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silent-as-the-grave · 3 months ago

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Cracks in the Facade

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Astarion/Gale Rating: Teen + Content Warnings/Tags of note: AU- modern, mentioned Cazador Szarr, references to domestic violence, background Lae'zel/Shadowheart, minor slut shaming, faint reference to disordered eating, angst and hurt/comfort, hopeful ending, pre-relationship/the boys are best friends Length: 1,993 words

Summary: Gale and Astarion get into an argument, and Gale notices something that shatters Astarion's carefully cultivated facade.

Written for the Flash Fic Challenge prompt: "Gale notices Astarion flinch when he raises a hand while they're arguing".

"—And I tried to tell her that Lae probably couldn't care less about the color of her dress, but you know how insecure Jen gets."

Ba-bloop!

Astarion plucks a mobile phone from the tabletop between them, unlocking and swiping to an app with a few quick movements. His deft fingers move almost impossibly fast over the digital keyboard, tapping out a message and sending it without a single break in the conversation.

"So I promised I'd stop by her place after work tomorrow, just to ease her mind." Rolling his eyes, Astarion leans back in his seat to fix Gale with a crooked grin. He's a breathtaking sight in deliberately shredded jeans and a cropped crimson tank draped in a long-sleeved fishnet top, the whole ensemble probably costing more than a month of Gale's teaching salary.

And it's worth every penny of it, too, though Gale would never admit that aloud.

"It's not like she'll even be wearing it all that long. Knowing Lae'zel, it'll be on the carpet before they even get around to making dinner."

Ba-bloop!

Gale hums, sipping his tea and watching the other man answer yet another message. It's not like he'd normally care about the interruption that much; he knows that Astarion is much more 'connected' than he is and that having an active social media presence is an important part of his career, but Gale knows that sound.

Ba-bloop!

He's been trying to be patient. He really has. Their schedules have been at odds ever since the elf's last serious relationship went up in flames and he ended up burying himself in his work to cope. It's been nearly impossible for Gale and Astarion to scrape together time for more than an occasional coffee date, where they could catch up on recent events and Gale could make sure that Astarion was actually eating.

Gods know that his best friend struggles to remember that on the best of days.

Ba-bloop!

Gale is here. Gale is focused. So why is it so hard for Astarion to give him a few minutes of his undivided attention?

They used to be closer, back before Cazador's possessiveness put the kibosh on anything but the very occasional group outing. Even their usual text exchanges had dried up, apparently too much of a 'distraction' from Astarion's work. And he's never complained about it, has he? At least not to Astarion's face.

It was fine. Gale knows that relationships change things. He does. But with Astarion single again and things slowly going back to normal, why is their friendship still suffering?

Ba-bloop!

Exasperated, Gale returns his teacup to the table with a sharp clink of porcelain. Finding time to hang out between Astarion's photo shoots and his own glutted class schedule was hard enough, but now he has to compete with a godsdamned hookup app?

Ba-bloop!

"Astarion…"

Another quick series of taps. "Hmm?"

He tries to keep the frustration out of his voice, but it isn't easy. Not when this sort of behavior has continued to happen every time they've gotten together over the past two months. "Do you mind?"

"I'm simply answering a few messages," the elf simpers, glancing up at Gale from beneath mascara-darkened lashes. "Why, are you jealous, darling?"

Ba-bloop!

"I am not jealous," Gale grumbles, adjusting his glasses. He is certainly not pouting either, dammit. "It's just… it's been so hard to nail down time together lately, so I was hoping that you'd make us a priority. I certainly wasn't expecting to have to fight a deluge of scantily clad men for your attention!"

Something shifts in Astarion's gaze, and he carefully places his phone back down and rests his manicured hands atop the polished surface of Gale's kitchen table. "I don't recall giving you any grief about your occasional foray into the dating scene. What right do you think you have to interfere with my fun?"

It's not the same, though. Gale's been on a handful of dates over the past year or so with perfectly acceptable women, though none of them ever turned out to be memorable enough to interest him in a second date. Meanwhile, his best friend has been filling his evenings with the kind of hedonistic adventures better suited for Gale's university undergrads. Gale has tried to remain supportive, knowing how badly Astarion had nosedived after his breakup with Cazador, but watching him continue to slowly unravel has grown harder by the day.

"Why do I think I have a right to— Because you seem to be indulging in a new 'casual encounter' every day or so lately, and that can't possibly be healthy, that's why!"

Red eyes narrow dangerously under impeccably applied winged eyeliner, and there's audible anger in Astarion's voice as he practically hisses. "Are you trying to imply something, hmm? Does the buttoned-up professor have a stone he wants to cast? Come on, don't be shy. Let's hear it."

"Godsdammit, Astarion—"

"No, I'm listening. Tell me what you really think about me, darling." His voice is low, ominous in its careful, even tone, like he's teetering on the knife's edge between nonchalance and rage.

Fury scorches a path through Gale's thoughts at those smarmy words and right through any filter he might otherwise have. Scrubbing his fingers through his beard, the professor chokes on a disbelieving laugh. "You know very well what I'm talking about, Astarion! How often are you jumping into bed with another stranger these days, hmm?" He can't stop himself from leaning across the table, stabbing a finger toward Astarion's chest to punctuate his words. "This isn't you! What can you possibly be getting out of this sorry mess? None of those men give a damn about you for anything other than your ability to get them off—"

And Astarion visibly flinches.

The sight sucks the words and the anger right out of him, replacing them with the cold tendrils of a dawning realization.

"Because that's what whores do, Gale!" Astarion shouts, tearing himself out of his chair so hard that he nearly sends it tumbling to the floor. Those gorgeous ruby eyes have gone wide and shimmering, the sight wretched enough to send another jolt of dread through Gale. "There, I've said it. Are you happy now? Does it please you to hear me admit that I've been out there spreading my legs for anyone who asked?"

The tendrils coil around his heart and strangle it in their thorny grasps.

"A-Astarion…" Gale can only stare at him, the puzzle pieces of scattered suspicions suddenly aligning and clicking into place. Things he'd seen, things he'd guessed, things he never believed that the elf would ever put up with, all of them coming together to form an awful picture. Gods, how did he manage to miss it? "Did you honestly think I was about to strike you?"

The unabashed anguish in Gale's voice seems to cut through Astarion's ire like a dagger, the razor-sharp tip diving beneath the fine clothing and perfect makeup he wears like armor to find the soft flesh beneath. His defenses pierced and fury doused, the elf takes a hesitant step back, noticeably deflating. "Of course not," he breathes, watering eyes darting everywhere but to Gale's face. "Why would you even say such a thing?"

Ba-bloop

Neither of them offers a glance at Astarion's abandoned phone, now that it's been supplanted by the much larger elephant in the room.

Gale desperately wants to rise and comfort the other man, but he looks spooked enough that one wrong move might send him fleeing. There's just no way in the hells he can let this go. "Look, I can't pretend to know all of the details, but you… you haven't quite been yourself after things ended with Caz."

"Don't you dare bring his name into this!"

"Astarion." His voice drops to the soft, soothing tone he uses to comfort Tara when she's startled by a thunderstorm. Telegraphing his every moment, he carefully pulls himself to his feet and reaches a reassuring hand toward Astarion. "Please. I'm not your enemy. I never have been. We've been the best of friends for years, haven't we? We used to be able to tell each other anything, no matter how troubling or embarrassing. That hasn't changed, at least from my perspective."

The elf doesn't seek the comfort of that contact, instead curling his arms around his torso and slinking back like some maltreated creature. "Well, things have changed, haven't they?" Astarion's voice is light, deceptively casual, as if trying to hide the slight waver in his words. “I’ve changed. You're right to be disgusted by me."

"I'd never be disgusted by you, Astarion. There's nothing you or anyone else can do to make me feel that way about you." Gale brings up his other hand, arms spreading wide in an offered embrace. "But someone has to care about you, even if you can't. Or won't."

Silence falls between them, heavy and thick with so many things that had been left unspoken for far too long, broken only by hitched breaths and a faint snuffle.

Gale doesn't move, even when his arms begin to protest.

And suddenly, the air fills with the sounds of a fractured sob and feet scrambling across linoleum as Astarion launches himself forward, right into Gale's waiting arms.

It all comes tumbling out, then, the broken words interposed with sobs in a miserable huddle in the center of Gale's kitchen floor. The truth of Cazador's cruel obsession and the carefully orchestrated isolation. The physical altercations that left Astarion bruised and bloodied, though Cazador was careful not to mar his 'pretty face.' The verbal abuse and name-calling that completely shattered the elf's confidence, until his body seemed like the only thing of value he still had left.

The monster might be gone, but the scars he left behind are still there, like they've been burned into Astarion's very flesh.

"I—I don't even really want sex," Astarion hiccups, his fists tangled and face buried in Gale's tear-damp sweater. "But I'm just so sick and tired of feeling alone. And it's the only thing that makes the godsdamned numbness go away."

"You're not alone, Star," Gale whispers against those silver curls, compassion burning and aching in the center of his chest. His arms tighten around the slip of a man in his arms, as if he could wrap him up in all of the warmth and affection he deserves, like a magical shield against all harm. "Gods, I'm so sorry that I didn't realize what was going on. So very, very sorry. But I see you now, okay?"

Astarion shakily nods.

"You're welcome to come over anytime you want to talk, alright? Or even if you don't want to talk—we can just quietly share a space, if you'd like, or you can just… come and cuddle Tara. She's an incredible pillar of emotional support."

There's a faint, wet huff of laughter from the elf. "Are you seriously offering to lend me your cat?"

"Maybe."

Astarion doesn't seem to be in a hurry to reveal his tear-mottled face, but the tension is slowly leeching out of his form, and some of the pressure in Gale's chest eases in relief. "Gale Dekarios, you are so fucking weird."

"I'm well aware of that, thank you."

Ba-bloop!

Sighing, Gale glares up at the aggravating phone still perched on the table. "Seems like you're still in high demand."

Astarion sniffs and hums, but he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to escape Gale's arms. "Just… ignore it. I'd rather stay right here for a while, if it's not too much trouble?"

Gale nods and holds the elf a little tighter. His knees will probably give him hell for this later, but he can't be assed to care right now. Some things are more important than a little physical discomfort.

And if Astarion notices the faint press of lips against his crown, he doesn't mention it.

Ao3

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fic #bloodweave #Astarion Ancunín #Astarion Ancunin #astarion #Gale Dekarios #gale of waterdeep

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silent-as-the-grave · 3 months ago

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Hello all!

We're excited to announce that we'll be hosting our SECOND traditional Bang event through the Discord Server Bloodweave Inn.

The expectations are as follows:

Authors:

Works must be new for this event and should not have been discussed publicly previously (this is to maintain anonymity for claims)

Work must be at least 10,000 words. There is no maximum, but it is your responsibility to ensure that your work is fully completed for posting.

One submission per author

Artists:

At least two fully completed pieces for your claimed work

Allowed Forms of Art Include: Traditional art, digital art, fanvideos, comics, gifsets, photosets, photo manipulation, and moodboards

Schedule:

Sign-ups: March 30th-April 30th

Author Summary/Rough Draft (25%) due: May 1st

Summary Posting: May 2nd

Claims Period: May 3rd-May 9th

Claims sent out by May 11th

Team Check-in: July 13th (50% due)

Final Drafts/Posting Date Claims: September 13th- September 18th

Posting begins: September 21st

Please note that you must be in the Bloodweave Inn Discord Server to participate. This is where announcements will be made!

If you have any questions, feel free to submit an ask to @bloodweavebang!

#hush's queue

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silent-as-the-grave · 3 months ago

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Stay With Me

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Astarion/Gale Rating: Teen + Content Warnings/Tags of note: Claustrophobia, panic attack, references to Astarion's past trauma, established relationship Length: 1,785 words

Summary: Astarion accidentally trips a trap in a dungeon, leaving him and Gale trapped in an incredibly tight space. Astarion doesn't do well in tight spaces.

Written for the Bloodweave Inn 2025 Bingo event, with the prompt of 'Dungeon'.

"This," Gale ground out, his voice teetering on a fine edge between appalled and amused, "is entirely your fault."

For once, Astarion would have to agree, though not willingly. And certainly not aloud.

"If you had waited," the rogue grumbled, "and let me do my job instead of skipping ahead like a godsdamned numpty–"

"Skipping?!"

"–then I wouldn't have tripped the trap!"

"I wasn't the one who stepped on the pressure plate, was I? And I distinctly recall hearing a rather damning 'oh shit' in your voice before the walls began to close around us."

There was probably some humor to be found in the situation, Astarion thought to himself. Maybe he'd look back at it later and have a good laugh. But right now, he'd been sandwiched between unforgiving stone walls and Gale's warm body with only a few inches to spare, moments away from a claustrophobia-induced panic attack, and he couldn't find a fucking thing funny about it.

"Guys?" A familiar voice echoed from somewhere further down the stone corridor. "I think we've found the mechanism, but…"

"Just say it, Wyll: it's not in great shape," Shadowheart grumbled, sounding entirely done with the situation as well as all of them. "The stupid thing is falling apart. We may need to get creative if we want to get you out of there without making things worse."

Astarion laughed, the sound high-pitched and not entirely sane as it rang down the ancient hall. "Oh, joy. This is exactly what I needed today."

There was a whisper of movement against his back, and Gale awkwardly patted his arm. "Keep a stiff upper lip," the wizard said. "We survived, and our friends are still out there, willing and able to help us. We just need to remain patient."

That’s easy for you to say. Gale isn't bothered by tight spaces. He never had to spend a century trapped in a cold, dark tomb, starving and helpless, completely at the mercy of the sadistic monster who got off on finding new ways to torture and maim. Gale had no idea how such profound silence and hunger could leave one's mind crumbling until it could no longer distinguish between hallucination and reality.

The only thing keeping Astarion from totally losing his mind was the fact that the ancient trap seemed to have malfunctioned, leaving them caught in a tight pocket of space and cruelly teasing them with a gap to freedom that was far too narrow for either of them to fit through.

That gap reflected the faintest hint of the light from their companions' torches, held somewhere in a safer portion of the dungeon. Just enough to let his darkvision work. Just enough to prove he wasn't trapped and forgotten.

But still, his mind wrestled against old memories, floundering in the rising tide of panic that threatened to drown him. Slapping a hand against the stone, Astarion began to rock and wriggle his body toward the torchlight as if he could somehow force his body through the gap by sheer force of will.

"Astarion?"

"I need to get out of here," the vampire growled, and no, that was not the sound of panic rising in his voice, thank you very much. His fingers curled against the stone, nails starting to give and splinter as he scrabbled, trying to haul himself deeper into the opening.

His heart didn't beat, but he could almost feel it pounding in his chest.

Lungs that didn't work as intended heaved and burned for air.

A stomach that no longer craved anything but blood twisted and heaved, threatening to disgorge its contents.

Too tight, I can't take this, I'll never do it again, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry–

A warm hand landed atop his own fumbling fingers, giving him a little squeeze before curling around his fist and gently but firmly drawing it back toward them. "We will be out of here soon enough. Wyll is clever enough to fix the mechanism, I'm sure. And short of that, I do not doubt Karlach can beat it into submission."

The vampire's muscles wound tighter and tighter, his body trembling, his growing distress trying to snarl and claw its way out of his chest like a wicked, feral thing. He yanked at the hand caught in Gale's grasp, hissing–

"Shhhh." Gale squeezed his hand again, his voice uncharacteristically soft as it reached Astarion's ears. "It will be alright, my love. Do you remember what Halsin taught you back in the Underdark, when we took a tumble off the edge of that cliff and got stuck on a tiny ledge for a few hours?"

The wild part of his mind urged him to snarl, to slap the other's stupid hand away, to keep clawing his way to freedom, but the gentle voice and the warmth of the other's body reached for the small point of rational thought not bound by his panic and cocooned it someplace cozy.

This was Gale. His silly, somewhat exasperating, yet still incredibly patient wizard. The one who knew about the cracks that threatened to rend him asunder but handled them with care instead of prying them further apart for his own advantage. He carefully drew Astarion closer, completely unconcerned by his sharp teeth and claws and words as he tilted a pointed ear toward his own chest.

The body beneath Astarion's cheek was warm, its heartbeat thumping steadily, the sound soothing.

Gale is here.

Gale is safe.

Astarion shakily nodded, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the visual evidence of his entrapment. Words didn't come easy, but he eventually managed to spit a few out. "Breathing. Counting."

"Yes, that's right." The wizard took a deep breath and slowly let it out again, just as Halsin had instructed Astarion before when anxiety threatened to devour his entire existence. "Breathing, counting, and tapping when it all gets too overwhelming. So just stay with me, and we'll do it together, alright?"

And Gale began to talk. It's not like it was hard; the man loved the sound of his own voice. Gale babbled on about some pointless stories of his youth, of misadventures with Tara, of his mother's favorite recipes, his voice a soothing mumble against the top of Astarion's head.

Astarion burrowed himself as deep as he could into that soothing warmth, the content of the wizard's words not nearly as important as the sentiment behind them.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Gale says it’s okay.

Numbers bounced through his mind like the jittery hops of a frightened rabbit, and Astarion lost track of his place more times than he could count. But each time he felt his body coiling up as if to flee, Gale began a steady drum of his fingers against the side of his ribcage, just enough of a distraction to ease Astarion's emotions back down again.

Everything will be alright.

Gale's chatter hummed in his ears like the soothing drone of a beehive, like a warm blanket for his thoughts. His scent reminded the vampire of evenings spent curled up together, a mixture of wood smoke, old parchment, fresh sweat, and a hint of soap rather than the damp, mold-ridden atmosphere of the decaying dungeon that sought to crush him.

He's… calm. Safe.

Somehow, the wizard managed to become a welcome port of refuge from the stormy chaos of anxiety, and Astarion clung to him like a barnacle as he waited for the waves to still again.

Astarion had no idea how long they stood like that. Time seemed to melt into an indiscernible sludge while the vampire put all his energy into mentally detaching himself from their current predicament.

It wasn't until he heard a sharp click and the deep, earthy protest of archaic machinery rumbling to life that he realized their salvation might be at hand.

"Ah, there we are," Gale murmured, pressing a kiss against a nest of dusty, pale curls. "All it took was a little patience, and our wonderful friends have pulled through to rescue us from our own trap-riddled hubris. I daresay we'll even be out of this dungeon in time for supper."

As the promise of freedom arrived and Gale's words lingered in the air, Astarion felt his distress reduce even further. He didn't want to acknowledge it, didn't want to admit how tightly he had been wound, or how much he still clung to Gale for reassurance. But the shift was undeniable: his breathing began to slow, and with it, the sharpness of the world around him softened to become less threatening.

"You know," Astarion murmured, his voice still unsteady but tinged with a familiar dry sarcasm, "I hate to admit it, but you're rather good at this." He didn't lift his head, but the faintest quiver of his lips betrayed the guarded compliment. "I'm more used to the 'toughen up, you're fine' kind of consolation."

Gale chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring. He adjusted his hold, his arms firm but gentle, as if giving Astarion space to move whenever he was ready. "I try to be many things, Astarion, but I'll admit that 'stoic and emotionally distant' isn't usually one of them. Besides," he added, his tone going light and almost playful, "your little slip-up earned us a break and a quick cuddle, didn't it? I'm not about to complain about that."

"Oh, you arse." The vampire petulantly thumped a palm against Gale's chest, finally relaxed enough to raise his face and half-heartedly scowl up at him. "You are never going to let me live it down, are you?"

Gale offered him with an affectionate, knowing smile, totally unfazed by the other's faux displeasure. "Of course not, love." With one last reluctant rumble, the walls that had kept them trapped finally began to creep apart to their former positions. "But let's save such banter for later. I believe our companions have finally seen fit to release us from our rocky prison, and I, for one, am in dire need of some freedom and fresh air."

A soft breath escaped Astarion's lips, and he couldn't quite suppress the half-smile that formed on his face.

As soon as the gap grew wide enough to let them pass, the two men moved quickly forward, eager to leave the oppressive weight of the dungeon (and Astarion's minor breakdown) behind. Apologies and relieved conversations filled the air as the group unanimously decided to call it a day, eager to return to the entrance and retreat to an evening of promised rest.

And when they re-emerged into the daylight, the warmth of the sun cascaded over Astarion's face in a comfort that was almost as gratifying as the fingers that gently tangled with his own.

- AO3

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fic #bloodweave #Astarion Ancunín #Astarion Ancunin #astarion #Gale Dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bloodweaveinn #claustrophobia #references to Astarion's past trauma #panic attack

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silent-as-the-grave · 3 months ago

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Finding Comfort in You

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Astarion/Gale/Halsin Rating: General Content Warnings/Tags of note: Polyamory, established relationship, domestic fluff, sweet Length: 2.692 words

Summary: Gale returns home after a long, tiring day of work to find both of his partners hanging out in animal form. Cue not cuddle time.

The air fills with a faint hum and the sharp edge of ozone, energy crackling along the runes inscribed in the floor of an otherwise empty room—until violet light suddenly flashes forth. A figure coalesces in the center of the teleportation circle, frozen in time for but a moment before striding forward like they'd never paused their steps in the first place.

And just like that, Gale's home.

Fatigue visibly weighs on his features as he toes off his shoes and sets aside a bulging leather satchel. He doesn't regret his choice to split his time between teaching at Blackstaff and a more domestic existence in Reithwin, but that doesn't mean it's easy. There are essays to grade and paperwork to complete in preparation for the next term, but he's already decided that those will keep for later, when he's got enough energy to focus.

For now, tea. He could really use a nice, hot cup of tea.

Stepping out of what amounts to little more than a closet brings him into the house proper, its wooden floors creaking beneath stocking-clad feet as he treads toward the kitchen. This house is far more rustic than the tower he still keeps in Waterdeep, the modern niceties he'd grown used to during his younger years replaced by amenities of a more rural style. There's a lot less wrought iron and polished marble here, fewer conveniences powered by magic, but somehow the simplicity of it all feels… peaceful.

That isn't to say that he doesn't use the Weave when it suits him, especially when he's feeling drained after a long day of teaching. Dropping heavily into one of the chairs Halsin had built as a Highharvestide's gift, the wizard mutters off a familiar spell to set a pair of mage hands into motion. Like a conductor at a symphony, Gale tugs threads of magic to conjure up both fire and water in quick succession, while his ghostly hands haul the kettle to the stove and fetch his favorite evening tea blend from the pantry.

Gale is just about to assemble a cuppa when a loud screech blasts into his eardrums, and something smacks into the side of his head.

But instead of lashing out against the attack, the wizard instinctually claps a hand over the unexpected projectile. "Mystra's mercy," he groans, feeling the small, fuzzy body squirming beneath his fingers. "You gave me quite a fright, my love. Can you at least try to provide me with a little more warning next time?"

Gale pulls his cupped hand away to reveal the tiny form of a snow-white bat, its spade-shaped ears swiveling in clear excitement and its beady red eyes wide as they stare up at him. The bat lets out a squeak that, while wordless, clearly conveys its exasperation. What was that screech if not a warning of its impending arrival?

"Okay, alright," Gale says, lifting the beast to his face to press a kiss against that fur-covered belly. "I stand corrected."

The bat's thick coat is soft and silky beneath his lips, and it's a struggle to refrain from simply smooshing his face into it. But such a selfish impulse would only earn him a flurry of indignant claws, and he really doesn't feel like having to sheepishly explain the cause of such injuries to Halsin yet again.

Gale just… really likes the feel of cute, fluffy things against his skin, okay? It's soothing.

Oblivious to the wizard's inner turmoil, the bat starts to squirm. Flipping onto its stomach and shaking out its leathery wings, the creature hauls itself over Gale's hand by its thumbs before launching toward his shoulder with a few awkward flaps, chittering all the way.

"Oh, my day? It wasn't much to speak of, to be honest." Gale picks up the one-sided conversation with an ease borne of practice, not at all bothered by the unusual shape of the other party. He can't understand his fuzzy companion without the aid of a spell, but pretending otherwise comes with its own special sort of delight. "With exams looming ever larger on the horizon, my students are getting understandably restless. I adore them, but gods above and below if they don't try my patience some days. But—" He jabs a finger into the air with proud emphasis. "I only had to put out two fires today, none of which ignited on another person! That's progress!"

While the bat doesn't appear to be particularly interested in the content of his words, it does seem to enjoy listening to him, at least. Claws dig into cloth and skin as it crawls over to tuck itself against his neck, rubbing its cool, furled nose into him with a soft peep.

It doesn't take the intelligence of an archmage to understand what the tiny creature means to express. Despite the stress of his day, Gale finds himself smiling. "I missed you too, Astarion."

It's about that time that a new sound reaches his ears, a hearty feline 'mirrp' that rises from the floor beneath the kitchen table.

"Oh, it's one of those days, I take it," the wizard says with a faint chuckle, dropping a hand to dangle temptingly over the side of his lap. “Good evening, Halsin.”

'Those days' don't really have a name. They're more of an observation on Gale's part, when the household members of a furrier inclination tended to abandon their elven forms.

It seems to be a way to unwind for Halsin, providing him with a few precious hours to shed the near-constant pressure of rebuilding a long-abandoned town and juggling its growing crowd of refugees. No one's going to ask a cat to help haul lumber or mediate a dispute.

Astarion doesn't talk about his reasons, as stubbornly tight-lipped about the inner workings of his head as ever. However, the wizard suspects it has something to do with casting aside a form still heavily associated with his past trauma. The vampire tends to seek more comfort and physical affection as a bat, at any rate, an aspect of his changed shape that both of his lovers treasure.

Gale's hand is immediately accosted by an affectionate headbutt from a large ginger cat, the long fur of its tail puffed in welcome as hazel eyes blink slowly up at Gale. Its purrs rumble loud and deep from its chest, much like the druid's voice normally does, clearly pleased to see him.

"You know, a lesser man might feel a bit dispirited at arriving home after a long day only to find the house empty of all but the family pets." Gingerly standing from his seat, the wizard stretches, groaning at how his back and knees pop from the effort. "I hope this isn't indicative of what I might expect come supper. While I'm sure you two won't mind, I don't think a handful of small birds will be enough to tide me over 'til morning."

He gets a sharp nip and a disgruntled squeak from his tiny passenger in response, though the cat lets out a loud trill that almost sounds like laughter.

Utterly ridiculous, the both of them, Gale thinks fondly.

Putting the finishing touches on his tea, Gale putters off to the living room with the two creatures in tow. He's eager for the chance to sit down and relax for a few minutes before something else inevitably catches his attention.

The living room is actually more of a combination of living room, office, and library, if he's perfectly honest. What began with a sofa and some end tables eventually grew in an organic sort of way as Gale spent more and more time there. With the help of the others, he installed shelves on every wall and had one of his favorite desks shipped here all the way from Waterdeep ('I know it's expensive, but it's an heirloom!'), and in return, they saw more books and knickknacks appear in the space after practically every time Gale went out.

What did they expect? Gale is a wizard, after all.

Gale eagerly flops back onto the overstuffed sofa that stands before a massive stone fireplace, one hand carefully clasped over his smallest tagalong as he sinks deep into its purple embrace. Say what the others would about its garish appearance, there's no denying it's immensely comfortable.

He barely gets a moment to settle before the cat hops up into his lap, the weight of it forcing a soft oof from the wizard's lips. "No patience at all, either of you," Gale chuckles, a hand immediately sinking into the cat's fluffy fur. "Whatever am I to do with you two?"

Of course, he gets no answer.

Soon enough, he's relaxing against the upholstery, his robes tucked close and a book hovering in the air before him as he sips his tea. Halsin's chunky feline form fills his lap while it concentrates on making biscuits against Gale's thigh, its furry bulk warm and grounding even as it covers his clothing in whisps of orange fur. Meanwhile, the tiny ball of fluff at his neck chirps and wriggles to get a better view of his book, as inquisitive as ever.

Gale's fingers begin moving almost of their own accord until he's combing fingers through Halsin's fur. The cat can't help but stand under the attention, arching its back and hindquarters in search of more. 'Prrrt', it chitters, spinning around to headbutt his hand again. The wizard smiles adoringly. With a contented hum, he thumbs along the bridge of its nose before sliding back to scratch behind its ears.

It can be hard to remember that there's a druid tucked away under that cat-shaped body in moments like this.

Of course, someone else isn't about to be left bereft of affection. Its membranous wings flapping in displeasure, the bat cheekily squawks until Gale sets aside his tea to reach up and stroke a finger along its cool, downy back. "Don't worry, I didn't forget about you," Gale murmurs, following the delicate spine from tail to nose and back again. The tiny body curves to meet his finger, its voice quieting to faint warbles and its fickle temper soothed by the wizard's loving touch.

He pets it some more, tugging on another tendril of the Weave between strokes to turn a page. The bat's mouth opens in a wide, contented yawn that reveals rows of razor-sharp teeth, as though it's slowly falling under the spell of Gale's own fatigue.

The floating tome sags, his focus on the spell wavering. It's warm here, so cozy with his lovers snuggled up against him, and he's so very tired.

Gale's eyelids flutter.

He soon slips under the encroaching wave of sleep, heedless of the faint 'rrrt?' that rises when his book plunks down atop a small ginger head.

The air fills with the faint buzz of Silvanus' primal magic, golden energy surging over the form of the cat now standing behind the sofa and wresting it back to its original form. A figure rises in a fading swirl of ethereal oak leaves, stretching muscles long transformed with a rumbling groan, before leaning over for a better view of the scene before him.

Gale lies slumped against where the sofa's arm meets its back, the features normally etched with tension now lax with peace in a way that takes years off his face. Strands of silver-corded chestnut are scattered across the purple upholstery, bound to need combing once he finally wakes, but only adding to the charm of his slumber. As does the slight parting of his lips and the faint line of drool that glistens at the corner of his mouth.

But as handsome as Halsin finds the sight before him, his focus centers on something else. Or someone else, to be more specific.

"Astarion?" he whispers in a voice faint enough to reach elven ears without waking their wizard. "Where are you, my heart?"

There's a faint shifting of the fabric over Gale's chest, just enough to draw the druid's eyes. The top fastening of the human's robes has been undone to provide just enough space for a small creature to wriggle beneath it. Halsin moves carefully, tugging back the cloth to find the bat curled over the scar decorating the spot that once held a Netherese orb. He can't say he's surprised to find Astarion there, taking comfort in Gale's heartbeat over the site of something that still manages to creep into their nightmares on occasion.

The druid turns his hand over to offer the bat a calloused palm. "Come along now. Let's let him sleep a little longer."

There's something peevish in those beedy red eyes when the bat raises its chin. 'You go if you want. I'm staying right here,' it says, knowing full well that Halsin can understand it.

The creases around his eyes crinkle as Halsin smiles, reaching down to pat the top of its adorably curly head with a single fingertip and almost earning himself a nip in the process. "I'm going hunting," he coos, knowing full well what a temptation that would be. "I thought we'd all appreciate some fresh meat tonight, should Silvanus bless us with His bounty. And you know how much I enjoy your company."

The bat stares at him, eyes narrowing.

The druid stares back, completely unperturbed. He tilts his chin toward his waiting hand.

With a faint huff, the bat drags itself up into Halsin's palm and allows itself to be lifted. Once it deems itself brought to an adequate elevation, the creature flings itself into the air and flies forward a few steps before twisting shadows engulf its form. Astarion's transformation is simpler and far sleeker than Halsin's, yet no less impressive as he returns to his elven self. "Fine. But I want deer tonight. The last time we hunted boar, the wretch gored me with its damnable tusks, and my clothes were unsalvagable."

The boar had less to do with the destruction of Astarion's wardrobe than the rather vigorous activities they partook in shortly after the success of their hunt, but Halsin knows better than to say that. Instead, he catches the pouting vampire's hand and brings it to his lips for a tender kiss. "Of course, my love."

The eye roll that follows holds no venom, and Astarion takes the opportunity to impishly flick the end of the druid's nose before turning back to Gale. Astarion doesn't say anything, but there's no denying the way his expression softens as he leans down to tuck a few wayward strands of hair behind the wizard's ear and trail fingers along his beard, his caress lingering.

It's just enough contact to make Gale sigh and shift toward the touch.

"Come on," Halsin whispers again, using his gentle grip to tow the vampire toward the exit. "You can cuddle with him again later."

"I do not cuddle," Astarion hisses, his glare halfhearted at best. "The wizard merely makes for an excellent perch."

"Mm-hmm." Halsin takes another step back. "And what about me? Do I make an excellent perch as well?"

A hint of a flush rises to the tips of the vampire's well-fed ears. "You're passable, I suppose."

How darling. The druid makes an acquiescing noise, something wicked curling the edge of his scarred lips. "I'm glad to hear it. You know you are welcome to climb me any time you wish."

The choked, wheezing sort of sound that comes out of Astarion nearly leaves Halsin laughing, for he does so enjoy getting a rise out of the younger elf. Without another word, Astarion taps the pendant at his throat and immediately shrinks down, the faint pop of displaced air quickly followed by the sound of flapping wings as a familiar bat takes off down the hallway.

Halsin returns to the sofa and leans down just long enough to press a peck against Gale's cheek. "We'll be back soon," he whispers with a grin before turning to trail after his fleeing lover. It's best not to leave Astarion to his own devices for too long, after all.

Still deeply lodged in slumber, the wizard smiles.

AO3

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fic #Astarion Ancunín #Astarion Ancunin #astarion #Gale Dekarios #gale of waterdeep #halsin #halsin silverbough #bloodoakweave #Batstarion #wild shaped halsin #cat halsin

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silent-as-the-grave · 4 months ago

Text

Dedications - A Bloodweave Fanfic

The full version of the beautiful artwork commissioned from the incredible misfitlunatic (https://x.com/misfit_lunatik or https://bsky.app/profile/misfitlunatik.bsky.social) can be seen in all its glory here.

This fanfic is a sequel and will be better enjoyed after reading Editorial Prerogative.

🪶📜The Netherbrain has been defeated, and the party has gone their separate ways. Astarion and Gale have moved into Gale's tower in Waterdeep while Gale focuses on publishing the chronicle that brought them together. Astarion has an entirely different focus and... thoughts about their post-adventure life he has yet to confess.📜🪶

Read here below or on AO3!

Work Content Tags: Post Canon, Explicit Sexual Content, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, POV Astarion, ~5K words

This fic about the extensive contributions of editors and beta-readers had amazing beta readers! This one was much rougher than Editorial Prerogative as a draft and was improved extensively by their thoughtful suggestions. There was no time for a second round of edits after doing my best to merge everyone's ideas, and sometimes I am stubborn in keeping my errors. Kindly consider all those errors that remain to be entirely my own. You can blame the cum jokes on me as well ;)

Thank you very much silent_as_the_grave, bashfulexe, and hiraethey for your time and help! This one is dedicated to you!

Like Gale in this story, I cherish feedback! I'd appreciate reblogs and replies 😁

Dedications

"Seven minutes left," Astarion purred against Gale's ear, rolling his hips. "Still think you can hold the Fly spell that long?"

The moonlight through the tower's high windows cast blue shadows across their skin as Astarion pressed Gale against nothing but air, twenty feet off the floor just below the vaulted ceiling of their master bedroom. His lover's warmth radiated through him as their bodies moved in tandem, suspended by Gale's magic. Dimmed lanterns lit the bed lay far below, its sheets already rumpled from earlier activities.

Gale's breath hitched. "You underestimate—ah—my concentration."

"Do I?" Astarion shifted his grip on Gale's thighs, changing the angle. "One slip and we both fall."

"I'm well aware." Gale's fingers dug into Astarion's shoulders, a moan escaping him. "Though I suspect that's part of the appeal for you."

"You know me so well." Astarion nipped at Gale's neck, careful not to break skin. The thrill of danger, of testing limits—it made everything sharper, brighter. "Six minutes now."

Gale's magic held them aloft, but Astarion controlled their movements, using his grip on Gale's hips to drive his cock deeper. The tower's chill air raised goosebumps on Gale's skin. Astarion traced them with his tongue, savoring each shiver and gasp he drew from his wizard.

"Five minutes." Astarion grinned against Gale's collarbone. "Shall we make it interesting? If you drop us, you have to indulge that idea I had about Greater Invisibility and the Blackstaff library stacks."

"Not—ah—not a chance." Gale's voice wavered as Astarion found just the right spot. "And at some point you will need to explain your preoccupation with spells with limited durations."

"We'll see about that." Astarion quickened his pace, determined to drive Gale over the edge and test his vaunted concentration. "Four minutes, love. Still feeling confident?"

Astarion slid one hand from Gale's hip, tracing his lover's trembling abdomen before wrapping deft fingers around Gale's cock. They had been lovers for months now, and he knew every sensitive spot, every trick to make Gale unravel. A few strokes—firm and sure—and Gale's breath stuttered, his body tensing.

"Three minutes," Astarion whispered, with wicked delight. "But who's counting?"

Gale's response was a strangled moan, his nails biting into Astarion's flesh. Astarion could feel the precise moment Gale's concentration shattered—the magic holding them aloft flickered, and gravity reasserted itself. Gale's climax hit, his cock pulsing in Astarion's grip, and they plummeted.

Astarion twisted them mid-air and pulled out. They crashed onto the bed, laughter bursting from both as the mattress creaked in protest and they fell apart.

"Well, that was invigorating," Astarion chuckled, brushing a lock of hair from Gale's flushed face.

Gale grinned, still breathless. "You cheated."

"I did no such thing." Astarion feigned innocence. "I recall no agreements with regard to the means by which I may or may not distract you."

Gale pushed himself up, straddling Astarion's hips, and raised a questioning eyebrow. "My turn to take the lead, I think?" Astarion nodded a yes and ran his hands up Gale's thighs. Gale's eyes gleamed with mischief as he reached behind him, positioning Astarion's cock, his hole still wonderfully slick and stretched. He sank down slowly, a gasp escaping him as he took Astarion in fully again.

Astarion's hands found Gale's hips, guiding his rhythm. The room filled with the sounds of their pleasure, the bed creaking in time with their movements. And then—a soft, wet plop. Astarion glanced up just as another drop of Gale's cum fell from the ceiling, where it had splattered in generous abundance, landing on Gale's shoulder.

"Oh, for the love of—" Astarion started, laughter bubbling up.

Gale looked down, bewildered, then up at the ceiling. Another drop fell, this time on his cheek. He wiped it away, a laugh escaping him as well. "Well, this is... distracting."

"Focus, darling," Astarion teased, though his own concentration was waning. "You have a task to complete."

Gale shook his head, grinning, and refocused his efforts. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on Astarion's chest, and rolled his hips with renewed determination. Astarion stroked Gale's thighs encouragingly, his breath coming faster.

Another drop fell, this time on Astarion's forehead. He swiped it away, growling playfully. "Gale..."

Gale bit his lip, trying to hold back laughter. "Not my fault you wanted to defy gravity. Gravity, apparently, wants payback."

Astarion bucked his hips, driving deeper into Gale. "Less talking, more riding."

Gale complied, his movements becoming more urgent. Astarion could feel his own climax building, the tension in his body coiling tighter. The lantern light glinted off the oil on Gale's spent cock and the sweat on the planes of his chest. Beautiful. His lover was so damned beautiful. He reached up, pulling Gale down into a fierce kiss. Gale's body pressed against his, their movements syncing perfectly.

And then, finally, Astarion's release hit, his body arching as he spilled into Gale. He broke the kiss, a groan escaping him as he emptied and gave himself to the moment. Gale rode him through it, his own breath ragged, until they both stilled, panting and sated.

Astarion looked up at Gale, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Well, that was—"

Another drop of cum fell from the ceiling, landing squarely on Astarion's nose. He sighed, laughing as Gale collapsed onto his chest, their laughter filling the room.

Gale pushed himself up, kneeling over Astarion as he surveyed the ceiling. "Well, that's quite the mess."

Astarion smirked, stretching languidly beneath him. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Gale rolled his eyes but grinned as he stood, careful to keep his balance on the mattress. He reached up, stretching to his full height, and began to chant softly. A faint glow enveloped his hand as he waved it toward the stain, his Prestidigitation spell making quick work of the mess.

Astarion watched, appreciating the view. Gale's body was lean and toned, his muscles shifting under smooth skin as Astarion's own spend ran down Gale's thighs. "You know, I could get used to this sight," he mused.

Gale glanced down, a smirk playing on his lips. "Me cleaning the ceiling?"

"You, naked and on display," Astarion corrected. "The chores getting done is just a bonus."

Gale shook his head, returning to his task. Once the ceiling was spotless, he turned his attention to them, cleaning them both efficiently. Astarion sat up, gently pulling Gale back down to the bed. He reached for a small vial of the soothing oil they favored for aftercare on the nightstand, pouring a generous amount onto his fingers.

"Let me," he murmured, guiding Gale onto his stomach. He started at Gale's shoulders, massaging gently before moving lower. His fingers found the spot where Gale's back met his ass, and he rubbed slow circles into the skin, feeling Gale relax under his touch.

Astarion took his time, his fingers eventually slipping between Gale's cheeks, applying the oil with tender care. Gale sighed softly, his body melting into the mattress. Astarion loved this—the quiet moments after, when Gale let him take control in a different way.

Even as he tended to Gale, a restless energy hummed beneath his skin. The night had been perfect—dangerous and thrilling and everything he had wanted—but already his mind flitted to what came next. There was always another sexual adventure to plan, another boundary to push.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Gale's spine. "How was that?"

Gale hummed contentedly, turning his head to look at Astarion. "Perfect. Thank you."

Astarion smiled. He lay down next to Gale, propping his head up on one hand.

"You're thinking," Gale murmured, eyes closed.

"Always," Astarion admitted.

Gale cracked one eye open, studying him. "About what, I wonder?"

Astarion shrugged, his fingers still moving. "Just... possibilities. For next time."

Gale hummed, a small smile on his lips. "Dangerous word, 'possibilities'."

Astarion's grin sharpened. "Exactly."

Gale chuckled, shifting to face Astarion fully. "You've been insatiable lately."

"And you love it," Astarion retorted.

Gale's smile softened, his hand reaching up to cup Astarion's face. "I do."

Astarion leaned into the touch, but his mind was still racing, already planning. This night had been a success, but there was always more to explore, more pleasure to experience. And he intended to make the most of every moment.

Gale shifted, reaching for something on the nightstand. Astarion spotted a manuscript bound in stiff canvas. Another proof copy from the printer, of course. Astarion sighed. The book. Again.

"Must we? I can think of far more entertaining ways to spend our time." Astarion traced a finger down Gale's spine, trying to distract him.

"The printer needs the final draft by tomorrow. I just need you to look at one more thing."

"Volo's barely started shopping his version around." Astarion rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling to avoid meeting Gale's eyes, hoping that for once Gale would just set the book aside and come fully back to him without having to be chivvied into it. "What's the rush?"

"The rush is getting the true account published first. Before he can romanticize everything into nonsense. And I want you to edit the dedication."

"The dedication." Astarion's voice went flat. Of course Gale would want his help polishing the final touches of his grand scholarly achievement. "Surely you can handle that without my input."

"I'd really like your thoughts on it."

"What's to think about? 'To my beloved companions, who provided such invaluable assistance.' There. Done." Astarion waved a dismissive hand. "Now put that away and come back here."

"That's not—"

Something about Gale's earnest expression made Astarion's skin prickle uncomfortably. He didn't want to examine why being asked to edit the dedication bothered him so much. Better to provoke, to push, to make Gale as unsettled as he felt.

"Or perhaps 'To my dear editor, without whose sharp wit this tome would be unbearably dull.'" Astarion sat up, indulging the impulse to be perfectly dreadful. "Though I suppose that might undermine your scholarly authority."

Gale's expression shifted from amusement to concern. "Astarion—"

"No, no, I've got it." He snatched the proof copy from Gale's hands. "'To my reformed vampiric lover, who made this chronicle possible by not eating me that first night.' How's that?"

Gale gaped. "You really think that I would mischaracterize your contributions? Or that that's how I see you?"

"Isn't it?" The words came out sharper than intended. "It's your book, after all. Your legacy."

Astarion's fingers tightened on the manuscript, the binding creaking under his grip. He knew he was being unfair—Gale had never treated him as less than an equal partner. And he had loved working on that manuscript together during the long months of their adventure. It had been the thing to finally bring them together.

But lately, everything felt... off. Wrong. Like an itch he couldn't scratch.

He had thought it would be simple after they'd saved the world. No more running, no more fighting, no more desperate scramble for survival. Just pleasure and comfort and Gale. And for the first few weeks, that had been enough. More than enough.

But now...

The empty hours stretched endlessly. While Gale pored over proof copies and attended meetings, first with various publishers and then the printer, Astarion found himself prowling their tower like a caged animal. He had tried everything—shopping, decorating, arranging elaborate dinners he couldn't eat just to watch Gale enjoy them.

Sex helped. For a little while, at least. When he had Gale's full attention, when they were testing limits and discovering new ways to please each other, everything felt right again. But then Gale would reach for that damned book, and the emptiness would creep back in.

It wasn't fair to resent Gale's dream finally coming to fruition. His beloved wizard was thriving, getting the recognition he deserved. But a nasty voice in Astarion's head whispered that Gale should be focusing on him instead. After two centuries of serving others, wasn't it his turn to be the center of someone's world?

He glanced at Gale, who watched him with patient concern. That was almost worse than anger would have been.

Astarion hurled the manuscript onto the bed. "Oh, don't look at me like that. Like I'm some delicate thing about to shatter. I've had quite enough of your concerned wizard act for one evening."

"This isn't an act. You have witnessed my best attempts at acting—why wouldn't you think my concern was real?" Gale's brow furrowed. "I genuinely don't understand why you're upset."

"Of course you don't." Astarion stood, pacing naked across the floor. The moonlight caught his pale skin, turning his already pale skin a nearly ghostly white. "You're far too busy with your precious book to notice anything else these days."

"That's not fair—"

"Fair?" Astarion whirled on him. "You want to talk about fair? While you're off being courted by every publisher in Waterdeep, what exactly am I meant to do with myself? Sit here and look pretty? Wait for you to need an editorial opinion?"

Gale's mouth opened, then closed. The sudden understanding in his expression only stoked Astarion's anger.

"Here's a confession for you—perhaps something you could work into an epilogue. Do you know what I did yesterday? I reorganized our closet. Again. Then I spent three hours watching the unseen servants clean because I was so desperately bored I considered doing it myself." He ran a hand through his hair. "I can't even go outside during the day anymore, now that this blasted tadpole is gone. I'm just... here. Useless. Decorative."

"You're not—"

"And do you know what I did last week?" Astarion continued his pacing, each step precise despite his growing agitation. "I reorganized our library. Twice. First alphabetically, which was mind-numbingly dull, and then by level of pretentiousness—you'll be delighted to know your treatise on the standardization of arcane nomenclature ranked near the top. And you have been so singularly focused on the book you never even noticed to complain!"

His laugh came out sharp and bitter. "Then I spent an entire evening categorizing your spell components by color. Not utility, mind you. Just aesthetics. Because apparently that's what I've been reduced to—interior decoration and waiting for you to need my opinion on your prose. "

The words tumbled out now, each confession carrying a twisted satisfaction at revealing his pathetic pastimes in all their absurdity. "I've named all the rats in the cellar. Did you know that? There's Herbert—he's missing half an ear—and Old Lady Whiskers, though she might be dead now. I haven't checked today."

"Astarion, I didn't know…"

"How would you? You've been so very busy at the printers." Astarion gestured wildly at the wardrobe. "I've arranged your robes by the seasons. Then by texture. Then by how likely they are to get you propositioned at academic functions. I even tried to learn that ridiculous card game Wyll taught us, but it's significantly less entertaining when you're playing against yourself and can see all the hands."

Astarion's lips curled into a sneer. "I thought saving the world would finally free you from your compulsive need to make your name, but alas, here we are again—we're both naked, but you're distracted by paper.

"And now you want me to help polish your grand achievement. To put the finishing touches on the story of how we saved the world. Except we're not saving the world anymore, are we? You've found your new purpose. While I..." He gestured vaguely at himself. "Well, I suppose I can always fall back on being very good at fucking you senseless. At least until you tire of that too."

The hurt that flashed across Gale's face should have felt satisfying. Instead, it just made Astarion's gut churn. He had gone too far and been monstrously unfair. It didn't help that he knew it and couldn't stop spewing attacks he didn't even mean.

Gale reached for the discarded manuscript. Astarion turned away, not wanting to see more of that wounded expression, but Gale moved to his side and held the book out. The silence stretched between them.

"Really?" Astarion snapped. "After all that? Now?"

Gale didn't respond, just kept holding out the book. Fine. If that's how he wanted to play it. Astarion snatched the manuscript, ready to tear into whatever flowery dedication Gale had composed.

"Read the cover first," Gale said quietly.

Astarion frowned. "The cover? What—"

The words caught his eye, and his throat went tight. He blinked, certain he was misreading. But no—there it was, clear as day: "The Fall of the Absolute: An Eyewitness Chronicle, by Gale Dekarios and Astarion Ancunín."

He read it again. And again. His name. On the cover. As co-author.

He looked up at Gale, unable to form words.

A brilliant smile spread across Gale's face. "Did you really think I saw this as just my book? Your perspective shaped every chapter. Your commentary challenged my interpretations, made me question my assumptions." He stepped closer, taking Astarion's free hand. "Your voice is woven through every page. What kind of historian would I be if I neglected to give my co-author the credit he deserves?"

Astarion's fingers clenched, his chest tight with something that wasn't quite pain.

Astarion stared at his name on the cover, tracing the letters with his thumb. His name. Not in a footnote or acknowledgment, but right there beside Gale's. Equal. Co-author.

He glanced at Gale, then back at the book, checking for an illusion to fade, for the joke to materialize. No, the words remained unchanged.

He flipped through the front pages, scanning for the inevitable correction—some footnote or disclaimer that would put him back in his proper place. Surely there would be a note: "With editorial assistance from..." or "Based on the contributions of..." But the title page bore both their names. The introduction credited them equally. Even the publisher's mark listed them as co-authors.

Gale's voice washed over him, explaining how he had meant it as a surprise, how he had never meant to make Astarion feel excluded. "I've thought of it as our book for ages, since before we were even an us. I should have told you sooner—"

But Astarion barely heard him. Two centuries of being nothing more than Cazador's property, a toy to be used and discarded. Even after their victory, even after becoming a "hero," he had been defined by others—the reformed monster, the redeemed villain.

But this... this was different. This wasn't just surviving or being forgiven.

Astarion's hands trembled slightly as he opened to the first chapter. His own words jumped out at him from the page—not just in commentary, but woven seamlessly into the narrative. His marginalia hadn't just inspired edits—they had shaped the story itself. Where Gale's original draft had focused on the metaphysical implications of their tadpoles, the final version explored the visceral horror of violation, the psychological toll of being changed against one's will. His perspective on what it meant to be transformed, to lose control of one's own body, had deepened the scholarly analysis into something raw and real.

Even his most acerbic comments had been valued. That entire section comparing various theories about the tadpoles' nature had been completely restructured after he had written "For fuck's sake, Gale, get to the point before your readers expire from old age."

Astarion traced a finger over a particularly elegant turn of phrase—one he distinctly remembered suggesting as an alternative to Gale's more flowery original version. His words. His thoughts. His perspective. Not filtered or edited to be more palatable, but presented as essential to understanding their shared story.

This was creation. His words, his perspective, preserved in ink and on paper. Not as a cautionary tale or a victim's testimony, but as an author. A chronicler of his own story. Gale was right, of course—by the time they had exchanged back-and-forth notes on any given page, it was likely half Astarion's words and thoughts. He just hadn't thought of it that way.

His throat felt tight. He swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. "Gale, I—" The apology stuck in his throat. He had been so quick to lash out, to blow things all out of proportion.

"Don't." Gale's hand covered his where it gripped the book. "I need your help with something more important. The dedication—"

"What is it with you and this damn dedication?" Astarion's voice cracked slightly.

Gale smiled as Astarion hesitated, the pages half-turned.

"Go on." Gale's voice was warm, encouraging. "It's the best part."

Astarion's throat tightened. He had already received more than he had dared hope for. What if this undid it all? What if, after seeing his name on the cover, the dedication reduced him back to a mere contributor?

"My love." Gale's hand covered his on the page. "Trust me."

He turned the page.

Two passages faced each other on the creamy paper—mutual dedications, Astarion realized with a start. Astarion looked up at Gale, blinking fast to keep traitorous tears from falling. Gale's own eyes were suspiciously watery, but his smile was radiant, their argument and Astarion's ranting obviously forgiven. Gale moved to wrap his arms around Astarion from behind. Astarion nestled back into Gale's embrace before shifting his attention to the pages. He read Gale's first—formal yet intimate, managing to capture their collaboration in a way that left his chest tight.

"To my dearest Astarion, whose sharp tongue, sharper mind, and inexhaustible patience turned these words from mere history into something worthy of remembrance. And to our companions, who lived this story alongside us. This book is but ink on parchment; you are the legends."

But the second... He recognized his own words—remembered scrawling them in the margins months ago during one of their late-night editing sessions. He had been marking up Gale's latest chapter with increasingly ridiculous commentary, each note an excuse to keep their conversation going, to stay in that perfect bubble of possibility...

"You kept this?" His finger traced the words. That night had been months ago, before they'd even kissed. Before he had realized that their endless exchanges of notes and rebuttals had become something more than editorial collaboration.

"I kept all of them," Gale said softly. "Every margin note. Every correction. Every time you called my prose 'insufferably flowery' or suggested I was 'compensating for something' with my extensive footnotes. They are as much a part of our story as the text itself."

He had been tired, punch-drunk on lack of rest and the joy of their collaboration, and had written what amounted to a love letter disguised as snark. Gale had picked lines from it and composed a dedication on his behalf.

"To Gale Dekarios, who never met a sentence he couldn't overcomplicate. On the darkest days, your relentless optimism that our story would be worth telling made the endless footnotes (almost) worth it. And to our comrades-in-madness, who not only survived but triumphed despite their best efforts to the contrary. (P.S. You are all still insufferable.)"

"I borrowed that from your notes," Gale whispered, drawing Astarion closer as he spoke the words against his ear. "But of course, you should write whatever you'd prefer. You obviously don't have to dedicate anything to me. Presumptuous, I know, although I meant it to be romantic. This was just a placeholder until—"

Astarion stared at his own words on the page, all his usual sharp retorts deserting him. The dedication—their dedication to each other of the book that had brought them together—was there in permanent ink, ready to be bound into countless copies. His thoughts, his perspective, his story—preserved forever.

He stepped out of Gale's arms and sank onto the edge of the bed, still clutching the proof copy. The weight of it felt different now. Real. Lasting. Not just Gale's grand scholarly achievement, but their shared legacy.

Gale stood before him, radiating that particular blend of smugness and affection that should have been infuriating. But Astarion had long since learned to love these little moments of his wizard's self-satisfaction—especially when they came from making him happy. "Do you like it? Or shall I prepare myself for another ten pages of revisions?"

"I think..." Astarion's voice came out barely above a whisper. "I think it's perfect."

Gale's eyebrows shot up in pleased surprise. He turned to the side table where—of course—he had already set out a bottle of wine and two glasses, clearly having planned this moment. The bastard.

Astarion found his footing again, a smile tugging at his lips. "Though I still reserve the right to deface every copy in circulation with additional notes."

"I would expect nothing less." Gale handed him a glass of deep red wine, raising his own. "To our book?"

"To our book," Astarion agreed. "And to the idiots who made it worth writing."

Their glasses clinked softly in the moonlight.

Astarion savored the wine, letting its rich flavor chase away the lingering tension. "To our book," he repeated softly, still caught on those words.

"I should have told you sooner," Gale said, settling beside him. "About the co-authorship. About all of it. I got caught up in the excitement of publication and forgot that you might not see what I see when I look at these pages."

"And what do you see?" Astarion asked, trying for lightness but not quite achieving it.

Gale's expression softened as he set his wine glass aside. "I see us, darling. Not just our adventures, but the way your wit cuts through pretense to find truth. The way you take my meandering thoughts and sharpen them into something precise and powerful." He took Astarion's free hand. "I saw a future where we might do this again. Together. Writing about whatever catches our interest."

Astarion's chest tightened at the earnestness in Gale's voice.

"And once again, that was presumptuous of me," Gale continued. "Just because you excel at this doesn't mean it needs to be your future. I should have discussed my hopes with you instead of assuming. Asked what you wanted rather than letting you feel trapped here with nothing but closet organization and the corruption of my virtue to occupy your time."

"I suppose I haven't been particularly... forthcoming either. About how adrift I've been feeling." Astarion gave a short laugh. "Though attempting to seduce you into distraction every time you mentioned the book lately probably should have been a hint."

"Gods, I've been stupidly oblivious, haven't I?" Gale ran a thumb over Astarion's knuckles. "Here I was, planning our literary future while you were naming rats in the cellar."

Astarion traced the rim of his wine glass. "Well, to be fair, I hadn't exactly been making any competing plans, really. Beyond finding new ways to scandalize Tara." He gave a hollow laugh. "Two centuries of torture and degradation, and all I could think about was pleasure. As if that would be enough."

"And now?"

"Now I don't know what I want. Isn't that ridiculous? I finally have everything I dreamed of—wealth, safety, you." He gestured at their opulent surroundings. "I should be content with endless pleasure and no purpose. But I'm not content."

Gale's fingers ghosted along his jaw. "There's nothing ridiculous about wanting more than hedonism, love. Though I must say, your dedication to corrupting my virtue in the wake of our trials has been a thoroughly appreciated respite."

"Has it now?" Astarion managed a genuine smirk. "And here I thought you were too distracted by your—no, our—precious book to notice."

"Oh, I noticed." Gale's voice dropped lower. "In fact, I've been taking extensive mental notes for future reference."

"Always the scholar." Astarion leaned into his touch. "Though I suppose that's served us both rather well, hasn't it?"

"Indeed. And perhaps..." Gale's thumb brushed his lower lip. "You might consider that pleasure and purpose aren't mutually exclusive. You have a gift for this—for taking complex ideas and making them sing. Why not pursue that alongside your campaign of corruption? Something to consider. And to talk about—together, I hope. We have plenty of time to work through our options, now that the editing is done, at least for the moment—" Gale began.

"For the moment?" Astarion's head snapped up. "What do you mean, 'for the moment'?"

"Well, perhaps—just perhaps, of course—there will be our next book to consider." Gale said it so casually, as if he hadn't just upended Astarion's entire worldview for the second time that evening. "But I think we've earned a break, don't you?"

"Next book," Astarion echoed faintly. The implications spun through his mind—more late nights arguing over prose, more shared discoveries, more chances to shape how their story was told. Not just this one volume, but others. A series, perhaps?

"Though at present," Gale continued, his tone shifting to something distinctly more promising, "I find myself rather more interested in your earlier claim of more interesting ways we might spend our evening."

Our next book. The idea seems so absurd that for a moment, he doesn’t know what to do with it. A future, stretching beyond just this one volume.

Astarion set his wine glass aside, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "You know, darling, maybe we should begin thinking about potential topics for our next collaboration. Perhaps something focusing on the political implications of—" He broke off as Gale's lips found his neck and a frisson of pleasure made him shiver. "—the various factions within Baldur's Gate during the crisis."

"Fascinating," Gale murmured against his skin. "Do continue."

"Well, considering the complex web of alliances—" Astarion's breath hitched as Gale's hands slid down his sides. "I believe my name should appear first on this one, given my unique insights into the city's power structure."

Gale hummed noncommittally, pushing him back onto the bed. "We can discuss the particulars later."

"But the publishing contract—oh." His protest dissolved into a gasp as Gale's beard brushed over his nipples in that way Gale knew he liked. "That's not fair."

"What isn't fair?" Gale's innocent tone didn't match his actions at all. "I'm merely expressing my enthusiasm for potential future literary endeavors."

Astarion struggled to maintain his train of thought as Gale shifted lower. "The... structure would benefit from..." He lost his place entirely as Gale did something lovely with his tongue and borrowed blood left his brain to chase the sensation. "What was I saying?"

"Something about structure, I believe." Gale's muffled voice held entirely too much amusement.

"Right. Structure. And proper credit for—oh gods." Astarion's fingers tangled in Gale's hair and tugged gently. "You're making it very difficult to discuss business arrangements."

"Am I?" Gale lifted his head, eyes dancing with mischief. "How terribly inconsiderate of me. Please, continue outlining your publishing strategy."

Astarion's protests died away as the room was filled with the soft sounds of their breaths, the rustle of sheets, and the distant hum of Waterdeep's nightlife. There was no urgency this time, no ticking clock of a spell about to expire. Just the two of them, realigned in purpose and desire, and it was wonderful.

Astarion breathed into the pleasure as Gale's tongue worked this other magic of his. He could feel Gale's smile against his skin, the warmth of his breath as he moved. Astarion moaned, shamelessly, as Gale took him deeply, swallowing him down and then sucking hard as he pulled back. Gale looked up, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Enjoy that, do you?"

Astarion laughed. "You're far too smug for your own good."

Gale grinned. "And you're far too delicious for yours."

Astarion reached down, tracing the line of his jaw. "You know, I think we might have a real talent for this."

Gale's eyebrow quirked. "For what, exactly?"

"Sex, darling. I think we should write a book about it."

Gale laughed, a full-throated sound that warmed Astarion to his core. "A sex book? Really?"

"Mmhm," Astarion hummed, already imagining the possibilities. "Think about it. We've certainly done enough research, more than enough to fill certain gaps in The Quarta Sune and make our own, unique contributions to the field."

Gale's hand took the place of his mouth, clearly intrigued by the discussion but unwilling to abandon Astarion's pleasure entirely. "And who would be the target audience for this illustrious tome?"

"Everyone," Astarion declared, happily rolling his hips into Gale's touch. "Think of all the poor souls out there, fumbling around in the dark, metaphorically speaking. We could be doing a public service."

Gale's laughter shook the bed and disrupted the rhythm of that exquisite stroking. "A public service? Really?"

"Absolutely," Astarion insisted. "And of course, I should be first author on this one too."

Gale's hand moved faster. "And why is that?"

"B-because," Astarion stuttered, his hips bucking up into Gale's grasp. "I have more experience."

Gale's smile was positively wicked. "Is that a challenge, my love? Because I would like to point out the difference between qualitative and quantitative research."

Astarion grinned, pulling Gale up for a kiss. "It's a fact, darling. But I'm sure with your natural prowess, you'll have no trouble keeping up."

Gale's lips curved against his. "I do love a good competition."

"Mmm," Astarion agreed, his body already racing toward the finish line under Gale's firm touch. "And I do love a good—oh!"

Gale's fingers did something particularly clever, and Astarion decided that perhaps they should do a bit more research before committing anything to paper. Between the two of them, he was sure they'd get it right.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bloodweave #Astarion Ancunín #Astarion Ancunin #astarion #Gale Dekarios #gale of waterdeep #hush betas #hush's queue

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