#weavesick

these past four months with gale have been the happiest of the spawn’s existence in the entirety of two centuries , 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. not even a decade ago , if you would have asked him what this kind of contentment felt like , he wouldn’t have had the slightest of clues. gale taught astarion how to love himself , and in turn , how to better love him. and it isn’t always easy , not every day is a walk in the park — some nights astarion finds it difficult to get out of bed. some nights he feels so haunted by his fears , he shuts down and pushes gale away. some nights he finds himself missing the sun to the point of almost falling into a depression. but —

the spawn only hopes that gale can always see through his walls , the walls he’s still working toward breaking down for good. walls that he doesn’t want to lock gale on the other side of. 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 , after all. only astarion can give the key to that — and he has. that key was handed over long ago , long before gale asked him to move back home with him. and long before gale generously built this sun - proof , light tight room in his tower the first week of astarion’s arrival that the two of them inhabit now.

there are fresh bloodstains upon brand new sheets — another set to be thrown out , but it isn’t as though the spawn can’t afford more. he did spring for a dark red silk this time , so his messy eating would be less noticeable. and in his very own lone vampire den , they are surrounded by dim candlelight. the ambience is quiet and romantic , dark reds and golds and blacks decorate the room. 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐭. and it is astarion’s favorite time of the evening ﹕ dinner time. he never just expects gale to feed him , but astarion does appreciate that gale seems to be more than willing each time. he appreciates the wizard for so much.

he has to admit , though. regardless of how accustomed to the taste of bile and acid astarion was becoming , the spawn is pleased that gale’s blood now tastes of saccharinity and rapture. and not only because it’s more pleasant to astarion’s palette , but because this taste proves that his beloved is no longer on the cusp of death. no longer is he plagued by the netherese orb and the pain that it wrought. astarion tastes gale now , and he tastes a very sweet future.

the pair lounge in astarion’s comfortable bed on the underground floor of gale’s tower , safe from the daylight outside. the spawn has gale sat between his thighs , back pressed against astarion’s front , and both of their shirts have been discarded as to avoid staining them with gale’s blood as well. one hand is gently holding gale’s soft , brown locks to one side as astarion’s hungry lips suckle from the puncture wounds his fangs had created moments before , between the wizard’s neck and his shoulder.

The bite of his words is enough to turn the briefest of flinch in her features to hot forging iron as an inquiring expression hardens. There is a the slight cant of her head with the take in of the wizard, the metaphorical hand withdrawn back and tighten of her jaw. She had noted his silence and had come to offer what solace that she could, had noted that she had hoped Elminster's message hadn't left him feeling too dejected. But the words sour her expression and a softened brow lowers over her eyes with the clench of her jaw. "And yet that does not stop you from sharing with the entire camp how neglected you feel by your Wife of a Goddess, as if every single soul within the boundaries of our tents lacks experience in neglect of their god. Shall I fetch an ink and parchment to scribe down the crimes of which you feel afflicted and we shall add them to the stack of your woes, shall I bring a wet nurse so you may suckle at her teat for every dejected thought in your mind so we may not have to suffer the consequences of hearing you whinge in our sleep."

Then her hands lift, palms up, a gesture to mock admittance. "I shall inform poor Karlach she is no longer allowed to speak on her infernal engine, Shadowheart to hush when her hand burns her, Wyll to shave his horns down so we do not see it because GALE of WATERDEEP feels spited by fate." Then she sneers and makes a show of looking him up and down, "If we could even call it that, little man." She lowers her hands, an advancing step forward, "We all have demons, we all have Gods that have spited us. Between Zariel, Vlakith, Mizora, Shar, Lolth, BHAAL, and the Absolute, I am through with you treating your plights as if you are ALONE in the conflict. If you cannot fathom a pinnacle of time outside of yourself, then you will at least play at being considerate, Wizard, for selfish is an ugly color on those grotesque mismatched bathing towels you call a robe."

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 ? what are they … to one another ? gale might say that they’re friends , but astarion hasn’t had friends before. not a single one , not one that he can remember ever having. he doesn’t know how to do this , to do whatever it is that they’re doing here. they haven’t had sex , though astarion has made the attempt early on. they haven’t even kissed , but the spawn often catches his eyes lingering upon the wizard’s lips a little too long while he’s speaking— working too hard to not be distracted , and actually listen to the words gale says. and it’s strange , to actually feel like he wants someone for once. something that once felt like a necessary , vital thing to do , for protection ( and gale is a powerful wizard , after all , and someone who seemed easy to manipulate and control ) , now feels like something else entirely.

astarion has tried to convince himself that he’s still using gale , regardless of whether or not they are having sex. gale is still a person he could get close to , without being physically intimate with him. he could still flatter him , preen at him , tell him everything he wants to hear until he’s lapping it out of the palm of astarion’s hands , but— exactly when did it stop feeling like a lie ? when did the sweet nothings he whispers start feeling like somethings ? he can’t recall—

he only knows that the simple notion of gale dying , at the demand of a goddess who is only using him like a pawn , 𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦. part of him wanted to write it off as if it was just a pesky guilty conscience , for treating gale the exact same way. but there’s more to it than that , especially now , as the wizard sits absently on the ground inside of his tent. astarion knows there’s more to it than that— because he actually cares. that annoying gnawing at his chest , his stomach tied in knots , and he doesn’t know what love is supposed to feel like. he wouldn’t know it if it fell into his lap , but … if this is love he’s feeling , it’s fucking painful.

he almost hoped gale hadn’t heard him , pale fingers combing through brown waves , dancing across the tanned flesh of his neck. these little touches weren’t new , astarion touches gale often. in little ways , here and there. astarion had no idea how much these little touches would mean to him , but here he is— touching. wanting to touch. wanting gale to know he is here with him. astarion holds breath that he doesn’t need to breathe upon gale’s ‘what?’ , unsure of what to anticipate. and perhaps annoyance isn’t exactly what the spawn had been expecting , not after saying one of the first purposefully genuine things he’s ever said to the wizard , to which astarion can’t help but react a little defensively , if only to protect feelings he doesn’t quite understand yet.

astarion bats away gale’s accusatory finger just as it’s jabbed in his direction , and suddenly his sentimental demeanor has vanished. the mask has returned. he doesn’t know how to do this. he doesn’t know how to care for people. let alone people who might quite literally blow up in flames , ❛  oh , yes , very good— i’m so happy i’m the one being ridiculous here— because for a moment there , darling , i was starting to think you might actually be considering it.  ❜ his words are half sarcastic , and half unreasonably miffed that gale seems to be angry ( unreasonably because gale should be angry. he should be furious. he should be telling mystra to go fuck herself ).

⊹₊⋆ he doesn’t have to see beneath the bandages , he doesn’t even have to smell the rot and decay souring the air— it’s becoming more obvious , outwardly. astarion wonders if it’s just getting more difficult to deal with , harder to bear the pain … or if the wizard is just allowing himself to silently ask astarion for help , 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒔𝒌.

it’s been a long day , everyone is hungry , and they’ve been relying on gale all this time to prepare their meals for them. it almost feels like they expect it at this point [ granted , he does seem to always insist ] , and when is the last time someone genuinely thanked him ?

he knows that he didn’t have to stop what he was doing to ( it’s not as if it was anything important ﹕ just reading ) to assist gale with peeling potatoes and chopping carrots. he could have very well ignored the wizard’s almost silent struggle , as he winced and sneered at what astarion can only assume is horrid pain. ignored it like the others seem to. or do they not notice ? gods , how can they not notice ?

❛ what ? you think i’m doing this because i think you’re incapable ? ❜ astarion asks plainly , not lifting his gaze from the knife as the blade chops through the carrots in small slices , ❛ quite the contrary , my dear , i think you’re very capable. too capable , one might even say. now , 𝐛𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮. it’s not like it happens often— better to just … bask in it while it lasts. ❜ his tone is light , playful. but there’s a softness there that even astarion isn’t quite used to.

gale shifts, waving off the thought it a hand. a story for later. "simply put, i would be most understanding if you did not want to take my last name and merely keep to your own. i am all too happy to share the dekarios name, delighted, even, but such if you did not wish to take it i would understand. especially given the differences in our lifespan and the probability of you living far after me."

it’s quite the image of domestication , the way the two of them lounge together in front of the fireplace on the sofa , each with their own respective reading materials. a stark contrast to how the spawn would normally be spending his evenings in the past. in this mundaneness and quiet , there is safety and shelter. 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. astarion’s eyes skim over the pages of his rather raunchy novel ( something he picked up for himself on his outing earlier in the day , when the sun was high in the sky , thanks to the plain little band wrapped around his pale finger— this was far better than even the most expensive engagement ring ) , as his free hand absently caresses the wizard’s knee , gentle fingertips stroking circles and patterns against the fabric of his trousers.

gale’s voice , a sound that was once a provocateur of a sundry of eye rolls ( and sometimes still can be , given the spawn’s mood ) , now pulls his attention in a way that is always eager to acknowledge. the wizard has a way of speaking that can sometimes cause astarion’s mind to wander in the middle , whether it be the fact that he’s focusing too hard on gale’s mouth as it moves , getting distracted by the curve of his lips and forgetting to listen , or gale is simply rambling on so long that astarion’s short attention span can’t hold concentration on the words he’s actually saying. but either way , the sound of gale’s voice is like music to astarion’s ears.

❛ understand what , darling ?  ❜ he asks , removing vermillion hues from the smutty pages to glance over at his fiancé. he makes a mental note , the same mental note he always seems to make when gale is reading , about how cute gale is in his reading glasses. but as the wizard begins to voice his thoughts , astarion finds himself growing somewhat worrisome. he hadn’t given it much thought , none , actually. it hadn’t even dawned on him that one of them might change their name , and instead of hearing gale’s words for what they are , astarion can’t help but wonder if this is gale’s way of saying he’d rather not have astarion take his name. after all , the dekarios name is a name that holds great power and admiration. what exactly has astarion done to be so deserving of it ?

𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬.

it certainly does have a nice ring to it , doesn’t it ? the spawn shifts in his seat beside the wizard , offering more direct attention and settling his book face down on the cushion beside him , ❛ you’re certain that you actually want me to have it ? ❜ there is a hint of doubt held within the tone of his voice , ❛ you aren’t afraid of a vampire spawn galavanting about for the next gods know how long with the great dekarios name ? ❜ because who knows ? given another few centuries , long after the wizard is gone from this plane of existence , what will become of astarion ancunín ? would he still be someone he’s working towards being proud of ? or will his immortality outlive the morality he’s only just now getting back ? would he still be someone gale would be proud of , in three hundred years ?

how scandalous , how alluring ! aneska would hardly expect for gale , so cordial & shrewd , to be a killer. even more , she would hardly expect for him to admit it. oh , but there's no judgement here , of course. she is no angel herself , despite her best attempts. & the truth is , to hear that the devil might sit upon her companion's shoulder , too ... it draws her to him. she's always had an appetite for the damaged. they tell much better stories.

" oh ? " & there , her intrigue is made all too apparent. he can see it , she is sure , in the way her brows raise , & the way her gaze falls so eagerly falls upon him. she imagines ( without meaning to , but she has always looked at the world through a poet's eyes ) what he might look like , in the act of it. taking a life. how his brows might furrow , & his eyes might narrow , & his hands might flex against his quarterstaff , or perhaps even the flesh of a throat.

showing up at the wizards home would have been uncomfortable for both of them and though his intentions were good natured, aksel didn't want to put the other in a position that may make him feel cornered. it was a favor, a long shot - he may not have been able to help but if he didn't ask he wouldn't know, would he? so instead of approaching him that way he'd made the journey to the academy in hopes of finding him there.

the shop had been left shut whilst he was gone, he didn't intend to stay for long and he'd be home in no time to deal with his customers. but he didn't want to have to wait to ask any longer, at least if he found the wizard in question he'd have an answer to his little problem. when he spotted the other male, aksel cautiously approached him - no doubt he probably looked out of place there. " i'm sorry for interrupting, but i was wondering if you had a moment? it can wait if not. "