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luminetti · 2 days

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𝑶𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒖𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒚 ༺♡༻ Chapter 4

༘⋆Notes: i am back!!! so sorry again for the giant gap but chapters should be coming out faster now that my finals season is coming to an end! sorry for the slight cliffhanger but im so excited for the plot to be picking up finally! hope you enjoy!

༘⋆ Chapters: ┆[1] ┆ [2] ┆[3]┆[4]┆[5]┆[6] ┆[7] ┆

ao3

Your scalp throbbed as another pin slid tightly against your neck, fastening the ribbon to your updo.

“Stop fidgeting, you’ll make it come loose,” Euphemia muttered from behind you, intently focused on threading the ribbon into a bow. Her nimble fingers smoothed and secured every hair into place, finalizing her work with a soft pat on the head. “How’s this?” She asked, spinning you around in the chair and holding up a hand mirror.

A soft breath escaped you as you observed your appearance. Balls were rarely something that generated excitement anymore and the prospect of love somehow garnered even less. Despite your past experiences, something churned within your stomach, suspiciously resembling the fluttering of butterflies. And to your growing surprise, it was almost as though you had missed such a feeling. “I think it’s lovely, Phemie.”

She pursed her lips and whipped you back around. “Lovely? I need gorgeous, I’m restarting.”

Her fingers barely graced the top of your head before a particularly loud and jarring cough resounded from the doorway.

“I refuse to be late to the Duke’s ball because of hair,” Sebastian drawled, dressed clad in black and lazily leaning against the doorframe.

Euphemia groaned and spun you once more to face your brother. “What do you think then? Is this good enough?”

Sebastian stared at her blankly. “I’m not sure what you want me to say here. It is hair.”

She scoffed and turned back to the dresser, rummaging through the countless drawers. “Of course you wouldn’t know. You don’t even know how to tell the difference between a black and navy tie.”

Turning back to face him, she held up two necklaces. One adorned with tiny rubies along a thin silver chain, and the other a single garnet pendant. “Which?”

Sebastian looked up from undoing his dark blue tie. “What?”

She rolled her eyes and held the necklaces higher.

He looked between the two over and over again. “The…The red one?” He asked, hesitantly.

Sebastian swore as a hairbrush flew past his shoulder, dodging just before it collided into him.

“They’re both red, you absolute clod!”

Throwing the hairbrush back to Euphemia who caught it easily, Sebastian stalked out of the room and down the hallway. “I’ll be seeing red if we don’t leave soon!”

Euphemia glared in the direction he left. Putting down one of the necklaces, she leaned over you to drape the other across your neck. “Oh? When did you get a new necklace?” She paused, reaching out to examine the small crystal necklace Gale had given you.

“A couple nights ago.” You pulled your hair back to let her fawn over it. “From Gale,” You added sheepishly.

“The Viscount?!” Her eyebrows rose to her hairline and she leaned in, reducing her voice to a whisper. “You’re officially courting?”

You whipped around in your seat, “No, of course not! It was just a parting gift.” Your mind slipped back to the night he gave you the necklace. He was so close that if you just shivered your lips might’ve touched. Of course, however, they did not. And when you mistakenly brought up the topic of courting–to your absolute horror–Gale couldn’t even form a proper sentence in response. Surely courting was out of the cards regardless of the thrill in your heart that pounded whenever he was mentioned.

Euphemia stared down at you in disbelief as you finished explaining the interaction. “I don’t quite think his reaction was…as you interpreted.”

“I’m sure he just wanted to let me down easily,” You replied

“Courtship doesn’t need to be elaborate displays of affection, dearest,” She began. “It is often accompanied with spending time with each other, like promenades, or lunch.” Her eyes dropped to the pendant around your neck. “Among those, gifts are also quite common.”

The butterflies stirred giddily in your stomach. “You really think he’s trying to court me?”

Euphemia glanced towards the doorway where Sebastian had been before turning back to you. “The Viscount was a pleasure to host, but I think the ball would be the perfect chance to meet new potential suitors.”

You looked up at her. “New suitors?”

She bit her lip as concern briefly settled over her features. “You’ve never met the Viscount before because he rarely attends the balls.”

Something twisted in your chest. Something different than the butterflies that were now suspiciously silent. “But why would he skip them if he’s looking for someone to court?”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, her soft hand pulling you out of the seat. “Just give the other suitors a chance.” She pleaded, gathering both your dance cards. “Sebastian is hoping you get a chance to talk to the Marquess.” Euphemia gave you one final pointed look before retreating down the hall and out the front door.

✣ ✣ ✣

The Ravengard estate was, to put it lightly, exceedingly glamorous. Arriving a tad late, the ball was already in full swing with a lively quartet and couples dancing lined the dance floor. The ballroom’s ceiling was patterned in blocks of intricate red and gold. The details trailed down walls, wrapping and weaving around the onlays ceremoniously. Draped against the back wall was a single red banner, thick in width and clad in deep red. Painted on the front was a silver emblem, picturing a knight’s helmet and a crimson fist, the familiar symbol of the Flaming Fist.

From what you remember of Euphemia’s ramblings, the Flaming Fist are the pride and joy of the Ravengard family. It was what elevated Grand Duke Ravengard to, well, the Grand Duke. The Sword Coast was the mother of Baldur’s Gate and the Flaming Fist their shield. It was customary for Baldurians to attend a ball hosted by the Ravengard, that much was certain. But for the citizens of Waterdeep? For such a long distance, many were only in attendance for their Duchess Mystra, and the now Late Duke Elminster. Some Waterdhavians may have pulled from the ball, opting to attend a more local event and perhaps mourn the loss of the Late Duke. However, there was sure to be at least one Waterdhavian in attendance.

“Not looking to dance?”

You whipped around to come face to face with Gale. Gone were the old clothes you had found in Sebastian's closet, instead replaced with a dark velvety tailcoat and golden buttons that fastened the fabric tight against his chest. You never considered Gale to be scruffy or anything of the like. Quite the opposite in fact. But with the ballroom lighting and a refreshed appearance, you admit your heartbeat quickened. You nearly reached out to him, catching yourself last second.

“Lord Dekarios,” you began, curtseying lightly as Euphemia taught. “Pleased to meet you.”

Gale's face fell and he stared at you as if you had just taken a dagger to his chest.

You cleared your throat, glancing around the busy ballroom and speaking lowly. “Was my discretion the past couple months all for naught?”

His brows furrowed until a relieved smile broke out across his face and he smiled nervously. “Ah yes! Pleased to meet you,” Gale said, almost over confidently. “For the very first time,” he added. “Never before.”

Gods, he really was terrible at this.

“Now that I’ve met you, I’ll ask again. No dancing?”

You pursed your lips as you recalled your previous attempts to dance with potential suitors. Despite your sour performance you really were trying your best. Unfortunately, your suitors seemed to have as much patience as a teacup and moved on as soon as the set finished. At least they had the etiquette to stay until the set finished. A feat as such deserved a mental applaud for their resolve.

You fiddled with the small dance card strapped to your wrist. “I’m an expert, I promise. But I wouldn’t recommend seeing it for yourself.”

Gale raised an eyebrow, a surprised chuckle escaping his lips. “I can’t help but be curious now.” He eyed the slip of paper between your fingers. “May I?” he asked, reaching for it.

You grimaced but relented and handed him the attached pencil. “Truly horrid you are doing this to me.”

He grinned in reply, happily writing his name into the one of the blank spaces. “Will you be as good a dancer as you are a chess master?”

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes. “Will you talk about dancing as long as you did about chess? Horses and knights and bishops and kings. Tell me more about the knight’s opening, I’m sure it’ll be riveting.”

“It was the bishop’s opening, actually,” he said absently, still scribbling on your card.

“More like the bishop’s eye-closer, I’m surprised I didn’t fall asleep– what are you even writing that’s taking so long?”

Gale stifled a laugh as you pulled the pencil away from him and looked at your dance card. With surprisingly neat cursive, various versions of Gale Dekarios’ name sat in at least seven of the spots. The names ranged from his actual name in the first slot to the last which barely held any resemblance in the slightest.

‘Who the hells is Gray Delargo?!”

“That would be my alter ego,” he snorted, rather pleased with himself.

You scanned the card again. Glais Dalglish, George Dowey, even Dale Gekarios. Ignoring Gale’s laughter, you quickly counted each name.

“Ten?! You added ten of these?!”

“I said I would, didn’t I? Unless you’re asking for an eleventh.”

You snickered as you read through all the names. Skimming the rest you noticed a gap between the sixth and eighth dance. “I don’t suppose this is where you flee after seeing my dancing capabilities?”

He shook his head, seemingly recovered from his laughing fit. “That’s for when I talk to the Marquess. I can only hope he’s available for at least a moment tonight.”

You hummed and nodded, biting back the grin growing across your face. “I’m sure he’d love to dance with you.”

As the music died down, couples began to disperse from the dance floor in search of their next partner. In a flash, Gale had pulled you to the center of the ballroom. Before you could even understand what was happening, the band burst back to life with dignified intensity. His fingers pressed up against your hand and gently wrapped around it. With a push against your palm, Gale stepped towards you, forcing you to stumble backwards.

“What are you doing?” You questioned in a frantic whisper, thankful none of the other couples had noticed your jagged movements.

Gale tugged your hand again, this time pulling you closer as he took a step back. “Is this not the purpose of a dance card? I wrote my name for the third dance, it is the third dance, so we are dancing.”

You glowered at him as he took your waist, lightly spinning you perfectly in sync with the other dancers. “And you truly expect to participate in all, what, six trillion dances you’ve put yourself down for?”

“It was ten,” Gale commented, “And yes, all of which I quite intend to be present for.” He pulled you close with a prolonged grip on your hip and a far-from-modest keenness. “Unless you intend to imply you are not interested?” His eyes darted to the necklace hanging just below your collarbones with a glance so quick you questioned if it truly happened. “Though,” Gale continued, locking eyes with you once more and lowering his voice to a gravelly murmur. “Something tells me that is not the case.”

Warmth bloomed from the pit of your chest and you made no effort to refute it. Satisfied, he pulled away and continued to lead through the dance. With Gale, dancing felt natural; a sentiment you never thought you’d have the pleasure of having. For one single instant you could’ve sworn the other guests disappeared from the ballroom and only you and Gale remained. His eyes are brown, you note. A deep brown like the bark of burned firewood or an oversteeped early morning cup of tea. A brown that made his irises resemble that of clockwork and oh, how easy it is to see yourself spending the rest of your life with that brown.

His hand reached for yours once more and time is suddenly restored, the piano quartet jovial as ever. Through all the alacrity of the dance floor, you only momentarily caught a glimpse of Euphemia through the crowd, peering at you with large anxious eyes. In the midst of all the chasséing, waltzing, spinning, and turning, words of the Marquess and her concern merely flitted through your mind, effectively becoming null the second she left your sight. Your heart thrummed vividly against your chest, desperate for something, anything. Your bodies departed as the women shifted down the line to their new partner but his presence never fully leaves. Even as you moved two, then three people down the line, his eyes never left your form for a second. You couldn’t help but do the same and Gale grinned a bit wider when you returned to his arms.

Your heart thrashed dramatically, deciding that if something was to be done, it was this very instant. With hands moving on their own accord, you clutch the collar of his suit and lean into him. Instinctively, his hands cling to your waist. Letting your eyes fall closed, you pull him down and–

He freezes.

Gale’s form goes rigid under your touch and his grip tightens. Glancing up at him in confusion, you realize he’s staring directly beyond you looking as though he’s seen a ghost. All of a sudden you feel like a fish out of water but the ball doesn’t stop for just you. The couples beside you continue to soar across the dancefloor, the womens’ dresses brushing against your stationary body. Pivoting, you see nothing out of the ordinary other than Euphemia and Sebastian’s prying eyes.

Then all of a sudden Gale frantically pushed past you with wide eyes and a pale complexion. A cursory ‘one moment’ was all you were offered before he vanished into the crowd and out to the seemingly empty balcony.

You stood there for a couple moments, unable to process what had happened nor able to escape from the dance floor. You’ve had bad seasons before, that much was undeniable. But to your credit, never in all your life had someone fled from the ballroom without as much of an apology. Did you do something wrong? If you did, you certainly didn’t realize.

As the music surged to it’s finish, you realized tears brimmed in your eyes, blurring your vision. As the dancers left the floor and new ones began to take their place, you hurriedly searched for a place to escape. You took a couple steps forward and immediately got shoved out of the way by an incoming couple who looked you up and down strangely. A younger woman pushed around you to find her partner while another couple prepared to take the place behind you. Chest heaving, you desperately spun in place, searching for a route off the floor.

A dark figure threaded through the hoard of people to stand in front of you. Dressed in a long crimson tailcoat that enhanced his sepia skin, he offered a hand to you, bowing politely.

“Take my hand, I’ll shield you from everyone else,” he spoke lowly.

The moment your fingertips grazed his hand he pulled you towards his chest, pivoting to where he towered over you. “Breathe,” he reminded you. “There’s still a couple minutes before the quartet begins.”

You nodded, patting away salty beads of tears with the hem of your dress. “Thank you…”

With your vision cleared, you managed to finally get a better look at your supposed savior. His hair was braided to lay neatly against his scalp and concern graced over his soft features. “Of course.” He stepped away, still watching you carefully. “I would ask for a dance but I fear you may be in too much…” he paused as you sniffled. “...distress.”

Shaking your head you fished out your dance card. “I think leaving the floor now would put me in more distress than I began with.”

He snorted in surprise when he opened it to reveal the list of names scrawled onto the paper. “I can’t say I know a Lord Dale Gekarios, do you?”

Your cheeks burned as you handed him the accompanying pencil. “He seems to have fled.”

“Not to worry. I’ll just…” he scribbled into the empty slot and handed it back to you. “There.”

Etched into the card in simple script was the name “Ryll Wavengard.” You stared at the dark writing for several seconds in confusion.

“It’s Wyll,” He explained with a grin, noticing your lost expression. “Wyll Ravengard.”

Your head snapped up to meet his gaze, dropping to a curtsey as quick as your body could move. Marquess Wyll Ravengard, Son of the Grand Duke. “My Lord! Apologies, I– surely I would’ve noticed–”

Wyll quickly waved you off with a smile. “I take no offense. I find it rather refreshing.” The embroidered emblem of the Flaming Fist that you somehow missed earlier shone with silky threads as he bowed. “Would your chaperone approve of this dance? I would have asked for an introduction properly if we weren’t on a time limit.”

As you scanned the ballroom your eyes landed on Sebastian and Euphemia who were watching you intently, their gaze quickly averting when you spot them. “I doubt they have objections,” you told him with a smile, allowing Wyll to take your hand as the sweet violin fills the ballroom.

The dance started off slowly and Wyll stepped carefully as he led you through the beginning. To your relief, you actually recognized the movements as one of the first dances you ever learned. Silently thanking Euphemia for the weekly lessons, you managed to slip into a rhythm, carrying out each step to the best of your ability.

“So, to whom do I owe the pleasure of dancing with?” Wyll asked.

You bit back the third apology of the night, instead opting to just introduce yourself. “My siblings are here as well.” As you gestured to Sebastian and Euphemia–who were getting significantly worse at pretending to be disinterested–Wyll’s smile brightened.

“Ah, Sebastian! I met him earlier tonight and it was quite the pleasure.” He glanced towards your brother, giving him a cursory smile as he continued to dance with you. “Have you been to a Ravengard ball before?”

You shook your head. “I haven’t. This is only my second season.”

“I’m surprised. You seem to fit right in.” Wyll hummed in thought.

Ignoring the initial reaction to disagree, you thanked him anyway. The rest of the dance went similarly. Wyll would ask a question and you would reply, followed by a moment of silence. It wasn’t unpleasant by any means, but you found yourself missing something–or someone.

Before you knew it the dance was over and the Marquess escorted you back to your siblings, bidding them a nice night. After a thorough questioning about the dance, you managed to convince them to give it a rest for now. Until then, you just waited, occasionally checking your dance card.

One by one the dances continued to pass. From the seventh, to the eighth, then the ninth.

By the tenth dance you had searched the entire ballroom and nearby wings of the estate only to come up empty handed.

At the top of the eleventh dance you finally gave up and begged Euphemia to let you return early, to which she pensively agreed.

✣ ✣ ✣

“I truly just cannot understand,” you whined to your sister as she pulled various pins from your hair. “One moment things are absolutely perfect and the other he vanishes from the face of the Earth!”

“Perhaps he’s–”

“I mean really, is he trying to avoid me? He still hasn’t moved his things from his room– the guest room.” The pin snags a strand of hair making you wince.

“Have you considered–”

You slumped back in the chair, absently rambling again. “Do you think I did something? I’m not much of a dancer but I thought I was getting the hang of it– Ow!”

Euphemia dropped a couple pins in the ceramic tray on your desk, threads of hair winding around each one. “If you just held still and let me reply, it wouldn’t have hurt,” she scoffed. “How much do you know about the Viscount?”

Pursing your lips you stared at her incredulously through the vanity mirror. “I know plenty! He favors the color violet, knows far too much about chess to be that attractive, and…” you decided to keep his mage status to yourself, “...other things.”

The hairbrush bristles made the back of your neck tingle as she ran it through your hair. “Those barely scratch the surface, love. How much do you truly know about him?”

You opened your mouth to protest but she continues.

“Have you ever stopped to wonder why the Viscount of Waterdeep is in Baldur’s Gate? Or maybe why you’ve never met him at a ball before, despite participating in far fewer seasons than him?”

The bundle of nerves twisted ominously in your stomach as her words settled in, “What are you talking about?”

She spun you around to face her, donning an uncharacteristically serious expression. “Please just consider that you may not have the entire story.”

Your heart beat quicker than usual, as if spurred on by her words. “Okay…’

“Get some sleep,” Euphemia said, patting your shoulder and retreating to her own bedroom.

As she disappeared from view you sat silently, staring at where she had been. She was right. There were so many things he never fully explained that lingered deep down in the back of your mind. You had just been so caught up in… well, him… that you didn’t think to question his secrecy.

You found yourself stationed in front of the guest bedroom doorway, hand hovering on the doorknob. Your heart craved answers and this was the only place you figured there might be. He abandoned you at the ball, who was he to care now?

The door swung open to reveal a relatively neat room. You hadn’t been inside since Euphemia fixed it up for Gale, and even then it still looked the same as it had years ago. The only change was the new navy bed sheets and dozens of papers littering the desk.

Along the top of the desk were several stamps and wax seals clearly used for letter sealing.

How odd. Gale hadn’t sent any letters since he sheltered in your manor.

A folded letter tucked into the back shelf of the desk caught your eye with its glittering mauve seal, shimmering with a silver dusting on the details. You traced the circular design with the pads of your fingers, trailing down each point of the star symbol. Where had you seen it before?

Curiosity took over and you couldn’t help but read its contents, unprepared for the violent sickness that overtook your body.

Dearest Lord Dekarios,

Pray tell, how are you faring? I dare admit your correspondence has been missed. The Waterdeep Palace feels colder without your frequent visits.

Sources claim you are healthy. That is good. Make haste and return to me, we have much to discuss.

Yours heartily,

Duchess Aumar,

P.s. Duchess Dekarios has a ring to it, does it not?

Your heart dropped to the floor and the bedroom walls crumbled down around you to join it. The past couple months you had spent with Gale flashed through your mind. Could you have known this sooner? The paper trembled in your grip as you reread it, praying new words would magically appear and confirm he had truly loved you all this time, but no such words manifested. You read it over and over, analyzing each letter.

Perhaps it was addressed incorrectly.

Perhaps there was another Lord of a similar name.

On the fifth read you resisted the urge to shred the paper to tiny bits and pieces. Destroying the letter wouldn’t repair the damage to your heart.

A million thoughts crossed your mind and you gripped the sheet so hard it creased at the edge. The only saving grace was the glimmer of hope that flickered in the cavern of your chest that somehow, someway, there was something you had interpreted wrong.

“Why do you have that?” Gale’s voice cut through the room as he stared at you from the doorway, dreadfully horrified. Whatever hope you had promptly extinguished as a flash of light caught your eye. In the moonlight, plain as day, was the unassuming earring he always wore–the one you had barely given a second thought. Round and silver with a simple star decal, the very same as the glittering sealed letter in your hand. It was her symbol. And he was wearing it.

taglist:

@vhaldren @qiific3 @cryingoverpixelsetc

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 gale #bg3 x tav #bg3 x reader #gale dekarios x reader #gale x reader #alternate universe #gale dekarios x tav #gale of waterdeep #regency #tav bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #gale x tav

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luminetti · 25 days

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Halfway to Nowhere

WARNING: spoilers for one of Gale's bad endings (just in concept, i haven't actually done this one), undetailed violence wc: ~730 angst-y, no comfort this time sorry, food for gale readers while this cooks (more of a braise but i disgress), inspired by halfway to nowhere - chelou ao3 ver

Gale had always been ambitious since the day you met him at Blackstaff Academy. It was one of the things that drew you to him in the first place, birthing a friendship that you were sure would hold against time. Being one of the only sorcerers in the school at the time had made it significantly more difficult to connect with fellow classmates. After a single tenday, your wild magic surged out of control a total of six times and thereby designating you as the resident fuck-up. During classes it was all too common for students to suddenly desire a change of location when you sat next to them, hoping to avoid being the target of any wayward spells.

Then Gale came in, taking the seat directly next to you without hesitation, even going as far as to shake your hand enthusiastically and introducing himself. Unlike the others who found your condition to be dangerous, Gale described it as “just a taste of your potential.” A challenge to be overcome. You would be lying if he didn’t have a way of eliciting hope in situations where it had previously been sucked dry. Perhaps it was his ambition that drove him to think of wild magic as conquerable, and if not conquerable, navigable.

Thus began the long process of late night studying and relentless practicing led by Gale who was determined to control the uncontrollable. An unstoppable force against an immovable object. Though the wild magic didn’t budge, Gale did not dare to stop trying. In your last year at Blackstaff, you got the first taste of freedom; a break from the tendencies you thought were incorrigible. Gale’s ambition grew–miraculously, as if he didn’t have enough–and he swore on Mystra he would do whatever it takes to give you absolute control.

And then he vanished.

Whisked away and broken by the very Goddess he swore on. You never heard from him again.

“A taste of potential,” you repeated to yourself as magic burst from your body in relentless billows of the weave, transfiguring and demolishing the various trinkets on your nightstand and dresser.

You left before you could graduate.

When Gale returned he was certainly not as he left. You watch him blankly as he drapes himself over your wooden dining chair, drawling on and on about his lengthy adventures. The God of Ambition, he claims himself to be. He eyes the thin layer of dust on his side of the table with a hardly-masked sneer, pulling away and leaning back in the seat.

“I’d be honored to have you as one of my Chosen,” Gale tells you, his hand outstretched and expectant. Who are you to deny a God?

You search his eyes desperately for a sign of the man you knew all those years ago: the man that ambition dared not run though. Maybe you weren’t the only one who needed to learn control.

Gale’s eyes narrow with an unreadable expression as you shake your head and withdraw from his awaiting hand. At least fourteen emotions flash over his face, only one of them recognizable. He stares at you like a second Crown of Karsus: another trophy he desires for his shelf. As you step away, his previously passive hand shoots forward, catching your wrist lightly but firm.

A thin cone of flames erupts from your fingertips before you even registered Gale’s touch, singing his skin and forcing him to release you. The events that followed quickened exponentially. The weave slips from your grasp and slices through the air, picking up porcelain tea cups and silverware and churning them together in a tornado of arcane wind. Ceramics shatter against each other, exploding into tiny shards that threaten soft skin.

Gale steps away instinctively, raising his arm to shield himself from the kitchen paraphernalia whipping around the room. His mouth moves but you hear nothing over the howl of the cyclone. Only when your eyes meet again do you see a true glimpse of him, holding your gaze as pieces of pottery leave thin lines of red on his cheeks.

An unstoppable force against an immovable object initially proposes an impossible question with impossible answers. To allow an unstoppable force to travel continuously, and for an immovable object to remain steadfast, they simply… pass through one another.

You and Gale depart from each other as two wayward people who were halfway to nowhere.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 gale #bg3 x tav #bg3 x reader #gale dekarios x reader #gale x reader #gale dekarios x tav #gale of waterdeep #angst #angst with no comfort #angst with no happy ending #bg3 angst

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luminetti · 30 days

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luminetti · 1 month

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𝑶𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒖𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒚 ༺♡༻ Chapter 1

༘⋆ Summary: In the world of Faerûn, a new season of love begins for the upper echelons in the nation's capital Baldur’s Gate, gathering a plethora of unwed Lords and Ladies from across the nation. For Miss y/n Neredras, the season only promises another disappointing series of suitors and failed courting, until one night she suddenly finds Lord Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep on her doorstep with a gunshot wound through his stomach, seeking discreet refuge and recovery after a devastating duel. ༘⋆ Pairing: lord!gale dekarios x fem!reader/tav, brief wyll x reader, mentions of (previous) mystra x gale ༘⋆Warnings: blood and bullet wounds, eventual hurt/comfort, mystra's weird predatory behavior (fuck mystra) ༘⋆Notes: set in the regency era and very loosely inspired by bridgerton (I’ve never watched it). i had to make a lot of edits to make this work out how i want so keep in mind that the following changes have been made: - Faerûn and Waterdeep are neighboring countries - Baldur’s Gate is the capital of Faerûn - Mystra (and all the gods) is human - Mystra lives in Waterdeep - Gale is 21 and reader is around 19 (something something, regency age for marriage, something)

༘⋆ Chapters: ┆[1] ┆[2]┆[3]┆[4]┆[5]┆[6] ┆[7] ┆

ao3

You cursed yourself for getting in such a position as you heaved a bloodied body onto your goose down bed sheets, dark sticky crimson clinging to your skin and the front of your white nightgown. The body landed with a soft flump, leaving a suspicious looking trail of blood towards the center of your bed. Normally you were against opening the door for strange men in the middle of the night, but a gunshot wound to the stomach usually prohibited acts of violence, unless the attacker wanted to bleed out to death, so you deemed it safe enough. You made sure to grab a fire poker from the fireplace on your way back from the medicine cabinet, just in case.

Blood was beginning to pool underneath the man, signaling that if you were to do anything, it had to be done with haste. Fighting back a gag at the tangy metal aroma, you undid his vest and undershirt, pulling it off and discarding it somewhere on the floor. The bullet had thankfully wedged itself near the surface of his flesh making it an easy grab with a pair of tweezers. The wound itself proved to be more of a challenge. Stitches were required to stop the bleeding, but the needle slipped around between your fingers, and attempting to wipe the slick blood off your hands just made more of a mess. After a bit of adjusting, and a lot of wiping, you finally managed a messy line of seven uneven stitches.

For the first time in the past half hour, the thumping of your heartbeat began to fade from your ears, allowing you to process what had just happened.

You took a moment to look him over. He looked around your age. Around twenty– no, twenty-one? It was hard to tell with so much hair in his face. From what you could make out, he appeared to be a reasonably attractive man. Perhaps a bit unkempt, you thought, but as to be expected at this time of night. With his chestnut brown hair, he vaguely reminded you of Clyde, your childhood dog. Though intended as a compliment, you made a mental note to keep that one to yourself when–if ever–he awoke. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that was drawing you to the curve of his jawline, but with a start, you realize you had been staring for far too long. Blinking away your daydreams, you see the scene in front of you as it truly is.

There was a body in your bed.

You frantically reach over the bed to press two fingers firmly against his neck, feeling around for a pulse. Was he even still alive? A slow and faint periodical throb against your fingertips pulls a heavy sigh of relief out of your weary body, and you slump against the side of the bed. Thank the gods.

Unfortunately, the fact he was alive did not solve the strange-man-in-bed issue. Once he had been securely wrapped in several layers of bandages–any more and he may appear mummified–you weren’t sure what else there was to do. So, you recruited the only person in the household that could keep their mouth shut. Your older sister, Euphemia.

“By Jove, sister… you’ve killed a man…” Euphemia looked pale-faced and wide eyed in horror at the seemingly lifeless body and blood adorning your room.

“Stop it.” You hissed under your breath, closing the bedroom door behind her. “He’s not dead. And would you keep your voice down?”

Euphemia looked from you to the body, then to your crimson hands and nightgown. “Are you to tell me he is… sleeping?” She asked, incredulously, her voice quavering.

You sighed, exasperated. You grabbed her wrist, much to her resistance, and forcefully pressed her fingers against his neck. “There. He is very much alive. Now will you please help me?”

Your sister sighed in relief. “Gods… He looks mauled.” She eyed your butchered stitchings. “Not a slight on your abilities, of course. Spoken from a place of love.”

“Mock me all you want when we break fast, sister.” You toss her a wet washcloth. “As for now, make haste and wipe down the headboard. I’ll deal with the floor.”

“I merely jest.” She replied, rounding the bed beside the body.

As she approached the unconscious man, she froze, the cloth in her hand dropped to the ground as you heard a sharp intake of breath. Startled, you jump up from your knees.

“Hells, are you hurt?” You turned, expecting to see a splinter or bruise. Alas, Euphemia just stood shell shocked, staring down towards the body. You looked at the man yourself, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Euphemia leaned closer to the body and swept the hair from his face. “I’ve seen this man’s portrait before.” She crouched beside him, studying his features. “It was in a museum of art from other nations.” Closing her eyes, she recounted the museum. “It was a family portrait. So this must be…” Euphemia turned back to you, mystified. “The Viscount of Waterdeep.”

You stared at her. “...Who?”

“The Viscount, Lord Gale Dekarios.”

✣ ✣ ✣

The rest of the night–technically the early morning–passed surprisingly peacefully, with the only hiccup being a lack of bed space. Euphemia made sure to chide you thoroughly for even suggesting that she take Gale to her room instead. In your defense, he had a larger bed than yours. After some back and forth, Euphemia declared that she’d be ruined if someone found her alone with a foreign Viscount, and her hopes of being courted would be gone. You, however, were newer to the season and very much single–which she didn’t hesitate to enunciate–and therefore could afford a scandal or two.

Cursing her under your breath, you reluctantly slipped under the covers, a good sixteen inches apart from the supposed Viscount. Despite everything, you easily drift off into a sound sleep.

A sudden shift in the bed startles you awake. Groggily, you sat up to see early morning sunrays softly beaming through your windows. Your mind clouds with exhaustion as you attempt to recall the night prior. In your fatigue you barely manage to picture a sharp jawline and soft brown hair. A dream, you conclude. Just another fantasy to forget about. You were about to lean back down when you heard the soft squeak of your bed spring from beside you, followed by a hushed murmur.

“Shit.”

Turning towards the voice, you came face to face with a pair of warm chestnut eyes, staring straight back at you. Lord Gale Dekarios–very much not from a dream–stood with one knee on your bed and his other foot on your floor, attempting to leave without a sound. His face was tense with pain and his hand pressed over the wet bandages covering his wound.

You made no move to stop him, merely watching as he gawked at you dumbstruck like a child with his hand trapped in a cookie jar. “What are you doing?” you asked.

It was as if you had two heads with the way he stared at you.

“My deepest apologies for the intrusion last night,” he managed to stammer out, quickly collecting himself and beginning to stand from the bed. “By Jove, I will leave right away-”

“Why?” You cut him off.

He choked out a confused sputter. “Pardon?”

You gestured to his bloodied bandages. “You are injured. Are you not?”

His eyes flicked to the wound before returning to your questioning gaze. “I am.” He replied, slowly.

“So sit. Unless you mean to walk home.” Standing from the bed, you scoured the room for the remainder of the bandages you brought from before.

Gale hesitantly perched himself on the edge of your bed frame, unsure how to proceed. After a couple moments of watching you flit around the room, he cleared his throat. “Pray tell, which residence am I in the company of?”

Upon gathering the materials and medicines, you sat across from him, laying out the paraphernalia in between you both. “This is the Neredras Manor,” you replied, beginning to work on replacing his dark, oxidized bandages.

From up close you could finally make out his facial features in detail. His jawline was as you remembered, but his hair was finger-combed back against his neck, almost brushing against his shoulders. His atmosphere had changed as well. Despite his grim injuries, a warm feeling surrounded him, almost like an aura of liveliness. You leaned into him, passing the bundle of old bandages around his body as you unwrapped. In such close proximity you just barely manage to make out faint traces of spicy cinnamon, crisp parchment, and freshly lit firewood.

You froze and pulled back sharply. You had completely forgotten yourself. He hadn’t noticed, had he? You glanced up briefly, only to be immediately met by chestnut eyes that bore into you with a thousand-yard stare, and lips ever so slightly muttering to himself as if he was lost in thought.

“...Pretty.” Gale whispered, barely intelligible.

“What?”

Upon realizing you were staring right back at him, he quickly averted his eyes, finally breaking out of his stupor. “Sorry?” He cleared his throat, struggling to meet your gaze.

“Pretty?” You repeated, confused.

Gale sputtered, seemingly caught off guard before a look of mortified realization crossed his features. “Morning,” he declared abruptly. “Y-You are morning.” He paused. “I mean, it is morning.” He paused again. “I mean, It is a pretty morning,” he finally managed, eyes settling back on yours as a pale flush of pink crept up his neck, threatening to wrap around his cheeks.

You attempted to raise the back of your palm to feel his forehead, concerned, only to be intercepted by Gale as he caught your wrist and brought it back down to your lap.

“I assure you, I am perfectly well,” he took a deep breath, composing himself. “And usually better at this.” He added, pressing a customary kiss to the back of your hand. “All this and you don’t even know my name.”

“Well, actually–” you began.

“Gale Dekarios,” he vaunted, chest almost puffed, and you swear you’ve seen images of birds of paradise performing similar moves during a mating dance. Knowing he was a Viscount made the visual match far too well and you failed to stifle a chortle.

“Pleased to make your–” Gale faltered slightly at your reaction. “Did I do something?”

Struggling to pull yourself together, you shake your head breathlessly. “No, it’s nothing. It’s just, I know who you are already.”

He looked puzzled. “You do?”

Nodding, you let out a deep breath, overcoming your brief laughing fit. “My older sister is quite the socialite. She recognized you from your portrait.”

From his impressed expression, you caught yourself wondering if they would be a good match. Euphemia was always fond of the idea of marrying a Viscount, like your mother had, not to mention she was up to date on all the drama of the ton.

An unfamiliar sensation twisted in your gut, unnoticeable until you focused on it. You hadn’t had breakfast yet so it was likely just hunger. But strangely, this hunger was creeping up from your stomach, almost residing in your chest with a faint pang.

You stood up sharply, pushing down the strange feelings. “You must be hungry, my Lord.”

Gale’s eyes flicked around your face, almost as if he was studying you. “I could eat,” he finally spoke. “And please, just Gale.”

Nodding quickly, you turned on your heel and briskly left your room, closing the door behind you. The twinge in your chest finally simmered, leaving your cheeks slightly flushed and blood nearly warm. You let yourself fall against your door, breathing deeply.

Suitors had come and gone before, and once he healed, Gale Dekarios would be nothing more than a man you met for a day.

#seething for writing motivating

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luminetti · 2 months

Text

Baldur’s Gate Regency AU HCs

༘⋆Notes: had the sudden desire to write blurbs for the rest of the companions that won’t appear in my gale x tav regency au series. If you'd like to read the series, go here! I was only able to fit four companions so if people enjoy it I’d happily do the rest! Also note that these allude to companion x Tav/the reader, so if anyone likes it enough to warrant its own one shot or series, I’d love to know.

Gale:

Couldn’t help but add my favorite boy even though I’m giving him a whole ass series.

Without a doubt, Gale is a Viscount of Waterdeep. Trained in the arcane by the Dowager Duchess Mystra herself, he happily tends to her requests in good faith.

Gale rarely partakes in the social gatherings of the Ton, much rather preferring the quiet atmosphere of his estate.

Despite his reclusiveness, Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess always seems to have space for Gale to visit the palace and frequently calls upon him for banquets and events.

Due to his lack of social attending, Gale often forgets ballroom and courting etiquette. From leaving ballroom dances midway through the set to unchaperoned meetings with suitresses, it’s a miracle Gale has been omitted from the daily papers.

The Ton is known for being quite unforgiving, and disregarding transgressions is usually a privilege reserved for royalty.

Reserved for royalty, like a Duchess, perhaps.

Gale may be socially obtuse, but he’s certainly not unmindful. Recently he has begun to suspect royal interference when it comes to the press.

As the Dowager Duchess calls upon him more and more frequently, Gale has to decide whether her intentions are benign, or if he needs to reconsider his faith in an act of apostasy.

(wink wink)

Astarion:

A Baron of Baldur’s Gate, obviously.

Or at least, that’s what he claims to be.

King Cazador Szarr is a man of high expectations and an even higher reputation. Despite rumors of being merely the Prince Regent of Baldur’s Gate, his highness insists on being titled as King. With a coronation every few years, King Szarr has five deceased wives and is on the hunt for a sixth.

As luck would have it, King Szarr has Astarion, his favorite servant to dress up and send into unassuming balls.

Only appearing at masquerades, Astarion takes on the role of a lovesick Baron seeking out equally yearning suitresses.

After a month of courting, Astarion reports his findings about the women he has encountered, describing their appearance and preferences in great detail.

As the King desires, the poor woman is swept from her estate and brought to the palace, because who can deny a direct request from the King?

Haunted by the beheadings of the last two late Queens, Astarion has vowed to end the line of ex-wives by finding the perfect suitress to be the King’s sixth, and final wife.

It’s a flawless plan. All Astarion has to do is not fall in love with the suitress.

Karlach:

From birth, Karlach was destined to become a Knight.

Trained with the intent to become a personal Knight of the Duke of Baldur's Gate, Enver Gortash, Karlach had come to terms and found solace in her duties.

However, once news of war within the Queendom of Avernus reached Baldur’s Gate, Duke Gortash swiftly sold Karlach to Queen Zariel for a pretty penny.

Karlach served in the war for many years until finally breaking free and fleeing to the Kingdom of Sword Coast where she lived as a fugitive and stole rations from street vendors to survive.

Empathizing with the struggles of the poor and mistreated, Karlach vowed to steal from the wealthy and redistribute to the needy, making her the silent hero of the lower class and the bane of the Ton.

Due to unfortunate timing and pure misfortune, Karlach was spotted stealing several loaves of bread from a bakery by the Marquess of Sword Coast, Wyll Ravengard.

Thus began the long game of cat and mouse, or rather cat, cat, and mouse.

Despite the hoards of Avernus soldiers plus Wyll Ravengard on her tail, Karlach has managed to fend them off with a smile on her face.

Eventually hearing word of Karlach’s hidden base, Avernus soldiers force her to relocate.

Out of time and options, Karlach finds herself on a noble’s doorstep hoping a kind stranger will harbor a fugitive.

Wyll:

Son of the Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard, Wyll grew up as a proud Marquess, astounded by everything his father had accomplished.

As he grew older he enthusiastically learned everything Duke Ravengard would teach, learning swordsmanship and attending important gatherings.

Feeling a sense of responsibility for the Sword Coast and Baldur’s Gate, Wyll began to crave more.

Despite his father’s warnings, Wyll began to observe mages and the arcane in awe of its vast potential and power.

Against his own better judgment, Wyll became fascinated with the world of mages, researching the intricacies of the weave and seeking out mages to show him what it was like.

One mage in particular caught Wyll’s eye, enticing him to investigate further. Perhaps if he had powers of his own he could court them instead of admiring from afar.

Worried that Wyll was straying too far from his duties to the Kingdom, Duke Ravengard forbade him from ever making contact with magic or mages again.

Devastated, Wyll ran to the outskirts of the city to clear his mind. To his surprise, a dark mage was waiting for him.

The mage Mizora offered him the ideal solution: servitude to Mizora to assist in protecting Sword Coast from evil doers in exchange for the powers he so desperately desired.

Without question Wyll accepts the powers, but that doesn’t mean he knows how to use them, nor does it mean his courting will be reciprocated.

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luminetti · 2 months

Text

"hey."

you tear your attention away from the black-and-white movie that's playing on the tv to look at your boyfriend of three years. "hm?"

katsuki doesn't say anything right away. you watch as he bites his lip, one of his nervous habits he does when he is trying to gain momentum to put forth actions. after a couple of moments of silence, he lets out a sharp tsk before tossing a tiny white box your way.

your boyfriend should have known better than to throw something your way, especially with no warning. your arms weren't fast enough to catch the tiny thing. it hits your head and lands on your lap with a soft thump on the blanket.

you both sit there in stunned silence for a couple of seconds before you laughed at your lack of reflexes. katsuki mutters something that sounds a lot like "shitty brat" before grabbing the box and places it in your hands.

"what's this?" you ask as you study the box. there are no hints of its contents on the outside.

"open it." katsuki urges you. you do as your told, and you gasp when you see the gift lying inside.

it's a beautiful, albeit simple ring. no big obnoxious stone that costs more than your yearly income multiplied. just a simple band with some small diamonds. nothing fancy.

"what-" you stutter as you continue to study the band. "is this a-"

"promise ring," katsuki quickly interjects before you start short wiring.

you smile softly as you look up at with. your eyes shine with adoration and so much love it makes his heart skip a beat. "i thought you didn't believe in this stuff," you softly inquire.

"i don't," he confirms. "but i saw it and thought about you so i had to get it."

you smile. you carefully take the ring out of the box and place it on your finger. a perfect fit. "i love it, kats. thank you." he hums softly in response. he places a tender kiss on your forehead as you admire your new piece of jewelry.

"what are you promising?"

"what?" katsuki meets your gaze.

"when you give one a promise ring, you are supposed to make a promise, hence the ring to solidify it." you tell him.

katsuki thinks for a moment before whispering, "i promise to one day get you a bigger ring." he seals it with a kiss to your lips.

Copyright © by kimkaelyn. All rights reserved. No plagiarizing, re-uploading, translating, or copying of any kind or on any platform of my writing. Please notify me ASAP if you see my work posted on other sites.

#grinning so widely

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luminetti · 2 months

Text

for those who are interested, my work is now being cross-posted to wattpad! due to the cover art aspect of watt it’ll probably lag behind in regards to updates

#lumi’s chatter

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luminetti · 2 months

Text

Baldur’s Gate Regency AU HCs

Gale:

Couldn’t help but add my favorite boy even though I’m giving him a whole ass series.

Without a doubt, Gale is a Viscount of Waterdeep. Trained in the arcane by the Dowager Duchess Mystra herself, he happily tends to her requests in good faith.

Gale rarely partakes in the social gatherings of the Ton, much rather preferring the quiet atmosphere of his estate.

Despite his reclusiveness, Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess always seems to have space for Gale to visit the palace and frequently calls upon him for banquets and events.

The Ton is known for being quite unforgiving, and disregarding transgressions is usually a privilege reserved for royalty.

Reserved for royalty, like a Duchess, perhaps.

Gale may be socially obtuse, but he’s certainly not unmindful. Recently he has begun to suspect royal interference when it comes to the press.

As the Dowager Duchess calls upon him more and more frequently, Gale has to decide whether her intentions are benign, or if he needs to reconsider his faith in an act of apostasy.

(wink wink)

Astarion:

A Baron of Baldur’s Gate, obviously.

Or at least, that’s what he claims to be.

As luck would have it, King Szarr has Astarion, his favorite servant to dress up and send into unassuming balls.

Only appearing at masquerades, Astarion takes on the role of a lovesick Baron seeking out equally yearning suitresses.

After a month of courting, Astarion reports his findings about the women he has encountered, describing their appearance and preferences in great detail.

As the King desires, the poor woman is swept from her estate and brought to the palace, because who can deny a direct request from the King?

Haunted by the beheadings of the last two late Queens, Astarion has vowed to end the line of ex-wives by finding the perfect suitress to be the King’s sixth, and final wife.

It’s a flawless plan. All Astarion has to do is not fall in love with the suitress.

Karlach:

From birth, Karlach was destined to become a Knight.

Trained with the intent to become a personal Knight of the Duke of Baldur's Gate, Enver Gortash, Karlach had come to terms with—and found solace in—her duties.