Bonk!

Writing and (occasional) art sideblog of a shy little creature. 18+ MDNI. She/They // 27 // Permanent Inmate at the Horny Jail

[thresher-art]

Masterlist

Hi! I'm Thresher (she/they)! Welcome to my writing sideblog 💜

Right now I'm writing for Baldur's Gate 3, but that may expand depending where the inspiration brainworms take me. I generally write reader inserts with an AFAB!Reader.

Fics with a Asterisk(*) contain either slight or full-on Smut/18+ Content!

Baldur's Gate 3

Note: Most of my fics contain mentions of background Tadpolycule (everyone at camp dating), regardless of the ship in focus.

Astarion

Nesting(*)

Ruin Me Sweetly(*)

Hurtful Words(*)

The Mind Reader: Part 1, Part 2(*), Part 3(*), Part 4, Part 5(*) [HIATUS]

Headcanons

Wash Day

Peg Him(*) (Wyll, Gale, Astarion, Rolan)

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Bucky Barnes

Sunken: Part 1

[thresher-art]

Sunken Chapter 2

Pairing: Cecaelia!Bucky Barnes X Cecaelia!Reader

Summary: Despite heeding the warnings to stay away from that massive shipwreck and the terrible monster that supposedly lives within, trouble has the habit of finding you anyways.

Chapter Notes: Bucky and you both can't stop thinking about your encounter. You make a decision that may or may not be reckless.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, eventual romance, eventual smut, Sexual harrassment (not from Bucky), fighting, slight gore/body horror (mentions of a body being crushed, descriptions of bodies molding to fit into their surroundings), Bucky being bad at feelings, tags to be updated by chapter/full taglist on AO3

A/N: This took a while to finish, life is hectic and I've got other WIPs buzzing around in my head but I'm glad people seemed to enjoy the previous part so - on to the next!

Word Count: 4.6k

AO3

Previous / Next

The shipwreck is undisturbed as usual when Bucky makes it back.

Aside from a few stray schools of little fish, who live comfortably in the knowledge that they're much too small to be satisfactory prey for a creature like him, nothing ever wanders here. Bucky prefers it that way, to have his lair be a place where he can settle and brood in peace.

It also means nobody will even dare to try and steal his catch.

Bucky winds through the torn hull of the ship straight into his main lair. It's located in what was once the freezer hall of this boat, and is the only chamber he can completely stretch out in.

He doesn't have the fondest memory of this ship considering he is the one who sunk it, but it's now the only thing he knows to call home.

Bucky shoves the tuna carcass into the corner farthest from the entrance. The little fish might nibble on it, but larger thieves won't make it past him.

Then he tucks himself into the other corner and unfurls his tentacles.

Sweetling.

He'd called you sweetling.

Bucky presses his palms into his eyes in frustration and groans.

As if it hadn't been obvious to you both that he was much older than you. He just had to go ahead and call you 'sweetling', a term of endearment the elders of his youth once used.

Spirits above and trenches below, he should've just swam off. All it took was a shiny-eyed young female for him to lose all composure.

Mating between age groups isn't unheard of amongst their kind. But knowing that he'd just gotten you out of Rumlow's slippery fins, that you'd clearly been distressed and seen him as some form of saviour, coupled with your age difference makes Bucky feel...gross.

Especially since he's gone many, many mating seasons without a partner. No other Cecaelian has touched him in decades, and you were unfortunate enough to be the one creature to cross his path.

Bucky's tendrils twitch, feeling disgusted with himself.

It didn't help that you were oh-so-curious about him. That your eyes sparked with interest, twirling around him without a care as you so obviously examined him, how you eagerly let your tentacles explore his own. How quickly you got accustomed to having him close as he trilled at you, soothed you with his own skin.

He hopes you're clever enough to stay away. That your curious little mind doesn't dare to follow him. Most members of the consortium don't venture so far out, aside from when they leave as a hunting party. You being alone with not even Sam chasing after you tells him you have a tendency to wander off.

He hopes, prays, to the spirits and the stars you don't chase after him.

----------

You are trying your very best to not let on that maybe, just maybe, you might have met the Cecaelian your consortium so thoroughly shuns yesterday.

Sam had been deeply concerned at your hasty return, and you'd told him you'd simply been shaken from your encounter with Rumlow.

Sam, responsible leader that he is, had doubled the scouts around the territory to ensure the bull shark hybrid doesn't dare to return to these waters.

Sam doesn't need to know that Rumlow probably won't be back. Not after Bucky humiliated him so thoroughly.

You're grateful Sam is allowing you to stay in to guard the eggs. It lets you sit with your thoughts and feelings as you gently sway the hanging eggs in their cave with your siphons.

Your thoughts circle around Bucky.

See, visiting Steve is frowned upon. As an exile, none in the consortium are to be seen with him, all for the crime of having abandoned them for the surface world. But anyone bumping into Steve likely wouldn't attack him on sight. He had hurt them all with his departure, left an unstable hierarchy in Sam's hands for him to figure out, but...

...he's still Steve. The most people will do is shake their heads in disapproval.

Bucky is an entirely different case.

Most will not even speak his name. All the youngsters know about him is that he's a horrendous, corrupted creature, too dangerous to even be around. Trenches, all you knew about the Cecaelian in the shipwreck was that he was a monstrous being, capable of immense destruction, one who would slay his kin on sight.

The Cecaelian you met yesterday was nothing like that. Sure, from his display you can conclude that he most definitely is capable, both mentally and physically, of committing great acts of violence. But he had only met Rumlow with that, not you.

With you he was...oddly caring. An unusually shy, male Cecaelian, trying to soothe you to the best of his ability. He could've easily killed you. But he didn't.

Bucky is no monstrous creature. He might be abnormally large, but once he'd made sure to show you he wasn't a threat, you were able to look at him more closely.

And as you sit here, rocking the eggs in your self-made current, you realize exactly what you'd felt when your tentacles explored his.

You're realizing that you've never met a male that's captured your attention like this.

It's a sign of impending doom, really. You can't ever share this with anybody, can't tell you'd even gotten peripherally close enough to the shipwreck for Bucky to find you.

But now that he has, and now that you know what awaits in the shipwreck isn't some deep-sea horror, but rather a mysterious Cecaelian, your interest is piqued.

You want to try and see him again, if only to sate your curiosity.

You ponder over it for the rest of the day.

----------

"Trust me, Octoling, if that parasite ever comes back here, I will break his bones," Yelena boasts as she coasts through the water, whipping her elegant, slender tail fin for dramatic effect.

You smile at the thresher shark-hybrid as she flits around your group. You instantly believe she would. One good hit from her tail is enough to stun any predator - you have no doubt she could easily kill Rumlow if she gives him a good beating.

"That's too good for him," Ava pipes up, voice soft as seafoam. "I could just drag him down into a trench."

Yelena's tail twitches in excitement, delighted at the idea of having Rumlow's body be crushed by the merciless force of the depths. "Oooh. Good idea!"

Ava's tentacles shiver in approval, the colours of the corals refracting through her odd skin.

Where Bob is miserable at camouflage, Ava is too good at it. Instead, she has trouble staying visible at all. Her tentacles are transparent, and on occasion so is her torso. Sometimes, she lights up, which makes Sam suspect she's a drifter from beyond the drop-off, hatched in dark seas so deep that the sun doesn't reach. Ava claims she doesn't remember much - only darkness and pain, all-consuming pain, and one day, finally, light.

She's still in pain here, the sun and the lighter pressure don't quite agree with her. But she says her time down in the deep hurt much, much worse, and here, she can at least spook some other creatures for laughs.

You'd met for a little gathering. The three of you are watching Bob as he holds on to Walker's dorsal fin, joining him as he breaches the surface to do his flips and spins. You hear Walker's joyful clicks, a language that's so foreign to you yet one that has also become familiar, and Bob's cheerful trills. You and Ava hold each other's tentacles in an effort to keep her present and thus also visible, while Yelena swims graceful figure-eights above you.

You still have a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that Yelena will suffocate if she ever stops moving. Having to be constantly moving would make hiding and resting much harder. Meanwhile, Yelena moves even when she sleeps. Her dead-eyed expression had scared your soul out of you when you'd run into her taking a nap once.

You suppose every one of your bodies have some sort of drawback. You Cecaelians are masters at camouflage, and feel everything much more keenly by way of your tentacles, yet you're slower, often smaller than most and don't have the sharpest of weaponry on your body. Walker can spin joyfully and is a master at hunting even the smartest of prey, but he must resurface once in a while to breathe. And Yelena might have to be in constant motion, but in turn, she has sharp claws, sharper teeth, and her lovely, slender tail she can use as a weapon.

Yelena is an oddball, an honorary member of the consortium. As a pup, she was taken in by a solitary Cecaelian for a while, one Yelena describes as the reddest Cecaelian she's ever seen. Now, she's simply fond of your kind, and stays around in your territory.

Sam tolerates her presence, if only because Yelena once saved Bob from a rowdy group of adolescent shark hybrids.

You truly make a strange group. A dolphin with no pod, two Cecaelians with opposite camouflage defects, an unusually quirky shark and you, with too much curiosity and no sense for self-preservation. But odd as you and all of them might be - they're family.

Yelena eventually proposes a spinning competition to Walker, with Bob being the judge. Bob whoops and hollers as he twists through the water and air clinging to Walker's back, and cheers even louder as Yelena launches them into air. In the end, he is far too shy to pick a winner, so Yelena and Walker, competitive as they are, demand that Ava and you be the judges instead.

You're biased towards Yelena and her pretty tail fin. You can feel through your contact with her that Ava agrees. But devious as she is, she picks Walker, and relishes in the chaos that ensues, with both competitors loudly arguing like pups throwing a tantrum. Bob tries, and fails, to calm them down, and Ava's laugh echoes through the reef.

You love your group of oddballs. But you can't bring yourself to mention Bucky to them. You'd like to believe they would never hurt you - but you don't know if they would once they learn the truth of what happened yesterday.

----------

The next morning, you make up your mind.

You're going to try and find Bucky.

You give yourself the excuse that you just want to drop by, maybe give him a gift. Something to thank him for taking care of you.

You even know what to get. A reef not too far from here has been overrun by sea urchins. He'd given you a delicacy, and you'd give him one in return.

Sam eyes you with worry when you make your way out.

"You sure you're okay to go out alone again?" He asks, concern flashing through his eyes, all across his tentacles.

You nod confidently. "Yeah. Can't let one stupid bull shark deter me from my routines, right?"

You can tell Sam isn't quite convinced, but that he doesn't want to smother you, either.

"You sure you wanna go alone? I can ask Yelena to go with you," he offers.

You decline politely. "I don't want to stay cooped up here, and I'm not a pup. I'll be fine, Sam, I'll be more aware now. If something's wrong, I'll swim back to our territories, I promise."

It's the best he'll get out of you for now, so Sam reluctantly lets you go. You gleefully flitter away to the reef, happy for the first time to find it covered in urchins.

Urchins are finnicky things to eat. Larger specimen of your kind have trouble getting them open, often too clumsy to break their shells without completely crushing them. You, however, have no problems with cracking their shells with just the right amount of force.

You pick the urchins off the reef with ease. Your pouch is stuffed to the brim in no time, and so you take off towards the shipwreck.

You take care to go more stealthily this time. Your body shifts, flattens and folds accordingly, your bones warping to accommodate the shape, the shade of your skin changing in tune. To a more untrained eye, you look little different than a manta ray, soaring through the water. You try and keep your movements smooth, and your own scent subtle. You don't need another incident.

The ocean currents swiftly carry you towards the shipwreck. You can't sense another hybrid around on the way there, and enjoy the leisurely swim, watching shimmering schools of fish as you pass them.

Your carefree swim ends when you start approaching the shipwreck.

It's amazing, really, how large Bucky's territory must be. You think the shipwreck is still a ways ahead, and yet you can feel him in the waters, can faintly taste his scent amongst the salt. The scent feels like a warning to any hybrid who might pass by - someone dangerous prowls these waters.

You're not deterred by his warning. It only tells you that you're closer to your goal. He's here, and you get to see him again.

---------

Inside his den in the ship, Bucky is curled up and dozing.

He'd picked at the tuna carcass earlier and decided to nap after having eaten his fill. The waters are rather still today, so Bucky feels it's a good day to laze about.

He's about to slip into a soft, dreamless sleep, when suddenly, he senses a presence at the border of his territory. A Cecaelian.

Bucky heaves out a deep, tired breath, water filtering through the gills on his ribs, through the siphons at his hips.

He hopes whoever was fool enough to come here isn't looking for a fight. He's tired of fighting.

He takes another deep breath, and startles when he slowly begins to recognise the faint scent slowly inching closer to his den.

It's you.

Of course, it's you.

You, with your eyes full of starshine and too much curiousity in your pretty head.

With a groan, Bucky rights himself. He ought to give you a proper greeting, he thinks, as he slides out of the shipwreck and his skin slowly shifts to match the colour and texture of the ocean floor.

----------

It's eerily quiet, you think, as you get ever closer to the shipwreck.

Bucky's scent is even more intense now. It sends tingles all across your skin, and you shiver with budding excitement.

You know you're taking a gamble on whether or not he would actually be pleased to see you in his territory, but you have high hopes that he'd at least let you flee before thinking to lash out at you.

As the shipwreck slowly comes into view through the deep blue waters, you can't help but feel...disappointed.

With the way the elders of the consortium spoke of it, you'd imagined this excessively large, humungous beast of a ship, at least the size of a blue whale or two. But as you swim closer, you realize it's at most the size of a large commercial fishing ship. One of those that drag massive nets across the ocean floor and slug schools upon schools of fish out of the water.

It's the same with Bucky, you realize. He's not at all like the terrifying, tentacled creature they whisper about in hushed tones. He's large, and definitely dangerous. But nothing like in the tales.

The hull of the ship is burst open - from the inside. You always thought the monster in the stories had ripped the ship apart from the outside, deliberately tearing it in half and drowning humans for entertainment. But this? This looks like something was desperate to leave the ship.

Was...was Bucky in there? Trapped? The ship seems large enough to carry him, especially with his tentacles curled together.

Why was he on that ship? Had he...had humans somehow managed to capture him? How?

Before you can ponder more on it, you catch the sand stirring in a way it definitely shouldn't with the way the current is moving. Your body goes rigid, but you can't even try to turn around when a voice husks close to your ear.

"Curious little pup, aren't you?"

----------

Bucky has to commend you a little - you did notice his movements eventually. A touch too late to escape someone like him, of course, but at least you're not completely oblivious.

He does not know what to make of it that you seem to relax the moment you recognize his voice. He wants to stamp out that sense of security. You shouldn't have a desire to come see him. A sweet, young thing like you should stay safe with the consortium, not venture out to meet exiles like him.

"And disobedient, too," he grumbles. "Following me here when I told you not to."

You slowly turn around to face him. A small, sheepish smile creeps onto your face.

"You didn't say I shouldn't come find you," you say. "Just that I shouldn't mention I saw you to anyone."

Bucky lets out a growl. It's not angry, much more exasperated, which makes your smile widen. You're right about that, of course. But he'd figured you'd be smart enough not to swim right into a monster's den.

"And yet, every hybrid in the region knows not to come here. Unspoken rules are rules too, sweetling."

Bucky tries not to cringe at the word. It just slipped out. But really, he can't help himself, not when you stare at him with those curious eyes, wide-eyed and in awe. He can't help but call you that. You seem to respond to it, too, a slight shade of excited red brightening across your tentacles.

"I figured I could break that one this time," you say sheepishly, and reach for your pouch. "I brought...a gift. To thank you for last time."

You reach inside and pull out an urchin. Bucky's brows shoot up in surprise. The entire pouch is stuffed full of urchins. You delicately crack one open, exposing the creamy flesh inside.

"I don't know how it is for you, but most of the larger Cecaelians I know have trouble with urchins," you reason, holding it out to him. "So I thought that maybe, you'd like these?"

You look so genuine, so hopeful, without an ounce of fear in your eyes. Like the worst thing he could do is tell you he despises the taste of urchins (he doesn't, it's been ages since he's had them because you're right about larger Cecaelians having trouble cracking them open).

It makes something inside Bucky melt.

It's been so long since he's even met another of his kind, and here you are, bringing him delectable gifts.

"I...do like these," Bucky says quietly.

Your eyes light up, and you move the urchin closer to him, inviting him to partake. Bucky carefully plucks some of the delicious, creamy flesh out and sticks it into his mouth. The flavour bursts on his tongue, and his tentacles twitch in satisfaction.

He can't even remember the last time he'd tasted urchins. They're far too small to sustain him, and he could much more easily hunt for larger prey that won't poke and prod at the sensitive pads of his hands and fingers and keep him fed longer. Something so small like this is a succulent treat he hasn't allowed himself since he came to live alone.

His pleasure at the taste is obvious to you, because you smile wide and reach for your pouch again.

"I can crack them open and leave them for you," you offer. "If you'd like to be alone."

You're unusually conscious of his boundaries. What few Cecaelians that were fool enough to ever cross his territory usually came ready for a fight, the rumors having spread far beyond the bounds of Sam's consortium that a terrible monster lived amongst the shipwreck. Bucky has sent those away severely injured, or worse.

You're no threat. You're curious, and oddly sweet to a creature as wretched as him. And deeply conscious of the fact that, while he might not kill you on sight, he might not appreciate you lingering.

It's been so long since he's socialised with another Cecaelian. He's never been the most social of his kind, but he'd never been born of the sort that was used to live in isolation. Living amongst a consortium ensured you got used to seeing others, sharing your life with others of your kind.

He hadn't had that in years.

"We can share them," Bucky says against his better judgement. "If you'd like."

Something warm settles in the pit of his stomach at the way your face lights up with joy, the way your tentacles swish through the waters in clear excitement, flashing red.

You reach into your pouch, crack open another urchin, and hand it towards him again.

"I would love to," you say warmly, and Bucky feels as if he's doomed.

----------

The two of you quietly snack on the urchins you've brought. You don't force conversation, something Bucky is grateful for. He's no longer good with words, worried he'll say the wrong thing, now that he's decided to keep you around.

Strange. Just a moment before he wanted nothing more to get rid of you. Now the idea of scaring you off sickens him.

Perhaps he's been too lonely for too long. Perhaps the waters around the shipwreck are actually soaked with strange, human poison that has now addled his mind.

You watch him as curiously as you did the first time you met. Like you can scarcely believe he's even real.

Bucky doesn't exactly mind having your eyes on him. It reminds him of his younger days, before he was exiled, and lovely females would flutter around him, excited at gaining his attention and approval.

But you have no business being so...attracted to him. He almost feels sorry that you seem to be. There is no future to be had with him, not in the same way you're used to from the consortium. His is a life of solitude, away from any form of community. You even associating with him would mark you as an exile yourself.

It'd be cruel to pluck you from the safety of the life you've always known, no matter how very tempting you are.

Bucky notices your curiosity is not just limited to him. The shipwreck itself seems to...confuse you. Like something about it bothers you.

"There's a reason our kind warns each other not to come here," Bucky says quietly. "It's...unsettling, even without the creature living inside."

You shake your head at him. "That's not it," you reply. "It's nothing like in the stories I've been told."

Bucky quirks a brow at you. "Oh? And what is it like in the stories?"

You shrug, and Bucky is alarmed at the fact that you almost seem...disappointed.

"Much worse, for sure," you tell him. "I imagined it much, much larger. Large enough to carry a few whales, maybe. And with the way they described the destruction the creature who sunk it caused, I always thought it'd be split clean in two."

You look at the ship. "But this...this is just a ship those two-leggers use to fish. And it wasn't attacked and torn apart from the seas. Something inside..."

You shake off that line of thought. Bucky releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He doesn't want you thinking about how it'd been him who had been trapped. He doesn't want you asking questions about it when he can't even stand to remember it without feeling sick.

Your head turns again so you can meet his gaze.

"Anyway, it's not at all what I expected," you say with a smile. "Neither are you."

"What did you expect of me?" Bucky asks, already worried about the answer.

"Something horrid, between Cecaelian and beast, with an endless rage that'd drive you to kill any living creature that comes close to you."

You're honest, Bucky has to commend you on that. He's not surprised that those amongst the consortium that were there when everything went straight into a trench would paint him to be like that, a senseless monster with a lust for violence.

Your smile tilts upward again, however.

"I did not expect the monster from the stories of my youth to be quite so...handsome," you confess earnestly, eyes raking over his face and body.

Bucky feels his skin heat at your boldness. "Cheeky pup," he quips, and watches as you flush in annoyance.

"I'm no pup," you insist. "I've lived through more than fifty winters. I know I'm no elder, but I didn't hatch a decade ago."

Your tentacles swish in irritation, a sight that Bucky finds alarmingly...cute.

He realizes too late that his amusement must be written all over his face, because you huff indignantly.

"Regardless of what you think of me, I am old enough to know what I want."

"And what is it you want, sweetling?"

There it is again. Bucky is concerned at how easily the petname comes across his lips, even more so when he notices how you seem to appreciate it.

"I want to know more about this supposed monster that lives here," you say honestly. "The tales made me believe he would kill me on sight. Instead, he protected me from a bull shark, fed me tuna and is snacking on urchins with me. You are not what I thought you'd be, Bucky, and I want to know more about you."

The tips of your tentacles unfurl, reaching for his. Bucky's own subconsciously move to meet yours, and once more, he can feel you, taste you, and all that you are.

"You are far too curious for your own good, sweetling," he murmurs into the waters, keenly aware of how he's drifting ever closer to you.

"Maybe," you reply. "And yet you've done nothing to scare me off."

You blink up at him innocently, though he knows you're only feigning it. There's a soft, subtle heat to it, one that can still fade out if he makes sure to show you that he is not someone to associate with.

But it's been so long since someone looked at him like that.

"Do you want to?" You ask.

Bucky's tentacles twitch against yours. He can't recall the last time he's ever felt...almost nervous.

"Do I want what?" He asks.

"To scare me off," you say.

He should. He should not encourage you to stay here, with a wretched creature like him.

His treacherous voice thinks otherwise.

"No," he says, and some part of him wishes he could take it back. "I don't want to scare you off."

Your eyes brighten at that.

"May I stay, then?" You ask, your gaze hopeful.

Bucky chokes back his worry. He's already come this far, is in too deep. He'll be your end and he knows it, but he's been too lonely for too long and you're here and willing and so unafraid.

It's selfish and cruel. And yet, despite knowing you'd both be better off if he sends you away, his lips move on their own.

"Yes," he says. "You can stay."

Your face manages to restrain its excitement, yet Bucky can feel it through your skin. His chest feels tight, but he can't pinpoint whether it's guilt, or relief at the fact that, after decades of solitude, he's found a creature willing to break all social convention just to spend a moment more in his presence.

[thresher-art]

Sunken (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Cecaelia!Bucky Barnes X Cecaelia!Reader

Summary: Despite heeding the warnings to stay away from that massive shipwreck and the terrible monster that supposedly lives within, trouble has the habit of finding you anyways.

Warnings: [EDIT: 18+ MDNI, eventual romance, eventual smut] Sexual harrassment (not from Bucky), fighting, slight gore/body horror (mentions of a body being crushed, descriptions of bodies molding to fit into their surroundings), tags to be updated by chapter/full taglist on AO3

A/N: Bucky Barnes just revived me from a two-year writing hiatus. I have nothing to say for myself. Not proof-read.

Also: A 'consortium' is apparently the word for a group of octopodes! And both reader and Bucky are Octopus-Merpeople (Cecalian)

Word Count: 5.9k

AO3

Next

It's a beautiful day out in the deep.

You smoothly glide through the water. Your duties for the day are done. You've helped the pups hunt for their very first crabs, taught them how to crack them open safely. You've also taken over a shift of guarding the unhatched eggs, giving Sarah a moment of respite to hunt for herself and rest.

Now, you're free to do as you please. You rummage through your little cave, retrieving your pouch to get ready for your daily swim.

You pass by Walker just as he zips up to the surface, breaching with his flashy grace and spinning in the air. The other females of the consortium only roll their eyes at his display. Walker's been trying to get the attention of a female ever since he's come to live with them. But you Cecaelians don't exactly appreciate this boisterous display.

You often wonder why he still tries. Walker is part spinner-dolphin, and while he could definitely mate with one of your kind, it takes a great deal of trust and affection for a female to expose her secondary sex entrance for him to even get the act done in the way his kind would enjoy.

So far, Walker's been without luck. He's gotten his fair share of rejections, having spurts of ink shot in his face often enough that you all wonder whether his silly dolphin self actually enjoys it. You know his kind have an affinity for enjoying poison in small doses.

He calls out your name as he dives low again, waving you over with a smile.

"You heading out for today?" He asks, swimming up to your side.

Your tentacles lazily billow around you, a not-so-subtle way of making him keep his distance. These dolphins are much too social for you, with little sense for personal space. But Walker's at least learned to read Cecaelian colour patterns, and knows that for now, you're relaxed enough to keep him at this exact distance.

"Yes. The pups and eggs are taken care of, so I'm out hunting for oysters," you tell him.

Walker flashes you a toothy smile. "You want some company?"

You smile right back. "One day, maybe. But that day's not today, Walker."

Walker takes your rejection in stride. At this point, it's devolved to a game he plays with the females of the consortium, and once again, you question whether or not he might even enjoy the rejection.

But you don't mind Walker's presence too much. He knows to back off as soon as he's told - a stark difference from the usual dolphin male - and helps Sam, Joaquin and the other stockpile food for the consortium. You don't want to leave him hanging.

"Maybe you could keep Bob some company instead?" You offer, and your skin emits small stripes of white when you notice how Walker flushes. "Take him on a hunt, maybe?"

Bob is a fellow Cecaelian, a sweet one, but born with a little defect. His shapeshifting is a touch damaged, the spectrum being a pure, inky black all over his body, to a natural blue colour, and finally a glittering gold. He's terrible at camouflaging, and often stays on the very outskirts of your cave system for fear of drawing someone straight to the heart of it.

As if the strange, rowdy spinner dolphin wasn't the one sticking out like a bright, flashy coral.

Walker seems receptive to the idea, and swims off.

Satisifed, you go and find Sam to let him know your heading out.

When you finally find him, he's already halfway through scolding Joaquin for whatever nonsense he might have gotten himself into. Sam's skin is pulsing with deep crimson, showcasing pure annoyance, why Joaquin flashes sheepishly. When he sees you floating by, Joaquin waves at you eagerly, hoping to get out of his predicament.

Sam turns to see you come closer. The moment his back is turned, Joaquin attempts to flit off, only for Sam to hold him back with the tight grasp of a tentacle. Joaquin puffs out in defeat.

"What'd he do this time?" You ask with an amused smile.

"Thought chasing after a lionfish because it was pretty was a good idea," Sam explains. "Got himself caught up in a swarm of them and forgot he could simply shoo them off by pretending to be the biggest one of them. Almost got his dumbass stung."

Joaquin grins at you sheepishly. You only shake your head at him. Youngsters and their nonsense.

Then again, Sam is well aware you don't stick to all the rules when you're out and about.

"You headin' out?" Sam asks.

You nod. "Looks like a good day for oysters today."

Sam trills in agreement. Then he floats in close, claps a tendril on your shoulder.

"Be safe out there," he reminds you. "Water can be shallow, don't want you ending up in any nets."

"Heard," you reply.

Sam leans in further, lowering his voice to a quiet whisper. "And tell the old man I said 'hi'."

You repress your smile, and nod at him eagerly. Sam squeezes your shoulder once more, then retreats.

"And remember, stay away from-"

"-the shipwreck, I know. Wouldn't want Great-Grandpappy Kraken to eat me, either."

Sam shoots you a glare, but you dash away with a laugh. As you leave, you hear Sam resume his scolding, and Joaquin's distressed trill.

-----------

The shipwreck carries a certain amount of intrigue to you.

The elder members of the consortium, including Sam, don't often like losing word about what exactly lurks there. But Sam knows you, your ever curious mind, and your exploratory nature. So he mercifully told you more about it in secret.

The ship - a large, metal beast, carrying strange human tools and weaponry - was torn asunder by one of your kind. A Cecaelian, well into his first century, seemingly powerful enough to tear through human-made metal. A Cecaelian of legend, one who could tangle with great whites and orcas, even sperm whales and come out unscathed.


But one who, in his destructive nature, also lashed out at the consortium, once, leaving death and injury in his wake. He's since been shunned, with scouts from that era reporting he made his lair in the ship he'd once sunk.

But that'd been over sixty years ago, a decade before you had ever even hatched. No one knew nowadays if that Cecaelian - no one dared named him kin anymore - was still there, if he had moved on, or was even still alive.

Sam refused to tell you what that male was like, despite the fact that he likely was there to witness these events himself.

You've dubbed the male 'Great-Grandpappy Kraken'. Sam glares at you whenever you use that nickname.

Despite your curiousity, your destination is perhaps not as taboo, yet a secret one, nonetheless. Sam generously keeps your secret, if only because he himself can never join you. He has his duties as leader of the consortium, and he, of all Cecaelians, could not be seen coming here.

You take your time diving for oysters. You're in no rush. You pick out the most promising-looking ones, hoping there will be at least a few pearls in some of them, too. You collect enough to fill your pouch, then head closer to the coastline, where your true destination lies.

Steve is lazily floating in his tide pool when you arrive. He's an aged, weathered old Cecaelian, wrinkled and grey. His control over his colour-changing ability has waned with age, leaving his tentacles a dull, pearlescent white permanently.

His appearance is far too aged for one his age. He's not even past his third century. Yet he looks much like those living past their seventh, those who know in their souls that they'll be joined with the ocean soon.

Steve had once been your consortium's leader. Had held that position since Sam himself had been a pup. But Steve was drawn by another calling - a human woman, enamoured with the sea as much as she was with him. He left the consortium before the great disaster with Great-Grandpappy Kraken, shifted his tentacles into legs to walk alongside his landbound mate.

He lived as a human, and in turn, also aged as a human. Steve only heeded the call of the sea once his human mate had passed, and though the rate of his aging has slowed again, he still looks aged and worn.

Steve now lives in a grotto by the beach. His human descendants live close by, and come to see their very own 'great-grandpappy kraken' from time to time. His human children, now aged themselves, had their own offspring and those bred their own as well. Of all of them, none of them managed to inheirit Steve's Cecaelian biology.

You'd consider it lucky if none of the coming generations inheirit it, either. No one knows how long Steve truly has left to live, and no human should be left navigating the oceans, their culture alone. It'd likely be a death sentence, both carried out by humans and Cecaelians alike.

You're not supposed to be visiting Steve. Steve is an outcast, shunned by the consortium for abandoning them. But you've always had a soft spot for him. As a pup, you'd once swam too close to shore and gotten yourself stranded. You'd been far too uncoordinated to safely navigate back to water, but luckily, Steve, in human form, had carried you back into the waves.

You'd recognized him immediately when he returned to the consortium decades later in his aged state, and watched the pain flash across Sam's skin as he banished his old leader - and likely, his longtime friend.

You'd snuk out to try and find Steve later, wanting to thank him for having once saved you, and so had discovered that Steve had made this beachside grotto his home.

You're friendly, familial, even. You Cecaelians don't keep direct track of bloodlines, only sniffing out through pheromones exuded during mating season whether or not a potential mate's genes would match well with your own, and are raised communally, before you stay in the consortium or branch out on your own. You don't actually have a direct grandfather - but Steve feels a little like one.

Steve slowly rights himself as you swim in through the seaside entrance, and pulls himself out of the tide pool to give you space. Despite his age, Steve is still an unusually large Cecaelian, his tentacles almost unfathomably long. You float in the pool, and reach out to touch the tips of your tentacles to his in greeting.

"Good to see you, pup," Steve wrasps.

"Good to see you, you old mollusk," you greet back.

Steve regards you with a smile. Much like he has become a grandfather to you, you've become his grandchild. He never sired pups during his time leading the consortium, never having found a mate that truly matched with him.

You eagerly pull up your pouch. "I brought oysters."

The corners of Steve's eyes crinkle. "I'd hoped you would. Samantha brought me lemons last time she came."

Samantha is Steve's human child. You often feel a twinge of sadness hit you when he speaks of her. She is old herself now - you've caught a peek of her when she came for a surprise visit. You'd submerged yourself deep into the pool, warped skin and bone to become one with the rocks, and she hadn't noticed you.

You hadn't had the heart to tell Sam Steve loved him enough to name his child after him. It had always felt like a cruelty. Not when Sam couldn't permit himself to come meet her himself.

Samantha still visits her father when she can. The trip down to the beach get more and more difficult for her, so the visits have lessened in recent times. But she always comes bearing gifts, and Steve always painfully shifts back to his human form so he and his daughter can scour the beach for oysters together.

Steve reaches for something. He retrieves two yellow fruit - lemons, as you have learned. Humans pair them with oysters, a combination you enjoy. You shuck the oysters, and Steve slices the lemon. You cheer when you find four pearls amongst the lot, and hand them to Steve. Samantha, as well as her own daughter, are human jewellery makers. Humans don't trade like you do, but Steve has explained that pearls hold great value to them. You like knowing you're helping Steve and his offspring out, if only a little.

The two of you snack on your oysters and chat. Steve asks how the consortium is doing. You tell him of Walker's latest stunts, of Joaquin's scolding, and how this season's pups are coming along. Steve, in turn, tells you how his grandchildren's pups are growing, how they are faring at their human school.

The human world does sound intriguing when seen through Steve's eyes. Despite your curiosity, you've no desire to walk on two legs yourself. You dislike the way wind bites at your skin, and the ocean is so vast and endless, you wish to explore as much as you can of it before even considering stepping foot on dry land. So for now, you content yourself with Steve's stories.

The sun is slowly setting by the time you finish all your oysters. Steve gives you a knowing look.

"You should head home before it gets dark," he says. "Before you get into any trouble."

You can't disagree. You can navigate well enough at night, but you'd rather not run into anything testy in the dark. Besides, you still want to stretch out your tentacles some more, see if you can't find any pretty things to add to your collection, or just swim alongside some interesting fish.

"Trouble somehow always finds me first," you argue, and Steve smiles.

"That's what I'm worried about, pup."

"Anything I should bring next time?" You ask. Steve is still strong enough to hunt for himself, but you don't want him to overexert himself.

Steve shakes his head. "Anything you bring is always welcome, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll see if I can sneak anything off of Walker next time he comes back from a hunt. I can flash my arms at him all pretty, he won't say 'no'," you assure.

Steve splashes you with a bit of water. "Don't tease him too much, pup. He's already a dolphin without a pod, I think he's suffered enough."

You grin. "I think he could always suffer a bit more. Besides, he has Bob."

You bid Steve goodbye, before diving out through the underwater tunnel. You swim out into deeper waters, out into more distant reefs. You eventually find a group of blacktip-reef sharks, lazily swimming circles, scouting for fish. These aren't much of a danger to you, in fact, you much prefer them to some of their more sentient relatives. You trill to make your presence known, and they easily let you settle in the sand beneath them, your tentacles spread out wide around you.

Steve ones told you humans feared sharks. You'd agree on some species - you wouldn't be able to fend off a great white unscathed - but these blacktips tend to be quite docile around your kind. You've even noted that some of them enjoy being scratched gently with your hands.

You recognize one such shark. She lowers herself closer to the sand, swimming ever closer to you. You scratch her quite often, especially when you need to be alone and drift off into your thoughts. You reach out to scratch at her snout, her fins, and she visibly relaxes. A sweet girl, eventhough you're sure no human would believe you.

You're so lost in your reverie, in feeling her rough skin and the small, electromagnetic waves that surround her, that for a moment, you're blindsided by the presence of a newcomer.

"So you do play nice with sharks after all, little squid."

Your tentacles contract, coiling tightly around you in shock.

You look up to meet the sharp grin of Rumlow, circling around you with a hungry look in his eyes. A local bull shark hybrid, and an absolute menace. Where Walker may be an annoyance in his advances, Rumlow is known to be downright cruel in his persistance. What little bull shark females you've met have told you that even they don't enjoy mating with him when the season comes.

Unfortunately, Rumlow is also rather enamored with the entrancing beauty of your kind's skin, just as Walker is. But Walker would at the very least not bite himself into your neck and shoulder, just so he could mount you.

"Still not a squid, silly shark," you snap at him.

Last time you swam into Rumlow was just beyond the outskirts of your consortium's cave system. Far away enough for him to get you alone, but close enough that you could shoot him with ink and swim back home, where others would come to aid you.

But here? In the open water?

You're left to fend for yourself. Your tentacles billow out again, now dappled with flashing, blue rings. A warning. If he dares come too close to try for a bite, you'll bite him back - in a way certainly not pleasurable to even a bull shark.

Rumlow laughs at your display. "Oh, little squid, no need to be so touchy. Won't you at least let me stay close? You could give me scratches like you did that blacktip."

You tense. There's very little you can do here. You'd have to let him come close for a bite - somewhere you absolutely don't want him to be. But ink won't deter him for long, either - you can't outswim him fast enough from here, and you're not sure if he'll be able to find you even if you camouflage.

Rumlow grins. You know he can smell your fear in the water, and absolutely relishes in it.

-----------

Bucky is on his way home from a successful hunt.

He's dragging a massive tuna carcass behind him, one that'll keep him fed for days, at least. Keeping it in his den will also ensure larger predators won't be able to steal it from him. That'll leave him plenty of time to unfurl, and laze away for once.

The only competitors he has to worry about here are non-hybrids. Most hybrids, and especially Cecaelians, give the shipwreck a berth wide enough that he can swim to his heart's content without bumping into anyone. It is undoubtedly his territory, and his territory alone.

He was hunting just outside of it. Tuna call for even more open waters, and he was craving some of their juicy flesh for once.

Bucky freezes in his tracks. He can smell distress in the water, feaful pheromones wafting through the deep. It smells like a Cecaelian.

Bucky huffs. He has no reason to go check in on them. They turned their backs on him, and so he vowed to turn his back on them.

But then he makes out something else. The satisfied, aroused scent of a shark. One who's scent he finds so repulsive, he'd recognize it anywhere.

The fearful scent smells like that of a younger female. If that shark is who he thinks it is, she stands no proper chance so far from the consortium, if she even is part of it.

Bucky snarls.

Damn it all. He's not about to let a terrified little Cecaelian be ripped to shreds by that swimming bag of barnacles.

----------

Rumlow's close now, your flashing tentacles leaving him entirely undeterred.

"Sorry," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "I only scratch sharks with manners."

His grin only widens. "Oh, I can be quite well-behaved, I promise."

You sincerely doubt that. You're already thinking about how you could best get a grip on him - you're strong, but Rumlow is likely stronger. You're not sure if you could take him off-guard, if you could even flip him over to stun him fast enough.

You probably can't, and Rumlow knows it. He leans in, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim sunlight filtering in through the surface.

Until it suddenly becomes very, very dark.

"That does not quite look like a female willing to mate, guppy," a voice snarls, deep and threatening.

Rumlow looks up and bares his teeth. The second his attention is off of you, you dart away, slipping into the crevaces between the corals. Your skin and flesh mould around them, bumps raising beneath your skin and fusing you seamlessly into the reef.

"And I thought they'd cast you out to the very deep, squid," Rumlow spits.

You barely manage to look up just a bit, frozen at fear at the idea of a potential extra threat. What you see knocks the breath out of you.

It's another Cecaelian, but not one you've met before.

And he's absolutely massive.

You always thought Steve was the largest Cecaelian you'd ever get to meet. But this male manages to dwarf even him. His tendrils billow around him like stormclouds, blocking out the light around him. You notice he's not even completely spread out, with one of his collossal tendrils tightly wrapped around a tuna, that looks comically tiny in his limb.

"This isn't your territory, squid," Rumlow spits. "And she's a way from hers. Move along, ancient one. Let me have some fun with her."

"I think I might decide to expand," the stranger responds. "Keep the bottom-feeders out."

Rumlow bares his teeth again. You see his pupils expand, and flinch when he charges through the water right at the newcomer. The newcomer easily stops him in his tracks, his tentacles snatching Rumlow up in his grasp. They twist Rumlow onto his side, not even on his back to stun him. Like they're toying with him.

You hear a sickening crunch. The newcomer's tentacles wrap tightly around Rumlow's upper body, slowly crushing him.

"You're gonna get out of here," the stranger growls at him. "And you'll leave the females here alone. Perhaps you could try mating with a whalefall instead - they would suit you quite well."

Another crack. Rumlow tries to thrash in the stranger's hold, but his tentacles leave no leverage. You can start to smell fear in the water around you, strange, oily, and shark-like.

You notice how still the stranger is holding him and realize what's happening. How his tentacles are wrapped across Rumlow's gills. He's not just crushing him - he's suffocating him.

In a last-ditch effort, Rumlow bites and scratches at the newcomer's tentacles. He doesn't even flinch, only tightens his hold one more time with a final, sickening crack.

Then he lets go. Rumlow greedily filters water through his gills, rough and breathless, then speeds off into the blue beyond.

He's gone. You're safe.

But are you really?

The stranger shifts to look directly into your eyes. You supress a squeak, and retreat deeper into the crevices between the corals, pleading with the spirits to ensure he doesn't see you.

------------

Bucky sees your trembling form tucked into the reef easily. Predators might not, but he knows his own kind, and he can see the contours of your form against the corals.

He should move on, he thinks. Let you recover on your own. It's bad enough Rumlow spooked you, he doesn't need to add to your terror. Especially since it's likely that he's the largest of your kind you've ever met.

But he still smells your fear, unmistakable in the water. Not only could Rumlow come back, but the pheromones you exude, and the tiny noises you make ensure everything inside of him feels the instinctive need to comfort you.

He shouldn't. He should move on.

But he doesn't.

Bucky carefully tucks his tentacles together, making his hulking form as small as possible. He cautiously sinks down to where you lie.

You're shaking, now. Like you're expecting an attack any moment now, or perhaps a greedy Cecaelian who now wishes to take Rumlow intended spoils for himself.

But Bucky feels no desire to harm you. You're clearly from his, no, Sam's consortium. He can smell the familiar scents of your home. You're young, undoubtedly attractive, with your skilled shapeshifting and pretty shell jewellery, and maybe only have one or two mating seasons to your name.

He should make sure you're alright.

Bucky carefully tucks his face into the crook of your neck. You choke back a sob. He gently rubs his stubbled cheek against yours and lets out a soft trill, his tentacles cradling around you, protective, but not touching.

You slowly stop shaking. The trembling stops further once you realize it's not a mating trill, but simply one meant to soothe.

Bucky keeps trilling, keeps rubbing his cheek against yours until the trembling stops entirely. The sobs you repressed have dissolved as well, your breathing calm and even now. He lets out a pleased trill and withdraws.

You look up at him with wide, glossy eyes.

"Are you...alright?" He asks carefully.

You're still speechless, but you nod.

"Did he hurt you?" Bucky then asks.

You shake your head. Talking seems to still be too much right now.

Curse it all, it's been so long since he even spoke to one of his kind. He's entirely out of his depth here. A conversation would be difficult enough, but comfort?

He doesn't have the slightest idea how to do that.

That is, until he remembers the tuna still solidly stuck in his grasp.

Bucky reaches for it, and uses his claws to tear out a bit of its flesh. He purposefully goes for the softest, fattiest part. Then he hands it to you, offering it on his open palm.

"Here," he says, trying to sound encouraging. "Take it."

-----------

You eye the stranger curiously.

What a strange one he is! Fending off Rumlow like he's a terror of the seas, to now awkwardly offering you a piece of his tuna. And the best part of it, no less!

You fail to repress a soft little laugh.

"Thank you," you say, reaching to take the bit of tuna. "For this. For everything."

He hums at you in acknowledgement. He seems so stiff and rigid, you can't help yourself.

"Excuse me for saying so, but you don't...socialise much, do you?"

You feel comfortable enough to tease him now. You figure if he wanted you dead, he'd have already killed you instead of gifting you some tuna.

His tentacles flush a soft red and you giggle wetly. This collossal male is flustered, now.

"It's...been a long time," he says, in his raspy voice.

"I can tell," you say. "But it wasn't long enough for you to not be able to tell I was terrified, so - thank you."

He nods. You begin picking at the piece of tuna he gave you. It's still very fresh. He must've just come back from a hunt.

He watches you as you eat. Your tendrils end up having a mind of their own, and some of them unfurl to meet the tips of his. A simple greeting.

He freezes at the contact. It's clear to you that it truly must have been years since he's spoken to another Cecaelian, if this mere greeting is enough for his face to freeze in astonishment. But his own tentacles react on pure instinct, wrapping their much larger tips around yours.

He's older. Not old enough to be an elder, because his face is still somewhat young. Handsome, even. Likely a good, fertile male that has sired many young in his life. You estimate that he's somewhere between his second and third century. But as your suction cups mesh with his, you taste something...familiar.

He tastes like home. Like someone from the consortium.

How strange. Maybe he's someone who decided to live a solitary life.

You move to withdraw your tentacles, but realize his won't let you go. You don't even think he's doing it on purpose, because he still looks just as frozen at the contact as before. But it seems like his limbs have missed the opportunity to tangle with...anyone, really. And so, you let him hold you as you finish your tuna.

Eventually, he settles. His tentacles withdraw, having tasted and gotten to know you as you have him.

"So...does Rumlow give you trouble often?" He asks.

"As often as he gives any female trouble," you answer honestly. "I was unfortunate enough to be alone this time."

You smile up at him. "But I think you made sure he won't come back for a good long while...um...?"

You tilt your head at him, silently asking for his name. He hesitates.

"Bucky," he says, and makes a face as if he already regrets giving you his name.

"Bucky," you repeat, and give him your own name in return.

You've never heard that name before. Neither Sam nor Steve had ever mentioned a Bucky belonging to your consortium. Then why does he taste so faintly like home?

"Alright, Bucky," you start, slowly unfurling from the corals. "I should head back home. I don't want to keep you any longer, you must want to bring your spoils back to your den."

Bucky backs off so you can swim freely. He looks hesistant again. Worried. Almost torn.

Whatever war he's fighting in his mind seems to settle when he next speaks.

"I can accompany you to the edge of your territory," he offers, and once more he looks like he regrets ever opening his mouth. "Just to make sure you don't run into trouble."

You suppress a giggle. He sounds a little like Steve.

"Oh, trouble always tends to find me," you tell him.

"Then I should definitely accompany you," Bucky decides. "Just...in case Rumlow comes back for you."

He looks so pinched, so unused to offering a stranger his kindness, that you can't help but cave. It's a little endearing, you think, how this powerful male seems to crumble at your little interaction, so the least you can do is reward him for his bit of courage.

So the two of you swim off in the direction of your consortium.

On the way, you have the opportunity to look at him properly.

His torso is maybe a bit larger than the average male's, but it's his tentacles that fascinate you. The stretch on and on and on behind him, like an endless, inky-black trail, so long, you're sure his tentacles must be four times the length of your own, full-grown ones.

You've never seen a Cecaelian like him.

Bucky fascinates you. His handsome face, his absurdly massive size speak of a confident, self-assured male. Yet his interaction with you was bumpy at best, and terribly awkward at worst. You'd expected a male like him to be cocky, to ask you if you didn't want to reward him for his services. Instead, Bucky had decided to give you a piece of his tuna.

You swim around him, above him, below him, circling him so you can take all of him in. His tentacles flush a deep red. He's excited, or rather - intrigued.

His body is covered in scars. Large, small, doesn't matter, they are all dappled across his skin, a testament to many fierce battles fought and won. There are a couple spotted across his back, even hidden in his hair, that you can't identify.

His left arm is the most pecular to you. It's not the colour of his skin, but always matches the shade of his tentacles.

Bucky raises a brow at you. "Curious little pup, aren't you?" He quips.

Now it's your turn to flush, your tentacles turning red themselves, with nervous, flashing stripes of white.

"Can you blame me?" You justify. "I've never seen a Cecaelian who looks like you."

His lips quirk into something that could almost be a smile. "I've never met someone who looks like me, either," he says.

Bucky lets you circle around him the entire way home. Your flush deepens further the more you look at him. He's handsome, and powerful, and different, and new. You can barely help yourself.

Bucky most definitely notices your roaming eyes on him, because his tentacles flash with little pulses of white appreciatively.

But that abruptly changes the moment you reach the border of the consortium's territory. Bucky turns back to inky-black, and straightens himself.

"Here we are," he says. "You should make it the rest of the way without any issues."

"Yes. Thanks again, Bucky," you reply.

Some part of you doesn't want him to leave. You want to know more about this strange male. But he seems like he's itching to leave.

Despite his restlessness, his tentacles reach out to touch yours. A goodbye. His touch is gentle against yours.

"It would be best if you didn't mention that you saw me to anyone," Bucky then says.

You tilt your head at him in confusion. But Bucky insists.

"Don't mention me, don't mention my name. You never saw me," he says seriously. "If anyone asks, you ran into Rumlow alone, and managed to outwit him. Alright?"

You give a tentative nod. It's not enough for him.

"Promise me," he says. "Promise me you won't say a word. For both your and my sake."

"I promise," you say, confused, but that seems to pacify him.

"Good." Bucky makes the conscious effort to unfurl his tendrils from yours. "Get home safe, sweetling."

And with that, he's off, inky-black tendrils disappearing into the distance, the tuna carcass still in tow.

It's only when you notice which direction he swam in that it dawns on you.

Bucky swam off towards the shipwreck. The shipwreck that was caused by an exceptionally powerful male. The same one where a Cecaelian supposedly lives, one who's outcast and shunned by the consortium.

You dash home in a panic. You barely manage to give Sam some weak excuse when he asks why you smell like you've had tuna.

You slip into the little cave you call your home, tear your pouch off of you and curl into the furthest, most hidden corner.

It can't be.

Great-Grandpappy Kraken is real.

Great-Grandpappy Kraken is real, he has a name and his name is Bucky.

Bucky is Great-Grandpappy Kraken, and is not at all the ancient, wizened old cephalopod you pictured him as.

He's definitely the feared and shunned Cecaelian from your consortium - why else would he not want anyone to know that you met him? And he definitely looks powerful enough to rip multiple ship parts off of that giant metal beast. Strong enough to tear a hole in it. His touch might have been gentle against yours, but even then you could tell he was capable of great feats of strength.

But he's not at all the monster your fellow Cecaelians had warned you off.

Yes, he was objectively terrifying. But he had been kind, and so oddly endearing, and had protected you from that stupid bull shark-hybrid.

Oh, trenches, and you had most definitely flirted with him. Had let him see and know you appreciated his strength, his appearance. Had enjoyed feeling his eyes roam over you.

You curl further into a ball of nervous limbs.

If Sam ever finds out about this, you're so, so dead.

[a-cabin-in-midgard]

Good morning tumblr.

[thresher-art]

Would you accept requests for Zevlor? How many characters can we request for headcanons? Would you do the same prompt with different characters? Thanks!

Hello hello!

Zevlor's a-okay with me ☺️

I would say no more than four at once maybe? And yes the same prompt with different characters is fine.

I am a bit of a slow writer though, so I might take quite a while to get the request out, but unless I outright reject the prompt, I'll get to it eventually!

[egooppidum]

Please pay attention to your vampire spawn boyfriend, and preferably do not talk to annoying wizards.

Bonus:

(I had some health issues, so I put off drawing for a couple of weeks, but now there is some certainty and I can finally return to my projects.)

[thresher-art]

The Mind Reader (Chapter 5)

Pairing: Astarion/AFAB!Reader

Background Tadpolycule

Summary: You prepare to and eventually make your way into the goblin camp, which unfortunately is an assault on your delicate senses.

Luckily, the resident priest of Loviatar is willing to help - and Astarion is all too happy to watch.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI), slight/mentioned/imagined smut, whipping, blood, injuries, sensory overload

A/N: Aaand I'm back! I took a bit of a break to get my head on straight again over the holidays. I'm excited to get back into this fic and writing in general.

TW: this chapter contains descriptions of sensory overload, as well as whipping/scourging as a way to deal with it and the injuries incurred through it.

Don't get a weird man to whip your back when you experience sensory overload, kids, there's better ways to cope!

Also, slightly smutty - Astarion, Shadowheart (and Gale) have a fun little time fantasizing about the reader.

Word Count: 4453

AO3

First / Previous / Next

XxxxX

You crawl out of Shadowheart's tent in the morning feeling deeply unsettled.

Yesterday, you'd gone back through the Blighted Village to return to the Emerald Grove so you could confront Kagha. Whilst in the village, some goblins had wanted to stir up some trouble. You'd used your tadpole to tell them to fuck off, and they did - muttering something about you being a True Soul.

You'd ignored it, at first, this nagging feeling in your mind. Using the tadpole didn't feel good. It felt unnatural. Wrong. Twisted. You don't enjoy reading minds with the tadpole at all. Even forcing your way through other people's willpower feels tainted. It feels unfinessed, rough, and brutal, as if you're strongarming your way through locked doors, as opposed to the delicate, sleek way you usually pick at people's minds. All the while, the tadpole wriggles gleefully in your brain.

This type of psionic power makes you feel sick.

You eventually oust Kagha. Honestly, the bitch has it coming, but at least now with her dead and the shadow druids defeated, the tiefling refugees can stay at the Grove until it is safe to leave again.

Karlach stops by Dammon's makeshift workshop again. The two are horribly sweet on one another - you can tell from a mile away.

They look rather good together, too. Shadowheart elbows you, scolding you for imagining yourself in a tiefling sandwich. You scold her right back - you both know she wouldn't mind partaking in said tiefling sandwich herself.

In the evening, Wyll's patron finally makes an appearance. His patron is Mizora, a cambion, and close associate of Zariel, the archdevil who wants Karlach dead. Wyll gets the most devilish scolding you can think of, being punished with a fresh set of horns and ridges in places on his body you don't want to think about. Before leaving, Mizora gives you a knowing look. She has no intention of letting Wyll know you can read minds - she just wants you to know she knows.

Yes, the past day had been another turbulant day out in the wilds of Faerûn. But the main source of your discontent only comes hours later, when you are already asleep.

You're visited in your dreams by a beautiful stranger. They tell you all sorts of things - they saved you from dying back on the Nautiloid. They keep the Absolute from corrupting your mind. They're fighting some astral war they cannot tell you more about. They also look hauntingly familiar to a person you once knew. In your shocked and dazed mind, you cannot quite piece it together, but...

...you know that face. From somewhere. But where?

It fades from your thoughts, the memory evading your grasp. Regardless, this person is etherally beautiful and suspiciously charming. However, you're far too distracted by the stranger's mind to pay any heed to their pretty looks.

Their mind twists and turns, creating a maze of memories and thoughts you can only get lost in, an endless collection of psychic pathways that seemingly lead nowhere. It's not that their mind is empty - but it forces you to get lost, unable to find anything.

The dream visitor makes no mention of you trying to dig in their mind - this worries you. Their mind is far too defensive for them not to know - and you're fully convinced that they do. Their mind wouldn't elude you so easily, otherwise. It's baffling.

You've only ever met one other mind reader in your life. You telepaths have slinky, slippery minds. You know what you yourself do, know how to block out your thoughts from intrusion, so you don't trust a single thing that can also read minds.

The only logical conclusion is that this stranger is purely a dream or hallucination, or is some telepathic being themselves. The fact that it encourages you to keep using the tadpole is alarming to you, as well.

You would've filed this odd dream away as a one-time occurrence, if you hadn't been sharing a tent with Shadowheart that night. She, too, had dreamt of a charming stranger, though seemingly one different from yours, who told her all these lovely things, and then told her to use the tadpole more.

In fact, everyone at camp seems to have had a similar dream.

Concerning.

You don't have much time to ponder this mysterious dream, for you have to start making final preparations before heading to the goblin camp for today. However, you are in agreement with most of your companions that consuming the tadpoles is likely horrible idea - Astarion is, of course, the exception.

He huffs and pouts at you when you discourage him from consuming any tadpoles you've found. You know the truth - Astarion is far too scared to be the first to try and see what happens if you add more intruders into your brain. He wants to goad you into doing it first, to see if the whole thing is worth it.

Not only are you not interested in trying this at all, but you refuse to be Astarion's weird little illithid guinea pig. So, you simply pat him on the cheek and leave him to his own devices - you have preparations to make.

You and Gale are on alchemy duty - restocking healing potions, elixirs, poisons, anything that can be done in a few hours. Lae'zel makes sure everyone's current equipment is in top shape. Shadowheart and Karlach are off to the grove, to buy last-minute supplies or upgrades.

You know Karlach is likely to visit Dammon again. Shadowheart is there to oogle, and make sure Karlach doesn't get too distracted.

Wyll has hidden himself away. You all decide to give him space. He has to grapple with his new appearance, so he's allowed to sit this one out.

Astarion is gods knows where, doing whatever it is he tends to do. You've all learned rather quickly that he's not too keen on making himself useful. The most he can contribute is laundry duty and general clothing upkeep. He's quite good at mending and patching things up, so you've assigned that job to him.

There's no tailoring or washerwoman duties to tend to today, so he's off slinking about. He knows to be back at camp in the afternoon, when Gale and you are done brewing potions and are all set to leave.

Gale and you make idle chatter while you're working. Potioncraft can be quite hands-off at times, waiting for certain things to boil or cool down.

During one of these waiting periods, Gale offers to let you touch the Netherese orb in his chest. You admit that you are quite curious about it, so you accept, but of course, Gale manages to make this far more intimate than probably necessary.

Not that you mind. He's quite easy on the eyes, but hells, everyone at camp is just so...amorous.

Gale opens his robes to expose his bare chest to you. He takes your hand in his, and boldly presses your palm to his skin.

You refuse to read his mind right now.

You let your magic flow from your center, smoothly gliding into him and around the orb. It feels fragile, yet extremely potent, volatile and unpredictable, but you get the feeling it'll be only detonated at a precise moment in time. What moment that could be is a mystery to you, and to Gale himself.

This whole thing is just a touch uncomfortable. You know Gale likes this form of bonding, especially between magic users, and you understand it as a sign from him, showing you that he trusts you. You, however, feel a tad exposed.

As you contemplate pulling your hand back, you're struck with a sudden sense of dread.

It takes a moment to realize it's not you that's feeling this, but someone else. It's not Gale - he's still pleasantly taken by being so close to you, despite being terrified of that thing in his chest. You try to focus, scanning your surroundings carefully.

'What in the hells is she doing with that wizard?!'

Ah.

Astarion.

You can't see him, and when you try to pin-point his location, you can tell he's still a ways off, hidden in the bushes. He obviously doesn't realize you've sniffed him out, and you feel him seething.

Interesting. He has very mild symptoms of jealousy with Karlach, none at all with Shadowheart, and a full-blown alarm when it comes to Gale. You wonder if this is a gender-based thing, or a Gale-specific thing.

Regardless, you decide to put both of them out of their misery, and draw your hand back from Gale's chest. You can feel Astarion mentally sigh in relief.

"I can see why you're so cautious of it," you say. "It felt...intense. Horrifyingly so. Like darkness manifested, threatening to swallow me whole."

"Well said. It feels quite like that to me. It is why I appreciate you donating artifacts to me."

"And I shall continue to do so. I'd rather not be on the receiving end of this thing."

"A wise choice."

As Gale does up his robes again, you can feel Astarion approach. He slinks around the two of you, and smoothly curls an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him.

"Tut, tut, darling," he drawls. "I thought you wanted to stay at camp to brew potions. And yet here you are, playing doctor with our resident wizard. You devil. I didn't think you had it in you, Gale."

"We are brewing potions," Gale shoots back. "And what have you been doing in terms of battle preparations, Astarion? Pestering the wildlife?"

Astarion glares at Gale, and Gale glares right back. The tension between them is palpable, and you're caught right in the middle - you wouldn't mind, if this were an entirely different context. You don't think they'll actually fight it out right now, but by the hells, you're sure they'll do something stupid. So, you step in.

"Boys," you say, your voice lowered to a sultry purr. "Play nice."

The two of them instantly straighten up at your tone, like well-trained hounds. Astarion even untangles himself from you. You're rather tempted to ask both of them to kneel - you're almost sure they'd both obey just to win your favour in this. Their eyes are pinned on you, waiting for your every word.

How delightful!

"Gale is such a wonderful teacher," you tell Astarion. "I've not gotten a lot of formal training in potioncraft, so I've learned quite a bit from him today, and I am so very grateful."

You leave a kiss on Gale's cheek for good measure. He flushes as bright as a tomato, completely taken off-guard and flustered. Before Astarion can get upset, you keep talking.

"I'm sure Astarion was out on a hunt, to make sure he's nice and strong for later. And isn't he just so considerate, Gale? He went out to feed on animals, so I don't feel too weak."

You have no idea what the hell Astarion was up to today, but you need to find some way to praise him after you've praised Gale. Astarion gets a kiss to the cheek as well, and he instantly curls his arm around you again.

This time, Gale doesn't glare.

Instead, he thinks about how good the two of you look together.

Thinks about how nice it might be to experience what 'magic' the three of you could create.

You widen your eyes at him, and he instantly realizes he has thought too much. You've seen the image his mind projected of you, caught between the two of them in a rather compromising position.

"So again, boys - play nice. We'll be doing enough fighting later."

Gale coughs to clear his throat. "Right. That is quite true."

"Yes, very. Besides, I shan't be wasting all my strength on - ugh - him," Astarion says with a roll of his eyes.

Gale only shakes his head at Astarion's antics, but luckily doesn't take the bait.

You wonder if it would help if you would let these two just fuck the tension between them out.

"Do you still need my help, Gale?" You then ask. Astarion is getting mighty clingy beside you, and you know you have to placate him before leaving.

"Not at all. Go, get ready before the others return as well." He waves you off.

Astarion's mind sings happily at that.

And just as you suspect, Astarion pesters you while you get your armor on and weapons ready, enjoying that he's now the one occupying your time rather than Gale.

___________

The goblin camp is about as chaotic as you imagine.

There's a huge, perpetual party going on, drunken cheers and rumblings going on left and right. The stench of whatever ungodly brew the goblins are drinking permeates the air, you swear you can taste it on your tongue.

Normally, you wouldn't say 'no' to a good party, but this?

This feels like absolute hell in your mind.

On top of all the external noise, it seems being in the quiet wilds even for a few days was enough to dismantle your resistance to being around a bustle of minds at once. It's all so hellishly loud, you feel like you want to rip your own skin off.

You escape easily into Astarion's mind for now. His thoughts are like a cooling oasis in this mess, and you cling onto it like a frightened child would to their parents' arms.

Gods, you hope this'll be over quick. But knowing your luck, it won't be.

You're doubly cautious now, especially since that strange artifact Shadowheart carries around has shown you three ambiguous figures, supposedly the ones leading the cult that has occupied this abandoned temple of Selûne. This tadpole nonsense is slowly unfolding to be something much larger than you expected.

In the midst of things, you find Volo, the strange man you'd spoken to at the grove. Of course, studying the goblins hadn't gone the way he'd expected, but none of you are surprised at that. It seems one of the goblins has made him her pet, and he's trying his damnedst to entertain the rambunctious masses.

He's failing, of course.

His performance is lacking, a bit of additional noise amidst this cacophony of chaos, and gods he's looking at you for help, so you can't help yourself, and boo him.

He messes up even harder, and the she-goblin who's now his owner snaps at you for 'breaking' him as she takes Volo back to his cage.

Astarion is more than amused at what a mean little thing you can be.

Karlach heads off to free the Owlbear cub the goblins have captured, Shadowheart chosing to remain with her. Meanwhile, you and Astarion head around the ruins, scanning for any openings or weaknesses that could help you in the long run.

You come across an absolute prick of a goblin as you do, one that tries to get you to kiss his foot. You know Astarion would love to see you perform a bit of subservience, but with how godsdamned loud and overwhelming everything is here, you're too annoyed to play along. It takes all of your self-control to not start screeching and set the whole camp ablaze, anyway, so you let a bit of your mask drop.

The goblin recoils in fear. Your face spells murder, slow, painful, torturous murder, as you command him to kneel and lick your muddied boots instead.

Something in Astarion's mind twitches at hearing your command to kneel.

You feel the humiliation bloom in the goblin's mind. All his built-up arrogance has evaporated, and as he licks your boots, his friends start poking fun at him. He retreats from the party, his head hung in shame.

When you step away to reuinite with Shadowheart and Karlach, who have since let the Owlbear escape, Astarion nudges you.

"You've been uncharacteristically devious today, darling," he says. "Is something the matter?"

Your mask slams right back into place. You force a smile onto your face, one that doesn't reach your eyes in the slightest.

"Not at all, Astarion. I'm perfectly fine."

You keep moving to avoid further confrontation. However, you know Astarion doesn't believe you - your smile didn't even look like a smile. It was more of a cramped grimace, hollow and empty.

The slightest touch of worry tugs at the back of his mind, and he doesn't understand why he would be concerned about what state of mind you're in.

__________

To your dismay, it seems each and every person in power here is preoccupied for the day. The goblins standing guard invite you, as True Souls, to set up camp and enjoy yourselves while you wait for somebody to show up.

While you're setting up your tent, you try and reach out around yourself to assess the situation. You're still looking for Archdruid Halsin, after all.

Your powers eventually stop at a peculiar presence. It's a bear, but with a readable mind - a druid. Druids have rather interesting minds, most of them thinking in images, scents, sounds, and feelings, rather than words, a mere hint at their more animalistic nature. With a bit of further digging, you can discern that this bear is the Archdruid you're looking for. He's seething at the goblins holding him captive, but within his thoughts, you find his desperate need to see the three camp leaders felled - Priestess Gut, Dror Ragzlin, and Minthara. Only then will the grove be safe.

It seems you have your mission.

You don't project your presence into his mind. You don't want to expose yourself or your little skill to him.

Besides, there are other more interesting minds around.

After you all finish setting up, you head around the temple again. You end up freeing Volo, taking just the slightest bit of pity on him. You do the same to a prisoner that is kept here from the grove, and a lone goblin that hasn't been converted to the Absolute.

But it's not their minds that intrigue you.

There's one, right here. A human, you think, his mind abuzz with darkness, violence, and a true, deep appreciation for sadism and pain. His thoughts let you know that he's injured, though only slightly, and that he relishes in it.

You find him, in the chamber beside the one the goblins kept the prisoner from the Grove, lost in deep thought. He's facing the wall when you enter, and for a moment you consider simply backing out again to leave him be, when he gets up to acknowledge you.

"Greetings, child," he says, voice raspy and measured. "I've met few aside from goblins, here."

From his tone and style of dress, you deduce he's a worshipper of Loviatar - it'd match up with his thoughts, his delight in experiencing pain.

"Ah. Are you also here to assist with the prisoner?" He then asks.

You're unsure if he's aware that the prisoner has escaped, and you're not about to let him know.

"Ah, no. We're just passing through," you tell him. In a way, that's the truth. You're passing through, and if one or two goblin leaders end up dead? That was probably mutiny.

"Your tastes must turn to the exotic, it you would stop here by choice."

The priest eyes you up and down. There's heat in his gaze, a kind of heat that slices right through your overloaded senses. You try not to squirm beneath his prying eyes.

He - Abdirak, as you find out while fishing through his mind, goes on about how the goblins here have no understanding for the finer intricacies of pain. You're inclined to agree - there's little finesse to be found here. He's receptive to your perspective, and you feel the heat in his gaze intensify.

...oh, my.

"Forgive me, but that look in your eyes - something terrible has happened to you."

He has no idea how right he is. For how intuitive be seems to be, luckily, he can't tell any further details.

"Clever man," you say. "How could you tell?"

"Because I see those same eyes when I look in the mirror, dear one."

He's offering to alleviate your pain through penance - you know that's shorthand for a beating you won't soon forget. But, you figure, if he's as skilled as he claims, he might just send you so deep into a blissful, delirious state you'll forget you're even in this mess of a camp - and you're rather desperate for any form of relief. So, you agree.

The peanut gallery behind you also seems far too enthused at the idea of watching you pay 'penance'.

"Mhm, I must see this - don't you dare say 'no'," Astarion damn near purrs.

"I agree. I'm sure you're in need of a little penance..." Shadowheart joins in.

Mouthy little things, they are. You turn to them as you undress your upper body - no use getting whipped when you won't feel it through your armor. You feel them devour you with their gazes as you slip off your undergarments - Karlach, meanwhile, flushes ever redder, her engine whirring in excitement at the sight of your bared skin - and give them a mock bow. If anything, you'll try to give them a good show.

Abdirak is waiting for a delightful performance from you as well - under the guise of serving Loviatar, of course.

As you move to stand facing the wall, you hear him contemplate which instrument of torture he should use on you. He decides against the mace he'd used on himself - too blunt. The dagger - too small, too thin. He settles for Loviatar's symbol - the nine-tailed, barbed scourge.

He runs it across your bare back, carefully, at first, just to tease you with its sharp touch. Your skin shivers at the contact.

"Yes, this will do nicely..." Abdirak hums. "Are you ready?"

You give him a small noise of confirmation. That's all he needs before he swings at you, the scourge tearing through your flesh. You feel your blood gush down the skin of your back, and let out a hiss.

This priest is good. It hurts, but gods - it's not the sort of pain you want to stop.

"The pain you suffer will cleanse you - do not fight it," he instructs.

"Come on. You can do better than that," you challenge him. Your senses are still flooded with the chaos of the camp - you want your mind to be quiet.

Abdirak is delighted at your enthusiasm. Behind him, you can hear Shadowheart and Astarion bicker again.

"Would you have joined up with her if you'd know she's be indulging in this sort of thing, Astarion?" Shadowheart quips.

"I mean...I had my hopes," Astarion replies.

Elven brats.

Shadowheart is having some decidedly unholy thoughts - she recalls the most recent night the two of you shared, and makes a mental note of your apparent penchant for pain to make use of it later.

Astarion isn't much better. He's imagining a scenario in which you get too smart with him for his tastes. He envisions you spread over his knees as he spanks your backside until it's red and glowing, before he can finally, finally seat you on his lap to get lost in your wet heat.

Good gods. If this penance won't kill you, your two lovers' overactive imaginations certainly will. You squeeze your thighs together to alleviate some of the growing heat between your legs. In that same instance, the scourge strikes your back again, and as the pain shoots through you, you cannot repress your moan.

Abdirak's mind fills with glee, especially when you challenge him once more. He promises to truly give it his all, and proceeds to whip the ever loving hells out of you. Wounds bloom across your skin, dappling your back in scarlet.

Astarion's thoughts take an abrupt turn.

He can smell the iron of your blood in the air, mixed with the scent of your ever-growing arousal, slick and hot between your legs. It's overwhelming to him, and though you can't see it, he curses his body for reacting so strongly to you that his knees almost give out. He wants to absolutely devour you, but doesn't want to interrupt the show, either.

"My, my. Who knew our friend had so much blood in them?" He husks, voice kept in a low purr.

His arousal is so evident, Shadowheart even feels the need to scold him, saying he ought to try not to lick his lips at the sight of you.

Were you in a different state of mind, perhaps you'd be concerned Astarion might only view you as a thing to be consumed - but you're gone now, the peace and serenity Abdirak promised you seeping into your mind. Nothing matters in this untethered state of bliss, anymore, your senses finally quiet.

Abdirak delivers a few more strikes, each more delightfully painful than the last, before finally stepping away from you. You manage to turn to face him before dropping to your knees. You can tell he clearly enjoyed this as much as you did, even liked your threat of returning the favor if he didn't hit you hard enough.

"Sweet child, you bore the pain like a true believer. I could feel Loviatar's pleasure with ever sting of my scourge. I am proud to have served you this penance."

His smile is wide as he bows his head at you. You can only manage to thank him. You're not quite in your body again, yet, but given that he managed to get this assault of sensations to stop affecting you, you'd readily give him anything he asks of you.

Loviatar's blessing feels like thousands of tiny needles piercing your skin at once, yet a wave of bliss washes over you as Abdirak bestows it upon you. You suddenly feel strong, powerful, even, though you still feel the exhaustion set in at the edge of your mind.

"And on a personal note, thank you," Abdirak says, a suggestive look on his face. "That was positively divine."

His mind is pure filth, at this point, and you wouldn't mind indulging him, were it not for the fact that Astarion's mind is now sharply focussed on you. You glance past the priest for but a second, to see Astarion's crimson gaze fixed on your bared form, his hardened cock straining against his breeches as well.

And he looks just about ready to pounce on you, eager to take you even infront of all these people present.

XxxxX

Taglist: @hyperfixationwhore @kitty-kei @frankie-mercury @deliriousfics @catching-fire-in-the-wind @captainaceofspades

[thresher-art]

The Mind Reader (Chapter 5)

Pairing: Astarion/AFAB!Reader

Background Tadpolycule

Summary: You prepare to and eventually make your way into the goblin camp, which unfortunately is an assault on your delicate senses.

Luckily, the resident priest of Loviatar is willing to help - and Astarion is all too happy to watch.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI), slight/mentioned/imagined smut, whipping, blood, injuries, sensory overload

A/N: Aaand I'm back! I took a bit of a break to get my head on straight again over the holidays. I'm excited to get back into this fic and writing in general.

TW: this chapter contains descriptions of sensory overload, as well as whipping/scourging as a way to deal with it and the injuries incurred through it.

Don't get a weird man to whip your back when you experience sensory overload, kids, there's better ways to cope!

Also, slightly smutty - Astarion, Shadowheart (and Gale) have a fun little time fantasizing about the reader.

Word Count: 4453

AO3

First / Previous / Next

XxxxX

You crawl out of Shadowheart's tent in the morning feeling deeply unsettled.

Yesterday, you'd gone back through the Blighted Village to return to the Emerald Grove so you could confront Kagha. Whilst in the village, some goblins had wanted to stir up some trouble. You'd used your tadpole to tell them to fuck off, and they did - muttering something about you being a True Soul.

You'd ignored it, at first, this nagging feeling in your mind. Using the tadpole didn't feel good. It felt unnatural. Wrong. Twisted. You don't enjoy reading minds with the tadpole at all. Even forcing your way through other people's willpower feels tainted. It feels unfinessed, rough, and brutal, as if you're strongarming your way through locked doors, as opposed to the delicate, sleek way you usually pick at people's minds. All the while, the tadpole wriggles gleefully in your brain.

This type of psionic power makes you feel sick.

You eventually oust Kagha. Honestly, the bitch has it coming, but at least now with her dead and the shadow druids defeated, the tiefling refugees can stay at the Grove until it is safe to leave again.

Karlach stops by Dammon's makeshift workshop again. The two are horribly sweet on one another - you can tell from a mile away.

They look rather good together, too. Shadowheart elbows you, scolding you for imagining yourself in a tiefling sandwich. You scold her right back - you both know she wouldn't mind partaking in said tiefling sandwich herself.

In the evening, Wyll's patron finally makes an appearance. His patron is Mizora, a cambion, and close associate of Zariel, the archdevil who wants Karlach dead. Wyll gets the most devilish scolding you can think of, being punished with a fresh set of horns and ridges in places on his body you don't want to think about. Before leaving, Mizora gives you a knowing look. She has no intention of letting Wyll know you can read minds - she just wants you to know she knows.

Yes, the past day had been another turbulant day out in the wilds of Faerûn. But the main source of your discontent only comes hours later, when you are already asleep.

You're visited in your dreams by a beautiful stranger. They tell you all sorts of things - they saved you from dying back on the Nautiloid. They keep the Absolute from corrupting your mind. They're fighting some astral war they cannot tell you more about. They also look hauntingly familiar to a person you once knew. In your shocked and dazed mind, you cannot quite piece it together, but...

...you know that face. From somewhere. But where?

It fades from your thoughts, the memory evading your grasp. Regardless, this person is etherally beautiful and suspiciously charming. However, you're far too distracted by the stranger's mind to pay any heed to their pretty looks.

Their mind twists and turns, creating a maze of memories and thoughts you can only get lost in, an endless collection of psychic pathways that seemingly lead nowhere. It's not that their mind is empty - but it forces you to get lost, unable to find anything.

The dream visitor makes no mention of you trying to dig in their mind - this worries you. Their mind is far too defensive for them not to know - and you're fully convinced that they do. Their mind wouldn't elude you so easily, otherwise. It's baffling.

You've only ever met one other mind reader in your life. You telepaths have slinky, slippery minds. You know what you yourself do, know how to block out your thoughts from intrusion, so you don't trust a single thing that can also read minds.

The only logical conclusion is that this stranger is purely a dream or hallucination, or is some telepathic being themselves. The fact that it encourages you to keep using the tadpole is alarming to you, as well.

You would've filed this odd dream away as a one-time occurrence, if you hadn't been sharing a tent with Shadowheart that night. She, too, had dreamt of a charming stranger, though seemingly one different from yours, who told her all these lovely things, and then told her to use the tadpole more.

In fact, everyone at camp seems to have had a similar dream.

Concerning.

You don't have much time to ponder this mysterious dream, for you have to start making final preparations before heading to the goblin camp for today. However, you are in agreement with most of your companions that consuming the tadpoles is likely horrible idea - Astarion is, of course, the exception.

He huffs and pouts at you when you discourage him from consuming any tadpoles you've found. You know the truth - Astarion is far too scared to be the first to try and see what happens if you add more intruders into your brain. He wants to goad you into doing it first, to see if the whole thing is worth it.

Not only are you not interested in trying this at all, but you refuse to be Astarion's weird little illithid guinea pig. So, you simply pat him on the cheek and leave him to his own devices - you have preparations to make.

You and Gale are on alchemy duty - restocking healing potions, elixirs, poisons, anything that can be done in a few hours. Lae'zel makes sure everyone's current equipment is in top shape. Shadowheart and Karlach are off to the grove, to buy last-minute supplies or upgrades.

You know Karlach is likely to visit Dammon again. Shadowheart is there to oogle, and make sure Karlach doesn't get too distracted.

Wyll has hidden himself away. You all decide to give him space. He has to grapple with his new appearance, so he's allowed to sit this one out.

Astarion is gods knows where, doing whatever it is he tends to do. You've all learned rather quickly that he's not too keen on making himself useful. The most he can contribute is laundry duty and general clothing upkeep. He's quite good at mending and patching things up, so you've assigned that job to him.

There's no tailoring or washerwoman duties to tend to today, so he's off slinking about. He knows to be back at camp in the afternoon, when Gale and you are done brewing potions and are all set to leave.

Gale and you make idle chatter while you're working. Potioncraft can be quite hands-off at times, waiting for certain things to boil or cool down.

During one of these waiting periods, Gale offers to let you touch the Netherese orb in his chest. You admit that you are quite curious about it, so you accept, but of course, Gale manages to make this far more intimate than probably necessary.

Not that you mind. He's quite easy on the eyes, but hells, everyone at camp is just so...amorous.

Gale opens his robes to expose his bare chest to you. He takes your hand in his, and boldly presses your palm to his skin.

You refuse to read his mind right now.

You let your magic flow from your center, smoothly gliding into him and around the orb. It feels fragile, yet extremely potent, volatile and unpredictable, but you get the feeling it'll be only detonated at a precise moment in time. What moment that could be is a mystery to you, and to Gale himself.

This whole thing is just a touch uncomfortable. You know Gale likes this form of bonding, especially between magic users, and you understand it as a sign from him, showing you that he trusts you. You, however, feel a tad exposed.

As you contemplate pulling your hand back, you're struck with a sudden sense of dread.

It takes a moment to realize it's not you that's feeling this, but someone else. It's not Gale - he's still pleasantly taken by being so close to you, despite being terrified of that thing in his chest. You try to focus, scanning your surroundings carefully.

'What in the hells is she doing with that wizard?!'

Ah.

Astarion.

You can't see him, and when you try to pin-point his location, you can tell he's still a ways off, hidden in the bushes. He obviously doesn't realize you've sniffed him out, and you feel him seething.

Interesting. He has very mild symptoms of jealousy with Karlach, none at all with Shadowheart, and a full-blown alarm when it comes to Gale. You wonder if this is a gender-based thing, or a Gale-specific thing.

Regardless, you decide to put both of them out of their misery, and draw your hand back from Gale's chest. You can feel Astarion mentally sigh in relief.

"I can see why you're so cautious of it," you say. "It felt...intense. Horrifyingly so. Like darkness manifested, threatening to swallow me whole."

"Well said. It feels quite like that to me. It is why I appreciate you donating artifacts to me."

"And I shall continue to do so. I'd rather not be on the receiving end of this thing."

"A wise choice."

As Gale does up his robes again, you can feel Astarion approach. He slinks around the two of you, and smoothly curls an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him.

"Tut, tut, darling," he drawls. "I thought you wanted to stay at camp to brew potions. And yet here you are, playing doctor with our resident wizard. You devil. I didn't think you had it in you, Gale."

"We are brewing potions," Gale shoots back. "And what have you been doing in terms of battle preparations, Astarion? Pestering the wildlife?"

Astarion glares at Gale, and Gale glares right back. The tension between them is palpable, and you're caught right in the middle - you wouldn't mind, if this were an entirely different context. You don't think they'll actually fight it out right now, but by the hells, you're sure they'll do something stupid. So, you step in.

"Boys," you say, your voice lowered to a sultry purr. "Play nice."

The two of them instantly straighten up at your tone, like well-trained hounds. Astarion even untangles himself from you. You're rather tempted to ask both of them to kneel - you're almost sure they'd both obey just to win your favour in this. Their eyes are pinned on you, waiting for your every word.

How delightful!

"Gale is such a wonderful teacher," you tell Astarion. "I've not gotten a lot of formal training in potioncraft, so I've learned quite a bit from him today, and I am so very grateful."

You leave a kiss on Gale's cheek for good measure. He flushes as bright as a tomato, completely taken off-guard and flustered. Before Astarion can get upset, you keep talking.

"I'm sure Astarion was out on a hunt, to make sure he's nice and strong for later. And isn't he just so considerate, Gale? He went out to feed on animals, so I don't feel too weak."

You have no idea what the hell Astarion was up to today, but you need to find some way to praise him after you've praised Gale. Astarion gets a kiss to the cheek as well, and he instantly curls his arm around you again.

This time, Gale doesn't glare.

Instead, he thinks about how good the two of you look together.

Thinks about how nice it might be to experience what 'magic' the three of you could create.

You widen your eyes at him, and he instantly realizes he has thought too much. You've seen the image his mind projected of you, caught between the two of them in a rather compromising position.

"So again, boys - play nice. We'll be doing enough fighting later."

Gale coughs to clear his throat. "Right. That is quite true."

"Yes, very. Besides, I shan't be wasting all my strength on - ugh - him," Astarion says with a roll of his eyes.

Gale only shakes his head at Astarion's antics, but luckily doesn't take the bait.

You wonder if it would help if you would let these two just fuck the tension between them out.

"Do you still need my help, Gale?" You then ask. Astarion is getting mighty clingy beside you, and you know you have to placate him before leaving.

"Not at all. Go, get ready before the others return as well." He waves you off.

Astarion's mind sings happily at that.

And just as you suspect, Astarion pesters you while you get your armor on and weapons ready, enjoying that he's now the one occupying your time rather than Gale.

___________

The goblin camp is about as chaotic as you imagine.

There's a huge, perpetual party going on, drunken cheers and rumblings going on left and right. The stench of whatever ungodly brew the goblins are drinking permeates the air, you swear you can taste it on your tongue.

Normally, you wouldn't say 'no' to a good party, but this?

This feels like absolute hell in your mind.

On top of all the external noise, it seems being in the quiet wilds even for a few days was enough to dismantle your resistance to being around a bustle of minds at once. It's all so hellishly loud, you feel like you want to rip your own skin off.

You escape easily into Astarion's mind for now. His thoughts are like a cooling oasis in this mess, and you cling onto it like a frightened child would to their parents' arms.

Gods, you hope this'll be over quick. But knowing your luck, it won't be.

You're doubly cautious now, especially since that strange artifact Shadowheart carries around has shown you three ambiguous figures, supposedly the ones leading the cult that has occupied this abandoned temple of Selûne. This tadpole nonsense is slowly unfolding to be something much larger than you expected.

In the midst of things, you find Volo, the strange man you'd spoken to at the grove. Of course, studying the goblins hadn't gone the way he'd expected, but none of you are surprised at that. It seems one of the goblins has made him her pet, and he's trying his damnedst to entertain the rambunctious masses.

He's failing, of course.

His performance is lacking, a bit of additional noise amidst this cacophony of chaos, and gods he's looking at you for help, so you can't help yourself, and boo him.

He messes up even harder, and the she-goblin who's now his owner snaps at you for 'breaking' him as she takes Volo back to his cage.

Astarion is more than amused at what a mean little thing you can be.

Karlach heads off to free the Owlbear cub the goblins have captured, Shadowheart chosing to remain with her. Meanwhile, you and Astarion head around the ruins, scanning for any openings or weaknesses that could help you in the long run.

You come across an absolute prick of a goblin as you do, one that tries to get you to kiss his foot. You know Astarion would love to see you perform a bit of subservience, but with how godsdamned loud and overwhelming everything is here, you're too annoyed to play along. It takes all of your self-control to not start screeching and set the whole camp ablaze, anyway, so you let a bit of your mask drop.

The goblin recoils in fear. Your face spells murder, slow, painful, torturous murder, as you command him to kneel and lick your muddied boots instead.

Something in Astarion's mind twitches at hearing your command to kneel.

You feel the humiliation bloom in the goblin's mind. All his built-up arrogance has evaporated, and as he licks your boots, his friends start poking fun at him. He retreats from the party, his head hung in shame.

When you step away to reuinite with Shadowheart and Karlach, who have since let the Owlbear escape, Astarion nudges you.

"You've been uncharacteristically devious today, darling," he says. "Is something the matter?"

Your mask slams right back into place. You force a smile onto your face, one that doesn't reach your eyes in the slightest.

"Not at all, Astarion. I'm perfectly fine."

You keep moving to avoid further confrontation. However, you know Astarion doesn't believe you - your smile didn't even look like a smile. It was more of a cramped grimace, hollow and empty.

The slightest touch of worry tugs at the back of his mind, and he doesn't understand why he would be concerned about what state of mind you're in.

__________

To your dismay, it seems each and every person in power here is preoccupied for the day. The goblins standing guard invite you, as True Souls, to set up camp and enjoy yourselves while you wait for somebody to show up.

While you're setting up your tent, you try and reach out around yourself to assess the situation. You're still looking for Archdruid Halsin, after all.

Your powers eventually stop at a peculiar presence. It's a bear, but with a readable mind - a druid. Druids have rather interesting minds, most of them thinking in images, scents, sounds, and feelings, rather than words, a mere hint at their more animalistic nature. With a bit of further digging, you can discern that this bear is the Archdruid you're looking for. He's seething at the goblins holding him captive, but within his thoughts, you find his desperate need to see the three camp leaders felled - Priestess Gut, Dror Ragzlin, and Minthara. Only then will the grove be safe.

It seems you have your mission.

You don't project your presence into his mind. You don't want to expose yourself or your little skill to him.

Besides, there are other more interesting minds around.

After you all finish setting up, you head around the temple again. You end up freeing Volo, taking just the slightest bit of pity on him. You do the same to a prisoner that is kept here from the grove, and a lone goblin that hasn't been converted to the Absolute.

But it's not their minds that intrigue you.

There's one, right here. A human, you think, his mind abuzz with darkness, violence, and a true, deep appreciation for sadism and pain. His thoughts let you know that he's injured, though only slightly, and that he relishes in it.

You find him, in the chamber beside the one the goblins kept the prisoner from the Grove, lost in deep thought. He's facing the wall when you enter, and for a moment you consider simply backing out again to leave him be, when he gets up to acknowledge you.

"Greetings, child," he says, voice raspy and measured. "I've met few aside from goblins, here."

From his tone and style of dress, you deduce he's a worshipper of Loviatar - it'd match up with his thoughts, his delight in experiencing pain.

"Ah. Are you also here to assist with the prisoner?" He then asks.

You're unsure if he's aware that the prisoner has escaped, and you're not about to let him know.

"Ah, no. We're just passing through," you tell him. In a way, that's the truth. You're passing through, and if one or two goblin leaders end up dead? That was probably mutiny.

"Your tastes must turn to the exotic, it you would stop here by choice."

The priest eyes you up and down. There's heat in his gaze, a kind of heat that slices right through your overloaded senses. You try not to squirm beneath his prying eyes.

He - Abdirak, as you find out while fishing through his mind, goes on about how the goblins here have no understanding for the finer intricacies of pain. You're inclined to agree - there's little finesse to be found here. He's receptive to your perspective, and you feel the heat in his gaze intensify.

...oh, my.

"Forgive me, but that look in your eyes - something terrible has happened to you."

He has no idea how right he is. For how intuitive be seems to be, luckily, he can't tell any further details.

"Clever man," you say. "How could you tell?"

"Because I see those same eyes when I look in the mirror, dear one."

He's offering to alleviate your pain through penance - you know that's shorthand for a beating you won't soon forget. But, you figure, if he's as skilled as he claims, he might just send you so deep into a blissful, delirious state you'll forget you're even in this mess of a camp - and you're rather desperate for any form of relief. So, you agree.

The peanut gallery behind you also seems far too enthused at the idea of watching you pay 'penance'.

"Mhm, I must see this - don't you dare say 'no'," Astarion damn near purrs.

"I agree. I'm sure you're in need of a little penance..." Shadowheart joins in.

Mouthy little things, they are. You turn to them as you undress your upper body - no use getting whipped when you won't feel it through your armor. You feel them devour you with their gazes as you slip off your undergarments - Karlach, meanwhile, flushes ever redder, her engine whirring in excitement at the sight of your bared skin - and give them a mock bow. If anything, you'll try to give them a good show.

Abdirak is waiting for a delightful performance from you as well - under the guise of serving Loviatar, of course.

As you move to stand facing the wall, you hear him contemplate which instrument of torture he should use on you. He decides against the mace he'd used on himself - too blunt. The dagger - too small, too thin. He settles for Loviatar's symbol - the nine-tailed, barbed scourge.

He runs it across your bare back, carefully, at first, just to tease you with its sharp touch. Your skin shivers at the contact.

"Yes, this will do nicely..." Abdirak hums. "Are you ready?"

You give him a small noise of confirmation. That's all he needs before he swings at you, the scourge tearing through your flesh. You feel your blood gush down the skin of your back, and let out a hiss.

This priest is good. It hurts, but gods - it's not the sort of pain you want to stop.

"The pain you suffer will cleanse you - do not fight it," he instructs.

"Come on. You can do better than that," you challenge him. Your senses are still flooded with the chaos of the camp - you want your mind to be quiet.

Abdirak is delighted at your enthusiasm. Behind him, you can hear Shadowheart and Astarion bicker again.

"Would you have joined up with her if you'd know she's be indulging in this sort of thing, Astarion?" Shadowheart quips.

"I mean...I had my hopes," Astarion replies.

Elven brats.

Shadowheart is having some decidedly unholy thoughts - she recalls the most recent night the two of you shared, and makes a mental note of your apparent penchant for pain to make use of it later.

Astarion isn't much better. He's imagining a scenario in which you get too smart with him for his tastes. He envisions you spread over his knees as he spanks your backside until it's red and glowing, before he can finally, finally seat you on his lap to get lost in your wet heat.

Good gods. If this penance won't kill you, your two lovers' overactive imaginations certainly will. You squeeze your thighs together to alleviate some of the growing heat between your legs. In that same instance, the scourge strikes your back again, and as the pain shoots through you, you cannot repress your moan.

Abdirak's mind fills with glee, especially when you challenge him once more. He promises to truly give it his all, and proceeds to whip the ever loving hells out of you. Wounds bloom across your skin, dappling your back in scarlet.

Astarion's thoughts take an abrupt turn.

He can smell the iron of your blood in the air, mixed with the scent of your ever-growing arousal, slick and hot between your legs. It's overwhelming to him, and though you can't see it, he curses his body for reacting so strongly to you that his knees almost give out. He wants to absolutely devour you, but doesn't want to interrupt the show, either.

"My, my. Who knew our friend had so much blood in them?" He husks, voice kept in a low purr.

His arousal is so evident, Shadowheart even feels the need to scold him, saying he ought to try not to lick his lips at the sight of you.

Were you in a different state of mind, perhaps you'd be concerned Astarion might only view you as a thing to be consumed - but you're gone now, the peace and serenity Abdirak promised you seeping into your mind. Nothing matters in this untethered state of bliss, anymore, your senses finally quiet.

Abdirak delivers a few more strikes, each more delightfully painful than the last, before finally stepping away from you. You manage to turn to face him before dropping to your knees. You can tell he clearly enjoyed this as much as you did, even liked your threat of returning the favor if he didn't hit you hard enough.

"Sweet child, you bore the pain like a true believer. I could feel Loviatar's pleasure with ever sting of my scourge. I am proud to have served you this penance."

His smile is wide as he bows his head at you. You can only manage to thank him. You're not quite in your body again, yet, but given that he managed to get this assault of sensations to stop affecting you, you'd readily give him anything he asks of you.

Loviatar's blessing feels like thousands of tiny needles piercing your skin at once, yet a wave of bliss washes over you as Abdirak bestows it upon you. You suddenly feel strong, powerful, even, though you still feel the exhaustion set in at the edge of your mind.

"And on a personal note, thank you," Abdirak says, a suggestive look on his face. "That was positively divine."

His mind is pure filth, at this point, and you wouldn't mind indulging him, were it not for the fact that Astarion's mind is now sharply focussed on you. You glance past the priest for but a second, to see Astarion's crimson gaze fixed on your bared form, his hardened cock straining against his breeches as well.

And he looks just about ready to pounce on you, eager to take you even infront of all these people present.

XxxxX

Taglist: @hyperfixationwhore @kitty-kei @frankie-mercury @deliriousfics @catching-fire-in-the-wind @captainaceofspades

[thresher-art]

Hi, I'm the anon who sent the Raphael ask. I'm so sorry if I spoiled anything for you! 😰

I'm just glad that you didn't try to force yourself to write something that you didn't want to write. I enjoy your work ("Mind Reader" is so much fun), but I'm not entitled to your creative efforts - nobody is.

Anyway, happy writing and I hope you have a wonderful day. 👋😊

Hello again! ☺️

No worries! I have an awful habit of spoilering myself, so I do kinda know what those things are but am missing all the details, so I likely wouldn't have been happy with the writing I could come up with anyway.

And thank you! I'm very happy to hear you enjoy my work! 🥰

[thresher-art]

Don't mind me over here just savoring your Mind Reader Tav x Astarion thingy like a fine wine. 🍷 Three chapters in and I'm as hooked on this story as much as Astarion is on Tav. Keep it up!

Aaaah thank you so much! 🥰

[thresher-art]

Sending this BG3 idea to a bunch of different blogs to see what they do with it: Tav uses edging and/or orgasm denial on Raphael to get him to give her the hammer without giving him the crown. (Enjoy!)

Hi! Thank you very much for requesting!

Unfortunately, while this prompt is very much up my alley, Raphael doesn't really do much for me 😅 also I haven't reached that point in the game yet (I'm barely past Act 2) so plot-wise I feel like I may mess things up.

But I hope others can give you a better result 😊

[thresher-art]

The Mind Reader (Chapter 4)

Pairing: Astarion/AFAB!Reader

Background Tadpolycule

Summary: After trudging through the swamp and Auntie Ethel's House, you stumble upon the Gur.

Astarion opens up about his past with Cazador, and remains ever confused about what the hell it is he's feeling towards you.

Warnings: Violence, Minor Character Death

A/N: This one took a little longer because I had to rewrite certain parts.

This chapter also features some bonding with Gale and Shadowheart, as well as you and Shadowheart being sapphic messes for your newest camp addition, Karlach.

Word Count: 5285

AO3

First / Previous / Next

XxxxX

Shadowheart eyes you disapprovingly when you sheepishly come up to her to ask for a Lesser Restoration spell. It's the fourth time in a row this week, and you know your poor cleric is getting tired of seeing you like this.

"I hope you know what you're doing," she says dryly while you try to get the crick out of your neck. You've been hearing that sentence far too often recently.

"You're trusting me to lead all of you. Why not trust me to let our resident vampire have a little suck on my neck?" You tell her.

"It's not you I don't trust. It's him," she replies. "You can have him suck whatever body part of yours you wish him to. Just...be careful, alright?"

She is actually being genuine, which surprises you just a little. While you and her have gotten close - as close as one could get to someone so adamantly unwilling to share things about her life - emotional warmth isn't something she often expresses.

Physical closeness is another matter entirely. You're both pratical enough to understand that, given your current circumstances, physical comfort can help you keep it together. There's no deeper meaning to your closeness, to the easy way touch happens between you, so the two of you have become steady companions.

You're suspicious, however, that Shar hasn't ratted you out to her yet. Or perhaps she has. You don't want to find out, to be honest - even just reading Shadowheart's fleeting thoughts gives you goosebumps. While Shadowheart herself would likely find your mind reading invasive, Shar wants you there even less.

You don't know much about Sharrans or their customs, but the fact that Shar is so protective of Shadowheart's mind makes you itch with curiosity. However, you're also not stupid enough to believe you can go against a goddess - who knows what the hell Shar can do to you if you push too hard.

For now, you try to enjoy Shadowheart's friendship. It always goes one of a few ways when it comes to you and friends that find out you're a telepath. They'll get angry and leave or try to kill you, which you tend to anticipiate long before ever letting them find out so you can cut ties early. In cases where you've not ever used someone's thoughts against them, the sweet ones may react with understanding. The worst ones try to hire or force you into surveillance, or use you for any other personal gain - and you'd honestly rather be dead than be used as someone's personal scrying eye.

You wonder which one Shadowheart will eventually be.

"I'll do my best," you promise. "But I have little to fear from him. Trust me."

Physically, Astarion could be able to hurt you, but you know he won't. Not when his feral side seems so hell-bent on needing you close to him.

"You're sure? He was quite upset with you when you didn't give him that book we found in the apothecary."

You stifle a laugh. "It's complicated. He's complicated," you say. "But yes, we've got nothing to worry about for now."

Astarion's easily got her fooled with his airheaded, foppish act. He truly is quite vain, but not nearly as empty-headed as one might think - Shadowheart doesn't think too highly of him, but you do know she finds him quite attractive, despite believing him to be alarmingly air-headed and superficial.

Astarion's mind is definitely fucked up beyond all belief, but that's what makes it so interesting to you.

Shadowheart dismisses you for now. You then turn to Scratch, the dog you stumbled upon a couple of days ago, to give him some morning scritches. He'd come to your camp, and had quickly become everyone's favourite - even grumpy Lae'zel's.

Speaking of - Lae'zel and Wyll had recently gotten into a bit of a spat concerning priorities. Lae'zel continues to insist you drop everything to find the nearest Githyanki creche, whereas Wyll is intent on rescuing the archdruid from the goblin camp and finding the demon he's been sent to kill.

In the end, you'd put it to a vote. Shadowheart, Gale and yourself had backed Wyll. Lae'zel was left on her own - Astarion was adamant that you shouldn't be wasting more time, either, but he's not too keen on finding the creche. So he was his own team as well.

Lae'zel had cursed at all of you, but you'd welcomed her to leave. With her mannerisms, if she were to go it alone, she knew herself she may be eventually outmatched. So she begrudgingly stuck with you.

Astarion had simply huffed at you for wasting time. Your little vampling had been quite cross with you for not handing over the Necromancy of Thay to him.

When you'd found and unlocked it, he'd been eager to get his hands on it. You'd merely tutted at him. He had no background in higher magic or necromancy. If anybody would be receiving that book, it'd be either Gale, or you. Given that Gale would probably just eat the damn thing, you'd decided to keep it for yourself.

Astarion had been a pouty little creature ever since, especially after you'd got done reading it as far as was possible. It was guarded by spirits, and you both knew he would not have been able to handle it the same way you had.

He'd chalked it up to your innate magical talent. You, however, know it's because spirits are essentially disembodied minds. They 'speak your language', and as such, can be more easily persuaded.

You are more than happy about being able to read this book. Not only does it allow you to speak to the dead, there's also a few pointers for other types of unsavory magic - kinds that Gale only gives you a warning glare for.

Never mind him. You're too curious about this book to let him stop you, so you'll try your damnedst to find a way to keep reading it.

After checking in on Scratch, you move towards your newest camp addition - Karlach, aforementioned devil Wyll was meant to slay, and see how she feels today.

You'd all been surprised to learn Karlach was no devil at all, but rather a tiefling, doomed into servitude with a mechanical heart to boot. It wasn't difficult to convince Wyll not to kill her - while he may be one to fight for justice, he has no true heart for slaughter.

Karlach had also become an instant favourite. Shadowheart and you had already gushed about her together, for surely, Karlach could easily lift the both of you with one arm each. The two of you tend to flutter around her and Karlach easily soaks up the attention.

She may mourn that she cannot touch the two of you, but the fact that you are so willing to keep her company makes her happier than she's been in a decade.

Gods, how she wishes she could actually touch you...

There's another thing you like about her - her thoughts match up with what she says. Rare is the person who is ever truly honest, but despite not having one, Karlach wears her heart on her sleeve. It's a trait you appreciate. She won't ever only tell you what she thinks you want to hear, and is able to dish our honest facts when you need to listen to them.

You know for a fact Astarion is quite unhappy that someone else has captured your attention. He wants to be mad about it, but Karlach is just so damn likeable, he can't bring himself to be mean to her. Instead, he has resorted to pouting like a kicked puppy whenever you pass him by.

Things had been quite turbulent in the days since you met her. You'd stumbled across gnolls, rescued a few Zhentarim from them and got pointers to their hideout. Wyll and Karlach had rescued Counsellor Florrick from a burning building and learned that Wyll's father had been kidnapped by whatever cult the goblins belonged to and taken to Moonrise Towers, and you finally stumbled upon a group of Githyanki, all of whom received you with quite a bit of hostility - Lae'zel included.

You'd luckily managed to get her to lie to them, as to not reveal too much information, especially about that artifact Shadowheart carried with her, but decided to turn back for now. You didn't trust this whole purification business one bit, especially after that interaction, and had made the final decision that you would visit Auntie Ethel and free Halsin before heading up the mountain pass.

On today's itinerary was a visit to Auntie Ethel. If she couldn't help with your tadpole problem, perhaps she could give you something useful for infiltrating the goblin camp.

Shadowheart and Astarion have become the two companions you always keep around. Karlach joins you today as well - you want to keep her busy, keep her mind off the disaster that's whirring away in her chest.

You and Shadowheart easily keep pace with Karlach. You two have become her biggest fans, fawning over her like nobody else has in ten years.

Karlach takes it all on. It's been so long since she's had girlfriends - ahem! - friends. She's certainly not extra flattered because you two are super, extra pretty.

Meanwhile, Astarion trudges along behind you, silently seething. Yes, Karlach is awfully attractive, he's not blind, and yes, maybe he too has imagined how lovely it would be to be carried like a princess in her arms, BUT! She is drawing your precious attention away from him, and he just cannot have that.

He doesn't know how to go about it, though. Playing the jealous one would certainly scare you off - he has no real claim to you, not as a friend, certainly not as a lover. Shadowheart would have more right to claim that at this point.

So, all he does as you slog through this awful swamp is to glower at the group of you.

You know a part of him wishes he could be included, to join in the easy banter and laughter. He just...doesn't know how. You also know any attempts to try and rope him in wouldn't be well-received - he doesn't need your help socialising.

You settle for turning to check how he's faring every once in a while.

_________

Auntie Ethel's house is a bust.

Your powers hadn't been wrong about something being off about her - you did not, however, expect her to be an actual hag.

You're not too keen on saving the girl she holds captive - Mayrina - and neither are Shadowheart and Astarion. Karlach insists on helping, though, so you chase after the two of them after Ethel flees deeper into her lair.

You regret moving on with every step.

Traversing Ethel's lair shows you what you already suspected. Making deals with Fey creatures is never a good idea - you pity the fools desperate enough to do so. Deals like these never go well, the wish turned and twisted into something you definitely wouldn't want. You see it clearly in the entrance gallery of Ethel's lair - a person petrified for wanting their terminal disease to stop, a young elf gone mad for being shown visions of the future, amongst others.

You have no idea what made Mayrina believe Ethel would actually ressurrect her husband. Pure desperation and grief, you know it, but...really?

You fought Ethel initially, but after being offered a boon by her, you decide to abandon this hero mission. Being in a hag's good graces without striking a deal is better in your eyes than getting on her bad side at all.

Besides. Ethel lets you know rather quickly she won't stay dead for long. Why waste the effort? You'd done it to appease Karlach's need to help, but Mayrina is beyond helping. She has no one to return to, either, with both her brothers dead in the swamp.

Karlach still protests as you leave the Riverside Teahouse. You resist the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. You understand the need to help people, truly, you do, but you see zero benefits for yourself here. You won't even come to a net zero. This would just suck, for everyone involved.

You explain to Karlach in no uncertain terms that Mayrina is doomed one way or another. Ethel would never properly make good on her promise, that much was clear - Mayrina's husband would likely return as some undead creature that isn't even a fraction as pretty as Astarion is. Even if he were to be revived, you doubt the couple would be happy, considering Mayrina sold their infant to a hag.

It's a stupid deal to make all around, and you refuse to take part in helping someone foolish and to an extent selfish enough to sell their own child.

Karlach relents. She's not happy about it, but even she has to admit that you're right. This way, you don't lose any more resources, don't make a potentially powerful enemy, and even gained a nice little boon from it.

You trudge back to camp. This was an entirely wasted day, and you're rather unhappy about it - especially since using your magic against a hag and her band of redcaps has left you feeling awfully drained. At the very least, you did end up finding some dirt on Kagha in the swamp, so you plan to confront her before heading off to the goblin camp.

On your way back, you cross a man - seemingly a hunter. He smells metallic and sweet, and his mind is currently running through plans and tactics. His expression softens when he spots you, and he greets you amicably.

"Ah, stranger. Forgive the aroma."

It's not...terrible, but enough to make you suspicious.

"Powdered Iron Vine - an old hunter's trick. Monsters will think twice before making a meal of me."

Interesting method. Before you can speak up, Astarion slinks in beside you, quirking his head at the man curiously.

"You're a...monster hunter? I'm surprised. I thought all Gur were vagrant cutthroats," he says, the slightest hint of venom in his voice. He seems strangely on edge, not enough for the hunter to notice, but you've gotten used to his body language.

That's an odd reaction to have to a stranger. You quickly sift through his mind for a reason, and your blood runs cold when you do.

Astarion was killed by a group of Gur.

When he looks upon this man's face, all he sees is his own death, and the beginning of a life of torture.

You try to intervene, before something awfully annoying can happen.

"Ignore the elf," you say, giving Astarion a carefully practiced, teasing smile. "He talks too much."

You feel Astarion's hackles raise at your comment. You're simply trying to be smart about this.

"Ah, but I'm sure your friend has heard quite a few tales of my people," the Gur waves you off. "We steal your chickens, ruin your crops, and seduce your daughters - the list goes on. I wish I had half the powers folk think my people do. Alas, I am but a wanderer. A simple wanderer, and a monster hunter, but I am no witch doctor or cutthroat."

He's telling the truth. But something inside you starts to be alarmed. You don't like that you've stumbled upon him, here. Something doesn't feel right. You reach out to his mind, weaving your telepathy through the windings of his brain...

...oh, fuck.

You want it to be wrong, need it to be wrong.

"So, what are you hunting for?" You then ask, trying to remain nonchalant.

"Something terrifying, no doubt," Astarion pipes up. "Dragon? Cyclops? Kobold?"

You want to scream at him to stop talking, to just keep moving and never turn back.

The Gur laughs off Astarion's antics. "Nothing so dramatic. I'm hunting for a vampire spawn."

You feel Astarion's stomach drop, panic slowly trickling into his mind.

"His name's Astarion, but I fear he's gone to ground. I hope the hag of these lands can help me flush him out - if I can afford her blood price."

"And if you find this Astarion, what will you do with him? Will you kill him?" You ask. Gods, you hope not.

"Not this time. I have orders to capture him."

Astarion manages to swallow his panic for but a second to chime in again. "Oh? And bring him where, exactly?"

"Baldur's Gate. My people wait for me there."

Terror erupts within Astarion's mind once more. It's not the Gur he fears - it's Cazador. You've heard of Cazador Szarr through whispers and rumors, but personally don't know much about him. His name floats about in Astarion's mind constantly, and whenever it does, all you can feel from him is fear, panic, hurt, and turmoil. Astarion fully believes the Gur won't be keeping him - at the very least, he'll be in closer proximity to Cazador, and he does not want that.

This conversation is getting worse by the second. The Gur has children, children he lost to Astarion, though he has no idea what Astarion looks like - luckily. This is a man seeking closure, not an evil man, and gods, you're going to have to kill him, because you absolutely will not allow him to take Astarion with him.

"Why bother with a spawn? He's not a real vampire," you deflect, inspecting your nails for an added flair of arrogance.

'Cheeky pup,' Astarion quips in his mind, even through all the panic.

"I don't know. I'm sure a vampire spawn could still rip out your throat if he felt like it," he says, an edge to his voice, pointed at the Gur. He's getting antsier, too.

"He's right, unfortunately. They are only weak when compared to their masters." The hunter sounds tired. He wants this mission to be over, and quickly. "During the day, we have the advantage. But at night, when they hunt, you'll not find a more deadly quarry."

"Yes. I'm sure they can creep right up on you."

As Astarion has done to you before, multiple times. In his racing mind, you suddenly manage to grasp the sliver of a particular worry.

He's afraid you'll hand him over. That he hasn't 'manipulated' you enough to care about him. That he's nothing but disposable to you.

You wouldn't exactly die for him, but gods help you are you not going to let him get captured. With how terrified he is, whatever is waiting for him on the other side cannot be good.

"We've all survived so far, no? Let's focus on that," Astarion says.

The statement is directed at you. The softer voice of his, the one that's usually the most truthful one, is the one speaking. 'I'm not dangerous to you,' it says, not knowing you can hear it. 'Please. Keep me safe. I need you to keep me safe.'

Gods. He's never had anybody stick up for him before, has he?

"It would still be wise to post guards at night," the hunter advises. "The threat is real."

"Indeed it is," Astarion agrees. He's licking his teeth, and the hunter is only slow to notice it. "We should do something about this threat."

It's almost cute that he's asking permission.

"Oh, we certainly should," you assent. "After you, dearest."

"Excellent."

His voice comes out in a snarl as he draws his dagger, in a way that does things to you that are absolutely not appropriate for this time and situation. Astarion closes in on the hunter, who can only express pure shock at the fact that Astarion is out and about during the day.

You're just barely present enough to cast a Hold Person spell as you see the hunter reach for his weapon. You feel Shaowheart's Guidance spell surge through you, and you're relieved she was quick to act, as well. Your spell hits its mark, and the Gur freezes in place.

Astarion buries his dagger to the hilt into the hunter's eyesocket. It's a quick, silent death, and he rips his blade back out in disgust as the Gur collapses to the ground.

Gods. This could've gotten so much worse. You know that his hunter most definitely had the means to cause genuine trouble for you, so you're glad things worked out the way they did.

You sigh heavily and turn to Shadowheart. You nod your head at her in gratitude, and in return, she reaches for you and gives your hand a gentle squeeze. She's got your back, and you're all the better for it.

Karlach is far too disappointed at how short the fight was to realize what happened, but Astarion definitely noticed the short bit of contact between the two of you. Oddly enough, he's not upset at it. He generally doesn't mind Shadowheart being close to you, and something in him seems to understand how worried you were for him in that moment, and that you're thankful Shadowheart was quick to support you.

"Let's go. I don't want to be around when the crows start picking at him," Astarion says dryly, and you all agree. You loot what you can from the corpse, then are quick to leave.

You don't want to spend another minute in this swamp.

__________

When you get back to camp, Astarion immediately disappears into his tent and doesn't come out again. Dinner passes by, with you all updating the others about the situation so they can keep an eye out for any other hunters.

After dinner, you, Shadowheart and Gale are sitting in a more secluded part of camp. Gale casts a silencing spell around the three of you, so you can talk openly.

You and Gale have reluctantly buried the hatch for now. After your previous spat, he'd approached you with a genuine apology for trying to force something out of you. You apologised for digging about in his head, reaffirming that it was an unfortunate integral habit you had, but only for that - you still didn't regret slapping him. You'd come to the agreement you'd read his surface level thoughts only if needed and leave his memories alone, which is a fair enough arrangement. You know more than enough about Gale already.

He's pleasant company, you have to admit. You still feel a little uneasy around him, but for someone who does seem to enjoy wielding immense amounts of power, he seems to have no interest in making use of yours. This odd...friendship is the best outcome you can currently ask for.

Gale sits with the two of you and reads. You're helping Shadowheart detangle her hair for the night. You don't always do it, but when you're particularly restless, you've found combing through her soft, silky hair to be quite soothing. The three of you have become the unofficial wine club at camp, with Gale hoarding the better vintages. Being on good terms with Gale also means getting better wine.

Gale, of course, asks why you're not with Astarion right now. You assuage his concern - Astarion will come to you if he feels the need to talk. Prying it out of him won't help.

'You already know, anyway,' Gale comments at you mentally.

'I know parts of it. His mind is a little tricky to navigate,' you project back.

Your mental dialogues had started after you'd talked things out. It's a useful trick, really, being able to have silent conversations like this.

'I see. Then I hope he'll open up to you.'

Gale flips to the next page of his book. You're well aware both he and Shadowheart are suspicious of Astarion's intentions when it comes to you. They're right to be, but they've been kind enough not to say it out loud.

You comb out the final knots in Shadowheart's hair and tie it into a lose braid, one that's more comfortable for sleeping. Then, you wrap your arms around her, gently squishing her to your chest.

She's used to this by now. She'd never admit out loud that she likes it, but this has become a bit of a ritual. Whenever either of you are overwhelmed or exhausted and in need of some physical touch, you know the other is there for you.

Shadowheart sometimes gives a short hiss of pain after being hugged, rubbing the back of her hand. Tonight is no different. She tries to play it off, but Gale and you notice.

"That injury of yours sure is persistent," Gale comments, not looking up from his book. "Perhaps we should find a cure for it?"

"Gale, I think you and I both know good and well that the most we can do about it is scratch it if it itches," you reply, taking Shadowheart's hand in yours to examine the injury. The purple mark glows ominously.

You obviously cannot find the details in Shadowheart's mind, but you know Shar has something to do with it. It's not even through telepathy - her wound is inflicted and sustained by ancient, powerful magic, the kind of magic you and Gale have no way of lifting or reversing.

"It's nothing," Shadowheart insists.

It's not nothing, but you and Gale accept this answer, as you usually do.

Eventually, you excuse yourself for the night. Both Gale and Shadowheart get a little kiss on the forehead - it's always important to give your friends a good night kiss.

You assume Astarion is still in his tent or on the prowl somewhere. But of course, he's already sitting cozy in yours, waiting for you to go to bed.

He doesn't say anything as you ignite the oil lamp you keep near your bedroll, stays silent while you slip off your boots for the night.

It's only once you sit, patient and waiting, that he finally talks. It practically spills out of him, and while a part of him yells at him to stop talking, another one desperately wants you to know. He needs somebody to know.

Astarion tells you about Cazador, about how he had found him at death's door after the Gur had beat him to a pulp. How he was promised eternal life, rather than death. How he never realized just how long eternity could be.

He speaks of two hundred years of torture and torment, of starvation, of stalking the streets of Baldur's Gate to try and lure back victims for Cazador to feed on. He says he has six brothers and sisters, all of them spawn, and expresses how he fears for them, now that he has managed to escape. He had always been Cazador's favourite plaything, his screams sounding sweetest.

The air is heavy around you once Astarion finishes talking. Your first instinct is to embrace him - you restrain yourself, if only because you know he would see it as pity, and spurn you.

For once, you have no idea what to say. What his mind wants to hear most in order to feel comforted.

"Thank you for telling me this," you decide to say. "For trusting me with this."

Astarion scoffs in his mind. You'd thank him? For something as pathetic as this? It shouldn't be as hard an ordeal as he feels it is.

"Sharing two hundred years of pain with someone is not something anybody can do lightly," you add.

It helps. You manage to swap the pathetic, helpless feeling for something almost akin to strength. You make him feel...proud, to be able to open up to you.

He also somehow feels sick because of this. Trusting people feels wrong, and this isn't part of the plan. He should be the one charming you, not the other way around.

"I can't promise anything, of course, but I'll do what I can to try and make sure Cazador doesn't get his hands on you."

Astarion shakes his head at you. "That's terribly sweet of you, darling. But if Cazador finds out where I am, I fear there's little you can do against him."

"Maybe. That doesn't mean I won't try, though."

He thinks you're a fool, a mad, stupid, naive woman for sticking your neck out for him, figuratively and literally. But that quiet voice inside him begs to differ.

'She cares about me,' it says, barely a whisper, as if it's too good to be true.

The manipulator in him is quick to shoo it away. You only care for him because he tricked you into doing it. The soft voice is gone now. You want to chase after it, grasp it tightly so it can keep talking to you.

You do care about him, just as you've come to care for everyone else at camp. It happens when you spend extended time with people. Sure, you care for some more than others, but you don't want to see any of your companions hurt. You don't want him tortured and starved again, so you'll do your damned best to keep any other hunters away from him.

That does not mean he has your undying devotion. He doesn't seem to understand the nuances in this, though.

Astarion excuses himself, even apologises for taking up so much of your time. You brush him off. You're glad he feels comfortable talking to you.

Before he leaves, you pull him down to press a kiss to his forehead. He's entirely perplexed by the softness, and frowns at you.

"Don't look at me like that," you say with a playful smile. "All friends get a good night kiss."

"Do they, now?" His brow furrows as he studies you. He hasn't had a friend in centuries. He's not sure what that would entail.

Astarion moves to tilt your face up by your chin. His touch is feather-light, barely even there. Then he moves in, and kisses you gently, more delicate than he's ever done before. Your eyes flutter shut, heat blooms across your body, and your pulse quickens. Astarion clearly notices, for his hand drifts down to gently caress your neck. You giggle against his lips at the ticklish sensation.

'Is this what friends do?' you hear him wonder.

Some do. Some don't. For some, a kiss is simple, friendly affection, for others, it's more. It depends on the person you're doing it with. Kisses can be both platonic and romantic. You wish you could tell him this.

You, however, don't know which category exactly the two of you fit in. You're friends - of that you're certain. Friends who like to play silly little games with each other.

You're not sure if you want to think about what that makes the two of you.

His gaze lingers on you for a few seconds after he draws back. There's a war in his mind. He's happy his manipulation of you is going so well, but the tiny voice replies that the kiss had felt good. That it'd felt nice. That he'd like to do that more often.

Then, he moves to get out of your tent.

"Sweet dreams, darling."

"Good night, Astarion."

It's only after he's gone that you realize he didn't feed on you tonight. You reach out to check if he's hungry - of course he is. But to your surprise, the quiet voice is the loudest at this moment, seemingly having wrenched control from the others. You feel hollow as you hear it think.

'She's been so nice to me today. She wants to keep me safe. I won't feed from her tonight. Not today. Not when she's been so nice and...lovely.'

'I...I don't want to hurt her.'

'Just this once.'

XxxxX

@hyperfixationwhore @kitty-kei @frankie-mercury @deliriousfics @catching-fire-in-the-wind @captainaceofspades

[thresher-art]

The Mind Reader (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Astarion/AFAB!Reader

Background Tadpolycule

Chapter Summary: Gale is fool enough to try and confront you about your mind reading.

Astarion continues to be an absolute weirdo who is far too horny while he feeds, and is very confused about his thoughts on you.

Warnings: Light Smut/18+ Content, Blood Drinking, Light Groping, Telepathic Voyeurism, Masturbation (Full list of tags on AO3)

A/N: Referring to a vampire's bite as the 'kiss' is something borrowed from Vampire: The Masquerade. I'm not sure how it is in DnD, but in VtM it's said to be very pleasureable.

Word Count: 4215

AO3

First / Previous / Next

Astarion is rather courteous the next morning.

He checks in on you, asks you how you feel. You definitely feel woozy, the loss of blood not easy on your body. You just hope that you won't get slashed much today, for you don't think you could survive very long.

Astarion gives you a cheeky wink, and promises to keep an eye on you. His mind soars at the opportunity to make you need him, to have you dependant on him as he is on you. You promise to keep him fed, after all.

Of course, the others quickly catch wind about Astarion's true nature. You're surprised none of them caught on earlier - they thought him strange and suspicious, yes, but didn't take him for a vampire.

You deflect their threats, assuring them Astarion certainly wouldn't be going around having a nibble at all of them. Shadowheart seems skeptical, and casts a spell of Lesser Restoration on you. She has a feeling she'll have to do this regularly, now. She, like everyone else at camp, believes you to be absolutely, stupidly smitten with Astarion, so it's only natural you'd continue to let him feed on you.

'Smitten' is not exactly the word you would chose. You're definitely attracted to the little vampling, and enjoy the time you spend with him, but he's been far too obvious and clumsy in his attempts to 'manipulate' you for you to have caught actual feelings.

Gale seems suspicious, voicing his concerns at the whole situation. You affirm you're quite alright with keeping Astarion at camp, and think you're done with the conversation, but Gale seems to think otherwise.

'I hope you know what you are doing,' he thinks at you. He's clearly waiting for a reaction.

You refuse to give him one. "Was there anything else, Gale?"

He's obviously disappointed. "Oh, not much. I wanted to ask if you could lend me a hand with dinner later?"

You know he means to confront you more directly, then, both on your mind reading, and his own little secret.

You felt an oddity in his magic before, so you dug around in his mind. You didn't care for the details, the important parts were easy to find - he has a Netherese orb in his chest that'll blow up and kill you all if he doesn't absorb bits of magic to appease it. Unfortunately for him, you and Astarion are the ones who tend to loot any damn thing that isn't nailed to the ground like a pair of overgrown magpies, so he has not been able to get his hands on any magical artifacts. He's also not asked either of you, because he believes you not to trust him, and Astarion not to like him.

Astarion finds Gale dreadfully boring, if anything, but doesn't dislike him outright. You also don't exactly mistrust him, but don't like that he judges you for keeping secrets while being not fully open about himself either.

What Astarion doesn't like, now, is Gale asking to have some of your time. He's close to snarling at the wizard, and you bite back a snort. He's bitten you once, and he's already getting territorial. You can't have that, now can you?

"Sure. What's on the menu?"

If Astarion were a cat, you just know he'd currently have an arched back and would be hissing wildly at Gale. And you would be splashing him with water for it.

Silly elf. He gets no claim on you just because he sank his little fangs into your flesh one time.

"We've found an absurd amount of onions as of late, so I'd like to fashion a soup out of them. I'll be needing an extra set of hands for the prepwork, if you don't mind." You see the recipe come together visually in Gale's mind - it does look delicious. "And Shadowheart was kind enough to purchase some bread, meats and cheeses from the grove. It'll be simple fare, but will need a bit more effort."

"No problem. I'll meet you later, then."

Gale nods at you and takes his leave.

You feel Astarion ghost his fingers up your side. He's close to you, now, able to whisper in your ears.

"So, you'll be helping to keep everyone at camp fed? I do so hope that means everyone, my dear."

You pry his wandering hand off of you, and decide to leave a playful kiss on his knuckles.

"Why, of course, my sun and my stars. How could I leave my favourite vampire to starve, while everyone else gets to delight in Gale's tasteful talents?"

Astarion has no desire to imagine Gale's 'talents' as of now, and scrunches his eyebrows a little at the thought. What he does like, though, is how easily you flirt back at him.

"Oh? Your favourite vampire?" He purrs. "You've known many of us?"

"Does that even matter now?" You bat your eyelashes at him. His hand is still held in your own, and he seems to have no desire to pull it back. "You're the only one on my mind, after all."

Astarion's mind sings in triumph. He's got you, so he believes, and you would be just so cruel to shake him out of his fantasy. The two of you are standing close, now, close enough to kiss. You're gazing into each other's eyes, both seemingly enraptured by the other.

You're both terrible, terrible people.

You're the first to laugh at your silly act. Astarion lets out the most delightful little giggle, and the false moment is broken.

"Off with you, get your armor on," you tell him. "We've got a long day ahead of us."

___________

It really is a long day.

You decide to return to the ruins you saw along the coast - with a group of bandits so nervously guarding it, surely, there must be something interesting in there.

You easily convince them that they'll find better loot elsewhere. The ruins are yours to explore - you've a feeling there's something down there. It's like it's calling you straight to it.

You make it through the ruins by the skin of your necks. Lae'zel, impatient as she could be, had set off a firey trap in the mausoleum of the ruins, and Astarion had unlocked the other door faster than you'd ever seen him do it so you could all escape, only for strange ghost-monsters to be waiting for you on the other side. Once those were felled, you finally made it to a crypt, and crawling out of it came Withers.

You're honestly surprised he even has a name. The mummy in tattered robes mutters some absolutely-not-cryptic nonsense at you, and tells you he'll meet you at camp. You now have a corpse as a companion - not too bad, you suppose. It could always be something worse.

You're all exhausted once you're out in the open again and return back to camp. As he promised, Withers slinks around there, and lets you know he can bring people back from the dead should they be felled.

Useful. Also a little concerning, you suppose.

You can't read Withers at all, which makes you all the more intrigued. It's not a language barrier, nor divine intervention. More of a peaceful quiet, one that likely can only be attained through being dead for centuries. You know he has a mind - simmering below the surface, practically calling out to you to come and read it, but alas. You can't access it.

So many minds. So many blockages. Strange.

You keep your word and help Gale with dinner preparations, tucking a magical ring from your collection you can part with in your pocket. If he's nice, maybe you'll even give it to him. Gale hands you a large bowl of onions, and you get to peeling and chopping them. At first, it's in amicable silence - but you're sure it's not for long. His mind buzzes with anticipation.

"So, how does it work?" He asks.

You don't look up at him, and play dumb.

"Well, first you cut them in half to have a flat surface, then you peel the outer layers off, and chop them into slices." Your knife glides through the onion as you speak. "I thought chopping onions was in your skillset? Or do you always have someone do that for you to avoid some tears?"

"I didn't mean the onions," Gale says quickly. "I meant...the mind reading."

"Mind reading?" You turn to him incredulously. "I'm not sure why you think asking me about it would help you."

"You seem good at it."

"I don't even know how to do it." Lying comes so easy to you. It's like you've never done anything else. "Isn't Detect Thoughts a spell one can learn? Don't tell me they don't know how to do it in Waterdeep. But if you're so interested in it, I think we may have an amulet somewhere that enables you to cast the spell. Astarion may have it right now, though, so you'll have to negotiate with him."

You can feel his frustration. That's not what he meant, either, and he knows you know it. You won't give him the satisfaction of admitting to anything out loud, though.

Suddenly, you feel your tadpole wriggle behind your eye. That fucker is trying to get into your head now, trying to pry the answers from you if you won't give that to him.

Your free hand flies up before you can stop it, and slaps him square across the face. It's a reflex, really, a physical way of telling Gale to fuck off and leave your mind alone. Gale stumbles back at the impact, holding his reddening cheek and silencing his tadpole.

Rage bubbles up inside you. You know it's hypocrytical, barring your mind from entry when you hop in and out of others'. But your mind is the one defense you have, the one place on your body that nobody can hurt. You will not have anyone touch it.

"You know, I was considering giving you this."

You reach into your pocket and show him the ring. Gale's eyes widen, his mind swimming at the shock that yes, he'd been right about you being a telepath, but also terror at you having known about his affliction all along. Now, he's pissed you off royally, effectively ruining his chances at getting his hands on something considering Astarion would most likely refuse him, too.

"But since you can't help but stick your nose where it doesn't belong, you can go and rot."

You're not being fair to Gale, but you don't care enough to be anymore. Gale panicks.

"If you know as much as I think you do, then you know what'll happen if I don't get a recharge," he tries to argue.

"Maybe I do. But honestly? I'll take that over turning into a Mindflayer."

He's quickly losing any confidence he once had in this conversation having a positive outcome for him. Good.

"You'd damn this entire part of the Sword Coast?" Gale tries to appeal to your conscience. Too bad it only kicks in when you want it to.

"Can't feel guilty about anything when I'm dead," you say bluntly. "Besides - I'm the one damning people? That's rich. I'm not the one with a bomb in my chest, and last I checked, you had enough gold and a mouth to barter with to purchase your own damn artifacts."

He visibly shrinks before you, any semblance of control lost.

"Also, for someone so aware that there must be some tragic reason for me to do as I do, you sure couldn't leave it well alone, could you, Gale?"

You add that for good measure, and know for a fact that you've won this exchange. It's a bitter victory, one you don't enjoy in the slightest. You can hear Gale's fear ringing in his mind. It freezes him to the spot. He won't run, nor will he attack you - he's completely at your mercy like this.

Gods. You're all terrified, aren't you? This tadpole thing has all of you on edge.

You sigh, trying to calm your anger. Gale is terrified of blowing up the Sword Coast - you figure that's a legitimate enough reason to act as foolishly as he did.

"I'm not sorry I hit you," you say. You aren't. "I hate being perceived and cornered like that. Don't do it again."

You fish the ring back out of your pocket.

"If I give you this, will you keep your mouth shut?"

Gale nods numbly. You hand him the ring.

"Good! Glad we understand each other. I'd hate to lose a trusted companion."

You'd also hate to warp his mind and make him forget this entire exchange, but he doesn't need to know that. With that, you turn away to pay attention to the onions you were cutting earlier. Beside you, Gale goes quiet as he absorbs the artifact's power into him. Relief is evident on his face, his posture. He studies you again. You're so nonchalant about everything.

"I'm not the first person to...corner you like this, am I?"

"Nope!" You chirp. "Keep chopping, by the way. I agreed to help, not to do it for you."

"Did you handle it the same way you handled me?"

"No. You won't be able to ask that person, though, I'm afraid they are otherwise engaged indefinitely." Once again, you feel how Gale freezes beside you. "Also, note for the future? Maybe don't threaten or corner a person who's currently holding a knife. You're lucky I had the good sense to use my free hand."

"I...see." He's uneasy around you, now. He should be. He's come to like your kindness, the easy way you usually are willing to help strangers. This is a side of you he's never imagined. "You have my gratitude for that, then."

"Don't mention it."

You hope he really, really doesn't ever again.

__________

After dinner, Astarion ambushes you in your tent, sitting there as if he owns it.

You make a mental note to check if all of your belongings are present once he leaves.

He lazily fingers through a book you have, and makes a show of being terribly bored by it. He closes it dramatically when you come to sit next to him, and gives you a smirk. His mind doesn't match his cocky expression - while externally, he seems amused, internally, he's fuming.

"So. I noticed Gale had a rather dashing handprint on his cheek. You wouldn't happen to know how he got that, do you?"

'He better not have touched you,' his mind hisses. 'If he's put his hands on you, I'll...'

His thoughts trail off. Astarion isn't sure why he cares about what happens to you. You're just a pawn in his game, right?

...right?

"A spider crawled up his cheek," you say casually. "I don't really do well with spiders, which is to say I tend to freak out in their presence. Doesn't matter the size."

You're not even entirely lying about that. Big spiders freak you the fuck out. Small ones? Not always. Depends on how small. Regardless, you think it'll endear Astarion to you if he believes he knows a vulnerability of yours.

"I saw it crawling up his face and then my hand just...slipped."

Astarion barks out a laugh. You're surprised at how easily he believes you, though you notice it's because he's relieved Gale didn't try anything untoward. That kind of creepy behavior is reserved for him.

For now. Others at camp have certainly caught your eye - Gale included - but this little vampling is one of a kind.

"You little devil. Slapping the soul out of our resident wizard because of a spider."

"Don't make fun of me for it. Otherwise, I'll make a soup out of garlic next time."

You both know it wouldn't do a damn thing to deter him from teasing you, but it leaves the two of you giggling nonetheless. You like this. You like how easy it is to laugh with him.

"Well then. If I have no need to worry about Gale putting his Mage Hand where it shouldn't be, that is good enough."

"I think Gale knows he'll lose half his face before he succeeds."

Astarion knows that, too. He likes that about you. You might be a touch too nice for his tastes, but you've proven time and again that you waste no time taking out people who end up crossing you.

"Well then, with that out of the way..."

"You'd like another nibble?" You're fully aware Astarion didn't come by for a chat.

He laughs. "Am I that obvious?"

"Sweetling, nothing about you is subtle. You might be delightfully stealthy in combat, but outside of it? Not so much."

"Oh, you wound me, my dear! I am perfectly capable of being subtle." Astarion clutches his hand to his chest, feigning offense.

"Mhm, sure you are. Shall we get a move on?"

He quirks a brow at you. "My, my. Are you that eager to have me on top of you again?"

"Not quite. I'd simply prefer to go to bed as soon as possible. Who says you'll be on top, by the way?" You counter. "I'd like to try a different position."

"Kinky."

"You're a pest." You swipe at him playfully. He easily dodges. "No, I'd like to sit up this time. Get a feel for what's most comfortable, if we are to do this more often in the future."

"Reasonable, and quite considerate."

Astarion reaches out to gently caress the length of your neck. His hands run down your skin, then over your collarbone, before barely teasing towards your clevage. You know he won't actually touch where you don't want him to, but snatch his wrist to stop him.

"Naughty boy. These aren't on offer."

Astarion lowers his voice to a husk. He doesn't pull his hand back, ghosting his fingertips over your decolletage.

"They're not?" He gives you a low chuckle. "Don't play coy, darling. Your body's already given you away. I could feel it last time, as I was getting lost in your neck. Your little shakes of excitement. You enjoyed it, didn't you?"

"I did. I believe the whispers in the dark may refer to a vampire's bite as the 'kiss'. Why shouldn't it be pleasurable?" You rub circles into his pulse point with your thumb. "But I believe you may have enjoyed it far more than I did."

"Oh, I was positively swept up in the moment. I'm glad you enjoyed it enough to welcome me back for another nibble."

"I'd be a terrible hero if I were to ignore a poor little vampire in need."

Your voice is laden with sarcasm. You don't mind letting him feed on you in the slightest - you see it as something utilitarian, not something altruistic. The dizziness is easily cured by Shadowheart's healing hand, and Astarion can actually fight at full capacity.

The pleasurable nature of it is just a lovely side effect.

Astarion clearly believes you to be a goody-two-shoes, so he's blind to your intentions, as he usually is.

"Noble. What a lucky vampire I am, to be offered such a delectable neck?"

You make the bold move to press his hand up against your throat. You see him hesitate. He's fighting the urge to squeeze, to claim you as his own and to sink his fangs into you before you can stop him.

He's very confused as to where this possessive need comes from. It's clearly not new to him - he's felt this about you before. Anytime he catches your scent, he wants nothing more than to steal you away, and sink himself into you.

You cannot ever decipher if he wants to use his fangs, or his cock.

Probably both.

You crane your neck at him, presenting him with more to touch. He can feel your pulse hammering between his fingers, and you know he's salivating.

"My neck is the only thing on offer tonight, sweet vampire. Take it or leave it," you say, raising your heated gaze at him.

Everything inside him shifts.

"Come here," he snarls, encircling your waist in his hands to pull you onto his lap. His fangs pierce your flesh with little warning and you cry out in surprise. Perhaps a vampire's bite is addictive, for the pain fades quicker, and the pleasure is more intense than the last time.

Astarion drinks deeply from you. He's as desperate as ever, your blood tasting so terribly sweet on his tongue.

'Good...so good', he echoes in his mind. 'So sweet...don't ever want to stop tasting her...'

You're going to have to read up on vampire biology. This fixation Astarion has on you, your scent, and your blood worries you. It worries him, too, for another part of his mind screeches that getting attached is not part of the plan. He needs you wrapped around his clever fingers, ready at his beck and call - not the other way around.

The feral part of his mind doesn't care. All it wants is you.

That'll be enough for tonight. He's gotten through three, maybe four full gulps. His mind is buzzing happily, and once more, you can feel his arousal press against you.

Gods, how you'd love to get your hands on him.

That's what he's waiting for, however. He's anticipating the moment you'll want something back for keeping him fed, and he's more than prepared to offer you his body.

You're incredibly concerned that the trade of your blood for his dick makes sense to him. Nobody at camp is sucking Gale off every night for cooking dinner. You all just take turns helping prep or cleaning up afterwards. You wonder what the vampire bite equivalent of doing the dishes would be. Nevertheless, while you would happily ride him until you go blind with ecstasy, you refuse to fuck him when he believes that keeping him fed is a transaction.

You know he's trying to fuck you so you'll protect him indefinitely. That's a whole different problem entirely, but one that doesn't bother you as much. You would still happily stab him in the back for doing something you heavily disapprove of, regardless of whether he's fucked you or not, so you're happy to let this pretty elf charm you into his bedroll outside of this situation.

There's just something especially icky about imagining someone saying, 'Hey! I'll let you eat, but only if you fuck me!'. So, you reluctantly pry Astarion off of you for the night, your vision swimming slightly.

Astarion isn't quite ready to let you go yet. He does let off from your neck, but dives in to kiss you again. Your own blood spills into your mouth as he ravages you and leaves you breathless, and he dutifully cleans your face and neck with small licks once he's had his fill.

"You don't have to kiss me every time I feed you, you know," you say, a weak laugh escaping you. "You deserve to eat, too."

He doesn't believe you when you say it. He's thinking of putrid rats, of rotten bugs, matted fur and mucous stuck between his teeth. He thinks of hunger. Burning, endless hunger. You hear that sentence again, the one that commands him not to feed from sentient creatures. His face doesn't betray his thoughts, though, and he gives you a bloody smile.

"How can I resist, when your lips are even sweeter than your blood?" He says, breathless. His voice husks pleasantly in your ears, but his mind is still a storm. Amongst the feral whispers telling him to claim you, the cunning ones telling him to keep charming you, there's a quiet voice saying that yes, he does enjoy kissing you. He enjoys being close to you. Enjoys having his hands on you, and your hands on him.

The voice says that he likes you. You try and chase after it, to hear what else it has to say, but it gets drowned out and shoved down by the other two trains of thought.

A pity. That voice sounded raw. Honest. Perhaps that's why he himself represses it.

Astarion really is a messy eater. This time, he wipes off the bloodstains himself.

He's contemplating letting you suck his fingers clean. You take that as your cue to get off his lap. He is confused as ever that you don't initiate anything sexual.

"Happy?" You ask, watching as he makes himself presentable.

"Very. You're ever so gracious as usual, my dear," he says. He takes your hand in his and presses a kiss to your knuckles. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome, Astarion. Am I free to go to bed, now?"

"Of course. Sweet dreams, darling."

Oh, they will be particularly sweet, you think after he leaves. Astarion is fantasizing about you again. He imagines pinning you to your bedroll after having fed on you, his lips devouring you once more.

You're starting to think your hand may soon not suffice anymore if this keeps happening every night after he feeds on you.

XxxxX

@hyperfixationwhore

[thresher-art]

Ur hurtful words fic is so good 😭😭 I agree that realistically, not only for me but I think for most people, having said what he said the reader would NOT let him back in without some sort of spoken berating. I love how we were so sure of our choices, our decisions, and that for as much as we loved him we had made our choice and stood by it.

Ngl partly wished for a bad ending bc, what he said really did hurt dude 😞😟 but I’m happy they found it in themselves to forgive astarion and make that journey with him slowly

Thank you so much! 🥰 I'm not sure I've mentioned it before but I do see most Tavs/Readers in fanfics be a little less assertive when it comes to their own boundaries. The post-ascension refusal fics I've seen either feature Reader taking him back quickly or just simply no longer able to function which. My dude, being sad is okay but we literally still have the tadpole problem and more important things, he is literally just A GuyTM!

Astarion is definitely my BabygirlTM and I love him very much but if he said to me what he says in-game I'd send him straight to hell 😬

But I think one important factor in all of this is time (which also flows into the idea of a bad ending). If Astarion came crawling back the same night, I'd imagine Tav/Reader to be far too angry to actually take him back on the spot, because what the actual hell, Astarion???

In the fic, it's maybe 6 months after the whole thing. Astarion's not been around, Reader has had time to cool down, too. Astarion coming back now only works because they aren't as explosively angry anymore - still hurt, but not willing to fight on sight.

Part of dating Astarion is understanding that he has a terrible grip on his emotions even when he's in a good mood. In game, he gets a literal debuff being in Cazador's palace again. And Astarion himself knows dating him isn't easy - he comes with complications, and is surprised when you pick him over someone else.

And I think if Reader is fully aware of what they're getting into when dating Astarion, and receive a genuine apology from him, I think they'd be willing to take him back, always - albeit knowing there really is still lots to work on between them, and knowing that Astarion himself has a lot of growing to do.

[thresher-art]

I cannot wait to read more of the mind reader!! you’re writing is so delicious and yummy I’m so excited for more 🫶🏻 that being said, i’ve had a thought in my head since the end of Act 2 whenever Tav’s guardian appears to everyone after Ketheric is defeated. I just happened to make my guardian the sexiest man i’ve ever seen and I can’t stop thinking about Astarion being jealous because ??? this glorious looking man is who has been visiting Tav in their dreams??? promising protection to the one he loves??? like he doesn’t blame them but how could he possibly compete with that? obviously before they find out about the whole emperor thing but I just think it’s cute and I think you’d be able to do my idea justice 🤍🤍🤍

Aww thank you! 💜💜💜

I actually have a loose plan for the Dream Guardian (it's not entirely fleshed out yet but I am getting there). The Dream Guardian's appearance will however trigger some jealousy in Astarion for reasons I cannot disclose yet (and that will hopefully be the same when I get there haha) 👀 I plan on keeping the Dream Guardian gender-neutral so readers can imagine them whichever way they want, but believe me - they will be beautiful.

It's not quite your idea, but I hope it won't disappoint regardless and am very flattered you think I could pull your idea off well! 🥰

[thresher-art]

Hurtful Words

Pairing: Astarion/AFAB!Reader

Mentioned Background Tadpolycule

Summary: In the months since Astarion left you, furious for refusing to help him ascend, you've tried to put your life back together the best you can. Your heart is broken, but you try to manage.

Astarion, meanwhile, stalks the streets by nightfall, hoping to find you again.

Warnings: Mild Smut 18+ content, hurt/comfort, break-ups, Astarion being bad at feelings (full list of tags on AO3)

A/N: You guys voted, and wanted to see the feely, hurt/comfort fic first, so here it is! It's been a while since I wrote this type of fic, so I hope it doesn't disappoint.

Word Count: 6885

AO3

"I'm done with this, and I'm done with you. I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming."

It had been months since you'd thwarted the Absolute, become the Heroes of Baldur's Gate, and yet, his words never left you. How his eyes that once held so much love for you were filled with a burning hatred, all because you refused to help him give up his soul for some foul, demonic power.

The others had given you space when you returned to camp. Astarion's tent was left untouched, clearly, he hadn't come back for any of his things. You weren't sure he even would.

Wyll and Karlach, sweethearts that they were, carefully kept prying if you really were as alright as you tried to make it seem. You weren't, of course, but their questioning soon became exhausting.

"Astarion wasn't the first person to love me," you had said, voice sure and steady. "And he won't be the last. I am in pain, for now, but it'll fade. We have more pressing matters right now, I'm afraid."

And you did. The tadpoles in your heads were still the greater threat - you couldn't waste any time crying over a breakup, no matter how much it hurt. You needed to get over it, and quickly, else you wouldn't be able to focus on the various crises at hand.

Some part of you was angry at him, too. You hoped it would make all of this easier.

So, the next morning, when you saw that Astarion's tent was still standing, undisturbed, you made a decision. You collected everything you owned that he had once given you, things that connected you to him. A shirt of his you liked to steal. A necklace he had pickpocketed for you. A blouse he loved seeing you in.

The ring you found in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, the one that matched with his.

You left those objects in his tent, scribbled a note to go along with it. If he decided to come back for his things, he'd find them - and if not, some other person may benefit from finding this. It felt like leaving a part of yourself behind - the part that loved him - to try and look forward instead.

With that, you told the others to pack up and move your camp.

You didn't know where Astarion ended up after the whole mess at Cazador's palace. You didn't dare to try and reach out to his tadpole, either. Your heart had clenched painfully as you watched the sun after you'd defeated the Elder Brain - you hoped Astarion could find shelter quickly enough.

But, that had been months ago. What was left of your group split up. You stayed in Baldur's Gate, having asked to be gifted a permanent home as thanks for saving the city.

You live alone, now. Sending stones connect you to the others, or they come to visit you. Scratch and the Owlbear keep you company, make your house feel more lively. You take odd jobs and occasionally help Rolan out at Sorcerous Sundries.

Hells, even Dalyria, Astarion's 'sister', sometimes comes by to check in on you. She's surprisingly pleasant company, and you can tell she's worried that you and her 'brother' are no longer involved. She tries to keep an eye out for him, but unlike the other spawn, Astarion never came to the Underdark. You usually talk research with her - enchanted things are just things with spells on them, so if the Ring of the Sunwalker exists, surely, there must be a way to replicate it.

Your life is quite mundane now. Sometimes you toy with the idea to follow Wyll and Karlach to Avernus, or to help the spawn settle in the Underdark. It was the one victory you had from that day, that you managed to wrench control from Astarion long enough to set the poor wretches in Cazador's dungeon free. You knew that, given how spiteful he could be, he would have let them rot forever after you refused to help him ascend.

On some evenings, you head out to the Elfsong Tavern for a drink. Sometimes, you even take someone home, but nobody ever sticks. You're not quite ready for something new yet. Not when your breakup with Astarion was so desastrous, and not now, when all your other lovers were scattered in the wind.

But, your life is okay. You're not starving, nor are you homeless, your fluffy companions are there to fill the void, and that is just enough for you.

____________

Astarion had been furious after what had transpired in Cazador's lair. He felt betrayed by you, of all people, and then, you had the gall to release the spawn when you had denied him his freedom.

He'd had no plans to return to your camp. He stalked taverns and brothels, indulging in his worst impulses now that he could chose to do so. It was the least he would do after you had refused him his ascension.

But reality kicked in as soon as the Elder Brain was disposed off. Astarion felt his skin burn to ashes in the sun and fled into the shadows, and as he cowered under whatever flimsy shelter he could find, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes at being condemned to the dark, again, he wished for nothing but your comfort. If you had been there, you'd have comforted him, soothed him, kept him safe from the sunlight.

He missed you. He missed you terribly.

Once night fell, he scrambled back to camp. It had only been a few days, surely, you would still be there.

His heart had shattered to pieces when he found his tent to be the only one left standing at camp, a hollow feeling settling in his stomach. Judging from the footprints around, you all must've left shortly after his outburst.

Astarion had resigned himself to simply collect his remaining things and start planning what to do with his new unlife. But then, he'd found the things you'd left for him, and the note.

Good luck on your new path, Little Star. Don't stray too far from the light, despite everything. I love you.

Even after everything, your final words of farewell were words of love, of affection. He'd expected anything else, something telling him that you hoped he'd burn in the sun, that some hunter would come and stake him. But no, even after he had wished violent death upon you, all you had for him was love.

Gods, what had he done?!

Astarion had sobbed into the note, into your blouse, until his voice turned hoarse, at the realization that you were well and truly <i>gone</i>. You had disappeared from his life, and he had no one else to blame but himself.

Seeing your ring had torn him apart once more. He remembered how you'd cheekily given him his ring, after you'd slipped on yours.

"There. Now you can keep me safe, too!"

Your smile had been infectious, even he couldn't resist joining in, no matter how much he wanted to comment on how cringeworthy matching warding rings were. But it also made his heart soar, knowing you were so willing to publically display that he was yours, and you were his.

He'd wished for nothing else, then, but to have you there, so he could return your ring to you.

Nowadays, Astarion is back to stalking the streets like a ghost. He has no proper home to speak of - Cazador's palace isn't an option, the other spawn would surely spurn him after his actions at the ritual, and unlike you, he wasn't a hero with gifts to reward him with.

He hasn't dared to try and reach out to any of your other companions. To be fair, he has no idea where everyone ended up. Astarion knows he'd easily find Gale if he travelled to Waterdeep - but the idea of coming crawling to Gale, of all people, makes him sick.

He never thought he'd be reduced to this again. Seducing people just to get a quick meal in. Getting on his back for breadcrumbs, once more. With you, he had painted a brighter future, the two of you often daydreaming about what you wanted to do once your tadpole problem had been resolved. You had thought up the most delightful things, thinking he could become a perfumer, or even a tailor, should you save up enough for a small shop. You would travel together to source the rarest ingredients or most exquisite fabrics, while you would brew alchemic concoctions or enchant objects for sale. You saw endless potential in him, while all he could dream of was having power. He never realized until now how little you actually cared for power. You wanted to be happy, and you wanted to share life's joys with him.

Even at the ritual, you had tried to see the best in him, had tried seeing everything he could be, but refused to see. He had thrown it away, your hope, your belief in him, and your love for him.

Astarion cowers in the shadows, once more, an ache in his undead heart he isn't sure will ever be soothed.

___________

It's Dalyria who tells him that you're still in town, and that you haven't run off with one of the others.

Astarion bumps into his sister one night while he's out on a hunt. Dalyria is just on her way back to the Underdark after having stayed with you for a couple of days. Their sibling reunion isn't the most euphoric, but Astarion is glad it's Dal he runs into instead of one of the others.

What nearly knocks him off his feet is that he can pick up your scent sticking to her. He immediately questions her on it - why the hells does she smell like you?

Dalyria would rather spare you from him. She'd heard the hurtful words he flung at you, and while you put on a brave face, she can tell you're still heartbroken over him. She can see it anytime you look at her. You very obviously associate her with Astarion, and though you value the friendship you have built, Dalyria clearly is a painful reminder of your lost love.

She leaves Astarion with nothing more than the information that you are still in the city. He wishes he could pry more out of her, but without the tadpole, she and him are evenly matched in power. He also knows that Dalyria will now likely lay low and not go to see you - she knows too well that Astarion would try and follow her.

Baldur's Gate is large, but he knows the city like the back of his hand. And if there's one thing Astarion has in abundance, then it's time. He'll find you.

He'll find you, and get you back.

___________

Find you he does.

Astarion sneaks into Sorcerous Sundries one day, in hopes of maybe finding a tracking spell he could use in his search for you. What he doesn't expect is to see you standing by the counter, arraging your alchemic concoctions neatly on a sales display, while you make idle chat with Rolan.

Astarion has to bite back a snarl. You seem chipper and happy in Rolan's presence. He also knows you're attracted to the tiefling - the two of you had taken Rolan with you for a fun little evening at the Last Light Inn, so many moons ago.

Are you his, now?

Thankfully, it doesn't seem this way. You are naturally flirty, in a way that doesn't always mean anything more serious. Astarion knows you love making people blush, so he files this away as you having a bit of fun with Rolan, nothing more, eventhough he seethes at how easily you fluster the haughty wizard with your sweet words.

Astarion sneakily follows you home. He's glad to see both Scratch and the Owlbear in your home - at least the little snacks have a safe place to stay, and they keep you company. They keep you safe. No burglar would dare enter a home guarded by a dog and an owlbear.

He doesn't approach you yet. He needs to plan this, think about what to do. What to say. A simple 'hello, again' would not suffice.

So, Astarion lays low, and stalks you the next few days. He's sure he must looks suspicious, covered during the daytime in such a thick cloak, but he doesn't care. He needs to know more about you, the city you, and the life you lead.

You don't do much, really.

At the beginning of a week, you head to Sorcerous Sundries to supply Rolan with new stock and collect payment for the sales made the previous week. Other than that, you take Scratch and the Owlbear on walks, and stay cooped up in your laboratory.

It is the evenings, when Astarion can be more active himself, that you actually do something other than your daily grind.

You head to taverns. Your favourite seems to be the Elfsong - you sit at the same table you used to sit with him at back in the day. You chat up other patrons, and let yourself be chatted up. There's no particular pattern to your partners, and you don't always leave with someone. Sometimes you just sit, and drink. Othertimes, Rolan, or any of the other tiefling refugees join you. Cal and Lia come by to try and lift your spirits. Dammon always seems ready for a long night of deep conversation.

Astarion watches you for a good few weeks. He toys with the note you left him - he's so close to you, now, he just needs to make a move. It needs to be one of the days when you're only in a drinking mood, but early enough in the evening that you're not drunk yet.

He makes his move on a night after you've had a goblet of wine. You'd actually brought a book with you, hoping to relax as Alfira is the bard performing tonight. Astarion glides through the movement in the tavern effortlessly, and sits down across from you.

"Could I buy you another drink?"

His voice is smooth as ever, trying his best to charm you.

You look up from your book. First, you look surprised, shocked, to see him. Then you seem as if you want to say something, but you swallow the words in favor of snapping your book shut and giving him a smile - though Astarion can tell you're anything but happy.

"I think not," you say, watching as he visibly deflates at your rejection. "I think I might have already overindulged, tonight. I may be hallucinating - you look like someone I once knew."

Ah, so it is to be a game. No matter, Astarion knows how to play along just fine.

"Oh? And is that someone a friend, or a foe?"

Pain flashes through your expression, gone as quickly as it came.

"I'm not sure anymore. Once, he was my dearest friend, the person first in my heart. Then, he told me he hoped I died screaming, and abandoned me." You toy with the rim of you goblet. Perhaps you did need another drink. "I'm not sure what exactly that makes us."

You take it as a victory that Astarion immediately looks remorseful. Some part of you wants to hurt him back, but what would be the point of that. It's only give you temporary satisfaction and lead nowhere else.

"Perhaps your friend was not in a right state of mind when he said those things," he reasons, a strained look on his face. "If you were to meet your friend again, it might be possible that he would want to apologise."

"Really? Aren't you an optimistic one. I'm not too sure about that. Apologising never was his strong suit. He'd rather lash out."

You can barely hide your scoff, and Astarion feels as if he's been stabbed. Perhaps Dalyria had been right in trying to keep him away from you. He never considered if you even wanted to see him.

He, once again, did not consider what you might want.

You sigh heavily. "Take me home, will you? Though I'd love to hear Alfira play tonight, I doubt I'll actually get much listening done."

Astarion stares after you as you get up out of your seat and make your way to the exit. He follows swiftly.

"How would I even know where you live?" He asks incredulously once you're both outside.

You don't bother turning to face him. "Really? You expect me to believe you just 'happened' to bump into me tonight? I'm not stupid. Knowing you, you've been stalking me for weeks."

"I did not!" Astarion protests. "This was pure coincidence, honestly!"

"Sure. Keep telling yourself that if it helps you rest easier at daylight." You shake your head. "Now, are you going to walk me home? I demand an arm to hold from such a dashing stranger."

Of course, he offers you his arm. And of course, he's already memorised every single way to get to your house. You don't mention it again, knowing full well that your darling vampire has a tendency to be an absolute creep.

Scratch and the Owlbear are happy to see you back home, but are overjoyed to see Astarion again. They circle around his legs, tackle him clean over, yipping and hooting euphorically as he struggles to give out an appropriate amount of pets to them both. You busy yourself hanging up your cloak, smiling at the display.

Both of your fluffy friends had been asking where your 'fanged friend' had went. You never had a good answer for them.

Once Astarion manages to wrangle both of your pets, he follows you to your dining table. You've set out glasses and two pitchers each, and motion for him to sit down. You are clearly drinking more wine. Astarion sniffs at his glass once he fills it, and his brows knit together in confusion. It's pig's blood, seemingly still fresh and warm.

"Your sister Dalyria comes by sometimes," you explain. "I've perfected the art of preserving and re-heating blood by now. I always keep some on hand for her."

"That's...very kind of you," Astarion says, unsure how to respond. "How often is she here? How did that even happen?"

"She thought I was good for you, and disliked the way our relationship...ended. She sought me out a couple of weeks after I settled in here to check on me - you vampires can easily sniff out a person. We usually chat about whatever research projects we've got going on." You take a sip of your wine. Maybe this whole conversation is more bearable if you get drunk. "Dal's become a good friend. She usually stays a couple of days, and we bounce ideas off of each other. I like her."

That causes Astarion to bristle. Was he really that easily replaced? By his own sister-spawn, at that?

"How much do you like her?" He asks, trying to keep his voice sounding casual.

He fails. Your eyes immedately harden into a glare.

"You are in no position to play the jealous one after what you said to me," you spit, rage bubbling up inside you. "But if it soothes your sick little mind - no, I am not fucking your sister, and she isn't feeding on me, either."

Astarion flinches at your tone. He's seen you angry before, but never has your anger been directed at him. It feels awful. He hates it.

"What are you two researching, then?" He diverts. Yes, keeping it casual was a good idea. Maybe you would soften up the more you spoke.

"Dal's still looking for a cure to vampirism. I'm looking into a way to get spawn to walk in sunlight. It would give them all a brief respite from the Underdark." You don't mind answering. You like talking about your work. You're also in constant contact with both Gale and Rolan about all of this - more brains to think with, so to speak. "Dal and I are also thinking to try and restore the Arcane Tower down there. I kind of miss the Myconids, and the equipment there was top-notch. It would provide both of us with a sharable workspace. Rolan could benefit from the resources there, too. Overall, getting it back up and running would just be beneficial, and if we find a way to reprogram the robots, they could help the spawn in building their village."

"So, you're moving to the Underdark, then?" Astarion worries. He's just found you again - he can't have you running off right away.

"Not immediately, and not permanently," you assure him. "Setting up portals between here and there is an easy matter. I'd move from time to time. But enough about me. I believe you have something to say?"

Astarion becomes indignant. He hates being cornered, and you are doing just that.

"You aren't going to apologise for anything?"

"Me? I don't think I have anything to apologise for," you scoff. "I have no regrets. If I had to do everything all over again, I would change nothing. There is not a world in which I would've helped you ascend, not a universe in which I would've let you sell your soul for the ascension. If losing you is the price I have to pay for ensuring you don't commit a vile act of mass-murder, then so be it. I will not apologise for that."

You can see he hates how sure of yourself you are. He wishes you felt any amount of guilt for having refused him, but - breakup aside - your conscience is clear.

"You've gotten over me quickly," he grumbles.

"I haven't. But I'll happily tell you what I told the others." You pin him with your gaze again, looking him right in the eye to make sure he properly hears you. "You were not the first person to love me, and the way I saw it, you wouldn't be the last. And to be fair - would <i>you</i> wish to continue to be with someone who said they hoped you died screaming?"

No. No, he would not. You have no reason to hear him out, let alone take him back. What he said to you was vile, hurtful, and wholly undeserved. He knows that himself.

"So. I have nothing to apologise for," you say again. "Would you do everything the same way again, knowing the outcome? Because if you would, then you don't have anything to apologise for either, and we can end this conversation here. Both of us should move on with our lives, in that case."

Astarion doesn't want to move on. He wants you back. He wants to bask in your light again, share your joy with his own.

"You never were so harsh with me," he finds himself saying.

"My patience has its limits," you reply. "I know you've a lot of growing to do, so I've always tried to be more lenient with you."

Your eyes harden into a glare, turning glossy as tears are slowly burning at their edges. Astarion doesn't want you to cry. He doesn't think he can take it.

"But after everything we'd gone through, how much time we shared, the fact that you would say something like that to me..." You shake your head in irritation. "It helped mask the pain, really. I was furious."

The tears start spilling down your cheeks. You wipe them away angrily. You'd thought about it, of course, what you'd do if you ever saw Astarion again. You would slap him, at the very least. Maybe turn him into a sheep. Cast the Daylight spell on him if he was especially vile to you again. You never wanted to cry. He did not deserve your tears, not after that.

"You once promised you would never hurt me - on purpose, at the very least. I was foolish enough to believe you."

Scratch and the Owlbear sense your distress. Scratch comes to sit beside you, resting his snout on your thigh, nudging you, as if to encourage you to pet him. The Owlbear settles in behind you, hooting at you as a mother owlbear would at her cub. You weave your hand into the soft fur of Scratch's head, and the dog whines.

It's a small victory to you that Astarion looks at you with regret. Even his ears have drooped, and he seems defeated.

"Did you ever cry for me?" He asks carefully.

"No." Your voice is cold as ice. "I did not. Not once. Not until you flitted back into my life."

Gods, maybe this whole plan was a mistake. You seemed like you really were moving on with your life - and then Astarion decided to come crashing in.

Astarion pulls out the ring and the note. The paper is crumpled, the ink faded - he'd read it over and over and over, trying to imprint every single memory he had of you in his mind. The ring is polished and well cared for. It's only now that you realize that Astarion is still wearing his.

"Back then, at the ritual. I was blinded by all the power and the safety it promised," Astarion says mournfully. "You've always seen the best in me, and I know you were trying to show me I could be better than Cazador ever made me to be. I wasn't able to understand it then. All I saw was you stabbing me in the back. You, of all people. Especially since I wanted to do it for us."

You scoff at that. "You cannot even admit the truth. For weeks before heading to Cazador's palace, the ascension was the only thing you ever spoke of, how you'd command some nocturnal hoard we would both supposedly rule over. You never asked me what I wanted. You just assumed. You didn't want it for <i>us</i>. You thought only of yourself."

He looks away, unable to bear your gaze any longer. You know him too well.

"You're right, of course," he says.

"Then say it. Speak the truth. Admit to it."

He shuts his eyes and sighs. "I wanted the ascension for myself. I didn't care what you want. I didn't care if I would turn into heartless being who would take what it wanted from you, regardless of your opinion on it. All I saw was the power, and I wanted it all to myself."

You seem satisfied with his confession. He knows it's the truth. He was too much of a coward to admit to it earlier. Astarion toys with the ring - your ring - in his hands. How long had he stared at it, day after wretched day, wishing he could somehow find you with it?

"I admit I wanted to hurt you when I...when I said I hoped you died screaming. I thought many terrible things in the days that followed. It was only when I returned to camp and found your belongings that I realized what I'd done. What I'd done to you."

He had wailed for you. You had never cried for him. Had he hurt you so badly that any love you held for him in your heart had shrivelled up and died? Had scorched the earth between the two of you so severely, nothing was ever to grow there again?

"You didn't deserve that. Any of it," he says. "And still, you found it in you to tell me you loved me."

"Because that was the truth." Your words weigh on him. Was. What about now? "I also know that sometimes, eventhough you love someone, you may both be better off apart. Which is why I let you go."

Astarion feels sick. Still, he needs to ask. Needs to know. "Do you still love me?"

"I'm not sure you have the right to ask that," you say bitterly. He hasn't even apologised properly, and yet has the gall to ask this. "But if it comforts you, I don't think all feelings are gone. Else, I would likely have less trouble entering a new relationship. And I wouldn't be crying, now."

Your tears haven't stopped. Astarion wishes they would. He hates knowing he's the cause of them. He has to swallow his jealousy. He wants to ask if it's Rolan who may have captured your heart, or Dammon, the sweet blacksmith. If it's Gale you have a distant relationship with, or if Shadowheart visits you in the night. But he is in no place to ask, not if he's the reason you're hurting.

Astarion leans across the table. He presents your ring to you in his open hand. You don't take it just yet, you simply watch him warily, the Owlbear and Scratch loyal at your side.

"I'm sorry," he says, voice almost a whisper. "I fucked up. I was messed up, too terrified of everything to think clearly. I'm sorry I said those things to you. You never deserved such treatment."

He bows his head.

"I've no right to ask for your forgiveness, let alone to ask you to take me back. I have been miserable since we parted, and I know it is my own fault. You're free to refuse me. I just...I just wanted to see you again, even if for the last time. If you are happier in your new life, I have no choice but to let you go."

You stare at him, for a good long while. Astarion doesn't move, frozen in place. He'll stay put until he has an answer, be it to say his farewells, or to pull you into his embrace.

You actually got a proper apology from him. That was all you wanted, really, but your mind is confused. You feel so much, all at once. You hate him, for having ever hurt you like that. And yet you love him, still. So, so, much. You've missed having him in your life. So while your mind is definitely still angry at what he said, and how he'd left you, your heart soars at the idea of having him back. It's enough to put out the firey rage, leaving nothing but relief. You'd worried so much about him the past months, wondering what had become of him after he left you.

You lean across the table yourself, and carefully clasp his hand in yours.

"Break up with me like that again, and I'll tie you up in my garden to see your last sunrise."

You're half-serious, half-joking about this. Your delivery is so dry, despite the wetness in your voice, that Astarion lets out a little giggle.

You've missed that sound.

"You'd be justified in doing so, darling. I'm surprised you haven't done it yet."

"Don't tempt me." You withdraw, and take your ring from him. "There's still time."

Astarion finally looks up. Tears are still rolling down your cheeks, but as you slip your ring back on, Astarion senses that at the very least, you're not hurting anymore - at least not as much. He's empathetic enough to understand this won't be a quick forgive-and-forget situation.

"Am I yours again, my love?" He asks. He almost doesn't dare to say it, but he needs to know. Needs to be sure.

"You are." You smile at him for the first time tonight, a true, honest smile. "As I am yours."

For the first time this evening, Astarion smiles a genuine smile. One of pure elation, of relief. It takes the years off of him, rounding out his eyes and softening his features.

He bolts up from his chair to near tackle you from yours. You yelp, for you surely would have fallen straight off if not for the massive Owlbear behind you. Astarion settles in your lap, unintentionally shooing Scratch away from you, and squeezes you to his chest. You can only laugh as Scratch then insistently burrows his snout between the two of you, demanding to be a part of the embrace, yipping excitedly all the way. You return Astarion's embrace, trying to accomodate your fluffy friend as well.

"Gods, what a relief," Astarion murmurs into your hair. "I've missed you, my love. You have no idea."

"I can imagine, my darling. You've gone to quite the length to find me," you reply. You shut your eyes, relaxing in his arms. "I missed you, too. Terribly so."

You stay like this, with his weight comfortable in your lap, until Scratch decides all this cuddling is far too warm for him. The dog scuttles out again, which you use as your cue to head over to your living room. You and Astarion stay there for the next few hours, talking, catching up, and drinking some more. All the while, Astarion is glued to your side - he's been without contact for months, and he's not ready to be apart from you again.

It's only when your yawns start increasing that he decides for the both of you that your night is over. Your tiredness is a bitter reminder to him of how the two of you now exist in different rhythms, but you quickly assure him that you'll find a way to manage.

The two of you have faced harder challenges.

Astarion insists on carrying you up to your bedroom. Scratch and the Owlbear curl up on their respective nests to sleep downstairs - the Owlbear is far too big to climb the stairs, and Scratch would never abandon him to sleep alone.

When getting ready for bed, Astarion is disappointed to learn you truly have none of his clothing left in your possession. No shirt for him, then, which neither of you happen to mind terribly. He strips down to his underwear, and is delighted to see that, while your eyes have a quick roam over his bared skin, they easily settle back on his face, happy and relaxed.

You never were with him for just his body. You always loved him for who he is.

It's a little awkward at first. The two of you just got back together, neither of you are sure what the other is comfortable with. You allow Astarion to take the lead on that - he's the one who has more trouble with intimacy, so his boundaries need prioritising, within reason, of course.

For now, he just stares as he lays across from you, like he is truly unsure of what to do. Then, he hesitantly speaks.

"May I kiss you?" He asks.

He doesn't have to ask twice. "You may."

"Thank you, my treasure. Can you lay on your back for me?"

Easily done. Astarion is gentle with you. He cautiously slides himself between your legs, avoiding too close of a contact at first, and cages you in with his arms. You gaze up at him, taking in the vibrant red of his eyes, the slightly nervous glint in them.

You nod at him once more to affirm that you want this.

He dips his head down and presses the softest of kisses to you lips. It's so chaste and gentle, it seems so unlike him. You enjoy the softness. It's a rare gift from him.

His lips are hungry for more. They wander away from your own, leaving little pecks on your cheek, your brow, your nose, your eyelids. You feel every word he might wish to convey to you in each of his kisses.

Don't leave me. I need you. I love you.

When his lips find yours once more, their touch is more heated. He pulls you impossibly close, and you grasp his shoulders in return. Astarion's tongue licks along your lips, and you easily let him enter, moaning softly as his hands glide down the sides of your body and rest on your hips, squeezing at your flesh.

Astarion moves on from your lips to pepper your neck with kisses. He's disappointed that his bitemarks have healed and left no scars in his absence, no trace of him left on your lovely skin. You feel his growing hardness start to strain against his undergarments, but resist grasping for him in a short moment of clarity.

"No," you say softly.

Astarion raises his head. He looks confused, almost hurt. You run your thumbs over his cheekbones, trying to soothe his fears.

"I want this. Madly so, my Starlight," you say. "But tonight is not the night for it. Everything feels too fresh, too raw. I don't think I would enjoy it if we slept together right now."

You see the relief in his eyes, the panic dissipating from his expression.

"You may be right, darling. Apologies. I got carried away."

"Don't apologise. Not for that." You pull him down for another kiss. You feel him smile against you before you break it off again. "We can keep kissing like this, though. I do rather like that."

"Darling, there is nothing I'd like to do more."

Astarion kisses your lips, your face, lovingly, adoringly over and over, until your breathing starts to slow, and he realizes you've fallen asleep in his arms.

He'll keep watch. Keep you safe. No matter what may come.

__________

The next morning, you wake to Scratch yipping at you from the footend of the bed, and Astarion missing from your side.

You drowsily cast a quick Animal Speak spell, to hear what your fluffy friend has to say.

"The other one's doing something in the food place," Scratch tells you. "It smells...concerning."

Good gods. You quickly throw on a dressing gown and head downstairs, Scratch at your tail. Indeed, you smell something burned, and hear a sound of frustration come from your kitchen.

The Owlbear curiously eyes Astarion through the doorway. You pet its beak, before heading in to meet your lover, who has clearly been defeated by what looks to be heavily charred fried eggs, the yolks burst and blackened bits stuck to the pan.

"Cooking for me?" You coo at him, slinking up and wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. "The bacon and the bread looks good."

"Yes, and the eggs are a disaster," Astarion says with a sigh. He turns his head to press a kiss to your forehead. "So much for my surprise. Good morning, little love."

"Good morning to you too, Little Star. Oh, and I'm happy and surprised, nonetheless. The Owlbear doesn't mind charred food, so they won't go entirely to waste, and I can show you how to do it without them sticking to the pan like this."

He lets you take the reigns from there, paying attention as you teach him how to fry an egg.

Later, you settle down in your living room after breakfast, the curtains shut tight so Astarion can get comfortable.

"So, what's next?" He asks. "Any plans?"

"Well, first I'll send message to Rolan that I'm taking the next week or two off," you say. "I'd like to just spend some time...being with you. We didn't get the chance to do that on the road, perpetually fearing and fighting for our lives. Now, we can."

"Sounds delightful. No objections from me."

He'll have to bring what few belongings he has to your house. You have no trouble accommodating him - what had worried you was that he'd admitted to you that he was essentially homeless, drifting from place to place with just his pack and nothing else.

"Wonderful. I think we need a bit of adjustment time. While I'm glad to have you back in my life, some wounds still need healing, I think." You give him a knowing look. "On both sides."

Astarion hates how right you are, but hums in agreement, anyway.

"Do you want to see the others?" You then offer. "Not a lot of them are close, though. Shadowheart is the closest. The others are day's trips away, or in another realm entirely."

"Shadowheart would be a good start," Astarion says. "She may be the least likely to stake me for having broken your heart."

"You'll have better luck with Wyll or Gale," you say with a chuckle. "She was ready to set your tent on fire."

Astarion feels a cold shiver run down his spine. "As long as she doesn't set me on fire, I'd love to reunite with her."

"Don't worry. She's bound to be more mad at me, really." You find this all too amusing. "I can hear her already. 'Really? He trampled all over your heart and you're taking him back?!'"

That does sound like Shadowheart.

"Anyway. We could also head to the Underdark and see what's what. The portal is easy enough to cast," you contemplate. "And the quicker the Arcane Tower is back up and running, the closer I may be to find a solution for your sunlight allergy."

"I'm happy to go anywhere you like, as long as I get to be by your side, my love," Astarion says sincerly.

He's truthful this time, you both know.

Astarion feels that with you by his side, anything and everything may be possible for him. His new life can truly begin now, and he's happy that he gets to share it with you.

His dearest, most beloved treasure.

[thresher-art]

Okay so. Is there any overlap between the Baldur's Gate 3 and Vampire: The Masquerade fandoms (VtM is another pen and paper game, would recommend checking it out if you're not familiar)? I mentioned Vampire: The Masquerade one tiny little time in a fanfic and now I can't stop thinking about VtM!Astarion, because it has so much fun and/or horrible, angsty potential.

Because if we stick to VtM lore, Astarion will potentially never truly be rid of Cazador.

He starts off blood bound to him, Cazador being his sire and all, near unable to resist his commands. I know if the Beast has a voice, it can take the tone of one's sire, which wouldn't be too far-fetched for Astarion given how Cazador treated him.

Like. Astarion can't get a lock open on the first try, and all he hears in his mind is Cazador's mind telling him how utterly useless he is. He gets knocked on his ass in a fight? He's weak. He falls in love with someone? Ha! Who could ever love such a pathetic little boy? He's too hungry? Good. He doesn't deserve to eat.

Also, the potential to refuse the Ascension, but then chosing to diablerize Cazador instead to take his power, body, and soul. Would Astarion manage to fend off Cazador's soul and bring it under his control? Or would he be possessed and mocked by it for all eternity?

Just. Astarion never managing to be rid of his sire, no matter what, because through the very nature of being the creature that he is, Cazador will be a part of him, always.

Also what clan would he be. I'm swaying towards Lasombra, because I feel like the lack of a reflection and affinity for the shadows just add an extra 'fuck you' level from Cazador to him. He just never gets to learn Oblivion because ha! Why would Cazador ever be so foolish as to teach his silly spawn how to wield shadows. They all get to learn Presence instead, so they can lure in people more effectively.

Just. Kindred!Astarion, with all the complex vampire politics included, trying to make a name for himself in kindred society and to step out of his horrible sire's shadow.

[bar-guest]

I dig Lasombra!Astarion but not Cazador. Correct me if Im wrong (no direct spoilers for V5 Chicago's The Sacrifice plz) but isn't exceptional sire-childe cruelty rare within the clan? The Magisters don't embrace to break someone into becoming a tainted cruel monster, they choose among kine that already proved themselves to somehow adhere to the Lasombra's darwinist philosophy.

'We stared at the abyss and devoured it with a sneer. Fuck those pathetic Ventrues aiming for power while hiding behind their corporate smiles; We know We already hold that power. We are Lasombra' all that shit. They are ruthless but they aren't chaotic lone wolves who would day 1 curb stomp someone they deemed worthy of their embrace. They are a tight-enough-for-kindred knit ravenous wolf pack that will collectively devour you.

Caz doesn't fit the image. I'd class him as old clan Tzimi but I am going to admit that it's kinda uninspired on my part.

Also, clan stuff aside, I think Ascension is actually somewhat comparable to diablerie. It's the highest sin a Kindred can commit, you automatically lose 1 Humanity while attempting it, you risk losing yourself entirely, and gain power you wouldn't be able to achieve in a less horrifying way. Additionally, diablerists not-so-rarely go insane from hearing the voices of their victim(s) in their head and I absolutely believe that were Cazador to be diablerized, his consciousness would prevail. So rip Astarion's dwindling sanity.

[thresher-art]

I'm a little torn on this, too. While I definitely see Astarion as a Lasombra, I don't see Cazador as much of one.

In the reblogs, you can find a link to one of @ryttu3k 's posts on Lasombra!Astarion. They make a very good argument as to why Cazador's way of embracing Astarion is very Lasombra (progressively ruining a prospective childe's life to then embrace them is quite typical, and Cazador potentially sending the Gur to beat Astarion to death would fit into this). So in the embracing sense, Cazador being a Lasombra works imo.

I do agree with you that his treatment of his childer makes...less sense for a Lasombra. He treats his spawn like Shovelheads at best and Ghouls at worst, and Lasombra (to my understanding) don't employ the Shovelhead way of creating new Cainites. It'd be more Lasombra to preen and prime all his childer to be elite hunters or something of the sort.

But I don't really see what else Cazador could be. Lasombra is the closest fit for Astarion - I know making him a Toreador would also be a fun idea, but somehow it doesn't suit him as much. It also doesn't suit his background, he wasn't an artist in life, he was a magistrate - a person with some measure of power, which would also be more Lasombra.

Also I can't remember if 'can't see reflection' is a folkloric bane (I'm only familiar with V5), and I think that factor is pretty integral to him. He struggles with not being able to see himself, and this would also be an opening for Cazador to critize, because it isn't fashionable/proper for Lasombra to be so distraught over their lack of reflection or so obessed with what they look like. Vanity isn't stylish, silly boy!

(Astarion being pretty and vain would also have potential for an AU where he's a Nosferatu Cleopatra embrace. You know, for the angst. But that's a whole different can of worms.)

So for now, while I'm not too happy with the fit for Cazador, he stays a Lasombra to me because Astarion just fits the clan to a T