weavehearted

[weavehearted]

Gale does his best to remain somewhat still, keep his--Astarion's--features neutral so the spawn can see himself completely uninhibited. he can only imagine the thoughts swimming through his head, the emotions swirling through him, overtaking him. through sheer sympathy alone does his own heart both swell and break for the man seated before him. yet, watching his face cycle through everything he felt was nothing short of magical, of beautiful.

while Astarion explores his own features, first with his eyes and then with shaking hands, Gale thinks about what he'd just admitted to him. had it been too much to insinuate he wanted them to continue living together back home? too much to imply he wanted Astarion to meet his family, to become a part of it? perhaps it was, but Gale had never known how to love slowly. in whatever time was still afforded to him, he wanted to make the most of it. love hard, love deeply, never look back and never regret devoting himself to someone he cared for.

it's a strange sensation when he touches his ears, the feeling translating oddly from the illusion to Gale himself. it felt nice, to be touched in that gentle, reverent way, and he makes a mental note to reciprocate the action in the future.

he softly butts his head against Astarion's as their foreheads meet, reaching up to wipe tears from his cheeks. "You are," he agrees, thinking of all his little charm points that served as reminders that he was once mortal-- his smile lines, the beauty marks of age, the lines by his eyes. some might look upon those features with disdain, but Gale found them irresistible. "You should see yourself after a battle...or after you've recently fed. A sight to behold."

he maintains the illusion and will for as long as Astarion wants, making it clear he's free to explore. he's in control and, if it should get to be too much, Gale could dispel the illusion in the blink of an eye.

"You're also more than that beauty. I didn't fall for you because of it; I imagine you could look like absolutely anything and your wit, your passion, your strength...well, it would've drawn me in regardless."

he cups his cheeks, foreheads still together.

"I adore the whole package. I know it will take time to fully convey, but...You are worthy of a love that goes beyond superficial beauty, beyond simple touch. And it is my utmost honor to show you that."

Astarion agrees on the necessity for a respite, though he knows men like them will never rest for long. Adventure will always call to them—Astarion by his need for chaos, Gale by his need for knowledge. The domestic life back in the Waterdeep tower sounds idyllic, but ultimately—

Wait, what?

"Y-you want me with you? At your tower in Waterdeep?" With Tara and, if Astarion recalls correctly, his mother? Gale wants him to meet his mother? He swallows loudly, pushing down the rising panic in his chest.

Oh gods, what if he fucks this up?

Caught up in the anxiety bubbling over the imagined meeting of the indomitable Morena Dekarios, Astarion doesn't notice Gale's transformation until it's practically over, nor does he make the connection of who this elf is.

Not until his gaze falls upon those blood red eyes.

"Oh," Astarion utters, visage scrunching up, trying to say more but choking on the words. "Oh," at a loss for words, his fingers shake as he reaches for that stranger's face, burning with the desire to map its features, but afraid if he touches it, it'll crumble beneath him. "I—"

It's everything Astarion expected—ethereal, handsome. It's also nothing like it—he cannot recall what his features were like before Cazador. Were his eyes blue, green, brown? Was his nose always this big, pointy? Elven features, yes, all sharp, elegant angles, a sculpt that'd make Corellon Larethian jealous. Yet for all its comeliness this face might as well be a blank canvas to him, bringing forth no memories whatsoever.

He'd forgotten he was—is—a moon elf. The silvery white hair vampirism couldn't change, the icy blue paleness that shines through the deathly pallor. "Ha," tears fall down his cheek as he builds courage, reaches for those pointy ears with both hands, massaging the helixes, then the points themselves, with careful, loving touches.

"Gale," he whispers, resting his forehead against his, closing his eyes while he blinks away tears, "Thank you. Truly. I—" He sobs, but then smiles, laughs, "Gods, I am beautiful. This is what you've seen this whole time?" He's incapable of not inserting some smugness into the observation, "Well, no wonder you fell for me."

[weavehearted]

[weavehearted]

"A gift? For me? Anders, you shouldn't have--" it was only polite to say, but he would absolutely accept any and all gifts handed his way. judging by the size of the package and the use of the word copy, it was a book, his favorite kind of gift to receive. if he ever turned down something like that, he was sure to be an imposter. he taps the package and moves to set it with the rest of his things. "I'll unwrap it later, if it's all the same. I'd hate for it to accidentally get dirty while we cook."

at the mention of eel and coastal, Gale's features light up. it seemed Anders had come to the right person for this, after all. he's about to launch into an explanation when he considers the friend mentioned, coupled by the absolutely complicated look upon Anders' face. he has a sneaking suspicion that he knows exactly who he's speaking of, but he knows not what transpired between them lately, enough of a reason to not comment.

best to distract him with the joys of cooking, no?

"Coastal absolutely helps. You see, I'm from a coastal city, myself-- Waterdeep, the City of Splendors. Truly magnificent. Not a day goes by where I do not miss it." he clears his throat, pausing lest he ramble about the wrong thing for too long. "We have something there that might be similar...fishcakes sold by street vendors, made of freshly caught fish, normally breaded and chopped before being shaped into little cakes and lightly fried until cooked. Does that sound about right? These lampreys must be substitute for regular fish."

Anders quirks a smile at Gale's comment, glancing over at his homemade bookshelf with a raised eyebrow. "Oh, I don't know. I think the lean gives it rustic charm. Not that I'd say no to a gift- it's almost Satinalia. Winter holiday where we eat a lot, give gifts, that sort of thing. I actually grabbed a gift for you as well, if you'd like it." Anders gestures at a small rectangular package, wrapped fairly plainly in brown paper. "I couldn't believe I'd found a copy here, but then it makes sense some things from our home realms would be here..." Anders folds his arms and leans against his countertop, head lolling back as he thinks. "It's a few Antivan dishes. Some of them are pretty self-explanatory, and I'm sure I could handle those myself, but there's one called 'lamprey cakes' that I'm baffled by. I've never had anything like it. Apparently it's some sort of fried eel... thing, a coastal recipe if that helps. It's for..." Anders isn't one for poker faces. His mouth flattens into an uncomfortable grimace. "...For a friend of mine, I suppose. If I can still use that title."

[weavehearted]

@mageunderground

it did not take long for Gale to gather up what he needed--a couple aprons just in case Anders did not have one, his coat, and a few recipes he had a mind to try if they finished up early. these days he had to remind himself that he needn't cook as much as he did on their journey; they didn't have nearly as many mouths to feed now, but there were myriad recipes he still wanted to try. perhaps he should make more friends, hand out food to any who wanted or needed it.

he knocks on Anders' door softly before letting himself in, slipping his shoes off by the door before taking a curious look around. mismatched, thrifted furniture adorned the space, minimalistic in a...not purposeful way, perhaps, but simply just because. he eyes the coat draped across a chair, the one he'd worn before that had gotten torn thanks to Astarion, and makes a mental note to bug the rogue about fixing it when he gets home. and, goodness, his bookshelf looked fit to fall over--!

"We need to get you a proper shelf for your books, my friend," Gale quips, walking to meet Anders in the kitchen. and proper furniture, he wants to add, but he's really has no place to judge. his own apartment was not nearly as nice as he would like, certainly not up to the standards he was used to at home. "I'll keep an eye out for some. Perhaps a gift for the holidays? Seems to be a gift-giving trend these days."

a pause, where he sets his things down on the counter and claps his hands together. "Speaking of holidays, what kind of food did you have in mind? Perhaps we had something similar back home I could compare it to."

Winter had settled over the city of Spirale, turning its streets into a quiet, snow-covered landscape. The blanket of snow painted the city in shades of white, muffling the usual urban bustle to a low hum. As Anders kicked the snow off his boots and began his trek up the stairs of his apartment, he wondered if it was snowing in Fereldan yet.

Snow usually brought Anders at least a bit more cheer- the onset of winter brought Satinalia with it, and the wild celebrations that followed. This year was altogether lonelier; memories of home seeped into him and made his entire body ache with longing.

Anders had considered inviting Zevran over once or twice- Antivans celebrated Satinalia even better than Fereldans did- but reaching out felt impossible. He wouldn't even know what to say.

Anders chose to invite Gale instead. The wizard may not have been familiar with the holiday but he seemed a deft hand with cooking, and Satinalia wasn't called "Feast Day" for nothing. Sharing the kitchen and the warmth of the stove might brighten his mood to something bearable. Besides, Anders did enjoy the other mage's company, and building friendships usually required conversation.

As the snow continued to pile outside their building, Anders knocked on Gale's door, the soft sound echoing in the hallway.

"Gale," Anders managed a small, half-hearted smile when the call was answered, holding up the several bags of groceries he hadn't stopped to drop off at his apartment. "Thedasian holiday this week. I wanted to make a few dishes for the occasion and... I was wondering if you'd mind joining me. There's one or two I never got a recipe for, I was hoping you'd lend me a hand with them?"

@weavehearted

[weavehearted]

Love Kisses

[weavehearted]

"Well, I sincerely hope we don't find ourselves upon a battlefield anytime soon. I've had quite enough of fighting for my life, exciting as it can be at times. Were it not for our, ah, recent abduction, this is the life I wanted for myself. And for you. To share."

he supposes their new life was not the worst thing, all things considered, but the intense yearning for home and familiarity would never cease. at least they had each other now, something not every person on the island could claim.

Gale leans into Astarion's touch, the coolness of his palm soothing to skin that always seemed to run warm. "Of course. It will be a slight alteration to a disguise spell, rather than a simple mirrored illusion, the likes of which I'm sure you saw me conjure up before." a bit embarrassing, now that he thought about it, mirroring himself at camp or doing something similar to look upon Mystra's face.

all he need do was conjure Astarion's visage in his mind--an easy feat with the man sitting right before him--and concentrate on it with as much gusto as the spell itself. childs play for a wizard, but he cannot help but think it would have been even simpler had he not lost his abilities in the first place. no matter. this was not a time to think about himself, but rather Astarion. this was his time, his gift, Gale's way of showing his love without using the word itself.

with a flourish and a small jolt through his body, no longer was Gale Dekarios sitting on the bench, but a perfect copy of Astarion. an illusion, yes, but touchable, holdable. much better than a mirror image that could only mimic movements.

of course, it would be disorienting for Gale's voice to come from Astarion's body, but…it was a small price to pay, ultimately.

"This is what I see," Gale says, tone soft, earnest, "when I have the pleasure of looking at you. Beauty, in all of its perfect imperfections. Go ahead," he nods, trying to keep his features neutral, "explore as you see fit."

"Don't need the tadpole to know you're beating yourself up inside that big head of yours, my wizard. Stop that," Astarion teases, tapping the tip of Gale's nose with a long, pale finger. He understands Gale's predisposition for self-deprecation more than most. His propensity for self-aggrandizing statements too. Two sides of the same coin, the insecurity of a lifetime of being treated like an object, as nothing but your looks, or your skills.

Two men, similar issues. Similar issues, different coping skills. Different coping skills, but the same stop at this crossroad. Fitting. Heartwarming.

Astarion would leech off Gale's warmth as long as the wizard would have him. A part of the spawn's psyche will never be able to stop from bracing himself against the inevitable fall, when his beauty can no longer make up for all the brokenness inside. But now a nascent part of himself dares to imagine a future where someone won't discard him like a pretty thing that's lost its novelty, its luster.

A future with someone.

A future with Gale.

"Don't mention it, darling. One hard twirl in the battlefield and that sleeve would've unraveled." The tips of his ears heat at the compliment towards his embroidery skills, moisture pooling at the corners of his eyes. No one had ever mentioned them before. No one cared, really. "I can't have you prancing about the battlefield half-naked. The curs we fight don't deserve to look upon you like that."

Astarion blinks, unsure if he's heard Gale's proposition correctly. "I'm sorry, you're offering me not only to see myself, but also to touch?"

He remembers on the first nights at their camp, when no one knew each other and the air was still tense, he saw Gale use a spell that duplicated his image somehow. It'd taken everything in Astarion's power not to march down from his perch towards Gale's, ask him about what that was. Astarion had thought up a hundred ways to ask the wizard without giving too much of himself away, first and foremost the fact he was a vampire—why else would he be unable to see his reflection? So Astarion stood in indecision until the events of their travels became too important to ignore, until the reminder to ask some day was delayed until it was forgotten.

So he had forgotten about Gale's ability to do this, until now.

"No, no, no," he assures Gale, caressing his cheek, "Now is not the wrong time. Now is the only time, before, well..." Gale loses his powers, Astarion loses his nerve. "Sight and touch, Gale. I'd...I'd like both."

[weavehearted]

hallo ! between work and life and holidays, I got myself a little overwhelmed with replies I owe here, so unfortunately I'm gonna have to drop most of the older ones. if we had a thread going and you'd like to keep interacting, please just let me know and we can start something new!! this doesn't apply to threads i've responded to recently & castmates, just anything i've been slackin on!

[weavehearted]

when the city had knit itself back together, portals disappearing along with any trace of their home realms, Gale had allowed himself a few days of proper rest before even attempting to act like a normal person again. quite a bit had happened in a short amount of time and he could not pretend like it hadn't. with the snowfall and cold winter air, the only thing he wanted to do was stay indoors where it was warm, shut out everything else and process everything.

and so it was that he spent most of his time cooking, baking, reading, and laid in bed, now with both a cuddly tressym and a partner.

ah. how it made his heart swell.

while Astarion and Tara snoozed in their shared room, Gale had busied himself with getting ready for his first real outing in nearly a full tenday. he had no concrete plans, probably only shopping for groceries and poking his nose into local festivities, but as fate would have it, an actual plan came to him, instead.

the knock on the door was unexpected, but not unwelcomed, especially not when he saw who it was, learned what he wanted.

"With pleasure!" he beams, silently prideful that he was the first Anders had thought of when it came to cooking. "No recipe, eh? Sounds like a problem that absolutely must be solved. I'd be honored. Let me gather some things and I'll meet you at your apartment."

Winter had settled over the city of Spirale, turning its streets into a quiet, snow-covered landscape. The blanket of snow painted the city in shades of white, muffling the usual urban bustle to a low hum. As Anders kicked the snow off his boots and began his trek up the stairs of his apartment, he wondered if it was snowing in Fereldan yet.

Snow usually brought Anders at least a bit more cheer- the onset of winter brought Satinalia with it, and the wild celebrations that followed. This year was altogether lonelier; memories of home seeped into him and made his entire body ache with longing.

Anders had considered inviting Zevran over once or twice- Antivans celebrated Satinalia even better than Fereldans did- but reaching out felt impossible. He wouldn't even know what to say.

Anders chose to invite Gale instead. The wizard may not have been familiar with the holiday but he seemed a deft hand with cooking, and Satinalia wasn't called "Feast Day" for nothing. Sharing the kitchen and the warmth of the stove might brighten his mood to something bearable. Besides, Anders did enjoy the other mage's company, and building friendships usually required conversation.

As the snow continued to pile outside their building, Anders knocked on Gale's door, the soft sound echoing in the hallway.

"Gale," Anders managed a small, half-hearted smile when the call was answered, holding up the several bags of groceries he hadn't stopped to drop off at his apartment. "Thedasian holiday this week. I wanted to make a few dishes for the occasion and... I was wondering if you'd mind joining me. There's one or two I never got a recipe for, I was hoping you'd lend me a hand with them?"

@weavehearted

[weavehearted]

Gale squeezes his hand gently, a momentary flicker of surprise flashing across his face. Truly? the word dies on his lips before he can verbalize it and he swallows down the self-doubt rising in his throat. "Thank you," he says instead, a sad sort of smile lingering on his lips, "I try to believe I'm more than the summation of my abilities, but it is...difficult. To hear you say it, though, it's--" more than I deserve "It makes me happier than you know."

the silence that settles over them is a comfortable one and Gale lets his mind wander as Astarion soaks in the sun. many evenings had he sat upon this balcony by his lonesome, nose in a book or studying a scroll or just...silent. there had been much to think about, back when the damned orb in his chest caused him naught but agony, reminded him of his ultimate mistake. how dare a man want to be wanted.

but there was none of that now.

here, with his fingers intertwined with Astarion's, the comforting weight of the other mans head upon his shoulder, he was wanted. he felt it in the way their hands fit together like puzzle pieces, the way the rogue's tone so genuinely, effortlessly called him beautiful. there was no need to prove himself, not anymore. here, it was just them, and Gale would cherish it for as long as he possibly could. if that was greedy still, so be it.

"Ah, before I forget..." he breaks the silence, but makes no move to stand or otherwise shift their position. "I still haven't expressed my gratitude for the alterations I assume you made to my robe. The stitching on the stars is quite a feat! Your talent with needle and thread is truly unparalleled."

a pause, where he considers his next words very carefully. far be it from his intention to disrupt the moment in any way, but time was of the essence.

"To properly thank you, while I still have my magic, I...It's well within my power to show you what you look like, Astarion. Only if you wish. A projection, perhaps, or an alteration of myself, should you wish for a more tactile experience." he's rambling, seemingly nervous about the idea. "I do understand if now is the wrong time. Say the word and I'll forget it entirely."

Astarion answers Gale's beckoning next to him, but he does not sit yet. There's more he needs to say, before the sunlight sinking into his undead bones turns to languor. "Gale," he repeats, the name solemn on his lips, "You are more than your magic. I...I am not with you for your magic. With or without it, you are a great, kind man. I thought you should know it."

There's nothing Astarion can do to undo the damage of others leading Gale to believe he's only good for his magic. The cumulative harm of mortals and a goddess upon his soul. But perhaps, with time and care, he can show Gale what he sees in him. Smiling gently, Astarion sits on the bench, reaching for Gale's hand.

"I will take your word for it," he replies, unable to keep the wistful tone out of his words. Shallow praise he might love, but in the presence of sincere compliments, Astarion unravels, unsure how to respond. Instead of going down that melancholic, well-traveled road, Astarion looks up, soaking up the rays as he bares his throat to the skies once more.

It goes on for a while. Eventually, he tires of the self-absorption, turning to face Gale, intertwining their fingers. "Gods, you're beautiful," he says to the other man, caressing his cheek. The sunlight turns Gale's brown hair into a honey-hued halo, brings out the golden flecks of his irises. He's radiant, warm, and so, so alive.

If Astarion were not a broken man, this is where he'd kiss Gale. Instead, he settles for resting his head on the wizard's shoulders, unable to stop himself from lightly headbutting him at first, like he's seen Tara do a hundred times now. It must mean something good in feline language, Gale looks utterly delighted each and every time afterwards.

[weavehearted]

Gale.

it's far from the first time Astarion's said his name and, hopefully, far from the last, but it sounds so sweet from his lips. incredible, really, how something as simple as a name can make him feel so cherished, remind him that yes, people do see him as more than his magic. sometimes he can just be Gale Dekarios, and Astarion sees that.

begrudgingly does he pull away from their embrace, but reminds himself that this is something they can do now, whenever they want. he sits upon the bench outside, patting the seat next to him. "Then sunlight you shall have, for as long as this magic remains with me." he sounds a bit wistful, the thought of having his abilities ripped away again lingering in the back of his mind. he must shake the thought; this was a joyous occasion, not one made to fret over things they could not control.

Gale brings his mind back to their surroundings, taking in the sun hanging low in the sky, the way it reflects on the water, following its beams directly to Astarion.

"You've always looked so beautiful beneath the suns rays. Radiant." he knows it can't last, but he's keen to appreciate it while he can, while he searches for a permanent fix to Astarion's inability to tolerate it. one might say the vampire spawn was better suited to the night, under the stars and with shadows dancing across his skin, but Gale knows better. the happiness on Astarion's face as he soaks up the sun, the warmth giving the slightest color to his otherwise pallid skin-- it's a sight that would make any poet wax lyrical. "You put the sunlight to shame."

sitting in his favorite place at his favorite time of day...and yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from Astarion if he tried.

"You thought I'd say no," he says, tucking one of Gale's errant locks behind his ear, lingering at the junction where soft wisps become coarse stubble. He would've, a lifetime ago. It feels like a lifetime ago, that Astarion. A different creature. Feral, damaged, and so, so afraid.

"I," Astarion swallows, trying not to choke on his words, what he needs to stay, "I feel safe with you. Seen." One week in the wizard's apartment, and now he never wants to leave. No one here wants to hurt him, use him as a vessel for the fantasies, a tool for their machinations. Even Tara, whose moods remind Astarion of his own, is never cruel—it's more of a mother's worry, tough love that comes with hisses and the occasional scratch, yet it does not compare to the softest of Cazador's depravities.

It's kindness. And Gale is so, so kind, all big, wet round eyes. No artifice in his glances, his touches—just Gale as he is, broken and battered just like Astarion. It's comforting. It's familiar, like what a family should be. It's what he wants, and needs, more than anything.

Gale sees him like a person, in ways no one ever has.

Astarion hums into Gale's embrace, holding on tight. The waterworks are a foregone conclusion—Astarion couldn't stop himself from sobbing even if he wanted to. His fingers curl into fists on Gale's back, but then unfurl, relax, splayed on the small of the wizard's back. "This is nice," he comments idly, his smile reaching his eyes for once.

The wine will taste like vinegar, but it doesn't matter. Gale's blood tastes like vinegar too, and it's the sweetest thing. "Okay," Astarion responds, dabbing at his eyes with fingers, wiping away tears, "That sounds really nice, Gale. I could...I could use some sunlight."

[weavehearted]

“Thank you,” he says genuinely, “for the honesty. It’s been something in short supply these days.”

honesty was the best policy, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t hurt. Gale turns to dish up a serving of stew for himself, but his appetite had fled upon Alekto’s confirmation. so Astarion had bit him. up until very recently, Gale told himself that he didn’t mind that fact; Astarion needed to eat and it would be selfish to limit him to only one source. but then he had spoken with another about his feelings on the subject, and his view had somewhat shifted. he didn’t want to keep Astarion to himself out of greed:

he wanted Astarion to be safe.

stirring up trouble, isolating himself, making himself feel guilty…it wasn’t sustainable. the thought of him succumbing to harsh emotions and falling back into old habits made Gale’s chest ache.

he sets his bowl on the counter and sighs.

“It’s not your burden to bear, but…he’s been having a rough time. Understandably, of course. To be whisked away to this new realm after all we’ve been through is overwhelmingly disorienting enough. However, the interactions in which he’s found himself have been…unhealthy, shall we say?” a pause, where he rubs his neck, hovering over the healing puncture wounds there. “I’ve tried to help, but he hasn’t come home in days.” home. “Ah, I mean, he hasn’t come around lately.”

His stomach growls loudly as Gale ladles stew into a bowl. Mortified, he clears his throat and accepts the bowl with a muttered 'thank you.' From scourge of the Gate to starving beggar. Aren't you ashamed?

He's at least decorous enough to stop himself from wolfing down the stew right in front of his host. He sets the bowl on the counter, waiting for Gale to prepare his own portion so they can both eat.

“I never said that.” He smirks, though it's more out of self-deprecation than mockery. “You know how Astarion is. He has a tendency to... well, instigate. The fact that I responded in kind shifts the onus of blame onto me. I should have known better.”

He feels the wizard's gaze boring into him—probing, sharp as a scalpel. He suddenly understands why none of Gale's pupils lasted long under his tutelage; it's all he can do not to wither like a scolded schoolboy.

He should have known that his bloodstained clothes and disheveled appearance would rouse Gale's suspicions. He should have been prepared for this. Maybe Astarion was right—maybe all that head trauma did scramble his brains beyond repair. Caught off guard and without a backup plan, he defaults to honesty.

“He bit me,” he admits, suddenly very interested in the grain of the countertop. “With my consent, mind you. He was in a bad way, and I offered. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

The frustration in Gale's voice shocks him into looking up. “Only a fool of the highest caliber would think you an idiot, Gale.”

[weavehearted]

Gale grimaces at the hurt in his voice, wondering just what the other man had gone through in the past to make him ache like that. it was none of his business, really, but he immediately regrets phrasing it the way he did. “Apologies,” he says, taking another small sip of his tea to fill the silence. “I didn’t intend for that to have a negative connotation by any means.”

he’s glad for the shift in conversation, eager to turn away from his own personal life. “We had decided on taking a moment to collect ourselves, to regain any and all composure taken from us on our journey back in our own realm. Escape is at the very top of our to-do list, of course; every second I am away from my magic, I feel worse. Which reminds me, and do let me know if I am prying– did the powers at hand strip away most of your abilities, as well? I’m afraid that spectral hand was all that was allowed to me. Incredibly frustrating, as I’m sure you can attest to as a fellow mage.”

"Oh, that's me. A stepping stone. Call me a welcome mat to personal growth." Anders says, and he sounds truly pained for a moment, Gale's phrasing hitting a nerve. "I've gotten myself wrapped up with more frustrating individuals. Take care that-" His jaw tightens. "No, I think I'll actually hold off on any advice."

The thought of Hawke breaks through once again, and every bitter memory Anders associates with the man. It's not that Hawke and his lover bear any resemblance to Astarion or Gale- it's only that his role in it seems uncomfortably familiar.

He feels more lonely than he has any right to.

"Don't apologize for someone else, and you have nothing to apologize for with this. And besides- I give fellow mages extra passes." Anders rubs one of his eyes with his palm. "And for all of the complications you two have, let me know if that ever swings in the direction of escape. I oppose our imprisonment with passion."

[weavehearted]

gale + spell animations [1/?]

bonus:

[weavehearted]

what type of love do you attract?

you attract: comfort

waking up to the sound of singing chickadees perched on your windowsill by your sleeping lover; giggling by their side as you watch the sky, laying on a picnic blanket with small sandwiches and juice boxes near you; slow dancing late at night to no music in the middle of your kitchen floor. you attract comfort. falling in love with you is like going home. it's like breathing in and basking in the familiarity of it all. those who search for you find that they are at their happiest when they finally find you. your beauty is a breath of fresh air, a painting that soothes, a melody that you recognize. your love is so gentle, so kind, so soft to the touch that it eases the hearts of everyone around you. people find themselves relieved even at the sight of your mere smile, and they don't even know why. you bring warmth to this world, my angel. keep shining.

[weavehearted]

Gale lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. relief floods through him, as if there had been a flicker of a doubt that Astarion might rebuff his advances. he'd considered that possibility beforehand; was he reading too much into this, seeing signs that weren't there? understanding intentions had never been his strong suit, and Astarion's flirtatious nature had always fallen flat on him-- so what if he was wrong? what if he still needed to prove himself, to offer more, to give more?

he's so glad that wasn't the case. his cheeks hurt from smiling.

"Oh, good," a silly response as he sighs contentedly, leaning in to his touch, covering his hand with his own. "I thought-- Well, I'm not sure what I thought might happen, but I am elated you feel the same."

in their proximity, Gale once again yearns to kiss him. it would be so easy to just ask. it seemed the natural next step, after all. and yet, something still felt off. it wasn't right to ask just yet. best to let his tears dry, the heightened emotions come down from their peak.

he remembered when they first began travelling together, seeing Astarion sneak away with their leader in the night. it was of no consequence to him at the time; get enough people together and such revels were bound to happen. he simply never understood why Astarion acted the way he did. coy and with a tendency to tease, but still a secretive man who kept his true thoughts to himself.

Gale couldn't judge, of course.

and as time went on, as Gale began to see glimpses of who Astarion truly was, he knew he was someone worth protecting. someone to care for as a companion, a friend, and now...more than he ever could have imagined.

instead of a kiss, Gale pulls him in for a hug, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his face upon his shoulder.

"Together, then," he murmurs, holding him close, breathing him in. "You know, I always dreamed of showing someone this place, giving them a tour and inviting them into my little world. To sit by the fire, share a bottle of wine from my collection, watch the sun sink into the horizon...and I'm so glad it is you who stands with me. The whole evening is ours. Let's make it count, while we still can."

Gale didn't fall for Astarion's charms at the beginning, and that was for the best. At first, it vexed Astarion, angered him. Was the wizard an idiot? Astarion didn't actually have confirmation whether he was attractive, but surely the thousands of souls who threw themselves at his feet, lambs to the slaughter, couldn't all be lying? He thought to switch strategy, to think up a new one to ensnare Gale as originally planned, but the more the mask failed, the more he realized he wasn't keen on putting it back on.

And so Astarion began to notice Gale beyond the superficial. Yes, the man was attractive, and what a shame he couldn't drink his blood because beautiful people did taste better—but there was more here, a depth of desperation Astarion couldn't help but be drawn to. It wasn't until weeks of being on the road that Astarion realized what it was, overhearing a conversation between the wizard and their leader, pleading for a magical item.

It was hunger.

The wizard, unlike the rest of their strange companions, understood what it was like to exist with a gnawing abyss inside your body, ever present, ever craving, demanding tribute—and never fully satisfied.

"We all have our burdens, one way or another."

"Gale, I—" His cold fingers rest atop Gale's heart, gasping at how hard, how fast his heart's beating. He remembers a similar gesture the first time he gifted Gale a magical trinket, a necklace he plucked right off the neck of some goblin. Why he'd done that, to this day he isn't sure. All he remembers is not wanting to see the wizard starve, because if he was starved then he'd fight poorly, and a wizard who fought poorly was a liability in the battlefield.

Cold, hard logic, he'd told himself that night. He's not so sure now.

"You forget Mystra when you're with me." The enormity of this statement makes his chest ache. Her symbol dangling from Gale's ear used to feel like a threat, a harsh reminder for a man whose greatest sin was wanting more. Perhaps in the past Astarion could've condemned such hubris, but nowadays? Nowadays he knows he and Gale have too much in common. So much it hurts to think about it.

But he wants to. So, so much. More than think about it too—he wants to talk about it, to explore it. To dive into the depths of this blossoming connection between them. To care about someone else besides himself, for once.

To care about Gale.

Is that what love is? To care?

"You are full of surprises, aren't you?" The fingers atop Gale's breast caress the brand left by Karsus' blight, tracing its circle, its smoke-like trails, following them up Gale's neck, curling to rest atop the swell of Gale's cheek. "Yes. I...I want it all. All of this. All of you. I don't know what the future will hold, but I do know I want to spend it with you. Us. Together."

Two discarded, broken men, picking up the pieces, putting each other back together.

[weavehearted]

"Offer me?"

it is Gale's turn to laugh, but there is no bitterness. he is not laughing at Astarion, but their circumstances. you've already given me plenty, he wants to say, by saying you want me, by reciprocating. but he doesn't, true as it is. Astarion has given him much and more-- someone to care for, a companion, someone who knew of his mistakes and did not condemn him for them. someone real, tangible, present.

"Astarion, I--"

he swallows hard, choosing his words carefully. Gale does not care that his past follows him and needs healing from: he will be there, every step of the way, to assure him that healing will come. he does not care that part of his name had been lost to him: how often did Gale himself cast away Dekarios in favor of a pompous title? he does not care what Astarion looks like: often did Gale grimace at his own appearance, wish he looked a certain way, despise the glowing orb in his chest.

"No amount of babbling or frilly verbiage could aid me in what I know to be true in this heart of mine: I want you as you are, plain and simple. You say you are broken and beaten, but so am I. Abandoned by my Goddess that I am so keen to forget when I am with you. I meant what I said-- I want you to experience love, real love, and so much kindness it's blinding. If you'll take me for who I am," he gestures to himself almost sheepishly, "a foolish man who's made too many mistakes to count, I will give my all to you. Everything I have to offer, for as long as you'll have me."

he feels his throat tightening, eyes growing warm as he furiously blinks back the threat of tears.

to be wanted, despite his flaws. to be wanted, not because of his magical prowess, but because of his character... it was all too much. when had anyone ever wanted him so purely?

Gale reaches out to gently, so gently, take one of Astarion's hands and raise it to his chest, placing it over his heart, just over the circular marking the orb left carved in his skin. his heart is beating furiously, fluttering like a caged bird trapped in his breast. human, earnest, and all for him.

"I do not love lightly. This heart is yours, for as long as it should continue beating. I would give you the whole of me, if you can give me all of you: the good, the bad, and everything in-between."

he smiles again, radiant, passionate, heartfelt.

"We will have a future. A rather pleasant one, if I have any say in it."

Yes, Astarion is dying again.

He remembers next to nothing of his life prior to Cazador, but he remember that night when he died—the night the Gur beat him black and bloody to death's door, the night Cazador materialized to take advantage of the opportunity that looming death granted him. The night Astarion accepted undeath, and the night his torment began.

He remembers not images, but emotions. Excitement, trepidation, fear. Soul-gripping, bone-deep fear. The same pall of fear he's lived under for two hundred years.

He hates himself for feeling this way. Wishes he could shift his expression into something less corpse-like, more elated, ecstatic even. It isn't fair to Gale, who's bearing his soul to him, to look as if the wizard announced Cazador's back.

Astarion swallows loudly. "I am," his face scrunches up, looking down at the floor for a moment, blinking away tears, "so scared." He looks up again, the mask shattered, his turn to bear his soul to Gale, "I want you, so badly. But what," he gestures around the room, lingering on the scene, all that Gale was, is, will be, visible, tangible, "do I have to offer you?"

He laughs, bitter. "Not a past, certainly. I have no recollection of who I was before Cazador. I didn't even know my full name until a couple of weeks ago." Ancunín. It means nothing to him. He doubts anyone's missed him. Someone would've asked for him by now, as they did whenever the spawn over-extended their hunts, plucked souls from nobility, families who cared about their loved ones. "Not a present, either—I don't even know what I look like." The mirror on the wall directly facing him, as blank as a canvas. "Maybe I'm beautiful. Or maybe I'm not. Maybe all those people were merely humoring me, or craved death so badly they willingly leaped into my arms. Because that's what I am, what I've been for so long—a void. A dead end."

And how he tires of it. How, in this room, surrounded by the wizard's presence, his life, his love, he realizes Gale is right—he doesn't want to walk off the precipice anymore. He wants to step back, breathe, and live.

Gale's smile is the most beautiful thing Astarion's ever seen, sunlight personified. He's so warm, personable, alive in ways he could never be, in ways that frighten him, yet only make him yearn for it, yearn for Gale more.

All these nights curled up next to the wizard, breathing in his warmth, his scent. Astarion feels he has no right to these moments, damned creature that he is, stealing them as he goes. But the more he takes, and takes, he knows he can't give this up.

He wants them to be real. To be something real.

"But maybe...maybe a future. Broken and beaten as I am, Gale, will you have me?"

[weavehearted]

GALE DEKARIOS 🔮