#redcloaklynx writing

[redcloaklynx]

right so this prompt led to me writing two (unrelated) scenes

—

Blindfolded, naked, sitting on one of his masters' lap, a knee that lightly nudges between his legs whenever he makes to close them. A breath down his neck, the tickle of curls against his ear. Astarion. It has to be Astarion he leans against, if there is breathing.

"Who's hand is on your cock, pet?" Astarion whispers, near his ear. "Surely you can distinguish between your betters, right?"

Cazador bites his tongue to hold back a moan. It's a good touch, that's what it is. It has him barely able to think, stimulated by the experienced hand pumping him. He's damned himself with all the training he's put the boy through, if this is indeed Astarion's hand. It could be. With difficulty, he tries to distinguish the pressure made by the fingers. There's an arm that wraps around his torso to keep him upright, and that ends in the slender hand he used to command to touch his body. Are the fingers on his cock the same, or thicker? Surely the angle of the wrist wasn't one Astarion could easily reach, but he might be imagining the wrong direction completely. It is too much of a rush of pleasure that courses through him, after how long the masters have neglected him.

"Well?" Vellioth asks, the voice coming from somewhere in front of him.

That decides it.

"Yours, ah, yours, Master Vellioth."

He hears the whistling, has the time for half a flinch between the whip strikes his thighs, blinding pain that wrenches a cry out of him. His cock is now left alone, and he has to refrain from whining or buckling. He wasn't wrong, he's certain of it. He had the right answer. They had just planned to do this regardless.

“I can’t believe you’ve got it wrong,” Vellioth says, sickly sweet. “You know us so poorly, you need a refresher of your lessons.”

—

They bring in a large rabbit, its white fluff so voluminous that it is hard to tell how plump it is, how much blood is hidden under the fur. Astarion cracks its neck, and the movement tears a nick behind its ears. The rabbit is hung upside down at eye level to Cazador, from his place kneeling on the floor, and a dog bowl is placed under it. Astarion works his nail in the small wound until it just begins to trickle, one slow drop of blood at a time. Down the head, down the red eyes, like the pure creature is crying blood, and dripping into the bowl. Cazador hates how his mouth waters at the sight of it. They wouldn't be using that bowl if they did not intend him to drink from it, so enamoured the two are with treating him like their abused mutt.

"We've made a bet, Vellioth and I," Astarion begins.

He stares at Cazador from high above, his skin glowing with life, graced by his Ascendance. Next to him, Vellioth looks exactly like how he used to. It's a pit of bottomless dread in Cazador’s stomach at the sight of him. He knows there is no avenue he can escape to where he emerges unharmed every time he sees that face.

"Between the two of us," Vellioth says, "who can make you scream first?"

He knows how useless it is to plead for anything, any way he could reduce the torture he will be put through. He knows how useless it is, and yet he stares in Vellioth’s eyes with naked terror and the urge to beg nearly overtakes him.

"As an incentive to last," Astarion adds, "you can have what has spilled out of the rabbit up until a pretty sound makes it out of that mouth of yours. Now, Vellioth, I believe you wanted the first turn?"

"It would be my pleasure," Vellioth replies, bowing his head at Astarion.

Cazador cannot help but shake as Vellioth comes closer. The rattle of the chains binding his ankles to the ground betray—amplify—his break in composure. Vellioth rests his claws at the back of Cazador's neck.

"Oh, and Cazador?" Vellioth murmurs near his ear.

"Yes- yes, master?"

"Don't you dare end the game too quickly," he says, and sinks his fangs in Cazador’s yielding flesh.

It is at most a rabbit's worth of blood to be earned, but he clamps his jaws shut and wills himself to do nothing at all as he stares helplessly in the lifeless prey's eye, as the blood mats and stains its fur.

(anyway astarion's gameplan on "make cazador scream" is to have sex and he probably wins because vellioth puts cazador through so much pain he just passes out for short intervals)

Vellioth and Astarion making torturing Cazador a foreplay activity though, can we talk about that

[redcloaklynx]

party banter in a tadpoled cazador au

Lae'zel: "I do not understand this Loviathar god. What is the point of injury if not to kill?" Cazador: "I do not understand Loviathar worship either. For one, their methods could use a lot of refinement. Have you seen how crude their whips are?" Astarion: "I'm going to scout ahead. Do alert me when he stops talking."

---

Cazador: "Boy, I have heard you lay flirtations on practically every member of this party aside from me." Astarion: "Cazador! Have you been waiting your turn?" Cazador: "Yes. I believe I might have a scathing enough response that you finally fall silent."

---

Gale: "Cazador Szarr... I've seen your name on research publishings. I'd not expect the face to be Kozakuran." Cazador: "The Wizard of Waterdeep, is it? Does your city find itself inundated often, or does its wizard wish that I remedy that?" Gale: "Er, no need. It was an academic question."

---

Karlach: "Between my body temperature and Gale's magic nonsense, I wonder who's got the worst blood in the party." Cazador: "It's the wizard. I keep my distance from him when I can." Gale: "Side effects of terminal Netherese contamination may include vampire repellency- noted."

---

Cazador: "A Ravengard, are you? And yet I cannot remember your presence among high society in Baldur's Gate." Wyll: "We should all get to know each other more. Let's share a few bottles around the campfire, tonight." Lae'zel: "What does this bottle-sharing entail?" Wyll: "We'll drink alcohol and take turns asking each other innocuous questions." Cazador: "Innocuous questions, yes. But I will not, before you ask again, be telling you the location of all side entrances to my mansion."

---

Shadowheart: "Say, Lae'zel, how do your people do interrogations?" Lae'zel: "We amputate fingers, eyes and limbs until they speak. If that does not work, we try to starve or burn them." Shadowheart: "Really? I'd always heard the other way around. Beatings, starvation, then amputatation." Cazador: "I enjoy flaying before amputating, personally." Shadowheart: "Does that make them more likely to talk?" Cazador: "No, but the vampiric charm I cast once I am bored does."

---

Cazador: "Who is it that handed Astarion a sewing kit yesterday?" Wyll: "I did, I found one in the Blighted Village. Damn, I didn't know vampire senses were that sharp." Cazador: "Oh, I very sharply sensed this morning that somebody undid the seams to all my clothes and sewed my socks together in the night."

---

Cazador: "This incessant wiggling between the eyes is driving me mad. Is this how a heartbeat felt?" Gale: "Not in the slightest. Which begs the question, how many years ago were you buried underneath?" Cazador: "I am older than the goddess you were wildly unfit to dally with, whelp."

---

self-indulgent last one. i headcanon cazador to be very depressed

Cazador: "Now that you've had other blood to compare to, was rat-blood really a reason for offense?" Astarion: "Are you kidding? Wyll's blood is richer than the finest vintage there is. It's incomparable to rat-blood." Cazador: "Hm. Perhaps the passage of centuries has diminished my enjoyment in things." Astarion: "Am I included in 'things'?" Cazador: "Yes." Astarion: "Ugh. All those years spent torturing me, and you weren't even having fun?"

[redcloaklynx]

sonnet 0.

When I met you, my heart was set alight Then froze, then burned again until it burst My peace broken for the better. For each Broken piece of me, I’ll replace with you

do you think i’m a fool? do you think i’m so unloved that i wouldn’t know—no love is like this when i met you, i felt nothing (towards you) all i cared about was the knife in my thigh

but your chest bleeds profusely, your seams have burst it's true, you are shattered, unstitched for how long? someone ought to help, you clearly cannot breathe if only you would mend those scabs you pick at

though it was not by my hand, i will lend mine if i must i know how to hold the needle, i know to start to sew

--

a wyllstarion poem i spent the day workshopping

it's to set the mood of a fic i haven't written a chapter of yet, so you won't see it for ages, and i never planned to release the poem as a whole. but i liked it

[redcloaklynx]

that post was brought to you by my "i am horribly stuck on choreographing the sex scene in my vellioth-possesses-astarion-to-dom-cazador fic" frustrations. i really, however, wanted to release my vellioth hcs in the wild

[redcloaklynx]

[hi! this is a ficlet inspired by a conversation in the comments of this post. the horror of reading astarion slowly believing cazador about the black mass really grabbed me.

no tadpoles au. here goes]

"What's stopping the master from just killing us all?"

Astarion knows that comment is why he has been summoned. He saw how it had struck Cazador, when he blurted it out, while they were all reeling from his announcement of the Black Mass, while Cazador was letting them discuss what it meant to them. Petras and Violet were overjoyed, of course. Some days it feels like they hardly mind being under the master's thumb, so long as there is someone lower on the totem pole to torment. Dalyria goes where Petras does. Leon clearly meant to ask what the ritual meant for Victoria, once the other spawns leave. Yousen he didn't bother glancing at, and Aurelia was smiling, but Aurelia might have smiled even if the master plainly promised death.

The invisible leash drags his feet up the stairs, to one of the well-furnished reading rooms, where Cazador had, admittedly, never done anything awful to him. He still doesn't know why his remark is what upset Cazador, but if the master wanted to make reparations for all those years of torment, well. He could certainly try, in the short time he has left.

Astarion doesn't know what the ritual will do to him, but he does know Cazador hasn't thought past himself once in the years of slavery. He tries, so very occasionally, when some other vampire braggart reminds him that spawn are meant to express utter devotion towards their master. He takes Astarion aside, and he treats Astarion like something close to an equal for just long enough for Astarion to believe his sire has woken up and found out there is more that Astarion is good for, more than being an empty-headed whore and a pincushion.

But then Astarion displeases him, or Cazador exhausts his patience, and the farce ends. It always feels like his body and screams and unwilling servitude hold too much interest for his sire to care enough of the mind inside. If the ritual benefits him in any way, it would be incidental.

"Master," Astarion greets, at the door. He slouches against the frame and does not bow. Let Cazador tolerate this, if he wants Astarion's favour so badly.

"Come here, Astarion."

Astarion goes to the window. It is a clear night sky, and the Upper City sprawls below them. It is too dark to see much more than the black boxes of houses, and the silhouette of the taller spires that blot out the stars. He shivers a little from the outside chill, and Cazador wraps an arm around his shoulder and conjures a little floating flame that warms his back.

"Don't you see what we could have?" Cazador asks, gesturing at the window. "I would elevate us before them all."

"You would elevate yourself," Astarion corrects, cynical. "I can't see you sharing anything. You love to lord over us too much."

"I would have an entire city to lord over, once I ascend. What the rest of you are up to would no longer be my concern. Is that not what you have always wanted? To live eternal, and free of me?"

Does he want that more than he wants to see Cazador dead? It was possible he did. He thinks on it.

"Whether you free us or kill us, I won't know until the ritual happens. Either way, my body is yours to do as you wish. Isn't that what you always taught me? Why do you need me to believe you?"

The others could try to flee, maybe. He is usually the one to shut down their plans. He knows, even if it is only for the much shorter duration until the ritual happens, that he could not go back in that tomb. He knows he is helpless.

"I want you to believe me, Astarion, so that you will celebrate alongside me on the day."

It wasn't impossible, but surely, surely not even Cazador is so vain that this was his only concern?

"Then forget it," Astarion says, even if it confines him to be wrapped in chains in the kennels until the day of the ritual. "You hurt me too much for me to want to see you anywhere but under my feet, with a stake through your heart."

"How crass," Cazador says, without much reproach. "You do not think that I could care about you? That when I hurt you, it is to prepare you for something better? Something more than what you were made to be? Perhaps I need to confide in you, Astarion. That poem I had carved on you and your siblings' back is what links you to the ritual. It is what promises you to have a fraction of my ascended power."

It explains things, though Astarion wishes it didn't. Cazador had carved it nearly two centuries ago. Cazador's actions, unbeknown to him, have been preparations since. He did know what he was doing, when Astarion did not. Could something that hurt so much really be beneficial? Of course it could-- they were vampires, and as much as he suffers in his unlife, it did give him something he always wanted. It did give him eternal, unblemished beauty.

"Am I meant to extrapolate that to all of the other torture, too?" he asks, but his voice is no longer so biting. There is a part of him that has begun to believe. "Were the flayings and the rats what you needed for the ritual?"

"The flayings kept your skin youthful," Cazador says. "The whippings kept you in line, because I needed you. If I did not care for you, I could have kept you in the tomb, that first time you showed you were willing to risk my ire and your own life by wandering away. I would have rewarded you with more than rats if you had ever impressed me."

Astarion swallows, the rage and fear at the mention of punishment battling within him. The rage of the sheer injustice; the terror, the realization that Cazador could always have treated him worse.

"Here," Cazador says.

There was a goblet of blood set on a bookshelf, one that smelled so good Astarion had long given up on knowing what the taste would be. Cazador hands the entire cup to him, now, still close to full.

It's easy to call his sire heartless. It's easy to remember all of the indignity that has been inflicted on him, for years upon years, and to want him dead, so very badly. It is harder to claim Cazador did not care for him at all, when his sire's arm is draped around him, and he is kept warm, and he nurses a cup that tastes so utterly divine that his whole body shudders when he swallows in large, starved gulps, and the glorious liquid flows inside him.

"I am sorry," Cazador says, and Astarion almost drops the cup he is holding, his tongue working to lick along the metal. "I have not treated you well. I should explain to you why, if you wish to know. It does have to do extensively with my own family."

"Okay," Astarion says, shakily, as he is led to sit on a couch besides Cazador. "I'll listen."

And when Cazador begins, Astarion finds he is no longer so convinced of his disbelief.

"I truly do see you as my family, you know."

I would give so much to have just one normal, everyday conversation I could reference between Cazador and the spawn.

(More Caz thoughts under the cut 😮‍💨 scapegoat & golden child implications)

I feel like there has to have been some interaction beside "yes master/no master" etc because clearly he took the time to tell the other spawn about the Black Mass, and they believed him. Act 1 Astarion mentions how Cazador "gives hope til the last moment" which implies there were moments where he had hope until he'd been burned one too many times. Plus, all of Caz's lines about the type of person Astarion is, his terrible jokes and how it's punishment enough having known him for 200 years... it's a brutal zinger that has to come from personal experience. It wouldn't be funny if you didn't feel the weight of how long those two have known one another.

Considering Caz' obsession with Astarion and how Astarion seems to get the worst torture of his siblings, I see him more and more as the scapegoat in a toxic family. I wonder if there were moments of levity, where Cazador did invite discussion or talk from his spawn, giving the impression that there was some loosening of restrictions, or just enough where making a joke in hopes of amusing him would seem like a good idea - only to backfire horribly, with Astarion held to an impossible standard he couldn't predict while his siblings get away with worse transgressions. They all think the worst of him.

Petras genuinely believes Cazador will set him free, that all the torture he endured was somehow worth it and will lead to his freedom. Petras is also an idiot, but even idiots learn unthinking resentment and hate if beaten long enough. We know Petras at least gets to eat dogs sometimes, which... aren't allowed in Baldur's Gate.... (does Caz smuggle them in?? Does Dufay need to source some dogs for the spawn Christmas presents, while Astarion gets rats every year? Does Caz just tell him "oh go get yourself something nice next time you're out and about?" Do they go to Wyrm's Crossing together sometimes as a fun bonding activity, like when your father hits you one day but takes you out to ice cream the next????)

Astarion just seems so much more jaded and angry than the other spawn. A lot of that does come down to being the one who got away, who had it the worst and now feels bad about not being the lightning rod that unintentionally protects the others, who can now see just how fucked up everything was now that he's had space to think - while the other spawn are still in the thick of it, and probably aren't investing any thought at all into if Cazador is being truthful or not. There's no point. Whatever happens, happens.

I just have this nagging feeling that there has to be some positivity sometimes. If it was all awful, all the time, there comes a point where you stop working for it. There needs to be a moment of affection, the idea that things could be better all the time if you just did this one little thing better - going back to the ice cream example (lol), I wonder if Caz takes different spawn to do different things. Maybe Yousen's really good at Chess. Maybe he and Petras go bowling

Ok ridiculous example (Cazador clearly does not leave the house - but maybe he does, as Astarion feels the need to ask Dalyria where he is in Act 3? So maybe he does leave sometimes....) but the scapegoat/golden child dichotomy means there must be some positivity, some perks for the golden children. Petras gets better snacks, Leon works hard for the fancy room and gets to keep his daughter alive - maybe that's all there is, but I need to know how they all interact. Cazador has human servants, he's got Chamberlain Dufay and deals with the werewolves and clearly everyone's terrified of him and expects the worst - the rumors are nasty enough that Gale has heard of him - but he keeps a journal about the tortures he inflicts on his spawn. That feels, to me, like keeping score, doing enough to keep them terrified and busy but not so much that they give up all will to live in pure dedication of murdering him. Hence, like an abusive parent you still somehow love (and hey, it could be a lot worse, look at your brother after all as an example on what not to be) - there must be some positivity to hold on to.

Just enough that everyone besides Astarion believes him when he says he will set them free, enough that you need to pass a persuasion check, but also little enough that there's no real loyalty.

So yeah, maybe Cazador and Petras go on trips to Wyrm's Crossing together so he can get a dog to snack on. Idk man 🤷‍♀️ It's a lot more likely that Caz just says something awful about Astarion and lets them all rag on him for his amusement for a few moments here and there, and that moment of levity is enough to inspire some feelings of normalcy, but tbh I have zero clue what Cazador does all day and I'm obsessed with terrible slice-of-life scenarios.

[redcloaklynx]

making a pinned post just so i can link my ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedcloakLynx

i write a lot of cazador/astarion and may post original work slavefic in the future

expect dark stuff - violence, slavery, noncon. i don't care how old you are, don't tell me

(this is a sideblog)

#redcloaklynx writing | #redcloaklynx analysis | #redcloaklynx personal