WIP Something, Maybe F*ck Five Lines, Whenever, Whatever…I suck, etc.
I have un tagged tags sitting from so many… @tynithia @tociminna @archduchessgortash and @dr4gonwriter at least. I think I’m caught up with @optimisticgrey but…anyway.
I’ve had to rewrite all my adventures with the new Forgotten Realms spells etc. and am just so so far behind. I fiddled some with a few different things but the only thing of substance I’ve managed this week is a bit of angst on the night before the Netherbrain fight.
📸 by @alstromeri-a
From ~ And Tomorrow
Lily had unfurled her papers across the sticky rooftop table, maps and notes fluttering like wounded wings in the breeze off the harbor. Every scrap of knowledge she possessed lay bare beneath the moon—low-hung, swollen, a gravid omen offering no comfort, no guidance. Far beneath the city stones, something vast was waking.
She murmured to herself, voice scarcely more than a sigh tangled in the breeze.
“Karlach can stay back—defend her city with Jaheira and Minsc. Side by side with heroes… she’ll like that. Shadowheart can stay as well. They’ll need a healer.”
Her fingers drifted to a map’s edge, pausing where ink bled into shadow.
“Halsin… has to come. He’s the only one without a tadpole. If the Brain turns us—any of us—he…”
Her breath quivered. “He’ll be the one who can stop us.”
“Couldn’t sleep?”
Gale’s voice drifted across the rooftop like a lantern finding her in the dark. Lily startled slightly, turning as he stepped to her side, the moon outlining him in silver.
“Elf,” she corrected gently, “I don’t sleep. Remember?”
He only shook his head, fondness softening every tired line of him, and reached out to brush a stray wisp of hair from her cheek. His fingers lingered—warm, grounding—before he bent and pressed a kiss to her cheek, slow and almost reverent.
“Well,” he murmured against her skin, “let me rephrase. I woke to find my arms quite empty. And I wondered what had become of you.”
“Planning,” she admitted, her voice a thin silver thread in the dark. “Feels a bit maudlin, thinking about which of us should survive. Who should stay in the city when we head for the morphic pool the Emperor mentioned.”
Gale didn’t answer at first. Instead, his arm slid fully around her waist—firm, encompassing—drawing her against the warmth of his chest. He held her as though he could anchor her to the world simply by refusing to let go. She softened instinctively, her forehead brushing his collarbone, his heartbeat steady beneath her cheek.
His other hand rose to cradle the back of her head, fingers threading into her silvery hair with almost reverent gentleness. She lifted her face to him, searching his eyes, and her voice—barely more than breath—quivered between them.
“You can stay here,” she whispered. “Astarion and I can bring back the crown.”
The words hit him like a blow. His arms tightened—not painfully, but unmistakably—a protective, startled pull that pressed her closer, as though the very thought of her walking into that abyss without him stole the breath from his lungs.
“Lily!” Gale’s voice broke out of him before he could soften it. “What are you saying? Are you truly proposing to do this without me?”
The hurt in his tone was unmistakable—raw, astonished, edged with something hotter.
“You’d trust Astarion to stand at your side in that nightmare, but not me?”
His brows drew together, grief flickering into anger—not loud, but aching, the kind that slips beneath the ribs like a blade.
“After everything we’ve survived, everything we’ve fought for—you think I would abandon you? Or fail you?”
She reached for him, but he took in a sharp breath, the wound too fresh to be soothed so quickly.
“Gale…” she whispered, palm to his chest, feeling the tremor beneath his sternum. “What happens if we fail? What happens if you die and we can’t deliver Mystra her trinket? Your soul would be lost in the City of Judgement. I could never find you.”
He went still—not calmed, but silenced by the fear beneath her reasoning. His jaw tightened; hurt flickered again in his eyes, softer now but no less deep. He swallowed hard, breath unsteady, arms still locked around her. If anything, they drew her closer, as though the thought of losing her had lit a fire beneath his ribs.
“Lily,” he said—and this time her name broke from him like a plea. “Without you beside me, I would never have dared to dream of anything beyond a lonely, violent end. Mystra’s Chosen…”
He let out a shaking breath, half-laugh, half-sob. “Well, let’s just say happy ever after is seldom in the hands she deals.”
His hands framed her face—almost too gently for how fiercely he held her—thumbs trembling against her skin. His voice dropped, hoarse, desperate.
“I cannot go back to that. To believing I was doomed. To walking into darkness alone. I can’t—Lily, I can’t bear the thought of you choosing a future where I’m not at your side.”
He dipped his forehead to hers, breath unsteady, like he was trying to breathe her in before the world tore them apart.
“I would rather face the Absolute, the gods, the whole damned Weave itself with you… than live safely without you.”
For a long moment, Lily said nothing.
The harbor wind tugged at her hair, lifting silver strands like drifting starlight. Gale’s forehead rested against hers, his breath uneven, his hands still trembling where they framed her face. Beneath her palms, his heart thudded with a frantic, mortal rhythm—so human, so fragile, so desperately alive.
She closed her eyes.
Not to shut him out.
To feel him more clearly.
“Gale,” she whispered at last, her voice barely a ripple on the night. “I’m not choosing a future without you. I’m trying to make sure there is a future for you.”
Her hands slid from his chest to his jaw, thumbs brushing the dampness gathering at the corners of his eyes. She pressed her brow against his chest, the warmth of him sinking into her bones.
“Please,” she said softly. “Choosing Astarion to walk beside me isn’t an issue of trust. He’s already dead! His soul returns home…But you are the one I cannot lose. The one I cannot gamble with.”
Her voice quivered, but she didn’t look away.
“I trust Astarion with my life,” she murmured. “But I trust you with my soul.”
His breath hitched—sharp, trembling.
“But if you fall,” Lily continued, quieter still, “I won’t be able to follow you. Not into that darkness. Not into her hands. I am terrified of losing you in ways I cannot mend.”
Her fingers curled into his hair, holding him to her as though anchoring both of them to the world.
“And I would rather you hate me for trying to keep you safe,” she whispered, “than watch you vanish into a fate I cannot reach.”
The words lingered between them—fragile, fierce, unbearably true—before she added, almost breaking:
“I love you too much to send you into that pool. Even if it kills me.”
For a heartbeat, Gale didn’t breathe.
Her confession—her fear, her love, her impossible tenderness—hit him like a spell he had no defense against. His hands tightened in her hair, his forehead still pressed to hers, but something shifted in him: not anger now, not even hurt—something deeper, steadier, devastatingly resolute.
“Lily,” he whispered, and the way he said her name cracked like a vow being forged. “I will not let you go alone.”
He drew back just enough to see her face, cupping her cheeks as though she were made of moonlight and mortal flesh in equal measure. His breath trembled against her lips.
“You think I’ll stand here and watch you walk into this without me? That I would let fate, or fear, or even you decide I’m unworthy to stand at your side?”
His voice lowered, fierce and tender all at once.
“No. Absolutely not.”
He brushed a kiss to her brow—not soft, but pressed with purpose, as if sealing an oath.
“If the tide turns,” he murmured, “if the Brain takes you—if it comes to that—”
His eyes burned, dark and bright as spellfire.
“I will detonate the Orb.”
She gasped, but he silenced her with a touch, a thumb sweeping softly beneath her eye.
“It would fulfill Mystra’s will. Redeem my soul. And in that moment, I would tear us free of this nightmare. I would end it—end everything—before I let you be twisted into something you are not.”
His voice broke, but he did not look away.
“And if that condemns me… if the Weave shatters me, if judgment swallows me whole…”
He leaned in until his lips brushed hers—just barely, like a promise that spans centuries.
“…then I will find you in every lifetime the gods permit. I will cross worlds, mythals, Spheres of existence if I must. You will not be rid of me—not in this life, and not in any that follow.”
He rested his forehead against hers again, his breath shivering as though the vow had stolen the strength from his lungs.
“You are not walking into that pool without me,” he said, quiet as a prayer and absolute as a geas. “Not now. Not ever.”
For a long, suspended moment, Lily only stared at him.
The wind curled around them, lifting silver strands of her hair, carrying the distant hush of the harbor. Gale’s vow still hung between them—terrible, tender, incandescent. A promise vast enough to defy gods. A promise reckless enough to be his.
And slowly, slowly, her resistance unraveled.
Her breath left her in a quiet shudder. The fear in her eyes softened, reshaped into something deeper—acceptance, aching and luminous.
She lifted one hand and laid it over his, still cupping her cheek. Her fingers slid down, lacing through his with deliberate care, as though she were binding them together thread by thread. Then she took his other hand too—pulling them both into her own, grounding him, grounding herself.
When she finally spoke, her voice was so gentle it felt like the night itself leaned in to hear.
“Well,” she murmured, “then help me plan.”
Gale’s breath hitched—relief, love, sorrow, devotion all knotted into a single trembling exhale. She tugged him closer by the hands, guiding him back toward the table with its sprawling maps and ink-brushed fears.
Her thumb swept over his knuckles in a quiet circle.
“If you’re coming with me,” she whispered, “then every choice from here on… we make together.”
Gale gave her that tender crooked smile, the one that was only for her, “You are quite the battle commander, aren’t you ?”
Lily exhaled, a soft breath edged with old shadows. “Evereska nearly fell the year before I was born. Most of the city died. Every song, every memory… vanished.”
Her fingers smoothed the edge of a map as though she could flatten the past itself.
“Maybe this is why I’m here. So no one else has to carry memories like that.”
Gale’s expression warmed—pride, grief, love threading through every line of his face.
“Minthara can take the Iron Hands into the Undercity,” Lily said next.
He let out a surprised, delighted laugh. “The Undercity—gods. About as close to the Underdark as Baldur’s Gate dares go.”
Lily’s lips curved. “And commanding a battalion of gnomes will make her feel right at home.”
His laughter softened into a smile as she leaned over the spread of maps again, her hand drifting toward the names she’d chosen.
“Astarion, Wyll, Lae’zel… and Halsin with us.”
She paused again, fingertips hovering above the ink.
“Wyll’s first act as Grand Duke,” she murmured. “Lae’zel was born and bred to fight illithids. And Halsin… if it all goes very badly.”
Her throat tightened.
“We’ll need to tell him about the contingency spell. He’ll have to know how long he has to use the Orb.”
Gale’s hand slid over hers—warm, steady, inexorable—and he bent to press a soft kiss to her temple.
“Well,” came a voice from the shadows, “isn’t that just delightful.”
Both of them turned as Astarion strolled into the lantern-glow with the weary grace of a man deeply offended by the very concept of responsibility.
A sharp inhale cut through the quiet.
“Oh no. Absolutely not. I refuse.”
They both turned as Astarion strode into the lantern light, cloak flaring behind him. His expression was not haughty or smug, but genuinely aghast.
“Are you—” he gestured wildly at the table “—making plans for what happens when we all DIE?”
Lily blinked. “We’re not planning to—”
“Oh, don’t you dare give me that tone.” He stalked closer, silver eyes wide with disbelief. “I leave you alone with him for ten minutes and this is how you spend your time? I thought wizard charming here would be making some ardent declaration of love.”
Gale sighed. “We weren’t planning your death, Astarion—”
Astarion jabbed a finger at the maps. “There is literally a note here that says ‘if we’re turned’ with an arrow to Halsin’s name!”
He turned to Lily, affronted on a spiritual level. “Illithid? Me?, Lily. As if that’s an acceptable thing to plan for.”
“It’s a contingency,” she said gently.
“It’s deranged,” he snapped back. “A contingency is forgetting a tent pole, not preparing for your inevitable horrific transformation into squid-people!”
Gale sighed in exasperation . “Astarion—”
“No,” Astarion cut in, hands on hips, “I am putting my beautifully shod foot down. You are all far too calm about this. Planning who dies and how and why—good gods, it’s positively morbid.”
Lily’s voice softened. “We’re not expecting to die.”
“Oh, really?” He swept a hand over the table. “Because this looks like the world’s most depressing picnic.”
Despite herself, she laughed—a soft, tired little sound.
Gale’s shoulder eased. Even he couldn’t quite hold onto a frown in the face of such dramatic indignation. “Very well, then. No more talk of defeat, of the orb. We’ll do this the old fashioned way —spells, swords and sweat, adventurers to the end, whatever form that might take.”
Tagging @babydinosaur930 @asorceresswrites @waterdhaviancheeses @toomanyfamiliars and everyone else whether I missed you or not! Sorry about the sucking.
