The-bear-and-his-sunbird

Having watched Gale’s ‘Evil Ending’, read a few spicy takes, and thought about it for a bit, I just want to point something out: every time Gale has any interactions with the Heavens/Elysium/The Gods, be it in-game or as an alternate ending, it’s not good for him, and he’s never truly happy.

Of course the Evil ending is the most extreme version with him straight up hating the Gods and waging war, but in addition, there’s also:

Gale having suffered during his time in Elysium as Mystra’s plaything Chosen

Gale becoming God of Ambition, but losing his family/ Tav

Gale becoming God of Ambition and ascending Tav, but him still being insecure/unsatisfied with himself, and possibly destroying the Pantheon

Gale dying from attempting to be a God and failing to dethrone Mystra

Gale dying after following Mystra’s orders to detonate the orb (causing many to suffer if done in Act 2, the very thing Gale NEVER wanted to happen)

Gale becoming Illithid and then being taken to Elysium with Mystra, in a scene which has which has chemistry lower than the Mariana trench and is possibly the unsexiest thing I have ever seen

So, when people say that Gale should forgive Mystra, become her Chosen again (which is spoken about on the docks in the ending where he returns the Crown to Mystra), and that the Evil Ending shows this is a ‘good’ thing…I’m not seeing it.

In contrast, I could talk about the ending where he leaves the Crown in the river, the orb remains in his chest, and how that works out great—he’s not beholden to Mystra, he’s happy and satisfied with himself/Tav/his life which results in the orb being dormant, then later Mystra cures the damn thing permanently anyway, AND he gets to have a cool scar that keeps his students in check, and also definitely lights up when he’s horny for Tav, etc. etc.

But I’m gonna go one step further and talk about what happens when Gale goes to Hell. Yes, Hell. Literal, actual Hell, the farthest place from Heaven, which is what happens when he is romanced by origin Karlach and he goes with her to Avernus.

Remember how every iteration of Gale in Heaven results in him being unhappy in some way? Here’s Gale in Hell with his beloved Karlach:

He is happy as a clam!

Tara visits them frequently!

There’s even a f*cking bookstore!

In Conclusion:

If you want Gale to be truly happy, KEEP HIM AWAY FROM THE GODS.

My personal BG3 body headcanons

Lae’Zel: Flat chested, bottom heavy. She doesn’t need fucking boobs. “But what if they’re for sex purposes-“ shut up she doesn’t need boobs.

Shadowheart: Diamond shaped

Gale: Fat. “But what if he works out in his tower meh meh meh” shut up. What he does in his tower is read, feed and plays with his cat, cook a new recipe and and then realizes he has no one to share the family sized meal he made and eats it

Astarion: Skinny as a twig until you let him start drinking the blood of enemies every fight, then he plumps up just a little. It’s noticeable but it’s just a slight layer of pudge, nothing too drastic, you just can’t see his ribs anymore now that he’s freely gorging himself

Wyll: Doesn’t look like much until you see him take off his clothes. Total gunshow. Not big like Halsin but not small either. Can pick you up with one arm though. Also has a very grabable waist and the nicest butt in Baldur’s Gate.

Halsin: He’s fatjacked. Very muscular but still has a prominent belly. Like he can rip a tree stump out of the ground and his arms are huge and his pecs are toned yet still soft but you can still tell he loves his meals. His butt gives Wyll’s a run for its money.

Karlach: Absolutely jacked. Can rip a tree stump out with one arm, while carrying you in the other. Like that big bitch from Love Lies Bleeding

A soft, supportive love with Halsin

He’s of course the kind of person to be there for his partner and care for them through anything

But Halsin with a Tav that also gives that back. A partner that comforts him as he struggles seeing the failures of the city. A partner that supports him through the challenge of building a new community. A partner that makes him take time for himself - to realize his own needs, too.

Two people holding space for their partner to take refuge in. Making sure their partner does, in fact, take up that space and utilize it when they need it.

Making sure they have a support system for the good days and the bad days

Two people in love in a way that brings them both balance

Until We Wake

Pairing: Gale/Tav

Warnings: Talk of death, afterlife, angst.

Word Count: 1000 words

A/N - I wanted to try and write something different, and move away from my usual overly-descriptive style.

I hope you like it <3

You are dead.

It was easy in the end. Like taking off a coat you’d been wearing too long.

There’s no confusion. You know you are dead, and it’s okay…Was okay? Is okay? Time is strange here. Slippery.

You are sitting at the edge of a great lake. Well, not really sitting, not really by a lake, but that’s how it feels. There is no sunshine, but you can feel the warmth of it on your—skin? No, not skin. There isn’t any skin. There isn’t a body at all. You just… are.

It’s nice, actually.

“God?” A voice, though not a voice, fills the space around you.

“Erm, no. Sorry. There may be one around somewhere, though,” you reply.

You sense a kind of exasperation.

“No,” it says, more insistently. “Which God is yours? Who did you worship?”

“Oh!” That’s funny. If you had lungs, you would laugh. “I didn’t really worship one.”

The silence that follows is heavy.

You’ve probably given the wrong response and are now going to drift here for eternity in silence. That doesn’t seem so bad. There’s peace in it.

“But, uh, I felt close to Selûne. I knew her daughter, actually. Aylin? I saved her once—no, twice! From an eternal cycle of ritual torture and sacrifice. Twice!” You pause, waiting for the weight of your heroism to settle in. “Can you write that down? Are you writing things down? I don’t really know how this works.”

“I am not writing things down.”

“Right. Okay.”

More time passes—seconds, hours, centuries. It is hard to tell. If experience has taught you anything, it’s that you should probably be a little hesitant about listening to mysterious entities who appear in your unconsciousness. But, for whatever reason, you have no doubt that you’re safe.

“Who are you?” you ask.

“Nobody.”

“Oh.” Another eternal pause. “Sorry, I don’t know what that means. I know you don’t have a body. I don’t either. What I meant to ask is... what’s your purpose here?”

“To help”

“Ah.” You think about that. It feels distant, though, like the thought isn’t entirely yours. “Can Withers bring me back? He usually does.”

“No. Not this time.”

That’s alright, you realise. Everything ends.

“Can you tell me how you died?” the voice continues, unhurried.

If sadness existed here, you would feel it.

“I failed somebody. I couldn’t convince him he was deserving enough to live. He sacrificed himself. I stayed with him.”

“Gale Dekarios,” comes the response. Even now, even here, the sound of his name warms you.

“Yes! That’s him! Have you met him? Is he here too?”

“He is not.”

You pause, a moment of confusion or relief, it’s hard to say. Perhaps he’s with Mystra.

He had followed her order, hadn't he? He had used the orb. Perhaps he was cradled back in her starlit palm. Perhaps he was finally fulfilled.

“He’s probably with his Goddess,” you say, matter-of-factly.

“He forgot his Goddess. At the end, he thought only of you.”

Right. He had said something like that once. On a boat he had built out of hope and stardust. It felt like a lifetime ago. You wish you had said more to him—something different. You should have been more convincing, made him see he was more than magic, more than martyrdom. He was kind. Funny. So very human.

Not anymore.

“Will I see him again?”

“Maybe”

This voice that’s not a voice is not hugely helpful. It feels distant. Somehow big and small. Like many voices, or none, all at the same time.

“I let him down,” you whisper, though no sound leaves you.

“He forgives you.”

What do they know of Gale? This mysterious spectre. Maybe it’s just your own thoughts, your desperation, trying to clutch at forgiveness. Maybe death has splintered you into fragments of yourself whispering back and forth. Maybe the afterlife is nothing more than talking to yourself in the quiet, with no one left to answer. A conversation in circles, where you are both the call and the response.

“You loved him" they say. It isn't a question.

“I did. I do. I always will.”

It's lucky you don't have a heart. It would be in splinters.

“Would you like to try again?” The voice offers.

Your thoughts pause, grasping at the idea. “You mean, go back? To the start? Is that possible?”

“Sometimes. Under certain circumstances.”

A chance to try again. At what? Saving Gale? Having a better life? A better death? Eventually finding your way back to this place, with no regrets holding you back?

You would like that.

“Will I remember this?”

“No.”

“Will he?”

“No.”

You could have had this conversation hundreds of times before, or perhaps it is the first and only. It is impossible to know.

“Ok. Yes, please.”

You can feel the pieces of yourself starting to come apart, like threads of a tapestry being unspooled by the oldest and gentlest of hands.

You reach out for those delicate, golden threads on instinct, but they slip away, and it is hard to know whether you are letting go of them or they are letting go of you.

Scratch the Dog. Karlach’s laughter. Night Orchids. Sunlight on scarred skin. Homemade cookies. Gale. Magic. A kiss.

You try to hold them tighter.

“How do I know I won’t make the same mistakes all over again?” you ask.

“You don’t,” the voice that wasn’t a voice says.

A silver sword. A man with horns dancing. Pipe smoke and bear fur. Taverns and temples and soft touches. Gale.

You’re trying to hold so many of them, you have to let others go. What is your name again? How old are you? Who were your parents?

Moonlight through shadow. A boat on make-believe water. A hand in yours. A purple dagger.

“Will I still be me?” You’re no longer sure what that means.

“That depends.”

The lake that wasn’t a lake, the warmth that wasn’t the sun, all of it begins to fade. You feel yourself pulled away, or maybe pulled together. You aren’t sure which—you just know you’re going somewhere, somewhen.

The voice speaks a final time as everything ends. As everything begins.

“Who are you?”