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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Now, Astarion was a different story. He’d had nothing, then, without anyone noticing how, he’d suddenly had a gaudy tent that was clearly sized for a family, most likely pilfered from one of the many crates belonging to the tieflings piled near the entrance to the grove. And then, joining that, there were rugs, and blankets, and a growing collection of pillows, enough to build a fort. When they were finally ready to travel to the Underdark, Astarion had tried his best to pack and wrap it all into a manageable bundle.

    Tried.

    Gale remembered the pouted look of frustration. Had wanted to laugh about it, especially considering he was still a bit bitter about Tav choosing the vampire, of all people, honestly, but then Astarion’s frustrated frown had changed ever so slightly to pained resignation. The sight of it had made something twist uncomfortably in Gale’s stomach.

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    07 Jul 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    These days, most everybody in camp had learned to wave away Astarion’s advances with a laugh. They found the flirtation titillating, Gale figured, or a bit threatening, or some combination of the two. He wondered if anybody else found it sad.
    --
    Good old-fashioned rumination on choice and compulsion. Gale and Astarion shake off their metaphorical shackles.

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    05 Jul 2026

  3. Public Bookmark 78

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    “I’ll have you know that I fully intended to take care of myself this evening, whether before or after your appearance!” Gale huffed, “… And I don’t see what is so scandalous about being prepared!” 


    Gale finds himself in a bit of an awkward situation, and for once Astarion is happy to lend a hand.

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    27 Mar 2026

  4. Rec *

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    He could say later that he stepped forward because of the silence spell. His arsenal smothered. He had no choice.

    But Gale knows that even if he had the entire Weave at his fingertips, for once in his miserable life, he’d go without.

    He’ll use his hands.

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    20 Mar 2026

  5. Public Bookmark 73

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    That is the real generosity at the heart of his offer, Astarion supposes. There is no expectation. He is free to let his mask slip, free to disengage without any dreadful, half-truth excuses when it does. He’s been given a willing body to taste at his leisure. Astarion may come, if he wishes to. Or he may not. A smile, a shrug, and no further justification needed on either side. All that matters is what he wants.

    Ugh. He does hate that Gale is so thoughtful.

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    18 Mar 2026