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The hand removed itself from his forehead. “Temperature is normal,” Gale announced, before using its fingers to gather some stray drool that had trailed down Astarion’s jaw. Before Astarion could register the pitiful jolt of arousal at the sudden skin contact or the sheer absurdity of what Gale was doing, Gale had stuck its fingers in its mouth.
“What the —”
“No new bacteria detected,” Gale went on, “Ruling out food poisoning.”
“Oh, Gods,” Astarion groaned. “And to think that these things are what’s sending our workforce into a tizzy. What next, 'droid? Are you about to give me a rectal examination too?”
“There is no need for one at the moment,” Gale said, confused. “Unless you are seeking prostate stimulation—”
“No!”
Amidst the softly thrumming melancholy of a dystopian, cyber-punk city, former corporate-rat Astarion Ancunín, who has long since lost the will to live, finds himself in possession of a G-413 or "Gale" - an amnesiac android who, strangely enough, enjoys living.
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“An entire back is quite the undertaking for a first tattoo.”
“I’m aware.”
“I’m sure you are. And I’m also sure several of the artists whose council you sought have explained to you that a piece as large as that...well. It’s just that I’d hate for you to discover you can’t sit through something so large, and waltz out of here with half, or heaven forbid a third of a tattoo.”
He gets right up in Gale’s face. “Believe me,” he purrs, low and dark, “I can handle pain, darling.”
It might be the way he says it. The way he looks. Hell, the way he’s looking at him. Whatever it is, it’s like lightning and it shoots straight to Gale’s gut.
Something about this stranger screams trouble. Unstable, capricious. Certainly short tempered. But he’s the first bit of colour Gale has seen at Crown of Kings since he started and if he’s being honest, it’s a high he’s willing to chase.
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Turns out, it’s not heart disease that gets you. Not a car crash, the second coming, or even a plain old slip in the shower that removes you from this mortal coil.
It’s motherfucking aliens.
Your Uncle Randy would be so proud.
Or: two losers cheat, stab, and flirt their way to a win.
Series
- Part 1 of these two shitheads
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Mosquito, Puddle, Pain and Torment (and Honey) by lavvyan for shroomonabroom
Fandoms: Baldur's Gate (Video Games)
19 Apr 2024
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Gale shouldn’t be entirely startled to find a vampire standing in the middle of his foyer, wet clothes dripping on the carpet and hands cupped around something small and equally soaked through.
He shouldn’t be, and yet…
“I found her in a crate,” Astarion says, shifting his grip to reveal a tiny slip of a kitten, sodden and shivering. His expression is bemused as he looks down at the little creature.
For all Astarion’s readiness to stab those deserving and undeserving alike, cruelty to animals bewilders him. Something Gale finds endlessly charming, not that he would ever say as much.
~~~
Gale likes Astarion. Astarion likes cats. Gale might have made a slight miscalculation somewhere.
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"Marriage, Wyll? I thought you'd have learned not to get trapped by devious contracts."
Series
- Part 2 of nothing is safe
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“Ah,” Gale startled, “Forgive me. I may have had a little too much to drink, I’m afraid.”
The stranger chuckled, and the sound slid like silk down Gale’s spine.
“What’s the occasion, may I ask?”
“The worst day of my life,” Gale replied, louder than he meant to. He raised his glass in a mock toast and tossed the last of the bourbon back.
* * *
Professor Gale Dakarios loses his research, his magic, and his lover Mystra all at once and only has himself to blame. When he goes to drown his sorrows, he meets a pale stranger with mysteries of his own.
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"Volo," said Tav.
"Would taste like blackstaff wine," Astarion said. "Boisterous, bright, and unbalanced."
"I like that," said Tav. She was sprawled on cushions, sorting through their supplies for dinner. "Different from the namesake, but it works. Your turn."
"The hag," Astarion suggested.
"Oh gods," said Tav. "That's an interesting one. Something that starts lovely, but with an awful surprise. Elverquisst, but there's a rotting fish at the bottom of the bottle."
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A troupe-master bard is plucked up by the Nautiloid. She transitions from directing plays to directing an adventuring party and becomes immediate chaos-gremlin-besties with the rogue. This has a number of almost disastrous consequences and involves far more talking about feelings than any vampire should reasonably be expected to do.
A story about a bunch of traumatized people becoming better, because that can happen when you find yourself in a new place and suddenly have a support network.
Series
- Part 3 of Bard And Rogue Are Friends
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It wasn't just bad luck that Staeve was targeted. It was a calculated attack. Halsin knew well enough how a caster could examine their enemies for tells. Halsin did it himself. Considered an opponent's tactics, and guessed at the places their mind would be most vulnerable.
You didn't have to be a gifted empath to watch how Staeve hurled himself into the thick of combat, right at the biggest bandit wielding the two-handed great sword, and think that the man might be vulnerable to a spell that exploited wisdom.
The fact that it took down Astarion too, well, perhaps that one was just bad luck.
Series
- Part 2 of Astarion Nonsense
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“You know that I am Minsc, and that is Boo, but who are you?”
Astarion barely managed to contain his sigh of annoyance before he said, “Astarion.”
“Ass-tarion? An unusual name!”
He gritted his teeth. “Not ASS-tarion. Ah-starion.”
“Yes, Minsc hears the difference now, Astarion. It is good to have such a beautiful roommate!” he declared, crashing his giant frame down on his empty bed. Astarion held his breath, waiting for it to collapse, but it managed to hold together.
How in the absolute HELLS did this happen? Gods, I should have taken Gale up on his offer to room together this year. Even his constant prattle would be an improvement over whatever…THIS is.
~~~***~~~***~~~
Or, this is what happens when I have a very simple thought whilst in the shower : who would a modern AU college student Astarion consider to be the ONE roommate worse than Gale?
I have been told this work is just 'delightful', so give this silly little one-shot a go!
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The Royal Baldur Ballet's upcoming season is poised to be the most dramatic yet. With seven gorgeous ballets to stage, first soloist Astarion Ancunín is convinced this will be the season he finally shines bright enough, worthy of the rank of principal dancer. Enter Wyll Ravengard, stage left, and everything is about to change.
~*~
Wyll Ravengard is most definitely not an apprentice. Astarion knows that name, Wyll Ravengard. He won the Prix de Lausanne five or so years ago, the most prestigious competition for ballet students. Even as a student, it was clear that Wyll was going to be the ballet world’s next big star.
And now he’s here, in Astarion’s barre spot. In his rank.
Series
- Part 1 of grand adage
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“A more suspicious man might think you’re dating me for my Uber rating.”
In which Astarion is a smug, asshole lawyer, and Gale is the rich jerk who falls for him.
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In which Astarion is an ex-olympic figure skater and Gale is a famous musician. They get paired together as Dancing on Ice's first ever same sex couple. Shenanigans ensue.
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“How did you even get in? I very definitely remember locking up.”
“Ah,” Gale looks ever-so-slightly abashed. Only slightly, though. Mostly he looks a little proud of himself. “You know how the receptionist is always asleep?”
Astarion's eyebrows shoot up.
“Gale Dekarios, you shady thing.”
“I only borrowed it! He's never been awake enough to ask about spares, so. It was easier to just sort it out myself.”
“It would have been easier to ask me,” Astarion points out.
“Mmmm,” Gale hums, doubtfully. “I don't know if I'd ever consider you the ‘easier’ option, Astarion, I feel that would be doing your commitment to cantankerousness a great disservice.”
I'd be extremely easy if you weren't so fucking annoying, Astarion thinks.
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In the aftermath of a humiliating public scandal, Astarion Ancunín — a washed-up, strung-out, hot mess of a musician — takes a temporary sojourn away from the public eye. While lying low, he hires a new personal assistant by the name of Wyll Ravengard: charming, handsome, and perhaps not all he seems.
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"Wyll's the sort of prince-type I would have once dreamed of marrying. When I was about thirteen."
Series
- Part 1 of nothing is safe
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Inexhaustible Oil by orphan_account
Fandoms: Baldur's Gate (Video Games), Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
23 Mar 2024
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There was something in Astarion's voice that Elric wasn’t catching– the reason why a paladin like him was still alive in the first place. Blood welled up in a hot line across his windpipe, the dagger digging in, and Astarion’s breathing deepened as it trickled down El’s neck. The reality of it washed over him like rain.
“You want me,” he said.
“To be mine,” Astarion said, soft, “as you promised.”
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Or: a dark fantasy twist on the Ascension and its aftermath, and what it means to make choices you can't take back.
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Or: Psst. Come closer. Yeah, you. This is the absolute opposite of a redemption fic. A post-canon, fall-from-grace, "I can make you infinitely worse" kind of story, in which there is no simple happy ending. But there's mystery on the way. And dragons. True love, even. So if you're fine with that, come aboard. It's going to be a wild ride.
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When he wakes, he is on a beach, gold, looking up at the sun.
Ah, he thinks, distant. I'm dreaming.
Astarion is never quite sure, until the moment Cazador lies dead before him, whether this entire adventure is anything more than an extremely vivid hallucination.
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caught between the dark and the dreaming by Raayide
Fandoms: Baldur's Gate (Video Games)
26 Jan 2024
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Marcus holds the goblet up, still stinking with klauthgrass, and ponders them, clutched in the wretched claws of his undead monsters. "Well," he says, and smiles. "If you will not willingly drink it, I have a manner of encouragement."
And then he raises his dagger, pricks his own wrist until scarlet pools over his pale skin, and lets blood drip into the goblet.
Before he can help it, Astarion stiffens.
Astarion has spent two hundred years with truth as a bitter enemy. Fitting, then, that his choice to say it is taken from him.
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“Excuse me!”
Astarion looked up, squinting, and found a large elf waving at him from one of the stalls.
He blinked. “Me?” he mouthed, pointing at himself.
The elf nodded, smiling as he held out a jar of something golden.
“Some honey,” the elf said as Astarion drew closer. Oh, he was large. Taller and wider than Astarion could ever hope to be. His sun-kissed arms were corded and strong. “To sweeten your day.”
In which Astarion is a fashion model with an abusive manager, and Halsin is a beekeeper with a stall at the Farmer’s Market. A Modern Faerun AU.
Directly inspired by this amazing art by @Malacandrax on twitter!
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Astarion has learned that any shred of mercy must be earned, often on his back. Wyll teaches him otherwise.
This fic stands alone but Conditioning and Spontaneous Recovery are both intended to be the same timeline.
Series
- Part 2 of Astarion angst
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Summary
Astarion: HAHA! I manipulated and tricked you all into liking me and never abandoning me!
The Party: By making well-balanced decisions that met the needs of the group while helping us accomplish our short-term goals and listening to us talk when we were upset and stuff? Despite the fact you didn't always want to do that?
Astarion: Wait....
The Party: That's just friendship, stupid.
AKA: A collection of things that ostensibly happen in the same little mental universe. Loosely based on the events of an Origin Astarion run and the various questions it inspired. Not published in sequential order, but ordered somewhat by the narrative timeline.
- Words:
- 93,938
- Works:
- 9
- Bookmarks:
- 480