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atsadi-shenanigans · 4 months

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Feeding Alligators 21: I Got Better

Rated M for language and violence (for now).

Turns out vampires have anticoagulant spit! Who knew!

On AO3.

An earthquake!

The shaking cuts through the crushing depths around you and jolts you awake. You flail, inhale something, and end up coughing and gagging on your side in the dirt.

“She’s not dead,” Shadowheart’s voice is calm and cool in a way that sounds really bad.

Your neck hurts. There’s something horrifically heavy squeezing down on it. And it’s rained in the night; as you shift, the neck of your tunic clings to you.

The sun flickers.

Wait.

That doesn’t happen.

You open your eyes. They’re crusty and gummed up and too heavy.

“What’s happening?” you say only it comes out, “Wuhbthhh.”

“Hand me that potion,” Shadowheart says. Still rigidly calm.

It’s night. Weird, soft light washes over you. You’re on your side, your mouth disgustingly sweet, your tongue all cracked and dry. And someone is trying to choke you.

“No, Eleanor, don’t move,” Shadowheart says. “Gale, give this to her.”

The light shifts. Gale, still in his mumu pajamas, sits on his folded knees. The light follows him, and you realize it’s some kind of magic fireflies swimming around his head. He fiddles with something, and the cool, smooth lip of a bottle touches your lips.

“Careful,” he says and tilts it.

Healing potion tastes like sweet chiles, for some reason. Vaguely sweet, mostly burning, but more like strong alcohol than capsaicin melting your taste buds. You sip it, wincing at the crushing pressure on your throat.

Your head clears a little as Gale tilts the last of it into your mouth.

It’s still night. No moon. The fire is low embers, so Gale has cast some spell. Shadowheart kneels over you with a rag pressed to your neck.

“What,” you start.

Oh.

Fuck.

“It looks like the bleeding has slowed,” Shadowheart says, easing off a bit.

Your tunic is damp and a bit crusty. Because it’s covered in blood. Yours, this time. Anticoagulant vampire spit. Motherfucker.

Shadowheart casts her jesus-hands spell on you. It feels like strong sunlight soaking into your skin. The bite on your neck itches as the scabs form. As the skin slams into production to grow over and seal the puncture. As your bone marrow kicks into high gear to churn out more blood cells.

“Water?” you say. You’re so thirsty it hurts.

Gale hums, even as he lifts up a waterskin. “She must have had time to drink her last Potion of Tongues. And couldn’t have been so long ago, as it’s still working.”

You latch onto the waterskin like a starving thing. Slam back three gulps before Gale—that bastard—pulls it back.

“Slower,” he says. “Don’t want to go rupturing your stomach.”

Which sounds made up.

“Here,” Shadowheart says. Finally, the awful pressure eases. Her body heat washes over you as she leans in to inspect her work. “That’s closed up nicely. You’re lucky. If Gale hadn’t woken when he did, you might have been stone dead come morning.”

You do your best to sit up. The world spins. Gale hands you the waterskin and you chug down three more gulps, lowering it before he can chide you again.

“What time is it?” you say. Remember that no one has cell phones or watches.

“About halfway between moondark and dawn,” Gale says. “Do you remember anything?”

You remember all of it quite distinctly. You take up more fluids and hope it hides the flush you feel sweeping up your face. Apparently you have enough blood still in you to pull that off.

You must have passed out while still bleeding. And the wound hadn’t closed because vampires are, turns out, literally giant leeches. Your tunic is plastered to your shoulder and even your weak, human nose is filled with the metallic tang of blood.

And the cause of it chooses that moment to come strolling into Gale’s spell light.

“On no, what’s happened?” Astarion says in the most bullshit bullshitter tone you’ve ever heard.

Gale tenses next to you. Shadowheart, still hovering over you, goes eerily still.

Astarion stands there, all stupid, floofy hair and stupid, frilly shirt. He hasn’t made near a mess of himself as he left all over you.

A soft sound, and you twist to find Lae’zel standing back there with a neutral expression. And her hand on the hilt of her sword.

You can’t see Astarion’s face in any detail at that distance and in this light. You do, however, catch the subtle raise in his shoulders. The way he shifts his weight onto his back foot.

“So, the vampire reveals himself,” Shadowheart says. “I was wondering how long you would try to keep your ruse going. If you can even call it that.”

“I…what?” he says.

“What?” you say.

Gale has fully turned to face Astarion. Shifted himself between the two of you, even. He glances over his shoulder at you. “It’s alright, Eleanor. We’ve got you.”

“There’s been some mistake,” Astarion says. “I’ve been patrolling. I thought I heard something and came back to check on the rest of you. Has something happened to Eleanor?”

You roll your eyes.

“It seems a blood drinker attacked her in the night,” Lae’zel says.

Attacked? Wait, shit.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on,” you say. “Everybody calm down. I wasn’t attacked—”

“A vampire?” Astarion says. “Here?”

“You really thought we hadn’t noticed?” Shadowheart says, a pleased little hum in her voice. She’s gloating.

“Hey,” you say.

“What’s it to be, Astarion?” Gale says. “Will you leave willingly?”

“Hey.”

“This is all a misunderstanding.” Astarion lifts his hands. Takes another step back. He’s going to bolt.

“HEY! Will you chucklefucks just listen to me?” you say. “Fuck’s sake. The lot of y’all getting all pissy and hopped up for no goddamn reason!”

It’s enough to startle Shadowheart back an inch. Judging by the slight furrow in her brow, that’s more to with your vocabulary than any genuine force you have (it was chucklefuck, wasn’t it).

“Ain’t nobody got attacked. I let him have some blood, you hear? I volunteered.”

It’s like you whipped a trout out of your shirt and smacked them in the face with it. You’ve seen church ladies look less affronted at a teenage, drive-by mooning.

“You…?” Shadowheart trails off. Her nose wrinkles in delicate distaste. “Why?”

You make eye contact with Astarion (or where the shadows hide his eyes, anyway). You’ve seen him murder-horny, smug, nervous, bored, and smarmy. You ain’t seen him shit scared before. Oh, he’s trying to hide it. Sweep it under smooth reassurance, plaster it over with confidence and faux concern. But the man is an alley cat backed into a corner. If he had fur, it’d be standing on end.

He tried to bite you in your sleep. Tried to do the exact thing everyone is so upset about. He looks at you, and you look at him, and y’all don’t even need brainworms to understand how aware of that y’all both are.

“He asked,” you say. Perhaps not technically a lie, at least not after he’d explained himself. “We got no idea what we might find tomorrow, and it seemed like a good idea to make sure we’re all at our best, right?”

“You aren’t,” Gale says. “Not after this.”

Astarion bristles. Opens his mouth.

“I’m about as useful in a fight as tits on a boar hog,” you say. “We all know it.”

This last part to Lae’zel behind y’all, with her gaze still fixed on Astarion, but her posture looser than it was.

It’s Shadowheart who snorts first. Covers her mouth to hide it. “Sorry. Sorry, that’s just…”

But Gale still frowns. Still glances between y’all. Focuses on Astarion. “Did you dominate Eleanor?”

That…cannot be an accurate translation.

It doesn’t faze Astarion, though. He slaps on a self-deprecating smile. “Were I a real vampire, I might be capable of that. Sadly, though, I’m just a spawn, as I explained to Eleanor. Along with answering all of her following questions.”

Passing the ball back to you. Maybe it’s all the blood loss, but you’re still caught up on “dominate.” He didn’t hold you down, and there wasn’t any weird sex stuff. The fuck…?

Gale looks to Shadowheart, who shrugs.

And then it hits. You never actually read Dracula yourself—too dry and boring. But you watched that movie where he turned into a werewolf to bang that girl out in the garden (you mostly remember her tits, honestly). He could mind whammy her. Enchant her.

Dirt potion, for some reason, translates that to “dominate.”

You think, anyway.

In a normal situation (nothing about this is normal and you’re not going to think about that because you might start screaming and never stop), Gale would be completely justified in asking that.

Exsanguinated, exhausted, and emotionally fucked up, what fills you is spitting rage.

It’s not your fault you sinned. You’re too weak and stupid to resist the devil’s temptations. It’s not you getting angry, it’s the devil’s whispers. Not you crying, but the devil making you weak. You have no will, no opinion, no ideas. They’re all the fault of the devil, because you are filthy and pathetic, and you could never, ever know better, now go cut yourself a switch.

You tear yourself from the bedroll, even as your brain shouts how stupid that is. Force yourself onto feet that wobble. Have to catch yourself on Gale’s shoulder as your head floats off your neck and everything goes sort of fuzzy and ringing around you.

“Gale of fucking Waterdeep, don’t you ever suggest I cannot make my own decisions.”

He moves as if to step away; catches himself (probably) when he realizes that will one hundred percent end in you eating dirt. He holds up a hand in a pacifying gesture. “Please, I don’t think this wise at the moment. We’re only trying to ensure the safety of the group. Shadowheart?”

But Shadowheart’s arms are crossed. She makes no move to guide you back to the reasonable ground.

Astarion hadn’t told you because he was afraid of this. You could kinda see people maybe being unhappy. He made you wary, yeah. A little creeped out, even. But these people turned on him so fast—

Because they found you bleeding out.

“Fuck,” you say and bury your face in one hand. Gale is good enough to keep his arm steady as you slide down to your knees. And yeah, he was right about standing being a terrible idea.

“I thought I could take care of the cleanup,” you say. “He didn’t go all rabid on me or nothing. Stopped when I told him to and backed off.”

Astarion lifts his chin at that. Fixes Gale with the most self-righteous look. Even though you both know you’re fudging that, too.

“I’m guessing your spit is an anticoagulant?” you say.

“I’m…I’m not sure.” He catches the looks from everyone. “That is to say, I’ve never, ah, fed on something that needed to survive the encounter. I hunt animals. It’s never been an issue before.”

Around then, it hits how epically stupid you’ve been. You thought he did this regularly. Vampire, and all. But that statement? You let him at your neck unsupervised and unchecked. He could have drained you dry. He’s used to doing just that.

“How many people have you killed?” you say. The pitch is higher than you’d like. All the adrenaline and other pants-wetting hormones dumping into your bloodstream now that you know exactly what type of venomous snake you’ve stepped on.

“Oh, plenty,” he says. “But never for food. I…”

A shadow crosses his face. His lips thin and the barest flicker of a sneer wrinkles his nose for a second. Then he sighs. Clears his throat. “You were my first thinking creature.”

No one moves. No one says anything. Crickets hum and the wind rustles softly through the leaves.

Shadowheart’s laugh is shrill and borderline ugly. “A virgin vampire?”

You’re not following. Look between all of them. Gale finally softens in amusement. Shadowheart doesn’t even try to hide her grin this time. And Astarion is…still wearing a smile. But there’s something about it now. Something about the way he’s holding himself.

It’s a mask. And the Astarion below that, he’s wildly uncomfortable. The set of his shoulders. His hands are too still.

He’s never bit a person before. That’s what he’s saying.

“Ch’k,” Lae’zel finally speaks. “All of this talk of an undead threat, yet I see no threat.”

“We had to be sure,” Gale says, and thank baby jesus, the man finally relaxes. “I’m sorry you were the one who took the brunt of this, Eleanor. I had assumed he would go after myself or Shadowheart, as you are an unknown entity and Lae’zel is…ah, formidable.”

Lae’zel lets out a crocodile hiss. You’re beginning to wonder if that’s a laugh. “Should I ever wake missing so much as a drop of blood, Astarion, I will open you from throat to belly.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” he says.

Gale turns to you, all solemn. “As it was my idea to wait before confronting him, I take full responsibility.”

“I’m just surprised he didn’t do it sooner,” Shadowheart says.

You meet Astarion’s gaze. He seems as befuddled as you feel. Because that sounds like they already knew. Knew for a couple of days, at least. And even talked about it?

“Y’all knew he was a vampire?” you say.

Gale holds up one finger. “We theorized.”

“He didn’t even hide it,” Shadowheart says. “Look at the mark on his neck.”

“Your complexion is rather corpse-ish.”

“And his eyes? Red eyes?”

Lae’zel even jumps in. “His temperature is that of the air. Even amongst istik, that is a known inaccuracy.”

This fucking…the whole time?

“Wait, wait, wait,” Astarion says, one hand pressed over, yeah, those certainly are bite marks on his neck, aren’t they? There’s a heaping tablespoon of bitchy in his voice. “You, all of you, knew what I was? This entire time?”

“I certainly had my suspicions,” Gale says. “I waited for a few days to verify my observations, and then brought it up to Shadowheart who confirmed it.”

“And you didn’t think to, to stake me?”

“I wanted to,” Shadowheart says.

Gale steamrolls her before Astarion’s sharp glare can turn to sharp words. “You’d been behaving yourself, contrary to all the lore. Considering our shared circumstances, it seemed a waste to turn away potential allies should you prove to be one. Until tonight, that is.”

“I asked permission!”

“He did ask permission,” you say.

“And that is to your credit, Astarion.”

“What about you?” Astarion says past your shoulder. “When did they rope you into all this?”

Lae’zel gazes impassively. She honestly looks bored now that she’s lost her chance to cut someone in half again. “They awoke me shortly after finding that one bleeding out.”

She throws a glare at Shadowheart. It bounces right off.

Astarion huffs. Takes another step back, only he doesn’t seem two seconds from sprinting off, so much as a pout. He runs a hand through his ridiculous hair. His eyes catch on you. They narrow.

“But not you,” he says and it is one hundred percent an accusation.

One that draws the attention of the others. You can feel Lae’zel’s disapproval glide across the back of your skull. Shadowheart’s incredulousness warms the side of your face. Gale’s concern and burning curiosity skitters over your brow.

You throw up your hands. “We don’t fucking have vampires where I come from! I told y’all we don’t got monsters. How the fuck was that supposed to occur to me? I thought he was just albino!”

“Al…” Gale starts. Snorts. Runs a hand across his face. “Once we’re free of these parasites, you and I need to sit down to a nice bottle of Blackstaff with as many scrolls as I can carry. I have so many questions.”

Lae’zel sighs. Her sword has been sheathed this entire time, but now she lets go of the handle. “I go back to sleep. Do not wake me for foolishness again.”

Astarion glances to everyone and falls into his theater posture. Spine straight, hands loose at his sides, casual smarm back on display. “There now. We’re all friends again, eh?”

Gale looks to you as if seeking confirmation. You shrug at him. The skin where Astarion bit you is warm, but the wounds themselves are closed. You down more water.

“Alright.” Gale nods. “As Eleanor is the aggrieved party here, if she will allow you to stay, I have no objections. Though I do have to warn you, Astarion, I taste terrible.”

The goddamn vampire gives a little, swooping bow. “Thank you. And noted.”

Shadowheart lingers a moment longer. Looks at him. Looks at you. Back to him. “If I wake up with you hovering over me, I’ll blast you to ash.”

He gives her the same bow, with a touch of a leer to it. You’re not even sure it’s intentional.

Shadowheart pauses as she stands. To you,” I do suggest that if we find a bell, we tie it to him so he can’t go skulking about in the night.”

She leaves, but not before setting two apples and another waterskin. You dig in as best you can while lying down.

“So,” Astarion drawls. “I think that went rather well.”

You glare at him. “Y’all got some real fucked up standards over there.”

Gale clears his throat. You’d thought he’d started back to his tent, but now he stands there all apologetically, holding out a steaming cup he didn’t have two seconds ago. When you lift one eyebrow, he says, “Tea. You’ll probably need it.”

If he has sugar or honey to add to it, that would be great. But something about his face makes you hesitate.

His lips press and he sighs. “I assume you were saving that potion for whatever we find tomorrow, correct? Most potions, that one included, wear off once you sleep. I’m also assuming you passed out too quickly for your body to actually rest or heal itself—as it does during sleep—and that’s why it’s still working. But if you want to retain the effects of that last bottle—and I don’t know how long they will last, mind you—you should probably avoid sleep for the rest of the night. Not to worry, though. We’re not terribly far from dawn. And as I know what a night spent pursuing knowledge is like, and as, well, this is rather my fault, I offer my services, such as they are, to help you pass that time.”

“Oh~ Gale,” Astarion says with such a fucking tone. “You’re being quite direct, aren’t you?”

That fucking asshole. You find a twig to throw in his direction.

Gale frowns. “I meant reading. Aloud, since I’m aware the potion doesn’t extend translation to the written word. Though this could be the time to start to teach you that, as well.”

So after hiking all day, enduring Lae’zel’s death march, getting drained almost to death by a vampire, you now have to stay up the rest of the day.

“I fucking hate it here,” you say.

Astarion sniffs. Says, “Well, I wish you luck, darling. I’ll see you in the morning.”

This…this fucking guy. You and Gale watch him prance back over to his tent, almost whistling. Bastard nearly killed you, and now he’s leaving you in blood-soaked clothing, to keep yourself awake for the next god knows how long, all so y’all can go traipsing around a fucking swamp looking for what will probably be another goddamn fight. And yep, there he goes, ducking into his tent, letting the flap swing shut, and flopping down onto his own bedding.

“That fucking guy,” you say aloud.

Beside you, Gale hums in agreement.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #fanfic #astarion #astarion x tav #it's a goddamn isekai #i'm not sorry #no betas we die like men #feeding alligators fic #plus size tav #demisexual tav #slow burn #they're doing their best #dumbasses

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