gewhanaa

[gewhanaa]

WIP Wednesday response:

Next request: Bloodweave Hallmark Movie. The boys are cleaning up the kitchen after pub quiz night at Gale's family owned diner in the small town of Moonhaven (they are definitely gonna fuck in this kitchen y'all. I have seen visions) for @aparticularbandit, @balthazarusrex,  @twyrewolf, @eriquin, and @zyrafowe-sny.

The kitchen was clean and buttoned up already when he followed Gale in with the trays.  The  dim lighting under the counters cast long  shadows across the rubber mats covering the black and white tile pattern of the floors.  He set his tray down next to the sink, rattling the metal appetizer baskets stacked in a haphazard pile with their  colorful checked paper liners sticking out between them and sending them askew.  Gale reached for the apron hooks and wrapped a big  black apron over his clothes before turning towards the sink and rolling up his sleeves.  Astarion suddenly didn't know what to do with his hands.  The rush of the water filled the quiet space, bubbles beginning to rise on the surface as Gale added soap when  he snapped a hair tie  off of his wrist and twisted his  hair up into a messy bun.  Astarion was overcome with an urge to lean in and  nuzzle against the long  golden line of exposed neck. he wondered what Gale's beard felt like.  He had been clean shaven the last time Astarion had been allowed to be this close to him.   He wondered if he still wore sandalwood and vanilla. .   "I'll go grab the bus tubs. Jenny said she would collect the glasses for us." As quickly  as he could, without openly running, he escaped to the dining room before Gale could turn and notice his rapidly spreading blush.

[gewhanaa]

“…an offering to be devoured wholly and holy.” from Chapter 2 of Coming Home Again

This is the second thing I’ve drawn in almost 2 full years and it took a lot of playing around to kinda remember how to shade. I’m very happy with where it ended up and can’t thank BG3 enough for sparking that creativity in me again.

[gewhanaa]

A (belated) fic for Bloodweave Inn New Year’s Prompts Day 2: Neighbors

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62007712

Summary: After a messy divorce, Gale finds himself in less-than-ideal living quarters: the building is filthy, the flat is a closet, and he's got to pay downtown rent for the privilege. But all of that wouldn't be so bad if only he could get some damned sleep. Noisy Astarion from upstairs seems determined not to let him…

Gale/Astarion. Tags: Rated E for Explicit Sexual Content. AU - Modern With Magic, Neighbors, Friends to Lovers. Mild Warning for AU version of Astarion's Past Abuse.

[gewhanaa]

I know there's this fic by QuillScales that's ongoing

I would love to see more tangled AU, there's so many possibilities 👀

can't stop thinking about how cute a tangled au is for bloodweave. we've got the rakish, charming, swashbuckling, thieving rogue in astarion, and a magical, long-haired, interested-in-learning and extremely purple-coded wizard that's been sequestered in a tower for various reasons and has an animal sidekick in gale!!! it's perfect.

[gewhanaa]

[gewhanaa]

Potion of Glittering Radiance

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Astarion/Gale Content Warnings: None, unless you're offended by sparkly vampires Prompt: Written for the Bloodweave Inn's New Years Challenge event- "Wizard"

Gale's latest alchemical experiment goes awry, and Astarion happens to be in the crossfire. Whoops.

-

Gale stood hunched over his makeshift alchemy station, carefully stirring a bubbling concoction that reeked of moss and candle smoke mixed with something unpleasantly bitter.  Various ingredients lay scattered across the table, fresh, dried, and oozing, each more obscure than the last. His voice rambled on at a low murmur to no one in particular, as to be expected from the party's resident wizard.  

"A little bit of this… then the essence of—ah, no, not that one." Gale sighed and ran a hand through his already tousled hair, wholly focused on the task at hand. "It's meant to be a Potion of See Invisibility, not something that turns one's skin puce. Come on, Gale, you know better than that."

On the other side of the table stood Astarion, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed while watching the process with mild amusement.  He was quite accustomed to Gale's eccentricities, and he usually wouldn't bother supervising while the man tested and brewed whatever strange elixirs struck his fancy, but tonight? Tonight, Gale had promised something actually useful—a potion that would allow him to see invisible enemies, a priceless tool for a rogue like him.

"Well, darling," Astarion drawled, glancing at the mess foaming in Gale's cauldron. "I do hope this potion works better than your last experiment. While that little 'Potion of Increased Perception' technically worked, none of us could look Shadowheart in the face for hours.  Without laughing, at least."

"I assure you, I had no idea that my Beholder's Oil had gone rancid," Gale muttered, a flush creeping up his neck and coloring his cheeks at the reminder of his inadvertent failure.  His talent with the Weave did not, unfortunately, bleed into innate alchemical ability.  Still, he'd been trying to make up for his lack of knowledge through brute force and sheer stubbornness since escaping the nautiloid.  Anything to give them a leg up in the struggles to come.  "At least it only gave her one extra eye."

"Yes, right in the center of her forehead."  Astarion flashed the wizard a wide, fanged grin and leaned closer to the table.  "It was glorious."

They both know that Astarion's words were one of many tools the vampire used to mask what's really going on inside of his pretty head.  There's often more left unsaid in the background– tucked carefully away after a lifetime of clawing for his very survival.  Astarion might appear bored, and his words might seem mocking, but he's also keeping Gale company when he could be elsewhere doing any number of things.  

In moments like this, the wizard can't help but compare him to a semi-feral cat: fearful and dangerous, yet creeping closer in search of affection despite it all.  

Huffing in something akin to fond exasperation as his mind conjured the image of a tiny hissing kitten with Astarion's eyes, Gale shook his head and pulled his attention back to his project.  "This one will work, I'm sure of it. It's just a matter of... skill.  And precision.  Then you'll all be thanking me for making such a valuable contribution to the group."

With a flourish, he added a final drop of some clear, viscous fluid to the cauldron.  The potion fizzed and frothed, turning an unsettling shade of fuchsia before it began to boil over.  Gale's eyes widened.

"Oh no."

Before either of them could react, the potion hit the brazier's glowing coals and exploded in a flash of sparkling, radiant light.  Gale cursed as the bright light momentarily filled the space around them with a blinding glow before settling into a soft, twinkling sparkle that hung in the air like a thousand fireflies.

"What the hell was that?" Astarion snarled, as if Gale could possibly see enough to tell what he was talking about.

Moments passed, and the overwhelming luminosity that had temporarily overwhelmed his sight finally began to fade.  Blinking his stinging, watery eyes, Gale found himself squinting down at the cauldron that had once held his carefully concocted elixir, horrified to find it tipped on its side and nearly empty while motes of light continued drifting lazily in the air.  

"Well, that wasn't supposed to happen," Gale admitted, his voice strained.  He had no idea what had gone wrong this time.  "What in the hells–?"

Then he looked up at Astarion, and promptly froze in shock.

Astarion's skin—his flawless, pale skin—now glittered like a thousand tiny stars had been embedded into his very pores. Every light caught on him, from the miniature alchemical brazier to Gale's conjured candles to the moon's glow filtering down from the sky.  With every movement, the vampire's skin shimmered brightly, as though he were a creature composed of pure magic.

Rather than create a Potion of See Invisibility, the wizard seemed to have turned his lover into a walking disco ball.  

"Oh, this is just perfect. I may seem like I always want to be the center of attention, but this is over the fucking top."  Astarion scowled at Gale, brow furrowed and voice dripping with sarcasm, though it was hard to take his ire seriously as he fluttered his shiny hands around.  His skin sparkled in every direction, reflecting the light in a way that made him seem less like a feared creature of the night and more like an eccentric showgirl from a forgotten circus.  "Do you have any idea how impossible it will be for me to do anything vaguely rogue-like in this state?"

The wizard wilted, unable to look the other man in the eye. "I—I didn't mean for this to happen, Astarion! I must have made a minor miscalculation with the formula, but it should fade within an hour or two.  Hopefully.  You'll be fine!"

Astarion raised a pale eyebrow, his eyes glinting with the reflected light of the brazier.  And the rest of him, honestly. "Minor, you say? What happens if it doesn't?  How am I supposed to walk around without attracting every inquisitive or predatory gaze in a ten-mile radius?  I have the subtlety of a comet!"

Gods above and below, what a mess.  Gale's shoulders slumped as he took a step closer, trying to apologize again. "I am sorry, love.  I was sure I had the recipe figured out."  

Hands stained with oil and ink brushed soothingly over the vampire's bare forearms.  As his fingers lightly skimmed the surface of Astarion's skin, each touch made the glitter seem to dance and shimmer even more intensely.  Gale couldn't help but admire the beauty of it.  "But now, well... maybe we can use it to our advantage? Think of it—your newfound radiance could light up the darkest dungeons. You're a beacon of power and beauty."

"Don't you dare try to flatter me after that ridiculous blunder of yours, Wizard," Astarion scoffed, though his words held very little heat.  He crossed his arms over his chest, every movement making his skin catch the light like a glittering beacon. "I wouldn't even make it to a dungeon in this state.  I'm more likely to be abducted by enraptured villagers who think I'm some sort of celestial being come to bless them with... fashion advice."

Gale couldn't bite back the snicker that such a mental picture brought to his lips.  "May the gods deliver us from such a tragic fate."  His hands came to rest on the elf's narrow hips, giving them a gentle squeeze as he leaned in to bump their noses together.  "I'll make it up to you, Astarion. I swear it."

His lover's expression finally softened, and Gale nearly breathed a sigh of relief.  "You'd better," Astarion replied. "Because as much as I might appreciate the glitter of gold and jewels, vampires are not supposed to sparkle."

"No, I suppose not."  Gale couldn't help but laugh despite himself and the absurdity of the situation.  It really was a ridiculous notion. "Though I must say, if anyone could pull off the whole 'celestial glitter bomb' look, it's you."  

"Hush, you menace."  Something about Astarion's gaze seemed to darken after another moment spent in thought, his pale lashes drooping.  "Darling?"

"Hmm?"

Reaching for the collar of his shirt, Astarion pulled it back just enough to expose a sliver of his gleaming chest to view.  With his hips cocking, lips parting, and a fall of near-perfect silver hair curling around his sharp cheeks, the vampire struck a playful pose that left no question as to his intentions.  "Do you think that little potion of yours affected my entire body?"

"I… I have no idea." Oh dear. Gale could feel his eyes glaze over as his mind immediately started racing through the possibilities. "Perhaps it would be prudent to conduct a, ah, thorough examination?  Just to fully assess the results?  For the sake of my research notes and future experiments, of course."

"Of course.  I expect nothing less than a proper inspection after what you've done to me," Astarion purred, his voice silky smooth and full of promise.  The elf turned slowly and cast Gale a sultry look over his shoulder, as if daring him to imagine the length of his lean form bare and shimmering.  "I'll be in your tent.  Don't keep me waiting."

"By the gods," Gale muttered under his breath, only sparing the mess on his alchemy table a cursory glance before spinning on his heel to hurry after the other man, purple robes billowing behind him.   

He couldn't remember the last time he wanted to face the consequences of a failed experiment quite as badly as he did right now.

-

AO3

[gewhanaa]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59251018/chapters/158629684

I Carried A Watermelon - Chapter 14

Astarion is learning how to express his feelings. It’s slow going and it takes someone yelling at him a little bit, but he’s getting there.

[gewhanaa]

on AO3

Gale's praise kink anyone? Featuring a trans!Astarion that is somehow still a brat while doming him.

[gewhanaa]

(Cursed) Symphony of the Heart

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Astarion/Gale Content Warnings: Just a magical emotion-revealing artifact Prompt: Written for the Bloodweave Inn's New Years Challenge event- "Music"

Gale and Astarion find a strange relic in a room of a forgotten ruin, one with a haunting tune that threatens to strip away their mental walls and expose a well-kept secret.

-

The ruins were silent, save for the soft rustling of the wind that slipped between the cracks of crumbling walls and across the worn stone floor. After quite literally stumbling onto the subterranean building (Astarion was still giggling over the mortifying shriek Wyll made when he first plunged through some unseen fissure in the ground), the party decided to set up camp and do a little exploring.  

Besides, Wyll wasn't walking any further on such a badly sprained ankle.  

The air was thick with dust and the lingering scent of decay as they descended into the abandoned depths, unseen debris crunching and snapping beneath their boots in the gloom.  

"You guys don't think these were people, do you?"  Karlach muttered, trying and failing to avoid stepping on another brittle pile.  "Oh, please don't be people."

"They were definitely people," Astarion deadpanned, driving his own boot pointedly down on a particularly fragile skull.  "Children, the elderly, even a few vestal priestesses who were brutally murdered before they had the chance to experience the pleasures of the flesh. What a godsdamned tragedy."

A miserable whimper rose from the barbarian's throat, and she nearly stumbled.  Astarion almost laughed.  "Fucking hells—Fangs, how would you even know that?"

If only she could see his face, Karlach might realize just how full of shit he was, but the heavy shadows cloaked the wicked twist of his lips and the amusement lighting up his ruby eyes.  "I can smell them, dear.  How dare you question the heightened senses of a creature like myself?" 

Much to the rogue's chagrin, a heavy sigh interrupted the rather humorous conversation.  "Astarion, please stop teasing the poor girl," Gale pleaded before muttering a quick spell, fingers twisting and the garlicky scent of phosphorus filling the air before a familiar quartet of glowing orbs swirled into life above his head.  "I'm quite certain that most of this mess is little more than dried branches and other flora that has fallen through the ceiling over the years.  There may be a few skeletons from wildlife that managed to get stranded down here, but I seriously doubt that there are actually any belonging to people."  

"No one asked you for your opinion, wizard.  Or your flatulence.  Gods, you really didn't need to add to the stink of the place."

"Oh, for the love of—will you two please stop bickering?"  Pinching the bridge of her nose in evident irritation, Shadowheart seemed on the edge of thumping both men with her mace.  "I am not in the mood."

"Karlach, darling, do you hear that?  She's not in the mood.  You have my condolences."

Another exasperated sound rose from somewhere in the dim just before the cleric threw a stick at him.

-

The group split up to explore after that, mostly so that someone didn't end up needing to explain to Withers why they required a resurrection after exploring a relatively peaceful ruin.  

So the women went in one direction, the men in another, and that's how Gale blundered into the box.

The fact that it stood alone in the center of a room, clearly intended to draw the attention of anyone who stumbled upon it, should have been a clue that something wasn't right.  But Gale was curious, and Astarion rarely passed up a chance to examine something shiny, so in they went.  

The wizard's eyes sparkled with intrigue as he carefully approached the ornate pedestal.  Upon it rested a gilded box, its surface adorned with intricate symbols and carvings—some old, some newer, as though someone had come across this long-lost relic and thought it wise to add their mark.

"Look at this," Gale said, his voice soft with reverence. "I've never seen anything quite like it."

Astarion crept around the parameter of the room, surveying the space for traps while also trying to keep an eye on his companion.  As pretty as the box might be, it wasn't worth dying over.  

"Ah, yes, the glorious box. With all its polished allure and hidden promises," Astarion said, his voice smooth and his words teasing. Not finding anything worrying in the room itself, he stepped closer to Gale and eyed the relic with interest.  "What do you think you'll find in there, hmm? Another spellbook to add to your collection? Or perhaps a tasty enchanted snack for later?" 

His eyes gleamed with a mix of curiosity and wariness, a hand subtly resting on the hilt of his dagger. "I must admit, I'm curious too. But I do hope your brilliant mind has already realized that the box could be dangerous. You may want to consider a few safety measures before you start playing with that thing."

"I'm not entirely sure that that's necessary," Gale replied, his tone growing more serious as he inspected the small casket. "This... I think it's a musical artifact of some kind. Look at the carvings—those are notes, aren't they?"

Astarion smirked. "Well, if it plays your kind of music, I'm certain it will bore me to death."

Ignoring the snide comment, Gale carefully lifted the box from its pedestal.  The moment his fingers brushed against the dark wood inlaid with gleaming gold filigree, a low hum filled the air—a delicate, haunting melody that seemed to resonate from the very stone around them. 

The notes were soft at first, like whispers on the breeze, but they quickly grew louder, their ethereal echoes floating insistently through the room.

The vampire's smirk faltered, a hint of confusion taking its place. The sound doesn't seem like anything else he's heard before, at least that he can recall in his undead memory. The noise is unlike the the usual chiming tune of a music box or the faint hum of magic that his enhanced elven ears sometimes picks up, but something deeper, more disconcerting. His gaze flickered over to Gale, who was still holding it with his fingers frozen against its surface as though he, too, was unsure of the music's origin.

Gale's brow furrowed. "This isn't ordinary music," he muttered. "This is—"

The melody shifted without warning, twisting and wrapping itself around them like snaring tendrils of magic. The air grew heavy, suffused with a strange warmth that prickled at Astarion's skin. He found himself stepping closer, though he couldn't quite understand why. The music muddled his thoughts while his usual sharpness dulled, seeming to seep into his very bones, pulling at something deep inside him.

"You feel it, don't you?" Gale asked, his voice barely audible, his brown eyes distant as if he were lost in the song.

Astarion nodded slowly, feeling the weight of the music settle in his chest like a burrowing creature. It stirred something within him—something he hadn't felt in centuries. The sensation was both beautiful and painful, familiar and strange, like the unearthed edges of a memory he had buried long ago. 

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, but the music wouldn't let him go.

Gale looked over at him, his eyes dark and unfocused. "This is not just a melody.  Not a curse. I don't—I don't know what it is, but it's invoking something."

Astarion frowned, his instincts screaming that something was wrong, yet the beauty of the song made it difficult to pull away.  He took another step toward Gale, who still stood entranced by the box, his fingers now brushing its edge.

"You should put it down," Astarion said, his voice tinged with concern. "This isn't normal."

Gale shook his head slowly. "I can't... I need to understand it. I—" His words faltered as the melody tightened its coils, seeming to ensnare them further.

Without warning, a surge of magical energy erupted from the box, enveloping both of them in a blinding light. 

Astarion staggered back, his body aching as the spell twisted within him, seizing his mind and the useless lump of his heart in ways he couldn't begin to comprehend. It felt as though the music tore into the very core of him, dredging up recollections of a life he thought long dead and buried—before he'd been turned, before darkness had utterly consumed his existence.

For a brief, fleeting moment, memories of himself in a time he couldn't remember whirled before his mind's eye.  Dancing in the arms of a lover, the sound of his father's fingers dancing across a piano, the scent of a pie fresh from the oven, the soft hum of a lullaby that his mother used to sing. It was a different life, a different world—and yet, it felt as though the music was coaxing those mementos to the surface, urging him to feel again, to remember an emotion… to remember love.

Gale's voice cut through the haze, urgent and desperate. "Astarion! Look at me!"

Astarion blinked, his eyes refocusing on Gale, who was now standing directly in front of him, his face pale, his expression as dazed as Astarion's.

The box continued to hum between them, its magic reverberating through their bodies. Now shifting to a slower, melancholic tone, the music pulled them closer—their bodies gravitating together until they had no choice but to touch. Their gazes locked, and amid the chaos, a moment of quiet understanding cascaded over them as they finally saw.  Like the music had sunk its claws into their mental walls and yanked and wrenched until the stones gave way, breaking them down to their most tender, vulnerable parts, revealing something that neither had truly seen before.

"Are you feeling it too?" Astarion whispered, his voice a low murmur.

Gale didn't answer at first. Instead, he raised a hand, fingers trembling slightly as he cupped Astarion's face, his gaze intense and searching.  The melody swelled, and in that moment, everything seemed to fall away—the ruins, the danger, the music box.

Everything but them.

Astarion's breath caught in his throat. His mind screamed at him to pull away, to fight against the exposure of weakness—but his undead heart, lost in that strange music, begged him to stay.

Without a word, Gale leaned in, his lips finding Astarion's in a kiss that was gentle at first before deepening with an unspoken need, a longing that had been buried beneath layers of uncertainty, grief, and fear.  Those lips were slightly chapped and tasted of coffee and spices, but Astarion found he didn't care.  The warmth of the wizard's mouth against his seemed to hold a magic all its own, hurling away the shroud of charming cynicism that he usually hid beneath and wrapping him up in a blanket of unforeseen affection instead. 

The music swelled, both echoing and amplifying their emotions.  Astarion's arms wound around Gale's neck, pulling him closer, needing more of him, of this.  

Neither knew how long they stood together like that, losing track of where one ended and the other began.  When they finally pulled apart, both stood breathless, their foreheads resting against each other, their eyes closed as the last of the melody faded into the ruin's quiet. The box, now silent, seemed almost forgotten, its power spent.

"Well, that was... unexpected." Astarion gave the wizard a wry grin, trying to keep his composure, but he couldn't hide how his voice faltered ever so slightly. 

Gale's voice was soft and hoarse. "I—I'm sorry, I had no idea that this would happen."  He hurriedly placed the box back onto its stand, wiping his fingers against his robe and unable to meet the other man's stare.  "I certainly didn't intend to touch you without your consent.  We can just blame all that on the music and pretend it never transpired, if you wish."  

"I didn't mind."  Astarion's lips curved into a faint smile, though there was something hesitant in his eyes. "But it wasn't just the music, was it?  Part of it came from us, too."

Gale hesitated, his gaze returning to Astarion's face as if looking for some clue about what the vampire might be thinking. He swallowed, the rapid thud of Gale's racing heart proving to be a captivating distraction. 

"No," the wizard eventually said, voice barely above a whisper. "It wasn't just the music." He stepped back slightly, but not enough to break the closeness, his fingers still lingering at the edge of Astarion's sleeve. "But I also don't want to force you into something you're not ready for."

For a long moment, Astarion didn't respond. The vulnerability in Gale's voice shook him more than he expected. His usual sharp wit and sarcasm seemed distant, pushed away by the honesty in Gale's words. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, flushing stale air from his lungs, his expression unreadable.

"I've never been good at this," Astarion admitted quietly, his gaze dropping to the crumbling floor. "Opening up, letting someone in... I've spent so long keeping everyone at arm's length. But with you…" He looked up again, meeting Gale's eyes. "It's different. I can't explain it, but it feels... right.  So instead of shoving whatever-this-is under the rug, maybe we can try to figure it out together?

Gale's eyes softened, and for a moment, the ever-present burden of his goddess' demands and the stress of the past few tendays seemed to lift from his shoulders. "You're right," he said quietly, his hand returning to Astarion's cheek, almost like a reassurance for both of them.  "Maybe we can.  After all, it can't be any more complicated than trying to stop the world from ending.

Astarion nodded as his lips curved into a small, almost hesitant smile, the hint of something deeper in his eyes. "Let's leave this place, then."  Uncertainty still lingered like a shadow in the back of his mind, but something within him felt lighter, freer, for the first time in ages.  They could sort the rest of it out in fresh air and daylight.  "I think we've had enough of decaying ruins and meddlesome magic for the day."

As the wizard and rogue turned toward the exit, the air between them felt like it brimmed with possibilities, both known and unknown. It wasn't a perfect moment, but it was theirs, and for the first time in a long while, both of them felt something rare—peace.

The box, forgotten on its pedestal, seemed insignificant now. Its power had faded, replaced by a new kind of magic—one that wasn't born from ancient artifacts or spells, but from two souls forging a fragile new connection in the midst of chaos.

-

AO3

[gewhanaa]

can I get uhhhh astarion mad horny over gales titties with a side of wet undershirt

ya ilu

bloodweave + astarion NOT having any thoughts at ALL about wet t-shirt gale + rated m + 908 words

Nobody should be attractive when they’re sopping wet. Astarion certainly isn’t, as many people over the course of his long life have taken pains to inform him – drowned rat (Godey), drowned cat (many people, including more than one today alone), waterlogged guinea fowl, some things best left unsaid in polite company. 

He doesn’t really know what he looks like, but he can imagine it distantly from the way his hair is plastered to his face and how it feels as if his sopping wet shirt is sticking to each of his ribs. Utterly pathetic as he wrings himself out of his weighed down armor. 

Most of them look the same. Shadowheart seemed particularly stricken, ten pounds of braids certainly now twice as heavy as she skittered off into one of the abandoned homes to make camp over whatever’s left of the roof. 

Gale, though. Gale, it seems, wears waterlogged exceptionally well, which is beyond obnoxious given how insufferably verbose he is. 

They are not camping together, of course, because any opportunity to put even the illusion of a wall sturdier than canvas between each other is still welcome to everyone at camp these days. But they are across from each other, the window of Astarion’s sad little half-hovel looking out onto a building with most of the door and front facings gone, but quite a sturdy roof left over most of the back – enough to be dry enough for Gale’s tastes, it seems. 

If he were a man of more propriety Astarion would perhaps feel a bit bad about looking, but he is not, and surely enough has had enough liberties taken from him to be entitled to a little harmless gazing. Besides, for it to matter Astarion would have to enjoy the looking, which he certainly doesn’t. 

He does not have anything nice to say for the way Gale’s hair curls and clings to his face as he shakes it loose from its bun. He does not have a pleasant word at all for the way Gale’s back shifts as he peels out of his well-tailored robe. 

Astarion certainly isn’t sparing a single thought for Gale’s neat white undershirt, soaked so thoroughly it seems nearly see-through in spots, clinging to his torso. 

Even from this distance the thrum of whatever the thing in his chest is is evident – a glimmer of dim purple, perhaps responding to whatever magic Gale is certainly using to warm himself up. The faint glow is visible just beneath the collar of his shirt, and if Astarion’s eyes drift any lower – assessing the smattering of dark hair there, or the way his shirt hugs the not-at-all enticing curve of his chest or spread of his stomach – well, the trailing edge of the mark is a guide one’s eyes can’t help but trace. 

He smells terrible, constantly, does Gale Dekarios, and Astarion pretends it’s a reflection of Gale’s absolutely exhausting personality and not an unfortunate side-effect of the weave-poisoned sludge in his veins. From a distance, though: there’s something to be said about him. A stocky build, thick thighs and a broad chest. 

It would be easy enough to write him off as some posh, soft academic or aristocrat, but Astarion has seen plenty of those in myriad shapes and, to Gale Dekarios’ credit, he seems startlingly resilient despite the occasional complaint about his knees. He might be charming, in a world where he was capable of exercising some restraint or of reading a room. 

Easy enough to coax him somewhere private on some miserable, wet Baldurian evening. A glass of wine, a coy smile, what a shame, I just booked the last room. It might be nice, to curl his fingers in the fine linen of his robe and slide Gale out of it, perhaps nicer still to trace his fingers over the thin, wet splotches of his undershirt, cataloguing every spot that makes Gale shiver and squirm. 

To pin him to the bed, Gale’s magic-calloused hands at his hips as Astarion palms Gale’s tits and grinds against his thigh. Please, Astarion, in Gale’s breathless, low voice, making Astarion’s ear twitch beneath Gale’s hot, needy exhale. What a handful he’d be, and how exquisite for Astarion to sink his fangs into soft luscious fat and –

Something hits the remains of the broken window with a loud tink, and Astarion’s fantasy is replaced with the scent memory of Gale’s foul blood and the auditory memory of his terrible rambling. He is not well-fed enough to blush, fortunately, and he quickly shapes his face into something that feels annoyed as his vision comes into focus. 

Gale is watching him, a hint of smug amusement in his expression. He has a hand in front of him, some pebble or trinket floating there for a repeat performance of whatever he tossed to get Astarion’s attention the first time. 

Astarion scowls. Gale tosses it aside and sheds his white undershirt as he turns away, hanging it up on something unseen. He looks back to the window before retreating to his tent, staring at Astarion for not even a fraction as long as Astarion certainly must have been staring at him with an arched eyebrow. 

Astarion watches him, and looks to the door, and the soaking rain and the fact that he’s mostly undressed. 

After a beat, he stalks outside and slams the shutters shut with a thud to the sound of Shadowheart’s surprised yelp and Gale’s faint laughter.

[gewhanaa]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59671783/chapters/158866327

Boots Aren't Made for Walking

[gewhanaa]

ooh for the wip game, what about "pink" ?

alas, pink is decidedly lacking in my drafts, but perhaps purple will suffice?

from chapter two of diminishing returns (unpublished wedding au)

wip guessing game

[gewhanaa]

Travelling Together, a Bloodweave fic; chapter 8/?

Summary: After the tadpoles are gone and everyone goes their separate ways, Astarion and Gale realize they can still hear each other’s thoughts. Probably because they’re soulmates.

Notes: happy friday! enjoy this extra long chapter on our new official posting day! 🥰

read chapter eight HERE!

[gewhanaa]

Getting fond of listening to his voice ❤️💜

[gewhanaa]

If it please you, Astarion gently kissing Gale's wrist before biting his forearm to feed :)c

(could be as suggestive or not as you like)

[gewhanaa]

[gewhanaa]