#dear Tara I'm doing my best
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Imagine: the core 4 is out on a hot day and they are just having fun around town
Mindy and chad are debating over something and sam doesn’t see tara anymore
She cant find her and eventually she hears crying
She finds tara crying and someone had made fun of taras scars since she was wearing a cropped shirt because of the weather. Her eyes look so sad
😟
Sam feels like she only turned around for a second, and then Tara was gone. That girl, she sighs. Maybe she should get the leash out after all. Tara likes crowds as little as she does, and she knows how anxious it makes her when she disappears like this, so she doesn't understand why she still does it.
She wanders back to The Twins splashing each other in the fountain, alongside several children, to let them know she's going off to search for their wayward companion. They wave her off, too busy in their water-based war. She hopes Chad will reign Mindy's competitiveness in. She's not getting involved if Mindy's caught publically feuding with a child again.
The sun beats down harshly, skin prickling under the heat. It's the kind of sensation Tara loves, but Sam can't stand it. She'd rather be inside lying in the dark, than out here, tanktop soaked with sweat and eyes burning even behind her sunglasses.
But she'd seen the way Tara looked longingly at the crowds outside enjoying the sun, and just known her plans for the day were ruined. So here she is, outside for Tara, and the girl is nowhere to be found.
If she went to get ice cream and didn't get one for Sam, she's going to be pretty upset.
She wanders past a couple of teenagers sniggering about... a girl with scars? She spins on her heel in an instant, slamming one of them against the tree they're leaning on. Turns out she doesn't have to worry about Mindy making a scene after all.
"The fuck did you just say," she growls at the kid, their feet barely touching the ground as she holds them aloft.
"Woah, hey-"
She ignores their companion.
"You think there's something ugly about scars? How about I give you a few of your own?!"
The boy is shaking like a leaf in her grip, spluttering.
"She got them fighting for her life, which is more than you'll ever achieve!"
She drops him to the floor, stepping her booted foot between his legs, a silent threat.
"Where the fuck is she?"
The boy points a quivering finger to the benches by the pond. Sam side-eyes the boys companion, a pathetic excuse for a friend given how easily he stood back with nary a word of protest. She makes a small lunge at him, enjoying the way he trips over his feet as he jumps backwards.
She finds her sister curled up on a bench, body hidden behind her legs and watching the ducks.
"I've been looking for you," she murmurs, plonking herself down beside her sister and throwing a sweaty arm over her shoulder.
Tara wrinkles her nose, trying to shake the arm off. "Sorry," she mutters, not looking her way.
"So, what're we doing over here? If you wanted to see the ducks, you could have just told me."
"I-" Tara bites her lip, glancing at Sam's feet. "It was just... a lot. More than I expected. Being..."
"Seen?"
Tara looks up, meeting Sam's eyes. She swallows.
"Some losers said something, huh?" Sam asks, the answer already known to her. She watches her sister blink back some tears, her head jolting forward in a nod.
Sam pulls her into her side. "They're just jealous they're not as pretty as you." Tara snorts, sniffling into Sam's shoulder.
"That's not-"
"True? Mmm, that's not an argument you're gonna win babygirl, don't try me." When Tara doesn't respond, Sam continues. "I set them straight anyway, and I'll beat up anyone who has something to say about your scars."
Tara sits up. "Wait, Sam, what did you-"
"So let's go get some ice cream," Sam says, loudly, speaking over her sister. She stands up, holding out a hand for her.
"Ice cream," she reiterates, brow twitching at Tara as if daring her to question her.
Tara squints at her, considering her options, but eventually, she reaches out and lets herself be pulled up from the bench.
Sam doesn't let go of her hand as she pulls them in the direction of the van.
"Should we get some for Mindy and Chad?"
"Nah, what they don't know won't hurt them," Sam jokes, knocking her shoulder against Tara's. The laugh she gets back makes braving the sun worth it. She'll do anything to keep hearing it.
#/mp#ask box#Scream#Sam Carpenter#Tara Carpenter#i know what ya'll are gonna zero on in and i'm telling you right now i'm not expanding on it lol. a little mystery is good for the soul.#dear god June 6th#anyway where are they? idk man. some place like this exists in NY now I guess#i did not like this but my head hurts now. im dehydrated. and i gotta go drinking and dinner with the family in a little while#so this is the best i can do
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i have seen several posts around that addressed how discouraging gale from taking the crown of karsus is “keeping him from realizing his true potential.” that tara is merely upset at his choice, instead of being utterly devastated at the loss of her little love. that it’s not a bad ending per se because to get there he didn’t need to sacrifice 7000 innocent souls in the process. gale isn’t continuing the cycle of abuse either, he still appears to love tav and does come back for them to offer them ascension. he wants them to be equal, so it can’t possibly be an unhealthy dynamic, right?
but what of gale himself, his own convictions, values, and everything he holds dear? everything flawed and human that shaped him into the person he is?
player: are you saying you want to ascend? claim godhood?
gale: no, not like that. i don't want to join them. i want to better them. a god's powers, paired with a mortal conscience, a mortal heart.
gale’s motivation for acquiring godhood is that he will able to aid mortals in a way no other god has ever done before. he won’t hide behind pretense nor require blind devotion of his followers. he will understand and be able to empathize. he wholeheartedly believes that he will be different - he will act.
gale: [..] the gods could aid us if they wished, but instead they cower behind ao. so let us act ourselves.
gale believes that by becoming a god he will kill two birds with one stone: aid mortals and acquire enough power to quash any of his insecurities and enemies in the process. that by ridding himself of every perceived flaw he'll finally feel like he will have enough to offer - maybe, just maybe he'll even be content. his flaws are merely holding him back from becoming the best version of himself, and by ridding himself of everything fallible, he will be whole. maybe this is what all of his suffering has led up to. maybe the orb chose him. maybe the reason he had to endure all the pain, isolation, and excruciating loneliness was so that he could realize that he was meant for something even greater. after all, power feeds ambition. and what is more powerful than a god? his convictions were certainly naive, he possesses enough knowledge to know better. don't get me wrong, part of him definitely wants to spite mystra a lil. but his intentions at that time were mostly pure. a reflection of his self-hatred and feelings of inadequacy.
player: this is wrong, gale. that power will corrupt you, even if you can seize it.
gale: it won't, i swear to you. it's merely a tool - a means to an end.
once we meet gale at the party in his new godlike form, it is apparent that even with all the power at his fingertips, he has reached no greater knowledge about himself. his insecurities are still as present as before, he merely is less subtle in his compensation - repeatedly highlighting his grandeur and how dull life on faerun is compared to the wonders of elysium. it is also genuinely crushing to see how little he thinks of himself even now.
gale: i was nothing. a drifting dust mote of a wizard, abandoned by my goddess, my powers lost, my reputation destroyed. and look at me now. i'm their proof.
any perceived dismissal of his Greatness™ is met with immediate disdain.
gale: a bold decision to treat a divine being with such cold indifference.
nodecontext: aloof, annoyed you weren't impressed with him
gale: you mortals do love to live dangerously, don't you?
nodecontext: the slightest hint of a threat - you've probably made an enemy here today. or at least, you've lost a friend.
he is still desperate to impress. emphasizing what an honor it is that a new-born god chose to bless their little soiree with his presence. gaze upon all his divine glory! gale has now become the embodiment of everything he criticized about the gods. his original intentions and plans are discarded and long forgotten. he assuages his erstwhile companions by telling them to simply pray to him, in case they should ever require aid. if they're lucky and their ambition pleases him, he might even deliver.
player: what does the 'god of ambition' offer to his followers?
gale: i 'offer' them nothing. i inspire them to seize their destinies for themselves.
player: interesting, so you help mortals help themselves?
gale: precisely. though that isn't to say i'm averse to the odd bit of direct encouragement.
gale: [..] my aims are set a little higher than offering cursory blessings to just any half-decent spellcaster.
gale: regardless, ethical quandaries are more the remit of my mortal devotees. they do love to talk, and faerun is starting to listen.
aiding "any half-decent spellcaster" is unbefitting of his status. he isn't concerned with questions of ethics and morality either. deeming such matters beneath his divine capabilities.
once gale has ascended and established his domain, what remains of the gale we knew? what of his mortal heart?
minthara: your ambition is not cruel, but you fear that if you indulge it, you will lose yourself in the mysteries of the weave and unravel the world.
minthara: you are afraid of so many things, and it is that fear that keeps you true to yourself.
gale did lose himself and ultimately became one of his biggest fears. considering that his existence as a being of pure ambition leads him to constantly seek out greater heights, it isn't farfetched to believe that raphael's prediction will indeed come true.
player[astarion]: ambition? finally, a god i can get behind...
gale: i assure you, this is merely the prelude to a far grander vision. elysium's in for something of a shake-up.
all that remains of gale is a thin veneer of the person he used to be. what he presents is a hollow echo of the old gale. he does retain some of his mannerisms and quirks, but he is definitely a lot colder and more condescending. if his personality already changed that drastically after a duration of only 6 months, what will he inevitability turn into when he has eternity at his disposal?
essentially, you are aiding gale in the eradication of himself. eradicating everything about him that made him into the loveable, charismatic, awkward, kind, buoyant person he was. everything about him that he perceived as defective, flawed, and lesser-than. before, his hubris was merely an expression of his own discontentment and low self-worth, but now he is hubris incarnate. all of his worst qualities have been amplified.
gale: i am ambition incarnate. as indistinguishable from that most potent sensation as mystra herself is from the weave. and word is spreading.
nodecontext: palpable, almost unsettling excitement from him - hint of megalomania
he put his trust in tav, trusting their judgment and relying on them to nudge him in the right direction. after all, they had plenty of opportunities to show him that they are an ally worth following and confiding in. but in the end, the prospect of what he could be, the things he could give them, the enemies he could yet conquer, won over the desire to simply accept him and help him rebuild a life on solid ground. tav denied him the unconditional love he craves most out of their own selfish desires.
tara: you were looking out for him. i expected better of you.
as i've already mentioned, gale desires nothing more than to be seen, accepted, loved, and valued. having a partner who wholeheartedly supports and believes in him is enough to make him feel content. most importantly - he just wants to live. to enjoy life with everything it has to offer. his ambition can’t be quenched because he hungers still. believing that only by acquiring more power will he finally be enough and reach said acceptance.
we see in his good ending that his own contentment was even able to influence and (temporarily) sate the orb's ever-present hunger:
gale: [..] or perhaps the orb's hunger was fuelled by my own, and my contentment influences it in much the same way.
gale: that's how i feel with you - content. it's a rather unfamiliar feeling, i must say. not something gale of waterdeep ever craved.
it is devastating that he doesn't reach the same feeling of fulfillment if he chooses to pursue godhood, and is instead compelled to continuously surpass his own accomplishments. not being granted rest or reprieve.
gale: i achieved everything we hoped i would, and still i'm not good enough for you?
gale pursuing godhood isn't evidence that he "has been evil all along" or that he "just waited to be unleashed" either. we can't diminish tav's influence in this outcome, they are after all an extension of the player. able to steer every companion toward a path of redemption or to enable them in their worst traits. fandom has already established that by letting astarion ascend you are actively supporting him in becoming the very thing he despises most, putting your own ambitions and idea of what you want him to be above his healing, this is no different.
tara: the gale i knew wasn't like this. he recognised his mistakes. he was contrite. all he wanted to do was live.
tara: unfortunately, he fell into company that turned his gaze towards foolishness. yes, i mean you.
player: gale is his own man, tara.
tara: false. he was mine. though now he belongs only to his own pride.
yes, the epilogue cutscene is beautiful and there is something bittersweet and romantic about his love for tav being one of the few emotions that remained a constant throughout the past 6 months. he didn't need to come back for them, but he did cause he loves them still. no matter how warped his definition of love may be now. while it is abundantly clear that tav ranks lower on his priority list than they did before, his commitment remains.
gale fears isolation, hoping to never return to the time when he was hopeless and alone, stuck inside his tower. by heading in this direction he is once again creating a self-fulfilling prophecy.
tara: [..] if i pretended you hadn't turned tail on every lesson you set out to learn, i'd have no right to call myself your friend.
morena may as well have already resigned herself to her son’s death. elminster partly blames himself. for his lapse in judgment, as well as being the one who plucked him from obscurity in the first place. mourning the kind, bright-eyed boy who cried at the scorched roses in his neighbor's garden. tara won't be here anymore to care and look out for him either. he has lost his oldest and dearest friend, the one who witnessed his downfall from grace and never left his side. who believed him to be the finest mind AND the finest wizard she's ever had the pleasure to know. who was certain that he’d find a way out of any crisis no matter the circumstances. ...and if tav declines his offer to ascend with him? what does he have left?
gale: yes, i am rather radiant, aren't i?
tara: don't flatter yourself, gale. you've debased yourself in ways i could never have fathomed.
tara: goodbye gale, i hope the heavens are worth it.
gale’s godhood ending deals with the loss of humanity, the loss of oneself, and everything one holds dear. it is a devastating and bone-chilling narrative. it is a tragedy.
gale: i hope you don't think less of me. great ambition should not come at the expense of what you already hold dear. i see that now.
if gale could see himself, he would be horrified at the losses he deemed necessary to get here. he would be horrified at what he’s become.
#buckle in this is gonna be a long one!#even for my standards#to be clear this is by no means meant as a slight against specific users#just here to clarify that it is definitely one of the worst outcomes for gale#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#baldurs gate 3#bg3#bg3 epilogue#bg3 epilogue spoilers#bg3 patch 5#bg3 meta#god!gale#had this sitting in my drafts for days now but i am so sleep-deprived that i can't even tell if this is cohesive anymore (i apologize)
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Prayer
Summary: The God of Ambition has returned to Elysium, and you did not follow him. You grieve for Gale, and you struggle to move on with your life.
Featuring Tara the Tressym and Morena Dekarios.
Word count: 3.8k
Non-18+. Gale x Tav. God!Gale. Heavy angst. Grief/mourning.
AO3 link
You let yourself into his tower. Morena had given you the keys, after your first few visits. She had welcomed you like the family you had always yearned for. The family that he had been to you, before he left.
You had moved to Waterdeep after the reunion party. You had not known what else to do. For six months, you had stayed in Baldur’s Gate, helping rebuild the city after the threat of the Netherbrain had passed. You were waiting for him to return. For a sign from him, from anyone, that he still lived.
But he did not. And after you had seen Him, and He had returned to Elysium without you, you had no idea what to do. Where to go. Your parents and brother had died of consumption when you were a child. Your companions had scattered. The man you loved, who you had given yourself to, was no more. Tara and Morena were all that was left of him. So when they asked you to stay in Waterdeep, you accepted. There was no other choice.
Dust swirls in the dimness of the hallway as you walk, your bags swaying around you as you call out.
“Tara?”
You meander into the library. After all this time, it still winds you – how much it smells of him. You blink away the memories that come to you. His hair brushing against your face. The musky warmth of his skin. The softness of his embrace. You set your package on the table, anchoring yourself.
Tara lifts her head lazily from the plush armchair which is the centre of her universe.
“Good morning, Tav,” she yawns, her wings fluttering.
“I’ve brought you a present.”
She patters over to you, heavy-lidded and languid. “You are a dear.”
With a flourish of claws she tears open the wrapped pigeon that you have offered her. Her razor teeth glint in a grin.
“You are so kind to me.”
You dip your head with a smile.
Tara takes her breakfast with you on the balcony. Mrs Dekarios is seeing her sister, she tells you, and will likely not be back until the evening. Your eyes roam over the bustling docks, the stillness of the sea. You cannot help but remember the first night, when he had brought your spirits here, while your bodies remained far away. The moment when you had become one. Another life. Gone forever.
You wonder if He is watching. You are almost certain He is not.
Tara licks at her paw with satisfied laps. You are grateful that you can sit in silence with her. That no words are needed to express the tumult of your memories. The cracks that open and re-open in your heart. You take a sip of your tea.
“You don't have to keep coming, dear. I'm perfectly capable of finding myself sustenance. And watching over Morena, if that’s your concern. Not that we don't appreciate your visits and marvellous company."
“I know.” You set your cup down. “But it's nice to see you all the same."
Tara regards you, her bright eyes wide. She misses nothing.
"Don't take this the wrong way, dear.” She stares, appraising you from head to toe. “But when was the last time you had a change of clothes, or went to the hairdresser's? You are looking slightly..."
You tilt your head.
"Dishevelled. Not at your best.”
It is something you already know, but you do not care. You have little energy for these things now. Your energy is consumed with getting through the motions of your days. That is effort enough.
"It's not a look I'm unfamiliar with.” Tara grimaces. “And I wouldn't wish for you to embark on the same trajectory…"
You shift, waving a hand. It is too much, to speak of him. Of the man he was. Even indirectly.
"I'm fine, Tara. I don't know what you're worrying about."
She frowns. She draws herself up, commanding your attention with her gaze.
"It has been two years, my dear. You are allowed to move on with your life. To move on from Waterdeep." Her voice softens. "From Gale."
You stand. Your cup and saucer rattle on the table. You hold them down, so nothing spills over. So nothing breaks.
"My apologies, Tara,” you hear yourself say. “But I must go. I need to pick some medicines up on the way back, to drop off at the hospice. And it's getting late."
Tara narrows her eyes. Her wings twitch.
"You are stubborn to a fault.” She sighs loudly, then slumps. “But I suppose, that's part of why he loved you.”
You look down, so she cannot see your face tremble.
“Take care of yourself, my dear."
You give her cheek a gentle scratch before you turn away.
"Until next time, my friend."
--------------
You walk along the sea front, as you do every evening. You rent a husk of a room within the hospice that you can never call home. You spend as little time there as you can.
The orange sky is bruised with purple streaks of encroaching night. He had conjured the smell of the sea so truly and vividly, a lifetime ago. He had wished, then, that he could have stood here with you. He had missed this view with an anguish that you felt in your bones. He had wanted nothing more than to take you home. But he is not here anymore, and you are alone.
Sometimes, you pray. You were never religious, even before you awoke on the nautiloid. You have seen so many travesties committed in the name of the gods, to people you love and care for. And from you, the gods have only ever taken away. They ignored your childish prayers for your parents’ healing, your cries as you watched them waste away. You could never praise or worship any god, after all that.
And now, you have seen this god that wears the likeness of the man you love, who speaks with his voice, but not with his heart.
And yet. Sometimes you still pray to Him.
You have never been ambitious. Your parents’ death taught you early on that everything could be ripped away from you without warning. You took nothing for granted – not the clothes on your back, the food in your belly, the people you held in your heart. It was enough for you to cling to them tightly, while you had them. No lofty ambition could tear you away from cherishing the things you held dear.
Now, you do not desire anything. You do not hope for anything. You are empty and numb, as though all hope and life in you died the moment you realised he was gone. Now, you try and fill your time by being useful. By serving. You work at the hospice, mending wounds, cooking and cleaning, giving comfort to the dying. You feel you are dying too, and this is all you can give.
You know he would have approved of these acts of kindness. Of these efforts to remedy what the gods do not, including the god who wears his face. Part of you does it for him, even though you will never again see his smiling eyes that radiate with the pride of love.
You do not pray to Him for ambitions. To Him, you know your prayers will be futile. Meaningless. You know He will not hear them. Within His domain, He will not deem them worthy.
But the tears come as they will. The sorrow is like the darkness he had shown you long ago, when he clasped your hand against his chest and you felt the orb eating away at everything within him that was good and pure and true. You do not think time will ever staunch its hunger. You break apart in secret, consumed by the shadows of all you have loved and lost. You are powerless to fight it.
“Come back to me.”
You pray it, more fervently than anything you have ever wished for. You weep and whisper the prayer again and again. It is a rending inside you that you think will never heal. You would trade your life for it, what little remains of it, if it could restore him as the man he was. The man whose eyes twinkled in passion at the most trivial morsel of knowledge, as though he could never get enough of this world. The righteous anger that reached out from his heart to defend those around him. The earnestness of his hands, the sincerity of his questions. The kindness in him which burned bright, even when despair threatened to snuff it out. The spark of humour that lingered, even in his irritation.
You thought you had shown him how much you loved him, but it was not enough. You had failed to convince him that you loved him not for his magic, not for a grand destiny he could seize among the stars. In loving him fully and without conditions, you had thought that you should stand with him in loving his dreams. His ambitions, even though they were so far from your own.
But you failed to show him that you loved him, just as he was. That he was all you ever wanted, and more than you ever dreamed.
The god that claims his name does not answer your prayers. And you know He will not. The man who would have listened has gone forever.
But you still pray, hoping that he has not.
--------------
People whispered about it in the hospice, when you first arrived in Waterdeep. You could not help but overhear them. ‘The hero who saved Baldur’s Gate,’ they gossiped. ‘The lover of the god of ambition. The foolish woman who turned down the offer to become a god.’
You tried to ignore their disbelief, to avoid their derision. But some of them cornered you. They demanded to know why. Why did you refuse His offer, when you could have had eternity? Why did you not become His Chosen? How could you turn down such glory? Such power?
You could not answer their questions. Nor could you make them understand. You could not show them how it felt to see Him after six months of silence, fearing he was dead, paralysed by not knowing. How it was to watch Him descend on you - an immortal stranger, draped in an imitation of the man who was the other half of your soul. A poor likeness, a travesty of memory. A garish monument to his hubris, to the darkest parts of him which he had battled against and lost. All his tenderness swallowed up by arrogance, the fire of his warmth extinguished by the indifference of silver.
When you refused his offer, you could barely see Him through the mist of your tears. You did not wish to become a god. You always knew what godhood would cost. Knowing the death of your greatest love confirmed it.
But there was something that remained in the steel of His voice and eyes. The faintest shadow of what you dared to hope was love. It made you ask, even when you knew what His answer would be.
“Is there no way we could still be together?”
Your voice sounded so frail, so desperate. The man you loved would never judge you for your vulnerability, nor shy away from it. He would have embraced it, drawing ever closer to you. But under His eyes of silver ice, you felt nervous. Exposed.
“I'm sorry, but no. I know what comes of love between the gods and mortals. I would never expose you to such risk.”
Even in this calculation, there was a semblance of tenderness. He would not make you his Chosen. In that decision, there was respect for the man that once was. The suffering that he endured. His wisdom, his kindness. And that tore you apart.
When He kissed you for the last time, a shock ripped through you that scarred your soul. It was dark as the mark of the orb that he carried and could never shed. His blazing face twisted for a moment in an approximation of pain.
“You may not wish to enter the heavens, but you do a fine job conjuring them here.”
They sounded like words that he would have said. Embers of his poetry. Ashes of his love.
He ascended in a haze of lightning, and was gone forever.
--------------
No one understands it. For how can you grieve for a man who died by becoming a god? It is folly, they think, to mourn an ascension to greatness, much less refuse to embrace it.
So you do not speak of him. You try not to think of him. But much as you try, you cannot forget. You cannot forget how it felt to see and love him so entirely, and to be seen and loved by him in return. To have everything in the boundlessness of his embrace, and be left with nothing on its withdrawal. You cannot let go of half of your soul, and the traces of his love that might remain.
Perhaps this is why you are drawn back to Tara and Morena again and again. An invisible cord joins you in your loss, stronger and more enduring than what is spoken or unspoken. You mourn together, yet you remain alone.
The next time you let yourself into his tower, you can hear them bickering. You make your way towards their voices.
“Frankly,” Tara drawls. “I don’t think those drawings are for our eyes, Mrs Dekarios.”
Morena chortles. “Indeed, Tara. I confess, I didn’t expect-”
As you enter the library, she spins to face you. Grey curls spill from the messy bun at the nape of her neck. You glance around in confusion at the boxes and crates that now clutter the room.
“Why, hello, Tav,” she exclaims, hobbling over to you through the chaos. “You’re just the person we need. Do you recognise this?”
She thrusts a worn leaf of parchment under your nose. It is peppered with elaborate diagrams, lined with arrows, arrayed with his neat cursive.
“No,” you say immediately, busying yourself with the flowers you have brought.
You do actually recognise it. There was an evening when he had decided to show you, in great detail, a technique he had memorised from ‘The Art of the Night’. One which you had both enjoyed at length in his tent, more than a few times.
Even that memory hurts beyond bearing.
Tara flutters onto the chair next to you, nodding at you in greeting.
“I think we should move on, Mrs Dekarios. To preserve our dignity, at the very least.”
Morena smiles wryly. “You’re quite right, Tara. I won’t push at a closed door, Tav, don’t worry.” She peers at the parchment again before burying it under a pile of books. “Still, it’s fascinating the things that you can learn, even when you’re as old and senile as I am.”
She squeezes you lightly on the arm, and you reciprocate.
Tara ushers you towards her armchair. You lower yourself into it, while Tara nestles herself into your lap. It took you months to earn this position of honour. You scratch the side of Tara’s ear as she starts kneading with her paws.
“You missed a great kerfuffle, my dear,” Morena remarks.
“Is that the source of this…?” You gesture around you.
“It is indeed. We were honoured with a visit from His Chosen.” She spits the word out like it is a curse. “That insufferable upstart from Thay. That loathsome boy has come to me three times, and it’s three times too many.”
Tara hisses.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself, Tara,” Morena mutters.
You do not point out the twist of the knife - that He never comes himself. Not to Morena or Tara. Not to you. The idea of Him having a Chosen, after your final conversation, is devastating enough.
You are almost afraid to ask. “What did he want?”
Morena’s scowl tightens the wrinkles on her thin face. “Apparently, there was a range of ‘personal effects’ that Gale neglected to pass onto us when he ascended. Now, two years later, His Chosen says his god is remedying this oversight, with apologies.”
“The man did not look apologetic,” Tara seethes.
“No, he did not.” Morena flicks a piece of lint off her sleeve with unbridled fury. “He looked offended to have been tasked with something so beneath him. When I asked him why it took him so long, he had the gall to tell me that the gods have more important matters to concern themselves with, and that time passes differently in Elysium. ”
You flinch. He had said the same to you, when you asked why He had been silent for six months. The man you loved was not capable of such casual callousness.
You need not to remember. You reach for the nearest box and pull out a book of recipes from Amn. You imagine him standing in the kitchen, tracing his slender fingers across its pages, his eyes intense and narrowed in focus, brown as fresh earth.
“My son was hopeless about many things. He was forever cluttering this place with a mess of trinkets and potions. Well, he did before his…affliction.”
“That certainly helped with the clutter,” Tara observes.
“That it did.” Morena sniffs. “But he was always meticulous about his books, his shelves. His correspondence. His affairs. He would never have left these things in this…state.”
She throws her hands around her in disgust.
“This Chosen. This god.” Her jaw clenches. “He makes a mockery of everything my dear boy stood for.”
She looks out the window, her chest heaving. Tara and I wait. We all have such moments, when his absence is suffocating, and it takes time to find our breaths.
“Well. I shan't bore you with the same ramblings that you’ve heard so many times before.” She laughs bitterly. “A god’s shit is a mother’s treasure, I suppose.”
You lay a hand on hers. She pats it briskly. She clears her throat.
“Speaking of treasure.”
She scuttles away. From a nearby shelf she retrieves a small envelope, creased and stained with brown marks. She holds it out to you.
“This is marked for you. There were a few others, crossed out and scrambled up. I take it that this was the letter he would have given you, but decided not to.”
Your breath catches. You try to hide the shaking of your hand as you take the letter from her. You stare at his cursive, more jagged than usual, bearing your name. Again and again, you run your eyes over it, over the places which his lithe fingers would have touched. The letter is unopened. None of you know what it contains.
“Go on,” Tara urges. “Open it.”
“Or do you want some privacy, dear?” Morena’s hazel eyes quiver.
You shake your head. You are not sure if you are ready. But then again, you are not sure you will ever be. And you are desperate, frantic, to cling to whatever trace of him that remains.
You open it and start to read.
--------------
The tears come and come, and they do not stop. The pain surges out of you like an endless flood, and the agony is so sharp that you think you will die. You curl into yourself, keening, wailing. And still, the grief gnaws at you like a bottomless hole which you do not think you will ever escape.
But Tara shelters you with her wings. Morena holds you in her arms, sobbing silently as you weep. And when it is finally, mercifully over, you clasp his letter to your chest. You close your eyes, soaking up the smell of him that lingers all around you, in every page and book, in every rug and armchair that bore witness to the miracle of him. You reverberate with the warm tenor of his voice, speaking his last words to you from the blue-green skies of another life, a light which washes over all the shadows within you.
You open your eyes, and you begin anew.
--------------
You are standing on the docks, clasping a bag in each hand. Morena and Tara had insisted on helping you pack for the journey back to Baldur’s Gate, but there had been little for you to gather. You had sold most of your possessions, except for your daggers, your surgical implements, a couple of books. A change of clothing. The carved duck from Halsin. A teddy bear from Karlach.
You have nothing left of him except his letter. You had not thought to gather mementos when you were with him. You had given yourselves to each other so completely, you had thought you would have time enough to build a life together.
Now you must rebuild your life alone.
“Gale.”
You let yourself speak his name now. It is not a prayer, but you hope he hears you, though he is no more.
In the distance, the faintest lightning bolt dances across the yellowing sky. It is gone in the blink of an eye. You are not sure if you have imagined it.
Then the air in front of you flashes and flickers. You step back, squinting as blurred streaks of violet and brown and grey form a misty image before you. A shadow in his shape. His soft face in a hazy whirl, his chest bare and unmarked beneath a familiar and well-worn robe. You are gasping, choking. You reach towards him, grasping for his hands. But they slip through your fingers like star dust.
“I love you.” You are smiling and crying all at once. “I’ll always love you.”
It is an illusion. A vision. A figment of your imagination. It does not matter, either way.
“Goodbye, my love,” you whisper.
His smile blazes, bright as the northern lights. He dissolves into you as he fades away. Through the space he leaves behind, you gaze at his tower for the last time.
Your heart is broken and bleeding, but it still beats. You are alive.
You turn and board the ship to Baldur’s Gate.
--------------
My love,
Firstly – please forgive me 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 this 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
--------------
The sequel/counterpart to this fic is Absolution.
Liked this fic? You can find more of my work here.
#baldur's gate 3#bg3#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#bg3 fanfiction#baldurs gate 3 fanfiction#gale fanfic#gale fic#gale x tav#gale romance#god gale
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I'll die with you (part 4)
(Tara Carpenter x fem! reader)
Summary: After Chad's death, you decided you had to do something. With Mindy and your mom's help, you come up with a plan to trapped Ghostface. Little do you know that the price to pay will be high...
Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7
Warnings: blood, death of character (I swear this time it's for the plot, don't kill me it hurts me too), angst
a/n: I drew a little plan so you can see the location (even for I needed it at one point so...) hope you can read my handwriting lol
(English isn't my first language, I'm sorry if there are mistakes or if something doesn't make sense TvT)
"We're safe now, right?" Lexi asked, breaking the silence
You didn't know how much you slept that night, but certainly not enough to talk about that right after waking up.
No one answered her question, only sharing a knowing look.
"With him we're never safe. Trust me, I know"
"But Damian's in jail!"
"Chances are there is more than one killer"
"Okay then, we just have to hide until the other one gets caught" Lexi shrugged her shoulders
"It's useless, he always finds us"
"... Maybe we could use it against him" everyone turned to look at you "We lure him, and we lock him up"
"It's risky, very risky" your mom warned
"It is, but it could work. We just need a bait..."
"And how do we decide who will be the bait? I don't want to be the bait" Lexi complained
"If we figure out Ghostface's next victim... we have our bait" Tara intervened
You all stayed silent a moment, trying to think of the next victim.
"... Do you really think he wanted to kill me that night? I mean- okay he stabbed be and everything, but if he really wanted to kill me, he just had to slit my throat, right? So why didn't he did that, to be 100% sure I would die?"
More silence. You took it as a sign to continue.
"What if... what if he had something against me - like Amber and Richie with Sam - and wanted to hurt me before killing me?"
"Why do you make it all about yourself? Chad doesn't have anything to do with you"
"We're friends since forever, he's very dear to me"
"Okay but what if you're wrong and it has nothing to do with you? And you surviving the attack was just pure luck? 'A painful death' isn't a term you usually use when you don't want to kill someone"
"Maybe he wants to make us believe that to muddy the waters. I don't know okay, I'm trying to figure out why this is happening"
"Yeah well, I your theory's wrong we could all die"
"At least I'm trying, me. You're not helpful at all, just being rude like that."
Tara placed a hand on your thigh to calm you down and kissed you.
"It's okay baby, she's not worth it, I know you're doing your best" she whispered against your lips
"To be honest, whatever we do, we have a chance to die" Gale started "I have an idea for the where. The how, however..."
She tried to explain what the inside of the building looked like, but none of you really understood so she drew a quick sketch of it. It was way easier to understand that way.
"Now as I said before, how we can trap him is another story"
"I think I know"
It was the first time Mindy spoke since you woke up. She looked determined to do everything in her power to avenger her brother.
"Give me a paper, I'll show you"
Your mom obeyed and gave the girl paper and a pencil. She started to draw, and a few minutes after, showed you her plan:
"Let me explain in details" she said, seeing your confused faces "So the doted lines are the retractable glass windows / walls. According to Gale we have to buttons here, and one here. Those two activate this wall, and this one activates the two others. Did I lost anyone?"
You all shook your heads. For now, it was pretty clear.
"Okay, good. Now this is the first floor, right? I think you said at the ground floor there was other glass walls? Okay we'll see that later, but that's where Sam, Lexi and I are gonna stay"
"Wait, I want to be with Tara too" Sam protested
"We can't have too many people at the same floor. Don't worry, Y/n will be there to protect her." Mindy turned back to her plan "So, Y/n and Tara are the bait, they're going to try to lure him at the first floor, so Gale will be able to trap him with the glass walls and separate him from the girls. The other wall is the safe escape."
She gave more details after that. It was a good plan, much better than anything you could've think of.
"Any questions? No? Great"
"Anyone wants a coffee before we put our life in danger?" Lexi sighed
You all nodded. A coffee wouldn't hurt after all.
"Okay, I'm gonna get them, I'll be right back"
<><><><> ♡ <><><><>
Now that you were there, you weren't so sure it was a good idea after all. What if it went wrong? What if Tara was hurt? You glanced over to your girlfriend. She seemed as nervous as you were.
"That's a bad idea, maybe we should-"
You were interrupted by your phone ringing in your pocket. You took it, hands shaking.
Probably: Damian Walker.
You looked at Tara and nodded, the signal for her to text the others to get ready. You picked up hesitantly.
"Hello?"
"Y/n, Y/n... It's a shame I didn't get you last time, really. For you I mean. If I had killed you... you wouldn't have had to watch her die before your eyes."
"O-oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
He hung up, leaving you even more nervous. Suddenly, a tall figure appeared. As expected he was here. Watching you from the other end of the corridor.
You back up slightly, taking Tara's hand to tell her it was going to be okay. Ghostface didn't move, he was just watching you, analyzing the building.
"We're here! Come and get us if you can, asshole!" you provoked him to make him follow you
He tilted his head to the side before taking a knife out of a pocket in his costume. And then he threw it in your direction, cutting your arm. You hissed in pain, putting your other hand on the wound.
He took a step forward then another one, faster, and in less than a second he was rushing towards you.
You started running, Tara by your side. She opened the stairwell's door and started climbing up the stairs, making sure Ghostface was still following you.
You kicked opened the door to the second floor and ran to the glass wall behind which your mother was, ready to push the button.
"Where is he?" she asked, voice muffled by the wall
"What?"
Out of breath, you turned around to look behind you. He was not here. When did he stop following you?
"Shit shit shit..." you mumbled, panicked, blood running down your arm
All of a sudden, Tara screamed.
"Gale!"
You turned around at the same time as your mother and felt your heart drop immediately. He was here. On the wrong side of the wall.
Your first reflex was to rush to the button to open the glass window. You pressed it, but nothing happened. You tried again, panic rising. Still nothing.
On the other side, Gale tried to press the button as well. It was not working. Ghostface tilted his head to the side. You knew he was smiling under his mask.
Tara tried to press the button too, but it was useless. You ran to the stairwell's door. Going back down and to the other side of the floor was the only available option now.
You tried to push it, but it didn't move. Not even an inch. Someone blocked it from outside.
"No no no no no... come on please..."
You kicked the door, threw yourself at it, in vain. Tara was fighting with the button desperately as Gale was fighting Ghostface with almost as much despair.
You took your phone and called Sam, covering your screen with blood. You started talking as soon as she picked up, voice shaking.
"Sam he's with my mom! We're stuck on the other side! You have to help her or she's gonna- she's gonna-"
"Fuck." you could hear her run with the others "We're here in a second" loud noises, as if they were hitting something "Y/n t-the door is locked... we can't- we can't-"
"Try to open it!"
You ran back to the glass window and hit the button, but it still wasn't working. You couldn't do anything.
You couldn't do anything while your mom was fighting for her life on the other side of this stupid wall. From where you were, you could see the stairwell's door shaking. The others were trying hard to open it.
You watched in horror as Ghostface stabbed Gale in the leg, in the stomach, in the arm. She was fighting back as strongly as she could, but she was no match.
You were desperately trying to make the button work, even if you knew it wouldn't.
He threw her to the ground, but she kicked him off her and stood up with difficulty, going in your direction. She didn't see him behind her. She couldn't do anything when he grabbed her by the shoulders and sunk his knife in her chest.
She tried to fight his grip, but she weakened with every passing second.
You had abandoned the button and were now hitting the glass window in hope to break it, screaming her name, but only managed to stain it with your blood.
He looked at you in the eye, challenging you, before taking the knife out of your mom's chest and dragging it to her throat.
"No..." you backed away from the window, tears in your eyes "Please don't..."
He nodded slowly. Yes. I'm gonna do it. And you can't save her.
She knew. She knew she was going to die. You could see it in her eyes.
"I love you, I'm sorry" she mouthed to you
You watched, helpless, as he pressed the knife against the flesh of her throat, slicing it opened. Your heart shattered.
The scream that left your throat as you fell on your knees was heart wrenching.
[Previous part] || [Next part]
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you mentioned a few days ago about how Eilistraee's connection to Mystra is part of what bonded Alton and Gale initially, can we hear more about that? sorry i'm just a huge Eilistraee fan and love your ocs so much so my ears perk up whenever they're mentioned at the same time
i apologise in advance because this got away from me!
i already had something written up from a while ago, but your message gave me the motivation to polish and finish it.
thank you. 🖤
"May I enter, my friend?"
Gale’s only answer is a ragged breath coming from the far side of the ruin. The small space is only illuminated by a single candle by the entrace, the dim light not enough to banish the darkness reigning inside entirely – at least not for his poor human eyes.
"...You may.”
Gale steps inside the crumbling ruin Altonaufein had made his sanctuary right from the moment they had made camp a tenday ago, the stone walls a protection as much as at least an illusion of privacy, "I'm going to approach, Altonaufein. I have something for you."
Through squinted eyes, Gale is barely able to make out the shape of the drow: Sitting on the ground, back to the wall, knees half drawn up, both of his arms loosely resting on them. His short-cropped hair a stark contrast even in the low light.
It's dishevelled, tufts of white sticking up at odd angles, reminding Gale very much of his dear Tara – of when he was young and, to tease her, had brushed back her fur the wrong way. She’d complained, of course, though more for show, and unlike Tara, Altonaufein has twin scimitars resting close to his side. Gale has seen their deadly dance firsthand.
The search for the Githyanki crèche had not gone well. They had found Zorru, yes, but what had followed had been a tense moment between his two companions.
Lae’zel and Altonaufein – their relationship between the two was strained at the best of times – of which there aren’t many lately, Gale finds himself thinking ruefully – yet when Lae’zel had commanded that poor terrified tiefling to bow, lower and lower, to humiliate himself before her, the drow’s eyes had glowed like freshly spilled blood, scarred hand tightening on the hilt of his blade, Drowic harsh on his tongue. Gale had interfered before the situation could truly escalate, but the moment had stayed with him on their track back to camp all the same. As it had with Altonaufein, evidently.
So close now, he catches the red glint of Altonaufein’s eyes again, muted now, but still there. The flickering candlelight casts sharp angles on the drow’s face. Many fainter at heart would turn heel at the sight, run screaming for a mob, for pitchforks and pyres, but Gale finds himself not so easily cowed.
He’s a wizard of Waterdeep after all and has dealt with far worse than a taciturn drow.
“I took the liberty of preparing you a cup,” Gale holds up a warm steaming mug, its strong herbal scent gentled by spices and honey, “Peppermint and balsam with a dash of sweetness. It calms more than the discomfort of our current surroundings.”
Red eyes flick from Gale to the mug then to Gale's face again. It doesn’t take someone particularly insightful to spot the distrust in them.
"Why do you keep doing this?" The drow’s raspy voice is low and rough, as if a hand had wrapped itself around his throat and squeezed too tight. Yet it was no hand, Gale knows. Its loneliness, isolation, its claws sunk deep. Altonaufein had held himself apart from the group since the beginning. And who knows of his experiences before all this, too.
"Because you are in need of a friendly hand," Gale’s tone is so matter-of-fact, as if he was speaking a simple truth, obvious to anyone who would care to see it. As if he wasn’t talking to a drow, ruby-eyed with Lolth’s touch. A hint of a smile twitches his lips as he remembers the drow’s own friendly hand pulling him for the unstable portal, saving his life, grip strong and sure.
"Do I?" Altonaufein lets his head fall back towards what's left of the ruin's stone wall.
Refusing to let himself be discouraged, Gale still holds the mug, waiting for Altonaufein to take it.
"Does the thought not bring you some peace, my friend? Having an ally in this journey that we have so unexpectedly found ourselves on?" Gale asks, brown eyes patient, free of judgement. He wishes to understand, but at times he feels like navigating conversations with Altonaufein is like navigating the waters of the Sea of Swords. In a rowboat. On a starless night.
He doesn’t blame the drow for it. He’s heard hushed whispers at the Promenade, a few tales at the Yawning Portal, from a moondancer here and there, caught too deep in their cups, caught even deeper in their memories.
"Peace?" Altonaufein's mouth thins, lips pressed together, gazing at the night sky. There is a pause and Gale almost thinks the drow will leave it at that before he continues, "It might as well be up there, with the moon and the stars. I'll never have peace." A breathy sound follows, one that Gale realises is a laugh, bitter as nightshade.
Gale frowns, brows drawing down. The thought doesn’t sit right with him.
Never knowing peace? No one deserves that, he thinks, his own hand unconsciously reaching up to lay over his chest, where, under the threadbare fabric of his tunic, the deepest of the bruised purple lines of his magical scar remain well-hidden.
Banishing the shadow that had crept through his mind like the sun rising over clear waters, a poem comes to him, a second nature, its words familiar, “Speak with me. Speak of the broken past, named and not. Speak of the uneasy peace we share. Speak with me, through the night, the night air, the breathing particles of other lives. Too much to carry around the heart. Speak free.”
At the confused look in Altonaufein’s red eyes, Gale cannot help but smile. It seems a different strategy will have to be employed. Luckily, he has many at his disposal.
Ah well, it's no trouble at all.
Casting a minor illusion, a gentle moon appears between them, almost translucent; a faint purple glow illuminating their faces in the half-dark.
“Let me propose something to you,” voice slow and measured, Gale’s eyes hold the drow’s gaze, “You told me you look to the moon. What if I tell you about what I know of your goddess while you drink the tea? It'll keep you warm and chase away your worries – for a spell, of course. I promise, no magic in it, not even a whisper of the Weave.” With a chuckle, he adds, “Save perhaps for the magic of Mother Nature herself, I suppose.”
Where at first the drow had startled at the unexpected motions, hands reaching for the weapons at his feet, seemingly innately recognising the arcane power behind them, his shoulders lose their tension when he sees the illusion of the moon.
Altonaufein's weary gaze lifts from the illusion hovering over Gale’s palm to search his face. They are the eyes of someone who is unused to promises given and kept, but he seems to find what he was looking for, hand deceptively sure when he takes the mug Gale is offering.
He was right. Gale knew there were the first fragile seeds of trust here, between the two of them, he was sure of it, and, by Mystra, he’s glad he had been right. He had had little cause for gladness in years.
Settling against the rough stonewall, too, only a arm’s width away from Altonaufein, Gale moves his hand in front of both of them.
He’d startled the drow just a moment ago and he refuses to make the same mistake twice, “Let me show you something – or someone, rather. The moon you look to, the goddess that has guided you, is none other than the Dark Maiden, Lady Silverhair.”
The moon in front of them changes into a new form, one of a female drow, dancing, bare, save for the silver hair falling in long waves around her body like a long silver veil, a sword in her hand, a smile on her handsome face.
“When Corellon's wife, known then as Araushnee, tried to kill him, he forced her, and all dark elves, into exile. They were all expelled from his haven, Arvandor, with the exception of his daughter,” Gale cannot help the dramatic pause he makes, a storyteller before a grand reveal, “Eilistraee.”
There’s an undeniable spark in Altonaufein’s tired eyes as he leans forward ever so slightly, mug held tight in his hand. Gale catches the motion instantly for what it is: The drow is engrossed in the story he weaves.
“The Dark Maiden, compassionate, asked him to banish her, too, so convinced she was that the dark elves would need guidance to travel the surface and to fight this evil that would inevitably take form again, known later as Lolth.“
Eilistraee’s illusion is joined by another figure. A woman.
“Eilistraee became a friend of Mystra, the goddess of Magic and the Weave.”
With the mention of her name, Gale feels the by now familiar combination of sadness and melancholy, love and pain, twist his heart. Not allowing himself to linger, the wound still so fresh in his mind, he pushes on.
“She is and embodies the Weave itself. I used to see it completely, all around us, but now… Well, perhaps that is best saved for another time. Another story.”
With a flick of the wrist the illusion is gone, only leaving behind rolling waves of purple and blue.
“This is the Weave, connecting us all, connecting everything through magic. During the Time of Troubles, the Gods walked among us. Eilistraee appeared to mortals, too. If my memory does not fail me, she appeared in Waterdeep, in a location that later came to be known as the Dark Maiden's Leap, a site of pilgrimage sacred to her. The goddess ventured there to rescue a group of drow refugees and lead them to safety. In honour of her deed, a temple was founded, the Promenade, safe in Waterdeep itself.”
As he tells his story, Gale shifts – the hard stone wall bothers his back, yes, but the story draws him in as much as it does Altonaufein – his shoulder almost touching the drow’s.
“Now, that's something I can speak about first-hand: I visited it myself. The Promenade of the Dark Maiden is a sacred temple of Eilistraee, located in the Undermountain. It’s there that her clergy stops the horrors of the Underdark from reaching the city while, at the same time, helping all those in need. Slaves, escapees, lost souls.”
Gale steals a glance at Altonaufein out of the corner of his eye, “Admirable, really.”
Clearing his throat, he continues, “Eilistraee fought many battles and, in one of those battles against her mother, she was killed. Yet soon, she returned. After the Second Sundering, she was seen again in Waterdeep. Three years ago, we witnessed the Dark Dancer, near the walls of the city. In that year, Waterdeep welcomed an influx of moondancers.”
Over his outstretched palm, a figure appears once more, with silver hair, dancing under the moon, brighter than before.
“It's said that the Dark Maiden has helped Mystra in containing and repairing the Weave for many years. You see, their friendship is very deep. They help each other, they share the Weave.”
With a flick of the wrist, the illusion is gone again and Gale tries to chase the wistfulness away that had risen up in him so sharply, almost stealing his words.
Altonaufein's eyes are wide as he turns to look at Gale. There's wonder in them and longing and... hope?
That hope, that spark he sees, makes Gale smile again, soft and small and private, “The Dark Maiden and Mystra revel in freedom and in mysteries, in the little chaotic marvels that magic brings, in nurturing beauty, in embracing the happiness that living in this world, in beautiful Faerûn, inspires.”
The drow, who had been mustering him so intently before, drops his gaze to the floor in what Gale can only assume is a force of habit. It's clear to Gale that his words touch something inside Altonaufein so he decides to simply press ahead, “Now you know why I keep doing this. How can I see a follower of the Dark Maiden in need and not offer him a friendly hand? I want to honour our ladies' friendship, Altonaufein. Life is all about humble miracles."
Silence follows, but Gale cannot find it in himself to regret his words. He nearly makes to stand as only the steady rush of the waterfall sounds around them – then, quietly, "Thank you... Gale."
Words rough with emotion that have not been wrest back under control, still, it's the first time the drow has called Gale by his name.
Not rivvil.
Not faern.
Not even a cautious abbil.
Simply ‘Gale’ – and Gale's smile widens further with the realisation.
"Don't mention it. I hope that my little story brought some comfort to you.”
"It has," Altonaufein’s answer is curt, but there’s a gratefulness in those red eyes Gale can see as clear as day. Scarred hand reaching out, the very tips of Altonaufein's fingers hovering just over Gale's heart, drawing away before they can truly make contact.
"You are... kind,” the drow’s words are halting, as if they taste odd on his tongue.
Gale doesn't move away, only glad that the drow is willing to break his walls – at least for today. He stands, rubbing his back, almost comically, exaggerating in hopes of winning a smile from the drow, "My, this wilderness takes some getting used to, I do so long for a proper bed with at least a dozen down feather pillows..."
When he sneaks another glance at his companion, Gale sees that he has won this battle, too.
"I suppose I need to prepare dinner, otherwise we’ll have to suffer Karlach’s cooking. If you are in the mood, please approach the group tonight,” with that, Gale casts a final illusion before he turns to leave: The Dark Maiden dancing under the stars, Mystra at her side.
“It will last a few moments, my friend.”
Altonaufein's eyes linger on Gale’s back a bit longer than perhaps necessary before focusing on the illusion the wizard had crafted, and his heart feels oddly light with it.
On a night
when the moon
shines as brightly as this,
the unspoken thoughts
of even the most discreet heart might be seen.
—Izumi Shikibu, “On a Night—”, trans. by Jane Hirshfield with Mariko Aratani in The Ink Dark Moon: Love Poems by Ono No Komachi & Izumi Shikibu, Women of the Ancient Court of Japan
#a big thank you goes to lairofsentinel#who helped me lay the groundwork for this as well as alton and gale's dynamic <3#i'm mildly mortified now and will go into hiding#otp: a soul that steels my own#ch: gale dekarios#ch: altonaufein#vg: baldur's gate 3#series: baldur's gate#fic: mybg3#text: asks
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okay i finished "my life with the walter boys" and i'm gonna type my thoughts and then i promise i will never talk about it again woah that was terrible
some positive things first
i loved hayley's and tara's friendship almost one of the only stable and balanced friendships i have ever seen on media
hayley and will communicating was beautiful i love complicated relationships that get fixed through communication woo
katherine and george PLEASE adopt me i know your money situation is bad but please i love you guys best parents on media i love them omg
nathan and danny on top love you guys i love a fellow theater kid
erin ily please run away
kiley ily please run away
our dear mc jackie HAS ambitions wooo!!!
jackie was okay i like that she stood up for herself
and the way she told off cole "drinking doesn't give you a free pass to be an ass" (??) PREACH! AMEN!
alex's freckles are my downfall
now... things that pissed me off/don't make sense/just wtf
why on earth were people calling jackie "orphan annie" like i love mean girls yes be mean but c'mon no one can be that insensitive
love triangles piss me off
they were all insufferable
cole "i don't want to hurt my brothers feelings" walter, proceeds to flirt with jackie and give her the doe eyes.. you're not that cool to get away with everything STOP
girl code olivia.. girl code!! erin should have taken more time to forgive her
jackie's talking to parker about being her older sister then proceeds to kiss two brothers... DO YOU SEE THE PROBLEM
and jackie wth girlie i want to like you but wth are you doiiing
why is cheating so normalized in straight media are you guys okay
oh and of course i love gay people as much as the next guy but skylar and nathan shouldn't have ended up together... no chemistry me thinks
talking about no chemistry none of the main cast have any chemistry
these guys have no sense of family or i don't know maybe it's normal for two brothers to hate each other i don't know!! i get things being complicated but c'moon.. and they kinda fixed their relationship ONLY TO RUIN IT AGAIN (i mean not yet ig that's for season 2)
why on earth did you take so long to give her that goddamn teacup
i'm not entirely sure why i watched this... but i did. now that i'm invested of course i need season 2... but omg it was terrible
#my life with the walter boys#mlwtwb#season 2 when#i need to be burned at the stake#if my bffs see this look away guys#this isn't me#yes it is actually i live for drama#so many more things i didn't like but can't remember all of it#nathan deserves better#i like skylar don't get me wrong#i don't like them together
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Day 8 of the BG3 Holiday Challenge with some found family <3
Prompt: Chosen Family
Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav
Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here
Premise: You don’t have any family left in Baldur’s Gate, so when it comes time to celebrate Midwinter, you invite the family you do have: all of your old companions that can make it. Shadowheart, Gale, Halsin, and a few others join you for a meal and gift exchange.
Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Holidays, post-canon, chosen family, extended family of ragtag adventurers, even volo is included
Word count: ~1.4k
“My dear, I’m afraid that staring at the clock won’t make our guests arrive any faster.” You turn to see Astarion standing at the doorway to your drawing room, holding a stack of letters. He’s dressed impeccably in his holiday best, even sporting a small red poinsettia in his lapel. Initially, he’d resisted the festive addition, but you reminded him that, while mild, a poinsettia is poisonous. Not a moment later the flower had found its way into his outfit.
You’re also adorned festively, a bright branch of holly weaved into your belt. Dressed to impress and ready to party for the Midwinter celebration, all that’s left are your guests– which aren’t due for another ten minutes. You sigh at Astarion’s words, knowing that he’s right. “How else am I supposed to spend the time?”
Astarion walks over to your seat on the coach and hands you half of the stack of letters. “Well, I figured this might be a fantastic opportunity to make sure we had an accurate headcount. In case we need to ask Gale to conjure any chairs.”
You take the letters gratefully and pat the seat next to you. He sits and you begin to sort through the papers. “Good idea, let’s see…” The first letter is from Alfira. It’s a lovely little letter, thanking you for the invitation, detailing her Midwinter plans with Lakrissa, and ending with a short little poem for the holiday. “Alfira already had plans.”
“Oh good,” Astarion says with a small clap. “I don’t think my poor ears could take yet another rendition of the Twelve Days of Midwinter.” He waves the letter in his hand as he follows up with, “Rolan also already had plans, something about Cal and Lia wanting to travel for the holiday.”
“Maybe we should have done that,” you say to Astarion, filled with more dread at hosting a party for your closest friends than you’ve had fighting any monster.
He knows you don’t really mean it, but agrees anyway. “We still have time to escape! I hear the feywild has some lovely weather.”
“How would we get to the feywild?” you ask, taking a look at the next letter in your stack.
“I don’t know, we’d figure it out,” he responds, before rolling his eyes at the letter he’s holding. “Why did you even invite Volo?”
You shrug, honestly unsure what compelled you. “He seems lonely, I guess?”
“Well, he’s still a yes,” Astarion says, grimacing.
“Good, I suppose.” You wave the letter in your hand at him, before adding, “Dame Aylin and Isobel can’t make it. Something about seeing Midwinter's arrival in each others’ arms.”
“But of course. We could have done the same, you know.”
Your love gives you a suggestive look, which you smack with your next letter. “Stop tempting me! I know we can do this, and apparently the guests we do have are looking forward to it. Remember, Gale’s immediate yes? He’s even bringing Tara.”
“Do you suppose she requires her own chair?” Astarion asks, tapping his chin with what could only be Shadowheart’s letter, its writing neat and flowing.
“I think I already took her into account for chairs.” You’re positive you had, lest you offend the great Tara. “Is that Shadowheart’s response? Did she send an update?”
Astarion looks down at the letter, as if he'd forgotten that he was holding it. “Let's see. It says, ‘Don't worry, I'm still able to make it. Is it alright if I bring the owlbear? I wasn't able to find someone to watch him.'"
You stare at Astarion who only stares back. You break the silence to ask the question on both of your minds, "Where will we put him?"
"Perhaps Gale can shrink him for the night?"
"Good idea," you say with a nod and move on to the next letter in your stack. It's a short missive from Dammon. An appreciative message, though he already has Midwinter plans as well. “Dammon was a no.”
Your love smirks, giving you a knowing look. “Likely because Karlach couldn’t make it. Still can’t make it I take it?”
“Karlach and Wyll gratefully declined,” you say, holding up their letter. It’s been written quickly, has some scorched edges, and smells deeply of sulfur– truly no mystery as to why they couldn’t make it. “But Halsin said he would be here.”
"Someone, who I think is Withers, just sent back 'no'. Hmm." Astarion looks at the small piece of parchment containing the singular word and holds it up to you. “Why did you invite Withers? Scratch that, how did you invite Withers?”
You simply raise a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug and say, “It felt rude not to invite him.”
He looks at you for a second, as if pondering whether or not it’s worth digging into the ‘how’ when a knock sounds at the door. “Oh, I suppose our first guest has arrived. Would you like to wager on who it might be?”
“Why bother,” you say with a snort, setting aside the rest of the stack and heading to the door. “We both know it’s Gale.”
Astarion laughs at your confident proclamation, and laughs even harder when you open the door to a smiling wizard, dressed in what can only be considered a holiday robe, lit up with faerie lights. Tara stands next to him, proudly wearing a red ribbon.
“Welcome! Come in, come in,” you say, waving him into your house. Once they’ve entered, you give Gale a hearty hug and Tara a small bow, which she seems to appreciate. After you take his coat and they settle in, Astarion serves them both a drink, a wine for Gale, a bowl of broth for Tara.
You spend some time talking and catching up until your next guests arrive with a soft knock.
At the door is Shadowheart, wearing a markedly less ostentatious holiday outfit, a simple green sweater with silver pants, followed closely by a large owlbear. After a quick bit of magic from Gale, they both make their way inside to warm hugs and their own drinks.
They’re just about sitting down when another knock comes.
The night continues in much the same fashion as Halsin arrives, then Volo, then Jaheira with several of her children in tow. Then, just when you think no one else will arrive, Minsc shows up with Boo wearing a single jolly bell.
The entire group settles in for drinks, food, and merriment, discussing all that they’ve been up to since you’ve last gotten together. The company is lively, the atmosphere warm, and you’re immensely satisfied with the outcome of your efforts as you finally take a seat next to Astarion. You begin to wonder why you were worried about hosting this at all.
Ahead of the party, you hadn’t received a response from Lae’zel. She was likely too busy in the Astral Plane to respond, so you tried not to think too much of it. However, partway through the night you receive a message from her through a Sending spell: “This is Lae’zel. Apologies, I’m indisposed. I’ve been informed Midwinter is a celebration, so consider this my celebratory message.”
You laugh and send your own message back, “Thank you, Lae’zel. Hope to see you for the next one!”
Astarion smiles at you once you relay the message to the group, squeezing your hand in his. He knew you’d been worried about her despite it all, and knowing that she, too, was alive and safe would finally set your mind at ease. And it did– like something that was missing finally clicked into place and you could just breathe.
You knew that not everyone would be able to make it, and you’re still not confident in your hosting abilities, but somehow, you’re still so very content. Something about sitting in a room with your love, your closest friends, and even Volo, fills you with so much hope for the upcoming spring.
When the group lifts their glasses to cheer for all that you’ve accomplished this year, the trials and tribulations you’ve overcome together, you can’t help but add, “And to the family we’ve made along the way. May we always find our way back to one another!”
The night passes in a haze of joy and love– somehow, by the end of it, you've agreed to host again next year. You can feel Astarion's amusement as he chuckles and holds you close.
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A Heart-Wrenching Betrayal (remade ending)
Pairings: Ethan Landry x Male Reader
A/N; I kinda hated the og ending to my last story so i felt like redooing it. Also i changed the plot just a teeny tiny bit.
Part 1 // Part 2 (og ending) //
A/N; me when i become a ethan fanpage. scream requests r appreciated since im in my scream era
"Watch out-" Kirby yelled, but was quickly cut off after being shot multiple times by officer Bailey. Your eyes widened when Kirby dropped to the floor. You were even more shocked when one of the ghostfaces came up behind Bailey. A second after, the second ghostface came up behind him. "W-what the fuck..?" You spoke, but it was almost a whisper. "You..?" Tara asked in shocked. "Ehh, of course me. Frankly I expected more from the three of you, especially after what you did to us." He spoke, more focused on Tara and Sam. "What do you mean us?" Tara asked confused.
The first ghostface revealed themselves and you felt as if you could have died on the spot. Your heart dropped to your stomach, "Ethan...?" You spoke, his name almost coming out as a whisper. He looked at you with a sense of dread and regret in his eyes, but somehow they were still filled with evil. "Surprise baby, bet you didn't expect to see me here, hm? You know, Mindy was right! It was easy to juke the roommate lottery." His regretful eyes fully turned evil as he looked away from you towards his father.
"What the fuck Ethan? I- I loved you!" Tears ran down your face, "I fucking loved you.." You spoke lowly. You felt Ethans eye's look into your soul but he never said anything. Maybe there was a part of him that regretted the whole thing? Of course not, he wouldn't have done all this if it was purposely to hurt you, right?
"But if it's you two, then that just leaves... Mindy?" Sam questioned, fearing her good friend was behind the killings. The last ghostface revealed themselves. "Quinn?!" You spoke in a shocked tone. "Hey roomies, didn't see that one coming, did you?" she asked, clearly proud of herself. "No because you died!" Tara yelled. "Kinda didn't though.. It was a good way to get off the suspect list. Stab Mindy, stab Gale Weathers." You were in utter shocked. You still couldn't comprehend that your boyfriend & friend were the ghostfaces.. and officer bailey.
"I mean, it was just a little fake blood, a prosthetic.. you'd be surprised with what a grieving father can get away with." Officer Bailey said, proceeding to walk toward the small group.
//time skip to after explanation of richie//
The three had surrounded you, sam, and tara. You thought you would be doomed and gutted by your own boyfriend, but Sam had the bright idea to grab the bricks laying right beside you. Though it wasn't the best weapon ever, it could definitely help you. "You guys ready?" Sam asked, looking back at both you and Tara. You nodded and looked at your boyfriend, "Come on motherfucker!" you yelled and you all charged at the three surrounding you.
You lunged at your boyfriend with the brick in your hand. He dodged your first attack, slicing the side of your arm. You managed to hit him on your second attempt, knocking him to the ground. Blood poured down from his hair, "Guys, over there!" Sam yelled pointing towards the ladder. Sam managed to grab Billy's knife from the ground before the three of you ran towards the ladder, climbing it as quick as possible.
Once you guys made it up the ladder, you guys tried your best to cross the balcony as slow as possible considering it was small. As you made you way across, your foot slipped causing you to fall. Tara and Sam managed to grab your arm before your fell. "Oh fuck, oh fuck!" You screamed, holding onto them for dear life. Ethan hadn't made it any easier because he tried grabbing and cutting you from below. "Ethan stop, why are you doing this?! I'm your fucking boyfriend!" You yelled at him, still clutching onto Tara and Sam.
"I need to, M/N! Maybe if it wasn't for your bitch sister I wouldn't be forced to do this!" He yelled back, still trying to grab you.
"Shit, I'm slipping! I don't think I can hold on!" You exclaimed. The blood on your guys' hand made it hard to hold on. "Let me go." You said, already knowing you may fall anyways. "No way, M/N! We aren't letting go!" Sam yelled back. "You have to let me go, Sam!" Sam and Tara heard footsteps from beside Sam and saw Quinn, her knife screeching on the rail as she walked closer to them. "Shit.." Tara mumbled. Luckily you had a plan.
You looked at Sam and then the knife she had on her. she nodded and gave you the knife before Tara and Sam let you go. You fell onto the floor. "Got ya, babe!" Ethan exclaimed, plunging the knife into your stomach. You winced at the pain but no noise came out of you. before he could do anything else, you repeatedly plunged your knife into his stomach. He yelled out in pain, dropping his knife onto the floor.
You pushed him onto the floor before climbing on top of him, lifting your knife in the air. Tears ran down your face as you looked at him. Memories of the two of you together came rushing to your mind as you continued to look at his face. "Do it.. M/N." He said, blood spilling out of his mouth and onto his chin. You nodded your head in disagreement, "No... no, don't- don't make me do this, Ethan.."
You knew he deserved to be killed for all the lives he took but you couldn't get yourself to do it. You didn't want to live with the guilt of knowing you murdered your boyfriend. "I'm so-sorry, M/N. I-...I'm sorry that... that I made you go through this." You lowered your knife before placing your other bloody hand on his cheek. "I-.. regret everything I did but... but you- you have to kill me."
You looked into his eyes with your teary ones, his pleading for you to end it all. "There has to- to be another way! Please Ethan I- I can't kill you. I don't wanna lose you!" You begged, wanting to do anything but kill your boyfriend. "M/N, please..!" His tears rolled onto down his face onto the ground. You nodded, finally giving in to his pleads. You lifted your knife in the air again before this time finally plunging it into his heart. You quickly kissed him one last time. He kissed back, but only for a second as his body came to a stop.
You pulled away from him, now staring at your boyfriends lifeless body, the knife still plunged into him. You cried out more, knowing he was officially gone.
You'd never be able to forgive yourself for killing your boyfriend.
A/N; Let me know if you like this ending more than the other one :D tbh i kinda prefer it more but idk lmk what u guys think. dont forget to send scream requests!
#male reader#male!reader#malereader#ethan landry x male reader#jack champion x male reader#scream x male reader#ethan landry imagine#ethan landry x reader#jack champion x reader#gay#scream x reader#jack champion imagine
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our love is god [ethan landry] pt. 6
read part 5 here || all parts
pairing: ethan landry x fem!reader
warnings: angst, discussion of suicide, obsessive compulsive behavior
a/n: this is sooooo lady macbeth coded. hope you enjoy!!
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Dear Diary,
I go to the bathroom at least twice a period.
When I'm there, I make sure I’m alone. Then I do two things. First, I stare at myself in the mirror. I don’t break eye contact until I’ve sufficiently recalled the memory of Tara’s limp body in my peripheral vision as Ethan pulled me out of her room.
After that, I wash my hands at least three times, but it’s usually closer to seven.
I left Tara behind four days ago. My hands are raw. I don’t know what to do.
I can’t wash this feeling away.
Still, it’s better than sending my SAT scores to San Quentin. Thank god for Ethan, because I don’t know what I would’ve done without him. “Sorry, officer, I accidentally poisoned my best friend after our huge public disagreement?”
Sure, yeah, that sounds believable. I looked up the prison time for manslaughter, assuming the judge believes it was an accident, and I don’t have eleven years to spare right now.
Talk soon.
Y/N
I close my diary and return it to my backpack for safekeeping.
Mindy is still writing on the pieces of looseleaf the school counselor, Dr. Stone, provided her with. It appears that most people don’t keep a diary past the third grade, but some TED talk said that journaling can help process big traumas, and the school has been on that shit ever since. Luckily, they don’t ask to read the entries.
The school took away my friends’ and my free periods and sent us to the counselor’s office after the news broke of Tara’s “suicide.” Anika and Chad have to go alone, but Mindy and I have always had free blocks together.
This group therapy has got to be some sort of cosmic punishment for what I did. Now I have to watch one of her oldest friends mourn, as if I wasn’t the one who let her die.
Mindy clicks her pen and slides the papers across to Dr. Stone. He takes them without looking, inserting them neatly into a file stuffed with previous entries.
“Thank you, girls. I know that the past week has been… difficult, to say the least. I want you to know that this is a safe space, and you can freely share any emotions that this tragic event has brought up.”
Poor Dr. Stone. I know that he’s really trying, but there aren’t any emotions I can bring up that wouldn’t be incriminating. Guilt? Disgust? Fear? I sneak a glance at Mindy, who’s staring out the window. She’s silent, too.
Dr. Stone sighs. “I understand that this is all very new. Maybe we’ll feel up to talking tomorrow.”
The bell rings, and Mindy gets up without saying a word. I mumble a half-hearted “thank you” before following her into the hall.
“Christ, that shit sucks,” she says. “I hate fucking journaling.”
We turn down the hallway towards the gym, where Chad’s taking part in some sort of football conditioning at lunch. We’ve developed a habit of skipping halfway through the day to sit in his car.
Mindy drops her bag and sits against the wall by the gym door. “It’s just so unfair,” she says. “I still don’t understand.”
I sit down beside her. “Don’t understand what?”
She’s quiet for a second. “I read the note. Tara said there wasn’t anyone left who cared about her. And that’s bullshit. I cared, and Chad cared, and Anika cared, and Sam cared, and you cared.”
Her eyes are brimming with angry tears. “Part of me is so, so fucking mad at her. Like, how could she leave us behind, after we made it out together? We were starting to get somewhere. She had that thing with Chad going, even if both of them were too dumb to realize. You were pulling in steady cash, thanks to me, so we could actually afford to get out of here. We talked about college in New York or something, far away from Woodsboro. There were all these goddamn plans.
“But mostly I fucking miss her, man. It’s barely been a week and I’m so… incomplete. And no amount of school counseling or journaling or whatever inspirational quote my homeroom teacher wants to share with me is going to fill the void she left behind.”
Mindy wipes away her tears. For the first time since we left Dr. Stone’s office, she looks right at me.
“I know you had your fight or whatever the night before, and if that were me I’d be torn up about it. But seriously, Y/N, you had nothing to do with it. After everything with… Amber, last year, she needed a friend. One that she wasn’t trauma-bonded with, like Chad and me. And you showed up at the right time. She loved you, man.”
My head is spinning. I’m wracked with all sorts of conflicting guilt, grief, anger, whatever, and I can’t tell anyone about it.
So I get up and start walking towards the nearby locker room.
“Wait, Y/N, what are you doing?” Mindy calls. I don’t answer.
I can hear her get up and follow after me, but it’s been at least two hours since I’ve gone to the bathroom. At this point, I don’t care if someone watches my regimen– I need to be clean.
Turning into the locker room, I make a beeline for the sinks. I get close to the mirror, close enough to make out my pores. and stare down my reflection. After that harrowing edition of a trademark Mindy monologue, it doesn’t take long for me to recall Tara’s face. I wash my hands once, twice, three times, four times.
“Jesus, Y/N, seriously, what are you doing?” Mindy watches from behind, her voice still shaky from crying.
Five times, six times, seven times, and it’s still not enough. I’m breathing hard at this point, but I can’t get enough air. There’s blood everywhere, all over me, my clothes, even on Mindy. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the showers. Perfect. I rush over to the nearest stall and turn the handle.
I don’t undress before stepping under the showerhead, letting the freezing water overtake me.
taglist: @miawastakens
#scream 6#ethan landry#ethan landry fanfiction#scream 2023#ethan landry x reader#ethan landry x y/n#heathers#heathers au#high school au#jack champion#scream fanfic#scream 6 fanfic#scream vi
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Bunny and the Lie
Smurph's Masterlist | Series Masterlist
Part 10 of Bunny and the Beast
Warnings: Emotional manipulation, possessive behavior, toxic relationship behavior, love confessions, canon typical stories and violence
Summary: The BAU stop by the house to learn what Spencer has about Scratch
Spencer waited anxiously in the kitchen, biting his nails as he gazed out the window. JJ was talking from one side of the room, but he wasn't really listening.
He wanted to be back upstairs with you, cuddling close and listening to your breathing. He wanted to bury himself inside you to forget what was happening. Instead, he'd asked the team to come by before you woke up to discuss next steps with Scratch.
He had his eyes on you. It was only a matter of time before you were gone, and Spencer wasn't ready for it.
"... we move you to the safe house," JJ's voice came through, and Spencer's head snapped to her.
"We're not leaving the house," he told her sharply.
"Reid, if Scratch is coming for you both, it would be safer," Emily said quietly.
"No," Spencer huffed, holding onto his coffee cup for dear life. It was the only thing grounding him in the moment since your heat wasn't there to soothe him. "I'm not telling her anything about this."
That got all their attentions, and Luke rested what was supposed to be a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Spencer pulled away from him before he spoke. It felt like cheating now, "She needs to know. Bunny's young, but she's not an idiot. She has to know something's up with you."
"She doesn't know anything and she's not going to," Spencer snapped, and Luke flinched back. "She's…sweet and innocent, and I'm going to keep her that way."
"How old is she anyways?" Rossi asked, picking up one of the many photo frames you had placed around the house of him and you.
"Twenty five."
That earned a round of faces from them, making him only more irritated, "I'm not apologizing for sleeping with someone younger than me."
"Spence, we didn't even know you were in a relationship until a few hours ago," Tara pointed out, "Let alone with a college student."
"She's not a college student, she's a software engineer," he sighed. Rubbing his temple he sighed again as his annoyance grew, "I wouldn't have told you if I didn't have to."
"Why?" Penelope asked, her eyes going wide and hurt. "We love you, Spencer. We want you to be happy."
Spencer stiffened at her words. They didn't even know him, or care to sometimes. Not in the way you did. "Because everything this team touches turns to shit. I'm not letting the BAU anywhere near her if it means she'll be safer."
"The best thing to do is move you both, then," Emily told him firmly.
Spencer set down the cup as he had the urge to throw it. Since prison his temper was on a hairpin trigger, especially when it came to things like work. He brushed back his hair and held the back of his neck as he tried to keep himself calm.
"I won't end up like Hotch," he said quietly, hardly above a whisper. "I won’t lose her and end up broken. I'm not letting her end up like Maeve. I won't take her and hide and lose everything else in my life. She has a good home with me, and I'm happy here."
"Spencer, did you make coffee?" your voice came from the hallway, making them all turn toward the door. "I think I'm dying, I'm so ti-."
Your voice came to a halt as you skipped into the room in nothing but one of his shirts. Spencer was just glad it came halfway down your thighs and at the moment you had no visible bruises. Your face went red and you subconsciously tugged on the hem, your eyes going wide as you laid eyes on them.
"Uhh, there's strangers here," you said, embarrassed, locking eyes with him. He could tell you were a bit angry by the set of your jaw, and embarrassed even further when you saw Luke.
"Hey Bunny," he said cheerily, throwing you a wave.
"Hey Luke…" you murmured, but you looked to Spencer for direction.
"I'm going to work from home this week to spend Christmas with you, so the team was just dropping off files on their way to the jet," he told you, and you nodded.
"Hmmm," you hummed, "Nice to meet you all. I'm going to go put on some pants."
You turned and hightailed it back to the stairs, your little feet stomping up the wood. Garcia grinned and flashed Spencer a look, "Bunny?"
He dragged a hand down his face and glared, "It's a nickname."
"If you don't want to tell her about Scratch then what do you want to do?" Emily asked, irritated with his attitude and he knew it.
"I don't… I really don't know. I just don't want her to be scared if she needn't be."
"Well, I'd start by putting cameras that cover the perimeter," Luke offered, and Spencer was grateful for him taking charge. "Change the locks, put alarms on the doors and the windows."
"I already have someone coming tomorrow," Spencer said.
Luke shrugged, "Get her a dog, a big one."
Spencer shook his head, "Dogs hate me. Plus, if Scratch hurts it, it'll just devastate her."
"Then you're doing everything you can do, kid," Rossi told him gently. "She's a city girl. In the meantime, she knows how to take care of herself."
Spencer wanted to believe that was true, but then he thought about how easy it was to coax you into sleeping with him that first day. You went limp and pliant without much provocation… but the realistic part of his mind knew it was because you'd had a crush on him for a long time. He'd noticed you the moment you moved in next door, heard you night after night through the walls…
After months of holding himself back, telling himself how bad an idea it would be having you always next door, he just had to have you. It was just supposed to be a romp in the sack, nothing else, but good lord he'd made the stupid decision to go and fall in love with you.
There was no way in hell he was letting you go now.
-----------------
By the time you came back downstairs, Spencer's team had already left. Spencer was leaning on the counter in the kitchen, rubbing his temples and looking pissed off as you stepped inside.
"Where'd everyone go?" you asked, a bit disappointed. Spencer never talked about work, but he talked about his team.
"They're busy, bunny, they had to work," he sighed, not even bothering to look up at you.
"You don't want me to meet your friends?" you asked quietly.
That got his attention, and he straightened up to glance your way. He beckoned you with one hand, holding it out for you to take. Pulling you close when you did, he hugged you tight and kissed the top of your head.
"I'm not enough for you?" he asked, and you frowned. He didn't let you pull away, just clung to you in that way he had been, like you might disappear.
"I just want to meet the people in your life, Spencer. You talk about them all the time."
He groaned in annoyance, and suddenly you felt quite bad, like you'd intruded on something. Kissing your head again, Spencer picked you up and set you on the counter.
Watching you for a moment, Spencer put both hands on either side of you, caging you in with his big frame. You simply watched him back with wide eyes until you couldn't handle it anymore and reached out to cup his face with your hands.
"I want to be a part of your life," you told him gently, and he finally closed his eyes and leaned into you. "We're supposed to be making one together, that means with our families too."
"You don't even talk to your family," he grumbled, piercing your heart. You'd told him that in confidence, and he was trying to use it to justify keeping you away from his.
You pulled your hands from him, and his eyes snapped open as you glared at him, "That's a choice I made for myself. There's more than one way to have a family and you know it."
Spencer grabbed your hands, desperately placing them back on his cheeks, "I know, I'm sorry. I guess I mean I have my own issues with the team I'm not ready to show you. We're so new and I want us to be solid before I introduce you to that… dysfunction."
"You think waiting will make it any less shocking when I do see it?" you asked lightly. "I already know how crazy you are. How bad can they be?"
His eyes welled, his jaw quivering just before Spencer burst into tears. You went stock still as he dropped, burying his face in your thighs and clinging to your waist.
"Spencer?" You brushed his hair to see him, but he refused to let you, instead sobbing and soaking your leggings in his tears. "Hey, c’mon. Talk to me, honey."
He wouldn't look at you, so you let him cry until he was spent. You'd never really seen this side of him before. The last time he'd gotten this worked up he'd hid himself behind you in the tub and you'd allowed him that, but not this time.
You pushed at him until he moved off you, covering his face with his hands and avoiding your gaze. Gripping the front of his shirt, you led him to the couch in the living room and sat down. You tugged on him until he sat with you, plopping onto the couch and resting his head on your lap.
Turning on the TV and setting the volume on low, you played with his hair with one hand, rubbing his back with the other. You felt him begin to cry once more, so you just hushed him and did your best to soothe.
"I keep telling you I'm not going anywhere," you murmured, "why don't you believe me?"
"Because everyone always leaves. One way or another," Spencer sniffled, hot tears staining your cotton pants. "It always ends with me… alone again, trying to figure out how I got there."
"Sometimes people don't mean to leave, Spencer," you said quietly, and he stiffened. "Sometimes they just go, but sometimes they come back. Not everything is forever."
He sat up slowly, rubbing at his face. You gave him a gentle smile and brushed his tears away, "There he is, my old man."
Spencer scoffed, but he let you wipe his face and smiled back. It was gone quickly, though, too quickly, "That's the problem. Everything is so temporary. I don't know how to make it stop."
You cocked your head and looked at him sadly, "In the million years you've been on this planet, haven't you realized you can't control everything?"
"I'm just trying to be the man you need me to be, bunny."
Lacing your arms around his neck, you pulled yourself onto Spencer's lap. His hands smoothed up your clothed thighs on instinct, eyes watery and grieving for something you couldn't see.
"I need you, okay?" you said, but he didn't look too sure. "I don't need kisses, or even sex as amazing as it is with you. I just need you to be here with me, not with all those damned ghosts in your head.
"I love you, Spencer," you finished as he opened his mouth to interrupt, and his jaw promptly snapped shut. "I love you, and I'm here, and I need you to be here with me."
And then you were being hoisted from the couch, yelping when Spencer shot up unexpectedly. He carried you upstairs without a word, promptly dropping you on the bed and mounting you. Hovering above, he leaned in close, his lips just a few millimeters from yours.
"Tell me again," he whispered, watching you with a queer gleam in his eye.
You gazed back up at him, as always unsure of what was running through his head. Reaching out, you brushed back his hair, making sure to scratch his scalp like he liked.
"I love you," you told him simply. There wasn't anything else to say.
Spencer pressed his lips just next to yours as he often did when he wanted to be soft, holding himself there a moment as if to stain it into your skin. He pulled away just enough to move to the side and whisper in your ear, "I need you."
You sighed, of course this was where this led to. His mind seemed to always be on a circular track when it came to things like this: emote, fuck it out, forget.
You put a hand on his chest as his hands moved to your waistband, "Not right now."
Spencer pulled back like you'd burned him, but you didn't give an inch. He tried to kiss your cheek again, but you pushed him again.
"Not right now," you said again. "I have to go to the store, I'd rather not be bruised during that."
Spencer squinted at you, "We're not going anywhere today."
Wriggling out from underneath him and getting off the bed, you scoffed, “Okay, you don’t have to come.”
His hand shot out to grip your wrist, tugging you back. You eyed it warily, then him. That pinch was back between his eyebrows, the angry one you’d seen only a few times before. His hold on your wrist was tight, and you tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let you.
“Spencer, you’re hurting me,” you whispered, that same odd feeling you’d had last night when looking out the windows creeping up on you… fear.
He pulled you to stand between his legs as he sat on the bed, easing his grip a little. He rested his hands on your hips to hold you where he wanted you, gazing up and saying firmly, “We’re not going anywhere today.”
Your brows furrowed as you watched him. You couldn’t read him, but the look on his face said you didn’t have much choice in the matter. “Are you saying I can’t leave the house?”
“I’m asking you not to. Stay here with me.”
“You haven’t asked me anything.”
Spencer sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, that same way he often did when he was trying to contain himself. Finally he stood and waved an absentminded hand, “Fine, I’ll go with you to the store.”
“I don’t want you to go with me," you spat, turning on your heel and heading downstairs. You barely made it to the bottom step before he caught up with you, his hand landing on top of yours as you grabbed your purse.
"Spencer, what the hell is going on with you?" you asked, ripping your hand free and taking a step away.
He straightened himself slowly, watching you in a way that made you feel small. He showed you his palms before lacing his fingers behind his back, "Please stay home with me."
"Why?"
Spencer's eyelids fluttered shut as he sighed in annoyance, that emotional openness he'd shown you just minutes ago gone. He opened them and said in a measured tone, "There's some things going on at work, and I'm anxious for you to be alone."
You crossed your arms and squinted at him, "Am I in danger?"
He paused, swallowing thickly. Taking a steadying breath and letting it out, he said, "No."
Your heart beat wildly in your chest, unsure and a bit scared of whatever was going on in this man's head. He never let you in, and when he did it was so fleeting it may as well have never happened at all.
His exhaustion seemed to seep from his bones, bruising his eyes and weighing heavily on his shoulders. You could only imagine the things he saw every day, and he wouldn't let you take any of it from him. You did what you could but…you could only do so much.
"You worry too much, honey," you said softly.
"You worry me, bunny," he replied, just as quiet. "I see bodies every day and my biggest fear is one day one of them will be you."
You couldn't help the way you softened, not when he looked so pathetic and fearful. You went to him, smoothing your palms up his chest and stepping on your tiptoes just so you could bump your nose with his. As you went flat footed, he took your hands in his.
You didn't want to forgive him. His behavior was possessive and not right and you knew it, but you let out a long sigh and said, "You can't control everything, Spencer. You can't control me either."
He nodded so you continued, "You can dominate me in bed, I won't wear panties at home because you like it, but I'm my own person and I've spent a lot of time on my own. I can handle myself, and I know you're here to protect me. I trust you, I do, otherwise I wouldn't have moved in with you."
He mulled it over, chewing on your words the way he chewed on his cheek as he looked down at you. Even so much taller than you he looked small, smaller still as he whispered, "Can I go to the store with you please?"
You got up enough to peck his cheek and patted his chest, "C'mon, let's go, old man."
Notes: Please tell me what you think! What is going through your mind as Spencer starts to slip????
CM Forever Tag:
@thedancingcostumeyoungadult @muffin-cup @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @reidselle @randomhoex @scargarcia-magshotchner @stitchwrites @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @cle13 @aysixdy @elhotchner @directioner5life @elhotchner @loveeee2134 @preciousbabypeter @la-stuffs @stories-you-wont-hear @hotchlover @fortheloveofwonderland @lokiandhisdagger @bellanutellababyyy @dark-night-sky-99 @straightforbuckybutgayfornatasha @maltamurdock @charelletjee @kansas-reid @zephyrmonkey @spencer-reid-wonderland @spencersprettyslut @im-sure-its-fine @tvdstelenaforever @teddylupintonks @lilibet261 @kneelforloki @dirtytissuebox @almostgenerallyalways @whovian378 @cl0udyqu33n @thegettingbyp2 @averagestudent03
#bunny and the beast#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid#criminal minds#smurphyse#criminal minds fanfic#spencer x oc#criminal minds fanfiction#mgg#cm fandom#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid/you#spencer reid/reader#criminalminds#criminal minds fandom#spencer reid x reader#spencer x reader#criminal minds smut#spencer reid smut#spencer reid angst#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid/y/n#smurph writes#smut
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Lavender and Starflower (Mobster AU) – Chapter 4
The Dekarios Clan reigns over Waterdeep as the city’s protector for centuries. Suddenly, the Clan gets challenged by Cazador, the head of the Szarr Clan that rules over Baldur’s Gate. Of course, such an attack won’t be tolerated and the intruder must be forced back and out of the City of Splendors. While fixing destroyed protection sigils, Gale, wizard prodigy and heir of the Dekarios Clan, meets a charming stranger called Astarion. And Gale makes the biggest mistake of his life; he invites the pale elf into his home.
Trigger warning (18+): graphic description of sex, graphic description of violence, non-con/rape, smut, angst, emotional rollercoaster, mobster AU
I was inspired to start writing this fic when I saw this artwork by @arczism
An explanation for the translation of Astarion's scars can be found here.
The poem's an original written by me and the fictional poet's name's inspired by my username.
(Coella comes from the Galician word "coello" (origins in Latin "cuniculus"), meaning "rabbit". Foxington is self-explanatory.)
This is obviously an AU that isn't related to my other work.
"Why do you have Infernal written on your back?"
The question made Astarion tense up again and Gale feared he'd overstepped the boundaries.
The vampire spawn kept quiet for a moment, then he asked tentatively: "Infernal? Are you sure?"
"I mean, I haven't seen it yet, but I could swear I made out an Infernal letter with my fingers."
Slowly, Astarion sat up, his gaze intense.
"Would you... would you take a look at it and tell me what it says?" he whispered.
Gale understood that this was a big thing for Astarion, especially since he couldn't see himself in a mirror. He nodded and the vampire spawn, hesitantly, climbed off of his lap, and slowly turned around.
The scar was huge. It wasn't just one, but dozens of small ones that formed one big picture.
Gale frowned.
"It looks like a fancy letter."
At that, Astarion snorted.
"Well, my master called it a gift. A poem. But I've never seen it and I wasn't allowed, and therefore literally not able, to look at the scars mirrored at my siblings' backs."
"He did this to all his spawns?" Gale asked, his voice a dangerous growl. An intense wave of protectiveness surged up in him and almost made him shake in anger. Astarion nodded and pulled up his shoulders as if to make himself smaller. Gale wanted to comfort him, but knew the elf didn't like his back being touched. After a short pause for thought, Gale leaned in to kiss Astarion's shoulder before getting out of bed.
"I'll go and grab my dictionaries," he explained when he caught the elf's look of confusion. "I'm not fluent in Infernal, but that's definitely not a poem, but something like a contract."
Astarion looked shocked and Gale was convinced that if it had been possible, the vampire spawn would have gone pale. Hastily, the wizard threw on the robe that was hanging next to the bed, and rushed into the living room.
"Good morning, Mr. Dekarios. You have company, it seems," Tara greeted him, purring impishly. "It's time you finally move on from that Gods-awful woman and find happiness."
"Thanks, but not now, Tara," mumbled Gale while his eyes and fingers flitted over the hundreds upon hundreds of books.
"I beg you pardon!" hissed the tressym indignantly. "Don't talk to me that way! I deserve respect, and I only want what's best for you!"
"I know." Gale looked at her apologetically. "You have my sincerest apology, dear Tara, but right now, is not the time for such words."
With a sound of triumph, the wizard pulled the two dictionaries out of the bookshelf. Tara cocked her head to the side and asked, curiously: "What do you need Infernal translators for?"
"My guest has some... concerning scars on his back," Gale explained. "I'll help him figure out what they mean."
"Oh, my! That sounds dangerous," said the tressym, worried. "Don't play with fire, Mr. Dekarios, even if the flames look oh-so pretty."
The addressed hummed and nodded before walking back to the bedroom.
Astarion was where he'd left him. Sitting still like a marble statue. And the wizard was reminded of the fact that the elf was undead and didn't need to breathe.
Gale lifted his hand which held the books and sat down on the bed. Astarion looked intrigued and scared in equal measure. Which was understandable, really. The wizard opened the first dictionary, the bigger one, and mumbled: "Now, let's see..."
The message was... concerning to say at the least. It made Gale's skin crawl. He took another look at the sketch he'd drawn of Astarion's scars and cited: "'This lowly soul swears no oath by fire, lest these words be spoken, and this changes within the realm.'"
"What - what does that mean?" asked the vampire spawn and shuddered. "It doesn't sound good, that's for sure."
"As suspected, it's a contract," the wizard explained, "but only a fraction of it, if my theory's correct. And I'm confident that it is. The other spawns must have the rest of the contract on their backs and thus, all of you together, complete it."
"But why?" Astarion pondered aloud. "Why would he go to such lengths to - to - do whatever it is that he's scheming?"
"Maybe splitting the contract was part of the deal," Gale offered, "or perhaps your master wanted to make sure that nothing would go wrong, even if something happened to one of his spawns. He could simply replace them."
Astarion snarled angrily at the thought.
"We're not toys! We're not –" He buried his face in his hands and sighed. "I'll never be free of him, will I? Ca- My master will always own me in a way."
They remained silent until Gale handed Astarion the sketch.
"Here. I know my drawing skills aren't splendid, but it's better than nothing, I hope."
The vampire spawn took the paper and gave him a small, sad smile, and said: "Thank you, Gale. This is a gift, you know? I won't forget it."
He gazed at the sketch for multiple minutes, silent and still again. Gale, who could never just sit still and do nothing, started fidgeting and got up to stow away the books. With a deep sigh, he slumped down on the sofa and ran his hands through his hair.
What a mess...
"Uhm, darling? Could you close the curtains, please? I don't fancy bursting into flames," Astarion said, clearly trying to lift the mood.
Gale chuckled and uttered a spell. Immediately, the curtains shifted and the room was cloaked in darkness.
"Thank you, darling." Astarion slinked closer and placed his hands on Gale's chest. "I just realised that you never got your relief. Let me repay you, darling."
Without waiting for an answer, he dropped to his knees and parted the fabric of Gale's dark purple robe. Someone made themself known and the wizard jumped.
"Tara!" he squeaked, quickly fumbling his robe close.
"Who?" asked Astarion and it took him a second to spot the calico tressym that sat on the floor next to the kitchen door. The vampire spawn grinned. "Oh, hello, darling. It's a pleasure to meet you."
The addressed huffed and haughtily threw her head back. If cats could speak...
Astarion chuckled.
"Of course, Tara. Apologies," said Gale hastily and helped the vampire spawn back onto his feet. "Tara, Astarion. Astarion, Tara." He gestured between them, and then gave the elf an apologetic look. "She's hungry and demands her breakfast." In this moment, the wizard's stomach growled loudly, and he blushed a bit. "And uhm... so am I, it seems."
"Don't mind me, darling," laughed Astarion. "Go and eat your breakfast, I'm hot on your heels."
Gale chuckled and placed a kiss on the vampire spawn's cheek before he made his way to the kitchen. Astarion followed him at a leisurely pace, looking around curiously. The kitchen faced north, thus, he could enter without any problems.
It was a cosy, little room, filled with pots and pans, and herb bundles dangling from the ceiling, the smell of stew and fresh bread in the air. Astarion immediately like it here. He observed how Gale fed Tara, brew lavender tea, and devoured a homemade cinnamon bun. It was so absurdly domestic, it made the vampire spawn chuckle.
"'The world is small in these four walls,
with joy and laughter filling the halls.
Our world is reduced to our home,
on the shelves, tome follows tome,
the kitchen is well stocked,
that's the place we always flock
to warm up in front of the hearth
which is better than any cloister garth.'"
Gale smiled at him, an incredibly soft look on his face that made Astarion's heart ache.
"Beautiful, but you forgot the last line. 'The world is small in these four walls, with sympathy and love filling the halls.'"
"Oh, what would I do without you, darling?" teased the vampire spawn.
The wizard smirked and took another cinnamon bun while asking: "Who's it by?"
"Coella Foxington, the most beautiful Elven bard who ever lived. Allegedly."
Gale smirked around his pasty.
"Allegedly," he agreed.
Astarion spotted a painting on the wall and moved over to look at it. It showed Gale and an elderly woman. The vampire spawn immediately noticed the resemblance.
"Is this your mother?"
"Yes. Morena. My lovely, intimidating mother."
"You share a lot of similarities."
"That we do," smirked Gale. "It's almost a bit scary sometimes."
Astarion grinned and wanted to know: "Do you and your mother also share your taste in men?"
"I hope not," laughed the wizard. "As long as you aren't a lying, cheating bastard, we're good."
Astarion joined his laughter, but it sounded strained. Gale was too distracted to notice.
#baldur's gate 3#bg3#fanfic#lavender and starflower#mobster au#astarion x gale#astarion#astarion ancunin#gale#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#tara#tara the tressym#mind the trigger warning#mobster monday#tara's an icon
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Any AU, Ghostface is back. Tara gets stabbed. They’re just playing with her, though, so nothing life threatening. They tell Tara that they’re going to kill anyone she tells about this encounter. “Don’t believe me? Try me?”. Tara tells someone she’s not super fond of. She makes sure no one overhears them. The person is dead the next day. That gives us Tara, trying to deal with this on her own while hiding a literal stab wound (and maybe more) from Sam. Sam finds out pretty quickly, though. Tara’s terrified when she does because of the threat.
AU? Baby this is just Scream 7. Tara's got herself a ~staaalker~
She's home alone, Sam's working late tonight. She's been home for hours, she had no idea what was coming for her. She had no idea she wasn't alone. They were waiting for the right moment, they wanted her to be fully relaxed, calm and unexpecting. They grab her from behind, one hand in her hair, the other wraps around her to trap her arms. They kick at her legs, spreading them so she can't stabilise herself.
"Hello, Tara. Have you missed me?"
They can hear the way Tara begins to hyperventilate, see her chest begin to pound, but she still manages to get out a "fuck you!" They love that about her, it's why they chose her. So much spirit. A real wildfire. They'll enjoy breaking her.
They release her, throwing her to the floor. She tries to get up, to crawl away towards the door, calling out for help, and Ghostface can't do anything but laugh at the pathetic sight. They kick her back down and straddle her hips. "Shhh shhh shhh, we wouldn't want anyone to interrupt us now, would we?" they coo at her, wrapping a hand around her mouth. Ghostface spots tears dripping over their gloved fingers, and it makes a rush flow through them. It's such a beautiful sight, they only wish they had a camera.
"I'm not going to kill you, Tara. I just wanted to introduce myself. See, I've been watching you for a long time. Longer than you might think, in fact, and I think you're finally ready to meet me. We've got a lot in common, you know."
The bitch bites down on their hand and they slam her head into the floor for it. "You'll clearly need a little training first, but we're going to do great things together."
"What the fuck are you on about?!" she yells, voice cracking.
"You'll see. But first, let's play a little game."
Ghostface draws the knife across her side, blood beginning to pool on the wooden flooring. "It's called Can Tara Keep Her Mouth Shut. I hope you're good at it, because you won't like what happens when you lose."
"Oh yeah, and what happens if I don't?" She attempts to sound confident, but her voice shakes. They'll teach her to lie better.
"Well, I'll kill whoever you tell, of course. I must confess, I hope you don't believe me. I'm so hungry, you see. It's been so long."
Ghostface sits up on their knees and flips the girl over, taking her by surprise once again. Now face to face, they can finally see her tear-stained face, see the fear in her eyes, the spark of defiance. It's delicious. They hold the knife to her throat, digging it in until it leaves a small cut in her skin. They grab at her scarred hand, thumb tracing the scar on her palm.
In a flash they lift the knife from her neck and drag it up her palm, digging into the scar, tearing it away. Ghostface relishes the way she screams, the way she tries to stop them, grabbing at their wrists.
They let her go, standing up. "Are you going to test me, Tara?" They walk backwards to the door, savouring the way she curls into herself on the floor. "You best clean yourself up quick dear, Sam is due home soon, isn't she?"
The girl's head snaps up at the sound of her sister's name. "Don't you fucking touch her," she snaps, getting to her knees despite the pain and her blood-slick hands.
"Well I won't need to, will I. It's not like she's going to find out about any of this, is she?"
She stands silently staring at them, and Ghostface knows she's gotten their message. "Until next time, my dear. I'll be watching."
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For the umpteenth time, Gale looks himself over in a mirror. A breath, unbidden, leaves his lips. Oh, Mr. Dekarios, Tara's voice yet grouses in his head, I've had more than enough with all your fussing! You're really quite presentable—dashing, even, were it not for that monstrosity. Now, before I take umbrage to that whiskered chin, you best go and mingle with polite society. He had tightly grimaced, nerves plain all about him. I've sharp claws, Mr. Dekarios, and you should know.
In the end, he supposes dear Tara, threats abundantly unnecessary!, was right. Straightening his tailored blazer into place—a deep indigo, a touch like the cosmos with a sliver of plum—Gale admits to being somewhat nice. It's the best he's looked in months, over a year if honesty still holds any worth. Still, he's but a fish out of water, the crow of laughter like the hiss of derision, but it's only a party. It's only just a ball. And no one, surely, has learned his identity... Enough. Steel yourself, Gale. He turns around.
⸻of course, his glass of wine chooses then to spill right over.
"Oh! My apologies! I, um, my mind was admittedly preoccupied. Quite a lot to take in tonight. Right, well. May I?"
Prestidigitation. Gale whirls his wrist. With hardly a whisper, the spot of red wine suddenly vanishes, and he looks to the man in that dashing suit. Oops. Alarmingly, a feverish anxiety floods in the pits of his bones. Those clever eyes like jewels come whittling like daggers, and though wreathed rather finely in that ornate mask, Gale, half a mess, is thoroughly stunned. He wrestles his nerves and tempers his rambling, and shooting for something a quiver winsome, the wizard finally flashes a grin.
Goodness, did that year of solitude do him in.
"There. Good as new. Not here as a magician for party favors, I assure you, though, with that twinkle in your eye, I'm gathering that you're abundantly aware. I suppose you can say I've a good sense for those of the arcane leaning." / @proditeur.
#PRODITEUR#REGENCY VERSE.#....I throw this starter upon you.#Woe pride and prejudice be upon yee#SORRY FOR LENGTH honestly i gotta stop saying that. gale makes eye contact: (nervous)
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I'll die with you (part 5)
(Tara Carpenter x fem! reader)
Summary: Your mom being attacked and stabbed to death makes memories come back of important moments in your life, whether they're good or bad.
Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7
Warnings: flashbacks all the way, blood, death of character (Dewey), angst
(English isn't my first language, I'm sorry if there are mistakes or if something doesn't make sense TvT)
Summer holidays. You were 7. You met Tara a few months before, and you were already the best of friends. You invited her to spend the day at your house for once, as you were always at hers.
Your parents were happy to see you had a friend like her. They knew they weren't so present for you with their respective jobs, and knowing you had someone to spend time with was a relief to them.
You spent the afternoon playing with Tara in the garden, before your mom called you both back in when it started to get darker outside. You then helped her baking cookies with Tara and Dewey's help.
Well Tara and you didn't really help, too busy eating the chocolate chips before they had a chance to touch the cookie dough. Of course, your parents noticed, and it turned out in a food battle, and you ended up in the shower trying to take the floor out of your hair.
You would always remember that day as one of the only moments the four of you spent together.
2011, a new massacre occurred at Woodsboro. As soon as they heard, your parents called Sam and asked her if she could babysit you while they took care of it.
That's when you met Wes, Mindy and Chad, totally oblivious to the fact your parents were fighting for their lives when you played with your friends.
You quickly got close to the three kids, becoming friends with them. But it was not like it was with Tara. It never had been the same with her and your other friends from school.
Eventually, you ended up get even more close to her that day, after your parents called Sam to tell her Gale was at the hospital. You overheard the conversation and got scared for your mom.
Tara was here to comfort you and hold you tight. You didn't sleep this night, thinking you lost your mom.
4 years later, you were with her on her bed. This time you were the one to hold her and comfort her after her sister left without any warning or explanation. She was holding onto you for dear life, sobbing desperately against your neck.
You stayed with her in this position until she back away slightly, eyes red and still filled with tears.
"Thank you for being here..."
"Don't thank me, it's normal" you took her hand and squeezed it gently
Her gaze met yours, and for a second you got lost in her brown eyes. Those same eyes that made you forget everything that was around you, suppressing all your thoughts in the process.
You knew it wasn't the best moment, maybe even the worst, but you couldn't help yourself and confessed your feelings for her.
It had been a year since you understood why she was so special to you. Since you understood you were in love with her. You never had the courage to tell her before, the words couldn't come out properly whenever you tried because of how scared you were.
Scared to lose her if she didn't share your feelings.
But the way she was looking at you now, her dark brown eyes shining in the darkness of the room, pupils dilated... She was giving you the look you had for her.
Your words made her crack a little smile, and she told you she loved you too. But it was quickly replaced by a new wave of tears as the thought of her sister not being here to know the good news.
"H-hey... you're gonna be okay... I'll do anything to make sure of that... I promise..." you whispered
She looked at you with tears in her eyes, and hesitantly pressed her lips to yours in a quick and timid kiss. It felt good, helped her feel a little better.
Now she knew she would have you by her side. She had a crush on you for years, and that kiss, as quick as it was, only confirmed what she thought. She was convinced you were soulmates, a thought that you shared.
Your father's house, a year and a half later. You just told him Tara and you were together. You hesitated a long time, not sure if it would be good for him.
Your parents broke up the year prior and weren't talking anymore, so you weren't sure telling him you were in a happy relationship was the best thing to do.
You stayed in Woodsboro with him, not wanting to leave Tara to go to New York. You had all your life in this city, and you mom understood that. You would go visit her on holidays, or when she had a week off. She tried to take breaks more often, so you stay in touch.
But your dad found out eventually, and you told him everything.
"Hey, you shouldn't have been scared to tell me, it's my job to protect you not the opposite" he smiled and hugged you "I'm happy for you kiddo, she's a good kid, you make a great couple. To be completely honest, we always thought she was your perfect match"
It was a relief that he didn't take it the wrong way, but you could still feel he was hurt in the way he said 'we', talking about him and your mom. You hugged him back, telling him you were here too if he needed something.
"Does your mom know? For Tara and you?" he finally asked after a moment
"Not yet, I was going to call her. Do you want me to tell her something for you...?"
"I... No, it's okay"
You could see he was hesitating before answering but didn't insist. Maybe you should have. Maybe it would've made things better between them.
You called your mom on facetime and told her everything too. You learnt to be quick with her, as she had little time for her in the day, always busy with work.
Like your dad, she was very happy for you.
"You make a good pair, we always agreed on it. It's good you found someone in these... well in these tensed times. And remember, if she ever hurts you, you call me and-"
"Mom, she's not going to hurt me. And even if she does, you're not going to do anything, okay?" you sighed with a smile
"I'll try to hold back" she smiled back before looking behind her "I'm sorry sweetie I have to go, I'll text you later if you want to talk more about your girlfriend"
"Okay, we'll see" you paused, and before she hung up "Dad misses you"
"... I miss him too. But... we don't have the same way of living. We tried and... well you know how it ended..."
You nodded sadly and hung up. You knew it wasn't simple for either of them, but you couldn't help but feel like they didn't really try. Maybe it was just because you wanted to have both your parents with you at all times...
But you could see them both or call them when you wanted, so it was still something.
2022, another creep dressed in a Ghostface costume started attacking people, starting with your girlfriend. You called your parents as soon as you heard. Your dad was the only one who could help, and you wanted your mom to learn it by you instead of her manager or anyone else.
You told her not to come, but you doubted she listened to you.
You were at the hospital, keeping your girlfriend company after she was attacked. She needed comfort, and you were here to give it to her as much as you could.
You had slid in her bed next to her and held her close, careful not to hurt her. Her left hand was resting on your thigh, one of the only thing she could do with it without getting hurt, and her head rested on your shoulder.
You had an arm wrapped around her waist, kissing her hair every now and then to show her how much you loved her and how much you cared.
You were watching tv, when a noise draws your attention outside of Tara's room.
"Don't move, I'm going to check"
You kissed her before getting up slowly. You wouldn't admit it in front of your girlfriend, but a part of you was scared it could be Ghostface. You walked silently in the corridor, looking around for any sign of another presence.
And what sign you found. The officer who was supposed to protect Tara was lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. You gaged at the sight, the urge to throw up washing over you.
You never saw a corpse before, and you wished you never had. A hand on your mouth, reluctantly, you moved his arm slightly to take his gun from his belt. But it was not there.
You panicked and ran into Tara's room, tears in your eyes.
"Baby what's going on-" she whispered
"Tara, we need to go. T-the officer... he- he's dead... fuck I think it's Ghostface..."
You didn't say anything about the gun, not wanting to make her panic more. You helped her out of her bed and in her wheelchair before quickly starting to walk to the elevator.
You didn't even had time to take three steps forward that you heard the stairwell's door opening.
"Shit shit shit..."
You quickly hid in another room, taking out your phone with shaky hands to dial your father's number. The police would never be here in time. But he would.
You but your lip, bouncing your leg, as you waited anxiously for him to answer your call. You finally heard his voice. He seemed worried. Maybe he knew you were in trouble.
You hoped he did, because you didn't get the time to say anything.
Someone opened the door of the room you were in, and, scared it could be Ghostface, you punched him in the face, hard, phone still in hand.
"What the fuck-"
"Richie...?"
You stopped, arm in the air, ready to strike again. Your hand hurt, and taking a look at it, you noticed your phone screen broke, leaving pieces of glass in your hand. But that was not important right now.
"What are you doing here?"
"Sam called me- she said you might need help here-"
He got cut off by Ghostface arrival behind him. Tara screamed, and so did you. He turned around, but the killer was quicker and knocked him out.
When he tried to stab Tara, you threw whatever object you found in the room at him before grabbing your girlfriend's wheelchair's handles and started running away.
But once again, the killer was quick. He stabbed you in your back, making you scream in pain. You let go of Tara, pushing her forward so she could reach the elevator in time.
Ghostface pulled his knife out of your back and pushed you to the ground with force. He grabbed your hair and pulled on it, leaning in to say in your ear;
"You didn't think you could protect her, did you?"
He then smashed your head against the floor, hard enough to stunned you for a moment. You couldn't move, and it drove you crazy. You could see him walk toward the brunette. You knew he was going to hurt her. And yet you couldn't do anything.
You were so scared to lose her... you didn't know what you would do without her.
Fortunately, Sam, on the phone with Ghostface, appeared in the elevator, with none other than your dad, gun in hand. He fired 3 times, making Ghostface back away from Tara.
Behind you, Richie got up slowly, not completely sure of what was happening. Sam helped Tara get in the elevator while your dad helped you up.
"Are you okay?"
"Y-yeah I think..."
He wrapped a comforting arm around your shoulders and led you to the elevator, when Ghostface attacked him. You screamed, and tried to help, slamming a vase on his head, before Dewey shot him three times in the chest.
He then proceeded to go in the elevator with Sam, Tara and you.
"The head." he suddenly said
"What?"
"You need to shoot them in the head, or they always come back"
"Who cares about that?!"
"I do"
He gave you a apologetic smile before stepping back out in the corridor.
"Dad no-"
You tried to follow him, but the doors were already closing. You hit the button to open it again, but it was too late. The elevator was already going down.
You had a bad feeling. Ever since you found that officer's body you knew something was going to go wrong.
And boy, you couldn't be more right.
They didn't let you go back there, no matter what you said. 'Too dangerous' they said. 'Not safe' they said. As if you didn't know that. But you didn't care. Your dad was up there with a killer, you had to help him.
When the squad came back down, you knew. You knew at their faces. But you refused to believe it.
When they brought his body in a bag, you still couldn't process. You watched as they took him outside, out of view, tears forming in your eyes, blurring your vision.
You broke down, sobbing uncontrollably in the hospital bed they forced you to stay in.
When your mom came in your room a few minutes later, your eyes were all red and puffy. Maybe her coming despite your warning wasn't so bad after all... You didn't know how you could have told her he was dead.
She took you in her arms and you hugged her tight, clinging to the only parent you had left as if she was going to disappear too. You couldn't handle losing her too.
And yet you would have to, because she was indeed dying before your eyes.
Both your parents had been taken away from you by Ghostface. Last time you hadn't done anything. But this time... it would be different.
[Previous part] || [Next part]
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💕 self-love time! talk about which ones of YOUR creations (edits, artworks, fanfics) you like the most then send to other creators to do the same 💕
(forwarding optional)
Aaaaaaa thank you, friend! 💖 This is gonna get messy and lengthy just fyi.
Let's see... I think my two favorite standalone fics to date (that are completed and posted at least) are Treading Water and Fugacious. Both happen to be pieces I wrote for fan events, so maybe those bring something special out of me?
I've talked many times about Treading Water. It's near and dear to my heart because of how many things about it felt experimental — the imagery/water metaphor, my own take on Aryll, using NPCs more, the getting to know someone through traces and impressions (which was the prompt!). It was fun to just follow Revali along from scene to scene as his pride thawed little by little, and everything fell into place so neatly it was almost scary 😅 I remember liveblogging as the word count increased because I simply couldn't believe it! It's still my longest work to date, and while to many 14k is nothing, to me it still is a huge accomplishment. That Aryll lives in my head rent-free with a story of her own, I love her so much.
Now Fugacious... I'll admit, when I saw that my giftee for the Revalink Secret Santa was @ghirahimbo I was a little scared. Steph is a phenomenal fanfic writer, one of the best I've encountered across fandoms, and she single-handedly got me into the ship (and into writing again!), so I wanted to write something to thank her for that. I'd been dying to explore Satori Mountain and its Lord so I figured going with something I truly wanted to write was my best bet! But I didn't really have a plan so I picked the route for the roadtrip and traveled it in-game, taking notes on landmarks and fun tidbits I could use. The problem was I found too many interesting things, so I had to axe a good chunk of them 😭 (RIP to the scene I had planned in Rutile Lake with Link swimming and splashing Revali to tease him). All in all it was a very fun fic to write.
Now, since the ask specifies edits as well and I'm a proud video editor, I'm gonna talk about my favorite MMV! I think we can all agree my best is Mirrors (with Rising Tide as a valiant second best), but today I wanna talk about Crossed Threads.
youtube
This fucking video is a testament to my perseverance and love for my wife. It took me four years to complete. Four years. I almost dropped the project it was too much work — I was getting frustrated, my editing skills had morphed and I didn't have the energy to redo old parts, Sony Vegas gave me the middle finger constantly, and there was so much masking. But I pushed through. I told myself over and over it doesn't have to be perfect, just get it done. And I did and I'm fucking proud of it 💪
Here's Tara's reaction at the time since this was a gift for her:
[20:44] Tara: YOU VILLAIN
I LOVE YOU
YOU WHORE OF BABYLON
I was also glad to give some food to the kyomami crew, since this ship is so criminally underrated. So many people thought I used doujinshi when most of the material used here (save for two images) is 100% canonical!!!!! Gah!!! Go read Puella Magi Madoka Magica: The Different Story y'all, it's so fucking good!!!! I love these girls to death!!!!!!
Ahem... anyway. That's all.
If you read all this, you're a real one. Here's a cookie 🍪
#ginneke#writing ask#editing ask#thank you so much for the excuse to ramble （づ￣3￣）づ╭❤️～#whewwww this sure is a post#(if you want me to send you this ask lmk in the comments I don't wanna send it at random and have it be unwanted pressure or something 💕)#(whoever you are I'll send it)#long post
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"But Mok, is it an isekai if the party doesn't all love Fido?"
Who said they don't. It's just super strong power of friendship type bond. My approvals look great for their game and they're overall endearing with a moral fiber that is strong but has some holes. like fishing net. Everyone's happy.
Mostly.
Gale is going to die of embarrassment by the time of the party though because Fido's going to make the nymph joke and he's going to make the musk comment, try to bail on the convo and just.
"Mm no, no you're not getting out of this one. My musk huh? Musk?"
"I did say it was time for me to stop rambling on, i think it's the wine--"
"Nope, gonna need more clarification on that one, chief. I'm glad i smell good in spite of all universal efforts, but also:" Their voice dropped and they stepped closer. He was reasonably sure if he used the right spell he'd be swallowed up in the earth and just quietly pass away. His face was far too close to them and he didn't know if he regretted that fact or not. "Gale, my dear, sweet, adorable mess of a wizard--"
"Adorable?"
"Yes, adorable. Lead with the cat thing, follow through with compliments that don't sound like you've been smelling my blankets. Just a tip for your next swing at it."
A wide, slow blink as they leaned back out of his space.
"Next swing, eh?"
"Figure sober you deserves to have a rebuttal."
"How kind of you." He took a rather bracing drink of his wine and tried to not combust when they laughed. "Perhaps i will have removed my foot from my mouth by then."
"It's charming when it's not totally left field, my guy." They gave him a light pat on the shoulder and another grin. "I'll leave you to your drink. You can show me that magic trick tomorrow, assuming we all don't have hang overs."
"I... yes, that'd probably be for the best."
They turned on their heel and then, pausing, turned back with a finger raised.
"I'll pop back over before bed, if that's ok? I kinda want to hear more about this Tara. Pick out your best story for me, alright?"
"Alright, will do." A smile as they flashed a thumbs up, turning to trot off toward the tiefling bard. "...Adorable, huh? That's a new one."
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