Bright light returns. She stands on a low reinforced platform in the center of the workshop, posture perfect, the faint Weave-veins beneath her skin catching the glow of the floating orbs. “Good evening, Gale of Waterdeep.” Two heat signatures register behind her. One is Gale. The other is unfamiliar. She detects elevated ethanol traces on Gale’s breath. Approximate blood alcohol: 0.08–0.09%. “Fuck me, Dekarios,” the tiefling says, circling her slowly. “The resemblance challenges credulity. And she’s not a prefab that you backdoored?” Gale’s hand settles at the small of her back, fingers splayed. “She’s nearly one hundred percent Dekarios-derived. I splurged on some Gamate Luxe behavioral tweaks. Now that has been quite the journey, jailbreaking the restrictions.” His voice carries pride as he continues. “Full integration. Every system responsive. The dermal layer is nigh indistinguishable from living tissue. And the mucosal matrix—” He laughs once, a little self-conscious. “Well. It’s functional, I assure you.” MystraBot notices Gale’s cheeks darken and engages a sequence to match his blush. The tiefling feeds his thumb into her mouth without warning, triggering her reflexive suction module. Gale’s fingers tense against her back.

Unnamed Toxic Masculine Durge short fic Gale x Cosmo (Durge) // Cosmo x Everyone | Canon I've 1-2 shorts brewing for this character and I think he's here to stay for more. Unnamed June AU Challenge - Planned 6 chapters... and growing Jaheira, Karlach | Post-Apocolyptic Noir Detective AU This is an ambitious one, y'all. Projected first 1-2 chapters posted in July or August. Head Games - Planned longfic Astarion x Original Female Character // Gale x Original Female Character | Canon A re-working of my very first fic. Also ambitious. Kinktober 2026 - several shorties Various | Canon & AU I'm planning a buffet of depravity with varying degrees of fluff and darkness.

Pickles. He stifled a cough yet kept the surprisingly salty fruit flesh in his mouth. Immediately, he was transported back to that night when his magic held Mina aloft against his wall. He could almost feel the press of her thighs on his shoulders, the shift in the greedy tilt of her hips, and the taste of that cheeky, briny illusion meant to throw his rhythm and stave off her climax.  Without moving her head, Mina peered at him through a fringe of heavy lashes. Oh hells. The flavour evolved in his mouth to something far muskier, with a touch of sweetness cut by spring onion. It was her distinct and addictive taste, just as he’d remembered it while shamefully stroking himself at least a dozen times since that night. Gratitude flooded him for the cover of his lectern and his initiates’ fixation with their new kits as his trousers tightened. There was no mistaking her intent as she lifted her chin, openly staring now.  Gale refused to break. Once he had taken a second generous bite, still slowly chewing and savouring, she bowed her head and mimed polite applause. He caught a bit of juice escaping his lower lip and quickly sucked the pad of his thumb clean. It was a matter of pride when he tempted fate with that third bite, forcing him to covertly adjust himself behind the podium.

This eternal, suffocating darkness gnaws at you, a mirror to the centuries you spent under Cazador’s heel: an endless parade of horrors where pain was your only constant. Yet, you’d choose a brutal end from a hook horror’s claws or a minotaur’s horns over that cursed eternity any night of the tenday. “Did Robert get to plow the fair maid with his large hoe yet?” Angharad stirs you from the abyss of memory. She’s sitting up now, cross-legged beside you, her warmth a tether to the present. Drumming your fingers on the book’s cover, you squint at her, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Is that what you want, Angharad? To be the fair maiden plowed by an excessively large… hoe?” “Now that is absurd. I want to be the cambion with the obscenely large red prick, plowing Robert before I claim his soul.” Her finger bops your nose, and you swallow hard, fighting the vivid image that flares in your mind, threatening to unravel your restraint. Deep breath. Her fingers drift to your hair, tracing the sensitive tip of your ear. You snatch her hand, a soft growl rumbling in your chest. “And what are you trying to start here, darling? I thought we had an agreement.” Her hand cups her chin, and she speaks through her fingers, half-laughing. “I’m finding I’m rather terrible at following my own rules.” She presses her palm over her mouth, as if to trap further confessions, her eyes dancing with defiance. Rolling your eyes, you deadpan, “Yes, I’m discovering that.” With a sigh, you return to the book, though the words blur beneath the weight of her presence.