale, upon arrival in the Shadowlands*: “Never underestimate shadow magic! It’s bad, it’s wrong, don’t even THINK about it, don’t try and understand it, put it out of your mind entirely, never mention it again, and definitely do not ask questions about using it.”

Tav: “Could you use shadow magic?”

Gale: 😆 “First of all, I’m delighted you’ve asked me that—”

[dekariosclan]

Galetober Day 11: Sweet

Thank you @artsywarden for the gift of Galetober!! 💜

———

I like to think about how Gale feels when he meets a Tav who gives him magical items without hesitation. A Tav who doesn’t become annoyed or combative when Gale explains his critical need for magical artifacts. A Tav who listens to Gale’s urgent request and instantly replies by saying, “I’d be happy to help.”

I like to think about what a sweet gesture that is for Gale in that moment.

Even though Gale only reveals his condition to Tav because he’s seen them be kind, and he’s confident he’s found a good person to ask for help, Gale knows that he’s asking a lot from a relative stranger. He stresses the importance of his request as he reveals it: “I need you to help me find magic items to consume,” he pleads. “It is vital. Dare I say it, critical.” He’s already anticipating that he will get pushback. He’s bracing himself for a firm ‘no.’

…but instead, Tav says: “I’d be happy to help.”

You can see in Gale’s face how pleasantly surprised and taken aback he is by that response—so much so that it actually takes him a couple of seconds to process it fully:

Imagine how that must feel for Gale.

A man who has spent the past year in his tower suffering and struggling with a deadly condition. Cast out by Mystra; afraid to reenter society; grasping at straws to find a cure. Lonely. Hopeless. Bitter. And now, suddenly, he gets this unexpected gift of sweetness from a stranger.

How wonderful would that be?

You know, a lot of people have tried to pinpoint the exact moment that Gale starts to fall for Tav. Some think it’s right when Tav rescues him from the portal; some think it’s after Tav gives him that first magical item to soothe his condition; some think it’s when Tav agrees to share a moment with him the Weave.

…but I think that, maybe, it’s when he asks for help from a person he barely knows, while bracing for his request to be questioned, or scoffed at, or refused…and instead it’s accepted—he’s accepted— with a smile and a nod.

And later that night, when Gale is alone in his tent with the orb and the tadpole and all his uncertainties about the future, I wonder if he realizes that he’s smiling to himself as he slowly drifts to sleep, his thoughts focused on Tav…

How curious…

I never expected them to say yes so readily…

I knew they were kind…but, oh…

…oh, how sweet they are…

…to do this…

…for me.

[dekariosclan]

Employees at Sharess’ Caress: The Drow Twins can do things with their hands you can’t even imagine 😏😏😏

Every Galemancer: Hard pass, I’ve already seen the hottest thing a man can do with his hands 😏😏😏

Gale:

[dekariosclan]

“I’d much rather gaze into your eyes than hers. Yours are capable of tenderness, and feeling. No god could ever compare.”

[dekariosclan]

I like finding little details in Gale’s romance that, even if they aren’t deliberate, still fit together perfectly.

Like how, after the Act 1 Weave scene with Tav, Gale asks Karlach’s advice on encouraging someone’s romantic interest. And when she replies ‘just talk to them, Gale,’ he’s like ‘right! Yes! Talking, I’m good at that!’

Gale’s initial greetings to Tav start small. For example: "How can I help?" But then, as their relationship progresses throughout the game, his greetings get wordier: "Tell me - What can I do for you?""

And wordier: "Anything I can do for you - consider it most enthusiastically done."

And wordier: "Is something on your mind? You can always unburden yourself with me."

Almost like he took Karlach’s advice 💜

[perpetualmaladaptivedaydream]

summary: Tav reads letters from Gale word count: ~3.5k notes: I was going to wait to post since I’ve posted way too much this week, but I keep wanting to change things and won’t leave it alone. I know that the "Gale letters" idea has been done before, but I wanted to do my spin on it. I hope I did it justice. Was heavily inspired by the letter Tav receives if Gale dies, a random poem I found on pinterest (I don't have an actual author, but I'll share the image below in hopes someone knows where it's from), and a slight nod to a wonderfully sweet WIP from @bladesingerlily (will link at the end so I don’t spoil anything). Definitely one of those where the end pays off (I hope!).

Read on ao3 or below the break:

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

The parchment trembled in her hands, though it wasn’t the weight of the words alone that made her fingers unsteady. The ink blurred through a film of tears, neat strokes dissolving into haze, yet her eyes clung to every line. Each sentence split another fissure through her chest, like cracks spidering across glass too thin to bear the strain.

Why now? Why had he left her these words? The timing was its own cruelty – letters pressed into her hands when all she wanted was his. But Gale had always dwelt in language, and subtlety was never in his nature. Where another might offer a word, he would conjure a speech, a sonnet, an entire constellation to spill across the night sky. Even when silence would have sufficed, he turned phrases into armor, into balm, into confession. And now, those words lay strewn in her lap like relics, remnants of a man who had always been equal part brilliance, dramatics, and heart.

Tav,

I find myself, even in silence, caught in awe of you. The whole of you, and the intricate sum of your parts. The fierce edge that rises to defend the helpless. The resilience that carries you forward when the rest of us falter. And most wondrous of all, the part of you that shields those fragile pieces in me I would far too quickly cast aside. If I may confess my bias, that is the part I treasure most.

You are not merely a presence in my days; you have become the axis upon which they turn. I catch myself seeking you without thought — the sound of your step among the others, the warmth of your laughter flickering like fire, your smile striking with more force than any spell I could conjure. Even in the quiet, when you sit across from me occupied with the smallest of tasks, there is a gravity about you that draws me in. I never thought simple companionship could feel so profound.

And yet, for all my fondness, I scarcely know how to be in your presence. I want you, but fear pressing too boldly. I need you, but dread that such admission reeks of desperation. The words I love you rise unbidden to my tongue, but they are far too weighty, far too soon. So I keep them hidden, folded away like some dangerous spell, and content myself with the hope that one day they may be spoken aloud.

You deserve far more than a man who carries a hungry death sentence inside his chest. More than one bound by hubris, shadowed by mistakes too vast to mend with simple words. You deserve someone whole. Unburdened and unbroken. One who might take your hand without fear of unraveling the very world around him.

I strive to be that man, but I cannot presume to ask you to wait while I attempt to reconcile what I am with what I might become. That would be neither fair nor right. If fate should guide you elsewhere, to someone who can give you what you need without hesitation or hazard, then I will not begrudge destiny its course. I will content myself with the knowledge that you will find happiness — you deserve nothing less.

And yet, should you wait for me despite all reason, I cannot deny the truth: it would be my life’s greatest joy. To know that, even encumbered by flaws and failings, I was still the one you saw fit to stand beside. It would be more than I had ever dared to hope for. The thought of such grace humbles me, even as it makes me ache with longing.

If some mercy of chance allows it, if you should look at me and see more than the mistakes and burdens I carry, then know that every quiet moment, every stolen glance, is already yours. That I have no greater wish than to live long enough to lay down this burden, and to meet your gaze unshadowed at last.

Until such time as fate speaks otherwise, know this: in silence or in speech, in distance or in closeness, I am yours.

Ever, Gale

A shuddering breath left her, fragile and uneven. How far away those days seemed now – when survival was a question asked anew with every sunrise, when their hands were always raw, their clothes stiff with dust and blood, their bellies never quite full. Hope was a thin currency then, traded in stolen looks across campfires, the brush of fingers when passing rations, the fleeting glances that lingered longer than they should. She had known the peril of letting something tender take root in soil so inhospitable. Affection was a luxury, and love a gamble far too dear. And yet, it had grown, insistent as wildflowers through cobblestone. She hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t wanted it, yet she could no more have stopped it than she could have stopped the dawn.

A tear slid free and struck the page, blooming dark against the parchment. She set it aside with tremulous care, and reached for the next. Gale’s hand was unmistakable in the loops and flourishes, but this one bore faint, irregular blotches along the margin. She could almost imagine him bent over the page, quill faltering as drops fell where he would have not wished them.

My love,

How strange, that I should ever think myself a man of words, and now find that none I summon feel equal to the task. Yet I must try, for silence would be a greater cruelty.

You came into my life when I was drowning. When I believed myself destined only for solitude, my mind and body bound by the gnawing hunger in my chest. In those days, I wished for the end, thought it the only mercy left to me. Then you arrived, as though some hidden mercy had taken pity on me. Grace made flesh, reaching into my shadows and refusing to let me vanish there. You — fierce and radiant and impossible to ignore. You reminded me what it was to laugh, to hope, to dream that perhaps the world still held a place for me in it. You were, and are, the most wondrous thing I have ever known.

Every step we’ve shared, every battle survived, every quiet moment by the firelight — I have treasured them. You gave me reason to rise when despair would have kept me down. You gave me joy in a world that had seemed stripped of it. For that, and for far more than I could ever name, I thank you. You have been the brightest constellation in my night sky, and to have walked even a fragment of this path with you has been the greatest fortune of my life.

And then, when Elminster came with Mystra’s command, I thought myself prepared. Thought I had already accepted the inevitable. But then I saw you rise for me. You stood against him with such fire, such defiance – refusing to accept what was decreed, vowing you would find another way. To be defended so fiercely, when I had resigned myself already…it humbled me beyond words. In that moment, I loved you all the more, if such a thing were even possible. 

It is with the same love that I must now wound you. Mystra has spoken. Elminster has brought her will, and it demands my sacrifice. I carry within me the means to end this, and to withhold it would be a selfish cruelty. This burden is mine to bear; it has always been, since the day I committed the imprudence that set the orb in my chest. To defy it would mean ruin for all, and worse — for you. I cannot allow that. I will not.

Forgive me, my heart, for what I must do. I am sorry. More sorry than ink can hold. I sought power once and found only ruin – this, at least, is a chance to set something right. It is also the only way to ensure that you live, that you carry forward when I cannot. And if I had to choose again, I would make the same choice, a thousand times over. An endless litany of sacrifice, if it meant your life, your laughter, your light endured. You are worth every end.

And yet, despite it all, I cannot help but think of what might have been. To wake each day with you beside me, to see where the road would carry us, to live a life unshadowed by this cursed hunger. I never believed I would know joy again, and then you arrived. You gave me laughter when I thought myself hollow. You gave me love when I believed myself unworthy. You gave me reason to keep breathing, when all I wanted was to stop. For that, I will thank you for eternity.

I beg this of you: live. Do not weep long for me, nor let my absence chain you to sorrow. If our roles were reversed, you would demand the same of me. So I ask you now — no, I command it with what little authority love gives me — carry on. Laugh, dream, fight, fall in love again if fate is kind. Do not let my memory become a stone around your neck. Let it instead be a spark, a warmth, a whisper that you were loved beyond measure.

And loved you are. Gods above, I love you. I scarcely believe it myself that you ever chose me, that you saw light in a man who had wrapped himself in so much shadow. Yet you did. You gave me a gift no spell nor boon nor deity could ever match.

So go on, my love, and live. And should you ever lift your eyes to the stars, know that some part of me will be there, watching, marveling still.

Ever and always, Gale

Her breath caught on a sob that clawed its way free. The air itself thinned, every inhale strained, her throat clenching tight around it. The pain pressed so fiercely from within that she feared her chest might crack, that her body itself might burst with all it could no longer contain.

Every word was laced with finality, written like a man already rehearsing his farewell to the living. Yet it was Gale’s hand. Gale’s cadence. The wizard who had stood beside her through flame and ruin. The man who had once sworn she was his reason to endure. And here, on paper, he surrendered that reason back to her as if it were the only gift he had left to give. 

Memory rose again: the moment Mystra’s command was spoken aloud. Remembered how his face hollowed, color draining as though the goddess had reached straight through his ribs and removed the ravenous pull of the orb as well as the man entwined with it. As Elminster spoke, Gale’s eyes continued to flicker back to her, cycling between grief, guilt, and a desperate plea for forgiveness that she had no intention of granting.

She remembered the fury like fire in her blood, the conviction that if she had to storm the planes and drag Mystra herself from her shining halls, she would. She promised Gale another way, clung to that hope even as he believed none existed. How she wished she had known then that forgiveness would not be the only thing he might have died for.

Her gaze fell to the third and last parchment. Symbols and runes scrawled the outside, the page torn jagged from his spellbook, crumpled as if gripped too hard in shaking hands. She hesitated, pressing her knuckles to her lips as if she could hold back the sob threatening to break loose, peering at the paper, hoping it would vanish if she looked long enough.

Could she bear another? Was this all there was: words, heavy with love and loss?

At last, she unfolded it.

My love,

Firstly, please forgive the scrawled nature of this note. My handwriting is no match for the netherbrain’s tremors. Or perhaps my hands shake of their own accord. At this juncture, it is difficult to tell.

Do not misunderstand me - I am not afraid to die. But I am afraid of what I might leave behind me. That my sacrifice might hurt you so that your life becomes an echo of my own, your chest corrupted by heartache as mine once was by the orb.

I hope and pray that it is not the case - that in the time since I left you, you have lived a life full of beauty, happiness, and wonder. That is what I will picture when the time comes. Only you. You were all I ever needed.

You are calling to me - I have truly run out of time. But you will not - that I promise. When this is over, your life begins anew. Treasure it, as I treasured you. That is all I ask.

Yours forever, Gale

He must have written it in the very heart of the netherbrain battle. She hadn’t even noticed him pause long enough to press ink to paper; then again, so much of that battle had blurred into a fever of fire, steel, and screaming. It was only in hindsight that she could imagine him, stealing a heartbeat from the carnage, quill scratching furiously across a torn page, as if he knew the end was already upon him. 

Her vision swam with the memory: Gale turning to her just before he climbed, eyes dark with resignation and something far more final. It was the look of a man who had already watched his life unspool before him, who had already weighed it against hers and found it a price worth paying. It was love, and apology, and farewell all at once, condensed into a single, unbearable glance. That look had seared into her more deeply than any blade ever could.

A small, wounded sound escaped her before she could stop it. Tears coursed unchecked now, falling to speckle the page. Three letters, written across different times, lay scattered in her lap, yet they all spoke with one voice. They still smelled faintly of him – parchment touched by ink, spellbook, his hands.

“You know,” came a voice from the doorway, dry as vintage wine, “if you keep leaking like that, you’ll shrivel into something positively ghastly. A pity, given the occasion.”

She startled, lost in ink and memory. The page crumpled under her fingers as she spun to the voice. Astarion lounged against the frame, arms folded neatly across his chest, a single silver brow arched with impeccable disdain. His eyes glanced at the pages spread across her lap, then back to her blotched cheeks.

“Oh, darling,” he sighed, sauntering wearily into the room, “you’ve been reading those. No wonder you’re a wreck. Melodramatic, wasn’t he? Beautifully penned, I’ll grant, but honestly,” he groaned. “If I had a gold piece for every time that wizard wrote like he was composing his own epitaph…”

“Astarion–” she managed, though the word cracked against the lump in her throat. 

He waved his hand in dismissal, the corners of his mouth quirking with habitual arrogance as he drew something from his coat. “Unfortunately, I’ve been entrusted with yet another. The man truly couldn’t resist the sound of his own voice, even on paper.” His smirk lingered only a moment, then gentled as his eyes found her. “He made me swear you’d have this one last. After the others.”

She took it with unsteady hands, the clean white parchment gleaming against the violet ribbon and its stamp of gold wax. For a heartbeat she only held it, as if she could delay the inevitable, afraid of what words might wait inside. Then, with a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, she broke the seal.

Mrs. Dekarios,

I find myself reflecting – though I suspect you’re hardly surprised by that. To be lost in thought has always been my habit, but never has it been so sweet. Never have my musings returned, again and again, to a single, undeniable truth: you.

I love you. I love you in every manner a man can – in awe and in wonder, in laughter and quiet, in the breaths between words and in the flood of them. I love the resolve that carried us through battles when hope was threadbare. I love the tenderness you keep, even when the world would sooner tear it from you. I love every look, every wry curl of your lips, every clever riposte that leaves me scrambling to keep pace. And most of all, I love that you saw me when I had all but vanished into myself…and you reached in and called me back to the light.

I never believed I would stand at the threshold of such a day. Time and again I was certain my end had come, whether to the hunger in my chest or to some other ruin of my own making. And yet, here I remain – alive, whole, and impossibly yours. You gave reason when I had none. You gave life when I sought only surrender. You are the reason my heart persists in its obstinate beating, and why I cherish every breath I am allowed. 

When you come to stand beside me today, I fear my composure will abandon me. You will be dazzling – as you always are, as you always have been – and I, ever the babbling brook of romantic verbiage   , will find myself a stammering fool. Or worse: prattling ceaselessly in a desperate bid to disguise my adoration. Both fates are equally likely. And, to compound our peril, we have somehow entrusted Astarion with a speech. What folly possessed us, I cannot say. If chaos ensues, let us agree that the fault is mutual. 

And yet, even if I falter, even if Astarion's barbs prove sharper than his blades – today will be perfect. For you will be there. For we will be there, together. What lies ahead is not some fragile hope, but a life. Ours, entwined, brilliant, and hard-won.

Today, forever begins. And I, a man once certain he would not survive the weight of his own mistakes, will stand at your side astonished that such grace has been granted me. 

Perfect, because you are perfect. And because, against all logic, you have made me yours.

With Every Breath, Your Soon-to-Be Husband, Gale

Fresh tears carved new lines down her cheeks, though now they ran warm with joy. This wonderful, impossible man, capable of dragging her into despair and lifting her into elation in one sitting. She pressed the newest letter to her chest as if she could press its light directly into her bones, her heart breaking and mending all at once. 

Her eyes fell back to the letters, and memory surged once again. Gale’s back as he approached the climb to the netherbrain, and the precise moment she refused to let him go. She dragged him down with every ounce of strength she had left, colliding into him, claiming his mouth in the most desperate kiss of their lives. In that instant, she had felt the fire of his resignation gutter out and saw in his eyes the unspoken relief of not having to burn out that way – though he would never admit it. 

Every moment since then had been reclamation, stars kindled anew where there might have been only ash. They had turned survival into something greater – into a life. She needed him as much as he needed her; he had saved her as surely as she had saved him. And she would spend the rest of her days – their days – ensuring he knew it, turning every dawn into proof of what they had won. 

Mrs. Dekarios. She smiled at the thought, tasting the name like something only half-dreamed, tumbling it over and over in her mind until she could believe it belonged to her.

“Oh, honestly.” Shadowheart slipped in behind Astarion, her mouth drawn into a thin line of long-suffering disapproval. “You two. One makes her sob until her face streaks, the other encourages it. If that makeup’s ruined, I’ll have both your hides. Do you know how much effort went into it?”

Astarion’s grin only sharpened. “I rather like it. Very tragic heroine. Quite moving.”

Tav clapped a hand over her mouth to smother a laugh, avoiding the narrowed look from Shadowheart that would pin even a drow to the wall.

“Quite impractical,” Shadowheart countered, already tugging a cloth from her satchel. With a surprising gentleness, she tipped Tav’s chin up and began blotting at the streaks. “Hold still. Saints preserve me from sentimental wizards and their accomplices.”

The absurdity of it – the priestess fussing like a mother hen, Astarion draped in feigned detachment yet smirking as though secretly savoring the sweetness of it all, and herself trembling between laughter and tears. Who would have thought her path, carved through blood and ruin, would ever lead to this?

“Come along, darling,” Astarion swept into a flourished bow, extending his hand. “It's time to take you to your wizard. And no more tears – the man hasn’t even begun his vows, and if I know Gale, they’ll make these letters look positively restrained. Gods help us all.”

You can find @bladesingerlily WIP Post here! (I thought the Astarion-giving-the-speech would just be so funny)

[dekariosclan]

I say this as a certified weenie when it comes to angst—this is a beautiful fic with a lovely ending!

[dekariosclan]

May we all be as joyful as Gale describing that one time he summoned a magma mephit

[dekariosclan]

You know, I really love the Origin Gale epilogue interactions with Minthara (for both God Gale and Human Gale) and overall I think they were perfectly done. Minthara admitting that she has affection for Gale is an A+++ moment, my only complaint is that God Gale should’ve been a given unique dialogue interaction with all the other companions afterwards, which would amount to:

God Gale: Can you not grasp the magnitude of what I have accomplished?! Are you not impressed with what I have done??

Astarion/Shadowheart/Wyll/Lae’Zel/Karlach: Yes, you’ve become a God, that’s very—

God Gale: I EMBRACED MINTHARA

[dekariosclan]

I know I’ve posted about this before and I just mentioned it again recently, but I’ll never get over how wonderful it is that you can completely flunk Gale’s Act 1 Weave lesson and he won’t think less of you at all.

I’m not talking about stumbling at the finish line and messing up the last dice roll after you’ve shared some affectionate/flirty glances; I’m talking about bombing on your very first effort to mimick Gale’s hand movements, essentially turning the encounter into a crit fail dumpster fire, ending it as quickly as it started, having a Top Ten Worst Tinder Dates™️ moment—and Gale’s approval of you won’t drop at all. Not even a measly 1 point.

And not only do you not lose approval, he’s so smitten that the next day all you have to do is mention that you enjoyed being alone with him and you’d like to do it again sometime, and he hits you with this:

If you’ve ever worried that you’d be “too awkward for Gale,” just know that as long as you are good to him and reciprocate his interest, this man will be so busy looking at you with heart eyes that you can do no wrong.

[magnificentcoffeekitten]

I don't think Gale would love me because so much of his admiration for Tav seems tied to them being courageous and altruistic, and I only made those choices to experience all the content, haha.

IRL I would have never have stopped to help the tieflings when there's a tadpole eating my brain. And I'm not throwing myself in front of a goblin prisoner to save their life either.

I would also be complaining about the bugs and the heat and the 100 miles of walking everyday like Astarion, which I don't think he'd appreciate, lol.

[dekariosclan]

@magnificentcoffeekitten

[dekariosclan]

I know I’ve posted about this before and I just mentioned it again recently, but I’ll never get over how wonderful it is that you can completely flunk Gale’s Act 1 Weave lesson and he won’t think less of you at all.

I’m not talking about stumbling at the finish line and messing up the last dice roll after you’ve shared some affectionate/flirty glances; I’m talking about bombing on your very first effort to mimick Gale’s hand movements, essentially turning the encounter into a crit fail dumpster fire, ending it as quickly as it started, having a Top Ten Worst Tinder Dates™️ moment—and Gale’s approval of you won’t drop at all. Not even a measly 1 point.

And not only do you not lose approval, he’s so smitten that the next day all you have to do is mention that you enjoyed being alone with him and you’d like to do it again sometime, and he hits you with this:

If you’ve ever worried that you’d be “too awkward for Gale,” just know that as long as you are good to him and reciprocate his interest, this man will be so busy looking at you with heart eyes that you can do no wrong.

[perpetualmaladaptivedaydream]

summary: To silence Tav's self-doubts, Gale uses the tadpole to let her see herself through his eyes. word count: ~2.9k notes: Saw a comment recently where someone said that Gale in real life wouldn't even bother with them and it inspired this one. May have fudged some Weave/tadpole semantics to make it work (but only a little, I promise). **I may have hyperfocused too close to the sun with this one and wrote it in two days; my eyes/brain need a rest 😳

Read on ao3 or below the break:

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

The fire at camp had burned low, its glow soft and gold against the deep velvet of the night. Smoke rose in thin, lazy ribbons, snagging in the cool breath of the night before vanishing into the dark for good. The others had long since retreated, their laughter and rustling bedrolls fading into silence. Only the quiet crackle of embers remained, and the faint hiss of wind coming through the tall grass. She sat beside Gale, knees drawn close, forearms looped loosely around them. Her gaze was fixed on the heart of the fire, where the last coals pulsed and dimmed. The hush should have been a balm. Sitting next to him should have been a balm. No monsters, no strategy, no interruptions — just the two of them. But the quiet pressed too heavily this time, and the warmth could not quite reach the hollow it found in her. 

It had been gnawing at her since earlier in the evening, listening to him speak of Waterdeep. He’d told the story in that warm, unhurried cadence he saved for things he cherished — painting the bustle of markets, the scent of fresh ink and parchment in bookshop where the owner always saved him rare volumes, the shaded alcove of a tea house tucked between two apothecaries that brewed his favorite blend. Names and streets had fallen from his lips as if they lived there still, just behind his teeth. And with each one, she’d felt the distance between his world and hers widen.

She had smiled as he spoke, even teased once or twice, but the image clung stubbornly: Gale in that city of light and learning, moving with the easy familiarity of someone among his own. She could not picture herself there — not as she was now, mud-streaked and travel-worn, her skills sharpened for survival rather than salons and spell debates.Hells, she was barely keeping up with everything fate had thrown at them now.  

And then there were the small, deliberate things he did without thought:  fingers deft in unfastening the stubborn buckles on her armor, the way he sat a hot drink in her hands before she’d even notice she was cold, waiting until she had eaten before taking his own portion, curling toward her in sleep as though she were his shelter. All of it left her wondering, not for the first time, why. What in the gods’ name could he possibly see in her? 

“You’re quiet tonight.” His voice came low, as if unwilling to disturb the stillness more than necessary. A faint crease had settled between his brows. “Did I…say something earlier?”

She blinked toward him. “What?”

“You’ve seemed distant since this afternoon,” he went on, eyes searching her face. “If I’ve done something–”

“You haven’t,” she cut in, quicker than she meant to. Her hand found his, squeezing once as if she could press the reassurance through skin and bone, though she wasn’t sure for whose benefit.

He studied her for a long moment, his thumb brushing the back of her hand as though tracing a thought. “I would know, you realize, if you were lying.”

A reluctant smile touched her lips despite herself. “It’s not you. Not…exactly.” Her fingers closed more firmly around his. “I just—“ She exhaled, eyes falling to the threadbare leather at her knees. “I don’t know what you see when you look at me. Especially now.” She gave a small, self-conscious laugh, sweeping a hand at her travel-stained clothes, her wind-tangled hair. “I’m tired, half-feral at this point, and you speak of life so far from this that I can’t imagine belonging in it. I’m not clever enough. I’m not…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “…enough.”

The words sat heavy between them.

Gale shifted, the fire’s dim light catching in his eyes until they looked almost molten and unblinking. “You think my feelings are swayed by your polish or whether you could charm a room of scholars?” There was no anger in his words, only quiet astonishment. “By gods, is that truly what you think of me?”

She shook her head, though the knot in her chest only seemed to pull tighter. “I just think you deserve someone who–”

“Stop,” His voice carried no sharpness, only a certainty that stilled her. He eased his hands from hers, but only so he could lift both to her face. His palms were warm, his thumbs resting along the curves of her cheekbones. The gesture usually steadied her, but tonight it set her heart stumbling. In the flicker of the embers, his deep brown eyes caught gold. 

“I am in awe of you,” he said, as though the words had been sitting on his tongue for a long time. “Do you understand? Not for who you might be in an imagined life, but for who you are here. Now. Every moment I have known you.” His hands cradled her more securely. “You astonish me.”

His thumbs brushed lightly across her skin. “You think you’re less because you haven’t walked my streets? Those streets would be poorer without your shadow in them.”

Her throat felt too tight for an answer. The truth in his voice was undeniable, yet the knot inside her did not yield. She managed a faint smile, though he watched her with a kind of measuring stillness. Then the crease returned to his brow, as if some idea were prying its way into his thoughts.

“Gods,” he breathed, almost to himself, his gaze flickering over her face as though committing it to memory. “If only you could see what I see…you’d never doubt again.” His eyes narrowed slightly in consideration of some private decision. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, tapping a finger at his temple, “our unwelcome passengers might serve some purpose beyond threatening to turn us into mind flayers.”

Her breath caught. “You want to use the tadpoles?”

His jaw set, a shadow passing over his expression. “I despise them,” he admitted, the words quiet but edged. “The thought of anything inscribing itself into my mind — or yours — turns my blood. You know that.” His hands lingered against her cheeks a heartbeat longer before falling away. “This would not be my first choice.”

“Couldn’t you just…use the Weave?” Her voice barely disturbed the air between them, a breath of sound more than a question. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I could,” he admitted with a nod, his tone edged with reluctance. “But the Weave is still my hand on the lens. Polished edges, softened shadows. Truth, yes, but arranged for your eyes. A vision you stand apart from.” 

“You’ve felt what the tadpoles can do,” he continued. “How raw it is. No veil, no pretense or polite distance between thought and feeling. This–” He tapped two fingers lightly to his temple. “This would be different. Unfiltered. You wouldn’t just watch from the shore – you’d be in the current.”

Her pulse stumbled. “That’s…not exactly a light thing to offer.”

“No,” he agreed softly. “Which is why I offer it only because I need you to know – without the smallest shadow of doubt – what you are to me. Not just my words, but the marrow of them. If it takes a parasite’s thread to bridge that distance, then so be it.”

The wind stirred the loose hair at her temple, and for a moment all she could hear was the soft weave of his breath with hers. She gave a small, steady nod.

He closed the remaining space between them. His knees brushed hers; his hands rose to cradle her face once again, warm against the cool night. His forehead lowered until it touched hers, and the world narrowed to the heat of his palms and the slow, measured rhythm of his breathing. She let her eyes fall shut, tilting forward to meet him – and opened herself to the connection.

The link flared to life between them in an instant. 

It wasn’t just sight, it was his breath filling her lungs, the thrum of his pulse drumming steady and strong in her veins. She tasted the sharpness of night air as he tasted it, felt the faint ache in his fingers when he longed to reach for her and didn’t. She was him in every moment he remembered.

The first memory unfurled like warm silk: her laughter, bright and ringing after one of his puns by the fire. She’d rolled her eyes, trying to smother a smile, but inside him the moment felt different. In his chest, joy surged up so fast it was almost dizzying – the sharp, breathless thrill of being the reason she smiled. Beneath it all, there was the quiet hunger to see that look again, to draw it from her a hundred more times, and the whispered fear that perhaps he never could again if fate turned cruel.

The firelight then faded into darkness. The Shadow-cursed lands, the stench of rot and damp earth in the air. She moved, her daggers in motion. She moved through enemies like a dance, each strike precise, each turn a piece of living art. In him, she felt the veneration – sharp and electric – flare in his chest. She was the breathless admiration, the quiet disbelief that someone so fierce could also be so gentle with him. She lit the darkness simply by existing within it, the only point of brightness in a world that seemed built to snuff such light out. Underneath the awe lay something heavier: the fierce, almost panicked hope that she would survive this. That he would not have to watch her brilliance vanish into the dark. 

Then – starlight. The conjured kind spun for her alone. He’d sat there for so long, weaving every strand of magic to create it as if it were a prayer. She felt the ache in him – that terrible pull between what Mystra had demanded of him and the desperate will to make this night unspoiled, perfect. The thought that it might be his last night alive, every glance and word was chosen with care, as though he could press them into memory so vividly that even death wouldn’t erase them. The pounding of his heart before he leaned in was almost unbearable, thick with nerves, sharpened by urgency. And then – the soft press of her mouth to his. The certainty that poured through him in that instant, burning away all resignation. His life had just shifted, irrevocably, and the will to live – for her – blazed into being with just a kiss. 

Another memory flickered, earlier than the others. The Weave crackling around them, tugging them closer in its gravity. And then — she shared a vision of the two of them. Not just playful illusion, but with the kind of detail and tenderness that told him it hadn’t been conjured from nowhere. In that instant, she felt his pulse stumble, his breath hitch — the dawning realization that she might think of him that way. It was fragile, like the first flare of a burning star in the night sky, but it was the beginning – the crack in the careful, cordial distance he had kept between them. Behind that moment sat his unspoken vow to guard that fragile light until he could be certain it was real. 

The weight shifted again – heavier now. The moment he told her about the orb. In his chest, she felt the press of guilt like an iron brand, squeezing until the words nearly died in his throat. The sick curl of dread in his stomach. Shame biting deep, for the hiding, for endangering her, of knowing he could destroy them all. He had braced for her to turn away, sending him away for the severing of trust. He would have understood if she had. But she hadn’t. She’d stayed. More than that — she wanted to help. And she’d meant it. Relief flooded him so fiercely it hurt, like breathing again after being held under too long. Gratitude swelled, tangled with disbelief and something larger still: the terrifying, humbling realization that her loyalty was not conditional, and that perhaps he had found someone who would not abandon him even when she should. 

The memories poured, one after another, spilling into her until she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. Her bent over a torn sleeve by lamplight — his pulse catching with the urge to touch her and not break her focus. Standing by the river, dawn washing over her, wind threading through her hair — his lungs tightened at the sight, the aching need to memorize every detail. Her slipping an apple into a tiefling child’s hand – his heart pulling taut with the quiet proof of her kindness.

Each memory swelled until they pressed against her from the inside, his love saturating every inch of her. Not a flimsy infatuation, but something rooted deep, unshakeable. It filled her until it felt she might split from the sheer amount of him inside her. 

The connection loosened like the slow unspooling of breath, yet it didn’t vanish. It drifted back from the forefront, slipping gently from her skin, leaving threads of him woven into her in ways she didn’t want to unravel. Her heartbeat returned as her own, but it carried a faint echo of his, a phantom drum that thudded in her chest as it unwilling to leave. Every inhale brought with it the lingering warmth of him, the shimmer of how he had looked at her in those memories – with an unguarded devotion that had nearly undone her. It was a keepsake left in the hollow of her chest, something she would carry gladly and guard fiercely.

Her breath trembled, breaking against the sudden flood in her chest. Tears welled and spilled freely, hot against the cool air, from the sheer enormity of what she now held inside. She had felt him – all of him – and the weight of it was almost too vast to carry.

“Gale,” she whispered, the sound barely holding together under its own softness. “I felt it. Gods, it’s…so much.”

His lips curved in something between a smile and a surrender, eyes glinting wet in the fire’s glow. “It is,” he murmured, and the words came with a reverence that curled through her. “It’s everything.”

Before she could think, she was kissing him – her hands curling into his shirt, clutching as if she might fall away without him. His response was immediate, his hands sliding into her hair, threading through it with a conscious care, holding her as though she were something sacred and breakable all at once. 

His mouth pressed into hers, tasting of relief, promises unspoken, every moment they had just shared without words. Her lips parted under his, and it was like breathing each other in, each inhale carrying the faintest trace of conjured starlight. She could taste the faint sweetness of tea from the little shop he’d spoken of, smell the phantom paper-dust of that Waterdeep bookshop. She saw flashes of streets and the city’s pulse, not as a place apart from her, but as though she had walked it beside him all her life. 

The world she’d once thought belonged only to him – that glittering, unreachable life she could never quite picture herself in – now felt like hers, too, stitched into her as surely as the memories of battle and road-dust. In that moment, it wasn’t just his life anymore…it was theirs. 

When they parted, he stayed close, his forehead resting lightly against hers. “Promise me something,” he said, and though his tone was soft, it carried the weight of something he could not take back.

Her throat ached. “What?”

“That you’ll never doubt again. Not after this. You’ve changed me in ways I will spend the rest of my life thanking you for – and I don’t speak of forever lightly.” His finger lightly brushed the line of her jaw. “You are my constant. My anchor. My choice, always.”

Her answer caught in her chest, but she managed a small nod. He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to her temple, another to her cheek, then her lips – each one lingering, sealing the words between them like vows. The knot that had lived in her chest for hours finally loosened, unraveling in a rush of heat and ache as he drew her close. His arms wrapped around her, not just holding but keeping her, and she folded into him as if there had never been anywhere else she belonged. 

They stayed like that for a long time, the fire dying to embers, until eventually moving to his tent, his arm snug around her waist as they settled down. Even then, the remnants of the connection lingered in her body like scattered embers inside her, each touch from him fanning them back to life. 

When his fingers traced absently along her arm, she felt a flicker of his awe from that night in the shadow-cursed lands. When his knee brushed against hers, warmth bloomed in her ribs, echoing the quiet joy she’d felt in him by the river at dawn. When he murmured her name in that drifting place between waking and asleep, she felt the catch in his breath from their first kiss. 

Long after his breathing deepened, she lay awake in the curve of him, each rise and fall of his chest against her back a reminder: he loves me, he loves me, he loves me. She finally drifted into dreams with that truth burning low and constant in her, as a flame she would feed for the rest of her days.

[dekariosclan]

🚨🚨FIC RECOMMENDATION🚨🚨

Would you like to cry happy tears into your coffee while reading a beautifully written, sweet, loving, perfectly in-character Gale fic?? Yes? Then I have to recommend the above fic, which will leave you feeling as warm as if you’ve just gotten a hug from Gale while he’s wearing his plush purple jammies. All of @perpetualmaladaptivedaydream’s works are SO well written and a joy to read, be sure to check them all out. If you are a Gale fan you will not be disappointed!