1 - 20 of 30 Works by positivejam
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“A big night for newly minted hall-of-famer Shane Hollander—”
Tie and tails. The tux still fit him.
“And with two Stanley Cups and an Olympic Gold Medal...Ilya Rozanov celebrates retirement at an astounding forty-two…”
Greys had crept into the tips of his hair like an early morning frost. Those same early mornings got harder as the cold seeped into his cartilage scars. Shane Hollander’s retirement came after ice baths, acupuncture and oxycodone.
“We invite you to join us in bookending the NHL’s greatest rivalry. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome last year’s Hall of Fame inductee Shane Hollander to present Ilya Rozanov with his plaque.”
It had been fifteen years since they saw one another, and shaking Ilya Rozanov’s hand on stage in Toronto felt like mutually assured destruction.
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And suddenly, filling his entire screen, Rozanov was grinning into the camera with a row of bloody teeth. His lip was split. When he wiped his mouth with the back of his bare hand, it came away streaked with red. He spat the rest onto the ice with an awful smile and a wink before getting to his feet.
Jane: Can you stay in the dressing room?
Lily: Are you asking or telling?
Jane: You hate being told what to do.
Lily: Not when it's you
Jane: Stay.
Jane: You looked really fucking good taking that hit.
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Uneasy is the Head by positivejam for TopoftheLighthouse
Fandoms: Baldur's Gate (Video Games)
30 Dec 2025
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Concerning: Scourge, Silhouette, Signet, Satin, Sunrise, and Solarflare – Select Correspondence from the Desk of Mother Superior Shadowheart.
Carve through the virgin parchment. Up, curve, flick, bleed. Every ‘S’ was a billowing black sail, blotted through the leatherbound dossier. Every name leveled a target on her back. Tonight, she pressed her quill in deep enough to scar.
Shadowheart was no fool.
She knew the hatchet was buried in a shallow grave.
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Highwaywoman by positivejam for ACrowsRockCollection
Fandoms: Baldur's Gate (Video Games)
09 Dec 2025
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In another life, Jaheira met Gale in the woods outside Waterdeep. She was silver haired, still, but he was the arrogant graduate of his youth. In the fantasy, she had far worse intentions. Her swords would prickle against his fresh-shaved face. Her vines– Gods, those vines, he remembered them still– would tie him tight and prickle through his fine silks. “Scared of your own blood, Dekarios?” She’d tease, tucking the swordpoint under his chin. “Oh, poor thing. Of course you are, you’re only a cub.”
In some bid to tidy an office whipped through vellum and vine, Gale could not help but laugh when he found what his lover had deigned to keep from the old days.
Staring back at him in faded brown ink was a scowling young Jaheira, plastered upon a Wanted poster.
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The courier’s vice was not in shiny red caps and chips. The woman who crawled out the grave– against all accounts, against nature– craved something just as aberrant as she was. Something that made her think men like him should kneel before her. Something that lingered in laser rifle ozone and bloody red sand.
The courier wanted the same thing as every milk-toothed warlord crushed under the Legion did.
Power.
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My Echo, My Shadow, and Me by positivejam for TopoftheLighthouse
Fandoms: Baldur's Gate (Video Games), Fallout (Video Games)
22 Nov 2025
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The terminal monitor swings, filling Shadowheart's vision with the gentle chyron of Mother Mainframe. Upon the screen she is two perfect lips and a gaze covered by a fluffy eyemask. There’s a fetching pair of eyes embroidered upon its silk: lined dark, full-lashed and painted deep purple. They stare out with a knowing gaze while Mother, ever-working through each vein of their Vault, slumbers softly beneath.
The face soon fades. For a moment, she is alone in the false moonlight of the medbay, before the ominous tick-tack of text spills out in stark green.
>Hello, citizen SHADOWHEART. Welcome to your Vault-Tech Certified Check-Up! Don't recall the last one? Congratulations– it worked!
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It was the word that caught Gale’s journalistic curiosity first. Fallow.
In the strictest sense of things, it was a farming technique. Mostly lost to the ever-spinning cogs of their modern world, it was biblical in its simplicity. Farmer’s fields lay barren as autumn turned to spring and then summer, so that beneath them the earth would churn with new life. It was the soil’s breath between seasons.
He came to know it later slipped from a silver tongue, a bitten lip, a soft whisper. Let your lands rest and lie fallow, the so-called messiah would say with a hand upon his thigh.
Astarion was the story of a lifetime.
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"Travis we can’t just– ”Get on a plane. Run halfway across the world. See her. “Go looking for…fucking ghosts.”
“She’s not a ghost.” When he laughs, it’s the grown-up Travis– the man, with the beer gut and the truck keys and the gun without a safe. “We’ve got a hell of enough of those, Nat, you don’t gotta pad the stats.”
“She’s so much more than just a few nice words on a fucking postcard. She’s Lottie.”
It’s dangerously close to the truth. The one when they fuck to porno in the VHS and both come way too quickly for a kids on coke because if they close their eyes and ride they can pretend the other voice is– nope. No way. Too fucking close.
“She’s…our ghost.”
Newark, 1999. In the throes of a bitter winter in their broken down apartment, Natalie and Travis receive a shiny postcard from Cannes.
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Warding Bond by positivejam for misslillianvalentine
Fandoms: Baldur's Gate (Video Games)
31 Aug 2025
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"Astarion?" Gale voice cuts through the darkness. “Are you quite alr–"
Shadowheart doesn’t see it but she hears it: the sudden sip of breath that comes right before a kiss. A muffled gasp that melts into pleasure. Then, two lungs in tune with each other, sharing space, sharing breath. She presses her gauntlets to her lips and feels their steel warm to her skin.
Lady of Sorrows guide her... had she ever been kissed like that?
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Gale teases the orb with a feather-light touch. There’s a familiar chill as his fingertips sinks into the thick, honeyed pull of pure magic. Too fast, too tight. Does he not deserve a little pain?
As he raises the dagger it seems to relax. And the pleas become 'sink in slow' as a thousand little tongues lap tentatively at his skin, slicking his fingers in dripping wet weave. He lets them sink up to the knuckle. It’s obscene. It’s a ghastly lover’s preparation, easing the way for the bloody knife.
Though, he supposes, Mystra had done the same for him. To him.
Damn it all.
Series
- Part 3 of Netherese Duality
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def: sexuoeroticism linked to thunder and lightning.
A storm is rolling in.
Eddie can feel it. There’s this electric buzz of possibility, of a whole damn army on the horizon ready to descend upon the house. It comes in screeching mic feedback and the faintest taste of ozone in the drinks.
But mostly, he can see it in Volt.
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When the Captain bowed it was by law alone. It was simply a to do, a reverence between Gods and men and Jaheira of Tethyr: the old druid in between. She could see the hard-cut cleverness in the sailor's eyes the moment she stood and shook the salt from her hair. She meant no deference. Tacit and cunning, this Minthara only knelt so she might slice at an enemy’s heel.
So as she bowed, Jaheira plucked herbs from the hearth. The flowers felt like velvet in her palms and fell like snow into her wine.
Because it had not been so long since she played these games of Gods and men.
Jaheira and Minthara, on the island on Tethyr. A loose Odyssey-inspired tale with a sapphic twist.
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“I am not eager to throw myself upon another altar for naught but scraps in return.” Gale steels himself with a deep breath. He speaks his peace to the wilds and the cosmos rather than his lover's face. “And yet. Marble skin, silver tongue... eyes like Moonsea rubies. Oh, you cast a fine altar, Astarion.”
With two discerning appetites, a deal to keep each other fed is the one thing that ties Astarion and Gale together. But the proverbial collar slips all too easily around Gale's throat, the lead feels right in Astarion's unchained hands, and both men think they've bested the other in a game neither should be playing.
In any case. As the greats say in lanceboard: there is no shame in losing to a stronger foe.
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Shadowheart’s memories are bookmarked by thresholds. A tavern door, a shuddering cathedral, a ladder to a light unknown. Minthara’s tent is no different. She knows, she knows, if she steps into this pixie ring she will awaken the parts of herself she’s so carefully locked away.
And yet the drow's command echoes all the same.
You will come to me, Shadowheart, when you find yourself in need of a key.
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It feels a little ritualistic as Astarion taps fresh grounds into the smooth wooden pipe for Gale. For he’s never lit a candle and prayed proper, you see, but he thinks the crackle and cherry glow of a pipe under Gale’s fluttering eyes is as good an altar as any. And as he breathes in, Astarion mirrors him. The smell would be overpowering were it not for the wafting sweet panic in Gale’s blood as he chokes himself out so… willingly.
Or: Astarion can’t get high, but that insufferable wizard can. And watching can be just as fun.
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High Harper, please. I want to help.
Go home to your mother, boy.
The words rattle between Geraldus’ ears, colouring the tips of them a terrible pink. Gods, he would have begged her like a dog to stay if she had only let him. If she hadn’t turned on her heel and left with that world-weary look on her face.
He still would.
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When their heartbeats settle and the city's smog gives way to sparkling tavern ales and joyous laughter, the Iron Throne's saviors seek revelries to forget the responsibilities that still weigh heavy on their shoulders.
Gale's palm lingers in Shadowheart's. There's a hesitancy there, wrapped up in promises of silk and kisses sweeter than any mead.
Upstairs in the Elfsong, Astarion’s fingers brush Jaheira’s as they share a hookah pipe and turn-of-the-century tales– waiting to tease the two eager knocks at their doors.
All four find their bliss bathed in smoke.
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Shadowheart had blood on her hands for the last full moon, too. A rabbit’s, velvet and warm as she slid her hands beneath its tiny ribcage and squeezed. The scent of iron and brimstone fills her senses as she peels back Karlach’s shirt like the skin of that same kill.
“Hellhound got me, yeah. ‘Least, they looked like hellhounds. Smart little fuckers got me cornered and…” Karlach's eyes widen. “Aw, tell me I’m not gonna die from a little dog bite.”
"Hm. You're lucky I used to lie for a living."
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igni ferroque by positivejam
Fandoms: Baldur's Gate (Video Games), Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
09 Mar 2025
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The sheep looks to his shepherd.
The shepherd's hands tremble in the dark.
Two eyes, dark and shiny as sea glass, bulge and blink as Gale brings the knife to the offering’s throat. The battle rages on and the babe bleeds upon Athena’s boots. Let it take, he prays, let her hear.
“My. What do we have here?" Gale hears a soldier’s voice in place of his Goddess. "Two little lambs left upon the altar?”
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Or: A Greco-Roman Bloodweave AU
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“...Unless the temples have come up with a particularly inventive form of Spiritual Weapon, I rather think clerical spells have little use in the bedchambers.” Gale offers with a grin. “And I, for one, can’t imagine a lover that would take particularly kindly to a Guidance spell in the heat of the moment–”
“Not one for orders? A pity.” Shadowheart slides a copper to the centre of the table, her nail never leaving the griffon’s head upon it, and she doesn’t let him get a word in. “I suppose it’s novel, keeping the company of an archmage so terribly unimaginative.”
Or: Zone of Truth, cast by one lovesick cleric upon one terribly lovesick wizard.