#feeding alligators fic sequel

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 60 - 1812

You initiate The Plan.

On AO3.

The plan is simple: hit them from above. The modern twist: with bombs. In this case, that’s barrels of sparkpowder and lamp oil. It’s the same as the fake paladins, but bigger, and with more explosives. It’s also both more and less complicated.

Between Gale, a magic necklace Shadowheart picked up a few days ago (that she just told y’all about, and you catch Gale eyeballing it like a plate of biscuits and gravy), and Astarion being a sneaky shit, y’all get everything into position.

Most of them barrels dot around in the rafters over the pep rally as Door Rags hollers something about respect and bowing before you and drinking from the skulls of enemies, blah blah blah cult shit. Lae’zel takes another barrel over to Wyll. There’s a wooden bridge between drow lady and the rest of the temple, and if he and Lae’zel time it right, they’ll hopefully blow the bridge with the drow on it and spare the lot a you the trouble of fighting her.

Which leaves you, once again, in the back as everybody moves themselves into position. You watch them go and that same, sick feeling fills your gut. Astarion don’t even glance your way. You try to return the favor.

This room is bigger than that whole tollhouse. Y’all got more bombs, but the blast won’t be contained and amplified the way it was there. Plus, the targets here are more spread out. Ain’t no guarantee y’all’ll get everybody as effective; it’s probably gonna take groundwork to finish the job.

You tell Karlach to kick one of them sparkpowder barrels directly onto Door Rag’s head.

And then it’s time to exact U.S. Foreign Policy: Round Two. Time to stand back and rain down fire and death.

Door Rags finishes his rousing speech and takes a seat on—that’s a goddamn throne. Fuck that guy.

The space where Karlach should be hides in shadows—thanks to both Gale and Shadowheart, the big, burning tiefling ain’t nothing but a blurry outline. You lift your hand, palm out, fingers splayed wide.

She kicks off the first barrel.

Around the room, the others do the same. Six different barrels plummet down from the dark. They ain’t really aimed at anyone. But one of them catches a goblin, crushing it instantly even as the wooden frame bursts apart.

Gallons of accelerant burst all over the room. Door Rags stands and goblins shout and swear. And then look up.

Just in time to catch the second wave.

Sparkpowder, as Gale explained, is volatile. It don’t actually need flame to ignite. A hard enough jolt will do the trick—something about the friction between the grains building charge and then igniting.

The first one lands right on Door Rags. Face turned up, gawping in surprise. It plows him down into the ground as it comes apart and explodes.

They go off like a chain reaction. Ka-THOOM and a smaller blast as vapor drifting through the air from the accelerant combusts. You duck and cover your face as the concussive waves rattle through you. As heat scorches your skin.

It works. A shout in the distance—Lae’zel—and Wyll’s voice gone echoey and that should take care of the drow and the spy eye. Y’all might make it outta here without—

Somebody else shouts. You don’t recognize the voice. Or the language. Look over to see Shadowheart shove off the last barrel. But light flashes below. Catch a glimpse of a goblin with feathers and bones in their hair. It’s pointing a staff. You actually see the spell arcing up.

It hits the barrel midair.

Oh fu—

Horrific force blasts you. Knocks you right outta your skull.

Black.

Aware. Weightless. Hands scrabble, trying to find purchase. Your legs kick and there’s nothing underneath oh god oh fuck—

The wooden beam pulls away. Your stomach gives a funny little flip-flop.

You fall. You fall too long. This is bad. This is gonna be real—

Impact.

Pain.

Blackness.

Muffled noise—

More black.

You can’t breathe. It hurts and you cannot breathe—

***

You lie flat on your back. Your body screams. You can’t inhale. Lungs shudder and spasm and you gulp and suck and your body just won’t do it. Won’t fucking breathe in fuck you’re gonna die again, fuck shit.

Your lungs hitch. Then release. Your gasp is loud and wet. Makes you think of calves at the farmstead. The sounds they made as one of the boys slit their throat. Knowing it was bad, you always thought, knowing it was fatal but making one last bawl anyways.

Then you cough. And wet spatters your chin. It tastes like metal.

Rupture. Something broken in your chest or your throat. Inhaled blood.

Very, very bad.

The fuck happened?

You’re on the ground. It’s hard and warm. Stone? The air is thick with smoke, with screams. Orange light paints everything in waves. The place is burning. Stinks. Not just of fire, but of char. Of meat and hair.

A wooden beam far above ends in a jagged, splintered stump. The wall behind it is half-crumbled.

Goblins. You’re in the goblin camp. The bombs…

Your fingers move. Hands lift. You can wiggle your toes…

You cannot wiggle your toes. You try, and try again, but your legs are dead ends. Don’t even hurt, beyond the feel of horrifying pressure. It’s like they just…stop.

Panic skitters along the inside of your rib cage to bite into your heart like a juicy apple.

Your toes don’t move. Neither do your legs. You can’t feel them at all.

No. No, no, no, please no.

The rafter. That big, wood beam lies over you. You try to lift your head to get a better look, but that movement makes pain spike behind your eyes so bad everything turns to spinning, queasy pain.

You’re stuck. Room on fire, and you’re pinned like a butterfly in a fucking collector’s case.

The air is harsh in your throat when you drag in a gulp. Your lungs hitch, and the cough is weak, and still too wet.

“Help,” you wheeze. It’s barely audible over the sound of chaos and murder.

Where’s everybody? They was up there. You don’t see nobody now. You hope they’re okay. They was further from the barrel when it went off. Hopefully they didn't get caught like you did.

You’re tired. More than usual, more than the depression or your own dumbass trauma response. That should alarm you. Part of you registers that and reaches for the mental alarms.

But they don’t got no power.

Footsteps scurry nearby. A goblin’s scratchy voice shrieks. More voices echo in the distance, and light flashes. First purple, then gold. A woman roars.

The shadows move. You look up, find the bone and feather goblin. It sneers down at you, needle teeth glinting in the crackling inferno light.

“Traitor,” it spits and raises a knife.

You can only stare up at it. Can’t move. Exhausted. Eyelids heavy.

Silver flashes. The goblin’s throat opens. Hot, salty blood spatters all over your face. You sputter and try to blink it outta your eyes. Catch the pale fingers dig into the edge of the wound and wrench back in a monstrous tug that rips the neck wide open and damn near takes off the thing’s head.

The goblin falls.

Astarion looms into view.

He don’t say nothing. Just looks down at you. His eyes glow in the light, a haunting red that’s pure predator eye shine.

Your eyes hurt. Lids too heavy. Time seems to skip, because he’s suddenly crouched over you, his own eyes narrowed, an alien expression on his face. Like he’s sorting out which type of bug you are, like he’s cataloging which board to re-pin you to.

You try to talk, but it comes out as iron and choking. It don’t hurt much, no more. You feel almost fine. Except everything inside you is wrong in a way you’ve never felt before but know, instinctively, that you ain’t gonna recover from. You’re exhausted. You need to close your eyes and let go. Not into sleep, though. That ain’t what’s waiting for you. This is death tugging at your mind.

Catastrophic damage has broken your body; it’s shutting down and you know it. So you can only look up at Astarion, motionless above you. And close your eyes and sink down and down.

***

You have the most fucked up dream. Something with fire and red eyes and a corn seed. You wake up for just a second, enough to itch at something over your chest, before you resettle on your side. Then you’re out again.

When you wake again, you’re on a bedroll. It’s soft and warm. You burrow deeper, shove it up around your face so you can nuzzle into it. A shift of your hips and pressure disappears and you sigh. Back to sleep…

“Eleanor.”

Mrnghgrphghgh.

“Eleanor,” and then words you don’t catch. It’s Shadowheart. Shit. You musta slept in.

“’M ‘wake,” you mutter, and it comes out, “Mrngya.”

Goddamn. You gotta open your stupid eyes. Gonna have to flop around and find your goddamn pack and drink another goddamn dirt potion again.

Only you do open your eyes, and you ain’t in your tent. Trees rustle above you. A flap and a dark shape as a crow darts among the branches. It’s late evening, the sky sorta pale to the west but darkening rapidly. Shadowheart’s face is worn, flecked in blood and soot, and she’s usually real clean, what…?

Your memory kicks back on.

You scramble up.

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[kalmiaphlox]

Completed Fic Recs

I'm currently stuck in some reading burnout (thats what I get for overconsuming lol) but I wanted to shout out some fics that I really, really love that are completed (I'm not counting whether or not there are sequels/series, but some of these do have sequels and should be checked out as well!)

All Astarion fics because that is all I read. Sorry, not sorryyyyy

The Vampire Ascendant's Wife by @ofsilentthings - First ever Astarion fic (and fanfiction in general) I ever read and I was hooked immediately. You follow Rickard Musgrove, a young accountant, thrust into the world of the Vampire Ascendant Astarion. @ofsilentthings writes in a way that is so foreboding and haunting, I have never read anything like it and it's truly one of my favorites!

Feeding Alligators by @atsadi-shenanigans - I mostly started reading this because I am obsessed with alligators/crocodiles so the title just hooked me, but I stayed for nasty bitch Astarion and claw-her-way-through-literally-anything Eleanor. This fic is hilarious, traumatic, and everything in between. The writing is something so special, and you feel Eleanor's incredulity at her situation. One of those fics you wish you could erase from your brain to experience reading it again.

Lost Souls Like Us by @teamdilf - I just love Petra and Astarion's relationship. They're both navigating loss and hardship, they both make dumb decisions and WHY WONT YOU JUST KISS ALREADY?? Petra is so realistic, and her grief over losing Karlach tugs at your heartstrings. Also any dragon heritage is a plus in my book!

Thicker Than Water by @busy-baker - Dadstarion? Post-game? Astarion's original family? Why yes, this does have everything. This fic is filled with such amazing familial love and fluff, it kinda makes your teeth hurt sometimes. There are twists and turns that I won't spoil, but @busy-baker has done an amazing job of crafting characters you love to love and others you would wish anything to punch in the face.

in the stars (and six-feet's never felt so far)  by dollyish (if they are on tumblr, please lmk so I can link plz!) - uhm, holy shit this fic is devastating. I felt the heartbreak the entire time (and I am really not someone who gets particularly choked up while reading), but this fic tore me apart from start to finish. Read it! Especially if you are in the mood for a good cry!

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Let’s fucking go. No outline*, just a sort of plan, I cannot sit around not writing it makes me anxious and angry.

*I ALWAYS have an outline this is kinda terrifying. Gonna have to just sew this parachute on the way down 😅

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Turns out the Feeding Alligators sequel fic is turning into the World’s Worst Roadtrip. A real “get along or die” kind of adventure that NEITHER Astarion NOR Eleanor likes.

Awesome. 😎