#galevity

[infernaldaydreams]

"But who'd have thought the one taking all my treasures would prove dearest of them all?"

for @alittlelevity

[nadas-dirthalen]

Some had their questions—about the orb, his visible malaise, the dubious wisdom of perpetually maintaining a cautionary distance—all easily waved away. Only one argued with his answers. Twice. Checked his certainty a third time, eyes narrowed, watching for a waver the way a fox tracks a rabbit. It seems a touch naive, now, to have ever expected otherwise from one who calls herself Levity, Hells-bent on her own purpose.

I've had the busiest winter I've maybe ever had, and the ever lovely @infernaldaydreams surprised me with an early holiday gift. 💛 Thank you, dear friend, more than my words alone could ever convey. I'll be screaming about them forever and ever and ever. 💛💛

[infernaldaydreams]

"You're not versed in magic, are you?"

My banner for the Gale and Levity chapters of We Had a Good Run (Didn't We?)

Galevity belongs to @alittlelevity I just draw them sometimes <3

[infernaldaydreams]

WIP WHENEVER ✨

I was tagged a few times over the last few weeks and I’m finally catching up! Thank you for all the tags everyone <33 I have lots of irons in the fire right now but I’m having fun 🥰

Gentle tags that are hopefully not double taps for @thatzombiecat @jaal-ama-daravv @vogelspinne @annahenriart @ladeaeveld @boobaloof @christinasketch if you feel like sharing 💖💖💖

[nadas-dirthalen]

WIP Whenever ✨

Tagged by the lovely @redstairs and the one who is presently shouldering my wotr delusions, @fictionobsession!!

I really wanted to depict Galevity in the Underdark. Featuring: completely missing blocks of colour and light (so far!), unblended shadows (so far!), and literally an entire missing hand except for its glowing veins because I do Not wanna draw it (yet). Also Gale has NO mouth (see the aforementioned "i don't wanna.")

Tagging: @infernaldaydreams, @amasec, @thelittlewolverine, @redstairs and @fictionobsession again (yeah deal with it!), @flamemittens, @defira85, and YOU! The person reading this!!!!

[nadas-dirthalen]

Tav QOTD ✨️

"If your Tav/Durge was a romanceable companion, what would their response be to the "What are we to you?" dialogue option?"

Tagged by @dr4gonwriter!

"You're a surprise. I always knew you'd make me laugh, of course. But who'd have thought the one taking all my treasures would prove dearest of them all?"

Tagging @infernaldaydreams @thelittlewolverine @amasec @defira85 @flamemittens and anyone else who'd like to—and you don't need to make it about bg3 if you don't want to!

[nadas-dirthalen]

WIP Whenever ✨

Tagged by five of the loveliest people: @amasec @thelittlewolverine @defira85 @fictionobsession and @nusaran! Thank you all, and consider this a tag right back if you haven't this week!

From chapter 5 of Unfurling for You: Gale's first silent treatment since Mystra's. Womp womp.

He believed himself ready, perhaps foolishly, for the bitter 'good morning.' The biting remark, if it came to that. He'd move a little to the right in either case, as he always does, so she might plant herself entirely close to his left and insist on taking a turn to stir whatever it is he’s making, as she always does. No doubt she’ll have more to say this morning, given all that transpired yesterday, and he braces for that, too: the barb that’ll sink deepest of all of them, the guilt that he’ll deserve. Levity, though, is silent. Utterly devoid of expression. Dark half-moons weigh under her eyes. Gale had no idea she could move on such quiet steps, but she does, such that he cannot turn away without losing her entirely. She meets his gaze, considers the place she always takes, and changes course. “Good morning,” Gale starts, failing to replicate the grin she always seems to sport. Well—almost always. Her tail flicks, and that’s the only indication she’s heard him at all.

Wheeeehehehe!

In addition to the above, tagging: @infernaldaydreams @flamemittens @redstairs @holylustration @jaal-ama-daravv and anyone else who wishes to!! 💛💛💛

[nadas-dirthalen]

The First Time... Gale and Levity were involved in doing laundry for the other. Was someone injured? Sick? Did they have to help the other strip down to their underthings? A mundane activity that can nonetheless speak volumes about trust and intimacy. Speak on it!

This has been LIVIN' IN MY BRAIN for three days, and now that I'm no longer as feverish, it's high time to take a crack at it!

Gale does everyone's laundry for the first long while. This is the first time Levity does his.

(Answering these!)

Gale and Levity in the recently-excavated Duergar Village in the Underdark.

This isn't the first time Levity's heard the words 'I cannot' from the mouth of Gale of Waterdeep. No: he cannot stand to let their camp go without a meal, he cannot go without teaching something to someone for the space of a day, he cannot stand the feeling of his own knotted hair on the back of his neck after a fitful sleep and cannot go forth without tending to the matter (or complaining heartily until then).

Tonight, the words come as barely more than a whisper, looking down at the basket of laundry gathered from across their camp. Second of his nightly duties: the washing, a string of cantrips reducing hours' labour down to minutes. He spends a solid minute staring, not so much as lifting his arms, merely flexing his fingers as though to test their purchase on the air.

Then, with a soft, disbelieving breath, "I... I cannot."

She wondered if there was a reason he chose this spot to do the washing: the shore of a vast subterranean lake, rather than the shelter of one of the buildings above. If maybe some part of him wondered if they'd need access to water after all—if even the smallest magic would be lost to him in the middle of the venture.

But no: Gale wouldn't wonder at such a thing. He cannot stand wading that far into the unknown. Not with this.

How many hours, then, has he been silently aware that this most vital part of himself is... gone?

She lays a hand on his upper arm, and by the next breath, his head lays on her shoulder. For a time, all that's left is the din of camp: the chatter from the fire a short distance away, the murmurs from the buildings where some have already retired for the night.

But who would she be, if she left it there? What good would her virtue name be, if she let it lie?

"Maybe," she starts, already feeling her stomach bob like she's just leapt from some cliff, "I can."

Right on cue, Gale's head shifts against her, tipping up so their gazes meet. "It might not take so long to learn. The incantation's only a single word."

Even if it does—even if she can't manage it at all—she'll have helped him somehow. There's nothing she can do to patch his affliction, but she can do this, at least, to patch over his grief.

"It can't hurt to try," she assures, knowing that's only true in her case, these days, not his.

Gale sits up in full, and Levity pretends not to notice the way he rests his elbows on his cross-legged knees in every spare second, nor the profound hunch in his back, nor the sweat beading on his brow with every motion.

"The incantation," he instructs, "is 'abluo.' It is but one of many variations on a cantrip more commonly known as prestidigitation, but simply put, it is the simplest cleaning spell known to most. It works on one object at a time, but—well, you've seen it at work plenty of times. I can't remember the last time I did our laundry alone."

She grins. "Abluo."

"Precisely. See? Easy enough! Now, for the somatic component..." He raises his arms and gestures in a whirl, both hands moving in concentric, opposite circles in a way that looks like some sort of unwinding. Levity attempts to mimic it—only for Gale's brow to crease at the way her fingers waver.

Too late, she realizes that the motion wasn't a part of the spell at all, but a symptom: one Gale hasn't been able to shake for days.

"Shit," she starts, "I didn't mean to—"

"No, no." Gale waves off the thought. "We know well by now that the root of all this is my fault, don't we?"

"Gale—"

"Rather than demonstrate again, I'll tell you with, I hope, something of a decent visual: hold your fingers still, but pliant, as though you're pulling them through a stream, against the current."

Eyes closed, she tries again: motions smooth, like she's cutting into a brook, sending ripples in her wake. She tries to hold the very idea of it in her mind, tries to picture the way it'll feel when she pulls the Weave to follow her command: abluo, abluo—

"Ah, Levity, what're you—oh."

Her gaze snaps open, her body stock-still. "Wait, gods, what've I—"

A smile cracks across Gale's face; a laugh spills from his lips. "Well, my trousers are certainly clean, and..." He extends both legs, grimacing less than usual at the movement of his knees, before smoothing his hands down his thighs. "... Warm. An interesting bit of metamagic, that. We'll mark that down with the rest of your draconic gifts."

"I just pictured what you asked," she explains. "But I suppose I wanted... well, this." She almost reaches for him, but ever since the night before their descent into the Underdark, she's learned better. "You've been shivering."

Suddenly, Gale's attention drops to his hands. "I thank you for that—really. Simultaneously, it's best you never mention it again."

She hears what he doesn't say: it's a risk. Too high a tide of joy, and they'll all be blown apart.

Her turn to watch her own hands, nested in her lap: more capable than they were a year ago, before the pact that gave her all she has now. They'll be more capable, still, in the future.

"One day—"

"Best not mention that, either, just in case."

"I'm going to be thinking it. You can't stop me in the confines of my own mind." Swiftly, she holds up a hand. "Right now, you shouldn't try."

A scoff. "Very well."

Then, fabric presses into her lifted palm: a pair of wool gloves. By the time she looks up, Gale's already setting his wool cloak in the crook of her elbow. After a few pained movements, he strips away his gambeson, leaving only his shirt over his trousers.

"Maybe don't practice on all my clothes at once, in case that metamagically induced heat is unpredictable," he ventures, "But you do need the practice, the metamagic needs its own study—and you're right. I have been rather cold."

Her brow pinches. "Then why strip all this away?"

He smiles lopsidedly, and for a moment there is only the lapping of the waves against the shore, the chatter by the fire, the dark depths of his eyes.

"You already know," he confesses, almost at a whisper. "It's quite dangerous for you to warm anything too close to my heart."