#au gale

[orangekittyenergy]

Still playing with brushes and made some kind of mafia Gale? Sure 🙃

[ittitria]

glam! gale sketch comm

thank you @ w_meyers2 for commissioning him!! loved the design, looks so gorgeous✨✨

[entirelytoofondofgale]

The wizard of apartment 3B -

✨️A modern Au: Oc - Gale fanfic ✨️

It was, as days went, a perfectly unremarkable Thursday.

The coffeehouse had been swamped from open to close, and Elizabeth Collins — Liz to friends, coworkers, and anyone brave enough to shorten it without asking — had been caught in its undertow since morning. The early commuter rush had bled straight into a parade of late lunchers and laptop squatters, each one convinced their cappuccino was the most urgent order in existence.

By the time she finally locked the doors, the place smelled of burnt espresso and rain-damp coats. Her feet ached inside scuffed black sneakers, her fingers were raw from knocking coffee grounds loose from stubborn portafilters, and her apron bore the day’s battle scars: a smear of chocolate syrup, a constellation of milk foam spots, and the faint ghost of cinnamon along the hem.

She caught herself in the warped reflection of the espresso machine before turning out the lights. A stranger might have thought she looked put together — her long coat hiding most of the mess, her posture straight enough to pass for collected — but Liz saw all the little betrayals the day had left behind. Her curls, dark and stubbornly springing free, had escaped the loose bun she’d knotted that morning. Her green eyes, usually sharp and lively, were dulled by fatigue, ringed with the faint shadows of someone who rarely went to bed as early as she promised herself she would. And under it all, she smelled of cinnamon, sour milk, and coffee — a barista to the bone.

Liz didn’t mind long days — at least, not usually. There was a strange comfort in the ritual of it: the hiss and thrum of the espresso machine, the steady rhythm of wiping down tables, even the small, forgettable kindnesses exchanged with regulars. But tonight had been too much. Too many complaints. Too many "can you just" requests. Too many people taking and taking until her practiced smile felt brittle.

She slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped out into the night.

The air was cool, the kind of clean dampness that only came after steady rain. Streetlamps cast yellow puddles of light on the wet pavement, and the scent of petrichor mingled with the faint tang of car exhaust. Somewhere, far off, a siren wailed.

Maybe, she thought, she’d stop by the bakery on the corner and get herself something decadent — a croissant, a tart, anything that wasn’t served in a paper bag or eaten standing behind a counter. She’d earned it.

Pulling her hood up, Liz cut down the narrow side street she always took as a shortcut home. She fished her phone from her pocket as she walked, thumb hovering over the bakery’s closing hours on Google, half-considering whether she had the energy to stop.

It was halfway through that little alley — flanked by wet brick walls, the hum of a single tired streetlamp above her — that she felt it. At first, it was nothing more than a prickle at the edge of her awareness, like the sudden, inexplicable sense of being watched. Liz slowed without meaning to, her steps softening against the slick pavement.

Her phone screen flickered, the map app freezing before the signal bars blinked out entirely.

The air had changed. It pressed against her like a held breath — hotter than it should have been for an autumn night, heavy with the metallic tang of ozone. Goosebumps climbed her arms beneath her coat. The sound came next: a low hum, and a steady, unnatural vibration.

At first glance, her brain tried to make it something ordinary: a puddle catching the light strangely, a neon sign’s purple reflection, a trick of her tired eyes. But no. It hovered midair, a few feet ahead, where the alley narrowed toward the street beyond. It wasn’t large — no bigger than a car tire — but it pulled the world in around it, bending light and shadow like water swirling down a drain. Its edges writhed inward, folding on themselves like smoke in reverse. At its center, a deep, restless purple boiled, threaded with veins of white-gold light that pulsed faintly, like the beat of some enormous heart.

Liz’s breath hitched.

Every rational part of her screamed walk away. Keep moving. Pretend you didn’t see it.

Instead, she stood there, rooted.

The hum grew louder.

Then —

A hand shot out. It broke the surface without warning, scattering the air with a sharp crack, grasping at nothing and everything at once. Long fingers, dirt-streaked and trembling.

“Ah — a hand, anyone?”

The voice wasn’t loud, but it cut cleanly through the hum of the alley. Warm, precise, and unnervingly calm for someone half-trapped. Even ragged with urgency, it carried a strange composure.

Liz blinked at the hand grasping at the air. Her brain scrabbled for the right response and came up empty. “What the hell—”

“Ah, splendid,” the man cut in, as if her voice alone confirmed his salvation. “If you wouldn’t mind terribly—yes, you there—do be so good as to pull me out.”

She stared. “I’m sorry, you want me to—what?!”

“Pull,” he repeated, like this was the most obvious thing in the world. His hand flexed toward her. “It’s really quite simple. Unless you’d rather leave me in this… predicament, which, I assure you, would be significantly less preferable for me.”

Liz’s mouth opened. Closed. Against every shred of self-preservation she had left, Liz stepped forward. The heat coming off the thing made her skin prickle, the air itself vibrating against her hand as she reached for him. She expected nothing. Or pain. Or for her arm to disappear entirely.

Instead, her fingers wrapped around a solid, warm wrist. She planted her feet on the slick pavement, muttered something halfway between a prayer and a curse, and yanked.

The tear shrieked — that was the only word for it — light flaring bright enough to burn her vision, and then spat him out with violent force. He collided with her shoulder-first, and they hit the ground in a tangled heap, wet concrete cold against her back.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Then, slowly, deliberately, he pushed himself up on one arm, bracing over her.

And for the first time, Liz saw his face.

Up close, he didn’t look like someone who belonged to this alley — or this world, for that matter. His features were sharp but not cruel, aristocratic in a way that belonged in oil portraits and lecture halls, not rain-slick shortcuts between city blocks. Ash smudged along his jaw and across his temple, highlighting the paleness of his skin. A lock of dark brown hair fell across his brow in damp, disobedient waves. And his eyes—

She froze under their weight. Warm brown, steady and alive, creased at the corners as he looked down at her, as if they’d already shared some private joke. Then he smiled. Not wide, not arrogant. Just a small, tired curve of his mouth, wry and oddly reassuring.

“You have my gratitude,” he said, his voice as calm and deliberate as if they weren’t lying in an alley after he’d just fallen out of the sky. “Though I must admit, this isn’t how I usually make an entrance.”

Liz blinked up at him, still flat on the wet concrete. Her throat felt tight, her heart hammering like it wanted out of her chest. “What the hell,” she heard herself say, the words tumbling out before she could think of anything better.

His smile deepened just slightly, like her shock amused him. “Ah,” he said softly, almost to himself, “still functioning. That bodes well.”

Then, with a quiet sort of grace, he extended a hand to her. “Ah — forgive me,” he said, voice steady despite everything. “Allow me…”

Liz blinked at him, still dazed, before letting him help her up. His grip was firm, grounding. Once she was standing, he inclined his head in a small, courtly gesture. “Gale Dekarios,” he said. “Wizard of Waterdeep. At your service.”

Liz dragged her hands down her face, fingers digging into her cheeks as if sheer pressure could force the world to make sense. “Oh my god,” she muttered. “I’ve hit my head, I’m dreaming, or I’ve officially gone insane.”

“If it’s any comfort,” he said delicately, like a professor easing into a lecture, “I find the experience equally disorienting.” He drew a slow breath, squaring his shoulders. “In the simplest possible terms — and I do assure you this is the simplified version — I was attempting a controlled planar traversal. An advanced form of teleportation,” he added quickly, catching her expression. “And, well…” His eyes flicked toward the still-shivering tear in the air, his jaw tightening for just a moment before smoothing back into composure. “Things did not go according to plan. My arrival here was… unintended. And rather inelegant.”

Liz followed his gaze to the tear, its pulsing light throwing faint, unnatural shadows across the walls. “That thing is still there,” she said flatly, as if pointing it out might make it disappear.

“Yes,” Gale said, his tone clipped now. “And it can’t be allowed to stay visible. I’d rather not have some curious soul stumbling across it.” His eyes landed on the large rusted dumpster near the wall. He gestured at it with a quick, almost imperious flick of his hand. “That will do. Help me move it.”

Liz stared. “You want me to hide your… portal with a dumpster?”

“It’s expedient.”

Liz opened her mouth to argue, but instead found herself muttering, “I cannot believe I’m doing this,” as she trudged toward the dumpster. It smelled like every bad decision ever made in an alleyway, and it groaned like a dying animal when she put her hands to it.

They wrestled it inch by inch until it scraped across the asphalt, finally settling between the rift and the street. Gale stepped back, brushing his hands together like a man pleased with a job well done.

Liz straightened, breathless, her curls plastered damp against her face. “So that’s it? We just… leave it like this? And you’re what — not going back through it? Back to… wherever?”

Something flickered across his face — the first real crack in his composed, professorly act. “That,” he said after a beat, quieter now, “is unfortunately not… currently an option.”

Liz stared at him. “Not an option.”

“Correct.”

“So you’re stuck here.”

“For the time being,” he admitted, lifting his chin as if the dignity of the gesture could offset the weight of his words.

They stood there in the damp silence of the alley. The hum of the streetlamp. The faint drizzle beginning again. The steady pulse of that impossible rift behind the dumpster.

Liz glanced at him again — really looked at him. The wet robe hanging heavy on his frame, the ash smudged along his jaw, the quiet way he held himself like a man trying very hard not to come apart.

She blew out a breath through her nose. “Fine,” she said at last, jamming her hands into her coat pockets. “You can stay at my place. Just for one night.”

For the first time, his composure eased. The corners of his mouth curved in a small, tired smile, and his shoulders seemed to drop a fraction.

“You have my gratitude,” he said simply. And for once, it didn’t sound like a line.

Liz didn’t answer. She turned toward the street, her boots splashing shallow puddles as she walked. Gale fell into step a pace behind her, silent, his wet robe whispering against the concrete.

The alley kept its secrets — the rift hidden behind rusting metal, the hum fading with distance — as two mismatched silhouettes disappeared into the yellow glow of the streetlights.

[mahiiimahiiii]

Crocus: snippet!

A/n: here's a snippet from my current wip! It is multi chaptered so I'm trying to give you more of a tasty long form fiction.

The caves themselves were humid, scattered with small waterfalls and clay bricks of faded colors. Ferns, moss and purple flowers grew from spigots of water and areas that drew a lot of moisture. You say down a moment near one of the spigots, refilling your canteen. You wet a cloth under the water and wiped the sweat from your brow. You decided that now, a better time than any, was good for a snack. You pulled out a wedge of cheese, a pack of pickled fish and a chunk of bread. The cheese spread like butter, it was spiced, and tastes like your mother's mephistar cooking. You layered it with chunky and salty pieces of bone-free tuna. A pretty shitty meal at best but one that will keep you going for a while The sound of padded paws and jingling bells graces your ears, a tressym spotted like a tortoiseshell cat came into view, it grimaced at the scent of the fish.

You broke off a bit of the clean bread and offered it to the cat. She scarfed it down and began to kick her leg like a chicken drumstick.

"That fish wont sustain you for much, you know." The cat stated pointedly, her eyes scrunched close in concentration.

The packing supplies rattled slightly as you put them away, doing a small Jump in surprise.

"I'm well aware, this was a snack before I scout out a place to camp."

"Camp?!" The cat scoffed, "my friend runs a small inn nearby, he'll be happy to have guests. We have them more often in the winter during a specific ceremony for worshipers of Silvanus escorting their friends into hibernation. "

"But I'm here to find-"

"Nonsense, a cup of tea will clear your head, whatever you're finding will make sense after a good night sleep."

The cat brushed herself along your legs.

You stood up, following her into the depths of the maze, eventually the cracked and sandy floor turned into a smooth rock brick. The art was newer in the walls, possibly done by previous worshippers. A sign that looked like the same green kettle settled on a beam of a building built into an alcove Your fingers brushes against the wood of the doorframe, the rest of the village that peered off the balcony below into the depths of the underdark bustled and hummed. The cat found a plush cushion at the desk, small keys hung behind her, as well as rows of books. The floor was aged wood, cracks filled in with dark cool clay. The room was open air, with small lanterns filled with enchanted candles filled with spices. The tressym stretches, nipping at an enchanted pen and stamping her own paw in ink, marking down in a book.

"Name?" She asked.

"Uhm.. Li'ia Obbon."

"Your room will be number 6”.

"That is very generous of you " you grasp at the key floating towards you

"First night is free alongside the baths, you will have to pay for food though."

"Oh- that's quite the lovely deal."

The cat herself shrugged, "we have a lot passing through, we simply offer better services for those staying longer- as good will be a more 'on-the house' thing as you're paying for it with room and board."

You Hum in acknowledgement, the tressym cleans her paws in water and dries them on a towel nearby.

"I suggest you have a bath before the master wakes, he takes a while."

"He is nocturnal?" You tilt your head, slightly fascinated.

"Only until recently. Then he had a late-night reading session, and it went downhill from there."

"Thank you for the tip." The keys are heavy in your hand as you hiked up the stairs, your pack weighing heavily on your back. The hall was of the same cool wood, filled with dark clay. The key slotted into the hole and turned, revealing a large room with upwards windows bright beams of the lowering sun flooded the room.

[orangekittyenergy]

Hi I started replaying cyberpunk again and I’m going to make it everyone’s problem 😎

[orangekittyenergy]

Ma’am …

[orangekittyenergy]

i need to know more about cyberpunk gale please plase Pls please

Happy to indulge 😘 Also here’s a little WIP

Thoughts: He’s definitely a Netrunner. Probably formerly a corpo. Due to ever growing demands from his boss he dives deeper and deeper into the net. Maybe trying to find a deep hidden secret from another corp and …..something something he gets infected with a virus when he tries to come out. Now hes out of his job. On the street and trying to pick himself up taking odd jobs. Idk I need help workshopping this hahaha

[dreamingofthewild]

While I appreciate the fanon concept of AU Gale being tech-averse, I believe he'd actually embrace a lot of modern technology.

Imagine him as a pioneer in virtual reality, creating immersive worlds that transport users to different times and places. His fascination with illusion aligns nicely with virtual realities in my opinion.

In a modern setting, I can see Gale using gadgets like smart home devices and audiobooks to enhance his life.

Despite having a preference for physical books, he would definitely see the benefit of being able to listen to a book when it's not practical to be reading one. He's still learning after all.

However, he would be skeptical about the use of AI (especially chat GPT and midjourney) and the overuse of technology which would prevent him from engaging with social media, e-readers, or online shopping. Despite his reservations, he'd undoubtedly own the latest smartphone and a powerful computer, reflecting his curiosity about technological advancements.

I think he would be the type of person to own the latest computer & smartphone but still insist on using physical media (DVD's, vinyl, books) as well as owning a type writer and insisting on shopping at local stores.

Pairing him with a social media addict and AI enthusiast in an alternate universe would be a fun dynamic and should be explored more.